#he's so cute I want to stick him in a microwave and squeeze him like a dog toy

[skygremlin]

He has such sopping wet cat energy I love him

#art #my art #a date with death #casper #doodles #pulled out ms paint for this for whatever reason after years of not using it #(i may have been influenced by the in game art program lol) #he's so cute I want to stick him in a microwave and squeeze him like a dog toy #ty to my partner for suggesting he seems like a sopping wet cat trying to be bigger than he is bc yeah he vibes with that

[lambertdiary]

hello 💞 first i wanna say i love your fanfics so much and i'm literally obsessed with Dalton and i wanted to request something

can you write one where reader and Dalton move off campus together and so they finally spend all day together and its like really sweet how they get used to being with each other all the time and build cute habits

idk if it made sense but thank you if you do write it !

A/N: heyy thank you so much for your kind words and for the lovely request!! I’m not sure if this is exactly what you requested but I hope you like it <3 Also I wanna start by saying I’m not entirely sure how off-campus housing actually works in the USA, so i just went from a little bit of my personal experience, sorry if it’s not accurate! Please let me know what you think 🤍

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warnings: mention of showering together (not in a sexual way), pure fluff, extremely cheesy stuff

MASTERLIST     ✩    SEND ME A REQUEST

Domestic Love

Y/N and Dalton were finally able to move off-campus. They started talking about it kind of early in their relationship, craving the privacy that college dorm life lacked, and after discussing it for a while they eventually started looking for a flat. 

Y/N had a part time job and a little help from her parents, and Dalton was managing to sell a few of his art pieces, with the support of professor Armagan who constantly encouraged her students to put themselves out there. It would be way more affordable anyway, and overall the best decision, so after finding a place they both liked they went for it. 

It wasn’t the biggest flat, but they had everything they could possibly need. A bed, a kitchen, a bathroom and most importantly, each other.

“Is that the last box?” Dalton asked her, taking it from her hands and setting it next to the door.

They didn’t have that many things to move with them, just their personal belongings, other essentials they had to buy and a few boxes their parents sent them to help with their new independent lifestyle.

“Yes” She replied, collapsing on the couch “Although we might need to get more pans and stuff if we actually wanna start cooking” 

Dalton collapsed next to her, immediately pulling her in for a hug “We will, but right now let’s just enjoy this”

Adapting was as easy as they expected, the only thing that annoyed them at first was transportation and getting to their classes on time, but once they adjusted to that there wasn’t a single thing they could complain about.

Y/N was especially excited to decorate their own space, weeks in advance before moving into their home she had been collecting pictures of them together to hang around the house, choosing an entire wall in their room to put up their favourites. She made sure to ask Dalton his opinion on any new addition, even if it was just a little plant or a candle, but he said yes to everything she wanted. He was thankful for the effort she was putting in, but what truly warmed his heart was a permanent night light plugged next to his nightstand, although he didn’t need it as much anymore. 

Sleeping in the same bed without having to really squeeze in was a huge upgrade, not that they hated being really close to each other but in order to fit into the tiny dorm beds Y/N practically had to sleep on top of Dalton, so it wasn't always the most comfortable thing or ideal.

They also got to know each other on a whole new level, and he started to notice the tiniest details about her, but the things that stood out for him were the things she does when no one is watching, things he’s sure she doesn’t even notice herself. Like how she sticks her tongue out when she’s pouring something, or how she does a little dance when she’s eating anything she loves, or the way she taps her fingers when the microwave is not fast enough, just everything about her that made him love her even more.

He often caught himself doing things he never did before, like writing down the stuff they needed to get next time they went to the grocery store or carefully folding his dirty clothes instead of just throwing them somewhere on the floor, loving how proud and happy Y/N would get whenever he did it right. Really just taking pleasure in the little details that came with living with her, as simple as saying ‘I love you’ before any of them left the house without the other.

There were a lot of times Y/N found herself stuck when she couldn’t reach high in the cupboards. Dalton enjoyed that more than he should, so he started to put some of their groceries there, just so that he could see her struggle in her tiptoes and ultimately have her ask for his help.

“Why do you keep purposefully putting my snacks so high?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you” She replied, pointing a finger at him “You think I can store things all the way up there?” She made her best attempt to grab something as she stood in her tiptoes, demonstrating she couldn’t reach there.

Dalton shrugged his shoulders and smiled as he helped her, denying any accusation Y/N threw at him.

Oh, but cooking together was something he didn’t think he would love as much. Putting on their favourite songs as they moved along the kitchen, picking up every ingredient they needed for their meal. Y/N was much more talented when it came to that, but he wanted to be just as involved, so that the in-betweens steps felt like a reward when he pulled her in for a little dance break and as they shared cheesy kisses.

They had been living there for almost two months, and slowly but surely the flat was coming together very nicely, definitely feeling like a home already. It was Sunday and they didn’t have any plans for the day, wanting to just stay in and relax. Dalton got out of the shower with a sleepy gaze still on his face, the wet strands of his hair were left to drip water on the floor leading to the small mirror in the bathroom. He stared at himself for a moment, contemplating if he had the energy to shave. He didn’t, so he just went for a fluffy towel to shake his soaked hair with it.

He then made his way to their shared bedroom, the bed was made and he noticed a brand new book on Y/N’s nightstand. He quickly changed into something comfortable as he wondered where Y/N was, but as soon as he opened the bedroom door a delicious smell invaded his nostrils.

Dalton walked slowly towards the kitchen, where he spotted Y/N quietly humming to herself as she decorated the plates in front of her with french toasts and strawberries. The blinking of the coffee machine indicated that it was ready to be served, so he decided to grab their designated cups and do it, but not before greeting his lover.

“Good morning” He whispered as wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her temple, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Good morning” She tried hard to hide her smile but failed when his eyes finally met hers “How did you sleep last night?” Y/N asked, now facing him.

“I haven’t slept that good in a while. You?”

“Me too. Fells nice to sleep in for once” “Yeah, we should do that more” He replied, now directing his attention to the coffee cups.

He helped her bring everything to the small table and Dalton smiled softly at the new set of flowers that were decorating it. 

“So when are you gonna paint something for our home?” She asked once they started eating their breakfast.

“You would like that?” “Obviously” She replied “I didn’t think I was gonna have to ask you”

He giggled and looked down at his plate shyly “Okay. I guess I can give it to you for very cheap, family discount”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully at him, but her heart definitely skipped a beat when she heard the word family “Come on. I think some of your art would definitely tie everything together. Maybe in the living room… or our bedroom”

“Not that I'm trying to boost my own ego…”

“Here we go” She said under her breath.

“But yeah, a portrait of us over there would be the perfect touch” He said, pointing at an empty spot on the wall.

“That’s what I’m saying!”

Getting ready for bed with her was one of his favourite activities. Dalton adapted most of her bedtime routine, sometimes taking a warm shower together and then standing by the sink to proceed with skin care next to each other as they talked about their day, he just loved the intimacy of it.

He also looked forward to the late night conversations as she tried to keep her eyes open just to have a little more time with him before completely dozing off, although it wasn’t always easy after a long day.

“Are you sleepy?" Y/N just hummed in response “You don’t wanna talk?”

Y/N opened her eyes again, looking up at him and meeting with his soft blue eyes “What do you wanna talk about?” She asked, a sweet smile appearing on her face.

“Well, we’ve been living here for almost two months and I don’t think we’ve had a proper housewarming party”

“We’re not throwing a party”

“I didn’t mean like a crazy big party, just a little gathering with our friends” He clarified.

“They have been here”

“Yes but not all of them at the same time. I was thinking we can invite them over, cook something and just have a chat or movie night, just like we used to”

She reached for his soft hair and slowly brushed it out of his face “We can do that”

“Ok, you can go to sleep now” He whispered, kissing her forehead softly as her head laid on his chest and her heavy eyes finally got to rest.

He went to sleep every night with a smile on his face, and he was always excited to wake up next to her.

#sorry if it's a little short #dalton lambert #dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert fluff #dalton lambert fanfic #dalton lambert fic #dalton lambert imagine #dalton lambert imagines #insidious #insidious the red door #insidious 5 #ty simpkins

[nursegracecreates]

Baking A Cake with FANON Ticci Toby (Rogers) and his GN SO

Alright, I generally don't write for fanon Toby because I like my Toby more, but from what he's told me about how his Tourette's was when he was around 18, he wasn't too far off from fanon Toby. So I thought this would be cute since Thanksgiving is coming. I watched a video once of a girl baking with her family and she has Tourette's, and I used things I remember from it 🧡

You and Toby decided one night that neither of you could wait for all of the delicious goodies and treats that would be coming from the kitchens of Slender mansion Thanksgiving Day

None of Slendy's proxies really celebrate Thanksgiving besides the food. And they'll never turn down a feast.

Slendy observes most major holidays in order for the proxies to feel cared for.

So you and Tobes headed into the kitchen, even though it was 2AM, and you started gathering everything you'd need for a cake while Toby picked a recipe

"S-s-sock It t-to me cake!" Toby decided, sitting the book in front of your workspace, propped against the wall.

You let Toby measure out the flour, turning on the oven to preheat

The first few tries resulted in Toby throwing random amounts of flour over his shoulder with the measuring cup. His shoulder and the back of his shirt were covered in a light dusting of flour.

Finally, after an immense amount of concentration, Toby pulled the cup from the flour container. He carefully packed it down and used a finger to brush off the excess, and added it to the bowl that had been slowly filling with flour that wasn't in the floor behind Toby.

You repeated the process, adding brown sugar to the bowl and Toby measured out a heaping tablespoon of cinnamon. He shakily emptied it into the bowl and looked to you, smiling proudly as he blinked hard, another tic

You'd gotten an entire crate of eggs and told Toby that the cake needed three.

Toby picked up the first of many eggs, saying "chicken chicken" quietly under his breath in a sing song way.

And then his hand twitched closed around it

"Hoough" Toby gagged as his hand filled with raw egg and you slid a smaller bowl under his hand just as he opened it, watching a mixture of eggshell and egg slime glop off of his hand into the bowl.

You giggled and handed him a dish towel and he smiled crookedly as he wiped his scarred hand clean.

Toby grabbed another egg before you could stop him and he threw the egg over his shoulder to join the flour. You heard it smash against the opposite wall and laughed openly as Toby picked up another egg.

This one he successfully cracked, though he shook it vigorously first, saying "Shake the baby" as he did

After the three eggs made it into the bowl, you got another smaller bowl and tried to teach Toby how to separate the whites from the yolks with an eggshell.

Around eight eggs lost their lives prematurely that day, joining the first crushed egg in the bowl under Toby's hands.

Finally you cracked an egg in Toby's hand and he scooped the yolk out with his other hand, gagging again as he put the yolk in the bowl you'd gotten for the pecan filling.

"I'll finish separating the eggs if you want to stir the eggs in."

Toby stirred the eggs into the dry ingredients and asked "Wh-what next?"

"We need some butter. I got a few sticks out if you want to melt and add two to the batter."

You watched as Toby retrieved the butter from beside you, carefully separating the two more egg yolks needed and added brown sugar.

He pulled one stick from the wrapper and put it in yet another bowl, and picked up a second one, giving it a tight squeeze. When his hand unclenched, he pulled the wrapper from the mangled butter and dropped it into the bowl too and then he put it in the microwave to melt.

After it was melted, you added the butter to the mix, finishing the batter as you stirred it in.

Together, the two of you make the filling in a saucepan on the stove top using brown sugar, egg yolks, and cinnamon, taking turns stirring.

When it started to boil, Toby repeated "bubblebubble" a few times as he continued stirring

While Toby finished up making the filling, you laid out a solid 3x3 grid of baking sheets, sitting the bundt cake pan in the center one.

This is so Toby won't waste batter when he pours it into the pan if he spills

After the filling is done, Toby comes over to pour the cake batter into the pan.

He's a mess, covered in flour, egg, sugar, and cinnamon, but then again, so are you, flour dusting your cheeks, and a strand of your hair stiff with egg white.

Toby only spilled a little on two baking sheets, once when he started pouring, and once when he stopped after pouring half of the batter in.

You used a rubber spatula to scoop up the spilled batter and added it to the pan as Toby retrieved the filling

You used the spatula to spread the filling over the top of the batter, and then Toby covered the rest up with batter.

When you put the cake pan into the oven, Toby made you laugh again by saying "B-bake the baby!" as loud as he could.

Time spent while the cake was baking was filled with the two of you canoodling, assuring that you were just as covered in cake ingredients as he was

As the oven timer went off, Toby pulled away from a passionate kiss he was sharing with you and you followed him to the oven, grabbing a pot holder as you passed it.

"Toby, no!" You exclaimed as he opened the oven and reached for the finished cake. You grabbed his hands and he smiled at you sheepishly

"S-sorry, I for-forgot it was h-hot."

You pulled the cake from the oven and sat it on the stove top as the smell of baked goods, cinnamon and sugar filled the kitchen

It was perfect, evenly risen, golden brown, and looked delicious. Your mouth watered as you looked at it

Suddenly, static filled your head, too loud and blaring. You fell to your knees, covering your ears as you felt Toby fall behind you, even still, trying to protect you as you both turned to look to the door.

Slenderman bent to pass through the doorway, straightening as he strode to stand in front of you and Toby.

'I am going for a walk to patrol the forest, there is an intruder.' Slenderman growled through the static, his garbled voice resonating in your skull, 'This had better be clean upon my return.'

Then he turned on his heel and left, bending at the waist again to pass through the door and disappearing.

In the silence that followed, Toby helped you up, gulping loudly as you both stood in the midst of the mess you'd made.

"I'll get the broom" you said, "and the mop."

"I've got the counter and the dishes" Toby said, walking to the cabinet and pulling down two saucers, "But first, let there be cake."

#creepypasta fluff #creepypasta #ticci toby #tobias rogers #toby rogers #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta fanart #ticci toby fanart

[after-witch]

White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve been with Kai Chisaki for three years. Your life is quiet and cozy and soothing. But what do you do when you realize you want more?

For request: Anonymous said: i love the way you write overhaul!! may i request more of him, please? what would he do if reader develops stockholm syndrome and wants to do the things which normal couples do, even wants to marry him or have kids? thank you!

Word count: 2200-ish

notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome

You should really ask Kai to get a new sofa for his office. His current one, the leather one which used to be shiny and pristine and rather intimidating for someone used to sitting on ratty chairs pilfered from curbs, has definitely seen better days. 

The seats are lumpier, now that you've spent years--3 years, one month, 3 days, but who's counting--in his life, sprawling on the sofa. Reading, napping, doing endless hobbies. Snuggling, when he was in the mood. An endless parade of legs and limbs, pillows and books, growing tiny scratches etched with your fingernails that you sit on to cover them up.

His entire office has your touches, now. The blanket you asked for last Christmas, a big fluffy bright purple affair, is draped over the back of the couch. He keeps your framed embroidered pieces on his desk, because--you assume, but he won't confirm, because he thinks it will hurt your feelings (it won't!)--he can easily stow them away when he has meetings to hold. You don't embroider much, anymore, but it was fun to take on a new hobby.

Kai is kind like that, to give you new hobbies to do. He doesn’t even mind when you get bored of them and move on to something else.

Your books are not as easy to stow away in case of guests, you think. They're scattered here, there, everywhere. In stacks, on shelves. You know there's one stuck under the sofa but you didn't really like the first book in the series and you've decided it should stay put as a result.

Bookmarks, some handmade, others handed over by Kai as a gift for this or that, sticking out of the well-worn pages. Once, you snuck on YouTube during your highly limited, highly precious tablet time (earned, as it were, over the past 2 years) and stumbled on a DIY for making resin bookmarks stuffed with trinkets, glitter, flowers, ink. You’ve yet to broach the subject with Kai, because one, it would mean admitting you snuck on YouTube but two, you don’t think he’ll let you work with resin. But, still. The seed has been planted and when it sprouts, you’ll get the nerve to ask him.

Your sleeping bag is in the laundry, wherever the laundry happens to be, but on colder days you like to spread it on the floor and have reading or hobby marathons while he works. It's childish, but he humors you. He always (mm, no--usually--he did shoot down requests for the dog, the cat, the fish, the rabbit, and the lizard) humors you. You appreciate that about him.

And you appreciate this moment, right now. You're curled up on the sofa, half of the soft blanket in your lap to keep you warm. A book is in your hand, something new from the best-seller list that Kai brought home in a tidy store bag. He brings lots of gifts, and you appreciate every one of them. Although Kai does make you declutter every month. If you didn’t, your room would be simply stuffed with gifts. You don’t begrudge him this, since he lets you keep anything that’s especially precious to you. It’s a fair trade--you’re precious to him and he keeps you, after all.

He's typing away on his laptop, the sound so familiar that it's practically white noise, and you sit on the couch and read. It's quiet. It's comforting. It's... domestic, really.

And it makes you sad.

Lately, sitting in Kai’s office--these quiet moments, these nice moments, just make you sad. You don't know why. Things are good right now, but you just feel weighted down, heavy. Lost and bored and aimless.

But it shouldn’t make you sad that you’re enjoying a new book. Maybe you’re sad about something else. You can’t remember having a bad dream. The outfit Kai picked out for you this morning was cute enough. You didn’t stub your toe getting into the tub. Kai didn’t tug on your hair when brushing out the knots. So… what’s wrong?

You turn your attention back to your book, trying to shake the feeling, shake the obtrusive thoughts that sometimes find their way to the surface now and then. But the words don't want to leap off the page, weaving a story in your mind that takes you into someone else's life and narrative and world for a few precious hours.

And here, again--you don’t know what’s wrong. It’s an interesting enough book, as books go. It's a domestic novel about domestic squabbles, a husband and wife who are 15 years and 3 children into their marriage; living in the pristine suburbs, tired of working and parenting and painted fences and tired of each other.

Maybe the book isn't clicking because you can't really relate. You would never get tired of such things, you think. To have a fence! Oh, to have a yard. Or maybe even have little children, with lives to manage and nurture. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You don't have those things. No--you can't have those things, can you? Your world has been shrunk down to a few rooms. Your bedroom. The bathroom. Kai's office. The clinic. You've made those rooms cozy and comforting. With things and time. But how could you have a toddler, a fence, a dog that barks too much in these limited walls, in this limited life?

And… how could you have any children running around when Kai has never expressed an interest in that sort of life with you. Oh, you've kissed. A few times. The memory of them makes your cheeks hot and you squirm, just a little, on the couch. You like to take those kisses with you at night, under the covers. But it's never been more than kisses, than light touches, than holding hands or feather-light strokes of your neck.

He's never gone further, never so much as asked. You also take this realization with you at night, though by morning the thoughts are gone. Now, in the daylight, they hit you hard and you can’t sleep to make them go fuzzy and grey.

Does he not want you in that way? You're not a virgin, and you don't know if he is, or isn't. But you thought you were attractive enough to... want. You kissed, he did kiss you, he does still kiss you now and then, but why not something more?

Maybe you were ugly. Maybe he felt pity for you. Maybe the kisses were just to keep you from going stir-crazy inside these walls and this life that never went anywhere. He was never going to want anything more than occasional touches, was he? And this was going to be your life, embroidering and reading and fussing about sleeping bags until you were old and grey and useless. A life wasted, a life slipped through the cracks. Your chest hurts and you wish you could fall asleep to make yourself stop thinking.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" Kai asks, keyboard silent, laptop humming.

Oh. You've been staring ahead this entire time. You feel cool tears wet on your cheeks. You do this sometimes, drift and stare and cry, and never seem to realize it. So you wipe your cheeks, and you smile. You don't want to worry him. He has so many things to worry about, things he won't tell you, because he knows best--you couldn't hope to understand his work. You are too naïve and kind, and he's got what your 90s-era self help books (you had a phase for reading them last January) call "street smarts."

When he doesn't resume his work, you try again. "It's nothing," you say, light and airy. "I was just thinking about a book."

Instead of typing, he shuts the laptop and your stomach immediately feels like it's going to float away. No, no, no, you've distracted him. He said he had a lot to do today, he said that! Why couldn't you just read your book and be good. Now he'll be upset and distracted and worried and it's all your fault.

You instinctively move over to make room as he sits down on the couch. You don't want to look at him, but you don’t want to not look at him. So you force yourself to smile, force yourself to look--not too happy, but, pleasant, and keep your eyes focused on his shoulders. He rests his hand on top of yours. You look up at his face--it’s only polite, it’s only kind--and the instance your gazes meet you immediately crumble. You cry. Ugly cry, the kind of crying you really hate to do. His look of surprised concern makes your heart twist. You really are bothering him.

But you have to know.

"Why don't you want to marry me?" Your voice is soft and hoarse and aching. Through your tears you see his look of genuine confusion, surprise--and even something sadder, something akin to hurt.

You want to explain. You want to explain how you've just realized that you'll never have kids and a nice big yard and he'll never come home from work to a good meal and kids running on hardwood floors to greet him. You'll never have a wedding with a fancy dress and tasteful invitations. You'll never argue with neighbors about your dog getting into their yard. 

You'll never learn to cook anything more than the shitty microwave meals you ate before you met him, because you've never even seen a kitchen in this place despite being here for years. You’ll never have any of it, except what you read about it books. How do you explain that you’re jealous of a bitter, old married couple because at least they had a life together?

The hand resting on top of yours squeezes and you finally feel the blustery courage to let it all spill out. The words come tumbling fast and thick and laced with a froggy hoarseness.

"Why can't we have a normal... a normal life? I can't have," you swallow, and take a shuddering breath. You're open, you've learned so many lessons to be open with Kai, but expressing these thoughts makes you feel queasy. What if he gets mad? 

“I can't have kids and a big yard and a dog that the neighbors don't like, because I'm here, in these little--these little walls and little rooms, and how can we have kids if we're not married, and how can we be married if you've only kissed me a few times? Why don't you want to be with me? What's wrong with me?"

You're hyperventilating now, and there's an old tingle that you've suppressed, the fear and rage and helplessness that once made you scream and throw and punch walls. You think about the book under the sofa and hate it so much for being there. You think about your embroidery sitting prettily on Kai’s desk and you want to rip out every single thread.

You think you really break open, about to grab something and just destroy it, when suddenly Kai’s gloved hands are on your cheeks and his mask is gone and oh, his lips are on yours and is that tongue you feel--it is, it definitely is--and he’s never kissed you like this, deep and warm and soft and wet.

He pulls away and you’re dumbfounded and you must look dumb, too, because Kai wipes away a stubborn line of drool on your bottom lip and chuckles, low and light. He leaves the ugly, thick tears that have stained your cheeks.

“Do you really think I don’t want to be with you?” His thumb strokes your lips and the seam of the glove tickles and sends a hot thrill shooting down your stomach. “Do you think I haven’t imagined our… future?”

His touch is soft and his words are soft and his gaze is familiar and comfortable; the look that makes your stomach do fumbles, the look he gives you when he’s letting you know that you’re being silly again.

“I… I don’t know,” you say, your shaky breath ghosting over his thumb. “It’s just--”

He presses his thumb on your lips and you quiet down, and you listen.

“I’m waiting until you’re ready. You know that I know what’s best for us, what’s best for you, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Then you know that we will have all those things--” you ignore the voice inside you, so small and silly now, that’s insisting you-won’t-you-won’t-you-won’t--- “but only when you’re ready.”

He smiles, and you smile, because you know that he’s right. You wipe away your own tears and grin, sheepish and feeling so ridiculous for having a fit right in the middle of the day like this.

You let yourself be tucked in, let Kai drape the soft blanket over your legs. He presses a kiss to your forehead and your lips tingle with envy. You watch as he goes back to his desk and sits down, as he replaces his gloves and his mask. All is well, all is back to normal.

Kai starts typing, and you let the white noise soothe you as you pick up your book and flip open to your bookmark. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask about the resin.

#yandere overhaul #yandere #yandere kai chisaki #overhaul x reader #afterwitch writes #he is SUCh... an asshole

[limenysnocket]

Cartoon Warfare

Summary: You and Taika are arguing over which you think the best Studio Ghibli movie is.

Warnings: Light swearing. Dropping another fluff on y'all.

A/N: Alright @honorarytenenbaum . Totoro Taika is among us. I plan to make this nice and soft.

“I can’t believe you would say that. I liked you before you said that.”

You roll your eyes at Taika’s wine-drunk statement. His cheeks are flushed with pink, and he has dramatically thrown his leg across his other. His red wine is sloshing around in his glass, and he may as well have taken the rest of the bottle, because very little was even left after you two got to it.

All the lights had been turned off except for a few candles in the kitchen keeping the house smelling good, while lit enough for two drunk adults to make their way back and forth for an endless amount of microwaved popcorn.

“Oh, come on, Spirited Away has to be one of the best Studio Ghibli films ever. I’m positive everyone has seen it,” you argue back with him, raising up your hands, sending a few pieces of buttery popcorn stuck to your fingers flying. Taika scoffs and sinks lower into his seat, just to make sure you were eye level with his Totoro stocking cap.

“I say that you’re wrong,” his voice gets a little higher and his head bobs side to side, to add some kind of emphasis to his speech. “My Neighbor Totoro has to be the best Studio Ghibli film of all time, and that is final. My hat says so. Plus, I don’t see any No-Face stocking caps that are as cool as mine circling the internet. So, ha!” He breathed heavily in your face, grinning wide. You flap your hands in front of your face to get rid of the smell, giggling to yourself.

“You are so making that up,” you huff, grabbing your phone and opening google. You frantically type in and search for any Studio Ghibli themed stocking caps that could be better than Taika’s. Sure, there were plenty to see, but there wasn’t a single No-Face stocking cap in sight. You feel the weight of his head nestle on your shoulder and a low, sarcastically whimpered hum leaves his lips.

“Aw, would you look at that,” he heckles in your ear and you squirm and squeal as he makes baby noises in your ear too close for comfort. He does two rounds of a sing-song voice, “My stocking cap is better,” off beat, and to a random tune. He leans back in his seat again with a nice, long sigh, and he tosses his arms over the back of his couch, not being too cautious about his wine glass. His eyes gloss over again and stare back at the screen. It was like he had forgotten how colorful, “Howl’s Moving Castle,” really was and he quickly became immersed in it.

You’re still scrolling through your phone, genuinely interested in finding a cute stocking cap so you and Taika could be a team, the next time someone decided to throw a random costume party. Taika lets out a longing groan when Sophie and Howl do something romantic. He sets his wine glass down and slowly lowers himself down on your lap, begging for your attention. He turns on his back and looks directly up at you when you lower your phone. His mustache wiggles side to side by his own devices and he smiles, looking drunk and adorable. You don’t have the heart to resist him, so you set your phone down and give him what he wants.

You hand slowly takes a hold of his cap and you slide it off, seeing the wild forest of curls. You set his cap down beside you and you just run your fingers through his hair. He looks so sweet as he closes his eyes and just hums with the feeling. “Best massage ever,” he giggles beneath his breath and sighs. You shake your head, laughing at his stupid pleasure. 

“You’re such a dork,” you whisper.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Taika grins back up at you, opening his eyes again, just to watch your expressions. He loved your pretty face. “You know what would make this even better, though?” he chimes in, reaching his large hand up and caressing your cheek. He smirks suddenly and pushes his lips out for a kiss, making a few smooching noises. You laugh, still petting his head, and you keep the hair out of his face for him.

He lifts up on his elbows just to be closer to you, and his lips meet yours once you bear through your breaths colliding. The kiss is sloppy, but you feel his sweet intentions through the wetness. His thumb still runs over your cheek and he slowly sits up, getting closer and closer to you until he is practically sitting in your lap. He doesn’t notice and neither do you, since you both never find the time to break away to watch the hell fire and flames going through the television screen and Howl is indubitably saving Sophie and his friends.

Your cheeks ran with red when he finally pulled away. He had a tough time pulling away, actually. It was followed up by many pecks and attempts at pulling you in for another long haul, but you would always turn you head the other way, giggling while he tried to hook your lips with his. Not long after, he had finally noticed the significant amount of weight he had sat on your lap, and he started giggling too.

“I think this situation turned a bit backwards,” he grinned. “See you’re the one supposed to be on my lap.”

You shake your head, eyes hinting with the faintest tint of orange from the television screen. “I think being the dominant one is nice for a change,” you stick your tongue out at him, and he attempts to nip at it.

“Ooh... kinky,” he smirked, obviously wanting to kiss you again, but you were quick to put your hand on his chest. You kissed his forehead.

“Your breath stinks,” you tease him. “You’re gonna have to eat a tictac, brush your teeth, or something... or, you could admit that Spirited Away is better than My Neighbor Totoro.”

He gasps, “Evil woman.” You throw your head back and cackle at him.

“You have to say it sometime,” you whisper, pursing your lips. “You’re lucky I don’t make you call someone and have you say it.”

“First off,” Taika points a finger at you, while getting up from your lap, “fuck you. Second, you couldn’t possibly get someone on the phone this late. Third, I’m gonna go brush my teeth, and I expect to have you in my lap and you make out with me, the moment I come back down stairs.”

You wave your hand at him while he slurred his way around the living room, stumbling slightly and using his phone for a flashlight to get up the stairs. You grab his Totoro cap and put it on, just for fun, and you lean back on the couch again, trying to catch up with the story on the screen, even though it’s nearing the end.

Heavy thumps indicate that Taika is heading back down the stairs. He’s rubbing his eyes and back with a pair of slippers on, instead of his lemon-colored socks. He flops down next to you on the couch and it takes him a moment, in his drunk state, to remember why he went to go brush his teeth in the first place. He pats his lap slowly. Well, it’s more like he slaps his lap twice to get your attention.

You smile, yawn and climb into his lap. You expect to be met with another sloppy kiss, but instead, he just tucks his face into the crook of your neck and takes in the deep scent of your skin. You smile into the air and just stare at the wall while he has his moment, hugging you close. “What happened up there in that bathroom, Taik?” you whisper.

“Well,” he breathes onto your skin after moments of silence, “I started missing you... then I can’t quite remember what happened after that.”

You slip your hand into his hair and scrub at his scalp tenderly, still smiling. “Did you even get to brushing your teeth, Mr. Waititi?” He just groans and buries his face deeper in your neck.

“I don’t remember that either,” he says, then lifts his head up. He leans forward. You know what he wants again. The kisses shared weren’t too long. Many whispers flew through the air, and everything was kept tender and wholesome. Although, a few things did walk a fine line.

He leans back slowly, putting himself flat on the couch. You squeeze in next to him, putting your back against his chest, knowing you both were too tired to get up to anything frisky tonight. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, brushing your hair away and placing random kisses to your cheeks, jaw and neck.

You were the first one to fall asleep, surprisingly, your eyes on the screen as Porco Rosso played and kept you entertained besides the tender kisses placed on your skin from time to time.

Taika has his hands on your stomach, rubbing it softly and wishing you sweet dreams. He buries his nose into your hair, nestling right under his cap that you were wearing, and breathes in deep. He cherished every moment like this that he shared with you. All the playful arguments and heated sessions made a storm rise in his belly. He was so in love with you, you didn’t even understand half of it. He would drive himself half-crazy just trying to write it down, or even find a single word to describe you. Leaving your side felt so painful, even if it was only for a few hours. It was like he couldn’t live without you.

Now, as you lay cuddled right up to his chest, breathing deep and sleeping softly, he snuggles up to you and closes his eyes to sleep.

“I love you...”

#taika waititi #taika waititi x reader #what we do in the shadows #fanfiction #taika waititi imagine #taika waititi imagines #taika waititi x you #taika waititi/you #Cartoons and love #I wanna talk about Totoro Taika plz #he's so cute #this man i swear

[zedwards]

MOVIE DATES WITH STRAY KIDS

stray kids x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.8k

warnings: intended for male reader, but can be read as gender neutral; my first fic 👉👈 im nervous; lowercase aesthetic; does “bastard” count as a swear word..?

i hope you enjoy this little gift :)

bang chan

he likes romantic comedies

tbh being chan’s s/o would feel like a romcom of its own

since he doesn’t like crowds, your movie dates together usually wouldn’t involve actually going to the movies

instead you’d probably both opt to stay in for the night and watch a movie on the couch

under multiple blankets

in each other’s arms

hugs and cuddles

with the occasional kiss on the top of your head

it’s so soft

it’s chan :)))

he does the little claps at the end of the movie

because happy endings ^–^

y’know those awkward scenes where the main couple meets for the first time?

he likes to point out which character you were most similar to when the two of you first met

“i didn’t know you were in this movie!”

“you look so different! i could hardly recognize you!”

he’s such a dork

all your movie nights would end in one of three ways:

1.) you falling asleep in his arms

2.) him falling asleep holding you close (yeah not really, this man doesn’t sleep that much T_T)

or 3.) you both make it through the movie, and one of you says something like

“this is nice...i wish we could just stay like this”

and so you both (in theory) fall asleep right where you are

either way, chan is the best boyfriend and neither of you know what you did to deserve each other

lee know

he’d get you to go see a horror movie

even if you protest, he’d manage to convince you somehow

pokes fun at you every time you get scared

during a suspenseful part in the movie, he’d suddenly put his hands on your shoulders and shake you (lightly) out of nowhere, just to startle you

and he’d have to stifle his giggles because your reaction is just too priceless

absolutely relishes in how you never let go of his arm

like ever

seriously, his arm might as well be an extension of your body at this point

he may act like he’s annoyed

but he loves it

cuz he knows it’s because you feel safe with him

and if you hide your face in the crook of his neck

he’d get this look on his face...

something between an evil smirk and an amused grin

why? because his plan is working

plot twist: the whole reason he chose to see a horror movie with you was so that you would cling to him

surprise!! >:]

but even if you catch on, he’ll never admit it

tsundere

“did you even see any of the movie?”

you just kinda grumble in response, still latched onto his arm

“i can’t believe it... i so generously paid for your ticket, only for you to hide your face the whole ti- OW!”

you jab him in the side with your elbow give him a “love tap” :)

but it’ll take more than that to get him to stop teasing you about it

he’s a cocky bastard but you love him to death for it

seo changbin

superhero movie!!!

like something from the mcu

seeing him get so excited/invested in the movie??

wholesome

but he might get a little too excited

in other words, going to the movies with changbin is an...interactive experience

meaning that he talks at the movie

not to the movie, but at the movie

like...he talks at the characters on screen

as if they can hear him

honestly it’s kinda cute

but occasionally you have to remind him to keep his voice down

“HE TRIED TO TELL YOU NOT TO TOUCH THE STONE”

“shhhh alright calm down a bit-”

“...AND NOW YOU DEAD”

“changbin i love you but please don’t get us kicked out of the theater”

10/10 would have his arm around you throughout the movie

even if his arm goes numb, he’d refuse to let anything stop him

“changbin, you don’t have t-”

“CUDDLES.”

lowkey feels like a pillow

bc he beefy

on very rare occasions he might fall asleep during the movie

if he does end up dozing off and you catch him in the act, he’d deny it profusely

he likes to spontaneously slip his hand into yours :)

and lace your fingers together :))

you’re holding hands now :)))

his presence is just so warm and fuzzy and you make each other so happy

hwang hyunjin

THIS MAN

the funnest(?) most fun bf in existence

he’s definitely the type to try and smuggle outside food into the theater

he insists that he’s inconspicuous about it

and he tries to be

but he’s not :)

“uh... hyunjin, why are you wearing two hoodies?”

“i uh... i’m... cold?”

“so you’re sticking bags of microwaveable popcorn in between your sweatshirts...to keep warm?”

*visibly sweating* “i can explain...”

ok ok

so y’all seeing a comedy

why?

because HIS LAUGH OMG

it’s so bubbly and contagious

so naturally, you’d both be laughing up a storm at the back of the theater

and sometimes it’s because of the movie

but most of the time it’s because of the side comments the two of you keep making to each other

and it doesn’t help that he keeps making these ridiculous observations about the characters in the movie

“what’s up with that guy?”

“what about him?”

“why is he built like a refrigerator?”

about halfway through the movie, you both reach that delirious state where literally anything and everything becomes funny

even if it’s not supposed to be funny

...especially if it’s not supposed to be funny

the two of you? lowkey hyenas

long story short, you’re both asked to leave the theater not even two hours into the film :)

han jisung

action!! movie!!

finishes the popcorn within the first ten minutes of the film

that is, if he doesn’t scarf it all down during the previews

he talks through the entIRE THING

he’s always got something to say

it’s like watching the director’s commentary version of a movie

but instead of the director talking about the film-making process

it’s jisung muttering nonsense in your ear

sometimes pertaining to the movie

and other times...

“hey did i ever tell you about the time i saw a seagull eating garbage?”

...yeah, other times it’s...not

either way, you don’t mind

because you aren’t really paying much attention to the movie anyways

you’re too busy admiring your boyfriend

how could you not?

the way he’s on the edge of his seat, giving the movie his full attention...

the light from the screen flickering dimly on his face, highlighting his gentle features...

you’re the luckiest person in the world, no doubt

his eyes light up whenever something particularly cool/badass happens in the movie

but he also gets startled by the explosions every now and then

when that happens, you just look at each other for a moment

and then burst into a fit of giggles

“stoooppp!! it was loud, ok??”

you just hum in response and rest your head on his shoulder

y’know that thing he does where like...

he’s giggling, but he has something he wants to say, so he keeps trying to talk?

but his words keep getting cut off by his own laughter?

yeah... that’s what he’s doing

he’s adorable

lee felix

animated movie

a firm believer that you’re never too old to enjoy cartoons

he never lost that child-like energy/enthusiasm, which is part of what makes him such a gem

so of course, when the new disney movie came out, he knew he had to go see it with you

he would definitely load up on snacks from concessions

if you don’t stop him, he’s gonna be buying two giant things of popcorn and at least five different kinds of candy

and when he walks back to you after paying, he’d just smile brightly from behind the mountain of junk food in his hands like

“snacks :D!!!!!”

seriously though, try to keep track of how much popcorn he eats

bc he might overeat and get a stomachache :((

obviously he can take care of him self, cuz he’s an adult

but like

he loves when you look out for him

because he knows just how much you care about him

sunshine boy :((

y’all already know how much of a cuddle bug this man is

so of course that means lots of cute, affectionate gestures during the movie

skinship

holding hands

you resting your head on his shoulder

and him resting his head on top of your head

and most importantly SNUGGLES

snuggles are a must

for him, movie dates are just an excuse to be extra touchy with you

even though he never needs an excuse to get cuddles whenever he wants

because c’mon

it’s felix

what are you gonna do, say no?

kim seungmin

murder mystery film

tends not to talk all that much during movies

he’d just be so completely engrossed in the movie that he’d forget about his surroundings

but that’s not to say he won’t hold your hand or drape his arm over your shoulders

every now and then you can catch him leaning forward in his seat

with his mouth slightly ajar

it’s so endearing

but if for whatever reason you want to get his attention...

heh...

yeah, good luck with that

you’d have to maybe give his hand a lil squeeze to get his attention

and at first he’d just turn his head in your direction, keeping his eyes glued to the movie

but if you gave his hand another squeeze, he’d snap out of it

“psst...seungmin”

“mm.”

“hey, seungmin?”

“huh? yeah?”

“i love you”

if that doesn’t make his heart SWELL—

his dazed expression would quickly shift into one of pure elation and fondness

he might not respond verbally

but he’d gently bring your hand up to his lips

press a soft kiss atop your knuckles

and then lower your hand again without letting go, turning his attention back to the movie

but that bright smile of his would never falter for even a moment

he loves you too

so so much :)

yang jeongin

another one for romantic comedies

he likes it when there’s a little less “rom” and slightly more “com”

and so do you

because it means you get to hear his laugh more

oh god...

his laugh

the little giggles in between the short gasps for air...

so cute

“no. i’m not cute.”

he is very cute

probably won’t initiate any skinship

but if you do, he will absolutely go along with it

sometimes he’ll nod off in the middle of a movie

and then wake up during the credits, completely disoriented

“where am i”

“you fell asleep”

“huh??”

“you drooled a little on my shoulder, you goof”

unlike hyunjin, he’s really good at sneaking food into the theaters

like really really good

almost to the point that it’s scary

usually people try to sneak in popcorn or candy or maybe soda

well not jeongin

“hey, you want some?”

“what the- HOW DID YOU GET A BUCKET OF FRIED CHICKEN IN HERE”

“:]”

he’s not telling

like or reblog if you enjoyed ^^ feedback is always welcome and very much appreciated!

#kpop x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop drabbles #kpop x you #kpop x y/n #kpop fluff #kpop x gender neutral reader #kpop x male reader #kpop male reader #kpop mlm #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids fluff #stray kids x gender neutral reader #stray kids x male reader #stray kids male reader #stray kids mlm #bang chan x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

[jeogiyall]

Growing Pains; Song Mingi

Word count; 21.5k

Genre; Mingi X Reader, Hongjoong X Reader, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, College AU, Angst, Fluff but Barely

Request: “ hey can I please request a college au with #11 and #17 with mingi from ateez! can it also be long and really angsty but with a comforting ending?? love your work by the way ❤ “

Additional; Featured Ateez, Rebound Hongjoong

Warnings; General Angst, Depicts Depression, Honestly Just Really Sad lol

A/N; this took me so freaking long to write, i’m really sorry to whoever requested it dhkdsfsdaf!! i hope you enjoy it! i haven’t been to college yet so this is all based off of books i’ve read or stories that i’ve been told. if anything is inaccurate i’m sorry, i’ll be learning about really soon lol. if you you like this fic please leave a like or some kind words! love you all, happy reading!

It was a summer day when the local neighborhood bullies pushed you off of your barbie themed bike for the umpteenth time. You remember scraping your knee, dropping your strawberry ice cream cone, then seeing the older boys approach you with malicious grins. But before they could fully reach you there was someone else, someone with limbs that were a bit too long and knees that were raw like yours. Any other day you would’ve found it unbelievably embarrassing that this bozo thinks he can handle this situation any better than you. As if you haven’t been handling this for years. 

But with him it was different. He somehow scared off the crude boys, then offered his hand to hoist you from the pavement while looking sadly at your discarded ice cream cone.

“I’m sorry about your ice cream.” You remember his voice being creaky, like it was always about to break (which it did, frequently,) “I’ll make you some whenever it snows! Th-that’s the only way that I know how to make it, but it’s really good I promise!” He was excited, almost like a puppy. Some part of you thought that it was cute, the bigger part knew he was probably just pitying you. Pitying you the same way that everyone does when you tell them of your constant bullying, only to forget about it in a week and leave you to the wolves. 

“Oh it’s okay, um…”

“Mingi.”

“Mingi!” You repeated the syllables, allowing their taste to form on your tongue. It’s sweet, like an orange soda and going to bed too late, “It’s okay Mingi, you don’t have to pretend like it matters.” Where you thought that his features would fade into relief they pull taught with sadness. He almost looked offended.

“You’re (Y/n,) right?” You nod shortly, eyes welling with tears for no apparent reason, “I-I’m not pretending. It matters.” Something about the way he gazes at you makes you think he’s been wanting to say that for a long time. 

“N-not really, they’re just mean sometimes. Besides, even if it did matter no one can stop it. No one’s ever stopped it.” It felt like you’d crossed a line. Cut the cake before you were supposed to, put out words you were meant to swallow down. Tears were really about to start falling, until Mingi took your skinned palms into his own larger ones. The clench of familiarity in your chest is enough to snuff out the stinging.

“I’ll stop it. I’ll do everything in my power to stop it.” He rubbed his thumb over the top of your hand, and it felt so nice. The gentle touch of someone who could be a friend. The notion that someone wanted you. It felt so nice and foreign and familiar all at once. So you nodded.

“Okay.” He squeezed your hand excitedly then surged forward, but stopped just before his arms could take home on your shoulders. You notice that he smells nice, like oranges and cinnamon.

“Can I hug you?” And just like that he’s made his way into the walls that you’ve already managed to build up.

“Okay.”

The boy holds true to his promise when two weeks later the boys approach you in the hallway, all cheery smiles and cold eyes. It’s a common exchange, they show up and tell you that you look nice today or some other fake compliment before demanding that you give them all of your lunch money. Which sounds stupid, until it’s two in the afternoon and you haven’t eaten all day and you won’t get to for another half hour.

But before anything can happen, Mingi is at your side and talking about his advanced math class. You watch as the boys slowly disperse at your friends silly rambling until it’s just the two of you. A deep breath floods your lungs as he softly punches your bicep in a way that’s starting to feel normal.

“Told you so. Do you want to come over for ice cream after school?” It’s silly how the words fill you with warmth, but you don’t even care. Because what you have here is so secure, and you know that it always will be.

And it always is. Mingi’s friendship is solid throughout your entire life, even when you started high school and nearly everything was shaky. Even when he grew out of the awkward limbs and squeaky voice, and all of the girls at your school wanted his attention. Day after day, Mingi would reject their proposals with a simple “I’m busy,” when the truth of the matter was that he would be sitting with you. Alone. In his basement, watching Star Wars on VHS tapes while eating strawberry ice cream and popcorn.

You remember turning to him one night, eyes drinking in the sight of his side profile illuminated by an exploding death star. He smiled widely, clapping his hands the way that he always does at that part. A deep sigh resounded through your chest, causing the boy to look at you with furrowed brows. For what must have been the millionth time, your eyes locked with his. Words weren’t even necessary for comfort.

“Why did you want to be friends with me? No one has ever cared about me too much, so why did you? I didn’t have anyone, why did you want to be my someone?” Your question sounds small, voice wavering gently.

“Maybe I needed someone too.” The response was so quick. Like he had pondered it before. As if he knew every doubt that you were having, and knew that you didn’t need to have them. 

From that night on, Mingi was more than your best friend. More than someone who you spent everyday with. No, he became your partner in almost everything. He took you to the school dance, stood beside you at every sports game, spent long nights trying to decipher math problems. No one was surprised when you two started applying to the same colleges, you weren’t even sure that you’d survive living without him. Judging by the pattering of his heart each time you entered a room, Mingi thought so too.

Over the years of close proximity and healthy doses of codependency, Mingi’s feelings towards you had progressed slightly past friendship. Not that he didn’t still think of you in that way, obviously. It’s just that whenever you fell asleep on his chest halfway through star wars marathons he’d have to will his heart to beat a tiny bit slower, or when his family brought you along to the beach he had to remind himself that it was rude to stare. The shift in his feelings started about three months into your sophomore year together, while stuffing your face with greasy fast food burgers after a wildly unimpressive football game. Neither of you ever cared about school sports too much, yet you were present every single week. When Mingi asked why, you claimed it was to get him out of the house. He’s pretty sure it was so that you’d have an excuse to get burgers afterwards, though. 

The boy distinctly remembers looking up over his boat of fries to see you with full cheeks, one strand of hair sticking to your slightly sweaty forehead. He remembers the bustling sounds of the diner going silent as his eyes drank in the sight of you for what felt like the first time ever. He remembers thinking that he wouldn’t know how to live life if it weren’t for you. Thinking that life wouldn’t be worth living if it weren’t for you.

“What?” You had questioned, nearly spitting out bits of cheeseburger onto your friends fries. If Mingi wasn’t so infatuated in that moment, he would have been disgusted. 

“You’re gross.” He laughed, one hand moving to nudge your shoulder. From that moment on, Mingi thought of you as just a little bit more than a friend. Just a little bit more than a movie marathon partner, just a little bit more than someone to spend late nights with. A little bit more than someone who helped move you into a college dorm, too. 

“Who on this forsaken earth thought that loft beds were a good idea?” You heave, flinging yourself onto the elevated mattress. It’s far from comfortable, and you’ve had to carry countless boxes up two flights of stairs due to the lack of an elevator, and the hallway smells distinctly of burnt microwave popcorn, but you have never in your life felt more free. High school was absolute torture, and while you did have Mingi to lean on you were still terribly lonely for those four years. Every other girl had a group to sit with, or someone to drag along to the bathroom with them in the middle of class. Having only one friend typically meant having absolutely no classes with them. 

But you’re here now, hundreds of miles away from the tattered building where you used to go to school. The only person on the entire campus that even knows your name at this point is Mingi, which in turn means he’s the only person that knows about your habit of loneliness. You intend to keep it that way, too. Every shy kid hears it from their parents, ‘College will be so good for you,’ ‘You’re really gonna come out of your shell in college,’ but those words meant more to you than an empty promise. In the last few months when you were so terribly lonely that all you had was Mingi and writing until your fingertips fell off, those words were your lifeline.

“Probably someone that didn’t get enough hugs as a kid.” Your friend responds while dropping the final box, which is filled with nothing but fuzzy sock, onto the pile that’s accumulating on the desk that’s squeezed under your cursed bed, “Looks like the last of it.” You nod, cheek brushing gently against the uncovered mattress. It creaks loudly when you shift, which is something you’re sure that you’ll never get used to.

“Are you sure that you don’t want help unpacking?” You barely look up while asking the question, nuzzling even closer into the awful bed. It takes a certain level of shamelessness to sleep on a fully uncovered mattress while a random stranger could walk in and drop all of their stuff on the floor, but you swear to the stars that you’re about there. Mingi appears to be the same way, taking to resting against your yet-to-arrive roommates desk.

“Yea I’m sure, my roommate’s this absolute giant, Yunho I think? He promised to help, so I’m all good.” A hollow laugh leaves your throat, aching with sleepiness. Mingi’s eyes soften ever so slightly before casting to your dirty tile floor.

 “Sounds nice.” There’s a nod, then a groan, then shuffling on everyone's part before Mingi is standing in your doorway and casting a soft gaze to your sleepy form.

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” A low humph resounds as your answer, but Mingi knows there’s no weight. You’re going to lay on that loft bed, sleeping like a rock until someone bothers to wake you up.

The someone just so happens to be Mingi, five hours later in a fresh hoodie that has your universities name embroidered across the chest. First you notice the perfectly made bed across the room, then the lack of another girl, then the scrent of oranges mixed with cinnamon, then finally Mingi nudging your shoulder from the ground while holding a Styrofoam bowl of hot food. 

“D-did I miss dinner?” Your eyes squint harshly, the way they always do when someone’s just woken you up. 

“Yea.”

“Sorry.” Mingis heart clenches tightly at your slurred speech, then again at your fluttering eyelids.

“S’okay, I brought you food.” His voice sounds warm, low. Like the Mingi that you’ve always known. You sit up and accept the to go bowl he’s passing up before patting the empty spot next to you. Within seconds the boy is next to you and offering utensils along with his arm around your shoulder, “It’s ramen.”

“Really?” The boy nods, fluffy brown hair falling onto his forehead as you excitedly rip the lid off. The smell of spicy ramen wafts through your otherwise empty dorm, and while it’s not the same as what Mingis mom would make from scratch on Winter days it still fills your belly with an immeasurable warmth, “Have I ever mentioned that you’re my favorite person?” Your shoulders relax thanks to a mouthful of slick curly noodles, Mingi can feel each individual muscle give way beneath his touch.

“Once or twice.” 

The two of you spend that night curled up on your bed sharing bites of the warm soup, and even once it’s done and the bowl is disposed of it still feels like old times. His arm is resting around you, the conversation is happening effortlessly, laughter is bouncing from every last tile. It doesn’t exactly fit in with your ‘new school, new me’  narrative, but that’s okay. You can always spend one night in comfort seeing as the following nights will be spent doing thousands of things out of your comfort zone.

When the time comes for him to walk back to his own dorm building, it’s well past dark outside, your clock ticking dangerously close to midnight from its perch on the (useless) nightstand. The boy hugs you in the doorway, making you pinky promise to not sleep through lunch tomorrow. 

“I won’t, I promise! Please don’t tell me that I left you sitting alone!” He exhales a short laugh at your furrowing eyebrows, his hand taking home on your shoulder in an attempt to squeeze out your tension.

“Not at all, Yunho has like a ton of friends. They’re funny, too.” 

“Really?” Mingi squeezes your shoulder one last before nodding. 

“Really.” 

He walks home in silence, the beginnings of an Autumn breeze kissing his cheeks. Upon arriving at the dorm Yunho spins around in his desk chair, smirking at the younger boy as if he knows something that Mingi doesn’t. 

“Where’d you go after dinner? We were gonna invite you to Wooyoung and Sans apartment.” Yunho leans back in the chair, it’s legs teetering precariously in a way that would debilitate elementary teachers.

“Oh, thanks! Maybe next time, I had to check on a friend.” Yunho quirks an eyebrow as Mingi begins to climb into his bed, kicking his shoes off at the base of the wobbly ladder.

“A girlfriend?” The question should be shocking, Yunho doesn’t even know that you exist for crying out loud, but he is so used to it. After being your best friend and caring for you as deeply as he does, he is so used to it.

“Nope, why do you ask.” The older boy simply shrugs, grounding his chair and picking up a stubby pencil. 

“Just an inkling. Lots of girls came up to you in line, you seemed less than interested.” Mingi ponders his response, because what do you even say to that? He doesn’t have a girlfriend, he’s not interested in anyone, he only has you to worry about. You, with your laugh that defines his childhood. You, with eyes that shoot wide anytime you’re worried about accidentally offending someone. You, who wants to make a new person in the coming year; and you, who Mingi wants to convince that you don’t have to change.

“Nope, she’s just a friend.” He decides, the words falling flat in the cramped room.

“Whatever you say.” 

Mingi lays sleeplessly in his bed for hours, his head pounding with the thought of how hard your connection with him is becoming. He loves you in more ways than one, but he doesn’t love the ache in his chest whenever he has to leave you. He doesn’t love that way that the weight of your touch haunts him for days, when for you it’s probably just something easy and meaningless. He doesn’t love being less to you than you are to him. 

But he does love you, in a way that’s impenetrable and everlasting. That alone is almost enough to make everything worthwhile. Almost.

*

It turns out the whole ‘new school new me’ thing is much harder than you previously anticipated. Naïve senior you thought that maybe you could meet new people through your roommate, but that didn’t exactly work out. It’s been two weeks and all you know about her is that she’s a junior, and that she really doesn’t want to be staying in a dorm. 

So, that’s obviously not going the way that you’d hoped. There is another person though, and he’s been a great help in meeting new people. He is a roommate, ironically enough. Just not your own.

Jeong Yunho, sophomore, fading blue hair, cheeks that look like freshly baked bread, brown eyes that sparkle a little bit when you ask about his major (biology, which is something that you know far too much about after a brief stop by Mingis dorm,) and a head that hits damn near every doorway it passes through. He has to duck to get into the cafeteria. But he’s sweet, like the guy who you could ask for help with homework. And he has so many friends, who are all terribly boisterous, that just eating lunch is like going out of your comfort zone.

Which is enough for you, but apparently not Mingi.

It’s a classic Friday night marathon, you already cuddled up on your bed with Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire pulled up on your laptop. The only thing left to accomplish is getting Mingi next to you and watching the movies, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan that your friend has. When he opens the door to your dorm you immediately notice the lack of Harry Potter pajama pants and popcorn. Instead he’s opted for movie night chic, with jeans that have something written on the left thigh and a white t-shirt that hangs off his lithe torso. His caramel brown hair is pushed back in a way that you’re not used to seeing, but it looks good. Attractive, even. There’s something about seeing him all dressed up and handsome while you’re in measly shorts and a platform 9 3/4 t-shirt that makes your cheeks go hot.

“I didn’t tell you before because I knew that you would say no, but Hongjoong and Seonghwa are having a party tonight and we’re going. Surprise!” Your mouth drops open at Mingi’s form of greeting. Before you can even process what’s been said he’s shaking the rail of your loft bed and chanting ‘Get up! Get up!’ 

“What about Harry Potter night?” You question dumbly while shimmying down your ladder. Obviously Harry Potter night has been discarded in favor of a house party, you don’t need Mingi to say anything to gather that much information, “Seonghwa is okay with a party in their apartment?” Mingi laughs gently, a soft shake of his shoulders and glittering eyes. It’s the only familiar thing about your interaction thus far. 

“The boys said that it’ll hardly be a party, probably too few people and too many wine coolers. Maybe some jazz, Seonghwa’s pretentious like that y’know?” He opens your closet door for you and starts to wrack through the few dresses in the very back. You’d never had much of a reason to buy any dresses. 

“Believe me, I know.” Seonghwa was one of the first of Yunho’s friends that you’d met, and while he wasn’t an ass about it he was definitely a little pretentious. It’s probably hard to be an art major for three years and not be pretentious, “Do I have to wear a dress?”

“You don’t have to, but-” 

Long story short, you find yourself sitting on a suede couch clad in a red plaid mini dress that you only bought for a neighborhood Christmas party in your sophomore year and your one pair of worn leather boots. It’s a tight fitting thing, meant to be worn over turtlenecks and with tights, but Mingi insisted that it would look good alone. He’s not wrong either, ever since you set foot into the surprisingly swanky off campus housing your lunch mates have been showering you in compliments. It started with Wooyoung wolf whistling and asking for your phone number, then Hongjoong asking if he could’ve complimented you in a way that was any weirder, then San giving you a stemless wine glass and announcing ‘A sparkling cider for the lady,’ in the most offensive British accent you’ve ever heard. It was for sure a strange form of flattery, but flattery nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry about Wooyoung, he apparently hasn’t been house trained yet.” Hongjoong jokes while settling you onto his plush, red hair briefly sweeping in front of his attentive brown eyes, “Though we can’t really blame him because of the whole sports medicine thing.” You hear a brief ‘I heard that!’ waft from the kitchen, where Yunho and Seonghwa have gathered the majority of the boys. It makes Hongjoong giggle a little bit, and the sound is so clear and gentle that you find yourself giggling too.

“I guess we can’t.” Your eyes move to take in the living room, which is filled with your lunchmates and some extra people who you don’t know in the slightest. First there’s San, your fellow literature major who just switched from middle school education. Then Yeosang, a quiet sophomore who majors in political science. He usually only talks at lunch to tell his table mates that they sound ridiculous, but every once in a while he'll indulge their antics. Lastly there’s Jongho, the only other freshman in the room with you that you know of. You’ve only just finished your second week but everyone’s already expecting him to be the star student of the music program for the next four years. 

Everything about this situation reads anxiety. Mingi is already in a different room, you’ve barely held a conversation with any of these guys before, someone in the corner is definitely getting a little too drunk into a ficus tree in the corner of the room. But you aren’t nervous. A little tense maybe but who wouldn’t be? You certainly aren’t nervous the way that high school you would’ve been nervous.

“He’s not wrong, you know.” Your eyebrows shoot up with a quiet ‘hm?’ behind your lips. It’s mostly because you think you’ve missed something that Hongjoong said.

“Not wrong about what?” He looks at you with his brown eyes and a lopsided grin, and when you look back it feels like he’s asking for permission to unravel you.

“That you look pretty.” 

It’s not his words that take you off guard, or how he pinches your cheeks afterwards, or even him getting off of the couch and bouncing into the kitchen like a kid coming down the stairs. Your heart barely announces a flutter, your cheeks barely give way to heat. He was probably tipsy. It’s just that no one has ever noticed you in that way. No one other than Mingi has ever really called you pretty.

So it leaves an impression, to say the least.

Quickly after Hongjoong leaves, San takes his place, Jongho sitting on the floor and nuzzling into the older boy's legs. The three of you talk for hours, Jongho sharing your disdain for grumpy roommates (he says that Yeosang throws pillows at him when he starts practicing) and San for Beowulf. He does mention that your creative writing class is fun, to which you agree. Fun, but ever so stifling for creativity. 

It’s a simple kind of conversation, the kind that doesn’t tell anything too personal but still gives insight into the people having it. San throws in a few anecdotes about him and Wooyoung in high school, Jongho shows you a bruise he got from fumbling up the ladder to his loft bed. You even include a few of the controversial star wars opinions that you and Mingi came up with at three in the morning so many years ago. It’s simple, weightless.

When Mingi walks you back to your dorm that night he pauses outside of the door, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from your eyes.

“Hongjoong asked me about you.” He says, a smile playing onto his lips. Something about the way that it doesn’t fully reach his brown eyes makes it seem sad.

“Really?” The memory of Hongjoongs hands on your face, his cute voice burning the words ‘you look pretty’ into the back of your mind, “W-What did he ask?”

“Just basic stuff. How long we’ve known each other, your major...” He wants to add ‘whether or not we’re dating,’ because that’s the question that struck him the most. Mingi doesn’t know Hongjoong too well, but he knows that the older boy is sweet and respectable. If Mingi explained all of this mess to him, Hongjoong probably wouldn’t think twice, just go about his day and be friendly as always. But Mingi didn’t explain it, he said that you guys are just friends and that it’s never been anything more than that. Hongjoong smiled in a way that made Mingi’s chest ache and thanked him before bouncing off to entertain Seonghwa. He remembers feeling taken aback, then like he should go talk to the pretty girl that’s been eyeing him in calculus, “I can’t do movie night next week. I-I have a date.”

And it’s something about those words that manages to crawl into your body and find a home in your heart, then pump throughout your entire bloodstream. You shouldn’t be upset. You have no reason to be upset. Mingi is your best friend, and you were stuttering about Hongjoong mere seconds ago, and you shouldn’t be upset right now.

“Oh, okay... Just don’t forget about me.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but Mingi looks at you like you’re the moon. With care glimmering in his irises and adoration adorning the glow of his cheeks. You think to yourself that there’s something special in the air, then that you shouldn’t be upset.

You have no reason to be upset.

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

*

The next time that you see Mingi is at lunch on Monday, but he doesn’t take his normal seat next to you. He can’t when you’re already sandwiched between Jongho and San, who are talking in intense detail about their terrible morning classes. Sometimes you can join in, seeing as you and San share classes, but for the most part they just banter. Hongjoong is taking up the seat in front of you, his chin resting on his palm while he nods attentively to everything the younger boys are saying. He reminds Jongho that he needs to be getting sleep, and that life doesn’t happen in practice rooms. He tells San to eat his food whenever the boy gets a little bit too excited. He even asks about your day, to which you respond with something simple and lame. When you mention being tired he gives you the rest of his coffee.

Mingi comes to the table nearly twelve minutes after you do, and it’s not really a big deal that he can’t take his usual seat. There’s a chair between Wooyoung and Yunho at the end of the table, which is perfectly fine. The two of you know each other well enough that a simple look can be translated to ‘It’s okay, we’ll see each other later.’ Which is perfectly fine. You both have a lunch that is perfectly fine.

The week continues on like that, though. Missing each other by a hair's breadth. On Wednesday his intro to statistical methods test goes so late that he misses your scheduled coffee run, then when you tried to surprise him in his dorm later that night, Yunho had to inform you that he was holed up in the library with some of the people in his calculus class (Yunho let you come in and made hot chocolate in the Keurig, so overall the night wasn’t too bad.) Then on Thursday you skipped lunch, opting instead to finish the assigned Beowulf reading at the last possible minute. You hated every minute of it, but not as much as you would’ve hated failing your second ever quiz. San sent you a picture of himself and Hongjoong pouting around your empty chair and Mingi in the background laughing at something that Wooyoung had done to Seonghwa. 

Friday night feels more lonely than you had expected. Your bed is empty without the taller boy sitting in it beside you. The movie gets cut off halfway through when your roommate stumbles in and announces that she’s going to sleep, which is the most she’s ever said to you at one time. You turn off your laptop and fall into the uncomfortable bed that you’re slowly getting used to. This is okay. You remind yourself that you shouldn’t be upset and that this is okay. 

Right as sleep is about to wash over the room your phone lights up with a message from Mingi. It’s a picture of his hand cradling the chin of a golden retriever puppy, and beneath he’s written ‘we found these dogs in the courtyard. sleep well :)’ 

After reading the message three times over and staring at the image for ten minutes you start to believe your words. This is okay.

You shouldn’t be upset and this is okay.

*

Your high school had three classes per semester then one free period for a study hall. Mingi would always make this huge deal out of lining up your study halls, claiming that he needed help with his English classes. In reality you were the person that needed help with classes, namely math and science, but he’d always insist that it was because of whatever book he had for assigned reading in the upcoming class. 

There was this one semester, though, where you had four classes. Anatomy, geometry, personal finance, and then your absolute saving grace. Creative writing. 

It was a true blessing, honestly. Since every other class was absolute torture, and you didn’t really have any Mingi time to take the edge off of your day, that class was your favorite part of nearly every day. You would kind of use it as an escape, just sit in the isolated corner desk, tap the toe of your then fresh leather boots, and write about any and everything that came to mind. The teacher liked one of your stories so much that he framed it. 

Seeing as that was your only experience when you saw ‘Introduction To Creative Writing’ on your schedule you were ecstatic. You thought that you’d just get to sit and write anything that you wanted. Needless to say, it is nothing at all like your high school class. The teacher speaks too quickly and assigns nearly a million readings. He waited four weeks to let the students do any actual writing, a fact that San was most grateful for. You, however, were dying.

You think the assignment is kind of stupid, too. Focus on a setting, no characters. Just the setting. It took a while for you to get it just right, but after about a week of staying up past midnight you wrote something that was actually good enough to read. It was nearly two pages about Florence Italy, going in depth about the winding roads. You commented that they were the kind of streets that lent way to deep discussion. The kind that begged for secrets to be shared.

All in all, you were quite proud of it. You even considered showing it to Mingi, until it came back with a bright red C sketched on the front. It was covered top to bottom in red ink markings, none of which were comments about your grammar. No, these notes were personal. This sentence is lifeless. Your tone shift is unnecessary. I’m not sure that this is actually in Italy. 

San asked about your grade on the way to your European literature class that day, right as you’re reading over the harshest note of them all. He says that he got an A minus, which makes perfect sense. San isn’t lifeless, he doesn’t do unnecessary things. 

“My grade is fine.” You choke out, eyes endlessly tracing over the red notation. 

‘This feels lonely.’ 

In a way, you suppose that it is. 

*

“So you did this every single Friday night?” Yunho questions while sandwiching his way onto Mingi’s bed. It would probably be normal to be upset that your movie is being infiltrated by your friends roommate and Hongjoong, but you’re just so grateful for the movie night to actually happen that it doesn’t matter.

“Sounds about right.” You’re about to comment that you’ve skipped the past two weeks, but the words twinge with resentment right as they’re about to come out. So you swallow them down while scooching into Mingi’s side. Hongjoong immediately fills the new space beside you, his hands occupied with fuzzy blankets that have various patterns. One has corgi’s and hearts printed from corner to corner.

“I don’t know if that’s lame or endearing.” The older boy comments while spreading the blanket you’d been eyeing across your lap. Yunho laughs while taking in a mouthful of microwave popcorn, and you think to yourself that this isn’t so bad. Having a movie night with more people than usual is better than having none at all. There’s more snacks and extra blankets now, so you don’t have to burrow into Mingi’s comforter halfway through and tangle your legs together. Because you’ve never wanted to do that before, it just happened out of habit and necessity. Definitely habit and necessity. Definitely. 

There’s also not much difference in the essence of movie night. Someone still interrupts serious scenes to crack a joke, you still tell Mingi that he’s breathing too loud, by the time the credits are rolling you still find grease stains on the underside of Mingis comforter. It’s from all of the years of him using the plush blanket in place of a napkin, and the years of you telling him that he’s going to stain it.

Mingi walks you back to your dorm that night. When he stops in front of the door and lets out a deep exhale it almost feels like you haven’t skipped the past two weeks. It almost feels normal.

“I’m glad that at least one of us has a cool roommate.” He comments idly, eyes raking over your growing smile.

“With cool friends.” There’s a gentle laugh, and you’re not exactly sure why. Nothing is funny, just familiar. Maybe a bit tense, though you suppose you don’t know the reason for that either.

“Yea. Cool friends.” Mingis feet shuffle, brown hair flopping onto the bridge of his nose as his gaze takes purchase on the floor. He smells like oranges and cinnamon. He always has. You think that he looks nice like this, with the flickering hall lights illuminating his face. This is probably what Mingi was always meant to look like. Real, and handsome, and grown, “I think we should switch movie nights to once a month.”

And if this whole thing was a little tense before, like an ornament hanging on by it’s hook around one green needle from a Christmas tree, it’s worse now. It’s broken shards of glass all over your living room floor, willing and ready to pierce your foot and stain the carpet. It’s the gaping hole in your Christmas tree. It’s your mom's favorite Santa no longer having a head.

“O-oh... Once a month?” Mingi nods gently. It almost looks like he doesn’t want to be nodding, but he is. He is, and it’s pulling your heartstrings like an orchestra. 

“Yea, I just figured that’d be easier since we’re so busy. Y’know, with classes and friends...” You wonder if he’s going to say something else. Like dates with girls from his calculus class. He never does, but you can feel it.

“I know, I-I’m like... Super busy with all of my f-friends.” A heartless laugh leaves you, and Mingi replies with a smile that doesn’t quite crinkle his eyes, “But yea. Once a month, once a month. Once a month totally works for me.” He takes a step towards you.

“Look, (y/n-)” You think that he’s about to comfort you, which of course would be welcome. Comfort from your very best friend is always welcome. It’s just that a small part of you is worried that he’s going to take it back. You’re worried that he’s going to tell you that it’s whatever and you can have movie night every week until you die and that he’s going to live life in college dragged down by your stupid, lonely self. You’re worried that he’s going to drop it, and that you’ll never live it down.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch, yea?” Before the boy can even fully nod, which makes you sick to your stomach for no apparent reason, you’re scrambling desperately for the doorknob to your dorm. You think that you may hear him say goodbye, or wait, or something. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Everything matters. You just want to be inside. 

When you get inside your roommate is sitting on her bed with earbuds in, though they don’t appear to be playing anything. She looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, and you can’t really blame her. In the rush to get away from Mingi you probably ended up looking a bit frazzled. 

“Um... Are you okay?” She questions, her mouth making a perfect circle. You nod fervently while bringing your palms up to pull at your cheeks. They’re wet. You’re not sure when they turned wet. 

“I’m fine. It’s okay.” 

Sometimes you say something so many times that it doesn’t sound real anymore. I’m okay, this is okay. I’m okay, this is okay, This is okay, this is okay. Okay, okay, okay...

If your roommate hears you sniffling and shaking while alone in bed that night, she makes no comment. It’s the first thing she’s given you to be grateful about all year. 

*

One of your biggest concerns before starting college was walking to classes alone. All throughout high school Mingi would walk with you across the tiny campus, somehow managing to drown out the crowded hallways with laughter and tips for quizzes. When you were taking discrete mathematics he’d walk backwards down the hallway while showing you flashcards. 

Obviously you knew that wouldn’t be feasible in college. You might not have known many things before coming here, but you knew that vastly different majors would lead to vastly different classes. You knew that Mingi wasn’t going to wake up at eight am every Wednesday to walk you to your lectures. Knowing didn’t seem to make the actual act of it any easier in your brain.

But after just one week you started to look forward to the trek to your classes. At first it was because you could listen to the assigned readings in the amount of time it took you to get from your door to your desk, however that hasn’t been necessary since your social calendar became suddenly clear. You just do the readings at night in your loft bed, which hasn’t gotten any comfier, then use the walk as a time to relax. To think without impositions, even though they’d find their way to you most mornings. 

Today your imposition is dressed in jeans with painting above the knee and a sweater that’s too big, tufts of red hair sticking out from beneath his black beanie.

“What are you doing out so early?” Hongjoong asks while jogging to take up the spot next to you, pulling on the strap of your bookbag as he arrives. When you fully look at his face you can see a dusting of pink across his nose. You think it’s from the light fall wind.

“I could ask the same thing of you.” You think that he looks pretty like this, with inklings of the rising sun taking purchase on his face. You almost think that anyone would look pretty like this.

“I’m out for a walk. Also grabbing muffins from the campus cafe, we’re out of food and Seonghwa’s mgonna be hungry.” His voice sounds groggy with sleep, like maybe he hasn’t been awake long. The notion conjures an image in your head of Hongjoong detangling himself from bed and trekking out to campus all so that his friend would surely have something to eat. It makes this whole exchange just a little bit easier, “Your turn.”

“I have an eight am class.” The boys eyebrows knit together as he looks at his darkened phone screen.

“It’s seven fifteen.” 

“... I don’t like my roommate?” At that wimpy explanation he laughs, a gentle laugh that was made for morning, then hooks his arm through your own. The weight is something that you’ll have to grow used to.

“You kids are gonna drive me insane, I swear it.” His free hand pinches your cheek which is growing increasingly warmer. You hope that you two will continue walking like this, quiet and unbothered and maybe a little bit childish.

“Hongjoong?” You question as he begins to pull you down a brick paved road that you’ve yet to travel.

“Hm?” He answers like nothing about this is strange. 

“My class is the other way.” The boy giggles at your concern, wanting to reach out and run his thumb over the crease in between your eyebrows. Something about your demeanor, which isn’t far off from a stray kitten, clues him in that you wouldn’t respond well. 

“We’re taking a detour.” 

“If you don’t tell me where we’re going I’ll pull out my pepper spray.” This sentiment is the first thing all morning that’s made him stop in his tracks, casting a puzzled look to your bulky bookbag.

“Do you actually have pepper spray in there?” You can feel a smile edging on your lips as your eyes click with his, and while you know that he’s not giving you butterflies or sparks it does feel like something. Like the first gulp of soup on a cold day, or the sound of orange leaves crunching beneath your sneakers. 

“Tell me where we’re going and you won’t have to find out.” Obviously, you don’t have any. It’s been in your cart on Amazon for forever but you’re not one hundred percent sure about how to order things to a dorm, and you figure that your first package shouldn’t be a literal weapon. 

“We’re getting coffee, and you are terrifying.” The comment lights your cheeks with fire as you scurry to catch up with him once again.

“Well you’re the only person that thinks so.” The boy walks so quickly that your feet are nearly going in double time, face puffing with cold air while you speak.

“I doubt that.” You notice that his face is pink again, though you’re not too sure that it’s from the cold this time.

“You’re probably the only person who thinks anything of me.” Hongjoong stutters like he’s going to stop walking again but you tug on his arm once more and he’s back in full swing. 

“That’s so not true. Yunho thinks you’re sweet, San says you’re a wonderful writer, Mingi clearly thinks that you’re amazing.” That last statement finds a crawl in your chest and begins to fill your lungs with pink daisies. Amazing. Mingi clearly thinks you’re amazing. 

“Sure.” You answer with twiddly fingertips and a thumping heart. Luckily you’re standing in front of the campus cafe before you can think too hard on it.

Hongjoong orders two salted caramel hot chocolates, a black coffee, and three blueberry muffins. When you asked why he didn’t get you a coffee as promised he told you that the coffee here is ass and Seonghwa only drinks it because he’s starved for energy. You don’t have the heart to tell him that the frappuccino you order has so much cream and sugary syrups in it that you could barely even call it coffee, and it tastes pretty darn good. It’s not a big deal. Hot chocolate is good too.

“This is really good.” You offer later while walking through the campus quad. There’s not many people out this early, just a girl you’ve seen in your lecture once or twice and two boys playing checkers on the grass. Hongjoong keeps stepping on the crunchy orange leaves then smiling like a little kid. It makes you think that he’s growing on you, then that you thought that you’d be doing this kind of stuff with Mingi. 

You don’t really know why you can’t let yourself enjoy this. You’re in the quad with Hongjoong, waiting out the clock until your class starts, and this precious sweet boy is playing in the fall leaves. This should be a perfect morning, but you can’t help feeling sad. Feeling incomplete. 

“I know, right?” He answers, bouncing over to you wearing a bright expression, “Now get up pretty girl, we’re playing in the leaves.” 

“I have a lecture.” He takes your hot chocolate and places it on the empty seat next to you before slotting his hand into your own. His skin is soft, like blankets fresh out of the dryer.

“And before that you’re going to have some fun, let’s go!” He’s smiling at you expectantly, so what are you supposed to do other than drop your hot chocolate and join him?

Your first impression is that he plays with people in the way that a puppy would play with another puppy. He’s quite fond of kicking up piles of leaves just to see how tall they’ll go, then you kick them up further and he gets flustered. He then proceeds to throw leaves in your face, then picks them out of your hair before you can get mad enough to throw them back. You think that this is a lot of fun, then that your trusty boots make a nice sound when the leaves crunch under them.

There’s this one time when you try to kick up the leaves and your leg slips out from beneath you, which sends you flailing backwards into the leaf pile. Hongjoong rushes over immediately, his face half concerned but mostly lit with laughter. He asks if you’re okay, though it’s through indecipherable wheezing so you can’t really hear him. The boy is laughing so hard that he ends up laying next to you, red hair and sparkling eyes mingling with the orange leaves seamlessly. You think that he looks like a photograph. 

If you show up to your lecture ten minutes late and with crushed leaves sprinkled through your hair, no one mentions it. 

*

Movie night with Wooyoung and San is fun. The popcorn is a little bit burnt, courtesy of San, but their couch is far more comfortable and blankets far fuzzier. Sans burning a candle that smells like cookies, and you feel like nothing could be more accurate to him. 

“This is nice, I’ve been meaning to rewatch Harry Potter.” Wooyoung comments while sinking in between you and San on the couch. He’s cradling a bowl of slightly browned popcorn and shoving it into his mouth as if there’s nothing wrong. 

“Yea, definitely. I like spending nights in.” You’re about to tell them that you considered this a night out, but then you think that’s terribly sad and that you’d sound really lame. So you nod instead.

They’re pleasant movie guests, San makes funny comments every once in a while. Wooyoung starts to fidget about halfway through the first movie so he spends the first portion of the second one making a fresh batch of popcorn. It doesn’t burn this time. Him and San spend almost the entire movie tossing popcorn across the room and into each others mouths.  Overall it’s not such a bad night.

When all is said and done and you’re helping them pick up misfire popcorn kernels, the boys get to talking. They ask you what Mingi’s up to that he couldn’t make it to a Friday movie night. You’re going to tell them the truth, that Mingi’s out on a different date with a different girl from a different class. You’re going to tell them, but the words taste so terribly bitter on the way up.

“Um... I’m not sure. Probably homework.” Wooyoung tosses an unpopped kernel so that it hits you square in the forehead. You simply giggle before throwing it into your trash bag.

“We should’ve invited him! Him and Yunho, it could’ve been a whole thing!” San shouts from the kitchen. It makes your skin prick up with goosebumps. Because while you are definitely lonely, and you definitely miss Mingi, you’re not sure that you could handle his response. You’re not sure that you could handle asking Mingi to come to one of your most prized traditions and him saying no. Him saying no because he’s out with another girl and giving her his undivided attention, because that is how he is, and you couldn’t handle hearing him saying no to you. He never used to say no to you.

“I had fun with just you guys, though!” They tackle you in a bear hug, and it feels nice. It really does, it’s just that you still have that nagging feeling in your gut. Like your professor is right. Like you’re alone.

*

Your next ‘Introduction To Creative Writing’ assignment is about characters. The rubric clearly states that it should just be about the people and nothing else. Points will actually be deducted if you mention a setting.

So you wrote two characters, a boy and a girl. The boy finds the girl too bland so he asks if she’ll share a secret with him. She thinks for a long time while the boy studies her face, and he loves every corner of it. Finally, she leans in to whisper something. You don’t tell the audience what she’s said, but you do tell them that it makes the boy laugh. Then he kisses her cheek and they laugh some more, until time dies out and the stars no longer shine. You liked it from the moment that you started writing it, and by the end it was something that you were genuinely quite proud of.

Apparently pride wasn’t enough to get you a much higher grade. It’s passed back looking exactly like the last one, a bright red C and thousands of red notations. You flip to the rubric in the back to see that everything is marked straight down the middle. 

You didn’t mention a setting, but you didn’t make the setting irrelevant.

Your characters didn’t interact with the setting, but they barely interacted with each other.

You included characters, but they were not lively and enjoyable.

And you’re not quite sure why everything you write is so dead. You’re not a person who feels dead, you’re funny and full of life. You have things to say that are important so you write them into stories rather than speaking them out loud. You’re good at this, so why are you getting C’s? Why is an old man with a beard that touches his belly button saying that you aren’t good at this? 

When you get back to your dorm you rip the paper to shreds and cry alone in your loft bed. Mingi texts you to ask when you’ll be at dinner, you tell him that you’re too busy with homework. He asks if he should bring you something, but you lie that it’s all covered. You’re not entirely sure that you could handle seeing him right now. 

When your roommate comes in she seems a little drunk. She clambers over to her bed then finally looks up to you. It’s not your finest moment, cheeks streaked with mascara and shreds of paper all around you.

“You okay?” She slurs out. You think that it’s a dumb question, because obviously you aren’t, but at least she’s trying. Trying is good.

“I’m fine” Right as the words come out you know that they sound fake, but you don’t know what else to do. Normally when you feel like this Mingi is just a phone call away. Every time you’ve tried to call him in the past week it’s gone to voicemail. When a week has really torn you down like this one you’d always have a movie night to look forward to. Mingi made it clear that he wasn’t too keen on that anymore. You usually have your shoulder to cry on. Now you don’t even think you’ll be able to keep yourself together if you see him.

And it’s hard for a lot of reasons. Because you need Mingi but Mingi doesn’t need you. Because everything feels so wrong unless you’re desperately trying to salvage your longest friendship. Because maybe this friendship meant a little bit more than just that, but you’ve realized entirely too late.

*

You usually wake up at seven thirty in the morning. It’s not because you want to, or because your roommate is too loud climbing into her bed at night, or because the sun comes into your dorm weirdly. You just go to sleep late, because you can’t force your brain to stop, then wake up early. Because out of all of the things that are going wrong, why wouldn’t you also get less than four hours of sleep every night?

But it’s not all bad. Every other morning you meet Hongjoong in the quad. Sometimes it’s with a book, sometimes with your latest creative writing assignment. He’ll read them and make comments. He always says that it’s good, and it’s fun to believe him for a little while. 

This morning you come to him empty handed, just like he said to last time. There’s supposed to be a surprise. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you don’t like surprises. 

“Good morning, pretty lady!” He’s always so chipper in the mornings, with his eyes crinkling happily around the edges and bright red hair bouncing. Today he’s wearing a puffy coat that’s nearly ready to swallow him whole paired with jeans that have a painting sprawling up the calf. You had recently found out that he and Seonghwa were responsible for the illustrations on everyone's clothes. Mingi gave them his favorite jeans after two lunches spent in the cafeteria.

“Good morning.” You were clearly finding it hard to be as excited.

“Did you read the student newsletter yesterday?” Cold air puffs from his lips along with the words, and his face lights up when you shake your head no. The collar of his coat is brushing his cheeks, “So it’s really a surprise then!”

He’s so precious and childlike in that moment that you decide there’s no harm in indulging him.

“What’s really a surprise?” He’s already started walking so you have to do a half jog to catch up, once you’re at his side he starts to skip so that you have to jog even further. This happens every once in a while whenever your friend is feeling extra punchy. You often find it hard to match that energy, but something about this early November morning has you more present than ever.

“Catch up to me and I’ll let you know.” He reaches into his pocket and appears to pull something out, then hang it over his head. You know there’s nothing in his hand. It’s empty and you know that, nevertheless you chase after him. The boy laughs loudly before sprinting away. Once you’ve caught him you start jumping for the mythical gift hanging over his head, which he finds unreasonably funny. The sound rings off the brick path beneath your feet, and it’s like the sun is finally rising. You think that’s the kind of person that Hongjoong is, the kind that would bring the sun up just to make someone else smile. 

When you open his clenched hand he slips it into yours, fingers curling ever so gently around your own. His skin feels soft, it makes you wonder what kind of lotion he’s using.

“I caught up.” Your voice sounds small. Hongjoong thinks it’s bright, “What’s my surprise?”

“There are puppies in the quad, I think they’re up for adoption. I figured you’d like to see them.” He’s perfect. On paper Hongjoong should be the perfect boyfriend. He takes you to see puppies, buys you hot chocolate, makes you play in leaf piles, you’re pretty sure he’s redone his entire sleep schedule just so that you two can keep up with these morning strolls. You so badly want Hongjoong to be perfect.

But there’s just something off. Maybe it’s because his one hand can’t fully engulf both of yours, or because he doesn’t tower over you with what feels like two extra feet. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t smell like orange zest and freshly ground cinnamon. 

Maybe it’s because he’s not Song Mingi.

“I would like to see them.” You respond, squeezing onto the boy's hands. Hongjoong is perfect, but he’s just not right, “I’d like that very much.”

*

You’re not quite sure how it happened, but San seemed to notice that your Fridays were becoming more and more lonely. After that one Harry Potter movie night you did with him and Wooyoung in their shared apartment you’ve not really done anything. Hongjoong invited you to another house party, and you were going to go, but when you reached for the handle to exit your dorm you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Something about going and knowing that Mingi would be there, probably with his date of the week, made your mouth taste sour. So you stayed home instead, sitting in your bed and struggling with a creative writing assignment. You’d occasionally snack on some granola bars that Mingi stashed in the bottom of your closet when he moved you in.

Those were your plans for tonight, but San grabbed you just before class ended. He told you that Wooyoung was planning dinner but the recipe serves four so he figured that they could invite you and save the rest as leftovers. You agreed, fully expecting that you’d chicken out at the last second and stay home, yet here you are. Standing in their kitchen while sipping on a shirley temple that San mixed up for you, Wooyoung is occasionally stirring the simmering pot on the stove. San invited Hongjoong at the very last second so those two are sitting at the kitchen table and trying to talk each other's ears off. You find your way into the empty seat beside Hongjoong and let his hand rest on your thigh. He rubs gentle circles on your jeans, and it nearly gives you butterflies.

“Dinner is almost done, would you guys mind grabbing some drinks from the garage.” The two boys nod before scurrying towards the front door and shared garage. Wooyoung takes the seat across from you, “Do you think you’re gonna date him?”

“Who?” You ask, probably in a less defensive way than he’d anticipated.

“Hongjoong.” Wooyoung doesn’t look as playful as usual, the childlike glint gone from his eyes. If anything the boy appears worried, probably for his friend Hongjoong. Part of you wants him to be worried for you. You’ve barely eaten anything except for granola bars in the past week because you don’t want to risk running into Mingi in the cafeteria. Your five hours of sleep every night has been slowly dwindling down to four. Mingi has moved movie night twice this month. You still can’t get a good grade on a creative writing assignment. 

“I don’t know.” You think that you probably are. You think that you mostly want to.

“But you aren’t going to date Mingi?” It feels like the air around you is made of cotton, your mouth has gone completely dry.

You don’t know why you’re upset. You shouldn’t be upset.

“No.” There are tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You hope that if you breathe deeply enough then you can will them to stop, “I suppose I won’t.”

The dinner turns out lovely, but you can barely take a bite. You can barely even say another word for the rest of the night. You just tell  them thank you, it was lovely, then go home to finish your creative writing assignment. The professor is probably going to write a note that it’s lonely. That’s okay, though. It is lonely, because that’s what you are. Terribly, and irrevocably lonely.

*

A week after the dinner party you and San are partnered together on a creative writing assignment. The main goal is to learn how to work collaboratively with another author, not that you even considered yourself that, and it’s coming along nicely. There are just a few things that need to be cleaned up before it’s due, which prodded San to invite you out to coffee. At least you thought that’s what it was about, but when he takes his seat at the table there’s no laptop tucked beneath his arm.

“A-are we not working on the project?” You question softly, hands hovering idly over your keyboard. 

“I wasn’t planning to, but you... You can if you want to, I guess.” He drops his bags and heavy coat in the vacant seat before flipping through his wallet, “You ordered yet?” You shake your head no, you didn’t want him to show up and have you already be halfway done with your drink and then deal with the awkward conversation of how you showed up thirty minutes early because other than meeting Hongjoong in the morning this is the only thing on your social calendar for a week. After that you have movie night, “I’ll get you something. Coffee or tea?” 

“Coffee.” When the boy returns to the table, it’s with two steaming mugs, perfect for the frost bitten weather outside. Yours smells like vanilla and nutmeg.

“It’s the shop special I think.” He smiles gently, dimples on parade for the entire campus to see. You think that San has a nice smile, the kind that takes over his face, along with yours before you can even stop it.

“It’s nice, thank you.” Things are quiet for a second while San is putting away his wallet, and for some reason you’re confused. If you’re not going to work on the project then why on earth did he make the time to get coffee? 

“(Y/n?)” He asks softly, raising your attention from the untouched mug of coffee to where his hand is on the lid of your laptop, “Are you okay?”

“Yea, I’m good.” The words sound dismissive before they’ve even left your mouth, “Why did you ask to get coffee?” Sans eyebrows raise and he feels a small tug on his heart. He doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to spend time with you.

“Because I have free time and I wanted to spend it with you.” You’re not sure why, but it’s hard to hear that. Maybe because you’ve been hiding from life for as long as you can remember, or because you’ve had nothing but free time for a month and you’ve wanted to spend all of it with the one person that will hardly return your texts, or maybe because sometimes those words are hard to hear. 

“Oh.” You take a sip of the coffee, it makes your stomach feel warm for the first time in a long time, “Thank you.” San cracks his knuckles while offering up a gentle smile.

“No need to thank me, we’re friends.” 

“I guess that’s why I’m thanking you. I don’t have a lot of friends, if you hadn’t noticed.” The boy is looking at you with attentive eyes, and it feels like there’s something lodged in the back of your throat. It tastes like vanilla and nutmeg and thousands of wasted opportunities, “I used to have Mingi, but he’s so busy with all of the classes and... Dates, that we don’t really talk much. I’m grateful that I have you.” When San smiles it’s sweet and genuine and you feel like you are finally doing the whole college thing. The thing where you make growth.

“I’m grateful to have you too, you’re a sweet kid.” If you weren’t so touched you would remind him that he’s only one year older, “I don’t think any of Mingi’s dates have much substance, honestly.” Something about the way he says it makes you think that he’s not talking about the girls themselves. It makes your heart flip.

“How come?” As soon as the words leave your mouth you pray that they don't sound eager. San lets out a heavy sigh and you think that maybe your prayer worked.

“He just isn’t really satisfied with anything. There have been girls eyeing him since his first time in the cafeteria, but he didn’t care much for it. Now he’s decided to take them up on their offers, and yet he still doesn’t seem to care for it. We’ve all asked him what’s up but he won’t say much. Just that it’s not what he’s looking for.” There’s a pointed gaze that says a million things. Mingi hasn’t found what he’s looking for. Mingi is just as lost as you are. Maybe Mingi couldn’t find what he was looking for because it’s always been there. Maybe Mingi needs you as much as you need him.

“Oh. I didn’t know.” You leave the cafe that day with a smile on your face and hope fluttering around in your heart, and for the first time in a long time you think that maybe you can be happy.

*

You’ve been planning this night since the moment you stepped out of the campus cafe with San. It’s probably a little bit cheesy, with all of the contraband candles and what not, but Mingi always said that you went a little overboard on movie nights. Now you’re standing in the center of your empty dorm room, illuminated by tea light candles, wearing the dress that you wore when Mingi dragged you to your first ‘party,’ and your heart all the way in your throat. Because tonight is the night. Tonight you’re going to tell Mingi how you feel about him, and you’re not going to listen to the little voice in your head that says this is probably stupid, and that Mingi showing up over half an hour late is a bad sign. That voice is annoying and has made you wait too long for too many things.

So when Mingi walks into your dorm with rosy cheeks and windblown hair, you let your heart stutter. When his jaw drops open, you let yourself laugh, and when he takes a step forward, you do too.

“What’s this about?” He questions with a familiar deep voice that leaves warmth blossoming in your chest. 

“I just...” Your eyes lock onto the freckle on his neck before flashing back up to eyes. They’re sparkling in the flickering candle light, “I’ve missed you. Really badly, Mingi. I miss you in the mornings when I walk to class, I miss you at lunch when I get my granola bars from the closet, I miss you when I’m with my friends, I-I... I miss you on Friday nights. I spend all of my time missing you, and I don’t want to anymore. I’m tired of hiding how I feel about things, like I think that my creative writing assignments are stupid, and I hate everyone in sports medicine except for Wooyoung, and I miss you. A-and I think that I might love you, so I wanted to-” Mingi takes two steps forward, coming dangerously close to closing your distance, and you think that he’s about to kiss you. You think that you’re ready for him to kiss you. You’re heart is beating faster, then faster, then faster-

“Why are you doing this?” And then it stops dead. You honestly think that you might be dead. This feels worse than being dead.

“Um, d-doing- Doing what? I’m not doing anything, I thought you were-” You’re rambling and it’s so awful, Mingi knows it’s awful. His hands are massaging his temples as if this is insanely stressful. It kind of is, but you can’t figure out why he would think so.

“Why are you telling me that you love me? After not seeing each other for almost a month, why are you telling me that?” Clearly, this is not the way that you expected tonight to go. Several of the candles by your desk has burnt out, you feel like you’re about to cry, “I haven’t been lonely, (Y/n,) because I have a-” You feel tears tugging on your eyelids so hard that it hurts. Before you can think about it, and before you can hear whatever he has to say, your index finger is in between his eyes and you’re staring at him like you want to throw something out a window.

“Don’t say that.” It’s probably the most assertive you’ve ever been with him, “I just don’t understand why you’re fighting me on this.” Mingi takes a deep breath before running his hands through his hair. You wonder when he picked up on that habit, which person got to see this before you did. He looks handsome. You hate it. 

“I don’t understand why you get to want this now. I don’t understand how I have waited and waited for you to love me back for years, and once I’m finally done with letting you break my heart you get to decide that you want this. I don’t understand how that’s fair.” There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but they’re different from the ones that you’ve seen before. They’re not like the ones he sheds over movies, these tears are angry and unwilling. 

“Mingi I-“ 

“Don’t say that you didn’t know. I know that you didn’t know, because you never wanted to know. You were too scared to know, but I was never scared. I’ve always known that we were right, and you were always scared.” It feels like your heart is trying to crawl up your throat in the worst way possible. Like it’s a spider that you swallowed. 

“Mingi that's not what-“ 

“But I can’t be with you (Y/n,) because I’m done with you being scared. I’ve been done with you being scared for years, and I'm finally okay with being done with you. Let me be okay, (Y/n.)'' There are now tears behind your eyes as well, but it’s not angry. It’s sad, because he’s right. You are really scared, it took months for you to work up the courage to admit to even yourself that you love Mingi.

“What are you saying?” The words are choked and staccato, tears spilling freely onto your cheeks. A brief look at his tear streaked face tells you that he’s known this answer for forever. 

“I’m saying that I can’t be with you right now. I just… Can’t.”

He leaves before he can see you sink to the tiled floor, or hide your face in your hands, or cry off all of the mascara you had put on just for tonight. Just so that you could bat your eyelashes at him and give him love until the sun came up. Just so that you could give him your love like flowers and a candle lit room.

But you don’t get to do that. You put on mascara for no reason. Mingi doesn’t want your love, he doesn’t want your candle lit room. He gave your flowers back, and they’re just going to sit on your nightstand until time takes her toll on them. Until they wilt and wither and all of the petals fall onto the floor. You don’t know if you’ll have the strength to sweep them up.

It’s not clear when you start crying, but it is clear that you never stop. You cry for hours and hours until you finally pull yourself off the floor and into your bed. The candles burn themselves into darkness. The room smells a bit like ash. Your blankets are warm. Your chest aches. Mingi is gone. You are scared and you’re alone. You probably always will be.

* 

You’re not sure when food lost its taste. When your room lost its color. When your legs became too heavy to move. When sleep became extinct. When it was easier to be in the library than it was to be in your own room. When every single one of your grades sky rocketed to an A while creative writing sat heavily at a C. You can’t watch Star Wars anymore without wanting to throw up. Strawberry ice cream tastes like poison.

You’d fallen asleep on a desk in the back of the library twice before Yunho found you. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do seeing as it was the middle of the day and no one had heard from you for a week and a half except for San, but he figured that leaving a hot coffee by your sleepy head seemed to suffice. If you were tired enough to fall asleep in the library it was probably much needed.

He thought that he’d just forget about that encounter, sweep it quietly under the rug and hope that you started getting more sleep. It was going well enough, until he arrived here. One week later, ten minutes before midnight, you in the same exact position as last time. There were tear tracks in your makeup and black smudged beneath your eyes. He could see the assignment peeking out from beneath your folded arms, ‘Study In Relationships,’ no doubt for creative writing. There are only two words that aren’t covered in black scribbles. You let a gentle snore, and he knows that it’s time to wake you up. To talk to you.

“(Y/n?)” He whispers while gently nudging your shoulder. You grumble ever so slightly before snatching the unfinished assignment back to rest beneath your head. Another small grunt leaves your lips before he calls out your name again, shaking you with a bit more force than the last time. Your eyes flutter open gently and take in the tan walls and fluorescent lighting before you fully register that Yunho is there. 

“Hey,” Your voice is gruff around the edges, and you know that if you say too much everything is going to fall apart, “good to see you.” His eyes take you in, sweatpants with countless stains, a hoodie that has a little hole forming in the armpit, your hair disheveled and greasy. He knew that something bad had happened when Mingi came back to the dorm about two weeks ago with tear filled eyes and an unwillingness to talk. You stopped showing up to any of the meals after that, even Hongjoong couldn’t get a hold of you. The blue haired boy would be lying if he said he didn’t worry for you in passing, but all of those concerns were brought to a forefront at the sight of you now. You look, and he means this in the nicest way possible, like a disaster. 

“Yea, i-it’s good to see you too.” His hands fiddle with the hem of his sweatshirt, busying themselves so that he doesn’t start to pack up for you, “The library is closing.” Your eyebrows furrow as you suddenly remember where you are. 

“Oh. I-I’ll get this cleaned up then.” You don’t know why, but asking him to help feels wrong. You’d like help, but something about his pitying eyes makes you feel small. The same way that you did when those boys pushed you off of your hot pink bike. Like he’s pitying you, except now there’s no lanky kid to save you.

Yunho ends up offering the smallest amount of help possible, just slipping your pencil into your bookbag, before helping you stand. The room swims for a minute before you can walk.

“Can I walk you back to your dorm?” You don’t know how to tell him that most nights you don’t go back to the dorms after the library kicks you out. Most nights you plop down on a bench in the quad and slave over your creative writing journal. Most nights you don’t crawl back into your room until four in the morning, when your roommate is dead asleep and can’t ask you if you’re okay, “Just don’t want you walking back alone in the dark.”

And really, what are you supposed to say?

“Yea, that’s fine.” The two of you walk in silence for a wall, nothing except for the rhythm of padding feet and rustling tree branches. Early winter air nips the tops of your ears while Yunho shivers beside you. You hear him miss a step and you feel yourself choke on a thousand words. 

“We’ve missed you.” You don’t respond with the question that you desperately want to ask. You don’t ask if everyone misses you. If a certain boy that smells of cinnamon and eyes that glimmer like childhood misses you. 

“Yea. I’ve missed you guys too.” The silhouette of your dorm building is slowly coming into view, you think that it looks different when the world is still awake. Some windows are still lit, people are drawing curtains shut. Normally when you come home everything is dark and unbelievably cold. This isn’t anything special, but it’s a whole lot better than that, “This is me.” You say tersely while slowing to a stop in front of the looming building.

“Yep.” You can tell that he wants to ask you something. Maybe it’s why you were asleep in the library, or why depression wears you like a necktie, or why he hasn’t seen you in the cafeteria for a month in a half. He wants to ask you something, but the way his lips close around the consonant tells you that he won’t.

You get halfway into the door before something tugs at your heart strings, “Yunho?” You call out, turning halfway over your shoulder to see his eyes trained on you. They look sad. You think that it makes sense why, “Thank you.” 

He nods curtly, and you know that he’s not sure why you’re thanking him. It’s okay though, because at least you know that he misses you. Before tonight, you thought no one missed you.

Sleep is as rare as ever that night, yet the thing that lulls you to sleep is the same as always. Floppy brown hair, clapping hands, a bad CGI explosion playing off of a crackly VHS tape. He smells like cinnamon and orange rinds, yet when you inhale it’s nothing but your dusty dorm room.

*

The end of the semester means wrapping up many loose ends. You pack up every coat and Christmas themed clothing item in your closet, notably avoiding the dress that you wore for Mingi. You meet Hongjoong for coffee and exchange presents, a pair of customized jeans for you and a twenty five dollar visa gift card for him. He smiled really wide when you told him that it was to make up for all of the coffees and meaningless conversation. You drop the level two creative writing class that was on your schedule. San makes a plan to meet up over the holiday and you agree wholeheartedly. Finals week isn’t all too bad seeing as you’re already getting less than four hours of sleep a night and funneling every bit of brain power into school. The only thing that’s left for you to do is turning in your creative writing assignment, which is both the easiest task and the one that you want to do least. 

The classroom is dead empty when you enter, not even your white bearded professor in sight. You scurry down the steps with the short story in hand, a meaningless piece about two strangers who share misty mornings. You hate it, just like you’ve grown to hate almost everything that you create, but it’s an assignment. It meets the bare minimum for what’s required on your rubric. You finished it.

“Miss (Y/n?)” Your body freezes in the middle of the final step before stuttering slowly back to normal. It probably looks stupid but you barely have the will to care, seeing as the thing that you were most dreading was happening. Your creative writing professor is standing at the top of the classroom with his long beard and judgmental eyes, and you are standing in front of his desk with shaky knees. 

“O-oh, hi! I was just turning in-”

“Why aren’t you enrolled in my class next semester?” You take in a breath, the air as thick as soup. You don’t know how to answer his question. You don’t want to answer his question. Answering his question feels like letting go of a piece of yourself.

“Oh, I-I dropped it. It’s just that I have other classes I need to take, a-and I’m not all that good so…” Your professor nods before furrowing his bushy eyebrows and starting slowly down the stairs. Each of his forward steps causes your heart to thump. 

“Who said that you aren’t good?” He questions, continuing down the steps. You clench the assignment in your hands and watch as the paper creases beneath your thumbs. When you look at the pages they’re clear, nothing but your words and margins, but when you think about what it’ll look like in a week you want to cry. It’ll be marked in red, with a fat red ‘C’ circled on the title page.

“I-I just, I never thought, Y-you said-” The professor is now standing in front of you with folded hands, his expression of confusion shifted into concern.

“I never said that you aren’t good.” You  breathe in again, the air thin enough to actually intake this time around. 

“You didn’t?” He shakes his head before pulling the crinkled assignment out of your hands.

“No, you show great promise as a writer! Your writing is… lacking, but it’s only in one area that can be easily improved upon. No great writers start out great, but all great authors show their flaws at one point.” Tears prickle the back of your eyelids, and it feels like there’s a little hand grappling onto whatever you thought you’d have to let go. 

“Miss (Y/n,) I’m trying to say that failure is okay. Getting less than a ‘B’ on your paper is okay, but you can’t stop trying.” He’s right, a part of you has known for a while that he’s right. Just because you got a bad grade in this class doesn’t mean that you’re bad at writing. Just because Mingi said no doesn’t mean that you’ll never feel deeply again. It just means that you need to keep trying.

“Oh, um… Thank you.” You’re not sure what else to say. There honestly isn’t much else to say, so you give him a short nod and head towards the stairs. You think that you’re going to head back to the dorm and cry on your bed, which is stripped of its duvet and most of the pillows. You think that you’re going to ask if you can have this class added back to your schedule. You think that you might speak with Hongjoong more often once your break is over. 

And sure enough, your spring semester begins with Hongjoong walking you across campus and to your second level creative writing class. The month away seems to have done good for the both of you, Hongjoong returning with dozens more customized clothing items and you with slowly disappearing eye bags. His hair is also faded into a lighter pink shade, which you think suits him quite well. 

Your walk to class is uneventful, riddled with small talk and basic catching up. Near the end he slips his arm beneath your book bag and around your waist, which feels nice enough. His arms are stronger than you expected. The half embrace is not unwelcome. When you two are standing outside of the quickly filling classroom he takes your hands into his own for a brief moment before asking if you’re free for coffee after class. You want to make up an excuse for why you can’t go, because you know that this isn’t just two friends going for coffee, but when you look at Hongjoong there are sparkles in his eyes. Pink hair tickles his cheekbone as he smiles warmly at you, and you find yourself thinking that his confidence right now is commendable. You also find yourself saying yes, you can definitely get coffee with. 

It’s a fun outing. He cracks a few jokes, you talk about class. He asks if you have any assignments and you say not yet. When he orders an iced coffee you ask if he’s trying to get frostbite, to which he laughs and pokes out his tongue. You think that he looks cute. You think that all of this is kind of cute. 

You also think that when you’re with Hongjoong, and he’s making you laugh and holding your waist, it’s very easy to forget about how badly you miss Mingi. 

*

When you agreed to re-enroll in your creative writing class you and your professor exchanged a number of emails. First about how you could improve your grade, then about how to improve your writing, then countless of other questions with ambiguous answers before the two of you finally settled on having weekly meetings. It would be sort of like he were your personal advisor, but only for writing. You would come into his office once a week to discuss your current project and he would read it over, ask if you had concerns, usually give some feedback. 

Within the first week it was clear what your most reoccurring critique would be. It was a mantra echoed many times, ‘To write life you have to live it.’ He said that your writing was good, pretty, but the characters lacked life. Then he asked if you could try to spend a little more time with people. It didn’t have to be much, but he was convinced that a bit more people time would improve your writing greatly. 

It’s been a month or so since that first meeting, and you weren’t sure if you agreed yet. You were spending almost everyday with Hongjoong, sometimes Seonghwa as well. You were definitely more tired each time you came home, but you also smiled more. Laughed more, too. They would often ask you for help with silly things, like the time that Hongjoong called you at midnight because he needed help touching up his hair, Seonghwa often asked you to mix his paints. It often felt like you were their third roommate, but it was okay. You had fun. 

Yet you didn’t see much improvement in your writing. There were still notes in red ink on your paper. You weren’t sure of the remedy you should apply, but more people time seemed like it wouldn’t hurt. So you set up daily lunches with Yeosang and Jongho, which was an interesting dynamic to say the least. Jongho would sit down most days and chug an entire reusable cup of green tea with soy milk before getting lunch, to which Yeosang would furrow his eyebrows and comment ‘I don’t know how he drinks that.’ Usually the younger boy would talk animatedly with you about classes then he’d ask if Yeosang had anything going on. Your dark haired friend would look up from his half inhaled plate of food with deep set eye bags and say that he had at least three papers to write. One time you asked if he was okay, but he just laughed and blamed it on his major. After that your writing seemed to improve greatly, at least according to your professor. He told you that it was starting to come alive much quicker. The only thing he had left to say was that your more gentle characters needed work. He said that they needed to be more than just gentle.

Running into Yunho in the library after that meeting was pure coincidence. You were headed to the back to start cracking down on some of your more challenging classes, namely entrance level biology, yet when you dropped your bag on your usual study table you noticed someone was already there. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll just-”

“(Y/n?)” He asked while turning to face you. It suddenly hit you that the last time Yunho had seen you was while you were at your absolute worst. Not sleeping, or eating, or talking to anyone but yourself. You don’t know if he’s going to let that version of you go. You only know how badly you want him to. 

“Yea, it’s me.” The words tug on your vocal chords so you cough lightly in an attempt to clear them, “How are you doing?” He twirls the blue gel pen in his hand for a moment before responding.

“I’m okay. The usual kind of busy, my room’s been messy lately. Just normal stuff.” Quiet settles over your conversation so that you’re left standing awkwardly in front of his neatly organized table. You’re not sure why you can’t bring yourself to speak, but you are sure that it has something to do with the fleeting thoughts of the boy that Yunho’s sharing that messy room with, “What’re you working on?” He asks, motioning with his gel pen to the stuffed folder in your hands.

“O-oh just some biology stuff, I have a quiz next week so…” Before you can say otherwise he’s clearing off a spot on the table and telling you to pull up a chair. He helps you with pretty much every half finished assignment. He even adds extra cheat codes onto your flash cards in crisp blue ink. As you’re leaving the library to get dinner with Hongjoong he tells you to meet him back here after your quiz.

“After all, I’d like to know how my best student is doing.” Weekly study sessions honestly come about naturally. He insists that he’s beyond happy to help, and you’re beyond happy to observe him. Listening to him talk is your favorite part. He’ll ramble on about a lab or being worried that someones going to steal his bike from in front of the dorms. He tells you that he thinks Hongjoong will ask you out, you tell him that you know. He says that your handwriting is pretty, you thank him. When he talks about things that make him angry his words are gentle and calculated, so as not to hurt people that aren’t even present. Needless to say, the red ink marks are few and far between after factoring this newfound knowledge into your pieces.

But you think that it’s a bit more than that too. For the first time in… Ever, you think, you’re happy. Not in a fleeting way that depends on strawberry ice cream eaten on Friday nights. You’re happy in a way that’s hard to tumble, and you’re happy in a way that’s without Mingi. You never thought that you would be happy without Mingi. All throughout high school you feared this very thing, having to live without him and be okay with it. Now that you’re doing it, it’s not all that scary.

You still see Mingi around campus from time to time, in curls of chestnut hair and broad shoulders. Sometimes when you’re walking to class with Hongjoong you can hear his laugh bouncing from the surrounding buildings. Part of you wonders if you’re just conjuring him up. Part of you wonders when it’ll stop. 

Hongjoong does ask you out, just like Wooyoung, and Yunho, and everyone predicted. You say yes. You laugh with your friends until your sides hurt. You share kisses with your boyfriend. You start to feel excited about life in a way that you never have, and a part of you honestly wonders if this whole thing with Mingi was just a growing pain. Something that needed to happen in order for you to change.

The aching of your chest at night says otherwise. But believing as much is easier to stomach.

*

You’re relaxing at Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s house when a nerve is struck. You'd been sitting at the table chatting with Seonghwa while Hongjoong made himself something for lunch. It was really an accident, you had just been telling Seonghwa about your study session with Yunho when he got onto the topic about an awkward study date he had been on recently. You laughed as he recounted it and assured him that a study date was a cute first date.

“I’m sure it’s not as cute as whatever you and Hongjoong did.” And that’s when it happens. The chord is played, the line is written, and Hongjoong was looking at you with wide, apologetic eyes, “Y-you did have a good first date, right?” Your boyfriend said nothing, just bit his lower lip and returned his attention to the stove, “You’ve been dating for a month, you had to have had a first date. Right?”

“I’m sure that we will.” The tension that followed your meek statement was painstaking. First Hongjoong inhaled sharply through his nose, then Seonghwas mouth pressed into a thin line while his eyebrows raised. He muttered some nonsense about needing to get started on his painting for realism class. Apparently he was in such a rush to leave that he forgot that he wasn’t even taking a realism class, “Look, Joong we don’t have to-”

“Do you want a cutesy first date?” He asked, turning away from his food once again so that his eyes could bore into your own. You weren’t sure if his voice was stern in that moment or sincere, either way it was maddeningly effective.

“I mean… It would be nice.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded with his tongue in his cheek before returning to his food. Once it’s done and the fragrance is drifting from his workplace and towards the table, he takes the seat across from you. You’re about to say something but then he presses a swift kiss onto your lips.

“Then you, my darling, are getting just that.” 

A cutesy first date, with your sweet boyfriend who brings you tons of joy. It sounds great in theory, except for the fact that it’s been a week since your conversation and he still refuses to tell you when or where the date will be. Some may say that it’s romantic, but you say that it’s stressful. Pretty much every time that you leave your dorm room you end up seeing Hongjoong, so pretty much every time that you leave the dorm room you’re fully dressed and ready to go out. You’re starting to think that he’s finding joy in your suffering. It’s not too drastic of a belief, seeing as every time that you open your dorm room in a new outfit he giggles and whispers ‘cute.’ 

The miniature cat and mouse game finally comes to an end about a week and a half later, when he texts you Friday morning that you should wear something cute today and to be ready for pick up at five thirty. Though, the suffering doesn’t really end because in reality you spend the entire day raking through your closet for anything that could possibly make a cute outfit. There’s the cursed red plaid dress that you wore to that house party and awful confession oh so many months ago. You figured that was a no go, but honestly what else did you even have? There’s a uniform skirt that you bought while thrifting with Hongjoong, but you weren’t sure what shirt to wear with it. Your favorite jeans were in the wash so those obviously weren’t an option. It looked like it was going to have to be that dumb little dress.

But it’s not so bad, you manage to pair it with a black cardigan and the pair of leather boots that your mom got you for Christmas to replace the old ones. You also do more makeup than last time, so it really doesn’t look all that similar. When you look in the mirror before answering Hongjoongs knock you’re barely even thinking about the last night that you wore the dress. You’re thinking about tonight… Mostly about tonight.

You open the door to see your boyfriend wearing a black button up and blue hair that catches you off guard. His hands are shoved cutely into his pockets, you can see his thumbs twiddling from inside his jean pockets. The moment that his eyes take in your frame his face breaks out into a wide smile. It’s a familiar smile at this point, he wears it around you constantly.

“You look amazing.” He says beneath his breath. You watch with twinkling eyes as he examines every one of your features, your smiles growing with each passing moment.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You're not sure what to do past this point. He’s said that you look nice, you’ve internally fawned over his new hair that looks so incredibly soft, you’ve looked each other once or twice and smiled. You don’t know if you’re supposed to kiss him now, or hold his hand, or what. This is all quite new, “Um, should we get going?” He looks back at your face with a jump, as though your question had pulled him out of something. You’re going to ask what, but you aren’t quite sure how to get the words out. 

“Yes, yea! I-I’ll lead the way.” After five minutes of walking around your familiar campus you arrive at the shuttle. You’ve only taken it once or twice in your time here, mainly to get to Hongjoong’s house at the edge of campus, but you do know that on weekends it will take you into the nearby city. There’s only one seat left by the time that you get on, so of course Hongjoong let’s you have it and opts to stand instead. 

“You can sit if you want to.” He immediately shuts down your offer with a quick peck to your lips and a sweet giggle that you’ve grown to adore. 

“It’s our first date, I can’t have you thinking that I’m anything less than a gentleman.” If he weren’t so endearing you’d point out that you’ve been together for over a month. But he is endearing, so you only laugh and take hold of his hand. 

The date ends up being pretty much perfect. He takes you to a small cat cafe that’s tucked away on the downtown streets of the city, something that you didn’t even know existed until this very night. The inside is fully decorated in light pink with white lighting that highlights your adorable boyfriends features. He’s so sweet the whole time, smiling and letting the cats curl up in lap. The two of you share a piece of cake, he smears a little bit of the stiff frosting onto your nose. It’s cute. Sweet. You return to the dorm room with hot cheeks and a bashful grin.

“I had a lot of fun.” You say to him while leaning up against the doorframe of your dorm room. He smiles, but it’s different from the smile that you usually see. He’s usually so confident and sure of himself, but in this fleeting moment you can see unsureness in his features. It’s almost like he didn’t think you’d like the date.

“Yea?” You nod as quickly as he can ask. It’s not clear why, but you feel the need to assure him that you enjoyed your time together, “I’m glad. We could do something like this every week, you know?” 

The response isn’t as quick this time, or as adamant. You want to say yes. You had fun tonight, you enjoy spending time with Hongjoong, you want to say yes. But there’s something holding you back. It’s gentle, tugging on your heartstrings like a haunting winter melody. It tastes of strawberry ice cream, and smells of Song Mingi’s basement. You still remember the first time that he proposed a weekly movie night, all those years ago. You still remember how wanted it made you feel. At times you wonder if anyone will make you feel as wanted as Mingi did.

You’re starting to wonder that now, even as Hongjoong catches his thumb beneath your chin so as to tilt your chin up. The thoughts don't waver until your eyes meet, and you think that you’re probably right. No one will make you feel as wanted as Mingi; but Hongjoong does make you feel wanted. It’s not as overwhelming as Mingi. It’s not as safe as Mingi. It’s not as fateful as Migni. But it is there.

“What do you think? About the weekly thing, I mean. Like how does that sound?” Mingi was everything to you. In many ways he is still, but he’s also gone. Hongjoong is most things, but at least he’s here.

“It sounds lovely.”

*

You’ve spent a lot of time thinking in the past few weeks, pretty much ever since Hongjoong started with the dates. It’s mostly when you come back to your dorm after them and lay belly up on your loft bed, eyes glazing over the ceiling tiles that you’re pretending to count. Sometimes you think about Hongjoong, the way that his smile overpowers his face. The way that he laughs whenever he flusters you. The way he takes time out of his week to plan these cute little dates with you. Sometimes you think about Hongjoong. But most of the time you don’t. 

Most of the time you find your thoughts wandering far out of reach, and most of the time they wander straight into Song Mingi. It starts with thinking that you miss his presence, the way that he jumps to help anyone with anything. The way that his eyes shine each time you call out his name. You miss the way that he gives hugs, all warm and inviting. Some nights if you focus hard enough you can even remember the way that he smells. Orange zest and cinnamon.

If you’re honest with yourself, you know that this isn’t fair to Hongjoong. You like him well enough, but he adores you. He calls you darling and kisses you as though the action is sacred. He always walks you home after every date even though his own house is so far away. In theory, he is perfect. You’ve been dating for close to two months, you should be fully head over heels by now. But you can’t give that to him, and you know it. You also know that you can’t be alone again.

“Darling?” Hongjoong questions, pulling you away from your thoughts and back into the present. The two of you are cuddled into a far corner of the couch, midday sun pouring through the tall windows and landing across your boyfriend's face. You were watching the light dance in his eyes and talking about your latest creative writing meeting, but then he started talking about having another dinner party at the house. He said that it’d be like the one that he and Seonghwa hosted at the beginning of the school year, where you came with Mingi. It’s kind of funny honestly, because he regards that as one of the nights where he first started to like you. You regard it as one of the nights where Mingi first started to hate you, “Is everything okay?”

You should tell him no, because that’s the truth. You’re not okay. You don’t know if you’ll ever get over Mingi. You don’t think that you’ll ever love Hongjoong the way that he so clearly loves you. You shouldn’t lie to him. You should tell him no.

You also shouldn’t be alone again, right?

“Yea! I’m just tired. That’s all.”

*

In retrospect, you should’ve asked Hongjoong to not invite Mingi to this house party. It would’ve sounded odd, sure. As far he knew you and Mingi were still friendly. Had you requested that Mingi wouldn’t be invited you probably would’ve ended up having to rehash the entirety of your history. It would probably leave your boyfriend questioning whether or not you still had feelings for Mingi, a question that you’d have to lie through your teeth to answer. It would’ve been a little bit awkward, sure. But at least you wouldn’t be where you are now.

You fall gracelessly onto Hongjoongs unmade double bed, hands flying up to cover your flustered face. Mingi arrived at the off campus house nearly two hours after all of the other guests. There was an small window where you thought that you were safe, in which you took time to talk with San and Wooyoung while grazing over the cheese board that Seonghwa had set out. You felt like a true adult in that narrow window, the kind that works a nine to five job and deals with their problems. Then Mingi arrived. Two hours late.

You watched carefully as his eyes bounced around the room. They landed first on Yunho, who engulfed the boy in a warm hug before returning to his previous conversation. Then they traveled to the sectional couch in the living room where Seonghwa sat with Yeosang. He offered them a short greeting while walking through the living room, face crinkling with laughter at something that Yeosang had said. You find it comforting that after so much time apart his laughter hasn’t changed. He filtered naturally out of the conversation before moving to stand beside the tv. You watched his eyes move deftly across the open floor plan and began to wonder what he’s looking for so eagerly. Maybe it’s the girl from his math class. Maybe it’s someone entirely different. His gaze wandered and wandered, covering every corner that it could reach before finally landing. Before finally landing on you.

His eyes were piercing yet kind, stripping away the facade that you had previously believed. You aren’t an adult. You’re a little girl that got pushed off of her barbie bike and had to have a lanky preteen come to her rescue. You’re the idiot who lit dozens of tea light candles in her dorm room just to be turned away. It feels like you’re being stripped of your skin, but it also feels like you’re being reminded of yourself.

“Are you okay?” Jongho asked. You were so occupied with Mingi that you didn’t even realize he had joined. His question was sobering though, pulling you back to the harsh reality that you are okay. And you’re okay without Mingi.

“Yea, I’m fine.” You tore your focus back to the group in front of you, who were all staring at you. They clearly didn’t buy your answer, and you didn’t blame them too much. Anyone who didn’t know you could see that you were distressed, so clearly three of your close friends could tell, “I-I just realized that I have a paper due tonight. I’m gonna go finish it in Hongjoong’s room.” 

You now find yourself praying that Hongjoong won’t try to come and find you. You don’t know how to lie about this to him. You don’t know how to look him in the eyes and make up a reason for why you freaked out and left the party. By some terrible coincidence the door handle starts to jiggle. You want to say that you think through all of the possibilities of what you’ll say to him, but in reality there’s only one option of what you’ll say. The truth. If Hongjoong were to come into his room right now and ask what’s wrong you would have to tell him the truth. That you love Mingi.

“Hey honey, I had a paper to finish and-” The person that comes through the narrow doorway is much taller than your boyfriend. His shoulders are broader. The slope of his nose goes down further. Even from here you can smell brown sugar and oranges, “Oh. It’s you.” He looks handsome as ever. His cheeks may be a bit slimmer, the bags beneath his eyes are a bit deeper, but he still looks like Mingi. His face is still your childhood.

“Yea. It’s me.” Silence falls over the room, squeezing tightly around the chords of your throat to the point where you think that they’re going to break, “I-I just saw you come in here and-”

“I have a paper.” He swallows harshly, hands shoving into his pockets as his eyes stay glued to the floor. You find that bit funny, seeing as when you were outside he wanted to look nowhere but you.

“Right. A paper. I’ll leave you to that, then.” He’s moving to leave, and in that moment you know nothing. You’re not entirely sure what your name is, or where left is in relation to right, but you do know one thing. You don’t want Mingi to leave. You don’t want him to leave. He’s barely been here for two minutes. You haven’t said a single thing that you wanted to say. He can’t leave.

“Wait!” The boy stops in his tracks before turning. His eyes finally meet yours again, they’re  questioning and so gentle that you almost think things could go back to normal, “I don’t have a paper due tonight. Well, I do but I did it two days ago. It’s just that when I saw you I-I… I panicked. Probably because we haven’t seen each other in months. Probably because I really, really, miss you.” Your eyes are slowly becoming tearful, but you really don’t want them to be. You’ve shed so many tears over this relationship. You should be able to do this. The fact that he’s not saying anything doesn’t make it any easier, but still. You should be able to do this, “You don’t have to say anything, I guess, but I-I’m glad that I said it. You were my best friend, I’ll always think of you in that way. I know that we’ve both said… Things, and I get that you might not be able to move past that, but I’m willing to. If it means that we can be friends again, I’m willing to.” Your eyes somehow became glued to your twiddling thumbs over the course of your speech. You don’t think that you’re going to move them, until you feel a pair of strong arms embracing you. He smells so good, like he always does. This one hug feels like all of the comfort that you’ve craved for the last six months. Like the comfort that only Mingi can bring you.

“I’ll move past it. I-I’ve missed you too.” His voice is low, crackling like a fresh log that’s been thrown into the fireplace. You spend the following two hours in Hongjoongs room. You’re curled up on the bed and he’s in front of the disheveled desk. It’s dodgy, you know that it is, but something about really being here with Mingi makes you forget about all of that mess. It’s much easier to forget about it. You eventually return to the party, floating in between conversations with all of your friends. It’s nice to not have to avoid Mingi. At one point Hongjoong joins your conversation with Mingi, San, and Wooyoung. He puts an arm around your waist, which you should enjoy. You would like to enjoy it, but your mind is slightly preoccupied. 

“Where’d you go earlier, darling?” He whispers into your ear halfway through a drawn out story that San is sharing. He’s always been awful at telling stories, but he gets so excited that everyone lets it slide. 

“Oh! I just had a paper that I needed to finish, so I went and did that in your room.” He wants to ask why you had to do that with Mingi, but then the other boy starts to laugh and he knows the answer. Based entirely off of the way that you look at him, Hongjoong knows. 

Once everyone has left and you’ve all shared your goodbyes, Hongjoong suggests that the two of you clean up the living room together. It was an hour or so of silence before he brought up the elephant in the room. 

“I’m not it for you. Am I?” You don’t know why you thought he’d be angry with you. Probably because he’d have every reason to be so. But this is Hongjoong. You could single handedly send the world into ruin and Hongjoong still wouldn’t get mad at you. 

“I really want you to be.” You’ve stopped cleaning now, hands lying limp over the small stain that you were previously scrubbing off of the couch. Getting dumped isn’t going at all how you always thought that it would. It doesn’t feel like your heart is being trampled. You don’t have the compulsive urge to cry. No, none of that. It just feels like you’re explaining away a weight that’s been on your chest for months, “Does that make sense?”

“I think that you wish you wanted me. I think that you wanted me more than you wanted to be alone.” He’s started to play with the strings of his hoodie in a hopeless attempt to calm his raging heart, “But you’re not alone anymore, are you?” You could pretend that you don’t know what he’s talking about. You could deny it, but in reality there’s no point to any of that. It would only prolong all of this, so you nod, “Yeah. Thought so.”

When you say goodbye to him he hugs you tighter than usual, you think for a minute that he’s going to tell you something else. He doesn’t. Just kisses your forehead and says to get home safely. You do, it’s a mere twenty minutes before you’re tiptoeing into your dorm room and up the ladder to your bed. It almost gets to the point where you pretend to count ceiling tiles, but then your phone buzzes from beneath your pillow. It’s a text from Mingi, a short and sweet message.

‘I’m glad to be your friend:)’ 

It’s probably stupid, seeing as the night ended on a terribly sour note, but those few words and that silly emoticon makes it feel like this entire year has been worth it. Because you have Mingi again, and there’s no way that you’ll lose him this time around.

*

After the breakup with Hongjoong, you were slightly worried that no one would want to be friends with you anymore. It would certainly be a fair decision on their part, seeing as you were beyond awful as a girlfriend. You thought that in Hongjoong’s healing, he would end up telling some of the worst things that you did to some of the people whose opinions matter the most. You’re not sure why you thought that, perhaps because it’s what you would’ve done if someone did this to you.

You’re more immature than he is, though. Hongjoong handles his feelings with grace. His words are unbelievably careful whenever he shares them, or at least that’s what Seonghwa says. He also says that he misses having you around to mix his paints and clean his brushes. You had told him that you were just glad that he still likes you, even if the wounds were only a month old.

There was also the ever present worry that Mingi would ask why you and Hongjoong split. You’ve thought of plenty of fake reasons, like saying that the two of you didn’t really click. Or you could keep it simple and say that it just wasn’t the right time for either of you. The options were endless, but there was the problem of Mingi being able to read you like an open book. He would surely know that you’re lying, possibly before you even opened your mouth. The main risk involved was whether or not he’d pester you for the truth. 

That constant fear was not helpful for a regrowing relationship, to say the least. You’ve hung out a number of times since reuniting, but he would always ask you about what you did in the months that you spent apart. Obviously, mentioning the end of first semester was strictly off limits. The rest of the time you spent with Hongjoong, so that left very little room for conversation. You would mostly end up talking about your creative writing meetings, which was fine. It was just sparse.

But this weekend would be different. The two of you had made plans nearly two weeks ago to carpool home together after spring midterms for the long weekend. Your immediate response was to panic, because what on earth would the two of you talk about for the hours that it took to drive home? How would you possibly avoid talking about any of your life for the past four months for that long? But as the days drew closer you realized that maybe it wasn’t such a big deal. The two of you used to go on fun drives constantly, and most of the time you’d barely talk at all. This would be fine. You could manage this.

He picks you up an hour after the exams are concluded, and much to your gratitude there’s music already blaring from each of the speakers. He motions through the window for you to put your bags in the backseat, which you do before sliding into the front seat of his car. 

“Hey.” He’s looking at you with a soft smile when he says this, the gentleness of his face juxtaposed against the disney channel music blaring from the speakers is enough to make you laugh. So you do, the sound falling from your lips in a way that reminds Mingi of how dearly he missed it.

“Hi.” You stare at him for a minute, and he stares back. You find yourself thinking that all of this is mighty odd. Just two months ago you didn’t think that you’d ever have the strength to talk about Mingi again, now the two of you are sitting in the same car, “We’re listening to High School Musical?” He laughs too, passing his phone into your lap while shaking his head of brown curls.

“For now yes, you can change it if you’d like.” If you didn’t know him then you would’ve missed the twinkle in his eyes which indicated that he was going to continue, “Only if it’s Hannah Montana, though.” 

The ride was full with playful banter and off key high notes. Each time Mingi would go to hit one he’d tilt his head back ever so slightly, the brake lights of the car in front of you catching on the delicate lines of his adams apple as he did so. You would laugh until you had to clench your stomach then chastise him for not keeping his eyes on the road. He never once tried to ask about what you’ve been up to, or ask about Hongjoong. In a way, you almost forgot about it for the long hours that it took to drive into your hometown. Mingi seemed to have that effect, like walking through a museum of all of the things that he made you feel for the beginning of your lifetime. Comforted. Carefree. Joyful.

The car slows down then turns, and even if you weren’t looking up you’d know exactly where this car was headed. It’s the place that you spent every late friday night, the place where burgers couldn’t be served without a milkshake on the side, the place where Mingi first knew that he would always love you no matter how hard he ran from it. The chrome on the outside of the diner looks exactly the same, and when you peer through the windows it’s even more familiar. Red cushioned seats, a jukebox in the corner, salt and pepper in mismatched porcelain dispensers on each table. It feels like you’re coming from a football game with sweaty hair and a quickly beating heart. It feels like you’re still a kid.

“Are you hungry?” You ask teasingly as Mingi turns off the car and undoes his seatbelt. He runs a hand through his hair, laughing lowly.

“More like thirsty, milkshakes on me?” You know how this is going to end. You know what paying for food and offering up rides indicates. You know that this could crash and burn and leave you utterly devastated for months. But you also know that you’ve changed. That you’re finally done living a loveless life in honor of your own comfort. You think that he’s changed too, less bitter now. You’re both finished with hurting each other, so maybe it could end up hurting exactly the way that it did last time. Maybe it’ll end up working out. The fact of the matter is that you’ll never know what falling feels like unless you jump.

“Milkshakes on you.” You respond with a purely happy smile. He smiles too, the kind that breaks across his entire face until it can’t possibly get any bigger. You’ve missed that smile so much, “Hongjoong and I broke up by the way. I’m sure that you already knew that, but I wanted to tell you myself.” He nods once, then purses his lips, then begins to play with his own fingertips. It’s too early for you to get a read on him, but you do think that he already knew. You also think that he’s trying to hide his happiness.

“Thank you for telling me.” He pinches his lips shut and swallows before continuing, “Are you okay?” He reaches out to hold your hand before he can even think about it, but it doesn’t seem to make you uncomfortable. You take his hand and squeeze it gently then slowly set it back down to lay on his thigh.

“I’m fine. I’ll be even better once I get a milkshake.” 

Conversation flows more naturally after that, the both of you talking about nothing and everything at the same time. He tells you about the time that Yunho made a hotdog explode in their microwave. You share one of your many anecdotes from lunch with Yeosang and Jongho. He asks about what you’ve been writing lately and so you tell him briefly about your work in progress and the meetings with your teacher. The entire time while you’re talking he beams at you with pride. You had always loved writing so much.

You finish your milkshakes and he tips the waitress extra. You drive the remainder of the way to your house, Hannah Montana still blaring from his speakers. It’s unbelievably stupid and childish, but at the same time it’s absolutely perfect. He pulls into your driveway and lets out a heavy sigh, hands smacking against the steering wheel.

“Well. You’re home!” He doesn’t really want you to go, despite having driven all this way specifically to watch you leave. Something about the look in your eyes, and the fact that it’s directed straight at him, makes him think that you don’t want to leave either. 

“I’m home.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car before Mingi can even think of another thing to say. He maneuvers a bit in his seat so that he can see you as your picking up your stuff and think of something to say, “Thanks for the ride, I’ll-”

“Do you want to start up movie nights again?” He wasn’t exactly planning on asking you that, but he was planning to ask if you could spend more time together. It’s been so long without you that he wants to spend as much time with you as possible, “In my room, on Saturdays. And I’ll never stand you up or reschedule at the last minute.” Your heart is hammering, you don’t even bother to pretend that you don’t know why. The boy in front of you is stammering and over explaining and turning red in the face, and you are terribly in love with him.  

“I’d like that very much.” With that simple agreement, it feels as though the entire world has been set back into place.

*

You didn’t realize how much junk a dorm room could accumulate in the span of a year until it was time to clean all of it out. There were schedules to peel off of the walls, clothes to dig out from the back of the closet, phone chargers that had fallen behind night stands. It’s weird to look at it now, with all of the homeliness and personality stripped away. Next year there will be two entirely different people sleeping in the loft beds, which you admittedly grew used to. Maybe they’ll be strangers. Maybe they’ll be best friends.

“That’s the last box.” Mingi enters the emptied room right as your eyes move to the empty bed that had been adjacent to yours for the entire year. Your roommate had left early this morning, her things had been packed for weeks already. The two of you never grew any closer to one another, but you didn’t mind. Coexisting with her felt like one of your many growth challenges throughout this year, “You missing your roommate?” Mingi asked with a cocked eyebrow, making you realize that you’re still staring at her stripped bed.

“No, not really.” Your voice comes out so matter of fact that it makes Migni giggle a little bit. He thinks that it’s nice to see you, who was once so meek and quiet, being adamant about not caring for someone, “I’m grateful for her though. I didn’t think that I’d be able to live with a stranger before this year. I didn’t think I’d be able to do lots of things before this year.” You finally move your eyes to the boy standing at your side to see that he’s staring at you with a proud smile. It makes your chest swell with warmth in a way that you don’t even fight against, “What?” You can’t help but break out into a smile as you gaze even longer at his.

“Nothing, I’m just really proud of us. Who we’ve become, especially you.” His pinky finger brushes up against your own, for a moment you can feel his hand aching to hold your own. You open up your palm and lace your fingers into his, moving with certainty and purpose, “I like who you are now, you’re a lot bolder. Happier.” Your body flushes with heat, heart pattering so erratically that you’re sure he can hear it. You hope that he does. 

“I-I like you now too.” Your voice wavers as his hand travels to your wrist, pulling you gently so that you’re facing each other. His face looks stern, like this moment is do or die, yet his eyes sparkle with the same childlike twinkle as always. You watch his eyes travel from your own to your lips in a mere second, breath hitching in the back of your throat. You’ve waited for this for such a long time, but as his nose brushes ever so gently against yours you find yourself thinking that it was worth it, “May I?” The question is whisper, your breath ghosting against Mingi’s plump lips. You place your hand on his chest so that his heart is thumping beneath your hand. 

“Yes.” You hook your free hand beneath his chin and bring his face closer to yours so that your lips are finally touching. It’s nothing but a gentle brush at first, both of you timid and overly careful, but as soon as you try to pull away his hands are on your waist and pulling you closer than you thought was possible. He kisses you with fever, hands gripping you as though he’s scared that you might melt away. You bury your fists into his shirt, trying desperately to let him know that he never has to worry about that again. 

He pulls away after sometime, hands moving to hold your face as he rests his forehead on yours. He says nothing, only brushes his thumb against your cheek and smiles. In the quiet moments, you can make out the blurred lines of a future, one that’s spent in a modest apartment that’s decorated with all of the junk that Mingi just hauled downstairs for you. You can see late nights spent writing at a desk that’s full of his trinkets. You can see weekly movie nights on the couch with blankets and twinkling fairy lights. You can see a life that’s lived with love and passion, a life where pains are forgotten and growth is left in their place.

When he smiles at you and goes in for a second kiss, your eyes flutter closed. Yet you still see it all so clearly. You can see a future, and you can see it with Mingi by your side.

#song mingi #mingi x reader #mingi angst #writekpop #kpopscape #mingi fluff #admin reid #hongjoong x reader #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez fluff #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #jung wooyoung #choi jongho #omg this is finally freaking posted fjdslkf #to whoever requested this;; thank you so much for your patience!

[kieraelieson]

A Soft Afternoon with Cookies

Warning: While this is a non-sexual story, with Roman and Patton in a very loving and committed QPR, it does have a bit of kink in it. Specifically a light kind of Dom/sub type thing. Please be aware.

“So then we have it set. You know what you want, and…” Patton’s voice became very shy. “And what I want?”

Roman cupped his hands around Patton’s face. “Yes I do. And I’m very proud of you for being so clear and open about what you want.”

Patton smiled slightly, and Roman booped his nose.

••^*^••

They were all set up.

Roman was sitting on the couch, and had set up one of Patton’s favorite shows to play on the tv. Patton peeked around the doorframe, looking very shy and nervous. Roman felt similarly, this was new to both of them. But he was taking charge. Being confident and sweeping Patton off his feet. By, well, rather pointedly not doing that.

He smiled at Patton, trying to look very confident and in charge, and once Patton offered a small wave back, Roman pointed to the ground in front of him.

It felt very awkward while Patton made his way across the room, and sat down there. He scooted back a bit, slotting between Roman’s legs facing outward, and wrapped his arms around Roman’s calf, leaning his head against his leg.

Now this was more familiar. The position was different, but it was essentially cuddling. Roman reached forward to pet Patton’s head, ruffling up his hair and scritching at his scalp. Patton melted against him, a heavy, warm weight.

Roman relaxed, feeling more at ease and confident now. He could certainly spoil Patton.

“Darling…” Roman said, more to himself, though he did say it out loud.

Patton tipped his head back to look up at Roman, his face still rather red. Roman just smiled down at him, tracing a finger along his jawline.

“You’re Darling,” he declared, punctuating the compliment with a boop to Patton’s nose.

Patton blushed adorably, hiding his face down in Roman’s leg.

Roman just went back to petting his hair. He was supposed to press some of those declarations, and to order Patton around a bit, but he was fine with easing into it. They were both very new to it, and if he was uncomfortable with going too fast, it was likely Patton would be too.

He enjoyed petting Patton’s hair anyway. His hair was soft and Roman really enjoyed feeling Patton relax and melt under his fingertips.

By the time the episode ended though, his leg was starting to fall asleep. It was probably about time to do some of that ordering around.

He reached down to tip up Patton’s chin. Patton was looking a lot more relaxed and comfortable now, his smile almost sleepy. Roman couldn’t help but smile softly back.

“Why don’t you grab us a couple pillows?” Was his first inclination, but he remembered he was supposed to be a bit bossy. Confident and in charge. “I want you to go and get several pillows,” Roman said, managing a low and smooth tone.

Patton nodded immediately, and after a slower extrication from Roman’s leg, he ran off quickly and soon returned with a whole armful, grinning all proud with himself.

There wasn’t a chance of resistance against that smile, and Roman grinned back. “Good job.”

He patted his lap. “Set one here.” He patted a few places beside him. “Two here, one here, and the last one there.”

Patton placed the pillows where Roman directed him to.

Roman patted the pillows where they were now laid out to turn his lap and the couch into a very soft cozy spot. “Now lay down.” He said grandly, omitting the ‘you can’ that he instinctively wanted to add after the ‘now’.

Patton flopped down onto the pillow nest, all glowy and happy looking. Roman booped him again. “Adorable.”

Patton’s face scrunched up cutely.

“You are,” Roman pressed.

Patton made a little pout, but it turned into a smile again as soon as Roman ran his fingers through his hair.

“Say it,” Roman commanded gently. “Admit that you’re adorable.”

Patton hid his face in his hands, blushing.

Roman carded his fingers through Patton’s hair. “You’re adorable, and handsome, and strong, and precious, and caring, and worthy of all the love and attention in the world.”

Patton shook his head, keeping his face as hidden behind his hands as he could.

Roman smirked. “You have to admit to one of them or I’ll make you repeat back the whole list~” Maybe getting to order him around was more fun than he’d thought.

Patton made a small noise of protest. “I’m… handsome.” He curled around Roman, hiding his face further.

“You bet you are,” Roman said softly, rubbing Patton’s back. “Handsome and lovely, and so very deserving of anything you could ever desire.”

Patton curled around him a bit tighter in what Roman guessed was a hug. He kept rubbing Patton’s back, firm circles moving up and down.

“I’m so happy,” Patton mumbled into Roman’s shirt. “And I feel so loved and it’s so much I don’t know what to do with it.”

Roman hugged Patton closer. “You don’t have to do anything with it. You can just enjoy it.”

Patton sat up to hug Roman more fully. In the brief glimpse Roman got of his face before he tucked his head down on Roman’s shoulder, he saw shiny teary eyes. Roman hugged him close, rubbing up and down his back.

And then he had a good idea.

“You wanna make cookies?” he murmured softly.

Patton’s breath hitched, and for a moment Roman thought he’d done something awful on accident.

“You’re so nice to me,” Patton said, his voice very teary. “And I love you so much!” He hugged Roman tighter. “Yes I do want cookies.”

Roman shifted his grip so he could carry Patton as he got up from the couch. The tears worried him a bit, but he trusted Patton to be telling the truth. “I love you too.”

Roman carried Patton into the kitchen and set him on the countertop. Patton sniffed and tried to hop down, but Roman held up a hand. Here’s where he could do a little more of the confident commanding.

“Nope, you stay right there.”

Patton nodded, and Roman handed him a paper towel before he could wipe his eyes on his shirt.

Roman looked in the cabinets, choosing one of the cookie mixes. He wanted to spend time with Patton, there was no need of dealing with the complication of making them from scratch.

He handed Patton the box. “Now you open that, and I’ll find a bowl and some eggs.”

Patton gave him a slightly watery smile, and took the pack.

Roman remembered to turn the oven on, and got out a bowl and some eggs. He handed them to Patton to start adding and mixing, and got some butter which he carefully tried to soften without melting in the microwave.

When he finally succeeded (mostly, there was a melted spot) and turned around with a proud smile, Patton looked normally happy again, not cry-happy. Roman beamed and set the butter down next to him, cupping Patton’s face with his hands.

“Is now an ok time for a forehead kiss?” Roman asked.

He was absolutely fine with forehead and hand and cheek kisses anytime, but Patton sometimes got squicked out, or worse, if he wasn’t in the right headspace. This time though, Patton smiled so happily and nodded. Roman pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“You make me so happy with just being you,” Roman said. “You’re worth so, so much to me.”

Patton pulled him into a hug. “You’re worth the world to me too, Roman.”

Roman held tight. He was so glad Patton had talked with him about setting this up. It was wonderful.

He leaned back and tapped the end of Patton’s nose. “Now you have some butter, and you can finish mixing the cookies while I find the pans.”

“Yep!” Patton said, smiling all bright and happy.

It took Roman several wrong guesses to find the drawer where the cookie sheets were kept, and when he turned back to Patton, Patton was trying to hide an amused grin. Roman stuck his tongue out, which made Patton giggle.

They formed the cookies together, and Roman pretended not to notice when Patton snuck a bit of the cookie dough into his mouth.

Roman put the full tray into the oven, set a timer, and then swooped Patton into his arms, spinning around to make him giggle.

“Roman!” Patton squeaked, but though his eyes were squeezed shut he had the biggest smile on his face.

Roman slowed the spinning and sat them both down on the kitchen floor, leaning in to bump his nose against Patton’s. “Yes~?”

“You’re such a dork!” Patton said, opening his eyes again and sticking his tongue out at Roman.

“Oh, you really are beautiful,” Roman said, not intending to say it out loud, but pressing forward once he realized he had. “Such deep brown eyes all sparkling and happy, and adorable freckles almost hidden by the sweet blush. You’re the most handsome man I think I’ve ever seen.”

Patton’s blush darkened, but he didn’t hide his face this time. “I think I might be the second-most.”

Roman frowned, tipping his head to the side in question.

“Cause you have to have seen yourself in a mirror before,” Patton said, booping Roman this time.

Roman felt warmth flood into his face, and Patton laughed.

“Now who's all blushy?” Patton teased lightly.

Roman grabbed Patton with a playful growl, and Patton let out a squeal.

The timer went off then, ruining their fun, but providing hot delicious cookies.

After cookies came more cuddles on the couch, and a very pleasant nap.

They would absolutely do this again sometime. Maybe many more sometimes.

#my own work #sanders sides #patton sanders #roman sanders #royality

[lessthansafe]

A Soft Afternoon with Cookies

Please I have no idea how to tag/warn, someone help me. This has some very light and non-sexual sub/Dom content. Patton and Roman are Queer-Platonic Partners.

“So then we have it set. You know what you want, and…” Patton’s voice became very shy. “And what I want?”

Roman cupped his hands around Patton’s face. “Yes I do. And I’m very proud of you for being so clear and open about what you want.”

Patton smiled slightly, and Roman booped his nose.

••^*^••

They were all set up.

Roman was sitting on the couch, and had set up one of Patton’s favorite shows to play on the tv. Patton peeked around the doorframe, looking very shy and nervous. Roman felt similarly, this was new to both of them. But he was taking charge. Being confident and sweeping Patton off his feet. By, well, rather pointedly not doing that.

He smiled at Patton, trying to look very confident and in charge, and once Patton offered a small wave back, Roman pointed to the ground in front of him.

It felt very awkward while Patton made his way across the room, and sat down there. He scooted back a bit, slotting between Roman’s legs facing outward, and wrapped his arms around Roman’s calf, leaning his head against his leg.

Now this was more familiar. The position was different, but it was essentially cuddling. Roman reached forward to pet Patton’s head, ruffling up his hair and scritching at his scalp. Patton melted against him, a heavy, warm weight.

Roman relaxed, feeling more at ease and confident now. He could certainly spoil Patton.

“Darling…” Roman said, more to himself, though he did say it out loud.

Patton tipped his head back to look up at Roman, his face still rather red. Roman just smiled down at him, tracing a finger along his jawline.

“You’re Darling,” he declared, punctuating the compliment with a boop to Patton’s nose.

Patton blushed adorably, hiding his face down in Roman’s leg.

Roman just went back to petting his hair. He was supposed to press some of those declarations, and to order Patton around a bit, but he was fine with easing into it. They were both very new to it, and if he was uncomfortable with going too fast, it was likely Patton would be too.

He enjoyed petting Patton’s hair anyway. His hair was soft and Roman really enjoyed feeling Patton relax and melt under his fingertips.

By the time the episode ended though, his leg was starting to fall asleep. It was probably about time to do some of that ordering around.

He reached down to tip up Patton’s chin. Patton was looking a lot more relaxed and comfortable now, his smile almost sleepy. Roman couldn’t help but smile softly back.

“Why don’t you grab us a couple pillows?” Was his first inclination, but he remembered he was supposed to be a bit bossy. Confident and in charge. “I want you to go and get several pillows,” Roman said, managing a low and smooth tone.

Patton nodded immediately, and after a slower extrication from Roman’s leg, he ran off quickly and soon returned with a whole armful, grinning all proud with himself.

There wasn’t a chance of resistance against that smile, and Roman grinned back. “Good job.

He patted his lap. “Set one here.” He patted a few places beside him. “Two here, one here, and the last one there.

Patton placed the pillows where Roman directed him to.

Roman patted the pillows where they were now laid out to turn his lap and the couch into a very soft cozy spot. “Now lay down.” He said grandly, omitting the ‘you can’ that he instinctively wanted to add after the ‘now’.

Patton flopped down onto the pillow nest, all glowy and happy looking. Roman booped him again. “Adorable.”

Patton’s face scrunched up cutely.

“You are,” Roman pressed.

Patton made a little pout, but it turned into a smile again as soon as Roman ran his fingers through his hair.

“Say it,” Roman commanded gently. “Admit that you’re adorable.

Patton hid his face in his hands, blushing.

Roman carded his fingers through Patton’s hair. “You’re adorable, and handsome, and strong, and precious, and caring, and worthy of all the love and attention in the world.”

Patton shook his head, keeping his face as hidden behind his hands as he could.

Roman smirked. “You have to admit to one of them or I’ll make you repeat back the whole list~” Maybe getting to order him around was more fun than he’d thought.

Patton made a small noise of protest. “I’m… handsome.” He curled around Roman, hiding his face further.

“You bet you are,” Roman said softly, rubbing Patton’s back. “Handsome and lovely, and so very deserving of anything you could ever desire.”

Patton curled around him a bit tighter in what Roman guessed was a hug. He kept rubbing Patton’s back, firm circles moving up and down.

“I’m so happy,” Patton mumbled into Roman’s shirt. “And I feel so loved and it’s so much I don’t know what to do with it.”

Roman hugged Patton closer. “You don’t have to do anything with it. You can just enjoy it.”

Patton sat up to hug Roman more fully. In the brief glimpse Roman got of his face before he tucked his head down on Roman’s shoulder, he saw shiny teary eyes. Roman hugged him close, rubbing up and down his back.

And then he had a good idea.

“You wanna make cookies?” he murmured softly.

Patton’s breath hitched, and for a moment Roman thought he’d done something awful on accident.

“You’re so nice to me,” Patton said, his voice very teary. “And I love you so much!” He hugged Roman tighter. “Yes I do want cookies.”

Roman shifted his grip so he could carry Patton as he got up from the couch. The tears worried him a bit, but he trusted Patton to be telling the truth. “I love you too.”

Roman carried Patton into the kitchen and set him on the countertop. Patton sniffed and tried to hop down, but Roman held up a hand. Here’s where he could do a little more of the confident commanding.

“Nope, you stay right there.”

Patton nodded, and Roman handed him a paper towel before he could wipe his eyes on his shirt.

Roman looked in the cabinets, choosing one of the cookie mixes. He wanted to spend time with Patton, there was no need of dealing with the complication of making them from scratch.

He handed Patton the box. “Now you open that, and I’ll find a bowl and some eggs.”

Patton gave him a slightly watery smile, and took the pack.

Roman remembered to turn the oven on, and got out a bowl and some eggs. He handed them to Patton to start adding and mixing, and got some butter which he carefully tried to soften without melting in the microwave.

When he finally succeeded (mostly, there was a melted spot) and turned around with a proud smile, Patton looked normally happy again, not cry-happy. Roman beamed and set the butter down next to him, cupping Patton’s face with his hands.

“Is now an ok time for a forehead kiss?” Roman asked.

He was absolutely fine with forehead and hand and cheek kisses anytime, but Patton sometimes got squicked out, or worse, if he wasn’t in the right headspace. This time, Patton smiled so happily and nodded. Roman pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“You make me so happy with just being you,” Roman said. “You’re worth so, so much to me.”

Patton pulled him into a hug. “You’re worth the world to me too, Roman.”

Roman held tight. He was so glad Patton had talked with him about setting this up. It was wonderful.

He leaned back and tapped the end of Patton’s nose. “Now you have some butter, and you can finish mixing the cookies while I find the pans.”

“Yep!” Patton said, smiling all bright and happy.

It took Roman several wrong guesses to find the drawer where the cookie sheets were kept, and when he turned back to Patton, Patton was trying to hide an amused grin. Roman stuck his tongue out, which made Patton giggle.

They formed the cookies together, and Roman pretended not to notice when Patton snuck a bit of the cookie dough into his mouth.

Roman put the full tray into the oven, set a timer, and then swooped Patton into his arms, spinning around to make him giggle.

“Roman!” Patton squeaked, but though his eyes were squeezed shut he had the biggest smile on his face.

Roman slowed the spinning and sat them both down on the kitchen floor, leaning in to bump his nose against Patton’s. “Yes~?”

“You’re such a dork!” Patton said, opening his eyes again and sticking his tongue out at Roman.

“Oh, you really are beautiful,” Roman said, not intending to say it out loud, but pressing forward once he realized he had. “Such deep brown eyes all sparkling and happy, and adorable freckles almost hidden by the sweet blush. You’re the most handsome man I think I’ve ever seen.”

Patton’s blush darkened, but he didn’t hide his face this time. “I think I might be the second-most.”

Roman frowned, tipping his head to the side in question.

“Cause you have to have seen yourself in a mirror before,” Patton said, booping Roman this time.

Roman felt warmth flood into his face, and Patton laughed.

“Now who's all blushy?” Patton teased lightly.

Roman grabbed Patton with a playful growl, and Patton let out a squeal.

The timer went off then, ruining their fun, but providing hot delicious cookies.

After cookies came more cuddles on the couch, and a very pleasant nap.

They would absolutely do this again sometime. Maybe many more sometimes.

#my writing #how do I tag this???

[min-youngis]

We’ve Met

gif not mine

~ Pairing : Min Yoongi x Reader (Wedding Cake Baker x Maid of Honour)

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour, Pini n g

~ Summary : When Irene picked you to be her maid of honour, you didn't expect the very cute cake baker you'd be dealing with, and you sure as hell didn't expect all the bothersome feelings that tagged along.   

Strangers to Lovers

~ Word Count : a fair few i'd say (10,685)

~ Warnings : swearing, some smexy descriptions of Yoongi's hands

~ A/N : if you say anything bad about this, i'll cry. but i'll also cry if you say anything good about it. 

i'd love to hear feedback! spread the love!

masterlist in my description.    

~~~                                                                                   

You pull into a parking space opposite the destination and take a good look at the building you need to be inside within the next ten minutes.

It’s a small, single storey shop, with glass windows and two tiny tables on either side of the door. If you squint just so through your glasses, you can make out the display counter and all the sweets lined up. The white sign board on top reads Kim Seokjin Bakery in large, bold script and underneath, in smaller cursive, Wedding Cakes Available For Order.

It looks comical almost, all light and welcoming, baby pink and white themed, no doubt playing some bubbly radio-friendly pop, perched as it is, in between a dark, imposing tattoo shop on the one side and a sports apparel store on the other.

Trust Irene to find the brightest, cutest, most delightful bakery in the city. You let out a quiet groan, collect your bag from the passenger seat and your coffee cup from the console and climb out of the car, putting on your best I am here because you are my best friend and I love you and this is a part of my maid of honour duties face. You cross the road and after checking the address one last time, push open the door.

The first thing you register is the Katy Perry playing so loud, you feel like she’s singing Teenage Dream right inside your ear canal. The next thing you notice is the tall, broad shouldered, brown-haired man standing behind the cash register with a bright, friendly, maybe even genuine smile on his face.

He gives you a quick bow and shouts to be heard over the music. “Hello! Welcome to Kim Seokjin Bakery! What can I get you today?”

You’re convinced that you’ve stepped into one of those weird, Care Bear style, candy cane themed ice cream castles that Irene writes about in the children’s books she authors and the dude in front of you is Cheer Bear in the flesh.

You clear your throat a bit, working through the sensory overload, and begin to shout back that you’re here for a wedding cake tasting appointment and that the happy couple should be at the bakery any minute.

You’re halfway through the sentence, hoping against hope that he can hear you, because it'd be super awkward if you had to repeat yourself, when the music is cut off abruptly and you’re screaming, “-they’re almost here!” in the sudden, dead silence of the shop.

You shut your mouth immediately after trailing off at the ending and squeak out a soft ‘Sorry,’ refusing to meet....Jin's eyes, according to the name badge pinned on his chest that you can suddenly read, now that your ears aren’t being assaulted.

Huh. The man himself.

The guy looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh at your bashfulness and he’s about to say something, when the door behind the counter suddenly slams open with a loud bang, and a man in an apron stomps out, rage evident on his face.

“Jin, what the fuck? If I have to cut the music one more time because it’s too loud, I swear to God, I’m going to murder you-Oh, hello.”

You register how cute he is, even with his half-angry half-surprised expression, with a dash of flour on his forehead and clad in a fluffy, white cardigan, though he can’t be older than 26. Distantly, you also notice how elegant his fingers look inside his messy, icing coated gloves, his slightly veined forearms exposed with his sleeves rolled up.

You half heartedly raise your hand in a sheepish wave and watch with slight regret as he bows at you rapidly and mumbles out a quick ‘Sorry,’ before scrambling back to where he came from, quick as a flash.

He was there and then he wasn’t, so to speak.

Jin looks unfazed at the prospect of being murdered, still retaining his sunny disposition, as he lets out a small laugh and says, “Let’s try that again, shall we? Welcome to Kim Seokjin Bakery! My name’s Kim Seokjin. That grouch who just disappeared back there is Min Yoongi. Don’t mind him, he forgot how to have fun when he turned twenty one. Now I heard something about a cake tasting?”

You really don’t know what you’re about to say as your mouth opens, thoughts still stubbornly fixed on Min Yoongi, and it’s really for the best for all parties involved that Irene and her fiancé walk into the bakery at that moment.

“Y/N! You’re on time today!” she says, letting go of Namjoon's hand and making her way towards you, wrapping you in a hug.

You’d be offended at her surprise but you had, in fact, been late for the flower-picking and the venue-choosing, so you let it slide, letting her pull you into her frame and inhaling her permanent, calming, lavender scent.

You pull away to watch quizzically as Namjoon goes behind the counter, smiling brightly, and begins conversing with Jin like they’re old friends.

“They’re old friends,” Irene whispers, seeing your expression. “Met at high school, stayed in touch somehow, were in a band together apparently. Them and a couple of others. The other owner of this place, too. Something with Y? Yooni, maybe. That’s why we chose this bakery.”

You swallow thickly and whisper back, “Yoongi. Min Yoongi.”

She throws you a confused look, obviously curious about how you’re so confident about that piece of information, and she’s about to enquire about the same when Namjoon calls her, saying, “Darling? Let me introduce you to Jin.”

She throws you a look, one that holds a promise of this conversation isn’t over, and the two of you make your way behind the counter. Namjoon does all the introductions and when he lands on you, ‘Y/N, Irene’s best friend and maid of honour', Jin says, “We’ve met,” his eyes filled with mirth.

“I reached a bit early,” you explain. “I was just telling Jin that we were here for a cake tasting.”

Irene gives a good-natured, at least to her, punch on your arm and gently mocks, “Early? Oh, look at you go!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come at all,” you faux bitterly mutter under your breath, rubbing at the sore spot on your shoulder.

You’re snapped out of your whine when you hear Namjoon ask, “And where is the other owner of this fine establishment?”

You barely have time to morph your features back into their characteristically neutral expression when the back door opens again, and as if on cue, Yoongi enters, gummy smile on his face, gloves and apron off. It’s like you’re watching everything in slow motion, like that scene in Madagascar where Marty and Alex run towards each other with Chariots of Fire playing in the background. Except, instead of a chasing-on-the-beach sequence, it ends with a hug.

Once again, introductions are made all around (“Jin, this is Yoongi. Yoongi, this is Jin.” They all crack up at that, bless Namjoon's soul) and this time, there’s no mirth-filled grin when it’s your turn.

Yoongi’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck shyly as he catches your eye.

“We’ve uh...met,” he drily says.

Once again, you’re rushing to explain, “There was an incident with the music just before you guys walked in.”

“Jesus, Y/N, how early were you?” Namjoon asks, slightly awed.

Again, you’d be offended if it weren’t for the fact that his shock is perfectly justified, given aforementioned past instances, so you just vaguely mumble, “A couple of minutes, that’s all,” and wave your hand in a dismissive get over it motion.

A couple more minutes pass, conversation floating around you with Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi reminiscing about their band. You find out that Yoongi used to be a rapper and you have to shake the mental image of him on stage, probably wearing dark, grunge clothes, fingers wrapped around a mic and gasping for breath.

It’s disconcertingly odd and not a little intriguing, as you try to match that Yoongi to the one currently laughing in front of you, still in that goddamn fluffy cardigan that makes you want to simultaneously wrap him in a blanket and wrap yourself in a blanket.

Different blankets.

Maybe.

Eventually, Jin moves to get the catalogue and the five of you walk to a little table at the corner, squeezing best as you can into a set up that should ideally host three people at most.

It’s an agonising hour and a half, as you discuss designs and shapes and flavours and tiers, with your left side pressed into Yoongi’s arm, his soft, low voice hitting your ear in such close proximity and his damned hands resting on the table, fingers interlocked, directly in your line of sight.

At the end of it, as you all wrap up and arrange a final meeting and you feel simultaneously hot and cold with the lack of his presence next to you, you’re convinced that the following three months are going to be...interesting.

                            ________________________

The next week passes in a flurry of activity at work and you barely have time to think about the wedding. With quarterly reports due by the end of the month, your boss is being more of a hard ass than usual and your only saving grace is Jungkook, your roommate, who manages to pick up the groceries and keep dinner in the microwave for you every time you reach home late.

Friday night, 9 PM, sees you climbing up the stairs of your apartment, bag threatening to fall from your limp grip and exhaustion heavy on your shoulders. The rain outside has made your hair scraggly, and your glasses are flecked with obscuring water droplets, even after you had tried shielding yourself with your blazer, and the cold is seeping into your bones, clothes sticking uncomfortably to your body. Your head is filled with thoughts of a warm shower and bed, and you can only hope that Jungkook’s meeting with his new producer is over by now.

You open the door and toe off your flats, calling out, “Kook? I’m home!”

“In the dining room,” you hear him shout back.

You make your way to the room in question, only to halt to a dead stop at the entrance, comically sudden, like in those Tom and Jerry cartoons where somebody gets hit by a large frying pan mid-step.

There, leaning back against the counter, tea cup in hand, is standing one Min Yoongi.

He’s wearing a beanie, black hoodie and dark blue ripped jeans and your mouth goes dry at his ring clad fingers. Those mental images of him rapping? Yeah, they seem more believable now.

Almost unconsciously, you scan him, toe to head, past the grey socks, the peek of his knee through the hole in his jeans, the outline of one of his fisted hands inside the pocket of his hoodie, lips pursed against the rim of his mug and the few strands of black hair that have escaped his beanie. Your eyes pause at the rings on his fingers curled around the handle of the cup, and suddenly, you don’t feel very cold anymore.

Your eyes finally meet his, only to find him staring right back at you.

His expression matches your own startled one, his mouth still comically puckered around the cup, eyes wide and filled with surprise, gaze unwavering from your drenched form.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You’re brought out of your somehow hyper-aware daze by Jungkook’s voice and so is Yoongi, who softly clears his throat and darts his eyes away from you, busying himself with his tea cup.

Poor, sweet Jungkook whom you didn’t even notice was in the vicinity and, bless his soul, doesn’t seem to have noticed the very obvious tension in the room.

He’s bent over the table, takeout brochure spread out in front of him, phone in hand and trademark, bright smile on his face.

Before you can reply, and probably for the best because you’re not sure whether your voice still works, he excitedly continues, “This is Yoongi. I’m gonna be working with him on a track!”

Turning to the man in question, he says, “Yoongi, this is Y/N.”

Simultaneously, the two of you, in the same voice utter, “We’ve met,” doggedly refusing to look at each other.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, like a confused puppy, and asks, “When?”

“Irene’s wedding cake,” you explain shortly.

“Bakery,” he says at the same time.

You both awkwardly chuckle and Jungkook shrugs, satisfied with the answer(s).

“I’ve ordered pizza for dinner,” he tells you, holding the phone up. “You wanna go change into something warm?”

The realisation that your clothes are still wet hits you, and you suddenly feel a renewed wave of coldness.

You give him a ‘Hmm,’ and with a short, not-at-all awkward nod in Yoongi’s direction, you all but sprint away from the room, forcing yourself to not turn back and see if he was even looking at you.

You engage in what you think is a very necessary pep talk in front of the mirror while changing, and with a deep breath and one last, ‘He’s just a boy,’ you make your way back down.

Stepping into the living room, you find a box of pizza on the centre table, a sitcom playing on television and Jungkook in the middle of a slice.

Alone.

You feel your stomach sink.

Tamping down the disappointment, (all that work, and for what?) you return Jungkook’s full-mouthed, cheesy smile best as you can, nonchalantly grab a slice, and sit down next to him, passively asking, “Where’s Yoongi?”

“Oh, he left.”

Suavely, so suavely, like you couldn’t care less, you let out a noncommittal, vaguely inquisitive ‘Oh?’

“Yeah, he was only waiting for the rain to stop.”

You try not to let your chagrin show as you hum softly, hopefully sounding uncaring enough for Jungkook to not question your curiosity, and turn your attention to the Brooklyn Nine-Nine episode in front of you.

That night, you fall asleep to one part of your head repeatedly whispering, “He’s just a boy,” and another countering, “A very cute boy.”

You’re inclined to agree with the latter.

                         ________________________

Sunday mid-morning sees you in a trial room at a wedding dress boutique, trying on the Maid of Honour dress that Irene’s chosen.

(Puppy dog eyes, the promise of a free community library membership through her connections and ‘I promise, if you don’t like it, we can get it changed. But please, please, please let me pick out a dress for you.’)

You strip out of your t-shirt and jeans and unzip the dress cover that’s hung from a hook on the door, carefully slipping out the dark turquoise, soft, flowy cloth from it.

After a brief altercation between your glasses and the sleeve, you manage to pull it on, and turn to your reflection in the mirror.

You have to admit, you look good. The chiffon material seems to flow down from the V-neck to the clinch at the waist, where the material spreads out and the colour begins to slowly fade into a calm, deep blue, ending at your feet.

You might just have to tell Irene that she did a good job.

Unbidden, a thought rushes into your head, I hope Yoongi will be at the wedding. It’s a little surprising because, after all, he is just a boy.

(And you haven’t exactly faced your thoughts about said boy, so far preferring to stick to your usual reaction when feelings crop up i.e. stringent avoidance.)

Giving yourself a quick once-over and a satisfied nod, you push the curtain aside and re-enter the waiting lounge, immediately greeted by Miya cooing, “You look amazing!”

She and Hyejin are sat on the couch, already in their dark blue bridesmaid dresses, similar to your own.

Hyejin looks up from her phone, grin on her face. “I almost forgive Irene for picking you as maid of honour now.”

You mumble a ‘Thank you,’ blush creeping up your neck, a tad bit conscious from the attention, even when the source is your closest friends. Moving to take a seat next to Miya, you ask, “Is Irene not done yet?”

As if on cue, the curtains of the centre cubicle part and out steps your best friend.

“My head's too big for the tiara,” she says, like she isn’t standing in front of all of you looking like a goddamn princess, in her sparkling, white, off shoulder wedding dress.

The next couple of minutes are filled with squeals and twirling and ‘When did you grow so old? I can’t believe you’re getting married,’ courtesy Hyejin.

Two hours later, you’re all in your normal clothes and leaning back in your chairs, satiated after lunch at a restaurant nearby, and in high spirits off of the company and a productive day.

Miya lets her fork clatter on her plate, an air of finality in the sound and utters, voice sleepy, “I could go for dessert.”

You hum in agreement, already thinking about a good chocolate chip ice-cream or a slice of red velvet cake.

“Oh, I’d die for some cheesecake right now,” Irene says.

Hyejin pulls out her phone and searches for dessert places nearby and really, you should have known that this day was going too well, when a moment later, you’re choking on water as she reads out from her screen, “There’s a Kim Seokjin Bakery, like five minutes away. Wait, isn’t that where you’re getting the cake from?”

Miya repeatedly thumps your back as Irene enthuses, “Yeah! Joon and I tasted some of their stuff the other day, they’re good.”

And that’s what finds you, ten minutes later, about to enter Kim Seokjin Bakery.

The entire time while walking, you had wracked your brain, trying to think of an excuse to get out of this situation without making it sound suspicious, only to come up empty-handed.

You watch, palms clammy, eyes glued onto Irene’s hand on the handle, praying to all the gods you believe in only when you need something, that Yoongi’s on holiday, or that he’s late, or even that he’s just in the back and doesn’t surface the entire time you’re here.

The door swings open, and because you didn’t go to the temple on that one birthday when you turned thirteen and the higher ups have hated you ever since, standing there, in all his white cardigan glory is Min Yoongi.

The gods can suck it, you’re actively atheist now.

Before you can make a run for it, consequences be damned, he looks up from the counter top he’s wiping with a cloth and starts in a drone, “Welcome to Kim Seokjin Bakery, how can I help-oh, hey!”

No escaping now.

You raise a hand in greeting, refusing to meet his eyes, forcing the butterflies in your stomach to cut out the bloody rager they’re throwing in there, as Irene replies, “Hi, Yoongi!”

He moves towards the register and asks, “What can I get you today?”

You focus on choosing between a red velvet cupcake and a chocolate mousse, eyes burning holes into the glass as you force yourself to not look up or in his general direction.

Did that sweater always fill out his shoulders like that?

The others tell Yoongi what they want and now it’s your turn and you want to kick yourself when you honest-to-god stutter out, “O-One red velvet cupcake, please,” like a fucking teenager with a crush, your voice pitching up as your eyes catch on the single ring he’s wearing on his left pinkie finger.

The same finger that brushes against yours when you reach over the counter to take your cupcake.

You nearly drop the pastry as you feel a blush beginning to form at the base of your neck, and you mumble out a ‘Thank you,’ scurrying away to the table in the corner where Miya's sat, already halfway through her brownie.

You have to push away the thought of Yoongi making the very same cake that you’re about to eat. It’s simply too erotic an image for a bakery.

Forcing yourself to seem placid, you bite into it, immediately understanding why the place has such a high rating.

However, you’re rudely brought out from your cupcake-induced coma when you notice Hyejin and Irene sitting down at the table with wide, Cheshire grins.

You suddenly feel very unsafe, sat as you now are in between the two of them.

Miya looks up from her brownie and says around the spoon she’s still got dangling from her mouth, “Uh, guys? What are you doing?”

Hyejin's grin grows wider. “Y/N here has a little something she’s been hiding from us.”

Irene looks like she’s trying hard not to burst into giggles, as she coos and pinches at your cheek. “You’re the colour of the cupcake,” she observes.

You swat her hand away, busying yourself with said cupcake, stubbornly refusing to meet their eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniff, before you take a huge bite, staring straight at the wall behind Miya, who looks mighty confused.

“What’s going on? What’s she hiding? Y/N, what are you hiding?”

Hyejin, truly the devil incarnate, leans back  in her chair and damningly says, “She’s got what the kids call a crush.”

There’s only so much avoiding you can do around the three of them and now you’re blushing in full force, fruitlessly fighting off your own grin as Irene lets out a cackle and Miya excitedly whoops.

You immediately shush them, sure that there’s no way Yoongi won’t notice all the noise they’re making.

“Shut up,” you whisper harshly. “It isn’t a crush, don’t call it a crush.”

Blatantly disregarding what you just said, Miya softly exclaims, “Oh my god, I knew something was weird when you were being quieter than usual on the way here.”

“Miss I-have-no-emotions is in love,” Irene teases as she nudges your shoulder.

Flipping her off, you quietly whine, “Stop, it’s nothing, don’t make it a thing.”

Hyejin dabs at her mouth with a tissue and nonchalantly says, “So I’m guessing it wouldn’t interest you to know that he keeps looking at you every three minutes?”

The blush that was fading is now back in full force as you try hard not to giggle, fucking giggle, and you manage another bite of your cupcake and unconvincingly utter, “Nope.”

You’re fighting a losing battle at this point really, as the rest of the conversation revolves around Yoongi and your crush and you’re repeatedly forced to slam your palm over Irene’s mouth every time she goes to call him for ‘wedding related reasons.’

You all leave the bakery, the others throwing obnoxious ‘Bye, Yoongi’s behind them, as you manage a small, shy wave.

It is possible that, maybe, you have a teensy crush on one Min Yoongi.

                              ________________________

The thing about liking somebody is that it makes you giddy. The thing about admitting that you like somebody is that it makes you feel like you’re permanently floating on a cloud.

You swear your glasses have been fitted with rose-tinted lenses and everything in the world has a lovely, warm glow to it. Logically, you know it’ll pass. A couple of weeks (okay, fine, maybe a couple of months) and you’ll hardly remember Min Yoongi. But for now, you’re going to enjoy getting lightheaded over something this inconsequential.

Jungkook figures out what’s happening about a week after the dress trial, when he walks in on a video call you’re having in the living room with Miya, in the middle of her squealing and you blushing. He stops at the door like he’s just seen a ghost when he hears you giggle and you don’t blame him.

Giggling and...emotion in general, are not things you do.

After getting over his shock at seeing you blush that vividly for the first time in your five year friendship and four year roommate-ship, he manages to wrench it out of you, howling in glee when he remembers how you had acted that night when Yoongi had come over.

He doesn’t let it go the entire day, always greeting you with a teasing smile when he sees you around the house and even going so far as to take the call about his collaboration with the man himself in the living room, you sitting right next to him on the couch.

You bear with him as well as you can, repressing the urge to bonk him with great difficulty. You won’t let him take away your good cheer.

That night, you’re chopping carrots as Jungkook leans over the stove, stirring at the bubbling gravy inside. He’s been relatively decent for the duration that the two of you have been cooking dinner, probably not wanting to test you when you’re holding a knife, and it’s the last thing you’re expecting when he asks, “So what're you gonna do about it?”

You nudge him to the side with your hip as you drop the vegetables into the pot.

“Do about what?”

“Your crush on Yoongi.”

You’re confused. He can’t possibly thing you’re going to do anything about it.

“Aren’t you going to ask him out?”

Apparently, he can.

As you wash the cutting board, refusing to meet his eyes, you ask, in an obvious tone, “No? Why would I?”

He turns away from the stove, letting the pot simmer and looks at you quizzically. “Because you like him?”

The poor, naïve boy.

Replacing the board behind the sink, you pick up two glasses from the cupboard overhead as you explain through a chuckle, “Jungkook, it’s just a crush. I’ll get over it, no biggie.”

His eyes grow wide with realisation as you walk past him to the fridge, and he switches off the stove, accusing stare following your motions.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Hmm? Do what?” you reply distractedly, as you pour out cranberry juice into the two glasses.

Suddenly, the carton is snatched from your hand and you look up to see Jungkook staring at you with a frown in his face.

“Not act on your feelings.”

You lean back against the counter and scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I act on my feelings plenty. I have friends, don’t I?”

He takes a gulp of juice straight from the carton, ignoring your pointed stare at the full glasses right next to you on the counter, and begins counting on his fingers as he lists out, “The barista at the coffee shop near your office, that RA during our third year of uni, Mrs. Smith's daughter who visits every weekend-"

“Are all people I’ve gotten over, just like how I’ll eventually get over this crush too,” you interrupt, now beginning to get a little annoyed. This is starting to veer dangerously on talking-about-feelings territory and you don’t do that shit sober and before three in the morning.

Twisting the cap back on the carton, Jungkook says into the fridge, “You didn’t have to get over them. And you can’t tell me that this one isn’t different. I’ve never seen you this...free before, even with your previous crushes.”

“Dude, stop. This isn't going anywhere. Don’t harp on it,” you say with an air of finality, turning around and busying yourself with piling rice onto two plates.

You feel Jungkook’s eyes on you as you walk out of the kitchen, hands full, but thankfully, he doesn’t attempt to continue the conversation.

Dinner is quieter than usual, with you deep in thought about things that don’t bear thinking about, and Jungkook biting his tongue every time he’s about to talk, so as to not send you into a bigger spiral.

As you rinse the dishes in silence, passing them to Jungkook to dry, he finally says gently, “I just want you to be happy. And Yoongi’s a great guy.”

You merely hum in response.

Taking that as an invitation, he continues, “You don’t have to be so worried. What’s the worst that could happen?”

What’s the worst that could happen?

Your head repeats it over and over as you toss and turn in bed that night, running through worst case scenarios. You fall asleep with only one conclusive thought that doesn’t answer anything.

Feelings are stupid.

                              ________________________

You’ve practiced and perfected your signature act of stringent avoidance, and for the next two weeks, you drown yourself in work and Irene’s wedding that’s looming closer, absolutely refusing to let yourself even think about Jungkook’s words and Min Yoongi as a whole.

There were blips of course. A final cake tasting that Irene wanted you to go for, and when Jungkook asked for you to drop off some food at the studio when he was working with Yoongi. You managed to get through both events with minimal embarrassment, refusing to meet Yoongi’s eyes and sometimes pretending to not hear him when he spoke to you, coming out of both instances feeling like your heart had been put through a blender and eagerly looking forward to Irene’s wedding getting over and Jungkook finishing this damn song already, so you can just get over him in peace.

Two weeks left for the wedding and you, Miya, Hyejin and Irene are walking down a set of staircases on the pavement, all of you slightly tipsy from the tequila, including your usually teetotalling ass, about to enter a seedy looking pub with a sign on top of the door, at street level, that reads NYLON in bright, green neon tube lighting.

The thing about Irene, is that in addition to being a children’s book author who has weekly readings at the community library and volunteers in old age homes, she also lives and breathes hip hop music.

And being the incredible maid of honour that you are, for her bachelorette party, you’ve planned to end the night with a visit to a pub that often hosts some of the most famous underground rappers in the city. At least, that’s what Google said.

Somehow, from Irene’s frequent giggles as she stumbles her way down the staircases, and the slightly hazy look in her twinkling eyes as she clutches onto an equally giggly Miya, you don’t think she’ll mind, either way.

Hyejin pushes the door open with a flourish, and you all enter to the sounds of hooting. It’s fairly more packed than you had expected, crowd excited and bobbing to the bass thumping out of the speakers. There are too many people in front for you to be able to see who’s on stage, but even you have to admit that they’re really good, hardly pausing to take a breath as they rap out line after line.

And from Irene’s wide eyes and delighted grin, she seems to agree.

You can tell that you guys are a little late into the set, as they wrap up in the next ten-ish minutes or so, and for a split second, the crowd parts enough for you to see the performer on stage, sweating and panting and surveying the cheering crowd with a satisfied, cocky smirk.

The alcohol seems to drain out from your system as you make eye contact with Yoongi and your heart skips a step as he doesn’t look away, everything seemingly happening in slow motion.

The room suddenly seems too crowded to breathe, and without a word to the others, you turn around and push your way out of the pub, wanting nothing more than to get away from there.

You shove the door open and let it fall shut behind you, letting yourself take deep breaths as you slump against the wall next to the entrance. You shut your eyes and let your head fall behind, resting on the cool brick, abruptly feeling so tired as you faintly hear the thumping bass from behind you.

“Hey.”

Jumping off the wall as if a matchstick had been lit under your ass, your eyes shoot open and land on the man standing next to you, looking at you with his hand sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, small smile playing on his lips.

Min fucking Yoongi.

You force yourself to calm down again as he leans back on the wall next to you and continues, “First time here?”

Despite how supremely distracting he looks at the moment, dressed in tight black jeans and an oversized black t-shirt under a large brown coat, hair matted to his forehead with sweat and long fingers covered in large rings, you manage to say, “Yeah, we're here for Irene’s bachelorette.”

Distantly, you realise that this is the first time that you’ve been alone with him.

“Preparations going well then?”

You shrug, sinking back, what little alcohol that’s left in your system allowing you to loosen up, as you reply, “Well enough.”

He lets out a hum and now there’s quiet around the two of you, the neon sign overhead casting a muted glow and the faint sounds of traffic above mingling with the music behind.

It doesn’t feel awkward. Just...silent. It isn’t comfortable either. It just exists.

“And how's Jungkook?”

You turn your head, looking towards him out of the corner of your eye, confused as you slowly say, “He’s fine. You guys had a meeting today, didn’t you?”

He opens his mouth to reply when the door opens next to you and Hyejin jogs out, wide eyes immediately drawn to you on the side.

“Oh thank god. We’ve been so worried, you just disappeared and we couldn’t find you and the we called Jungkook to find out if you had gone ho-Oh, hello.”

Yoongi shuts his mouth abruptly and raises his arm in greeting.

“We were going to leave because Miya's head’s starting to hurt but we can stay for a while longer if you want?” Hyejin hesitantly asks, eyes locked on yours, as if she’s telepathically trying to understand what you’re doing out here in the dark, hanging out with Min Yoongi, whom you’ve declared as the-boy-who-won't-be-named in your little group over the last couple of weeks.

Hell if you know.

You turn to Yoongi as he gives you a weak ‘Don’t worry about it,’ with a soft, almost-rueful smile, before he waves at you and Hyejin and turns around, walking towards the back entrance from where he came.

Hyejin looks at you worriedly, probably only now noticing your tired face and drooping shoulders.

“Is everything fine?” she quietly asks, placing a comforting palm on your shoulder.

You let out a sigh before you say, “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s just get the others and go home, yeah?”

She gives you a reassuring nod and a soft ‘Chin up, love,’ and with one last nod, the two of you re-enter the pub.

                             ________________________

“You’re moping again.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’ve been eating that same bowl of cereal for the last ten minutes.”

“It’s good cereal.”

“It’s plain cornflakes. I don’t know why we have it at home in the first place.”

“It was on sale.”

Jungkook huffs in annoyance before snatching the bowl and spoon from your grip and placing it on your side table, ignoring your cries of protest as he whips open the curtains, letting in the sunlight that you so dearly wanted to keep outside.

Shutting the laptop that’s playing dumb cat videos, he moves it out of the way before sitting in its place, not letting you bury yourself under the covers.

After a brief scuffle between you, him and the blanket, that really, you were bound to lose, seeing as how Jungkook’s biceps are the size of your head, he manages to wrench the bedding from your hands, leaving you glaring at him sourly, arms crossed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he scoffs, bundling up the blankets and dumping them on the floor, before he turns towards you. “Ever since you came back from that bachelorette party two days ago, you’ve been cooped up in here. It’s time for an intervention.”

You roll your eyes, kicking your legs out petulantly, not reaching anywhere near him. “I don't need any intervening. I’m fine.”

“Have you eaten anything other than cereal? No, scratch that, other than plain fucking cornflakes?”

“I’m trying out a diet,” you cautiously reply.

“Oh, please, we both know you don’t buy into that bullshit. You never shut up about unhealthy eating habits and the harmful effects of diet culture when I’m doing my monthly keto,” he says, fingers in air quotes and expression sceptical.

You let out a huff, annoyed that he saw through you that easily. You and your fat mouth.

At your refusal to engage in further conversation, lips stuck in a pout and stubbornly avoiding his gaze, he lets out an exasperated groan, before he whines, “Come on, Y/N. I’m starting to get worried here. Joon asked me how your cold was during our run today morning. I didn’t even know you had a cold.”

“...I don’t.”

His eyes soften as he leans forward and taps your knee, making you look at him.

“What’s going on?”

You let your gaze flick to the bedroom door.

Noticing, Jungkook cocks his eyebrows up. “Do you really think you’ll make it?”

Letting out a harsh sigh, you slump against the headboard of your bed as you feel the fight leaving your body. Your roommate is a muscly, stubborn little shit and you’re not getting out of this.

He gives you time to collect your thoughts, looking at you expectantly, but not rushing you, now that he knows you won’t try escaping again.

“Min Yoongi.”

He doesn’t look surprised that you open with that, probably expecting him to be the topic of conversation.

“Is that bothering you so much? Last I heard, we weren’t allowed to say his name in a non-work capacity in this house.”

“We aren’t,” you shoot back, with a dirty look.

He raises his hands, palms outward in a pacifying gesture. “Sorry, sorry, please continue.”

“Did you have a meeting with him two days ago?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Then why did he ask me how you were doing?”

Now, Jungkook looks confused.

“Wait, what? When did you talk to him?”

In as few words as possible, you relate your sad, sordid tale and watch as Jungkook’s face flies through five different emotions during your retelling.

He settles at perplexity. His hand comes up to his chin, stroking his non-existent beard.

“I had just met him. And at the studio, he had asked me about...holy shit.”

You’re brought out of your gloom by Jungkook’s slowly widening grin. You can practically see the gears turning in his brain.

“What?” you shortly ask, thoroughly sceptical.

“Okay, don’t freak out when I say this-"

“If you already think that’s a possibility, you probably shouldn’t say it-"

“Yoongi likes you.”

You lean back from him as if you’ve been burnt.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

He leaps off the bed, excitedly beginning to pace around the room, arms waving as he begins to explain, occasionally turning to your disbelieving face.

“Every time when I’m with him, he always asks how you are-"

“He's being polite, you should try it sometime-"

“And Irene was telling me how he asked her if he had done something wrong because you were ignoring him-"

“Stop talking about me behind my back!”

He waves you down as he begins to pace more feverishly and continues, “And he changed that one line to purple frame from pouring rain, I’m thinking because of your glasses-"

“He should probably change it back, that sounds like a horrible decision.”

“That’s it, I connected the dots.”

“Jungkook, you didn’t connect shit.”

Again, disregarding your protests, he continues, “And I’m pretty sure the reason he asked you about me is because he wants to know if we’re dating, but he doesn’t want to seem too obvious about it-"

“Jungkook!”

“Whoa, hey, that’s the thing you’re the most offended about? I’m hurt, Y/N-Oh, fuck.”

He rushes towards your side of the bed on seeing your stricken expression. Your head feels heavy, tears blurring your vision as you watch Jungkook bend down on the floor in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s fine, you don’t have to say anything to him. The wedding will be over in two weeks, I’m almost done with the song, you don’t even have to see him if you don’t want to,” he rapidly says, as he wipes off the single tear that manages to escape.

You force yourself to calm down and take a deep, shaky breath, harshly rubbing your eyes with your free hand.

Quietly, in the pregnant silence of the room, making eye contact with Jungkook for the first time in the entire conversation, you finally, hoarsely utter, “What if I want to see him? What if I want to talk to him? What if I like him so much, my heart almost hurts more when I’m around him than when I’m not?”

He gives you a small smile and a gentle squeeze of your palm.

“Then you’ve got the best wingman right here.”

You hiccup softly at that, feeling drained from all the emotions of the last three days. Jungkook stands up and pulls you along with him, tugging you into a hug that you welcome.

“Thanks,” you softly mutter as you pull away, slightly sniffling and refusing to make eye contact with him, suddenly embarrassed from the events that have transpired.

Noticing your discomfort, he lets you turn away from him and moves to leave the room.

He stops at the door and says, “Why don’t you come down after texting the others, and we can order lunch and watch something trashy? No boy talk,” he says, crossing his heart.

You give him a tiny grin, the most you’ve managed in the last two days, before you reply, “You’re a boy.”

“Not in the romantic way.”

“According to Yoongi, you are.”

“Oh, we’re laughing about that now?”

                              ________________________

Twenty four hours left for the big day and you’d be happy if you never had to hear the word ‘wedding' in your life again. Despite organisation and coordination being your strong suits, nothing could’ve prepared you for the last minute rush.

Really, it’s a miracle that you and the best man, Jackson, haven’t just up-and-away'ed from it all.

You’re at the venue, securing the arch with Hoseok, one of the groomsmen, when Jackson comes jogging into the chapel, phone in hand.

Absurdly, the mental image of a labrador puppy with a tennis ball in their mouth comes to the forefront of your mind.

“The bakery called and Joon asked if you could take it because he and Irene are finalising the speech sequence,” he explains in a single, long breath, holding out Namjoon's phone to you.

Oh.

After your big, emotional reveal with Jungkook that day, you’ve pretty much just been biding your time in the romantic front and resigning yourself to passively letting any and all feelings just happen until you actually meet Yoongi face to face at the wedding. Jungkook’s more than happy to let you be, probably being able to tell how mortified you are after all that uncharacteristic word vomit, and he doesn’t bring anything up. Occasionally, when the two of you are watching television, he'll point at a couple on screen and with a wide grin, he’ll say, “Fighting, Y/N!” and once, he sent you a YouTube link that you assumed was one of his usual Vine compilations but ended up being a video titled ‘5 Ways To Ask Someone Out' but for the most part, he’s been pleasantly bearable.

He did casually let it slip to Yoongi that the two of you were just good friends and roommates and not, in fact, dating. Apparently, Yoongi gave a small smile when he heard, but you don’t know if that’s just Jungkook dramatising and his overactive imagination.

You can manage a phone call, no problem. It’s a toss up between which owner you’ll end up talking to anyway.

Taking the unlocked phone from Jackson, you redial the most recent contact (KSJ Bakery), and move away from the arch as Jackson rushes forward to take your place and Hoseok continues fastening the metal to the wall.

You bite your lip in anticipation as the ring tone hits your ear and very nearly drop the phone when it stops, hearing a decidedly deep, non-Jin voice casually rattle off, “Hey, Namjoon. Thanks for calling back, I just wanted to confirm the pick-up plan for tomorrow.”

Clearing your throat, you hesitantly reply, “Uh, this is Y/N speaking. Joon's a bit busy at the moment, but he’s given me all the details, so I can clear any doubts you might have.”

Silence.

You’re about to let out a tentative ‘Hello?’ when he says, “Oh yeah, no problem. I just wanted to make sure that the cake would be collected before five in the evening.”

Taking the pen out of your pocket, you scrawl ‘Jimin-cake before 5’ on your wrist while balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear, as you reply, “Yeah, somebody should be there before then, no problem.”

“Awesome, I’ll make sure it’s ready to go.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Once again, silence.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to get rid of this awful awkwardness (“Bye,” perhaps) but he beats you to the punch by almost delicately asking, “So, uh, how have you been?”

After inaudibly swallowing in nervousness, despite there being no reason for it, he’s just making polite conversation for fuck's sake, you reply in a similar uncertain tone, “I’m good, yeah. And you?”

“Good, good, yeah. Me too,” he hums out, voice tapering out awkwardly at the end.

You see Jackson giving you a questioning look out of the corner of your eye, obviously confused about how weird you’ve suddenly become and you rush to end the call.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow then?” you ask, stuffing your pen back into your pocket and turning away from the half erect arch, mentally punching yourself for making it sound so flirty.

You get an obviously quizzical ‘Huh?’ in response and rapidly say, “At the wedding I meant. I didn’t-I didn’t mean anything else. Of course, not that there’s anything else to mean. Joon’s and Irene’s wedding is obviously what I was referring to. Okay, bye!”

Not waiting for him to reply, you hit the red button as quickly as you can, turning back around as you softly sigh and your insides churn in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to get away from the offending device as soon as possible.

You’re met by two pairs of wide, surprised eyes as Hoseok and Jackson have completely stopped working on the arch, looking at you instead. Hoseok's eyebrows have nearly disappeared into his messy brown hair and Jackson looks like Christmas has come early.

This won’t do. This won’t do at all.

With a half-assed excuse of returning the phone to Namjoon, refusing to meet their eyes, you scamper out of the room, quick as you can, without making it more painfully awkward than it already is.

                             ________________________

Wedding robes are, in your humble opinion, the single most simultaneously gratuitous and comfortable things, you’ve come to realise. Granted, you had turned your nose up at the concept the first time Irene brought it up, but now that you’re sat on the plush couch next to Irene’s mother at the corner of the bridal suite wearing a beige robe, watching as Irene gets her hair done and Miya helps Hyejin with her makeup, you’re convinced that you’re floating on a cloud.

You’re fairly sure that the reason Irene and Namjoon were able to get these robes without going over budget is that they just hired Miya as the makeup artist and she gave them a discount

The silk rubs soothingly against your skin as you get up and pad towards the front of the room, standing next to Irene’s chair and meeting her nervous eyes in the mirror as the hairdresser sets another curl just so.

“Tense?” you gently enquire, giving her a soft smile.

“Just a bit,” she breathes out, staying very still as the stylist flits around her.

“If you’re in this state, I’d love to see how nervous Joon is,” Miya giggles, evening out Hyejin’s blush.

Irene chuckles and moves her hand off of her lap, letting it fall and grabbing yours loosely. She gives your fingers a squeeze and you squeeze back with a reassuring grin.

“Y/N, you’re next!” Miya calls out, prompting you to walk to her as Hyejin moves towards the rack that has your dresses hanging in the centre of the room, smacking her lips as she smoothens her lipstick.

You obediently stand in front of Miya, tucking your glasses by the frame into the opening of your robe and tilting your neck back so she can apply your eyeliner and lip gloss, hands crossed behind your back.

Her already made up face hovers over yours as she delicately holds your chin in one hand, steadying your head as she runs the gloss over your lips.

She softly mutters, “Are you nervous?”

“About what?” you hum, best as you can without moving your face.

You know about what, of course you know about what.

She fixes you with a knowing look, and your eyes dart away from hers, fixing on Irene’s mother helping Hyejin adjust her dress, but she doesn’t pursue the thread of conversation, doing your eyeliner in silence.

Stepping away from her when she gives you the go ahead and turns to Irene, you move to the rack and collect your dress, turning to enter the attached toilet when your phone rings.

The caller ID reads Jackson Wang, and your mind immediately whirs into worst case scenarios.

Not wanting to alarm Irene in case it really does end up being something serious, you drape your dress on the couch arm and move to the corner of the room, while giving her what you hope is an encouraging thumbs up as she worriedly looks at you.

The first thing Jackson says when you accept the call is, “The florist just called and their truck broke down so one of us has to go get the flowers ourselves."

“Send Hobi,” you immediately say, your mind moving to the last minute problems and solutions chart that you and Jackson had gone over the previous night.

“I did, but then the caterers also called and apparently the appetisers got squished on the way, and they can’t make another batch in time.”

Well. That wasn’t on the chart.

“Uh, okay, then we can go get something from the café down the street. Is Jimin free?”

You hear a harsh sigh from the other end of the line as Jackson replies, “Yeah, but he needs to go get the cake too. I’d go but I don’t think it’s best for me to leave Joon right now, he’s started thinking about why they need a religious ceremony in the first place when he has, and I quote, ‘nothing to prove to God anyway,’ and I’ve only just stopped him from calling the priest.”

“Well, fuck. Tae?” you ask, half-groaning, referring to the third and final groomsman, crossing your fingers in the hope that he might be able to help.

“Needs to be here when the cameraman reaches.”

You look at Miya doing Irene’s makeup and Hyejin in turn fixing Miya's hair, as Irene’s mother unzips the wedding gown from its protective packaging.

Glancing at your own done up face and hair in the mirror and shooting a quick look at the tiny alarm clock on the table, you take a decision.

“I’ll get the cake. Let Jimin do the appetisers.”

“Are you sure? You need to be here for the pre-wedding photoshoot.”

“There’s still an hour to go. If I rush, I’ll be back in time.”

“All right, then. God speed, Y/N, god speed.”

Rolling your eyes at his dramatic farewell, you end the call, morphing your face into as calm an expression as possible before moving towards the others.

“What was that about?” Irene asks warily as she gets up from her seat, hair and makeup fully done.

In as nonchalant a manner as you can, you reply, “Oh, nothing. Just some last minute stuff with the florist, it's all good.”

You grab your dress in what you hope doesn’t look too hurried a manner and step into the toilet, changing in record time. You allow yourself a second to look at your reflection, fixing the strap on your shoulder and giving the fabric a sharp tug at the back so it doesn’t bunch over your ass, before you step back out into the room.

Irene’s climbing into her wedding dress with the help of Hyejin and her mother, and it’s all you can do to not call Jackson and tell him that the cake is mostly unnecessary anyway, so you might as well just not bother.

With a clear of your throat, you say, “I just have to get the cake real quick, so I’ll be going,” and with an apologetic look in response to Irene’s penetrating one, you grab your purse from the table, pull on your flats as fast as you can, and shuffle towards the door, pulling your car keys out.

You throw an ‘I know!’ behind your shoulder in response to Miya's ‘Photoshoot's at 3:20!’ before the door shuts behind you, and you make your way to the car park.

You’ve almost reached the bakery, when you become aware of the possibility that you might meet Yoongi, and you pray that Jin is also there so you won’t have to go through any time-wasting awkwardness.

Maybe it’s because you prayed too hard or because you agree with Namjoon’s philosophy and did the prayer all wrong, but when you enter, you find the bakery empty and quiet. If not for the signboard outside that reads ‘OPEN’, you’d have thought they had closed for the afternoon.

You check the time on your phone.

2:30 PM

Mentally calculating the time you have left to collect the cake and be back at the chapel (45 minutes), you tentatively ask out loud as you move towards the counter, “Hello? Is anybody here?”

You get no answer.

2:32 PM

You really have no time for this. You move behind the counter, hand poised to push open the door behind it, hoping that you’ll find one of the owners, when abruptly, you faintly make out a voice that sounds like Jin.

Inwardly cheering, you’re about to enter the backroom when you hear something that makes you stop in your tracks.

In Yoongi’s deep voice, more frazzled than you’ve ever heard, “I can’t ask her out today! It’s her best friend’s wedding, I’m sure she’s super busy.”

Your breath catches and your palms become clammy. Mentally, you try rationalising that it could be anybody, for self-preservation. Loads of people must be getting married today, and you’re sure you aren’t the only maid of honour who’s been put in charge of the wedding cake.

Behind the door, Jin replies, “You gotta do it soon, I get second hand embarrassment whenever I see you pining. You come back from every session with Jungkook with hearts in your eyes and he’s just her roommate.”

...Jungkook is a fairly common name?

You barely have time to gather your swimming thoughts and rapidly move away from the door, before you hear a low huff and an annoyed grumble of ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it,’ followed by the sound of two pairs of footsteps walking towards you.

You have no time to go back to the customer side of the counter, and trying to look as nonchalant as possible, you pretend to be absorbed in a catalogue that’s kept near the cash register. You hear the door open behind you and turn around, trying to seem as natural as possible.

Keyword being trying. Yoongi looks like a fish, mouth open, eyes widened in surprise. Jin behind him just looks vaguely pleased. You catch sight of your stricken expression in the glass cupboard behind them and mentally punch yourself for looking so obvious.

For a moment, the three of you just stare at each other, nobody moving or saying a word. And then Jin, recovering admirably well, amusedly says, “I didn’t know you could read upside down, Y/N.”

You look down at the pamphlet in your hand and see that ‘Weekend Special!’ is, in fact, upside down.

Face burning, you look back up and stammer, “Uh, yeah, nobody was there and I needed to pick up the cake so I thought I’d just-uh-come behind here and see...,” you trail off awkwardly at the end, refusing to make eye contact with either of them, desperately checking yourself from shuffling from foot to foot like a chastised student at the principal’s office.

Vaguely, you register that Yoongi still hasn’t said a word.

Hurriedly placing the catalogue back on the counter, you scurry to the other side, as a softly chuckling Jin gently shoves a still gaping Yoongi out of the way, and moves to the refrigerator, retrieving a large box from inside.

“The black hatchback parked right outside is yours?”

You shake your head out of your stupor, mind running a mile a minute. Replying to Jin, you say, “Uh, yeah. That one’s mine.”

He walks towards the door, and you know that logically, you should be following.

2:47 PM

Daring to look at Yoongi, you see that he’s shut his mouth, but his expression still resembles your own round-eyed one. Unable to handle the butterflies any longer, you violently throw an arm up, squeak out a swift ‘Bye!’ and spin around, rapidly walking towards the door behind Jin, your dress swirling around your ankles with a whoosh.

Your face is the colour of ripe tomatoes as you unlock the car and open the hatch, only half paying attention to Jin carefully placing the cake box inside.

He straightens up, clapping his hands together in a satisfied motion before turning and looking you dead in the eye.

You definitely aren’t prepared for the words that follow.

“You know, if neither of you do anything, nothing’s going to ever happen.”

And then, like he didn’t just drop that bombshell, he gives you a blinding smile, shakes your limp hand in his, and cheerily saying, “See you at the wedding. Don’t hit the brakes too hard!” he turns around and marches back into the bakery, hands tucked into his pockets, carefree as can be.

You’re in a haze as you move to the driver’s seat, buckling yourself in, head and heart all topsy-turvy.

The blinking digital clock on the dashboard warns 3 PM.

Fuck it.

In a rush, hardly registering what you’re doing, you let go of the seatbelt, not paying attention to the thwack it makes as it hits the side of the car. Throwing the door open and scrambling out, you jog back to the bakery, no doubt looking like a woman possessed.

You push the glass door and briskly walk to where Yoongi’s looking back at you in astonishment from behind the counter, tray full of colourful macaroons in his hands. Your system’s running on pure adrenaline at this point. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jin giving you a thumbs up and a delighted smile, and strolling to the back room, probably to give you guys a little privacy. A suspicious thump follows and you reckon he’s leaned against the other side of the door, ear probably pressed against it. You’d debate ethics, but really, you’re in no position to judge.

“Hey,” you start shortly, once you’ve reached Yoongi, who’s now placed the tray inside the display counter and is looking at you with a bemused expression.

“Hi! Did you leave something behind?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

You open your mouth and shut it again. In a rush, you realise what you’ve done. Like a fool, you try getting something coherent out, but all you manage is a weird cross between a tiny cheep and a squawk that sounds like a dying bird, before you clamp your mouth shut again.

From behind the back door, you hear a stifled chuckle.

Fucker.

Yoongi’s looking at you worriedly, as he kindly enquires, “Are you alright? Would you like some water or something?”

“No!” you shout, louder and more panicked than intended, as he turns around to get a bottle from one of the cupboards on the wall.

“No,” you repeat softer, with a nervous giggle that probably doesn’t do a lot to convince him as he turns around, now looking thoroughly bamboozled.

“Um, okay. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Another chuckle from behind the door.

Ridiculously, in the back of your brain, you can see Jungkook’s dumb grin as he screams, “Fighting, Y/N!”

Well, you’re definitely ready to fight someone.

You take a deep breath in. Shooting a quick prayer to the boss people up there (because that’s always seemed to work so well) and throwing all caution to the wind, you shakily ask, “Do you wanna-wanna maybe get coffee sometime? With me?”

You gauge his reaction, and your heart pretty much swoops as his face clears up and gives way to a wide, gummy smile, however much he tries to stop it from growing. Distantly, you think it makes him look like he’s having a seizure, but an attractive one.

He coughs and clears his throat, attempting to look nonchalant, as he nonetheless enthusiastically replies, “Yeah! Yeah, I’d like that!”

You can feel yourself matching his expression, as a stupid grin fills your face. You’re sure you both resemble right dorks, beaming and blushing like fools at each other, looking pleased as Punch.

Suddenly, a loud shout emerges from the back room as Jin insistently thumps the door. “Just set a time and go, Joon wants to know where Y/N is and what’s taking her so long!”

Flustered, Yoongi looks away, throwing a dirty look behind him as you look at your phone (3:07 PM) and see that you’ve got two missed calls from Irene, one from Hyejin and a grand total of six from Jackson.

With an agitated air, you revert your gaze to Yoongi, who gives you a small laugh as he waves his hand and says, “Go! We can figure it out later.”

You give him an apologetic grin and a cheerful ‘Bye!’ before jogging back out of the bakery, lightheaded.

                                  ________________________

[5:35 PM] Min Yoongi : Good luck. You look nice.

The entirety of the ceremony consists of you torn between paying attention to what’s going on right next to you on the dais and fighting your blush every time you catch Yoongi’s eye in the crowd.

Too busy thinking about his text you had received right before the doors opened, you nearly miss your cue to give Irene the ring.

                                  ________________________

Hours later, at the reception dinner, after the speeches are done, and the guests are dancing, and you can finally breathe, you feel yourself being tugged to the side by Jackson as you step down from the wedding party dais, and into a large, chaotic circle full of Namjoon’s friends. Incidentally, you end up standing right opposite a smiling Yoongi. Next to him, Jin throws you a wink.

Jackson begins introductions and there are ‘Nice to meet you's and ‘It was a beautiful ceremony’s thrown all around.

He finally reaches Yoongi.

“And this is Yoongi - part time bakery owner, part time music producer.”

A grin, a performative hand shake, and a blush from both parties involved, followed by a chuckle. Together, in the same amused voice, with twinkling eyes, the two of you say, “We’ve met.”

~                        

#bts #btsguild #btsbookclub #kwritersworldnet #ultkpop #thekpopnetwork #yoongi #suga #agust d #min yoongi #kpop #fluff #kpop imagine #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #kpop fluff #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #kpop fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #kpop scenario #bts scenario #yoongi scenario #j writes #daechwita #irene #jin #jungkook #jimin

[dearest-kibble]

Like sunshine through a curtain. (Ushijima x reader)

A soft Ushi for my love @animetrash420​ my love, my life and not the sea Don’t tell em,,,, but like...,, this is completely for them (maybe a little for me tooo but,,, shshshsh) anyway! This was meant to be purely fluffy but it’s a little bit,,, stockholm-y? anyway KOOGZ! I LOVE YOU

“You’re back!” The entire room lights up when Ushijima opens the door. He gives a small smile as you jump from the couch and bound to his arms. He brings you into his arms, laughing quietly as big muscly arms wrap you into his chest. He’s warm and smells like sunshine and dandelions in a field. You hold him close as he brings one hand to ruffle your hair. The other still wraps around your waist and rubs soft, sweet circles into your back.

“I missed you.” The inflection in his voice is not lost on you, he emphasized the I.

“I missed you more.” And you’re laughing as he clutches you a little tighter to his chest.

“That’s impossible. You cannot miss me more than I missed you.” Oh how wrong he was, you wanted to call him more than the everynight call, you wanted to sit down for a picnic in the field of wildflowers that have not been mowed. You want to talk about the farm that maybe one day, you two will build. With little helpers that call Wakatoshi “Dad!”

“I made some rice yesterday, do you want some?”

“I just want to spend time with you.” And the arm that was snaked around your waist moves to grip your hand and give it a light squeeze.

“I’ll heat some rice up and then we can sit and talk okay? I watched every single game.” You squeeze his large hand and bring it to your lips, pressing a small light kiss to his knuckles. Looking up at him, his ears are flushed a soft pink and you giggle slightly.

“What did you think?” He pulls his hand away and follows your footsteps as they lead into the kitchen.

“You were amazing Toshi! So talented and handsome, winning all those games!” You’ve scooped two bowls of rice and put them in the microwave when once again, a soft morning encases you in it’s arms, leaning his chin down to rest on the crown of your head. You feel the soft pitter-patter of rain as he speaks.

“I can still improve.”

“Waka-chan,” He huffs at the nickname, and you chortel as the reverberations hit your back. You’re perfect!” And the little “ding!” of the microwave gives you the excuse to bend in his arms and grab two bowls of rice.

“That’s you.” He stands back up straight. He looks for a moment as you search for chopsticks. “You’re cuter than I left you.”

“Toshi, sit down.” You roll your eyes, he might be unaware, but he’s relentless in his flattery.

“You are glowing.” He gives the tiniest nod in existence. “I love you.” And he graces the room with his smile, a soft, sweet thing that you’ve loved for what feels like ever. Another part of the house is brighter than the sun if it were there.

“Toshi-” It’s a warning that you don’t really mean, it’s just cute when he pouts. With that dumbfounded expression and furrowed brow.

“I thought you would like it if I-”

“Of course I like it, i’m just teasing you!”

“Oh.” He looks so serious and once more, he makes you laugh. “Shall we eat?”

“Oh! Of course!” And the (slightly colder) rice is placed at a low table that Ushijima already sits at. You pass the first bowl to him, “Thank you.” and sit with the second bowl still in hand.

“We can’t eat without chopsticks, did you get them?”

“Oh! Chopsticks, right.” You snap your finger and dash to the kitchen, find the metal sticks and walk slowly back to the table. “Here you go!’

“Thank you.” He nods again, and you two begin to eat in a silence that feels like a warm blanket and a good book. You two sit like this five minutes after you are both finished with your bowls.

“Do you want to come with me on my next trip?” It’s abrupt and slightly strange considering he only just got home a little over twenty five minutes ago. But you’d love to go with him, you miss him so much when he’s away.

“Can I!?”

“Of course, I would like for you to come with me.”

“Oh please Ushi! I’d love to see you play in person!”

“I’m glad you enjoy the notion as much as I do, we’re playing in Tokyo next, I hope you enjoy the trip.”

“I’ll enjoy anything as long as I’m with you!”

“I love you.” It’s soft, from across the table you both sit at. Setting sun lighting your room and a light breeze flowing through an open window. Birds chirp as you stare at Ushijima.

“I love you too Wakatoshi.”

#ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #hq ushijima #ushijima imagines #ushijima imagine #hq imagines #hq x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #no y/n #oh yeah i kiss the homies goodnight #kiss the homies goodnight ya'll #koogz #i love you so much #and i wanted it to be longer but i hope it's nice and softttt

[sisterspooky1013]

Never Give Up On A Miracle by SisterSpooky1013

12,864 words / Read it Here on AO3

X Files Missing Scene Fanfic Exchange gift to @night-of-cydonia , tagging @today-in-fic

Prompt: what happened after the flashbacks in Per Manum, from Mulder’s perspective?

It had been hours. Or it felt like it had been hours, anyway. He craned his neck to see the time on the microwave; 3:15. Her appointment was at 1:00, she should be back by now. He considered calling her, but maybe she wanted to be alone. Maybe it was bad news again. He shifted around a bit to get more comfortable on her small couch, thought about lying down in her bed but decided against it. Thought about digging through her fridge for something to eat, but decided against that, too. If Scully was devastated right now, if the last embryo transfer didn’t work, he had no right to physical comfort or nourishment. So he laid there and waited.

When she’d first asked him to be her sperm donor, he was so shocked he couldn’t speak. That turned out to be a good thing, because she insisted that he not answer right away; she wanted him to take some time to think it over, not go with whatever response came to him readily. He wasn’t sure if she was worried that a too-fast response would be a yes or a no; was she afraid he’d regret saying yes? Or was she worried that he’d say no, but might have said yes if he’d had more time to think? It didn’t matter, his immediate answer was yes, and his answer the next day when he stopped by her apartment was yes, and each and every time he saw her, or thought about it, or went to the clinic for his “deposit,” his mind screamed yes. Yes, I want to father your child. Yes, I want to be tied to you forever. Yes, I want to argue over whether or not they can play contact sports or date when they’re 15 and whether we’re willing to pay out of state tuition for college. Yes, I want it all, with you. He didn’t really know if any of that was available to him; maybe she just wanted his sperm and nothing more. But whatever it was, however little or much she wanted from him and with him, the answer when it came to Scully was always yes.

When he’d come by her apartment to give her his answer, there was so much he’d wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he needed her to be in his life always, that whether she decided to quit the FBI or transfer back to Quantico, or something else entirely, that he would be by her side. He’d tried to say all those things, but what came out was “I wouldn’t want this to come between us,” which he realized too late sounded like he was softening a “no.” The look on her face was a punch to the gut; the gentle quiver in her chin that she recovered from quickly, her rush to assure him that it was okay, that she understood. All the profound things he’d wanted to confess fell out of his head and the only thing he could muster was that the answer was yes. Watching the realization dawn on her, the relief flooding her body, the joy that tugged at the corners of her mouth, felt like magic. That he could make her that happy was something he’d only dreamed of. She’d hugged him so tightly, and he smiled against her hair, smelling her shampoo. For as much pain and suffering as he’d brought into her life, he could do this for her. It didn’t make up for all the rest, but it was something.

He’d had a lot of questions about how the procedure worked, but he didn’t want to burden her with explaining it so he did his own research, learning about all the hormones she’d have to inject herself with to prepare her body and the affects they would have on her, and the need for precise timing of when they transferred the embryo into her uterus.

The embryo.

It was a medical term, but in a literal sense it was the combination of their DNA. Half of her and half of him, duplicating and developing into what had the potential to become a baby. It got them ¾ of the way to pregnant; all the embryo had to do was attach to her uterine lining. It just had to stick around. The statistics said there was a 60% chance, generally speaking, but that didn’t necessarily take into account the damage done to her ova under cryo storage, much less the damage done to her body during her abduction; he doubted the medical community had data on how those factors affected her odds.

The first transfer he was mostly out of the loop on. Scully told him when to go in and provide his sperm sample, and that was it. He observed her mood swings and irritability and inferred they were side effects from the hormones, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to be intrusive and wasn’t sure what his role was. He wanted to know everything, but he didn’t think he had a right to. One day, a couple weeks after he’d spent some quality time in the donation room, she’d been flipping through some documents in the office when she got a paper cut. What started with an expletive quickly devolved into sobbing and he was confused, and worried, and a little bit scared. He went to her, gently placing a hand on her back, and she shook her head as if to say “it’s nothing, I’m fine.” He crouched down beside her, trying to see her face, but she hid it in her hands.

“Is it…is it the hormones?” He’d asked tentatively.

She’d looked at him then, her eyes bloodshot and wet, and shook her head again.

“It didn’t take,” she squeaked out between shuddering breaths. “I went in for a pregnancy test yesterday. It didn’t work.”

He’d moved closer, kneeling on the floor beside her chair, and enveloped her in a tight hug, stroking her back as he whispered in her ear reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Scully. We can try again, right?”

She’d nodded, but didn’t speak, her arms wrapped around his neck with a strangling grip. After a time, the sobs that racked her tiny frame subsided and she sniffled, relaxing a little. He took a chance at humor, wanting to bring some levity to the moment.

“That one just wasn’t the one, Scully. It was probably the next Jeffrey Dahmer or something.”

She snuffed a small laugh, pulling back to look at him. The pain in her eyes gripped at his heart and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep his own emotions from spilling over.

“Why didn’t you tell me when the transfer was, or when you were taking a test?” He asked, hoping that his tone conveyed care and concern, not irritation.

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be that involved. I didn’t want you to feel obligated I guess.”

He picked up one of her hands from her lap and held it between both of his.

“I want to be as involved as you’ll allow me to be. It’s your decision, but I’d like to know where you’re at in the process, if I can. Did more than one zygote make it to embryo stage? Did they freeze any?” His knees ached from kneeling on the floor but he didn’t want to lose this moment where she seemed to be opening up to him.

The corner of her mouth quirked and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yes, there were three embryos resulting from fertilization. They transferred one, and the other two are in cold storage. How do you know so much about this, Mulder?”

He gave her a shy smile and shrugged.

“Well I wanted to know what was going to happen to my… my genetic material, so I did a little research.”

Her mouth screwed up in attempt to hide her smile. It was an expression he knew well.

“I promise I’ll let you know for the next one” she finally said, putting her other hand on top of his and squeezing.

She was good to her word, letting him know when she started her period, and that the next transfer would be about 15 days later. She’d even jokingly asked him how his donation appointment went and then laughed at him as his face turned beet red, assuring him it wasn’t a question she expected him to answer. When she snapped at him for something mundane, she apologized and explained that the hormones she was taking to prepare her uterine lining for the embryo transfer made her irritable. On the day of the transfer, she wouldn’t let him go with her but she did let him bring her dinner afterward, and then pretended not to mind that he treated her like she was made of glass until the day she could take a test. Being included in the anticipation and build up was amazing, and he found himself daydreaming about what a child of theirs would look like, how cute Scully would look with a little belly. It also made it that much harder when she called him to say that it didn’t take again. He asked if he could come over, but she insisted that she wanted to be alone. He sat in his empty apartment as the weight of disappointment settled on his shoulders, and he realized how much he had wanted it. Not just for Scully, he’d wanted it for him. He wanted to be a father, wanted to share a child with her. He’d never had strong feelings either way about parenthood, and now he could see that was because he’d never known anyone he wanted to be a parent WITH. Now that he had glimpsed what having a child with Scully might be like, he wanted it more than just about anything. A few quiet tears rolled down his cheeks and he wiped them away before grabbing his gym bag and heading out to shoot some hoops.

They’d had three eggs that fertilized, three chances, and that was it. There were no more viable eggs. The third cycle felt different, less anticipatory and more desperate. She kept him in the loop, but they were both on edge the whole time. After the transfer, she took a day off to relax, hopefully increase her odds, and he brought her lunch and smiled through his anxiety while they talked about everything except what they were both thinking about. He wanted it to work, so badly, but there was nothing he could do to affect the outcome. It felt incredibly helpless, standing by while she overanalyzed every twinge in her belly, wondering if it meant something. Over lunch the day before she went in for her test, he gently asked if he could come with her, trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice. It was news that he was just as invested in as she was, even though he worked hard to hide it. The last thing he wanted to do was add his own emotional needs to her overloaded plate; she should only be worrying about herself, not him. She declined, but compromised on letting him wait for her at her apartment, so he’d know as soon as she got home, and so he could be with her either way.

So here he was, waiting. The delay in her return told him he should prepare for bad news, but the mind is a fickle thing and he was still dreaming of a positive. He envisioned a daughter, a tiny thing with red hair and blue eyes. Basically a pint sized version of Scully, freckles and all. She’d be wicked smart, of course, and curious as hell. He wondered if Scully would want to name her after one of their sisters, maybe both. Would she want the baby to have his last name? It would be her choice, but the idea of another Samantha Mulder having a chance in the world made him smile as a lump formed in his throat. At some point he drifted off, visions of tossing a toddler in the air while Scully looked on with a smile dancing behind his eyelids.

It was the thunk of the deadbolt that woke him. He jolted upright, orienting himself to space and time, rushing quickly to the realization that he was about to learn his fate. Standing, he spoke.

“Scully? I must have dozed off, I was waiting for you to get back.”

One look at her face was enough. He felt his stomach lurch. He tried to find words as his heart quickened, searching for a sign one way or the other, grasping at hope. But he knew. She walked towards him slowly, her chin puckered and her eyes wet. It was bad news.

“It didn’t take, did it?”

“I guess it was too much to hope for,” her voice was strained around the fresh tears that pooled in her eyes.

He felt his heart break. He’d hurt many times, for many reasons. He’d worried over Scully countless times. He’d cried for her, and with her. He’d grieved for his sister for the majority of his life. But this hurt was different. This was the woman he loved more than life itself telling him that her dreams of being a mother were over. It was the end of a road, the slam of a door, the handful of dirt tossed on a coffin containing hope. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hiding his own pained expression in her hair, rocking her back and forth gently.

“It was my last chance” she keened into his ear, and he pulled a deep breath in through is nose to ward off his own tears. He needed to be strong for her. She could not bear the weight of his own grief on top of hers. He held her tighter. Closing his eyes, he tried to steady his breath, swallowing the lump in his throat until he thought he could speak without crying. Pulling away from her slightly, he kissed her forehead and then rested his own against it, taking another beat to recover.

“Never give up on a miracle” he finally said, not sure what exactly he meant by it. He knew he didn’t want her to give up, but he wasn’t sure what a miracle would look like. He did know that if anyone was deserving of a miracle, it was Scully.

She leaned back into him, tilting her face towards his so that for a moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. Just before her lips met his she passed his mouth and instead pressed them against his cheek, resting them there for a beat before she returned to his embrace. They stood like that for an agonizingly long time, rocking gently back and forth while her tears soaked the shoulder of his sweater and and her sobs became more shallow and further apart. He held her until she grew limp in his arms, and then he bent down and scooped her up, carrying her to the couch where he sat with her in his lap. She leaned into his chest, her eyes closed, as he reached down and plucked her boots from her feet, tossing them to the floor in a way that he knew would drive her crazy if she had the wherewithal to care. Next he pushed her coat off one arm, then lifted her torso off him gently to pull it free from the other arm and tossed it, too, onto the floor. Settling back against the couch, he wrapped one arm around her waist and encouraged her to lean into him, her forehead nestled in the crook of his neck. His other hand peppered her with tiny touches of reassurance; a brush down her shin, a stroke on the outside of her thigh, a thumb grazing her jaw, fingertips dancing over her arm, and finally intertwining with hers and settling in her lap. She was quiet for a long time, so long that he thought she may have fallen asleep. Finally she took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Are you okay?” He asked. It was a rhetorical question, but the only only one he could come up with.

“Not really” she answered, her voice flat.

“What do you need?” He inquired further. He felt like he should do something for her. What do you do for someone who just had their dreams stomped into dust?

She didn’t answer, but he felt her head shake gently against him. She didn’t know what she needed anymore than he did.

“Would you like to take a bath?” He asked, giving her a brief squeeze.

Now she nodded, her cheek brushing against his chest. “That sounds nice.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead before he stood with her in his arms; she was so light it took almost no exertion. He turned and set her gently on the couch and then went in to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He used the toilet and then stared at his reflection while he washed his hands. He stared back at himself, his eyes empty and expressionless. He willed himself not to feel, not to let the sadness overtake him too. He needed to focus on Scully. A pang of pain gripped at his heart and he closed his eyes, biting his lip. Just be here for her. Be her strength. She needs you. With a deep breath, he set his jaw, dried his hands, and drew her a bath.

When he returned to the living room, she was curled up in a ball on her side, staring vacantly. He knelt down beside her and ran his hand down the length of her arm. He forced a small smile to his lips. Be strong for her, he reminded himself.

“Hey,” he said in a near whisper. “Bath’s all ready for you.”

She lifted her head and he offered his hand to help her pull her to standing. She listed slightly, unsteady on her feet, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, escorting her into the bathroom.

“holler if you need me, okay?”

She nodded mutely and he left her, leaving the door open a crack. Returning to the living room, he looked around for something productive to do. He picked up her shoes and set them neatly by the door, hung her coat in the closet, straightened the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. Scully kept her apartment very tidy, so there wasn’t much to be done. It was nearly 5, he should think about dinner soon. A cursory inventory of her fridge indicated that they’d need to order out. Maybe they should watch a movie. Maybe she’d just want to go to bed. Should he get her pajamas ready for her? There was that helpless feeling again.

A sound from the bathroom interrupted his train of thought and he froze, listening. A low moan of agony sounded, followed by a gut wrenching sob. He walked quickly to the bathroom, knocking gently as he brought his lips to small space between the open door and the frame.

“Scully?”

Another wail and a sob. He felt a sharp pain in his chest.

“Scully, are you okay?”

He could hear her falling apart, the shredding sound of her pain gripping at him. He needed to go to her.

“Scully, I’m coming in.”

He pushed the door open slowly, the bathtub coming into view incrementally. She was sitting near the faucet with her legs tucked against her chest, her arms wrapped around them protectively. Her forehead was resting on her knees, and she was shaking with sobs as primal, guttural sounds escaped her lips, which were pulled into a grimace.

He rushed to her side, placing his hand on the bare skin of her back, which was dry and cool in the open air.

“Scully? Talk to me.” He felt afraid. He’d never seen her like this before.

She was shivering violently, her jaw chattering. She wouldn’t respond to him. She had gone somewhere else, somewhere deep inside herself. He needed to either pull her back, or go there with her. He needed to be with her. He stood, pulling his sweater and t shirt over his head in one quick movement, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down his legs, plucking off his socks. In a matter of seconds, he was down to his boxers, stepping into the empty space behind her in the tub. He pushed his legs into the narrow gaps on either side of her body and wrapped his arms around her, on top of her own. He pulled her to him so that her back was flush against his chest, and the shock of his warm skin against hers, which was chilled, seemed to jolt her back into reality. She went slack, releasing her grip around her legs as they straightened out before her, her head dropping back against him as she wailed. When she changed position, his arms had drifted to hold her around her rib cage, the soft swell of her breasts brushing against his forearms. She was so raw, so vulnerable, she didn’t even have the sense to care that she was draped over him naked, completely exposed. He was so engulfed with her pain, and with his own threatening to take center stage and pull him under with her, that he didn’t have the presence of mind to be affected by it like he normally may have been. He could see the taper of her waist and the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs, he took in the pinkness of her nipples and the wobble of her breasts as her body shook with her grief, but that’s all it was, grief. He didn’t allow himself to see the beautiful naked body of the woman he loved, he only saw how much pain she was in, and wanted to find some way, any way possible, to help her.

“It’s okay, I’m here” he cooed into her ear, gently rolling side to side in a rocking motion.

She turned then, flipping over on to her belly so that they were chest to chest, her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapping around his torso beneath the water. She was still crying, but more softly, more in control, more present. He looked down the expanse of her bare back, the swell of her buttocks bobbing just above the water line. He saw her tattoo, something she kept mostly hidden from him, and he reached out to trace his finger over it, and endless circle against her skin. His chin quivered and he closed his eyes, keeping his breath steady so she wouldn’t sense the tears that were breaking free from his eyes, rolling down to drop into her hair. He brushed them away, his wet hand spreading even more water on his face, which would only help hide what he wanted to shield her from. Her cries subsided slowly, and then stopped altogether as the water grew tepid. He felt her body stiffen, and knew that she had returned to a level of awareness that made her uncomfortable with how exposed she was and the intimate nature of what they were doing. He lifted his hand to brush her hair from her face tenderly.

“Let me get you a towel, okay?”

She slithered away from him, pulling arms and legs into position to shield her breasts and vulva from view so that he could step out, his soaked boxer shorts clinging to his anatomy. He pulled a towel from the rack and held it open, high enough that it would block his view of her, and she stood so he could wrap it around her tiny frame as she stepped onto the bath mat. He hugged her toweled form to his chest, kissing the crown of her head.

“I’m sorry” she murmured.

He pulled back a bit and looked at her face with confusion.

“For what?” He asked, his voice full of concern.

She shook her head. “I’m a mess” she finally said, her eyes on the floor.

He hooked his finger under her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to look at him.

“Of course you are. It’s okay to be a mess sometimes, Scully. It’s nothing to be sorry for.”

The ache in her eyes told him that she felt guilty for needing him, for being weak.

“Let me take care of you. Please.” He implored, and she closed her eyes and nodded softly.

Stepping away from her, he grabbed a second towel and wrapped it around his waist, reaching underneath to pull off his wet underwear and draping it over the side of the tub before slipping his hand under the water to pull the plug.

“come on, let’s get you dressed,” he directed her, putting his hand on her back as they walked to her bedroom.

She sat on the edge of her bed, exhausted but seemingly out of tears to shed for the moment.

“There are some clothes of yours, in the bottom drawer” she said absently over her shoulder, and he pulled it open to find clean boxers, sweatpants and t shirts, all items he’d noticed go missing at one time or another.

“You starting a collection, G-woman?” He teased her, and he was relieved to see her shoulders lift in the tiniest of chuckles. It was something.

He pulled on dry clothes, not concerned that she might turn and see him nude, then started looking through her other drawers for something she might like to wear.

“Do you want pajamas?” He asked, and she shrugged noncommittally. She didn’t care.

He grabbed some silk pajama pants, a black t shirt that looked like it would be comfortably baggy, and then paused at the smaller top drawers he knew would contain her bras and underwear. Which would be more intrusive; going into her underwear drawer or dressing her commando? He glanced at her over his shoulder and quietly opened the drawer. What was most readily available were black cotton briefs, and he snagged a pair to add to the pile of clothes. Towards the back, he could see lace, and red, pink and blue somethings. He glanced over his shoulder again; she had fallen to her side, her back still to him, head on the pillow. With preemptive guilt, he plucked at the red lace with his fingertips, pulling forward an impossibly tiny thong. He felt a little stirring in his pants and shoved it back in, chastising himself for thinking about her like that in a time like this. He closed the drawer and set the pile of clothes on her nightstand, kneeling down on the floor beside her. Her eyes were open and staring at nothing. She was there, but not. He touched her arm gently to get her attention.

“Scully? There are some clothes for you here. I’m going to order dinner, is there anything in particular that sounds good to you?”

Her eyes focused on him as though she’d only just realized he was there.

“What?”

“What do you want to eat?” He pushed a lock of hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.

She sighed deeply before responding. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’m not sure I can eat.”

“I’ll have to order something really, really good then, so you can’t resist,” he smiled softly at her.

She pushed her mouth into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Okay.”

He left her to get dressed and ordered pizza from her favorite place, then picked through her DVD collection and opted for something silly and light. Just when he was about to go check on her, she emerged from her bedroom dressed in the clothes he’d picked out and looking slightly more alert. She stopped to look at the opening credits playing on the TV.

“Weekend at Bernies?” She asked with raised eyebrows.

“You own it, Scully, don’t try to act like you don’t like it.”

She pursed her lips and nodded, having no retort for that fact, and sat beside him on the couch, folding her legs beneath her. Mulder appraised her out of the corner of his eye; she looked better, a little bit anyway. They watched the movie in companionable silence, Scully smiling but not laughing at the funny parts, until a knock on the door alerted them that dinner had arrived. After paying the delivery boy, he plopped it unceremoniously on the coffee table and grabbed a roll of paper towels.

“Whose apartment are we at, Mulder?” She asked him with a teasing tone, and he got up to retrieve two plates as well two beers from the fridge. “That’s more like it” she declared, and he was relieved by how much she sounded like herself.

They enjoyed upwards of an hour of something resembling normalcy, but he knew that didn’t mean they were out of the woods. While people like to see grief as a concentrated experience that is constant until it disappears, he knew that it operated more like waves against a shore; sometimes gently lapping, sometimes receding into almost nothing, sometimes crashing suddenly without warning. He would enjoy this still water, ready to hold her up when it returned to knock her on her ass, if she’d let him.

She didn’t eat much, picking at one slice of pizza until it was eventually gone, but she did finish her beer and then lay down, not resisting when he picked up her bare feet and set them in his lap, brushing his thumbs gently against the arches in an almost-foot rub. As the movie approached its conclusion, he glanced at her and saw that her eyes were again wet and shining, though her expression was neutral. He squeezed the foot in his hand and she looked at him, offering a sad smile.

“You wanna go to bed?” He asked, and she nodded. It wasn’t yet 9pm, but she was exhausted from emotion.

He stood and offered his hands to pull her to her feet, pausing to wrap her up in a brief hug before he escorted her to her bedroom. He wanted desperately to be near her, but he also knew that she often chose solitude when she was sad, and the fact that she’d allowed him to be here as long as she had was likely the limit of what he was going to get. Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d let him sleep on the couch. He was considering how to make this request as he pulled back the covers and tucked her into bed, sitting beside her hip on top of the comforter. She took his hand and looked at him in the soft light seeping in from the living room with something like trepidation in her eyes.

“Will you stay?” She asked, and the doubt in her voice shocked him.

“Of course I will,” he answered, squeezing her hand. “I can crash on the couch.”

She shook her head gently. “Will you stay here, with me?”

That lump was back, constricting his voice, so he just smiled at her and nodded, crawling over her legs to lay down behind her on top of the comforter, draping his arm over her waist. They were quiet for a while, but he could feel the buzzing of her thoughts and knew she wasn’t sleeping. It was getting chilly as night fell, and he shivered in his T shirt and sweats.

“Are you cold?” She asked, turning her face to the ceiling in an attempt to look at him.

“I’m okay” he lied.

“Get under the covers,” she ordered, and he complied, the warmth of her tiny body a welcome reprieve from the chill of the room. He returned his arm to its station at her waist and she took his hand under the blankets, clutching it to her belly. She sighed deeply.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, sensing that she wanted to talk.

She rolled on to her back, not releasing his hand, and looked at the ceiling as she spoke. “I just…” she started then stopped, and he watched quietly as a tear escaped the side of her eye and trailed down into her ear. “I feel like I don’t know what to do, how to move forward. Being a mother was always what I pictured for my future, and knowing that I’ll never be one….” She stopped again, wiped her free hand at her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was tight and pained. “I feel like I have no purpose. I know it’s stupid and I don’t believe at all that a woman’s only function in life is to bear children, but I still find myself feeling like my life holds no meaning now. What’s the point of this life if I’ll have nothing to show for it, no legacy to leave?”

He felt his own chin quiver and he pulled her to him, burying her face in his chest and wrapping his arms around her back, cocooning her against his body with her toes brushing his shins. He let out a shuddering breath as quiet tears rolled across the bridge of his nose and into the pillow, rubbing her back and willing himself to regain control. How could he tell her that he felt the same way? When his mom was gone, he would have no one on this Earth who was family to him. He would leave no legacy, at least not one he could be proud of. All he had was her, and she was questioning her worth.

“That’s not true, Scully,” he whispered, whispering being all he could manage through his emotions. “You can’t think like that. For one, this doesn’t have to be the end of the road for you, there are other options, other ways you can be a mom. And even if you choose not to pursue those, you have touched so many lives, mine included. Don’t ever think you won’t leave a legacy.”

She didn’t reply, just sobbed against him, clutching at his back until weariness overtook her and she drifted into a fitful sleep. Mulder stayed awake for a long time, enjoying the proximity to her that he so rarely experienced, the gentle thrum of her heart beating against his sternum a reminder that for all they had lost, they still had each other. At some point, he joined her in the reprieve of unconsciousness.

&&

When he woke, the room was dim though the clock told him it was after 8am. He could hear the patter of rain against the window; a dreary, grey day to complement their broken hearts. He turned to see Scully still sleeping, her plump lips slightly parted and her blonde eyelashes fluttering with dreams. He wanted so badly to kiss her, but now was not the time. He didn’t want her to think it was borne of pity, or sadness, or anything other than an unabashed desire to touch and love her the way she deserved, the way he’d wanted to for years. Reluctantly, he left the warmth of her bed and body to use the bathroom and then start a pot of coffee.

When she emerged 40 minutes later, he was sitting on the couch in silence, a cup of coffee in his hands and his feet on the table.

“Morning” he greeted her with a warm smile, and he felt his heart clench when she walked right over and sat beside him, leaning into his torso so he would wrap an arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest. He had the distinct feeling that she had missed him from her bed and sought out the comfort of his physical presence, and he placed a kiss to the crown of her head in appreciation. “Sleep okay?”

“Okay enough,” she answered.

“Do you feel up to going out for breakfast? Or I can go pick it up and bring it back here, if you want.”

“No, I should get dressed and attempt to be a functioning human at some point” she said, sitting up extracting herself from his embrace. “Give me 30 minutes?”

“I’ll be here, take your time” he replied, and she retreated to the bathroom where he heard the shower come on. Her change in demeanor lifted his spirits, and her acceptance of his comfort drew a smile to his lips. Though he hated the circumstances, he couldn’t deny how good the physical closeness felt. He knew that she’d likely put her walls back up without warning, and vowed to enjoy it while it lasted.

&&

After a short wait, they snagged a booth at one of Scully’s favorite breakfast spots that offered things beyond pancakes and bacon; scrambles on a bed of greens with whole cloves of garlic and house made potatoes were just what she needed. He was happy to see her actually eat and they chatted idly about a case they were planning to fly out on next week, some bureau gossip and the merits of jam versus jelly. During a lull in conversation, he saw Scully glance behind him toward the door and her face fell. He turned to look and immediately knew that the very pregnant woman talking to the hostess was the source of her demeanor change. He slipped out from his side of the booth and sidled up next to her on her side, taking her hand under the table wordlessly.

“I know this is going to sound really terrible,” she spoke in a hushed tone, “but this whole experience has made me really hate pregnant women. I feel angry at them for being able to get pregnant when I can’t.” He easily identified the shame in her statement.

“I think that’s pretty normal. I’ve always kind of hated people with normal families and parents who give them the time of day. It’s not very productive, but it can be pretty cathartic, at least in my experience.”

She looked at him skeptically. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, I’m serious. When I see a two parent family with a boy and a girl, having a nice time out at the park or whatever, some part of my brain thinks ‘I hope they drop their ice cream cone on the pavement.’”

Scully laughed. The sound paired with the broad smile on her face were like fireworks and he beamed at her.

“That’s messed up, Mulder. I like it.”

“I bet that lady’s baby will come out with one of those smushed cone heads” he offered.

“I bet she has heartburn so bad she hasn’t slept in weeks” she retorted, smiling guiltily.

#XFMissing2021 #the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files

[lillupon]

Doctor!Mingyu x Pilot!Wonwoo

Some Doctor!Mingyu & Pilot!Wonwoo smut inspired by the devastatingly hot clip simsminwon on twitter posted earlier this week (*/ω＼)

This oneshot is also available on twitter

Mingyu stands and opens the door for his last patient of the day. She bows and says, "Thank you, Dr. Kim."

"Of course. Give me a call or shoot me an email if you have any questions or concerns," he tells her. She thanks him again. Then, handbag clutched under her arm, she leaves.

Quiet descends once the front door closes after her. There are no other noises save for the burbling of the fish tank in the waiting room. Mingyu is left alone in his clinic. He sent Chan, his secretary, home an hour ago, assuring the boy that he would be able to lock up on his own. Mingyu's in no rush to get home tonight. There's no one waiting for him at home, so he may as well wait out the traffic in the comfort of his office. He had to skip lunch this afternoon because he was behind schedule; he'll have a late lunch before he leaves, and pick up dinner on the way home.

Mingyu sighs. Scuffs the floor with a petulant kick of his foot. Wonwoo was supposed to arrive home two days ago, but adverse weather conditions delayed the flight, turning what should have been a ten-day absence into a two-week one. He should be used to it by now--they've been together for three years--but part of him still aches for Wonwoo when he's gone. Part of him still worries, even though he knows the odds of anything bad happening is infinitesimally small.

Mingyu heats up beef bulgogi in the microwave and then takes his meal back to his office. A few mouse clicks later, he pulls up the medical research articles he had bookmarked: a bit of light reading while he eats.

A spoonful of rice is halfway to his mouth when he hears the front door opening. He wonders if it's a patient who left something behind. He sets aside his food to go greet the visitor. When he opens the door to his room, he comes face-to-face with Wonwoo, who is still dressed in uniform, though sans hat.

For a brief second, Mingyu can do nothing but gape. The only sound that escapes his mouth is a, "Wha--?"

A smile breaks across Wonwoo's face. "Hey, you."

Wonwoo's voice jolts him out of his stupor. He cups Wonwoo's neck and swoops forward to kiss him. Their lips meet in an off-centered smash and it's perfect and everything Mingyu has been missing for the past two weeks. Wonwoo laughs breathlessly against him, lips curving into a grin that has their teeth clacking together.

Mingyu parts. Keeps his hand on Wonwoo's neck--needs to be touching. "I thought you weren't supposed to be back until Thursday."  As he speaks, he strokes a thumb absentmindedly over Wonwoo's throat.

"Same here," Wonwoo says. He tips his chin up, inviting Mingyu's touch. "There were no more delays after the blizzard, if you can believe it."

Mingyu leans in to rest their foreheads together. "I'm glad you're okay," he whispers.

"M-hm. Was just a little cold. That's about it," Wonwoo tells him, voice quiet. His breath puffs over Mingyu's lips. "Wish you could have been there to keep me warm."

Their mouths find each other again. Wonwoo's arms go to wind around his shoulders. Mingyu wraps an arm around Wonwoo's narrow waist, pulling him close so that their bodies are pressed flush together. Wonwoo moans softly, angling his head so that they can deepen their kisses.

Yeah, he would have kept Wonwoo warm on those snowstorming days. Would have stripped them both naked, blanketed himself over Wonwoo for some skin-to-skin contact. Nothing like a bit of SSC for heat exchange and thermal control. In perfect contrast to Wonwoo's perpetual cold, Mingyu runs hot as a furnace. Even now, he feels heat sliding down his spine, pooling low in his gut. Wonwoo's tongue ignites a flame between his loins, fuels the fire with his soft and sweet moans. His trousers are starting to grow tight, and he can feel Wonwoo's arousal nudge against him in response.

Wonwoo's arching into him, trying to force them impossibly closer together. Mingyu runs both palms down the seductive curve of Wonwoo's back, lower still. He grasps Wonwoo's asscheeks in his hands. Fingers digging in, he grinds their hips together.

Wonwoo breaks away with a gasp. Mingyu doesn't miss a beat, dragging his lips along the angle of Wonwoo's jaw, mouthing hot and wet down the pale column of his throat. Inhaling the scent of him.

"Gyu," Wonwoo moans shakily. "Oh, Gyu. Want you inside me..."

Mingyu groans. Doesn't need to be asked twice--wants to be inside Wonwoo as badly as Wonwoo wants to be filled. After one more hard kiss, he pulls away to root through the cabinets for a tube of lubricating jelly. He's shaking with his desire, over-eager hands knocking over bottles and containers and instruments in his search.

By the time he turns around, Wonwoo has already discarded his belt and is unzipping his trousers. Mingyu shuts the door to his office and crowds Wonwoo against it; his nose finds the hollow of Wonwoo's throat, while his hand helps to shove down Wonwoo's pants the rest of the way.

Wonwoo turns around to brace his forearms against the door. Gets on his tiptoes and sticks his ass out. The muscles of his hamstrings flex and release beautifully, quivering with the effort of holding himself taut.

Mingyu preps Wonwoo hastily, slicked-up fingers opening Wonwoo's hole to make way for his cock. Usually, he likes to take his time doing this, likes to see the slow but sure way that Wonwoo loses control from his fingers alone. But they've both been apart for too long, and his want makes him impatient. Wonwoo, is too, judging by his moans. Normally, it takes a little more work on Mingyu's part to draw those kinds of sounds out of Wonwoo.

Maybe he loves it. Maybe he can't resist teasing Wonwoo a little, just to hear him whine. Mingyu rubs the tip of his cock over that needy hole, pressing in the tip to give Wonwoo a taste, only to withdraw.

"Gyu, if you don't fuck me now, I-I'm going to--" Wonwoo tries to threaten, only the effect of it is ruined by how wrecked he sounds, and the fact that he can't finish his sentence.

It's so cute.

All of it is so cute, Mingyu thinks he might die: the way Wonwoo tries to push his hips back; the way his hole squeezes and clings to Mingyu's cock, unwilling to let him slip free; the little growls of frustration.

It's only been a handful of seconds, but at this point, Mingyu's starting to feel like he's been a bit mean. His baby wants it so much. Mingyu has been denying himself, too.

The noise Wonwoo makes as Mingyu sheathes himself is one of utter bliss and satisfaction. A groan shudders out of Mingyu as the hot clutch of Wonwoo's inner walls pulsate around him.

Mingyu plasters himself to Wonwoo's back and rasps into his ear, "So tight, baby. You feel so good." He wraps a forearm around Wonwoo's chest, like a crossbar locking him in place. With one hand braced on the wall as support, he begins to rock his hips with short and shallow thrusts.

"Oh, Gyu, ohhh," Wonwoo sighs, letting his head loll back onto Mingyu's shoulder. "Mmm... Deeper, baby."

Mingyu shifts to get an arm under Wonwoo's thigh, hiking it up. Wonwoo keeps himself balanced by planting a forearm on the door. He twists his torso, winding his other arm around Mingyu's shoulder. The change in position allows them to face each other, while also offering Mingyu better access. The next time he presses forward, his cock reaches the deepest parts of Wonwoo.

The effect is instantaneous: Wonwoo moans, long and low. His lashes flutter.

Goddamn--the way Wonwoo looks at him, brows drawn together with pleasure, eyes smouldering and half-lidded, lips parting on a moan... It gets to a guy's head. Makes him feel like the only man in the world. He wonders if he looks at Wonwoo the same way. Probably. That's how all of their friends knew they were crushing on each other, even before they had realised it themselves.

A surge of feeling rises in his chest. He can't resist leaning in for a kiss, which Wonwoo returns with equal passion. The roll of his hips turns slow but just as deep as they exchange kisses. Already, his gut is starting to clench with his impending orgasm. His balls are drawing in tight to his body. In his defense, he's barely touched himself since Wonwoo left, knowing that his release would be all the sweeter if he waited.

Wonwoo pulls away with a gasp. He braces both forearms on the door. Lets his head hang between his shoulders. Mingyu snaps his hips forward, forceful, and is rewarded with a cry.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Wonwoo chants. His words stutter on a moan every time Mingyu thrusts into him. "Ooh, just like that, Gyu." The cadence of his breathing quickens, voice going high when he moans Mingyu's name. He's close.

So Mingyu does exactly what Wonwoo tells him to do: keeps fucking into the tight heat of Wonwoo's body with short and sharp thrusts that have Wonwoo's fingers fruitlessly scrabbling for purchase on the wooden door.

"Gyu," Wonwoo gasps out. He's growing tighter around Mingyu's cock.

"Gonna come, baby?" Mingyu grits out. He'll never get over how hot it is that Wonwoo can come without a single touch to his cock; a good dicking from Mingyu is all he needs.

Wonwoo barely manages an, "Oh, fuck--" and then his cock is shooting off, streaks of white landing in stripes over the door; his insides clamp down rhythmically, spurring Mingyu's own orgasm to a crest.

Mingyu shoves his face into Wonwoo's shoulder, muffling his groan there. His cock twitches as he empties himself inside Wonwoo. The aftershocks of his orgasm shake through him. His hips jerk of their own accord, once, twice.

They are quiet, save for their panting as they catch their breaths. Mingyu slips out of Wonwoo. For a moment, nothing: Wonwoo's hole contracts around empty air. And then Mingyu's release starts to slide out of him.

They lie down on the examination table, curled towards each other like parentheses. Trading languid kisses in silence. Mingyu loses track of time. Wonwoo has that sort of effect on him.

It might be minutes or an hour later when Wonwoo nudges Mingyu onto his back. Wonwoo pushes himself to seated, gets a thigh over Mingyu's hips in a straddle. His slender cock stands straight at attention, the tip of it wet with fluids. He's smiling, impish.

Mingyu swallows. "Insatiable minx," he whispers.

#my writing

[maluminspace]

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Michael Clifford/Female Reader 

Prompt: Person A goes to in costume to a Halloween party, to find no one else is really dressed up except Person B

Word Count: 3k

Content: mostly just cute Halloween fluff, Michael in drag, there’s also a bit of side lashton, 

Trigger warnings: Alcohol, strong language, references to sexual activity including public sex (nothing too explicit)

A/N: Okay, so this is my second attempt at writing something for this collab. My first one turned out huge and not really very halloween-y so I re-assessed and this is what I came up with! I hope you guys like it <3

Please check out the masterlist and support/show some love to all these amazing writers.

*** 

When your best friend in the entire world, Luke, had first invited you to his new boyfriend’s Halloween party, you’d taken it as the perfect opportunity to blow off a little steam. Work had been busy lately and you hadn’t had much chance to relax. Furthermore, Luke had told you that Ashton (the new love of his life) had a couple of hot single friends, so you’d figured your costume should be on the sexy side.

You’d spent weeks deciding on the perfect outfit before finally settling on a black cat outfit that was just the right side of tasteful. The bodysuit was figure-hugging, showing off your curves perfectly. The elegant velvet ears and tail matched it well and you finished off the look with some cute whiskers painted on your cheeks and a red choker with a little gold bell on it.

Luke let out a low whistle when he met you outside the house he’d given you directions for. “I wish I could say the same for you!” You huffed, surveying your friend’s very lackluster costume, if you could even call it that. “Where’s the pirate costume I helped you pick out?”

A slightly guilty expression coloured Luke’s pretty face as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, I mentioned it to Ashton and he kinda hinted that he didn’t like tacky costumes so I went for this instead.” He shrugged awkwardly.

“And what exactly is this supposed to be?” You asked, gesturing to the plain white shirt and black jacket. “You just look like you’re about to go to work at the office, what the fuck, Luke?”

“Wait…” He said, his face brightening a bit as he pulled on a wig that you hadn’t even noticed he was holding. “I’m Vincent Vega!” He announced.

You rolled your eyes, fully disappointed in your best friend’s decision to side with his new squeeze over you. “I preferred the pirate costume, you’d have looked super hot.”

“I’m sorry to break it to you, buddy…” Luke giggled, “but you’re not the one I want to impress tonight.”

You clutched your chest in fake pain and shock. “And here I thought it was me that you wanted to fuck you senseless whilst a huge queue forms outside for the bathroom we claimed.”

An embarrassed blush rose in Luke’s cheeks as the memory of the specific situation you had described filled his tiny, horny brain. “We were drunk, and if he’d whispered in your ear with that sexy, gravelly voice to tell you how beautiful you looked in the new shirt he’d bought for you, you’d have begged him to drag you to the nearest bathroom, too.” He huffed as he started off up the driveway, his ridiculous wig almost falling off with the force of his dramatic head toss.

Suppressing a giggle, you followed your friend to the front door. “You’re forgetting one important detail there, Lukey.” You reminded him with a smirk. “I’m not as big of a slut as you.”

“That costume begs to differ.” Luke replied, raising an eyebrow proudly. “Calum is probably gonna pop a boner after just a glimpse of your ass in that tight suit.”

“And Calum is one of the hot ones?” You asked, remembering Luke’s declaration of Ashton’s stupidly handsome best friends. 

“Yeah, he’s the one with the cute dog and swanky apartment near the beach.” Luke explained as he opened the front door. “Michael’s probably a bit more your type, through. You have about the same mental capacity as each other.” He snorted.

Choosing to ignore the weak jibe at your own intelligence and that of the as yet unknown Michael, you focused on Luke’s lack of manners instead. “Shouldn’t we knock?” You asked. “It’s rude to just walk in to someone’s house, even if they do ‘rearrange your insides like no one has ever previously managed’.” You added, taking a great deal of joy in quoting Luke back to himself.

“Keep your fucking voice down!” Luke hissed. “I told you that in confidence!” He shook his head as though to clear it (probably from another X-rated memory) before he answered your question.

“Ashton told me we could come right in. So stop worrying about stupid stuff and get in here!” He laughed.

For the second time in the few moments since you’d met him outside, you rolled your eyes at your best friend, but this time the exasperated gesture was accompanied by a small laugh.

Your merriment soon died away when Luke led you into the main sitting room, which was already packed with people…people who were not in Halloween costumes. People who were very much giving off a sophisticated air as they sipped their wine and stood around talking to each other comfortably over the music that was playing at a much too sensible volume for a party.

In your peripheral vision you noticed Luke tear off his wig and hide in the oversized vase he was standing next to before any of the other guests saw him wearing it. Without that ridiculous little prop, Luke would probably blend right in. You, on the other hand, were going to stick out like a (very scantily clad) sore thumb.

“I thought this was meant to be a Halloween party, Luke.” You hissed, offering awkward smiles to the few people nearest to you, who were regarding you with ill-concealed smirks.

Your best friend gave an awkward laugh before ushering you towards the kitchen.

A few spiteful glances and giggles followed you as Luke pulled you through the crowd of people. 

Luckily the kitchen was pretty much deserted, with just three people huddled over by the microwave. You only recognised one of them. Having met Ashton a couple of times previous to this evening, you had no problem identifying his muscular form and the sweater/jeans combo outfit he favoured at the moment, even though you could only see the back of him. 

The second man had a very handsome profile. He was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a white shirt, with very few of the buttons done up as far as you could tell from this angle. He looked kind of athletic, with strong, muscular arms and thighs. His curly black hair was styled neatly to perfectly frame his face.

Ashton and Muscles were mostly obscuring the third person from your view. But you could tell by the tone of their voice that they were not at all happy about something. “- cannot expect me to stay here like this!” 

Unsurprisingly, Luke gravitated to the little knot of people, dragging you along with him until you finally got a glimpse of the irritated man leaning against the counter. 

Suddenly, your own embarrassment at your chosen costume vanished. In comparison to this guy, you definitely weren’t going to be the center of attention.

The third man was dressed in a long blonde wig, albeit a very cheap-looking one, styled into high pigtails. His cute, unshaven face was painted in badly-applied makeup. The tight white dress that he’d squeezed into left you with no doubt of who he was meant to be dressed as, and the realisation pulled a snort of laughter from you.

Luke failed also to suppress a giggle as he let go of your hand and instinctively curled into Ashton’s side, as though the slightly older man was some sort of magnet. “Wow, you sure as hell didn’t get the memo about the ‘adults drinking wine’ vibe either, huh?” 

The angry ‘Baby Spice’ glared at Luke with what you just knew were usually very pretty green eyes. “Don’t you start, lanky!” He huffed. “I’m already this close to ending your boyfriend.”

“Hey!” Ashton interjected, his voice calm and smooth in comparison to his friends’. “First of all, don’t talk to Luke that way or I’ll be the one ending you. Secondly, it wasn’t me that tricked you into dressing as a Spice Girl.” His last two words were accompanied with a snigger and it only made his angry friend’s face get redder.

“I swear I’ll rip your-” Baby Spice began before Muscles cut him off.

“Now, now, Michael.” Muscles smirked, “don’t you think that’s a bit too much.”

You were apparently the only one to pick up on the reference as your burst of laughter sounded much too loud in the otherwise quiet room.

For the first time Muscles’ and Baby Spices’ eyes snapped up to meet yours. Their reactions upon noticing you properly for the first time were at opposite ends of the scale. 

Muscles became instantly flirtatious, his brown eyes lighting up with a charming smile as he greeted you with a smooth. “Oh! Hi there, beautiful…”

Baby Spice on the other hand, looked as though all of his nightmares had come true. The fear and embarrassment on his face were unmistakable as you focused on him over his friend. “It looks like you’re in the market for a new best friend too, Baby Spice.” You smiled gently, hoping to ease his discomfort a little. “I’m looking for a replacement, too.”

There was something about the genuine look of surprise in his green eyes that really endeared this stranger to you. Now that you were standing closer to him, it was easier to see the handsome features that the untidy lipstick and foundation were covering. 

“Yeah…” Baby Spice laughed awkwardly, all of his anger vanishing as he tried to adopt a more casual stance. “My ex-best friend thought this would be funny.” He said, gesturing to his outfit, that up-close was much worse than you’d originally thought. His hairy chest, arms and legs protruding from the cheap costume dress made for a comical sight, but you fought back your amusement, intent on befriending this man so that both your night and his might take a turn for the better. “I’m guessing Luke pulled a similar prank on you, too?”

“Actually, he didn’t.” You explained, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, this is what passes for a Halloween costume in Luke’s tiny, dumb brain.”

Luke’s offended noise was lost beneath his replacement’s beautiful laugh as you stepped forward and offered Baby Spice your hand to shake as you told him your name.

He took it, still smiling bright enough to make his emerald eyes sparkle. “I’m Michael.” He confirmed. “And I’d be more than happy to be your new best friend.”

***

In the following couple of hours you made two amazing discoveries;

Alcohol consumption was the best cure for embarrassment.

Michael was fairly close to being your actual ideal man.

Despite the fact that he was obviously gullible, most of Michael’s other qualities were very much to your liking. In the short time that you’d known him, Michael had proven himself to be kind, funny and incredibly easy to talk to. What’s more, as the night went on and more and more of his makeup wore off, you’d found out he was even more handsome than you’d originally thought he was.

“So did you mean what you said to Calum just now?” Michael asked, suddenly looking a little nervous as he dropped his gaze to the bottle of beer in his hand. “About not being interested in him, I mean.”

A couple of times, Calum had wandered over to the corner of the kitchen that you and Michael had claimed as your own, trying to flirt with you. On each occasion, you’d made it perfectly clear that you’d formed an alliance with Michael and that sneaky ex-best friends were not permitted to flirt with you under any circumstances.

If you were reading the signals right, Michael was a little jealous of his friend. That was understandable; Calum was conventionally good looking and was as charming as they come. On a normal night, you’d have been more than a little tempted to see if his smooth moves translated into decent bedroom skills, but tonight your attention was completely focused on Michael.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “He seems nice and all, besides screwing you over on the costume thing.” You giggled. “But he’s not really my type.”

Michael looked mildly confused. “I’ve never heard a girl say that before.” He admitted. “I thought he was just everyone’s type.”

“I can recognise that he’s hot, but I like my men a little softer and my number one turn on is someone who can make me laugh.” You replied honestly. 

A light blush rose in Michael’s cheeks as he apparently realised you’d been describing him. Judging by the shyness emanating from him, people admitting they were attracted to him didn’t happen all that often. You couldn’t understand why; he was absolutely beautiful.

“C’mon, Baby Spice.” You smirked, “Lets get another drink and then you can show me some of your best dance moves.” 

“Oh, I can’t really dance?” Michael confessed, his blush deepening a bit as he headed over to the counter where numerous bottles of alcohol were laid out.

“I find that very hard to believe!” You gasped in fake shock. “I mean it’s easy, isn’t it? You just slam it to the left, shake it to the right.... Y’know, go round…” You smirked.

Michael rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna have to stop right now with those Spice Girls lyrics, kitten.” 

The pet name made your insides dance excitedly. It could have easily sounded like a cheap, tacky term of endearment from anyone else but Michael’s cute mannerisms just made it sound adorable. “Yeah, okay.” You teased, nudging his arm playfully. “I don’t want you to have to say goodbye, my friend.” 

Michael let out a reluctant laugh as he surveyed the drink options. “I can tell you were a huge fan, I’m flattered.” He said, playing along easily.

“What’s with the past tense, Bunton?” You continued. “The Spice Girls are timeless.”

Michael nodded as he continued to stare at the bottles of alcohol as though he couldn’t decide which to go for.. “I agree, I always had a bit of crush on Posh…”

“That’s basic!” You reprimanded him. 

“Rude!”  Michael scoffed. “Who’s your favourite?” He asked, raising a hopeful eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you if you hurry up and decide what you want; I’ll be sober by the time you pour a drink at this rate!” You laughed.

Michael shook his head, smirking a little. “Don’t rush me kitten, I need to weigh up all of my options.”

“Oh, come on Michael!” You scolded when he still hadn’t made a decision a moment later. “Just tell me what you want, what you really, really want so we can continue getting trashed.”

“That was your worst one yet.” Michael sighed dramatically. “I may have to disown you after that one, kitten.”

Excitement bubbled in your chest at the use of the pet name again, knowing it wasn’t just a one time slip of the tongue meant that it might stick and you couldn't put into words how much you’d like that. “Fine, just pour us both a vodka and lemonade so that you can show me those spicy dance moves.”

Michael couldn’t hold in the fond chuckle that rippled out of him as he obeyed your request. “So are you gonna answer my question about who your favourite Spice Girl is? Or do I have to guess?”

“Baby’s always been the one I crushed on the hardest.” You replied easily, deciding to forgo the guessing game.

“Yeah?” He prompted. “What attracted you to me?” He asked before panic flooded his features. “I mean her! Sorry...I wasn’t being-”

You cut Michael off with a giggle as you allowed your already tipsy brain to capitalize on the alcohol-fueled confidence you always seemed to develop after a few drinks. “I think it’s your terrible makeup skills, quick wit and those pretty green eyes that attracted me to you the most, baby.” 

You never really noticed how close you’d gotten to him until you felt the little puff of breath from his quiet “Oh…” ghosting over your own lips.

If there was ever an opportune moment to kiss him, that was it. Without any good reason to stop yourself, you tentatively wrapped your arms around his neck. “I can’t believe I’m about to kiss a Spice Girl.” You chuckled, loving the way his hands felt as they rested on your waist. 

“I hope I don’t disappoint you, kitten.” He replied, tilting his head to one side slightly so that you wouldn’t bump noses when the gap between your lips was finally closed.

It was you that took the final step, pressing a soft kiss to Michael’s lips. They felt every bit as soft as they looked and used them perfectly, kissing you back with just the right amount of enthusiasm. 

Usually, it’d take a lot more than a shy first kiss for a guy to fully win you over, but somehow you found yourself melting into Michael’s hold, prolonging the simple kiss for as long as possible. Michael didn’t seem to mind that at all, holding you closely as he parted his lips allowing you to deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue teasingly against his.

When the two of you naturally drew apart a few moments later, your head was spinning from more than just the alcohol. Michael was well and truly intoxicating in a very different way. “I’m gonna need a lot more of that to keep you on the top spot of my favourite list, Baby.” You said, trying not to let your voice sound too breathy.

“That’s definitely a promise I can keep, kitten.” Michael smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Glad to hear it!” You proclaimed. “Now, let’s drink up so that we can move on to somewhere that our awesome costumes will be more appreciated!”

Michael raised a questioning eyebrow. “Leave Ashton’s party?” he asked. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

Nodding, you picked up your drink and took a long swig, “My favourite bar always has an awesome Halloween event.” You confirmed. “I was gonna go there but Luke wanted me to meet his boyfriend’s friends so I came here instead.” 

“Well, I’m kinda glad you did, to be honest.” Michael said, his cheeks reddening slightly. 

You pecked another kiss to his lips before taking another drink. “I am too, but it’s time for us to be the life of a new party.” 

Michael nodded in agreement as he finished his drink in one go. That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was to you, yet there you were practically drooling over a man in the worst drag outfit and makeup you’d ever seen, wiping vodka and lipstick off his incredibly plump lips with the back of his hand. He reached out with the hand that didn’t have bubblegum pink smeared across the back of it and took hold of your hand with the full confidence of the drink he’d just downed.

 “So where are we going?” He asked. “I trust you, so don’t let me down and take me somewhere lame, kitten.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. This place is amazing.” You promised, smirking as your final Spice Girls joke of the night slipped past your lips. “It’ll really spice up your life, baby.”

***

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#michael clifford #michael clifford fluff #michael clifford imagine #michael clifford blurb #5sos fluff #5sos imagine #5sos blue #5sos fic #michael clifford fic #mgc #michael #michael 5sos #5sos #my writing

[blackvelvetwriteson]

𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

                                                     (  ~ Inasa Yoarashi x Gender Neutral                                                             Reader Insert ~ )

GENRE: Fluffy Fluff!                                                                  

FANDOM: Boku No Hero Academia (My Hero Academia)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There really are none today! Just a fluffy (almost) holiday story!

SUMMARY: Inasa and Reader-Chan spend a nice night at home together after Pro Hero Gale Force makes it back home from work early.

WORD COUNT: 4349

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

It was a beautiful thing to be apart of; a small loving family with one of the lesser known pro heroes Inasa. He always seemed so jovial and excited, all of the kids he came across day to day seemed to LOVE him. He was personable as well as an efficient hero and every single day he came home to YOU, the love of his life, excited and animated. Since he was so much bigger than you, he always had no problem with scooping you up into his strong arms while nuzzling into you, blaring his excited words into your ear.

     “I’VE MISSED YOU SO DAMN MUCH TODAY! I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I MISSED YOU,” he always greeted you while dusting millions of happy little kisses over your cheeks and forehead. You always hushed him, respectfully, and you let out your small laugh.

     “Remember inside voices Inasa,” you say quietly while running your fingers over his cheeks and giving him a soft, well deserved kiss.

The house was warm and cozy, the oven on, the fire in the fireplace crackling, the show on TV being used as white noise. The oven beeped and he perked up a little as he set you down, the little bit of snow that was over his body now melted leaving his clothes dampened.

“Relax, baby,” you say quietly as you check his temperature noting that he had a small sniffle. “It was just the oven. I didn’t expect you to be home so early… I was trying to surprise you with cookies and hot cocoa now that it’s cold outside… But you kinda foiled that,” you say with a small sort of disappointed chuckle, rubbing your arm and looking away. His eyes were wide and he cupped your face gently making you look at him. 

“Awh babe… Don’t beat yourself up about it! If I’d had know then- Uhm.. Well.. I guess that would’ve foiled it too now wouldn’t it,” he said as he gently booped your nose. “Don’t worry about it! I like helping whenever you’re baking anyways! Remember? You’re my little cookie… So… Or I mean it can change to cupcake…. I just want a nickname for you that’s just as cute as you. I can’t go disappointing now- not when I’m supposed to be your hero anyways!” He smiled and he looked into your eyes as you teared up a little. He gasped a little and scooped you right up again, sitting on the couch as he cuddled into you.

    “Don’t cry, please don’t cry… You’re okay! I-I’ll make it better! I’ll um… Go shopping and stuff and sort of kill time! It’ll be like I was never here so you can continue with your surprise!” He tried but it didn’t work. You buried your face in his chest and he practically swallowed you up in his hold. 

“I just wanted to do something nice for my hero,” you whisper softly as you cling to his shirt. He looks down and kisses your forehead gently. 

“Aww baby,” he said quietly like he usually did when he saw you like this. “Shhh… You always do nice things for me… Let me help you! I don’t mind helping out a little… Especially because, well, I love you and that’s what heroes are supposed to do right? Help?” 

      You sniffle and hum softly as you look up at him, your fingers gently tracing circles into his chest. “Yeah.. I guess… But just know that I’m GOING to surprise you sometime soon before you get your holiday time off!” You try and put up your protest but it only makes Inasa smile that handsome smile of his, small barely noticeable dimples cratering his cheeks as he gently took you by the chin and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. Immediately, your protest and pouts die down into soft whines against his pretty, soft lips. He pulls away slowly and gently licks your lip, his voice seemingly dropping a little though his tone was still airy and soft just for you.

     “Are you done, sweet thing?”

You couldn’t help but to nod and stare at him with doe-like eyes, wide and glassy and absolutely adorable to him. Sweet thing. That was his nickname for you.

“Good. Thank you. Now, we can both surprise each other as much as we want… I don’t mind. I don’t. But the best thing, for me at least, is coming home to see my adorable sweetheart laying on the couch, smiling at me when I come home from a long day of doing what I love. Or… I don’t know. Reading a book with my love… Or giving you a massage… Or watching a show with you while you read a book next to me. I don’t need all of your surprises and sweet tricks, okay? They’re really nice- truly! And I’m not asking you to stop. I could NEVER do that because I love surprising you too. Okay?” He gently brushed your hair back, his sweet smile thawing you out as you nod at him.

     “Y-Yeah… Yeah I understand… But, babe, before you help me with anything, you need to help me by going to change first,” you giggle as you slide out of his warm hold, a small shiver running down your back from the sudden unfamiliar warmth blanketing your body.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he laughed as he stood up and gently slapped your ass as he walked past, the heavy tapping of his boots sort of echoing as he made his way up the stairs. You yip quietly and grumble with a flushed face as you walk over to the kitchen, grabbing your apron and tying it, stretching a little before you looked at the recipe on your phone, collecting your ingredients to make cookies. You sift the flour and the sugar, humming to yourself, swaying your hips as you continue to add in all of the dry ingredients. 

Meanwhile Inasa came downstairs clad in black joggers and no shirt just watching you for the moment a look of pure adoration in his nebulous, beautifully dark eyes. “Don’t you just look amazing,” he breathed to himself as he came up behind you with a little bit of pep in his step. He hugged your waist with his strong arms and he gently kissed your neck, nibbling your shoulder a little as he watched you mix the ingredients. “What’re we making sweet thing,” he said softly into your ear.

“U-Um n-nothing m-much… J-Just um.. Some cookies, babe,” you said softly as you show him the recipe. 

“Butter cookies? Yes! They’re my favorite!” He squealed softly as he nuzzled into you before turning to the fridge grabbing out some butter. “But-ter missing a little something,” he said keeping a straight face as you stop your mixing to look at him. You giggle softly as you look at him standing there noticing that his hair grew a little. It was just enough to be noticeable. You shake your head and laugh quietly at his stupid joke while he snorted and tried not to break out into his own giggles. 

“You’re so dumb,” you say gently as you push him and he just pulls you in closer with his free hand, his hand on your ass giving it a nice squeeze before he glanced over at the recipe again. 

“I’d say something to combat that, but I mean I guess it’s the truth,” he said with a soft laugh before shrugging a little. “At least I’m a helpful hero, right?” He laughed and kissed your forehead gently.

“I didn’t mean it like tha-“ He shushed you by putting his finger over your lips. You kiss his finger and chuckle softly before going back to the dry ingredients. 

“I can get the wet ingredients done while you prepare the baking sheets okay? And I’ll start the water,” he grinned as he already started by putting the butter in the microwave to soften it a little. “What’s for dinner my sweet little thing?”

You blushed as you finally picked up on what his nickname was for you and you slowly walk over to the fridge. “It’s already made. I figured it was getting late and you’d want dinner as soon as you came home tonight with… A nice massage afterwards…” You blush a little and rub your arm as Inasa gazes out the window waving to the strangers that were walking their dog outside of your window. 

“See, you always know what to do babe,” he said with a small laugh as he focused and mixed all of the ingredients together, his eyebrows knit with determination, his eyes slanted a little as he focused, never having had a strength or passion for cooking or baking. “But…” He breathed out quietly before looking up at you with that handsome smile of his again. “You’re going to be the one getting massaged tonight. You’re not allowed to say no. I just want to take care of you tonight, love,” he said as he walked over to the dry ingredients, mixing both sets together slowly so he didn’t throw the batter. You pout a little but don’t object, grabbing sleek cookie sheets out and spraying them down with olive oil so the cookies wouldn’t stick. You look over at your man just watching him fold the ingredients together, his expression focused. You walk over to him and laugh softly, gently kissing his clammy back before squeezing your way under his arm and in front of him.

“You’re really stiff moving babe. It’s not gonna bite you, *hero,”* you tease him as you gently take the mixing tool away from him, your wrist loose, your expression calm before leaning your head back against his chest, his hands holding the bowl in place. He looks down at you as you meet his gaze and you smile at him with a soft blush. “Why are you looking at me like that…?”

“Like what,” was his answer before kissing your forehead, one of his hands gently wrapping around yours and you both finish mixing the batter. He took some on his finger and he held his meaty finger up to your lip looking down at you. You smile and gently suck the cookie dough off of his finger causing him to blush a little. You look up at him and he looked back away, his eyes glittery now.

“Did… I do something wrong?”

“No of course not, you couldn’t have,” he replied as he took out two scooping tools handing one to you. “After you my sweet little thing,” he said with a soft grin as he started to scoop dollops of cookie dough out of the bowl and drop them on the cookie sheets. 

    You both take your turns dropping little lobs on the cookie sheets, but he never loses contact with you. He gently holds your waist with at least one hand as he does so, always staying behind you, his foot right by yours so you know he’s there and so you don’t trip over him or move too far away from him. When you bent over to put the cookie sheets in the oven, he couldn’t help but to grab at your ass and pull you into him, looking down the curve of your back at the back of your head and your shoulders too. You yelp out and one leg jolts up out of surprise and he just snickers at you. After you set the timer, he scooped you up and placed you on the counter, standing in between your legs, his hands resting on either side of you. You gently wrapped your legs around his waist and gently run your fingers up his forearms, then his biceps, then the sides of his neck, one hand feeling down his chest and then over his abs. “Someone’s been putting in a little overtime,” you say quietly meeting his gaze which was overflowed with nothing but love and adoration for you and you alone. The way that he looked at you shot butterflies through your stomach and you couldn’t help but to whimper softly.

“Y-Yeah I’ve gotten some training done so I could be the best hero for everybody… I don’t care about being the number 1 hero… I mean, it’d be nice, but… We all do our jobs the best way we can to make sure everyone stays safe… I just want to be the only one who’s doing that job for you… I want to be your number one hero,” he said softly, grabbing one of your hands and holding it up to his face, pressing his cheek into your palm. You didn’t understand it; how could someone be so hot but adorable at the same time, respectful and professional, manly and soft at the same time, the juxtaposing roles fitting him so well. He spoke so loudly to other people but with you, sometimes you had to ask him to speak up, but at the same time he was still the excitable man you fell in love with, always ready to help someone else, always ready to put others and yourself before he took care of *himself,* always ready for an adventure or to use his imagination. 

“You know I love you so much right,” you ask him quietly as your thumb gently strokes against his cheek. “I love everything about you… You’re so beautiful to me,” you said quietly as you gently kiss the tip of his nose. He was flushed but he couldn’t really help that, he loved you too. Everything about you; he was an easy man to please when it came to you. You didn’t have to be all dressed up; he just wanted you WITH him. He loved it when he came home and saw you asleep with some infused water or lemon tea next to the couch than If you were in a pantsuit looking as stressed as ever. He adored it more when he saw you in joggers and a random shirt of his when he came home rather than makeup and fancy clothes. He loved all of your pimples, scars, and blemishes. He loved your backstory and how strong you are to still be there with him. He loved that he had such a sweet little thing to take care of, and he loved that this person was you. He couldn’t help but to kiss your palm before he kissed *you* gently. For the most part, he was pretty vanilla. He was only really into dirty talking but he couldn’t handle hurting you, even if you told him that it was okay. 

He softly hummed against your lips, his eyes a little narrow before closing right after yours did. He gently slid his tongue into your mouth and he groaned softly before slowly pulling away. His hand was rested on the back of your head while the other rested on the counter beside you. You were taken by surprise at this sudden action, but you didn’t complain, butterflies erupting in your stomach every time he kissed you. You whimper softly against his lips as he pulls away and then you open your eyes to find him smiling softly. His eyes were still closed, his pretty pristine white teeth illuminating your home even more than the lights against the snow outside as the gloaming fell into twilight. He looked so serene, so peaceful and absolutely beautiful, even as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip just to taste the remains of your flavor on them before he slowly opened his eyes to look at you.  

           Another wave of butterflies torrented your heart.

     You couldn’t help but to smile at him, your hands now rested on either side of his face as you both took in the other’s beauty. You both never had to keep a continuous conversation to connect with each other and you loved that about him. You were just fine with him admiring you while you just silently and— not so— secretly adore him. The oven beeped suddenly making you jump, but his eyes were still fixated on yours, his smile growing more before he snapped out of it. He held your waist against the counter and he laughed quietly, gently kissing your cheek before grabbing an oven mitt even though he was sure that his quirk would be just fine for the task but he didn’t want to chance it.

“Don’t move baby, I’ll get them for you,” he said quietly. He gently opened the oven and recoiled at the heat that blasted in his face, quickly recovering and pulling out the cookies, gently setting the sheets next to you but not so close that you could accidentally burn yourself on them. They were perfect. A little sunken in the middle, flaky, golden around the edges and the scent that wafted through your house was homey and comfortable. Inasa grinned at them pleased with the both of your work, happy that he didn’t ruin anything. “Why don’t we let these cool down with some dinner and a movie, hm? We can watch, any movie that you want,” he said as he stood back in between your legs, gently running his hands up your sides, taking advantage of the small of your back, the weakest part, just to pull you closer.

“I think that’s an amazing idea,” you say as your eyes flutter closed and you bury your face in the crook of his neck while he softly cooed at you. “Can it be a Christmas movie?”

“What kind of question is that? I *love* Christmas, besides… There’s snow on the ground… People have already put up their decorations… Yeah! Let’s do that! Besides, it smells just like Christmas in this house tonight… Only something’s missing….”

You look up as he starts to walk away and look around. “Well yeah… We don’t have a Christmas tree yet… I-“ you were cut off as he pulled a lighter from his pocket with a grin and he’d began to light the yankee candles that were spread through the house, dimming the actual lights. It was literal heaven, the scents along with the scenery of your house and the comfort of enjoying it with your man who happened to have the next day off. The warmth of the cookies pushed against your legs making you shiver as you slid off of the counter. You met him halfway and hugged him gently while he, once again, flashed you a hearty smile. The TV played a Christmas song as an ad break before the holiday movies started and he smiled down at you, gently resting one of his large hands in the small of your back while he took your hand with his other hand. You looked up at him, very confused, but even still you let him lead you with slow sways in the living room. “W-What’re you d-doing?”

“It doesn’t need to be December and we don’t need to have a Christmas tree or a mess of lights strung up everywhere to get that Christmas feeling sweet thing,” he hummed softly to you as he spun you and chuckled softly. “It always feels like Christmas when I’m with you… When I come home and you smile that beautiful smile of yours at me… I’m your hero, I see it in your eyes every single time you look at me… With so much love… And I don’t have to worry about much… Not with you. I could have saved… A million people but the only one that holds the weight of my heart is YOU,” he explained, his voice soft as he pulled you closer. “It’s been awhile since we’ve been able to have a heart to heart even though none of our encounters are heartless, but baby I eventually want a family with you… You know that right? Maybe a pet… Maybe a kid or two- I mean I love kids! And kids seem to love me… At least I hope they do,” he teased as he gently scratched your back. The way you looked up at him as he spoke was unmatched; a beautiful twinkle taking over, your cheeks a pretty lively pink, your lips barely parted and your breathing shaky and shuddery.

“The point is, I want to spend the rest of forever with you… I don’t understand why people romanticize things that aren’t romantic and then like.. Discredit actually romantic things… Like I could get used to this. I could get used to making you flustered just by talking about how I want to grow old with you… Or helping make cookies and dinner and then washing the dishes after… Things like that. I’ll never stop talking about it baby, never. You’re my sweet little thing, and you always will be. I understand if you don’t want to dance, but just for tonight baby, please just dance with me…” He spoke quietly, his eyes glistening with happy tears as his smile grew and radiated onto you. You gently take his face in your hands, stare into his eyes for a moment, and then press a tender kiss into his lips, his hands rested at your waist holding you close. You couldn’t help but to notice his quivering breaths and shaky bottom lip, so you bit his bottom lip just to hold it in place which gifted you with a soft whine from him. You slowly pull away and watch how he stares at you, how he was so overtaken with happy emotions he was about to cry. 

“I could dance with you forever if you’d let me,” you say quietly as you slowly lead him back into your guys’s small dance. “You’re the only one for me… The moment I met you… Even… Yelling your little lungs out- I don’t get how you do that all the time-“ you tease him and laugh right along with him. “But… I knew that I wanted to be with you… I didn’t care what anybody else had to say. I didn’t like how my family said it wouldn’t work out… You’re so sweet and kind and gentle and… Oh how did I get so lucky,” you say softly, tenderly wiping a stray tear that fell from his eye with your thumb. Your family always told you to pick someone more for size for you because he was a pro hero. Your family always hated pros and the idea of you being with one because of rumors that they were abusive, but Inasa- instead of closing you down into a box like your family- he made you feel that you were just as good if not better than any pro hero around, even himself. He always made sure to give you affirmations and to make sure that you mentally took care of yourself, even being a civilian teacher. Unless he had to, he never left you in the dark about his work that day. You had no complaints, no bad days, and no secrets… But your family didn’t care and so they cut you off for it. 

  “It’s not luck, sweet thing,” he said softly, gently kissing your forehead as the song ended. “Call it fate,” he said softly with a wink just wanting to hug you as announcers talked about the annual toy drive and gave a shoutout to Inasa because he always came in clutch when it came to the kids of the community, whether it be toys, or housing, or opportunities to teach- via you- or just hygienic products and clothes. He really was a hero fit to serve his community while the higher names sort of rejected it. 

You clapped a little and smiled at him as he was given the shout-out and he bit his lip nervously. “My passionate little hero,” you whispered quietly before he picked you up and hugged you tight against him. You squeaked quietly and clung to him as he walked back into the kitchen and moved the boiling water off of the burner. “I’m assuming it’s this udon that wasn’t here when I left this morning,” he asked as he rose his eyebrow and took out the two bowls. He put them in the microwave to heat up and you just cuddled into him and hummed softly. 

  “You’d be correct, Inasa,” you mused as you gently kissed his neck. He took the two bowls out of the microwave and walked to the couch as you clung to him and he sat down, finally on the couch, keeping your legs in his lap as he spread the throw over the both of you, handing you your bowl as “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” started to play. You snuggle in close to him and look as if you’re already about to fall asleep. 

  “Itadakimasu,” he mumbled softly, pressing a soft kiss against your head, and then taking a bite, completely relaxing into the couch. “You’re such an amazing cook, you know that,” he laughed softly, halfway watching the movie, halfway keeping his attention directed to you.

  “Well… I mean if you say so,” you mumbled quietly, burying your head into his bicep. He chittered quietly at you and pressed another soft kiss against your lips, your stomach turning in flips all over again. It was just something about him that made you turn into melted wax, the way he talked and was passionate about hero work, but also how he devoted himself to his community and you. Suddenly the conversation you had earlier held weight in your mind; the future, your family, everything. You wanted the same thing as he did but you figured you’d leave the conversation buried until later when you guys had your nightly talk. It wasn’t Christmas yet, but the feeling he gave you, the security that he instilled in you… It almost brought you to tears… You took in his soft familiar scent and continued to eat your food pleased that you had such an amazing man to call your own.

#inasa #inasa yoarashi #bnha inasa #inasa fluff #inasa imagine #bnha fluff #inasa x you #inasa x reader

[illneverrecover]

breathe for you | jjk

➛pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader ➛genre: Marriage!AU, domestic!AU, slice of life, fluff with a nice little smut undertone. ➛word count: 2006 ➛rating: 18+ (mature themes, mentions and descriptions of foreplay). ➛warnings: cursing, heavy petting, marking, dry humping/grinding, slight hair pulling, making out like horny teenagers, Jungkook being a goofy soft ass whole entire angel.  ➛summary: You’re always cold, but Jungkook comes up with the sweetest and most creative ways to warm you up. ➛notes: This entire thing was written for one of my beautiful besties, @quinnkoo​ . Happy Birthday,  Quinny baby! I’m sad we’re not celebrating this years at a BTS concert (or in a GCF!) like we did last year, but I hope this at least makes you smile. I’m so glad to have you in my life, to get to call you a friend, and to get to finally be close enough to squeeze you. Don’t tell anyone but I love you. Actually just don’t read this. ➛song:  Love U - Monsta X & Breathe for You - Monsta X

“It’s freezing in here.”

“No it’s not. You’re being dramatic again.”

Huffing, you slide the soles of your feet until they’re pressed against one of Jungkook’s sweatpant clad thighs. “I’m never dramatic literally ever. Feel my toes,” you wiggle them, giggling when he squeaks at the pinch. 

“Why do you always want me to touch your feet? Listen, baby, if you have a foot fetish, we can discuss some boundaries-”

“Jungkook!” you yell, laughing when he grabs your feet, tickling them briefly before slowly squeezing. His hands were so warm, which was a gentle reminder that your husband was practically a human furnace. 

Scooting closer to him, you fling your legs completely in his lap, sighing with relief when large palms slide up and down your legs, the friction warming your bones. You were always cold, no matter what the weather, but it was one of the many quirks that Jungkook loves about you - and loves teasing you for. Nuzzling into his side, you rest your eyes in the cozy peace of the moment before Jungkook shouts, plopping your legs to the couch to stand.

“I have an idea!”

You scoff. “Is your idea microwaving my socks again? Because they almost caught fire last time and it was awful-”

“No! This idea is way better,” he grins, winking at you before darting away. 

Despite the exasperation on your face, you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Finding the match to your soul was a feat that you hadn’t thought possible, and yet here he was, dressed like a teenager and armed with a toothy grin, ready to take on the world for you. It may seem silly to others, but every moment spent with him was more than you could ever ask for. He was so caring, so considerate. He always wanted to make you laugh, always going out of his way to make you smile. 

So many bad days that he had turned for the better by attempting to make your favorite food, or demanding a movie night with all your favorites. Days when you had left work exhausted and drained and so damn soul weary that you didn’t think you could leave your bed - and instead of trying to make you, he instead joined you, holding you tight and letting you tell him all your fears and concerns. Jungkook was the most attentive partner, and he made the most mundane things unforgettable - one of his many charms.

He returns with a pile of blankets in his arms, doe eyes dancing with mirth just above the visible line. 

“You know where you can’t be cold?” when you shake your head, he drops the blankets on your lap, throwing his arms in the air. “Inside the formidable and impenetrable Fort Nochu!” 

You roll your eyes, but your smile is already hurting your cheeks. It was a cheesy nickname, a silly word, and yet it was something so undeniably him.

“Impenetrable, huh?” Unfolding the top blanket, you drape it over the couch until it reaches the top of the nearby recliner until a makeshift ceiling is formed. “Is the fort itself impenetrable or does that go for the inhabitants as well?” 

His dulcet chuckle is music to your ears, long hair shifting to fall into his eyes as he looks up at you through thick lashes. The look was more lethal than he realizes, and your blood starts pounding, pooling low in your gut.

“Well, you’ll just have to come and find out, hmm?” He tries to wink, but both eyes close, and you feel your heart clenching. 

Did he have to be so damn cute? Honestly, the whiplash was maddening. 

It took less than 10 minutes to finish the construction, your ideas for the optimal blanket fort perfectly aligning and allowing you to work in tandem. The futon mattress from the spare room has been dragged as the makeshift floor, a mountain of pillows and blankets adorning the top until it was truly lush and luxurious. A small door had been left open to the elements so that the TV screen could be seen, though Jungkook assures that this is not a design flaw and does not change his previous statement regarding the fortitude of Fort Nochu. 

He gestures for you to crawl inside before following, remote forgotten shortly after he puts some Netflix show on for background noise. Instead you were content to lay facing each other, his long arms circling your waist and rubbing smooth patterns along the ridges of your spine. Your face is pressed to the firmness of his chest, his scent heady mixed with the gentle thumping of his heart, and you couldn’t help but to breathe him in, to wish you could pull him in deeper. 

He’s humming a song, one that you don’t recognize but it’s beautiful and soothing as one hand slides up your back to nestle into your hair. “So, how about it? Did it work? Are you warm yet?”

Honestly, your limbs and heart had been heated through long before climbing into the blanket fort, but he didn’t need to know that. Instead, you trace the silk line of his jaw, thumb tugging at the corner of his plush bottom lip until his darkened gaze focuses on you. 

“I’m pretty warm, but I think I could be warmer.”

He glares then, question evident on his brow but instead of answering further, you hitch a leg over his hip, pulling him closer until your faces were almost touching. Your nose sweeps against his gently, a ghost of sweetness, before trailing down to his pulse point, to the hollow of his throat. You press a lingering kiss there, wet and soft, before moving to leave another, making a small path until you reach the barrier of his hoodie. 

He shakes loose a breath as his hands tighten around you, tugging in an effort to bring you closer, but you ignore it to continue your leisurely ministrations on the column of his neck. His skin was sweet, as if the lingering scent of his soap had melded with his natural scent to create the most perfect flavor, one that you couldn’t get enough of. You grin against him when you hear him whine, swallowing thickly. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” you murmur, teasing the lobe of his ear with your teeth. Sliding a hand through his long locks, you tangle your fingers near the root to give a gentle pull, awarding you a low moan from his throat. “Is there something you want, Jungkook?”

His voice is rough, gravelly with misuse, but you hear him clearly all the same. 

“You. All I ever want is you.”

Now it’s your turn to groan, swinging your body up onto his hips until you are straddling above him, hands resting against the tight planes of his chest. He looks beautiful pinned beneath you; lungs heaving, face flushed, tawny eyes shiny and lust blown. His long hair is fanned around his face, almost making him look angelic - if you didn’t know any better, that is.

Unable to resist any longer, you crash your lips to his, licking against the seam of his pout until he opens, always so pliant for your kisses. You kiss him until he’s breathless, until his mouth is love bitten and his taste is burned onto your tongue. You’d be content to kiss Jungkook all night, to just enjoy the feeling of his lips moving in sync with your own, but the growing hardness pressing against your inner thigh is begging for your attention.

Who are you to deny Jungkook attention?

Rolling your hips, you finally pull your mouth away, gasping for air as you keen against him. “So what were the rules regarding penetration inside of Fort Nochu again?”

A choked laugh fades into a moan of your name, palms digging into your waist, bruising.  “I concede. You’re the queen of this fort now, you make the rules.” 

Victory of your win flooded your veins, and you give him a cocky grin before suckling his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping the flesh gently before letting it drop. 

“Good.”

Your hands slide under his hoodie to feel the feverish skin of his torso, lean muscles shivering under the contact as he gasps, and you love how responsive he is; how sensitive he is to your touch, how worked up he gets for you - only for you. 

Nudging him to sit up, you rip the material over his head to toss aside, eyes greedily drinking in the revealed skin before you like it was the first time all over again. Latching your mouth to his collarbone, you start to suck evidence of your claim against his golden skin, hips rocking gently against his length in sync with his soft mewls.

Each glide against his clothed cock was delicious pressure against your aching core, and you knew you were wet enough that you wouldn’t even need anything more than to slide your panties to the side to have him sheathed fully inside of you. Dropping a hand down to your center, you move to sweep the offending material away when a sudden tug at your shirt has you yelping.

“Mama? Papa?”

The voice is tiny, dripping with sleep, and you will your pulse to slow its pace when you turn to see your son clamoring his way into the fort. 

Sighing, you drop your head to Jungkook’s chest, snickering alongside him when he presses a kiss to your temple, allowing you a moment of reprieve before slipping out of his lap.

“Hey little man, why are you still awake?” he questions, hands reaching for the boy who happily scrambles into his father’s embrace. 

Tiny fists rub at his eyes, hair sticking out into an excellent mad scientist impersonation. He looks just like his father, could almost be his twin, and as he got older and more of his personality started to show, it became evident that you had created some sort of Jungkook clone. 

Something that the world should perhaps be worried about, but it only made your heart swell.

“I had a bad dream, I got scared. And then you weren’t in your room.” He pouts, lip jutting out, causing Jungkook to crinkle his nose with an amused grin.

“I’m sorry, rabbit. We decided to build a blanket fort,” leaning forward, he cups his hand towards the child’s ear, whispering conspiratorially. “I named it Fort Nochu.”

At the name, your son's eyes widen, turning to look at his father. “Nochu? Like who comes and helps me sleep at night?”

Jungkook chuckles, catching your eye as you stifle back giggles of your own. It had been an old trick, a silly story to tell your little boy that ‘Nochu would come through’ to help him sleep, but it had worked like a charm and clearly left a lasting impression.

“Exactly like that!” 

Your heart tightens in a vice at the scene, and you muse if you could possibly love your husband - your little family - any more for probably the millionth time since you brought your son home. There’s a smile on your face as you make room between you, adoration smooth in your eyes when you pat the bed encouragingly. 

“Does that mean I can sleep here?” he slides into the opening, a yawn ripping from him as he cozies under the copious blankets.

“I bet if you sleep here, you won’t have any more bad dreams,” you coo, running a hand through your sons dark hair as he settles onto his side, eyes already closing. 

Jungkook slips in behind him, elbow propping him up so he can admire you both, the comfortable silence lulling in the space between. Reaching over the now sleeping boys form, his hand searches your own, fingers interlocking, giving you a quick squeeze.

“Are you warm now?”

His voice is low, dripping with adoration, and you know what he means; what he’s asking without ever saying the words. 

Your eyes close as you hum. 

“Definitely.” 

#happy birthday quinny <3 #btsbookclub #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #jungkook scenario #bts scenario #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #domestic!AU #marriage!AU #bts #my writing #fic: breathe for you #fic: bfy #I hope you like this! #let me know what you think!