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hyunnielix · 8 months

Text

la lune & le soleil.

Series Masterlist

— felix x reader (f)

— word count: 2.9k

— genre: non-idol au, strangers to lovers/slow burn with eventual smut (not in this chapter sorry), angst (some?).

— warning's: Roomate!Hyunjin, Felix is jealous of Hyunjin, crowds in public spaces. food!!! (unedited)

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One of the bakers was perfecting what looked like pistachio croissants, whilst another was boxing multi-coloured macaroons. None of them had looked up at the ruckus. Professionalism at it's finest. The corner of your lip twitched. In the middle of all the chaos, there he stood.

To say you were a little intimidated was a massive understatement. Your gaze followed the seemingly endless line of people. It was halfway down the street. They were buzzing with excitement for the new pastries that had just been announced, chattering away.

Okay, so not the best day to come to the patisserie. But how were you supposed to know any better? You'd made the effort especially to leave early. Dragging Hyune out of his comfortable warm bed on a Sunday morning.

He awkwardly scratched his head before turning to you. "So... what are we doing?"

You were too busy gawking at the simple yet chic designs of the establishment. They had metal frames that hung above the door, one was black; a crescent moon, the other was golden; the sun. You had even recognised the font they used for the name. Castellar.

"Staying?" Hyun leant over, dipping his head down to mumble. "Going?"

There was a slight teasing in his tone that made you huff. He knew how badly you wanted to stay, and it wasn't for the pastries. No matter how good they were. You chewed on your bottom lip.

Suddenly, people were gasping. The chatting continued to get louder. They began to crowd around the window that wrapped around one side of the building. You glanced at Hyunjin before your eyes lit up with excitement. This seemed promising.

You hadn't realised it before, but it was like the bakers were in a glass casing. The window had an open view straight into the kitchen area. That's what had fascinated the customers so much. Watching them work.

You couldn't even begin to imagine having so many people stare at you while working. Yeah, you were a barista of all things, but at least you could hide behind the coffee machine. The baker's couldn't. You sort of felt bad for them.

In the middle of all the chaos, there he stood.

He balanced a large plate on his palm. You mouth fell open as he began to stack each individual profiterole. He didn't falter once, bringing the plate in front of him to impress the customers. You broke out into a grin. What a show off.

"When you told me he owned a business, I didn't realise you meant fine dining." Hyunjin muttered bashfully. You scrunched you nose, cringing slightly. He was definitely underdressed for the occasion, but you were sure it'd be fine.

Your attention was once again magnetized by Felix's abilities. Watching intently as he finished stacking the caramel sweets one-handedly.

You wondered if you could catch his gaze.

He placed the plate on the white bench. Adding generous, but pretty dollops of what looked to be fresh cream. It was all strategy to him. Present something a little different, a little unique... and it would sell tenfold.

He began the finishing touches. Grabbing the container next to him filled with various kinds of edible petals. This was by far his favourite part. He used a fine dining tool, meticulous in the way he placed the flowers.

You excused yourself, pushing past some of the people to get to the very front. Hyunjin watched from a distance. His arms crossed over his chest. You were determined, he'd give you that.

Felix was still placing petals as you crouched down. Your arms rested on your knees. You tilted your head, a soft smile on your features. His brows furrowed, feeling a different set of eyes on him. He glanced upward. His whole face lit up as he realised it was you.

You waved at him slowly. His expression changed, holding up his finger as if to say one moment please. He hurriedly untied his apron, saying something to one of the bakers that you couldn't quite catch. You weren't the best at lip reading, that was for sure.

You smugly walked back to where Hyunjin was standing. "What was that about?"

"I think he may be coming out."

As if on cue, a burly security guard had exited out the front door. The customers began chattering away once more. You and Hyunjin stepped to the side, away from the crowd.

"Are you sure he won't get swarmed?" Hyunjin asked. You shook your head. He was a baker, not a model. Although he could've probably passed as that as well.

Felix stepped out, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. His baker's hat had completed flattened any volume it'd previously had. If he knew you were coming today he probably would've put more effort in. Not that he didn't take care of his appearance... he had a seven step skin care routine for crying out loud.

His uniform was smart, all white with black detailing. There were five black buttons on each side. You sighed, he even looked good in his work uniform. How unfair.

"You took me up on my offer." His warm voice was smooth like honey, accompanied with his eyes crinkling. You could see his freckles better now, the morning sun highlighted them well.

You stepped forward, acting as if you'd been offended. A stark difference from how you'd been at the shop on Tuesday. You were outside of your comfort zone, sure. But you had more control over the situation and circumstances now. No pressure. No stress. "Of course I did! I didn't realise this place was so high end."

He chuckled lowly. "If you knew what really goes on behind the scenes you wouldn't think as much."

The stress was evident on his face as he glanced back at the shop window. He was always nervous leaving the bakers on their own. He knew they could handle the shop by now. That's not what he was worried about. Managing people on the other hand, that was always the hardest part— and some of them didn't particularly get along.

In one instance, Chaeryeong, an apprentice had thrown batter into one of the senior's faces. The worst part is that it was in front of the customers. He had a headache just thinking of all the legal fees and publicity he had to clean up due to it.

That was one thing that the younger generation didn't quite seem to understand. Seniority was earnt through hard work, dedication and the most important of all; time. You couldn't rush perfection. He knew that after being in this industry for so long.

"I'm sure you do a good job handling it." You said sweetly. "You're just being humble."

The security guard had moved, blocking people who had become interested in meeting the esteemed baker. You were surprised by it. Who would've thought he was this famous? Jisung certainly hadn't mentioned it.

Hyunjin stood awkwardly, squinting slightly at the Baker. Felix hadn't glanced at him once. Interesting. Surely he wasn't that offstandish. Maybe it was the comfortable clothes that'd put him off. Sure, it was nothing designer but they were only visiting a patisserie. Hyunjin didn't usually get dolled up to go out on sunday mornings, it just wasn't his style.

"I'll get you.." Felix trailed off, his eyes landing on the taller man. "Two? seated."

The inclination behind his tone rubbed Hyunjin the wrong way. Oh he didn't like this guy at all. There was something in the way he held himself, almost arrogantly. There was a glint behind Felix's eye that he couldn't quite decipher.

"We're skipping the queue?" Hyunjin asked, pulling you away for a second. He felt the baker's stare burn into his face. "That's a bit unfair isn't it?"

His hand was wrapped around your bicep tightly. He was almost begging you to agree with him. You didn't understand what the issue was. You gazed over your shoulder at Felix before looking back at your roommate.

"Most of these people will be getting takeaway." Felix lopsidedly smiled, explaining how he could fit you both in. He waited patiently.

Hyunjin's nostrils flared as he took one more glance at the esteemed baker. Your pursed your lips, trying not to show how excited you felt. "See? It's fine Jinnie."

Jinnie?

Felix raised his brow, acknowledging the term of endearment. So he had a nickname? He couldn't help but wonder what exactly his relation was to you. Was he a friend? or was it worse.... boyfriend?

Whatever he was, he didn't seem too thrilled to be invited in. Felix politely smiled, ignoring how Jinnie shot daggers with his eyes in his general direction. You dragged Hyunjin by his wrist, standing directly in front of Felix.

"I promise I won't critique your pastries too much," you cheekily stated, "Since you had my muffin."

Your statement made him frown. Suggesting that your baking was inferior to his? It was incomparable. If anything it was more genuine. There was always more love poured into homemade goods, that's why he only made the brownies at home. They weren't for the shop, they certainly weren't to sell. (although, he didn't blame you for that one). They were a product of love, an act of service.

That's why he'd brought them in for his employees. As little thank you treats for working so hard. He'd wrap them up in little baskets, with gift cards attached.

He shook his head bashfully. You really shouldn't put him on a pedestal like that. A soft laugh escaped him. "Your muffin was nice, reminded me of my mother's."

Your expression shifted. That's exactly the kind of reaction you were hoping for. That sense of home, nostalgia and childhood. You fell silent. Hyunjin almost scoffed at your reaction. He'd never seen you so quiet before.

"Orange and Oreo is a pretty unusual combination though." He liked how the flavours had balanced each other out. He always strived to make pastries the same way, not too bitter, not too sweet. Just right. (he had to admit, he was a bit of a sweetooth himself). "How'd you come up with that?"

"It was my mother's recipe." You explained, feeling like a fraud.

"Ahh that explains it—" Felix mumbled. Hyunjin rolled his eyes, walking past the both of you and straight into La Lune. The security guard shot Felix a look. You frowned.

"Sorry about him."

He shrugged, "I guess I'll show you through now." He gestured kindly to the door. You nodded at him before scrambling after Hyunjin.

The inside of the bakery was even more astonishing. Golden decals decorated the walls, with the theme of the night sky. The two concepts of the sun and moon merged in the middle. The deep blue and golden yellow's were almost comforting. Even Hyunjin had stood still to take in the design. It was so pretty. Although, you had expected nothing else from Felix himself.

You recognised the expression on Hyunjin's face. He was enamoured. You couldn't help but smirk.

"Who designed this?" Jinnie mumbled. Felix breezed past the counter, standing next to Hyunjin. He stared directly at the artwork covering the wall.

"I did."

You leant into Felix's shoulder, bumping it slightly. "Maybe you should've been an interior designer in another life."

"Maybe." He pursed his lips at the thought. He didn't necessarily think it was anything special. A barely-there smile graced his features at the realisation that you'd initiated physical contact. He spared a glance at you. There was a soft glow that surrounded your face. He couldn't help but thinking that you looked like an angel.

A dusty pink pastel bow sat high in the back of your hair. It was the first thing he'd noticed when you were outside. He felt sort of prideful. Wondering if you'd dressed that cutely just for him.

Hyunjin hadn't dignified anything with a response. Instead, he'd found one of the booths. He sulked in the corner whilst Felix showed you the variety of pastries they had to offer. He was such a drama queen sometimes. Acting as if you didn't nearly spend every other minute outside of work with him at home.

You loved how minimalistic the display was. The metal product tags at the front of the counter were sharp-looking. The name of the product and price tag following. They were laid in evenly spaced out rows, not a crumb or flake of pastry out of place. It was impressive.

You pointed to one of the desserts. Felix tilted his head. Cherry Clafoutis. His expression softened as he saw the little wrinkle between your eyebrows.

"It's silky, like flan.. it's kind of a mixture between that and cake. The cherry pits give it a faint taste of almond."

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. Smiling excitedly. You always loved French style pastries. This was probably the closest thing you were going to get until you visited. "That sounds nice..."

The both of you continued walking down the counter. It wrapped around the establishment, kind of like a sushi train. The design was so unique. "Are you sure you don't have to get back to the kitchen? I feel like I'm wasting your time."

You frowned slightly. A blush dusting your cheeks at your confession. Felix scoffed at your assumption. He shook his head. "Not at all, I'd rather be here than out the back with a million different eyes on me."

Your eyes widened. "You don't like being watched?"

Why had the bakery been designed in such a way then? You thought it was odd. If you had a business you would cater everything to the way you wanted it. Not the other way around.

"It's kind of like exposure therapy." His admittance left you even more stunned. Maybe he was more alike you than he was letting on. You hummed in response, eyes trailing over the sweets once more. That made sense.

"Is that a matcha croissant?"

The tone of your voice raised an octave. You almost threw yourself at the cabinet. The croissant was in the shape of a cube! with matcha decorating the sides like freshly drizzled icing. The outside was beautifully golden brown. That was it. That was the pastry you wanted.

On second thought, your gaze trailed to the macaroon section. It wouldn't hurt to just take a little look. You'd noticed how Felix kept his distance, observing you silently.

"Rhubarb and mint macaroons!" You glanced back at him. Your mouth had fallen open in an exaggerated 'O' shape. "You've got to be kidding me."

His eyes sparkled. An amused expression decorating his features. That's exactly the kind of reaction he wanted. One of excitement. One that could rival giving candy to a baby. The wonder on their face was something so wholesome, so sweet.

Your head was spinning with all the different options. Part of you wanted to ask Hyunjin to make the decision for you. It didn't help that Felix was making you feel a little nervous. Your eyes landed on the strawberry & hazelnut éclair.

"Pick your poision." He murmured softly. His tone was sickeningly sweet, almost mischievous. Your brows furrowed. He was using this as an opportunity to get to know you better. He wanted to know what kind of fruit, sweets and pastries you liked. Just like you'd wanted to know his coffee order.

"You chose probably the most indecisive person to do this to—" You stepped away from the cabinet. "I hope you know that."

"That's what makes it interesting." He teased, leaning down slightly to catch your gaze. The corner of your lip twitched. You weren't able to hide the slight embarrassment you felt over holding such intense eye contact. It was like he wanted to eat you alive.

You jutted your leg out slightly, crossing your arms over your chest. Two could play this game. "Oh yeah? fine. what do you think I'll get?"

"I think you'll end up choosing the rhubarb and mint macaroons." He shrugged nonchalantly. You wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his face. However you weren't sure if you wanted to remove it with your hands, or lips. "Because you feel too guilty about receiving something for free, so you'll choose the product that's the smallest and therefore the cheapest."

Oh you knew what his game was and he wasn't getting away with reading you so well. You weren't that predictable surely. He leant forward once more, "Am I right?"

You tilted your head slightly smiling. He was fishing for your agreeance. Your validation. You squinted slightly. "I think I'll go with the eclair."

You weren't going to give it to him that easily. He chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "As you wish. They'll be brought out to your booth."

You thanked him before returning to the bench. Hyunjin was spread out on the expensive looking leather cushions. You slid beside him, trying to push him over to give you more room. He had his eyes closed, basking in the sliver of sunlight from the window. He grumbled while poking your side.

"I know you're ticklish." Hyunjin warned. He opened one of his eyes slightly as he responded. The corner of his lip upturned. He found the annoyance on your face entertaining.

"You wouldn't dare." You pushed his arm away. "I got us strawberry and hazelnut eclairs by the way." At the mention of food, he wriggled excitedly in his seat. Immediately fixing his posture. You rolled your eyes at his behaviour.

Admittedly, the sweets were better than you expected. The strawberry mouse was light and fluffy, it felt like heaven on your tongue. The chocolate coating wasn't too rich, it balanced out the sweetness nicely. It was definitely a good choice.

What surprised you the most however, was the little napkin tucked under your plate. It was his phone number, accompanied by a little message.

let me know if you'd like to bake together some time, i'd love to share recipes :)

— Felix

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hyunnielix · 8 months

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— Ⅰ. Scarlet Dusted Cheeks

Series Masterlist

— lee minho x reader (f)

— word count: 3.8k

— genre: non-idol au, acquaintances (enemies?) to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, right person wrong time/place typa beat

— warnings: drinking. MC being a flirt. Yeji think's a bartender is cute. Highschool reunion kind of stuff. MC deals with her anxiety by drinking. (this could go either of two ways). ((unedited))

Speckles of dust entered your vision through the crack in the blinds. Reminding you that you should probably clean your room. The dust was cute, it was almost like they were little creatures dancing in the sunshine. The daylight hit the table in such an aesthetic way, creating a variation of shadows as your hands moved. You shook the intrusive thought, now was not the time to be getting distracted.

You were so close to finishing the stanza. The keys of the typewriter made a satisfying clicking sound as you typed away. It was a poetry booklet you were creating. Something so personal and vulnerable it made you want to throw up. Nonetheless, it was coming along nicely… despite the fact that it was an assignment from Minji herself.

In a way, poetry was similar to journaling. Except the word choices had more meaning and authenticity… not to say that journaling didn’t. It just lacked that kind of passion needed to truly convey one’s emotions into something beautiful. There was something so enticing about the structure of different poems. Sometimes they had rigid Stanza’s, other times they were disconnected on purpose. All of those stylistic choices…. They were all up to the authors own experiences, formatted in a way that represented them so honestly. Maybe that’s why you’d loved writing them so much. It was a simple but gut-wrenching way of speaking about trauma, loss and grief. On the contrary, it could also lead to revelations and healing.

You stopped typing. The room became dead silent as you sat back in your chair. The squeaking of the door hinge had caught your attention. You cringed at the sound, you really had to get that fixed. It was your roommate. She poked her head shyly from behind the door.

Your eyes fluttered shut, an amused expression on your features. “You can come in Yeji, I’m not busy or anything.”

The door continued to creak dramatically. She leant against the door frame. You’d realised that a part of her hair was now dyed bright pink. Your expression must’ve given your surprise away as she twirled the newly dyed hair. “Nice right?”

You nodded. “Suit’s you.”

She grinned at the compliment like the Cheshire cat. “So…” Yeji began, taking a curious step forward. “What’s that red envelope on the bench?”

“Nothing important.” You tried to brush it off easily. You hoped that your tone was convincing enough. If Yeji found out that you’d rejected another invitation to a social outing, she was going to kick you out. Again, another reason why it was exhausting for an introvert and extrovert to live together. You chewed your lip, lost in thought.

Or maybe you were an ambivert? Depended on who you were around to be honest. Yeji cleared her throat, “Oh, I thought you got a ticket, or it was like an eviction notice for us or something!”

An eviction notice? How ironic.

“No,” You laugh inwardly at her assumptions. “it’s nothing like that… one of my old school mates invited me to a high school reunion.” You cringed as you told her the truth. You may as well have suffered her wrath here and now. Lying was definitely not your forte.

Her brow raised comically. “Reunion? Are you gonna go?”

You sighed, knowing full well she was going to press this. “Well…” You shook your head. “It’s supposed to be tonight.”

“When were you given the invitation?”

“A week ago.” You said slowly, wincing slightly at Yeji’s disapproving glare. Yeah, this was definitely your least favourite part about it.

“Did you actually have any intentions of showing up?” She questioned knowingly, smiling softly as she crossed her arms over her chest. Sometimes you felt like she was a mother in another life. She had that kind of wisdom and insight only an older person would know. But also, the same kind of condescension. You knew it was only out of love, it still managed to make your stomach sink.

“I don’t know to be honest; I get mad anxiety when it comes to things like that…” You tried to cover it up with an excuse. You were definitely hibernating again, and Yeji could tell. She could pick up on your cues in an instant. Part of you loathed her for it, but you knew she was only looking out for you. That was the weird thing about having friends. Their innate nature to protect and nurture you like their own family. It was a precious thing… platonic love. Truly underrated in your books.

Yeji sung almost teasingly, “Yet you still manage to show up to your sessions…” You let out a groan, hiding your face in the palm of your hands.

You mumbled under your breath. “That’s because I have to.”

You parted your fingers slightly, just to see her staring at you intently. She kind of looked like a light fury. The way her eyes were wide, mouth slightly parted.

“Would you go if I came with you?” Her question completely caught you off guard. It would make you feel less awkward that was for sure. If you hadn’t been an outcast in high school, you certainly would be now. Especially if you were sober.

“Yeji, you didn’t exactly go to the same high school as me.” You pointed out an extremely valid fact. Yeji furrowed her brows, huffing. “Primary school counts, doesn’t it?” She whined, “Just say I’m your partner or something like that.”

You leant your elbows on your thighs. Squinting slightly at your roommate as you made a realisation. “You’re just using this as an excuse to dress up!”

“You know me too well.” She pouted. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief. They did call her the life of the party for a reason. Maybe it would be fun if she came along. If she was allowed… Your eyes darted to the clock on your bedside table.

She stared at you with pleading eyes. A sigh fell from your lips as you hung your head forward, “Let me call Jisung first, I’ll have to suck up to him big time.”

Yeji danced on the spot a little, celebrating it as a win in her book. You rolled your eyes at her antics. She was absolutely shameless, but that was what you loved the most about her. She was ridiculously confident, although she’d definitely rubbed off on you.

“Wait…Jisung? Like Han Jisung?” Her mouth hung open.

“Yeah,” You attempted to brush it off. “He’s the one who gave me the invitation.”

“I thought you said he was the weird kid from—”

“That doesn’t matter,” you cut her off quickly. “People can change Yeji.”

She laughed at how quickly you’d revoked your previous statements. Smirking at you evilly. She pursed her lips before humming. “Alrighty… I’ll be getting ready then.”

Yeji turned on her heel, exiting the room with a pep in her step. You watched her leave, an astonished expression drawn on your features before yelling out, “You don’t even know if you can come!”

“I think from what you’ve told me… Jisung seems like a bit of a pushover!” She poked her tongue out cheekily. You so badly wanted to tackle her to the ground and tickle her for teasing you. Although, she was definitely correct about the pushover part. You sighed as you stood. Something told you that you were going to regret this.

It’d been at least thirty minutes and you were still staring at the invitation on the table. How hard was it to make a damn phone call? The pit in your stomach seemed to deepen with every exhale. Like something was trying to eat you up from the inside out. What’s the worst thing he could say? No? As if you’d take that to heart….

Why the hell did you suddenly care so much about what Jisung thought about you. Because he was also friends with Chan? Because you’d be seeing all the people from your past, including your former best friend? You were spiralling and you knew it. You tapped your nails against the marble bench, arguing with yourself. This wasn’t worth it.

“Fuck this shit.” You muttered under your breath. You snatched the invitation from the table, prepared to tear it in half.

“That better be a phone call your making right now!” Yeji called from her room. You chewed on your bottom lip, hesitating. The piece of cardboard fell onto the table once more. Fine. You’d call him then.

You frowned as you entered his number. Hovering your finger over the call button, you closed your eyes before you pressed it. It was like trying to rip a band aid off. You placed the phone on the bench. It rang once. Twice. Then a click signalled it’d been picked up. You chewed on your bottom lip, turning on your heel as you tried to guess what he’d say. It was on speaker phone.

“What’s up Y/N?”

You scurried to the bench, leaning over it. “How’d you know it was me?”

“I have your number still saved, remember that art project?” You could basically hear the smile in his voice. That’d put you at ease. Embarrassment instead dusting your cheeks with a deep scarlet.

“Oh.” You responded bashfully. “I was wondering if I could bring a plus one?”

“Yeah, no worries! It’s pretty laidback. Chan’s coming by the way I forgot to tell you when I was giving you the invitation…” Jisung trailed off, “You know the venue, right?”

You nodded, as if he could see it. “Yeah, it’s the rooftop bar right?”

“Yep! I’ll see you soon then. I’m glad you’re coming this time.” His reassurance caused your shoulders to relax.

“Yeah, me too.” You exhaled, a laugh following it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You were ridiculously underdressed. You wondered if anyone would’ve noticed if you ran back home to get changed into one of Yeji’s sophisticated dresses. What a dream that’d be.

Instead, you stood, dressed in a comfortable beige cardigan. Not the kind of beige that painted the facility walls…. It was more of an off-white. Who were you kidding yourself. It was definitely the same lifeless cream colour. The only saving grace was the little red stars that decorated the cuffs. You thought it was cute. Definitely not cute enough for a high school reunion. But still cute, nonetheless. Maybe you should’ve read the dress code… then again, what kind of high school reunion had a dress code.

Your head was all over the place. Absolutely frazzled. The black cargo pants hung off your figure, resting snugly around your hips. You were comfortable that’s all that should’ve mattered. Yeji on the other hand, was all dolled up. She was dressed in a smart leather trench coat. The statement checkerboard high-heeled boots really sold the look. You didn’t really want to be the one to stand out anyway.

The venue was nicer than you remembered it to be. Violet lights hung from the ceiling; they were shaped like crystals. The flames from the torches outside lit the faces of the people. Their expressions shining through the orange-red light. It felt warm… familiar. A contrast to the stark purple. You were already out of your comfort zone. A part of you wondered if you’d rather be sitting in the group therapy session instead. Suddenly those metal chairs didn’t seem so uncomfortable after all.

The room was open, too open for your liking. There were no walls you could hide behind, bar the hallway for the toilets. The smile that was on your face began to waver slightly. Yeji hadn’t noticed it. She was infatuated with the music playing, a smirk playing on her features.

The bartenders were laughing, showing off their tricks while people at the bar watched in awe. The corner of your lip upturned. Fuck all of your anxieties. You headed straight for the alcohol, ignoring how Yeji struggled to keep up with your pace. The social butterflies were out mingling, and mindless chatter filled the air. Nothing interesting enough for you to eaves drop.

You had one mission tonight; to get drunk enough to make you extroverted. You’d been sober for so long that you knew it was going to hit you like a truck. Yeah, maybe it was a little self-destructive, but who said it couldn’t be fun at the same time? As long as it eased your nerves. Right?

“Hey! Can I please get a raspberry vodka?” You yelled, leaning over the bench that was slightly sticky. Sliding over one of the chairs, you made yourself comfortable.

Yeji sent you a look. “You’re playing it safe tonight.”

You placed a hand over your chest dramatically. “I’m starting it off light!”

To be completely honest, you didn’t know how much you’d actually be able to handle tonight. But you wouldn’t tell her that. Yeji found the excitement on your face hilarious. The drink was placed in front of you. She thanked the bar tender for you.

“He’s kind of cute.” Yeji stated, sliding onto one of the bottle-top chairs. You weren’t one to judge a girl’s type, but he was not yours. You dipped your head, sipping on your drink slowly. The sweet taste caused your skin to goosebump. It’d been way too long since you last did this.

A strong pair of arms cornered you in the seat from behind. They rested their hands on the bench top, almost encasing you in a hug. Your eyes trailed up one of the arms, smiling as you recognised the Australian that spoke. “Long time no see.”

You swivelled around in your seat. “Chan?”

You took in his appearance. His right eyebrow was slit. Your eyes trailed to his nose, noticing the shiny jewellery he now donned. He looked good. Too Good. There was a tattoo that slithered down his neck, it piqued your interest. He flashed you a charming smile. “That’s my name don’t wear it out.”

There was the Chan you remembered. The relentless flirt he was. You’d both promised each other you wouldn’t cross that line. It’d only complicate things. A giggle fell past your lips as you leant your arms against the bar top. He still towered over you as you tilted your head slightly. He knew you were analysing him. He squinted momentarily before drawing back.

“I actually wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck almost awkwardly. The sincerity in his tone made you frown. Part of you was glad that you proved him wrong. “Jisung must’ve plead really hard huh?”

He seemed nervous. It was endearing. You responded sarcastically, a mischievous glint in your eye. “He was on his knees and everything!”

Chan shook his head, smiling to himself. You missed this banter. The type of banter where you didn’t have to worry about any repercussions. You were just about to introduce him to Yeji. Glancing around you realised you’d lost her. Chan noticed the worry that’d crawled onto your face.

He gestured for you to look to the right. A smirk crawled onto your features. Sure enough, Yeji was leaning over the bar, twirling her hair as she smooth talked the cute bar tender. You shook your head in disbelief. “She’s better at this than me.”

Chan chuckled at your revelation. “Call it ditto on that one.”

“As if you couldn’t pull Channie, don’t lie to yourself.” You stated, trailing your eyes from his waist to his defined arms and then his face. He almost looked flushed under your gaze. Embarrassed. You pursed your lips in amusement before redirecting the conversation, “Are all the guys here?”

“You that eager to see them again?” He jested. You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to playfully push him out of the way. You couldn’t help but be a tad curious. After all, they were only boys when you knew them. Now it seemed like they were all men.

There was a nervous sort of flutter in the tone of your voice as you spoke, “Not necessarily, I’m surprised you actually approached me.”

A flash of hurt was evident on his face as he took in your words. You automatically wanted to apologise for your honesty. It was your own insecurities that’d made you say that. It was a bit of a low blow, even you could admit that. You tried to shrug the statement off, but you weren’t sure if he could as well.

“Well Minho’s late again.” Chan subtly changed the subject, wounded by your assumption about the friendship. “Doesn’t surprise me he always had an issue with being punctual.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to prove a point.”

“What point would that be.” Chan crossed his arms over his chest. Your eyes flickered to his flexed biceps. He’d definitely kept in shape in the last six years. You looked at his face again, hoping you hadn’t been caught ogling once more.

“Well he doesn’t need to listen to anyone but himself does he?” You pointed out, shrugging. “Unlike high school.” You mumbled the last part, taking a sip of your drink you’d nearly forgotten about. This conversation was way too sobering for you. You held up two fingers, signalling the bar tender once again for another refill.

“Let me take you over to the boys.” He held his hand out. You turned to finish the drink you were nursing, grabbing the extra one you’d ordered. You accepted his invitation, sliding your palm along his. Standing, you gripped onto his bicep as you quipped, “I’m sure they all barely remember me.”

You looked at him through your lashes as you sipped on the concoction, smiling smugly. He squinted down at you, “You downplay your influence.”

“Someone’s gotta keep me humble, may as well be myself.” You pushed against him, “And you haven’t been around so I gotta make up for it.”

He ran his tongue along his teeth, tutting softly. You tilted your head, watching how his expression changed. You felt a slight tingle in your fingers. Oh, this was not going to end well for you at all.

It was a little overwhelming. Being re-introduced to everyone in the friend group. Usually there were eight of them. As you trailed your eyes over the boys, you noticed one of them was missing. Definitely Minho.

“Y/N you came!” Jisung responded too earnestly, removing his hands from the shoulders of who you recognised as Felix and Hyunjin. Wow had they grown. They were all almost towering over you. “Where’s your plus one?”

Chan looked at you, an amused smile playing on his face. You glanced over your shoulder. “She’s a bit preoccupied flirting with the bartender.”

"Shame, she could be here flirting with me."

"Jisung—" You scolded him before turning to Felix. "How much has he had to drink?"

Felix chuckled, brushing back his frosty blue hair. "I've lost count to be honest." His admittance didn't exactly reassure you.

Eventually, the group had huddled around one of the many inviting couches. They were all playing some kind of stupid drinking game that involved taking items of clothing off. You were amazed that no one had been kicked out yet. Public indecency and all that.

The atmosphere was beginning to die down. Some people had already left. You on the other hand were lying down sideways on the couch with your head in Chan's lap. He ran his fingers through your hair, mindlessly fidgeting. He was nervous for his next turn, you could tell. You didn't mind it in the slightest. He'd been shirtless for a while now. You spared him the embarrassment and had your eyes closed. Partly because you were about three seconds away from dozing off with how relaxed you were.

Yeji had been chatting with the bar tender, who had now finished his shift. Part of you was amazed that she hadn't ditched the place and taken him back to the apartment. You smiled slightly, hoping she was having just as much fun as you were. You had forgotten how nice it was to socialise with like-minded people, dealing with anxiety and all.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom I'll be back." You mumbled, patting Chan's thigh softly. As you sat up, you took a moment to reorient yourself. Yeah you'd definitely rather be sitting down right now. Chan nodded, helping you get up without stumbling. He almost wanted to follow you to make sure you were okay.

You probably should've looked where you were going. Scratch that. You definitely should've looked where you were going. You had just made it around the corner before you felt a cold liquid splash all down your front. A gasp fell from your lips. The sensation was ice cold. You felt like you watched the incident happen in slow motion. The burgundy wine that hadn't been absorbed by your beige cardigan was now dripping on the hardwood floor. Making an even bigger mess. Of course this would happen to you.

An uncontrollable amount of anger surged through your bones as your skin prickled with embarrassment. You gazed upward at the instigator through your eyebrows. Immediately, your gaze softened as you realised who it was. Minho.

His gaze was piercing. It was almost like he was staring through you, and not at you. His jaw was clenched. He held his now near empty glass close to his chest. For some reason, you felt the need to apologize. His hair was now a scarlet red. It matched the eyeliner he had on. The makeup was delicate, barely emphasising his eyes.

He noticed how your cheeks dusted pink. He wasn't sure if it was from drinking or the embarrassment. Plenty of people had seen the accident. His eyes flickered down to your chest, the wine had completely saturated your cream cardigan. Oh well, it wasn't his fault. He waited patiently for you to move.

"You should really look where you're going." You mumbled almost defeatedly.

He squinted, tilting his head in a cat-like manner. "You should really buy me a new drink."

He emphasized his statement by pushing his glass into your hand. You swallowed harshly, worried that his grip would break it. You stumbled back slightly. He roughly brushed past you. Making sure to throw more weight into his shoulder. Out of pure spite, you let go of the glass. Cringing slightly as it shattered on the ground. It was sobering to say the very least.

This is how you would get kicked out. This is how you wanted to leave. You were never good at social functions. You should've known that by now. Safe to say it was time to throw your cardigan out.

Oh, and what a great fucking way to reintroduce yourself.

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hyunnielix · 8 months

Text

a sweet tooth that has freckles.

Series Masterlist

— felix x reader (f)

— word count: 3.7k

— genre: non-idol au, strangers to lovers/slow burn with eventual smut (not in this chapter sorry), angst (some?).

— warning's: Baker!Felix, mc struggles with self-doubt, anxiety and perfectionism, mentions of food, Roomate!Hyunjin, later parts of the series will contain explicit smut. mc deals with grief, the passing of her mother.

→ playlist on spotify

“This is probably going to be the weirdest question ever.” You stared at the path, refusing to make eye contact. “But are you using those brownies for anything in particular?” The blonde knitted his brows, glancing down at the clear container filled with sweet treats. “Not...” he lifted his gaze to your hands that you tried to cover with your beige sweater, “necessarily.” You noticed how his forehead creased in concern. He’d seen the grazes; red and irritated. He opened his mouth to speak. Quickly trying to divert his oncoming question, you blurted out, “Is there any chance I could borrow them?” And borrow them you did.

You couldn't count the amount of hours you had stared up at the ceiling that night. Paranoia rung in the back of your head, preventing you from sleep. An exhale passed through your lips. Palms resting across your stomach as you focused on breathing. You unconsciously grabbed your phone, checking the time. 3.15 am... only fifteen more minutes until your alarm went off.

Today was the day that your manager would let you display your own creations. A lot of strings had to be pulled, but Chan had eventually agreed upon one condition. They must sell well. Sure, it didn't seem like a scary feat, if the treats were good enough it should be no problem.

But there was always that insecurity... that sense of perfectionism that you could never shake. No matter how hard you tried. Hence why you were here, staring up at the ceiling instead of sleeping. Usually, to quiet the thoughts bouncing around in your brain you'd listen to music. But for now, all you could do was wallow in the possibilities and what if's.

Cursing, you sat upright. The kitchen was figuratively calling your name. You glanced at the slight crack in the door, watching how the light from the bathroom illuminated the laminated floorboards.

Anxiety baking... here you come.

By four am you had nearly every ingredient known to man splayed across your granite bench. Already three batches of different flavours of muffins cooling on wire racks. Orange and Oreo, Raspberry and Mint and lastly, Coffee and Salted Caramel (yes the coffee was the singular coffee bean decorating the top of the muffin - it still counts).

The last thing to come out of the oven was more so an experiment, mini cherry pie’s! The mixture of scents reminded you of lazy afternoons at the beach or having a picnic surrounded by friends. warm and fuzzy.

A smile crossed your features as you admired the golden-brown pastry. On cue, your stomach rumbled. You placed the hot tray on the bench, being particularly careful with the oven mitts. The last thing you’d want is to burn yourself—

You could imagine it, coming into work with bandages all over your hands. Chan shaking his head in utter disappointment. That may as well have contributed to your nightmares. Being scolded by Chan was worse than being scolded by a parent.

The next problem was choosing what muffin you would choose to showcase. You wondered if your roommate would kill you for waking them up at 4am to taste test muffins. The answer was probably. Hyunjin was big on beauty sleep, which you didn’t blame him for. You stared at his door for a little longer before deciding against it.

Instead, you placed a little plate on the bench, grabbing each one of your creations and displaying it cutely. You reached for the icing sugar, dusting it across the plate.

You left a little note behind, tucking it underneath:

treats for sleeping beauty (don’t worry there’s lots of flour)

- Y/N <3

It was decided. You would bring two of each.

You’d thought about the prospect before, owning your own little bakery. Maybe on the corner of a street, a cute little spot. One with just enough foot traffic to keep yourself afloat. Money was never the real reason for your ambitions. You wanted people to enjoy the pastries and sweets. To feel the same sense of warmth and comfort that you had.

When your mother would present you with her newest addition to her cookbook. A child spoilt, nurtured with love. Every bite reminded you of her. Her soft smile and comforting words. How gently she raised you, as best as she could as a single parent. You never really understood how difficult she had it.

She poured her love into her creations, the ones that you now tried to perfect. Although, you could never seem to get them right. There was always something missing, something that you couldn’t put your finger on.

A warmth on your cheeks surprised you. Wiping them with the pads of your fingertips, you realised you’d begun to cry.

Hyunjin was there to pick up the pieces, he’d offered for you to move in. You couldn’t bear to live in the same house without her around. Everything was a constant reminder of her absence. Freshly graduated, and living with your best friend in an apartment complex? It didn’t sound like a bad trade off. You often pondered the idea that whoever said grief got easier to live with was lying. Maybe you just hadn’t reached that point.

Grief was never-ending, a reflection of love that wasn’t able to be shared. It will forever be stuck in a loop. Hence why guilt and grief go hand in hand. You struggled to contain the tears. They were scorching against your skin, it felt like hot coals were placed against your cheeks.

Shaking your head, you tentatively grabbed one of the oreo and orange muffins off the wire rack. Lifting the treat to your lips, you hesitated. It was still warm. Softly biting into the treat, you frowned. It didn’t taste right. It didn’t taste good enough. Your breathing faltered, holding the back of your palm against your mouth as you tried to chew the rest of it. A soft sob escaped your lips. You tried desperately to quieten the whimpers, not wanting to wake up Hyunjin.

Some of the crumbs transferred onto your sweater. The muffin was thrown onto the floor, the collision with the wood was enough to send the confectionary flying in every direction imaginable. Another thing you’d have to clean up.

You exhaled softly. Stepping away from the bench, you turned around. Placing your hands on the wooden floorboards, you hoisted your bodyweight upward.

You were upside down, balancing your legs and feet on the cupboards behind you. It’s something your mother taught you. If you couldn’t stop crying, do a handstand. You held the position until your arms gave out on you, slowly crumbling to the floor. Just like the muffin had.

That episode had further reinforced the idea that you weren’t a morning person. You tried to fake your optimism, carefully placing the muffins in a large cardboard takeaway box. They looked presentable enough.

You closed your eyes, feeling the first rays of morning sunlight hit your face. It was warmth. She was there, in the sun. Telling you it would be alright, easing your anxieties. The grip on the cardboard box tightened as you opened your eyes. The colours of the leaves shone a little differently in the light, voluminous greens and oranges. The seasons were changing. You always found that the most precious time. When the trees shed their old leaves, new colours and experiences arising. Maybe in another life you were a tree.

The fluffy clouds decorating the sky looked more like cotton candy. A part of you wanted to reach up and pluck them out and put them on a stick. Due to your attention being elsewhere, you were unable to see the branch laying across the gravel path.

Your body went careening forward, unable to protect yourself. Everything ached as you hit the ground. The box of muffins now lay, scattered across the gravel and grass. The skin of your hands raw from breaking the fall. You slowly sat upright, gathering your bearings.

A sigh fell from your lips. Brushing the back of your hand against your forehead. What the hell were you going to do now? You couldn’t just show up empty handed. Sorry Chan, I was a clumsy idiot and ruined every thing I baked this morning because I wasn’t watching where I was going. No that wouldn’t suffice.

You glanced behind you. It was way too late for you to begin walking back home. Checking your watch, which miraculously came out unscathed, it read: 4:48am.

You had work in approximately twelve minutes.

Picking up what was left of the muffins, you attempted to dust the dirt and grime off them. You weren’t going to salvage any of them at this rate. A weird substance had begun to seep into the cardboard box. You glanced down at your palms, realising the adrenaline had prevented you from feeling the damage.

Shallow wounds on each of your hands were decorated with maroon, mixed in with pebbles and granite. The dull aching became worse as you stared. You’d have to disinfect that for sure. Deflated, you picked up the remainder of the ruined sweets.

You continued walking, the breeze against your face felt icy. Lacking any sort of comfort you needed right now. You began to squint, noticing a figure in the distance following the same path.

Eventually, you caught up to the stranger. Hanging behind them slightly. Your eyes raked up and down his figure before landing on the clear container resting between his arm and ribcage. A lightbulb went off in your head.

“Hey- Uhm, excuse me.” You mumbled, reaching forward to tap on the stranger's shoulder. He paused, pulling out an earphone that now hung down his front. The stranger turned his body to face you.

Your mouth parted slightly. Freckles like constellations decorated the tops of his cheeks. He tilted his head slightly, like a confused puppy. The corner of his eyes crinkling slightly at the abrupt interruption. His blonde hair was quite long, styled at the front in fluffy waves.

He raised his brow. “Are you alright?” His voice was gruff, deep, a complete contrast to how he presented himself. You swallowed harshly, not expecting that in the slightest.

He was dressed in a multi-toned beige sweater, long cargo pants protecting him from the chilly weather. You averted your eyes, glancing down at the box of brownies he was carrying.

“This is probably going to be the weirdest question ever,” you stared mindlessly at the treats, refusing to make eye contact. “But are you using those brownies for anything in particular?”

A slight blush dusted your cheeks. Unable to process the notion of rejection, it was already embarrassing enough as it was. Asking a complete stranger if you could steal their food? It was official, you had lost your mind. The blonde knitted his brows, glancing down at the clear container filled with sweet treats. “Not necessarily.” There was a hint of amusement in his tone. He lifted his gaze to your hands that you tried to cover with your cream sweater.

You noticed how his forehead creased in concern. He’d seen the irritated grazes; the blood was beginning to dry on your palms. It felt disgusting. He opened his mouth to speak. Quickly trying to avert his oncoming question, you blurted out, “Is there any chance I could borrow them?”

“Borrow?”

“Okay, I could trade but my offerings are kind of ruined, hence the borrowing.” You explained. He noticed how panicky your movements were, opening up the cardboard box to reveal your ruined creations. The corner of his lips downturned.

He pondered for a moment, before nodding. “I’ll let you have them. But we need to take care of that first.” He pointed to your hands and the sweater that you’d now stained. The maroon substance had now turned an ugly shade of brown.

You sheepishly smiled. “I don’t really have any disinfectant or wipes, and I’m going to be late.”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his pretty lips. “Don’t worry about that, I’ve got hand sanitizer.” You tilted your head in confusion, “And tissues.” He reiterated.

The stranger reached into his back pocket, pulling out both of said items.

“Allergies.” He shrugged, in relation to the tissues. You nodded, that made sense. The warmth in your palms was becoming unbearable against the cardboard. He placed the brownies on the ground. You mimicked him, dropping your box on the floor. There was a certain carelessness in your actions that caught his attention. He tucked the tissues under his arm.

He stepped forward tilting his head slightly, “May I?”

Searching your eyes for confirmation, he held the hand sanitiser outward. You nodded slightly, holding your palms toward him. He winced slightly at the state of the wounds, beginning to fold the sleeves of your sweater up for you. The blood stains were covered by the material, at least you wouldn’t have to change.

That may have been a food and safety health violation, but you were going to ignore it.

“This is going to hurt a little, I’m sorry.” His eyes sparkled with concern, a frown tugging at his lips as he hesitated. You pursed your lips. He squeezed the bottle slowly, allowing the alcoholic substance to seep into each wound.

You slightly hissed through your teeth, “You have nothing to apologise for it was my fault in the first place.” You rubbed the substance into the wound, closing your eyes as the stinging became worse. It felt like a million tiny needles pricking your skin. Not the most pleasant experience. “Thank you for helping me. It’s not every day that you meet kind strangers.”

You almost mumbled the last part. He quirked his brow, holding out the packet of tissues for you to take. “Why do you say that?”

The tip of your finger brushed against his as you took the packet. The touch felt like electricity, you glanced up at him wondering if he felt it too. Instead, he was staring at you with curiosity. You focused on cleaning up your palms, the pain dulling slightly. You’d still have to wash them out when you got to work. right, work. You were going to be late.

“I have to go. I’m late.”

He bent down, picking up the clear container of brownies before handing them to you. His smile was soft, understanding. You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose, reciprocating the smile. The sun had come out once more, this time you weren’t sure if it was standing in front of you. “Sounds like you need them a lot more than I do.”

You bowed, dipping your head as you took the treats from him. “Thank you again.” The sincerity laced in your voice wasn’t unnoticed. He dug his hands into the pockets of his pants, watching you intently.

You turned around, beginning to walk away before hesitating. Glancing over your shoulder, you spoke, “Come visit sunshine espresso, I’ll give you a free coffee! on the house.”

You checked your watch, cursing under your breath before taking off in a sprint. You waved to the stranger, smiling as you saw him begin to laugh. You hoped you’d made his day as much as he had made yours.

Clumsy was definitely going to be your new nickname. The amount of times the string of your apron had slid out of your fingers was beginning to frustrate you. Attempting once more, you gave up on knotting the piece of fabric.

“You’re late again!” A teasing voice proclaimed, you rolled your eyes. A part of you felt relieved knowing it was Jisung and not Chan. Sungie as you’d like to affectionately call him was quite a playful individual. Nothing really phased him, until it did. Then he’d bring the whole world down with him. He was quite chaotic, but you liked that about him.

“This time it really wasn’t my fault, a very convincing branch told me that I should give up and go home.” You mumbled, feeling a slight tugging on the string around your waist. You held the material against your stomach as he knotted the apron. You thanked him softly, turning around.

“Well the tree branch didn’t try hard enough, you’re still here!” Jisung stated, hand placed on his hip. You laughed at his statement, playfully pushing against his chest so you could pass him. Container of brownies in hand.

Whoever closed yesterday did a brilliant job, the back was absolutely spotless. You admired how clean it was, continuing out to the front. You loved watching the sunrise from behind the counter in the mornings. It was peaceful.

“Chan’s not here yet?” You questioned, turning around against the counter. Placing the box down, you splayed your hands against the bench.

He shook his head, standing beside the coffee machine. “Nope! I opened all by myself.”

You pouted, teasingly. “Aww poor sungie! can’t leave you with that much responsibility.”

“Okay now you’re just being mean! go do your job before I tell on you.”

You grinned at him, knowing he was joking. Turning around, you used the tongs laid above the cabinet to grab the brownies. Unclipping the sides of the container. You slowly filled the cabinet, taking your time to merchandise them in an enticing way.

“What do we have here?” He sang sweetly, glancing over your shoulder at the treat’s you’d brought. You tried to shoo him away, unfortunately it just ended in a fit of giggles.

“H-Homemade brownies!” You finally managed, closing the sliding doors to the cabinet. Jisung’s expression had softened. You fell silent as you realised what he’d been staring at.

“Y/N your hands...”

“Oh...” You glanced down at them, frowning. They'd started bleeding again. “Yeah I was going to sort that out, do we have any bandaids?”

“Did you fail first aid?” He sassily quipped. You shot him an annoyed glare. He placed his hand on your back, guiding you toward the baker’s bench. “They’re out the back, should be a box in the office.”

The amount of bandaid's it took to cover the grazes was ridiculous. You felt a bit like an idiot. They weren't even neutral colours! They were cutesy hello kitty ones, pink and purple. Oh well... they should be able to withstand the day.

As you returned to the front, your mouth fell open at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Hey!”

“I just wanted to try one.” Jisung mumbled through the brownie he was currently devouring. Crumbs had fallen all over the bench next to the coffee machine. You huffed dramatically; you were going to have to clean that.

He held his hands in front of his mouth sheepishly. “These taste really familiar.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “What are you talking about?”

He looked puzzled. Then as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head he yelled, "I got it!" Jisung waved his finger accusingly. “These are Felix’s recipe!”

You squinted, leaning against the bench next to him. “Whose Felix?”

“My roommate.” He stated, matter of factly as he wiped the crumbs off his face. "Care to explain?"

A sigh fell from your lips as you hung your head forward. There was no point lying to him now. He already knew. You were done for.

"If you couldn't use context clues, I tripped over and ruined the muffins I was supposed to bring in."

He shook his head, "and I thought I was the clumsy one."

You rolled your eyes as he tilted his head, "Wait that still doesn't explain—"

"I bumped into him along the way here and he was so kind as to let me borrow them." His face softened at your explanation of the eventful morning. He smiled lazily, "That definitely sounds like Felix."

"Don’t know where he was going at 5 in the morning though, especially with brownies... I guess you’ll have to ask him about that one." You grabbed one of the nearest cloths, forcing Jisung to move so you could clean his mess. He muttered a sorry under his breath.

"All I hear is chatting right now," Chan poked his head from around the corner. You jumped at the sound of the aussie, turning around to face him. He was wearing casual clothes, all black as usual. What was with him and the lack of colour in his wardrobe?

“I swear I’m getting work done.” You almost whined. Chan flashed you a warm smile. It made you feel more at ease about the whole situation. “I can see that.” He gestured towards the now full cabinet.

You glanced over at Jisung. His cheeks were once again full of brownie, caught in the act as Chan shook his head. Crumbs had fallen onto the floor as he scoffed yet another one. You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. Someone had obviously skipped out on breakfast.

“Alright don’t choke on it!” Chan warned, crossing his arms over his chest. Jisung carefully slid the cabinet closed once again, having demolished at least two of the treats.

“Whoever decided to put freeze dried coffee in brownies is a genius!” Jisung stated, smiling dumbly as he rubbed his stomach through the apron. You shot an amused look at Chan.

Chan raised his brow, surprise evident on his features. He turned toward you. “You made coffee brownies?”

Your eyes darted to Jisung. You hoped to hell he’d play along with your little charade. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes. You shook your head subtly, as a warning. “Yeah! I thought it’d make it unique.”

You cringed at the lie that rolled of your tongue. Jisung bit on his lower lip to prevent him from laughing at how uncomfortable you looked. He almost wanted to take a photo of your expression. It was priceless.

"Alright, well I just came to check up on the open, I'll be back at three." Chan’s voice lowered, directing his attention to Jisung. "You eat any more of those brownies and you'll be paying for Y/N's next batch yourself."

Jisung smiled cheekily while nodding. He glanced at you, trying to suppress a laugh. As soon as Chan had left, you rested your forehead against the wooden bench. A groan escaped your mouth. "This is so going to bite me in the ass." You side eyed Jisung. "I'm going to have to ask Felix for the recipe, aren't I?"

He simply shrugged; amusement evident on his face. Oh this was going to be so much fun.

154 notes · View notes

hyunnielix · 8 months

Text

Prelude: The Invitation

Prelude of Maroon

Series Masterlist

— lee minho x reader (f)

— word count: 1.3k

— genre: non-idol au, acquaintances to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, right person wrong time/place typa beat

— warnings: mention of sexual abuse, mc has a lot of baggage emotional and physical. group therapy?

The room was a light cream colour. The kind of colour that was used to represent that homely kind of feeling. The kind of bland colour that shouted PAINT ME! COLOUR ME! Almost like a blank canvas to a kid who held crayons. You could imagine the scribbles decorating the walls; clumsily drawn red carnations and zoo animals…. Something friendly and not so dull and lifeless.

In some ways the colour represented you.

The bag you held had become creased under the amount of pressure you’d forced onto it. Your hands were crumpled like paper. The material under your nails had felt somewhat grounding. An exhale fell from your lips as you closed your eyes. Only a few more sessions. You kept reassuring yourself that you’d be out of here soon. No more mandatory treatment due to court order. No more wasted Wednesday afternoons. No more condescending therapists.

The opaque glass in the windows of the door stared straight back at you. It had felt like a taunt; you can’t see through me like I can see through you. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as ditching the sessions. (you’d tried that once before and it ended up with a longer court sentence much to your dismay).

So here you stood, swallowing what was left of your pride. Holding your head high, you swung the doors open. Frowning immediately at the same old familiar faces. They sat in a circle on metal chairs that looked two seconds away from falling apart. They were the most uncomfortable seats ever. You’d rather be forced to sit on a patch of prickles. Unfortunately, they preferred to keep you all inside. As if that’d make it any less depressing. In a gloomy room with those damn cream-coloured walls. Your inner architectural designer was screaming expletives.

No one had acknowledged that you were late. Even Minji, the therapist. She’d just sat, hands in her lap nodding consistently at whatever spiel one of the regulars was on. You rolled your eyes, plopping yourself down in one of the seats. The chair creaked unceremoniously. Minji had spared you a glance for a split second as you manspreaded. It was the only way to feel somewhat comfortable. Majority of the room were men as well, so once again you were a singled-out factor... well apart from So-hee, though she didn’t speak much.

That wasn’t even the worst part about the sessions. You’d been recognized by someone who you’d gone to high school with. Not to make it even more unbearable or embarrassing. Han Jisung sat to your right. At first, you couldn’t tell if he was staring daggers into the back of your head when you’d first joined. Turns out he just had a really bad staring problem, that, or tended to completely dissociate. A part of you preferred to believe the latter.

He was a sweet kid. You weren’t in the same friendship groups, but you were paired together for a couple of projects before. He was nerdy but endearing. You’d been invited to many of their get togethers because you were mutual friends with Chan. The ones that you actually showed up to? They were few and far between. That all felt like a lifetime ago now. You wondered what had happened for him to be stuck here. Although you couldn’t really talk, he was probably wondering the same thing about your situation.

A poke to your shoulder broke you out of the bitter reminiscing. You glanced at Jisung as he sat back, a soft smile on his features. You tilted your head; he really reminded you of a squirrel or a quokka… something along those lines.

“Y/N? are you with us today?” The condescension in Minji’s voice had caused your shoulders to tense. Interrupting your stream of consciousness.

You sighed exhaustedly. “What was the question again?”

“Have you done the homework?”

What was this? Math class? You sat up as she basically spat the question in your face. The rest of the group were silent, staring straight at you. Usually in these kinds of situations you’d get anxious, but every flying fuck you previously gave had evaporated. You didn’t care what these people thought of you. Okay, maybe Jisung but bar the rest.

“I like how I’m patient, I think it’s my best trait.”

“How so?” She prodded deeper.

You scrunched your nose up, venom in your tone. “I can take it again and again and again and no longer flinch or talk back.”

You watched the way Minji swallowed. She was shocked by your honesty. You could read her pretty easily. She was a bad therapist, that was an objective fact. You never really understood the idea behind paying someone to listen to your problems. However, since this was a mandatory government requirement you assumed she was getting paid through the nose. After all, this was all voluntary for her.

The chair wobbled as you stood abruptly. “Are we done for today? because I showed up, so I think that means you have to sign it off.”

Minji let out a sigh of relief, shrugging. She wanted you gone it was obvious. She waved her hand to dismiss you. Deciding to play on it for a bit longer, you took your time to curtsy dramatically. Shooting her a deadly smirk. A slight blush dusted her cheeks. She was embarrassed by your display. Good. She deserved a taste of her own medicine.

You glanced over your shoulder, slugging your bag on your back. “You coming?”

Jisung’s eyes almost bulged out of his head, pointing to himself cluelessly. You nodded repeatedly. Turning around, you walked casually towards the door. Ignoring the countless pairs of eyes following your trail. Jisung scampered after you, causing a giggle to escape from your mouth. Oh, you were definitely a bad influence.

It was much calmer outside. The sky was crystal blue, clear and open. Unlike the confines of the facility, the bland popcorn ceiling was the most interesting thing about that place. You kicked the tip of your shoe against the dirt, satisfied by the crunching sounds of sand.

“Why’d you do that?” Jisung for the first time had spoken up. You glanced at him, staring at his face over your shoulder. He seemed confused. His brows were furrowed, lips pulled taut.

“Why?” You spun around to fully face him. “I just saved you, sheesh Jisung have a little gratitude.” He automatically looked towards the ground, nervous under your stare. “I’m not going to bite you—”

You shrugged, smiling unnervingly. “Or maybe I will, I like getting a reaction out of people.”

His eyes locked with yours as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. Your gaze softened. Had your hard ass personality really scared him off that much? You knew that your lack of filter usually got you in hot water, but you never thought it was intimidating. Maybe he was scared you’d call him out on something. The corner of your lip twitched. That was probably the reason he hadn’t told you why he was here.

“Actually.” He stepped forward, fidgeting with his sweater paws. “I wanted to give you this, I was trying to build up the courage to.” He pulled a maroon envelope out of his back pocket. Now this piqued your interest. He held it toward you with a pleading look in his brown eyes.

You sceptically raised your brow. “Tell me what it is first.”

“It’s an invitation to a high school reunion, it seems weird since it was only six years ago, but a lot can change in that amount of time.” He paused, “Well, people can change.”

You noticed his hesitation, carefully plucking the envelope from him. “I’ll think about it.”

“Make this one of those gatherings you actually show up to.” He sent you a lazy smile, a welcoming one. You couldn’t help but flash him one back. Your fingers brushed over the cardboard like material, staring at the deep red, no… maroon coloured invitation.

32 notes · View notes

hyunnielix · 8 months

Text

Maroon | Lee Minho.

High school reunions weren't really your thing... the man who had stained your cardigan? that was a different story. (series)

Series Masterlist

— Prelude: The Invitation

— Ⅰ. Scarlet Dusted Cheeks

— Ⅱ. After Party Blues

— Ⅲ. Screw Top Rosé

57 notes · View notes

hyunnielix · 9 months

Text

「𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕」 · scene v

❝𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.❞

WC: 8.2k (35 min. avg. reading time)

⚠ — Self-worth/intimacy issues, sexual tension, body worshipping, oral sex (m, f) penetrative unprotected sex, creampie (see masterlist for more).

★ No longer accepting tag requests. Please turn on notifications if you wish to be updated || @jetblackbelle @biribarabiribbaem @cutiespaghetti @inniescandy-01 @straywrds @chlodavids @kileidoscope @seosalad @idkluvutellme @tenshimara @skzworldx @svintsandghosts @hazyspirts @dramaticnobody @vixensss @miin17 @drhsthl @obeythemasters @fairy-jojo @frozenpeasworld @chans1aptop @guiltycoco @starsandrqindrops @nyasstars @stayconnecteed @shiningnono @auslngaq

※ This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only.

It had been a while since you and Chris worked on a project together, and especially after the night you filmed him, it was kind of helping your mentality to not see him in a… work context. You were able to delude yourself into thinking he was just an actor doing his thing out there, and you were doing just fine ignoring all reality by playing dodgeball with the conversation you needed to have with yourself.

What conversation? There’s nothing to have a conversation about.

You may not have been working together, but it didn’t really make much difference because Chris kept running into you very much on purpose. Appearing at your sets every once in a because he was allegedly bored, dropping by your office for the fuck of it, randomly asking what you were craving right then and bringing that or the closest thing he could find packed as a lunch for two to eat with you…

All of which would have been perfectly fine if the magnitude of your crush on Chris wasn’t currently about two galaxies wide.

It was obviously flirting galore whenever you saw each other, but you started noticing another side of him that you hadn’t previously experienced.

Underneath all those layers of cockiness, the man was actually a premium-quality dork.

His smugness towards you had mostly dissolved by then. He was indeed more lovable than a Tasmanian devil, and he felt free to be infinitely silly, but only when he was alone with you. You had no idea what prompted the exclusive access privileges to this much softer side of him, but as a horrible side effect, it was fueling your possessiveness over Chris, which completely clouded your professional judgement.

Especially when Alexis was in question.

One day when you were feeling particularly annoyed by her cunt behavior, you straight up decided to forget to tell her about a filming location change. Out of pure pettiness. But when you came to your senses shortly after, you were actually quite ashamed of yourself.

“Just what the fuck am I doing?”

Yes, Chris was exhibiting some signs of vulnerability, but it didn’t necessarily… mean anything. He wasn’t… putting the moves on you per se. Why would he anyway? It was just his brazen self, and he was just feeling comfortable around you.

Comfortable enough to masturbate right next to you?

He is a porn performer.

That wanted you right next to him.

That happens on set every day.

He has sex with you a lot in his head.

I’m just a face. Everybody fantasizes.

Then why did he cum that hard when you said you loved him?

This needed to stop. You urgently needed to save your ass before you fell any deeper into the quicksand because you were running out of ways to refute yourself.

“Guess what I have for you right here,” Jisung knocked on your office door.

“Looks like a script, smells like a script, so I’m gonna say… a script.”

“Correct!” he put the file he was holding on your desk, “The writer specifically requests you to direct this.”

“Are you fucking SERIOUS?!” you screamed, slamming your hands on the table. Jisung burst into one of his heartfelt laughters at your extreme reaction.

Unless you were hired as a director in the first place, the rite of passage to directorship was literally quantified at Petite Mort. You had to have produced a certain number of minutes for projects that required cinematography work much like a pilot trying to obtain a license.

“I– I don’t know what to say! I wasn’t even aware I hit my numbers,” you stood up and bowed to Jisung as hyperbolically as you could manage, “I humbly thank the scriptwriter for the opportunity.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gratitude in person because it’s not me,” Jisung informed you with a knowing smile, “You actually haven’t filled your quota yet. Anita was very impressed by the script, so she made an exception and agreed to the writer’s terms.”

“Then who is it?”

“Look inside.”

You grabbed the folder and turned to the first page, and there it was, right under the title.

Rébellion Romantique —C. B.

“No… no way,” your voice came out very tiny as you looked at Jisung.

“Yes way, indeed. Apparently, everyone’s favorite Aussie has one hell of a pen.”

Your heart fell to your stomach in the best sense of the expression possible. You had no idea he had started writing again. Not only did he start and finish a script, but he also wanted you to direct this?

Your eyes darted to the synopsis right under the title.

After divorcing her husband and finally getting out of the cage of lovelessness, Tina embarks on a journey to rewrite everything she knows about desire and pleasure. Throughout her encounters with all kinds of people, she eventually discovers what love truly means to her. A tribute to the female gaze, human pleasure, and everything left unspoken.

This was supposed to be a script for porn. Fucking porn. Then why were you overcome with this urge to cry all of a sudden?

Oh, you loved this. You absolutely adored this.

“I’ll be your producer for what looks like our flagship production,” Jisung spoke with an utterly endeared look on his face, “Do you have some time to discuss casting?”

Why, yes, maybe your schedule was completely free for the foreseeable future to discuss everything about this project.

Chris had penned such an intricate scenario that the cast was going to be the most crowded one to date because it even included an orgy midway through the story. It automatically meant you had to swallow your pettiness regarding all the decisions made about this movie and be completely professional.

You forbade yourself to treat it like it was personal. Because it wasn’t.

Nevertheless, you and Jisung both had to compromise on one singular matter— after a lot of back and forth, you agreed to keep Alexis as part of the cast, and he agreed not to give her the lead role. You both landed on Kristen instead.

“I think Hyunjin would make a better antagonist than Cole,” you pointed at the character sheet, “The dude has some sinister charms to him, don’t you think?”

“I’ll have the security ready for when Chris walks into the set maybe. They are at each other’s throats on sight,” Jisung uttered with genuine concern and then looked at you with a tinge of reservation, “Which leaves us with our main love interest. Are you sure about this?”

You took a deep breath. You were matching performers to characters for the better half of the past hour, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to place Chris anywhere. Nothing felt ‘just right’ when he was in question. A side role where he barely showed on screen wouldn’t do him justice. This could actually be his big break in the erotic cinema community. On the other hand, giving him the male lead meant that you were going to have to—

Don’t treat it like it’s personal.

You shook your head and snapped out of it.

“Yes,” you responded resolutely, “Yes, I am.”

The day of your first shoot felt like the first day of school for you. A bit of dread of the unknown, a bit of nervousness, but overall anticipation maximized. You greeted the crew and made your way towards the director’s chair, where you had an uninvited guest waiting for you.

“Chris?” you put your bag down, “What are you doing here?”

“Well, good morning to you, too,” he brightly smiled, “Didn’t Jisung tell you I was coming? I’m here to watch you direct.”

“Talk about micromanaging,” you retorted with excessive amounts of sarcasm.

“It’s not that. I’m here to gain experience,” he sat right next to the director’s chair, “Consider me as your intern.”

“Fine, but if you’re going to hang around, I need you to be on your absolute best behavior, okay?” you picked up the copy of the script crawling with your notes on it, “Don’t make a scene.”

“We’re literally on a set, though.”

“Chris!”

“Yes, boss,” he gestured zipping his lips.

You and Jisung walked towards your performers to go over their directions one last time, then took your seats and let the games begin.

“Quiet on set,” you commanded the entire crew with a firm tone and turned to the screen in front of you, “Action!”

When you started the scene, Chris turned to his left and started observing you instead. You occupying the director’s chair was nothing short of a queen sitting on a throne. You belonged there. The way you were talking to the performers just now… It was almost like you were telling a partner what you liked and what you wanted them to do to you in a very straightforward fashion. There was literally an entire movie unfolding right in front of him, not to mention something he wrote himself, but all Chris could do was watch you be an utter professional. Your passion was a beautiful thing to witness.

He felt… proud watching you.

Even when the scene started morphing into an extremely steamy sight, you were completely unfazed, watching the screen with sheer seriousness as if you were watching a courtroom drama. He was looking for indications that you were getting turned on, but there wasn’t one obvious physical sign. No irregular breathing, no restless wriggling, no hint of increasing body temperature.

Only your blown pupils.

Chris, on the other hand, was about to cross a dangerous threshold of arousal to the point of losing his mind a little bit because he couldn’t stop associating the scene with you.

Because the acts he was witnessing were the very things that he wanted to do to you.

He couldn’t help it. At a moment of sudden onset incontinence, he subtly pressed his leg against yours, causing you to briefly turn in his direction, but he was seemingly watching the scene with undivided attention. Then he placed his arm on the right armrest of your chair, and his fingers brushed against yours.

Your heart started thumping in your chest all of a sudden.

The antsiness he was looking forward to seeing all along finally started to manifest itself in you. You pressed your leg against him with a tinge more pressure. His little finger started caressing yours with imperceptible movements to the naked eye. You kept stealing touches from each other throughout that whole scene, and by the end of it, you were both properly frustrated by how much you wanted each other.

However…

The reality was that there was an invisible line drawn between you that shouldn’t be crossed. You weren’t two people that crossed paths under normal circumstances.

And what was worse, Chris was community property.

“Good work today,” you hurriedly removed yourself from the set before giving Chris a chance to say something to fluster you into oblivion, “See you on Monday at 6 AM.”

Still simmering in that inhumane levels of arousal, you left the building so fast that you actually made it home in record time.

After a questionably long shower, you decided to set up your ‘ritual’ setting in your room. Balcony door open and letting a very nice breeze in, sexy as fuck melodies looped in the background and coming out of your speakers in a hushed volume, the dark amber candles dangerously reminding you of Chris lit up to set the mood, a glass of cold rosé, and a bullet vibrator. You sat down on your desk, but not to write. You were about to do some editing tonight.

Everything was ready and in place, but when you opened the editing software, you were greeted by a warning.

Remaining time: 90 minutes. Insert your portable license or purchase one by following the link.

Then you looked at your USB hub to notice it was indeed empty.

“Oh, fucking great,” you grabbed your phone to call Jisung.

“Yo!”

“Ji, tell me you’re at the office, please.”

“Yup.”

“Do you mind checking my desk to see if I left my portable license there? It’s a little black USB. Otherwise I’m going to panic my ass off.”

“Hang on a second.”

You heard his footsteps and the sound of a door opening in your receiver, and Jisung broke the news to you.

“Yeah, it’s on your desk here.”

“Oh, thank god,” you relaxed in our chair, “Do you mind dropping it off at my place when you get out?”

“Actually, I can’t. I’m taking Anita to dinner tonight.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“I can’t and I WON’T!” he yelled on the other line, “But I can send Kyle to drop it off. That okay with you?”

“You’re awesome, thanks,” then you offered a piece of unsolicited advice, “And don’t forget to take tissues with you. You drool a little too hard over her.”

“You shut the fuck up and I love you.”

Relieved that you would soon have uninterrupted access, you found no harm in using the time you have left. You carefully inserted the vibrator inside you and got to work like this was a very normal course of action for creative endeavors.

You had been contemplating working on this for some time now, but you were a bit hesitant about watching it. It was the footage of Chris you filmed after the party, and now that you were actually on the director’s chair and properly riled up after that workday, you were feeling particularly… inspired.

I can always tell when you get wet because your scent gets denser. And now you’re getting wet just by looking at me across the table.

It was true. Chris didn’t need any gimmicks or try hard to seduce people; he was a natural. He had that irresistible charm to him that rendered anyone defenseless with one look. It was worse that he knew that because he abused his powers on you for his personal entertainment way too frequently.

I don’t give a fuck if you’re driving. I won’t be able to wait until we get home.

Why was it that when he said the most brazen things at the most random places it was an immediate turn on? What the fuck kind of wizardry was that his shamelessness was bringing out the worst in you, the very things that you were suppressing to masquerade as a normally functioning human being?

I have you right where I want you, and you’re melting.

You hated how true it was. You weren’t a person with weak willpower per se, but when it came to Chris, you always found yourself justifying why you were letting him charm you so. You hated how much you enjoyed this. You despised how it made your ego violently cum every time he insinuated he wanted you.

Everyone who drives by knows what we’re doing, but we don’t give a fuck. We just want each other. They’re watching us. They wish they were us.

Ever since the very first time you met him, at the very back burner of your imagination, you had always wondered about it. You wondered what it was like to fuck him. You wondered what it was like to have him pleasure you. You wondered whether he was indeed capable of making you forget about what was socially acceptable and have you surrender to him at will, completely erasing everything from your consciousness besides him and the pure rapture he was inducing in you.

What a fucking fascinating underworldly creature of lust you are.

You were so submerged in your autoerotic inner monologue that your heart almost stopped when the doorbell rang.

“Jesus fucking christ!” you jumped in your seat, “Just a second!”

You gingerly removed the bullet, shoved it inside your drawer, and darted to answer the door.

“Kyle, thank you s— Chris?!”

“You asked for delivery?”

Okay, but maybe, just maybe were you in possession of manifestation powers because…

“I thought Kyle was going to come over.”

“Yeah, I may have eavesdropped on their conversation a little bit,” he grinned at you and handed you the USB, “Here.”

“Thank you so much. I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

“No worries. My services are not free, though, so you’re totally buying me drinks later,” he teased with a wink and started descending the stairs, “Good night.”

“Actually…!”

You had started that sentence a bit too loudly for your own good, but it at least managed to turn Chris around.

“I’ve just opened a bottle of wine if you’d like to join me.”

All of a sudden, his teasing demeanor was, poof, gone.

“I uh– I don’t mean to intrude if…”

“Well, you kinda did anyway. You know where I live now,” you stepped aside and opened the door for him to come in. He climbed three steps back up and let himself into your apartment with somewhat of a bashful smile.

As you led him to your living room, Chris examined your place as if he was in a museum. The framed posters in the hallway, the colors of your walls, the furniture you owned, the things you chose to decorate. There was a pleasant ambery scent everywhere, and it was tickling his nostrils.

When you brought his glass and sat next to him, you were hit with the realization that Chris was actually in your apartment, sitting on your sofa. You were in shorts and a gigantic t-shirt with flower-patterned flip-flops on your feet.

All of a sudden it felt way too intimate.

“You ran so fast I couldn’t even tell you how awesome you were on set today,” Chris finally spoke.

“Thank you,” you sheepishly smiled at him, “I’m not gonna pretend your presence there wasn’t pressuring, though.”

“Why is that?”

“I mean, it’s your script, hello?” you pointed at him, “That’s like getting your homework checked by your teacher.”

He laughed heartily and sat more comfortably on the couch.

“Come on, I’m just a rookie here.”

“I don’t believe in seniority when it comes to creativity,” you responded in a serious tone.

A brief silence followed as you sipped on your drinks. After contemplating for some time, you finally decided to scratch the itch at the back of your brain.

“Why did you want me to direct this? Jisung would have done a wonderful job.”

“I agree, but he’s a man,” he rested his head on his hand, “This is Tina’s story. It would be a little hypocritical not to consult to the vision of an insanely talented woman, don’t you reckon?”

You felt yourself blushing a bit too intensely and averted your eyes. It really meant a lot to you that he was thinking of you this way.

“Thank you. Really.”

“My absolute pleasure,” his dimples replied on his behalf, “Did you notice anything interesting about her?”

“Was I supposed to?”

He didn’t answer and just stared at you with a vague smile, which prompted you to review all the knowledge you had about Tina. A recent divorcée questioning a lot of things, tempted by her curiosity to find answers. She was indulging in things most people considered filth, things they would shame her for, but at the very end of the day she was only in pursuit of happiness and trying to muster the courage she had lost somewhere along the way. She was one hell of a woman this Tina Frank.

Tina Frank.

Tina.

“If you don’t mind me asking what’s Tina short for exactly?” you asked Chris with creased brows.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “Could be many things. Martina, Christina, Valentina…”

“Christina,” you emphasized, but you were actually asking him a question.

“Could you top me up, please?” he raised you his unfinished glass with a smile.

You obliged and didn’t attempt to drag the conversation on further after that, but it shifted something in you.

A tribute to the female gaze, human pleasure, and everything left unspoken.

You would bitch about his brazenness a lot, complaining that he didn’t know how to be subtle at all, but it turned out Chris could be extremely subtle when he wanted to. You were never going to be able to look at this story the same way again.

“Did you manage to find any other bomb-ass places lately?” you handed him his glass again with nonchalance, “I think we should be able to appreciate things besides hotdogs, too.”

“Wait till I tell you about the pizzeria that just opened by my apartment.”

You didn’t even realize how fast time passed for the rest of the night. Whenever you weren’t about to go crazy lusting after him, it was always very comfortable when you were with Chris, but it had never felt this cozy before. Just the two of you having a wholesome conversation accompanied with ‘Shut up’s, ‘No way’s, and a lot of laughter. At one point, he made you laugh so hard that you actually fell off the couch.

“Can I use your restroom?”

“Sure,” you wiped the tears from your eyes as your laughter died down, “It’s at the end of the hall.”

While he was coming out of the restroom, Chris noticed the soft orange light illuminating the hallway through a door ajar and the music playing inside. He knew proper guests weren’t supposed to snoop around, yet he had never been proper anything other than the resident troublemaker wherever he went. His curiosity got the best of him, and he nudged the door a bit more to peek inside.

It was your bedroom.

The light was coming from the candles you had lit some time ago, which were also the source of that pleasant scent. Your bed was unmade, and the clothes you were wearing earlier that day were hung behind a chair. You had a huge desk by the open balcony door, and there was a computer with two gigantic screens on it as well as a video on the preview screen of some editing software.

His pulse dangerously escalated when he realized what he was looking at.

It was the footage of him masturbating on the bed, but what he was surprised to notice was that you were also in the frame.

What he was fucking mindblown to notice was that you were fingering yourself.

He walked to the computer like he was in a trance. He rewinded the video to spot where exactly you started touching yourself to the sight of him. There you were, pulling your dress up and spreading your legs with your breasts already out. He lowered the volume and hit play.

…you taste amazing. I’m licking all over your cunt like you’ve been starving me for days.

All his memories of you came rushing back to him again. You writing all these lengthy oral scenes but leaving the set every time he performed it on someone, how you were fucking yourself to the thought of him in his waiting room, the way he fingered you while you jerked him off, your lips on him, his lips all over you, touching you, feeling you, when you whispered I love you into his ear…

Chris was so hard under his pants that he was actually in pain.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been gone for— Oh.”

Your voice suddenly echoing in the room gave him a horrible start. He had no idea how he could properly defend himself.

“I’m– I’m really sorry. The door was open and– and I saw myself, and–”

You were also quite embarrassed, but it was him that was caught red-handed, not you.

“I thought I would give it a shot to edit it myself,” you played it cool.

Chris took a few steps towards you and asked in a tone of genuine disbelief.

“You were touching yourself right next to me?”

“You seriously didn’t notice?” you furrowed your brows, “It was a bit… too wet.”

“I was a bit too gone to pay attention to my surroundings, to be honest.”

There it was again. Every time there was an absence of a sound between you two, an explosion hazard suddenly manifested in the room. The tension was unbearable. You would do anything to break that silence and breathe easy a little, but you couldn’t think of one thing to say. As if that wasn’t enough, Chris approached a lot closer and stood right in front of your face.

“I’m gonna ask you a question but please don’t lie to me.”

That was a pretty redundant request because your thinking capabilities had already hit the floor, rendering you completely incapable of producing a lie.

“Do you– Do you want me?”

It wasn’t his usual presumptuous ‘You want me, don’t you?’ that enraged you to no end when you heard it. There was vulnerability in his voice. He actually was not sure, and that’s why he was legitimately asking you. He couldn’t word this any other way because he was just as scared of the consequences as you were.

How would you even describe it? Were you attracted to him? Yes. Were you fantasizing about him? Frequently. But were your feelings only in the realm of basic instinct? Did you want him or did you want him?

You should have had that conversation with yourself. You really should have.

“Because if you do…”

You looked at his face, but he was the one examining the floor now. There weren’t any answers written there, but he just would not look at you.

“That would make me really happy.”

The way he lifted his face up and looked right into your eyes while uttering those last two words. The way your heart skipped a beat. How would you even describe it?

“And if I don’t?”

He looked heartbroken when you said that. His shoulders drooped, and his eyes returned to having a staring contest with the floor again.

“Then I’ll try harder.”

You weren’t going to be able to endure this anymore.

The playlist comprised of every song that reminded you of Chris was still playing in the background. The candles that reminded you of his perfume were still burning. The gentle night breeze was still blowing on your curtains to make them dance, but it had gotten a bit chilly. You walked past Chris and turned off the monitors. He watched the way your finger pressed the button. He watched how you turned around on your feet and came close to him again. He watched you throw your hands around his neck, and when you finally kissed him, his knees almost gave way.

There seemed to be a pattern every time you kissed. It started soft, just curious moves of your lips trying to remember what it felt like kissing the other, but you both caved to each other so fast that it escalated at record speed. It turned from an act of affection to carnal desire, and there was no telling where that one kiss could end up at if no one stopped it. But you knew.

You knew it would end up in a beautiful disaster.

You took off his white top that didn’t leave much to imagination and let him rid you of the t-shirt you were wearing in lieu of a nightgown. Without even giving him enough time to appreciate your bare torso, you pulled him to your bed.

“This cannot mean anything,” you barely managed to utter in between his relentless kisses.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“I’m serious!”

Chris attacked your lips in response and refused to stop kissing you. His kisses were alternating between your lips, your neck, and your breasts, but it was getting out of control a bit too fast. You hastily reached for your nightstand drawer for a condom just to notice…

“Oh, fuck me!”

“What happened?” Chris abruptly stopped, panting hard over you, “You don’t have protection?”

“It didn’t occur to me to have some just in case an impromptu escapade develops. I’ve been in a prolonged dry spell,” you confessed a bit too candidly, “Don’t you have any on you?”

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to get lucky tonight.”

You both heaved deep sighs and laid there in frustration for a while, but this was worse than trying to get a hold of yourself in public. Chris was literally to your right, topless, trying to calm down his breathing, and not to assume anything, but you were pretty convinced he was also cursing a mouthful to his luck.

“If you’re willing to…” you uttered with a tinge of reservation while watching the ceiling, “I’m on contraceptives.”

“Oh,” Chris turned to his left, but he looked a bit flustered, “I’ve never… Like…”

“Fucked anyone raw before?” you completed his sentence on his behalf.

“When you’re in my line of work, that’s like swimming with the piranhas that feed on fire-breathing electric eels.”

“I get that, but I mean surely you had girlfriends before, right? It’s not like you never…”

You trailed off, waiting for a confirmation from him, but all that followed was silence.

“Seriously?!” your eyes widened in surprise, “You know quite literally everything else, but you really don’t know what it feels like to raw dog?”

“I mean how different can it be really?”

“Let’s just say the difference is skinny dipping versus having a wetsuit on,” you informed him and offered an alternative, “I guess you can go out and buy some. I clearly need to replenish my stocks anyway.”

You genuinely didn’t mean anything else by it. It wasn’t even a sarcastic comment, but Chris got ticked off pretty bad over what you just said.

“I’m not buying you condoms just so you can practice safe sex with other people.”

What the hell was happening exactly?

“Who said anything about other people?” you looked at him in bewilderment.

“You did.”

“You did!”

“You did say you clearly needed to replenish your stocks.”

“I literally told you I was in a dry spell, and also we could do it without a condom.”

“And I told you I’ve never had sex without protection before.”

“And I’m giving you my consent, what’s the m—?”

He shut you up by swiftly pulling you into a kiss. How the hell he did it you had no idea. Chris would kiss your lips and all of a sudden you would forget what you were pissed off about. Unconventional apology method for sure, but it worked. It worked like a charm.

He abruptly stopped and his face turned worried for some reason.

“Are you…?”

He was clearly hesitating. You could see whatever it was he was trying to say was… hurting him. He mustered his courage and finally decided to face the music.

“Are you sure it’s not going to disgust you to sleep with me?”

You honestly didn’t follow where the heck that came from.

“Disgust me?” you asked him with genuine confusion in your eyes, “Why would it disgust me?”

Chris averted his eyes from you and gnawed on his lips, not knowing how to properly word this. He couldn’t hold your gaze as he responded to you.

“I’m pretty used, you see.”

Your heart broke into a million fucking pieces that he was thinking of himself that way. Oh, you wanted to hug him. Oh, you wanted to pull him into a tight embrace and never let go. What the fuck did he even mean used? He wasn’t some piece of goddamn merchandise; he was a human being with feelings.

You swallowed a sob that threatened to escape your throat and turned on the sass mode instead to diffuse the tension.

“So? Just because people don’t record every sexual encounter they have doesn’t mean they didn’t have numerous partners before,” you shrugged carefreely, “The only difference is that you can’t lie about it whereas many people do.”

He looked a bit relieved hearing you say that but was still somewhat on edge.

“Well… Did you?”

“Have many partners? Not really,” you honestly answered him, “Does that make me a self-righteous prude in your eyes?”

“Of course not!”

You placed the tiniest of kisses on his nose and smiled.

“Exactly.”

He smiled back. It wasn’t a grin. It wasn’t a smirk. It was that devastating smile that framed his dimples perfectly. Your heart fluttered seeing that again.

“Your eyes are beautiful, you know,” you touched his face and caressed his cheek, “But they look a bit sad.”

He averted his eyes again, but rather than discomfort, he got legitimately shy this time.

“Don’t look away from me,” you insisted on holding his gaze.

As you were getting lost in the little galaxies he carried in his eyes, you played with his hair. He leaned into your touch. You laid him down right next to you and whispered.

“Close your eyes now.”

He did as he was told and you kissed him again. You brushed his hair with your fingers as he pulled you into his embrace and started caressing your back. Your hands traveled down to unbutton his pants. He dragged your waistband down to get rid of your shorts. You ended up stripping each other fully, never once leaving each other’s lips.

“It’s been a while since you appreciated this, hasn’t it?” you smiled into his kiss.

But Chris wasn’t smiling. He was looking at you with eyes you had never seen before. Deeper than an abyss and louder than a deafening thunder. Begging you to figure it out yourself because he just couldn’t say it.

Without saying anything, he turned you around to lie facedown. You felt his lips on your nape momentarily, making you shudder all over. He started kissing your back, drawing a trail down your spine, and eventually reaching your waist. It felt incredible. He was so gentle with his movements, but he was burning every piece of skin he kissed, and it was turning you on so bad.

He turned you around again, making his way from your crotch, up your breasts, and to your lips one more time. With every kiss he landed on your skin, you felt the bruises you didn’t even realize you had disappear a little bit. You felt the pleasant itch of a wound turning into a scar. You felt relief.

You also wanted to heal just a tiny part of him. You also wanted to soothe whatever was making him flinch in pain when no one was looking.

You pulled him under you and started drawing your own map on him. From his neck to his shoulders, from his chest to his abdomen, down to his crotch where he was flushed pink and dripping around his slit. When you made a move to kiss his cock, Chris immediately stopped you.

“You don’t– You don’t have to. Really. I’m o—”

You stared at him as he kept rambling. You kissed the hand that was stopping you, and gently removed it while holding his gaze. Then you closed your eyes and kissed his smooth skin. You kissed him like you were blowing on a painful burn. You kissed him like you were singing lullabies to him to calm down. You kissed him like you were pacifying him. His stutters eventually came to a halt, and he completely surrendered to you. His clenched muscles finally loosened as he relaxed into the bed.

Then he started truly enjoying the feeling of being pleasured in your mouth.

It felt so intense. More intense than any other instance he’d experienced before. You weren’t rushing him into finishing. You weren’t even trying to make him cum. Licking slow stripes on his cock, slurping on his precum, having him leisurely sink into your mouth until his tip reached the back of your throat, just savoring his taste. You had nowhere else to be.

Chris was so overwhelmed that he was pressing his palms on his eyes, letting himself get nuked by unmatched bliss. He felt like he was being possessed by something, or like he was drowning but it was such a pleasant feeling. Then he opened his eyes and started watching you. The way you were pressing your lips all over him. The way you were enjoying him. He felt so naked and defenseless in front of you that he wanted to cry. But he moaned instead. He moaned louder when you wrapped your lips around him again. He moaned louder when you moved your tongue on his popping veins again. He moaned even louder when you started stroking him in the same rhythm as you were blowing him. He moaned the loudest when you let out content hums with him fully in your mouth as he shot his entire load down your throat just like in his fantasies. You crawled your way back up and kissed his lips for a while until he came down. He basked himself in his taste on your tongue.

When he was able to perceive the world through normal vision again, Chris slowly pushed you down to have you lie on your back, and started paying some much-deserved attention to your breasts. He loved watching your nipples get that hard and he was finally able to tease them in his mouth for the first time. God, what a beautiful thing you were. What a beautiful, sexy, angelic lust demon you were with that tattoo hugging your body, turning him on beyond humanely possible. He traced every single detail on it with his tongue until he finally reached your crotch, torturing you with the anticipation of what he was going to do to you next.

Chris remembered your taste. It was only a couple of drops, but he still remembered it like it was yesterday. Tastiest fucking thing on earth, especially so because he’d got you soaking like that in the first place. And now he was directly looking at the source, an infinite number of servings right in front of him to stuff himself full to his heart’s content.

He tenderly caressed your pussy with his thumb first, carving every detail into memory. What your clit looked like when aroused, how you throbbed when he even slightly teased you, the shape of your folds before he sucked the life out of you.

Then he dragged his tongue from your entrance up to your clit and smeared your juices everywhere. He spat on your pussy just for his viewing pleasure, just to watch some bodily fluid of his drip down your cunt. He wrapped his hands around your thighs and his lips around your clit, sucking, and sucking, and sucking on you some more.

You were a mess under him.

“Do you like it?” Chris broke the deafening silence with a barely audible whisper, “Am I pleasing you right?”

A part of you wanted to ride the shit out of his face, but another part of you wanted this to last forever. He changed his ministrations from sucking to licking slow stripes on you with occasional kisses right under your clit every once in a while. The pressure of his tongue was just right, and he was already flying you out of your body.

“It feels… it feels fucking… perfect,” you barely managed to speak as your eyes rolled back.

When you moaned like that, Chris felt himself get hard again. He shifted in his place to be able to reach his cock and started stroking himself in a very lazy rhythm while slowly licking you. The sight of him doing that was so fucking erotic that it put you in a hypnotic state of arousal. You couldn’t talk. You didn’t know what words were anymore. All you could produce was incoherent sounds of pleasure in varying frequencies. Quiet, sudden increase in volume, a decrescendo, quiet again, a crescendo, a frustrated whine, a delighted moan, a crescendo, and a decrescendo again.

He kept edging you thinking it would maybe cause you to beg, but you didn’t mind it at all. If he was down for it, who were you to tell him to hurry up and finish you? You were enjoying this a bit too much for your own good. Just him in your bed, between your legs, soaking you through your sheets all the way to your mattress, perhaps enjoying himself a bit more than you.

He was drawing languid circles around your clit and freehand lines on your folds, then spreading your pussy lips to suck on you a bit more, but the amount you were oozing didn’t seem to satisfy him. Then he started stimulating you more aggressively, lapping at your clit, licking into your entrance, fucking you excruciatingly shallowly with his tongue, smearing his entire face with your slick and fucking loving it.

“CHRIS!!!”

It was everything he wanted to hear. You, screaming his name as you came into his mouth, clawing your bedsheets with how overwhelmed you were, losing yourself in narcotic pleasure only he could provide for you. You kissed each other deep for a long time afterwards, exploring what your flavors mixed with each other tasted like. Chris rested his back against your headboard and pulled you on top of him.

“Come up.”

You took your time straddling him, and the closer he got to being inside you, the more nervous he was feeling as if he was about to lose his virginity to you all over again.

This was really happening.

Call it ridiculous, but experiencing a first with you in whatever capacity felt very weirdly intimate to him. His eyes were intently glued on your pussy as you aligned yourself with him, and when he finally started sinking into you, a drawn-out hiss fell from his lips until he bottomed out. You held his gaze and clenched hard with a smirk on your face.

“Yes!” Chris slammed his hands on your sides, “Squeeze me.”

He held your waist and disappeared into while you grinded on him to meet him halfway. You were so tight around him that stretching you for himself was mindnumbingly delicious.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?” Chris asked with a grin.

“What if I am?”

“I don’t give a shit and I’m still creampieing you.”

You both started laughing in unison, and he pulled you close for a kiss. You were somewhat scared of this moment getting ruined, and you could almost swear that Chris was feeling the same way. You closed your eyes to relish the feeling of each other meeting in the most secluded corners of your body.

You felt so full every time he slid inside, but not in a carnal way. In a this feels so right way. On the flip side, for the first time in a long time, Chris didn’t feel like lost half anymore. He felt complete when he was inside you. He felt whole.

If you wanted this to last forever, then Chris wanted it to last forever times infinity.

“Lay down on my chest.”

Chris kept fucking into you, he couldn’t stop kissing your face. Your forehead. Your nose. Your cheeks. Your lips. Your jawline.

You moaned a tinge louder when he kissed your neck, and he felt you clench around him.

“Is it this spot?”

He deepened the kiss on your neck, and you felt your skin getting wetter. God, you loved this feeling. You tangled your fingers in his disheveled hair. You kissed his temple. You kissed the crown of his head. He throbbed inside you.

You suddenly found yourself on your back with one swift turn, and Chris put your legs on his shoulders. When he started fucking you hard, your hands traveled up his forearms and landed on his biceps. You scratched him, and he went faster. You scratched him harder, and he went even faster.

“D–drawer,” you pointed at your nightstand, “Bullet.”

“Tell me what you want me to do. Ah, fuck!” Chris threw his head back when he hit a dead end inside you, but slowed down to allow you to speak properly, “Words, baby, use your words.”

You clenched so fucking hard that it almost made him cum.

“Did you just call me baby?”

He faltered for a moment not knowing how to respond to that, but you didn’t seem angry. If he was in his right mind, he could come up with a clever way to slither out of this, but he didn’t see any point in lying at that moment.

“I think it suits you,” he smiled at you warmly instead.

Chris opened your drawer to grab the vibrator, but he couldn’t help his surprised smile, barely dodging bursting into laughter.

“Isn’t this the bullet I gave you that one time?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Why are you embarrassed? I’m literally balls deep in you.”

You attempted to grab it from his hands, but he didn’t let you have it. He turned it on and placed it on your clit himself, and the volume of your moans suddenly peaked.

“Feels good, yeah?”

“Deeper,” you sank your fingertips into his arms, “Fuck me deeper!”

He changed his angle and started hitting a spot inside you. It felt soft. Wetter than usual. It felt… It sorta felt like—

“How the fuck are you blowing me when I’m inside you?!”

“That’s it right there!” you held onto him for dear life, “Hit that hard.”

Your words made him throb so fucking hard that it almost made you cum.

“Did you just tell me to hit that?”

You thought you said something wrong in the heat of the moment, but when you looked into Chris’ eyes, you saw something maniacal in them. He reappeared right before your eyes something very akin to a goddamn incubus.

“Oh, I’ll hit that. I’ll hit that good,” he started fucking you with sharp, precise thrusts, “I’ll hit that so hard, you’ll be seeing stars for a week… baby.”

The moment you started contracting around him in shorter intervals, Chris urged you to snap your eyes open.

“Look at me,” he panted heavily over you, “Don’t. Don’t ever forget this feeling. Ever.”

Then he turned the intensity of the vibrator on your clit to the maximum, and you arched into him, feeling your soul get ripped out of your body.

“That’s my fucking girl,” Chris contorted his face in utter pleasure as you came all over his cock, and let himself spill inside you. Again. And again. And again until he collapsed.

There were only sounds of heavy panting in the room for a while as neither of you was able to come down. At long last, Chris managed to turn to his side to look at you and immediately broke into a very content smile.

“You’re glowing,” he drew circles with his index finger on your chest, “I kinda dig this look on you.”

“Just sh–”

“Shut up, I know,” he kissed your smile, “I’ll shut up.”

He turned you to your side, kissed the spot between your shoulder blades, then wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You were just finished fucking each other’s brains out, but you still felt his semi on your hips. He was subtly grinding on you, thinking you wouldn’t notice maybe, but you couldn’t help laughing.

“You can, by the way.”

“Hm?”

“Aren’t you trying to slither your way into cockwarming?”

“You said it, not me. Since you insist,” he snugly slid inside you, but of course it didn’t stop there.

“Behave.”

“But then who’s gonna fuck my cum deeper into you?”

“Chris…”

“Fuck, that feels a bit too good,” he started caressing your pussy while lazily fucking into you, “I kinda need another round.”

“Christopher!”

“Oh yeah, baby, say my full name. You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.”

You both burst into loud laughters as Chris opted for tickling the crap out of your first, but it calmed down soon with his kisses all over your face. It was just so easy to give in to him. Then another round started where he made you cum. Then another started where you made him cum. Then another. Then another. You fucked each other until the darkness clocked out and changed shifts with the morning. Until you were both too damn sore and spent to go on.

It was finally quiet in your room. There was only peaceful silence. You were laying on your side with your back turned against Chris, gently breathing, and Chris’ head was buried in the crook of your neck.

“You just see right through me, don’t you?” he softly whispered with a broken smile and kissed your hair, “Of course it wasn’t about buying some damn condom. I just…”

He took a deep breath, careful not to wake you up, and continued.

“I’ve never made love to someone before. I don’t know how. I didn’t– I didn’t want you to think…”

Giving up on trying to stitch words together, he quietly pleaded to you, wishing he could wear his heart on his sleeve instead.

“I’m so scared you’re going to regret this. Please don’t regret this,” he hugged you tighter and finally drifted to sleep.

Chris thought you were sleeping all along, but you were wide awake since that very first sentence. You could try going back to sleep maybe, but the tears running down your face wouldn’t let you be.

This cannot mean anything, you had urged him.

But it fucking did.

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hyunnielix · 11 months

Text

THE ENDING???? bye

❥of floral lace (m)

↳ Wedding planning is a stressful enough job as it is, without the added trouble of a handsome best man who can't seem to take his attention off of you.

But when it comes to 'meant to be,' maybe he knows something that you just don't quite know yet.

best man!bang chan x wedding planner!fem!reader — strangers to lovers, meet-cute, unrequited (?) pining, explicit sexual content. [11,2k wc] cws: alcohol consumption, protected penetrative sex, Chan wants it bad-bad, a lot of teasing and wanting and flirtatious banter.

In February, the weather is still cold. Bitter and icy, some days. Windy, with occasional snow, and it’s days like this that make it feel as though the warmth of spring and summer may never come. Sometimes, it’s the small reminders that life – the world itself – is ever changing. Spring will always come, winter will always end.

Such is life, isn’t it?

Walking up to the glass and platinum plated front doors of the expensive building, Chan muses the thoughts. Despite it not being for him – simply being an accomplice, of sorts – being involved in the wedding party tends to bring about the thoughts of ones own, personal love life. Life in general. Cycles of love and loss, all encompassing. A tall, white, building in a busy and upper class side of town – not where Chan is from, but where the bride-to-be was from. Completely foreign while simultaneously being familiar in proximity. Stepping forward and reaching for the door with his dominant hand, opening it for the couple and attempting to push his long, blonde hair out of his eyes with his other hand, the woman that his best friend would marry looks towards him kindly and chuckles – a comment about knowing the struggles of women with long hair versus the wind, and Chan smiles in response to her.

He likes her. Always had. Nothing romantic, but he was proud of the choice that his best friend of many years had made in a life partner. Chan often found himself hopeful that he, too, may one day make such a choice for himself.

The three enter the building as he continues the attempt of wrangling his hair – best friend in question, Lee Minho, laughing under his breath as to not disturb the quiet ambiance of the room they had just entered.

“Are you gonna cut it before the wedding?” he asks, lightly nudging Chan in the arm, and Chan looks at him in a slight state of shock, as if the thought had never even dawned on him for a second previously.

“Should I?”

“You don’t have to.”

Looking around, briefly at their surroundings: white furnishings, carpeting, walls – gold accenting mostly, with hints of forest green among the well-kept plants and coming together along the counter outline of the desk – he feels wholly out of place. It was much too expensive for him, and if he ever were to be planning a wedding in the future, it likely would not be here.

He brings himself back to the conversation, “does she want me to?” referring to the bride in question, and Minho only shakes his head. “No, she doesn’t mind.”

“I’ll be with you in just a second!”

A woman’s voice calls from another room – back behind the desk they stand before. Beige envelopes and paperwork lightly strewn across it; it’s somewhat messy, but nothing completely unmanageable, and the phone begins to ring at that moment.

Chan hears the same voice that had just called to them curse lightly under it’s breath. He cracks a smile at the break in character, as it were.

It’s in that moment that he finally lays eyes on you – beige pant-suit and hair in a ponytail, pen in mouth as you fly around the corner and attempt to answer the phone with the item still snug between your teeth before you realize that that simply will not do, hurriedly tugging it from your lips and lightly tossing it on the desk in front of you. You look up to the party of three in front of you, waiting patiently, and smile.

“Just a second.”

“No problem, take your time,” the bride insists.

Chan can only watch on in awe, though.

It’s a relatively quick phone call, confirming an appointment for flower arrangement the following week and then it’s all eyes on the individuals in front of you. You look at the bride, the groom, and then Chan – quite obviously not the one getting married. Messy, wind-swept golden hair and beady brown eyes – but in jeans and a hoodie with a small spot on it that looks akin to a child who had accidentally spilled some sauce on himself and forgot to clean it up.

A little charming, due to the fact that he’s good looking. Turns out that can get one pretty far in and of itself.

“Right so,” you begin, taking a deep breath before continuing, “what can I do for you?”

Minho and his soon-to-be wife begin the discussions that they had gone there for, Chan listening on and truly as if he were playing the part of the son that had been dragged along for the ride due to no childcare being available. Your eyes can’t help but creep towards him every now and then – watching the way that he looks around the room, almost as if in awe of the sights – not that the interior was anything to call home about. You found it charming, his simple appreciation for…white, you supposed.

Calling for them to come into the back with you, the group sit at a table filled with thick binders with numerous labels atop them. Things like “reception,” “flowers,” “lighting,” anything that you could think of and even many that you hadn’t lined the table, and Chan considers for a second that maybe he won’t get married, after all.

He brings his attention to Minho, who happily dives into one of the binders – evidently delighted by the prospect of wedding planning. A complete disintegration from the stereotypical male response – the response that had just immediately come to Chan, himself.

He figures that maybe you have to be there, then.

“These are the more basic, common options up at the front on these pages, they’re labeled with this color,” you point out towards one of the binders displayed in front of Minho’s fiancee, “the further back, the more expensive and intricate the options become. It’s good if you have a budget in mind so that we can plan accordingly, of course.”

And of course, Chan is listening. Of course he is. But he can’t help but get lost in his own thoughts, as well as he watches you work. Taking notice of your smile and how pretty it is, the few loose strands of hair that have fallen away from the rest that lie bundled up into a tie at the back of your head. Chan watches your eyelashes when you blink and notices their length, and how pretty the color of your eyes are. Your earrings – expensive looking, hopefully not expensive in price, he thinks to himself as he loses himself in wishful imaginative thought – because if the two of you were to date, he wouldn’t be affording anything of the sort, and Chances are, that if they were expensive, then you wouldn’t be interested in dating him, anyways.

Chan had a habit of romantically getting ahead of himself, that much was evident.

“Chan?”

A sudden, vocal intrusion once again pulling him back to earth, it’s the sound of his best friends voice calling towards him. “You okay?”

“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat and sitting himself up in his chair properly. “Yeah, sorry, was spacing out. What’s up?”

“What do you think of this color? We need an outside opinion, that’s what you’re here for.”

Chan leans himself forward and out of his chair to look over the shoulders of the couple. Napkins. They forced him to stop fantasizing about dating the cute wedding planner for napkins.

Because obviously what he had been doing was of much more importance.

“Um, I like the lavender.”

“See, I think I like the pink, actually,” the fiancee replies.

“Keep in mind you don’t have to commit to anything today,” you remind them, “this visit is really only to get an idea of where we want to go, we’re not setting anything in stone.”

“Says you, I’m planning our own wedding,” Chan thinks to himself in response.

With pinks and roses decided among numerous other items, it’s a couple of hours later that the four of you bid farewell. You shake the hand of Minho, and the bride-to-be hugs you – much to your surprise, but with Chan, it’s a bit more awkward of a goodbye – due to the necessity of his being there in any capacity being up for discussion. However, you smile, thank them all for coming, and wish them well on their day.

Little do you know, however, the plans that the airhead friend have already set into motion.

According to him, of course.

The sound of the doorbell rings through the room as you look up from your paperwork in the back office. Gently pushing things aside in an attempt to find your schedule book, you gaze on in confusion to find that you have nothing on the agenda for this hour – and with the firm not taking walk-ins, you fail to guess what it could possibly be.

It does, however, make more sense upon finding out what the wind had blown in today.

“Hey!”

You’re shocked to find Chan standing at the door. Less the shock of it being him, and more the shock of him looking just as disheveled as he had the few days prior when you had met him. How could an adult man be so not put together, and especially on this side of town? It’s something you contemplate but only for a moment, as you are forced to address him now that he is presented before you.

“Uh, hey, so we don’t take walk-ins—“

“Oh no, it’s not like, a thing, I was just asked to drop by to relay some information.”

“Why you?”

“Was in the area.”

“You were in—“ and you pause, trying to think of a polite way to carry on with the thought, “—the area.”

Chan sort of realizes that the gig is up at that moment, in his shorts and his hoodie in twelve degree weather, and smiles gently. “Yeah.”

You roll your eyes, but motion for him to follow you into the back office with you nonetheless in order to take notes about whatever it is that he had gone there for – chuckling to yourself about the fact that he showed up to a very expensive office in winter, wearing shorts.

You don’t even want to do the soul searching it would take to figure out why you find that endearing, perhaps best left for therapy.

Sitting down in your chair, you pull out the file for the bride and groom in question and pick up a pen. “Has the client changed their mind about something we had discussed the other day?”

“Yeah,” Chan begins, but it’s slow, as he looks around and takes in the sights of the somewhat chaotic back office space that you call your own. You gently, playfully, call out a “hey” towards him to bring him back to the topic at hand. “Oh uhh, yeah, so instead of the pink, they decided on the lavender after all.”

“Interesting, your choice,” you respond.

“You remembered?”

Realizing what you had done, that you had, in fact, remembered what his input had been, you feel a bit of the heat of embarrassment rush into your ears – but attempt to play it cool.

“Of course, you were a part of the planning.”

He doesn’t respond, and only smiles down at you, shoulder holding him upright against the wooden frame of the doorway.

“And they decided on lilies instead of roses, also.”

“Good choice,” you answer, scribbling onto the paper in front of you and quickly penning something over the mark to replace it. “I preferred the lilies, myself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chan answers, and it’s so smooth it sounds as if he never said anything unusual at all.

You know he’s flirting with you, you simply choose to ignore it.

“Is there anything else?”

“No, just those two things.”

You stop, furrowing your brows in confusion and taking a moment to truly consider the oddity of the scenario before you. “Why…didn’t they just call me, why did they send you in person? These sorts of matters can be dealt with over the phone.”

But Chan merely shrugs and continues smiling at you. “Dunno, didn’t ask.”

You don’t take yourself for much of a detective, but figure it’s pretty simple to see what’s going on here. It’s cute, but you’re not interested.

You stand, motioning out towards the main lobby of the building and walk ahead of the man.

Chan takes it upon himself to view all of the ways in which you exist before him. Your hair, your eyes, your clothes.

Perhaps a moment where most men would objectify you, Chan is merely finding all of the intricate details, all of the little things – tiny ways in which he can talk himself into falling in love with you.

And you’re just trying to get the work day over with.

“I think if it were my wedding,” Chan begins, elbows on the desk and chin placed into his palms as you sit at your swivel chair and gently look up towards him as if he’s somewhat of an inconvenience to you. “I think, forest green and gold, a bit like this,” he says, pointing towards the detailing of the marble just under him. “What about you?”

“You think about wedding planning?” you can’t help but ask, unusual for a presumably straight man. You consider for a moment that you had been picking up all of the wrong vibes from him. Maybe he wasn’t into you, after all.

“Yeah, well,” and he pauses, thinking again, “well, truthfully, I hadn’t until the first day we all came here. I have been since then.”

“That’s cute.”

“So what about you?”

“I have work to do, if we’re done here,” you respond, ignoring his question entirely and instead meeting him with a tonally cheeky reply, avoiding eye contact as to not laugh.

“Answer me and I’ll leave then!” Chan whines in response, and you really wish you didn’t find this sort of behavior endearing in any way.

But you sigh in defeat, putting the pen that you had just picked up back down in a huff and looking up at him in gentle irritation, “fine.”

“Burgundy,” you start, pushing papers around to find a tablet of color swatches beneath them, and you point to a color on it with a freshly manicured nail. “Similar to this, more blue-toned. and then—“ you pause, pushing the present swatches aside in favor of different ones that you had located in the meantime. “Gold accenting, like this. And yellow roses.”

“Why yellow?”

“I just like them.”

Chan knows that he responds to you, although if you asked him just after he had left what he had said, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. Instead, the man loses himself immediately in thoughts of a quickly developing crush. He watches your fingers dig through papers and point to colors – watches the way that your lips move with the words that you speak and the way the corners of them pull up when you talk about the things that you like in particular. It’s all in the way that you so matter of a factly say that you “just like” yellow roses – no other thoughts, no other reasoning. Just because.

Chan wonders if this is love – an absolutely, mind-numbingly, all-encompassing smittenness for another person that you barely know anything about. Juvenile and reckless and for all of the wrong reasons. Love at first sight. The honeymoon period that hasn’t even begun yet, and Chan was full-swing all the same.

And you wish it had been different for yourself – a child-like innocence to him that you found so charming and disarming in so many ways. a cute crush that surely would never develop past the phase in which it had already reached – you found yourself daydreaming about cute dates and picking out colors with him regardless, before shaking yourself out of it and returning back to your work.

bad idea, dating the clientele – even if only tangentially related as such.

“Hey.”

The smile on his face carries through the simple, verbal notion and you manage to pick up on it, even with all of the hustle and bustle going on around you.

That doesn’t stop him from having scared the shit out of you, though.

You watch Chan grin in response to your sudden yell and turn, “Jesus Christ,” escaping through your lips in exasperation and he still only carries a hopeful, happy curl of his lips.

“Bad time?”

The irony of the question being, of course, that he is asking it all the while you pick up the numerous sheets of paper, spools of lace, and other such items from the floor – items that had been suddenly relinquished from your grasp at the ill-timed intrusion of a man, a man not even getting married.

“Yes, you could say that—“ you respond, an attempt not to sound rude but perhaps failing ever so slightly. He was being irritating, after all. “—if we’re going to talk, then we’ve got to talk and walk,” you say, finally pulling everything into your bag and swinging it over your shoulder just before hurriedly rushing out from behind the desk and past the man before you – nearly dumbfounded in appearance at the way you move about in the middle of the day – even if for work. “I’ve got places to be, so make it quick.”

Rushing down the sidewalk, heeled shoes clattering against it, Chan watches in amazement at his inability to keep up. He wonders how you muster up the strength and ability to do this day in and day out – and with a smile on your face, at that.

“You need to take this,” you finally say to him, stopping only briefly enough to push some of the things in your hands, into his own. “Make yourself useful.”

“Happy to,“ he begins to respond, but only to watch as your back turns towards him again – ponytail in full swing, rushing back towards where ever it had been that you had been roped into stumbling towards.

Chan stops to smell the flowers – literally. As a few of varying different types had been thrown into his arms – but it’s quickly off to the races again, as to not disappoint.

And he can’t help but watch in complete, smitten, awe of you as you dart in and out of shops and doorways as you go. He never goes in with you – waiting patiently out front of where ever it is that you end up in the next moment, but he finds that he is never waiting long – that you work quickly. And he knows that he doesn’t know the workings of your job, your career, really at all, so maybe this is normal, but he smiles to himself at the way that the details of the situation don’t even really matter to him. Chan makes sure to watch you in a sort of make-shift slow motion that he crafts himself from scratch in the moment – capturing you and your essence and all of the things that he finds himself oh so quickly becoming enamored with, even just the way the wind some times catches your coat, it feels like a movie to him…the way his heart seemingly gets swept away in the same gust.

You step out of a building, as Chan is mid-thought, watching your every movement as he does. You don’t even notice it. Notice him. Not really.

He knows that.

Smiling, you bid the client farewell and give a sigh of relief towards the man that had aided you in your short, but fast-paced journey. “Thank you, sorry to make you—“

“Go out with me.”

The question arrives as a shocking on, albeit looking back on the situation, perhaps it should not have. You actually do give it some thought, as well – which in and of itself comes as a bit of a surprise to you, as well.

And you’re almost disappointed when you have to turn him down.

“Tonight, let’s get a drink.”

“Chan, that’s nice of you but—“ pausing briefly, you consider how to word the dismissal delicately…and sort of in a way to not shut down the possibility of going out in the future. “I have too much work to do tonight, and tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

You don’t want to talk to him like a child. Like someone to pity, but the refusal always finds a way to come out that way anyways. You watch Chan smile at you all the same, nodding to himself and simply saying “okay” as a response.

“You have a good night then, alright?” he adds, turning to head towards where home would be, and you’re not sure which part it is that’s yelling – the head or the heart – but one of them certainly is not being quiet about it’s desire to change it’s mind about the drink matter.

But you stand strong. There’s always more men.

“I will, you do the same.”

“I will.”

Chan loves watching you work. Hell, suffice it to say Chan fell in love watching you work. And perhaps it’s too much, too quick �� something he tells himself from the logical part of his brain. You don’t even know her, dude. Which is true and he knows it, but the truth is that Chan has sort of taken it upon himself to fill in all of the blanks in the most shining, beautiful ways that he can. A man that lives on the precipice of a romantic comedy at all times — he’s always only been waiting for this moment. for someone like you. Someone to come in and sweep him off of his feet, as it were.

Just a hopeless romantic, that Bang Chan.

“Now’s not really the best time—“ you manage out towards him, mouth full of safety pins and fingers attempting to fumble through loads of white, shimmering fabric.

Dress fittings, the best part of the whole getting married gig, to some.

He doesn’t reply, carefully discarding himself from the doorway as to not be an obstruction physically in the same way that his presence is in every other way. He does smile, though. Halfway. A sly curly of the lip that you catch before pressing more pins into the bodice of your client.

Chan watches the whirlwind before him — feeling like the exaggerated display of floral lace and shiny shoes being tossed up and around like in the cartoons one sees when growing up weren’t actually that far from the truth — he smiles all the same, because he’s charmed by it all.

He especially takes note of your tied back hair and the way your jacket had been discarded probably long before he had arrived. How it appeared as though your day had already been a long one, despite it only being the early afternoon.

It’s the first time that Chan thinks to himself that you might really be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

But his attention is pulled back to reality, a woman gently leaning towards him and softly addressing him — as if she had known that his thoughts weren’t there with them at the time.

“Are you with the bride?”

Taken by surprise, Chan shakes his head — hands up in submission. “Oh, I’m with her!” he says, and points towards you as you continue diligently working on the fitting before you.

“Oh my God,” the client suddenly exclaims, turning towards him so suddenly that it sends you reeling. “You’re getting married, too!?”

Fuck sake.

“Wow, what a coincidence, huh?” the staff smiles towards Chan, before heading towards the small cooler behind the counter and pulling out a bottle of champagne. “We certainly have to celebrate this!”

It’s a roller coaster, for sure — and as hilariously charming the confusion is, Chan’s eyes can’t help but stay glued to your figure. Scanning your reaction. A chance you don’t hate this? A chance you might be willing to play along? Play pretend? Just for him, just for today?

The staff member comes back over to Chan without any time wasted, handing him a glass of bubbly gold liquid before sauntering over to you and handing you the same. Drinking is pretty strictly against the rules while on the job — except in situations where not drinking could cost you the job, of course. It’s up to your own discretion, case by case basis.

Suppose we’re pretending we’re getting married today. Just another check mark off of the list of completely insane things that the job every so often required of you.

Chan finally makes his way to the back and towards you, gently smiling — it says sorry that this happened, but it’s kind of fun, right? And you wish that you could deny him the pleasure of being right.

“So, have you started dress shopping yet?” the bride asks, eyes sparkling and excitement lacing her voice. You found it so lovable — the absolute delight that she seemed to receive from just the mere prospect that someone else might be just as happy as she was — who were you to ruin her day, then?

“N-no, not yet,” you stutter out, bashfully smiling towards Chan and then quickly away from him, because what the fuck? “I’m quite picky.”

You can see Chan trying to reign in the curl of the corners of his mouth at the response. He’s enjoying it way too much for your liking, possibly more than the client before you.

“You should try something on with me! Oh my God, please!” she gasps, grabbing at your free hand and shaking it gently. “Please! It would be so fun!”

“Oh, I—“ suddenly looking up towards Chan — full on smiling, now — and back at the client, you feel a bit outnumbered. “I shouldn’t, I’m working…”

“Yeah, for me!” she answers, hands on her hips in a playfully authoritative way, “so I think if I want you to try on a dress with me, that you should probably do it!”

It’s a mischievous threat, not backed by any actual ill-will, but you do have to consider any possible implications behind it — she is a big client, an expensive client.

You should probably just do what you’re told, right?

Running your hands down the front of the beaded bodice, it’s sort of an impulse to avoid your own reflection in the numerous, angled mirrors before you. Set up to show you every inch of yourself — you find irony in the fact that you wish to see none of it, because it feels wrong. It’s out of place, and not how you had dreamed your first dress try on to be — to appease a rich, pushy client and for a man that for all intents and purposes, you don’t even know. Playing dress up and pretend at your big age, it wasn’t the ideal outcome.

You hear the woman call out for you — indiscernible words that you know the meaning of all of the same. Hurry up, come out, become a spectacle. But you had already agreed, and the faster you begin, the faster it will end. You look up, finally making eye contact with yourself in the reflection, and your heart drops — but not for any of the aforementioned reasons you had expected. In a flash, all of your previous concerns simply melt away, just like that.

You looked beautiful. Ethereal.

And in the moment, you became painfully aware of all of the years that you had spent attending to the romantic wants and needs of everyone but yourself. Seeing yourself in the dress became an acutely stark reminder that maybe — just maybe — it was time to allow yourself to focus on you.

And despite barely knowing the man before you, watching the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you as you gently strolled into the room — as if he had never seen a sight more beautiful in his life — you think to yourself that if this guy can look at you this way, then imagine the way that someone who loved you would look at you.

Irony.

A few hours later into the evening, the sun setting and air cooling, the four of you say your goodbyes as the staff locks up the shop and the client joyfully heads off and on her way. When only the two of you are left — you and Chan — you let go a heavy sigh of relief, one that feels as though it had made a happy home in your chest, never to be evicted or removed in any way.

“What a horrifically stressful day,” you start, as to set the tone of the conversation and not let the man before you get any ideas that you may have actually enjoyed any part of the goings on of the day. “But she was happy, that’s all that matters.”

“Is that so?” Chan replies, a hint of doubt in his tone. “You really hated it that much? You looked pretty.”

The compliment sends heat rushing to your face. Since when was that a side effect of engaging with this gentleman?

“I guess it’s good that you played along,” you say, pulling your messy ponytail out and beginning to put it back up into a more well-maintained one. “It’ll be a really positive memory for her, and that’s my job, after all.”

Chan simply watches you, taking in every moment as if it’ll be the last because really, who knows.

“Anyways, since she was so happy, if you don’t have anything going on tonight—“

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” you respond in a playful-yell, slapping at his arm, but Chan only laughs.

“I do know what you were going to say! You were going to ask me out! I said yes!”

“I wasn’t going to ask you out!” you quip, slightly embarrassed by how transparent you had seemingly been. “I was going to agree to going out with you, since you had asked me before, they’re different things, actually.”

“Ah, I see,” Chan replies, only playing along with your asinine explanation but not willing to push it any further because in the end — he was getting precisely what it was that he had wanted all along. “Well in that case, I know just the place.”

Only a few blocks down the street and a quick right, Chan stops and holds his hand out as if you usher you ahead of him. Gray, stone steps trailing down into what appears to be a basement, hole in the wall type establishment — you’re almost a little concerned. This is an upper class area of the city, and this is where he takes you? And it’s as if the man just behind you is capable of reading your mind, chiming out “just trust me, you’ll like it.”

You open the door, holding it for him to follow, and the dimly lit atmosphere almost sweeps you just off your feet. A beautiful, antique adorned establishment, decorated as if to appeal to numerous generations before; but in the most swanky, high class, way. The type of surroundings that just about anyone from any walk of life could find charm in.

So shocked, you forget that you had stopped to take in the sights.

“Come on, let’s not linger in the doorway,” Chan says as he passes, cheeky-toned and knowing that he had caught you.

Shrugging your coat off, you hang it on the rack and take a seat next to him at the bar. Drinks are ordered and quickly served due to it not being a busy night, and Chan wastes no time getting into the nitty-gritty of what it was he was interested in: you. Everything about you. Where you’re from, where you live now, where you went to school and what you studied and your hobbies — it’s all things that he, of course, has a genuine interest in — but that doesn’t change the fact that they are but stepping stones to the meat and potatoes of what it was that he really wanted to know.

Your relationship status. Are you single. Are you looking. Are you open to the possibility of falling in love, and not just with anyone, but with him, specifically.

Although, perhaps he would not be one to lean so hard into the tail end of the obvious.

“Truth is,” you begin, shimmering glass of red wine pressed delicately to your already stained-red lips. “I’ve been single for a while. Sort of on purpose, I suppose. I wanted to focus on work and really get my career going for a while before I put time and effort into adding another person into my life.”

“Is that serving you?” Chan questions, his own glass mirroring yours against his mouth.

You pause for a moment to consider the answer — remembering how you felt in that fleeting moment back at the dress shop, seeing yourself in that dress. Was it serving you?

“Yeah, I think so,” you finally answer in an accompanying nod, “I think it’s important to be able to be happy by oneself before attempting cohabitation of some sort.”

And Chan chuckles in response, much to your surprise. “'Cohabitation’ makes it sound so clinical, like the concept of dating someone is a science experiment.”

“Isn’t it sort of?”

“Yeah, suppose it is, in ways.”

“What about you?”

And now he pauses, thinking himself through the slew of potential replies that bounce through his mind in an instant — some more insane than others, admittedly.

“Happily single, but always open to the possibility.”

“I think that’s a good way to look at it.”

Chan takes a slow sip from his glass and eyes you intently, as if trying to gauge your interest in his answers based purely off of a single, minute, change in facial expression. Hell, he wanted it so bad he was willing to make it up himself.

It’s the gentle curly of your lip at his reply that catches him off guard — burned into his memory forever and always — or at least until a moment were to come that the two of you would have made enough memories together that such an insignificant one need not be held onto for so long anymore.

Drink glasses emptied and coats slung back over shoulders, the two of you head back out and onto the chilled sidewalk to head your own separate ways. You can’t help but take notice of the way Chan looks at you — eyes shining in the florescence of the street lamp just behind you — the first time that you acknowledge to yourself that you think he is handsome, as well as the first time you acknowledge that feeling in your chest that you get when he happens to come around.

It’s a bad time.

“Look, I had a nice time but—“

Chan rolls his eyes in response already, and you haven’t even finished the sentence.

“What? You’re a client…kind of.”

“I’m not, and on top of that, I can assure you that they would not care at all! They’d probably think it was cute, actually. I’m sure Minho would already have so many stories to tell at our wedding from the first consultation.”

��Well that’s not reassuring,” you snort, “telling me I was already so memorably unprofessional from the beginning, huh?”

“Only in my eyes, don’t worry, they loved you.”

“Chan!”

“Come on, I’m kidding,” he replies again, “it’s not a big deal, they wouldn’t think anything of it. You’re making it into a bigger deal than it would be in your head.”

You know that that is likely the case. You also know that it’s just so easy to say one thing — like that one is ever so willing to look for love — and then construct the simplest walls given to you to avoid it at all costs.

The two of you still in silence for a moment, as if in a stand-off of sorts, but you more than capable of breaking the silence and constructing just one more wall — for good measure, of course.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say, with finality. “Thank you for tonight, I had a nice time.”

Chan thinks to himself as he watches you walk away, that if it were any other woman, in any other circumstance, he would have already live and let live. That even in watching the way you turn him down and walk away, that you’re still simply the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Musing about every word that you said and the way in which you said it — how your glass of red wine stained your lips just the perfect amount that it made it nearly unbearable to not kiss them, how pretty your hands looked around the wine glass and how cute your smile was every time he said something that — purposefully, of course — you found mildly irritating.

Making his way to his empty apartment again, and standing just outside, Chan knows that there is progress made.

But what are you running from?

When you hear the jingling of the front door, and look down to your planner to find nothing having been scheduled for that time, you know that trouble is awaiting you in the lobby — trouble in the form of a kinda beefy, 171cm handsome gentleman by the name of Bang Chan.

Eh, suppose things could always be worse.

Lazily buttoning the deep maroon button of your vest as to look presentable, you look up and lock eyes with him as you come around the bend and into the front of the establishment. Chan — in all of his glory — a fitting pair of jeans for once and a shirt to match, you’re a little surprised. Had he made the effort all for you? Charming, if not for the fact that you told him you weren’t going to date him only a week prior to now.

Some men have a problem taking ‘no’ for an answer, unfortunately, sometimes it’s kind of charming when that’s the case, as well.

“Honey, I’m home!” Chan chimes, and you roll your eyes as you make your way to the front desk and seat yourself down.

“Yes Chan? Can I help you?”

“Always.”

“With something involving my job in some capacity.”

“Oh, right, that!” he answers. You know that he knows what you mean, he’s always just doing his utmost to be as much of a problem as possible. You’re not happy about how charming you find that, either.

“So, rehearsal dinner is in two weeks, on Thursday.”

“I know that, it’s my job to know that, I already talked to the bride two days ago.”

“Well I’m not here to tell you about it, I’m here to ask you to be my date to it.”

The brazen admission takes you off guard. It wasn’t really the first time Chan had ever asked you out, but this felt…different. Perhaps because of the night at the bar not too long prior.

You weren’t particularly fond of the way it made your stomach flip, either.

“I’ll be there, but for work, not for fun.”

“For pleasure, I think is how they call it,” he corrects, and you’re not proud of what the implications of that do to your mind.

You clear your throat, Chan watching all the while with a grin, and avoiding eye contact altogether, you stand again — pulling some items from the counter top into your arms and heading into the back from where you came.

“Right, well,” you say, attempting to play off how flustered you’ve now become in his incredibly flirtatious presence. “I have work to get back to, so, I will see you at the rehearsal — because it is my job and I suppose that you will also be there.”

With a smile on his face and eyes never leaving your form, before you’re able to scurry off to freedom, one last thing leaves his lips — because of course it does.

“Do a little something nice with your hair, it’s an occasion, isn’t it?”

You had never felt the need to keep a pillow to scream into in the back end of your office prior, but perhaps now were as good a time as any to invest.

On rehearsal night, catching your reflection in one of the mirrors of the wedding venue, you sort of wish that you had been a stronger person. You wonder how it was, exactly, that this man that you truly, barely knew, had managed to wear down your resolve in such a way that you were playing dress up for him. No, your attire not different than a typical work day — you were still on the clock, after all.

But your hair. And you can’t stand the way Chan looks to the floor with a smile when he first catches glance of you. Well, can’t stand it, and also sort of adore it.

“So, the brides mother, father, and sister we’re thinking of having here — but if there’s something that I’m missing, let me know so I can arrange it in a way that—“

“Hey there.”

Frozen in place, you don’t have to turn to check who it is anymore, and meeting eyes with the catering planner you had been speaking to, you smile gently before motioning that you need a moment, and turning towards Chan. “I’m working, can you give me a moment?”

“We need you to sit in for rehearsal, we’re missing someone.”

“Absolutely not, are you crazy?”

“Come on, you only have to pretend you have a crush on me, you don’t really have to have one.”

Turning back to the caterer in an instant, you insist that you’ll email the finalized plans over to him right away in the morning before finishing your conversation with Chan.

“If you keep interrupting me at work, I might not have a crush on you, real or make believe.”

“I think it’ll take more than that,” he replies with a cheeky grin, and nodding his head over towards the table, “now get over here and pretend you’re in love with me.”

It’s sort of sick, how easy it is for him to talk you into it. All of it. Any of it.

When the seating plan goes smoothly, and all of the wedding participants stand to take in slow views of the rest of the venue ahead of the big day, as you finish off some notes, Chan saunters over towards you with two glasses of wine in hand. “Come out with me?”

Stepping out and onto the large, white stoned balcony, you sigh in relief at how smooth the night had gone. You explain to Chan that — even in spite of having done the job for years, there’s always parts of every new client experience that feel brand new, that you feel as though you’ve never done before. Chan gazes on intently as he watches you speak with vigor, with self-respect, and with love and adoration for yourself. He thinks, in that moment, it might truly be the sexiest thing about you — at least, thus far.

When the gentle wind blows your lightly curled hair to one side and sends a shiver down your spine, Chan reaches out and pulls you towards him — into his warm embrace.

“It’s still chilly this time of year, yeah?” he says, and it’s almost a whisper. Perhaps the quietest you think you’ve ever heard him.

You opt out of responding verbally, and silently enjoy the warmth the man brings to you.

“Hey,” he says again, suddenly, and pulling you from him ever so slightly. Again, you choose not to reply, assuming that there were to be more words following up such a statement.

But you were soon to find that to not be the case — as Chan leans down and into you, plush lips gently pressing into your own.

The warmest you had felt all evening, you think to yourself — and perhaps interested in more where that came from, after all.

A short drive in Chan’s car lands the both of you in front of your apartment building — a gentleman, having offered his services of bringing you home in one piece — albeit, the thoughts of being torn apart by him figuratively becoming more and more of interest to you as the moments near him pass. Surely, one glass of wine wasn’t enough to throw all caution to the wind.

Unless…?

“Can I walk you up?”

Grabbing your belongings from the floor of the front seat, you chuckle. “Not much to walk, my building has an elevator.”

“Wow, fancy,” he replies smugly. “Didn’t know you had elevator-money in this sort of economy.”

“Go to Hell, yes you can walk me up, sheesh.”

His playfulness was what really had you, and you hated to see it. Broken down by the childlike innocence and joy of someone who was becoming more intriguing, more desirable, and more sexually attractive by the second. Truly, what had happened to your resolve?

Manicured finger pressed into the up arrow button, the elevator is silenced completely — no indication of it ever having registered the button being pressed at all. You press it again, and still nothing.

You sigh.

“Broken?” he says.

“Probably just asleep,” you quip back, “yes it’s broken. Have to take the stairs I suppose — you don’t have to come, I live on the fourth floor, I’m sure I can make it.”

“Better safe than sorry, really.”

Rolling your eyes, the both of you head towards the stairwell — all the while you hoping the slamming beating of your heart against your chest won’t reverberate through the echoing halls of the winding concrete cave that you are about to enter.

Floors two and three go without a hitch — well, mostly. It’s between three and four, that you realize there was never any Chance of you getting out of this stairwell unscathed. Or un-somethinged, at least.

He had plans all along.

“Hey,” Chan quietly calls towards you from behind, a hand reaching out and snatching your wrist from behind. It’s gentle, but enough to have you stumbling ever so slightly. He catches you — turning and pressing your back against the cold, white, wall — and them himself even harder against you.

Hot breath ghosting against the skin of your face, Chan’s lips fail to make contact with your own — instead opting to press into your jaw, and then your neck — and not without the direct contact of his hard thigh wedged into the apex of your own.

You’re a little ashamed of how little it took for him to pull from you a verbal response. It wasn’t much, but a breathy whine all the same — and you can feel the curling of his lips against you in affirmation that he had, in fact, heard it.

“I want you,” he whispers into your flesh, and the admission makes you dizzy with desire, pressing yourself down and against his leg for friction even more — as if to say that you felt the same way.

“Do you want me?” he follows up, mildly irritated at the fact that he’s asking, given the physical cues, but you still manage the breathy “yes” that he had been waiting oh so long for.

Chan thinks that it sounds so much better than he had ever even imagined it would. Unfortunate that this was not to be the time nor the place.

Pulling away, the loss of body against your own leaves you confused and frazzled — chest heaving and eyebrows furrowed, but you choose not to speak, because surely he would.

Because what the fuck?

And right on cue, “not now, I mean—“ he pauses, looking down at the tenting in his own pants and adjusting as for it to be not as obvious in the case of running into other people. “Not here, or now.”

“My apartment is right there—“

“I know,” he nods, “trust me, I want to — obviously — but I like you, so—“

“You can’t have sex with someone you like? Are you one of those Madonna-whore type guys? I knew there had to be something wrong with you.” You spiral off, adjusting your pants and trying to gather yourself properly. Chan merely laughs in response for a moment.

“No, it’s nothing like that, I’m perfectly capable of fucking you,” he answers clearly, and with decisiveness. “And I will, presumably. But let’s get to know each other a bit more first, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, a little annoyed at the games that Chan seemingly loves to play with you, and yet, willing to continue playing them on his terms all the same. “Fine, I guess I’ll get to know you or whatever.” Playful sarcasm dripping from the tail end of your response.

He laughs, gentle smile taking his features — and in his mind, all of the ways he plans to have you when the time is right.

When Chan shows up to your place of employment only three days later, it’s bad timing. The truth of the matter, is that it’s always bad timing, that’s the nature of a fast paced job such as your own, though. Shoving items into a bag and slinging it over your shoulder — followed by desperately trying to free your ponytail from the confines of the sling as you run towards the door, you only manage out with a “let’s go, move, move!” as you rush past the man in the doorway.

By now, Chan knows better than to ask very many questions. He’s quick on the uptake. He knows what he may sign up for upon arrival. Today? A handful of miscellaneous binders — sticky notes and fabrics sticking out of the tops, bottoms and sides of them.

“Already comfortable with bossing me around, huh?” he says, a brisk stride catching him up to you on the sidewalk as the both of you hustle down the concrete path.

“You know how it is,” you say, “if you’re gonna be here then I’m gonna put you to work.”

“I kind of like it,” flirtation lacing his voice. “Being told what to do by a beautiful woman definitely isn’t the worst way to spend the day.”

“That’s what you like? I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Maybe, can’t give everything away on the first date, I’m not easy.”

“So I noticed.”

You take notice of how easy it is now to engage in these types of conversations with him. Cute, curly blonde hair flowing in the breeze as you both run-walk towards the destination a couple of blocks away — you’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t a charm point — his absolute willingness to go above and beyond already. Carry things. Help you at work. Hell, he had sort of already showed up for you better than a lot of the guys you had dated in the past.

And now the flirting — playfully toying with each other in tone and topic that borders, if not fully crosses, the line of appropriateness — especially with you being on the clock.

Not that anyone is with the two of you to monitor the conversation. Or know that he took you home the other night. Or any of the other misdoings of that particular evening.

“Place is up here, did you come by for a reason or do you have a sixth sense for when I need help carrying things?” you ask, finally slowing down when the time on your phone insists that you have perhaps a minute or two to spare extra.

“Yeah, actually—“ he starts, slowing down next to you and stopping to face. “I wanted to ask you to be my date to the wedding.”

And you’re floored. That’s your immediate, gut, response anyways, but the more you grant a second to it, the more unsurprising you become.

He either genuinely does not understand how your job works and what proper boundaries are, or he just truly does not care. You’re fairly certain you know which it is.

“Chan, I’m working the event—“

“No, I know!” he interrupts suddenly, and for the first time it appears as though he had actually put some thought into it, and the inappropriateness of such a situation. “It can be our little secret. Just between us two.”

Looking down at your phone to check the time, and following it with an exhausted sigh, you roll your eyes. “Then what’s even the point?”

One corner of Chan’s mouth pulls up, and now you know he put thought into this. Which may or may not be advised, after all.

“The real fun would be after the event, obviously.”

Visually, you give off no tells, that of which you’re sure, but inside? Screaming, at the top of your lungs.

You’re not entirely sure if he means sex, or a date, or sex and a date or what he means at all. A man with something sly constantly up his sleeve, you simply had to assume: all of the above.

And so, you agree.

Weeks pass, and you’re surprised by the fact that when the night of the wedding comes around, Chan is actually no where to be found all of the time prior. The man that could not resist the urge to bother you at work, suddenly ghosting you? Were you being ghosted? Did he lose interest? Perhaps the allure of sleeping with the cute wedding planner had worn off all just before the big night itself. Tragic, you think to yourself, you didn’t even get to sleep with him, after all.

But when he meets you for the first time at the reception near the open bar — a smooth hand brushing the small of your back — so brief that no one nearby would ever catch it, the glimmer in his eye is enough to let you know that the plan is, in fact, still on.

And through the sound of a private bathroom door slamming against the wall, and your back up against it — met once again with the enticingly crushing weight of him against you as his mouth meets your own in fervent, needy kisses — you forget why you thought it was ever off anyways.

“W-we have to go back out there, Chan—“ you manage out between mouths and gasps of breath, fingers curled into the white coat of his blazer. “You wore white? That’s so tacky.”

“Not my choice, bride wanted it,” he answers back in similar neediness and much more expressed disinterest in the topic. “I want you.”

“Last time you said that—“ and Chan kisses you on the mouth hard again. “—last time you said that you didn’t do anything about it.”

“And I can’t again, not yet anyways.”

“Not into exhibitionism?”

“I don’t perform well under pressure.”

You laugh as he pulls away from you, allowing you to straighten yourself up to go back out into the public eye. “You’d be terrible at my job.”

“I know, just the most soft-dicked wedding planner ever, it’d be humiliating,” Chan chuckles, leaning back to check himself in the mirror as well before reaching forward and placing his hand on the door knob. “Good?”

“Good.”

As the reception carries on, you stand back to watch from a distance — available when necessary but for the most part, out of the way. For all intents and purposes, the large portion of your job was finished. The clients were happy, and the night a beautiful one — dimly lit fairy lights and silver plating along white, linen tables. You watch as Minho and his bride share a dance together, smiling into one another's eyes. Truly and madly in love.

A moment later, you catch Chan’s from across the room — a look held in time longer than it would typically be held. You feel it in your chest more than anything, and more than that, you’re hopeful that he might be catching the same.

When the night festivities finally come to a close — shaking more hands than you remember ever having mingled with in all of your time working with the client, Chan finally makes his way over towards you as the crowd dissipates — two glasses of wine just as he had offered on the rehearsal night, and you grin at him knowingly.

“Remember what happened the last time I had a glass of wine on the terrace with you?”

“Nothing much, as far as my recollection goes.”

Following him out and looking out towards the view, a breeze passes by the both of you — warmer than the last time, inviting, almost. Your gaze pulls from the trees and the buildings before you and towards the man next to you — handsome and charming and seemingly full of love and passion.

Had he…all of the things that you were looking for in a man?

Feeling your piercing gaze, he turns towards you — ashamed at your gawking, you chuckle lightly and bring your wine glass to your lips, but Chan only smiles in adoration of you.

Inhaling, Chan begins to speak.

“I’m not going to sleep with you—“

It’s sudden, and sends Chan visibly reeling — so much so that you feel the need to amend the statement in earnest.

“What I mean is like, like a one night stand…hook-up sort of thing.“

Eyebrows gently furrowing, Chan remains silent as he watches you talk through your thoughts in real time, not wanting to interrupt where ever it was that you were intending on going with this.

“I— I have feelings, so,” you stutter out, avoiding direct eye contact and instead, choosing to speak to the golden liquid in your glass. “So I don’t think it’s a good idea, is all. Sorry.”

Silence takes the balcony briefly. Seconds that feel like years to you, but in real time, Chan responds quite immediately. To that, you are thankful.

“What? Of course I’m interested in you. I’ve always been interested in you,” he says, “I don’t carry around binders full of color swatches just for any ol’ woman I want to sleep with, are you kidding me?”

“Chan shut up! I’m being serious!”

“I know, I know—“ he giggles, avoiding your playful slap to his arm. “I am, too. I’m serious.”

And taking a step forward, Chan leans down into you once again. It’s not the first kiss that the two of you have shared, and hell, not even of the night.

But it was different. It was new in all of the ways that love is and can be. The blossoming feeling of being seen and held by the one person that you wish to perceive you.

Walking back inside as the catering staff begin cleaning up the remains of the evening, Chan turns to you and takes a deep breath, as if somewhat insecure about where to go now.

“So,” he begins, the word exhaled through his mouth as if attempting to mask it to be as unheard as possible. “Want to come back to my place, then?”

You look at him with feigned surprise before replying, “aww, look at you. You look so shy now. What happened to tough guy in the bathroom a few hours back?”

“Tough guy has to perform now, if you say yes. Remember what I said about pressure?” Chan laughs in response.

You lean in to whisper, as to not allow any passerby into your banter. “Are you warning me of something?”

“Doubtful, but imagine how good it’s going to be if you go in with low expectations.”

“You’re so annoying.”

Turning off his car, you take a deep breath before grabbing your bags and moving towards crawling out of the passenger side of the vehicle.

“Nervous?” he asks. It’s obvious, after all.

“A little, I guess? Kind of silly since I’m a grown woman.”

“Not really, pretty normal,” he says, opening the car door and ushering himself out as well. “On the bright side, you don’t have to climb any flights of stairs, my building elevator works.”

“Elevator? After everything you said about mine! Jerk.”

Finally stepping foot into the mans apartment, you realize in the moment that you had never given even an inkling of a thought to what it would look like prior.

Nice furnishings, a clean kitchen area, and a bed that’s made — despite a relatively small apartment, it was well kept, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he weren’t a single man at all.

“Want anything to drink?” he asks from behind you, rustling around with keys and coats by the door. You hum in response that you don’t need anything.

The next thing you know, you’re being hauled off towards the bedroom, in a set of arms much more muscular than you ever remember them being.

Dropping you back first onto the mattress, Chan wastes no timing climbing up the length of your body and nestling himself between your legs — mouths making contact yet again, and more needy than ever before — Chan only stops long enough to pull his own shirt off and over his head, thrown across his bedroom before settling back down and against you.

It lasts only momentarily, however — the heat of the moment quickly over taking him as he becomes acutely aware of how much clothing you are wearing and how much he desperately does not want that to be the case. Ushering himself up and onto his knees, he begins fingering at the buttons of your blouse, and smiles as your own hands reach down towards the buttons of your slacks.

“Can I take this off?” Chan asks hurriedly, already gently pulling you up and off of the mattress as if he anticipates the affirmative response. He receives it, of course, and slings the fabric along with the previously discarded of his own.

“In a rush?” you giggle, lying back down and watching his hands work in a rush against all of the confines keeping the distance between his skin and your own intact.

“A little bit, should I slow down?”

“No, it’s okay, we have more time for slowing down in the future.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Chan responds, motioning himself in reverse to create space to pull your pants from your legs. “That reminds me though, be my girlfriend?”

“You’re asking me now?” you laugh, the only clothing remaining on your body a pair of panties.

“Should I wait until i’m in?”

“You should shut up.”

“I’ll take that as a 'yes’ then.”

Chan makes fast work of his own jeans, kicking them along with his boxer briefs off before climbing back onto the bed, and you realize that you’re staring.

And unfortunately, that he notices, too. A cheeky grin, followed by a bright redness to his ears. It’s not often that you see him shy, but you can’t help but enjoy the sight.

Well, both sights.

Reaching down and hooking fingers into the remaining fabric, he pulls them from you and wastes no time pressing two fingers against — and then into you. A dull stretch, relieving in a sense — the feeling that this is finally going to happen, and apparently you had desired it much more than you had thought going in.

Chan leans down, pressing his mouth against yours only to trail his lips down your jaw, up and over towards your ear. Gently pressing his hand into you, you exhale a whiny — and you can hear the way it makes his own breath hitch.

“I want you,” he whispers into you, and if not for the fact that you knew it would finally happen, you might be annoyed by the admission.

“Please,” is all you can groan out, but thankfully, it’s all that he needs.

Pulling back and off of you again, Chan leans over to his dresser, opening the small wooden drawer and fishing out a plastic packet before ripping it open with his teeth and gently motioning it along himself.

As Chan leans back down into you, you feel the beginning of his gentle intrusion — guided by his hand in the beginning, then by the sharp inhale of your breath at the stretch. Forearms flat against the mattress on either side of your head, biting into your lip and eyes screwed shut — Chan groans under his breath as he presses himself all of the way into you, fully buried in your warm, wetness.

“God—“ he exhales into your mouth, you swallow it down happily, his admission of submission to you. “You feel amazing.”

“You feel—“ you begin, feeling as though it necessary of you to meet him halfway in the discussion. After all, no one likes to be left hanging all alone. But it’s the slow, drag of his pull out, followed by another velvety push inside that catches the words in your throat and only allows them out in the form of a groaned out “fuck.”

Only a few more strokes before Chan is able to get his head screwed on properly again — enough to make use of himself at least — and settles into a slow, strong pace against you. Bringing a hand up, he finds your hair and wraps fingers into it — not pulling, but as if you keep you grounded, keep you in place for him — for the both of you, in a way.

“Ch-Chan, I—“ you whisper against his cheek, voice shaky and seemingly already fucked out.

He snaps his attention to, albeit a bit surprised by the fact. “Already?”

You nod quickly. Followed by a sigh of relief from him.

“Oh thank God, I'm so cl-close—“

Digging your nails into his strong shoulders, you feel your abdomen tighten in impending release, and it’s only a few more strokes before he’s pulling it from you — teeth gritted hard, unsure about the potential of a noise complaint from any neighboring people and not wanting to risk it — you groan loudly into the flesh of his arm, only causing him to meet you the same — three, four especially hard, rough pounds against you before he’s clenching his eyes shut and emptying into the barrier between you.

Rolling off of you to lie in next, chests heaving even in spite of the short session, Chan tosses his arm across his face and chuckles to himself after only a minute or two of silence between you.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for weeks.”

You giggle, snuggling up towards him. “Yeah? I could tell.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” he snaps back, bringing his closest arm to you up and around you. “Give me time, it’s been a while, alright?”

Tying off the condom eventually and getting up for glasses of water, he hands you one as the both of you sit at the edge of the bed.

“Burgundy and gold, right?”

The sudden thought catches you off guard, because what does that have to do with anything?

“Wh-what—?”

“Your wedding colors, burgundy and gold, was it?”

And now you’re really caught off guard, because he…remembered that?

“Yes, how do you remember that?”

You watch him smile, looking down into his glass of water before turning back towards you with his grin never diminishing. Chan leans in and kisses you on the forehead delicately before answering the question.

“Gonna be important,” he begins, “can’t hire you to work your own event, now can I?”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

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hyunnielix · 1 year

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there’s sunshine in my eye | lee felix

Series Masterlist

— felix x (f) reader (ft. other skz members)

— word count: ongoing (will be updated)

— genre: baker!felix au, baker!reader, romance, explicit/adult themes. 18+ minors dni, non-idol au warnings: angst. explicit themes/eventual smut.

→ playlist on spotify

You weren’t a morning person. Although, the walk to the bakery may as well have been your favourite thing in the entire world. The blue birds chattering away. The slight breeze that brushed against your cheeks. The smell of fresh dew droplets that decorated the grass beneath your feet. The overstimulating sun rays that almost blinded you. The box of muffins now scattered across the gravel path. The skin of your hands raw from breaking the fall. Yeah, you definitely weren’t a morning person. That was until you met him.

→ part one: "a sweet tooth that has freckles"

→ part two: "an extra pump of caramel please"

→ part three: “la lune & le soleil”

→ part four: "baking for amateurs" (coming soon)

→ part five: "that leaves a bitter aftertaste" (coming soon)

→ part six: "ice cold looks and ice cold lattes” (coming soon)

→ part seven: "sorry, strawberries and cream" (coming soon)

→ part eight: “meet me in the kitchen” (coming soon)

#lee felix x reader #lee felix #felix smut #lee felix smut #stray kids smut #skz x reader #felix #skz scenarios #skz #stray kids #kpop fanfic #felix x reader

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hyunnielix · 1 year

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author who allowed you to write this because i am literally sobbing in my bed at 9:28pm and i can't stop. this is the most devastating piece of work i have ever read. holy fuck.

❥hate & hurt (with all my love) (m)

↳ two things always remained true:

1) for better or for worse, change is inevitable.

and 2) chan always came back.

bang chan x fem!reader — childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits, heavy angst, romance, sexual content [12.5k wc] cws: physically abusive parents (somewhat detailed), parental death, emotional manipulation, drinking, recreational drug use, sex as a coping mechanism, unhealthy relationships, language, heavy themes throughout. sexual content: penetrative sex (unprotected), a lot of carelessness emotionally.

February is cold, and that’s reason enough to find little joy in this month as well and many of the ones surrounding it, but your space heater at work giving out twenty minutes into your shift at work is certainly cause for more.

You can’t help but wonder, how do situations like this always come to find me?

Typically not anything too egregious, but most can admit that the small things tend to add up. Now, work is cold, and you have an unreasonably large number of books to wade through that must, ultimately, find their place amongst the numerous shelves that line the walls and walkways.

What else could possibly go wrong?

A lazy thought to yourself accompanied by a similar, tired blink as you bend down behind the front counter only to then hear the doorbell ding to signify the entry of a patron. Because of course they would right now, when you’ve already resigned yourself to the horrors of sorting by last name.

The words begin to tumble out of you before you’ve even stood fully again—halfway into turning your head towards the sound as it quickly dies out behind the door closing. “Welcome, what can I do for—”

The rest of them die in your throat, which is no match for the feeling of anxiety-fueled dizziness once eyes meet.

“Chan.”

Keep reading

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hyunnielix · 1 year

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Custom Hand Painted Shoes

Hey Stays! I am currently trying to kickstart my custom shoe painting business and am looking to start selling my shoe designs <3

If you're interested please follow me on my other accounts!

Tiktok

Instagram

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hyunnielix · 1 year

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I was thinkin' about who you are. | bang chan

【☆】 pairing - bang chan x reader

【☆】 genre - angst, mentions of a breakup, fluff, soft!dom bang chan

【☆】 word count - 3.3k (unedited i apologise)

【☆】 warnings - degradation but also praise kink because im weird, oral sex (f receiving), marking, possessive!chan, overstimulation, mention of Felix

The last thing you expected on your doorstep was your ex.

⋆｡°✩ listening - ‘little freak’ by harry styles ⋆｡°✩

The frosting was a perfect shade of baby blue. Smoothing the edges further to create a more minimalistic look. You smiled triumphantly, finally finishing the icing on the cake. Stepping away from the bench, you took a moment to appreciate your own artistry. Although your hands were a mess as well as accidently getting the frosting on your face you considered the cake to be a success.

The sunflower design decorating the front of the dessert made you feel giddy inside. Another one for the instagram page, that was for sure. Reaching for your phone on the counter, you decided to take a couple of photos. Attempting to not coat the device in sugar.

It almost slipped from your fingers as a loud knock startled you. Your brows furrowed; Felix wasn’t supposed to be here until five. The clock on your phone read otherwise.

You ran to the sink, washing your hands hurriedly before wiping them off with a cloth. Making your way to the door you hesitated. There was another knock, this time a lot softer.

Your hand came in contact with the handle, pulling it down before swinging it open. The smile previously on your features vanished at the sight in front of you. Swallowing so harshly you were sure everyone in the apartment complex could hear you.

“Chan?”

A sigh left his lips; awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. He looked as gorgeous as ever, his blonde hair fluffier than usual. Your lips parted as you took in his appearance. Lingering on his dimple as his smile was sheepish, avoiding eye contact.

“Uhm,” He paused, you could read the panic in his eyes. “I- I didn’t really think this through.” He let out a nervous giggle. You felt your chest clench at the noise, one that used to be so familiar.

Your gaze found itself glued to the carpet beneath you, kicking your foot against the material as a distraction. “Do you- would you like to come in?”

His stressed expression softened, mouth parting in an ‘o’ shape at your offer. He pursed his lips, thinking it through. You almost regretted asking as the uncomfortable silence made your skin crawl.

“I don’t want to intrude-,” He began, pursing his lips into a smile. One which broke your heart; he seemed just as nervous as you were. “Chan.”

The corner of your lip downturned as you spoke his name, a longing behind the tone. He exhaled softly, taking in the expression on your face. Your head tilted slightly, eyebrows raised.

“Alright.”

You stepped to the side, gesturing for him to enter your apartment. Closing the door softly behind. Chan was refamiliarizing himself with the room, his hands comfortably hidden in his sweatpants.

“No photos?” He asked, sending you a questioning look. You used to have photo frames and polaroid's everywhere. Hating how bland the apartment looked without a splash of your personality.

You knew subconsciously what he was asking, or yet stating. The photos of us are gone.

“Thought it was time to redecorate.” You couldn’t help the spite that reared it’s ugly head at the choice of your words. You could tell it affected him by the amount of times he blinked, his head dipping forward. You almost wanted to apologize, but bit your tongue.

You passed by him, heading towards the kitchen once more. He eyed the bottle top seats before you nodded your head, giving him permission to sit down. You returned your focus on the cake.

He clambered onto the seat, silently admiring the design you’d created. “You’ve really improved.”

“Would you like some?” You gestured, grabbing a knife from one of the cabinets. You didn’t dare look at him when you asked.

Your question caught him off guard. His brows furrowed, frowning slightly. “How can you do that?”

You tilted your head, hesitating before slicing into the dessert you’d slaved over in the kitchen for hours. He answered your question before you even asked, “You’re still so nice to me.”

“It’s just cake Chan.” You chuckled awkwardly, trying to dismiss his claim. Placing a perfectly cut triangle piece on a napkin, you pushed it towards him. Trying your best to avoid eye contact. Although by the way your hands were shaking you’re sure he knew.

He muttered a thank you before continuing, “We both know it’s not just that.”

“Why are you here?” Your shoulders dropped, hands now outstretched on the bench as you stared him down. “I thought you made it pretty clear that this was over.” You gestured between the both of you, almost sounding hysterical as your patience was wearing thin.

“I realised it was a mistake.” He exhaled, fiddling with his hands. “That’s why I’m here.”

Your grip on the bench grew stronger, knuckles turning white from frustration. “No, you don’t get to give me that false hope Chan.”

He frowned at the strain in your voice as you spoke. Glancing at the floor once more, you began to shake your head. “I’ve been sleeping in your old shirt because I miss you.” Your voice cracked as you tried to articulate how you felt about his absence. Chan’s brows furrowed, pain in his expression at seeing your hurt.

You swallowed, gasping slightly. You pressed the back of your wrist to your mouth trying to prevent any strangled sound from escaping. You continued to blink keep the oncoming tears at bay. Which proved to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

He stood up from the seat, making his way around the kitchen counter. You stepped back, shaking your head as he approached. His expression full of concern. You held your hands to your chest as some form of protection from the aching you felt. Refusing to lift your head to his level.

“Hey,” Chan whispered softly. He caught your eyeline as he dipped down, glancing up at you. He raised both of his hands, hesitating at first. He lifted your chin with his pointer fingers, forcing you to hold eye contact as you cried. The wetness streaking down your face continued, unable to prevent the emotions bubbling inside. He softly brushed his thumbs against your cheeks, wiping away the onslaught of tears. The tenderness of the action made you want to cry more. Instead you closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing and his touch. “That’s it angel, just keep breathing; focus on me.”

You nodded at his words of affirmation, slowly regaining a hold on your emotions. Your hands gripped his forearms, brushing your own fingertips against his skin to ground yourself. Reminding yourself that he was physically present. A total contrast to how the last two months had been. You couldn’t help the instinct to nuzzle further into his hand as he cupped your cheek.

“Y/N, I can’t function without you.” The sincerity in his tone frightened you. Nodding slowly to show him you understood his words. “I can’t focus, you consume me. As much as I didn’t want to admit it pretty girl, I was scared.”

Your heart fluttered at the term of endearment, further calming you down until you were steadily breathing. “I thought you only ever cared about your work Chan.”

His jaw clenched at your mumbled statement, his hands now falling to yours. He held them so gently. “I didn’t mean to be dismissive, I understand that now. I’m sorry.”

He returned his gaze to yours, squeezing your hands “And I’ll always be sorry. I would do anything for you to not hate me.”

The corner of your lip upturned into a sad smile. “I never hated you Chan.”

“I was worried there for a second.” He quipped, smiling so brightly it made your chest tighten. You couldn’t fight the urge, pressing your forefinger into the dimple below his mouth. He tilted his head at the action, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

You mumbled through the sniffles. “You’re so cute.” His cheeks began to redden from the compliment. You loved it when he got shy.

“Come ere’.” You obeyed him, almost throwing yourself into his embrace. His arms wound their way around your waist. Burying his nose into the crook of your neck. You hugged him back in earnest.

He inhaled deeply, before realising something. “Is this not my shirt as well?” His fingers twisted the hem of the grey graphic tee as he pulled back. You pursed your lips, nodding slightly.

His fingers continued to wander, itching higher underneath the shirt. The pads of his fingertips brushed against your skin, causing your breath to hitch. He seemed entranced. His breathing pattern had changed as he rubbed his hand up and down your torso. Goosebumps began to pepper your skin as your mouth fell open.

He squeezed your side before leaning forward, whispering softly. “Let me show you how much I love you.” His hot breath on your skin made your eyes flutter shut. “Please.”

A whimper escaped your mouth at the desperation in his tone. Your hand reaching out to grip his bicep, he pressed his forehead to yours. Backing you slowly into the wall. His palm rested on your back, pressing you into him. “That’s my good girl.”

You felt him smile into your shoulder as he intently listened to your body’s reaction. You couldn’t help but arch your back, pressing your chest to his as he continued exploring. “Chan...”

He almost cursed at the breathiness in your tone. Knowing he got you this worked up so easily.

“I know, I know... I’m going to take my time with you.” He mumbled in between pressing feather light kisses behind your ear. He pressed his hot mouth against your neck. Spending more time lavishing other areas, he grazed his teeth against the skin. “Hmm? want me to mark you up?”

Your whole body almost folded at the possessiveness in his tone, unable to keep your head straight. He pulled back, one of his brows raised, a lazy smirk adorning his features. He admired the glazed look in your eyes, lips parted slightly before you poked your tongue out to wet them.

You decided to take charge, one of your hands sliding into his hair. You pulled him towards you, pressing your lips onto his hastily. You tilted your head, swiping your tongue over his bottom lip to tease him. A groan escaped his mouth at your boldness.

He tapped his fingers underneath your thighs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hesitantly pulled back. Jumping, he supported your thighs as you hooked them around him. “Were you with anyone? when I was gone?”

He held your back upright as you stared down at him, out of breath. You tilted your head at his question, wondering if you should be honest. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. You almost wondered if it was out of nervousness.

You shook your head. “No one can fill me as well as you do.”

He hissed at your statement. Manhandling you into a position where he could slide you onto the kitchen bench. “Chan the cake!”

Stepping in between your thighs, he glanced up at you grinning. "There’s something else I’d much rather eat.”

You pulled his arms towards you, trying to get as physically close as you can. He captured your lips in another heated kiss. Your mouth parted slightly as you let out a gasp, feeling one of his hands underneath your shirt. He traced the material of your bralette. "You always sound so pretty don't you?"

"No more teasingggg." You whined, finding his mouth again. He nipped at your bottom lip, slightly chucking at your impatience. You licked into his mouth, trying to savour the taste of him.

He pulled away first, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs. Admiring the fucked out look on your face, eyes blown wide and lips slightly swollen.

"Shirt." You mumbled. "Take it off."

He obeyed you. Crossing his arms to grip the hem of his black shirt to pull it off, the chain around his neck dangling at the movement.

You gestured with your finger for him to come closer. A little smile adorning your features at the view, "Now take mine off."

He slowly began to shimmy the singlet off, pressing kisses to your neck. "Arms up pretty."

You lifted them as he tugged it off. Your chest heaved, you'd never been this worked up in your life. Feeling like you could spontaneously combust any second now from how he's been treating you.

His hand wrapped around your throat, manhandling you on the bench until you were laying down. Your body so malleable and pliant against his. He squeezed slightly.

"Chan I need you.. please." You begged, almost in tears. You wriggled your body against the table, wanting to feel him.

He removed his hand from your throat, instead focusing back on your thighs. Allowing his hands to wander underneath the pleated skirt you wore, a short one at that. "Always so needy." He tutted, snapping the elastic band of your underwear against your skin.

His mouth parted as he bent down, hoisting you closer to the edge of the bench. The wet spot on your underwear almost causing him to salivate. "I haven't even done anything and you're this wet?"

Chan pressed soft butterfly kisses against the inside of your thighs, purposefully ignoring the spot you wanted him most. “Patience.” He reminded you, smirking against your skin.

He brushed his fingertips against the spot, lifting his gaze to yours. You nodded, glancing down at him as he pushed your skirt up further around your waist. Embarrassment dusted across your cheeks at the humiliation.

He exhaled softly before pressing his mouth against the fabric. Humming against you, a squeak fell from your lips at the familiar sensation of him against you. Mouthing at your cunt, he continued giving you soft kitten licks. Your clit throbbed at the attention he was giving you. Reaching down to slip your fingers into the back of his hair. He groaned at your response.

Growing impatient himself, he hooked his finger tips underneath the elastic band. You lifted your hips, letting him pull the flimsy material off. “Pretty little cunt all for me.”

You prevented the urge to close your thighs around his head. The rasp in his voice was killing you, especially with the dirty talk. He always knew how to push your buttons.

He leant forward once more, gently sucking on your clit. One of his hands rubbing your hip as you arched into him. Little whimpers fell from your mouth as he lapped up your arousal. His tongue moved in figure eights, the stimulation causing you to feel dizzy.

You sighed in pleasure as he changed up the pace, greedily eating you out as if he couldn’t get enough. You bucked your hips and he chuckled against you, pressing his palm against your lower stomach. The pressure causing the pleasure to intensify. He buried himself further into you, focusing now on your entrance as his nosed bumped against your clit. The change in stimulation caused your body to go into shock.

“Chan.. chan...” You were unable to control your moans, gripping the back of his head as you felt your legs begin to shake. He was relentless, licking up your folds until he sucked on your clit once more. The build up in pressure finally releasing. You gasped as he continued to work you through your orgasm, riding out your high on his tongue.

Your chest heaved. He pulled away, a string of saliva trailing from your cunt to his mouth. His gaze was lidded, wiping his finger across his bottom lip to clean up the rest. Chan stood up, leaning his body over you.

His chain hung in front of you, a part of you wanted to tug him forward so you could kiss his perfect lips again. Instead, you gnawed on your lip at the sight of him hovering over you.

He nuzzled his face into your neck, mumbling. “Gonna stretch you out a little bit, yeah?” The softness in his tone made your heart clench, he was trying to be so careful.

Chan’s fingers teased your entrance, sliding up and down your slick folds as you wriggled against him. “Too much, it’s too much.”

“You can handle it sweetheart.” He whispered, pressing a kiss behind your ear. He pressed two fingers into you, slowly working you open further. Your arms found their way around his back, pulling him into you. His hot breath fanned across your neck as he continued softly thrusting his fingers into your cunt. The wet squelching sounds causing you to shrink against him. You’d probably leave a mess on the bench at this rate.

You couldn’t help but clench against the thickness of his fingers. Chan responded by swiping his thumb against your abused clit. Your body was aching against him. Running your fingers up and down his chest, you felt the outlines of his abs. He groaned against you as you lightly dragged your nails down his front.

A singular tear slid down the side of your face, eyes glassy from the pleasure. He licked his lips, still covered in your arousal. Chan pulled away just enough to watch the change in your expression, grunting. “Look so pretty like this.”

He leant forward, pressing his swollen lips against yours. His tongue licked into your mouth lazily. You hummed against him, tasting yourself on his lips. These kind of make out sessions were your favourite.

“Taste good?” You nodded as he found the spot that drove you crazy. You gripped his arms, almost crying as he continued his pace. Curling his fingers at the perfect angle to hit it every time. The overstimulation hurt so good, shivers of pleasure ran down your spine as he continued to mumble sweet nothings.

You felt yourself gush around his fingers, head lolling back completely drunk on the feeling. He continued to rub your clit softly before you batted his hand away, face tear stained from the pleasure. He chuckled at your state. Chan lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them. “Was that your way of apologising?”

Your question came out a lot breathier than you intended, attempting to prop yourself up on your elbows. You felt ridiculously drowsy. He held out his hand for you to grab, pulling your body upright on the bench.

“Did it work?” He cheekily asked, smiling softly as his hands rested on your hips. You shrugged, “Depends.” Your hand reached for his jeans, slipping your finger underneath the top of the material. Brushing against the material of his boxers, you tilted your head. He knew what you were asking.

He shook his head at your pleading puppy dog eyes. “This was about you, not me.”

You tugged him forward, pouting. “Please Channie, wanna make you feel good.”

He couldn’t help but admire how cute you looked begging. A slight frown adorning your features as your wandering hands caused an expletive to fall from his lips.

He gritted his teeth, “You do make me feel good.” His self-control was being put to the test when it came to you. Removing your hands from his body, he held them in front of you pressing a kiss to them. Your heart fluttered at the sight.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You mumbled an ‘alright.’ He helped you slide off the bench. Your legs nearly giving out as they came in contact with the floor. You closed your eyes, blushing ridiculously hard. His arm secured you by holding your torso, pushing against you back so you could stand properly.

“That good huh?” His little quip caused you to send him a deadly side eye.

“Shut up.”

He followed you to your room. A knock on the door caused your eyes to widen. “Oh my god, Felix.”

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