Tumgik
#like it's cheesy sure and it's centered around yet another pair of white kids
submissivekillers · 3 years
Note
Yo yo yoooi! Can I please have a lost boys x vamp reader who’s like the very first vampire to be born and she comes and meets the boys cause she’s traveling across the world to visit all her “children” - so basically ancient ass vamp reader who looks 20 something meets the lost boys cause she’s meeting the rest of her kind
like what i do? support me on kofi
ngl i basically pictured reader as a pre-milfication lady d while writing this jhgfdsa. brainrot!! also mild max slander
length: 2.2k
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If there is one rule you’ve managed to learn over the long years of your existence, it is this: humans will take any opportunity to make fools of themselves. 
Santa Carla is no exception.
Even in the early morning before the hordes of hormone-addled humans descended on the beach, the air had been heavy with smoke and blood and sex, so strong it almost overpowered the scent of the sea even when you'd peeled off your sandals to wade in. In its own way, it's exhilarating; the anticipation had your old blood stirring, your excitement mounting as the sun dipped low and the crowds swelled. From the window of your little motel room, you'd had a wonderful view of the flood of humans that spilled onto the boardwalk, the vast majority of them young and already inebriated to some degree. Ripe for the picking.  
It's not humans that you're hunting for tonight, though. At least, not yet.  
At a leisurely pace, you wander the boardwalk, taking your time to enjoy the local color. You indulge in a vivid blue cloud of cotton candy, try a couple rides, win yourself a stuffed whale after breaking a few bottles and promptly gift it to the first kid you see. A belligerent twenty-something who stinks of beer tugs at the hem of your white dress as it swishes around your thighs and you break his wrist without a second thought, disappearing into the crowd long before his scream of pain is lost in the echo of blaring music and shrieks of sugar-fueled glee. 
You're in line behind a gaggle of chattering teens at an ice cream stand when your nerves prickle, feeling the weight of eyes on the back of your neck. Without turning, you inhale, nose wrinkling as the acrid smell of old blood fills your nose. They absolutely reek of the stuff - it's so strong that you're a little surprised even the humans aren't picking up on it. But then again, maybe they just can't pick it out under the layers of weed and exhaust smoke.
The teens disperse, laden with several precarious cones of ice cream, and the bored woman behind the counter waves you up. You open your mouth, but there's an arm around your waist before you can say a word, a cool body pressed against your side. A ringed hand slaps a crumpled five-dollar bill on the counter, mismatched bracelets jingling with the motion. 
"We got the lady's order tonight, Peggy," comes a voice from your other side. You glance over the top of your glasses (cheap, heart-shaped things rimmed in vivid pink, scavenged from last night's meal) and meet the gaze of a cherubic blond, his pale blue eyes calculating as he worries his thumbnail between his teeth.  
The arm around your waist squeezes tighter. You turn your head, tilting your chin slightly so you can lock eyes with another pair of baby blues. They sparkle at you mischievously as your fellow vampire, bends to whisper in your ear, teased blond mane tickling your nose. "What can I get for you, baby girl?" 
You make a show of considering your options, pouting faintly as you prop a hand under your chin. You slip your other hand around his waist, idly toying with the mesh of his ridiculous fishnet top and grinning when he shivers at the scrape of your painted nails. "Chocolate shake, I think," you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. "Are you getting anything?"
Rocker boy shakes his head, tips you an exaggerated wink as he shoves the fiver towards the increasingly petrified-looking cashier. "Nah, all yours tonight."
"Sweet of you," you chirp, popping up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He beams at you sunnily, shooting an excited glance at the cherub over the top of your head.
Peggy pushes your shake over the counter, lid only half-on in her haste to get the three of you away from her little stand. You manage to flash her a smile (aiming for sympathetic, but perhaps landing closer to smug) before you're pulled away, happily taking a sip of your drink as the cherub comes to walk at your side, trapping you between their bodies. You address the rocker first, catching the way his eyes dart down to catch you licking the ice cream from your lips. "You got a name?" 
"You can call me Paul, baby," he purrs, then wiggles his brows at you suggestively. "Or daddy, if ya want." 
You snort around the straw of your shake, unable to resist the grin that tugs at the corners of your mouth. It's definitely one of the more low-effort pickup lines you've ever heard, but something about him - the goofy little eyebrow waggle, the answering grin when you laugh at him like he knows exactly how ridiculous he is, his overall puppyish manner - manages to push it over the line from sleazy to charming. "You should be so lucky."
"I'd be the luckiest man in the world, I think," he flashing you a smile that's slower, more seductive than his cheesy grin - the kind of smile that would make any pretty young human a little more willing to spread their thighs. 
It's perhaps more effective on you than you care to admit, but you ignore the lazy heat that curls down your spine, turning to bat your eyes at the cherub. "How 'bout you, handsome?" 
"Marko," he says shortly. His face is young, but he's definitely the older one here - you can always tell by the eyes. "And you're on our turf."
"What, a girl can't take a little vacation in peace? I thought this was a free country," you huff in mock indignance.
Marko narrows his eyes at you. "Free country, maybe. Not free hunting grounds." He gnaws his thumbnail again, scanning you like he's trying to judge a threat - though it seems he can't help lingering for a long moment on the bare skin of your thighs. "Mind coming with us? David wants to meet you." 
David. The name is familiar - Max's first, if you recall. From what you'd heard, he could be quite a territorial creature. 
Paul, perhaps mistaking your thoughtfulness for unease, squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. "Hey, you're not in trouble. We just wanna make sure you're cool, you know?" His thumb draws steady circles over the arch of your shoulder blade. "This is our turf, but if you're not gonna cause any trouble, you'll be okay." 
The expression on Marko's face makes you doubt Paul's optimism, but you play along, curling a hand around his bicep and leaning in. "But what if I like causing trouble?" 
Paul grants you another sunny grin. "Then you can cause trouble with us," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "I bet we could show you a good time." 
Marko clears his throat, distracting you from your flirting, and you're suddenly aware of the scent of blood grown stronger - along with the pungent smell of motor oil. Looking ahead, you see a group of bikes before you, two more vampires leaning against their respective rides. 
Both handsome, and you can tell they're both strong - but it's clear from a glance which one is the leader. 
"Thanks for fetching our guest," the blond - David, you know instinctively - rumbles, his voice a warm, sardonic purr. He looks you up and down, the weight of his eyes like a physical thing. "Welcome to Santa Carla."
"Do you give all visitors a personal welcome?"
"Only the interesting ones." He smiles at you, the edge of a fang glinting in the light. "Come with us. There's someone you should meet." 
You lift a brow. "Oh? And here I figured you were the one in charge around here?" 
"I am, don't get it twisted," he shoots back lazily, pulling a battered pack of cigarettes from inside his duster. "But our sire wants to meet you." 
"Ah, so you're the lead enforcer," you muse, nodding. David gives you a look caught between exasperation and amusement and takes point as you're herded after him. "And you?" You chirp, turning to the dark-haired boy who walks behind you. 
He blinks languidly at you. "...Dwayne." 
Strong and silent. You can appreciate that in a man. 
You're lead to a video shop in the center of the boardwalk, fielding Paul's flirting, Marko's questions, and Dwayne's cautious stare as you go. David walks slightly ahead of the rest of you, puffing on a cigarette and occasionally glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
As you approach the door you hear Dwayne sniff, his rumble of "Maria's not here yet," barely audible even to your heightened senses. 
"Good," David murmurs, pulling open the door with a merry chime of the little bell. He bows his head, making a sweeping gesture to usher you by. "After you."
Drifting inside, you're assaulted by flickering screens and lurid posters, a storm of color and noise. You run a fingertip down the spine of a videotape, but a whimper draws your attention. Bending at the waist, you catch sight of Max's hound hiding under a desk, watching you with ears pinned flat to his skull. 
Shame, really. You found him rather cute, but the beast had always been terrified of you. 
A familiar scent reaches your nose, and a familiar face follows soon after - though he's changed significantly since the last time you saw him. The trappings of the modern world suit him well, you have to admit; the thick glasses lend a sort of non-threatening charm to his face, which you suppose is the point.
"Thorn, what's gotten into"—he stops so quickly his shoes squeal against the floor, the friendly shopkeeper guise dropping in the space of a blink—You." 
"Maxie." You greet, inclining your head. "You look... alive. In a manner of speaking, of course." 
He steps between you and the hound, hands curled into tense fists at his sides. "What are you doing here?" 
"Just sightseeing, really," you say soothingly, holding up your hands in surrender. "Figured the time was ripe to catch up with the world, see how all my little birds are doing. Carmilla sends her love, by the way." 
"This is my territory," Max hisses through his teeth, eyes bleeding yellow. "You know you can't be here without prior notice, it's law—" 
You sigh through your nose and snap your fingers. "Maximillian, kneel."
He falls to his knees hard enough that the tile cracks under his weight. You step closer, lifting his chin to meet his furious glare; he visibly strains against your order, a vein pulsing in his temple. You have no doubt that he would tear your throat out if given the chance.
But you've been alive entirely too long to let a little upstart like Max get the better of you.  
"I'm not here to cause trouble," you say, calmly, but firm. "But I made the laws, Max. You would do well not to forget that." 
He bares his teeth at you, face fully transformed to reveal the beast within. You look at him impassively for a moment, then sigh, turning on your heel and edging past a stunned Dwayne. "I'll meet you outside, boys."  
You push through the door with more force than strictly necessary, the tinkle of the bell almost mocking your dampened mood. Disappointing. Max had always clashed with you, even if he lacked the nerve to do anything about it. You'd hoped that a few hundred years apart might have cooled his animosity towards you, but clearly that was too much to hope for. 
You suck on your straw, making a face at the airy rattle you get instead of ice cream. All out of milkshake, and still so thirsty.  
The bell jingles again, heralding the approach of Max's coven. "I apologize for not warning you," you say before any of them can speak, twirling your empty cup. "I did have a feeling Max would react badly to seeing me. He's always been a bit of a cunt when things don't go his way." 
"How old are you?" Marko blurts. 
"Don't you know it's rude to ask a lady's age?" You tut, waving a finger in mock-indignation. "Really. No manners at all."
David steps forward, eyes glittering in the neon lights. "You turned Max." 
"No," you say, smiling to show off the long, curving points of your canines. "But I turned his sire. And I turned the sire before her, too." 
Glances are exchanged. Dwayne and David hold each other's gaze for a long moment, then Dwayne breaks away to glance at Marko, murmuring something just quietly enough that you don't catch it. Paul smiles, curious and admiring, and when David looks back at you there's a cautious interest written in the lines of his face. 
"Tell you what," you purr, looping your arms around David's neck. His gloved hands come to rest on your hips, leather creaking as he idly kneads the flesh hidden beneath soft cotton. "My throat's feeling a little dry. Why don't you boys take me for a drink, and then I’ll answer a few questions."
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bubmyg · 5 years
Text
spring break
pairing: jeongguk x reader
genre/warnings: (light) enemies to lovers, college!au, fluff, more sparing illusions to smut, jeongguk and oc are bad at articulating feelings
word count: 1,465
a/n: an extra piece to “not a date” which linked on my masterlist!! this takes place roughly three weeks after the events in “not a date”; “not a date” doesn’t have to be read to understand this but like it helps
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“Are you back yet?”
You glanced at your still packed suitcase that you hadn’t touched for two days. “Yeah, flew back in Friday night.”
Jeongguk was silent aside from a puff of air, a tiny grunt emitting along with the rustling of something hard and plastic. “Awesome—” He grunted and after another prolonged moment, “—did you start the assignment for class yet?”
You glanced at your laptop that you hadn’t touched aside from plugging it into it’s charger. “No, but I assume you have it done, so…”
“Didn’t even bring my laptop home with me for break,” Another labored huff, “...okay I did but. No. I haven’t started.”
You wrinkled your nose and plucked at a stray thread on your sock, legs curled underneath you as you rocked forward spine straight, backward shoulders hunched. “That’s unlike you, Jeon.”
“Come over and we can work on it together.”
The blotched colors of the poster pasted on your door melded together, your vision trailing off with the coherent thoughts left in your conscious. You spluttered and the broken pieces of the puzzle came back together to make a clear image in front of you, adding a heat to your cheeks as an unattached extension of the picture.
“Want me to bring food?”
“Actually, I’ll, uh…” More rustling and Jeongguk mumbled, “I-I’ll cook something. If you want. We can order something else later, if it takes us forever and we’re hungry.”
“You cook?”
“Uh. Kind of…”
You paused in the time it took you to cross your room to flick the charger from the back of your laptop.
“Be there in ten.”
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You tripped over his suitcase in the entryway.
“Shit, sorry about that—” There were scrambling footsteps across the hardwood and a hand was on your forearm, the latter adjusting the suitcase until it was out of the walkway. “—forgot to move it earlier—”
“Did you just get back?”
Jeongguk stared at you with a hand on your wrist and you noticed the wave to his black hair before the embarrassed flush that had crawled onto the apples of his cheeks. “Yes,” He let go of you, straightening to shove deft fingers through the long fringe dangling into his eyelashes, “Like...an hour ago?”
The waistband of grey sweatpants slithered into view from underneath a baggy white long sleeve, the elastic rolled once on lean hip bones, drawstring loosely tied and poking out from his naval. Your tongue dried in your cheek and you commented instead, “Your hair…”
“I’d let you lecture me on needing a haircut—” Jeongguk let the dark waves escape through the spaces in his fingers, bouncing over the crinkles that formed on the corners of his eyes, “—but I’m like ten seconds away from burning your ramen.”
You trailed him through the hallway, past the jar of bright green pens and another duffle bag with similar airport tags on it as the luggage in the doorway. You eyed the pattern of cartoon bumble bees on his socks in favor of the flex between his shoulder blades when two hands threaded into his scalp this time.
“You don’t need a haircut,” You decided finally, pausing in the threshold. Jeongguk pressed his waist to the edge of the counter, leaning over the boiling pot with a spoon in hand and an awaiting arch of his eyebrow. “It...it looks good. You look good.”
He switched the stove top off, transferring the pot to a quilted holder ready in wait on the countertop. A halfhearted dust of his hands off in his thighs and he was in front of you, the arch of his eyebrows transferred to the slant of his lips, tiniest sliver of teeth showing. He leaned into you, hands caging you on either side until the small of your back rounded into the lipped edge of the countertop.
“Compliments coming early tonight, huh?”
Pursed lips ducked for you but you paused their advances with the middle link of your index finger, pressing it hard against Jeongguk’s mouth. “Making ramen isn’t cooking,” You told him, calmly albeit to the rush of blood roaring in your ears.
“By definition, yes, actually, it is,” He muffled against your finger.
“Fine. Move, and let me try some—”
“Tell me my hair looks good again and I’ll consider it.”
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He sat with his head on your thighs, one of your hands toying with silky strands while the latter propped your notebook up to eye level. His notebook was curled between his thumbs, flimsy with the way he kept waving it, words blurred with the movement. He hadn’t studied anything on the page said since detailing the contours of adorable concentration etched on your face, fluctuating between words on a page that meant nothing to him to the poke of a tongue from the corner of a mouth that caused him grief and frustration and everything in between.
Or something.
Your actions were mundane, feathering at the ends of his hair, rolling the waves between your fingertips before brushing a searching hand back into his scalp for more. Jeongguk was silent aside from a few hums when the blunt edge of your fingernails entered the equation, drawing out a few more of the noises by rooting in place to brush back and forth a bit more.
You didn’t hear Jeongguk’s first call of your name, feel the shift of his mattress when he tossed his notebook aside and rolled onto his stomach, hear the soft hey out of heart shaped lips, feel the thread of his arms around your waist and the rut of his chin into your tummy. It took one hand dragging across your hip, through the apex of your elbow and into the curl of your palm to take your notebook, discarding it into a pile of two with his own as he returned to hugging your waist.
“Hey,” Jeongguk tried again, chin rebounding off your belly button.
Your hand was still in his hair and when you tried to jerk it away, he shook his chin so your careful work was tousled, pieces fluffing and sticking out in the center of his forehead. A gradual smile worked its way to your lips as you leaned back on your elbow, tucking the hair out of doe eyes with the tender curl of your tiniest digit.
“Hey.”
You followed the path of your hand, “Hey, what?”
“I missed you.”
Your stature tensed in his hold and he sated you by ducking to kiss your stomach over your shirt. The flash of his gentle smile coming back to you stumbled your unsure inquiry in your throat, “Y-you did?”
Jeongguk laughed and you felt it in the tips of your curled toes. “A lot,” His hands left your back to press into the wrinkles of his duvet, straightening until he was hovering over you with a thigh pressed between your legs, “I always miss you.”
“Can’t say the same.” The flash of your eyes to the cocky grin that slanted his lips betrayed you and an involuntary gasp squeaked emitted when he pressed his mouth to the corner of your jaw.
He pecked your cheek, sweet eyes daunting, “Yeah? Not even a little bit?”
“Why would I miss my insufferable study enemy on spring break?”
There was a comical urgency to Jeongguk’s next round of rhetorical ramblings even if, somewhere, he was wholeheartedly searching for an answer to an unspoken question left dangling over the grease stains of a heart shaped pizza, “How much ramen do I have to make you until I’m upgraded from stu-nemy to study buddy?”
“Jeon—”
“Or what about all that cheesy bread I’ve bought you? Surely that deserves at least frenemy...”
“Guk—”
“My dick doesn't think of you as an enemy anymore. Neither do I but—”
“Oh my god, Jeongguk.”
You cupped his face in your hands, pressing your thumbs into his cheekbones to angle his gaze to you. His throat jumped when he swallowed and his bottom lip gave a miniscule wobble. Threads of soft black obscured dilated chocolate.
“I missed you, too,” You assured him, promised him, “I was kidding. You aren’t just my lame study buddy.”
Jeongguk dove for what he missed most, the sweet seam between your lips that tasted of stale cherry chapstick and emitted the softest little noises when he flexed his thigh and adjusted his grip on your hips, the warmth of your skin under his touch that puddled further with each proceeding movement. He was trying to excavate the meaning behind your words even if the context told him all that he needed to make a sizable inference, searching for the blatant answer in your lips seared to his, hands clinging to his shoulders, waist writhing underneath him.
You, you, you. He missed you the most.
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morelike-bi-light · 5 years
Text
Bingo Fic: Leah/Victoria Fluff
So, this took literally forever to write - which is weird since it's the fic that was by far the easiest to plan out. At least part of it is because the wifi in my new apartment and my computer have a vehement distaste for one another. So I typed it on my computer and copied it into my phone. Anyways! I promised 500 word fics to the first people to fill out my bingo sheet a long while ago, and @effervescent-emmett was one of them! I love you, dude, and thank you for being so patient. And thank you for requesting Leahtoria, which is my heart and soul. It was so much fun to write when I finally got the chance. And I'm pretty sure this is longer than 500 words if that makes up for the lost time. It also definitely fits into the larger Victoria and Bree Cullen AUverse. Hope you like it and again, ilysm.
🖤🐈🧡
She doesn't know how long she sits there, legs crossed and back against the couch, staring at the side of that open cardboard box in the center of the coffee table. The box is white, with thick swishes and stripes of sky blue against which 'We deliver!' is spelt out in chunky block letters.
"What is wrong with you?"
Rosalie's tone wavers between awe and disbelief, and if she didn't know any better, Victoria would mistake her for impressed. As it is, she's pretty sure she's just amazed at the new levels of stupidity reached by her own - well, not flesh and blood, but sister. It seems all eternity has provided her is unlimited opportunities to break her own records.
Victoria groans, slumping over on the table and hiding behind her hands. Normally, she'd have some quip prepared, something about her being what's wrong, or there being something wrong with Emmett for somebody cool like him to see something in her – it doesn't have to be believable, just rude – but she just doesn't have the faculties to be eloquent at the moment.
"I don't know," she says instead, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know."
"Because there must be something wrong with you–"
"I know."
"–if you think that..." Even as she points an accusatory finger at the box, Rosalie keeps her appendage close to her chest, as if she's worried getting too close will make her catch the crazy. "... is a good idea."
"I know."
She really does. Victoria tucks an orange curl slipping from her ponytail behind her ear, screwing up her mouth. Slowly, she straightens up, sitting on her haunches, and peers into the open box.
"But look at them," she scowls. "They're pathetic."
Four tiny eyes - one pair gold, the other green - peer back at her from fuzzy, feline faces. The black one squints and meows, like he knows he's been insulted.
"Jesus Christ," Rosalie mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"It's true!" Victoria insists. Brows furrowed, she dips her hand in and scoops up the first fluffy tube to stumble into her hand, lifting it up on display with both hands. The little white calico blinks up at their visitor, paws extended and shoulders hiked up to her little triangle ears, not unlike a zombie. "How are they supposed to hunt for themselves like this? They can't."
"That's what the mother is for." Rosalie crosses her arms and raises a stern brow. "Find the mom. Give them back."
Grimacing, Victoria shakes her head, gently – if a bit awkwardly – placing the kitten back in its makeshift pen.
"Trust me, I'd love to," she mutters, eyes sliding away.
Rosalie's gaze narrows. "And yet?"
"Well," she starts, "Bree and Esme went out for a quick hunt this morning..." The look on her sister's face stops her.
"Oh, no."
"Yeah. Bree's pretty, uh, bummed out about it. So I told her I'd go back and grab the poor thing's kids."
"For God's sake," Rosalie mutters, but her expression is concerned. Then she sighs. "Still, you can't expect them to stay here of all places."
"I'm not that stupid," Victoria grumbled. "Alice helped me find homes for the other three. She took two for the hospital and one to visit Charlie at the station. But there were two left, and I don't have a lot of options, so–"
"Wait," Rosalie sniffs, whipping towards the woods, then snaps back to fix a surprised stare on her sister. "Is that your little werewolf girlfriend?"
"Like I was saying–"
"I thought dogs and cats don't mix."
Victoria rolls her eyes, but she sits back on the couch, shifting nervously. "Would you get out already? I've got this. I'll figure it out."
"I'll hold you to that," she mutters, as she turns on her heel. "Fine, I'm leaving. Keep your pets off the furniture."
"I'm not responding to that," Victoria mumbles, and her sister vanishes just in time for Leah to emerge from the treeline, jogging over to back porch as she makes a last ditch effort to smooth out any tangles in her hair. Her dark stare is soft in the sunlight, creasing gently as her lips stretch into a fond grin. Victoria starts smiling, starts running without even realizing it, suddenly painfully aware of the ache in her stony chest that always creeps in when they've been apart too long. Yanking open the door and leaping forward, she snatches her love into her arms and spins, burying her lips in the crook of her warm neck. Yelping and giggling, Leah wraps her legs around her waist and her arms around her neck, leaning away from her girlfriend's cold nose.
"Warn a girl, would you? I'm ticklish!" She snorts, and though she makes a show of pouting, the redhead obliges and sets her down, hands moving to rest on the small of her back. Her petulance only elicits a smirk in response. "So I take it you missed me?"
"Who would have thought four days could last so long?" Victoria groans, resting her head on her girlfriend's shoulder. "You know I'm so happy and proud of you – you deserve nothing less and way more – but I'd be just as proud if your publisher ran its business out of, I don't know, Canada."
"Aww," Leah hums. "If it helps, San Diego was nice, but it was pretty boring without you."
Victoria straightens and shrugs, trying to hide the way her mouth curls in satisfaction. "A little, maybe."
"A little," Leah nods, smothering her own smile.
Victoria's about to ask how the meeting went, if her editor was nice, when the shifter stiffens, blinking. She turns her head towards the house, mouth pursed, then slowly looks back at her girlfriend.
"Hey... is there a reason why your family's house smells like cats?" She asks, brows creased quizzically.
Going still, Victoria glances between her girlfriend and the door, mouth poised to answer but no sound coming out. After a moment, she reluctantly lets go of Leah's middle, gently removing the arms around her neck and sliding her right hand into Leah's left.
"There was an incident, this morning," she starts, then pauses, searching for the right words. "I have something strange to ask you."
"Okay... I'm listening."
"Do you... have room for a couple of cats?"
"In my apartment?"
"And your heart," Victoria teases, trying for a cheesy smile, but pulling off what feels more like a grimace.
"Are you serious?" For a second, Leah just looks at her, eyes roaming her features like she isn't totally sure she's real, but then she sighs. "Shit. Alright, lead the way."
From Leah, that's actually exactly the response she was hoping for. Hiding a smirk, Victoria pulls her girlfriend in the direction of the mewing box of furry babies, wisely declining to respond when she laments the irony of being born a 'cat person'. And it's true – the second the Clearwater lays eyes on them, you can physically see her fate being sealed. It's pretty adorable, really. She melts in their teeny presences, tucking them close to her chest and planting quick, sneaky kisses on their foreheads as she spouts off her supposedly limited wealth of cat knowledge.
"I'm such a sucker," she laments after fifteen minutes of fawning. She lifts the black kitty up to her face and he licks her nose. "I'm a fool. I deserve this."
Worried what kind of romantic goop will come out if she tried to respond verbally, Victoria just nods, love in her eyes and the fiestiest calico on the planet gnawing fruitlessly on her pinkie.
"And you don't mind this little guy?" Leah asks with a wry glance. The lapse in her attention frustrates the orphan occupying her lap, and soon she's given into the black kitten's insistent mewing and nudging with careful head scratches. "I mean, black cats were said to be bad omens in your day."
"Or witches." She takes a moment to reflect on this, before shrugging. "So were redhead girls who played near the woods."
For a second, she feels her age acutely. She avoids Leah's eyes, thoughtfully running her fingers through the calico's fur, observing quietly as she attempts to knead at her leg. The kitten grows increasingly frustrated as her claws pierce through denim only to scrabble against what may as well be marble. A warm weight settles on Victoria's shoulder, and she leans into it, burying her nose in Leah's dark hair.
"So were women who loved each other, right? And I love you," she murmurs. "So, okay, screw it. More fun to be 'wicked' together."
"A lot more fun," Victoria smirks, turning to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, but Leah frowns, tapping her nose before it can go any further.
"Not in front of the children," she scolds. "Speaking of which, what are we gonna name these little gremlins?"
Victoria huffs, then looks over the gremlins in question, starting with the one furiously pushing her claws into her jeans in an increasingly erratic rhythm. "I don't know. Spot?"
The suggestion earns her a look of disbelief. "That's a dog name."
"Jake is also a dog name."
"Shut up."
"I like Spot," Victoria insists, "and she's on my lap. I think that gives me naming rights."
"Naming rights." Leah rolls her eyes, before gluing them back to the animal in her own lap. "Okay, fine. We have Spot. Now we just need to figure out this little guy."
"Well, he's on your lap. So the responsibility falls to you."
"Lucky for him," Leah mutters under her breath, then pauses. "What about... Lucky?"
"Huh." Victoria blinks. The corners of her mouth start to twitch. "For our little bad omen?"
Leah shrugs, stroking a finger along his cheek. The purr it drags out is loud enough to startle Spot into looking up from her work on distressing her name-giver's denim. "Yeah, what do you think?"
Victoria looks at the cat in question, who looks back with pleased, gold slits.
"Hey, Lucky," she says. "Meet your sister, Spot."
"And the weirdest parents you could have possible hoped for," Leah laughs, shaking her head.
"Happy-weird," Victoria corrects her.
"Right. Happy-weird."
🖤🐈🧡
And, so it turns out, to the eternal amusement of the entire Olympic Coven – but especially Emmett – that Leah and Victoria are both cat people. Fun fact, immediately after I wrote that bit about Leah teasing Victoria for picking a dog's name, I got excited about naming their black cat Pluto because I thought it was a cute and fitting name. Only to realize a couple lines later that Pluto, is in fact, a very famous dog's name. But lucky - ha! - for me, a cuter name came to me anyway. Oh, sorry for the long post, by the way - I can't figure out how to do Read More on mobile. Okay, two down, two to go! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed, guys!
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brattykeith · 6 years
Note
can we get some, uhhh, stripper!keith and bartender!lance
Flirty Stripper!Keith and Dying Bartender!Lance? Yes, pls.
“Lance, seriously?” Pidge asked, her tone incredulous.
Lance was currently wheezing, fumbling with his inhaler as he pressed it into his mouth and puffed out a small wisp of air. 
“I can’t breathe, Pidge.” Lance gasped back, squawking indignantly when Hunk snatched the inhaler from his grip.
“Lance, you don’t even have asthma.” Hunk pointed out dryly, pocketing the inhaler before Lance could steal it back. “Nyma’s asking for you to make her another drink.” He added, forcibly turning Lance towards his customer and away from the source of all of Lance’s anxieties.
Voltron was a high-end club in the city of Altea. Electric blue lights ran along the floors and furniture, the building itself carved out of whirls and lines of metallic steel. The bar that Lance, Pidge, and Hunk worked at was circular in shape, half of the bar jutting out towards the floor and the other half carved into a small niche for clients that wanted to have a more intimate conversation. The tower of bottles in the center of the bar essentially gave them a wall to hide behind, shielding them from the rest of the club.
Lance walked that way now, sulkily dusting off his aquamarine blue vest and adjusting his matching tie. Nyma and Rolo were tucked into the quieter side of the bar, whispering to each other save the occasional tinkle of laughter between the two of them. 
“Lance!” Nyma cried when she caught sight of him, lifting her empty glass into the air. “Make me another drink!” 
Lance came to a stop in front of the two of them, hands on his hips and brow raised. 
“Please…?” Nyma added, smiling when Lance graciously took her glass. Lance began whipping together a drink that was 70% juice, 10% alcohol and 20% fruit, his hands flying across the bar. “You’re not mad that I had Hunk drag you over here in the middle of Keith’s routine, right?” She asked sweetly, grinning when Lance shot her a sullen look.
“You could just ask him out.” Rolo pointed out, still nursing the beer Lance had opened for him an hour ago. Rolo was always the D.D. 
Lance sighed, because one simply did not ask Keith Kogane out on a date. Especially after witnessing Keith shoot down some greasy white-haired preppy kid’s advances with an icy “I’m married.” 
Who was he married to? None other than Takashi Shirogane, aka “Muscles for Days”. Asking Keith out would have been the equivalent of asking him to downsize from First Class to the luggage compartment on an airplane. Shiro was nice to everyone and money was thrown at him if that smile turned into a smirk. He was that sexy.
Still, Lance liked to torture himself by watching Keith’s sets. Keith was the best on the pole, twisting and twirling around in a balance of agility and strength. One time Lance had watched as Keith had twisted up onto the pole backward and one-handed. He was pretty sure he died that day and the rest of his existence was Ghost him mourning the fact that such a quality cutie pie was off the market. Life, Lance had decided, was not fair. 
Lance was setting Nyma’s drink on the counter as Hunk walked around to the back of the bar.
“Lance!” Hunk walked around the tower, looking him straight in the eye. Lance pouted at him. “Keith’s at the bar asking for a drink.” Lance stopped pouting at him.
Lance would have liked to pretend that he didn’t trip running his way over to open half of the bar, but he did, in fact, wipe out in front of one sweaty (yet somehow even more attractive) Keith Kogane. 
Keith was dressed in his stage outfit, a swirl of red fabric that took ten years off of Lance’s life every time he looked at it. It gave nothing too personal away, but Lance could clearly see the outline of Keith’s delicate curves, paired together with the pretty pale skin that ran up his arms and legs. Red eyeliner was curled around his eyes, and his lips were a matching shade of red. Lance was currently dying from where he was laid out on the bar floor.
“…Are you okay?” Keith finally asked from his seat at the bar, since both Pidge and Hunk had settled for burying their face in their hands. 
“Y-Yeah!” Lance popped up, before clearing his throat and putting on his best smile. He had a million and one openers, but all of them drained out of his head the moment he made eye contact with those gorgeous violet eyes. “I…uh…uh…”
Keith looked slightly alarmed.
“Did you hit your head?” He asked seriously, squinting at Lance’s hairline and probably looking for blood.
“I, uh, no-that’s,” Lance cleared his throat, “you want drink? I mean, of course, you-shit.” He fumbled around, grabbing onto a glass and trying to remember how to actually make drinks.
Keith’s gaze shifted from wary to considering. He stared Lance down as he leaned forward, folding his arms on the counter and leaning in closer. Lance could feel his face getting redder the more Keith closed in. He began to sweat when the corner of Keith’s mouth turned up into a smirk. 
“Sure, I’d like a drink.” Keith rested his chin in his hand and batted his eyelashes at Lance. “And you look like a tall glass of water.” 
It was a stupidly cheesy line, and if anyone else had said it Lance would have asked Hunk to throw them out on principle. But since it was Keith Lance’s reaction, of course, was to drop the glass and let it shatter on the floor behind the bar. 
“Fuck.” Lance didn’t even spare the broken glass a glance, too distracted by the catlike smile on Keith’s face. “You’re married.” He pointed out. Keith rolled his eyes at that.
“I’m not married,” Keith replied. “It’s just something Shiro and I say to avoid creepy perverts.” He explained, making a point to look Lance over. “But you, you’re not creepy at all.” He was still grinning in a way that made Lance feel like catnip. “You’re adorable.”
Lance croaked out a noise, before clapping a hand across his mouth. Keith lifted an amused brow.
At that moment, another patron sitting at the bar moved to sit next to Keith. Lance glowered at the way that the man was leering at Keith. 
“Did I hear that you’re on the market, bab-”
“I’m married,” Keith answered, not taking his eyes off of Lance as he leaned forward, snagging Lance’s tie and yanking him forward across the counter. Lance squeaked as Keith’s face was suddenly a lot closer than before. 
Rather than kiss him though, Keith reached into the pocket of his vest and stole a pen. Keith then grabbed Lance’s hand and began scribbling in his palm. Lance watched as ten digits appeared on on his skin, wondering if he was dreaming. 
“I’ve got to go,” Keith said, sliding off the bar stool and shooting him a smile. “Call me, cutie.” He added, before turning away and making his way across the floor. Lance’s gaze drifted to the sway of Keith’s hips. 
“Oh my god.” He managed, gripping the bar counter for support.
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ryukoishida · 6 years
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QZGS | The King’s Avatar Fic: In which swordsman!ST confesses his affection for fox spirit!WZ and WZ is hella confused.
Title: Beneath the Cherry Blossom Tree Fandom: The King’s Avatar / Quan Zhi Gao Shou Character(s)/Pairing(s): Yu/Huang (Wenzhou/Shaotian); Lu Hanwen Summary: A nine-tailed snow fox spirit rescued a young boy who would become a swordsman sworn to protect the weak.   Part: 3/5 Rating: PG-13 A/N: Blame the cheesiness on the crappy Chinese romance novels I’ve been reading recently. Honestly no regrets though, y’all. Also maybe just a slight warning that YWZ is a little OOC at the beginning.
Writing Commission | Editing & Translation Services
Parts:
i. Encounter ii. Awakening iii. Confession iv. Survival v. Blossom
iii. Confession
Every three to four months, after he’d gotten paid from work and if he had a day off, Huang Shaotian would wander around the marketplace in town center and purchase all sorts of wines and snacks while playfully negotiating prices with the shopkeepers who had known him since he was a child.
Back at his humble home, the young constable headed straight for the stable and started packing his purchases into the worn-out leather panniers strapped to his horse, his lips curving up slightly into a smile while he hummed a nameless tune under his breath.
It was early enough in the afternoon that the shadows were still short when he walked with his ride toward the rear entrance of the complex, but the February wind still bit into his skin slyly, making him shudder into his scarf.  
“Shaotian-ge ge!” a boyish voice was calling out to him.
Huang Shaotian twisted around to see Lu Hanwen, now ten years of age since he’d been rescued by Huang Shaotian and unofficially adopted into Wei Chen’s family four years ago, running towards him, his dainty wooden sword used for training swinging around wildly held in one hand.
“What’s going on, Hanwen?” he asked with a bright grin and ruffled the boy’s hair into a mess.
“Spar with me, Shaotian-ge ge! I’ve just mastered the first five techniques from the Flowing Cloud sword-style and I want to try it out on an opponent!” Lu Hanwen told him excitedly, hazel eyes glistening in the winter sunlight.
“Not today, kid. I’ve got somewhere to be,” Huang Shaotian laughed, and it was then that Lu Hanwen noticed the horse and the panniers packed to the brim.
“Oh,” the boy exclaimed, then quickly commented with a knowing smirk, “You’re visiting Wenzhou-ge ge, huh? Will you bring him something from me then?” Lu Hanwen didn’t even wait for the constable’s reply before he ran back inside the house and came out within two minutes, a delicate lacquered box carefully cradled in both hands.
“Honeyed osmanthus snowflake cake,” Lu Hanwen told him, the tinge of pride that colored his voice made the older man chuckle quietly when he took the box from the boy and put it in with the rest of the snacks. “Wenzhou-ge ge likes the flavor of osmanthus flowers, right?”
“And you never make me my favourite foods, ever,” Huang Shaotian grumbled though he was still smiling a little when he said that. “Who came after you and saved your butt all those years ago, huh? Is that how you repay your savior?”
“Well, technically, Wenzhou-ge ge was the one who saved my life,” Lu Hanwen reminded him cheekily but added, “But since we just got some fresh ginger, I suppose I can make ginger milk curd after dinner. Maybe.”
With a giggle, Lu Hanwen dodged Huang Shaotian’s hand and danced aside far enough where the constable was unable to reach him.
“Hey, Hanwen, if Wei-da ge come home early and ask for me…”
“Don’t worry, Shaotian-ge ge, I know what to do!”
The day Huang Shaotian brought Lu Hanwen back to the village, they had promised to keep their encounter with Yu Wenzhou a secret between just the two of them. Lu Hanwen had been too young to understand the true reason behind this concealment, but the man with the fierce golden eyes was the only one who was brave and strong enough to come after him and the monstrous demon that snatched him from his home after murdering his entire family. His young, fragile heart held nothing but respect and gratitude for the young swordsman; Lu Hanwen would do anything Huang Shaotian asked of him, no questions asked.  
“I know I can depend on you,” Huang Shaotian sent him a thankful grin. “And one more thing.” His expression became more solemn.
“Yeah?”
“The instances of kidnapping had been increasing lately,” his brows gathered into a tight frown at the thought, “so make sure you don’t go out after dark.”
Lu Hanwen nodded. “See you tonight!”
*
It was about a thirty-minute journey on horse from the village to the foot of the mountain, and the hike up to the summit of Blue Rain Peak was about another hour on foot, though with Huang Shaotian’s qing gong skills, which had been enhanced over the years of strict training, it usually only took the young swordsman about twenty minutes to reach the top, but he was weighted down with food and drinks today, so he couldn’t run as fast as he’d liked to.
He was halfway up the summit when he sensed it: that warm swirl stirring up in the depth of his core, like a whirlwind of gentle flame ribbons binding intimately around his heart, a degree too much yet strangely pleasant all the same.
Though the charm etched on the back of his hands no longer ignited whenever he went near Yu Wenzhou, but somehow, the link that they shared through the single droplet of the fox spirit’s blood was powerful enough so that even Huang Shaotian could sense the fox’s presence before he could see him with his naked eyes.
“Yu Wenzhou, if you’re around, I can really use another pair of hands with these,” Huang Shaotian repositioned the panniers more securely over his shoulders with a grunt.
“You have kept me waiting for too long, Huang Shaotian,” the familiar voice — cold as the snow that swathed the surface of the rocky crests for the majority of the year yet smooth and serene as the creeks that ran through the cracks and crevices of the boulders down the side of the mountain in the summer — was closer than the swordsman had expected, and he sharply turned around to see the fox spirit standing there.
His face displayed no obvious expression, so as usual, Huang Shaotian couldn’t quite tell what the fox spirit was thinking or feeling, but the fox’s amethyst eyes were focused solely on him and him alone, and Huang Shaotian thought to himself that this was really all that mattered, wasn’t it?
“Come,” Yu Wenzhou extended an arm out in invitation towards the swordsman after eyeing the packs on his shoulders with the slightest hint of curiosity that struck across his face as quick as lightning before he turned his head to the side, “we are wasting time standing around.”
“Yeah, yeah, you sure are in a hurry today, Lord Snow Fox,” Huang Shaotian chuckled nervously, though he had no reason to feel nervous after all this time. It had been a decade since they’d known each other, and this should have been a routine by now: him bringing offerings in the form of food and wine and his company, and the fox taking them through the boundary between reality and fantasy into a land of the fox spirit’s creation so that he could peacefully enjoy his offerings without the threat of worldly interruptions.
His hand was only shaking slightly when he placed it gingerly into Yu Wenzhou’s, the spirit’s skin cool beneath his palm as their fingers linked together in a loose fashion. With his other hand and using his index finger, the tip of which was glowing a warm white, Yu Wenzhou lightly touched the air before him as if there was a piece of invisible glass there, and the boundary opened itself up in a gradual churning of snow and air, blurring the vision around them until an oval gap big enough to fit a grown man appeared.
The edges between solid reality and ebbing illusion was always a peculiar displacement of space and time that shook the particles of Huang Shaotian’s physical body, and he often wondered if Yu Wenzhou, being a nine-hundred-year-old fox spirit, felt the same whenever they entered the other realm.  
Each time they crossed the boundary, a different scenery welcomed them: once it was a frozen lake with gorgeous frost-covered trees and icicles dangling like glass shards on branches lining the shore (Yu Wenzhou kept teasing Huang Shaotian when the swordsman shuddered and swore up a verbal storm since he’d been wearing his summer outfit, garment weaved from thin, breathable cotton, until the fox spirit, with a quiet laugh, lent the man his fur cloak), and another time it was a grassy hill in the height of summer, the deep night buzzing with the crickets’ songs as they gazed up into the starry sky.
This time, Huang Shaotian was thankful for Yu Wenzhou’s choice of location: the gentle spring breeze caressed his skin and teased his long hair, bringing with it a soft hint of earthy and floral scent prominent just after the rain; the creek that ran down the gently rolling hill creating a soft, trickling tune in the background, and the land was covered by miles and miles of peach and cherry blossom trees as far as the eye could see.
To think that this was all conjured within the fox spirit’s mind, it made Huang Shaotian incredibly curious about the places Yu Wenzhou had been to and whether these fantastical places were inspired by the sites he’d seen and experienced during his long life. But when he asked several years ago, Huang Shaotian discovered that Yu Wenzhou didn’t like to elaborate, only briskly replied with a “serve me the spirits” and turning his head away adamantly so that it was impossible for the other man to see his expression.
“This is beautiful,” Huang Shaotian sighed in awe, as he always did, looking around and laughing like a delighted child when he caught a stray petal in his palm before he blew it away into the air again. He turned to face the fox spirit with a wide, bright smile, “Yu Wenzhou, thank you for bringing me to these gorgeous places every time we get together.”
“I merely wanted a place where I can enjoy my offerings in peace,” Yu Wenzhou said, lowering his gaze and as if he’d just realized their hands were still linked, he quickly let go of the swordsman’s hand and walked on. His long white garment and snowy locks flowing behind him gracefully in ripples, his strides long and purposeful, yet elegant like a practiced dance.
Huang Shaotian tried not to let that seemingly aloof gesture bother him too much, and jogged a few steps to catch up with the fox spirit.
“You say that all the time, sure, but you know, despite how little you talk about yourself, I feel like these places you created from your mind, and just the fact that you are willingly letting me in, is your way of opening up to me and telling me something about yourself,” Huang Shaotian said teasingly, though deep in his heart, there was a small portion of him that wished for it to be true.
Perhaps he was asking for too much.
“You are over-analyzing my intention,” Yu Wenzhou told him coldly and pointed a clawed finger towards a spot beneath a fully blooming cherry blossom tree a few steps from the creek. “Let us rest over there.”
“Whatever you say,” Huang Shaotian shrugged and began to run ahead to set everything up.
Once they’d comfortably settled down with a variety of food and drinks spread around them in some vague sense of order, Huang Shaotian handed over the box that Lu Hanwen had given him earlier.
“This is from Hanwen,” Huang Shaotian told him, and added, “I swear that brat likes you more than he likes me, which doesn’t seem fair, don’t you think? I mean, I was the one who went through all the trouble to go after him and then begged Wei-da ge to take him in, right? I almost lost my life that time, damn!”
“Do not exaggerate. You had not been in any danger back then,” Yu Wenzhou commented with a wry smirk, “I would have come to take back what was mine, eventually.”
“Yeah, next time maybe don’t wait until I’m half-dead to do that? I’m only human and not a centuries-old spirit like your lordship — I die very, very easily,” Huang Shaotian mumbled as he tore open the seal covering the mouth of one of the porcelain wine bottles.
Something dark passed over the fox spirit’s face just then, but it was gone before Huang Shaotian could comprehend the expression.
“You will never come to any true harm as long as you have my blood inside you and for as long as I shall live,” Yu Wenzhou said in his usual cool and detached tone, as if he wasn’t making a life-long promise to the swordsman who would readily cut open his chest and offer his own heart if the fox spirit should ask, and then he uttered in a softer voice, “I will not allow that to happen.”
Yu Wenzhou took the box from the swordsman and carefully lifted the lid off. A poignant yet gentle scent of osmanthus immediately caught his sensitive nose, the aroma that reminded him of his homeland from ages ago temporarily made him let go of his previous dark trail of thought. The milky goldenrod-coloured snowflake cake was cut neatly into squares and sprinkled with pale osmanthus petals and sugar crystals on top.  
“He remembered?” Yu Wenzhou almost sounded surprised.
“I told him you really liked the osmanthus jelly he made for you last time,” Huang Shaotian said, placing the opened vessel of wine by the fox spirit’s knee and started to pick up a piece of candied sesame cracker to nibble on.
Yu Wenzhou picked up a slice of the gelatinous dessert with two fingers, his other arm lifted up to politely hide the lower half of his face with his wide sleeve as he took a small bite. The sweetness of the honey, the silkiness of the milk, and the delicate fragrance of the flowers balanced each other out perfectly on his tongue.
“Tell Lu Hanwen that I thank him for this,” Yu Wenzhou finally murmured after he finished the piece he had, a corner of his lips tucked upwards into a faint smile, the expression verging on the boundary of kind and warm, “it is lovely.”  
“Sure will,” Huang Shaotian nodded, noticing the slight change but didn’t say anything more.
After that, they fell into a comfortable silence as they ate, though of course, with Huang Shaotian present, the silence didn’t last long, and he began to babble one-sidedly about the cases he solved and the criminals he beat up and threw into prison over the last few months.
From the fox spirit’s facial expression, one wouldn’t be able to tell whether he was annoyed or bored, but Huang Shaotian knew, even from the subtlest of movements, like the pauses of his hand or the twitch of his lips, that Yu Wenzhou was listening closely and was even at times amused by the constable’s rowdy adventures.
Yu Wenzhou was used to the stillness and stirrings of the mountains, and the majority of the reason why he left the fox clan when he was still a young spirit was because he sought and craved the peace that he could never have back at home. For hundreds of years, he had kept to himself, never seeking company or wanting any, and then Huang Shaotian collided into his life like the brightest star striking across the long years of night skies, burning a scathing path and leaving destruction behind.
Huang Shaotian was an interesting child — and this wasn’t only due to the strange composition of his body; he wasn’t scared of him even though he knew well that Yu Wenzhou could have done anything to him. Instead, Huang Shaotian accepted him for who he was, and while their relationship had started out as a transaction that had obvious benefits for both parties, somewhere along the years, they had forgotten about that part of their verbal contract, and the line between the spirit and the human had blurred.
“What are you thinking?” Yu Wenzhou asked after swallowing a mouthful of bayberry wine when Huang Shaotian remained uncharacteristically quiet after his last story. When the young swordsman continued to stare at the vessel of mead in his hands, the fox spirit tried again, a hint of impatience seeping into his even tone. “Huang Shaotian?”
“Sorry, sorry,” the swordsman turned his head sharply towards the fox spirit and grinned sheepishly, “what were you saying?”
“Is there something occupying your mind that had you so distracted you cannot even spare a bit of your attention when you are in my company?” Yu Wenzhou’s gaze was unforgivingly cold but Huang Shaotian thought he saw a flicker of hurt in there, too.
“My apologies,” Huang Shaotian took another swig from his bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like he was trying to wipe away something dirty, “I was just thinking about a case we’re working on right now.”
“Is it a particularly difficult case?”
Yu Wenzhou didn’t really care about affairs that troubled the human world, but if there was something that was bothering Huang Shaotian, he would at least lend him an ear.
“Not difficult, but more like… disturbing?” Huang Shaotian tilted his head to the side, his forelocks which had grown too long since he hadn’t had time to trim fell into his eyes haphazardly.
Yu Wenzhou nodded for him to continue, his gaze entirely focused on the swordsman now.
“Since the end of last year, there had been cases of kidnapping that started out in a small town down south, but the instances had been getting more frequent as the culprits moved their way northward,” Huang Shaotian explained, eyes narrowing with irritation, “a lot of children had gone missing for the last few months in our town, and when some of them were found, it appeared that they couldn’t remember what’d happened or who’d captured them. On top of that…”
“Go on.”
“These children’s vitality had been completely drained dry,” Huang Shaotian’s grip on the porcelain bottle turned tighter and his hand was shaking in anger, his voice becoming a low growl, “they were barely breathing and even when they eventually recuperate, their internal energy systems had been broken into so they will become more susceptible to illnesses and physical damages as they grow up.”
“And you constables have no clue who is responsible for these crimes?”
“There were rumors about a certain cult whose leader has been using children’s bodies as ingredients for his refinery training due to the children’s purer vitality, so his followers had been snatching kids from different towns and cities for their master to use,” Huang Shaotian recalled, voice drenched in open disgust as he continued, “but for whatever reason, as soon as the local constables got close to the source, all traces of clues and evidence would be erased, as if the cult knew what was going on and they were just toying with the authorities.”
“You humans can be incredibly unobservant when it comes to matters that are so apparent,” Yu Wenzhou said, unimpressed.
“I can really do with less insults from you and more actual helpful advice, if you even have any,” Huang Shaotian mumbled in annoyance. His cheeks had grown rosier, but whether it was due to the alcohol he’d been consuming or the topic of their conversation, Yu Weznhou couldn’t tell for certain.
“Have you not considered the possibility that this may be the work of a demon — or a spirit that is trying to exalt himself into the rank of a demon — and not a mortal at all?”
“You mean a spirit is behind all this? Seems a bit elaborate, don’t you think? The hassle of gathering ‘believers’, the messy kidnappings, the disposal of the children — why go through so much trouble?”
“Certain types enjoy toying with their food before consuming — makes for better entertainment, they would say,” Yu Wenzhou turned his head away just then, his amethyst gaze focusing instead on the flowing creek and his pale lips tightening into a firm line.
“Tell me if I’m overthinking this again, Yu Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian sat up straighter and faced him even though the fox demon made no sign to move, “but it sounds like you know exactly who’s responsible for this.”
Again, the trickling of water and the singing of larks filled in the suddenly stifling silence.
“What are you not telling me?” the swordsman insisted, his tone urgent, and he reached out a hand to grasp onto Yu Wenzhou’s sleeve before he could stop himself.
The fox demon instantly stared down at where Huang Shaotian’s tanned hand was touching his stark white garment, and when he finally lifted his head up to look at the swordsman, his eyes had darkened to a stormy violet that made Huang Shaotian tremble and remember that he was more like a beast than human despite his deceptively human-esque physical features.  
He shook off the swordsman’s hold on him, yet the next moment found Huang Shaotian trapped between the trunk of the cherry blossom tree they’d been sitting under and Yu Wenzhou’s body, the spirit’s arms caging him on both sides; he lowered his head, his torso, until they were merely a breath apart, and his snow-white hair tumbled over his shoulders like strands of silk and ice. His eyes were absolutely dark now, no light and no trace of the elegant lilac to be seen.
When he spoke, his breaths chilled Huang Shaotian’s skin, and the cold just spread deeper and deeper into his muscles, through his blood and into his bones. Yet he couldn’t look away from the darkness of the fox spirit’s eyes; there was something strangely haunting yet striking about them — it reeked of the endless possibilities of wickedness, sin, violence, beauty, and humanity that Yu Wenzhou was capable of, and this all depended on the fox spirit’s own personal choice.
“Sometimes I do think you easily forget your place, Huang Shoatian,” Yu Wenzhou whispered, his lips barely moving though the swordsman could hear him loud and clear.
Huang Shaotian swallowed, and his heart was thundering painfully against his chest, making breathing that much more difficult. He wasn’t used to this proximity — to him, Yu Wenzhou had always been a figure atop the summit of the highest mountain, an unreachable figure though he might forever strive to reach there, to be equal to him, but it was impossible.
He kept telling himself over and over again that the fox spirit would never return his affection — he wasn’t that naivë — but the love in him only grew and grew; it filled up his heart from the first inkling of realization four years ago and then it spilled over like ink on paper, staining everything he touched, every step he walked, every breath he took.
From above them, a cherry blossom petal twirled downward and landed delicately on a strand of the fox spirit’s hair. The swordsman wordlessly reached up and gently plucked it off; it dissipated like smoke, like dust between his fingertips.
“Hey, Yu Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian breathed out his name, the warm moisture from his exhale momentarily startling the fox spirit into silence as he stared down at him with unemotional eyes, “I know this isn’t the best time but screw timing, I’ve always been terrible at these kinds of things so it figures that this would happen to me again. Anyway, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“I am in love with you.”
Yu Wenzhou blinked, and then three seconds later, he blinked again, this time the colour returning to his irises but his cheeks turned even paler than usual. His brows dipped down into a puzzled frown as he retrieved his arms back to his side and sat back down.
“I… do not understand,” he said — not angry, not joyous, merely matter-of-fact and slightly perplexed.
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justsomebucky · 7 years
Text
The Only Exception (Part 10)
Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 1,937 (End!)
Warnings: language, fluff, it’s an innocent lil epilogue
A/N: Sorry I get so cheesy in this space. Thank you to the people who encouraged me along the way, most of you total strangers who didn’t need to stop and take time out to do so, but did it anyway because you’re good people. Thanks to the other writers who sympathized with and cheered for me, I adore you. This is dedicated to you empathetic, beautiful people.
Part - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
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Six months later…
The lobby of the Red Wing Community Center was tremendously crowded, and for that you were grateful. You’d only caught a glimpse as you walked past, but it was more than enough to make tonight’s dedication ceremony that much more exciting.
As you walked back to your office, you thought about all you’d gone through to get to this point. So much had happened in your life, and you felt like a completely different person now, for the better. You were leading your own group and one-on-one sessions now, and you really felt like you were finally getting a chance to make use of all that training and empathy you’d accumulated over the years.
Maria had been given a psych evaluation that yielded some interesting (read: alarming) results, so she was now in a treatment facility designed for criminals. It was better to have her there than roaming free to hurt others, and rotting in prison without working out her issues would have been useless.
You hoped she would someday feel sorry for the harm she caused to everyone.
It turned out that Leah’s unemployment stint led her to a new job with the New York Yankees organization. Rumor had it that she was also sleeping with one of the top stars of the moment.
May Parker’s employment was terminated when Tony Stark dissolved September Media. You hadn’t heard a peep about her since.
Scott Lang was now no longer reporting on engineering feats, he was designing them himself under Stark Industries.
Bucky’s surrogate mother found solace in becoming the head cook at the new kitchen for the less fortunate members of the community center, which was part of tonight’s dedication ceremony.
Bruce Banner became a top investigator at his station. His research skills helped save many lives since this promotion, and Brooklyn had never felt safer.
Steve and Natasha were still a thing, and you knew from a little birdie that Steve was looking for a bigger place for the two of them to move into together. It wasn’t easy keeping that a secret from your best friend, but you were getting pretty good at no longer spoiling things for other people.
You smiled to yourself as you flipped the light switch, illuminating your renovated office.
The two of them were cute, sure, but you knew someone even more adorable. You walked over to the wall behind your desk, where a calendar was hanging next to your trauma certifications and degrees.
The featured image for May was a woman you hadn’t met yet, but she looked damn good standing in her firefighter uniform and holding a big brown puppy. The New York fire stations all did charity calendars benefiting Brooklyn non-profits. Steve and Bucky’s station was going to make a calendar to benefit the community center, but you convinced them not to after your grand idea came into play.
Instead, they did a charity calendar for the local animal shelter, and it sold so fast they had to order more prints. Every single firefighter there posed with animals that were up for adoption, and you absolutely adored it. You had a copy for work, and one in almost every room of your new apartment (except the bathroom, because that would be really weird).
You flipped the calendar to Steve’s Mr. July picture, complete with a bunch of golden retriever puppies all dressed in red, white, and blue ribbons. Natasha had almost passed out when she saw it.
That wasn’t even the best part. No, your favorite was Mr. October. When you got to that page, you grinned at the photo of Bucky in nothing but his pants, suspenders, and fireman’s hat, holding a tiny orange kitten in his muscular right arm, and a tiny black kitten in his left. They were posed around pumpkins for a Halloween theme.
You couldn’t wait for October.
“Could you please stop ogling me? It’s embarrassing.”
You let go of the calendar page and turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway, shaking his head at you.
“I just really love kittens and Halloween,” you joked, moving around your desk to stand in front of him. “I can’t help it that you’re in the picture, too.”
“Funny.” Bucky reached for you, grabbing you by the hips to pull you closer to him. He leaned over and brushed his nose with yours, then placed a sweet kiss on your lips. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck. “How was your shift?”
He shrugged. “Nothing too dangerous.”
“Good. This city had better keep my hot fireman safe.”
Bucky was your biggest source of comfort and strength in the months following Maria’s arrest. He never pushed you, never expected anything out of you, but instead was simply there for you when you needed someone. He helped build your confidence back up.
Along the way, you found yourself genuinely falling for him. It was more than the bar date had been; that was just banter and flirting, you knew that now. No, this was blossoming more every day into something incredible.
This time around, you and Bucky had a partnership.
“You see the crowd out there?”
You nodded. “Sam is beside himself. There’s so much attention on the center now, he’s going to have to hire another assistant.”
“Maybe an intern? Steve knows this kid from Queens who seems really caring, like he wants to help people.”
“Tell him to talk to Sam.” You reached up and brushed his hair back. “I guess we should be going, they’re going to be expecting us.”
“You,” Bucky corrected, his blue eyes bright as a proud smile formed on his face. “They’re expecting you, Doll. Not me. You’re the one who brought this all together.”
“I had help. I couldn’t have done any of this without Sam and Mr. Stark.”
“And his money, don’t forget.”
“That too.”
After Tony Stark offered to find you a new place to live (and you now lived in a top-floor, elevator-accessible apartment in Williamsburg, a much nicer part of your beloved Brooklyn), he wanted to know what else he could do to make things right.
There was only one thing you could think of. Money wouldn’t change what happened to you. Money couldn’t take away the pain Maria caused.
It could, however, improve the lives of a shit load of New Yorkers who needed the help.
Sam’s center ran almost entirely off of funding from generous donors. You knew he had a wish list of additional programs he wanted to start, as well as other helpful improvements to the center itself. One of them was the soup kitchen. Expanded group rooms, temporary housing for domestic violence victims, a new gym and rehabilitation center for injured vets and first responders, and on-call support staff were a few of those things.
Now, thanks to Tony’s generosity, they were becoming a reality, and you couldn’t be happier for Sam.
“Y/N? You look lost in thought aga-“
You interrupted Bucky by brushing your lips across his again, having spent far too long talking and thinking instead of kissing. It was hard to find time for yourselves lately, with all the extra work you had to do for the center, and all the crazy shifts Bucky was on.
Bucky seemed to agree with this new direction. He pressed closer to you as he deepened the kiss, his fingers digging into your hips just a little. The two of you were so lost in each other that you didn’t hear Sam until he cleared his throat in exaggeration.
You and Bucky pulled apart, sheepishly turning to look at him.
“They’re about ready, if you two are done playing tonsil hockey,” Sam said. “Y/N, I want you to be at the front and center, if you would.”
“Nah, Sam. This is your dream. This is your hard work. You deserve it.” You smiled at your friend, mentor, and boss. “Helping people is the only thing I ever wanted, and you gave me a chance to do it. Anything else I do for you is just me trying to return the favor.”
Sam shook his head. “You’re something else, Y/N.” He turned, motioning for you to follow.
Bucky took your hand in his as the two of you walked behind Sam to the main lobby, where a crowd of supporters, neighbors, and press were gathered to watch Sam and Tony Stark cut the ribbon on the expanded facility. You found a spot off to the side so you could get some good pictures on your phone.
“He’s right, you know,” Bucky murmured in your ear. 
“Hmm?” You stood on your tiptoes to try to see if Tony was there yet, and bit back a grin when you saw him shake hands with Sam.
Bucky continued talking. “Although, you aren’t just something else to me. You’re everything. I love you so much.”
You turned to look at him with wide eyes, feeling a little speechless.
Bucky’s eyes were sparkling as he lifted a hand to cup your cheek gently. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m not just saying it to say it, either. I’ve been thinking about it for a couple months now, but you’ve been so busy with these amazing projects…anyways, I just wanted you to know that I love you.”
He dropped his hand from your face and shoved both hands into his pockets, turning to face the front where Sam and Tony were ready to cut the ribbon.
He was so casual about it, you wondered for a moment if you imagined it all.
Did he just…?
You heard Sam’s voice as he thanked everyone for coming, and then thanked Tony for his generosity. It all became white noise as you focused on the man beside you.
This wasn’t some blundered attempt at making up. This wasn’t a cover-up for a mistake. It wasn’t a last-ditch effort to not lose you.
He really did mean it.
From where you started with Bucky and where you were now, it seemed like there was a whole lifetime in between. There were moments of happiness and sadness, tragedy and triumph…moments you’d love to forget, and moments you’d cherish forever.
That was the point of anything, wasn’t it? To live life to the fullest? To take the good with the bad, and find someone to walk beside you along the way?
Not one human is flawless; everyone has both a good side and bad side. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how you use those mistakes, how you learn from them, that shape you into a better person.
You’d been reading about other people’s romances your whole life, while slowly developing that now-infamous cynical attitude toward all of it. Deep down, though, your heart had always longed for a love life worthy of a Jane Austen novel. Hell, for a while there, you were even willing to settle for a little Sophie Kinsella-type romance. But what you really ended up with was more like that bastard Nicholas Sparks, with his flair for melodrama and deep connections.
You pulled Bucky’s hand out of his pocket and gripped it tightly in your own, causing him to look at you in surprise.
The two of you locked eyes as if you were the only two in the room. It was straight out of Pride and Prejudice movie or something, when Elizabeth stares at Darcy while they’re dancing. Only you weren’t dancing, and this wasn’t a romance from classic literature.
This was real.
There was a brief pause before you finally found the courage to let the words slip.
“I love you, too.”
Part - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
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genzgay · 7 years
Text
Flustered (part 2)
Pairing: Yugbam
Word count: 1.9k
Warnings: more bad pickup lines, butchering BamBam’s Thai name, wearing white shirts to coffee dates 
Fluster, verb. To make (someone) agitated or confused

Yugyeom, a quiet and shy library assistant, just wants to keep the peace. BamBam, a quirky design student, knows too many pickup lines. When they exchange numbers it feels like the world turned upside down.
based off this ask
part 1
for @cutepimook
Yugyeom blazed through the campus. He was overjoyed to visit BamBam, but the Green dorms were on the exact opposite side of the campus. Yugyeom couldn’t be late for his very important date. Once he was inside building two, he found the nearest stairwell and took the stairs two by two. At the second floor, he pushed open the door and scanned for room two. There it was at the end of the hallway.
Yugyeom used the time it took to walk there to calm himself down. His heart rate had picked up again and his cheeks were most definitely a scarlet color. He took two deep breaths, then four, then two again, which always seemed to calm him down. It didn’t. He apprehensively knocked on the door of room two.
No answer.
He knocked yet again. The door opened with a click, and BamBam stood there with a finger to his lips and a phone pressed to his ear. He was speaking some language that Yugyeom couldn’t identify. It was definitely something southeastern based off BamBam’s looks- maybe Malay or one the hundreds of Indonesian languages- but Yugyeom couldn’t be sure. He followed BamBam’s motions and sat on his bed, then watched BamBam pace back and forth in the tiny closet of a room. With a big smile, BamBam ended the call.
“That was my little sister, sorry.” BamBam explained, placing his phone on his desk.
“So you’re not Korean?” Yugyeom asked. Of course he’s not Korean, you dumbass.
“You couldn’t tell from the accent?” BamBam answered with a giggle. “Nah, I’m from Thailand.” Yugyeom was experiencing the greatest ah-ha moment known to mankind.
“Oh cool! I’ve never been, unfortunately.” Yugyeom said, scratching his forehead.
“Well, maybe you’ll have to visit.” BamBam said, hopefully. He pulled a clear plastic case from his closet, opened it, and revealed a bright pink roll of measuring tape. “If you could just stand and take off your shoes.” Yugyeom followed his instructions, depositing his beat up Adidas near the door. He stood, looking at BamBam’s corkboard. “Okay, just hold your arms out.”
As BamBam completed his measurements (quite quietly, to Yugyeom’s surprise), Yugyeom had a chance to contemplate the cork board in front of him. It was divided into four sections, each with their own themed collage. The upper right section had the word “home” pinned in the center and what Yugyeom assumed to be the Thai flag pinned above it, with a map, some family photos, and some images of notable landmarks. On the lower right, the word “inspiration” was pinned in the center and hundreds of cutout pictures, drawings, and patterns in purple, black, and white blooming around it. The lower right had “dream” in the center, with pictures of boutiques, famous labels, and expensive clothes juxtaposed against pictures of nice family homes, children, and wedding rings. Lastly, the upper left, with the gay flag in the center instead of a word. Multicolored pictures of pride parades, definitions of slang in Thai, Korean, and English, and rainbows made the corner the most obvious of the four. The entire board felt raw, as if BamBam had let his soul bleed into it.
“Your cork board,” Yugyeom started, unsure of how his sentence would end, “it’s,” He couldn’t find a word to describe it and his tongue was super glued to his teeth.
“Oh.” BamBam froze. “Yeah. It’s a lot and kinda cheesy, I don’t know why I did it, like it’s so lame.” He yammered. “Like, who actually uses their cork board, and isn’t it for, um, staying organized?” He laughed, moving in front of it to block it. The collage blended around BamBam’s frame like a holy halo of himself, his purest self.
Yugyeom smiled. “No, I like how raw it is. Nobody bothers to use theirs and mine has approximately two sticky notes on it from September when I promised myself to be organized. But this, no, this is art.” He shared. BamBam’s shoulders dropped like Yugyeom had just lifted a weight.
“Really?” He asked, his eyes big and shimmery.
“Yeah.” Yugyeom went over to the inspiration section. “So, purple?”
“It looks like it’s your color.” BamBam answered. “I guess I’ll have to add you.”
Yugyeom giggled. “Oh please.” He threaded a hand through his hair.
“Yugyeom?” BamBam moved to make another measurement. Yugyeom could feel the measuring tape against his ass, but accepted it.
“Yes?”
“Are you made of sugar?” BamBam swiveled back around, pulling Yugyeom in with the tape. “Because your ass is sweet.” Yugyeom knew his cheeks would be be crimson, but it didn’t matter, because he was eye to eye with one of the most handsome people he had seen. Summing up this feeling with a sentence would be hard, so Yugyeom tried his best.
“So, you have siblings?” Yep, he was a disaster. A flop. A failure. A wreck. He couldn’t even just take one freaking moment to relish in the fact that he could of just held his crush by the cheeks and kissed him then and there (even if they had only know each other for 48 hours). BamBam straightened himself out, leaning away from Yugyeom and turning toward the board.
“Yeah. So my sister,” He sounded disappointed. He pointed to a selfie, “Her name is Baby. I mean, it’s not her real name, that’s Hataichanok, but in Thailand everyone uses a nickname.” He waved at another photo, with two nearly matching faces. “Then there’s my oldest brother Sarunchai, or Beer, and older brother Chindanai, or Bank.” He scratched the back of his neck. “They’re all really nice and I miss them loads.” He flopped on his bed with a sad sigh.
“They seem nice.” Yugyeom said, reusing BamBam’s words. “But what’s your name?” He sat next to BamBam, careful to duck under the overhead shelf.
“BamBam.” He said, unblinking. Then the light bulb blinked in his head. “OH! Mine’s Kunpimook.”
Yugyeom knew he wasn’t going to say it right. “Kun-peh-muk?” He attempted.
“Kun-pi-mook.” BamBam stressed.
“Gunpimook?”
“Kun-pi-mook.”
Something clicked in Yugyeom’s head. “Kunpimook?”
“Yes!” BamBam smiled, “Thai sounds good coming from you.” Yugyeom could feel the burn of BamBam’s gaze on his lips. “Want to learn more?”
“Of course.” For another two hours, Yugyeom happily subjected himself to embarrassment and confusion as he tried to make sense of BamBam’s native language. They only stopped when Yugyeom’s roommate, Jungkook, called for the fifth time. “Yes?”
“Yugyeom? Oh thank god.” He breathed into the phone and there was some mumbling. “Gyu is drunk off his ass and I can’t find my room key, plus it’s the RA’s night off.” Yugyeom’s shoulders sagged.
Great.
“I’ll be there.” Yugyeom answered. He ended the call and looked at BamBam regretfully. Their legs had intertwined messily like a beginner’s first knit scarf and it was sad to undo it.
“Guess you gotta go?” He asked.
Yugyeom nodded. “Yeah.” Another light bulb flashed in his head as he slipped on his shoes. “Want to get a coffee sometime?”
“Definitely.” BamBam’s answer gave Yugyeom enough energy to run home. 
“What drugs are you on?” Jinyoung asked, a thick eyebrow raised in suspicion. He’d just witnessed Kim Yugyeom skip gleefully across the library with an armful of two-inch thick textbooks. He was humming. The kid had been more than pleasant to any stranger that had walked in here and that alone was frightening.
Yugyeom pranced back, finishing his exercise with a huff. “Nothing!” He sang. He grabbed another pile, pivoted, and was off to re-shelve the books.
Jinyoung blinked at his rejection. “It has to be something!” He called across the library, instant on finding out what was literally making Yugyeom jump with joy.
“I thought librarians don’t yell!” He shouted from the other end. Jinyoung snorted. That was kinda funny.
“They certainly don’t skip around, either.” He retorted. Yugyeom was back within view, still bouncing. “You got the last few, right? I’ll go sort and you can take the front.” He turned to go.
“Jinyoung, wait.” Yugyeom suddenly sounded pitiful. “Actually, do you know of any cool cafés?” He was rubbing at the back of his head and his cheeks were redder than roses. “It’s,” Jinyoung just grinned.
“You’re going on a date, aren’t you?” He questioned, giggling. Yugyeom turned crimson.
“Psh, it’s not that, I just-” He played with his hands. “Just wanna check out Seoul some more.” He grinned unconvincingly.
Jinyoung decided to give Yugyeom his blessing. “Go to Cafe Chu. Have fun with BamBam and get some churros, ya nerd.”
Yugyeom was sitting in Cafe Chu with a churro and a coffee, alone. Which was fine. BamBam was only five minutes late and Yugyeom could excuse that. He could forget it happened. As it grew closer to fifteen minutes, Yugyeom was taking a bite of his lukewarm churro and staring at his phone screen. Where was BamBam? Just as he’s about to type out a text teasing BamBam for being late, the screech of a metal chair on hardwood announces his very arrival. “Hi, gosh I’m so sorry, I...” 
Yugyeom didn’t even hear BamBam’s excuse. He was much too distracted by the sinfully angelic outfit BamBam had chosen: a white button up that exposed  just enough chest and a thick black choker to match. Yugyeom prayed he wasn’t drooling because Bambam was more than forgiven. “It’s fine.”
“Phew,” BamBam wiped his forehead, “I thought I’d ruined the date.” He laughed, “Looks like you’re going to need a second churro.” The pair got up and in line, debated getting heart shaped churros over the regular stick shape (general consensus was the heart churros), then sat down to enjoy deep fried heaven. 
“Wow.” They said simultaneously. They both laughed, smiling at each other’s being. 
“So, Yugyeom, tell me about your major.” BamBam prompted. He sipped at his coffee while Yugyeom described the in and outs of a dance major. Yugyeom then sparked a discussion on tattoos, which lead to a retelling of the time BamBam attempted to runaway from home, which turned into a debate on dog breeds. “Pugs are the cutest though, with all their wrinkles and they’re just designed for cuddling.” BamBam argued. 
“Nope, Labs are more friendly, plus they just have such a gentle demeanor.” Yugyeom refuted. 
“But pugs!” BamBam fought. He swung his arms out to make his point, his right hand flying straight into his cup. The paper object did a back flip as it fell to the floor, causing the top to come loose and spray it’s latte goodness everywhere. BamBam and Yugyeom looked at each other, then the floor, then back to each other. Fuck.
“I’ll get some napkins.” They shouted simultaneously again. The two split up in order to find the maximum number of napkins possible. By the time Yugyeom had made it down to the end of the cafe and back, an employee had brought out a mop and was clearing away their sugary disaster with a flustered BamBam bowing and thanking him. Yugyeom and he decided to escape after that. 
“So long, Kim Yugyeom.” BamBam said, squeezing the taller human into a hug. “Now next time, I pick the place. Somewhere without coffee, preferably.” His white shirt was now only kinda sorta white now, so Yugyeom could see where he was coming from.
“Okay. Text me?” Yugyeom asked. He still had a hold on both of BamBam’s hands, unwilling to let him go.
“Yes!” He promised, “And Yugyeom?”
“Yes?” 
BamBam had this shit eating grin on his face. “If you were ground coffee, you would be espresso because you’re so fine!”
A message for June: Considering that I posted this at approximately 1 am, I hope you deeply enjoy this and know that I’m dedicated as fuck to getting this updated every Tuesday (or, Wednesday at 1 am EST) for you. 
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