#kyungsoo story

[archernarbeta]

Do better

✴︎ pairing : Kyungsoo x Reader

✴︎ genre : angst, stubborn characters, yearning, sensitive-themes, idol!kyungsoo , more angst, kyungsoo is a jerk here but reader is also stubborn

✴︎ summary : In which Do Kyungsoo is reader’s best friend and he wants her to do better. 

✴︎ warning : TW disordered eating (starving habits, relapse), trauma, mild cursing.

This fanfic contains themes of disordered-eating, some taken from my own experience. However if there are any misinformations that you would like me to take down, please do let me know and I will be happy to. Lastly, in no way whatsoever I am promoting disordered-eating habits. We are beautiful, in our own ways, inside and out. Therefore, there is no need for us to change our appearances for others.

✴︎ word count : 4.1K

✴︎ author’s note : This was so fun to write honestly! I spent all my pent-up anger writing this fic… I might do a part two because clearly, this fic is unfinished (let me know if we want a part two) Anyways, enjoy! As usual any form of appreciation is very well appreciated! 

—

It’s been exactly 8 weeks since you stopped speaking with THE Do Kyungsoo. 

Yes, you meant Do Kyungsoo the idol, the talented chef, the amazing singer and also THE best friend, not to mention THE imbecile. 

Silent treatments, were a common occurrence especially with the stubbornness you both shared when it comes to giving in for the greater good. However this was the longest period of silence that you both had gone through and frankly for you, there’s no room for truce. 

The reason behind it couldn’t be more trivial. 

Three weekends before, you had gone on a blind-date with a mutual friend, both of you were set-up by one of your colleagues. The date went smoothly, he was a polite gentleman who offered to pick you up and took you home. Before the date, he asked about your food preference too, in which you appreciated the gesture. Overall, he’s an all rounder and you’re totally sure you’d like another date with him, even if both of you weren’t looking for anything serious. It was just nice to have someone to spend your weekend with. 

You were astounded to say the least, that the  very nice gentleman sent you a set of fine bone china mugs with penguins on them, your favourite animal, duh. He also sent a letter, mentioning your love for coffee and penguins and how he’d thought of you when he came across the mugs a while ago. He wished that you would use the set to enjoy your morning coffee every morning.

—

On a given Sunday, Kyungsoo was supposed to come over to your place for a playdate since you haven’t seen each other in forever. He arrived with groceries and snacks for a pasta cook-out, he always mentioned that you were always too thin and too cold for his liking–that’s why he’s always so keen to feed you delicious and nutritious meals, even though you really didn’t like eating in general. 

You both settled on the dining table with each a cup of tea in hand and a plate of cookies that he’d baked beforehand, they were oatmeal and vanilla almond- with the least amount of sugar, suited to your liking.

After a much needed catch-up session and a plate with nothing left more than cookie crumbs, you helped him prep the ingredients for his anchovy pasta. In which, you chose to casually slip the bomb of ‘I’ve met a nice guy, we had a couple of dates, he was such a gentleman, he even gave me these super cute mugs.’ 

At your narrative, Kyungsoo replied with soft hums and nods before replying, “You know y/n— I really think he might be taking advantage of you.” He nonchalantly said while stirring the fettuccine, calmly raising the pasta strands with a fork to check how they’d cook through.

“W-what? Where did that come from?” 

“Why else would he be showering you gifts like these?” He waved around the penguin mug in front of your face in an irritating manner. 

You gasp at his groundless accusation, “Soo! He’s clearly just being a nice- decent human being! How could you accuse him of such things?!” 

You were literally in disbelief. Your best friend was usually the logical one in the friendship and having him belittle a guy like this, left you perplexed. He had no reasons whatsoever to insult a stranger, more so-your date. 

The timer rang before he had a chance to reply. In his relaxed composure, he turned off the stove and strained the pasta, moving them to the pan next to it. He continued cooking for a while, mixing the fettuccine with the pan-seared anchovies and tomato. If you haven’t been friends with him for all these years, you would probably be left speechless at how he just left you mid-conversation to tend to his cooking- but here you are, still amazed at how engrossed the man is in finishing his dish before anything else. He added the last touch of basil before facing his back to the kitchen counter as he faced you with a judging look, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Y/n… You really are gullible sometimes, huh? He gave you a set of mugs and now you’re so swooned that you’re defending him? Over me- your best friend?” He half mocked you and rolled his eyes, giving off a much less of a smirk.

“W- what?! I am not! I can’t believe you right now? Can you hear yourself and how ridiculous you’re being right now?”

“Me? Ridiculous? What’s so ridiculous about protecting a best friend from strangers she just met!?” He exclaimed, shoulders shrugging showing his indifference. 

“He- he’s not a stranger! I told you! Why can’t you be happy that I had a good date?” You sassed back.

“I’m a man and I can see right through him! He’s just a jerk wanting a hookup from you!” He raised his voice.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” You barked at his accusations.

“I got a nice date once and suddenly I’m gullible?” Anger seeping through your every word. You weren’t thinking clear anymore, all you see was red, you can feel the rage rising in the back of your head,

“You know what Soo? I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry that you’re jealous- and so fucking sorry for you because your glamorous idol life left you love deprived!”

The damage was done. You’ve said it and now you only wished you could take it back. You stopped yourself as you covered your foul mouth with regret. Your eyes were shaking as you looked at him with remorse.

He stared back at you, eyes unmoving. He was sometimes unreadable like this. It was in his character really, the unpredictability and the stealth gaze, often left you wondering what’s going on inside his head. He clicked his tongue once, enough to startle you and diverted your whole attention to him. He hummed, another habit of his. You mentally braced yourself for the storm coming. 

“Love deprived?” he darkly chuckled, your penguin mug on the counter, under his hold.

“That’s the lowest you could do?” His smirk wiped away from his face as he gave a flat expression while pushing the mug away from the counter with force.

The scene flashed before your eyes, the penguin-faced mug hitting the floor, the clashing sound of china in contact with the marble floor rang through your ears. You gasp in shock as the mug shattered in pieces and there was nothing you could do but stare at the once cute cup.

You had your mouth hanging open- speechless, unaware that you were shaking. The crime scene unveiling in front of you left you appalled and you wondered if this person is the best friend you’ve always known your whole life. 

“Shame. You could’ve done better Y/n,” he pauses, “Maybe you’ll realise that you have better options than Mr. Penguin Mugs.”

Your body kept shuddering as you tried to gain composure,

“Get out.” You trembled.

“Two can play a game, Y/n” His voice taunting yet his face stoic, staring at you.

“Out!” you screamed at him 

So much emotions were whirring inside of you that your eyes water. Anger? Yes, a lot of rage was brewing in you but disappointment and sadness was an understatement.

“WHO the hell are you and what have you done to Kyungsoo!” Your sudden voice must’ve taken him by surprise as his eyes were back to normal, you walked up to him hitting his chest with little to no energy,

“I don’t want a fucking asshole as a friend! You’re not welcome here!”

If you were angry seconds ago, now you feel like crying.

“Leave!” as you pointed at the door, gesturing him to leave.

Kyungsoo bent down to pick up remnants of the penguins face, slowly placing them on the counter, like it could change a thing.

His next action took you by surprise as he scooped the rest of the broken china with bare hands to throw the shards to the nearest bin, hurting himself in the process. You found that a bit later though, when a drop of blood stain was evident on the lid of your trash can. 

He exhaled a breath, “Eat. Do not skip meals. Don’t be stupid. Call me when you stop being foolish.” 

You wordlessly trembled, standing with no more energy in your figure as he exited your apartment.

—

Ever since the messy encounter with him 8 weeks ago, a lot had changed. 

You stopped contacting Mr. Penguin Mugs a week after your fight with Kyungsoo, you just didn’t have the heart to deal with the lovely man and it broke your heart (a little) that you threw away the chance to be with a nice guy. But a certain someone did fill your thoughts during that time, a certain imbecile with heart-shaped lips that you would really like to hate.

Again, you had your fair shares of silent wars with him but this one hurts the most, or at least your pride did. You could recall his last memo of him, asking you to not skip meals but you decided that Do Kyungsoo was not the boss of you. You didn’t care, you weren’t gonna listen to him.

The fight did trigger you and even though it was childish of you to purposely skip meals, you began to refrain from eating at all. In the back of your head, you knew better than this, you were better than this, however without Kyungsoo by your side to aid you, you faltered. 

In the past years, you had a history with disordered eating. Coming from an almond-mum and a Korean all girls school, appearance was something vital to maintain, yet it resulted in you finding ridiculously dangerous ways to abstain yourself from eating.

It was a rough patch but all those years, Soo was there for you. He’d do the cooking, the persuading and the gentle praising, making sure he won’t overwhelm you. Kyungsoo might seem reserved and unreadable at times but he was full of care, too much even- to the point that you felt like a walking ‘handle-with-care’ sticker.

After you recover, you’ve managed to fix your relationship with food a bit better but there are times where the wounds would open up. You haven’t relapsed in a long time now, having to attend coaching sessions for healthy intuitive eating programs and having Soo on the sidelines to support you. 

Nevertheless, your relapse now was justified that at this point you were blinded by hurt. You were in pain and no one was there to aid you this time. 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that the constant meal skipping would lead to fatigue, weight loss and eventually malnutrition, which is exactly what you’re suffering right now. The worse thing than losing your best friend is this, but hey you’re experiencing both of them at the same time! In your defense, you did try to get better, drinking spinach juice to try to fill the anguish hunger in your stomach, just to throw it all up again.

Honestly back then, when you experienced disordered eating, spinach juice was your holy grail that kept you full for longer hours without having to physically chew anything. Yet as your metabolism went to shambles, your body wouldn’t cooperate with any of the food you intake. 

—

Kyungsoo wasn’t doing any better. 

Seconds after he looked at your startled face and stepped foot out of your apartment, he wished time travel existed. He admits that he was an asshole but he didn’t mean to get things that far and he’d say those things to protect you even though he failed to project them in a nicer-manner (which was totally why he’s at fault, he knows this too-by the way). He wanted to apologise the next day-though he thought that giving you space would be a better option as he was scared to hurt you further. What he didn’t expect was the silence that went on for weeks. 

Kyungsoo busied himself, he had his filming schedules packed as tight as possible and he picked up projects like they were cherries on trees. Even the members were astonished when he brought up his contract to join a variety show, which was so unexpected of him.  All the time not talking to you left him confused, if he was really trying to protect you or if he was jealous of you, or your date. He tried brushing it off, but you were always on the back of his mind. He’d try figuring out how he feels about you but that would spiral in a worse direction, he didn’t have the heart to admit that he misses you, his best friend. 

—

On the sixth-week mark of your cold war, you were admitted to the hospital for severe malnutrition and extreme weight loss. Chanyeol was the one who hospitalised you.

Chanyeol—who became friends with you because of Kyungsoo–had visited you a couple times after the fight to check up on you. You wanted to turn your back on him and his hospitality but the friendly man with cute giant ears was so hard to refuse. 

Initially, Chanyeol’s visit were out of concerns due to the fight you had with Kyungsoo, but the visits became frequent when he noticed you became leaner by the day, your moves were slower and it was visible that performing simple task were difficult for you.

He tried his best to discreetly offer professional help, even though he wasn’t aware of your disordered eating history, he simply wanted to help without offending you, in which you declined politely, saying you were fine. 

That day, even with arduous attempts to conceal your weakness, your body soon gave up after opening the door for Chanyeol. Given your conditions, you had no room to refuse anymore as Chanyeol carried you to the hospital. The only thing you managed to muster before blacking out was, 

“Don’t tell Kyungsoo.”

On the week you were hospitalised, Kyungsoo was busy filming somewhere in a rural area in Japan. It was a fresh experience, a breath of fresh air for his career yet all he could think of was you. 

The eight-week mark had passed and after two weeks of being hospitalised, it was a shame that you didn’t show signs of improvement regardless of the constant IV that kept you at bay. That’s the thing with relapsing, you know this, nothing will work unless you want to get better—and you haven’t found a reason to do so.

But it was a little bit bearable when Chanyeol came in to visit, sometimes bringing other members with him to cheer you up and give you extra encouragement. You particularly love when he brings Minseok along, the older was the most well-mannered of the bunch and he just feels like an older brother. 

— 

The sliding door of your hospital ward suddenly slammed open, you instinctively diverted your attention to the door, finding a familiar figure walking in with eyes ready to shoot lasers at you. 

“W-what the fuck?” you eyed him. “Why the hell are you here? What are you doing here?”  

You were surprised at your energy to snap at the man whilst you half-sat on a hospital bed with an IV attached on your hand. And here I thought I was weak.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Why the fuck are you here?” he retorted, “I heard you’re sick but I’m surprised that your stupidity still tags along after 2 months.” he scorned, his bluntness never goes away huh?

“W-what? What did you say to me?”

“Even though we’re fighting and you’re mad you could’ve hit me instead. Yell, scream, curse at me- I couldn’t care less if you did,” he paused, “but why would you starve yourself again?”

By the tone of his voice, although you could pick up his anger- his disappointment, you really didn’t want to put down your ego. 

“I’m not here because of you, idiot. Now what are you doing here? Go away” You countered him. 

“Are you blind? As you can see I’m visiting a friend. A very sick and a stubborn one at that.” he managed to scoff at your act. You rolled your eyes, not even baffled at this point.

“No one told you to. Now, leave.” you pointed at the door.

“A little tall birdie did, he begged me to come.” he stills on the ends of the hospital bed

“Well, thanks for coming but you are really uninvited here. Please follow the door to exit.” you gave him a sarcastic smile.

“And if I won’t comply? What are you gonna do?” he taunts back. “Would you tell Chanyeol or Sehun to take me away? And why do you think they’ll comply with your request? They’re scared of me more than of Junmyeon-Hyung,” he looked around the room before focusing his eye-contact back to you.

“The only thing you could do to kick me out in your sickly state is call the nurse… that’s if, you’re willing to bear the consequence of reporting an idol?” he rambled. 

“Oh you little shit..”

“Don’t you little shit me,” he mocked back,

“You know, Chanyeol might’ve given away your conditions but he’s certainly not the one watching MY reality show for the past weeks.”

You mentally cursed.

He gave out a laugh, before continuing in a stern tone,“The only person logged in my SBS account is you. Did you miss me so badly that you liked all those clips using my account?”

“Do better, y/n.” he finished, before abruptly leaving the room. 

You were left astounded, just like the moment he exited your apartment 8 weeks ago. But this time, not long after, he came back bringing what looked like a lunchbox. He quietly sat down on the chair next to your bed while opening one of the containers, you only could stare at him in confusion. 

Do Kyungsoo was indeed unpredictable.

“Do better, eat better, y/n. So you can fight me again.” He spoke up before offering a spoonful of porridge to your mouth. You gazed at the spoon in front of you before shifting back at him. You silently refused. 

“Open up,” he said softly and you did. There was something about his voice that made you comply with his requests, like it was laced with care and concern. 

You opened your mouth and carefully swallowed his cooking. The taste wasn’t foreign to you, it was his pumpkin and sweet potato porridge. He made it for you every time you’re upset, making the dish your ultimate comfort food. After the first spoonful, you were bracing yourself for a reflux but it never came, you were able to stomach his food just fine. 

“Good girl” he praised you before handing another scoop to your mouth, asking you to have more. 

As you ate quietly, he spoke, 

“You need to do better than this y/n. You need energy to curse at me- hit me…and that’s why you need to eat to recover,” his forehead creased as he expressed his thoughts yet it didn’t stop him from feeding you every spoon. 

“It’s- It’s so frustrating you know? Looking at you like this… I-I almost lost it when Chanyeol called saying you’ve been admitted for two weeks! I was in Japan and I never wanted to pack my bags so quickly..”

“Y-you..You’re so frustrating-“ he let out a breath he unconsciously held. You could see his eyes weren’t as calm, like he had other complaints he’d like to express but he held back. With the last spoonful, he closed the container and discarding it back to the lunchbox. 

He softly muttered, “Rest well, I’ll be back tomorrow,” he gave a quick peck on the crown of your head, an action that surprised you, before leaving the ward. 

He did come back the next day and the day after that, and another day after that. He made sure that he was the first sight you see in the morning. 

This time, he brought chicken soup. Sadly, the smell didn’t react well with your body as you instantly gagged. He immediately rushed you to the bathroom, pulling your IV off in one smooth motion in the process, leaving you unscathed even with the sudden movement .

You managed to hold it in until you reached the toilet bowl. As you threw up, you helplessly cried, Kyungsoo kept still and supported your figure by the elbows. He softly grasped your hair away from you while you hurled the contents of your stomach. The action left you breathless, exhausted as tears stained your face while you slid down the bathroom floor, you really didn’t have any energy left.

You pity yourself for your relapse, it felt- disgraceful of you to do so. You hid your face with your hands as you sobbed. Fucking disgusting, you told yourself. 

Kyungsoo was distressed seeing you like this, especially the fact that he might have some contributions to your relapse, it was even more upsetting for him. He didn’t hug you, he was too much of a coward for that. So he did what he could. Kyungsoo grabbed some napkins and a glass of water outside and came back into the bathroom. He kneeled down to gently tap the hands covering your face, signalling that he’d like to see your face. You slightly look up to see a calm attentive face, care- radiating from his eyes. He wiped your tears and then your mouth, offered you a warm glass of water in which you accepted without repulse. 

Both of you stayed quiet for a while before muttering, “Let’s go back to bed.”

He helped you stand up, tucked you back in the hospital bed and called the nurse to reattach the IV he skilfully dismantled. The nurse went berserk on him when she learned of the incident. The situation was truly unpredictable but his actions could’ve seriously injured you. He mumbled his apologies as he nodded in regret while listening to the nurse’s scoldings. Not long after, she left both of you to your own devices. 

“Don’t say anything, please?” you quietly begged while looking at him. 

Today felt like your turn to burst. He nods without hesitation, firmly holding eye contact with you.

“I’m tired Soo…” you audibly exhaled, tears welled on your already puffed eyes.

You took your time to look at the light blue colour of the hospital blanket, then shifted your eyes to the ceiling of the ward while trying to find words to carry on the conversation. 

“I am-“ you stuttered, “f-fuck. I’m fucking tired, you know?”

You just… didn’t have the energy as your tears flowed through your hollow cheeks, dropping to your chin and eventually wetting the blanket. His eyes never left you, catching each and every of your pained expressions. 

You had lost your spark, the burning passion and gleam behind your eyes were gone. Your being felt hollow, just a soulless body- empty, dull and glum.

He despised it, the dullness in your eyes. He hated it with all his heart, knowing his efforts were meaningless since he couldn’t stop you from getting worse. He loathes the fact that this time, he was helpless when the love of his life, his best friend, his light, is giving up in front of his eyes.

“Soo…” you whispered, reaching out for his hand with sorrowful eyes. He instantly held yours, warmth emitting from his hold as he looked at you with so much care. Even intertwining hands with you broke his heart at the coldness of your touch. 

“Do better, okay?” you let go of his hand from your hold.

The wet tracks of your tears hadn’t stopped yet you managed to prop up an expressionless gaze as you stared at him. You were in pain, so was he, and you didn’t want to hurt him more.

He knew what you meant, he knew what you wanted him to do. 

He knew exactly what to do, not that he wanted to. 

He was your lifeline, a drug to salvation- You needed to heal without him. 

He didn’t understand, he had so many questions formulating in his head but he knew better than to pry. He was hurt but prying meant hurting you further, which was the last thing he’d do.

He stood up, kissed your cheeks, stroked your hair and pecked the crown of your head one last time before heading out to the door. 

He slammed the sliding door hard, hopefully to let you know how wrong of you to ask him to leave. But he never looked back, because he was too much of a coward for that.

—

a/n: should we do a part 2 ??

[dreamylittlesugarcube]

Flames of Attraction

Genre: EXO AU

Characters: Kyungsoo x Female Reader

Warnings: Swearing, kissing, mentions of “the deed” but nothing graphic

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: Who’s the boss? You are! Or at least, you had been until he showed up. For the past month, you’d busted your sous-chef butt to keep the hotel restaurant afloat after the head chef abruptly up and quit. Now, the manager’s brought in a friend, celebrity chef Do Kyungsoo, to lead the kitchen. With Kyungsoo wanting to run things his way, will tensions flame into something more? 

A/N: Oh my gosh, I finally finished! This is my longest fic to date, as part of the Crimson Aurora Hotel and Spa Collab. Buckle up for ~10k, folks! ! hope you enjoy it! Please re-blog so that others can find and interact with this post easier. Thanks a million!

P.S. I’m planning to write some filthy epilogues for anyone interested!

P.S. GIFS and pictures do not belong to me, so credit should go to the original owners. (theonly-vagina-kyungsoo-will-fuk

~*~

“Feeling a little tense today, boss?” 

You glanced up briefly from your pork cutlets to find Hyun-min staring at you, elbows on the counter in a manner you’d told him you don’t enjoy. As the chef de partie in charge of the meat station, a classmate from culinary school, and a long-time friend, he was entirely too perceptive for your liking. This quality was exceptionally beneficial in the workplace, but not so much when you were trying to squash your anger in the name of professionalism. 

“No, what makes you think that?” you responded, lying through your teeth. 

Hyun-min flashed you a cheshire cat grin, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, I don’t know…maybe because our new boss shows up tomorrow? THE WORLD FAMOUS CELEBRITY CHEF DO KYUNGSOO?!”

“Who’s side are you on anyway?” you mumbled as Hyun-min squealed in excitement. 

“Yours, of course. But I can’t help it. The man’s a legend–helming a three-starred Michelin restaurant when he was under the age of 25 and he’s model-hot?!”

 He fanned himself dramatically with a copy of tonight’s menu. 

No one needed to tell you how talented Do Kyungsoo was. His accomplishments spoke for themselves–the book deals, the television shows, the James Beard awards, and yes–the coveted Michelin stars. You'd watched him on TV before and couldn’t deny that he’s good–okay, amazingly good, with a great knack for flavor. He’s been listed in more than one “30 Under 30” article. Was it fair to be blessed with that level of both talent and looks?!  Furthermore, you wondered why someone like him, who’s been the executive chef of many, many famous restaurants would come here. Perhaps, Manager Kim had more connections than you knew. 

It’s been several months since Head Chef Maurice abruptly departed. Many chefs have been interested in replacing him, but Manager Kim wasn’t satisfied with any of them, which left you, the sous-chef, to fill in the gaps.

Rather than sticking to one type of cuisine, you introduced fusion dishes, which have been very well-received. You were happy, guests were happy, and Mr. Kim seemed happy…so happy that you thought he might give you the promotion you always dreamed of. After five years of toiling away at this restaurant you’d thought maybe, just maybe this was your time. You felt blindsided at the news of Do Kyungsoo’s arrival not even two days ago, which left you with no time to process anything beyond anger. 

“I’m fine,” you said tightly, grabbing your meat hammer. “Absolutely.” Pound. “100%.” Pound. “Totally.” Pound. “Fine.” Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. 

“Uh-huh, sure,” Hyun-min sayid, narrowing his eyes in obvious doubt.  “You can lie all you want, honey…but don’t take it out on my poor, innocent pork cutlets. They’re supposed to be thinly pressed, not hacked to pieces!”

He quickly grabbed the tray of meat and moved it protectively out of the way, like you were a wild animal he couldn’t trust not to strike once his back was turned. 

You flushed in embarrassment at your lack of composure, still incredibly on edge. Since you weren’t allowed to mete out your frustrations on the schnitzel, you’d need to seek out other avenues. Fortunately, your friend at the front desk was only too happy to help, and before you knew it, you were face down on a massage table, tension draining from your limbs under the masterful hands of the Crimson Aurora’s best masseuse.

~*~

Not 20 minutes into your lavender-induced stupor, a knock sounded at the door. Jongin told you to wait and slipped out the door, returning to quietly inform you that a certain Do Kyungsoo had arrived and “required your immediate attention.” 

As you dressed, you could feel your stomach twisting into knots as you made your way to the kitchen. Standing outside the kitchen doors, the absence of clanging pans, furious chopping, and loud, boisterous voices was your first clue that something was amiss. Through the window, you could see the kitchen staff positioned in a line, as though awaiting military inspection from their commanding officer. Do Kyungsoo stood in front of them, looking every bit the formidable chef he was rumored to be in his immaculate black chef’s coat. 

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open, crossing the threshold that usually felt so familiar, yet was now completely alien. You put on your best “welcome” smile and stepped into the lion’s den. The noise from the squeaky doors drew the man’s attention and he turned to look at you.

Coming forward, you bowed in greeting. “Hello, my name is ____. I’m the sous-chef here. My apologies for being late, I was just informed of your arrival.”

Kyungsoo sized you up from head to toe, noting your messy hair, untucked shirt, and overall lack of polish. Not what he’d expect from his supposed second-in-command. What type of serious chef got a massage during the work day? If he were any of his former employers, you’d be given your notice immediately. The restaurant world was an unforgiving place, but Kyungsoo knew the dangers of being too quick to judge, so your skills in the kitchen had better impress. 

You shuffled past Chef Do to stand beside Hyun-min, painfully aware that the former probably definitely knew exactly where you were. You might not be happy that he was here, but you’d never want your professionalism to be questioned over such a matter. Tonight he wanted to observe and see how the kitchen works and this dinner was your chance to wow him, to prove to Chef Do that you knew what you were doing. You’d worked your butt off covering for Chef Maurice and done a good job, goddammit! 

With renewed vigor, you threw yourself into preparing tonight’s special, your team working hard alongside you to pull out the stops, all while under Chef Do’s watchful eye. It was unnerving to feel his gaze on you, judging your every move during prep work–choice of ingredients, knife work, organization–and you could tell everyone else in the room was feeling the same tension. If Hyun-min was an open book, then this man was the definition of a book wrapped in chains with a lock and key, his expression never changing, making it frustratingly impossible to know his thoughts. 

Kyungsoo circled the kitchen, observing each and every moving part, noting both what he liked and things that needed to change. People had always told Kyungsoo that he was hard to read. His agent was always telling him he needed to “emote” better and give more fan service to the camera when he was filming shows. Kyungsoo disagreed–it wasn’t that he hid his emotions, he just didn’t see the point in pretending to be something he wasn’t.

Cooking was serious business–raw and real, both chaotic and orderly at the same time. 

During filming for his various television shows, he missed the sights and sounds of the organized chaos around him–orders coming left and right, a flurry of quick hands pushing dishes through the window, and the joyful calm of the knife in his hand as he rhythmically chopped vegetables. 

By the time the first ticket came through, you and your team were in the groove and you were forever thankful for muscle memory. The donkkaseu was perfect–golden and crunchy from the panko crumbs and slightly spicy from the red pepper flakes. It went down on a brioche bun, topped with kimchi coleslaw, and accompanied by a creamy gamja salad. Running a clean cloth around the edge of the plate, you rang the bell, literally sending your heart and soul out of the kitchen on a platter. 

Ashley, longtime waitress and confidant, gave you a thumbs up through the window and you breathed a sigh of relief. Throughout the night, customer reactions were generally positive and you fielded the odd complaint of “the fish is dry” or “I asked for the steak medium” with ease. 

10:00 came and went and the kitchen closed down to its nighttime snack menu, serving a selection of Korean favorites like pajeon, tteokbokki, stir-fried squid, and cheese corn to be paired with a menu of creative cocktails. This brainchild of your’s and Taemin’s, the hotel bartender, had worked to draw in guests coming back from shows and concerts and attracted pedestrians from the outside looking for an elevated bar experience. 

An hour later, the kitchen was clean and the prep for tomorrow was done. You thanked the team for their hard work and sent them home, with you and Hyun-min remaining to fulfill the last-minute orders. You could see Chef Do in his office through the open door, scribbling furiously, no doubt making sure to take down every little mistake made during tonight’s service. You cringed, knowing there would be a debrief sooner rather than later, but pledged to defend yourself and your team, should the need arise. Everything ran smoothly tonight and you were proud of the job you’d done, though not immune to the fact that there was always room for improvement. 

Hyun-min rang the bell and Ashley came to retrieve an order, a secretive smile on her face, which could mean only one thing: gossip. 

“Am I going to have to ask or are you just going to tell me?” you asked, giving her a pointed look before handing over the plate of cheesy rice cakes. 

“Fine, twist my arm if you must.” 

Ashley beckoned you and Hyun-min over and leaned in close, as though she was about to divulge top-secret information. 

“Chanyeol’s getting lucky tonight…sent a drink to a girl and now he’s laying on the moves.”

“Hot piano guy?” you clarified, watching as Hyunmin hung his head and groaned. “Sorry, Hyun-min, I guess that ship has sunk.” 

“Why are all the available men in this place taken?” he whined. “First hot, ice king Sehun, now tall drink of water, Chanyeol?!” 

You patted his arm in sympathy and silent agreement. Despite the fact that the Crimson Aurora Hotel seemed to employ a mysterious amount of above-average looking men, neither of you had been able to make a love connection. 

That might be for the best, you mused.

You worked long hours and not everyone was understanding about the amount of time and effort it took to do what you do. Your last boyfriend had complained that you worked too much, were too focused on the restaurant and not enough on him or your relationship. In hindsight, he’d been right–you had put the job first–but honestly, he hadn’t supported you in the way you needed–always making comments about you needing to “get a real job” like his. You wanted and deserved someone who not only believed in you, but understood your drive and passion for creation and innovation. 

Ashley grabbed the plate from the pass and turned on her heels, throwing an “I’ll keep you updated” over her shoulder. 

With the last order of the night complete, you closed down the kitchen, hanging up your apron on the hook before turning off the lights. The glow from the office drew your eye, but the now-closed door dissuaded you from further investigation. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you pushed through the kitchen doors and made your way to the place your night usually ended: the bar. 

You slid onto a bar top stool, feeling relaxed for the first time today. The red bubble pendant lights, reminiscent of magma, cast a crimson glow over the space. At this hour, the place was mostly deserted, save a lone businessman in one of the alcoves. Seeing no sign of Chanyeol, you assumed he’d retired for the evening with his new lady friend. 

Without asking, Taemin placed your drink of choice in front of you and you took a sip, enjoying the burst of fruity flavor on your tongue. He left you to your thoughts, but not before leaving you a bowl of spiced nuts and prawn crackers to snack on. You closed your eyes, letting the jazzy music wash over you, appreciating this time to decompress. 

“May I join you?” 

The request, accompanied by a gentle tap on the shoulder startled you practically out of your chair. Chef Do stood before you, dressed in jeans and a simple black t-shirt, looking remarkably less intimidating than just an hour previous. Considering the two of you hadn’t started off on the right foot, you couldn’t imagine what he wanted to talk about. 

When you gave a hesitant nod, Kyungsoo took a seat next to you. Mindful of first impressions and the work he had to do tomorrow, he asked for water when the bartender came to take his order. You were quiet next to him, so he tried to break the ice.

“Service went well today…You did well today, _____.” 

You froze mid-swallow, sputtering as liquid went down the wrong way. 

“Was that the wrong thing to say?” he wondered. 

“No,” you confirmed, trying to keep your tone as even as possible. “Just not what I was expecting.”

Kyungsoo managed to stifle a smile.“What were you expecting then?”

What had you been expecting?

A jerk who thought he walked on air, someone who ordered others around without deigning to lend a hand, that’s what.  It would be easier to hate someone like that, easier to let your anger simmer under the surface. Honestly, you weren’t sure what to do with the person who was currently in front of you. You munched on the prawn cracker, grateful for the crunch, crunch that filled the silence. 

Kyungsoo lifted a brow at your obvious avoidance of the question. He chose to artfully change the topic. Eyeing up the prawn crackers, he asked you to share, taking a second to lift it to his nose and inspect the outside before putting it in his mouth.

“Even fry, consistent cuts, crisp texture. Where do you source these from? They remind me of the ones my grandmother used to make.”

“Actually, all the bar snacks are made in-house,” you informed him, pride filling you as you spoke.

You explained that you’d been trialing the homemade snacks and late-night bar menu in hopes of attracting new customers, ones who appreciated quality food and alcohol. 

“Not what you were expecting?” you responded cheekily.

“Not exactly,” he returned, smiling genuinely at your response. 

“And the response has been good?” he asked, a hint of skepticism as he peered around the now-deserted room.

You grinned behind your hand. “There’s a concert venue down that street that should be getting out in about–”, you checked your watch, “–fifteen minutes. This place’ll be packed soon with people looking to wind down from their music high. I usually try to be out of here by then, but you’re welcome to stick around and see the chaos for yourself.”

You downed the rest of your drink and pulled cash from your wallet, which Taemin warded away with a firm shake of his head and an “on the house”. You bowed your head in appreciation and stuck a couple bills into the tip jar.

“Just friends trying to support friends,” you said, smiling sweetly at Taemin’s look of censure. 

You looked over to see that Chef Do had finished his water and put his coat on. You bid each other goodnight and then you were off to the subway station, ready to get home to your apartment, take a well-deserved shower and watch some mindless TV. 

Sitting at home, wrapped up in a blanket, you flipped through TV channels searching for something to watch, not that there was anything decent to watch this late anyway. You turned to a cooking channel that was your usual standby and came face-to-face once again, with your new boss, but this time he was whipping someone’s butt in a battle for the best beef bourguignon. He won, of course, but on these types of shows it seemed like he always did. 

You thought back to your day, which to your surprise, wasn’t as bad as you imagined it might be. This morning you’d been angry–angry that Chef Do was coming, angry with Manager Kim for not giving you a promotion, and in all honesty, angry with yourself for not being good enough yet.

Now, those emotions felt flimsy and fragile, slipping through your fingers like air, and as much as you tried to hold on, away they went. Resentment might remain, sure, but a burgeoning respect had started to well inside you, one that recognized talent for talent and appreciated a dry sense of humor…and something else too, that you don’t want to name just yet. With that in mind, you clicked the television off, tuning the man out of your living room and out of your life–at least until tomorrow.

~*~

Morning came and Kyungsoo felt hungover, despite having nothing but water at the bar last night. He knew it would be a long day at the restaurant, so he filled up on some breakfast and plain coffee. His phone rang and he saw his agent’s number flashing on the screen. He was tempted to ignore the call, but knew she’d just keep calling back if he didn't pick up. 

“How’s my rockstar chef today?” his agent, Nina, drawled in her Texas accent.

“Fine, Nina, just–”

“Perfect,” she interrupted. “Listen babe, I know this whole “head chef” thing wasn’t exactly your first choice, but Kim Junmyeon is a good friend and I owed him a favor. Think of it like a little mini-vacation.”

It was obvious that Nina had never worked in the kitchen because no one, no one who’d ever worked in a restaurant kitchen would refer to it as a “vacation”. 

“Listen sugar, I’m working on lining up another show for you. The network is thrilled with ratings for your last series and they’re clamoring for more.”

“But Nina, I don’t want to–”

“Yeah, you don’t want to stay at the hotel for too long. I know, I know. Nina will get you out of there soon, don’t you worry.”

“That’s not what I was going to–”

“Listen, Kyungsoo, my Starbucks is here so I’ve got to run. Mwah!”

Kyungsoo didn’t even have time to say anything before she was gone. He wasn’t  surprised–Nina ran a mile a minute and he was absolutely certain the woman was made up of 90% caffeine. She’d been his agent for years, since the beginning, when he’d been a simple link cook with a dream. 

It would be fair to say he never expected things to go this far–the crowds, the book deals, the shows, the fame–everything. All he ever wanted was to share his cooking with the world, maybe even own his own farm-to-table restaurant, so truth be told, he was excited at the prospect of settling down for a little while and making his mark on the Ink & Pepper. 

When he’d been approached about the opportunity six months ago, the Ink & Pepper had seemed like a restaurant with uninspired food and little direction, and needing some massive changes. He’d come prepared to wipe the slate clean of anything or anyone weighing down the place–employees, concepts, menus, whatever it took. Upon arrival, he’d been shocked to find the kitchen in pretty decent working order. Provisions were well-organized, stations were clean, and the staff worked cohesively. 

Not at all what he expected.

He knew it came down to you, the sous-chef masquerading as the one in charge. The sous-chef who got massages during the work day. He hadn’t thought much of you when you walked in looking like you’d just woken up from a three-hour nap; however, you’d quickly proved him wrong–executing and expediting dishes flawlessly. 

From the beginning, it was obvious you were used to being top dog and he wondered how you’d take to following his orders. He smiled, fondly thinking of the days he himself had been filled with bright ideas and loads of sass-not so different from you. 

With a little time left before he had to be at the restaurant, he took his two puppies out for a walk before dropping them off at daycare. Leaving his car behind, Kyungsoo strolled through the neighborhood, making note of the small, tucked-away restaurants that he wanted to try (and maybe own) someday. 

He was stopped by several older ladies who asked for his autograph and was happy to oblige. Two signed napkins and many selfies later, he was zooming through the streets on his way to the Crimson Aurora.

The kitchen was in full swing by the time he walked through the doors and he was greeted by the sound of clanging pots, sizzling pans, and steam, which halted to a whisper. Gazes followed him as he walked to his office and stowed his things. He called the team together and went over his notes from the previous evening. Once he made it clear that he wasn’t firing anybody, the staff visibly relaxed…well maybe except you. 

You frowned several times while he was talking, most notably when he mentioned that menus would solely focus on classic, French cuisine. Interesting. You must prefer a different style of food, and he made a note to ask you about that later. You also cringed when he critiqued the cook on the lamb chops from last night. Not debatable, in his opinion, it was medium or bust. 

After he finished, he pulled several staff members to go over the grocery order for next week, when his menu went into effect. He had relationships with some of the top vendors in the city and he wanted to make sure the restaurant had access to the best ingredients possible. He hadn’t had time to go over the new menu with you, but he was excited to roll it out next week. 

The day flew by–diners came and went, food left the kitchen and empty plates came back–and soon the moon was high in the sky. The kitchen lights dimmed, and from his office he could see the staff heading out for the night, leaving you and Hyun-min behind to finish up.

The spicy, sweet smell of tteokbokki filled his nose, making his mouth water. He remembered the tteokbokki his mother used to make him growing up, with plenty of fish cakes and sliced eggs. 

During culinary school at Le Cordon Bleu, he lived in Paris, adopting the lifestyle and the cuisine. Fresh fruits and vegetables, cheeses, yogurt, meat, and fish–a delicious and nutritious diet, but very different from the food he ate growing up. 

From his vantage point, he could hear bits and pieces of your conversation with Hyun-min–a bad experience on a blind date, the latest episode of The Bachelor, and Hyun-min’s cat giving him the cold shoulder. Kyungsoo didn’t have any use for idle gossip, so ended up tuning out most of it anyway, at least until he got a late-night call from New York. By the time he was done, the kitchen was deserted. Curious, made his way to the bar, and sure enough, there you were, sitting in your usual spot. Without thinking too hard, he slid into the seat next to you and ordered his new usual. 

~*~

Three months later

“Just water will do tonight, Taemin.”

You knew who spoke  without even having to look. Chef Do’s voice was distinct–deep and rich like melting chocolate, one that carried perfectly in a room (or kitchen). Water again tonight, it seemed. It made sense, Chef Do–Kyungsoo, as he’d told you to call him off-the-clock, seemed like a water kind of guy. 

“Do you drink anything else besides water?”

“Do you drink anything besides passion fruit cocktails, ___?” Kyungsoo shot back playfully, sliding into the seat next to you. 

“I’ll have you know these are passion fruit mocktails, Kyungsoo. In my old-age, I can’t handle alcohol on a weekday like I could in my youth.” 

You were over-exaggerating a little bit, considering you weren’t even 30, but bouncing back seemed harder these days, especially when you had the responsibility of being up for work just hours later. 

Looking over at Kyungsoo, you lifted an eyebrow. “What’s your excuse?”

Kyungsoo shrugged. “I just drink water, nothing else. It’s very…hydrating.” 

He winced, clearly aware of how obvious that answer was. 

You nodded awkwardly before reaching into your bag and pulling out a glass container. You’d learned that Kyungsoo was a sucker for snack foods, so this ought to do the trick. Oddly enough, this had kind of become your nightly routine for the past few months: cook your butt off all day and hole up at the bar with your boss at night. Hyun-min had joined you a couple of times, but dubbed it “boring” since it didn’t involve soju, spandex, and getting down at the club. 

“You want some kimbap? Nothing fancy, just some beef rolls and a couple of tuna.” 

You handed over the container for Kyungsoo’s inspection. Someone once said “you eat with your eyes first”, and you found that was especially true for chefs. Your kimbaps looked pretty good, the veggies were cut consistently, the egg was yellow and soft, and the roll was tight. Not as good as your mom’s, but decent.

Kyungsoo cautiously took one and popped it in his mouth. You offered him more and the two of you ate in silence.

Kyungsoo chewed thoughtfully before asking: “When do you have time to make these things? The rice seems really fresh, so obviously these weren’t made yesterday.”

“We usually keep some ingredients on-hand for staff in case they get hungry. I make them right before we leave…you’re usually on the phone when I do.”

Kyungsoo let out a big sigh, massaging his temples. 

“It’s my agent, Nina. She lives in New York, so there’s a bit of a time difference.”

“How do you do it all?” you wondered aloud. “Balance running a restaurant and a television career at the same time?” 

Kyungsoo chuckled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. 

“Truth is, I don’t. It’s always one or the other. If I’m filming a show, I’m gone from work for weeks or months at a time. My agent is always pushing me to do more shows and appearances, but if I do, it takes me away from being in the kitchen. Even now she’s pushing me to judge some big competition show in Europe.”

It was surprising to hear this from him. He seemed like such a natural on television, born to be on screen. You would have never guessed he felt any other way, but here he was, wanting the simple basics of cheffing. 

“...but you’ve worked at some of the best restaurants in the world…all those Michelin stars…”

“But are they truly mine?” he mused. “Someone else’s vision…someone else’s kitchen…not mine…”

Getting a Michelin star always seemed like a pipe dream, so much so you never gave them more than a passing thought. But pondering it now, you realized he was right: Michelin stars were given out to restaurants with outstanding cooking, in terms of ingredients, flavor, technique and consistency over time. While the chef might be the vehicle to gaining those stars, the stars stayed, even if the chef moved on to other places.

 “Well, technically this place is yours now, right?” you said, trying to lighten the mood. 

Kyungsoo smiled softly. “Yeah…I guess you’re right. A place of my own to finally do as I wish….”

Though you’d slowly come to accept the reality of working under Kyungsoo, your chest still tightened at his words. A place of my own. 

“...and what about you?” he continued. “You must have a dream too.”

When you sheepishly admitted to having a similar dream, understanding lit his eyes. 

“Ah, so that’s why you’ve been so morose about the menus lately.”

“I have not been morose”, you grumbled as Kyungsoo shot you a look of mock disbelief. “I haven’t! Disappointed is the word I would use.”

Kyungsoo scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Have you ever thought about working somewhere else? There’s got to be hundreds of places that would see the value in your skills.”

“I mean, sure, I’ve thought about it here and there, but the Ink & Pepper was the place I first got my start and the people there are like family. I’m not sure I could leave. It just feels right, you know?”

Kyungsoo nodded in understanding, at the same time knowing opportunities would be more ripe if you looked beyond the small boutique hotel restaurant. Plenty of talented chefs never made it further than being someone else’s underling and he didn’t want that to happen to you. Kyungsoo knew many of the top people in the industry and if he put a word in with the right people, maybe you’d…

Taemin chose that moment to interrupt, saying the bar was closing, and checking your watch, you realized you and Kyungsoo had never stayed this late before. You meandered down the sidewalk, silently making your way towards the bus stop, together but alone in your thoughts. Kyungsoo dropped you off at your stop and you watched his back as he slowly walked away.

“Are you going to do it?” 

You were loud enough that Kyungsoo turned back, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“The show, I mean. Are you going to do it?”

Kyungsoo’s eyes filled with understanding, as he came to a stop a few feet from you. 

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Why? Just waiting for me to go so you can take back your crown?”

“Hardly.” you huffed, scowling at the mischief you saw in his eyes.

“Then you’ll miss me?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

You rolled your eyes. “Again, hardly.” 

He stepped closer. “That’s a shame, because I’d miss you, ___”, he said quietly.

You turned towards him, ready to deliver another biting comeback, when you saw he was serious. 

“You what?”

“You heard me. I said I’d miss you.” 

Dazed, you sucked in a breath, trying to process what you just heard. It was quiet around you, and you realized Kyungsoo was waiting for you to speak.  Words needed to be formulated into sentences, but unfortunately your brain was jumbled up like a plate of scrambled eggs. 

Kyungsoo stepped closer, and all you could see were his eyes, jet-black against the night sky. He lifted his hand to your face, running his thumb across your cheek in a gentle caress. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out, as though your brain was unable to process anything but the ripples of electricity running through your body and the warmth of his skin against yours in the cool night air. 

In your peripheral, you heard the squeal of the bus as it angled into your stop. The doors hummed as they opened and several people got off, no doubt ready to hit the town. You needed to get on that bus, but to do that, you’d have to break away. 

Kyungsoo reached up to clasp your face with both hands, drawing your gaze back to him, no doubt sensing your imminent withdrawal.

“I have my car here, ____.” Kyungsoo murmured, his deep voice making you feel tingly. “Let me take you home.” 

With the bus driver looking your way, you only had a few seconds to make a choice. You knew what you should do–get on the bus and go home to your apartment alone–but here you were, contemplating being alone with a man–your boss you might add! — a man you’d never thought about in a romantic way until now…

Are you sure? a voice inside you countered. You’ve never thought of him in any other way? Never fantasized about him caging you against the door of the walk-in? Not once imagined what was under the tight, black chef’s coat he wears everyday? 

You sucked in a breath as your brain acknowledged what your heart had known for a while now. Kyungsoo occupied your thoughts during the day (and night) more than you’d like to admit, and before you could remind yourself this was a bad idea, you found yourself blushing and nodding. 

You took the arm he offered, and soon you were cruising through the city street. Leaning back against the expensive leather seats, you could feel a deep tiredness settle into your bones. You fought to stay awake, but as the car’s warmth drifted over you and soft jazz filled your ears, you were soon lulled into dreamland, as Kyungsoo’s car sped towards your destination. 

~*~

Kyungsoo eased to a stop in front of your apartment, happy you had agreed to let him take you home. This was too far from the hotel for you to travel alone. He’d definitely be dropping you off on a regular basis, now that he knew. Not only would it satisfy his concern for your safety, but selfishly, it would also fill his need for you. 

Looking over, he smiled to see you dozing next to him. Turned towards him in sleep, he admired your features in the soft glow of the streetlights. It was so different to see this side of you, so relaxed and serene–a stark contrast to the fast-paced, tenacious dynamite you were in the kitchen. 

You murmured in your sleep and his gaze was drawn to your lips and he wondered what they felt like. His hand hovered inches over lips and he longed to run his thumb across your cupid’s bow. 

His plan was foiled by the blare of a car alarm two blocks down, causing you to startle awake. 

“Kyungsoo! How long have we been sitting here? Why didn’t you wake me?” you admonished, playfully swatting him on the shoulder. 

Truthfully, he’d enjoyed watching you sleep, just being near you was enough to make his heart flutter. But as usual, Kyungsoo played things closer to the vest, not wanting you to know how much you affected him. 

“Should I have carried you up the stairs then, like a gallant knight aiding a fair lady?”

You made a retching sound in your throat. “No, absolutely not. Besides–” you say, your gaze flickering up and down his body, “I have doubts that you’d even be able to get me to the door.” 

Kyungsoo knew it was a joke, but it didn’t stop him from bristling at your words. 

“Ah, that’s where you’d be wrong, ____. You see I lift.”

You quirked a brow in his direction, amusement sparkling in your eyes. “Yeah, lift pans, maybe.” 

“Try me,” he challenged. 

“Okay, you’re on. A piggyback ride all the way up to my apartment. Oh and did I mention I live on the 4th floor?” you added, bursting with glee. 

Looking out the window at your tall apartment building, Kyungsoo found himself regretting his rash words just a bit. He did go to the gym, he hadn’t been lying about that, it was a necessity in his line of work to keep his stamina up. However, he’d never carried an adult human more than a couple of yards at any given time. Puffing up his chest, he knew he’d make it even if it killed him, he had a lady to impress, afterall. 

When Kyungsoo bent down and ushered you on, you hesitantly stepped forward to get into position, sliding your arms around his neck. Up close, the pleasing scent of forest teased your senses and you had to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and inhaling the musky scent.

Kyungsoo lifted you with surprising ease, wasting no time before starting the long ascent up the winding staircase.  As he climbed and climbed, Kyungsoo’s breathing quickened and you could tell he was getting winded. His palms were scalding through your pants and you could feel the warmth of him seeping into your skin. When you finally reached your apartment door, Kyungsoo sounded like he was running a marathon. 

“Alright. Here. We Are. I Win.” Kyungsoo said, taking a long breath between each word. 

You held your hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay, I surrender. I was wrong.” 

Being wrong had never, ever felt so right. 

Kyungsoo gently set you back on your feet, before turning to face you. 

“So what’s my prize?”

“Your what?”

“My prize, ____. You challenged me, I won, therefore it’s only fair to receive appropriate compensation.” 

“And what’s your idea of ‘appropriate compensation’?” 

You knew what you wanted him to say, what you wanted him to do. The moment at the bus stop had teased your senses, and now, all you could think about is what it would feel like to have his lips against yours, his strong arms pressing you tight against his body. 

Kyungsoo detected the hint of flirtation in your voice and it chafed against his conscience. Up until now, he’d been able to keep up the light-hearted conversation, continue to play the game, both now and at work, while burning on the inside. The angel on his shoulder told him this was a bad idea, that no good could come from kissing an employee, but the devil on his other whispered about how good it would feel to finally have your lips against his own.

Before he knew it, his body made the choice for him, wanting satisfaction and tired of this constant state of denial. His arms shot out, encircling your waist and pulling you tight against his body. Your eyes widened, narrowing on his lips, and he took that as an invitation to seal his mouth against yours. 

Sinking into Kyungsoo’s warmth, your hands wound around his neck to secure him closer. You sighed into his mouth, tilting your head to the side, squealing at the feel of his tongue teasing your lower lip. Your hands found their way into Kyungsoo’s silky hair, and you tugged him closer, groaning as he sucked your tongue between his lips. The sound of heavy breathing filled the quiet hallway and you wanted nothing more than for him to slide you up the wall and take you out of your misery. 

Kyungsoo’s attention drifted to your neck, allowing you a moment of reprieve to catch your breath. Soft lips moved from your collarbone to just below your ear, alternating between gentle kisses and soft flicks of tongue. Kyungsoo paused to blow lightly on your skin, still wet from his previous care. You shivered at the sudden hot-cold sensation, clutching Kyungsoo’s head closer in a silent bid for more. 

Footsteps echoed in the hallway and the sound of male voices drew closer. You knew those voices: Hyun-min and his posse on the way back from a wild night out.

Forced from your lust-induced haze, you regrettably tore away from Kyungsoo’s lips. Kyungsoo’s stark look of confusion quickly faded as he realized the situation you were about to be in. Shoving the key into the lock, you pushed open the door, pulling Kyungsoo inside in the nick of time. 

As the voices outside faded, you breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing you needed was Hyun-min finding you pressed up against your boss as he sucked on your neck. Not because he’d object, but simply because he’d never let you live it down. 

In the darkened apartment, it was quiet, save for the sounds of late-night traffic drifting through the window and Kyungsoo breathing beside you. Pins and needles ran up and down your spine, your entire body titillated by the sounds of Kyungsoo’s movements in the darkness. Wanting more.

Kyungsoo whispered your name. Yes or no? he silently asked.

When you didn’t respond, he slid his hand along the wall, fumbling for the lightswitch, as if that would bring the answers he sought. 

You had only seconds to make a decision. 

Yes or no? 

A split second decision. You clapped your hand over his, preventing him from flipping the switch. In the darkness, the sweet spell remained, unbroken by obtrusive light. And in the dark, consequences be damned. 

Reaching out, you grabbed Kyungsoo’s hand, softly tugging him further into your apartment.

~*~

Fuck. Chop. Fuck. Chop. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Chop. Chop. Chop. 

Kyungsoo dropped the knife, running his fingers through his hair. Getting on the line usually helped clear his thoughts, but not today. No matter what he tried, his thoughts drifted back to you. It’d been dark when he woke in your bed, so dark his eyelids had practically begged for more sleep. It had been so tempting to wrap you tightly in his arms and remain.

But he had left. 

It wasn’t his style to leave without a word, but he’d been unsure of where you stood. He felt regret with how things had ended–you deserved to wake to a frittata and fresh coffee in bed, not to cold sheets and an empty apartment. 

The back of his neck heated in shame. He’d slept with an employee. This was basic work ethics 101–do not engage in sexual relations with staff members. Cocky it would never happen, he’d let his guard down around you. How could he–

“Something bothering you, Chef?” Hyun-min asked, startling Kyungsoo from his thoughts. 

Kyungoo attempted nonchalance. “No. Why would you think that?”

“Maybe because you’re practically pulverizing the vegetables,” Hyun-min said gesturing knowingly to the cutting board. “Unless gazpacho is now on the menu?” 

Kyungsoo looked down to see finely diced tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions, cut too small for the fresh salad he’d intended to make. 

Hyun-min loaded the remaining vegetables on a tray, carting them away before any further damage could be done. “I swear, you and _____ have it out for my station,” he muttered as he walked away. 

Cut off from his distraction, he was grateful for once when his phone rang. 

“Hello, Nina,” he greeted, closing himself into his office for what would no doubt be a lengthy conversation. 

“Hey, doll. How are ya?” 

“Well, actually Nina–”

“Great, glad to hear it. Listen–Nina came through for you, love. You’re out.”

Kyungsoo frowned. “What do you mean, Nina?”

Nina sighed, talking slowly as if she were explaining it to a toddler. “I mean you’re out of that little restaurant, babe. The network called and the competition show in Europe is a ‘go’. They want you there in two days.” 

Kyungsoo sucked in a breath, trying to digest what he’d just heard. Two days? Nowhere near enough time to tie up loose ends–both with the restaurant and with you. 

“Two days, Nina? That’s–”

“I know, love. It’s an eternity, but what can I do? You have a flight to London tonight, so pack a bag and head to the airport.  I’m sending the tickets to your email now.” 

“Thank you, Nina, but I–”

“No problem, kiddo. Nina’s here for you. Oops, Bobby’s here, gotta run. Talk soon, mwah!”

Before he could get a word in edgewise, the call dropped and she was gone. Kyungsoo vowed to himself that he’d get a new agent when this was all over, someone who actually let him finish sentences once in a while. Or let him have a vacation. Do anything that wasn’t on a schedule. 

By the time he’d packed up his office, the rest of the staff had filtered in, prepping for the long day ahead. A soft knock sounded at the door, drawing his attention. You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you, a look of determination on your face. You turned, walking to stand in front of him with your arms crossed. 

“I have something I want to talk to you about, Chef Do.” you announced, the use of his formal title not lost on him. 

He gestured for you to sit, but you remained firmly where you were. 

“Why did you leave like that?” you whispered, voice low in the off chance anyone was listening outside. “You just left..no note..no text…no nothing. Did it not mean anything to you?”

Your voice cracked at the end, betraying the hurt you’d promised to keep hidden. 

Kyungsoo sighed, running his hands over his face. “No, ____, of course not. But I’m your boss. I crossed a line last night–”

“We crossed a line last night,” you corrected, hurt turning into anger at the insinuation he’d somehow taken advantage of you. “I remember being very much in control last night, Kyungsoo.”  

Watching the hurt blossom in your eyes, Kyungsoo wanted nothing more than to take you in his arms, assure you that last night had been special, a night he’d never forget. 

His phone dinged and he looked down to see an email from his agent, with the tickets for his flight. He had a flight out of here to London tonight and the timing couldn’t have been worse. 

Fuming with righteous indignation, you looked around Kyungsoo’s office, for the first time noting its emptiness. Where pages and pages of notes had dominated its walls, now stood bare. Stacks of cookbooks were packed neatly into brown boxes sitting on the floor. Your heart squeezed at the realization: he was leaving. But why? Surely it couldn’t be because of last night…

“So…that’s it? You’re leaving…just like that?” you said in disbelief. “Was it because of last night?”

Kyungsoo flinched, not liking the hurt in your voice. “No…no absolutely not. My agent called me this morning…the show is on, _____. They’re expecting me in London the day after tomorrow…I have a flight out tonight.”

A roaring noise filled your ears and a tightness filled your chest. What did you say to that? “Congratulations”? “Don’t go”? “What about us”? It all seemed lame in the moment. One thing was sure, however: you wouldn’t be that girl. The girl who simped over a celebrity one-night stand, who expected more when it was never anything beyond casual. 

“Congratulations, Kyungsoo,” you said, a wistful smile on your face. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

“____, about us, I–”

Your eyes started to feel hot. “No, Kyungsoo, don’t worry about it. I know we were just caught up in the moment last night.”

“But I really–”

You shook your head to keep the tears at bay, backing towards the door. “You don’t owe me any kind of explanation, Kyungsoo, I get it. Waking up alone was enough of a clue, so you don’t have to say anything else.”

“Wait–”

“Goodbye, Kyungsoo. I hope you get everything you wanted.” 

You slipped quickly out of the office, not stopping at Kyungsoo’s continued protests. You didn’t want to hear what he had to say. No, it would gut you to hear you were just some hook-up. Better to avoid and save your heart the pain.

Your feet carried through the kitchen and out the door just as tears started to fall. The scent of starch and detergent fumes engulfed you as you fled to the laundry room, the best place at the Crimson Aurora for some good old-fashioned privacy. You stayed there, hidden, not brave enough to face him at the very end. The loud whir of the industrial laundry machines washed out the sound of your tears and then and there you vowed to cleanse your heart of him, like removing a stain from a white sheet. 

~*~

Three months later. 

It still felt weird. Sitting in the office, that is. Your new office. It almost didn’t seem real–so much so you had to pinch yourself to prove it wasn’t a dream. But there it was, written on a shiny, gold desk plate: _____ ________, Head Chef.

You looked out into the bustling kitchen, filled with activity as the staff–your staff–worked hard during dinner rush. Making your dishes. In your kitchen. You still couldn’t believe you were here. Thinking back to that day three months ago, you’d never have guessed what life could bring. 

After hiding out in the laundry as long as humanly possible, you had trudged back to the land of the living, hoping to make it through dinner service so you could go home and have a good old-fashioned ice-cream cry. 

Hyun-min had practically jumped on you when you walked through the kitchen doors, peppering you with questions. Where was Chef Do going? Why were you crying? So many questions it made your head spin. The phone had rung, and you’d been relieved, for once, to be summoned to Manager Kim’s office. 

Being the amazing friend that he was, Hyun-min had insisted you celebrate after hearing the news.  You’d gone out with the kitchen staff that night, dressed to the nines, but without your heart really in it. You felt conflicted–you finally had it, the dream job you always wanted, but it came at the expense of losing something–or someone. 

Kyungsoo’s new television show had started airing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to watch, not willing to be tortured by what you couldn’t have. Luckily, your work kept you busy, at least during the day. It was nights that were harder. You couldn’t escape him, even in your own damn apartment. The stairs, the door, the bed–all reminders of that one unforgettable night before the rug was pulled out from under you. 

A knock on the door disturbed your thoughts and you looked up to see Hyun-min hovering in the doorway, a peculiar expression on  his face. 

“Um, boss? There’s a customer out front who’d like to speak to you…something about overcooked lamb chops…”

“You offered to re-make it, I’m assuming?”

Hyun-min nodded. “Yeah, but they said they wanted to talk to you specifically.”

Telling him you’d be right there, you reluctantly got up from your chair and donned your starched, white chef’s coat. Dealing with a picky customer wasn’t out of the ordinary, but your threshold for dealing with complaints today was at an all-time low. 

“Table 4”, Hyun-min called as you headed through the kitchen and out the doors into the dining room. 

Walking through the busy dining room, you dodged waitstaff and waded through customers, fresh from a matinee musical performance. You approached Table 4 from behind, where a lone male figure was seated. 

Taking a deep breath and pasting your “the customer is always right” smile on your face, you prayed a little sweet talking and a comped glass of wine would be enough to smooth this situation over. 

“Excuse me–” 

Dark brown eyes turned toward you, full lips that you were intimately familiar with parted into a smile.

Kyungsoo. 

You rubbed your eyes, making sure you weren’t just seeing things, that he was really there. What was he doing here? It didn’t make sense. He’d blown into your life, set it on fire, then breezed out, never to be heard from again. In the three months he’d been gone, you hadn’t heard from him once. 

“_____,” he breathed. “I heard you got the head chef job, so I came as soon as I got back from London. I missed you–”

Hearing his voice, your resolve wavered. You cleared your throat, striving to take control of the situation. You were a professional, the chef in charge now, and you wouldn’t let your feelings get the better of you, gosh darn it!

“Hello, sir, I heard from my kitchen staff that you were unhappy with a dish we prepared for you. May I ask what the issue is?”

Kyungsoo’s smile slipped from his face, as though he was surprised, almost disappointed at your reaction. 

Kyungsoo leaned forward, making sure no one could hear him but you. “Can we talk…privately?” 

As Kyungsoo led you into an empty office, he felt a hint of unease. He’d pictured your reunion much differently. In his imaginings, you were overjoyed at the surprise of seeing him, smiling widely before pulling him close for an embrace–the embrace he’d imagined everyday during those long, lonely weeks in Europe. He understood, but it stung all the same. 

Once inside, he walked towards the window, stopping to look out into the bright moonlight, trying to gather his thoughts. You stayed a respectful distance away, looking wary, as though you were about to bolt out the door. 

You waited for Kyungsoo to speak…and waited…but he only continued to look out the window. “Look, Kyungsoo, what is it? I’ve got to head back to work soon.” 

Kyungsoo turned towards you, silhouetted in moonlight, his eyes dark as the sky behind him. 

“I missed you,____. So much. Everyday.”

You snorted. “Sure, Kyungsoo. You missed me. So much so you called me all of zero times. Or did I just miss all those calls and texts you sent me?” 

Kyungsoo shifted between his feet. “I know I messed up, _____. I shouldn’t have just left like that, you deserved better than that.” 

“Yeah, you’re right, Kyungsoo. I did deserve better. You just left without any explanation.” 

Kyungsoo started to speak, but you kept going. 

“I’m not talking about leaving for Europe, Kyungsoo. I understood that part, you had an opportunity and took it. But that morning, you just left my apartment, no note, no explanation, nothing, after we–” you cut off, not wanting to say it aloud. 

Crossing to you, Kyungsoo gripped your shoulders. “I’m sorry, _____. That morning, it killed me to leave. I wanted to make it so good for you, but I was scared.”

You watched as Kyungsoo worried his lower lip. “Scared of what?” you breathed.

“Us. What we did. I was your boss, ____. No matter how much I wanted you, I was disappointed in myself. Then, when I was in Europe, I wondered if you’d even want to hear from me. I was your boss and I took advantage of you, I worried you felt you had no choice–” 

You put your pointer finger against his lips, cutting him off before he could finish what he was going to say. 

“Kyungsoo, I appreciate the concern, but I’m not a baby. I chose to invite you in, I chose to let you kiss me. For god’s sake, we were stone cold sober, so it’s not like we can even blame the alcohol. You didn’t force me to do anything, okay?”

He nodded and you removed your finger from his lips. 

“For what it’s worth, I thought you deserved a frittata. If I could do that night over, I’d have made you the most delicious breakfast you’d ever had and served it to you in bed.” 

“Well…I guess next time, I’ll be holding you to that, then.” 

Kyungsoo looked up, his mouth forming an “o”. “Next time?” he whispered. 

“Yeah, next time,” you said, a small smile lighting up your face. 

Kyungsoo slid his hands from your shoulders to cup your cheeks. “So…you forgive me?” he said, hopefully. 

“Yeah, I forgive you. You made some dumb decisions, but hey, at least you’re still cute.”

Kyungsoo pinched your cheeks in revenge, immediately stroking the reddened skin to soothe the burn. 

“So, what are you going to do now that you’re back?” you asked, turning serious again. 

“I actually leased a restaurant just a few streets over,” he said sheepishly. “I finally did it, got my own place.”

“So…you were really here to check out the competition, eh?” you said, shooting him a grin. “What did you think?”

Moving his hands to your waist, Kyungsoo pulled you against him, your faces just inches apart. 

“The lamb chops were a little overdone,” he said with a wink. 

You scoffed. “Shut up, Kyungsoo. Don’t you have anything better to do with those lips? Like kissing me, perhaps?” 

“Much better,” he said, joining your mouths together at last. 

As your lips clashed, you soaked in the feeling of being in Kyungsoo’s arms again. You certainly hadn’t expected today to end this way. That Kyungso was here to stay was even more of a surprise, in a restaurant of his own not four blocks away. Once again, you were competitors, though this time on equal footing. 

As they said, “keep your friends close and enemies closer,” and this enemy, you’d enjoy keeping very, very close. 

~*~

Thank you so much for reading Flames of Attraction! I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please re-blog for others to find! And please support the other amazing creators on the Crimson Aurora Hotel & Spa project. @myeoning-call @leewalberg @yourkeeperoftherunners @taem-min @ouvuo @dreamylittlesugarcube @jxstadaydreamer @xiubaek-13 @yourkeeperoftherunners @ninibears-erigom and @sojuri

XOXO, 

Emmy

[aphrodite1288]

Ksoo pulling all the Gay in Men since 1993, even older ones,

No one can blame Ji for staring into Ksoo's soul.

I was told that Ji told someone before that Ksoo loves to be praised which is why he always praises him 🤗 to see him giggle and blush.

[peachysooxo]

Coming Soon: The Kingdom of Us

pairing: kyungsoo x OC genre: Royal!AU, nonidol!soo, romance, drama

theme: arranged marriage, modern royalty, acquaintances to lovers, war, betrayal word count: TBD description: Princess Alina of Mariposa had only read about romance in books and daydreamed of what her life would turn out to be like with her betrothed, Crown Prince Kyungsoo of Seoul. The problem is, Kyungsoo is nothing like the Prince Charming that Alina read about in fairytales.

Kyungsoo’s life had been mapped out for him since he was born: be the picture perfect son, marry Alina and become King. His every move was calculated and controlled. His heart is closed off and resents Alina for being the symbol of the prison he felt his life had always been.

Between lies, betrayal and secrets, the life Alina dreamed of slips further and further away from her grasp.

warnings: mature themes, mentions of abuse, war, death, smut, minors DNI

Author’s Notes: this story was created after watching 100 DMP and has been ongoing on AO3. The idea of a completely alternate universe where not even the countries that we know of today exist and the earth is filled with kingdoms was fascinating, especially in a modern setting. Writing Soo as a prince is also just an added bonus. Trigger/Content warnings will be clearly listed before each chapter. Please enjoy :)

[ayushsan]

The Moon (2023)

[andimoon]

Writing chapter 3 ✍🏻😈

Here’s my inspiration mood board for this one.

[stellaruniversewriters]

The Ocean That Lies Under the Rain por King-Yeom

❝ Kyung Soo estava com seu carro estacionado do lado de fora do Banco Nacional, ajeitando alguns de seus documentos no assento do passageiro quando as primeiras gotas de água se chocaram contra o vidro escurecido do automóvel. Ele imaginava que seria apenas mais um dia chuvoso quando, de repente, um zumbido irritante ecoou em seus ouvidos e deu lugar ao som de uma guitarra que surgiu ao fundo de sua mente momentos mais tarde. Era uma sonoridade inicialmente destoante e fraca, que se confundia à melodia lamuriosa da água; no entanto, à medida que a tempestade do lado de fora tomava forma, o som aumentava ao ponto de enlouquecê-lo.

Ele se encolheu sobre o banco do motorista e se virou ensandecido para todos os cantos ao tentar encontrar a origem da música, na esperança de que viesse de algum restaurante ou pub nas redondezas. Chegou ao ponto de sair do carro na tentativa de identificar a origem da sonância — o frio da água invadiu suas roupas e tornou o tecido mais pesado contra seu corpo magro, retesando os músculos ao ponto do desconforto, porém não havia nada além do som da guitarra e da chuva.

E isso tornava tudo mais estranho.

Não havia qualquer outro som, além da guitarra e da chuva.❞

Personagens principais: Do Kyungsoo, Kim Minseok, Park Chanyeol [EXO]

Gêneros: Comédia, Drama, Ficção, Universo alternativo, Romance, Gay/Yaoi e mais...

Tema principal: Rainverse

LEIA MAIS EM NOSSO PERFIL DO SPIRIT FANFICS

© Todos os direitos reservados à StellarUniverse e King-Yeom

[iinterludia]

Doh Kyungsoo e o Alto Rei Elfo

Sinopse: Após um acidente que o dispensou do exército, Kyungsoo decide recomeçar sua vida em outro país, buscando escapar de seu passado e encontrar alguma normalidade. No entanto, sua rotina é abruptamente interrompida quando ele se depara com um homem misterioso, alto e vestido de maneira estranha, que o observa intensamente antes de desmaiar. Chanyeol, o rei elfo, foi transportado para um mundo diferente do seu durante um ataque ao seu reino. E após 600 anos de busca, finalmente reencontra Kyungsoo. Sem saber como retornar ao seu reino, Chanyeol é acolhido pelo ex-militar, mesmo este duvidando da sanidade do rei elfo. Kyungsoo, surpreendentemente, se sente bem ao lado dele e aquele vazio que ele sempre sentiu, estranhamente diminui. Por estar em um lugar onde a natureza élfica nunca existiu, o rei corre perigo, por isso Kyungsoo precisa decidir entre cortar a comunicação com a realeza élfica e deixá-lo ir, ou embarcar junto para a Terra média sem a possibilidade de voltar para sua casa.

TÍTULO:  Doh Kyungsoo e o Alto Rei Elfo AUTOR(ES): Interludia CATEGORIA:EXO  COUPLE: CHANSOO (CHANYEOL & KYUNGSOO) GÊNERO: ROMANCE, FANTASIA TAGS: chansoo, soulmates, elfos, terra média ONDE LER: Spirit Fanfiction ◈ AO3 ◈ Wattpad ◈ +Fiction ◈ Nyah Fanfiction

Oiê, o post de hoje é uma divulgação! Yaay!

Como puderam ver pela capa, sinopse e detalhes da fic, essa chansoo lindinha é minha baby de reestreia depois de 12 anos sem escrever uma fic.

A verdade, maninhos, é que eu tenho uns plots e outros que vão surgindo do nada. Às vezes fico pensando se o que vem na minha cabeça já não é uma das fics que eu li e acho que é um plot novo kk.

Vamos ao que interessa:

Doh Kyungsoo e o Alto Rei Elfo, apelidado carinhosamente de DKARE, conta a história de como o rei elfo, Chanyeol, reencontra seu amado após 600 anos. Adivinha quem é o mô dele? Isso mesmo, o ex-piloto da aeronáutica, Doh Kyungsoo. 

Mas como eles se reencontram se eles fazem parte de diferentes mundos? Kyungsoo vive sua pacata vida com uma estranha e interminável sensação de vazio e Chanyeol detém o título de maior autoridade élfica na Terra Média, mas está definhando de tristeza, qual a probabilidade de Kyungsoo ser a pessoa que Chanyeol procura? E qual a probabilidade do Kyung acreditar no cara maluco que apareceu no seu terreno às seis da manhã?

Para os amantes de EXO e do Universo Tolkien, descubra acompanhando DKARE, toda quarta-feira nas seguintes plataformas de fanfics: 

Spirit Fanfiction ◈ AO3 ◈ Wattpad ◈ +Fiction ◈ Nyah Fanfiction

Sim, eu joguei em todos os lugares que eu tinha conta. 

XOXO, Interludia.

[scentlacigarette]

I Isekai’d Myself From the Afterlife Before the Angels Had the Chance to Assign Me Heaven or Hell and Now I’m On the Run with Hot Guys in Another Dimension Because ACAB Also Includes Heaven Lapdogs

Yes, that is the title.

Genre: Isekai fantasy Rating: M(18+) Pairing: Fem!Reader/EXO Content: Isekai tropes, Fem protagonist, angels, mentions of various religious beliefs, nudity (not explicit), stupid jokes and scenarios probably only I find funny (thowwy), pretty excessive use of the word mid, Yixing and Kyungsoo got introduced in the last third, slightly inaccurate title because technically she already got assigned a place but whatever Word count: 5k

Taglist: @eternalnostos - once upon a time you said you wanted to read something I write should I eventually publish it .... Probably not what you asked for but hey. :>

01.

You were born exactly nine thousand and a hundred thirty days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-seven minutes ago—and during all those times, you have barely achieved anything remarkable.

    Despite all of your best efforts, people barely spare a glance to look at you. You were such a docile child that your own parents often forgot you existed; far too occupied by your more rebellious sister only an hour older. Your grades in school were okay: always a few decimals above the minimum score to pass; maybe exactly one point if you were particularly lucky. All the clubs you tried to join during those years were either inactive, got disbanded soon, or required monthly administration fees way above your allowance. You had a few friends in elementary school, in junior high, and then high school—but none so close that you managed to stay in touch past graduation. While most of your peers continued to university or college, you settled for a below minimum wage job at a minimarket chain. Money wasn’t exactly a problem, though, because your parents still financially supported you out of obligation and societal norms. You know them only as much as they know you—which is to say: not at all. But you know a little bit more about your sister who now makes over three times what you make by working in a bank, if only because she likes to boast and will literally not leave you alone.

    But the gist of it is this: You are mid. You are so mid that the word mid itself would rather not have anything to do with you. You are fine; not good, not bad—just fine. And because of that, you have only been cruising through life, letting each day pass without doing much except fulfilling the bare minimum of what you’re supposed to do.

    And that is why, precisely nine thousand and a hundred thirty days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-nine minutes after you were born, walking past a construction site where they were lifting a huge metal beam that falls right above your head and killing you may be the most remarkable thing that happen in your life—

    You die on the morning of your twenty-fifth birthday, but you don’t even actually make it past the last minute of your twenty-fourth year.

In a blink of an eye, you’re transported elsewhere.

    You stand in a long, singular line of people in the middle of pure white nothingness, among other people who look just as confused and disoriented as you. “What’s going on?” you hear someone ask before you get the chance to. “Where am I? Who are you people?!”

    YOU ARE INSIDE THE SPACE OF ASSIGNMENT, a voice booms. It comes from everywhere: it comes from your sides, from your front and back, and also inside your head. Your mind recognises it as something otherworldly, perhaps even divine—but it fills you with dread and sends a chill down your spine. Whatever the source of this voice is, you don’t like it. ALL OF YOU STANDING HERE HAVE DIED. WAIT FOR YOUR DEEDS TO BE JUDGED—YOU WILL BE ASSIGNED A PLACE IN HEAVEN OR HELL.

    “What the fuck—” another voice from somewhere in the queue shouts. “I’m an atheist! You’re telling me now that god and afterlife exist?”

    THEY ALWAYS HAVE.

    Someone else clears their throat. “Does this mean I have attained moksha?”

    I CANNOT SAY.

    “From what religion are you?”

    I CANNOT SAY.

    Amidst all of the chaos and shouting questions and confusion, you realise that you are now able to see something far ahead: some kind of a throne; or maybe a desk is more appropriate. A massive figure sitting behind it is bathed in bright light—no, the figure is the source of that bright light. You have to squint your eyes to see, but you think that figure has a dozen of folded wings on its back and several heads above what should be its torso, looking down at whatever poor bastard is standing before it. Once every few moments one of the wings touches something in front of it, and when that happens you move closer to where that being sits.

    You look behind you and there seems to be a far longer line compared to what’s in front of you. People die like flies, you realise. But the judging process—or assignment, as the voice said—goes about on par with the speed of which people are dying and appearing. The dread in your stomach multiplies by tenfold when you notice that the desk and the looming figure behind it are even closer than before. While all the new people farther behind are shouting many variations of the questions you’ve heard only moments before, you look down, trying to plant your feet on the ground—it’s no use; you keep moving forward either way.

    WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO FIGHT IT? the voice asks. You look up and there it is: the source of that voice.

    It’s an angel; you’re sure of it now. Four feet standing apart—your height barely reaches the middle of its shin. You crane your head back and squint against the light emanating from this figure, somewhere around its head—heads, to be precise. Two hands on each side extending to create wings that hold one massive sword—pointed directly at you.

    LET GO OF YOUR FIGHT. IT IS OF NO USE.

    “But I—” Your frantic eyes dart to the start of the line up ahead. You are now maybe only forty people away from it. “I’m just some gal. I never do anything good or bad. How am I going to be judged?”

    One person removed from the line. YOU ARE NEITHER THE FIRST NOR THE LAST TO BE NOTHING OF REMARK.

    In other words, you’re just one mid among billions of mids that the angels have judged—assigned. You shut your eyes close. Another person removed.

    YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. YOU NEED NOT TO BE ANYTHING OF SIGNIFICANCE TO HAVE YOUR PLACE ASSIGNED.

    Those are the same things you’ve told yourself over and over and over and over and over again in your life. When your parents asked what will you aim to achieve in life. When your sister asked if you ever dreamed to be something more—something less boring and mundane. You always said: It’s okay to not have high achievement. There’s no sin in being mid. The remarkable are few; the mids are majority of people.

    How quick death changes things. What used to soothe your insecurity is now what threatens to fling you over the edge of panic. You don’t even know panic attacks are a thing that can happen in death. You don’t even know that you can experience panic attacks.

    There is no relief in those words. Suddenly you realise how little you’ve made of your life. How little you’ve done. Your life flashes before your eyes as several dozen more people removed from the line: it’s nothing. From birth to death, you can’t recall any moments that make you particularly happy, sad, or angry; moments that make you feel ashamed or proud. There is only one thing—

    Regret.

    Suddenly you don’t want to die. Suddenly all of this becomes real: you’ve died, and there are only nine more people before it’s your turn to be judged. How did you even die? It wasn’t some grand defeat after battling an illness for a long time, like your grandfather; it wasn’t some tragedy born out of a heroic sacrifice, like your aunt—no; you died because you got unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and you didn’t look up. The construction workers probably didn’t even notice that you were there until you went splat.

    No, no, no. No no no no no. You absolutely cannot go out like this. There are so many things you have yet to do! In fact, the list is so long that you may as well say there are still everything to do. You existed, but you haven’t lived—you’ve never lived. And you can’t even blame it on other people—you were far too content to be nothing remarkable. Now, that feeling of content morphs into a feeling of loss. Fear. Regret. An insurmountable weight of regret.

    Two more people left before your turn. LET GO OF THE FIGHT, the voice warns you for the last time. THERE IS NOTHING ELSE THAT YOU CAN DO NOW.

    No, there’s still something. There has to be.

    The seven headed angel with a dozen wings and no limbs judges the deeds, and each time it makes its decision one of its wings touches what you now can see as a golden staff laid atop the desk. When that staff is touched, the person being judged disappears and the line moves forwards. An idea strikes. Maybe it’s some sort of a transportation device. Maybe, if you’re able to touch it ….

    But how? The desk is as massive as three adults standing on top of each other, and eleven more standing in a row. Only a part of it peeks through the top edge of the surface—you can’t possibly jump that high.

    Then you’ll have to climb.

    You move forwards once again, and as the last person standing before you is being judged, you squint your eyes against the light, trying to find something to grasp and hook your feet on to climb. Just touch it. You just need to try to touch the staff; that is your last and only hope.

    The other angel that spoke to you has moved back and you’re as good as non-existent to the angel doing the judging. The feet of the desk are intricately crafted depictions of people seemingly with eternal joy on the left and unending torment on the right, with each crafted body of a person about half of your height. Before you let your dying mind think and open the gates for the second-guesses to flood in, you dash out of line and start to climb.

    “Hey, look at her!”

    “Oi, what the fuck?!”

    “Is that allowed?!”

    As commotion begins to erupt and you feel a sudden heat coming from everywhere, engulfing your entire being, you grit your teeth and keep scaling the foot of the desk. You’ve never climbed before; never had to. But the fire lit inside your chest burns with only one thought:

    I want to live.

    A force tries to yank you away from the leg—must be the angel. You bite down, clamping your toes on the sculpture and your fingers clawed. The force grows stronger—it’s like being sucked by gravity right behind your back—but your will is even stronger than that. Who knew you had it in you? Then you hear the whoosh of something swinging before the pain of your back being slashed explode. You scream. You climb higher.

    INSOLENT HUMAN—

    I want to live.

    HOW DARE YOU—

    I want to live.

    GET BACK IN LINE.

    I want to LIVE.

    You get to the top and all seven heads of the angel behind the desk turn towards you. For a moment the light dims enough for you to be able to see the entirety of its seven faces, and it’s all eyes staring directly at you.

    And its voice, calm, a stark difference of the other angel huffing behind and above you, simply says:

    YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED HELL.

    “Well, fuck you!”

    You leap just before the gravity sucks you back, and for a split second, your fingers touch the staff.

    You touched it.

    The force that has been trying to keep you away from the staff—from the judging desk—flings you back, farther back, past the blurring faces of people staring in shock, and even farther back, until you pass the last person who has died during this moment, and you don’t stop.

    There is a constant sound that fills your ears as you shoot backwards, and it’s only when your throat bleeds that you realise it has been the sound of you screaming. The heat that engulfed you has morphed into fire burning your hair—your clothes—your skin—until you feel nothing as it has burnt all of your nerves and now begins to consume your bones as well. But your consciousness remains, floating somewhere inside your skull, even as you are blinded in all of your senses. And there is only one thought:

    I touched it.

There are noises.

    There are a lot of noises.

    And the smell—of something burnt, but also: the smell of dirt. The soft smell of dense trees you never noticed until the small forest near your house was cut down in favour of new houses. The pungent smell of insects. The smell of skin, iron, and sweat.

    You blink your eyes open and it explodes. Something vibrates in your throat—your vocal chords, screaming. Your limbs flail as you scramble to shut your eyes; the bright light penetrates past your lid even after you close them, and it hurts. It hurts so bad after those moments of utter blindness when you—

    When you flew.

    There are more noises, some that you’ve heard before: voices of people; of men. They speak in a language you don’t understand, but their tones are frantic and—maybe—worried. Hands wrapped around your arms, around your shoulders; they try to pry your hands away from your eyes but you cry and you cry and you try to push them away—or push yourself away—but you can’t make right from left and you bump into something solid and warm.

    You scream. You quiver. You realise you’re as naked as a newborn. You feel something soft wrapped around your body—a cloak. The voices soften and a hood is pulled above your head. Something flat and cylindrical pressed on your lips while steady hands flat on your back between your shoulder blades. That thing pressed on your lips is tilted gently and your head follows; cold, fresh water flows in.

    At that point, keeping your eyes closed, your own hands grab the water container. You expected your palms to meet a bottle, but it’s instead flat and wide. It doesn’t matter—you snatch it away from the hand that previously held it and greedily gulp down its content until you choke and you cough, spitting a little bit of water—somewhere.

    You gasp and you fold your body forwards, clutching your fist to your chest, you feel the rapid heartbeat inside. Under the shades of the hood you finally dare yourself to open your eyes, and you see your thick bare legs peeking out of the cloak—and the cracked, dry ground underneath them.

    You pull your hands away from your body, staring at them in awe as you curl and uncurl your fingers on your palm, not even caring about the water container you just dropped and now spills water into the ground. One foreign hand reaches out over your legs you instinctively press together to avoid contact—but it’s only interested in retrieving the container. The voice that belongs to the body behind you speaks again, calmer now, with a gentle tone that has a hint of curiosity in it.

    Turning your head around, you squint to look at that person. It is indeed a man: maybe a few years older than you, but not by much; strong brows, heart-shaped lips, and short hair. He speaks again, but you only shake your head.

    “I can’t—” Your voice is hoarse and it sounds alien. “I don’t understand—”

    The man speaks again—or maybe it’s a question, judging by his raised brows and higher tone at the end. You shake your head, and he gestures … something. “I don’t—”

    The other man speaks. He’s still cloaked and his face is shrouded with shadows, but you’re able to catch a glimpse of a dimple on his cheek and pouty bottom lips. He doesn’t speak to you—not now—and the other man on your right responds.

    Both of them rise and the cloakless man offers you his hand as he speaks gently. You tighten your grip on the front of his cloak wrapped around you before accepting his help. His grip is strong and steady, but not overpowering, as he pulls you up to stand. Your legs stagger for a moment, and both men have their arms stretched to keep you steady, but your feet manage to find their footing without you falling.

    Birds chirp as they fly in a group way above your head in the sky and the wind rustles the leaves and the grass—or what’s left of them anyway.

    As you look around, you realise that you are standing right in the centre of a massive crater where everything in it has died. Outside the perimeter trees stand and grass softly dances on the ground; it’s all green and lush—except the circle about as big as your city hall. Some dark, big logs lie on the ground, facing away from you; sticks cracking and splintering from them. Those were trees.

    “Am I alive?” you hear yourself asking. “Is this hell?”

    The men speak and they try to get your attention while your mind replays the last few moments that you remember: of your entire being slowly burning away, of the gravity pulling you away in that room of white nothingness, and that seven-headed angel telling you that you were going to hell. But how is this hell? Even the sculptures on that desk of judgement depicted torment as some representation of hell. This is … this is something else.

    And then you remember: you touched the staff.

    The staff. Maybe it worked. Maybe your spur-in-the-moment, entirely-bonkers-completely-out-of-pure-guess method worked. Maybe the staff was a teleportation device and when you touched it—

    One of the men—the one still cloaked—shouts. Your head whips towards him, then back around when you notice him pointing at something behind you, and for a split second before the impact: you see the staff flying towards you.

    “OW!” It thwacks squarely on your face with enough force you send you tumbling backwards. The men move quickly to help you up again just after they assisted you to stand—but then the cloaked man accidentally touches the staff and he hisses.

    He hisses?

    The cloakless man throws one side of your cloak to better hide your exposed legs after you fall, but you’re too busy trying to find that staff on the ground to spare a thought about decency at the moment. It’s laying a few metres away from you; rolling off after assaulting your face and maybe after the cloaked man accidentally hit it away. You scramble on all fours to quickly reach it and—there is no doubt. This is the staff.

    You hold the length in your hands. It’s much smaller now, but you remember its head—the part that peeked through the edge. It was four handles curving away from the centre like a fountain with a flat top; the base engraved with inscription snaking up to where the four handles depart from the staff. As you run your fingers over the engraving, you somehow understand what it says: Behold the power bestowed by the grace of The One, for it accomplishes function as desired.

    Below the engraving is thirteen rings that reflect lights with a rainbow effect to your eyes; the gold disappearing. It stops right in the middle of the staff where it turns into a smooth and naked surface, leading to its end where it mirrors the top with the four handles; only it has one right instead of thirteen.

    Slowly, you stand. You cradle the staff in your arms like a baby, then you let your grip on its girth loose until its bottom touches the ground; a booming sensation shakes you to your core.

    You look at the two men and they look just as startled as you.

    Your legs are still a little bit too unsteady for you to walk, even if you have been able to stand upright. The staff is quite sturdy and balanced, and while its top, reaching up to your chest, is slightly too tall for you to walk and hold it by its four handles, you can wrap your hand around the part the inscription is engraved instead.

    Just before you take your first step properly on your feet, you feel that chill of dread running through your body. The men all scream as they press their hands tight to their ears and you hear your name called by that voice you still remember from the space of nothing.

    YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND.

    The voice—as it was previously—comes from everywhere, but without even looking you know where the angel truly comes from. You turn your head to your left and there it floats on the sky: with its three heads, four winged hands, and four feet planted flat on air as though it’s standing on something solid. Your stomach churn—you are certain all of its eyes are fixed on you.

    It calls your name again with that same booming voice echoing inside your head. YOU HAVE DIED, AND YOU SHALL REMAIN DEAD. GIVE UP THE FIGHT NOW OR YOU WILL REGRET IT SOON ENOUGH.

    “RUN!” you shout to the men. “Go!” You limp past them. “Run away! GO!!”

    But then the wind blows and the angel floats right in front of you. That one sword—your back twitches when you remember its slash—pointed to the ground; not at you. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.

    You hold the staff up high. When the angel speaks again, its neutral tone now carries a hint of mockery. THAT STAFF ONLY OBEYS SERVANTS OF GOD ITSELF, the angel says. AN INSIGNIFICANT HUMAN LIKE YOU—

    “Behold the power bestowed!” you shout, completely ignoring what the angel is saying. “By the grace of The One! For it accomplishes—”

    YOU HAVE DIED, the angel lifts its sword, its blade glinting under the midday sun. TO DEATH YOU SHALL RETURN.

    “—function as desired!”

    The sword swings down and the earth splits in two underneath your feet. You stare up at the angel, somehow it doesn’t look as big as it once was—then your field of vision widens when each half of your cut body drifts away from one another.

    But I want to live, your halved brain thinks.

    HELL IS WHERE YOU SHALL FIND YOURSELF IN, you hear the angel continues despite being sliced clean in half. NO MORE CHANCE OF BEING JUDGED OTHER—

    The solemn and neutral face of the angel drops as your bodies rise and knit itself back into one. BUT THAT—

    Your hand wraps around that inscription engraved to the staff, its words clear in your mind as it vibrates under your grip, releasing an odd warmth that spreads to your whole body as that fire once again lights inside your chest. But it’s different than the fire that burns you down to your core; it’s not the angel’s fire—it’s yours. And the staff has responded to you.

    For the second time.

    “I guess I am an angel now, too,” you hear yourself saying.

    The angel finds its resolve back. It lifts the sword once again with harder determination on its faces. I SHALL NOT DETER. YOU WILL DIE—

    You open your mouth to scream, “Away!” and the staff burns in your hand when you swing it hard towards the angel. It can’t have possibly made contact with it, but as though blown by a torpedo the angel is flung backwards and away, flying far into the sky until it’s nothing more than a quickly fading glint of light.

    Your chest rises and falls with each deep breath that you take; the staff gradually loses its fire and with it—its warmth. You return it back to its position as a cane to keep you steady and you slowly turn around, finding the two men curled up on the ground, hands still flat on their ears, tears running down their faces.

    “You guys okay?” you ask, taking one unsure step closer. They may be strangers, but since you woke they have been nothing but helping, and you feel like it would be rude to pretend like they don’t exist. “I don’t know if I can help you stand, I’m sorry—”

    “What was that?!” the cloakless man shouts. “What just happened?!”

    “Long story,” you say. It’s actually not. “But anyway, it’s—”

    You stop. And you stare down at the two men while they try to push themselves off the ground with shaking limbs. “Wait,” you hold one hand out, “pause. I can understand you?”

    This seems to also be news to them. “I can understand you,” the cloakless man responds. “No, we can understand you.”

    The cloaked man tilts his head back under the hood. “You speak Wahjani? What was all that, then?”

    “Wahja—no,” you correct, “you are speaking my language.”

    “No,” he retorts. “You are speaking our language.”

    “No, I don’t!” You fling both hands out to emphasise, and you lose your grip on the staff. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you grumble as you try to retrieve it.

    One of the men speaks—but it’s back to that language you don’t know. You look at him, eyebrows knitted and eyes wide. “What?” you ask.

    He blinks, staring at you perplexed. He repeats what he just said but it’s no different—you still can’t understand a word that he’s saying. “I don’t,” you say through gritted teeth, finally reaching the staff, “understand you.”

    “What the hell?” the cloakless man mutters. Now it’s your turn to be perplexed. “You suddenly switch languages.”

    All three of you instantly shift your gazes to the staff in your hand. “Is it …?” the cloaked man asks, doubtful but intrigued. You drop the staff back to the ground.

    “Okay, now try saying something,” you tell them. They stare at you blankly, shaking their heads after a moment of silent confusion. You bend down to pick the staff up. “Okay, how about now?”

    “By the Gods!” the man in cloak points. “It really is the staff!”

    “It must be,” you agree, observing the decorated staff in your hand, running your thumb across the inscription. It did perform its function as desired: you wanted the angel to be gone, and it helped you accomplish that. But maybe it also fulfils other things you are not actively wishing for at the moment. Surely being able to communicate is something to want.

    You’re interrupted from your thoughts by an awkward clearing of the throat. You divert your gaze and see both men are looking away, with the cloakless man vaguely pointing towards your direction. “I suppose,” he begins, “if we are able to understand each other, it’s—eh—it’s best to let you know that ….”

    His voice trails off while his complexion deepens. You look down—and your borrowed cloak is open. You have been thoroughly exposed. With a yelp you turn around and fuss with the front of the cloak, trying to find a way to keep them closed. The staff has fallen off your grip—again—so while you’re able to recognise the voice that approaches you from behind to be belonging to the cloaked man, you can’t understand what he’s trying to say until he gently puts his hand above your hand, and he pulls two ties from a hidden pocket on the sides. You hold the cloak tightly closed on your chest and your stomach while he secures them with a knot above your waist. “Thank you,” you mutter, too embarrassed to look up. Then you remember that your hands are not holding anything—and the other man hands you the staff. “Thank you,” you repeat once it’s firm in your hand. “To both of you.”

    They each nod while looking away. You can’t blame them—you yourself wish you can simply disappear into the ground. Your breath hitches as you quickly bring the staff to your chest. No, no, I don’t actually want that. Please don’t make me disappear into the ground.

    After a beat of suspense—and perhaps recovery from the awkwardness for the men—you release your breath and hold the staff as a cane again. “Anyway,” you say in a low voice. The men lean their head in closer. “Thanks for all the help. And sorry for all the … disturbance.” You grimace. What a criminally massive understatement. “I’m—”

    Then you stop. Should you introduce yourself? That surely is the right thing to do. But if this isn’t hell, and somehow your wish to live—not merely existing—has been granted by the staff upon that first touch, shouldn’t you take this chance to start anew? A clean slate where you get to decide everything to do with yourself—including your name. You never quite liked your parents’ choice, anyway.

    With the men expecting you to continue, you quickly pick the first name that pops into your head. It’s just a placeholder, you reassure yourself. I can change that whenever.

    But when they repeat your new name back to you slowly, as though tasting the way it’s sounding, you realise that you actually like it. Maybe even by a lot. It fits you like a glove and fills you with more joy than you can ever imagine a name is able to.

    “Well, I’m Kyungsoo, that’s Yixing,” the cloakless man says. “We were just trekking through the forest when we saw a meteor falling down. When we came to check—”

    “There was you,” Yixing finishes.

    You heave a deep sigh as you turn to once again take in all of your surrounding: the dense and tall trees circling the crater where you wake up in the centre of. Then you aim your sight to the sky—the same spot the angel first appeared earlier. “Do you …,” Kyungsoo begins, almost unsure, “... want to tell us exactly what happened?” You look at him. “It was really confusing—there was a sound, then there was this bright light ….”

    “I told you it’s a long story.”

    “And the nearest town is about three days by foot,” he says. Then he adds with a nod: “Believe me—we have time.”

    You consider that for a moment. He speaks as though he’s entirely sure that you’ll come along with them. Of course, that’s a logical assumption: until mere minutes ago it seemed like you couldn’t communicate with them. You are definitely not familiar with the area, and for all they know you came from outer space as a meteor. Moreover, as you assume they assume: you are a woman, naked and alone, with nothing but a staff and a borrowed cloak. They’ve seen what you’re able to do, so maybe they won’t try to do anything funny. And from your point of view, it’s clear that sticking with them would be advantageous—if nothing else, you can find your way out. You look down at the staff in your hand. Especially when you don’t even know if you’ll be able to use this staff like you did earlier.

    “All right, fine,” you finally say. “Lead the way. I’ll tell you everything I remember.”

[sophluorescent]

some more fic visuals! again, this is one that never ended up being written. i might dredge up an old snippet though and post it to @sophluorescentmusing

[baekxytocin]

100 Days My Prince - Part 1

Part 1 – 100 Days Left, Dear Bad Prosecutor

Character:

D.O. and Reader

‘He wants to improve himself, before coming back home’

383 words

“You know, it's quite strange how other people can see him on the street while I can't see him on a daily basis. He's not going to the camp, he can just go home, but he insisted on staying in the camp. Do you know why?” You wonder and keep wondering.

“People saw him on the street because he does social work as well. Plus, I guess he wanted to make full use of the remaining 100 days, perfecting himself before seeing you. He wants to improve himself, before coming back home" D.O. tries to console you.

“Perfect? I don't want a perfect person, I want someone who has a lot of flaws so that we can work together, improve together, and then become one, one couple, one household. Like you guys. We Are One, EXO. No?” You are still in doubt about what he said.

He chuckles. “I agree with you. But don't worry. Let him be for now. In my opinion, when we let him work and improve himself, giving him space and time, he will be more appreciative of it. Try not to worry too much. Positive thinking" you finally see the truth behind his words.

“By the way….”

You are in shock at how close he is to you at the moment. “What are you doing?”

“Can I like you too? I mean, well…. We still have 100 days to go. He doesn’t have to know” his smirk surprised you, and you know what he wants, but you remain your composure.

“I’m not sure what you mean here. Are you trying to practice your line for your new drama? I’m in. What line do you need me to be? The other prosecutor? The hacker? The investigator? The villain? Who?” you acted along while grinning.

He scoffs. “Unbelievable. So, you think I am really a bad prosecutor?”

“Well, depends.”

He scoffs again. “Forget what you hear just now. See you again, I’m going home” D.O. ended the conversation before excusing himself home.

“Yeah, I suppose that's still correct. D.O. is right. I shouldn't cling unto him too much. Need some alone time too…. I just hope he calls or at least, leaves a message; silence makes me nervous and anxious" you talk to yourself before continuing to do other work.

To be continued….

Uploaded on: 28th October 2022

Note: I may not be uploading as a daily countdown, but I'll try.

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[heartcravings]

there was a partial sun eclipse just now!! and all 9 exo members are in the same city at last... coincidence?! i think not! xD

[dreamylittlesugarcube]

The Hair Necessities

Genre: Canon, Fluff

Characters: You x Kyungsoo

Warnings: None

Word Count: 574

Summary: It’s your honeymoon, post the events of For Life and your soft bean husband, Kyungsoo wants to help you with your hair care routine. 

A/N: I received a request for a little side story following “For Life” and “Beautiful”. Welcome to FLUFF CITY!  Please consider liking, re-blogging, or commenting so that others can find this easier. 

*Please note: I do not own the above picture(s), so credit goes to the original owner(s)*

Read Part 1: Beautiful

Read Part 2: For Life

~*~

“Baby, I missed you so much,” Kyungsoo breathed in your ear. He put his arms around your waist, squeezing you close like you’d been gone for 20 years instead of just 20 minutes. 

Reaching back with your hand, you stroked his cheek, giggling in surprise when he abruptly turned his head to land a kiss on your palm. 

“Yeah? Was my 20 minutes in the shower too long for us to be apart? Was my sweet baby penguin lonely?” Even though it was your wedding night, you couldn’t help but tease Kyungsoo just a little bit. The man was just too good a target–and you took every chance you could get.

“Mmhhmm,” Kyungsoo affirmed, pressing distracting, slow kisses to the back of your neck in retaliation. “It’s our wedding night, it’s practically illegal for a wife to be spending so much time away from her husband.”

Kyungsoo playfully flicked your shoulder in retaliation, his dry wit in fine form tonight, and you could feel the ghost of his smile against your skin. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to break any laws, especially today, the day of all days. Looks like next time you’ll just have to come with me.” You broke free from his grasp, turning to give him a wink before heading over to the dressing table. 

Settling down in front of the mirror, you shook out your wet hair from the towel. You took the time to arrange your space so that everything was in its place. 

“I’ll do it,” he murmured softly, lightly massaging your shoulder before sliding his hand to pluck the brush from between your fingers.

 As Kyungsoo worked to painstakingly detangle each and every strand of your hair, you gazed at his reflection in the mirror. His brows were furrowed in concentration, intent on his task, almost as if he was a surgeon performing an intricate surgery.

Without a word of encouragement from you, Kyungsoo applied heat protectant to your hair before starting up the blow dryer. You closed your eyes, listening to the rhythmic hum of the machine as warm air swirled around your head. By the time all the moisture had left your hair, you were swimming in languid relaxation, lids heavy. 

Bottles clinked as Kyungsoo made quick work of tidying up, never one to leave anything out of place. Feeling the presence of your husband behind you once again, you sighed at the introduction of his hands on your neck, tenderly massaging out the knots in measured circles. 

“Mmmm, baby, that feels so good,” you murmured gently. “I feel so spoiled–what did I do to deserve a hair stylist and personal masseuse for my husband?”

Kyungsoo chuckled softly behind you. “It doesn’t come cheap, you know. I don’t work for free,” he teased. 

“Oh yeah? Will a kiss do?” You lifted your face, warmth spreading through you when Kyungsoo’s lips connected with your own. 

“A very acceptable payment option, though I may have to put you on a payment plan” Kyungsoo breathed after a few seconds, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. 

“Then maybe I should request your services more often. You were very thorough in your care today.” You reached up to touch his face affectionately and watched as a blush suffused his cheeks, a bashful smile gracing his lips. 

“A good husband knows how to take care of his wife,” Kyungsoo responded, pulling you into his arms, “and my sweet wife deserves the world.”

~*~

Thank you for reading The Hair Necessities–a side story in the Beautiful/For Life universe. If you enjoyed what you read, please like, comment, or re-blog for others to enjoy. 

XOXO, 

Emmy

[aphrodite1288]

Jongin's eyes never lie 🩷

Is there anyone who was so sick and tired, could look at his partner so lovingly like this for the entire interview? Seriously I'm concerned for his neck! Like Suho is right next to him, but he didn't even glance once at him, we all know Ji always gives all his attention and turns all his body to Ksoo wether he's talking or not.

Like always Jongin speaks with his eyes. Omg his eyes are so flirty! Ksoo is so used to it, if it was anyone else they would melt and we saw Baekhyun and SuperM members getting flustered when Ji states at them for like 5sec. Ksoo grew immune to it through the years .

And how come after 14 years since they met in 2010, Jongin still looks at him like this????? How didn't he grow bored of his face? Instead only grew fonder and fonder of him?

I loved how flirty and Hazy Ji's eyes were looking at Ksoo but the moment Ksoo turns to him, his eyes immediately move down to Ksoo's lips!

Video not mine. Cr to owner.

[peachysooxo]

The Last Time - Chapter 1

pairing: kyungsoo x mila (OFC) genre: angst, romance, drama theme: lovers to enemies to lovers again? (Possibly), marriage in trouble word count: 3,086 warnings: cursing, mentions of self harm, implied smut, sad kyungsoo, depressed kyungsoo description: Kyungsoo has been separated from Mila for a year. He’s had enough of faking their happy marriage for the public. He finds comfort in old home movies and memories of their past as he tries to figure out what to do with the divorce papers he was served.

author’s note: hello! welcome to the romantic universe! I have worked on this particular story for over a year and FINALLY, it’s going to be yours! I am so excited for you to meet the characters and follow their journey. The graphic at the top of the chapter will serve as time markers between “now” (present day) and “then” (the past) before each chapter. A huge, HUGE thank you to @loeyyuniverse for being my beta reader and giving me so many ideas. I couldn’t have done this without you 🩵 if you like the story, please leave a like and feel free to reblog. Also, I found these amazing dividers by @saradika-graphics that I will be using in all of my stories from now on! Now… I give to you… The Last Time (:

- Aria

Malibu, California KYUNGSOO

I stare out into the vast open sky from my living room floor, the sunset paints beautiful colors that canvas the atmosphere above the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean. I can get lost in moments like this, when everything is calm and makes a little more sense than it did before. I get surrounded by everything around me: the sunset that changes the color of the sky, the slow, breathy wind, the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore, the slow appearance of red clouds and the moon getting brighter and brighter in the distance.

Slowly, effortlessly, the yellows become the golden flecks in her gorgeous eyes. The wind is her touch, soft and sends chills down my spine. The reds are her lips when she gets ready for date nights, putting on lipstick just for me. Even though she didn’t need it, she looked so spectacular in that shade of red. The waves are the promises we made, consistently rolling back to me to remind me that I failed to keep so many of them. Being here in this kind of scene just isn’t the same without her. 

I watched my wife, Mila, walk out of the door and never turn back due to my own stupidity and careless mistakes. I haven’t slept well since she left. I haven’t been able to eat on some days. Nothing in my life feels right anymore. What makes this separation even worse is that we’re not going public with it. We maintain appearances for the sake of our careers, but it’s hard to tell now if we’re just pretending or if there’s real feelings behind our actions. 

Our vacation home in Malibu looks out onto the shore, for the times we needed to get away from it all and spend time together. Tonight is my last night here before I have to fly back home to New York and I wish I could stay here longer. It’s the closest thing that I have to being with her. Everywhere I turn, there’s pieces of Mila in every single thing and I don’t know if I can handle it anymore. The last year has been hell without her.  

Watching old home videos of us together has to be a form of self harm, but this is the only way I can see her smile. My eyes are glued to the screen as memories play out from different points in our relationship. From moving in to our first apartment together after we got married. From traveling to Korea to see my family. Waking up in Spain on our European tour together to staying up late in the studio. I’ve replayed the honeymoon videos over and over, mesmerized as the events play out on screen. We were so young, Mila was 20 and I was 22. I need to be honest with myself, it wasn’t a honeymoon… It was our elopement at Mila’s grandparent’s ranch in Mexico. We stayed in the guest house on the ranch, and it was the happiest we’d ever been. 

"Come here." My voice whines from the TV. 

"No! Why are you recording us? It’s so weird!" Mila giggles. I grab the phone and the focus is Mila sitting with her leg tucked under her with cheeks tinted pink. 

"Look at you, Angel." I breathe, calling her by her nickname. “You’re so gorgeous and you just woke up.”

“Soo!” Mila blushes. She tries to cover her face but I won’t let her. 

“Don’t hide your gorgeous face from me.”

Her grandmother’s engagement ring and wedding band on her left hand glimmers on screen. The rays of morning light filter into the room and it can’t even compare to her smile. She didn’t need to try at all, she just naturally glowed.  I love it when she’s this way, no makeup, hair down and only wearing my t shirt. 

I pull Mila by her waist into the frame and kiss her, my arm protectively still around her. I tease her by tracing her lips with mine and smile between kisses, placing her into my lap. I lean and prop the phone on the bedside table and we're in full view on the bed. Mila’s fingers run through my hair, something she did when we’d be intimate like this. Her smile fades as she wraps her arms around my neck. 

“Soo… I’m worried. I’m scared that us running off and getting married is going to make things worse with my father and brother.” Mila expresses. I press my forehead against hers, holding her tight in my arms. 

"Listen to me. No matter what happens, my heart is yours. Angel, we’re married. Nothing can separate us. Not Sungho, not Chanyeol, no one. I know that we both took a risk when we didn’t tell Chanyeol that we were just dating. He’s your brother and my best friend. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to keep that from him. You’re everything to me, my best friend, my life. All I care about is that you’re happy with this decision. They’ll come around, we just have to give it time.” I say lowly. 

Mila nods her head, her hands glide down my shoulder to my forearms. 

“I hope Chanyeol will come around, him and I are close and I never expected he’d react in the way he did. With my father… He may take longer but it’ll be okay. I’m beyond happy. This feels so right, Soo.” Mila smiles again, and it’s a personal victory that she’s glowing again. “I just… Don’t know how I feel about you filming us in bed. It’s kind of…”

“Angel, stop. This is for our memories. This is our honeymoon. I had to document just how gorgeous you are when you wake up in the morning. You take my breath away.” I whisper, caressing her face. She tilts her head to fit her cheek in the palm of my hand.

 "This is like a dream. I don’t want to go back to reality.” Our eye contact is strong, it never deviates from one another. I run my fingers through her hair and cup her face in my hands. 

We fall into a deep kiss, molding ourselves to each other. We break slowly and a fire is ablaze in her eyes, full of want. She pushes me down onto the bed, I roll over until I’m on top of her. 

“Look at me.” I straighten her gaze back to me by guiding her jaw back to face me. I lean down and kiss her velvety soft lips, my hand slides down to her throat. My fingers gently massage the sides of her throat, her back arches off of the bed. My hand slides down to her side and I squeeze her closer to me. Her soft whimpers fill the room as my lips roam her jaw and down her neck. I stop at her shoulder and smirk into the camera. 

“Mila, you’ll never forget this.” I say into the camera and nip her collarbone. She shrieks and holds onto me tighter. Before we go further, Mila grabs the phone and laughs. 

“Nice try, Mr. Doh.”

We laugh and she cuddles into me, stopping the recording. 

I turn the TV off. Seeing my wife smile like that is something I haven’t seen in a long time. Tears threaten my eyes as the moon glows brighter. Now there’s nothing left but reminders that she’s not mine anymore. I shouldn’t have been working so much, prioritizing everything else over her, or even worse… I shouldn’t have been such a jealous monster. Being young and stupid, I’d bubble over with jealousy if a man just as much as gazed at her. 

To be fair, Mila is a beautiful woman inside and out. She’s so selfless, humble and never afraid to be herself. Mila is known around the world for her music, to say she’s talented is an understatement. Watching her onstage is like a dream, she bursts to life when she performs. The entire world gets to see a glimpse of the woman that I am so proud to call my wife.   

Her physical beauty is just a bonus. Her sun kissed skin has to be infused with gold, her plump lips can render me speechless with just one kiss, I could lose myself in her gorgeous eyes forever. Her smile brightens the entire world around her. Her body is a gift from God, effortless curves that would hypnotize me the moment she’d walk into a room. She’s everything I ever wanted in a woman, everything about her is perfect. 

It was never a secret that men pined over her and how gorgeous she is, even though they knew she was married to me. I never got my jealousy in check, something she never deserved. I was certain every man she came across wanted her the way I wanted her and would take her from me. I was certain that it made me crazy. It was so bad that we started to fight all of the time about it, those fights turned into fights about our relationship, our future together, and how we failed at connecting due to our busy schedules. 

One day, she finally had enough and she left. 

I open the sliding glass door to listen to the waves. I wait for Mila’s arms to hug me into her embrace and when it doesn’t come, my heart splinters. I handled winter and spring without her, but summer reminded me how much worse it is that we’re separated. I want to see her more than just on red carpets and public appearances. At night, it gets worse. The loneliness settles in much more when I can feel and see her side of the bed is empty. Everything she is takes shape in the view in front of me. 

“Mila… I miss you…” I whisper into the night air. The stars and moon start to sway and my vision clouds over. I rub my temples and turn my back to the ocean, glancing over at the divorce papers on the counter. I wrecked my brain relentlessly over what made Mila want a divorce. Why didn’t she want to work this out like we have before? I didn’t cheat on her, I didn’t ever lay a hand on her and I didn’t lie to her or kept anything from her. 

We could work on our problems easily, if she’d just allow it. Our last fight was the worst one, I can’t even remember what words were exchanged but that didn’t matter. What haunted me was that I made her cry. Something I swore I’d never do. I wanted to fix it and Mila wanted nothing to do with me. 

Divorce.

This is not how I expected our relationship to end. I didn’t want it to end at all. I have to prove it to her that I’m going to change, I just don’t know how to start. 

I collapse onto the couch, closing my eyes to continue the memory the week we spent together on the ranch when we got married. Mila and I were in bed, cuddled up during one of our late nights talking and watching movies. Mila’s fingers dance across my chest, her eyes heavy with fatigue. 

“Promise me something, Soo.” She whispered, gazing up at me. 

“Yes, Angel?”

“Promise me that no matter what happens, we’ll never give up. We’ll never separate. Even if times get difficult, I don’t want to give up.” Mila pleads with her eyes. 

“I promise you, Mila. I’ll never give up on you or us. If we somehow get lost or strained… We’ll fix it. I’ll fight for you until the very end, that’s my promise to you.” I reply, kissing her forehead. 

“I’ll fight for you too. I’ll fight for us. Marriage is so different from just dating. You and I are in this together for life. I know I’m stubborn. I know I’m difficult to deal with, I’ll do better.” Mila smirks. I laugh and pin her under me, my forearms are on either side of her head. 

“Your attitude is very easy to deal with. You’re a brat sometimes but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” I laugh, kissing her slowly. “But you’re mine, whether you like it or not.”

“I love it. I love you.” Mila smiles.

I kiss her mouth and cheeks, nodding. “And I love you, Angel.”

The memory fades as quick as it came. Everything she said that night resounds in my head. I can’t sit here and feel sorry for myself. Mila made me promise her that I’d fight for her, and that we’d never separate. It’s my fault she pushed away, it’s my fault she doesn’t want to be near me. I have to fight for her, I have to keep my promise.

The first thing I decided to do is not sign the papers. If Mila wants a fight, that’s what she’s going to get. I can’t take her just being a memory that I can see in the world around me. There’s no use in pitying myself anymore, either. I force myself up, shuffling around the house to find a notepad and a pen of paper. Once I find it in the dresser of the bedroom we used to share, I sit down on the bed and start writing. This is going to be a long fight, a long road but it’s one I have to take to get my wife back. I’m probably never going to get the courage to say everything that I need to, so I resort to writing a letter to Mila that she’ll never read. 

Dear Mila,

Hi. 

I’m writing you from Malibu, our beach house. I came here just to get away from everything in New York. The Grammy’s are coming up, are you excited about it? I am so proud of you for being nominated and performing. You’ve been dreaming of this your whole life and it’s finally coming true. I’ll be attending… I hope I can see you at some point in the night. 

To be honest, I woke up this morning and felt lost again. I had the same nightmare of you leaving and fell down a rabbit hole of memories and home movies. I made coffee this morning and I saw two mugs: red and lavender. 

Seeing it broke me. 

Lavender is your favorite color, how stupid is it that I get emotional over a coffee mug? Believe it or not, everything reminds me of you. I see reminders of you in everything. The sunset that’s painting the sky right now. The bed still smells like your shampoo, strawberries and vanilla.  Our memories live in the walls… I feel and see you everywhere and it’s killing me.

It’s still hard for me to accept that you really want to end this. I can’t delusion myself into believing that if I were to call you, you’d pick up and take me back, let alone talk to me. 

So, I have to tell you everything I feel in this letter that you’ll never read.

I never stopped loving you, despite what I may have said, shown or done. It’s you who holds my heart. I’m sorry that I made you feel like I didn’t care. I never knew how to express all of these emotions. Since the day I met you, you made my heart flutter. The sound of your voice was the most beautiful music that I never knew existed. No song on this planet can compare to how your voice sounds to me. 

Your lips and your body hypnotize me and made me surrender to your love. Your kisses are my life support, your arms are my security, my home. Making love to you gives me a high that no drug could even come close to. You gave me so much support and comfort, Mila. Anytime I had doubts, anxiety or felt unsure, you were at my side, telling me it was all going to be okay and work out. I know for certain that no one or nothing else could compare to you. You’re the piece of me that I didn’t know was missing. 

I can never see marrying you in the way that we did as a mistake or wrong. You made me feel things that I’ve never felt before and it was exciting, it felt right that you were mine and I was yours. I just wasn’t the best version of myself, the husband that you deserved. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you, I wasn’t myself at all. If I did things the right way, if I listened, we could have been together today, I wouldn’t be writing this letter. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. I admit I messed it all up. 

Now… There’s something else that you need to know, my sweet Angel. I’m not signing the papers. There is no way I am allowing us to throw away so many years that we were happy. I’m sorry I didn’t express the love I had in my heart for you the way you deserved it. I promised I’d fight for you, and this is the beginning of that fight. I won’t give up on us, Angel. Soon, we won’t pretend for the sake of the cameras anymore. Your smile won’t be fake. I’ll make you happy again. 

I love you, Mila.

I’m sorry. 

Sincerely,

Soo

I fold the letter and stuff it into an envelope. I stuff it in the bottom of my backpack and groan softly, my bags are packed and ready to go for the trip back home. With every second that goes by, I realize more and more exactly how much that I messed up such a beautiful thing. 

I look up and see the photos on the wall, my eyes fix on the picture of Mila and I at our debut showcase on Jeju Island in 2012. We were so young, stars in our eyes and the world at our feet. That night changed so many things for us, and I like to think that’s exactly where we began. I get up and allow myself to lay on the bed, allowing the memory to take me into its arms and walk me through the night I knew I was in love with my wife all those years ago.

[pangzi]

I’m going to need everyone to watch Bad Prosecutor because it’s absolutely incredible.