Merry Christmas ❅

So every year I churn out a short Christmas fic and cookies for you if you can guess which pairing this is before you get to the very bottom (hint: it's currently my otp of all otps and no I'm not in it. also, the otp that ruined me in all the right ways this year BLESS THIS OTP)

So... MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! I LOVE YOU ALL ☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Seoul on Christmas Eve is a thick blanket of snow and a thin whisper of veiled glances  between two people with the slightest hint of frost biting on their fingertips, gnawing at  the flesh to make sure fingers find fingers and intertwine to spark up human warmth. They're  a little bit too old for Christmas wishes, a little bit too known to roam the streets  freely, and a little bit too scared for kisses under the mistletoe. So they have this  instead. And this is nice. This feels just right. This is just the two of them alone  together.

lean on the rhythm, with my song for you

Kaisoo; pg; fluff; 1566 words

Summary: Jongin thinks that you can fall easily into a rhythm if you know it well enough like the back of your hand and it's not long before he dances to the rhythm of falling and being in love.

a/n: Wrote this during the wee hours of the morning before I passed out. Please excuse the lack of quality, it's a 2 am baby. Also, this is nothing but shameless fluff. Comments are dearly appreciated and if you have time to spare, please drop by my qooh and tell me what you think. Enjoy~ <3

✩

 

Mid-Februaury in Seoul is cold and biting, people bundled up in layers, their bodies seeking warmth from the coffee mugs nestled between their hands and the scarves woven around their necks. The air is nippy and  foggy breaths litter the atmosphere like smoke trails and if you squint hard enough, like gray fluttering butterflies flitting around and disappearing, replaced by other rounds of puffs coming from the artists' mouths, painting the air with escaped sighs and melancholic exhales, lungs giving way to breathe in oxygen.

Jongin doesn't feel the cold though. Jongin rarely feels the cold.  The heat in his body as he dances to the thumping of the beats coming from the speakers is enough to ward off the cold he should be feeling in the studio. He pops and locks and does graceful turns and finishes off with a final thrust, beads of sweat trickling from his forehead down to the bridge of his nose, and he's panting and out of breath but his heart is full and he feels like soaring, his feet as light as air and the exhiliration still tingling on the tips of his fingers.

the lost can be lost together.

Jongtae (slight Jongkey); pg; fluff; 2700 words

a/n: Wrote this during summer last year. I don't even know.

 

2 in the earliest hours of the morning and Jonghyun is still wandering the streets of Seoul, his guitar strapped against his shoulder and bouncing along to the rhythm of his mismatched steps, his boots making soft echoes against the pavement that only the ghosts of Korea’s past can hear in the lingering voices of the night.