#coffee gift bin

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

Cats and Coffee for Two

pairing: photgrapher/barista!Wonwoo x barista fem!reader (ft. other sebongs)

genre: fluff, comedy, coworkers to lovers!AU, mutual pining, smut - minors dni.

warnings: mentions of food, alcohol and cat hairs, mentions of headaches and insecurities

smut warnings: oral sex (f rec), unprotected sex (contraception is mentioned but wrap it), creampie, praise, use of petnames, body worship, semi-public sex, manhandling, marking, making out, aftercare

word count: 12.2k

summary: Job hunting is a tough sport and Wonwoo has experienced it to its core. One fine autumn day comes where he's finally free from the shackles of unemployment, but he will soon find himself in the shackles of coffee, tea and cat hairs, But most importantly, he will have to share these shackles with you.

Author's note: this is my entry for the fall-ing for you collab hosted by @svthub! another long piece written by yours truly lmao

p.s.: huge thank you to @bitchlessdino, @gyuwoncheol, @wongyuseokie, @onlymingyus, @wonwussy, @horanghater and @shuadotcom for helping me out with the fic in more ways than one💕

©multi-kpop-fanfics, 2023. No reposting allowed. No translations allowed without permission.

“....We received your CV and cover letter. While your educational details are impressive, the lack of working experience does not make you a suitable candidate for the work position in our company. 

We thank you for your time and effort, and we wish you the best of luck.”

“Well fuck off, autogenerated e-mail response.” Wonwoo grumbles and sends the mail straight to the trash bin with an annoyed huff.

Another job opportunity flushed down the drain, to the point where another headache punches its way into his skull. 

He’s tired. He’s tired, drained and disappointed as fuck. He knew job hunting is a tough sport, but he didn’t expect to be kicked to the curb for such a long time. He was hoping to get a chance for an interview, but not even that? 

It makes him wonder if the years he spent in college were worth it after all. 

Wonwoo’s headache gets stronger, to the point he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. He closes his laptop and gets up from his seat, making a beeline to the cupboard where he stores his medical supplies.

He swallows a painkiller, followed by a generous gulp of water from a bottle, hoping it will soothe the pain soon enough.

He walks over to the couch, plopping down unceremoniously. His energy levels have dropped to absolute zero and the maroon colored couch pillow suddenly seems like a gift sent by the Heavens. He takes off his glasses and lays his head on the pillow, eyes closing shut within a few seconds.

Two hours later, his sweet slumber is disrupted by the familiar ringtone of his phone, but the noise doesn’t make him any less terrified. 

“H-Hello?”

“Hi loser, it’s me, your professional emotional and mental support!” A bright voice echoes from the other end of the line.

Wonwoo checks the ID of the caller and groans when he sees Seokmin’s name.

“What is wrong with you, Seokmin?”

“Bold of you to ask that question.”

“I am serious, Seok. Haven’t you heard of afternoon naps?”

“Dude, it’s eight o’clock.”

Wonwoo checks his watch and sighs in disappointment. “Fuck, I overslept, damnit.”

“Just how long were you asleep for?”

“Doesn’t matter anymore. Why did you call me?”

“Oh I don’t know, because you’re my friend and I want to check up on you because you’ve been in a slump lately?”

“Damn, way to call me out, I guess.”

“If I don’t call you out, then who will?!”

“....Fair point.”

“Anyways, I’m planning to grab some drinks with Minghao in an hour.”

“Oh nice, hope you have fun.”

“And you’re coming with us.”

“No.”

“Oh come on! It won’t be anything wild, just the three of us drinking some alcohol!” Seokmin whines. “Please? Just this once?”

Wonwoo ponders over his friend’s request and grumbles from his end.

“Fine, if it means to make you hop off my ass, I guess.”

“What ass?”

“You know what, I changed my mi-”

“I’m just kidding!”

“You better be.”

“Okay okay, no need to get your claws out!” 

“Anyways, I’ll see you guys in an hour.” 

“Nice! Make sure to shower before getting out of the house.”

“Fuck you, Seokmin.”

Wonwoo ends the phone call and gets up from the couch, stretching his arms above his head. He takes a whiff from his shirt and he scrunches his eyes in disappointment.

“He’s right, I should take a shower.”

Wonwoo is glad he accepted Seokmin’s invitation, because he had no idea how much he needed this. Not that he would ever admit it.

“You seem less tense than earlier.” Minghao comments.

“It’s all thanks to the alcohol.” 

“And the good company!” Seokmin butts in with his soju glass. “It’s okay to admit I was right.”

“And let it get to your head? No thank you.”

“Wonwoo is right, it will get to your head.” 

“I hate you both!” Seokmin whines and downs his shot.

“Now that’s a lie and you know it.” The younger man deadpans.

Wonwoo watches the bickering between his friends, the rim of the soju glass resting on his bottom lip. But his mind is wicked enough to slip back into his own worries, his face frowning once more.

“Wonwoo? Are you okay?”

Minghao’s voice snaps him out of his trance.

“Hm? Yeah, all good.”

“Buddy, with all due respect, you were looking like your pet cat died or something.” Seokmin narrows his eyes.

“Fuck off, Salem is perfectly fine!” Wonwoo shivers.

“Are you still worried about finding a job?” Minghao asks, hitting the nail on the head.

“Well, how can I not be? I have been struggling ever since I graduated and all I’ve managed to do is photoshoots for stupid influencers!”

He realizes his voice was louder than it was supposed to be, judging from the side-eyeing glares he earned from other customers.

“Damn, you really had to stoop so low?” Seokmin scratches his head.

“Money makes the world go around, or something like that.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Minghao asks again.

“I don’t have enough work experience, let alone serious one, which means my CV doesn’t look very professional right now.”

“Hmm….”

“What?”

“I may have a solution to your problem.”

Wonwoo’s eyes go wide, his irises filling with hope.

“Do you remember Joshua? From the Social Relations department?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“He’s currently working at SVT Cat Cafe, he manages the paperwork and stuff. He could put in a few words for you, if you don’t mind.” Minghao sips the last of his soju.

“You should take the offer, Wonwoo! The cafe is really cute and you will love the kitties!” Seokmin grins excitedly.

“It’s…It sounds really good, to be honest. Almost too good to be true.” Wonwoo lets out a breath he was holding all this time.

“You can always check out their website and send your CV in their email address. They are still hiring people, so it’s a good chance.” 

“Hao, I don’t know what to say, seriously.” Wonwoo laughs nervously.

“People usually say thank you.” Seokmin jokes.

“One more word and I’ll shove the entire soju bottle in your mouth, I swear.”

The view through the window is nothing short of idyllic, almost like the aesthetic images you see on Pinterest and Instagram. Maple leaves are dancing to the rhythm of the November winds, adding color to the dull concrete of the pavement, even if you know they won’t stay there for long.

You can’t say you’ve gotten used to the chilly weather, especially after your late vacation in Greece - it’s always too warm there, as you were warned beforehand. But you’re definitely glad you can enjoy a hot cup of coffee with cinnamon and chocolate sprinkles before the opening.

You hear tiny meows behind the mahogany counter and you walk in front of it, letting out a sigh when you pinpoint the source of the noises.

“Tofu, I swear to God.” You put the cup down and pick the white kitty in your arms. “I know you like roaming around but your cat hairs are invisible and I don’t want them in the beverages.”

The feline just tilts her head sideways and purrs in your arms, her green eyes staring at you, as if she is the most innocent creature in the universe (she is, most of the time).

“Your boba eyes aren’t working on me, missy. I know your true nature.”

Tofu responds with another meow, as if she’s asking you ‘who, me?’.

You go back and forth with the cat’s meows and purrs, utterly unaware of the presence of two men just a few feet away.

“Does that happen on a daily basis?” Wonwoo asks with a hushed voice.

“Yeah, with almost every single cat.” Joshua responds. “Although Tofu is her favorite.”

“I think I can see that.” 

You hear a couple of whispers behind you and you turn your attention to the two men.

“Oh, Joshua! You’re early today.” You comment. “And who is the gentleman next to you?”

“U-Uh, hi. I’m Jeon Wonwoo.” The man fixes his glasses nervously.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N.” You stretch your arm, waiting for a handshake. 

“L-Likewise.” Wonwoo hesitantly shakes your hand.

“Wonwoo will be the photographer for our social media accounts and official website, starting today.” Joshua adds.

“Oh, that’s great news!” You exclaim. “I promise you’ll have a wonderful time working here, Wonwoo.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Well, I’m afraid I have to take my leave now, business is calling.” Joshua announces after checking his watch. “Do not worry, Wonwoo. I’m leaving you in great hands. And paws.”

“See you later, Shua!” You bid your coworker farewell.

Tofu walks around Wonwoo’s legs and rubs herself all over him.

“I think she likes you.”

“You think so?” Wonwoo asks as he bends down to pet the cat, a fond smile on his face as the feline leans into his hand.

“She’s pretty picky with people, so seeing her so warm towards someone she has never seen before is pretty much a miracle.” You chuckle.

“Well, I should feel honored then.” He responds with a small smile.

“Would you like to order something? I could fix you a cup before the opening.”

“Um, could I have an iced americano then?”

“Wow, you’re brave.” You laugh in disbelief.

“What makes you say that?”

“You just ordered iced coffee in the middle of autumn. Does your throat have a death wish?” You put a few ice cubes in a plastic cup.

“Force of habit, I guess.” Wonwoo replies.

“That sounded very…moody.”

“Sorry, it wasn’t my intention…” He laces his fingers together and purses his lips together.

“You aren’t quite the extroverted one, are you?” You place the cup with the bitter liquid in front of him.

“Not really.” 

“It’s okay! You will be able to overcome it with time.” You try to reassure him.

“If you say so.” Wonwoo takes a sip of his coffee. “I’ll go check out the rest of the cafe, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, feel free to explore a bit!” You smile at him while you wrap your apron around your waist.

“The coffee is really good, by the way.” 

“Thank you! It’s my job, after all.”

Wonwoo searches for his wallet in his backpack, but you stop him before he finds it.

“It’s on the house, no need to pay for it.”

“But-”

“Good luck today, Wonwoo.”

“T-Thanks. You too, Y/N.”

He looks at you one last time before he goes to the open space of the cafe to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

The day progresses without any problems - if anything, the regular customers have already started gossiping about Wonwoo, although most of it revolves around his God-like facial features.

You kinda wish you were serving the coffee instead of making it behind the counter. At least you would have been able to see Wonwoo up close in action with his camera. But you can’t say you haven’t been stealing glances through the window that separates the two spaces of the cafe.

“Eyeing the new guy, are we now?” One of your coworkers leans on the counter in an attempt to gossip.

“Oh, shut up, Chan.”

“What? I’m just asking!”

“Define asking?”

“For someone who claims to be the sunshine type in this business, you’re pretty snappy right now.” The ashen-haired man snickers.

“I’m not snappy! It’s rush hour and I’m trying to focus on my job.” You defend yourself.

“It’s rush hour for everyone here, you’re not special, Y/N.”

“Either way, you’re not getting anything out of me, Chan.” You place two porcelain cups filled with hot chocolate. “Now get these to table four.”

“Vibe killer.” Chan grumbles under his breath as he places the cups on the disk.

“I heard that, shortie!” 

“No cupcakes for you tomorrow!” He mocks you before disappearing into the outer space of the cafe.

You let out an exasperated sigh, followed by a short laugh and you return to the coffee machine, checking the orders you have received and start making them one by one.

While the cafe hasn’t been operating for long, you’ve been part of it since day one. You feel glad to be finally putting your barista working license to work and do something that you love dearly - blame your undying love for coffee and cats.

Chan was also one of the first employees who joined the team, but he’s on the service part and he’s damn good at it (even if he did break a couple of glasses on his first week). The regular patrons know him by name and he never fails to make them swoon over with just a single smile of his.

Chan is a sweetheart, but also a little shit when it comes to teasing you. Although he never once overstepped with teasing. But he always goes overboard with the treats he gets you from the bakery across the street. You still remember the six pieces of cinnamon rolls he got you two weeks ago and how persistent he was for you to eat them all (you ate them all eventually).

Late in the afternoon, your shift comes to an end and you hang your apron, starting to pack up your stuff. Wonwoo walks into the main area and starts dismantling his camera to put it back in its box.

“So, how did the first day go?” You attempt to strike conversation.

“It was….interesting, I suppose.” He shrugs.

“You sound a bit tired….”

“My social battery died about halfway through the shift, to be honest.” He admits with a heavy sigh. “At least the cats are sociable enough to let me pet them.”

“I think you should go home and get some rest.” You give him some advice.

“I don’t think rest is going to happen anytime soon, but thanks.” He zips up his bag and throws it over his shoulder. “Goodnight and see you tomorrow, Y/N.” He bids you farewell and disappears through the doors of the cafe.

Shame, he’s cute but so uptight, you think. It’s not like there’s anything else you can do right now, so you leave the cafe, locking it shut and you walk towards the bus station to catch your ride back home.

A while later, you’re laying in your bed under the covers and decide to scroll through your socials for a while before falling asleep. You open Instagram and check your notifications, your eyes zooming on the purple circle around the profile picture of the cat cafe.

You click on it and a smile creeps on your face when you see Wonwoo’s picture on one of the Instagram stories, tagging Wonwoo’s account and welcoming him to the team. Curiosity gets the better of you and you click on the tag, leading you to his personal account. You frown a bit when you notice it’s private, but you don’t hesitate to send him a following request.

You hope he won’t think you’re a creep or something. I mean, he can definitely recognize you from your profile picture, right?

To your luck, a notification pops up on the top part of your screen and you squeal when you realize that Wonwoo has followed you back.

You waste zero time to check the pictures he has posted over the years and you quickly understand that he’s not the type to show off his face. But the one thing that’s prominent in his account is the astronomical amount of breathtaking pictures from the places he has visited throughout his life. You break into a giggling fit when you click on a post with his cat and you read a few comments from his friends, lovingly making fun of his ‘cat dad’ tendencies. Your heart swells when you see more photos of him playing with a black cat and petting him until said cat slaps his hands away.

Now you know why Tofu liked him at first sight.

One week later.

Today is an off day for you and you plan to sleep until midday. But your boss has other plans.

You want to cuss at everything around you within a radius of ten kilometers when your phone rings and you rub your eyes to forcefully wake yourself up and answer the call.

“Good morning, Boss.” 

“Good morning, Y/N. I’m sorry for calling you so early, but you need to come as soon as you can at the cafe.”

“Why is that? I mean, it’s my day off today.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t an emergency.”

“Did something happen?”

“Yoona just called me from the hospital, she had an accident yesterday.”

“What?!” You nearly jump out of the bed. “Is she okay?!”

“She’s out of harm's way, but her arm has suffered a fracture and she won’t be able to work for the next two months.”

“Oh my God….”

“We really need you here, Y/N.”

“Yes, yes of course. I’ll be there in half an hour.” You say and end the call. 

You grumble and get out of the bed, your feet taking you to the bathroom to wash your face and fix your hair. Once you’re out, you go back to the bedroom and pick a hoodie with jeans to put on.

You walk out of your apartment and fasten your jacket around you, jogging to the bus station to catch your ride to work.

Twenty minutes later, you arrive at the cafe and you’re welcomed with a literal mess in the barista bench and a yelling Chan and a frustrated Wonwoo. 

“This isn’t how you’re supposed to turn it!”

“And what do you know about coffee machines?!”

“All corks are manufactured to fasten towards a certain direction!.”

“You’re just a photographer, not an engineer!”

“And you’re just a waiter, not a barista!”

“Whoa, whoa! Both of you, get away from the machines!” You yell at them and shoo them away to get to work. “Jesus, what the hell did you do here?!”

“We were just trying to make the orders!” Chan defends himself.

“You could have just told the customers that coffee won’t be served until the barista is here!”

“That’s what I suggested as well, but he said ‘he knows better’.” Wonwoo shrugs.

“Yeah, that’s because I’ve been here longer than you!” The shorter man retorts.

“Sometimes, it’s productive to listen to other people’s ideas, they might help you in ways you could never imagine.” You sigh as your hands fiddle with the machine and check the orders one by one.

“Finally, someone with common sense.” Wonwoo points towards you. “At least some people know how to think in here.” He walks away and picks up his camera again, resuming his initial tasks.

“I can’t believe you took his side!” Chan complains to you.

“I didn’t take his side, our opinions just happened to collide!” 

“Oh my God, you’re so into him, it actually sickens me.” The man fake gags.

“Can you stop bringing that up?! What if he listens?!” You whip your head around and glare at your friend.

“So you admit it! You have a crush on him!”

“Yeah I do. You can get your ‘detective of the year’ honorary badge now.” You groan.

“I- Ugh, whatever.”

“Look, Chan, I wasn’t even supposed to be here today. Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.” 

 Chan lets out a deep breath to calm down as he picks up the serving disk.

“I know, Y/N. I hope the remaining apple pie in the box will lighten up your mood and fill in your empty stomach. It’s freshly baked.” 

“......You idiot.”

“I love you too, work wife.” He flashes you a grin and runs back to the customers.

You take a peek in the pastry box and the aroma of cinnamon and apples hits your nostrils like the early morning sunlight enters a cold room.

Your fingers don’t hesitate to dip in the box and pick a bite from the dessert, putting it in your mouth to eat it. You hum in approval when the sweet warmth envelopes your taste buds, giving you a much needed energy boost.

You return to your work at hand, completely unaware of Wonwoo’s eyes watching you like a hawk, an unreadable expression overcoming his features. The tuxedo cat jumping on the shelf next to his head snaps him out of it, letting out a cranky meow at him.

“What is it, Taro?” He raises his hand to pet her fur.

Taro meows back as she flops down on the surface to stretch herself out for more pets.

“Jealous of not giving you enough attention?”

She meows even louder this time, as if she’s saying yes.

“I’m sorry, your Highness.” Wonwoo ruffles her belly. “A man has to work to get by.”

Taro narrows her eyes, as if she’s doubting his words.

“Okay fine, I was looking at her! What are you gonna do about it?”

The cat raises her front paws in the air and Wonwoo lets out an airy laugh, positioning his camera towards the long-haired feline to capture her in a few poses.

“Hope those pictures will be enough for you to stop blackmailing me.”

Two weeks later.

God, these double shifts are fucking killing me, you mentally groan while sitting in one of the tables next to the cat trees. But it’s nice working early, since you get to come here and chill with the cats before opening time.

One of the resident cats jumps next to you, rubbing himself on your thigh.

“Good morning to you too, Dino Nugget. Did you sleep well?”

The orange cat jumps in your lap and sits in a loaf position without even asking you.

“Wow sir, it’s not even free real estate.” You laugh and run your hand over his fur.

He turns around and starts pawing at your hand, as if it’s a toy. He then opens his jaw to nibble at your finger, his teeth grazing your skin a bit harsher than usual.

“Ow, dude! That’s my hand, not your chew toy!” You yelp lightly.

You hear the clicking sound of a camera not far away from you and you snap your head to the source of the sound, your eyes falling on Wonwoo.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you-”

“No no, it’s okay! You were just doing your job.” You wave your hand.

“Do you….mind if I sit with you?” He asks sheepishly.

“Of course not! I was about to ask you, actually.” You smile.

Wonwoo makes himself comfortable next to you, smiling towards the orange cat.

“You seem to have loosened up a bit.”

“Yeah. But moments like those are also nice.” He says. “It can get….hectic sometimes and I don’t always deal well with pressure.”

“That’s exactly why the kitties are here! They have this magic ability to take away the negativity from you.” 

“Including this one?” He points towards Dino Nugget.

“Yeah. But he will try to bite you, no matter what.”

“Well, he’s an orange cat. What did you expect?” Wonwoo deadpans and you look at him with a shocked expression.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to-”

You cut him off with a laughter loud enough to scare Dino Nugget off your lap.

“You’re so serious about cats, it’s actually funny!” You admit between laughs.

“Of course I’m serious about them! And you aren’t?”

“I am! I just didn’t expect that random orange cat fact, y’know.”

“Oh, okay.” Wonwoo purses his lips.

Silence befalls the outer space.

“Great, now I made things awkward again.” He sighs in defeat.

“No, you didn’t! It was just…. well…”

“Awkward behaviour.”

“.....Yeah, actually.”

“God, Seokmin is so fucking right.” Wonwoo curses at himself.

“Who’s Seokmin?”

“One of my best friends and the bane of my existence. He has been pestering me about my lack of social skills and stuff like that.”

“I would say he sounds almost like Chan.”

“Seokmin doesn’t buy me pastries every day.”

“Did you just emit jealousy, Wonwoo?”

“No, I’m just stating the facts. I’m 100% sure he will show up today with another box of fresh desserts.”

“You can always get a bite from them.” You nudge his shoulder.

“I don’t think he would like that.”

“Why are you so negative about Chan?”

“I’m not negative! He’s just… you guys seem really close with each other, that’s all.”

“Wonwoo, we’re just friends! The work husband and wife thing is just for funsies!” You reassure him and his features soften almost immediately.

“If you say so.”

“Wonwoo, I’m being serious.”

“I know. I don’t mean to call you a liar or something.”

“Okay…” You trail off with an uncertain look written over your face.

Another moment of silence passes until Wonwoo speaks up again.

“How are you handling the double shifts?”

“Terribly. My sleep schedule has been fucked up and I don’t think I’ll be able to fix it any time soon.” You slouch in your seat.

“Any updates about the recruitment?”

“Absolutely nothing so far. Unless a miracle happens.” You scoff.

“Can you teach me how to make coffee then?” Wonwoo asks you and your eyes shoot up in surprise.

“I- Uhm, yeah I can, but why?”

“I want to help you.”

“With making coffee?!”

“Yes. What’s so weird about it?” 

“N-Nothing! I just didn’t expect you to offer to help me.”

“The truth is that I haven’t been the best towards you, while you’ve been very warm and welcoming towards me since day one.” He admits while averting your gaze.

“But giving you extra work outside of your expertise is outrageous!”

“But I’m the one asking for it!” 

A loud chirping sound comes from behind you and you notice Henry shooting a death glare at you for disrupting his beauty sleep.

“Go to sleep, Henry.” You roll your eyes at the tabby cat and the feline yawns before stretching his hind legs.

“So? What do you think?” Wonwoo asks you again.

You look at him and you can see a fire being ignited in his eyes, as if he really wants to do that.

You check your watch and look between Wonwoo and the inner space of the cafe, solidifying your decision.

“Get up.” You pat his back.

“Does that mean yes?”

“It means that you need to pay a lot of attention and catch up quickly. We have less than an hour and a half until the cafe opens.” You walk into the cafe and towards the barista counter.

Wonwoo goes towards the cat trees, smiling brightly towards the felines.

“Watch me learn how to brew coffee and win her over, okay?”

Two sharp knocks on the window wall snap him back to reality and he looks at you furiously waving at him to come inside.

Wonwoo jogs back in the cafe, joining you behind the counter.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You put your hands on your waist.

“Uh, to watch you make coffee?”

“Rule number one: Never enter the barista area without lint-rolling your clothes first.” You point towards a shelf away from the counter, where a couple of lint rollers are.

“When did you even clean yourself up?” Wonwoo asks while running the roller over his hoodie and jeans.

“When you were talking to the cats.” You deadpan.

“Okay, my clothes are clean. Now what?”

“Rule number two: Always wear a barista apron while working behind your counter. We hang them right next to the window wall.”

He picks one of the aprons and puts the top strap around his neck, tying the lower one around his waist. You don’t miss the double loop and you wonder how slim his waist must be and how you hands would-

“What is rule number three?” His question cuts your train of thoughts and you try to get yourself together.

“Wash your hands thoroughly, of course.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The first steps of Wonwoo’s barista adventures go rather smoothly - he realizes he’s good at memorizing the various coffee blends. Handling the machine isn’t that much difficult, but it’s definitely not as easy as assembling his camera.

His eyes never leave your skilled hands, effortlessly maneuvering a glass under the machine, clicking the proper buttons to make a serve of espresso. 

“That looked so easy, but something tells me it won’t be as easy as I think it is.” Wonwoo laughs awkwardly.

“It’s actually not very hard. You just have to be careful with the amount of coffee you will put in the portafilter.” 

“Can I try now?”

“Don’t be impatient. You need to throw away the used shot and then purge the machine with water first.” You explain with a smile.

“Hm, okay. I think I can do that.” 

He takes out the portafilter and disposes of the used espresso shot. He cleans the portafilter separately while running the machine with only water. 

“Good job! It was smart to clean the portafilter during the machine run.” 

“Thought it would save me time.”

“And you thought well. This can be really useful during rush hour.”

“What’s next?”

“You dry the filter and fill it in with the desired amount of espresso. But remember, it needs to be even!”

“Got that.” He grabs the bag of ground coffee and takes a few spoonfuls of the blend and puts it in the clean filter, tapping it on the counter to flatten the surface. 

“Use the tamper to tamp it down and make it compact enough.” You remind him of the next step.

He wordlessly follows your tip and does exactly as you told him, locking the portafilter in the machine. He grabs a demitasse glass and places it under the machine and presses the button, watching the dark brown liquid flow into the cup.

“Congratulations, you just made your first cup of espresso!” You give him tiny claps and he smiles sheepishly. 

“Moment of truth.” He breathes out and hands you over the glass to taste the coffee he made. You take a sip and allow your taste buds to absorb the rich flavor.

“Not bad for the first time!” You hum in satisfaction.

“Thank God, I thought I would poison you or something.” Wonwoo lets out a heavy breath.

“Why are you so critical of yourself?”

“I have been classified as a kitchen hazard.”

“Well, this isn’t a kitchen, as you can see.” 

“But still-”

“No buts. You asked to learn how to make coffee and you have to accept that you’re going to make mistakes in the process.”

“I know, but it’s kinda scary.” 

“It was scary for you to work among so many people the first week, but you didn’t give up, did you?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“I am doing it for the cats, Y/N.”

“If that’s what makes your boat float, then who am I to disagree?” You laugh and clean the machine all over again.

The words die down in Wonwoo’s throat and he tries to find something to occupy himself with.

“You don’t have to do anything else around here now.” You tell him.

“Oh. Was that all?” His voice comes out almost disappointed.

“Only for now. It’s not like we have a lot of time left until customers start coming in and I would hate to throw you in the den of wolves right away. Besides, your friends seem to miss you already.” You turn your head to the window wall and Wonwoo follows suit, breaking out in laughter when he sees Dino Nugget scratching against the window.

“Oh my God, not him again.”

“Hey, don’t be mean to him!”

“Y/N, he literally bit you an hour ago.”

“He’s just an orange cat - or so you said. He’s also Chan’s fave.”

“Well too bad I already have a fave.” Wonwoo unties his apron and hangs it.

“Ooh, who is it?” You ask with curiosity.

“That’s my secret.”

“Okay mister secretive.” You scoff lightly.

Secretive. What a great word to describe me, Wonwoo thinks with a tight-lipped smile that fights to become a grin when he returns to the cafe cats, sitting down on one of the tables to fiddle with his camera.

He skims through the picture he has taken so far, stopping at the one where Dino Nugget is in your lap and you’re petting him with a loving smile on his face.

As if on cue, Tofu tip toes her way next to Wonwoo and puts her paw over his hand, raising her body on her hind legs.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” 

The feline purrs loudly and rubs her head on the back of his hand.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

Hours later, at Joshua’s place.

“So you’re telling me that Wonwoo is smitten with Y/N?”

“Yeah! You have to trust me on this, Shua, I just know it!” Chan repeatedly taps his soju glass on the table.

“Okay, but why are you so pressed about it?”

“Because none of them are doing anything about it! And I hate mutual pining with a burning passion!”

“Sounds like you’re scared of losing your work wife to me.” Joshua smirks in his glass.

“I’m not scared! I just want to look out for her!”

“As her work husband?”

“And her bestie, duh!” 

“You’re so dramatic about this.”

“And you’re so nonchalant about this!”

“It’s their business, not mine, Chan!”

“And since when do you not care about gossip, Joshua?” The younger man raises his eyebrow.

“Don’t you see I’m making an effort to stay gossip-free?” Joshua whines in defeat. 

“And it’s failing miserably.”

The older man sighs and drinks a bit of his soju. “Yeah, it fucking did.”

“What, you know things I don’t?”

“Let’s just say that running the HR of an establishment grants you perks that someone like you doesn’t have.”

“Just tell me already! I wasn’t there today, come on!”

“Wonwoo and Y/N were both seen behind the barista counter today.”

“Okay….Maybe he was taking pics of her during the deed? Y’know, for promotion purposes?”

“You don’t understand - Y/N was showing him how to operate the coffee machine. He even managed to make a few batches of espresso.”

Chan chokes on alcohol and starts coughing loudly, smacking his chest.

“Whoa, whoa, breathe!” Joshua offers him a glass of water. “I didn’t mean to kill you!”

“Well - gah - I certainly felt like dying!” He gasps for breath. “But - How? When did things escalate so fast?!”

“From what I’ve heard, Wonwoo wanted to help Y/N until someone applies for the position and Boss agreed to it, as long as he’s under Y/N’s supervision.”

“Fuck this, I can help her too!”

“Bitch you don’t even know which way the corks turn!” Joshua laughs.

“Fuck you too, Hong!”

“You know, this could work in their favor. And yours, eventually.”

“How?”

“They will get to spend more time together and grow closer, you idiot!”

“Well yeah, but that also depends on whether one of the two will fuck up the process or not!” Chan retorts.

“Just….have some faith, okay?” Joshua tries to convince him.

“If you say so, I guess.”

Two months later.

“Did you have a secret glow up or something?” Seokmin scans Wonwoo from the top to the bottom.

“You can just admit you were checking me out.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

“As long as the right person isn’t checking you out, my eyes don’t matter, friend.”

“Oh my God, just say you want to talk about Y/N.”

“Yes I fucking do, because she’s clearly the reason you’ve changed!” Seokmin slams his hands on the table. “And for the better!”

“I don’t feel like I’ve undergone any drastic changes, though.” 

“That’s because you’re extremely harsh on yourself and refuse to see the truth!”

“And the truth is?”

Seokmin grunts in disappointment. “That you are head over heels for Y/N, you idiot.”

“And what if I am? I mean, she hasn’t really shown any real interest towards me.” Wonwoo shrugs.

“Dude, she has literally taken you under her wing and taught you how to make coffee! While she was swamped with work!”

“I just wanted to help her, she was doing double shifts for two weeks straight!”

“And I’m more than sure that she likes you even more because of that!”

“I was just trying to be nice, just like that.”

“Wonwoo, nobody is nice just like that. Everyone has their own agendas.” Seokmin smirks. “It all boils down to the benefits these agendas hold. And yours is going to benefit a lot of people.”

“Let’s say you’re right then. Why didn’t she just confess? She’s like, the definition of an extrovert.”

“Not everyone has the guts or lack of tact to just go to their crush and confess their feelings to them, you know.” 

“How can you be so sure that Y/N has a crush on me?”

“I’m going to ask you a few questions and I want you to answer them truthfully.” Seokmin puts his palms together.

“Yes, dear therapist.” Wonwoo crosses his arms in front of his chest and mocks his friend.

“Does she know your coffee order?”

“Yeah, but she knows the coffee order of most regulars, it’s her job.”

“Fair point, but does she make coffee for you during work and accompany it with a snack?”

Wonwoo racks his brain for instances that match Seokmin’s question and to his surprise, he recalls a lot of them.

“You don’t even have to say anything, I can see the answer written all over your face.”

“Is that even enough to count as proof?”

“I’m not done yet.” Seokmin takes a sip of water to clear his throat. “Moving on to my next question - does she ask you about your day, how did you sleep and stuff like that?”

“Yeah, but that’s basic human decency.”

“Ugh, whatever. Have you ever complimented her appearance? Like, ‘Hey, that color looks very pretty on you!’ or something like that?”

“.....No.” Wonwoo replies with an awkward expression.

Seokmin rolls his eyes and drags his palms over his face dramatically.

“Why are you acting like this?! I’m not ignoring her on purpose!”

“Then why aren’t you doing anything?!”

“How can I do something when she’s so pretty and popular and a fucking sunshine and I’m….this?” Wonwoo vaguely gestures at himself.

Seokmin sighs audibly and rests his elbows on the table. “Can you tell me what’s really going on? Because I am not buying the shit you’ve said so far.”

Wonwoo’s expression turns bitter the moment Seokmin calls him out.

“There’s a contender?”

“Yeah, that fucking dipshit called Chan. He never misses a chance to show off that stupid smile of his to everyone and call himself Y/N’s ‘work husband’. He has the audacity to buy her snacks whenever their shifts overlap!” 

“Oh my God.” Seokmin bursts out in laughter.

“I’m sharing my problems with you and you’re laughing?”

“I am laughing because you’re green with jealousy!”

“I- I’m not jealous! I’m just stating the facts here! Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Wonwoo, it’s just you and me here, you can be honest.”

“I- Fine, I am jealous of that short bitch and the relationship he has with Y/N.”

“And that’s fine! But you also need to keep in mind that Y/N probably knows this Chan guy longer than she knows you, so it’s kind of natural to have a closer relationship with him.”

“You are not helping right now, Seok.”

Silence befalls the two friends as they pick on the leftovers of their food, contemplating their discussion.

“Something just popped into my head.” Seokmin speaks up again.

“It better not be another brain fart of yours.” Wonwoo grimaces.

“You should go to work tomorrow with your motorbike!”

“Okay. And?” 

“And….You should dress up a tad bit fancier for once.”

“Why should I even-”

“Shhhhhhh, just… Just do as I say, okay? Now zip it, I wasn’t finished yet.” Seokmin shushes him. “Let me think…. a white button-up and those dark blue wide leg jeans you have?”

“What about those?”

“You’re wearing them tomorrow. No questions asked.”

“Seokmin, it’s the middle of November, I’m gonna freeze to death.”

“You’re gonna wear a heavy jacket on top, you idiot. Besides, it won’t be that cold tomorrow.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Ever heard of weather forecasts?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m not the one you want to fuck, let’s be real here.” Seokmin smirks and Wonwoo throws a fried potato at him. 

“I swear to God, if I end up making a fool of myself or catching a cold, you won’t hear from me ever again.” 

“Cool, does that mean I get to adopt Salem after your death?”

“Keep your grimy hands off my cat, bitch.”

“I will, because you’ll be alive and Y/N will be in your arms within the span of….twenty four hours. Maybe less, if you play your cards right.” Seokmin winks.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look scary when you have something specific in mind?”

“You can just admit you like it when I look scary because it makes me even sexier.”

“You’re fucking gross.”

Wonwoo wakes up at 7:30 sharp, as always. But today is different - today is the day he finally confesses to you. Blame Seokmin’s idea, blame Chan’s behavior towards you, blame his own cowardice - whatever the reason is, Wonwoo is dead set on achieving his goal today.

He opens his closet and skims through his clothes until he finds the ones Seokmin specifically told him to wear.

He’s worried he might catch a cold with just a white button down and jeans, but there’s always his trusty fuzzy jacket - the cold never passes through that and it definitely won’t pass now, no matter what he’s wearing underneath.

The thought of wearing this particular outfit to work in order to impress you makes him feel stupid and giddy at the same time, as if he’s the nerdy highschooler in love with the pretty girl of the class. 

“How damn cliché.” He chuckles to himself and takes out the clothes to hang them in front of the closet. He goes to the bathroom, jumping in the shower for a quick refreshment. It only takes him five minutes to wash his hair and body, wrapping a towel around his waist. He takes a quick look at himself in the mirror and nods in satisfaction. 

The gym has definitely paid off, he thinks and grabs the hair dryer to dry his hair. Once he’s done, he chooses to lightly run his fingers through them, not wanting to disrupt the curly form.

He returns to the bedroom to put on his clothes, humming in approval when he sees his reflection in the full body mirror. He spritzes his favorite perfume all over him and wears his horn-rimmed glasses to complete the look and wears his jacket on top to keep himself warm. 

He really doesn’t want to admit it, but Seokmin might be right on the money this time.

He’s about to leave when his eyes fall on the spare helmet he keeps in the corner of his closet and decides to take it with him - in case the plan works out, he wants to keep you safe while you’re riding with him on his bike.

He just hopes you aren’t afraid of motorbikes.

Salem walks in the bedroom and meows at Wonwoo to get his attention.

“Hi buddy. How do I look?”

The cat purrs loudly as he rubs himself on Wonwoo’s jeans.

“Thanks for the approval. I hope Y/N approves too.”

Salem meows again and paws on his dad’s leg.

“I’ll see you later, pal. Hopefully with some pretty company.”

“So it’s official?” 

“Unfortunately, yes. Yoona has completed her rehab, but she has decided to move out of Seoul.” Your boss notifies you.

“I see…” You think and mixed feelings wash over you. You’re sad that Yoona is leaving so soon, but that also means you’ll get to spend even more time with Wonwoo behind the barista counter.

“But on the bright side, we managed to get a new employee!”

“W-What? When did that happen?”

“Just yesterday! I asked them if they could start soon and they will be here tomorrow morning.” Your boss grins widely. “Can I count on you to show them the ropes?”

“Oh, um, yeah, of course!” You form a fake smile.

“Great! You’ll get an extra this month for this, do not worry about that.”

“I appreciate it, Boss.” 

The lady walks away and your shoulders slouch in defeat, your dreams of watching Wonwoo’s forearms operate the coffee machine.

“A penny for your thoughts, wife?” Chan comes up to the counter.

“A penny might be too little for the amount of thoughts I have, Chan.”

“You don’t seem excited today.”

“Boss just told me that Yoona is leaving and we already have a replacement for her.” You frown.

“I know you’re sad you probably won’t see Yoona again, but at least you won’t have to work overtime again!” Chan tries to lift your mood.

“That’s not the only problem, Chan.”

“What is it then- Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Well, I mean…It’s not like you won’t see him ever again.”

“But it’s not the same!” 

“Oh my God, can you just confess already?! I’m tired of this rom-com!” Chan whines.

“You know what?” Your mouth falls open. “I might do it today.”

“Finally! But why is your mouth hanging like that?”

You point towards the door and Wonwoo who walks inside, looking like the male lead of a k-drama.

“Can you please close your mouth? A fly could enter and you could choke.” He snickers and you slap his arm.

“Good morning!” Wonwoo greets the two of you with a bright smile.

“Good morning Wonwoo! You seem to be in a good mood today.”

“Yeah, you could say that. By the way, I bought you some honey cupcakes.” He puts the pastry box on the counter and he walks next to you to wear his apron.

“What?! They told me they had run out today!” Chan is flabbergasted.

“Well, you weren’t lucky enough to catch the fresh batch, Channie.” Wonwoo smirks and the younger man grimaces and almost slams the water glasses on his disk.

“Who are you and what have you done to the Wonwoo I know?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I am him. Just a bit elevated.” He puffs out his chest ever so slightly.

“Does the elevation come with a brand new motorbike?”

“Oh that? I already had it, but it was under repair for a good chunk of time.”

“But now you can ride it again, right?”

“Of course! Otherwise I wouldn’t be here now.”

“It looks really cool by the way.” 

“The motorbike?”

“Everything, actually.”

“Everything?” He tilts his head sideways.

You clear your throat. “By the way, Boss told me we’re getting a new barista tomorrow.” 

“Oh, I see.” He replies with a monotonous voice. “So no more sessions?”

“Yeah, pretty much. But I’m sure you probably miss your camera.”

“It’s not like I wasn’t touching it at all. Besides, working with you is really fun.”

“Not anymore, since it’s the last day today.”

“Well then, we should make the most of it, right?” He looks at you with a swirling mix of warmth and seduction.

“B-Be careful with the cinnamon, you don’t want to overdo it.” You stammer over your words, turning your head away.

“Yes ma’am.” Wonwoo chuckles, not missing the light flush over your cheeks as he resumes his task.

As if your brains are connected to the same thinking bubble, they both repeat the same phrase over and over again.

This is going smoother than cream.

“Is it legal to do this?” Wonwoo asks with uncertainty.

“Relax, we’re not gonna commit crimes. We can just say we stayed behind to clean up! Not that anyone will care that we made two cups of coffee.” You reassure him.

“But the machine isn’t on. How are you going to make coffee without it?”

You flash a warm smile. “This is exactly why I wanted it to be the two of us.”

You search under the counter for a few seconds and you pull out a black box that has been tightly sealed. You open it carefully and take out a coffee pot made of copper, a sealed bag of coffee blend and a mini gas heater.

“What is all this?” Wonwoo’s curiosity is piqued.

“This is something I learned during my vacation in Greece. I will show you how to make traditional Greek coffee.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen and he finds himself walking behind the counter and right next to you.

You open the sealed bag and the rich aroma quickly spreads in the air, satisfied hums echoing in the silent cafe.

“You get it now, don’t you?”

“It smells so good.”

“Wait until you actually taste it.” You giggle. 

“Judging from the tools, it must be hard to make it.”

“You’re not entirely wrong.” You fill the coffee pot with cold water. “It requires a lot of technique and “meraki”, as the locals usually call it.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s the love and passion poured in the coffee brewing process. Even if it’s served as a product to a customer, it’s always created with fine motions and the hope of conveying said effort to the customer through a cup of Greek coffee.”

“This sounds more like a confession of love to me.” Wonwoo comments and you are happy the lighting is dim enough to hide the creeping blush on your cheeks.

“Well, that’s one way to put it.” You set the coffee pot on the table and take out two small porcelain cups from the box.

“That’s really pretty.”

“Thanks. I got them as a souvenir from a local shop, along with the briki.”

“The what?”

“That’s the greek word for the coffee pot! They use this specific one because it’s the best at storing the heat in its walls and allowing the coffee to roast slowly.”

“I stand corrected. This is a ritual of love, not just a confession.” He chuckles at your excitement.

That’s why I’m doing it, you four-eyed hot bastard! You mentally scream but keep your smiley facade on.

“Why did you get only two of these?” He keeps asking you questions.

“The old lady at the shop had made only two of those.” You explain. “But she did think I was buying it for my boyfriend and myself.” You end your sentence with an awkward laugh.

“I think that’s adorable, Y/N.” He rests his hand on his palm, almost 

“It would be, if I had a real boyfriend.”

“Well, you can always share a cup with your work husband.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Are you jealous, Wonwoo?”

“Me? No, not at all.” He brushes it off. “I just mentioned Chan because you’re really close to him.”

“Hmm, if you say so.” You shrug.

A beat of awkward silence passes and Wonwoo attempts to shift the mood to his favor.

“Can you guide me? Making the coffee, I mean.” He almost stutters.

“O-Oh, of course I can!” You slide behind him and watch him tighten his apron around his slender waist. Since when did he have such a slender waist?!

He picks up a teaspoon and puts four spoonfuls in the water, turning on the heat.

“The heat should be medium to low. Stir it only at the beginning and then let it heat through.”

He gives the coffee a few stirs to evenly spread the blend in the water, until it starts heating up.

“Be careful not to stir the coffee all the time, while it is roasting. Give a little bit more love and attention to create the right amount of kaimaki.” You give him gentle directions and he follows them to the last detail.

“What is kaimaki?” 

“It’s the creamy foam that forms on top of the coffee after brewing it.”

“It’s dark brown because of the blend?”

“Exactly. You’re a fast learner, aren’t you?” You give him a sly smile.

“I have a great teacher.” He reciprocates the smile and your heart skips a bit for the umpteenth time today.

Watching him brew such a difficult type of coffee with his sleeves rolled up and his deft hands carefully looking at the kaimaki makes the butterflies in your stomach dance like a hurricane.

Everything feels so intimate - from the cafe itself to the set of porcelain cups you bought as a memento from Greece, the words of the old lady who thought you bought them for a lover echoing in your head once again.

“I am turning the gas off now.” Wonwoo announces and you nod affirmatively. He does as he said and picks up the briki, but he accidentally touches the side of it and almost burns his hand.

“Fuck!”

“Wonwoo!” You gasp and immediately grasp his hands, knocking down the coffee and spilling it over the counter. “Are your hands okay?!”

“I’m okay, but-”

“Oh shit.” You curse and grab a bunch of paper towels to wipe the spilled coffee before it seeps into the wood.

He notices the coffee reaching up to the base of the cups and he picks them up, putting them in the sink to wash them. He washes and dries them thoroughly, followed by the copper coffee pot.

Hurried movements and a curse of strings are heard through the glass wall, the eyes of multiple cats staring at the two of you trying to clean up the mess you made.

After a few minutes, the counter looks as good as new, but both of you look frustrated and even more tired than before.

“Well, this was an ordeal.” You let out a huff as you throw the wasted paper towels in the bin and hang your apron next to the others.

“Y/N, I am really sorry.” Wonwoo sulks, not daring to look you in the eyes.

“Wonu, it’s okay! It was just an accident, accidents happen all the time here.” You try to make him feel better.

“But you were looking forward to this-”

“Wonwoo.” You stop him from completing his sentence. “It’s okay. I am not mad at you.” You gingerly hold his face with your hands, the rate of your heart reaching Mach speed because of the heat on his skin.

You realize you’re too close for comfort and retract your hands, scared you might have overstepped his boundaries. 

“Don’t.”

Wonwoo holds your wrists with his hands and gently places them on his chest. He can feel your fingertips almost trembling, the tension skyrocketing. 

“Wonu, I don’t understand-”

He gently holds the side of your neck and kisses you with the desire he was holding for the past two months. He lets go of his uncertainty and embraces his feelings for you, expressing them through this kiss.

It feels like you’re in a fever dream, every fiber of your existence is standing on the edge of inferno and you don’t want it to stop. Yet his mouth feels like an oasis - and you won’t let anything separate you from it.

You let out a whine when Wonwoo breaks the kiss, but you shudder when he rips his glasses off his face and lifts you up to put you on top of the counter.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to feel your touch on me, Y/N.” He rasps. “You’ve been plaguing my thoughts ever since I met you and I just couldn’t-”

You cut him off by pulling the collar of his shirt and smash your lips on him again, seizing control this time. You wrap your legs around his waist and jerk his body forward, colliding with your chest.

Your hands are deeply rooted in his permed locks, raking your nails on his scalp. He’s no better than you, his palms glued to your thighs.

“I’ve been feeling the exact same way, Wonu.” You moan against his mouth.

“God, please don’t stop calling me that.” 

“I had no intention of stopping, Wonu.”

He breaks the kiss again and pushes you on your back, planting his hands on each side of your head. 

“Please tell me you want this.” He begs you. “I want, need to touch you, take care of you, fucking worship you.” 

“Do it. Please do it, Wonu, I need you so bad.” 

He lets out a shaky breath and unbuttons the first three buttons of his shirt and bunches up your sweater to reveal the hem of your jeans and unbutton it with the same dexterity he uses his camera. He pulls them down and lets the fabric pool in front of his feet, his hands caressing your naked legs.

“Pretty.” He fiddles with the lacey details of your panties.

“Me or my underwear?” 

“Both.” 

“Smooth. But as much as I’d love you to sweet talk, I think you should do other things with your mouth.”

“Your wish is my command, sunshine.” 

Wonwoo puts your legs over his shoulders and tenderly traces his lips on your inner thighs, giving you a glance before sliding your panties to the side.

He gives your clit a quick peck and glides his tongue through your folds, all the way down to your entrance. And repeats the motion, again and again, speeding up with each drag of his wet muscle.

You drag your nails on the mahogany counter and bite your bottom lip to suppress your moans, but his mouth is being so kind and loving to your pussy that it makes you want to scream his name until the windows crash in tiny pieces from the volume of your voice.

He stops to take a breather, a glossy film coating his lips. “Best fucking pussy I’ve ever tasted.”

“Never thought the shy photographer slash barista would be cursing after eating pussy like a God.” You laugh breathlessly.

“I can do much more, if you let me.” He suggests with a gaze full of desire, lips parted again and ready to engulf your clit again.

“I will, but not here.” You put your hand in his hair to stop him. “I don’t want to risk being seen by bypassing people.”

“I don’t know about people, but there are a bunch of cats staring from the glass wall.” Wonwoo chuckles as he watches you gasp when you turn your head towards the window and you see thirteen pairs of glowing cat eyes staring at the two of you.

“I love them but they are fucking scaring me right now, can we please get out of here?” You ask him.

“My place or yours?” Wonwoo picks up your jeans and gives them to you to put them on.

“Mine is a twenty-minute ride with the bus from here.” You say.

“My place it is, then.” Wonwoo grins as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Hope you aren’t scared of motorbikes.”

“Would you laugh if I said I’ve been thinking of being your backpack princess?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I brought an extra helmet just in case you wanted to be my backpack princess?”

“Who are you and what have you done to the cute and super shy Wonwoo?” You shoot him a playful glare.

“He’s still here. He just decided to act according to his desires and feelings.”

“I would like you to pass him my earnest thanks.”

“He accepts them with pleasure. Ready to go?” He offers you his hand.

“Yes sir.” You giggle and button your jeans, lacing your hand with his, as he guides you out of the cafe.

You make sure you turn off the lights and lock the doors before Wonwoo hands you over the extra helmet, checking up on whether you fastened it good enough. As soon as you settle on the bike behind him, he turns on the engine and grabs your arms, putting them around his waist, as if he’s telling you to hold on tight. You let out a squeal when he speeds away from the cafe, but the helmet around your head mutes your voice. Even though it’s your first time riding on a bike, you’re not scared at all. If anything, you find it very fun and kind of liberating.

Perhaps it’s the fact that Wonwoo reciprocated your feelings after two months of mutual pining.

You don’t even realize how fast the time passes when Wonwoo taps your hands to let go of him and get off the bike.

“W-We’re here already?” You ask dumbfounded as you take off the helmet.

“Baby, I wasn’t even speeding up.” He chuckles as he turns off the engine of the bike, taking off his own helmet. “But it’s for the better, I suppose.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it means you’re looking forward to what will happen within that house.” He smirks in your face and you grab his hand, pulling him towards the entrance.

“You’re so eager.” He’s trying to fish out his keys from his bag.

“I wonder whose fault is that.” You tease him.

“I intend to make it up to you, sweetheart.” He reassures you and finds the keys after a bit of searching, sliding them in the keyhole to unlock the door.

As soon as both of you are inside his house, you pin him on the door and kiss him hungrily, your hands sliding off your coat first and his jacket second, aiming for his buttoned shirt next.

“Bedroom, please.” Wonwoo breaks the kiss and you nod in agreement. He lifts you up in his arms, his arms under your thighs keeping you safe. 

You’re certain he’s gonna pin you down on the bed, but you’re proven wrong when he pins you on the nearest bedroom wall, grinding his clothed bulge right on your crotch.

“Didn’t peg you for the needy type.” You grip his shoulders to hold onto him tighter.

“How can I not be needy when I have the girl of my dreams right where I want her?” He groans and lets down your legs, hands flying to the button of your jeans. “Can I?”

“Fuck yes, please throw them away if you can.” You breathe heavily.

He eagerly unbuttons your jeans and drags them down along with your panties, throwing them somewhere in the room. He then unbuttons his own jeans, dropping them down to his ankles with his boxers and kicking them away. He’s just one thrust away from entering you, but his mind goes blank.

“Wonwoo? What’s wrong?”

“I- Fuck, I don’t have any condoms.” He curses under his breath.

“It’s okay. I am clean and on the pill, you can go raw.” You reassure him.

“Y/N, I’m serious.”

“I’m serious too! Are you clean?” 

“Yeah, I got tested two weeks ago and haven’t slept with someone for God knows how long.” He blurts out, cheeks flushed a cute pink.

“You’re so cute.” You stifle a laugh.

“You and your pussy are cuter than me, darling.” He laughs and hooks his forearms under your thighs to pry them open and keep them locked closed to your chest. The wall is cold against your back, but the rest of your body feels on fire.

You let out a whiny moan when Wonwoo starts by pushing the tip of his cock, taking his time to ease himself inside you and not hurt you. When he finally manages to fit his shaft in your hole, he throws his head back and his mouth falls open, deep moans vibrating from his chest.

“You’re- Oh god, Wonwoo, it feels so full.” You dig your nails in his shoulder blades, bunching up the dress shirt.

“Fuuuuck, I know.” He groans and pulls his hips away until only his tip is inside you, pushing back with a fluid thrust. A gasp escapes your lips when the thrust makes your body jerk up against the wall.

“Ah- Please do that again.” You beg, giving him your best pleading eyes.

“Shit, with pleasure.” He licks his bottom lip and thrusts inside you the same way, his eyes glued on your face to study your expressions.

He gets the green light when you nod in agreement and repeats the same thrusting pattern, full-bodied yet slow thrusts that rub your molten walls deliciously.

None of you are able to form coherent sentences, you only express yourselves through wanton moans. You feel your skin getting sticky with sweat and your orgasm starting to build up dangerously close to the climax.

“Are you close, sunshine?” He asks you between pants and you nod furiously.

“Hold on tight.” He instructs you and you claw on him like a rescued cat as he lifts you from the wall and walks over to the bed, gently placing you on your back on the mattress. 

“W-Wonu, please, I need to cum!” You hiccup and try to wrap your legs around his waist.

“I know, baby, I know.” He puts one knee on the mattress and angles your hips upwards to hit it deeper. He bends his torso down to touch your chest, his lips hovering over yours as his breath mingles with yours.

“Wanna cum together, sunshine?”

“Yes, yes, please!” 

“Where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside, fuck, do it inside!”

Wonwoo gasps loudly and loses his balance, crumbling on you at the same time his orgasm crashes upon him. His back shudders while his cock paints your walls white and your lips are busy kissing and biting his neck to muffle your own orgasmic noises. Your walls clench around his cock and you milk him dry until he has nothing else to give, breathing against his neck rapidly.

Both of you take some time and remain still, your breaths slowly regaining their normal rhythms. You can feel your body complaining, legs growing limp and your torso being crushed by Wonwoo’s weight.

“Wonu, you’re heavy…”

“Fuck, sorry.” He gently lifts himself off you and his cock slips out of your pussy, the mixture of your cum and his nearly spilling on the sheets. He’s fast enough to catch it with his fingers and push it back inside you, enjoying the way you shudder for him/

“Wonu!”

“I couldn’t help it, sunshine. Not when you look so pretty.” He sucks his fingers clean. “And taste so damn good.”

“Can you just…clean me up?”

“You didn’t even have to tell me.” 

He picks you up in bridal style and carries you to the bathroom, letting you sit on the edge of the tub as he lets the water from the tap run warm.

“Do you mind if I fall asleep in the process?” You mumble tiredly.

“Not at all, sweetheart. I’ll take care of everything, you don’t have to worry.” He presses a kiss on your temple.

“Thank you, Wonu.”

You end up falling asleep halfway through the bath, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind. The lovesick grin on his face doesn’t falter until he’s done drying your hair and putting you in a pair of clean comfy clothes - his clothes.

As soon as you’re under the bedsheets, you cling onto him in your sleep, chest rising and falling peacefully in his arms.

Wonwoo can’t believe this is real, even if he can touch your face and hug you closer to his body. 

There is one thing coursing through his mind before drifting off to sleep - Seokmin was right after all.

Your deep slumber is disturbed by the ringtone of your phone and you grumble in your sleep to find the strength and get up to search for your phone. You nearly fall down on your knees when you try to stand up, grabbing the edge of the bed at the last minute to stabilize yourself.

“Nngh……Baby? What are you doing?” Wonwoo asks with a scratchy voice, in a similar state as you.

“Someone is calling me and I don’t know where the hell my phone is!” You curse out loud as you keep searching under the pile of clothes.

Your phone stops ringing and you plop down on the floor dramatically. 

“Y/N, it was just a phone call.” Wonwoo tries to reassure you as he gets out of bed.

“But what if it was something important?”

“Then whoever it was, they will probably call again.”

Suddenly, it hits you.

“Wonwoo, what time is it?” You ask him with fear in your eyes.

“I don’t know, let me check real quick.” He walks back to his nightstand and opens the screen of his phone, a loud ‘fuck’ echoing from his mouth.

“Wonwoo?”

“I don’t want you to panic, but it’s 10AM.” He deadpans.

“Fuck, I knew it! We’re fucking late to work!” You spring up on your feet and pick up your clothes, making a beeline for the bathroom.

You splash water over your face and almost squeal when you notice the vibrant purple marks on your neck and collarbones, mortified at the thought of someone seeing them.

“Baby, are you good there?” Wonwoo yells from the bedroom.

“No! I need a fucking turtleneck!” You yell back and stomp your way back to the bedroom.

“Okay but why?” He peeks his head from the closet and takes a better look at your torso. “Yeah, forget I asked.” He purses his lips and picks a cream colored turtleneck, giving it to you.

“God, I love you so much.” You breathe a sigh of relief and immediately put it on, running back to the bathroom. The scent of cedar and peaches gives you a hard time to focus on making your hair look presentable, but you resist the urge to duck your nose under the soft fabric.

Wonwoo does a double take on himself and decides to go with a black turtleneck, his eyes shying away from the marks you left on him last night. However, part of him feels very smug about them, knowing he’s gonna be walking in the cafe with your marks of claim all over his body.

“Come on, stop dwindling, we’re gonna be even more late!” You appear in front of him again and pull on his sleeve repeatedly.

“Oh my God, stop pulling me!” He laughs at your desperation and follows you to the living room, picking up his coat from yesterday.

About half an hour after riding on Wonwoo’s motorbike and some annoying traffic, you both make it safely into the cafe. You’re welcomed by a very frustrated Chan and the new barista intern, struggling with the coffee machine.

“And here I thought you actually ditched work today.” He gives you a smile full of irony.

“I’m really sorry, Chan, I slept through my alarm clock. I swear it wasn’t on purpose!” You defend yourself with a lie while fastening your apron to get to work.

“Whatever you say.” He sighs. “Just…get to work, I’m so fucking done with this monstrosity.”

You quickly greet the new intern with a warm smile and turn your back on the two men to focus on the training at hand.

Wonwoo begins to put his camera together, checking his equipment. He can feel Chan’s scrutinizing gaze on him.

“For how long are you going to keep burning holes in my back?” The older man asks.

“Until you admit that you spent the night with Y/N.” Chan crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Wonwoo puts his camera down and straightens his back, now towering over the guy.

“Yeah, I did. Want me to tell you how exactly we spent our night?” 

“No need, I was able to put two and two together when I came here and cleaned up the entire place.” Chan pinches the bridge of his nose.

“My patience ran thin and so did hers, I guess you already know how things went down.” Wonwoo smirks.

“Well it was about fucking time, dude.” Chan pats Wonwoo’s shoulder. “You were blueballing the poor girl for two months now and I was starting to feel that way as well.” 

Chan goes to the outer space of the cafe, leaving Wonwoo utterly stunned. The younger man gets a few orders from the early customers and makes a beeline for the window seats of the cats, bypassing the table Joshua is sitting on.

“I am so sorry, darlings. I hope none of you were traumatized from whatever vulgarities you witnessed last night.” He pets them one by one, cooing at them as if they were his own kids.

“Why are you trying to console the cats?” The older man asks.

“If I were to tell you, you’d need consolation as well.” 

“Do I smell work gossip?”

“More like work porn.”

Joshua puts his hand over his mouth like a gossip girl, his eyes shining like those of an imp.

“Don’t tell me-”

“Yeah, they did.”

“Damn, I gotta give it to your intuition.”

“How about giving me a fucking break already?!” Chan whispers in frustration.

“What, you saw cum on the floor or something?” Joshua jokes, but the waiter’s expression is stone-cold.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Fucking try me, Shua.”

He turns his head around and watches you and Wonwoo giggling together, his face turning back to his friend.

“At least your work wife is happy now.”

Chan smiles gently as he leans against the wall.

“That she definitely is.”

[after-witch]

Damn Your Eyes Chapter 2 [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Cream and Sugar [Damn Your Eyes Chapter 2] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: A fateful meeting at a bookstore between you and Ren Hana, years upon years after your escape from Strade, turns into a coffee shop date. You're not supposed to accept drinks from strangers, but Ren's not a stranger--so it's fine, right?

Word count: 5,322

notes: yandere, descriptions of violence/death/wounds, drugging

AO3 LINK

How did one get over something like Strade? Get over that house and that basement? How do you move on with your life when you’ve seen someone’s guts spill out of their body while they’re still alive, and you’ve been instructed to pick them up and play with them for the delight of sick fucks watching it all on a paid stream?

The pretty answer, the one everyone recites when asked, because that’s what you do: with therapy and time and forgiveness for yourself. You take it one day at a time. You treat yourself. 

The real answer: You didn’t. You don’t. You can’t. 

Not fully. Because “getting over” something like that means it will eventually no longer affect you, no longer being a part of you. 

And sure. You will, eventually, go about something that feels like an ordinary life. 

You will walk into a grocery store with a tidy little list, you will roll your eyes at the rising cost of laundry detergent, you will smile at a cashier who says they like your outfit. You will date and drink coffee and sway to your favorite song while making dinner. 

But inside, inside of you , you are still there--still hovering at the last step of the basement stairs, listening to someone’s guttural shrieks as their skin is blow-torch melted down. Still clinging to Ren in the middle of the night, flinching when his hands wander over a recent gouge, a hastily stitched cut--an accident, he whispers, and you’re never sure if you believe him.

And that is what happened to you. 

It took years, of course, to even get close to that semblance of normalcy. A few years were spent in feverish hiding, running from place to place with no paper trails that might lead some gorehound that subscribed to Strade’s torture porn sniffing at your door, hungry for more. 

But you settled down, in time. Slowly. Bit by bit, piece by piece, inch by inch. 

That took years, too--the settling. 

It started with staying in an apartment for more than three months at a time. It started with going to the grocery store wearing only sunglasses, instead of sunglasses, a wig, and the most nondescript clothing you could fish out of a bargain bin. It started with applying for real jobs, not just seedy work that paid cash, quick.

It ended here, in this quaint little home that you shared with your husband for the past five years, though you’d lived together for longer. It ended here, with a modest marketing career that you’d built up after going back to college. It ended here, with a life you built for yourself; frail and a bit unorthodox, but a life nonetheless. 

You wouldn’t have been able to survive, if you hadn’t adapted. There is only so much terror the human man can manage before breaking entirely, and so--adaptation. 

It was a gift that your husband didn’t mind your… differences. The heavy insistence on home security, the desire for privacy, the slow way you gave trust to strangers--if you gave it at all. 

Some things did bother him. He grumbled about your lack of social media presence, and you’d once had an awful fight when his sister put a photo of you on Facebook that you’d demanded, in furious tears, be taken down. 

But, deep down, it wasn’t like you could blame your husband for bucking against your near tantrum-like reaction. For the way he sometimes sighed as you locked the front door with triple locks, and an electric sensor. For the way his jaw sometimes set, when you did something that wasn’t normal to anyone who hadn’t been the extended torture victim of a serial killer that doubled as a snuff porn producer.

Because you knew--deeper down--that you were still haunted by the ghosts in that basement. Strade and the torture victims and Ren and yourself, shaking like a leaf, bleeding onto concrete. You knew, even if the man you slept beside in a bed every night had no inkling of it, that you could never step back across that threshold and be the way you were before.

But.

And there’s always a but, isn’t there?

But… that was okay. It was okay that you could never go back; it was okay that you were someone new; it was okay that you weren’t okay, and you’d never be okay in the fullest sense of the word.

Your life was a life you created out of shaking fingers, something clawed out with dirty fingernails. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

What more could you ask for, after Strade?

What more could you ask for, after anything ?

--

Books are a vice. More than smoking, more than sex. You could give up sex, you could swear you’ll never buy another pack of smokes, but you could never give up books. 

Okay, okay. You’re being over dramatic and theatrical. But how can you think of books as anything other than a sinful pleasure when you’re surrounded by these shelves and stacks, imagining that one day you can afford an extension on your home and dedicate an entire room (or two--why not, in a daydream?) solely to books?

You’re not even supposed to be here today. It was your day off, and your calendar was packed to the brim with mundane errands. Today’s schedule certainly didn’t leave room for indulgently browsing at a bookstore, but sometimes you just have to live a little, don’t you? 

Although if you come home with yet another bag of books, your husband is bound to shove his face into the nearest couch cushion and scream. But c’mon. It wasn’t your fault that you’d long since run out of shelf space and were prone to stuffing the books into boxes that cluttered the closests. 

Your fingers wander over the spines of the books crammed onto the shelves, catching the uneven mismatched spaces between with every dip. The spines are often worn and weathered, some of them even peeling a little. 

This was why you preferred secondhand bookstores. No neat lines of fresh new books set up to catch the eye and make a sale here. No, instead there were countless books shoved together with no care for size or color or sometimes (depending on who was stocking that day) even genre. 

For instance, today you find a battered paperback copy of Carrie by Stephen King right next to a suspiciously pristine How to Keep Your House from Drowning that probably still has an uncracked spine. That poor soul, with a messy house. Maybe they should have read the book. 

You’re about to keep moving when, on second thought: Your partner might get a kick out of finding that book on his nightstand. Or he’ll chuck it at your head (lovingly) for bringing it into the house. It’s a 50/50 gamble that you’re willing to take.

And so you go to pull it out, a private little grin on your face, just as another hand reaches across for Carrie.

Fingers and elbows bump together and you feel that slight flush of awkward embarrassment rush to your cheeks as you sputter out, “Sorry!” Your voice even goes up an octave, an annoying habit that you’ve been trying to train out of yourself.

The stranger pulls away and mutters their own low apology. They sound just as awkward as you, which makes you feel a little better, at least, so you turn to look at them and offer an embarrassed smile and you think, briefly, maybe you’ll grab Carrie for them or cheekily ask if they were going for the cleaning book--

But when you turn to look at them, all thoughts and cheek are snuffed out.

Not because the man in front of you is wearing a nicely tailored business suit and matching fedora hat; a dark gray complimented by a muted burgundy tie. Like he’s off to a meeting or comes from a big city where such outfits are often found in shops and cafes during lunch hours.

Not because the man in front of you is attractive, with red hair with a bit of ever so slightly silver sticking out from underneath his hat; his cologne, soft but spicy, tickles your nose. 

But because the man in front of you is Ren. 

Older, yes. His hair and face peppered with signs of time, just like yours. There are scars on his face that you remember--some etched onto his flesh right in front of you, and some from that gray area of before, when Strade had yet to take you--and some you don’t. 

Your body is lead, your throat is closed up. Speech and movement are now foreign, unknowable things, because Ren is standing right in front of you.

It takes you a moment to shake it off; no, two moments. No, three. 

And then you can finally speak, although the word comes out hoarse and whispered, like every ounce of spit in your mouth vanished the instant you saw him. Perhaps it did. 

“ Ren ?” 

He blinks. His eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing. For a terrible moment, you find yourself thrown back down the basement steps, when knowing the difference between Strade’s brows furrowing in annoyance or amusement could mean the difference between the degree of your upcoming burns.

And then his expression opens, widens, just enough for you to recognize that he knows who you are now and you’re here, in a bookshop, decades on; not there, not in the basement, where you left Strade’s corpse to rot.

Ren--for he is Ren, and you know it--lifts his hat, his lips turning up in a smile that makes your heart twist painfully, and shows just the bottom edges of his ears in greeting.

He says your name and your ears ring, high and tinny. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a cashier standing at the till rearranging trinkets while clearly spying on whatever bit of vaguely interesting gossip this might turn into during their lunch break. 

You had, in truth, imagined this moment before. Countless times. Usually at night, though you weren’t terribly picky; a long trip on a bus, head pressed against the window glass, was also a great time for such thoughts. 

You’d imagined finding Ren some day, in many different ways. 

In some fantasies, you look him up in the phonebook (a stupid idea fit only for a fantasy, because Ren would never put himself out there like that, just as you hadn’t) and give him a call and meet up at a park and you apologize until your lungs stop working. In another, you run into him somewhere else, a store or park; a coincidence just like this one. In still others, he finds you, offering to meet in a public space because he knows you’d be scared and he wants you to be comfortable and Ren would definitely think of things like that, considering your shared experiences. 

In your daydreams, you had a speech prepared. It was always moving, of course. It culminated in a soft, unbearably sweet hug where the two of you squeezed out the pain from the preceding decades and parted in mutual understanding. Maybe with each other’s phone numbers on slips of paper. 

But those were daydreams. This is real life.

In real life, your throat feels closed up; your eyes burn with hot tears that want to spill out, and everything from your chest to your cheeks feels hot and swollen. In real life, it is not the daydreams but your nightmares that worm their way into your brain: those nightmares you have (yes, have, still--even this far down the line) where he hates you, where he tells you that you left him there like he’s nothing, where he throws back all your whispered conversations in the dark back in your face.

In real life, you can only stammer out, expecting the nightmarish worst: “Ren. I’m s…sorry. I’m sorry . I shouldn’t--I shouldn’t have --”

Ren raises his hand; his brows furrow again. He says your name, once, twice. Softer. Gentler. 

“It’s okay,” he says, low. You don’t know if he means that it’s okay that you left him (it isn’t, is it?) or that it’s going to be okay or that he’s okay or--

Ren must sense your upcoming lack of steady breathing, because he places one steady hand on your shoulder. The way he used to do, when you started thinking about the fact that you were going to die in that house, and it would be an awful death, and the thought of it made you want to tear into your own skin. 

It brings you back down to the ground, which only makes you want to cry for a different reason.

Ren’s face has a touch of sticky pity on it when he smiles at you. 

“Why don’t we go somewhere we can sit down and talk?” 

--

You are sitting in a coffee shop across the way from a fox man who used to be tortured with you in the basement of a serial killer's home that doubled as a snuff film studio. There are people around you, but they might as well be invisible, be nothing at all. 

Because every nerve in your body is focused squarely on Ren, sitting in front of you with a muted awkward expression as the pair of you wait silently for the barista to call up your order. 

Neither of you have spoken since you sat down.

Sweat is beginning to stick to your neck, but you don’t want to move without warning--don’t want to startle Ren. If you do, maybe he’ll run off, and… no. He wouldn’t run off now. You can tell. He’s not like he used to be, and neither are you. 

There are decades between you, and yet--and yet that thread is still there, isn’t it? You could never fully cut it. Maybe it pulled, instead. Pulled and pulled and eventually lost all of its slack on this unassuming afternoon, when the two of you met again in a bookstore. Reaching for books with cracked and weathered spines, lines creasing over the paper like scars on the skin.

Your scars. His scars. 

How many times have you traced over the marks on your skin? How many times has he? Maybe he didn’t do it anymore. Maybe he was in a much better space than you, and that’s why he looks so awkward and you feel like your heart is about to pound right out of its chest. Because he’s moved on and you, stupid thing, just woke up in the basement in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

His shoulders straighten; you imagine, under his hat, that his ears have perked. For a moment,, a familiar sensation washes through you. Danger. He’s coming down the stairs and it’s going to hurt.

But Strade is dead. And you are alive, and Ren is alive, and his attention only raised because the barista set both of your coffees down on the counter. Nothing more than that.

Slowly, the world seems like it regains its normal gravity. The sweat clinging to your neck feels silly and not ominous. You can breathe, and the world of the coffee shop seems to settle around you like it would have on any other day.

“I’ll get them,” Ren says, quietly, eyeing you with wariness–like he’s the one worried about you bolting. Fuck. He’s probably right to think that; a moment ago, you might have been the one to run.

Ren pauses after he stands up, and there’s something soft and sad in his eyes when he looks at you. Part of you thinks he’s about to say that he’s going to leave, that this was a mistake. But instead, his lips curl and the softest of smiles, and he asks:

“You still like cream and sugar?”

Oh. 

“Yes,” you say, automatically. But you don’t. Not anymore. Tastebuds change and you drink it black with no cream, when you do bother to drink it. It’s not worth correcting, and you don’t. You just watch as he grabs both cups and heads over to the counter on the far side of the coffee shop, where there’s oodles of sugars (and sugar substitutes); creamers; and little tins of milk to add to your drink. 

Then your phone vibrates, and the “fuck!” that comes out of your mouth is involuntary. It was about the time that you should have been heading home, bookstore stop  notwithstanding. What were you going to say to him? That you’d run into someone from your past that used to get tortured with you? That you remember what Ren looks like when his flesh is sliced into and pulled apart? 

You heading home? Took ground beef out for dinner. Tacos?

Your thumb hovers over the phone screen. You’re going to lie. You already know that. Even if you were ready to tell him about your past, it would not be like this. Even you, not particularly attuned to mobile etiquette, knew it was better to confess something like this in person. Although the temptation to confess it all and  add silly emojis to punctuate the gritty details was very strong.

Ran into an old friend , you type, finally. They want to hang out a bit. Tacos are fine, don’t wait up! Xoxoxo.

It feels so normal. And that’s okay, isn’t it? That you’re being normal right now. It’s a sign that you’ve come so far, if anything. And you’ll take any of those signs that you can manage to get, so when the text comes in–

Can’t wait to hear about it!

I don’t guarantee there will be tacos left. 

Kidding.

… Maybe.

–you let that normalcy wash over you, and it helps you settle as Ren returns, coffee mugs in hand.

His expression is lighter, too. He probably notices the weight off your shoulders, the way you’re trying to look interested and perhaps even excited to see him, rather than looking like you’re about to throw up on a half-empty stomach.

He slides your mug across the table and you can tell at a glance that it’s going to be sweet. A hesitant sip, your tongue curling back from the warmth and inevitable sugar, confirms it. Milky and creamy, just like you used to take it.

“Do you live around here?” Ren asks, taking a sip from his own mug.

Such an average question. It’s almost enough to make you snort. Really, you should be asking him when he got out of that basement and whether or not he ever thought about cutting you open and if he still had dreams, like you did.

Instead, he’s asking something you might ask an old high school friend that you haven’t seen in twenty years. 

Fuck. What a world you live in. 

Maybe he senses your thoughts. Maybe the two of you really are in tune from what you went through together. Because he cracks a smile, the edge of a sharp tooth showing. And then the smile spreads and turns into a little chuckle. It’s not the giggling snort he would sometimes fall into at the house. It’s something older and more reserved, but that shouldn’t surprise you. You’re the same way.

You take another sip of the coffee. It really is too sweet. That’s how you took it at the house, though. It was better to drown your sorrows in creamer and packets of sugar–pilfered from diners that Strade went to, sometimes to scope for victims–than mope about them all the time.

“I really am curious,” he says, voice light. “If you’re okay with telling me.” Something different in his tone. Offense, maybe? God, it’s strange, being on the lookout for what someone’s tone really means again. 

But it’s just Ren. You shouldn’t be so worried about it.

“It’s fine,” you say, just as light. “Yeah, maybe about half an hour away? I have a little house…”

Ren’s eyebrows raise. Not in surprise, exactly. But in interest. It relieves you, just a little, that he didn’t let out some sarcastic remark about having your own place away from him.

“Do you have a garden?” He asks. “You always did talk about getting one.”

A twinge in your heart. Bittersweet and old. Sometimes at night, when the two of you were allowed to curl up together, you would talk about a fantasy world. A world where you never came here; where you’d be and what you’d do. Sometimes, you’d be in a pretty little cottage with a pretty little garden in a pretty little town.

Well. Your garden is pretty, even if your house isn’t an adorable cottage and you live at the edge of sprawling suburbs where you have to drive 20 minutes to get to anything useful. Close enough?

You tell him about it. The house and the garden. You even tell him about your partner, and maybe his smile does quirk down a little, then. But you could be imagining it. 

“Do you have kids?” Ren asks, next. If he were anyone else, it would be a mundane question--the kind you ask every couple who's been together a while. In Ren, it feels different. Serious. Sincere. He tilts his head a little, taking another sip of his coffee, which prompts you to do the same.

Kids. Hah. It wasn’t like the thought had never crossed your mind. But it didn’t happen. For a lot of reasons, it didn’t happen. Mind and body and the basement worked against you, and maybe there was a part of you that was afraid to bring anything into the world, because you knew it could be taken away. Taken to someone’s basement and hurt and hurt and hurt –

Ren says your name.

Ren’s hand is on yours. 

You glance down at his hand–see a familiar scar, see that your hand underneath his is curled up and tense–and then look  up at his face. 

Oh, the passing of time. 

“Me neither,” he says, softly. Like he knows why you didn’t and couldn’t, and maybe he was the same way. 

It hurts too much to think about. So you clear your throat and slowly pull your hand away, letting it rest on the now cooling mug of coffee. You take another swig, despite it not being to your taste anymore. Ren really did put in a lot of creamer.

“What about you?”

His head tilts, almost slow, almost curious.

“Me?”

He blinks.

You blink back. 

“Do you live around here?” 

A smile–an Ahhh sort of smile. 

“No,” he says, simply. He shakes his head. “I travel a lot.” He nods his head. “For business.”

“Oh,” you say. “What sort of business?”

A flicker in his gaze. Something sharp and familiar. It’s gone too soon to matter. 

“This and that,” is all he says.

And there’s a strange sort of realization in your head. A fuzziness that seems to spread right to your scalp. This is all too casual, too normal. It’s not at all what it was supposed to be, when you met. Asking about homes and gardens and kids and what you do for work; fuck, you two had been tortured together. Had watched people die. Had helped other people die. 

This should have been about more than banal pleasantries. This should have been about reconnecting. About that thread between the two of you that couldn’t be cut, even now.

Maybe it’s that fuzziness in your scalp and maybe it’s the lurching of your heart, but you reach out your hand again towards Ren; your hand and your heart reaching and aching –

“Why did you run that day?” Soft and to the point. All the years have led to this question. 

The question drops your hand straight to the table. The thud feels harder than it sounds. What ease your heart had mellowed to earlier melts away entirely, and you can feel adrenaline beginning to pump, your heart pounding and racing. Your ears hurt.

Why did you run? It’s the question you wanted him to ask, isn’t it? The question that would lead to your big sappy explanation and apology and the sentimental hug before you two parted ways, perhaps with phone numbers in your pockets? 

But now that Ren is real again; now that he’s here, lines around his eyes and a touch of silver in his hair, you don’t know how to answer.

You ran because you were scared. Scared of people from Strade’s fucked up streams finding you in that house. Scared of Strade’s corpse rotting in the basement. Scared, too, of Ren. Of being chained to him, or by him, and you could never be sure which was more likely. 

You ran because you weren’t strong enough to face whatever was left behind for you in that fucking house. 

Thickness lodges in your throat but you swallow against it. This is not a daydream. This is real life. And you have to own up to what you did now. 

“Ren, I–” 

The words don’t come, because the world suddenly spins. The fuzziness prickling on your scalp, your ears ringing, your heart going too fast–this has all been too much for you, you should have known that. There are brief thoughts–heart attack, stroke, fuck, fuck, FUCK–and then Ren’s hand is gripping your upper arm so you don’t fall out of the chair. 

“Are you okay?” Your vision is clear enough to see the concern in his face. His brows furrow together and he looks around, telling someone– ”Yes, I'm going to get her home” --and you’re about to tell him not to take you to the hospital because your insurance has a high deductible for the emergency room when another dizzy spell hits you, and you’d rather be in debt than dead.

“Should I call an ambulance?” He asks, voice low, calming. Your mind latches onto it. You’re not alone, it’s going to be okay. Someone is here to take care of you, and if you have to go to the emergency room, well, it couldn't have happened at a better time.

Ambulances cost too much money, though, and Ren 

“Could you drive me?” Even as you talk, you know something’s wrong. The words come out too slow, a little slurry. Almost like you’re drunk. 

Ren starts to shake his head and your dizzy self makes a pitiful sound. 

You swear you can see Ren’s ears twitching underneath his hat. You don’t have the presence of mind to think about why–where and when he’s heard that pitiful whimper before–so you just cling to him as he gently pulls you out of your chair.

He grabs your purse and carefully leads you out of the shop. Someone holds the door open, and he tells them that you’re going to the emergency room, thank you for the concern. Your head swims and you might mumble thank you to them, too, but you’re not entirely sure. Are you dying? Is it a stroke? Will the last thing you texted the love of your life be about dinner? It’s funny in that awful, delirious sort of way.

“Ren?” You ask, helpless. You’re holding onto him as tightly as you can, but your fingers feel fuzzy. Your whole body feels fuzzy, actually. Heavy and strange. Drunk and leaden.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you into my car, all right?”

You don’t have the presence of mind to wonder why his car is already out on the curb, running, with a driver in the front seat. You aren’t coherent enough to think about things like that; but then, even before you drank the coffee cup laced with a sedative, you didn’t notice the black car following the pair of you down the road to the coffee shop. 

You didn’t notice it follow you to the bookstore, either, nor did you give it a second glance when it pulled out of the lot after you stopped in at the grocery store to pick up a few miscellaneous items.

You really had lost your touch after all these years.

Ren grips you carefully while he opens the back door to the car. It’s roomy, expensive. Clean black leather seats that probably don’t show stains. Up front, a driver sits, wearing a hat and sunglasses and a uniform.

There’s a brief thought–Jesus, what does Ren do for a living to afford this?--before Ren is helping you crawl into the backseat.

The movement only makes you dizzier, and you’re telling the person in the front seat, whoever they are, that you need to get to the nearest hospital please.

They don’t even turn to look at you. It’s strange. But then Ren is there in the backseat with you, and you’re mumbling the same thing to him. Rattling off your symptoms–dizzy, fuzzy, confused, tingling hands. You try to remember the test for a stroke but can’t.

Ren smiles at you.

Why is he smiling? That thought comes through loud and clear, but it doesn’t stick for very long.

“Ren,” you say, slurring. “The hospital, the nearest one is… I think it’s… you have to…”

And those words, difficult as they are to get out, slowly drop away. Because while your mind is not capable of many things right now, it is capable of registering something unusual.

Ren. 

He doesn’t look worried anymore. No more concern furrowing his brow, no more softness. 

Instead, he looks pleased. There’s a smug smile on his face, and you’ve seen it before, but it’s older now. Wiser. Less impulsive and more assured. 

A cat–a fox–that caught the canary. And you, what little remains of your logical mind tells you, are one dumb bird. 

And he knows that you know. Because he jerks his chin at the driver in the front, who must press some kind of button; the doors lock. Loud. Hard. Your numb hands fumble for the door handle but no matter how much you try to shove the door open, it doesn’t budge.

 You're locked in.

“Back to the hotel for now,” Ren says. Not to you. To the driver. Who–to your horror–begins to pull away from the curb.

“Oh, no–” You try to scream. It’s not quite loud enough. Not quite sharp enough. but maybe someone can see you, even through the tinted windows. Or they’ll hear you and tell someone, who will maybe tell someone else, who might call the cops. If you’re lucky.

Ren’s hand cups your mouth firmly. 

“Don’t waste your energy, you’ll need it soon.” The hand moves from your lips to your cheek, resting there. The look in Ren’s eyes is blurry–whatever he drugged you with is making it hard to focus–but you recognize bits of it, because you felt the same damn thing.

The awful mixture of nostalgia, regret and ache.

Maybe if you explain everything. Tell him why you ran. Apologize like hell. You won’t be hugging after this, but you won't be drugged up (what did he give you?) in the back of his car, either. 

“Ren– the hous e–I ran–I–let me explain, it–”

Ren’s hand trails back to your mouth. The sharp edges of his nails graze against your nose.

“Hush. We’ll talk about all that later.” 

Later?

Oh, fuck –

There’s an awful, stabbing pain in your thigh–you look down and see Ren pulling away a syringe with a bright silver needle.

Ren–you try to say his name, but when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Your lips gape and close and words no longer form.

Your head is swimming now, all highs and lows, dipping and rising over waves that never seem to end. It’s like you're falling asleep in the worst way, hard and rocky.

Like you’re falling backwards down the basement stairs. 

Ren’s voice is the last thing you hear before you black out.

“Sweet dreams.” 

[pseudowho]

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Thinking about being Higuruma Hiromi's workplace bestie.

Thinking about showing up to the office for work one morning, and seeing Hiromi's not there. Automatically, you know your day is going to be long, tedious, dull. Maybe you'll actually get some work done for once.

Still, you'll miss making faces at each other at the meeting which could have been an email. You'll miss his sardonic, snippy responses to courtroom drama. You'll miss the way he calls his wastepaper bin his 'suggestions box'. You'll miss the way he sits, legs crossed on your desk, jiggling his foot constantly as you review case files together.

"Husband not in, huh?" Your colleague teases gently, and you roll your eyes, calling back over your shoulder; "Bestie, not husband!"

You sigh, walking to the office kitchen; his turn to make coffee today, but it's now just coffee for one, sadly--

"No no no, out you go, my turn to make coffee today, you--"

"Hiromi!" You squeal, visibly wiggling with delight, and Hiromi turns around with the coffee pot in his hands, briefly joining in with your happy dance, wiggling too.

"I thought you weren't in, I was ready for such a boring day!" You state, dramatic, giving his upper arm an affectionate squeeze. Hiromi tuts, "As if I'd just leave you to the wolves like that," stirring your pair of office mugs ("Mr" and "Mrs", only semi-ironically gifted to you from your Secret Santa last year).

The rest of the morning is lost in bright colours, in-jokes, corny jokes, office gossip ("You know I don't do gossip," Hiromi chides, black brows furrowed, turning his back on you momentarily...before spinning back round, leaning in and whispering, "Just pulling your leg-- tell me everything, in excruciating detail."), and getting your work done at ruthlessly efficient speeds, so in-tune are you with each other.

The endless days and weeks of being too busy to talk properly, leaving each other goofy post-in notes in files, on desks, on coffee mugs, and gradually more eccentric places-- the inside bottom of his wastepaper bin, under the printer lid, Hiromi somehow manages to sneak one onto the bottom of your shoe.

Hiromi loses almost all of his cases-- you are used to consoling him through this. Every loss wounds him. But why do they start to wound you, too? Before you can think on it too deeply, Hiromi bangs into your office one day, and you gasp, slopping coffee over your paperwork. You look up, about to curse at him--

"...you didn't," you challenge, joy blooming on Hiromi's face, and you realise, jumping up with a cheer and a clap, "You did? Oh, you won, you clever thing you, oh Hiromi!"

Hiromi fizzes like sherbet for the rest of the day, his melancholy blown away by your celebration of him. His favourite work-person-bestie-wife. He could chat with you like this all night, if only you'd let him.

Days without each other become woefully empty. The colours wash out of the walls. You barely laugh. You go home without a sense of achievement, but with the sense of a day wasted in solitude and loneliness. All of your other colleagues notice, eyebrows raised, knowing sideways glances...but you and Hiromi do not. Just work besties.

You give each other affectionate jostles goodbye when you pass each other in the corridor, folders in arms, sometimes transferring them to each other, before jostling again; "love you, byeee" (ironically, of course), as you skip and he lopes away down the corridor.

Except, one day, Hiromi's eyes are dark and distant during the jostle, the handover of paperwork, distracted and lost in something bigger...and absentmindedly he leans in, kissing you on the lips right there in the corridor, "love you, byy-"

You touch your lips. Hiromi's tongue darts out to taste his. You are both stunned, perplexed, blushing and flustered--

-- just work besties.

[tremendum]

heaven is a place on earth; joel miller

prologue; im a loser, baby!

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au (pre-outbreak, altered ages), Joel Miller x fem!nanny!reader.  dedicated to the anon who suggested this trope.

↬     series masterlist main masterlist

↬      it's 2000. you're freshly single, three weeks away from being evicted, and your coworker knows a hot, single dad who is hiring for a nanny. you'll take anything you can get.

↬     warnings; tagged 18+ for eventual smut and mature themes. MDNI. age gap (reader is 22, joel is 35), fiscal anxieties, allusions to a shitty ex. if your name is michelle, norah, or dan, you get to be twins with my ocs in this series <;33

series mixtape, song one; Loser, Beck. 1994.

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"fuck."

your voice hisses through the rows of books you stalk down, legs carrying you with fervor towards the front desk. "fuck, fuck, fuck!" 

you whirl past a mother reading a children's book to her toddler and wince at your language, mouthing sorry! at the baby as you pass. avoiding the harsh glare of its mother, you mutter under your breath. "shit." 

in your hurry, your hip slams into the wooden corner of the front desk; a small grunt of pain hisses through your clenched teeth as you trudge up to your swivel chair. 

"god, damn it!" you bemoan, lowering yourself into your chair and sighing heavily as you drop your head to your hands. 

"so...it can't be good news." Michelle says to you, quietly, as she grimaces apologetically to the mother who walks towards the exit, shielding her stupid baby's ears from your foul mouth. you ignore the woman's harsh look of judgement, instead biting your lip, willing yourself to calm down.

with a suck of deep breath you shake your head. "no, it is not."

she sends you a consolatory look and to this you groan, "the rent's too much here. thought I'd get this one, I really did." you mutter helplessly, picking up several of the books from the drop bin to check them back in on your computer. "they made me endure four interviews. all for nothing." 

a consolatory hand graces your shoulder and you offer your coworker a small smile of gratitude. she sends you a smile so hopeful that you nearly forget the desperate state you're in - the heavy fear of starting new.

"we'll find you a good one. you're smart, marketable, charming..." Michelle shakes her head as you move to protest, pointing at you. "-no, don't even start. we'll get you some more interviews. in the meantime...Dan and I were thinking. we have a couple hundred we could spare this month, just to..." she glances at your shocked stare, shrugging her shoulders. "-you know, get you on your feet. it's not easy to restart, especially after a breakup." 

your heart drops at her words, a crawling feeling of shame licking your throat as you shake your head. 

eyes stinging, you stare down hard at your keyboard, where your nails pick at the F key. "I couldn't- I couldn't ask that of you. thank you, but I-" you shake your head. "don't do that, really Michelle."

she waves her hand, "we insist. but Dan wants to discuss it in person, so we'll be having you over for dinner soon, okay?" she insists, and you hide your burning face between your hands. "this is too much." you say with a grumble, shaking your head. 

"think of it as a gift." she says hopefully with a shrug. "your birthday's soon, isn't it?" 

you sigh, smiling over at her as you shake your head. "at least let me do something for you in repayment. do you need any rooms painted? gardening? babysitting?" you offer, sliding slightly towards her to take a sip of her coffee. 

"we'll talk about it." she agrees, but you know she isn't going to ask you to do any of it; she and her husband are much too kind.

at your silence she just hums triumphantly, typing away on her keyboard as she files a damaged book report. the library hums with its inherent stillness, the fluorescents flickering as you busy yourself filing your own work for the evening.

five whole minutes pass in silence; a feat for you and the woman who sits just beside you. as you work idly, your eyes jump back to the payphone on the wall across the room where you'd heard the words: thank you for your interest, but we decided to go with another candidate. 

whatever. they don't deserve you, anyways. and honestly, the job had shitty benefits.

a sharp sigh from you gives Michelle the narrow opportunity to swivel her chair to face you, as if she'd been waiting for an opportunity to speak.

"you know," she puts on the look of innocence, "I was thinking..." 

you fix her with a look - the last few suggestions for money she'd given you were take up dancing (which you would certainly consider, if the nearest club wasn't fourteen miles away) or marry rich. for a woman who's still with the same man she was with in high school, she sure has an imaginative mind.

you're a month away from losing your new apartment and you cannot fathom moving back in with your ex; you'll take anything. Michelle holds her hands out in defense at your glare. "listen, Norah's got a teammate whose father is looking for a nanny." 

you let the words sink in as you spin your chair to her in interest. nanny? 

"-he owns a construction business. he mentioned looking for a nanny for weekdays at the girls' tournament last Saturday." 

you sigh, touched that she'd thought of you, but exasperated. "I work weekdays!" you sigh. she lifts a brow, leaning closer, "yes, but..." she looks around conspiratorially, "-I think Joel would give you higher pay - and you can still work here on weekends." 

your brows raise in shock, hope growing in your chest. "what, is he loaded?" 

at this, she laughs.

you blink as she holds a hand to her chest, chuckling to herself, leaving you unaware of whatever was so funny to her. "no, no." she calms herself as you stare, less amused. "-but he loves his girl. definitely the type of man who will pay well to make sure his baby's safe."

your lip is tugged between your teeth as you consider; "kids don't really like me." 

it’s not even true- kids love you as much as you love them, but something self-sabotaging within you begs to differ.

Michelle snorts, "Norah loves you." she counters; you cross your arms, "well, that's different. she's, like, an eleven year old version of you." 

she grins at this; Michelle has known you since you were a sophomore, just freshly out of the dorms - she may be older than you by over a decade and a half, but she and her husband are the closest to family you have in this part of the country. 

you nod. "please, will you give him my information? I need any money I can get. I'll be the best nanny in the world."

you're convincing yourself more than her, but she smiles all the same. "I'll see him when I pick Norah up after practice this afternoon. I'll share your number with him, okay?" 

you have the next day off of work; you spend it unpacking some boxes and organizing, taking a walk around the new neighborhood, trying to befriend the building cat with a can of tuna.

you watch people pass in the street, distracting yourself from the disappointment of leaving your old neighborhood, even if it'd been infested by your cheating ex.

the opportunity to nanny this summer lingers in the back of your mind as you walk past a park, watching as the kids clamber and scream and laugh; you smile to yourself, watching a young mother push a child on the swing. 

sometime past noon, an unknown number texts your cellphone and you pause the TiVo to flip it open eagerly. 

Hey there, it's Joel Miller. Our mutual friend Michelle passed along your number. I've been looking for a nanny for my daughter and heard great things about you. Would you be open to chatting sometime this week? I'd love to discuss a nannying opportunity with Sarah. Let me know if that works for you.

Thanks, Joel

you stare at the words, reading them slowly with a pounding of excitement in your chest. suddenly, the walls of your new, too-expensive apartment seem brighter, the sun opens up the sky - you nearly call Michelle in a burst of excitement before even thinking of a response. 

an inkling of doubt pulls at the back of your head; the man seems kind enough - even if he texts like he's a hundred years old, Michelle and Dan know him personally. you slide your phone, staring at the phone screen for a moment before starting to type out a response. 

Hi Joel! Nice to hear from you, thanks for reaching out. I'd be happy to meet this week to chat about Sarah and nannying opportunities. I am available in the evenings most days, so if there's any time that works best for you, I can make that happen. 

knuckles cramping, you roll your eyes at your effort to be professional over text. you tweak your message several times before signing your name, shutting your eyes, and hitting the send button. 

Joel doesn't respond until very late; nearly eleven in the evening, suggesting a time later in the week and telling you his address. Michelle is ecstatic for you, even helping you draft up ways to tell your boss you'll be going part-time in a professional way; it's accepted gracefully, and now all you have to do is hope this Joel Miller can pay enough. 

he hires you an hour after meeting up.

to your relief, his daughter Sarah is a darling; big eyes and a bright smile that hides no malicious intent or snobbery. your anxiety slipped away the moment Joel opens their front door, replaced instead with flustered surprise in your lower belly at the man who stood before you.

why hadn't Michelle at least warned you?

he's taller than you'd imagined, and much more handsome; his dark hair is slightly tousled, a faint hint of stubble framing his jawline, biceps defined by a dark gray shhirt. he's curt but chivalrous, voice a low baritone and veins that trickle up his thick forearms golden skin glowing as he talks.

and jesus christ, his eyes - the memory of how they'd scaled over your body, taking you in as you'd stood in the dying sunlight on his doorstep that first time. dragging slowly, eyes dark and shrouded by long lashes, as you'd introduced yourself. how he'd cleared his throat and let you through with a half smile and a nod.

you'd had to try your hardest to keep your eyes on his as he explained he'd need you most weekdays because he has several new projects and has been working longer hours recently.

it took Sarah all of a minute and a half of shyness and hiding behind her father's leg before you showed her your tamagotchi; immediately after, she decided you were new best friends - with her hand in yours, she eagerly showed around the house in a half-intentional tour, pointing out the best hide and seek spots and showing you her collection of toys. 

by the end of the evening, Joel was shaking your hand and agreeing on a bi-weekly payment much higher than you'd expected.

he'd insisted on walking you to your beat-up car, smiling as he opened your driver's door with a shrug - it's dark out, don't want to let my new sitter walk alone at night, do I?

you'd tried your hardest to keep your thoughts professional, but the moment your head fell to your pillow that night, you knew you were fucked. 

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up next: chapter 01 ; as long as you don't care there is no longer a taglist; follow @tremendumnotifs to be notified when i post.

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[queenie-avenue]

How do yanderes react to receiving a scarf knitted by a reader?

Knitted with love.

💌 ⤻ ft. ALL THE YANDERES

—> your gifts are only for them.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, typical yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, obsessive behaviour, soft yandere, mentions of kidnapping (mafia boss), mentions of stealing (the baseball player)

note: i was too lazy to link all of the yanderes, especially since i have so many now, so i will just link my archives when i do joint posts.

💌 ⤻ THE CEO, ADRIAN HOUDE

— He would absolutely be ecstatic but also torn about it. He wants to keep the sweater all to himself, but he also wants to show it off to the world and demand that the scarf be mass-produced and sold in stores. It's a very challenging decision to make, but he eventually decides to keep the scarf all to himself. He is — as he calls himself — a selfish bastard, after all.

— However, despite his internal struggle, he would keep a cool expression and thank you sincerely and compliment your hard work.

— Would gift something as a thank you, probably something designer. Or would just look at the shopping history on your laptop and buy something from there. Or buy all, black cards exist for a reason!

💌 ⤻ THE CHEERLEADER, KATIE WILLIAMS

— Would gush about it loudly about the fact you were so sweet to present them with a gift! Aw, sweet little you! Katie would hug, kiss and gab all over your form.

— Extremely territorial over the scarf, will not let anyone touch it.

— Sets a trend in the University you're at, where partners gift each other scarves.

💌 ⤻ THE BASEBALL PLAYER, JESPER HARGREAVES

— Oddly enough, he would sniff it first. Then he would utterly melt into it, thanking you profusely by holding you so tight it felt like he might choke you to death.

— Will wear it regardless of the weather. Even if it's sweltering hot and he is sweating bullets. You'll probably have to make something more summer-themed to get him to take off the bloody thing.

— Will beg for more handmade goods from you and will “borrow” the things you made for other people.

💌 ⤻ THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

— Will not accept it at first. Will try to accuse you of trying to get close to him because of his family and wealth. If you persist, he will throw it into the bin in front of everyone just to humiliate you further.

— While patrolling the rounds of the school, he will go back to where he threw it and dumpster dive just to get it back. Look at how obsessed you made him, you have to take responsibility for that.

— The next day, an anonymous person has given you expensive chocolates. You realise that Min-Jun is carefully staring to see your reaction to it.

💌 ⤻ THE BARISTA, AKIMITSU MINORU

— Is shocked when you do so but immediately accepts and tells you you shouldn't work so hard next time.

— Offers you a cup of coffee as a thank you.

— Very reserved about it but from that moment on, he's always wearing the scarf. But not in ways you would expect. Sometimes it's hooked onto his waist, somethings around his neck — like how it's supposed to be worn — and sometimes just displayed in the coffee shop like some kind of trophy.

— Would convince you into only giving these sort of gifts to him.

💌 ⤻ THE COVER, VALERIO MARCHETTI

— Your habit of knitting started when you were bored and Valerio gave you something to play with. A knitting set, fitting for someone like you. He made sure to give you those blunt materials though, wouldn't want you escaping!

— Was shocked when you gave it to him. Probably sent it to get it checked for poison.

— Even after making sure it's not poisonous, he doesn't wear it. He simply leaves it with you.

— He isn't exactly obsessed (in this part yet), but he certainly is intrigued by you, would wear the scarf just to see your reaction.

💌 ⤻ THE MAFIA BOSS, VITTORIA CONSTANZO

— Utterly ecstatic at the prospect of you doing such a thing for her. It means you're slowly forgiving her, right?

— Will keep the scarf and use it as inspiration for her next collection of dresses, all using yarn. Will make a special dress just for you to wear out of yarn, just like you've done for her.

— You'll probably get more time without your restraints after this, she trusts you a bit more now and will give you a bit more freedom.

[bbokicidal]

Baby, congrats on 1k! So well deserved 💖

Can I request #2. How he reacts to your newest partner when he has feelings? of course for Binni (did you have any doubt I’d ask my man Bin!?) make it sfw or nsfw, whatever you want.

Love u 💞

Best Friend Prompt #2 - How he reacts to your new partner when he has feelings for you - Seo Changbin

He'll put on a brave face in front of you the moment you tell him you've begun dating someone in the last week. He'll ask what they're like, if they're super hot, what made you want to start dating them.

He'll compare your answers to himself, wondering why it is that you couldn't see how he was all of those things as well. He listened to you, never outspoke you when you had concerns or worries, always observed what you liked and even bought you random gifts here and there when he noticed you'd taken a liking to a bracelet or jacket he wore recently so you had your own.

He'll listen to you talking about them when you go out for lunch one day, and then prop up a smile on cautious lips and wave when he's introduced as your best friend. He'll sit back and run his thumb over his coffee cup, taking in the sight of the person across from him that you had your own hand intertwined with.

He'll lounge back with a giggly response each time you explain how you first met your partner; how you bumped into each other at an arcade and spent the entire evening together just to share your first kiss on the same night. He'll nod along, smile, play the part of your excited best friend. The person just off screen. Unnoticeable.

Overlooked.

He'll make a comment. It's quiet, barely there, about how you shouldn't gotten a ride from your partner instead of having him take you home - because finally, the anger begins to bubble in his veins. He doesn't like being upset, and he rarely is, especially with you; But his patience can only wear on for so long before it stretches thin and breaks like ice settled over washes that threatened to push up, break through - and create a storm.

He'll open the passenger door for you as he always does. But you'd heard his comment and confronted him about it. And the ice breaks.

His emotions come pouring out. He's impatient at first, mentioning how you had never taken into account his actions of giving you gifts, making sure you get home safe, taking you out for meals and making sure you are well taken care of as his best friend and hopefully future lover.

He knew deep down inside that you didn't mean to hurt him this way. You were oblivious as to his impatience - Oblivious as to why he was hurting so heavily.

The veins of his neck pry at his skin when you argue back at him that you did appreciate everything he'd done for you. He starts to yell then, and you yell in return - begging him to tell you why he had jumped off the deep end so suddenly. He slaps a hand to his chest as he takes a step closer, spitting his feelings out in one unwavering sentence. It's sure. It's stable. It's fully backed by how he feels.

"You don't understand what it's like to not be good enough for anybody no matter how hard you try."

It should have been him.

Your heart hangs heavy on thin strings that dangle from your ribs. How couldn't you have seen sooner why it was he had grown tense nearing the end of your conversation earlier in the day? How his jaw had clenched as your arms wound around your partner, wishing them farewell and pressing a kiss to their cheek in nothing but pure adoration.

And how do you tell him - your best friend of many years, who has stuck with you through thick and thin - that you understood now? How would you explain why it was you had gotten with your partner?

As he turns away and crouches among the sidewalk, his hands press hard against his eyes to try and force the tears breaching amongst them back into their seams; You aren't sure you have the right to tell him.

It had always been him.

[mysingularitybts]

Put Your Records On

Pairing: Cat Hybrid!Yoongi x Human! F. Reader (you)

Genre: smut, fluff, strangers 2 lovers, hybrid!au, 18+

Appearances: Bunny!Jungkook, Fox!Jin, Human!Hoseok, Panther! Taehyung, Human! Jimin, Wolf! Namjoon

Word Count: ~30k

Warnings/tags: hybryd au! (there will be mentions of scenting, heats, and that sort of thing) let's start light with cursing, oral (f, m receiving), unprotected sex, creampies, light biting, breeding, fingering, m. masturbation, light voyeurism, oral (m2m), cum play, there's probably some other stuff i missed or simply refuse typing out here lol

a/n: this was supposed to be a small thing and then it evolved into what it is today (half plot half porn). i knew i was obsessed with kitty yoongi i just never realized i was this obsessed. this oneshot made me write things i never thought id write, it pushed me to my limits but I'm pretty proud of it. i hope you guys like it... there is so much smut also grammarly is a pain in my ass

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Like every morning for the past seven years, Yoongi walks to work with hands in his pockets and earbuds in his ears. The music blasting out of them does nothing to dampen the city noise as the extra pair of ears at the top of his head catches them. One of the downsides of being a hybrid, a cat one, to be precise.

Like every morning, he stops in front of a tall, glass-lined building that glimmers under the rising sun, and as always, he curses it out in his head (or under his breath) for ruining his dream. The same one that began when he first learned the purpose of the building. To become a music producer. He scowls at it for a whole minute before continuing to his destination. A minute a day is all the time he allows himself to rain on his parade.

He proceeds to walk to the small music shop tucked between a coffee shop and a comic book store. He unlocks the door fitfully, having to jiggle the keys expertly. There’s no chance of anyone stealing from the store when he can barely open the door himself. Turning on the stereo with the music of a new upcoming artist, he organizes anything he might’ve left out of place the night before and cleans the counters.

It’s become a routine for Yoongi to wake up, scowl at the glass building, go to work, endure people’s discrimination towards hybrids, close the store, go home, and go to sleep. He’s gotten so used to the repetition that when he has free time on Sundays, he feels at a loss on what to do. He’s tried opening the store those days, but then Lee, the closest thing to a father figure he has, would just get mad at him for not resting.

It’s not unusual for him to get new customers. Still, they are always the same sort of people, music students or hipsters who want to try and be cool with their indie music. Today though, he feels something change when a blue-haired girl walks into the store for the first time. The bell jingles at the top of the door as you walk in, looking around the store before beelining to the aisle labeled ‘vinyl.’ Yoongi follows you with his eyes as his tail swishes behind him in curiosity.

You’d heard of this store from a co-worker and thought it would be the perfect place to find a gift for your brother, who’s recently started a vinyl collection. You rummage through the bins trying to find anything he might like but what you see is barely anything you’ve heard of before.

Yoongi stares at you without approaching you; he usually lets the customer decide if they need help. He’s lost count of how many times people have told him they don’t need the help of a hybrid. But as you move into the third bin of vinyl out of the few dozen in the store, he decides to make a move, or you’ll be here for hours.

“What are you looking for?” he asks straight to the point.

You look up, startled, not having heard him approach you. You can’t help but stare, not because he’s a hybrid but because he must be one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen in your life. Yoongi doesn’t take it that way, as he believes you’re judging him for what he is. Instantly his cat ears pin back, and his eyes narrow.

“Well?” He prompts rudely.

“Sorry, um…Yoongi.” You say, squinting to read his name tag, “I’m looking for a vinyl for my brother as a birthday gift.” You look at him nervously as you feel him judge your entire being, wishing you had worn more makeup today and not stained your sweater during lunch.

“Anything in specific you’re searching for? What is his music taste?” Yoongi asks, bored.

“He likes electro-pop.”

Yoongi nods and directs you further down the aisle, he organized the bins himself, and you were looking in all the wrong places. You should've noticed the signs hanging above the bins designating the music genre.

“You were searching in the jazz area. This is electro-pop,” Yoongi points out.

Blushing at your stupidity, you thank him and continue to search for a good artist your brother will like. Yoongi hums in acknowledgment and makes his way back to the cash register, waiting for you to finish and ringing out other customers.

As you shift through the albums, you look up occasionally to look at the hybrid called Yoongi. He sits on a wooden stool, staring out the window. The sun hits his pale face, making him look ethereal. If she was braver, she’d ask him out, but she knows there’s no way he’d like her back. He certainly didn’t show it when he helped her.

Finally, seeing more artists you recognize, you settle on two vinyls for your gift. You walk around the store seeing as it’s your first time in it, and you stop to look at accessories for production closer to the counter. Your eyes roam the equipment, and your hand urges you to touch it. You hold back because you don’t need anything right now. Wanting and needing are two different things you need to be conscious about.

Carefully placing the vinyls on the counter, you wait for Yoongi to ring the items up. He barely looks at you as he tells you the total. That’s okay, though, as it allows you to stare at him more discreetly; you are in awe of this man with his glossy dark hair and pink pout. How could you have formed a crush on a man who has only spoken five words to you?

Yoongi looks up at the lack of response, only to find you staring at him. He frowns deeply, disturbed by the situation. Her staring differs from the people who point at his ears or make off-hand comments, yet he can’t point out why.

“Hello?” He snaps to call her attention.

“Sorry,” you flinch, a blush covering your cheeks, contrasting the blue in your hair.

“Hope you’re brother likes them,” Yoongi tells her, putting both records in a bag.

“Thanks, me too,” you stutter out with a smile.

You promptly pay and leave the store. Outside you slap yourself on the forehead for being so awkward in the presence of Yoongi. Caught up reprimanding yourself, you fail to notice Yoongi staring at you from the window with a quirk on his lips.

Yoongi thinks you’re a little odd but pays you no mind. He believed you’d be more confident with hair like yours, in reality, you’re a little ditsy. It’s cute. You smelled good, too, not that he meant to smell you, but it’s hard not to with his heightened sense of smell. You smelled like chocolates and something florally yet not overwhelming.

To a hybrid, scents are everything they can tell a lot about a person, although sometimes they can be misled. Their smells can sense a person’s mood and overall persona. A handy thing to have when dealing with people who constantly discriminate against hybrids. Times might have changed, and hybrids might have their freedom now, but it can’t erase years of slavery and mistreatment.

○●○●○●○●○●

You keep returning to the store for the next month just to see Yoongi. You didn't know it back then, but now you know he's the only one that works in the store. At first, you would buy little things to have excuses to go there, then you started to leave empty-handed happy to have seen your 'kitty cat' as you've nicknamed him in your head. At around the third week of returning, he asked for your name. You stuttered it out as his response surprised you.

"That name doesn't suit you," he said, staring at you fixedly, "I'll just call you Blue."

"Very creative, Yoongi," you laugh, rolling your eyes.

And while Yoongi is unemotional, most of the time, you've been learning how to read him. A flick of his cat ears, the swishing of his tail, the way his nose scrunches up unbeknownst to him, or the way his mouth quirks up at the side. It all means different things, and you're starting to catch up, so when he sighs, shaking his head at your words, you know he's amused.

Yoongi has gotten used to seeing you every week. Unlike many of his customers, he'd greet you with a 'good morning' and send you off with a 'careful on the way home.' When you don't come to the store in more than a week, he finds himself worried, and as another week ends with no signs of you, he becomes slightly upset. Maybe he did something to upset you. He wants to know if you are okay or if there is anything wrong, but he comes up empty-handed.

He spends his Sunday sulking in his apartment. When he visits Lee, the old man notices instantly. He is delighted Yoongi is like this over a girl. He's been waiting too long for his boy to open up and get a girlfriend. Yoongi shuts it down almost instantly and clears up that you're only a customer. A friendly customer…

Monday morning bright and early, the bell of the shop jingles, and your scent wafts to Yoongi's nose, who is in the back getting more stock. He leaves the boxes behind as he rushes to the front. "Morning, Yoongi," you greet him with a bright smile.

"You didn't come last week, Blue," Yoongi frowns, his pout very apparent and his ears twitching in annoyance, "I was worried."

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologize," I was out of town."

You hate to admit that you are happy he noticed your absence. Yoongi considers you a friend! Now you have to fulfill the promise you made to yourself. This is the perfect opportunity to ask him out. If he was worried about you, it meant he cared! If only a little.

"How about I make it up to you?" You ask slowly, looking up at him with hope in your eyes. For an extra measure, you use the advice of a friend and put your hair behind your ear to seem cuter.

"And how are you going to do that?" He asks stoically, crossing his arms.

"Let me take you out to this coffee shop on Sunday. They have local artists playing music. And before you say no because of the shop, I know it's your day off," You rush through your words before he rejects the idea.

Yoongi is surprised at your idea of making it up to him, and it shows on his face. He's unsure of what to say but gauging the fact he spent his Sunday worrying over nothing, he accepts. "Alright, you're paying, though."

"Yeah, of course!" You say excitedly, which gets Yoongi smiling.

Despite seeing each other for many weeks, you hadn't had a reason to exchange numbers until now. He writes his phone number on your phone, and you can't resist having his contact as 'Kitty Cat,' not that he notices. If he did, you were sure he would be dramatic about it. Opening the camera app, you tell him to smile, it takes a few tries, but eventually, he settles and shoots the camera a half smile.

Yoongi does the same with you. After writing down your number, he assigns the contact as 'Blue' and snaps a picture of you. Only he didn't ask you to smile; he only called your name and snapped it. You beg him to change it, but he laughs and shoots down the idea. The picture he took got your essence to a tee. While you thought it was atrocious, he thought you looked cute with the wide-eyed stare and everlasting smile on your face. Your messy baby hairs and fluffy sweater only added to your charm.

That Sunday, Yoongi waits for you by the train station. He bites his nails as he waits, a nervous habit he can never get rid of. After accepting going out with you, he began wondering if this was a date. You never specified what it was for you. Yoongi has noticed your stares and how you hang on to every word he says. He also might've heard you speaking about him on the phone outside the store about how cute he was and how he made you giddy.

He's never really been in a relationship, and he's not sure he wants one, either. It's not like he's never been attracted to someone or had his flings, but they've all been with other hybrids, not a full human. He believes he knows you and you have the best intentions, but he's guarded. In the past, he's dealt with humans that are great at first until their true colors show, and they turn into the worst. It's hard getting over his trauma.

With lots of second thoughts, Yoongi is about to bolt from the train station. His fight or flight kicked in over the whole situation. It's one thing to see you around the store, but everything will change once he breaks the barrier and starts seeing you outside of it.

It's too late as you spot him in the train station and wave at him. "Hey, Yoongi!" You chirp, giving him a hug in greeting.

"Are you okay?" You place a hand on his shoulder. You noticed when you were nearing him that he was tense and fidgety. His tail is flat against his body, unlike how it usually swishes around him. Maybe he's not feeling up to the plans for today.

"All good, lead the way!" He responds with a nod and a small smile.

Yoongi is uncomfortable as you walk side by side on the sidewalk. The coffee shop is on the other side of town, in a nicer part of town, to be exact. As a teenager, he never had a great experience in these places where people with money think they can ask for anything with the right amount of money from a poor homeless hybrid. The sad part is sometimes he was so desperate that he agreed to their requests. He's not proud, but he did what he had to survive, and now he's in a better place.

The coffee place barely resembles a coffee place. Inside are tables gathered around a small stage; where the coffee usually sits, there is alcohol instead. When Yoongi points it out, you mention that it's a fully functioning coffee place during the day, and at night it shifts to a speakeasy.

"Where would you like to sit?" You ask Yoongi sweetly, thinking about the speakers that might bother him if you sit too close.

"Over here is okay," Yoongi says, leading you to a table near the back.

You notice the speakers don't point directly at the table. You're proud of yourself for thinking about his heightened sense of hearing. There is silence when you sit at the table. Internally, you're banging your head against the table for not thinking of something to talk about ahead of time. You want to talk to him and get to know him. How do you start, though?

Yoongi, on the other hand, is perfectly happy in the silence. He's never felt the need to make unnecessary conversations. After inspecting the room, he looks at you. You look beautiful today. Your blue hair is nicely curled, with little strands framing your face. You're wearing a fluffy blue sweater that fades into white and pink that begs him to touch it and a black mini skirt. Overall, very cute. He tried to say it while you walked to the coffee shop, but his mouth didn't cooperate, leading him down a different route.

There was a question burning his tongue. A matter of what situation they are in right now. It all started as a way to make it up to him, but he can't help but feel there's more to it. Although he thought of running before, he's concluded that a date would be okay. He's in control of his life now, and if he wants something to stop, he can say it.

"Blue?" He breaks the silence; you had been looking at the stage where the first performer was setting up.

"Yes?" You smile at him gently, waiting for his question. He loved that about you, just how patient and soft you are.

"What is this?" he asks, pointing his finger between the two of you. Upon noticing your confusion, he adds, "Is this a date or just an outing of two friends?"

Your cheeks instantly flare up. Maybe you hadn't made it as obvious as you thought, "I was hoping this would be a date."

Yoongi nods at your words and gives you a small smile, "I was too."

A waiter eventually approaches the table, taking both of your drink orders. A casual conversation then erupts between the two of you. You learn that he's been working at the store for nearly ten years. In exchange, you talk about one of your hobbies, photography.

"I never asked but did your brother like the vinyl?" Yoongi wonders, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"He loved them. Turns out I know his taste pretty well," you giggle, remembering your brother's excitement over the records. He had all but jumped into your arms in a big hug. "He mentioned visiting the store one of these days to get more."

"Does he live around the area?"

"Yes! He's currently in the university nearby," You chirp, mixing your cocktail. Your foundation may hide most of your imperfections, but it can't hide the flush of the alcohol.

"Good for him," Yoongi replies in surprise. That's one expensive and prestigious university. It makes him wonder about your family and what they do; he refrains. That's a subject for another day.

Yoongi had misjudged the coffee shop earlier. He thought the performers would be pretentious people who thought they knew about music. He'd also thought they would all be humans. But as the performers go on, he notices most of them are hybrids, and the people at the tables around them are too. "How did you find this place?"

"One of my friends works here, and the other will perform later."

Jung Hoseok is one of your great friends. You two used to work together until he decided he needed a break from everything some months ago. Next thing you know, he's managing a coffee shop and hosting music shows.

"Actually, I think I see him now," you say, waving your hand delicately toward Hoseok. Yoongi looks in his direction and sees a handsome man with a bright smile. It makes him insecure.

"I'm so glad you're here, sweetheart," Hoseok exclaims, approaching the table and leaning down to hug you, "Who is this?" He asks with a twinkle in his eyes. Hoseok had already heard everything about the cute, brooding hybrid cat.

"This is, Yoongi, my date," you say, "Yoongi, this is Hoseok, the friend I just told you about."

"Nice to meet you." Yoongi shakes the man's hand firmly.

"Don't forget about me," a deep voice says from behind Hoseok.

If Yoongi thought Hoseok was handsome, he is at a loss for words to describe the man or, rather, the hybrid that pops up beside him. The panther hybrid swoops in to hug you, too, whispering in your ear how gorgeous you look. It angers Yoongi that he couldn't say it beforehand because it means he is not the reason for the blooming blush that covered most of your face and neck.

"This is Taehyung," Hoseok introduces the panther hybrid, "Tae, this is her date, Yoongi."

Hoseok and Taehyung try very hard to hide their curiosity and glee. They've wanted to meet Yoongi for weeks, so they were ecstatic when you told them you'd bring him around. They were spying on you from the back, where Taehyung was using his heightened hearing to translate your conversation.

"You're going to perform tonight?" Yoongi asks the panther.

"It's my first time. I'm a little nervous," Taehyung responds, fidgeting with his hands.

"You'll be okay; you've practiced so much," You reassure him, reaching for his hand.

"Thanks, honey," Tae smiles at you.

"We'll leave you two to your date. I gotta go present the next performer," Hoseok says, pulling Tae away from the table, whispering in his ear to tone it down before he scares Yoongi away.

Yoongi finds them both pleasant, even if Taehyung is touchy with you. It's like there was something between the two of you. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, though, so he ignores it for now.

As another performer finishes, you stand from the table, "I need to speak to Hoseok for a moment. Is that okay?"

"Of course."

His eyes follow you discreetly, watching as you speak to Hoseok. It appears as if the conversation is serious as Hoseok's smile drops. Yoongi focuses as much as he can on listening to the conversation, but it's hard when the new singer on the stage picks up the ante and strums the guitar louder. He can make out your lips as you say 'please,' but Hoseok only shakes his head no and says what Yoongi believes is an apology.

When you return, you smile at him as if nothing has happened. The rest of the show plays out. You pay as promised and head out into the cold night. Yoongi wants to bring up your conversation with Hoseok, but that's not his place. Besides, it seemed like it troubled you, and he didn't want to ruin the night.

"Did you like the show?"

"It was great; truth be told, I wasn't expecting to see as many hybrids," Yoongi confesses, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

"The owner is very pro-hybrid. It's one of the few places around here that are like that. I thought you'd like it, considering you always have the little stand on your counter." You refer to the local artists' tapes he keeps on the checkout counter; every week, he has a new one on display. You're unsure where he finds them, but you appreciate it as it helps you find new artists.

"I did, thank you," Yoongi smiles down at you and notices how you rub your hands together to warm them up. "Are you cold?" He doesn't wait for your answer as he takes your hands in his to warm them.

"How are you so warm?" You giggle.

"It's a hybrid thing," he mutters, a bit embarrassed. He's always been insecure about the things that make him a hybrid.

"I wish I was always that warm. My hands are always cold," you cutely pout.

Feeling brave, Yoongi says, "I can keep them warm."

You nod appreciatively, afraid of your voice betraying you. You walk the rest of the way hand in hand, and when you arrive at your departing point, you kiss his cheek. "For an amazing night."

"Will I see you at the store?" He asks shyly.

"Definitely."

○●○●○●○●○●

Time with Yoongi goes by so quickly. As promised, you return to the store, and Yoongi invites you out on another date in exchange. Your relationship progressed as the leaves began changing color. You didn't visit the store as much anymore as you visited each other's home. You were no longer the cute ditsy customer but the girlfriend.

You're so lucky to have Yoongi; he's much more than the grumpy cat you met. He's funny and extremely affectionate (in private, of course). It took you by surprise the first time he lay in your lap and asked you to touch his ears. You know it's a big no-no to touch a stranger's animal ears, but then again, you were no longer strangers. As you had your internal debate, Yoongi lay there with eyes closed, waiting for you. Silently praying you wouldn't be put off by it, his doubt was put to rest when you began softly stroking his pointy cat ears.

"Finally," he muttered, sinking further into your lap.

"Have you ever heard the saying good things come to those who wait?" You sass at him. Yoongi instantly relaxes, releasing a sigh of pleasure. You're weak for him, though, as your fingers brush through his hair and rub the base of his ears. He doesn't answer your question; instead, he falls asleep on you.

You're not sure if it's a Yoongi or a cat thing, but he loves his naps. Nine times out of ten, whether you're at his apartment or yours, Yoongi will nap for a few minutes, more if you're rubbing his ears. A trait you know comes from his cat side is looking for a spot in the house where the sun hits just right. You first noticed it at the store, and you thought it was because that's where the cash register is. Then you learned he moved the register closer to the big window to sunbathe. In fact, his apartment is set up in a way where his couch is mainly illuminated by the sun.

Something that is definitely a hybrid thing is scenting. You often caught Yoongi touching you or rubbing his head against your neck, a clear sign of scenting. Another way he does it is by giving you his hoodies or t-shirts. He gets all smug whenever you leave his apartment with his clothes, and whenever you return with his hoodies, and his scent is all faded, he switches them out. He wants to make it known to other hybrids that you are his.

For playing the stoic, serious guy, Yoongi loves kisses. Tiny kisses, pecks on the lips, kisses on the cheek, forehead kisses, full-blown makeout sessions, any type of thing involving kisses, he is there. You're favorite thing, though, is making him purr while you kiss.

In the past, you learned that some cat hybrids can purr and others don't, genetic differences between them or whatever. One day you were straddling his lap in a heated makeout session (one he started) and discovered he's one of the ones that purr.

Startled, you pull back with swollen lips, "What was that?"

"Nothing," Yoongi says, trying to pull you back by the back of your neck into another kiss.

"Was that a purr, Yoongi?" You insist with a teasing smile on your lips.

Yoongi, embarrassed, denies it. Furrowing his eyebrows with a pout, he mumbles, "Don't be ridiculous."

You smile at him and kiss him hard, grinding against him, "Do it again."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Yoongi moans, guiding your hips over his lap.

"Do. It. Again," you say in between kisses, "It felt amazing."

"It did?" Yoongi asks with a vulnerable look. He's always been somewhat embarrassed by his cat tendencies because he has had to hide them for many years. In his head, the more human he is, the better. It gives people less ammo when they decide to be rude.

"Mhm," you nod, swiping his lipstick-stained lips with your thumb. "Honestly, it's a turn-on," you whisper in his ear.

"You'll have to figure it out then 'cause I'm not telling you," Yoongi drawls, squeezing your hips.

"Let's get to it, then," You say seductively, kissing him again.

It takes you no more than ten minutes to figure out it's all in the hair. Whenever you pull the hair on the back of his neck, Yoongi purrs like there's no tomorrow. Minutes later, you make another discovery. The purrs are especially good when he's going down on you.

"Fuck, Yoongi," you moan, gripping his hair in your fist. It's a double-edged sword you have; you pull his hair due to the overwhelming pleasure, but it makes him purr even more.

There's no way for you to close your legs as Yoongi is settled right between them. He holds tightly to your thighs with one hand as he flicks your clit with his tongue and works two fingers into you. Neither of you is sure how you got into this position, but there are no complaints.

"I'm not sure if you want me to stop or not," Yoongi teases you with a smirk, leaving kisses over one of your thighs, although his fingers continue their assault. The sound of your wetness, along with your moans, resonates through the room.

"Don't even think about it, kitty cat," you respond, propping up on your elbows. Your head tilts back with a loud moan when Yoongi rubs against that spot.

Yoongi glares at the nickname and bites just where he kissed you. He detests the nickname, so he gets testy whenever you call him that. You whine at the momentary pain, but it turns you on even more.

"Forgot you were a pain slut," Yoongi says with all the intent in the world. He hates being called 'kitty cat,' and you hate the term 'pain slut.' Now you're even.

You glare, pushing him away and shuddering as his fingers leave you empty. Your skirt falls back into place as you sit back on the couch with a pout that's supposed to make you look angry. Yoongi holds back a laugh, knowing you love being dramatic. He moves into a sitting position and grabs your hand, pulling you into his lap, where you can perfectly feel his hard-on over his sweats. His sticky fingers are on your side, playfully squeezing you.

"Don't be so pissy. You know I'm joking," Yoongi chuckles, kissing your shoulder. His hands trail over your body, squeezing your clothed chest before delving between your thighs, but you remain emotionless.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Yoongi jokes, kissing the point in your neck that makes you ticklish.

"That's not funny," you scoff, trying to hide the smile dying to come out.

"You're right, it's not," Yoongi agrees, "I'm sorry, Blue." He props his head on your shoulder with a pout, despite your messy blue hair tickling his face.

"I'm sorry too," you say rather unwillingly, turning to him.

"That's my girl," Yoongi smiles, gripping your chin to kiss you.

You squeal when he stands up, taking you to the bedroom to finish what he started.

○●○●○●○●○●

One fall afternoon, you bring Yoongi lunch to the store. He received a big batch of inventory and missed his lunch hour. Your hours at work are flexible, so you stop by one of the restaurants near the store and pick up his favorite.

"Yoongs, I'm here," you call out, not seeing him by the register.

"Back here, Blue!" You only see his hand waving from behind a pile of boxes. You leave the food at the counter and go around the boxes to see him sitting on a small stool organizing the new batch of CDs.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you kiss his cheek. "Come eat before it gets cold."

"One second," he mutters, stacking the CDs in a neat pile before he stands.

"Hi," he smiles at you pecking your waiting lips. You walk back to the front of the store with his hand in yours.

You and Yoongi keep a pleasant conversation going as he eats and checks out customers simultaneously. Some clients come with questions you're more than happy to take care of. All the time you've spent at the store paying off. When he's finished and the store is empty of customers, he pulls you between his legs. Instantly, you know what he wants. It's his favorite thing in the world.

"Don't act so cocky," he murmurs against your lips.

"You're too cute." Your giggle is cut short by a kiss. Yoongi moves his lips expertly against yours, stealing your breath away. His arms keep you close to him, you also feel his tail by your side as if trying to curl around you.

A moan is heard through the empty store when Yoongi nips at your bottom lip. He smiles into the kiss, proud of himself. You're so reactive to his touch. He doesn't have to do much to get you like putty on his hands.

One of his palms sneaks under your shirt, meeting with the band of your bra. Yoongi's thumb brushes over the cup, teasing at how close he is. In turn, you find yourself palming him over his jeans. He's not fully hard, holding back if anyone walks into the store.

"Don't start something you can't finish," Yoongi tells you, kissing up and down your neck.

"We can flip that sign around and go to the back room," you pant as Yoongi leaves open-mouthed kisses against your jaw.

Yoongi is about to agree when the bell at the top of the door jingles obnoxiously. Jumping apart, you keep your distance. It's an older woman who barely spares a glance towards the two of you. She continues on her way, searching for whatever. 

You pout at Yoongi, who only shrugs, pecking your cheek. The woman then appears with an old cassette of an even older artist. Yoongi had those in the back of the store with a few cassette players. He says it's for the old music teachers who reject the artists of this generation. It's a business, and he needs something for everyone.

He rings her out and hands her the paper bag. The old woman looks between the two of you with an indignant look. "Honey, you can do so much better." She says with a frail voice filled with audacity.

Yoongi tenses beside you and is about to say something to the lady when you stop him, "What are you trying to say?" You ask in a daring tone. You need to know if this woman has the guts to voice her thoughts.

"That you can do so much better than a filthy hybrid. They are beneath us, just like any other animal would be. Why don't you find yourself a nice human boy to settle with?" She states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Yoongi sags at the woman's words. He's fine being humiliated alone but not in front of you. It's just a reality check that your situation is just a thing in passing. You'll never truly like him or see him as your equal.

"First of all, lady, I don't need a man or a hybrid to settle or take care of me. I can do that perfectly fine. Second, this man you want to say is beneath me is the most kindhearted, loving, hard-working man I've ever met. Not to mention he's the hottest too. Now take your old ass cassette and never come back." You don't scream or raise your voice. You talk in a steady dangerous tone, and by the end, you are leaning against the counter, facing the woman. 

She looks at you as if you've cursed her whole family. The moment you finish talking, she almost runs out of the store. Clearly, she hadn't expected that reaction. She probably wanted to rile Yoongi up to try and prove some stupid point she thinks she has about hybrids.

Turning to Yoongi, he's staring at you with a lustful look, "You really think that?"

"I do," you say, giving him the reassurance he desperately needs.

Yoongi steps around you, reaching for the sign on the door and turning it around to 'closed.' He grabs your hand when he returns, pulling you to the backroom. You barely get there when he pushes you against the door, kissing you feverishly. The way you stood up to the woman and defended him got Yoongi fired up.

"I fucking adore you," he gruffs before smashing his lips on yours. 

He kisses you bruisingly hard, pouring all of his feelings into it. You reciprocate his eagerness, folding your arms around his neck. You didn't realize that defending Yoongi almost made him say those three little words. He's conscious it's far too soon for that, and maybe the heat of the moment made him think of them. Still, he needs to get the 'I love you' out of his system somehow, and what better way than fucking you in his back room. 

"All this because I spoke up?" You giggle between kisses though it's interrupted by Yoongi sneaking his tongue into your mouth. 

Yoongi is in a frenzy, squeezing any part of your body he can reach; your thighs, your ass, your arms, your back, your chest. He needs to feel you close, closer than ever before. With each touch, you moan into his mouth. If he didn't love kissing you so much, he'd allow himself to listen to them. 

When you and Yoongi have sex, you always get on your knees first. You enjoy watching him struggle and get all flustered. His fingers knotting in your hair to get what he wants, making him believe he's the one in control. What can you say other than you find pleasure in giving him head? 

It works out because as giving as Yoongi is behind closed doors, he's a selfish lover. He is quick to take what he wants from you; your hands, your breasts, your mouth, your cunt. You get pleasure along the way, he draws orgasm after orgasm from you, but it's all a ruse as he gets the most out of it. Whether it's your taste, your touch, or your mellifluous voice chanting his name. You make him feel victorious. 

Today though, the roles are reversed as Yoongi breaks the kiss and drops to his knees. It's all about you at this moment; you've given him enough pleasure by defending him. You're lost in the moment; you don't question Yoongi's behavior. For you, this was just another horny adventure between the two of you. 

The kneeling cat hybrid bunches the skirt up to your hips and pulls your panties down your legs in one swift movement. His actions are firm yet careful. Decided. He hasn't even touched you, and yet you're breathing heavily. Yoongi leaves wet kisses from your stomach down to your mound. Grabbing your leg, he props it over his shoulder, giving him perfect access to your center. 

It's no secret you are wet. You have been from the moment Yoongi teased you earlier. Your body is somehow always ready for him. It doesn't help that you found everything he does sexy. Your breath hitches when his tongue licks a stripe from your opening to your clit, brushing over it with precise pressure. 

Your fist finds its place in his hair, right between his cat ears. You buck your hips with each lick and suck, Yoongi's name falling from your lips. He only keeps his eyes trained on your flushed face and swollen lips. His grip on your thighs keeps you grounded as they clench each time you close your eyes for too long. Yoongi needs you to see him worshiping you on his knees. 

It's a vicious pattern that Yoongi sticks to. Flicking your clit, fucking you with his tongue, nipping your thighs. It's enough and too much all at once. You'd be on the floor if it wasn't for the wall behind you.  

Yoongi's feline-like eyes indicate he is enjoying this as they reflect his playfulness. Your heel digging into his back and your thighs tightening around him betray you, giving it away that you're close. Not like you were hiding it as curses left your lips. 

Keeping a steady rhythm, he brings you to the edge and over the cliff. A selfless act 'cause if it were up to him, he'd edge you until you were begging and weeping. Your juices drip like a stream, and he acts like a man who spent the last year in the desert. Not a drop goes to waste. 

Only when you lightly nudge him back does Yoongi stand from the floor. His grip on you does not ease as he stabilizes your swaying form. It doesn't take a genius to figure out you're weak in the knees. 

"Fucking delicious," Yoongi purrs as he shares your taste with a kiss. Fear overtakes him at the thought of never savoring you again. There's no one as addicting as you, so sweet and intoxicating. 

You grab onto his shirt, tilting your head to kiss him deeply. It's then that you feel his hard cock pressing against you. Poor kitty is being so good to you. Usually, he would've complained by now.  

Yoongi breathes into your ear as if on cue, "I need you, Blue."  

"You have me, Yoongi," you reassure him, pulling his clothes, desperate to get them off. 

You unbuckle Yoongi's belt and pop the button off his pants, digging your hand underneath to grip his cock. He is warm and heavy on your palm. Yoongi releases a throaty moan as you pump his cock, squeezing him lightly. 

You kiss the column of his throat as he throws his head back in pleasure. Releasing him momentarily, you take off your sweater, making you hot and sweaty. Running out of patience, Yoongi pulls the cups of your bra down. 

He turns you around by grabbing you by the shoulders. You brace your hands against the wall. From behind, Yoongi fondles your breast, pinching your pebbled nipples. He pecks your naked shoulder, biting when he ruts against your ass. 

"I can't hold it anymore," Yoongi groans.

"Fuck me, Yoongi," you whine, arching your back and lifting up your skirt. 

Yoongi spreads one of his hands on your upper back, forcing you to lean forward. With the other, he grabs his member, teasing you with the tip. Your arousal coats him instantly, and with one swift thrust, he forces his cock into you. 

Both of you moan in unison. The pace is slow at first until Yoongi starts thrusting faster and harder. His grip is tight around your waist; you wouldn't be surprised to find marks there later. You remove one of the hands from the wall to find Yoongi's. He holds it against your waist, squeezing it every so often. His groans are like music to your ears. The way his voice gets deeper and raspy, you could cum just by hearing him speak. 

Your walls feel so good around him. You'd tighten around him every so often; it would make him falter. The more you tense around him, the closer he gets. He pulls your back to him, so you're pressed against him. Yoongi buries his head on your neck, breathing in your sweet scent and a hand between your legs. He clumsily rubs your clit, making you climax in no time. It's perfect as the waves of pleasure push him to spill into your warm pussy. 

There's a moment where you both stay in that same position, catching your breath. Yoongi is inside you, his head on your neck, arms wrapped around your stomach. You hold onto him as best as you can with your eyes closed. He's so close to saying, 'I love you,' but fear of rejection stops him. He could live without you knowing but not without you. 

You shudder when he slips out of you. If it were up to him, he'd take you home and do it all over again, but you're expected back at work. Yoongi quickly helps you clean up and find your clothes strewn around the back room. Which is easier said than done. 

"Shit, I have to go," you exclaim after reading a text. 

"What happened?" Yoongi asks, handing you your sweater that had been covering a lamp. 

"I have a meeting in half an hour," you mumble, putting on your sweater. 

You rush out of the music store with a quick look in the mirror and sore legs. Your colleague is waiting for you when you open your office door. When you sit on your chair, you realize something is off. 

You don't have any panties on. Yoongi, that fucking sneaky cat must've kept them. 

    ○●○●○●○●○●

It had been a long week for you, with many deadlines and projects. Yoongi knows how hard you push yourself, so he worries when he calls to see how your day is and doesn't receive the response he usually gets. Something is wrong with you; that's all Yoongi knows. Yoongi changes quickly and gets takeout knowing you probably still need to eat.

He arrives at your apartment in record time, pulling out the key from his pocket to unlock your door. Yoongi has been spending so much time with you, you thought it would be easier if he had a key to your place. A week later, he gave you a key to his place. It was only fair.

He searches the familiar apartment, trying to find you, but you're not there. You're home, though, as your keys hand from the hook and your comforting scent welcomes him. He knocks on your bedroom door, and slowly, he opens the door. You're not on the bed, but that's when he sees the light coming from the bathroom.

"Blue?" He calls out from behind the door.

"I'm here," your quiet voice responds with a sniffle.

He opens the door to find you in the tub, hidden by soap bubbles. Your eyes are red-rimmed and wet. The addition of your red nose confirms you've been crying for a while.

"What's wrong, Blue?" Yoongi tenderly asks, kneeling by the tub to be eye to eye.

"Just had a horrible day at work," you sniff, hiding your face with fading blue hair. It's ironic how it matches your mood. "And my damn hormones are making things worse."

"You want to talk about it?"

You shake your head no as tears fill your eyes again. Work has been stressful this past week, with so many deadlines and little inspiration. The more you work, the less motivation you have. You've only been working at the company for 3 years. How will you manage to do it your whole life?

"Want cuddles?" Yoongi asks, brushing your hair out of your face.

Seeing you shake your head, yes, he undresses and gets into the tub with you. The fact you're on your period does nothing to impede him. It's just blood.

He hugs your shoulders and makes you lean against his chest. The water is hot enough to turn his skin pink and make him sweat, but his goal right now is to comfort you.

Yoongi kisses your head and lays his cheek on the top of your head. Feeling another wave of frustration and pain, tears pour out of your eyes. Knowing what you need, Yoongi gently massages your abdomen to ease the painful cramps. It's meant to be an act of both emotional and physical comfort.

"I'm sorry I'm crying over nothing. It's so stupid." Your hand rises from the water to wipe away your tears, yet it stops midway and falls back into the steaming tub of water. It's pointless; more will retake their place.

"It's not stupid, Blue," he whispers in your ear. "What you're feeling is real; the only way you'll feel better is to let it out." Yoongi is familiar with pain. It's like an old friend, always in the back of his mind.

Yoongi's words cause more tears to fall into the bath water. You're sad and angry, and frustrated at everything except for Yoongi. You're happy he's there with you, the highlight of your day. There's no way you're letting him go from your life. The past boyfriends you've had never treated you the way Yoongi does. They were alright. They just didn't pay attention to details.

With the water turning cold Yoongi gets out to heat up dinner. He sets up the table with a candle in the middle. You're a romantic; it'll cheer you up. You shuffle into the kitchen area with the hoodie he left in the bathroom and sweatpants. Yoongi smiles sweetly at you, motioning you over.

He had placed the plates facing each other, but you take yours and put it beside his, scraping the chair over the floor to sit beside him.

"Thank you." You kiss his cheek and begin to eat.

With him being right-handed and you being left-handed, there is no way he can hold your hand while you eat. Still, you feel his tail brushing against your back, providing that comfort.

○●○●○●○●○●

"There he is! The man of the hour!" A blonde man called Jimin yells, seeing Yoongi walk into his apartment.

"I'm surprised he even remembered how to get here," the fox hybrid Jin adds, uncorking a wine bottle.

Those two men are his best and only friends. Yoongi ignores them both, dropping his backpack on the couch. He first met Jin at the supermarket, where a man was throwing off-hand comments, and the hybrid fox stepped in. He acted as if he had known Yoongi all his life and glared at the man, bearing his teeth. The man left, instantly scared that he might get bitten. Jin laughed in pure glee. His fangs might be sharper than humans, but the rest are the same. He loves scaring humans; they are so stupid.

Different from when you defended him, Yoongi was less enthusiastic with Jin. He got into an argument with Jin about how they would get kicked out, what people might think, and a whole dilemma on hybrids' appearances going downhill because of people like Jin. This was 8 years ago when Yoongi was young and much more insecure than he is now. Jin has been the one to help him ease up and accept himself.

Yoongi's still figuring out how Jimin came to be. He was Jin's coworker; the fox had invited him to hang out with him and Yoongi. The rest is history. He's never left them alone since. It took a long time for Yoongi to warm up to him, though he thinks it was part of Jin's therapy to make him more tolerant of humans. Not all of them are bad people.

"You're being exaggerated," Yoongi gruffs, sitting on the kitchen's bar stool.

"Exaggerated? We haven't seen you in nearly two months," Jin scolds him. His voice is reprimanding, but his body movements are smooth and controlled as he places a wine glass in front of Yoongi.

"What has you so busy, Yoongi?" Jimin curiously asks. He takes a swing of the wine glass, grimacing at the dryness of it. He's always preferred white wine.

"Nothing, I wanted some distance from you two always annoying me," Yoongi jests, ignoring their complaints.

"Or counteroffer he has a girlfriend," Jin then says knowingly, "That usually gets people busy." Yoongi's silence confirms his suspicions. Jin's tail puffs up in victory.

"Pay up, Jiminie!"

"Fuck," Jimin whines, patting his pockets and pretending to look for his wallet, "I left my wallet in the car."

Jin rolls his eyes at the lies. It's okay because he knew Yoongi had a girlfriend before they made a bet. Last week, he had walked by the store to see Yoongi and saw the two of you all chummy. Jin hovered outside for a minute, debating whether he should make himself known. Ultimately, he chose against it knowing Yoongi likes his privacy, especially regarding his love life.

"You were betting on me?" Yoongi exclaims in outrage. They're always betting on silly things. This is the first time they bet on their best friend. Their gambling problem is officially a problem.

"Don't ask stupid questions. Of course, we were," Jin laughs, his black pointy ears flat on his head.

"So the girlfriend? Is she hot? Have you played cat and mouse?" Jimin asks. Yoongi instantly kicks him under the table.

In the 6 years of being friends, Jimin has only witnessed one person leaving Yoongi's apartment, which was a sexy mouse hybrid. That day he also learned that Yoongi plays both ways. Ever since, he teases Yoongi by calling sex 'playing cat and mouse.'

"This was too good to be true," Yoongi huffs. This is why Jin invited them to a dinner he would cook.

Jin refuses to cook outside of his job. He's a chef at a Michelin-star restaurant, and when he's at home, he'll eat frozen dinners or takeout. A paradox of sorts, really. While Jin enjoys cooking, it also feels like a chore, so he won't do it at home. Part of it is his ego; he wants the praise that comes with being an incredible chef.

When Yoongi received the text from Jimin that Jin was cooking he almost ran to Jin's place. A free gourmet dinner? Sign him up. Despite being misled Yoongi stays. He can entertain Jimin and Jin for a few hours. There's food being prepared and multiple bottles of wine on the kitchen counter.

One glass of wine in, and he tells them the bare minimum of his relationship. Two drinks in, and he tells them you were the one to ask him on a date.

Jin is so proud to hear she is human, he's done a great job with Yoongi. Part of Jin's plan is to get him tipsy enough to loosen his tongue, which is why he picked one of the dishes that take the longest to cook. Is it wrong? Possibly, but if he doesn't do it, Yoongi will never give any info.

"She's so cute," Yoongi giggles sipping on the fifth glass, "She defended me the other day when some bitch said she deserved better."

"I take it you're happy, Yoongi?" Jimin asks him, head propped up in his hands. He's more than tipsy, getting carried away by the expensive wine Jin bought.

"I thought I was happy as I was, but then she was just there, and I got so excited when she visited the store. She's soft and kind and doesn't complain about all the kisses. She liked when I purred!" Yoongi says as if it's an outrage.

"We like it when you purr, you ungrateful cat!" Jin shouts, waving around the wooden spoon, splatters of food staining the counter.

"No, you guys tease me about it," Yoongi argues.

"That doesn't mean we don't like it!"

They don't get around to eating Jin's delicious food because they are all too drunk to think when it's done. Jin got too carried away with the timing of the food. Jimin tapped out first, disappearing from the kitchen. Jin and Yoongi resisted longer as their hybrid bodies metabolized alcohol slower.

Yoongi, who is usually quiet, can't stop talking about you. Jin, who is a total gossip, is eating up his words. It's a clear indication the pair is wasted. That and the fourth empty bottle of cabernet.

"Jin, I swear she's driving me insane. She's insatiable, and I fucking love it," Yoongi smiles widely. He's lovestruck and way too drunk. You would surely be furious if you heard how he was talking about your relationship.

"Wow, you finally found someone that keeps up with you." Jin is astonished. Yoongi has a high sex drive. When Jin got him to go out clubbing, he would always leave with someone. Hell, there were times when Yoongi would have someone with him during his heats. He had all the contacts.

"God, she has given me the best head of my fucking life, and she loves it too, always on her fucking knees. Look at this."

Yoongi doesn't think as he pulls a Polaroid out of his wallet. Given your hobby of photography, you have many cameras around the apartment. One day, he didn't hesitate to reach out and snap a pic.

It's a picture of you on your knees, Yoongi's cock in your tiny hand, and your blue hair in two braids barely covering your chest. Yoongi's ring-clad hand is holding your cheeks, forcing you to open your mouth to show his white cum in your mouth.

"Lucky son of a bitch," Jin gasps, staring wide-eyed at the photograph. Yoongi is too drunk to realize how bad it is that he's sharing a picture made only for his eyes. Luckily, Jin is too drunk to remember it in the morning.

Laughing loudly, Yoongi stumbles into Jin's living room. The fox is behind him, yelling at him for rubbing in his face his thriving sex life. Jin feels guilty about the tightness in his pants, he can't help it. He has been single for too long and his job keeps him busy leaving no room for one-night stands. The only release is the one his hand provides.

Yoongi trips on Jimin, sleeping on the floor, his chubby cheek squishing onto the carpet. The room is spinning for the cat hybrid; he barely manages to fall on the couch face down, getting knocked out instantly.

The following day Yoongi wakes up with a splitting headache and a kink in his neck. He stumbles into the kitchen to get water and finds a puffy-faced Jin. He has a spoon in his hand as he eats the untouched food from last night straight from the pot.

"I'm a culinary genius," he talks with his mouth full.

Yoongi grabs the spoon Jin offers him and digs in. He moans at how delicious it is, even if it's cold and he's not quite sure what it is. This is what he came for last night.

"How did I let you fool me again?" Yoongi wonders. It's not the first time Jin has done something like this to get him to join them.

Despite their headaches, both hybrids laugh loudly, the older one choking on the food. Yoongi laughs louder, patting him on the back. He loves his two friends; it's just that he loves being on his own, too, and they can be clingy as fuck. He appreciates it when they reach out, though.

Jimin appears in the doorway with an indignant look on his face. "Some of us are trying to sleep. What has the two of you giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls?"

○●○●○●○●○●

"Help."

Yoongi looks up from the sofa seeing you with your hair parted in chunks. There are strands of hair with blue hair dye and others without.

"What are you doing?" He stands, walking over to you to assess the situation.

"I can't reach the back," you say sheepishly. Whenever you dye your hair, you have friends with you to help you out. Hoseok has helped you a bunch of times as he's used to dyeing his hair. Your brother helps out too, seeing as he learned when he was a teenager to help you out.

You thought you could do it today on your own; you were desperate to revive your hair to the bright blue that you love. You were wrong because it got too messy and complicated as soon as you got to the strands in the back.

Yoongi sighs but follows you into the bathroom. He puts on a pair of gloves and, with your instructions, applies the blue hair dye. He'll be here a while; you have long hair and a lot of it. He hopes you have another dye tube because the one on the tray won't be enough.

"You're doing it wrong," you say for the third time since he started.

Yoongi pulls your hair lightly, forcing your head back to look up at him. He glares at you in warning; he's running out of patience. You reciprocate the glare. "Ouch."

"You're the one that needs help. Tone it down," Yoongi sighs angrily, brushing the dye on the top of your head.

"I'm just saying you're not adding enough," you snap, annoyed at Yoongi.

You should've known better than to ask for Yoongi's help; you're too much of a perfectionist. You're friends know you well enough already to handle your perfectionism. Still, it's something Yoongi has yet to see much of and needs to learn.

"No, you are saying it a whole other thing entirely. I'm no expert and doing you a favor, I don't need all the reprimanding." Yoongi argues, looking at you through the bathroom mirror.

"Fine then, leave," you grit, snatching the paintbrush from his hands to try and do it on your own.

Yoongi blows air out of his nose in anger, taking off his gloves on the way out of the apartment. He puts on his jacket and slams the door behind him.

Angrily you finish applying the hair dye. At this point, you don't care if it ends up patchy. That infuriates you more. While you wait to wash your hair, you slam each drawer and door in your apartment.

In the shower, you cool down and think of what you did again. Maybe, you were a little rough and reacted wrong. You didn't mean for it to come out as it did. Hurrying out of the shower, you get dressed in the first thing you find and leave for Yoongi's to apologize to your kitty.

Yoongi is at home staring at the TV. It plays a random action movie he can't bother paying attention to. You completely ruined his peaceful mood. His ears are flat on his back, clearly showing his anger. You had no reason to treat him that way, he always helps you out, comforts you, treats you like a damn queen, and then you repay him by acting like a total bitch.

He knows it's you when he hears the door. If you're here, you're probably going to apologize. He lets you knock a few more times out of sheer spite. When he opens it, he sees you with flowers and wine, and without a word, he lets you in.

You instantly catch that his mood could be better. Fair enough. "I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. I have no excuse for it."

"I'm glad you see it that way because I do every single fucking thing you want, and I don't warrant that type of treatment," he huffs, letting some of his frustration out.

"You don't have to do everything I want," you say passively, avoiding another argument. You leave the gifts on the kitchen counter.

"You don't get it?" Yoongi chuffs in disbelief, crossing his arms.

"Get what?"

"I do all those things because I like you and want to make you happy. When you treat me like I'm stupid, it drives me nuts. I don't deserve that."

"You're right, you don't," you agree instantly, "I understand if you want me to leave."

With your head hung, you reach for the door. You think that's what he means with his words. You think he's tired of you that you pushed him away with your bitch mood. You didn't mean to act that way; it just comes out sometimes, especially when you're PMSing.

"Come back, you idiot," Yoongi sighs.

Yoongi grabs your arm, slamming you against the door and kissing you hotly. How you irritate him drives him crazy, but you're not perfect, and neither is he. He'd rather work through it than let you go.

Your hands go under his oversized t-shirt, your nails dragging down his abdomen. Yoongi hisses in pain and wraps one of his hands against your throat, squeezing lightly.

"Don't ever speak to me like that, understood?" His voice is low and commanding.

You stare at him with wide eyes, feeling a wave of arousal. It's no secret that Yoongi has that effect on you, and it amplifies when he gets controlling like this.

"Say it, Blue." Yoongi repeats, tightening the fingers around your neck.

"I understand, Yoongi," you say seductively.

With his hand still around your neck, he smashes his lips on yours, teeth and tongue included. Your arms go around him, lightly tugging on his black tail, and his hips thrust as soon as you do. It never fails to surprise him. You've learned so much in the short time you've been with him.

Yoongi hoists you up, wrapping your legs around him, letting him carry you to his bedroom. The door slams against the wall as he indelicately drops you in the bed.

"Take off your clothes," he orders, sitting on the bed. He watches you with hard eyes, waiting for you to do as he says. "Today, Blue," he scorns when you take too long for his liking.

You don't know what's gotten into him, but you like it. Starting with your hoodie-the hoodie he left behind- you reveal a pretty white bra with flower details. Your leggings go next, then your bra, and lastly, your panties. Yoongi barely reacts, motioning you to continue with each piece you take off.

"Lay on the bed," he points with his head.

You crawl onto the bed, laying on the fluffy pillows that spill with his cologne. You're expecting him to join you, you couldn't be more wrong.

"Touch yourself," Yoongi nonchalantly speaks, tongue poking at his cheek in annoyance.

"W-What?" It shouldn't be a big deal you've had sex with Yoongi many times before, but this is different. Touching yourself is something you do in private, not under your boyfriend's scrutinizing gaze.

"Touch yourself, Blue. I know you do it. You think I haven't seen the toys you hide?" He mocks you with a mean smirk.

"Yoongi, I-"

"Touch yourself, now, and look at me while you do," he snaps, sending you a glare.

If you were to say no, that would be the end of it. Yoongi wouldn't force you to do anything you didn't want. He's confident you'd enjoy this, though…to an extent.

Complying, you begin by massaging your breasts, pulling on your hard nipples just like he does when he touches you. Shyly one hand trails down your stomach, and you open your legs, revealing your pussy that Yoongi happens to love so much. It's not an assumption. He's vocalized it many times. He swears he can cum just by looking at it.

Circling your clit with your fingers, you moan his name, calling him to take you. He ignores you, fixating on your actions. A single digit slides between your folds as it easily enters you. You're soaked. It's never the same as when he does it, not as satisfying.

Yoongi notices the glistening of your juices from the foot of the bed, small wet sounds come from your body, along with your whines for him. Your eyes close in instinct while you chase pleasure.

"Open your eyes." You obey his command, your eyes focusing on his face as he licks his lips. You insert two fingers, pumping them steadily, giving him the show he desires.

"How does it feel?" Yoongi inquires, holding your knees open with his strong hands when they clench at the pleasure you're bringing to yourself. He's kneeling right in front of you, entranced.

"Fucking good," you pant, your hand reaching for the one on your knee.

"Better than when I do it?" He asks, lacing your fingers together.

"No, never," you gasp. Yoongi's fingers know you better than you do yourself. They reach depths you've never explored. They are agile and strong due to his talent on the piano. He would touch you just as he does the keys softly at first, adding force when needed and caressing lightly once the piece's climax is over. Always ready to go again and again until he perfect's it.

"Add another one," Yoongi purrs. You've taken his cock many times now. You're always tight but so ready for him.

You replicate his movements when he touches you, curving your fingers until you find that spot. The squelching sound intensifies when you add that third finger, it's music to Yoongi's ears.

A high-pitched yell from you informs him of all he needs to know, "That's it, you found it, haven't you?"

"Yes," you say in a high-pitched moan, your legs try to clench, but Yoongi's strong hands impede you.

"Stop," he says before you cum, "I said stop, Blue!" he roars when you ignore him. You are so close. His hand grips your wrist, forcing you to stop. You open your eyes, hadn't realized they were closed.

"You never listen. Do you?" Yoongi condescendingly mutters.

"I'm sorry," you say, out of breath, hoping he'll join you to finish you off.

He shakes his head, ignoring your apology, "Go on, Lick your fingers."

Obediently you bring your fingers to your lips, licking them clean as per his orders.

"You taste delicious, don't you?"

"Mhm, but you're better." Your eyes are hopeful he'll have his way with you now.

"Too bad 'cause you're not getting it today," he mocks with a fake pout.

"What?" You ask, bewildered.

"Not after what you did today," he says, dipping one of his fingers between your fold, making you shiver. He brings that same finger to his lips, tasting you.

"Yoongi, I said I was sorry," you argue, sitting up on the bed, begging for him.

"And that changes what?" He cocks an eyebrow at your words.

He grabs your chin and kisses you deeply. You numbly follow along before he pulls away, "Get dressed and come out. There's a new episode of that show you like. Oh, and don't you dare cum."

"I don't get it! I'm here begging for you, and you won't touch me." You're upset, but more than that, you're horny. Yoongi is a drug you can't get enough of, and being denied of him sends you into a frenzy. "Wasn't my apology enough?"

"Blue, I forgave you the moment you got here," Yoongi smiles at you sweetly.

"Then why?" You ask, your shoulders slumping.

"Well, just because I forgave you doesn't mean you don't need a punishment."

"And no sex was the way to go. You could do so much better, Yoongi?" You taunt him, thinking this is the way he'll give you what you want.

"Says the girl who couldn't keep her hands to herself and brought me to her apartment on the second date," Yoongi teases her.

"Are you slut shaming me?" You gasp in disbelief.

"No, I'm just saying when it comes to me, you have no control," he shrugs.

"Please, next time I'm mad at you, we'll see who has no control," you pout, gathering your clothes strewn on the floor.

"Probably you. We know how you get when you're mad," Yoongi winks.

You wanted him, he was decided, though, and a stubborn Yoongi always wins. You get dressed again, only in his hoodie, hoping he changes his mind. He doesn't. He acts as if the fight never happened, cuddles you, and kisses you, but that night he doesn't touch you the way you want, ignoring all your advances.

The following day is a different story as Yoongi fucks you like you want, ravaging your body. Everything he held back the day before he uses to his advantage. You didn't hold back one bit as you begged Yoongi to fuck you harder. The neighbors will surely complain to the landlord about the unholy noises coming from his room.

○●○●○●○●○●

“Ah,” Yoongi’s moans are hidden by the water falling from the shower. He’s right below the shower head, cold water covering his body. The past three months have gone by so quickly that his heat surprised him.

His back leans against the shower wall as he rubs himself under the cold water. His hips thrust into his hand in desperate need. Yoongi whines in discomfort; his peak is too hard to reach alone. He would call you, but he’s not ready yet. He is not in complete control when he’s in heat, Yoongi knows he’ll say things that will throw you off, and it’s not like you’ll even agree to help him in the first place. You love sex, and you love sex with Yoongi, but this is something else entirely.

Yoongi moans as he continues to pump his cock. It feels so good yet so painful at the same time. The more he reaches his climax, the more the pain intensifies. If he had you here, he’d have you against the wall as he fucks you from behind. The thought sends another wave of heat through his body.

In his horny haze, he remembers something he stole from you, a little piece of you. He shuts off the water, not bothering to dry himself. He has the panties he stole from you that day at the shop on his nightstand drawer. They have your scent attached to them. Should be enough to let him cum.

Yoongi lies on his bed, sweat, and water sticking to the bed sheets. He grabs the soft fabric and envelops it in his aching length. Yoongi fists his length, imagining he’s with you, how your hands tighten around his cock, or how you like to choke on it when giving him head. Your tight fucking pussy always feels so good. He always needs to stretch you out with his fingers. His moves quicken; the only noise in the room is his desperate moans calling for you, for his Blue. Reaching his orgasm, he covers your panties with his cum. Momentarily his temperature lowers, and his breathing slows as he catches his breath. The first day is the worst. He just needs to get over this day.

If he’d been single, he would’ve called other hybrids he knew and had helped him before. He has you know he doesn’t want to disrespect you or your relationship. He’d be thinking of you even if he’s with someone else. Due to this, through the next two days, his hand becomes his best friend.

                      ○●○●○●○●○●

It’s your six-month anniversary today, and after a romantic date, you and Yoongi desperately enter your apartment. Hands are everywhere, lips are swollen, and sex is in the air. Yoongi teased you all night under the dinner table, refusing to give you what you wanted. Your begging in his ear to fuck you in the car or bathroom not working in your favor.

The door to your apartment bangs against the wall as you push it open. Yoongi pushes you into the room, slamming the door behind him. He likes to think he has it memorized. He pulls your leg around his waist, grinding against you. You moan as he buries his head on your neck.

A cough and the scent of another hybrid force Yoongi to stop in his tracks. With narrowed eyes, he pulls away from your neck. A bunny hybrid stands at the living room entrance, a corn popsicle in his hand.

“For fucks sake Jungkook,” you say under your breath, creating distance between you and Yoongi. “How many times have I told you to call ahead?”

“I did, though! I sent you a message this morning,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his ice cream.

“The message says ‘What’s up?’” You read the message, expecting to see another one following up with an announcement of his visit. The bunny shrugs like it’s not his problem, and you sigh in annoyance.

Yoongi is confused, to say the least. Who is this stranger in your living room? Noticing his expression, you quickly introduce the two hybrids.

“Yoongi, this is my brother Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s confusion rises to a new degree; something is not adding up. Jungkook catches on to his train of thought, and with a chuckle, he adds, “Adopted.”

You had never mentioned your brother was a hybrid. You’ve been dating for six months, and that never came up once. He wonders why that is. It would explain the light hybrid scent in your apartment. Yoongi always thought it came from one of your neighbor’s apartments.

“Nice to meet you, Jungkook,” Yoongi coughs to ease the tension.

“How long are you staying?” You ask your brother, crossing your arms against your chest. You are slightly upset, today is meant to be a celebration, and with Jungkook here, that can’t happen. Still, you’re not mad. You love Kook; he’s your best friend.

“Just the weekend, I got an exam on Tuesday,” Jungkook says.

“You look really nice,” he tells you, “Were you guys on a date?”

Yoongi nods solemnly. He’s not sure what to do in this situation. He thought when he’d meet your family, it wouldn’t be in such a compromising condition. Granted, Jungkook being a hybrid helped ease his nerves. He doesn’t have to worry about a stranger judging him or you for your relationship.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Jungkook grimaces in apology.

“Does mom know you’re here?” You ask him while walking to your room.

Clearly, Jungkook is here to stay, so you’ll change and get more comfortable. There’s no use in staying in the uncomfortable dress and lingerie you’d worn for Yoongi. You can save it for next time and surprise him with the black lace set.

“Nope,” he simply says, following you to your room.

You close the door behind you, and Jungkook continues the conversation on the other side. While you forgot to mention that Jungkook is a hybrid, you mentioned that he has no boundaries and easily gets very comfortable with people.

Feeling out of place, Yoongi waits for you on the couch. Maybe with Jungkook here, you wouldn’t like him to stay, or you’d leave with him to his place. The bunny hybrid carefully eyed him as if assessing if he was a good guy or not.

Jungkook almost falls when you open the door. You’ve changed into his hoodie, shorts, and geeky superhero socks. It’s been getting colder lately, making your feet feel freezing. Whenever you go to bed with Yoongi, you press your cold feet on his thigh, making him hiss. Then you’d remind him of his promise of keeping you warm six months ago.

“I couldn’t find the banana milk,” Jungkook pouts, following you around the apartment.

“It’s on the pantry’s lowest shelf,” you mention, flopping on the couch beside Yoongi.

You cuddle on his side when he wraps an arm around your shoulder. Jungkook returns to the living room, eyeing the both of you.

“Jungkook, don’t be so awkward,” you laugh at him, patting the seat beside you.

“I feel bad I interrupted you guys night,” he admits, flopping beside you like you did moments ago. It’s hard to say who got that from who.

“It’s no problem, Jungkook. I’m happy to finally meet you,” Yoongi adds that it’s no biggie.

Jungkook smiles at the both of you and finally eases up. He spends the rest of the night getting to know Yoongi better. You’re pleased they both get along well. If anything, Jungkook even looks up at Yoongi. When you told him you were dating a hybrid, Jungkook was ecstatic. He never mentioned it, but whenever you brought home your human boyfriends, they were always uncomfortable around Jungkook, which hurt him. 

They never understood his hybrid mannerisms. They’d begin thinking he was hitting on you after learning that he was adopted. Now with Yoongi, he won’t have that problem because he will understand.

At the end of the night, Yoongi stays. He’d offered to leave, but you didn’t see a point to it. Even if you do nothing tonight due to your guest’s heightened sense of hearing, you want him to stay to finish the celebration.

“So adopted?” Yoongi asks. He’s lying on your chest as your play with his hair. It calms him down.

“Mm, yes.”

As a teen, your mom had a friend, and she had a bunny girl hybrid as a servant. They didn’t treat her the best, but your mom was always kind to her, and they became somewhat friends. They kept in touch through the years. One day when you were 16 and Jungkook was 12, she died in a car accident. Some believe it was on purpose. 

At the time, she was working for a sketchy man, and he did unspeakable things to her that she could not repeat. By now, the law for hybrids had passed, and she was going to report him. The man followed her and ran over her with his car. Before she died in the hospital, she asked your mom to take care of Jungkook. You and Jungkook became best friends, and your parents gained another child.

“That was nice of your family,” Yoongi hums, caressing your leg.

Jungkook is lucky he was born after the law for hybrids was passed; hence, he was not separated from his mother and got to meet and get to know her. 

Yoongi never got to meet his mom, he doesn’t even have a name. If his memory is good, Jungkook still remembers her, or he has photographs. As soon as Yoongi was born, he was raised with other hybrid kids, and when Yoongi was old enough, he got sold to servitude.

“You should’ve seen him when he first moved in, shy and cute,” you gush over Jungkook. He had this wide-eyed innocent gaze. He always asked permission for everything and anything. It took your family a while to break that habit. It makes you laugh cause nowadays, he does as he wishes and has everyone wrapped around his little finger.

“Reminds me of someone,” Yoongi mentions, squeezing your thigh.

“That’s different. I was flustered by your dashing good looks!” you exclaim, lightly slapping his chest.

The following day you wake up bright and early to prepare breakfast. Jungkook walks in with his hair pointing in all directions. He kisses your cheek in greeting before sitting on the kitchen table. Like clockwork, you give him a glass of juice with a straw and a silicone tip. 

Jungkook likes biting on straws (on everything he can get his teeth on). When you stopped buying the plastics ones for the more environmentally friendly metal ones, Jungkook didn’t like that and began complaining about how he couldn’t bite into them. Falling for his whines, you bought a pack of silicone tips and then another, and then another cause he destroyed them with his bunny teeth.

“Have plans today?” You ask him, ruffling his messy hair. Jungkook leans into his touch, feeling comforted by the simple action.

“I think I’m gonna lazy around and play online if that’s okay,” he asks sweetly, knowing that otherwise you would scold him and tell him to go out and enjoy the fresh air. He doesn’t know that since you’ve been with Yoongi, you’ve turned more into a homebody.

“Of course. Yoongi and I will be heading out to work soon, but you call me if you need anything.”

You had prepared a stack of blueberry pancakes for all of you. You served Jungkook a big plate, knowing he eats like there’s no tomorrow. His bunny metabolism helps him with that, and his unrelenting energy. As you place the plate in front of Jungkook, he gently bites into your arm.

You sigh in defeat, knowing there’s no way for him to stop his biting. For years you’ve told him not to do it, but it’s an instinct of his. He does it when he’s angry, when he’s sleepy, when he’s happy, when he’s annoyed. What varies is how hard he does it.

Jungkook smiles mischievously, waiting for your complaint, but all you do is brush through his long dark hair, undoing the knots that form by his bunny ears. Just like Yoongi purrs, Jungkook makes a weird sound in the back of his throat whenever you touch him around his ears.

Yoongi, having woken up later than you, walks into the kitchen. He’s dressed in clothes he’s left here in the past months. He beelines for you, pecking your lips sweetly as you hand him a plate of pancakes.

“Morning, Jungkook,” Yoongi greets the younger boy.

“Morning, Yoongi,” Jungkook says with his mouth full of pancakes.

You sit between them, striking conversation between the three of you. It’s much easier than you thought, as Jungkook just asks question after question at Yoongi. He’s never felt more at ease with one of your boyfriends.

“Can I stop by the store later?” He asks Yoongi with puppy dog eyes.

“Sure, I’ll be there till 6,” Yoongi agrees with a soft smile. There is a lot of Jungkook that reminds him of you. While you are not biologically related, you’ve adapted to each other’s mannerisms.

In the afternoon, Jungkook stops by your office to have lunch. He always has a great time at your building since most people know him there. He hopes to work there after he graduates from university.

As promised, Jungkook then stops by Yoongi’s store. He has walked by the small shop many times but never stopped to go inside. The bell at the door jingles when Jungkook walks in. Yoongi has just finished checking out a customer.

“Hey, Kook.” Yoongi greets him, his black tail swishing behind him. He’s heard you call him Kook so many times it stuck.

“Hi, Yoongi,” Jungkook absentmindedly responds, staring around the store and its variety, from musical instruments to producing equipment to music albums of all kinds and formats.

“Your sister mentioned you were collecting vinyl?” Yoongi asks him, leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, I have a few,” Jungkook nods, looking at the cat hybrid, who offers him a sneaky smile.

“I pulled these out for you. I think you might like them.” Yoongi pulls out two pieces of vinyl still wrapped in plastic from the shelf behind him. Yoongi likes the bunny hybrid and sees how happy he makes you, so he doesn’t mind giving Jungkook a small gift.

“How do you have these?” Jungkook exclaims in awe. In his hands are two limited edition vinyls of his favorite artists. These have been sold out everywhere for a long time, and very few people sold them. Whenever they did the waitlist, the bids were ridiculous.

“I’ve got contacts,” Yoongi shrugs cockily.

“I have a feeling we’re gonna get along just fine,” Jungkook beams at him, gushing over the vinyl.

They spend quite a lot of time talking about music, and Yoongi is surprised at all the knowledge the bunny holds. There are things Yoongi thought only a few people knew, but Jungkook is proving him wrong here.

“Is there a reason you visited this weekend?” Yoongi smoothly asks Jungkook. He’s noticed some things about the bunny that lead him to think it’s not just to have a friendly visit.

“Nope, was tired of school,” Jungkook says, lying.

“Your sister has mentioned you like to skip a lot,” Yoongi adds. He’s staring out the window wanting to keep the bunny calm.

“I don’t skip that much,” Jungkook complains with a groan. His sister always exaggerates things, he barely misses school.

“Everything okay?” Yoongi inquires again.

“I know my sister worries, but I’m fine. You don’t have to do this.”

Since he came into your life, you’ve worried about Jungkook-or not so much about him but the people around him. Not everyone is tolerant of hybrids, and you know this. When he came into your life, you were already in high school, so you weren’t there to defend him when bullies bothered him. When he was 12, he wasn’t big and buff to scare people away as he is now. He was small and scrawny, your parents talked to the principal and the other parents, but there’s only so much they could do.

“She didn’t send me to do anything. I just noticed the bruise on your arm,” Yoongi points to Jungkook’s left arm.

“Don’t tell her,” Jungkook sighs, defeated. He’d tried to hide the bruise as best he could. “My roommate is an ass, and he’s always taunting me, calling me a helpless bunny. He’s provoking me. I usually leave because if I throw the first punch, I get expelled. My parents did a lot to get me into the school I wanted. I don’t want to let them down.”

“You’re doing good, Jungkook,” Yoongi says thoughtfully. He understands Jungkook’s predicament. No matter how well a hybrid does, one misstep can end it all.

“But?” Jungkook prompts, there’s always a but.

“You should tell someone, get you out of that dorm. Staying quiet will only get you so far,” Yoongi advices. From his perspective, Jungkook has a great support system and should take advantage of that.

“Maybe, I don’t want the attention, though, or for my family to worry,” Jungkook explains. They’ve done so much for him already. He doesn’t want to be a burden.

“Just think about it. Your sister is worrying and doesn’t know what’s happening.”

“You won’t tell her?” Jungkook pleads, finding Yoongi’s gaze. All he wants is to do this by himself.

“It’s not my place,” he reassures Jungkook with a nod.

Thinking of Yoongi’s words, Jungkook agrees. He’ll take care of this situation. He’ll apply for a new roommate or move in by himself. Next time something happens, he’ll speak up.

○●○●○●○●○●

One lazy morning, Yoongi stares at the ceiling. It’s too early to be up. His arm is around you as your head lies on his chest. He had woken up from a nightmare. It had been a while since he had one of those. Why is it that when things are going great, the universe reminds him of the horrible things he’s been through?

Yoongi feels you stir as you wake up. You stretch out your limbs before settling back in Yoongi’s chest.

“Why are you awake so early?” You yawn, kissing his exposed chest. Yoongi can’t sleep with many clothes on, or he’ll get too hot at night.

Yoongi hugs you close, kissing your head, “I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yoongi hasn’t told you much about his past life. When he talks about his past, it’s mainly the part of his life after Lee adopted him. You understand it’s something he wants to leave behind and respect it. It’s time, though, Yoongi thinks.

“When I was a kid before the law passed, I was owned by this family,” Yoongi begins, “Even though I was barely a child, they would have me do chores around the house, clean up their kids’ messes, and obey every little word they said. I remember their kids bullying me into acting ‘like the animal I was.’ They would make me eat off the floor and crawl around the house till my knees were bruised. They’d get physical too, pulling on my tail and ears till I cried.”

“I’m so sorry, Yoongi,” you say sadly. You can’t imagine a child going through that, yet it’s the reality many hybrids face.

“When the law passed, I was thrown into the streets. I was alone, cold, and hungry, eating off the trash like a stray. An old woman took me in. She was nice enough. She needed company, but more than that, she needed help around the house. Mostly, I went unscathed unless I did something she thought was out of line. That’s when she’d search for her dead husband’s belt and beat me with it. I never left, though. Where would I go? When she died, I was 14, and back to the streets, I went. I went to different hybrid and homeless shelters, but there was always some sort of problem with them, and they never offered a way to get out of the streets.”

“What did you do then?” Your hands are trailing up and down his stomach, offering some comfort.

“I came to this city, hoping there would be more resources. It was the same. That’s when things truly got worse….” Yoongi trails off, thinking of his past.

“Yoongs, you don’t have to,” You reassure him, getting in a position where you can see his face. His eyes are distant, so you touch his cheek and peck his lips.

“I want you to know,” he slowly responds.

“Okay,” you nod, offering him a small smile that you hoped comforted him.

“There was this sketchy guy I always saw around, and one day he asked me if I wanted to make some money. He knew I did, and he used that to his advantage. He had customers all around the city with different tasks. All I had to do was go to the addresses he gave me, do whatever they wanted me to do, and leave. And I did, at first, it was stupid stuff to help an older man with a yard, clean a house, or do a delivery. When he had my trust, things got sketchier delivering mystery packages to rundown houses, watching some people and reporting back to him, and transporting vehicles from one side of town to another.

Until one day, he said he had an extra special job for me. All I had to do was go to an apartment in the middle of the city. I went, and there, a lady greeted me. It was unlike anything I had ever done before; she complimented me. She led me to this false sense of security and then took what she wanted.” Yoongi pauses, remembering that horrible day, “Turns out they pay a lot for hybrids in heat.”

You think of Jungkook and what would’ve been of him if your family hadn’t taken him in. Your poor Jungkook wouldn’t have survived what Yoongi went through. His heart has always been too pure, too gentle. More so, you feel pain for Yoongi for having to go through it. What he’s been through is some people’s worst nightmare, and he had to go through it all alone.

“I left after that day, didn’t accept the money that came with it or any other tasks offered to me. I spent a year in the streets, barely scraping by and hiding in alleys. There was the music store I always walked by, and one day I gathered the courage to walk in. Lee instantly spotted me and watched me as I played a few keys on the piano. An instrument that has been there for most of my life. The first family I had owned one, and I got to learn the basics by watching their kid’s lessons. The old lady had one, too, that she let me use. She actually liked when I played.

I played a song lightly on Lee’s display piano, and when I finished, Lee was there watching me. He asked me if I needed a job, and despite me showing him I was a homeless hybrid, he didn’t care. Turns out Lee had lost a son due to an illness, and he saw something of his son in me. I was hesitant initially, but Lee always proved to be an honorable man. That’s where I’ve stayed until now, repaying him for everything he did for me.”

When he finishes the story, you have tear tracks down your face. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t deserve to. After all, you were not the one to go through that stuff, yet you felt for Yoongi. You felt the pain in his voice and the injustices he had to go through. His memories still haunt him through his dreams when he should be resting peacefully in the safety of his home.

“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.” Your voice is watery as you try to voice your thoughts, “I’m so happy that you found Lee and that you’ve found happiness because it’s all you deserve and more.”

“I love you, Blue,” Yoongi confesses for the first time, sitting on the bed. “It’s why I’m telling you, I love you, and you need to know my past before it’s too late.” He needed you to know in case you decided to leave.

“I love you too, Yoongi,” you cry out happily, holding his cheeks in your hands. “It pains me that you have such a tragic past, but it led you to me, and it’s not going to change how I think of you.”

With tears of relief in his eyes, Yoongi kisses you nice and softly. He loves you, and you love him. You know everything you need to know about him, and it didn’t scare you away. He couldn’t ask for anything better.

○●○●○●○●○●

By the time his next heat rolls around, Yoongi has talked to you about it. You had randomly brought up the subject one night, asking him about what he did in those instances. He had been honest about how he usually had someone helping him and reciprocated that help when the time came. He quickly added how he was all alone last time, afraid you’d think he had cheated.

It all made you feel guilty; you didn’t want Yoongi to be in pain and discomfort because of you. At the same time, you did not like the idea of someone else getting to help him and touch him when he was in such a vulnerable state. The only solution was to offer him your help to which he reluctantly agreed.

It led to a long night of Yoongi giving you a rundown of what usually happens when he’s in heat and what to expect. He pretty straightforwardly told you not to take to heart all the breeding references about giving you his babies. You’d giggled at that and told him not to worry. You might actually be into that.

The fated day finally arrives without warning. His constant fucking around with you completely masked the incessant horny feeling he gets. Your voice wakes him up, ripping him away from the dreamy haze he had been in. Unconsciously he had been rutting against her side, his cock rock hard and larger than normal.

“Yoong’s, you’re burning up,” you say, touching his forehead, which is beginning to be coated by sweat.

“I have to go,” Yoongi groans, sitting up. Despite having thrashed all the sheets, he’s sweaty and sticky, “I’m in heat.”

“Yoongi, we talked about this. You have me now. You don’t have to go through this alone,” you tell him, holding onto his arm, preventing him from getting up.

“It can be too much, Blue, and I won’t be thinking straight,” he insists half-heartedly. All he wants is your help, but he’s scared you’ll be disgusted by this side of him.

“Lie back down. I’ve got you,” you say, pushing Yoongi lightly back onto the pillows.

Taking off your underwear, you lift the oversized t-shirt you wore to bed and straddle him. Since this isn’t a time to have tons of foreplay, you grab his hard cock, pumping it while you rub your clit to get yourself wet. Yoongi complains, wanting to feel the warmth of your pussy, swearing it’s the only thing that will relieve him.

Finally, you take all his cock, a sting following as you get used to his size. He’s so much bigger when he’s in heat you have never felt as full. Yoongi sighs in relief under you, grabbing your hips to set a pace that will please him best. His hands gripping you so tightly he thrusts into you desperately. His eyes are closed, concentrating on how you clench around him, but he needs more.

He pulls out of you and swiftly brings you to your knees, your front pressed onto the mattress. He slams back into you without hesitation, making you moan loudly onto the pillows. The room is all but quiet. You’re whining from Yoongi, pushing deep into you. Yoongi is groaning filthy words about how well your pussy is taking him, and the sound of your skin slapping reverberates.

For Yoongi, the first wave is the hardest to overcome. It takes a lot out of him to cum. He wants to so badly, but the pain edges him on. Luckily, you’re great to help with what you do next.

“Fuck me, Yoongi. I wanna have your babies!” You yell under him.

You swear your words make Yoongi’s cock swell even more, the stretch unreal. He thrusts hard, pulling away entirely and slamming back in. Tears well in your eyes. It feels too good. You’ve already cum around him once, and he barely noticed. You’re overstimulated by this new experience.

“We’re gonna keep going until you’re full of my cum,” he groans. Yoongi is drenched in sweat his hair sticking onto his forehead. His chest glistens with the dimmed lights of the bedroom.

Yoongi is entranced by how his cockhead pops in and out of your wet pussy. His length is entirely covered in your slick, making it much easier to thrust into you. You were made just for him. There’s no other explanation for why you feel so good hugging his cock.

Finally, feeling like he’s near his release, he lifts you up your back is against his front. He digs his head into your neck, breathing your delightful smell in. His scent entangled in yours prompts him to harshly bite you, leaving a mark on your neck as if he has claimed you as his. Yoongi is right, you are a pain slut, which brings you over the edge.

“That’s it, Blue, milk my cock, take all of it,” Yoongi stills as you clench around him, his nails digging into your hips, leaving half-moon marks on your skin as he empties inside of you.

“Everything you’ll give me,” You pant, your legs feeling like jelly as you slump against Yoongi.

Pulling your head to the side, he places short messy kisses all over your face. The heat waves he felt coursing through his body ceased momentarily. He pulls out of you, his cock not quite soft yet. You whine at the emptiness and how sensitive you feel down there.

Cum trickles out of you as you lay back on the bed, yet Yoongi pushes it back with his fingers. He hushes you when you shudder, kissing your thigh, “Can’t waste it.”

As you predicted, some minutes after his first release Yoongi is back on you. He kneels between your legs, grabbing your hips to fuck you like that. Yoongi is a visual person, so he takes much pleasure watching you take his cock, your cunt pink and puffy from his previous abuse. Part of his cum leaks out of you, although this time around, he doesn’t worry as he promises to give you more.

His mind flashes with the thought of you pregnant, carrying his kittens. Pretty girl. He splays his hand over your lower abdomen and presses down, he feels himself inside of you, and you see stars as he stimulates your spot. You cum again, legs shaking. Yoongi drips in sweat and, with a painful groan, releases inside of you again. Still inside you, plugging you up, he breathes heavily and lays on your chest. You brush through his wet hair, whispering sweet nothings.

“You did so well, Yoongi,” you rasp out, “Fucked me so good.”

Your throat is dry and raspy. You need water, yet you don’t dare to get up. Yoongi needs you.

“You don’t have to stay,” he whispers, “I can finish this myself. You’ve done more than enough.”

Through his haze, he offers you another exit. Heats are too much for the hybrid. He can’t imagine how much it’ll be for you. He appreciates your help but understands if you want to leave now that you’ve tasted how it is.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” you reassure him gently, “I want to help you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Yoongi insists, kissing the swell of your breast.

“You won’t,” you laugh, “I’m sturdier than I seem.”

Yoongi props up on his elbows and thrust slowly, feeling more in control. “I love you, Blue.”

“I love you, Yoongi,” you gasp. Yoongi pins your hands at your sides, lacing your fingers with his.

He’s so pretty with his face flushed. He looks softer with the needy expressions he’s making. Your legs wrap around his waist, trapping him close to you. Yoongi likes it when you get clingy and territorial. It makes him feel wanted.

You sleep hours later with your leg over his hip and his cock nestled inside you. He had managed to snooze off too. Granted, right before your alarm rings, he’s already thrusting into you. You hold onto his back, moaning into his ear and leaving scratch marks behind.

The next day you leave for work, not before Yoongi scents you and fucks you in the shower. The water washing away the remains of him. When you return in the afternoon, he waits for you, shirtless and in sweatpants laying low. He takes you against the door, jeans down to your knees.

By the third day, Yoongi is high and lazy from fucking you so much. He lets you take control, and you ride him lazily, his hands tracing the bruises on your body, some accidental, some on purpose. In his moments of lucidity, he apologizes for the roughness. It’s never his intention to hurt you. You always so kindly wave him off. You don’t care about them, just that your kitty is getting the relief he needs.

You’ve received strange looks at work, and you later learn by visiting Tae it’s because you smell like Yoongi, your usual florals and chocolate scent are almost gone. Only hybrids notice that, so Yoongi also leaves hickeys on your neck (which you hide) for the humans that might want to try something.

By the fourth day, his heat is over. You sneak out of bed to go to work and let Yoongi rest. He’s as still as the dead, exhausted and spent. When you return from work, you smell home-cooked food, and the table is set romantically with flowers in the center and candles.

“You’re home,” Yoongi says, kissing you gently, “Come, I’ve prepared you a bath.”

He leads you to the bathroom, where the tub is steaming with bath salts and bath bombs, more candles are alight, and a glass of wine rests by the tub. Yoongi helps you undress, kissing each and every bruise on your body. You giggle at certain parts as you’re ticklish. Then he offers his hand to help you into the tub.

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be finishing up dinner,” he softly smiles at you.

You relax into the water and nod. Yoongi didn’t have to do any of this; it’s not like he can control his heat. It has you feeling cared for, though, and that’s something you can’t take for granted. When you get dressed, you both have dinner. He apologizes again and hopes he didn’t scare you away. You reassure him he didn’t. You even tell him you found most of it hot, including the breeding kink that came naturally with him.

Yoongi blushes and says ‘noted’ under his breath. The rest of the night, you and Yoongi cuddle, and before bed, he gives you a massage. You tell him he’s going overboard, but he insists, and who are you to refuse?

Days later, you take a pregnancy test, scared of the result. You have no symptoms, but the amount of times you and Yoongi had sex is unholy, and you’re afraid your birth control pills might’ve failed you. His heat clouds his mind, it’s designed to breed and reproduce. Each time he came, he did it inside of you. You know your birth control is 95% effective, yet what’s to stop you from being that 5%. You’re not ready for children. It’s not something you’ve spoken about, either. You pick up the test with shaking hands once the alarm goes off. It’s negative.

○●○●○●○●○●

There are days when you are too busy to go out for lunch. Today is one of those days. Luckily, Yoongi offers to bring you food for when you have time to eat something. It’s his first time visiting you at work, and he realizes he doesn’t know exactly where you work. He always thought you worked at the multi-office building near the corner.

When he follows the direction, it leads him to the building he despises. You never told Yoongi you work there. Feeling uncomfortable, he walks in, where a receptionist greets him, “Hello, how can I help you today?”

Yoongi tells her your name. It feels foreign on his tongue. He’s always called you Blue, and very few people call you by your government name as it is.

“Oh, you must be Yoongi! She told me you’d be coming. Take this pass. Her office is to the left on the 30th floor. You’ll see her name on the door.”

That’s a high number. In fact, it’s one of the few at the top. Usually, that means a high position, but you’ve never really talked about your job. Yoongi knocks on the frosted glass door with your name on it, preceded by Prod.

He wants to leave. How come you never told him you were a producer? That seems like the thing to say when your boyfriend owns a Music Store. You had told him you loved music, and that was it. Anyone can love music and not be involved at all. Not even that whenever he asked about work, you’d say you didn’t like talking about it to keep things separate. How many songs has he heard on the radio that you worked on?

He gets no response, so he opens the frosted glass door he sees a studio with state-of-the-art equipment. You were at the desk with big headphones covering your ears. He could hear a beat coming from them. He taps you on your shoulder, and you jump in surprise.

“Yoongi!” You say loudly, forgetting the headphones on your ears. “Oops, sorry.”

“Hey, I got your food,” he says, raising the plastic bag, but his eyes can’t stop taking in the studio and all the tools you had.

“You are a lifesaver,” you gush, grabbing the bag from him to open it.

“You never mentioned you were a producer,” he clicks his tongue in mild annoyance.

“I didn’t?” you ask, distracted by the food, “Huh, well, this where I work, always at your service.”

“Your boyfriend works at a Music Store, and you forget to mention your work in music,” Yoongi says sarcastically.

“I did say I worked at this building,” you roll your eyes with a smile thinking his joking.

“I always thought it was the other one with the medical offices,” he coughs, scratching the back of his neck in awkwardness.

“This is a huge miscommunication, my bad,” you say sheepishly, taking a bite of the sushi he bought for you.

Yoongi doesn’t know how to feel. He hates the building company for denying him the opportunity of becoming an artist. They were clearly against him being a hybrid despite having the talent. And here you are, working happily in what he wanted. You’re living his dream. It should make you perfect for him, yet all he feels is resentment.

You don’t sense his internal ‘debate’ as you eat. You’re too much in your head over the deadlines you have to meet. It doesn’t work in your favor as Yoongi leaves with a kiss on your cheeks with the excuse of a delivery to the shop. He had to get out of there and think clearly before he blew up on you.

He spends the whole day thinking about how you can work in a company that is against hybrids. He lets his losses get to him and project to you. So when you arrive at his apartment that night to spend time with him, he doesn’t greet you and just spits out, “How can you work in that company?”

“Excuse me?” You ask him, confused you haven’t even taken off your coat.

“That’s such a horrible company, Blue! They discriminate against hybrids. I can’t believe you’d work in such a place,” he argues, standing before you. His posture is tense and his ears and tail lay flat against his body.

“Yoongi, what the fuck? What are you going on about? The company is not against hybrids,” You exclaim, taking a step back.

“Of course they are. I lived through it,” Yoongi reveals.

You pause with wide eyes, “When? You’ve never mentioned it before.”

“Five years ago, I went to audition as a producer. They said that despite my talent, they wouldn’t hire me,” he says, fingers raking through his dark hair.

“That’s unbelievable,” you huff, crossing your arms defensively. Many hybrids work at the company, and she’s never heard complaints of the boss treating them poorly.

“How can you not believe me, your boyfriend, and believe the awful people,” Yoongi scolds her angrily. You can’t be so blind.

“Because that’s my family!” You yell, shutting him up.

“What?” Yoongi goes slack at your words.

“My dad is the company’s CEO, and I can assure you we are not discriminatory against hybrids. For fucks sake, Yoongi, you’ve met Jungkook. Would people who hate hybrids adopt one?”

You don’t like to pull out often that your dad is the CEO of the family company, but this is Yoongi you’re talking to. He cares about you, and you’ve been together long enough that it feels okay for him to know. Besides, maybe this way, he’ll understand that what he says is a lie.

His following words slip with little thought. “Who knows, maybe you just want to look good to the public?”

“If that’s what you think, fine. I’m leaving,” you respond firmly. You will not take anyone speaking shit about your family. It hurts you to hear him say those things. By insulting your family, he insults you too.

You hope Yoongi stops you, but he doesn’t. He knows what he was told. He stays silent, waiting for you to go. He’s set on his way.

It’s one long week where you barely talk to Yoongi. You give him time to apologize or reach out, but he doesn’t. When he realizes his mistake of comparing you to the ones that hurt him, you don’t answer.

○●○●○●○●○●

It has to be a mistake. There is no way your father, who runs the company, turned someone down for being a hybrid. Hell, half of the staff are hybrids. Producers, artists, HR, everything. There are hybrids in all departments. How come Yoongi didn’t see that when he visited.

You’ve spent enough time stewing on this. Time to go to the source, your father. You knock on his office door and hear faintly, “Come in.”

“Darling, how nice of you to visit your old man,” your dad jokes, standing from his desk to hug you.

“Sorry, dad, I’ve been swamped,” you apologize, plopping down on one of the plush chairs in front of his desk.

“I know, I’ve seen your reports, and you’re doing well. I’m proud of you,” he smiles at his daughter, expecting one in return. Instead, she plays with a loose thread on her sweater, not paying attention to him. “What troubles you?”

“You know the guy I’m dating,” you sigh, looking up at your dad.

“Yoongi, yes,” he nods, remembering everything you’ve told him about Yoongi.

“Apparently, he auditioned here like 7-ish years ago, and he says that you or whoever was in his audition didn’t accept him because he was a hybrid,” you say. It’s best not to beat around the bush.

“Really?” He asks, concerned, “Let me look it up.”

In times like these, he’s glad the company keeps a database of all the auditions and interview processes. One of his goals as CEO is to eliminate barriers between all kinds of people, giving them all a fair chance of working here.

“I have his file up. I remember him. He was very talented. He never came back. What a shame,” he hums, rewatching the audition.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“I couldn’t accept him at the time, but I told him to come in a year or two for another audition,” your father explains, passing you a flash drive with the audition.

“Why didn’t you accept him at the time?”

“It wouldn’t be beneficial for him at the time the regulations for hybrids in big companies were not good. They basically required full background screenings and medical exams. And the health benefits were basically nonexistent. Most hybrids don’t have past experiences, and if they do, they’re bad not because they are, but because of the situation they are put through. It wasn’t until a year later they eliminated that law, and their rights were looking better.”

“That makes sense,” you sigh in relief. You shouldn’t have doubted your family.

“If he wants, he can have another audition. You know we’re always looking for new producers.”

“Thanks, dad, I’ll mention it to him,” you smile, leaving.

This is great! Yoongi can audition, and he’ll be able to work alongside you. You just know he’ll do so well. He already has an excellent ear for music. He may be a bit rusty, but nothing a little practice can’t help. She can lend him a hand too!

“Send him my apologies. I never wanted it to seem the wrong way.”

“I will,” you say, rushing out the door.

A knock on the door interrupts Yoongi’s evening nap. He opens the door expecting Jimin or Jin, but you’re at the door with your arms crossed.

“You’re an idiot,” you shoulder him to walk into the apartment.

“I know. I’m sorry, Blue, I shouldn’t have overreacted and assumed things about you,” Yoongi sincerely apologizes.

“You think?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“I’m apologizing, don’t be a bitch,” Yoongi pouts, not liking your attitude.

“It’s just you infuriate me. I’ve been good to you. I don’t think I’ve ever done something to hurt you, and if I have, I’m sorry. But what you did was so unfair. Even if my family were as horrible as you made them seem, I’m not them. And I haven’t given you a reason to believe that,” you lightly argue. You’re not looking to pick a fight. You just want him to understand.

Yoongi hugs you from behind. His words don’t mean anything right now. He lets you vent. You relax against him eventually, grabbing the arms that were around you.

“I talked to my dad,” you whisper, “you misunderstood the situation, Yoongs.”

“Blue, I’m sure of what I heard,” he whispers back.

“My dad records his auditions for moments like this,” you say, handing him the flash drive. “You were great Yoong’s, and they would’ve hired you. They didn’t because it wouldn’t have been helpful for you.”

You explain the situation and your father’s words. If he had gone through the audition, the government tracking hybrids wouldn’t process his applications. That’s why your father told him to return.

“I-how could I have misunderstood this so badly,” Yoongi sighs defeated. He could’ve been so much happier sooner if he had only listened. He could’ve been a producer already. He would’ve met you a long time ago as well.

“It was seven years ago. You were hurt and wanted a reason to be mad,” you comfort him.

“I’ve spent seven years glaring at the building for nothing,” Yoongi humorously laughs.

“My dad says if you want an audition, you have it,” you tell him.

“Really?” Yoongi looks at you, “I don’t know if that’s what I want anymore. I gave up on that dream long ago.”

Being a producer was his biggest dream, yet after the disappointment, he instilled in himself, he came to the conclusion that giving up on his dream was for the best. Now he’s not sure he can visualize himself as a producer.

“If you change your mind, the opportunity is there.”

○●○●○●○●○●

Your relationship has kept you so busy you can’t remember the last time you went out with Hoseok and Tae to karaoke. You send them a quick text, and they both agree to meet. As per their request, you bring Yoongi and Jungkook along. The more, the merrier.

Hoseok and Tae are waiting when you get there. They’ve already picked a room. The group orders drinks, which quickly creates a buzz in the room. It takes them no less than 20 minutes to get the party going.

While you and Taehyung duet an old 80s song, Hoseok approaches Yoongi. He’d heard about Yoongis’s job offer and wondered if he would take it.

“You said no?” Hoseok repeats, his facial expression clearly surprised.

“Yeah,” Yoongi nods, taking a sip from his drink. He lightly laughs at you and Tae’s terrible rendition.

“Why? I thought it was your dream,” Hoseok asks. He knows what the job entitles. He’s worked at the company for some years now. It’s challenging and frustrating. It’ll drain you of all inspiration faster than you’d think, yet he wouldn’t do anything else in the world. His stunt at the cafe months ago confirmed that.

“It is or was. I don’t know; I feel out of touch. When I went to Blue’s office, there was so much equipment I hadn’t even seen. It’s been a while since I’ve produced too. I write less and less as the years go on,” Yoongi sighs, being honest with Hoseok.

“How about you come to my studio this week? Check it out. I can show you around. It’s not as intimidating as it seems, and I know you’ve got the talent,” Hoseok offers kindly, no strings attached.

In his mind giving Yoongi space from you is good. That way, Yoongi is not pressured to agree with whatever you say or do.

“You’ve never heard anything of mine,” Yoongi rebukes.

“Haven’t I, Gloss?” Hoseok laughs.

Yoongi’s expression is priceless. He left the underground business when he got rejected by your company. He hasn’t been called that in years.

“That’s right, I know my people,” Hoseok laughs. He didn’t recognize him at the cafe, but after you told him about the audition, he did some digging.

“Alright, I’ll go check it out,” Yoongi nods.

Maybe Hoseok was right. Perhaps an hour or two in a neutral studio can inspire or convince him. He doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, but he never envisioned himself working his whole life at the music store.

“Yoongi, come on, it’s our turn,” Jungkook calls over, holding a microphone.

○●○●○●○●○●

Yoongi returns to your apartment the morning after. The smell hits him as he exits the elevator- someone is in heat. He ignores it, but the closer he gets to your door, the harder it is to ignore. Realizing it’s coming from your apartment, he rushes in to find you pacing in the living room in distress.

“What are you doing here while Jungkook is in heat?” Yoongi hisses, staying by the door.

“Thank god you’re here, Yoongi! I don’t know what to do. This hasn’t happened before,” you cry, hugging your boyfriend.

With his arms around you, Yoongi drags you outside, closing the door behind you guys. The more distance between you and Jungkook, the better. If the smell is strong in the hallway, he can’t imagine being inside it. He fears the effect it can have on him if he breathes the scent for too long. It’s not uncommon for a hybrid’s heat to trigger another’s.

“What do you mean this is the first time it happens?” Yoongi asks. Jungkook is a 21-year-old hybrid. He must’ve gotten his heat around 7 or 8 years ago.

“Jungkook usually takes these pills to ease off his heat. He’s been taking them ever since he got his first one. I think he hasn’t been taking them ’cause he’s been spending more time in my apartment.” You try to explain, although you know very little about the subject, despite living with a hybrid for most of your childhood.

Jungkook’s bunny habits are well known in your family, and you’ve learned about hybrids, too, because of him. Heats, though, was always a subject Jungkook kept to himself because he didn’t feel comfortable sharing that part of his life with his sister. When the first one rolled around, it wasn’t so bad, and after your parents offered him the pills, he accepted. Since then, he hasn’t paid much attention to it.

It all makes sense to Yoongi now. The pills you talk about are expensive but highly effective. They basically stop a hybrid from having heat or make them asymptomatic. He’s never had the luxury of taking them, but he’s heard much about them. Enough to know that Jungkook’s heat will be more intense after not having it for so many years.

“This is bad, Blue!” Yoongi tells you, hands on your shoulders.

“What am I going to do? He’s in so much pain and won’t stop sweating and groaning!” You exclaim on the verge of tears.

“There is nothing to do,” Yoongi carefully says, “Pack a bag. We can go to my apartment while he rides this through.”

“There has to be something, Yoongi. I can’t just leave him like that!” You’re upset he would suggest leaving your brother behind in such conditions.

Your worry about Jungkook is blinding you. The gravity of the situation not making sense to you. So Yoongi takes it upon himself to explain, “He’ll be uncomfortable and in pain, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’ll survive, and in a few days, he’ll be good as new. Your presence here can make things much worse, Blue.”

“How can you say that? I saw you when you were in heat, and I was with you. I hated seeing you like that. How do you expect me to ignore Jungkook’s pain and pretend it’s not there.” You interrupt him in distress.

“Because the only way he’ll feel relieved is for him to fuck someone. He needs to get off to relieve his temperature and relieve the pain. That’s a heat. And unless someone magically appears and volunteers, there’s nothing you can do,” Yoongi grits out, frustrated at the situation. Jungkook’s strong scent started to fuzz his brain.

“Yoongi! There has to be something….” You say, not believing Yoongi’s words.

He’s getting mad that you’re not listening, and his following words come out rough, “I already told you, have sex with Jungkook or get out.”

“I’m not doing that. He’s my brother!” You and Jungkook might not be related by blood, but you can’t find it in yourself to have sex with him. If you could, you would, but you don’t believe either can get through the mental block. Ruining your relationship with your brother is not in your plans any time soon.

“Adopted brother,” Yoongi points out. You hit him in the arm, angry at his unhelpful responses, which only gets him angrier.

“Fine, get him a hooker. That will get him feeling good in no time. Still, we have to leave.” Yoongi insists, desperate to get out of the building before he gets horny.

“He is not having sex with a stranger. I refuse!”

“Well, that only leaves me, and that’s not happening,” Yoongi replies, crossing his arms.

You pause your argument, thinking it wouldn’t be the most outrageous idea. If someone were to help him, Yoongi would be perfect for it. He’s a hybrid, too, who has had to go through his ruts mostly alone.

“Are you set on that?” You ask with a grimace. You feel bad asking this of Yoongi, but you’re desperate to help Jungkook.

He looks at you in disbelief, “You are not suggesting I have sex with your brother?”

“Yoongi, just help him for now. I know the first day is the worst. Just for today, help him, please.”

“Blue, do you understand what you’re saying?” He understands what you’re saying but is unsure you do. This is a lot, and the worst part is that he’s actually considering it. It must be Jungkook’s pheromones all in the air affecting his.

“Yes, I do. I know this isn’t romantic or anything. You’re only helping him.” you nod, decided.

“Once,” Yoongi grits out, a dead serious look on his face. “I’ll be helping him this once but never again.”

“Okay,” you nod, at a loss for words.

Yoongi shoves his keys in your hands, “Go to my apartment. I’ll get there later with your bag.”

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You speak before walking down the hallway. Before entering the elevator, you look back at Yoongi, who nods at the elevator, urging you to go. He doesn’t want you in the vicinity if he’s doing this.

He takes a minute to himself, gathering the courage to do this. All doubt disappears when he opens the door and breathes in Jungkook’s pheromones. He finds Jungkook’s room and opens the door. The bunny is lying face down in bed naked. His hips rutting into the bed to feel any type of relief. His back glistens with sweat, and his dark hair sticks to his neck.

“Hey, Kook,” Yoongi says, walking to the bed.

“Yoongi?” Jungkook says in a haze, propping himself up on his elbows, but his thrusting doesn’t cease. If he were in his right mind, he’d instantly stop and cover up. He didn’t want to, though. He had to make the pain disappear.

“I’m here to help. Is that okay?” Yoongi asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Please,” Jungkook chokes, “It hurts so much.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Yoongi soothes him, a long finger trailing down his back. Reaching the base of his spine Yoongi tugs on the black cottontail. Jungkook whines thrusting harder against the mattress.

“Turn around,” Yoongi softly tells him.

Jungkook shakes his head, “I can’t-“

“If you don’t, then I can’t touch you, and you want me to touch you, right?” Yoongi asks him. Being in heat messes with every thought in your head. It makes hybrids think that even the smallest actions are impossible, and Jungkook suppressing his heat brings him back to step one.

With a groan Jungkook turns his body around, his cock bobs up and down as he settles on his back. Yoongi licks his lips, the bunny is so hard and ready to burst there’s a steady stream of precum coating his head.

Yoongi’s hand slides down Jungkook’s chest, admiring the hard muscle. It continues to trail down his abdomen until it reaches his pelvis. The younger boy’s hips rut, feeling Yoongi’s hands close to his cock.

Jungkook has not stopped moaning once, every little touch sending him waves of painful pleasure. He begs Yoongi to do anything, touch him, fuck him, suck him. Getting more comfortable between Jungkook’s legs, Yoongi starts stroking him. The bunny is hot and heavy in his palm. He spits in his hand for good measure, but it’s barely necessary. His thumb brushes over the dark pink tip, spreading the milky liquid down his shaft.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses, hand tugging at his hair and hips thrusting into Yoongi’s palm. His abs tense, showcasing the hard muscle underneath. It’s a sight for sore eyes that makes Yoongi’s pants tighten. Yoongi might’ve done this as a favor to you both, but he will enjoy this as much as he can.

“Look at me, Kook,” Yoongi calls the youngest’s attention, “Focus on me.”

The bunny’s hazy stare lands on the cat hybrid on top of him. He is also sweating, feeling the heat of the moment. His feline eyes are calculating, afraid of missing any of Jungkook’s response to his touch. The wet noise Yoongi’s hand makes as he flicks his wrist fills the room along with the bunny’s pleas.

Jungkook tries hard to keep his eyes on Yoongi, but when he feels his peak near, his eyes roll back, and his mouth opens. “That’s it, bunny, cum,” the cat hybrid encourages him, “You’ll feel so much better.”

Jungkook groans, feeling his peak, and it’s like some of the heat has dissipated. Ropes of white paint Yoongi’s hand and Jungkook’s stomach. Raising his hand to his lips, Yoongi licks the bunny’s cum, tasting him. Fuck, did he taste good. It would be a shame for Jungkook to miss it.

Leaning over, Jungkook Yoongi says, “Open your mouth, bunny.”

Jungkook doesn’t understand why but tentatively opens his mouth. Yoongi grabs his cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger and lets his saliva mixed with Jungkook’s cum, drip into the bunny’s mouth.

“Now swallow,” Yoongi orders him.

Jungkook obeys the cat hybrid, swallowing his spit. He never thought his own taste would arouse him and make him hard again in seconds. He blames it on the heat. With his temperature rising, Jungkook grabs Yoongi’s sides and flips them over. He kisses his sister’s boyfriend hard, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his pale neck, leaving a hard bite behind.

“Fuck,” Yoongi moans. He had forgotten that bunnies like to bite.

Jungkook needs to feel him close, touch him, taste him too. He takes off Yoongi’s hoodie and his t-shirt touching the older guy’s chest. He continues to kiss the cat hybrid, even biting his pouty lips. Yoongi lets him be in control for now. Jungkook needs to enjoy himself too.

Jungkook’s hard-on presses against Yoongi’s lower stomach, and feeling the skin-on-skin contact, Jungkook begins to thrust again, moaning into Yoongi’s mouth.

Jungkook is curious, curious about Yoongi and his body. He’s touched and kissed parts of him, but now he wants it all. With a goal in mind, Jungkook’s hand trails down the cat hybrid’s body to palm his length over his pants. Yoongi moans are swallowed by Jungkook, who continues to feverishly kiss him, but when he reaches for his belt, Yoongi stops him.

“Not today, bunny,” he breathes, the grip on Jungkook’s wrist tight, “Today, I get to use you as I please.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, his brown eyes filled with disappointment.

“You heard me,” Yoongi says, sliding out from under him, “Sit up.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Yoongi kneels between his muscular legs.

Jungkook’s cock is equally hard as in the beginning, begging for attention. With a hand on Jungkook’s knee and another on his cock, Yoongi licks a stripe along the vein that runs up the shaft, instantly making Jungkook release a throaty moan.

“Look at me, bunny,” Yoongi purrs, “If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

Jungkook’s head snaps back down to stare at Yoongi, whose wet tongue licks the head of his cock. He coats the entire length with his spit with kisses and licks. Yoongi’s pink lips momentarily wrap around his cockhead as his tongue swirls the tip. He knows he’s teasing the poor bunny. It’s his way of pleasure to see the younger hybrid fall to pieces in splutters and stutters.

Yoongi teases him, going slow and shallow, drawing little whines from Jungkook’s swollen lips. Jungkook tries to push his cock more into Yoongi’s mouth, but the cat already sees it coming and pulls away.

“Yoongi, pl-ease,” Jungkook begs, teary-eyed. By now, he’s long forgotten about pleasing Yoongi as the fever inside of him gets higher.

“What’s that, Kook?” Yoongi feigns innocence, a string of saliva attaching him to Jungkook’s hard cock.

“D-don’t tease,” Jungkook stutters out. He tries to stroke himself in desperate need, only for Yoongi to stop him.

“So impatient,” Yoongi chastises, holding Jungkook’s wrist tightly, “Hands on your sides.”

Jungkook complains at the request, earning a glare from the cat hybrid, “If you’re not going to listen, I’ll leave,” he threatens. He’s just like his sister. For a moment, Yoongi entertains the idea of dominating you both simultaneously. What a treat it would be.

“No, no!” Jungkook exclaims, grabbing fistfuls of the crumpled bedsheets.

Yoongi smirks at the pretty bunny above him. His hair is messy from raking his fingers through it, long floppy ears falling to the sides, and cheeks flushed with arousal. He wants Jungkook to feel all the pleasure he can. While having sex without the rut is nice and fun, there’s something so satisfying about sex while in heat. No matter how small, every touch is amplified and can push you to the edge.

Now that Jungkook is obedient, Yoongi takes his length back into his mouth. He works getting most of Jungkook down his throat, Yoongi’s eyes water, but it doesn’t stop him. Bobbing his head to a steady rhythm, he sucks Jungkook off, his tongue occasionally dipping into the slit of his tip. The bunny is trying his best, the veins running up his arms popping from the tight grip on the bed. When Yoongi takes him deeper than before, the grip loosens as his right hand goes to the base of his cat ears.

Almost instantly, Yoongi purrs around his cock, enticing Jungkook to thrust up. It feels so good it’s overwhelming. With Jungkook pushing on his head Yoongi deep throats him, his nose brushing against the bunny’s base. Yoongi will never admit that while it hurts, he loves the feeling of a big cock down his throat.

With a few more bobs of Yoongi’s head, Jungkook bursts. His cum runs down the cat hybrid’s throat. Yoongi breathes heavily when he releases Jungkook. His eyes are red and watery, as are his nose and mouth. He continues to lightly lick Jungkook, entertained by the way his bunny ears twitch at the feeling.

Yoongi gets up from the floor as Jungkook falls back on the bed. The bunny hybrid is exhausted as his fever goes down to a normal temperature. Yoongi helps him lie back properly and covers him with the wrinkly bedsheet. Before Yoongi leaves the room, he brushes through Jungkook’s hair with his fingers, lightly rubbing the base of his bunny ears. The sleepy bunny makes an appreciative sound as his touch lulls him to sleep completely.

This is the worst of the heat. He should be able to take care of himself from tomorrow onwards. Yoongi leaves the food and water ready for Jungkook by the nightstand. Hopefully, when he’s awake, he’ll feel better.

Yoongi goes to your room to pack your bag. In there, your scent hits him mixed with Jungkook’s pheromones. If the bunnies had driven him mad, yours added to the mix just about ended him.

He lies in your bed by your pillow where your scent is strongest. It only takes him a second to undo his belt and pull his throbbing cock out of his pants. Spitting in his hand Yoongi flicks his wrist quickly, needing a release. He had his reasons for not letting Jungkook touch him, one being that it wouldn’t be fair for the bunny hybrid. He’d been in pain for too long. The other reason was you. He’d happily done this favor for you, but now you had to pay up.

Reaching a moment of clarity, Yoongi slows his pace until he stops right before his release. He stands from the bed, tucking himself in again uncomfortably, and prepares your bag. As soon as he gets to his apartment, he’ll have his way with you, and the pent-up frustration will be worth it.

○●○●○●○●○●

Almost a year into the relationship, you decide it’s time for Yoongi to meet your parents. You organize a nice dinner at your parent’s house, they don’t have to do anything you’ll be the one cooking and setting the table.

Yoongi would get there later, Jungkook as well. You thought it would be nice to have moral support. Unfortunately, you took so long to cook that Yoongi arrived while you were getting ready, which means that your dad got the pleasure of greeting him at the door.

“Ah, if it isn’t Yoongi,” your dad exclaims cheerily, opening the door wider for Yoongi.

“Hello, I got this for you,” Yoongi nervously hands him a bottle of wine. It’s the one you mentioned your dad likes.

“I was hoping it would be the flowers,” your dad jokes, happily taking the wine.

“Is that Yoongi?” A friendly voice calls from the kitchen. Your mom walks out, surprising Yoongi with a warm hug. He hands her the flowers, which she gushes about. “Such a polite boy, don’t be shy. We don’t bite, we’ll except for Jungkookie.”

Yoongi stifles a smile because doesn’t he know it. Not only has he witnessed Jungkook shamelessly biting you when you get distracted, but that day where he needed help with his heat he left Yoongi with a few nasty marks. Marks which you later covered with your own.

“Honey, I’ll be showing Yoongi my office. We’ll be back soon,” your dad says, patting Yoongi on the back.

Yoongi is nervous, terrified even. His cat ears flatten as he follows your dad to his office. He’s only heard good things about him from you, but how reliable is that? Of course, he’s good to you and Jungkook, his kids. Yoongi is a stranger.

Yoongi sits in one of the chair desks awkwardly, looking around the room. Your dad looks him up and down as if deciding on Yoongi. From looks alone, Yoongi seems like a good man, but he needs to make his concerns known.

“Why are you with my daughter?” He asks straight to the point, his friendly smile disappearing.

“Because I love her,” Yoongi responds as best as he can.

There are a million reasons why he is with you. You’re kind, pretty, intelligent, sexy, talented, honest, and so much more. Despite all the arguments you’ve had you’ve never brought the fact his a hybrid into it. All those qualities led him to love you, the most important reason he is with you.

“It has nothing to do with her job and position in the company? How it may benefit you, Yoongi?” Your dad asks. If he didn’t ask these questions, he wouldn’t be doing his job as a father. The older man needs peace of mind that Yoongi’s intentions are the right ones.

“No. I didn’t even know she worked there till two months ago. By then, I had already fallen in love with her. I wouldn’t take advantage of her that way even if I had known before. Blue is one of the kindest people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

Your father’s tense posture relaxes, and his grin returns, “Good answer. I hope you understand why I had to ask the question. I am only a concerned father.”

“I do. Can I ask a question myself?”

“Go ahead.”

“You don’t mind that your daughter is dating a hybrid?” Yoongi insecurely asks.

“Not at all. I believe hybrids are equal, if not better, than regular humans. My children have the liberty of dating whoever they please, and I’ll approve as long as they are treated with love and respect.”

Hybrids have a good judge of character, and Yoongi can tell that he is honest and means what he says. Fear aside, he is happy to have had this conversation with your dad.

“Daddy, Yoongi?” You call them, walking in the direction of the office.

“In here, sweetheart,” your dad responds.

“Dad, stop questioning Yoongi. It’s time for dinner,” you tell him, shooting Yoongi a reassuring grin.

“I wasn’t questioning, just having a man-to-man conversation,” he says, walking out of the office.

“Mhm,” you say, rolling your eyes. He does this with each boyfriend you’ve brought home.

“Hi, handsome,” you greet Yoongi, holding out your hand for him to take. He dressed up for the occasion, wanting to impress. He succeeded.

“Hey, Blue,” he says, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. “You look pretty.”

“Thanks,” you peck him on the lips, brushing your thumb on his lips to get rid of the remaining lipstick.

“I heard that!” Your dad screams from the stairs with a laugh.

“Keep walking, old man,” you yell back, shaking your head with a smile.

Dinner was fun, and Yoongi felt like he was with family. Your family was very much like you, kind and accepting. Funny as hell, he smiled or laughed throughout most of the dinner. If he had to guess, he would’ve never known your dad was the CEO of a family company. He was very down to earth.

Not that he doubted, but your parents truly treated Jungkook as their own. The bunny hybrid has all of this family wrapped around his little finger. You grab his hand under the table and smile at him. He smiles back sincerely. He can see himself being part of this family for a long time. It heals the part of his broken heart that he thought was beyond repair.

“Let me go get dessert,” your mom announces, sanding from the table.

“I’ll help,” Yoongi pipes up, following the older lady to the kitchen.

“Now that I’ve got you here, I want to thank you,” your mom says as she cuts the chocolate cake you baked earlier.

“What for?” Yoongi asks, handing her the plates to place the cakes on.

“For helping our Jungkookie out,” she casually mentions.

Yoongi chokes on his own saliva, his mind going straight to him helping Jungkook through his heat. It was a given that it was something to keep to themselves. How close is Jungkook to his mom that he felt it was okay to tell her that Yoongi gave him not only a handjob but a blowjob? Furthermore, how can she be okay with her daughter’s boyfriend handing out favors like that to her son?

“He loves those damn vynils so much, he wouldn’t stop talking about how you gave him two limited edition ones,” she fondly laughs at her son.

“Oh, that. Yeah, no problem,” Yoongi sighs in relief. His spirit had left his body for a moment there.

“Let’s go before they start talking about the company. The dinner table is a no-work conversation zone,” your mom says, ushering Yoongi out of the kitchen as she hears her husband talking about numbers and beats.

○●○●○●○●○●

Tuesday, after dropping off lunch at your office Yoongi wanders to Hoseoks office, taking him up on his offer. He knocks, waiting for his new friend to open the door. Hoseok gives him a small tour of his studio and explains some of the newer equipment’s purposes to adjust Yoongi to the environment. Hoseok was right. This isn’t as intimidating as he’d thought. In fact, once he got the hang of it, inspiration returned to him.

“Go on, try and make a beat,” Hoseok encourages him. He already loves what Yoongi has to offer based on conversations alone. One of the reasons he left the company for a few months was for lack of inspiration. Although talented, none of the other producers offered something that spoke to him.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” Yoongi tells Hoseok, knowing he is imposing on his work schedule.

“I have a meeting now, actually. It should take about two hours. Have fun,” Hoseok says, picking up his jacket from a small sofa off to the corner. Without looking behind him, he leaves Yoongi alone in the studio. Looking at the closed door, Yoongi shrugs and puts on the headphones, working on a melody that has been bothering him for the past two years. Might as well.

Getting the hang of the equipment, he falls deep into a creative flow. He barely notices time go by. The piano notes carry him to new places in his mind as they fall into place in the track. It’s like a dam has been broken down. All he has flowing down at torrential speeds, with no one there to stop him.

A hand on his shoulder makes him jump and tear the headphones from his ears. Heightened senses fail him as Hoseok stands behind him, looking amused at his startled expression.

“The meeting ran late. I thought you’d gone home. Are you okay?” Hoseok asks. His two-hour meeting turned into four. The project’s creators fell into discord about what creative direction they should take it.

“I’m okay. I didn’t notice it had been two hours,” Yoongi says, looking at his watch.

“It be like that sometimes,” Hoseok giggles. He’s found himself in that position before. Music tends to dominate the creator most times. “Want to show me what you got?”

Yoongi nods, turning on the chair to give Hoseok a pair of headphones. Hoseok expected something good but unpolished, considering Yoongi’s time away from producing. The first note of the track proves him wrong. Hoseok does not speak for the duration of the track taking in the masterpiece Yoongi created.

Hoseok is amazed Yoongi managed to inspire him more than most of the producers that work in the company. It’s raw and heartfelt, honest. It comes from a place of experience.

“You did this in four hours?” Hoseok asks, amazed.

“I mean, I’ve had part of the melody for years, but the rest, yeah,” Yoongi says nervously. Does Hoseok think it’s trash?

“It’s phenomenal. You have to consider joining the company!”

“Seriously?”

“Yoongi, you’ve got me feeling more with that track than I have in a good while,” Hoseok confesses.

Hoseok is boosting Yoongi’s confidence and ego. He forgot the effect his music can have on people. It’s addicting.

Someone interrupts them by knocking on the door and peaking their head in. It’s a wolf hybrid Yoongi recognizes. “Namjoon?”

“Hi, Yoongi!” The hybrid smiles widely, fist-bumping him.

“I see you two know each other,” Hoseok says, searching for the hard drive Namjoon came for.

“Yeah, Yoongi sometimes comes to the concerts and helps sell tapes,” Namjoon says.

“Well, his girlfriend recruited you,” Hoseok tells him.

“Blue recruited him?” Yoongi asks, surprised.

“Yeah, she bought one of his tapes from your store and liked what he had to offer,” Hoseok explains, handing Namjoon the hard drive.

“She hunted me down until I said yes,” Namjoon laughs, remembering that moment from months ago.

“Can I ask about the conditions of working here? With us being hybrids and all?” Yoongi asks Namjoon. While Hoseok has helped him so much, he needs the insight of a hybrid who works at the company to fully convince him.

“I can honestly say this job is one of the few that treats their workers equally. So far, I haven’t had a single bad or sketchy situation. If you have an opportunity to join, take it! It’d be nice to have you on the music scene again.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi has much to consider, but the more time he spends here, the more convinced he is.

○●○●○●○●○●

“What would you say if I accepted your dad’s job offer?” Yoongi asks you one night while you are getting ready for bed.

“I’d say I’m thrilled and proud of you, Yoongs,” you grin at him through the mirror.

“You wouldn’t mind working with me?” He says as he walks up behind you, eyes locked on you through the reflection.

“Not at all,” you shake your head, “I know it might seem like too much, but I assure you we won’t see each other so much that it’ll come to that.”

You and Hoseok barely see each other in the office since you mostly work on different projects. While Hoseok is a producer, he is also an artist, so he mainly works on his own stuff. On the other hand, you work for female artists and girl groups.

“I’m more worried about you being sick of me,” he jokes, throwing an arm over your chest to pull you close to him.

“Don’t be. I love you. When I get sick of you will be the day hell freezes over,” you say, looking up at him.

“I want to work on something that will make you proud and won’t make you regret your decision,” he whispers. He wants to be successful for you. You deserve only the best.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Yoongi. No matter what you do, ill be proud of it, even if it’s a kid’s song about tomatoes.” You think there is nothing Yoongi can do to disappoint you.

“I don’t think the parents will appreciate my swearing,” he admits with a laugh, knowing how much he swears.

You laugh along, “Me either. Maybe that will set you apart from the competition. Oh! How about a cursing alphabet?!”

“You’re a genius,” Yoongi fake gasps, making you giggle. He sweetly kisses your cheek, “Let’s go to bed.”

○●○●○●○●○●

Yoongi hires a new employee for the Music Store in a matter of weeks and begins his new job. As you said, he doesn’t get to see you much, if only brief glimpses in the hallway before you get pulled away to a meeting or studio.

With Hoseoks and Namjoon’s help, he quickly gets the hang of everything in the studio. Currently, he’s a producer. He creates music he likes and collaborates with artists who want to use his songs.

It’s been smooth sailing; his supervisors and senior producers are happy with his efficiency and creativity. They often seek him out for input on work of their own. Yoongi couldn’t be happier.

He delves into his work, giving it his all. It’s everything he ever wanted and more. But with that also comes pressure. Pressure to improve and better himself. Like he wants to upstage himself every day, and that takes time.

○●○●○●○●○●

A Saturday morning two months after Yoongi began working at the company, you wake up to your boyfriend sitting at your desk working away.

He can’t hear you, as you call him, because of the massive headphones over his ears. You let the sheets fall off your naked body and walk over to him, sitting on his lap.

“Morning, Blue,” he says, kissing your head and hugging your waist, preventing you from sliding off his lap. Yet his eyes stay trained on the computer.

“Whatcha doing?” You ask, ignoring the computer to kiss his neck.

“Just finishing something up,” he sighs as his grip tightens on your hip.

“I was thinking we could go out today to the countryside, drive around and get some fresh air,” you suggest, brushing his hair away from his eyes. His cat ears flicker on the top of his head with the gesture.

“Give me an hour to finish this?” He asks, looking down at you.

“A kiss first,” you say.

Yoongi rolls his eyes with a smile and leans down to press his lips against yours. You pull him closer by the neck, deepening the kiss. You’ve missed him. Now that he doesn’t work at the store, he doesn’t have as much time to spare.

You see each other every day, mainly in the mornings and late at night when he returns from work. You haven’t said anything about the matter giving him time to adjust to his new job and schedule.

“Alright, one hour,” you say, standing from his lap. Before you walk away, you feel a smack to your butt. “Hey!”

“Couldn’t resist,” Yoongi laughs as you rub your butt cheek to soothe the sting.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” you pout, escaping to the bathroom.

Yoongi quickly got ready one hour later, and you both headed off to the countryside. Yoongi drives your car with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh.

“Is it everything you expected it to be?” You ask Yoongi about his job.

“It’s better than I ever thought, Blue. And I have you to thank,” he says, squeezing your thigh.

“I mean, I only cleared up a misunderstanding. You’re doing all the work, Mr. Genius,” you grin.

Everything you’ve heard about Yoongi has been good. As a company member, it makes you happy that he works there, and as his girlfriend, it makes you proud. Everyone can see how amazing he is, and he’s all yours.

“Tell me, what songs have I heard that you’ve worked on,” he asks you.

The day was yours to enjoy, and you did. You needed this time with Yoongi. You had been so used to spending so much time together that you missed him like crazy.

Yoongi needed this too you are his inspiration, after all.

○●○●○●○●○●

Yoongi taps his foot on the floor of the elevator. The company’s CEO, aka your dad, called him up to his office. He sounded normal on the phone not mad, so maybe it’s just a catch-up?

Still, his survival instincts tell him he’s in trouble and should run. He shoves them to the back of his head as the elevator dings and opens its doors.

The secretary tells him to go on ahead into the office. Your dad is there, ruffling through paperwork and signing documents.

“Yoongi, you’re here, good!”

“Is everything alright?” Yoongi asks, sitting on the edge of the seat.

“Yes and no,” he says, folding his hands on the desk.

“Oh?” Yoongi simply responds over the knot in his throat.

“Relax, Yoongi, it’s nothing too bad,” the man reassures him,” I really like that track you submitted, as did many of the artists.”

“Really?” Yoongi says with a small smile.

“Yes, the problem is no one has managed to capture it as well as you,” the CEO explains.

“I’m sorry. Should I continue working on it? Submit a new track?” Yoongi’s insecurity causes him to ramble and miss the CEO’s point.

“No, Yoongi. I was actually thinking of you performing them,” he explains.

“But I’m not an artist; I’m a producer.”

“That’s true, but there’s one step more to become an artist, only if you’d like that,” the man says, offering Yoongi what most would believe is a promotion.

“You want me to be an artist?” Yoongi questions, did he hear right?

“Yes, much like Hoseok or Namjoon. You already have this track, and I know you’ve been working on others with those you can create an album,” the man suggests encouragingly. “What do you say?”

“What if people don’t like me?” Yoongi wonders.

“We can do a test, arrange for you to open for Hoseok’s show, and get a feel of the vibe,” your dad says.

“I’ll do it,” Yoongi nods, “Thank you, sir.”

○●○●○●○●○●

Depending on who you ask, the CEO’s decision was both good and bad. For Yoongi, it’s a dream come true. After he performed his single in Hoseok’s concert, it was clear that most loved the song and the passion Yoongi brought to the stage. You were in the crowd, cheering him on louder than anyone.

But with great power comes great responsibility. If Yoongi was a workaholic as a producer, he’s even more so as an artist working on his new album. He feels the need to prove a point and create a near-perfect album.

His days and nights are spent at the studio, and whenever he’s not there, he’s also at home working.

You have supported him every step, offering him advice when he asks. You make sure he eats at least two meals a day and sleeps a few hours a day.

As the weeks go by, it’s like your relationship has been on the back burner and is no longer a priority. You let it pass, knowing this is important to Yoongi. He’ll snap out of it soon enough.

As five o’clock comes around one Friday night, you go to Yoongis studio. You both get off work at the same time maybe you could go home together as well. Yoongi has been staying till nearly midnight in the studio this whole week and leaving home stupidly early. The only indication that he slept with you being the kisses on the forehead he gives you when he gets home.

You knock on the door in case he is in a meeting, but his voice lets you know you can go in. He’s slouched in his rolling chair as a beat replays on the speakers.

“You okay, Yoongs?” You ask, having the feeling that he’s not.

“Frustrated,” he says pointedly over the music.

Coming up behind him, you hug him as best you can. He grabs one of your arms around him and kisses the back of your hand.

“Take a break from it,” you say, “Let’s go home. You can come back Monday.”

“I can’t, Blue. I’m so close to finishing it,” Yoongi responds.

That seems to be his usual excuse nowadays ‘it’s almost done,’ and yet it’s not a lie. Yoongi just has a problem with self-control. As soon as he finishes a track, he starts another one.

Taking a more straightforward approach, you push his chair away from the desk, turning him around to face you. “You’re taking a break, Yoongi.”

“I don’t know, Blue,” he says, unconvinced.

“Yoongi, please,” you beg, sitting on his lap, “I need you,” you whisper in his ear.

Those words alone are enough to get Yoongi fired up. Guilt also seeps into his bones as he knows he’s neglected you a little. It’s been nearly two weeks since you’ve last been together, a rare occurrence. At a certain point in you’re relationship, you had sex every day of the week. He comes to the conclusion he has to pleasure you here and now. He can’t leave his Blue like this for another second.

He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you close to kiss you. The kiss soon turns frantic with wet tongues and harsh bites. Yoongi’s hand leaves your hip as the other caresses one of your thighs. Slowly it stops at your knee and gently forces it apart to trail his hand under your skirt. He first squeezes the inside of your thigh, eliciting a soft moan from your swollen lips. With his index and middle finger, he presses your center over the thin material of your underwear. Yoongi works his fingers around the area, feeling the wetness seep out of you.

“More,” you sigh over his pink lips. Pulling your panties to the side, he traces your outer lips with his fingers making you needier by the second. A series of begs come out of your mouth, urging him to fuck you with his fingers at least. Light as a feather, he touches your sopping center up and down, toying with your clit. Your hips twitch the slightest bit, pleasing him beyond extremes. He loves to see you struggle.

Dragging his index finger down your folds, he pushes his finger in. He groans into your mouth, forgetting how oh-so-tight you are. “Yes, Yoongi, just like that,” you sensually moan as he moves his finger in and out. Soon he adds another finger, and he feels as if his fingers almost suffocate with how tightly your gripping them. “Fuck Blue, such a tight pussy. Will you be able to take my cock?”

“I can do it, Yoongi,” You whine, laying your head on his shoulder. Yoongi scissors his fingers, stretching you out. He can’t wait to be inside of you. His cock becomes rock hard, straining under his tight jeans at the thought of using your pussy. How could he let so much time pass? He’s an idiot.

“You should cum over my fingers first,” he murmurs, using his thumb to rub her clit in fast circles. It’s his goal to make her cum around his fingers first. Feel her walls pulse and tighten even more.

You squirm on top of him, chasing your release. With a few more thrusts of his curling fingers, you become undone. Your body uncontrollably tenses on top of him, your teeth biting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, causing him to moan. He hates to admit he likes that more than expected.

“Good girl, Blue,” Yoongi tells her, pulling his fingers out of her and spreading them to see the slickness between them. Your eyes watch as he places his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Fuck,” you moan out at the erotic sight. You need his cock now. Standing from the uncomfortable chair, you undo the zipper of your skirt and let it fall to the ground, along with your shirt. Next goes your bra and panties, which you throw with your foot in his direction. He is quick to catch them and stuff them in his pocket. It might not be the first time he sees you wholly naked, but what a sight you are. Standing as you came into the world in his studio confidently, you have curves in all the right places and perky tits with pink nipples topping them off.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” You say with a wicked grin.

“You’re perfect.” not the first and hopefully not the last time Yoongi grabs his phone and snaps a picture. It doesn’t beat the real deal, but it does get him off whenever you’re not around.

Not wanting to be left behind, Yoongi removes his hoodie and t-shirt in one motion. To tease your needy ass, he takes his time unbuttoning his jeans while keeping his eyes focused on you. You’re biting your lip and playing with one of your nipples as he does. Finally, he eliminates the last layer of clothing, leaving him bare in front of you. You moan at the sight of him. His cock big and thick, a vein running along its length, and his tip almost red. Wetness coats your thighs, your mind plays too many scenarios to comprehend.

Both take rapid steps towards the other and meet in the middle with a searing kiss with tongues twisting together in a dance. You roam your hands over his arms, pecs, and toned stomach. His black tail brushes against your side at the same time. Sneakily you grab his cock in your hands, pumping it a few times. Yoongi gasps, breaking their kiss as you touch his sensitive head, spreading his precum on his length. He leads you to the small leather couch in his office and makes you straddle him. “Are you ready, Blue?” He asks, rubbing his tip back and forth on your slit, getting it wet with your slick.

“Just do it, please,” you beg, touching his shoulders. Yoongi lines his cock with your entrance and slowly pushes you down on him. You feel inch after inch entering you. You missed the feeling of him stretching you out. All you can do is hold onto his strong shoulders and moan.

Yoongi has to concentrate hard on not finishing too soon. The way your warm walls feel around him is excruciatingly good. He takes a moment to compose himself before he begins to slowly and deeply thrust up into you. “That’s it, Blue. Take it all,” he groans.

“Fuck, Yoongi feels so good. I missed you,” you sob into his ear.

The room is humid, with sounds of moans and the slapping of skin. Yoongi picks up the pace, moving your hips to the rhythm he set to fuck harder into you. You bounce on top of him, sweat trailing down your neck and into your chest. Leaning forward, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and nibbling repeatedly. He swears he can feel you get wetter as it coats his cock and the top of his thighs.

“You’re driving me insane, Blue.” He’s losing control. There is no way he’s lasting much longer. The closer he gets, the more irregular his thrusts become. With his fingers digging into your hips, he shoots his load inside you as you moan at the sensation of being filled. It warms you up, and with his cock still inside you, you feel full and satisfied. You don’t care at the moment you didn’t get to finish, you relish being this close to Yoongi.

Yoongi lays limp under her for a second, eyes scrunched and teeth biting his lower lip. You spread kisses on his jaw and neck, leaving little marks behind that will fade by morning. His skin is sweaty yet delicious as you lick up the column of his neck. Tugging his lip away from his teeth, you softly kiss him, lips slotting together flawlessly.

Being the gentleman he is, Yoongi unexpectedly gets up, wraps your legs around him, and sits you on his desk. He pulls out of you and observes his seed seeping out of your pink pussy. Kneeling on the floor, he then licks up your slit. You cry out from the sudden pleasure and sink your fingers in his hair, causing him to purr. Locking eyes with you, he pushes his tongue into you, tasting a mix of you and him. He rubs your clit as he licks until you can barely speak.

“O-oh my g-god, kitty,” you mewl, tilting your head back and propping yourself up with a hand before you collapse on the control panel.

The way your body reacts assures Yoongi you’re close. Speeding up his movements, his lips wrap around your clit and suck. Finally, as you climax, he bites down gently on your bundle of nerves amplifying whatever you were feeling before. With toes curled and no control of your body, you push Yoongi away before you pass out from the pleasure.

Coming down from your high, you look at Yoongi and begin laughing, “That was fucking great.”

“I had to make up for lost time,” Yoongi chuckles, standing between your legs and hugging you.

“Let’s go home?” You plead with your eyes.

“Let’s go home, Blue,” he says, playing with a strand of your hair.

○●○●○●○●○●

You give your keys to your car to the valet and walk into the fancy restaurant. Your parents had invited you to dinner to catch up, Yoongi was supposed to come but last minute, said he couldn’t because he had a lot going on.

What you hoped was only a phase has become routine. Too many times, Yoongi has canceled on you or stood you up. He sleeps in your apartment but gets home exhausted and barely speaks to you. It’s incredibly frustrating.

You thank the waiter as he pulls your chair out for you and pushes you in. Your parents are already sitting with a glass of wine.

“How are you, honey?” Your mom asks sweetly.

“I’m okay,” you respond, trying to pretend you are okay when in reality, you’re not yourself.

You never wanted to become the girl dependent on her boyfriend. You like to believe you’re not her. Then why is Yoongi’s absence affecting you so much? You’re known at work for your cheery, happy songs, yet all you’ve written for the past few weeks have been sad songs. They are bangers, but not what your artists require.

As soon as you walked in, your mom knew something was off. You’re not carrying yourself as you usually do, your shoulders are slumped, and you’re looking down at the ground as you walk.

“Where’s Yoongi? I thought he was coming.” She asks, immediately knowing the problem.

“He had a lot going on in the studio,” you repeat his excuse, swirling the wine served in your glass.

“I must say he has exceeded all expectations. I expect his album to be a hit,” your dad says excitedly, none the wiser.

“I’m happy to hear that. He’s so worried over it and is overworking himself,” you force a smile, “Just now, Yoongi was saying he was behind on a track.”

“Behind? Yoongi is ahead of schedule. I’ve told him to take a break,” your dad scoffs, looking over the menu.

“What?” You ask, meeting his gaze. All this time, he’s been telling you he’s behind. It’s one of the reasons you haven’t confronted him. You want him to do well, after all.

“At the speed he’s going, we can release his album two months before scheduled,” your dad shrugs.

“Good,” you say dryly.

Immediately after dinner, you rush back into the studio, finding Yoongi still holed up there. You slam the door open, startling him. He looks at you up and down, seeing you all dressed up, beautiful.

“How was dinner?” He asks, turning back around to face the screen. Missing your response, he turns back around, “What’s wrong?”

“Two months ahead? What the fuck, Yoongi?” You yell at him, arms crossed over your chest.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, standing from his chair to come closer to you.

With each step he takes forward, you take one back, “Your album. My dad just told me you’re ahead of schedule.”

“Well, yeah, but there is still so much work to do,” Yoongi responds sincerely as if there’s nothing wrong with his confession.

“I’ve let you do as you pleased, thinking you were still adapting, getting used to the industry, but you’ve been holed up in here, ignoring me because you want to?” You ask him, trying to ignore the knot forming in your throat.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” he shakes his head, trying to reach out to you.

“Yoongi, when was the last time we went on a date? Hell, the last time we had breakfast together?” You ask him, knowing it’s been far too long.

Yoongi stays silent, confirming your thoughts. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed since he was hired.

“Exactly, I can’t even remember when we had a proper conversation that wasn’t about work,” you say, frowning. You tried to ignore all the red flags but no more. This isn’t good for you or him.

“Blue, you don’t understand,” he begins saying.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You yell as your fists clench at your sides, “Min Yoongi, I’ve been working here for far longer than you have, and I have never once made you a second priority. I’ve always made time for you and checked up on you. My life is not my job; it’s only part of it. I understand this is your dream, and I want it for you so badly, Yoongi. I’ve been rooting for you all this time, and I still am. But I didn’t know that in achieving your dream, you would give me up. I want you to succeed, and I want to be by your side when you do. I want to be there for you in your new life, in your ups and downs. I want to be a part of us. But if you can’t commit to me, if you don’t let me be there for you, then what are we even doing?” Your eyes are welled with tears when you finish speaking. You refuse to let them fall.

You stand there vulnerable, letting Yoongi into your thoughts, and all he says is, “This is what I’ve always wanted, Blue.”

This. Not Us. Yoongi doesn’t want you that much is clear.

You don’t have any more fight in you. You’re tired of waiting on him. If he doesn’t want you, why stay?

“If you let me walk out, I’m not coming back.”

You turn around, walking toward the door. Yoongi stays quiet through it all. He thinks this is for the best. You are right, he’s been neglecting you. It’s not fair for either of you. He hates seeing you go, he loves you with all he has, but this is his one chance. The only opportunity to make everything right.

You beg for him in your head to call out your name. All you want is for Yoongi to stop you and make you stay. You could go home together and forget all of this happened. It’s Yoongi’s choice, and he chose to see you close the door behind you.

To think tomorrow was your first anniversary.

END OF PART 1

PART 2 COMING SOON

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[senditcolton]

I'm Still Glad I Met You

Isn't it profound, how such a brief experience can be so special?

summary: Emmaline 'Emma' Evans never expected to be in Paris, searching for inspiration to bring back to her new cafe in New York. She certainly didn't expect to meet Nico, a stranger who doesn't feel like one. But is it just the City of Love twisting her emotions, making her fall for someone who is sure to be temporary? Or is this is the start of something real? song inspo: need by taylor swift word count: 12.5k warnings: hinted intimacy (non-explicit), brief language, resolved angst. written for @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange to @offside-the-lines with love 🤍❄️🖋️ bonus epilogue!

Au nom de l’équipage d’Air France, nous vous souhaitons une bonne journée.

From the large windows, Emmaline Evans watches the darkened tarmac pass, her plane headed towards the gate. There was still a small part of her that couldn’t believe that she in Paris. It was exciting even though she wouldn’t be able to explore until tomorrow. But she knew to hold her excitement close to her chest, letting her head guide her instead of her heart.

She wasn’t here for a vacation. She was here for work.

While this trip was an early birthday gift from her parents, it was bought with the express purpose of helping her prepare for the opening of the café she and her best friend Morgan had been planning for the past year and was now only 4 months away.

La Crème de la Crème. The best of the best. That was the name and that was the goal; to bring a bit of France back to Greenwich Village and impress all who walked in with Morgan’s coffee talents and Emma’s pastry skills. And what better way to bring Paris to New York than to take inspiration from the City of Love itself?

Pulling her phone out from her purse, she checks the time. 8pm. She scours through her memory until she remembers that New York is six hours behind. Opening her messages, she shoots off a quick text to Morgan.

Landed! I’m going to get to the apartment and then try to sleep. How are things going over there? sent 8:08pm

The rustling of the other passengers pulls Emma’s attention from her phone, realizing that it was time to depart from the plane. She hastily grabs her items, lugging her suitcase from the overhead bin and makes her way through the airport. She utters a quick thank you to the universe for her knowledge of the French language or she would be completely lost. It isn’t until she has successfully grabbed a cab and began the route to the Paris apartment, does she check her messages again.

It's all good here! The rest of the equipment came today so the plan is to finish installing that today. And then all that’s left is the menu, staff, and décor. received 8:16pm

You make it sound so easy. sent 8:37pm

Babe, we’ve been planning this for ages. We are literally in the homestretch! received 8:42pm

I know, it’s just… ugh. I wish you were here with me. This is our dream after all. sent 8:44pm

I do too. But I’m perfectly fine holding down the fort here. You just focus on Paris and all the amazing desserts you’re going to recreate when you come back stateside! (don’t forget to make notes about the coffee as well!) received 8:49pm

I don’t know coffee nearly as well as you but I’ll do my best. Thanks, Morgan. I literally couldn’t do this without you. sent 8:53pm

You know it. received 8:54pm

A small chuckle escapes from Emma’s throat at Morgan’s reply. She sighs, looking out the taxi window, blinking a few times at the sights in front of her. She was so absorbed in the everything she left behind that she wasn’t even paying attention to where she was. She had entered the city limits. She arrived.

Paris. The city seemed to sparkle as she rode down the narrow streets and alleyways. It was early in the evening which meant the streets were crowded with people. Emma had always believed that New York was the city that never slept but she had a feeling that Paris would prove her wrong.

The taxi pulls up to the Airbnb that Emma rented and she takes her luggage, thanking her driver before grabbing the key out of the lockbox and making her way up the narrow staircase. She looks out the small window, looking at the city stretching out in front of her, the lights of the Eiffel Tower shining in the distance.

These next 4 days would be magical. That much she was sure of. What else could this experience be described as?

~*~*Day One*~*~

Emma had been in Paris for less than 16 hours and she had already found so much inspiration. It wasn’t just the cafés that she had stopped at so far, it wasn’t even the assortment of treats she had already eaten; it was the city. She thought the stories she heard about Paris were exaggerations – no city could be that amazing. People surely had to be over-romanticizing the city of romance. But they weren’t.

Here, in this moment, sitting at the Café de la Paix outside the Grand Hotel, watching as the people passed her by, listening as the chatter of multiple languages bouncing off her eardrums… she realized those stories were true. The city itself brought about its own kind of energy, cocooning her in a beautiful dream. The afternoon sun was warm on her face and Emma could only hope to bottle a mere drop of this feeling and pack it in her suitcase to bring back to New York along with her notebook that was already filled with scribbles and notes about the delicacies that she had sampled.

“Je peux me asseoir ici?”

The slightly butchered pronunciation pulls Emma out of her reverie. She looks over to see a man standing with his hand lightly resting on the chair across from her. She shoots him a smile, her hand gesturing towards the seat.

“It’s all yours.”

“Is it that obvious that I don’t speak French?” the stranger asks her as he sits down, a sheepish look on his face.

“I never said that,” Emma laughs, her lighthearted teasing pulling a relaxed smile onto his lips. “But you shouldn’t feel too bad,” she continues. “I’ve noticed that if you have even a hint of an accent, the locals here switch to English, even if you actually know how to speak French.”

“I take it that’s happened to you?”

“The American is hard to mask,” she replies with a slight shake of her head. “I’m Emma.”

“Nico,” the stranger replies, reaching for her outstretched hand to give it a polite shake. “So, American huh?”

“Born and raised. What about you? I don’t mean to pry but I do hear a… unique accent.”

“I’m from Switzerland but I work in America,” Nico explains.

“And you’re in Paris for…” Emma asks, unsure why she is so interested in this – very handsome – stranger’s story. But Nico doesn’t seem to mind her questions as he gives a small shrug and replies with that same gentle smile on his face.

“My job. Some press work,” he says, vague but nonchalant.

“Wow. You’re from Switzerland, you work in America, but your job also takes you to Paris? Quite a world traveler.”

“I’m very lucky,” Nico says before turning the question back to her. “What about you? Are you here for work or pleasure?”

“Work. But maybe a little bit of pleasure?”

“Well, now you’ve intrigued me.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’d still love to hear about it.”

“Really? I don’t want to waste your time,” Emma says, hesitant. However, she can’t deny the small spark of hope that flutters in her chest over the prospect of Nico wanting to talk to her. Who wouldn’t deny the attention of an attractive and kind stranger?

“I have nothing planned for the rest of the day,” Nico assures her. “Plus, you’re one of the few people who has been welcoming to me, outside of the people from my… company.”

“Are the Parisian’s living up to the ‘stuck up French’ stereotype?” she laughs.

“Unfortunately for them, they are,” Nico replies with a laugh of his own. “But I guess it is pretty fortunate for me.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have run into you.”

Emma feels her cheeks flush as his casual flattery, her head ducking down in shyness. When she looks up, she can see the grin on Nico’s face – as if he enjoyed making her flustered – and Emma is struck with the strange juxtaposition of wanting to playfully wipe that smirk away but also wanting to make sure it stayed just so she could see it more.

“Well, if I’m going to tell you my life story, I’m going to need more coffee,” she finally replies, before waving over the waitress.

The day ends up being a waste for Emma – well, at least in the work sense. She doesn’t leave Café de la Paix until late, sun hanging low in the sky; not nearly enough time left in the day to hit all of the cafés, boulangeries, and patisseries that she planned on visiting. But she finds that she doesn’t care. Because all those ‘wasted’ hours were spent talking to Nico.

He was funny and sweet and charming and drop dead gorgeous. Talking to him felt so natural, like they had known each other for ages even though they just met that day. The entire experience of him sitting across from her in a Paris café, listening to her stories, telling her stories of his own, and constantly shooting her that beautiful dimpled smile… it felt like something out of a dream.

The cynical part of her psyche wanted to shake her; he was a stranger and she was caught up in the romance of Paris. That was all. But the hopeless romantic side of her wanted to stay in this cotton-candy colored haze for as long as she could.

Which is why, now, as she sits in her rental apartment, her notebook splayed open in front of her, she isn’t brainstorming a menu or planning the ingredient list for the café or even scrolling through Pinterest for interior design inspiration.

Instead, her eyes are tracing the scrawl of numbers that Nico wrote in the top right-hand corner.

A number that was written as a request for him to join her on her exploration of Paris.

And – after she banishes that negative voice into the corner of her mind – Emma enters the number into her messages, texting him an invitation to meet her at Du Pain et des Idees on 34 Rue Yves Toudic.

She falls asleep to the knowledge of Nico’s reply.

See you then. received 9:18pm

~*~*Day Two*~*~

This was absolutely ridiculous.

That was all that Emma could think as she closes the door to her rented Parisian apartment.

Granted, a lot of things about this situation were ridiculous. The fact that she was in Paris. The fact that she was there to help open her dream café. The fact that everything she ate tasted better than she could ever imagine.

But the most ridiculous part of all? Nico.

The man that she had only met yesterday and yet… there was something about him. His gentle eyes, his soft smile, the dimples in his cheeks.

He was at the boulangerie when she arrived, a coffee in hand and an Escargot a la Pistache for her. Another thing to add into the ridiculous column – that pastry was the reason that particular store was on her checklist.

And then the day that followed… even more unbelievable. Walking down the Parisian streets with Nico by her side, taking multiple pit-stops into cafés and patisseries and boulangeries, talking about everything but also nothing at all. Nico stayed by her side into the late afternoon, until his job called him away.

There was a constant battle in her mind about why this was happening.

The hopeless romantic was telling her that this was fate; she was supposed to meet Nico here in Paris and they were supposed to experience this moment in time together. That there was a reason, some grand universal scheme, that out of all the tables he could’ve chosen to sit at in Café de la Paix, he chose hers.

The cynic, however, was telling her this was nothing. He chose that table because it was open. He accompanied her today because it came with the promise of delicious French cuisine. And sure, maybe he liked the way she looked. Perhaps that was the reason he stuck around; he was a young handsome man in a foreign country who was simply looking for a good time.

But if that was all he wanted, why choose her? He could easily pick up any beautiful French woman at any bar or club, spend the night with her and then forget her name come morning. Why spend an entire with her, seeming perfectly happy keeping her company, even if that company included her ranting to him about the details of pastry and desserts, something he admitted he knew nothing about?

That unknowable ‘why?’ was haunting Emma. Was she being paranoid? Or was she being careful? Or was she just overthinking about something and someone that was temporary?

In three days’ time, she would be on a plane flying back to New York and whatever she had shared with Nico would be over. She would never see him again. That wasn’t something that her emotions were lying to her about. That wasn’t something refutable. She would never see Nico again. Because that is what this was: temporary.

The thing is… it didn’t feel temporary.

If this was fate or destiny or whatever, it didn’t feel like Nico was supposed to come into her life for a few days and then leave without another word exchanged between them. It felt more intentional.

But, once again, perhaps her emotions were twisting this reality into the fairytale that she so desperately wanted her life to be.

Emma is startled out of her spiraling thoughts by the shrill sound of her phone ringing. After rummaging through her bag, she grasps her cell and is surprised to see Morgan’s number flashing on her screen.

The spike of fear that rushes through her clears her head faster than even the strongest cup of coffee. There was absolutely no reason for Morgan to be calling unless it was an emergency; money troubles, delivery issues, hell it could even be something worse like mold or an electrical fire. Emma quickly accepts the call and lifts her cell to her ear, mentally preparing herself.

“Girl, you better tell me what the hell is going on with you,” Morgan’s voice echoes through the line, clear as day even with the white noise of New York in the background.

“What?” Emma asks, taken aback by Morgan’s unexpected words.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to avoid this,” Morgan quips, confusing Emma even further.

“Morgan, I really don’t know what you are talking about,” Emma sighs.

“The pictures? The angles? That love-struck look on your face in every single one of them?”

“What are you talking about?” Emma repeats.

“Babe, come on. I’ve known you for years now. You think I don’t know what it looks like when you’ve tripped head over heels for someone?”

Finally, the fog lifts from Emma’s brain.

“You’re talking about the pictures I’ve texted to you,” she sighs, collapsing onto the couch. In an effort to keep Morgan updated, she had asked Nico to occasionally take her picture – across from café tables or in front of other classic Parisian sights, all which she sent to Morgan with a quick message or an even faster emoji.

“What else would I be talking about?” Morgan says, the exasperated tone that Emma had grown to love hitting her eardrums.  

“I thought you were calling me because there was some type of emergency.”

“This is a freaking emergency!” Morgan shouts, causing a laugh to fall from Emma, one which is ignored as Morgan barrels on. “My best friend has been struck by Cupid’s arrow in the City of Love!”

“I have not.”

“Don’t deny it. Now, spill. Who is the mysterious French gentleman?”

“He’s actually Swiss,” Emma retorts, knowing that Nico’s nationality was the least important reason Morgan was calling. A thought that is practically confirmed by Morgan’s next words.

“What?”

“Nothing. His name is Nico. He’s in Paris for work. I met him at Café de la Paix yesterday.”

“Really? That’s it? That’s all I get? The CliffsNotes version?”

“Well, to be honest, that’s all I really know. I mean, we’ve talked about family and childhood and general get-to-know each other things – food, movies, all that – but that’s it,” Emma explains, the words feeling stupid as they come out of her mouth.

When talking to Nico, she didn’t mind that they kept things surface level. She knew the reason for it. It was because of that word that continued to plague her – temporary. No point getting into the ‘deep stuff’ when all this would be a distant memory soon.

“Is he handsome?” Morgan’s voice sounds again, her focus on what she considered ‘important’ forcing a laugh from Emma’s lips.

“Drop dead gorgeous,” Emma sighs, Nico’s eyes and dimples and smile dancing through her mind.  

“Have you slept with him yet?”

“Morgan!”

“What?” Morgan exclaims, her own laugh seeping into her words. “I feel like it’s a very relevant question: have you slept with the drop-dead gorgeous man you met yesterday, who is choosing to spend a day of his vacation with you?”

“I told you, he’s here for work. And we didn’t spend the entire day together.”

“Not important. Have you slept with him?”

“No, I haven’t,” Emma replies, the smile clear in her words.

“Bitch, why not?” Morgan shrieks, causing Emma to laugh once again.

“Because. Besides, you should know I don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I know, not since you got out of school. But come on! First off, I take it he’s not a pretentious wanna-be pastry chef, right?”

“He’s not.”

“Alright. Secondly, you’re never going to see him again so what’s the harm?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Emma sighs as she sinks deeper into the couch cushions, the joy dropping from her voice at yet another reminder of this being temporary.

“Woah, okay,” Morgan says, her own voice softening at the sadness broadcasted in Emma’s. “Something else is going on here.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly, it’s not considering how upset you sound. Come on, it’s just me. Your best friend in the whole wide world who may tease you a bit but would never actually judge you.”

Emma takes a deep breath, looking around her apartment, trying to get her thoughts in order. Her eyes move to the window where she can still see the shape of the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

“It’s just…” she begins, hesitating, worried that the words will sound ridiculous. But she relaxes, remembering that it’s just Morgan. “I’ve never felt like this before. Nico, he’s… he’s so sweet and so kind. I mean, like you said, he’s spending his free time to hang out with me. Like, that must mean something right? I mean, if he wanted a piece of ass he could find one easily.”

“Not one as hot as yours,” Morgan interjects but Emma pays no mind to her words.

“It seems like he cares about me as more than just a potential hookup. And when I’m with him… it’s easy, like we’ve known each other for ages. Part of me wants to say that all these emotions are fake because – y’know – it’s the ‘City of Love’ and Paris just making me think this is more than it is but… I feel like I could fall in love with him.”

Emma can hear Morgan’s intake of breath, a tell-tale sign that she opened her mouth to speak but Emma cut her off before she could utter a syllable.

“I know that’s stupid to say about a man I met less than 36 hours ago. Plus, like you said, we’re never going to see each other again. His job apparently takes him all around the world so the chances of running into him after this are slim to none. But since I like him this much – in a way that is beyond casual – I’m worried that if I sleep with him or hell even kiss him, it will just make it harder to get over him. Which, again, is silly that I’m worried about getting over someone that I will might spend a maximum of four days with. Like – it’s just – I don’t know.”

Emma heaves another sigh, her hand moving to run through her dark hair before a half-hearted chuckle escapes her.

“This is why I don’t do casual.”

There is a small pause as Morgan takes in all of Emma’s words, the only sound filtering through the phone being the ambient noise of both of their respective cities. Emma finally hears a sigh from the other line before Morgan’s voice comes through.

“Listen, you know I’m not much for soulmates and true love and all of that. But I think you should just embrace it, whatever it is that you are feeling.”

This time, it is Emma who is about to voice a retort and Morgan who stops her before she can.

“Yeah, you’ll probably never see him again. Yeah, this is all temporary. But isn’t that even more reason to dive in headfirst while you can? Better to live a life of mistakes than a life of regret.”

Emma lets Morgan’s final statement sink in, her brain moving a mile a minute. She was right: what was there to lose? The question whirls around Emma’s head, the answer to which doesn’t instantly appear. The only thing that Emma could think to utter was another sigh.

“You know, sometimes you give really good advice.”

“It does tend to happen from time to time, thank you for noticing,” Morgan laughs. “And hey, regardless of what you decide over there in Paris, maybe this whirlwind romance will give you even more inspiration for the café!”

“And sometimes you give advice like that,” Emma jokes, the exasperation in the tone obvious.

“Eh, you win some, you lose some. I’ll let you get some dinner and sleep. Keep me updated – this time on everything not just the food, please and thank you.”

“Will do. Bye Morgan.”

Morgan replies with a quick goodbye before the call ends, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts once more. The hours pass and after ordering some takeout, Emma sits down at her small kitchen table. While she eats, Emma flips open to the back page of her notebook, writing down all the emotions and questions swirling around in her head, trying find some logical solution to her current predicament.

She’s in the middle of making a pros and cons list when her phone screen lights up with a message. Not thinking much of it, she doesn’t bother looking at the preview before unlocking her phone, ready to read another quip from Morgan. She is halted in her movements when she sees Nico’s name on the screen.

Hey. I had a lot of fun hanging out with you today. I was wondering if you wanted to do it again tomorrow? I have the evening off and would love to take in some Parisian nightlife. received 7:58pm

Emma’s eyes dance over his words before jumping back to her own looped handwriting on the pages of her notebook, trying to add this message into the tangle of possibilities. She is about to type up an excuse about why she can’t before a familiar voice echoes through her mind.

Better to live a life of mistakes than a life of regret. What’s the worst that could happen?

Yes, it could be a huge mistake letting Nico get any closer, letting him mess with her emotions any more than he already has. But maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be. And as Emma chews over those two possibilities, another question enters her mind.

Which would hurt more? Getting over Nico or never giving him a chance?

Emma looks back to her phone, the answer obvious to her now. She deletes the previously half written message before typing up a new response.

What did you have in mind? sent 8:06pm

Anything’s good for me. Just as long as you’re there. received 8:10pm

~*~*Day Three*~*~

Emma thought that she would get used to this feeling; the feeling of existing in a dream. It seemed to happen every hour she spent with Nico by her side. And now, the evening air warm as the two of them sit outside of Carette, the sweet taste of macarons in dancing across their tastebuds with the Eiffel Tower shining directly across the Seine… it was something out of a romance novel.

Emma glances across the small table towards Nico, wondering if he felt the same. He catches her stare and when that beautiful smile appears on his face, the butterflies erupt in her stomach. No one else had been able to illicit that reaction from her with something as simple a smile.

“Anything you would like to do next?” Nico asks, wiping the remnants of his dessert on the small paper napkins.

“Not really. I – well, we’ve – hit most of the cafés and stores on my list so I don’t have really anywhere I need to be,” Emma explains. Nico nods, acknowledging her words with a small hum. “I might just head back to my apartment. It is getting kind of late.”

“Need any company?”

His words catch Emma’s attention, the potential entendre clear within them. Emma shoots him a questioning look and it seems that her expression makes Nico realize how it must have sounded.

“I mean, not like that, I, um – what I was trying to say was would you like me to walk you home – keep you company on the way to your place,” he stumbles over his words and in the streetlights, Emma can see his cheeks turning a rosy pink. She assuages his fear with a soft laugh.

“I’d like that.”

“Good. Okay,” Nico sighs, his hands running through his hair.  He smiles again, one that Emma returns, before he lifts himself from his chair, holding his hand out to Emma. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Emma says, placing her hand in his as he helps her from her seat. Emma is about ready release her grasp when she feels his grip slightly tighten, an action that brings another questioning look on her face.

“Is this alright?” Nico asks, his voice soft.

The butterflies in her stomach flip into overdrive at his gentle request. Although she had agreed to this – Date? Meeting? Rendezvous? Whatever. – with Nico, a part of her was still hesitant to make a more daring move. To dive head first as Morgan said. Vulnerability had never been much of a strong suit for her.

But considering that Nico was looking at her like she hung the stars, that sweet earnest expression on his face, she realized that she didn’t care if her heart would be broken by the end of this trip. Because whatever she shared with Nico… it was magical.

Why not keep the magic for as long as she could?

The smallest of smiles tugs at the corner of Emma’s lips as she adjusts her hold around Nico’s hand, weaving her fingers through his.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers, her voice wavering a bit; a waver that Nico hears but silences with a small squeeze of her hand and that bright dimpled smile.

The two of them leave the small café, walking hand in hand across the square, through the Trocadero Gardens to the Pont d’Iena bridge, the Eiffel Tower standing tall in front of them. The water of the Siene is a soft soundtrack below them and Emma finds herself caught up in the beauty of Paris.

Part of her thought that the novelty of the city would wear off eventually. But it seemed that Paris revealed something else wonderful to her every second she walked down its paved streets. As her and Nico walk underneath the sprawling base of the Eiffel Tower, Emma’s eyes trace the steelwork; its gentle arcs, its cross-work patterns, the diamond in the center that she knew lifted up and up, the lights hung on every intricate weld. This vacation was one of the best things that ever happened to her, that much she was sure of.

And it was made even sweeter with the presence of the man by her side, still holding her hand.

She looks over towards Nico, his eyes connecting to hers, a smile appearing on both of their faces. She lets him lead her away from the tower, down Champ de Mars.

Emma had previously thought that the city was manipulating her emotions, getting her hopes up over someone who didn’t feel the same. Now, she thought that perhaps the city brought Nico to her for a reason. That the city wasn’t scheming to break her heart… it was planning to open it and let Nico – with his gentle eyes and soft smile and adorable dimples – change her for the better.

Her daydreams are interrupted by a chorus of ‘oohs’ falling from the mouths of other tourists around her and Nico. Emma looks and sees a few people with their camera’s aimed behind them and when she turns, her jaw drops.

There in the background, the Eiffel Tower stands, it’s thousands of lights now flashing, making the entire structure look as if it was covered in glitter.

“I haven’t been able to catch the light show since I got here,” Emma whispers, partly to herself but her words also land on Nico’s eardrums. “I always forgot when it started.”

The two of them stand there, taking in the sparkling spire before Nico’s voice breaks the brief silence.

“Do you want a picture?”

“Could you? That be amazing,” Emma says, reaching into her purse before she stops. “Oh, right. My phone died.”

“I can use mine,” Nico replies without any hesitation, reaching into the pocket of his jeans.

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he says, phone now in hand.

Nico starts to take a step back, his hand slipping from Emma’s grasp. But before he can fully let go, her fingers tighten around his. The action takes Nico by surprise, his eyes jumping to their intertwined hands before looking back to Emma.

“Take one with me?” she asks, her own voice soft, the question seeming to hold more weight than it should. Emma watches as a flicker of hesitation passes across Nico’s face, the uncertainty making her anxiety jump. But Nico once again silences her fear, his expression morphing back into that smile that made her heart skip in the best way before he gently nods his head, stepping back towards her.

Nico turns their bodies so the Eiffel Tower is behind them before holding out his phone. Emma takes a small breath before she moves, slotting her body next to his, her free hand lifting to rest on his chest. Every movement is tentative, unsure of how much Nico will allow. But when Nico drops her hand to wrap his arm around her body, pulling her closer, Emma relaxes. Her body curls into Nico’s, head resting on his shoulder as Nico angles the camera to capture the shimmering tower in the background.

Nico’s thumb presses the shutter button a few times before moving the phone closer to them as his hands navigate from the camera to the photos. Emma looks over the images, the smile never leaving her face. Each picture is beautiful; the two of them looking incredibly happy, the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance. She turns her attention away from Nico’s phone, back towards him. But when their eyes connect, her breath catches in her throat.

The look on Nico’s face is one that Emma has seen a thousand times before, but only in movies and television shows. A look that had never once been directed towards her. A look of utmost gentleness, the yearning in Nico’s irises gleaming with the same intensity as the light show still happening behind them.

Nico’s head dips closer towards Emma’s upturned face and Emma finds her own body is stretching up to meet him. They pause, bare inches in between them and Emma can feel the gentle brush of Nico’s breath fanning across her cheeks.

Another moment of hesitation, the air thick with indecision, waiting for someone to make the final move.

In the end, it turns out to be Nico that leans in, closing the gap between them and capturing Emma’s lips in a gentle kiss. The press of him against her surprises Emma – not because she wasn’t expecting it, not because she didn’t want it, but because she couldn’t quite believe it was really happening.

The touch of him, the taste of him… it felt too good to be true.

But when she feels Nico start to pull away, the shock subsides and the hunger takes over. Her hands blindly lift to burrow into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, dragging him back into her as she reciprocates the kiss.

This time, it is Nico that is taken aback by her intensity but it is brief – a minuscule surprise – until he matching her passion, his own hands tightening around her waist, pulling her body impossibly closer to her. The kisses deepen, the two of them enveloped in the desire that had been steadily building for the past two days.

Eventually, they fall away from each other, dazed from the kisses shared. Emma glances up at Nico, the smile on her lips mirrored on his.

“Wow,” he whispers, his hand lifting to delicately brush his fingers across Emma’s cheekbones, causing a light laugh to escape her.

They stand there for a moment, still wrapped in each other’s arms. Emma’s thoughts spin in her mind; questions about what this means and if this changes anything. But eventually, one voice takes over.

Embrace it, Emma.

She wasn’t sure if that voice was that of her best friend or of Paris or her own, but it didn’t matter who spoke. All that mattered was that she listened.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be tomorrow morning?” Emma asks, the words light with the crooked grin that twisted itself onto her lips. The smirk is quickly matched by Nico, this time the double entendre being anything but unintentional.

“I don’t. Why do you ask?” he says, his own voice teasing.

“Oh, there’s just this café right next door to my apartment that I think you might enjoy,” Emma nonchalantly replies, matching his taunt.

“Planning another brunch?”

“It opens pretty early. And people always say that first customers get the freshest food.”

“Breakfast then,” Nico says, his agreement to her anything but subtle offer painted clearly on his face. 

“Perfect,” Emma replies.

Nico leans forward, kissing Emma once more and if there was any question left in either of their minds, it was erased by the need coursing through their bodies. Nico pulls away, his arms falling from Emma’s frame – albeit reluctantly. He takes a single step back before offering his hand once again, one that is immediately accepted by Emma. Their fingers intertwine as Emma takes her place by Nico’s side. He looks down at her, his eyes bright.

“Lead the way.”

~*~*Day Four*~*~

The gentle morning sun rouses Emma from her slumber. The plush sheets brush against her bare skin, the warmth trapped within them comforting her, lulling her back into her dream. Or, more accurately, the dream of last night.

The brush of Nico’s hands against her skin, the strength of his hold on her hips, the feeling of his lips tracing her silhouette, the softness of his hair in between her fingers, his strong arms wrapped around her as they both fell asleep.

Arms that were no longer holding her.

Her brain slowly registers the emptiness surrounding her as she blindly reaches behind, hoping that her palm would land on the solid form of Nico. But when her hand lands on the softness of the sheets and solidness of the mattress, Emma’s eyes open.

She lifts her body upright, muscles protesting, still sore from last night’s activities. Her gaze dances around the studio apartment, finding it completely empty; only the fabric of her own clothes scattered across the floor.

Emma’s heart drops, the critical voice that had been kept dormant coming back in full force, assuming the worst.

He got what he wanted. He coerced himself into your bed and you were foolish enough to let him. And now that he accomplished what he set out to do, there was no reason for him to stick around.

The soft chime of the doorbell echoes around the apartment, cutting of the voice before it had a chance to berate her further. Emma sighs, lifting herself off the bed and grabbing the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door She throws it on before walking down the stairwell towards the entrance door.

She isn’t concerned about who is waiting on the street. It was most likely a delivery person who mistook her door for the side entrance to one of the stores next to her. But when she swings the wooden door open, the French poised on her lips, she is silenced by the sight of Nico standing on the other side of the threshold, a bag hanging from his arm and two cups of coffee in his hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to take your keys and make you think you lost them or something,” he explains, the sheepish look gracing his features. Emma stares at him for a moment, her thoughts rearranging themselves at the realization that she was wrong and he didn’t simply abandon her.

“It’s alright,” she says, stepping to the side. Nico crosses through the doorway as Emma closes the door behind him. He lets her climb back up the stairs first before they both re-enter the apartment.

Nico breezes over to the small table in the kitchen, leaving Emma still standing bewildered near the entrance. She watches as he sets down the two coffee cups before fishing into the brown paper bag and removing a pair of eclairs.

“I probably should’ve waited for you because my French is terrible. Thankfully, the workers remembered you so I trust that they got your order right,” Nico explains, shooting a smile her way. “You must really like that place if they know your name after only three days.”

“Wild & The Moon has great food. I think I’ve stopped there every morning since arriving,” she says, walking towards him and taking a seat in one of the chairs. Nico settles into the opposite seat, that soft smile on his face.

“Well, I’m not going to be one to disagree with a pastry chef,” he laughs, his cheery demeanor breaking through the thin wall that Emma had hastily created around her heart when she woke up to find him missing. She returns his grin, although it is slightly half-hearted. She can see her hesitance register on Nico’s face but Emma doesn’t address it. Instead, she grabs the coffee he placed in front of her, taking a small sip.

“Is everything alright?” he asks.

“It’s perfect. Exactly what I always order,” Emma replies with a small shrug.

“That’s good to hear but it’s not exactly what I was asking.”

Emma looks back up at him, his eyes trained on her face. His emotions were painted so clearly onto his features; concern, confusion, and an inkling of fear. Emma sighs again, shaking her head slightly.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s bothering you so it isn’t nothing,” Nico shoots back, the earnestness in his statement startling Emma. Nico hesitates before reaching his hand out, brushing his fingers against hers before intertwining their grip. “Tell me, please.”

Emma takes a breath, the words sticking in her throat, unsure whether to tell him the truth or to brush off his worry again. But she decides to embrace it – every emotion, the good and the bad.

“I thought you left me,” she whispers, looking back up at him. “Took off after I fell asleep because this – whatever this is – is casual. And that’s what happens with casual.”

Emma immediately regrets the words when she sees Nico’s face fall.

“Is that what you think about me?”

“It’s what my worst intentions thought,” Emma answers honestly. “I’m glad I was proven wrong though,” she continues, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. One that Nico blissfully returns.

“Last night…” he begins, pausing to deliberate his words. “Last night was amazing. Really. But I want you to know that I loved hanging out with you before that. I don’t want you to think it was all a ruse to get in your pants.”

Emma wants to tell him that she didn’t think that but it would be a lie so she just keeps her mouth closed, listening intently to Nico instead.

“I really like hanging out with you,” he concludes, looking back at her.

“I do too,” Emma responds with a smile.

She doesn’t tell him that she thinks she’s falling for him, or at least could see herself falling for him. Because, while this connection may be pure and genuine, that didn’t erase the fact that this wasn’t going to last. She was leaving tomorrow, back to New York. He would leave soon – back to wherever it was that his job took him next.

Instead, they sit there in silence, eating their food and sipping their coffee. It is a silence filled with a sense of comfort but an overlay of sadness as well. This was likely it for them.

“Today is your last day in Paris, right?” Nico asks, breaking the silence by voicing the unavoidable truth.

“Yeah. My flight is tomorrow at 9am.”

“Anything you want to do for your last day?”

“Still want to hear me rant about French pastry?”

“I have to admit, it is pretty entertaining,” Nico laughs, that jovial sparkle in his eyes. “And I was serious; I like hanging out with you. I don’t have anywhere I need to be so why not spend the day with you?”

The butterflies start up again; both at Nico’s sweet words but also at the heated way that he is looking at her from across the table, his eyes dancing over her frame. His gaze makes Emma suddenly aware of the only thing that is separating her bare skin from his sight is the fabric of her robe. She smirks, the desire sparking again as she lifts herself up from the table.

“Well, I looked at my notes and I actually managed to hit all the shops I wanted to,” Emma muses, taking a few steps towards Nico. “So, maybe we could go to the Louvre.”

“See the Mona Lisa?” Nico asks, his body turning towards her as she walks closer.

“Although I hear that it can get insanely crowded.”

“A little claustrophobic, wouldn’t you say?”

“My hosts – the couple who owns this apartment – left a long list of tourist spots that are close by. Some gardens, some museums…” she continues, her hands toying with the bow holding her robe together.

“That sounds relaxing,” Nico responds with a small hum.

“But I also have to do laundry and pack and I would prefer to not leave that to the last minute.”

“Completely understandable.”

“So, I don’t know really know what we should do today,” Emma sighs, her body settling between Nico’s parted thighs, the tie of her robe now partially undone, the fabric falling off one of her shoulders. His hands reach out and a small shiver rushes through Emma’s body at the sensation of his fingertips grazing the back of her thighs.

“Maybe we should just stay in?” Nico playfully suggests, his hands dancing up and down her bare skin.

“And waste our last day together?” Emma teases. Nico smirks up at her, one hand moving to the front of her body, gently undoing the remaining tie before slipping beneath the fabric, his fingers grazing her hipbone.

“I’m sure we can find something to do to pass the time.”

~*~*A Year and A Half Later*~*~

“Is the Frasier ready to go?” Emma shouts into the kitchen, her voice startling the few customers waiting by the pick-up counter.

“It’s loaded in the back of your car with the macarons and the components for the mille-feuille,” her sous-chef April calls back. “I’m need to grab profiteroles from the racks and we should be good to go.”

“We have all four flavors of macarons?”

“Yes, boss. Everything is accounted for.”

“Good. Be ready to leave in less than ten minutes,” Emma calls, pushing through the swinging kitchen doors, walking behind the café’s main counter. She weaves her way through the two baristas working on orders towards the pastry display. Leaning down, her scan over the pastries, taking inventory of what is left and what need to be replaced. She is almost halfway through her task before a nudge on her shoulder pulls her attention away from the case. Emma glances up to see Morgan’s blue eyes looking at her from underneath her blonde bangs. Wordlessly, she hands Emma a cup filled with a latte.

“You work her too hard,” Morgan says, nodding towards the kitchen, her words referencing April.

“Nothing she’s not used to,” Emma says, taking a drink. “Trust me. The chefs at her school were likely a hundred times more terrifying than me.”

“I don’t know, you’re pretty scary when you’re stressed.”

“Stressed? Who says I’m stressed?” Emma replies, her eyes turning back to the pastry case. “We need to replenish the Pain au Chocolate as soon as possible. It’s one of our best sellers so those five will probably be gone by the end of the morning rush and we don’t want the customers waiting.”

“I’ll get Jacob on that when he’s done taking orders. And you’d be stupid if you weren’t stressed.”

Her words bring Emma’s attention to her best friend and co-owner, her brows downturned into a scowl.

“Don’t give me that look,” Morgan scoffs. “Only a year since our business opened and a professional hockey team has asked us to cater their charity brunch? This is huge. You should be freaking out, it’s okay. You don’t have to hold it together for appearance’s sake, at least not in front of me.”

“You look pretty calm,” Emma retorts.

“I screamed my lungs out in the walk-in fridge when I got in this morning.”

“You should’ve told me. We could have screamed together,” Emma laughed, taking another sip of her coffee as her and Morgan departed from behind the counter, sitting down at one of the small tables in the corner.  

“With nothing but the eggs and milk as our witnesses,” Morgan laughed. The two of them look out over the café, the sound of customers talking and the hiss of the milk steamers echoing around the space.

“This is insanity,” Emma sighs.

A year. A single year from the grand opening of their café, La Crème de la Crème, and they were already more successful than they could’ve imagined. And now, in a few minutes, Emma and April would be driving across the Hudson to cater for the New Jersey Devils charity brunch.

“If you meet the person that decided to take a chance on us, give them a giant kiss on the mouth from me,” Morgan says, her testament causing Emma to laugh.

“If you want to kiss a hockey player, you should come yourself.”

“Gotta make sure this place doesn’t burn down. But who knows, maybe you’ll fall madly in love with a hot stranger like you did the last time you went to a different city without me,” Morgan jokes. The reminder causes Emma to roll her eyes.

“Will you ever let that go?”

“Have you?”

The blush that invades Emma’s cheeks is all the answer Morgan needs. Yes, it had been a year since the café opened, another four months on top of that since Emma returned from her ‘research’ trip to Paris. And she would be lying if she said she didn’t find herself still thinking about the man she met there.

Nico. He still occupied a space in her mind, ever since that last kiss they shared as he helped her into the taxi the morning she left. It was hard to let him go even though she knew that it would probably be for the best if she could just forget about him.

“The backstock should last you through the morning. If it doesn’t, Kenneth is coming in at 1. April and I should be back before then but if not, he can run the kitchen until we arrive,” Emma says, finishing off her drink and lifting herself up from the table. “Remember to have Jacob stock the Pain au Chocolate.”

“We’ve got it covered here,” Morgan says, her smile calming Emma’s beating heart. “Just focus on being the coolest pastry chef, impressing all those important people, and bringing in new customers.”

Emma responds with a playful salute before disappearing back into the kitchen. April is waiting for her by the back door, black chefs coat on, the café’s name written in cursive script over her breast. After confirming everything was in the car, they both hop in and start the drive to Newark, New Jersey.

Emma sends a thank you to whatever power there was for making traffic light, the trip not taking nearly as long as Emma had suspected it would. They are soon arriving at the hotel, pulling up to the entrance. After a quick explanation of who they were and why they were there, a few hotel workers come out to assist them as they bring their food into the kitchens.

“I’m going to find the organizer, ask where they want us to set up. Just get everything ready to be assembled and then we will go from there.”

April gives Emma a small nod in acknowledgment, turning her attention to the boxes of food in front of her. Emma leaves her to it, following the signs to the ballroom. She walks through the open doors, finding the room decorated in the red and black – colors that she now knew to be the teams –tables filling the space around a small stage.

On one wall lined with banquet tables, she spies an elegant woman holding a clipboard talking to the hotel staff, who Emma was told were providing the rest of the food. She makes her way over, the conversation hitting her ears, confirming that this was the person she needed to speak to.

Emma stands off to the side, waiting for the discussion to conclude before stepping forward.

“Hello. I’m Emmaline Evans, the co-owner and pastry chef from Crème de la Crème,” she says, holding out one of her tattooed hands.

“Oh, yes!” the woman says, graciously accepting Emma’s handshake. “I’m so glad you made it. My name’s Nicole, I’m one of the people who helped organize this brunch. Are you all settled, everything good?”

“Yes, my sous-chef is in the kitchen right now getting the plates ready. I just wanted to introduce myself and say thank you for the opportunity. It means a lot for our new business.”

“Of course! Though, I should really introduce you to Jess. She is the one that came in telling us about this amazing café in Greenwich that we just had to get,” Nicole explains, her bubbly personality infectious, making a smile break out on Emma’s face.

“I look forward to meeting her. I’ll probably be out once everything is prepared, introduce myself to some of the other guests and check to make sure everything tastes alright.”

“Perfect! I wouldn’t expect anything else from a savvy business woman, neither will any of the guests. A lot of driven people here,” Nicole explains, before turning to face the banquet tables. “We have the traditional breakfast fare here and your table is over there,” she gestures to a table a short distance away. “We decided to keep the sweets a little separate from the rest.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Emma nods, taking the layout into memory. “Would you like us to delay bringing the food out so there is a space between the main course and the dessert?”

“Is that alright for you? I think that would be best.”

“Absolutely.”

“Amazing. You can bring out the food at, let’s say 11:30? We might still be in the middle of speeches and all that but that could work out because after we’ve wrapped up there, we can direct people to your delicious food.”

“Of course. I’ll go back and get everything ready. We’ll be out at 11:30.”

“Perfect. Thank you again!” Nicole exclaims and Emma is about to extend her hand for another handshake until Nicole sweeps her into a hug instead. Emma embraces it politely before pulling away and disappearing back to the kitchen. On the way, she sees the beginning of the crowd trickling in, her eyes glancing over the guests decked out in expensive dresses and suits.

This was a golden opportunity and she wasn’t going to waste it.

She breezes into the kitchen towards the corner where April had completely set up everything in the few minutes she was gone. Emma explains the timeline and they both set to work; April filling the profiteroles with their whipped cream center and Emma assembling the layers of the mille-feuille. April finishes first and sets about arranging the macarons and profiteroles on the platters provided before moving to cut the Fraiser into slices and placing each piece on their separate plate. Emma finishes assembling the mille-feuilles and glances at the clock.

“Alright, we’ve got a few minutes. Finish plating the Fraiser and bring those out first. I’ll take the macarons and profiteroles and then we can both bring out the mille-feuille.”

“Sounds good. Do you need any help with the platters?”

“No, I should be fine,” Emma says, leaning down to pick up the silver tray the macarons were placed on. “We’ve got the labels for everything, correct.”

“Yes, boss. Do you want me to bring those out first or last.”

“Last. We can arrange the table how we see fit and then label the plates instead of having to shuffle everything around.” Emma is about to leave the kitchen before she turns back to April, the platter resting on her shoulder. “You know you don’t have to call me boss.”

“Force of habit,” April laughs, her brown eyes sparkling as she looks up from the Frasier. “You can stop pretending that you don’t like it.”

“Ha-ha,” Emma utters a sarcastic laugh before leaving. She retraces her path to the ballroom, hearing the echo of an amplified voice guiding her steps.

Emma slips in, the tables now filled with guests, their attention turned to the front stage as she sees Nicole as well as few other beautiful women standing by the podium. She registers parts of their speech; happiness for how the season was going, excitement for what was coming, reminder of the charity they were here for, and of course a call for generosity in donating. Emma makes her way around the perimeter of the room, coming to the assigned banquet table before setting the platter down. She moves back catching the eyes of April walking in with the platter of Fraiser and directs her with a nod of her head.

A few trips later, Emma is standing in front of the table, her eyes gazing over the assortment of the food she was proudest of. It looked beautiful, the whites and golds and reds and pinks and browns of the desserts creating a stunning mosaic, each section labeled in the same elegant cursive that graced her chef’s jacket.

“I’m going to go back, clean up the kitchen and get ready for any food we might have to bring back,” she says, looking to April.

“Don’t you want to stay here? You’re the chef after all,” April asks from the other side of the table.

“I plan on making the rounds a little later, get a little more personal interaction. I have no doubt that you’ll make an excellent first impression of our company without me.”

Emma sees her words register in April’s mind, a smile gracing over her features before it shifts to serious, her body lifting to stand a little taller.

“I won’t disappoint you, boss,” April says, her words serious but punctuated with a small wink, causing Emma to playfully roll her eyes. She doesn’t give another response, departing the ballrooms. She is only a few steps out of the door when she hears the final announcement echo from the speakers.

“Now please enjoy some delicious pastries from Crème de la Crème Café.”

Hearing her company name announced along with the applause that followed – although she knew the cheer wasn’t directed towards her – made her heart leap. Everything was perfect so far; all that was left was for the guests to like the food.

Emma cleans, packing the equipment they brought into her car and assembling a few take-away boxes that she hoped she didn’t have to use. She leaves the kitchen, taking a quick stop in the bathroom to wash her hands and adjust her appearance, making sure not a hair was out of place. She takes a few deep breaths, straightening her jacket before moving back into the ballroom.

She takes in the sight of plates filled with her food on tables, the smiles on peoples faces and it makes her relax. Emma catches sight of April still manning the table, her smile never wavering as she hands out desserts, her lips explaining each delicacy. She catches Emma’s eye, sending her a wink before turning her attention back to the guests. Emma lets out a sigh before she gazes around the ballroom.

“Oh, there she is! Emmaline!” she hears a voice call, locating Nicole sitting at a table waving her hand. Emma smiles, weaving through the crowd until she reaches her.

“Everyone, this is Emmaline Evans. She’s the chef that created all these wonderful treats for us!” Nicole explains and Emma smiles, nodding her head to the other guests sitting there.

“How is everything tasting?”

“Delicious!” one of the gentlemen at the table says. “Why haven’t we heard about your restaurant before?”

“We actually opened a year and a half ago so we’re relatively new.”

“Well, you are sure to get some new customers if your food always tastes this good,” he laughs, extending his hand. “Erik.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Emma says, accepting his handshake.

“I can guarantee that the food is always this good,” another feminine voice sounds from across the table. Emma turns her attention to a brunette smiling at her. “Definitely worth the drive to Greenwich.”

“Oh, right! Emmaline, this is Jess. She’s the one that insisted we book your company,” Nicole explains, the words forcing Emma to extend her hand eagerly, Jess accepting it with grace.

“Thank you for the opportunity. It really means a lot to me and my co-owner Morgan, so thank you for taking a chance on us.”

“I knew it wasn’t going to be that much of a risk. I’ve been forcing Nate to drive me to New York on his days off so I can get your food,” Jess says, nudging the shoulder of the man next to her – who Emma can only assume is Nate. “You deserve way more recognition. And, when I heard about a small woman-owned business, I knew I had to give my support. Kind of what we do.”

The other women at the table laugh in agreement, causing another smile to break out on Emma’s face. She politely stays for a few minutes, answering queries about the food provided, the menu at the café, and other general questions. Slowly, her body registers the weight of someone’s eyes on her from across the ballroom. A lull in the conversation allows her to lift her head and look around.

When her eyes land on the source of the stare, her heartbeat falters in her chest.

It had been over sixteen months since she had last seen him but she swears she could recognize those gentle brown eyes and that flowing chestnut hair anywhere.

A few tables away sat Nico; the man that she met in Paris all that time ago. The man who enchanted her from the moment he sat with her at the café table. The man she never thought she would see again.

He was here.

Emma quickly snaps out of her trance, breaking his gaze and turning her attention back to the guests in front of her with a polite smile. But beneath her composure, her thoughts were as erratic as her heartbeat. She steals another glance back in Nico’s direction, finding him in a conversation with the young man next to him, that familiar dimpled smile on his face.

“Apologies,” Emma says, interrupting the conversation taking place around her. “I should greet the other guest, check in on them.”

“Oh, of course! We’ve kept you long enough,” Nicole speaks.

“You should go talk to out team leadership,” the man next to Nicole says – Jesper, she remembered. Emma watches as he twists in his seat, eyes roving over the room before stopping, his long arm pointing to a table. “Over there.”

The directionality of his gesture has Emma’s heart skipping again, the anxiety only heightened when she follows his point to the table where Nico sat.

“That’s our captain, Nico, and our two assistant captains, Jack and Ondrej, along with their partners and a few others,” Jesper says turning back to Emma, who quickly plasters a gracious expression on her face.

“I will make sure to stop there, thank you,” she says before departing, moving only to the table next to the previous.

She was going to keep her word – she just needed a little time.

Emma introduces herself to multiple guests, answering the same questions, and handing out more business cards than she could count. She navigates the ballroom, slowly making her way over to Nico’s table. She swears that every time she moves closer, she can feel Nico’s eyes landing on her more frequently. She manages to focus on the guests in front of her enough that no one suspects anything is amiss. But she knows that the effort is half-hearted at best. The other part of her brain is twisting itself in knots over the prospect of speaking to Nico again.

She never expected to see him. She certainly didn’t expect to see him at a work event. In the fantasies that she allowed herself to occasionally indulge in, they would always run into each other at a bar or in the park or even on the street. In those daydreams, he was single and the magic from Paris would still be there between them.

But now, Emma is forced to make her brain prepare for the possible reality that she was about to walk into: that he was here with an insanely beautiful woman on his arm and the romance in Paris was exactly what she feared it to be – temporary.

It didn’t make it any better that she would have to reckon all of those heartbreaking truths with a pleasant smile on her face; the shield of professionalism she was forced to maintain that could absolutely not crack.

 Emma concludes her previous conversation, taking a deep breath before turning towards the table she had been avoiding all afternoon. She walks up to the edge, glancing around the faces of the guests, trying not to let her eyes linger on one face in particular.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she speaks, calling their attention to her. “I’m one of the owners of Crème de la Crème and I just wanted to check in, see how everything was tasting.”

“It’s fucking fantastic!” the dirty blonde next to Nico exclaims, causing Nico’s head to turn with a glare and a hiss of ‘Jack!’. A blush invades his cheeks before the man – Jack – looks back towards Emma. “Sorry, I mean, it’s really, really good.”

Emma laughs gently at his words before speaking.

“It’s alright. I’m glad to hear you like it that much.”

“It really is delicious,” the stunning blonde woman next to Jack speaks. “Is your store located in Newark?”

“No, we’re actually located in Greenwich Village in New York. But this was an amazing opportunity for our business that we just couldn’t pass up.”

“That’s awesome. Do you normally cater?”

“We’re relatively new to the catering side of food service. We do provide food for smaller parties: birthdays, anniversaries, celebrations like that. This has been out biggest event yet so this was also a test for us, to see if we could handle it.”

“Well, I say you passed with flying colors!” the woman smiles. “Could I have your card? My sister would love this and her birthday is coming up.”

“Of course,” Emma says, her hand dipping into her pocket to retrieve a card.

“Actually, could I have two? I might slip one in this guy’s hockey bag as an anniversary reminder,” she laughs, nudging Jack’s shoulder.

“When have I ever not wooed you?” he laughs.

“I’m not saying you haven’t. This is just a subtle hint about what a few delicious macarons might do.”

Emma nods, grasping the two small slips of paper and extending them to her.

“Could I also have one?” an all too familiar accented voice requests.

Emma turns her attention to Nico, her eyes connecting to his. She doesn’t give a verbal response; just another nod of her head. She hands two cards off to Jack’s partner before turning to Nico, holding a business card out to him as well. Emma suppresses a shiver that threatens to run through her body as Nico’s fingers graze against hers as he takes the paper from her hand.

“Planning on surprising a special lady, as well?” Jack teases. The question is innocent when coming from his mouth but it stops Emma’s heart as she waits for the answer – preparing for the worst.

“If by special lady, you mean my mom when she flies in for the mom’s trip, then yes,” Nico jokes back, his eyes flickering back to Emma. “Besides that, no one else comes to mind.”

Emma lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding at Nico’s subtle admission; he wasn’t seeing anyone, at least not seriously. The other women at the table were with his teammates, not him.

“Could I ask where you learned how to cook?” another gentleman at the table asks, his voice turning Emma’s attention to him.

“Of course. I went to The French Pastry School in Chicago, which is one of the only schools that focuses exclusively on pastry creation,” Emma explains, her eyes darting towards Nico as she contemplates her next words. “But I was also blessed with the opportunity to travel to Paris and experience the authentic Parisian cuisine first hand. That trip inspired me in many ways.”

From the corner of her eyes, Emma watches as a smile tugs at Nico’s lips.

“I’ve been to Paris as well. It’s a beautiful city with amazing food.”

“Right, you were there a little over a year ago, with the NHL European press tour,” another guest says, providing answers to questions that Emma didn’t bother asking back then. He told her that he was there for work. That wasn’t a lie. She just didn’t know that this was his job.

“It was an amazing trip,” Nico replies, his eyes darting to Emma, the weight behind his words only noticeable by that recognizable sparkle in his irises.

Emma’s own smile graces her features. Their silent conversation reminded Emma of passing secret notes, communicating in a way that only the two of them could understand. The hope soared in her chest but she pushes it down in an effort not to get caught up in the moment. She excuses herself, sneaking one last quick glance over her shoulder at Nico before making her way over to April.

She forces herself to focus on the moment at hand, taking stock of the remaining food, the event dwindling down. Emma helps April carry the remaining leftovers into the kitchen, instructing her to pack up the food and load it into the car before helping the hotel staff clean the few remaining dirty dishes.

Emma makes her way back into the ballroom, gathering the remaining business cards from their table, as well as the labels before helping the staff pick up the plates scattered on the tables.

She is absentmindedly gathering the plastic plates into a stack, reaching out to grab the last plate at the table. But before she can, it is taken by a strong hand before it is extended to her. Emma lifts her eyes to thank whoever it was in front of her but her voice catches when her eyes connect with Nico again.

“So, Paris, huh?” he asks, the question loaded with a myriad of emotions that Emma couldn’t even begin to place. She takes the plate from his hand with a smile.

“Yeah, it was a really wonderful experience.” 

“I bet.”

“Ate a lot of good food, saw some beautiful sights,” she continues, a mischievous smirk appearing on her face, her eyes never leaving Nico’s. “Met this really great guy.”

Emma swears that she can see the sigh escape Nico’s chest – the potential fear leaving him as his body relaxes, his tentative smile shifting to match her grin.

“I was worried you didn’t remember me,” he confesses. Emma’s eyes soften at his admission, her head slightly shaking in disbelief.

“Did you really think I’d forget?” she murmurs, her own words just as much of a confession as Nico’s. She watches his brown eyes shift, the confusion dancing within them.

“At the table…”

“I had to remain professional,” she explains, gently cutting him off. “Talking about a whirlwind romance I had with the team captain in front of potential clients – some of which are his teammates – isn’t really the way to get rehired.”

“Good point,” Nico laughs, the sound echoing around the almost abandoned ballroom, his hand lifting to run through his hair. His chuckle pulls a giggle from Emma’s own lips as she shakes her head again.

Their laughter dwindles until the silence covers them again. Emma can’t seem to tear her eyes away from him and it is clear that Nico feels the same. The two of them stand there, taking in the sight of the other, seemingly convincing themselves that they were really standing in front of each other. That this wasn’t just a fantasy.

“In truth,” Emma says, breaking the fragile silence, “You’re hard to get over. No one I’ve met since Paris has even come close.”

The broad smile that appears on his face makes Emma’s happiness increase, the subtle admission that she was also currently unattached understood by Nico.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he tells her, the words bringing a small teasing laugh from Emma.  

“Didn’t know you missed me that much,” she jokes.

Her words seem to catch Nico off-guard. Her green eyes follow Nico’s movements as he reaches into the interior pocket of his suit jacket, fishing out his phone. His fingers move, tapping on the screen and scrolling until he pauses. A smile tugs at his lips as he stares at whatever was on his phone before he turns the device towards her.

Emma swears her heart skips for the hundredth time that day as she takes in the image on the screen. It’s the picture they took that night in Paris – the night everything changed. Her eyes dance over the screen, looking at the ease in which her body was resting against Nico’s, the way his arm was wrapped around her frame, the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the background.

“You kept it,” she whispers.  

“Of course, I did,” Nico responds with just as much tenderness. Her eyes flicker back up to the man in front of her, the look in his eyes an echo of the one from that same night. She watches as he hesitates, seemingly debating the words he was about to say. Whatever doubts he had, they apparently weren’t enough to stop him as he speaks again. “I don’t know if I ever missed anyone as much as I missed you.”

If her heart was beating erratically before, it practically stopped at Nico’s gentle words. The desire, the yearning, the emotions hanging from every syllable hit Emma like a freight train, his need bringing forth her own. A need that she tried – desperately – to get rid of for months because she thought she would never see him again.

But he was here. He was real. And he missed her.

“I missed you too,” she admits, the confession not feeling dangerous or terrifying. Instead, it felt as simple as breathing. It felt as easy as it always did when she was next to him. It felt like Paris.

Emma and Nico look at each other, the truth of their admission floating around them, seemingly enveloping them in that love-struck haze that they existed in months ago. In a different city. In a different country.

“I don’t know if this is way too forward but I’d like to take you on a date. Or, I guess another date. If that’s alright with you?” Nico asks, his words still hesitant. Emma responds with a gentle smile.

“That sounds perfect.”

“I can’t promise that it will be as magical as Paris though,” he laughs.

Emma’s expression falters a little at his words, the fears from Paris returning along with the joy. Their reunion felt enchanting right now but maybe the shock of seeing each other again after all those months was the only thing causing this sensation. Maybe after the moment died, the worry that invaded her mind in Paris would be proven true: that it was just the City of Love that fueled their connection.

Embrace it. All of it.

It is that small voice of bravery and vulnerability that sounds, the declaration echoing in her mind. Emma takes a deep breath, summoning the courage she felt in France and letting it fill her body, letting her heart guide her actions. She reaches out towards Nico, letting her hand creep closer to his, her fingers brushing over his skin.

The energy that surges between them when their fingers intertwine is powerful. Those fireworks sparkle stronger than anything before; stronger than the lights about them, stronger than all the lights on the Eiffel Tower. That electricity has Emma looking up at Nico, seeing the same emotions dancing on his face. That touch was proved a fact that they knew in their hearts to be true but their heads still doubted.

That this – whatever it was, whatever they shared those months ago… it wasn’t temporary. It wasn’t the city. This was real.

“Paris wasn’t the magical part.”

tags: @tkachvkmatthew @m00nlightdelights @cixrosie SIGN UP FOR MY TAGLIST HERE

[lilac-5ky]

Roommates from Hell, pt.1 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Stolen Fries taste best

(pic from loving yamada at lvl999, adorable manga, recommend)

Chapter 2 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist

Plot: Out of all the women that come and go in Toji's life, you're the only one he calls his friend. But when he suddenly forces his way into your apartment, the feelings you've kept from him are put to the test.

Setting: Pre Hidden Inventory Arc. Toji and reader are both in their late twenties, no Megumi in picture... yet :p

Themes: Cohabitation, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers

Warning: Slight sexual content minus the actual smut.

A/N at the bottom

“You’re late. Again.”

The small silver bell at the top of the glass door notified you of a man’s arrival, his heavy steps refusing to wipe themselves upon entry, spreading mud all over the now-blotted checkered tiles of the dimly lit diner. You’d been expecting the owner of those shoes for the past six hours, his untimely arrival coming as a bitter aftertaste to an afternoon full of childish joy and mayhem— popped balloons, colorful confetti, and half-eaten pieces of cakes swept into one big pile at the room’s southernmost corner by yours truly.

“I never said I was coming,” the voice retorted, its defiant sound overshadowed by the gruesome screech of a metallic chair. “Not interested in celebrating some brat’s b-day, ‘specially if it ain’t mine.”

“How many helpless children must have spent their birthdays without their no-good father, I wonder,” you wiped your hands against your cherry-red apron, pushing the broom back into place. “If your goal is to repopulate Japan, I’m certain you’ll succeed.”

Hefty fingers mindlessly combed through a head of obsidian black, little spikes forming and then settling back down. “None, as far as I’m concerned,” sarcasm dripped from his tongue.

“Well, I find that hard to believe,” you mumbled under your breath, circling through the room to ensure everything was dealt with: leftovers in the fridge, gift wrappings in the bin, and the large aforementioned pile of garbage waiting to be scooped up. “You’ve known Kenzo since birth. Even if this ain’t your thing, the least you could’ve done was make an appearance. He kept asking about his favorite uncle all night long.”

“Except I’m not his uncle. Don’t mix me in with your sister’s family, I ride solo.”

Sigh.

“My sister’s family might as well be your family, Toji. You know how much Hinata and her kids adore you.”

“Good for them, I suppose.”

Another sigh.

“Can you at least tell me what was so important for you to not even pick the goddamn phone up?”

As if the device had grown sentient, a generic tune began tooting from the back pocket of his sweatpants, eradicating your final hope that it’d simply run out of battery.

Without budging from his seat, Toji twisted an arm around his back to pull his flip-phone out, the silver-tinted lid slamming shut as soon as he’d peered at the caller’s number, his next immediate move being to drown the sound in a glass of leftover Coke, fizzy bubbles playing the device’s final requiem.

You didn’t need to ask to know it was a woman, and he didn’t need to answer that she, whatever the name of his latest conquest was, happened to also be the reason for his being unfashionably late.

It was always like that. He was always like that. He went out with one girl after the other; from women of extreme beauty and poise to mindless bimbos who couldn’t tell tea leaves and coffee beans apart. He’d spend some cash to butter them up with expensive meals at overpriced restaurants, or VIP entrance at the hottest club, or even pay for the name tag on their designer clothes, but come next morning, he was either caught stealing straight out of their pockets or checking whether the tag was still attached to the dress for him to return it to the store—at which point, the vast majority gave up, except for those few poor souls who earnestly believed they could fix him, though they never would.

If there were two things in this world that remained unfaltering and resolute throughout the eons, then that was the earth’s orbiting the sun, and Zen’in Toji’s being the bastard of a man you knew and loved— special intonation of that last part.

It was quite the oxymoron. To know him as an irredeemable scumbag with no intention of changing, and to love him for all he was; a sentence as contradictory and controversial as the man before you. What was there to love? He never gave two shits about the people around him dying, and if he could encourage or partake in their deaths then he certainly would. He gambled every cent of cash in his hands away, and his every attachment ended with the disposal of his used-up condom. He was vulgar, cynical, and brass, and he possessed a great charisma of making people dislike him at first glance. His only saving grace was his good looks and even those he managed to scrape on a daily basis.

So, really, what was there to love about a man whose place fitted best among the pile of garbage in the corner? What was the point in all that?

He never answered your question, and when you realized he wasn’t planning to, you dragged a second chair to his side, propping your elbows first and then your chin over the vinyl backrest, feet landing at each side. You took in his expression— sour and undeniably agitated, with a frown tugging at the scarred corner of his lower lip, and a glare too icy to be meant for the wall of American-styled neon billboards he mercilessly studied. Something definitely bothered him, and as a huff stiffened his chin, the reason became evident enough for you to point at it.

“Woman or work?” you gestured at the blood that dribbled below his ear and down his neck.

He followed your forefinger with his eyes, thumb scrubbing where the gush began. He seemed oblivious to his injury, though it wasn’t as if his becoming aware changed a thing.

“So it is a woman,” you gladly seized the chance to rub salt into his wound, drawing a frustrated grumble from him.“What did you do this time? Stole her car and crashed it into a tree? Blew all her savings on cockfight betting?”

“Horse races,” he had the nerve to correct.

“Or… did you by any chance bring an uncalled ménage à trois to her bed?”

“What kind of man you take me for?” Toji protested.

“A very, very, veeeery bad man,” you smirked, and he returned it. You knew him like the back of your hand. There was no need to pretend otherwise after well over a decade’s worth of friendship.

“If a very bad man is what I am, then why’d ya let me in?” he asked. “A young unprotected woman all by herself in the middle of the night letting such scum in never ends well. Thought you were smarter than this.”

“If I was smarter, then I wouldn’t be calling you my friend, would I?”

His grimace turned into a full-blown devilish grin, the kind that secretly had your heart buzzing against the frail set of bones of your chest. He always looked so dazzling when he smiled, that sometimes you couldn’t find fault in those women wanting to believe in his pretty lies, because you, too, wanted to. You hoped that whatever the price for those smiles was, you would one day be able to afford it and gain ownership of his heart, no matter how wretched or blackened it was.

“You are a real idiot to mix it up with me,” he conceded. “Though, you are a greater idiot for letting that term define us. I bet your nights serving meals at some kiddie place get rather lonely. But I could help. I could make you feel really good, Y/N. So good that you’d risk some prick getting in, lest he is me.”

His tongue poked out his mouth, giving his bottom lip a brief lick while he peered at you through half-lidded eyes. He had this way of turning things sexual in the blink of an eye, selling himself so well that your refusal to buy seemed commendable— despite the unmistakable affection you held for his face. Little did he know how much you longed to push that chair to the side and rip his cocky expression along his black-sleeved shirt off his body, making it so that neither of you had a place to hide from the other.

Now, that’d feel good.

“My nights are fine as they are, thank you very much,” you countered your instincts much to his disappointment. “And if I ever needed myself a helping hand, know that you’d be the last I’d call!” Not as if you’d pick up, anyway, you mentally added.

His gust of interest fizzled out as soon as it surged, your rejection forcing him to rock back and forth between the chair’s legs. He wasn’t interested in continuing this. It was enough for him to take in the dusty pink shading of your ears and smile to himself, knowing you were still the kind of woman affected by his charms. Yes, that certainly was enough, for now.

“I’ll clean you up,” you declared, getting off your spot in haste and strolling through the bar in search of a clean towel.

Once you found it, you let it soak under the faucet and brought it back to him, rubbing against his skin regardless of his petty attempt at gritting his teeth. You placed one hand on his shoulder and another at his jaw, pushing them apart to no avail. Every muscle in his body was stronger than your entire bodily force combined, and he was awfully willing to flex that difference between you, just as he was at letting you straddle his hips and climb all over his body like some sort of feral monkey in heat.

A string of profanities that ranged from “bastard” to “shit-eating-asshole-shithead” poured out your mouth while Toji smirked, and smiled, and grinned, and didn’t even try to stop you from knocking the two of you onto the ground, palms barely managing to stable your head over his face. Your pleated skirt had risen, or rather flipped, over your panties, revealing the strawberry pattern panties you were wearing to his greedy hands as they hiked up your flesh without an ounce of shame.

“Wh-What are you doing?!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he cooed, burying his calloused fingers under the elastic waistband of your underwear.

You felt him trace the inward of your thighs in languid strokes, the fabric stretching the further his hand dipped— closer, and closer to your now-pulsing core, but never so close as to make actual contact. His hot breath tingled your lips, smelling of nothing in particular, but a sweaty tang of a woman’s deodorant that still lingered in his clothes. Had he fucked her before making it here, you wondered, heart tightening at the thought.

Your legs wiggled shut, unable to fully repel his hand, and for a brief moment, you considered letting him go through with this— whatever this was. Even if you came to be another conquest won, you didn’t care. All you needed was for him to hush all logic from your brain, and fuck you senselessly against the checkered tile floor of the “kiddie food place” you served meals at.

“Toji…” you begged, uncertain what you were begging him for until you felt the warmth in your thighs subside.

“Makin’ sure to preserve your maiden’s dignity,” he said as he fixed your skirt in place. “Wouldn’t want some perv catching sight of your cute little ass, would we?”

His condescending tone made you want to throw a slap across his face and then yours; for thinking that maybe this wasn’t a mistake, that you could really move past the pretense of friendship and aim at what you really sought. But he’d been right once before. You were stupid, stupider than all those girls combined, considering you knew and still wouldn’t mind being dragged down with him one bit.

“Fucking asshole,” you blurted as you pushed yourself off him, dumping the cloth on his smug face.

Your lip quivered as you stepped onto your feet, unable to quite shake the feeling of incompletion from your core, walls pathetically clenching around nothingness. You refused to look at him, lest you caved in a second time, and thus you paced around the booths, stopping before the one window whose blinds didn’t block the magnificent parking lot view. Only a black SUV was left— most likely his newest rental.

Following a beep, you watched the lights flicker white, his reflection in the window lifting the chair back up. You crossed your arms over your chest and waited, your impatience and frustration churning into a dangerous mix within your guts, as the asshole whose name wasn’t worth saying moved past you and walked straight to the door, not a single word or goodbye said.

“What about your phone?” you asked, at last paying him a look of spite.

“I’ll text ya my new number.”

“We both know you won’t.”

He glanced over his shoulder and showed you his pearly white canines, his expression not polished enough to be called a smile. You rolled your eyes in the opposite direction, spotting his old device blinking a variety of different lights, refusing to die just like its bastard of an owner.

“What should I do with this?”

“How the hell should I know?” Toji shrugged. “Get rid of it, or toss it in some burger. I’m sure no one will be able to tell the difference. Later,” the bell chimed as the door collided with the frame, chiming a second time as his head popped in a moment later. “Loved the raspberries.”

“They were strawberries, you scatterbrained swine,” you cursed, but he’d heard none of it. The car was gone, and so was he, and it was for the best that he didn’t get to witness the strawberry-colored shadow that loomed over both your cheeks.

Fanning some of that heat away, you returned to the table, surprised to find a white envelope with the name Kenzo hastily written on the front. Cash. Lots of cash. Enough cash to keep a low-end apartment afloat for at least a couple of months. An excuse and simultaneously the answer to all your previous questions.

“You fucking bastard,” you hummed, the term switching to one of utter endearment.

When the first instance of a wintry breeze came charging at the semi-exposed features of your face—a scarf’s fluff tucked right below your nose— you knew that walking all the way to the location where the unknown ID claiming to be Zen’in Toji ordered you to meet up was probably a bad idea.

For starters, you’d turn into an icicle long before making it back to your workplace. Not to mention you had no foolproof way of guaranteeing the person you were about to meet wasn’t some random impersonating psychopath. But when you finally spotted the yellow curvy “M” upon the rectangular red sign that spelled the fast food chain’s name, you narrowed down the psychopaths to that one cheapskate you happened to know.

Walking into the nearly vacant dining area —only the first two booths near the door occupying a family of four each— you detected him almost immediately. He was the only one seated in his wing. Head slightly tilted to look past the window, golden highlights showering the curve of a nose as it arched into thin eyebrows, calm eyes glinting with subtle emerald, and fingers that absentmindedly tapped away onto one of the two paper-covered trays. He had the decency to wait for you before getting into his food, though that didn’t stop him from munching on the occasional fry.

You tugged the handbag off your shoulder and slowly approached him, hesitating to enter his field of view, if just for a moment. He seemed so peaceful and serene, that if you had the guts, you’d snap a picture of him right then and there and make it into your phone’s wallpaper. But you didn’t. You’d never be able to explain it to him in a non-humiliating way, should he catch you in the act, and so, you shook the notion off and marched in his direction, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“What’s the point of calling me out here for lunch if we are gonna have burgers?” you dropped your bag at the far end of the table. “Why not eat at our place?”

“I like the fries here better,” he bit onto one as if to affirm his claim, licking the salty essence off his fingers. “You should be glad I got you some, too,” he nodded toward the closed dome-shaped box that lay in front of you. “Nuggets over burgers, right? Didn’t know what toy ya wanted though. Cashier girl told me bunnies are quite popular with girls your age, so I went with that.”

Ignoring, or rather postponing your answer to his outrageous suggestion, you peered through the contents of your meal’s box, spotting the wrapped-in-plastic purple-colored bunny key chain right at the bottom between the small portion of deluxe potatoes and even smaller portion of chicken nuggets that still steamed hot air. You were surprised he remembered everything about your order, down to your preference for milkshake over other beverages, and perhaps you would have shown your gratitude if it wasn’t for that last comment of his gnawing at your pride.

“How old did you tell the cashier I was, again?” you gritted, trying to suppress the toy’s cuteness within your fist.

“Didn’t. Just said it’s for some kid I know. Probably thought it was for my daughter or something.”

A pair of googly eyes popped out from their sockets, the bunny’s head in serious danger of coming right off.

“Stop acting like an old man,” you muttered in embarrassment. “A nine-month head start in life doesn’t make you old enough to be my father.”

“Still older than you, kid,” said Toji, his fingers latching onto his wrapped-up burger. “Now eat up. Didn’t pay ya lunch for it to go cold.”

Annoyed by his remarks, but oh-so terribly starved, you decided to let things slide, the two of you lunching in a period of temporal truce. He went through his burger in big bites, clearing it out before you even finished your portion of nuggets. You mildly wondered why he’d held off if he was this hungry, but didn’t press on the reason behind his invitation until after his tray was half-emptied.

“So… why’d you wanna meet up? Got something to tell me?”

“Mhm, I actually do. How would you like us to be room—Nah, that doesn’t sound too right,” Toji shook his head off, dusting the excess salt off his fingers. “I decided I’m moving in with you.”

“You, what?!?” You shrieked, eyes wide with shock, resembling those of your newly acquired key chain.

“What I just said. I’m moving in,” he repeated as if you hadn’t heard him the first time around. “Got everything right here. I’ll pop by later so you can show me my room.”

You glanced down at what he tapped as “here”, spotting a large black duffel bag that rested on his feet. He wasn’t joking, you panicked. He was being 100% serious about this. Directing your milkshake to your mouth, you took a nervous sip, nearly choking on the plastic straw between your teeth, while Toji kept staring at you, awaiting no answer in particular. After all, he wasn’t asking. He was proclaiming.

“Why would you want that?” you asked once you regained the ability to think rationally. “Weren’t you the one who said you ride solo?”

“Numerous reasons,” he stated, drawing his forefinger forth as if to recount. “For starters, rental prices going up, gas too. Inflation in the market and all that crap. Your place is also closer to work, and” he leaned closer, “wasn’t your neighborhood the one on the news recently? You know, those serial break-and-enter cases? As far as I’m aware, the culprit’s still running loose, could be a cursed spirit or something. You can’t see ‘em, but I can. I’ll keep ya safe. Wouldn’t you want that? Sounds like a fair deal to me, at least.”

The repetitive pattern of a catchy pop song blasting from the speakers served as a backdrop to your thoughts, eyes flickering between the table and his face. He wasn’t exactly wrong about what he said. The girl next door was the robber’s last victim, and from what you’d gathered, it seemed like the ones targeted were exclusively single women in their twenties. Curse or not, that was the intruder’s type, and you just so happened to tick both of those boxes.

From a standpoint of reason, his suggestion sounded fair alright, but this was Toji we were talking about. The man whose name was your first thought in the morning and the final afterthought in the night. The man you were coincidentally in love with.

Living with him would entail being around him a lot more than you could handle. Waking and sleeping and eating in the same house as him, spending your days off together, bickering about bills, take-out, and the TV remote’s ownership, doing things that only couples got to do, and of course, sharing a bathroom, which on its own meant seeing him parade through the cramped little space of your apartment in nothing but a soggy towel, hair slick and teeth beaming as he’d be asking if you’d like to join him in the shower—

You hit the break on these thoughts and pressed your forehead flat against both palms, feeling the heat exuding through your fingers. You were only able to keep this relationship platonic because of the distance he put between you. If he were to suddenly close it, what would come of you? How on earth would you be able to hold back?

“Don’t you want me?”

“Huh?” you bit at the straw again, snapping it in half.

“I said, you hate the idea of living with me that much?”

Toji certainly didn’t mince his words, but the way he was looking at you, brows furrowing and lips quivering into a frown despite the edge in his tone, almost made it seem as if hearing your rejection out loud would hurt him, and because of that, you had no choice, but to shake your head in denial. You wanted this. More than words could express, you wanted to be with him like that, even if you refrained from disclosing that truth.

You wanted him.

“What about your girlfriends? Wouldn’t they be against you living with some woman?”

“Nah, I’m done with that. Done with all of ‘em.”

“But my apartment is too small. I don’t think it’d suit you—”

“I’ll manage,” he cut you off.

“I don’t even have a second bed-”

“We can always share,” he smirked, letting out a light-hearted chuckle as he watched color paint your cheeks. “Couch is fine, too. So, whaddya say, roomie?”

“…Fine,” you conceded, very well knowing you’d come to regret this decision. “But we need to set some ground rules! No trashing the apartment, no throwing your ‘work tools’ all over the place, no smoking, no drinking, no loud music, and no bringing in random women. No starting fights either! You’ll help around and pay half of what’s needed, so no gambling your money away. Those are my terms.”

“You drive a hard bargain, roomie,” Toji said, balancing his chin atop his elbow. “Fine by me. Told you I’m done with half those things anyway, and I don’t mind helping you with anything. I mean that.”

But I could help. I could make you feel really good, Y/N.

His words from that night still lingered in your mind like an unfulfilled promise, and when he phrased it like that, you couldn’t help but be reminded of how good his hands felt that night, creeping all over your skin as if he owned it— as if he owned you.

“G-good!” you said, picking up a fry off his tray and tossing it in your mouth, lest you said something stupid.

“No one taught you stealing other people’s food is rude?” Toji shot you a glare unequal to your crime.

“It’s not stealing if you are done with it!” you protested. “You haven’t touched your fries in over ten minutes now.”

His tongue clicked against his mouth’s roof, producing a series of “tsk” sounds while he shook his head in disapproval. “Didn’t take ya for such a brat, Y/N. Disrespecting me in my face right after we came to an agreement? That’s some bad business ethics.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, barely keeping yourself from groaning. “I’m so terribly sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have stolen your esteemed fries, sir. Won’t ever happen again, sir. Please allow me to express my profound remorse, sir.”

Although Toji knew you only addressed him as such to get on his nerves, he was still pleased enough to grace with you an unsuspecting smile, seconds before you shoved a ketchup-covered potato against his mouth, smudging the left corner of his lips in a way akin to that of his right corner scar. He blinked, clouds of fury gathering in the bleakness of his eyes and cheeks puffing up, painting the most adorable expression you’d ever seen him wear.

“So cute,” you gushed, unable to suppress a hearty laughter that agitated him even more, red blooming across his cheeks— most likely by the lack of oxygen, you interpreted.

“Fucking brat,” he hissed, dipping the last of his fries in ketchup and then stuffing your mouth with it before you could even react. “I’ll show ya how it’s done!” he declared, your lips puckering against his fingers, condiment spreading all over like lipstick. His other hand forced your head in place, stilling your chin for him to work on his masterpiece, making a much bigger mess out of you than you had made of him.

“Hmphmmph!” you hummed while Toji laughed, a deep sound that reverberated straight from his guts, his eyes glinting along with his teeth in sheer joy that convinced you to give up so as to not spoil his fun. It was rare to see him genuinely happy.

“That should teach ya to behave,” he spat, smugness in every aspect of his features as he pressed his thumb onto his mouth, cleaning the ketchup off with a lick. “But you did address me properly, so you’ve earned the right to choose. Napkin or my lips? Which one?”

Stupefied as you were, you didn’t understand the full context of his question until you felt the sudden warmth of his mouth flutter over your skin, the tip of his tongue sloppily gathering the leftover ketchup off your right cheek. Your jaw popped open, a small gasp escaping as a result of his action.

“Too slow,” Toji whispered, hooded green eyes peering right into yours. “I’ll ask again. Napkin or my lips? What’s it gonna be, doll?”

“N-n-n-napkin!” you must have stuttered at least a thousand times before forming a comprehensible answer. He was so close that if he tilted his head any closer your lips were sure to touch. “P-please get me a napkin.”

“Please?” he chuckled, acting as if was really going to kiss you and then pulling away. “Be right back.”

Even after Toji let go, you could still feel the weight of his thumb holding you down, your eyes zeroing in on his black sweater as he set off for the other side of the room where the napkin and condiments stand was located. You heard a few whispers coming from beside your table, catching three pairs of eyes shooting daggers right at your back.

“Don’t they have a home?” a woman’s voice echoed first.

“Kids these days…” a man added.

“Honey, don’t look at their sinfulness, it’s the devil’s work.” A second woman concluded.

You were on the verge of experiencing a cardiac arrest, and you were pretty darn sure you would have if Toji hadn’t returned with the napkins in time, his hand snatched by yours as you forcefully dragged him out of the place, spelling frantic apologies at whoever was listening.

Once you’d made it outside, you sighed in relief, winter’s viciousness coming as a much-needed slap across your face. You took in a few breaths, letting go of his hand and padding a few steps away from the store’s windows, afraid you were still the focus of their attention. Toji followed, one hand stuffed inside his jeans pocket, while the other held the duffel bag over his shoulder in a lazy manner.

“Can you give me a lift to work?” you managed to ask, dodging his stare even as he stepped to the front.

“I would, but I can’t. Gave the car away.”

“You did what?”

Nothing about your reaction was funny in any shape or form, but he seemed amused enough to break into a soft chuckle, his eyes, too, softening ever so slightly.

“Planning to walk around town like a bloodsucker?” he asked, bringing a napkin to wipe your lips with greater care than you’d think. “How dirty,” he cooed, gently tapping at the center. “Next time, I won’t ask for permission to kiss you, roomie. Let’s go.”

“W-Where?” your voice came out so frail that you doubted he’d heard your question, his bag bouncing over his taut body with every step he took outside the parking lot.

“You asked for a ride, didn’t ya? Come.”

A/N: Launching a new series because I have so many feelings bottled up that I'm in danger of farting hearts and rainbows and shit. Decided to take the time off and write this fic for myself cause I needed it, but then I thought why not share it with the world? First time writing for Jujutsu Kaisen and Toji in particular, so hopefully it's received well!

[raina-at]

Apology/Imperfection

How do you apologise for something unforgivable? 

How do you look the person you love most in the world in the eyes and apologise for two years of lying and deceit, for turning them into a perpetual victim of the game you played because you were bored?

The thing is, even at his best, Sherlock doesn’t do apologies. 

If he regrets a course of action, which has happened in the past, he makes amends otherwise. He and Mycroft communicate regret through gifts of expensive alcohol. Lestrade gets a text with hints about his current case, however mundane it might be. Molly gets coffee, Mrs Hudson gets the sherry truffles she likes a bit too much.

John… back in the day, he’d apologise to John by buying milk. Doing laundry. Making tea. 

He suspects that won’t quite cut it this time. 

He tries to write an apology, on the way to the Landmark. But everything he jots down on a British Airways napkin he still had in his pocket seems… trite. Empty. Imperfect.

John deserves a perfect apology. Sherlock is incapable of delivering one that’s even marginally acceptable.

So he skips it altogether.

It turns out that might not have been the best course of action.

At the end of the night, he crumples up the napkin and throws it out of his bedroom window, watching as it floats down onto Mr Chatterjee’s bins. 

It's a fitting end for a thoroughly shit evening.

*-*

During the following months, Sherlock tries to compensate for his lack of appropriate words by doing everything he can to help John. He plans the wedding, he broods over seating charts, he teaches John how to walz—pure torture, that one, and not only because John is a lousy dancer—, picks out his suit, arranges a stag night. He studiously ignores all the parts of him that want to curl up into a corner and die, ignores the pain in his heart and the regrets welling up in his throat like bile every time he opens his mouth and lies by omission. He never says what he’s thinking anymore, because what he thinks is always a litany of all the things he did wrong, all the moments he wasted, all the regrets he will take to his early grave at this rate. 

John said he forgives Sherlock. But he still feels like there’s something missing. Something absolutely essential has been extracted out of the very marrow of their relationship, leaving them hollowed out, brittle and fragile, easy to shatter.

And yet he still feels the magnetic pull between them, still feels the sizzle and pop, the connection between them, more addictive than any drug and possibly more destructive now that the guardrails of mutual trust and understanding are gone.

John is wary of him. Sherlock can’t blame him.

Maybe, just maybe, an imperfect apology would have been better than none at all.

*-*

It’s stuffy in the vestry. The sun shines in through a small window, and Sherlock watches the dust motes. John fidgets with his cufflinks. 

Sherlock feels like he’s been standing on ever-shifting sand during the last few months, as the time he had left with John slowly ran out. Now he’s on the last kernels, and he can already feel the glass beneath his feet, slippery and dragging him down the rabbit hole of self-destruction.

He reaches into his pocket to check the time on his phone when his fingers find something else entirely.

He takes it out. It’s the napkin he scrawled all of his imperfect, stuttering words onto, words he couldn’t say, words that still stick in his throat like a bone he was never able to swallow.

It shouldn’t be here. He remembers throwing it out.  How did it get into the inner pocket of his wedding suit? 

“What’s that?” John asks. He’s leaning against the vicar’s desk, not at all the picture of the happy bridegroom, uncomfortable in his suit, nervous, ill at ease in this church he didn’t pick.

Sherlock looks down at the napkin. He swallows. “Nothing,” he says, quietly, addressing his hands. Too little, too late. No use opening up old wounds now.

John gives him a long look that clearly states he doesn’t believe a word out of Sherlock’s mouth. Then he shrugs, looks away, obviously disappointed. “Fine. Fine,” he mutters, apparently more to himself than to Sherlock. He checks his watch, a nervous, impatient gesture. “Ten minutes to showtime. Better check on the guests.”

He walks to the door, and Sherlock catches a glimpse of the expression on his face in the mirror over the desk. Disappointment, pain. Regret.

And he suddenly realises that reopening old wounds assumes that they’ve healed. And that there is no such thing as too little when the alternative is nothing, and that he’s actually, really, truly, on the cusp of too late.

“John.”

John turns, looks at him, eyebrows raised in silent question.

“There’s something I should say,” Sherlock begins, hating the way his voice sounds, unsure, unsteady, like he’s chewing on broken glass.

John makes a ‘go on then’ gesture with his hand, leaning against the wall next to the door. Visibly bracing himself.

“I- it occurs to me,” Sherlock says, hesitant, feeling a bit like he’s fighting against his better judgement with every word out of his mouth, “that I never- I never apologised. For. You know.”

“Making me watch you die and lying to me for two years?” John fills in the blanks. He gives Sherlock a small, humourless smile, and there’s a world of bitterness in his voice, a poison they never lanced out of that wound. “No. You didn’t, did you? You said please forgive me, but that’s not actually an apology, is it.”

“No.”

Silence falls, and Sherlock can’t. He can’t. He feels like flaying himself open and trusting John not to destroy him by telling him whatever Sherlock has to offer isn’t good enough, isn’t, quite simply, enough, is as beyond him as it was that night at the Landmark.

John huffs a laugh that’s more annoyance than humour. “Well. Glad we had that conversation,” he mutters, pressing his lips together, clearly trying to hold some powerful emotion in.

You’re hurting him again, Sherlock thinks. If you stop now, you bloody fucking coward, how will you ever look at yourself in the mirror again? 

He looks down at the napkin, at the words he never said. The words that needed saying. Well, as they say, there’s no time like now.  “I- I should start by saying that I did what I thought was necessary when I jumped. And that you weren’t supposed to be there. I planned for this contingency, and I should have told you, but at the time, I thought it was necessary for your survival to deceive you. But you being there was neither part of the plan nor what I would have wanted to happen.” He looks up, meets John’s eyes, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. “So. Number one. I’m sorry I made you watch.”

John is silent, but his eyes are fixed on Sherlock’s face, and he’s clearly paying close attention to every word that comes out of Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock takes a deep breath and continues,“I went after Moriarty’s network because I felt it was my responsibility to clean up my own mess, and nobody else’s. It seemed selfish of me to risk your life for my hubris. I nearly reached out to you so many times, and I didn’t because if you had known I was alive, you would have wanted to join me, and I wouldn’t have had the strength of character to turn you down. If you’d died, it would have killed me. So. Two. I’m sorry I wasn’t willing to endure what I put you through.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Go away!” John yells, without turning. 

“But-”

John makes a frustrated noise, takes the two steps to the door and turns the key in the lock. “I said,” he growls at the vicar at the other side of the door,  “Go. The fuck. Away!” 

Then John turns around and makes an inviting gesture in Sherlock’s direction. “Continue.”

Sherlock gestures to the door. “Are you sure you-”

John huffs a frustrated sigh. “Yes, thank you for pointing out that I’m getting married in five minutes, you utter prat, and congrats for choosing the worst possible time for this, but fucking hell, Sherlock, don’t you think we’ve waited for this long enough?”

Sherlock acknowledges the point with a tilt of his head. “Best get on with it, then.” He takes a deep breath, because this is the difficult one. He holds up the napkin. “I wrote this when I came back. On my way to the Landmark. You deserved to hear it then. But I was too much of a coward to face the consequences of my actious. So. Number three. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“Why now?” John asks, softly, his face still unreadable, his eyes riveted to Sherlock’s face. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because there’s a number four,” Sherlock says, quietly, holding John’s eyes. He gets up, slowly, approaches John, giving him plenty of time to back away, to stop him, to leave.

But John stays. John holds his eyes, holds his ground. Waits.

Sherlock moves closer, invades his space, traces his fingers along the lapels of John’s beautiful suit. 

“Number four,” Sherlock murmurs, inching closer to John with every word, “I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t care about you. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I never said thank you, for your trust, for your companionship, for the very best of times. I’m sorry it took me this long to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never asked you to come back. And I’m sorry for this,” he says, as he leans in and presses his lips to John’s.

John’s breath hitches as he pulls Sherlock closer and kisses back, fierce and courageous and like he’s been waiting for this just as long as Sherlock has. 

There’s loud voices and pounding on the door, and both their phones are vibrating with missed calls and texts, and neither of them notices as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. John’s arms have snaked around Sherlock and he’s holding on like he never intends to let go, and Sherlock feels the knot in his stomach and the dread in his heart dissolve under the onslaught of John’s passion, and his kisses, and his love.

They finally break apart, and Sherlock knows he’ll remember the exact curve of John’s smile and the exact shade of his eyes in that moment for the rest of his life. “I forgive you,” John whispers, and it sounds like a vow. “I forgive you.”

And this time, Sherlock believes him. 

---

If anyone wants to venture a heacanon how a certain item found its way into a certain pocket, I won't stop you. I personally have my suspicions ;-)

If there are any embarrassing mistakes in there, please forgive me. It's Friday evening, and it's been a WEEK.

Also, if you want to read a similar scenario a bit less seriously, might I recommend my fic Speak Now, where Sherlock gives new meaning to the phrase 'last minute'.

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

Thank you all for a wonderful fandom time, all the writers and all the commenters and re-bloggers, and especially @calaisreno for keeping us going. Love you all.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[nootnootwook]

merry christmas

pairing: sung hanbin x fem!reader

genre: best friends to lovers

in which: you and hanbin have your annual christmas sleepover

warnings: two idiots in love, cuddles, kisses, lowercase intended, not proofread !!!

series masterlist !!

so where do we begin?

you and hanbin have been friends for years. ever since you met in high school you became the best of friends after realising how compatible the two of you are. both of you were immediately drawn to each other and the amount of times you were mistaken to be a couple since then is more than you could count.

to be honest you saw where all these people came from with that point. you and hanbin do usually act couple-y with one another but never think much of it. i mean you go on study dates, coffee dates, walks together, he gets you flowers, takes you to the movies and so on. but that’s just what best friends do right?

wrong.

you can’t lie and say that you haven’t developed feelings for hanbin after years of doing all of these things but there’s nothing you could really do about it. so you don’t. you live happily in your delusions pretending that all of this is real.

one of the many couple-like things that the two of you do is your annual christmas sleepover. this tradition came to be a couple of months after your friendship began when you were 14 and your parents decided that your families will spend christmas together. hanbin and his family stayed over on christmas eve and you all opened your presents together the next day.

this tradition continues up until now, where both of you attend uni together and continue your completely platonic relationship.

so your currently setting up the apartment waiting for hanbin’s return from the store. he went to go pick up some snacks while you finished setting up the fort in the living room. the setup was cosy and warm. you managed to get some matching christmas pyjamas for the two of you to wear as well as matching mugs for your hot chocolate. the selection of movies was laid out in front of you while the pile of pillows and teddies was laying behind you.

just as you ran into your room to grab hanbin’s gift to place under the christmas tree the door opened and in walked your best friend.

“hey i’m back” he said as he walked through the door.

“bin you’re finally here” you ran to him after placing the gift down under the tree. you almost wrapped your arms around him before remembering that he’d been out while it was snowing so you instead unzipped his jacket and took it off for him, hanging it up on the hanger before embracing him in a hug. “right on time. i just finished setting up” you say into the embrace before letting go and looking up at him. your eyes meet his for a few seconds before you grab the bag of snacks out of his hand and bring them to the fort. “come on! put your pyjamas on!” you say and hold them out to him. he only chuckles at you.

“okay okay. i’ll be back in a second” he says and leaves to his room to get changed. soon he came back through to the living room with a gift in his hand. he walked over to the tree and placed it next to the gift bag that you had put there not long ago. he sat next to you. “so, what are we watching?” he said and reached out to pick up some of the cds which were laying on the floor before him.

“hmmm” you pretend to think while resting your chin on his shoulder to look at the movies. “maybe the grinch?” you say and pint to the cd in his hand.

“great pick” he said and popped open the cd’s box. “you get comfy, i’ll put it on.” he said and patted your head lightly. you moved back into the fort and got cozy under the blankets while waiting for him to put the movie on. you opened some of the packs of snacks that he brought just as he came to lay down beside you.

the movie started and as the plot rolled out you lay your head on hanbin’s shoulder. this was, again, quite a normal occurrence for you but this felt more intimate than normal seen as he reached out shortly after and laced your fingers together, holding your hand in his bigger one. it felt so warm. so comfortable. it was home.

and before you knew it, the first movie was over and on came another - you and hanbin only separating for the few minutes it took him to put on the polar express - and the two of you were back to your previous position. about halfway into the second movie you started to feel drowsy and started to drift away into dreamland on hanbin’s shoulder.

he, of course, noticed and only moved you so that you were laying right on his chest. for comfort he thought, but he wasn’t sure if it was yours or his. he must admit he completely melted at the sight of you peacefully sleeping on his chest, one hand wrapped around his torso and the other lightly gripping the shirt of the matching pyjama set that he had on and he could only hope that you’ll appreciate the gift he has prepared for you.

he soon found himself feeling a bit more tired and decided to head off to sleep - holding you tightly - but not before checking the time which now was 00:02.

“merry christmas my love” he whispered to you quietly before making himself comfortable in the small fort that you have built for the two of you.

~~~

you woke up warm and comfortable (with a blanket that fell off the fort on your face but comfy nonetheless) you yawned and stretched as you heard your back pop in a couple of places from sleeping on the floor. as you were stretching you felt the arms around your waist tighten around you. you were pulled into hanbin’s chest and found yourself with a small smile on your face as you melted into the warm embrace.

“merry christmas bin” you whispered to him after noticing he was awake.

“merry christmas y/n” he says with a sleepy smile while rubbing his eyes tiredly. both of you stopped and looked at each other. everything just felt so right at this moment - waking up in his arms and hearing his voice first thing in the morning. hanbin couldn’t help but reach out a hand to cup your cheek. “you’re so beautiful” he whispered so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. his eyes flickered down to your lips.

“wait” you whispered softly. “wait one minute” you said slightly louder and got up to grab the gifts under the tree. you gave him your gift. “open it please” you said and he lightly tore the neat wrapping paper.

he carefully removed the paper to reveal a sleek black box. he opened it and inside was a small silver chain bracelet with a small thin rectangle in which ‘forever’ was engraved in small lettering. he let his finger slide over the word as he examined the box. he soon came to realise that on the inside of the lid ‘i love you’ was written in fine gold print.

“i-“ he didn’t even know what to say. “thank you” he said and looked up at you with slight tears in his eyes. he couldn’t believe it it finally happened. “thank you so much” he wrapped his arms around you so tightly you almost could breathe. “i love you too” he whispered to you as you embraced him back.

you broke the hug and looked up at him with sparkling eyes. you cupped his cheeks in yours and brought his face to yours placing a light peck on his lips which he, of course, reciprocated.

“open mine” he said. and you did. he had gotten you a gorgeous golden necklace which had a small gold circle hanging from it on which both of your initials were engraved and a heart on the other side.

and on the lid of the box ‘i love you’ was written in fine gold print.

~~~~

a/n !! hello my lovelies !!! happy almost christmas i hope you’re all enjoying this series. unfortunately i will not be able to get all of the parts out before christmas but i will try my best to make sure they’re out by the new year !!

i love you all take care !! any reblogs and comments are a huge help thank you for all the support !!!

library !!

[abiiors]

chocolate // ross macdonald x reader

valentine's week - day 2: love potion

a/n: this is about abiior ross specifically hehe (short hair, shot beard etc) cw: use of aphrodisiacs against their knowledge (lets suspend our belief there), masturbation (f), implied voyeurism, unprotected sex oops (they're too horny to think it through) wc: 4k

sweet taste of chocolate dissolves on your tongue as elena continues to recount her latest holiday to belgium. she has that “just back from holiday” tan on her and you laugh along to her stories, popping another square of chocolate in your mouth while sorting through the pile of gifts she’s brought for everyone. 

a heap of chocolate wrappers sits between the two of you and you’re certain you have enough sugar in you to feed a small village—still, the sweetness lingers on your tongue and makes you sigh wistfully every time you think about it. 

“i’m seeing ross later,” you slip in quietly when she takes a breath between her rambling and elena’s eyes go round. 

“seeing him seeing him? you finally asked him out?”

your head hangs in shame at the question and you can’t help the wince that leaves you. elena tsks. “oh babe, come on! he’s such a sweet guy and he clearly likes you back.”

“you don’t know that!”

several seconds pass and elena arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. she’s right, you know she’s right. you’ve had this silly, desparate crush for six months now and you should have done the mature adult thing of asking him out. but your heart races every time he’s near and every single word in your head disappears along with all sane and rational thoughts. 

“well,” you shrug, “can i take some chocolate for him? he’s got a sweet tooth.”

elena smirks and flicks your hand away before you can reach for one. 

“only if you promise to ask him out. a coffee date. that’s as casual as it gets!”

you blanch at her but she stands her ground forcing you to at least mull it over in your head. 

once again, she is right. you can ask him out for a coffee and pretend it’s just a friendly little thing if the vibes seem purely platonic. you’ll figure it out. you know you will. 

scrunching your eyes shut, you give in. “fine… fine, i’ll do it.”

elena squeals, pulling you into a tight hug. you giggle at her excitement but let the butterflies take flight in your stomach. once she lets go, she points behind her. 

“the fridge has a better selection. go take as many as you want.”

you’re out of the chair and halfway to the kitchen before she’s even done speaking, big goofy grin on your face at the thought of meeting him later and teasing him when he inhales the chocolates faster than humanly possible. 

the fridge is messy as usual—half empty bottles of milk, some past their expiry date, opened bags of cheese and old chinese takeout. you ignore all of it and dig your way to the back to find the rest of them (in elena’s little hidden space in the fridge to keep it away from her boyfriend). 

most of them are the usual ones and you take a few to put it in your bag. a new one catches your eye—it’s just a simple black square with a golden heart embossed on the cover, not one you’ve tried yet and it instantly piques your interest so you take two of them and put the bag back in its place. 

then you close the fridge and make your way back to the living room.

the backstage at the band’s practice show is chaos incarnate. everyone’s in a rush to set up things in their proper place. the props are strewn on the stage, waiting for their permanent place, the instruments are neatly arranged in a corner and ross is leaning against the wall, cigarette in one hand, phone in the other. his thumb scrolls on his screen. a second later, he snorts, types something on his phone and you feel yours buzzing in your pocket with an incoming text. 

it makes your silly heart skip a beat. 

his head snaps up when you clear your throat. a warm smile spreads across his face, and he quickly stubs out his cigarette, tossing it into a nearby bin. 

“didn't expect to see you here so bright and early," he says, pushing off the wall to approach you. at his full height, ross is nearly a head taller. on top of that, he’s been working out and staying fit, his beard’s sparser than it was before, his hair neatly cut and gelled back perfectly. 

ross looks devastatingly handsome, a proper rockstar. you look like… you. 

“wanted to see you–uh, see what you were getting up to,” you hope the breathlessness stays out of your voice, you hope he hasn’t noticed you blatantly checking him out. 

all that goes flying out the window the moment he gathers you into a hug. his body is warm and solid, his t-shirt soft and familiar. the scent of his aftershave surrounds you thoroughly, invades all your senses until you just debate throwing all caution to the wind and jumping him right here. 

the hug lasts longer than you would have expected. 

when he pulls back there’s a faint flush on his cheeks (probably the heating, you rationalise) and a wide grin on his face. 

“are you excited?”

“to watch you play? always!”

you cringe at how eager it sounds, how desperate. fortunately, ross giggles and offers you his arm. 

“come on, let me give you a tour.”

twenty minutes later, you’re back where you started, arm in arm and excited about the concept of the new show, about their new setlist and the live debuts of some new tracks. ross is already beaming with excitement and his eyes crinkle in they way they do only when he’s genuinely happy. it’s infectious. more often than not you find yourself staring at him and giving him a loopy smile. 

utterly fucking love-sick. 

“jamie’s gone all out too,” he continues. “there’s a whole dressing arena for us even though this isn’t a real show. we wanted to try out a couple styles i guess.”

“oh, you’re a fashion icon now?” you tease and he rolls his eyes fondly. 

“let me show you what patti’s got for us,” he offers and once again, you take his arm and follow him to some corner of the arena.

the dressing room is pretty much what you’d expected—a room full of mirrors and closet doors. there’s a sofa in the corner and bottles of water on the table. clothes are scattered across chairs and hanging on racks, each outfit carefully selected for the show, each outfit a statement aesthetic for every member on stage. 

and that’s pretty much it.

you plop onto the sofa. moments later ross does the same, slinging an arm around your shoulder that’s almost-a-cuddle-but-not-really. you desperately pray he can’t hear your hammering heart that’s almost in your throat now. he’s so cool and casual, so comfortable in the silence. you on the other hand, desperately feel the need to fill it. 

“elena’s back from her holiday. stole some chocolates from her stache for you.” 

his playful grin returns and ross straightens eagerly. “you really are a sweetheart.”

the word does funny things to your insides, almost like there’s an entire flock of birds going haywire in there until his hands comes to rest on your knee and every thought in your head goes quiet. 

“go on then, show us what you got.” 

one by one you pull them out—bonbons and candy and silly little heart-shaped sweets that were everywhere in preparation for valentine’s day. his face lights up like a kid at christmas, he unravels the nearest sweet, moaning at its sweetness dissolving on his tongue just like you had. 

you stare at him unabashedly. 

“i got this too,” you pull out the two black squares, handing him one. “dunno what they are but they looked fancy enough. i haven’t tried them yet though.”

together, you unwrap them and look at the dark square inside. they look nothing special, they smell like regular dark chocolate too. perhaps they’re a little richer than the ones before, slightly better but he shrugs and moves on to the next bonbon. 

you do the same.

if the arena was chaotic before, it’s damn near cocophonous now. somewhere, someone’s yelling for all the instruments to be moved. jamie and matty are in a heated discussion with a few other creative consultants. adam has his headphones in and he’s plucking something on the guitar. george is nowhere to be seen and ross is on stage making sure his bass is tuned just the way he wants it. 

you take the moment to stare at him while he’s busy. a stubborn strand of hair escapes onto his forehead, falling into his eyes while he focuses on the bass in his hands. his mouth is parted in concentration, eyebrows scrunched together with an adorable little crease in between. 

a quick thought flashes in your brain—what would it be like to walk up to him and straddle him right now? to set his bass aside and demand his attention in a way you’ve never even imagined before. to kiss away his frown until everyone and everything in the room fades away into the background. 

the butterflies in your stomach come back with a vengeance. ross shifts in his seat. 

“will you settle a debate for us, love?” matty’s voice startles you enough that you almost stumble back but he’s already passionately begun explaining the dilemma. 

you try to focus on him, you really do. usually, it’s fun to give your input on things, fun to listen to his everchanging and eccentric ideas as he tries to explain his vision in a cohesive way. but your attention can’t stop drifting to the man on stage. 

your eyes can’t seem to move away from his fingers as they pick string after string. 

heat simmers under your skin at the sight of them. interestingly enough, ross fidgets with the collar of his t-shirt and wipes a few beads of sweat off his forehead. 

“are you… listening?” matty snaps his fingers, his face contorted in a puzzled look while jamie looks on impatiently. 

“sorry, i—”

before you have the chance to finish again, they’re back at each other’s throats, bickering like an old married couple. you don’t even notice when they walk away and their voices peter out. you keep your eyes trained on ross and the hollow of his throat and his hands. subconsciously, you clench your thighs together.

what the fuck is wrong with you.

this isn’t the time or place to be horny. and yet the more strings he plucks, they more it reverberates through your entire body and makes your head spin with lust and heat. this is getting out of control and you cannot fucking figure out the reason behind it. 

hurriedly, you make your way back to the dressing room. it’s deserted by now—everyone including the band and the crew are by the stage. it’s your luck that the room isn’t locked, that not a single person seems to be in this part of the arena. 

you chest heaves as you slam the door shut, beelining to the sofa in a fucking daze. the chocolate wrappers from before sit innocently in the bin in the corner. you struggle with a bottle of water, gulping in down in hopes that it would cool you just a little. some of it spills down your top, the cotton sticks to your skin and the feel of it against your nipples feels overwhelming. electric, if you are being honest. 

curses spil from your lips as you throw yourself on the sofa, on the left side of it, where ross had sat before. your mind conjures up the scent of his aftershave again, the feel of his hand on your knee, and you imagine it trailing up—fingers testing and taunting until they’re at the waistband of your jeans. until they’re dipping inside your underwear and swiping through your slick folds. 

your breath catches and your hand drifts to the crotch of your jeans. 

maybe if you could just take the edge off a bit. maybe if you could just do this and then never think of it again and then go back to to your day and never look ross in the eye ever again. your cunt pulses in rhythm with your heartbeat, which is already racing faster than it should be.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think of him then. his body hovering on top of yours, pressing down on top of you until he sinks into you so deep that you feel him in your gut. you think of his lips, fucking perfect and so out of your leage. you think of the calloused pad of his fingers tracing your lip, your cupid’s bow. 

against your better judgment, you sink further into the sofa, running your hands on your breasts, stomach, the insides of your thighs, all the while imagining how ross’ calloused fingers felt on your back and waist the countless times you'd hugged before. how they would feel in other places.

it’s fucking depraved but the thrill of it feels so sinfully good that you can’t stop your fingers from tracing circles over your clit—languid and loose.

your fingers feels too small, too soft. this isn’t what your body wants. it desperately craves him but he’s busy doing his actual job. your ears ring with the bloodrush and every touch against your skin feels like a zap of electricity passing through you. 

one hand buried deep between your legs and the other kneading and massaging your nipples, you are on cloud nine. once or twice, you bite your lip to keep the moans down but what’s the point? the solid concrete walls would keep all the sounds inside anyway. 

your pants fill the room, sweat gathers on your forehead and you feel it drawing closer, some semblance of a release at least. through the haze you see ross standing by the door, still as a statue, his mouth slightly open.

“ross…” you moan softly, willing this hallucination to come closer, to replace your hands with his, and finish what you started, but he doesn’t move.

a second passed by and then another, and then as if you’ve been doused with cold water, your entire body goes numb and cold.

he’s here. he’s not a hallucination or a figment of your lust-filled imagination, he is really. fucking. here.

you go cold and then hot again, sure that your entire face—hell, your entire body—has gone beetroot red. helplessly, you scramble to get your hands away from you, as if that would salvage anything at this point. as if that would wipe his memory of the last five minutes. 

how did he even get here without you hearing so much as a creak? and you’d just moaned his name for fuck’s sake. the blood drains from your face, your heart stutters—this time for all the wrong reasons. 

‘ross…’ your voice sounds all high-pitched and thin. all wrong and panicked.

ross only stalks toward you, deliberately slow and graceful, and stops a few inches away from the sofa. too far, the pervy part of your brain chimes in, he’s still standing a bit too far away. his eyes look dark and stormy, his face utterly fucking calm.

you try to suppress the tremor in your limbs, try to look anywhere but at him. (ideally, you try to look for something sharp to stab yourself with) and it’s then that your body betrays your entirely. slowly, as if against your will, your eyes slide down his body and linger on the bulge in his trousers. hard and prominent and fucking big enough to make you salivate despite the current situation.

“what are you doing here?” the words comes out as a weak whisper. 

“watching you.”

his voice sounds deep and husky, with a dangerous edge to it. his eyes roam all over your body, or whatever’s visible of it—over your stomach and a sliver of underboob—and heat, more intense than you felt just minutes before, floods your entire body. 

and yet, you still can’t look him in the eye. 

“you are fucking stunning,” he breathes.

the words make your brain short-circuit. hastily, you try to cover your face, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole and spit you out into some parallel universe where ross just doesn’t exist anymore. 

“oh, baby,” he tuts, moving closer until you’re face-to-face, and even now it isn’t enough. inspite of your humiliation, you want him closer, on top of you, and under your skin, and inside you, pounding into you until you are dumb and drooling.

he hooks a finger under your chin, tilting it up so that you have no choice but to look him in the eye. your mouth goes dry at the sight of them. his pupils are dilated to the point where his hazel eyes are almost completely black.

“don’t–don’t hide from me… you have no idea how long, i…” the rest of it dies on his lips when you whimper. your body feels liquid, blood flowing through your veins like molten lava, searing every inch of skin that’s begging for his touch. 

“so touch me then,” the voice that comes out of you is pathetic, needy, but you can’t care less right now. if you had to stay in this state of limbo anymore the flimsy little thread holding the last of your sanity together would snap.

agonisingly slow, he pulls his t-shirt over his head. his chest gleams with sweat, tattoos starkly visible against his pale skin and you want to trace each and every one of them with your tongue, memorise all the grooves of his body with your fingers, fill up his scent into your lungs until it’s all you can smell. 

just in his trousers now, he settles over you, knee pressed between your wide-open legs, brushing against your clothed clit. you hiss at the barest of touches. ross looking down at you is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, enough that you moan his name again. and again when he kisses you, softly at first and then harder, urgent and feverish. 

his hands toy with the hem of your top and you nod fervently, eager to be rid of it. his tongue traces every inch of your mouth. 

“just how i imagined you would taste,” he breathes in between kisses, and the words spear through the haze in your brain, burrowing themselves deep in there.

“you thought about how i’d taste?” 

tenderly, he kisses your jaw, peppers a few more kisses on your cheek. “every moment of these last few months.”

you say something unintelligible, dumbstruck by how fucking sweet he sounds in the middle of everything. his hand trails up and down your spine, raising goosebumps in their wake, while his mouth continues to kiss your jaw, your neck, your cleavage. all you can do is tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him as close as you possibly can. unable to take it any longer, you fumble with the buckle of his belt, undoing the button and unzipping his trousers till you can palm him through his boxers. in spite of them still covering him, you moan at how big he feels, how deliciously thick and hard.

something in him snaps at the sound. it’s as if he’d been holding back until now, but now he grabs the hem of your top and slips it clean off you. his discarded trousers join the small heap on the floor and he takes one of your nipples in his mouth while pinching the other between his fingers.

“i need you inside me. please ross…”

“ride me,” he says instantly and you nod, flipping until he’s on the sofa and you’re on his lap, fumbling to get out of your jeans and underwear while he pulls his boxers down. 

with one hand around your waist, ross lifts you up until his tip’s grazing your cunt. “go on darling, you can take me,” his voice trembles with barely controlled restraint. and you might as well be his puppet because you obey instantly, sinking onto him until he’s deep inside you, until you feel the delicious stretch and burn.

your gasp makes him groan. 

his fingers grip your face gently, moving it to make you look at the giant mirrors next to you, at your bodies locked together. 

“look at you…” he moans and thrusts up into you. you mewl at the suddenness of it, but it’s impossible to look away from the image in the mirror. you bouncing on his cock, rutting and moving your hips, shamelessly chasing ecstasy. his face slack with pleasure, his eyes roaming all over your body, taking in every inch of it while you take in every inch of him. 

his thrusts are slow in the beginning, punishing almost and you try to increase the pace, digging your nails into his shoulders, until he’s smiling smugly at all the desperately written so clearly all over your face. 

“faster,” you almost beg and he obliges instantly, going deeper and deeper with each thrust. his fingers work at your clit again; pinching and rubbing, until you can no longer look at the mirror, can’t look at anything as your eyes roll back into your head and stars wink on the insides of your lids. 

filthy words fill the room mixed with groans and moans from both of you. it almost feels like a trance—to feel him so deep inside you that your head buzzes, pleasure coild in your belly and you squirm and writhe, trying to feel more of him, greedy and insatiable. 

heat builds in your stomach, the feeling from before starts at the base of your spine again, travelling up until it’s spreading throughout your body, to your fingertips. from the way ross’ thrusts turn wild and erratic, you know he’s close too. 

“you feel so good, so–so fucking perfect,” you tell him, trying to get the words out in between moans and gasps. 

“oh baby,” he coos, “we are fucking perfect together, aren’t we.”

frantically, you nod, capturing his mouth in another feverish hot kiss. “yes, yes.”

because that’s what you’ve been dying to hear for months now, dying to know that he felt the same want and yearning you did. 

when the orgasm finally hits, you almost black out, eyes rolling to the back of your head. your loud moans fill the room, overshadowing any sounds he makes, but you’re too far gone to care. the sound undoes him within moments and ross thrusts hard into you, cumming with a loud groan. you feel the cum spilling in you and running down your thighs, sticky and wet. 

vaguely, you’re aware if slumping forward and pressing your face into his chest. ross strokes your hair softly until you can get your breathing back to normal. 

you giggle in his chest when the conversation with elena springs back into your mind. it feels so far away now, like it happened days ago instead of hours ago. 

“what?” ross asks, sounding a bit amused. 

“i was supposed to ask you out for coffee. elena dared me, in exchange for the chocolate.”

he giggles at your answer, pressing a quick kiss on your head, which instantly makes your heart melt. 

“those chocolates were… something.”

you snort. that’s one way to put it. finally, you pull away, looking at him properly for the first time. his face is flushed and coated in sweat but he looks… happy. more than you’ve seen him before. 

“so… coffee?” you bite your lip, irrationally shy now of all times. 

ross kisses you in response, sweet and slow, a proper chaste kiss as if you’re not sat on his lap, still naked and dripping with his cum. but you kiss him back equally slow, giggling like a teenager. 

“like you have to ask.”

lemme know what you think <33

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[so-mordor-itis]

Quirks About Leon

-He needs his coffee black. He will not drink it any other way. Sugar and milk just make it too smooth, too creamy. When he wants to wake up in the morning, the bitter taste of black coffee is just the kick he needs. Adding anything would make him feel more sleepy and start to remind him of the past when he actually enjoyed adding two cubes of sugar into the beverage. He may like chocolate and other types of sweets, but his coffee is separate.

-Leon is a gift giver. He has a lot of money but doesn't exactly know what to do with it. He's so accustomed to traveling back and forth, living on take out and plastic bins of leftovers. When you ask him to spend money on himself, he'll look at you funny and say, "Like what?" So, instead, he'll buy you gifts. He knows what you like, created a list in his head. Leon made himself observant, and he uses that to his advantage. He'll catch your gaze lingering on something too long, and suddenly, it's on the kitchen counter. You give him a glare, and he just returns it with a "You were practically drooling over it. I couldn't let you not have it."

-Over the course of your relationship, Leon gains the habit of pulling you close to him. It's kind of a protective nudge, and it shows a bit more in public. For instance, sitting in an airport, he'll lean over for your hand and tug you slightly closer. Waiting for a crosswalk, he'll feel for you next to him before crossing the street. He just likes to reassure himself that you're there and you're safe. You'll notice he tends to place you behind him.

-During a moment of passion, lips locked, fingers curled in his hair, teeth clashing--he'll pat your thigh or the lower part of your leg, telling you it's okay to wrap your legs around his waist. The pat is an encouragement even. He loves the feeling.

-Leon was forced to learn how to adapt quickly. With the experiences from Raccoon City and his intense military training, he learned there was always a possibility for anything. There was no such thing as impossible anymore. He removed that word from his vocabulary. He observes your body language, the tone of your voice, the emotion in your eyes. Leon tends to notice what you're feeling before you even tell him. He can't help but be a bit amused when he asks what's wrong and you look at him as if he's just read your mind and you hate it. He hides that part, not wanting to upset you further in case you truly are down.

-You had to tell him you loved him first. Those three little words were terrifying to him; they held so much power, and that left him feeling so vulnerable. Leon was scared that the moment he could allow himself to admit to you (and his own consciousness) that he was in love with you and his heart was forever yours, you'd leave. Or be forced to leave or...something more horrifying that left a bitter taste in his mouth. When you finally said the three words to him, he felt them tumble out shortly after. If you could find the courage to say them, so could he. He wonders if you truly know the hold you have over him.

-He adores tracing any scars or stretch marks or any part of your body. To him, they're what make you unique, what make your body your own. Leon learned how to come to terms with the scars that were left from Raccoon, with the mental gashes and bite marks. He traces over yours as a message, telling you he doesn't mind them. A reassurance.

[toomanytookas]

The Gift

Dieter Bravo x f!afab!reader

Rating: 18+ only please

Summary: Dieter designs a special room for you in the house that you are building together.

Important note: This is set in the world of @schnarfer’s If Wishes Came True trilogy. If you haven’t read it (where have you been? Go! Read it!!) you will likely be a bit lost.

Word count: ~3k

Content: Angst and fluff, the angst is pretty much all in the past but we do sit with it for a while here (this is dedicated to Al, after all), consumption of food and alcohol, references to/presence of drugs but they aren’t consumed on screen, oblique references to the reader and Dieter's sexual proclivities, blink and you’ll miss it moment of smutty touching, lots more sensual and casual touch as well as kissing, swearing, bathing, cats, I wrote this for one person but she’s invited you to the party

A/N: A version of this fic was gifted to my beloved @schnarfer on the occasion of her birthday last week. It would have never actually been possible for me to have the confidence to send it to her and not just throw it straight in the bin without the very gentle hand holding of @pascalssbabyy (Beth, you are an angel).

I say a version because after being the most gracious recipient of a fic of her fic (wtf was I thinking?), Al not only encouraged me to share it more widely but was willing to give it a beta and helped to refine my attempt at an ode to her style into the much punchier, emotionally charged (we do love torturing our boy a bit...) thing you now have the opportunity to read. This is absolutely the product of two minds and I could not have had more fun working with her to reach this final version. Any remaining errors and weird bits are my own, feel free to lmk if you see anything funky. I hope you like it!

I don't know what it is about you that makes the bathwater blush, why I want to ask for your hand forever around my throat;

- Megan Falley, "Your Bathwater > Wine"

When Dieter adopted Chairman Meow from the shelter, the sign on the tom’s cage said he had been wandering despondently around the property his last owner had vacated, unable to stray far from the place where he had last known a comfortable life. Abandonment issues, the profile warned. Looking for a home that will provide constant affection.

Having been driven to the cattery by a deep yearning to be the centre of someone’s world, Dieter thought he recognised a kindred spirit. I’ll be your friend, bud. He stuck a thick finger into the mog’s enclosure and wiggled it against the soft fur. When the cat had budged up even closer in response, he knew that it was love.

After you left, when he would wake to that furry face rubbing against his chin, a paw tapping his cheek to ask to be let in under the covers, Dieter was grateful that he had someone who understood why—despite Pete’s encouragement—he could never quite go through with leaving that fucking fishbowl of a house for good. Not when he no longer had you.

The wretched, destructive thing that lived inside him conjured constant reminders of how your brightness had seeped into the very walls of the house. It dangled flashes of your smile in his periphery when he made his morning coffee, replayed echoes of your laugh when he reached for you in the middle of the night. They were glimpses of lost happiness that in those brief moments still radiated joy. The glow sometimes burned like hot coals, but he gathered every memory of you tightly his chest. The searing ache was worth it. Staying put was worth it. How else would he remember so clearly how much you had made his world come alive? And how else would you know how to find him when you decided to come back?

But when you did return to him, when you came home, Dieter’s dedication to remaining in that bastard house until his end of days vanished. He was climbing the walls to be rid of it as fast as humanly possible. Why would he want to stay there when it was a constant reminder of the destruction he had wrought? Without you the house was a lifeline, but with you it was a curse. It could never be the home he wanted to give you now that he had a second chance. Despite what his trusted energy worker suggested, a ceremonial disposal of the bed and a few rounds of sage burning would not have been enough to fix it.

So he called his realtor. Sold the house. Said goodbye to all its awful energy. Hoped that maybe all the worst versions of Dieter Bravo managed to be left there, trapped behind the glass. Waiting to be discovered and dealt with by whichever sad fuck bought that Hollywood house of mirrors, blissfully unaware of the demons they were to inherit.

The Dieter menagerie moved in to yours.

The Chairman and Dolly Purrton both quickly found their favourite new spots to snooze in puddles of sunshine, but as much as he longed to join them, Dieter could never quite settle.

The longer you shared the space and began to rebuild some of the trust and respect that needed to layer on top of your burning, incandescent love; the clearer it became that your house was also too haunted.

There was too bitter an aftertaste on both your tongues whenever you would pull into the drive, remembering the pleading eyes of past Dieters who had turned up unannounced at all hours of the night begging for forgiveness, desperate for a second chance. It was too jarring, the pangs of Dieter’s jealousy over plastic, perfect Brandon, who once upon a time happily wandered those halls, pressed you hungrily against those doorframes, laughed with you over a lovingly prepared dinner made in that kitchen. What a fucking prince.

The discomfort of it all, the continued haunting that he had thought escaping his former house would resolve, left Dieter lumbering through the house, wrapping himself in a moveable den of blankets and keeping a hand braced against his tummy or a cat cradled to his chest in an effort to soothe the roiling thoughts.

After he spent a full week between shoots wandering despondently from room to room, only able to feel grounded when you were somewhere in the house, you put your foot down.

This was meant to be a second chance, D. Not us climbing back into the coffin. This house was no longer your home, you told him, if it was responsible for the tension in his jaw and the ache you felt when either of you found reminders of all the past hurt.

And so Dieter set out to build you both a house. A home that would reverberate with the joys of love and the laughter of friends, and never, ever know the monster inside him that he was working so hard to put to rest. A sanctuary for the two of you, tucked against the hills in an area where the neighbours don’t care a single bit who either of you are, only that you look out for the community and pitch in a baked good or two for the annual block party.

It’s the house of your dreams because it represents your shared commitment to making a life together. It’s the house of his dreams because, somehow, you want to live there with him.

Given a blank check, the architect and interior designer work with the two of you to identify the exact touches that will make you feel beyond comfortable. The kind of upgrades that aren’t flashy, but make enjoying the pleasurable things in life even easier.

The new bed feels like you’re being cuddled by the softest clouds. You spend your free mornings tucked in under the covers together, letting him sneak peeks over your shoulder as you gleefully trade quips with your friends and read the naughtiest and most delicious smut before rising to start your day.

There’s a gas fireplace that can be lit at a moment’s notice when you want to curl up in one of the the divine plush chairs, which you picked out together after spending an afternoon in a high-end showroom, half focused on which were the most comfortable to read in, half on which could reliably sustain both of your weights in motion.

These are just a couple of your favourite things amidst a near embarrassment of riches. They make you feel as though you’ve won the lottery, and the lottery’s name was Dieter (just Dieter, your dear love Dieter, no Bravo in sight).

Picking out features and facets for the house was so much a shared project between the two of you—the thing you could work on through trading pinterest boards and voice notes, even when projects kept you physically apart—that it was a bit of a surprise when Dieter informed you that there was a room he wanted to build that he wasn’t going to share the details of. Not until it was done.

He took infinite pleasure in making a big show of the secret, whipping out a blindfold that may or may not have originated from your toy chest when you were set to do walkthroughs during construction, curling his broad body around you and nudging you forward with one foot and then the other until the room was far enough away from view that he could restore your sight without worry of ruining the surprise.

It’s going to be magnificent, angel, he would breathe gleefully against your ear.

The contractors were always thankfully far enough ahead of you that you didn’t feel embarrassed by the heat that flooded your face at the tickle of his words and the firmness of his chest against your back.

You had some sense of what the room might be. Dieter wouldn’t reject your idea for a vintage-inspired clawfoot tub in the master unless he was going to make it up to you somewhere else in the house. He knew how much of a comfort a soak in the bath was for you, there was no way he was going to deny you the luxury in your own home.

But what exactly this room looked like remained a mystery. Sometimes a package would arrive that he would eagerly squirrel away behind that closed door, disappearing for a while to set up whatever newest addition he had imagined on the road to perfection. Piece by piece, Dieter was building a dream, one that he specifically dreamed of for you.

In the meantime, the two of you moved into the house and set about truly making it your space, fit to burst with the vibrancy of your lives.

There was nothing like being able to wind down from the heights of the energy on set, the frenetic hustle that you loved so much but demanded that you be at a constant eleven.

Nothing like ending a chillier evening by the fire. Your feet tucked under the fluff of the Chairman’s rotund rump where it was perched on Dieter’s lap, your thumb idly tracing the drops of condensation on a bottle of cider.

Nothing like welcoming friends at the weekend for a hearty roast and glowing conversation, getting to show off the fruits of your beautiful gas range and indulge in the delight of warm bellies and full hearts.

Nothing like your Dieter, flush with a new aura of happiness and love and the therapy-influenced acceptance that he was allowed to have all of this, to have you, to know joy.

On the night of your birthday, when your body and head already feel floaty from a delightful evening featuring a steady flow of cocktails and sushi, Dieter sneaks away as you are bidding goodbye to your final guests.

Once the last of your friends are out the door, he places a pair of oversized scissors in your hands and herds you like an eager collie over to the soon-to-no-longer-be-secret room. There’s a velvety ribbon across the door and he has you make the ceremonial opening cut before placing one of his warm palms over your eyes and the other at your sternum, holding you to his chest and guiding you both over the threshold.

You feel a wall of steam envelop your body and your heart leaps with anticipation. Your bathtub. You were right.

Dieter removes his hand, “Open your eyes, angel.”

Immediately, your vision is flooded with ochre and gold. Candles flicker playfully on almost every possible surface, their dancing light filling the room.

It is clear to you right away that this oasis will become a peaceful near holy space, a sanctuary that you can retreat to when you need to shut out the rest of the world. Despite the many, many acts of sin that are bound to occur inside these four walls, there is something bright and pure about the energy that Dieter has curated.

Lush ferns and orchids are mounted to the walls, bound to flourish in the tropical climate that the frequent steam will create for them.

There are massive geodes of your favourite crystals that sparkle on pedestals, radiating deep energy and glistening in the candlelight.

Two skylights open the room up so you can see the heavens, as though from your watery cocoon you might be able to ascend to the stars.

The bath itself is cavernous, currently filled nearly to the brim and softly crackling with lush bubbles that are being stirred by what you assume must be underwater jets.

On the far wall, Dieter has painted an abstract mural that makes you think of the moments of calm that you feel when he wraps you in his arms after a long day. Soft, warm, safe.

As he follows your gaze, eager to ingest your every reaction, he directs you to look at the title that he’s lettered just next to his signature.

Angel’s rest.

Your eyes are misty, “Oh, D. It’s magic.”

“Everything for my girl. Everything.”

His voice cracks slightly through the whisper, his hands come to your waist to turn you in his embrace, strong eye contact boring into your soul with the depth of how very much he means those words, beyond this gift, beyond this house.

You have to kiss him. Your heart can’t take not fusing your mouth to his in this moment.

It’s a soft kiss, a tender kiss, one you could bask in from now until the end of time. It makes you so bright with love.

You can’t help but let your lips curve into a grin. You think he must be able to feel your cheek muscles twitch from how widely you are smiling against his lips.

He breaks from you, but immediately returns once, twice, and then presses a quick and cheeky peck against your jawline.

“Come, angel. Before the water gets too cold.”

Slowly, reverently, he helps you slide your sparkling birthday dress over your shoulders and down to the floor. Pressing gentle, open mouthed kisses to your collarbone and lace-covered breasts as each inch of you is revealed.

He kneels before you to remove your panties. As soon as they are at your knees, he nuzzles his face against your mound, the tip of his nose nestling against your clit.

Fuck.

You hear him exhale happily when your stance softens, hands ghosting up and down your thighs, but instead of taking his first taste of your cunt for the evening, he draws back and tips his head toward the bath.

Pouting, you nod and let him help you out of your slippers, large hand cupping each ankle in turn. When your bare feet touch the floor, you can tell that there is some sort of heating system beneath the tile. It’s heaven.

You grasp his forearm for balance as you ascend the steps and then slide into the steaming hot water of the bath. You let your grip linger, playing with the flexing muscle that you feel ripple as he wiggles his fingers playfully. He knows you're a bit loony for the feel of his powerful arms.

Then he's pulling away from you again.

Despite the near-trance the water and this moment is sending you into, you let out a soft squawk of disapproval.

"Just for a minute, angel. I want to go get your present."

More gifts? Well, an indulgent Dieter is often the happiest Dieter and it is your birthday. And Dieter firmly believes that birthday girls deserve to have some lovely treats.

You let yourself doze, still tipsy and buzzing from the joys of the night, cradled by the bubbles and the soothing warmth of the water. The next thing you know, gentle but thick fingertips are lightly dragging their way from your knee to your hip and then up the flesh of your stomach, a mild and delicious friction. Before those fingers can reach the swell of your breast, your hands come up to halt their journey. Intertwining your fingers with his, you bring Dieter’s now somewhat bubble-covered hand up for a kiss, avoiding the worst of the soapy aftertaste by pressing your lips high on his pulse point.

When you make eye contact, his gaze still looks wild with love.

"Relaxed, angel?"

"Ever so."

You look over at him and find he's set a tray down on a bar cart that has appeared from somewhere in the room. On it, a box of four pralines from your favourite chocolatier, a chilled bottle of champagne, and a joint resting on the edge of a beautiful glass ashtray. It must be new because its colours are too perfect to not have been picked out lovingly by Dieter to match the room.

You sit up slightly. Happy birthday to you, indeed.

"May I join you?" The reverence in his voice feels it’s been magnified by the room.

"We've talked about this, baby. Water makes for horrible lube."

"I just want to cuddle with my birthday girl."

This Dieter, so tender, so vulnerably in love in a way that he never let himself be before you. You sense in this moment that he truly feels he needs permission to be allowed to just be in your space for a while, a hesitance fueled by past regrets and insecurities that even the promise and protection of this new house have not fully squashed. No matter. You are more than happy to affirm just how welcome in your arms he will always be.

You smile, nodding sleepily, and he sheds his clothing. You're so relaxed, so enveloped in warmth, that you almost forget to admire his bare body as he climbs in to join you. Almost. Thank goodness the part of your brain that always wants him, is always drawn to his form, isn't actually taking a holiday so you can admire.

When he's settled with his back against the side of the bath, Dieter pulls the cart over so that everything is in reach. He pops the champagne, handing you a glass, then brings one of the chocolates to his mouth, holding it in his teeth and wriggling his eyebrows playfully in a suggestion for you to take it from him.

You giggle and indulge him, using your hands to grip the edge tub on either side of his body and pull yourself through the water until you are practically chest to chest, nose to nose. Too close for true eye contact, but you can't help but pick one of his eyes to focus on, letting yourself go a bit crosseyed to try and send him every wonderful thing you have been feeling this evening directly through your gaze.

Slowly, gently, you close the remaining distance and bite the praline in half, letting your lips drag against his as the chocolate begins to melt on your tongue. It's perfectly bitter and smooth.

Dieter consumes the rest.

"Mmm. A not too sweet for my not too sweet."

The snort that leaves your body firmly disrupts the headiness of the moment, the exhalation forming a crater in the bubbles and making you further devolve into giggles when you have to bring a hand up to brush away a clump of the soapy fuzz that sticks to his cheek.

You press your forehead against Dieter's damp shoulder and feel the rise and fall of it as he joins you in mirth, arm coming up around you so you don't slide away from him as you once again relax into the water.

As the wave of laughter subsides, your breathing synchronizes with his and you let yourself soak in the quiet. A perfect christening of this tub. He presses a kiss to the side of your head.

"I love you, angel. Happy birthday."

[iblameashley]

The Gift of Giving

Civilian | Male | Gay

1,448 words Content: Face-reveal (text only). No major cw warnings. Ghost is bad at accepting things.

Follow up to Shattered.

Simon ’Ghost’ Riley | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

Simon gaslights you, its a good thing he's just an idiot. You meet up at his flat again, this time with food and gifts. (wrote this on the plane to and from vacation, so a little shorter than 'Shattered.')

(Thanks to @loneghostwolf for permission to use this image)

You were content to be the 'active' one in your relationship with Si. You would text him often with memes or stupid jokes, and he would reply now and then with a 'Haha' or 'Fucking hell'. You had been doing this for weeks now, stopping by when he booked an appointment with you. And then your phone vibrated in your pocket on your way home one day. 

Friental: Si has terminated your Friental Contract.

“What the fuck?!” you shouted, nearly dropping your coffee. “What the fuck!?”

Your mind swirled with confusion and your heart sank deep into your stomach. There was a twisting, nauseating in your chest. What had you done? Things seemed to have been going so well. Maybe you over stepped when you showed up at his door with new plates and glasses? Or maybe one of the jokes you sent was too crass – admittedly, you had been more bold with what you sent him – but he didn't seem the type to pussyfoot around telling you what he thought. Well... if you pissed him off.

Your phone vibrated again. Then again.

Si: I cancelled our friental contract

Si: You said you'd be my friend for free.

You: You absolute fucking git. You send the text FIRST, THEN cancel.

You gripped your phone so tightly you thought you were about to crush it. You then wanted to throw it across the street, or dunk it in water. 

“You stupid fuck...” You seethed.

Buzz buzz, another message.

Si: Will I see you at 7 like planned?

You: I will see you in hell, Si.

You: But also at 7, yes.

You were pretty sure in a fight he'd pummel you into the ground, considering your part time martial arts training couldn't possibly compare to his military training, but right now you wanted to give it a try. The rage was still washing over you in hot waves. The man was bad at communication, but this was pure stupidity. 

You took a long swig of your coffee and tossed the empty cup in a nearby rubbish bin. You ran a hand through your hair and took some deep breaths. Assuming the rules were still in place, you thought there was room for expansion. 

Si: You can call me Simon, BTW. That's my name.

You cocked an eyebrow in amusement. “No shit.” You huffed and rolled your eyes. You had figured that out pretty much day one. But in its own way, you knew it was a big deal to him, and incredibly sweet. Maybe he wasn't as stupid as he seemed only moments ago. “Fucker is playing games with me.” you said with a crooked smile.

No matter, you had things to do and places to be, so you let the irritation of this man wash away and went about your day.

*** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + ***

You: I will need your help when I arrive.

Si: Something the matter, mate?

You: Hands will be full. I'll need you to open the doors.

Si: Full of what?

You: Things.

Si: Such as?

Si: What things?

Si: ...?

'Suffer' you think to yourself with a light chuckle.

When you arrive at his flat, you set down one arm-full of bags and ring his number.

“Be down in a moment, mate.” He says through the speaker before hanging up.

He arrives at the door rather quickly, mask on and wearing a simple tee and jeans. He forgot – or maybe didn't care to – put his shoes on.

He opens the door and lets you in, offering to carry some of the bags. You begin to shake your head 'no' but he's already grabbed a handful from you.

“Whats all this, then?” He says gruffly.

“Things,” you repeat. “Things you can look at when we get in your flat.” You pause. “And food.”

He lets out a guttural “Mmm.”

Simon opens the the door to his flat and sets the bags down on his table. You follow suit and gently kick the door closed behind you.

Simon is already rummaging through the bags.

“I had half a mind to tell you to fuck off.” You say as you place your bags on the table. Simon looks up at you and furrows his brow.

“Still mad about that?” He asks. His voice seems sincere.

“A bit.” You nod.

“Didn't mean to piss ya off, mate.” He replies flatly.

“A Simon apology.” You smile.

He grunts.

The bags are emptied onto the table and discarded to the floor. There is an assortment of boxes, plants and food.

Simon examines the plants and gives you a look.

“I cant keep these alive.” He grumbles.

“They're plastic, you git.” You laugh.

Simon's focus changes to the other boxes on the table. Some new plates and glasses. “They're nice.” He says as he begins to unbox them. He examines each piece one by one before stacking them and moving them to the cupboard.

While he does that, you begin to place the plants around his flat. A few in his living room window, a couple on his book shelf, and one on his coffee table. His place seems to feel more like a home, instead of just the place he lives.

You locate the bag you hid away from him and grab it from under the table. You pull a large black and white throw from it. “Made this for you.” You say, getting Simon's attention.

His eyes widen as you unfurl the oversized throw, exposing the skull pattern that runs its length. It matches the mask he always wears on his face, and though he wears it now, you can see a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes.

“You made it?” He asks, his voice softer than usual. “Like a gift?”

You stare at him queerly. “Yes... like a gift.” You confirm. “I got some fabric paint and an iron. After a good wash, it was ready. Do you like it?”

Ghost retreats back into himself and scoffs. “Its acceptable.”

“Thank you,” You say with a mocking tone, “I put in an adequate effort into it just for you.”

You toss the throw over his couch lazily and then make your way back into his kitchen and unpack the take away. You brought curries and beer, and lay the assortment out for him.

“I can eat later,” you say. “Or on the couch. If you don't want me to.”

Simon holds up a hand, silencing you.

“No need.” He sighs. “If you're going to by my friend, I suppose its only fair.”

He reaches up and pulls the mask away from his face. He stares down at the table as he does this. His lips betray his attempt at a stern look. You take in the scars that map his face, the slight crook in his nose and a small burn on his jaw. His brown eyes flicker up at you waiting for judgment.

“Ready to eat, then?” I say.

“Ready to eat?! That's it?” Simon is shocked and offended.

“What do you want me to say?!” You fire back. “You have a scarred face, big deal. Doesn't make you any less handsome, or any less my friend!”

Ghost stands there seething, you stand there confused beyond belief. It dawns on you that he likely isn't used to people just accepting him as-is. He had built up this scenario of being rejected in his head and now he had no where to go except forward.

You smile. “Sit the fuck down and eat.” You say sternly.

He is taken aback by your words but slides down into his chair, never letting his gaze leave you. You sit down across from him and start dishing out portions. You crack open a couple of beers and slide one over to him.

“Cheers, mate.” You smile. You take a swig and then dig into your food.

Simon follows suit not too long after. The wheels in his mind turning as he processes what just happened. Eventually – albeit slowly – his look softens as he shovels bite after bite of food into his mouth. 'Handsome'? He thinks. His stomach twists and he feels dizzy as the word bounces around his brain.

“Good curry.” Simon huffs between bites. 'Good company too.' He thinks, though can't bring himself to say it.

You smile and accept his compliment. It seems rules one, two, and five were now out the window. Only three, four and six still remained in place. You dynamic was changing, and it piqued your curiosity.

“Really good.” You agree.

[shhh-secret-time]

Star Park AU: Kyle Broflovski Edition

-> Moved back to the Valley after graduating and getting his doctorate. (He's essentially where Harvey is in game.)

-> Couldn't find work out i the city so he moved back to the Valley

-> His parents stayed in the city but they allowed Ike to move back with Kyle as long as he agreed to take good care of him.

-> He has files on everyone's medical history and they're organized based on who's the easiest patient to deal with to who he has to literally drag in to his office. It goes: Karen, Wendy and Nichole, Kenny, Craig, Heidi, Tolkien and Scott, Butters, Ike and Jimmy, Tweek, Sharon, Shelly, Bebe, Stan, Clyde, All of the Goths, Randy, and finally Cartman.

-> He makes monthly walks to the Wizard tower to check on the Goths. They've told him before they don't need it because they have magic but he doesn't believe them.

-> Kyle and Wendy work hard to make things easier for Jimmy around town. The mayor fights them over the funding. Wendy has to practically drag Kyle away from fighting the mayor.

-> He's the only person that Scott trusts with his meds, always making sure to pick his medication up.

-> When he's not working he checks in with Heidi over Ike's education, sometimes he sits in and helps out when he can.

Gift Guide:

Loves: Fire Opal, Pomegrantes, Poppy, Starfruit Wine, Artichoke Dip Likes: All Books, Emerald, Coffee, Magma Cap, Tea leaves Neutral: All Fish (Except Shrimp), Beer, All Eggs Dislikes: Radioactive Ore/Bar, Fertilizer, Escargot, Mudstone Hates: Bananas, Banana Pudding, Shrimp, Bug Meat, Roe (Any)

Loved: "A..Are you serious?! Thank you so much!" Liked: "You thought of me? That's very kind, thank you." Neutral: "Thank...you? It's the thought that counts." Dislikes: "Ugh. I don't want your trash." Hates: "Really? What went through your head when giving me this? God...."

Heart Event @ 2:

Kyle is outside with his brother, one of the rare times he's free from working. He's sitting on the bench at the park reading through his medical files. Ike is playing by himself looking a little lonely. Farmer walks up and sees him sadly rocking on the spring rider. Ike tells the Farmer that he misses playing with his brother, it just seems like he never has time for him anymore. Farmer thinks for a moment before walking over to Kyle, who only notices them when they sit down. He greets them with a smile, quickly going back to his reading. >> Do you ever take a break? How can you be on your laptop right now? It's so nice out! (-) >> Ike looks a little sad, doesn't he? (+) If First Option: Kyle gets slightly annoyed, Farmer should know better than anyone here that he can't just stop working. He notes rather dryly he would have thought he'd be free of their lecturing, seeing as he gets enough of it from Stan.

"I appreciate your concern really, but I'm this towns only doctor last time I checked. I happen to like reading outside."

If Second Option: Kyle looks up from his laptop with concern on his face. He frowns when he realizes that he's been ignoring his brother, and how Ike is rocking back and forth with no care. Turning to the Farmer, he expresses gratitude for bringing it to his attention. He feels back for not seeing it himself, he was just hoping to catch up a little on work before he went home. He closes his laptop, putting it to the side, and stands up. Farmer jumps up with them and offers to play with him and his brother!

"Then I hope you're ready for the longest game of hide-n-seek of your life. You didn't have anything planned for the rest of the day right?"

Heart Event @ 4:

Kyle visits the Farmer early in the morning, greeting them while they're walking to the shipping bin. He apologizes for showing up unannounced. He would have called but he didn't think the Farmer would be able to hear the phone from the fields. Farmer doesn't seem to mind which makes him feel better, physically relaxing. Looking past them, he compliments their hard work on turning the fields into an actual farm. Afterwards he goes on to tell them that their crops have made things better even if they don't realize it. Tells them that the fresh food is better for the townsfolk than Jojo's food. >> I don't actually do that much farming. I'm more into fishing or mining. (/) >> Thanks Kyle! It's nice to get a little appreciation! (/) >> I didn't think of it that way...you really think of everything huh? (/) If First Option: Kyle goes quiet, the longer the silence the more his face turns red. Embarrassment dusting his cheeks. Under his breath he says something about the farm at least looking clean.

"At least your farm looks cleaner then Mr. Marsh's. Smells better too."

If Second Option: Kyle chuckles and tells them there's no reason to thank them! He's in the same boat sometimes and that even now he's here's to do his job. He wonders if anyone else has been out this way yet?

"I just realized you haven't had a checkup with me yet. Swing by the clinic okay? I don't want you to get sick."

If Third Option: Farmer turns the table on them, Kyle gets flustered over the small praise. At least he takes it as praise. He scoffs, telling them to stop being so humble. Being a Farmer is hard work and they should realize the good they do.

"Please. Not just anyone can get Cartman to eat a vegetable. You're good at what you do!"

Heart Event @ 5:

Next time Farmer walks into the clinic they walk back into Kyle's office. He's surprised to actually see them, telling them that he is pleased that he didn't have to drag them in. When Farmer looks at him confused, Kyle tells them that sometimes he has to go and "collect" some of the townsfolk for their appointments. So, it's nice that there's someone else so willing to come in. After a moment he gets a little embarrassed that he started rambling again. Farmer is just easy to talk to, they listen. Before they can comment on the blush on his face, he gets down to business. Kyle opens his laptop and looks up at them, he begins to ask Farmer about themselves, wanting an insight on their medical history.

"Sorry, you didn't come here to listen to me complain. It's just easy to talk to you. A-anyway, before I keep making an ass of myself, lets get started on filling out your medical history!"

Heart Event @ 6:

Farmer is walking from town to the mountains, they can hear faint shouting. Walking closer, they see Kyle and Ike standing next to the mountain lake away from Kenny's house. Ike is sitting on the wooden bridge with his face in his hands, looking more and more upset. When Farmer gets close enough to hear what they're saying clearly, they overhear what the argument is about. Kyle is upset that Ike's grades are slipping, telling him that he needs to put in a little more effort in school. Apparently, he's been blowing off his homework and Heidi is having a hard time getting him to pay attention in class. Ike complains that all Kyle ever talks to him about is how he's doing in school and his stupid job, that he doesn't care to ask Ike about anything else. He asks him when was the last time they did anything fun that didn't require the Farmer having to all but pull him away from work. Ike cuts Kyle off before he can rebuttal. Shouting something about how he's acting just like their mother and he's supposed to be his brother, not his parent! Kyle gets upset and snaps back at him, telling him that he won't apologize for caring about Ike's well being and he wouldn't have to act like their mother if Ike just grew up a little. This makes Ike tear up, he stands up and shouts that he should just go back to the city then. Kyle stands there watching his brother storm off, leaving him alone next to the lake, he looks destroyed. Farmer walks out from where they were hiding, and when Kyle doesn't get upset that Farmer was listening in they know he's really torn up. It takes him some time but he eventually address them, telling them that he never meant to fill the role of a parent. He knows he's hard on Ike, he just wants to see his little brother grow into the best version of himself. The Valley is good to him, better then the city was. He knows it's good for Ike too.

"Am I being that overbearing? I mean...I'm in charge of him. I promised Ma that I'd look after him! I'm not asking for much right? Just for him to apply himself more!"

>> Maybe you're not as right as you think you are. (-) >> Does he know that? Have you told him how you feel? (+) >> I don't think you're really listening to your brother. (+) >> Lighten up Kyle, he's just throwing a tantrum. He'll get over it. (-) If First Option: Kyle looks up with a flash of anger in his eyes, he can't believe what he's hearing. How could Farmer say something like that? He thought they were friends! As Kyle storms off he glares at them.

"Jesus Christ, if you talk to your friends like this then I'd hate to hear how you talk to people you hate!"

If Second Option: Kyle thinks on both Farmer and Ike's words. Like he's replaying the whole thing in his head again. When was the last time he talked to Ike about how he feels? About anything that wasn't him being a hard ass.

"No...I guess I haven't. Ugh I'm an asshole, he deserves to be a kid. I really do sound like our mom. Thanks for listening again Farmer."

If Third Option: Kyle's brows furrow, he wants to be upset but Farmer's right. He makes his frustration known and somehow in the same breath is grateful that Farmer said it. He tells Farmer that this isn't the first time their stubborn attitudes have clashed. Something they both get from their Mother.

"I think if you were anyone else I would be furious but...you're right. It does make me feel a little better to know I'm not the only one who's stubborn. I'll apologize to him in the morning. Goodnight and thank you Farmer."

If Fourth Option: Kyle snaps as that comment strikes a nerve. He goes to yell again but he just stops, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes he looks past them and wishes them a good night. Leaving them alone because just the thought of responding to that is exhausting.

Heart Event @ 8:

It's late, later than Farmer realized. As they go to leave the mines, a group of Shadow beasts corner them. It cuts to them limping out of the mines. Beaten down and exhausted, they collapse against the side of the mountain. The last thing they see is Kyle running over to them and the dim light of a flashlight. When they wake up again, they're laying in one of the beds of Kyle's clinic. Their wounds are bandaged and cleaned. Looking over in a daze, Kyle's eyes meet theirs and there's a look of relief. He closes the first aid kid sitting next to them, picks up the medical tools and puts them away. Farmer can hear him breathing deeply, like this is the first time he's able to. Eventually he breaks the silence, speaking as softly as he can. He scolds them for being reckless, and that they're lucky that Ned was nearby to hear that fight. Kyle stops in the middle of his lecture, catching himself doing it again. Lectures are the last thing Farmer needs right now, they need sleep. Farmer just smiles and shakes their head at him and it almost makes Kyle laugh. He can't believe the energy they have, how they're even awake right now. He promises to keep them company, that he'll be right here for them when they wake up. Time passes again as Farmer drifts back to sleep, when they wake up again they see Kyle asleep in the chair next to them.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?! Seeing you bleeding out in the dirt like that! I know you can be more responsible then that, what were you-.... no I'm doing it again. I'm sorry. Look just get some sleep, you need to rest." - "What? I'm not going anywhere, someone has to look over you and make sure you actually get rest. I swear I'll turn my back and you'll try and get out of that bed."

When given the bouquet:

"!! Y-You're not fucking with me right? This isn't just some cruel prank? ...Then of course I will- be your partner that is!"

Heart Event @ 10:

Farmer walks outside of their house to Kyle sitting on their porch. A picnic basket sitting next to him, a bottle of wine sticking out of the basket, and a red-checkered blanket tucked neatly inside. When he hears the doo open he perks up and stands up quickly. With a grin on his face, he greets them with an energetic good morning. He holds up the basket telling them that he wants to take them out. The day is beautiful and he intends to spend as much of it with them. Farmer agrees, leaving the farm going south past Tegridy Farms. Kyle takes them near the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The two sit there enjoying the picnic that Kyle's put together. When he sees how happy Farmer is with the food, he goes on to tell them that he learned how to cook from his Mother. The conversation leads him to ramble about how he was the only one who could cook in the friend group for a while. That Stan used to beg him to make dinner so he didn't have to eat with his family. Farmer continues to just look happy with everything. Good food and getting to listen to him talk about his best friend, watching as he lights up! Then they feel a rain drop hit their forehead. Looking up, the two se as the sky starts to darken and rain clouds begin to roll in. Immediately Kyle throws his jacket over the Farmer and urgently moves them towards the trees. As the rain starts to come down harder, Kyle looks so disappointed. Farmer takes their hand giving it a little squeeze, breaking down that wall of anxiety. He lets out a sigh, expressing his frustration. He tells them that he wanted today to be perfect, now it's ruined because of the rain. Farmer laughs and pulls them down, planting a kiss on their cheek. Kyle's face turns red from the sweet action. He goes to kiss them back, to return the kiss, but as he does water drops down from the top of the trees. They're both soaked now, water clinging to their clothes. Kyle looks down and just laughs. He wraps an arm around them and pulls them in for a kiss. Pulling away, he brushes his fingers across their face and whispers.

"You always find a way to make things better. I don't feel like I have to be perfect all the time, that it's okay to mess up because I know you'll still love me. My worries just seem to melt away. I love you so much."

Heart Event @ 14:

Ever since Kyle moved in he's slowed down, taking better care of himself. No longer piling too much on his plate, so it surprises the Farmer to se him falling back into old habits. Kyle is pacing around the house in a huff. Ike tells the Farmer that their parents called and that they're making a surprise visit soon. Kyle stops his frantic cleaning for just a moment to stress how much he hates this. He's worried that they're going to be mad because he didn't invite them to the wedding, even when they already reassured him that they're not. Farmer questions why they're coming, which Kyle just sighs and tells them that they want to meet his partner. Farmer reassures Kyle that everything will be fine, that they can't wait to meet his parents. He just grumbles and tells them to hold off on that excitement. Once again Farmer calms the man down, Kyle takes a deep breath and watches his beloved partner get to work. Between the two of them and Ike, they're able to get everything together. Just as dinner is finished, Kyle's parents arrive. Kyle introduces the Farmer to his parents who immediately start gushing over them. The dinner table is set and soon the entire family is sitting around the, making small talk. Sheila starts asking Farmer a list of questions, trying to get to know them. Why did they become a Farmer? What drew them to the Valley? >> Honestly? I needed to start over. Grandpa gave me a second chance and I guess I just fell in love with this little town. >> The city life was too loud. I needed something quiet and easy. >> The Valley needed help! I couldn't just ignore it! If First Option: Sheila smiles and puts her hand on her chest. She tells the Farmer that it's incredibly sweet of their grandfather to look after them. She thinks it's great that they love the town that Kyle grew up in! If Second Option: Sheila doesn't agree that the city is that bad, but she goes on to tell the Farmer she grew up a city girl. She does agree that city life can sweep you away if you're not careful, she's glad the Farmer taught Kyle to slow down. If Third Option: Sheila isn't quite sure she understands what Farmer is trying to get at, but if it's what drives them then who is she to argue? She's just happy that Ike's grades have improved and that Kyle is happy. Either way dinner is lively, once they're finished they thank the Farmer for everything. For taking care of their sons and welcoming them into their lovely home. Sheila admits that she was skeptical at first but after seeing how Kyle looks at the Farmer, she's wholeheartedly approves of their marriage. They leave with a quick hug, letting Kyle know that they'll be staying at the tavern for a few days before going home. As they make the trip back to town, Kyle wraps his arm around the Farmer and smiles softly.

"They really like you, not that I had any doubts they wouldn't. You're amazing. I always knew you were, ever since you moved to this town. I'm just glad they love you almost as much as I do."

Random Marriage Quotes!!

"Good morning my love. Yeah... that still feels weird to say but...I kind of like it. Waking up next to you is everything." "Please make sure you're being careful when you go out. I'm not going to stop you, just come home to me. Please." "Look I love you, but please if you have to go to the mines...shower before you come to bed. Shower with you? That-...isn't a bad idea." "Read up on how to take care of crops on my lunch break! I hope you don't mind that I already watered the plants for you!" "Ike really likes all the animals, he actually woke up before to feed them all!" "Do...do you think my hair is stupid? Cartman said something about it today and I know I shouldn't put merit in what he says but...You like my hair? And my nose? But I didn't- God you're too good to me." "I always had this fear of getting married, I was afraid that I'd end up like my parents. They're not bad just...never mind. Just thank you for being my partner." "Hey, take this medicine with you. If you get into trouble it will help. I don't care if it tastes bad! I don't want to find you passed out again!" "I'm taking Ike over to Kenny's today, he wants to hang out with Karen. Feel free to swing by when you're done doing what you need to do! The guys would love to see you." "You know I love you right? And I'll tell you it as many times as you need. You make it so easy to love you that I'm worried I'm not enough."

Tag List: @hunnysnoops