#;; barista life yo

[tom-whore-dleston]

Can I Keep You?

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x barista!f. reader

Word Count: 1.3k

This fic includes: minor spoilers from Thunderbolts*, fluff (so much of it), Bob playing with dogs, flirting, Bob is awkward baby boi until he's not, Bob and reader hold hands

Summary: You loved working as a barista at a dog cafe and Bob gives you another reason to love your job.

Notes: ahhhh the chokehold this sweet man has on me sadjgahgsg Bob is gonna be my new favorite to write for bc I had so much fun with this piece! Please continue to feed my growing love for Bob by sending requests, thots, concepts, literally anything and everything!!

request: Saw your thunderbolts post and just wanted to say - me too!! Could I have a piece on Bob x Reader at a Dog Cafe (if it’s ok) because he needs all the cuddles he can get! Thank you -@blackbat05

Being a barista at the new dog cafe has already brought so much joy to your life. You found purpose in combining two things you love, coffee and dogs, into a profession. A fun profession that didn’t feel like work to you. 

You had already anticipated today to be like any other Saturday with the typical rush of caffeine-driven dog enthusiasts waiting for their turn to play with pooches with their favorite drink. While your predictions came true, you had not expected to become flustered when a tall, brown-haired man approached the counter upon calling the name ‘Bob’. He flashed a smile so stunning, you could have fainted as he stopped in front of the counter.

“Hi!” you blurted with a toothy grin. “Vanilla latte with oat milk?”

Bob nodded, “Yep, that’s me.” His hand reached out for the styrofoam cup and you gulped upon noticing how large and veiny it was. You hid your nervousness behind another trained customer service smile. 

“Awesome! Hope you enjoy your drink and have fun with the pups.” The world stopped around you as his fingers brushed against yours as you extended the drink out to him. Your face warmed up feeling the softness of his fingers, imagining them interlaced with yours. As he gingerly held the hot latte, you desperately wished that you had more time to memorize the feel of his fingers against yours.

“Thank you!” Bob responded cheerfully before turning to find a dog to curl up next to him. You watched as a corgi and maltese ran towards the tall man, giggling to yourself as the energetic dogs attempted to jump as high as they could but only getting as high as his knees. He beamed upon noticing the dogs fighting for his attention, his voice raising a pitch to match their little yaps. You snapped out of your intense gaze on Bob when your supervisor called your name for the third time.  

“Huh, what?” You turned towards them dumbfounded, and you realized they had been needing the can of whipped cream on your side.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were asking me to give you the whipped cream.” As you fetched the item, you peeked a glance at Bob through the glass. The corgi and maltese were licking his face, causing him to burst into a fit of laughter so contagious you couldn’t help but laugh yourself. You didn’t pay attention to your supervisor finding the source of your distraction, responding with a knowing hum.

“Go ahead and take 30.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, no worries, I’ll cover for you. Just go talk to him instead of gawking like a love struck teenager.” The other baristas eavesdropping snickered while exchanging glances with one another.

“Who?” You asked, playing coy.

“Oh my gosh, just go before I put you on dish duty!” Your supervisor jokingly threatened and you scurried to rip the apron off your uniform while walking towards the employee door.

Once you clocked out and removed your apron, you walked out onto the cafe floor, a herd of dogs racing towards you in hopes to receive treats. Amongst the adorable chaos, you caught Bob’s attention who was rubbing the tummy of the corgi laying across his lap. You fought against the thought of being the one with your head in his lap while he smooths your hair. Behind the counter, you could sense your coworkers spying on you while pretending to be busy. Ignoring them, you gathered the courage to join Bob on the floor, keeping your eyes on the corgi starting to doze off from Bob’s petting.

“I see you met Maggie,” you started, causing Bob to meet your gaze. 

Bob smiled, “Yeah, I think I’m her new best friend.” Now that Maggie was fast asleep in his lap, Bob seized the opportunity to take a sip of his lukewarm latte. “By the way, this is the best coffee I’ve ever had. I give my compliments to the barista.”

Your cheeks warmed up again, heartbeat thumping a little faster. “That would be me.”

“I know, I watched you make it.” Your head tilted to the side, studying if he was serious or not. Bob gave a bashful look, letting out a short, nervous laugh. “Sorry, that must’ve sounded weird to you. I didn’t expect someone so pretty like you to come talk to me, let alone even see me. I mean, I’m having a blast with the dogs, especially Maggie. I’d have never guessed I’d be sitting and talking with the cute barista that made my latte.” As he blabbered on, your smile grew, and you chuckled at how his cute face became a tinted pink.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry, I-”

“No need to apologize. I think it’s sweet.” You reassured him, gently caressing his hand over Maggie’s rising chest. “If it means anything to you, I’m taking my break now so I could talk to you. My supervisor caught me getting distracted by you…but in a good way.”

Bob sighed a breath of relief, then cleared his throat before extending his hand out to you. “I’m Bob, by the way.”

“I know.” You responded before taking his hand in yours and sharing your name with him. A gesture as simple as a handshake felt electrifying between you two. You hoped this moment with Bob would never end so you wouldn’t have to hear your coworkers’ endless teasing. On top of that, 30 minutes wasn’t enough to learn about the man you and Maggie have grown a soft spot for.

Nevertheless, you spent the remainder of your break getting to know each other, actively listening to what stories you both had to share. You held your composure upon learning that Bob was now a part of The New Avengers, as you have become a fan of them from reading news articles and listening to podcasts about them. It even broke your heart after he shared parts of his past with you. He allowed you to take his hand in yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

“I liked this. I wish you didn’t have to go back to work so soon because I really enjoyed getting to know you.” Bob frowned, head bowing down towards his empty coffee cup. 

“Me too. You’re like the dogs here, just want to keep them all and spend all the time in the world with them.”

“I’d keep you too. And spend all the time with you.” The background noise drowned out around you as your eyes got lost in his. Suddenly, Bob removed the sleeve from his cup, tearing it in half with ease. It was the hottest thing you have seen in a while. 

“Let’s exchange numbers. I’d like to take you out on a date tonight and I’d hate to keep you from work.” His voice sounded so confident and cool that your stomach did flips inside you.

“Yes, I’d love that!” You fished around in your pocket for a permanent marker, jotting down your name and number for him. You gave him the marker and your torn up part of the coffee cup sleeve. After he finished writing his number down, he handed you his portion of the ripped paper and your marker.

“Well, I better get going. Bucky and Yelena are gonna send a search party for me and I think your boss is side-eyeing me.” You glanced over at the counter, and your supervisor whipped their head around whisking a matcha in their bowl. Bob was already standing, and he helped you to your feet. You could never get tired of feeling how soft his hands were. 

“It was nice meeting you, Bob!” Your hand was still attached to his, neither of you ready to let go.

“Likewise, sweetheart.” You wanted to melt into the floor. “Thanks again for the coffee.” He swiftly brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles lightly. You were speechless as he gently dropped your hand to your side, winked at you, and headed towards the exit. Everything happened so fast, you didn’t get a chance to react until you were in the bathroom washing the hands that were once touched and kissed by Bob. Once you were back behind the espresso machine, you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket, smiling to yourself already knowing who the text notification was from.

Navigation | Fic Masterlist | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds Masterlist

[miley1442111]

criminal minds masterlist :)

----------------------

aaron hotchner

the problem with arguing

you and aaron run into some trouble at home, what happens when you're taken by an unsub?

breaking rules mr.hotchner? (part 2) better than ok

what happens when you and aaron are left after work alone? (and) surely he'll visit you in hospital, right?

unfair unfair part 2

my take on: season 3 episode 20- Lo-fi

i don’t even know you anymore part 1 part2

aaron is there for you after you spencer break up, romance ensues.

motherly instincts

aaron's overbearing mother makes a comment about your postpartum body, he doesn't react well.

slowly

aaron is there for you during the one of the most difficult times of your life.

fix it | fix it together

what happens when you and aaron are arguing and he compares you to haley, and worse, brings up an annulment?

my boy only breaks his favourite toys

based on the song by taylor swift

fresh out the slammer

based on the song by taylor swift

jealous?

you were to supposed keep you relationship a secret, what happens when a certain doctor develops a crush on you?

guilty as sin?

based on the song by taylor swift

no promises

aaron has to save you from an unsub before it's too late.

safe

you are a victim of an unsub and aaron finally has to tell the team something.

office couch

you and aaron spend some time on his office couch… (18+)

nervous night

aaron is there for you when a night with your sister turns sour.

opening night

aaron misses your opening night, he forgot all about it.

insomniac

how aaron helps with your insomnia episodes.

a great start

how you and aaron end up together after a hostage situation

pinky promises

how you and aaron worry jack, and how aaron finds something out almost 20 years later.

who did this to you?

aaron gets quite the surprise after a mission

telling him

jack can't go to school, so you swoop in and become aaron's hero, he asks two pretty important questions.

drunk confession and the morning after

aaron admits some very cute things when he's drunk.

aaron's admissions last night ended in a proposal in the car. not exactly romantic, but oh well

always

sharing a hotel room forces feelings to the surface.

clingy

aaron acts quite differently with his wife around, which causes eyebrowns to raise and feelings to start getting hurt.

the picture

a late night issue turns into something very nice when your boss that supposedly hates you decides to come clean.

birthday fights & other lies

aaron forgot your birthday which spirals into something much deeper.

cookies

you're the cute barista he sees everyday.

shocker

you have some news for your husband.

insecurity

aaron starts to overthink and doesn't realise how it's impacting the relationship.

safe

aaron had to make sure you're safe, can he get to you in time?

birthday break

aaron almost misses your birthday

protective

aaron (literally) fights for you

believe me aaron is there for you during a particularly difficult case. (18+)

videos and violence an unsub capturing you makes for a pretty interesting love confession

----------------------

spencer reid

thank god for dr. spencer reid

spencer saves you from your shitty family

i don't even know you anymore (part 2) i don't even know you anymore

your breakup with a cheating spencer and the aftermath with hotch

you were right

your husband accepts an invitation on your behalf

in sickness and in health

spencer is there for you when your sick, even with the germs

i’d say yes

is spencer asking you out? you'd say yes.

the tortured poets department

based on the song by taylor swift

stalker

spencer's there for you when the unsub is your hometown stalker, who's still obbessed with you

spencer x gender neutral model!reader

headcanons with spencer and a model reader :)

weird facts

you finally meet spencer's friends/team, only thing is, they don't know you exist.

relief

when spencer can't get to you in time, waking up leads to the team finding out about a few things. Like, you're married. And something else...

mutism

how you and spencer met, the first time spencer heard you speak, and a look into your life together

transfer

how your sudden transfer forces certain feelings to the surface

i wanna kiss you on the mouth

both of you are completely unaware of your feelings, but you speak too loudly and your feelings are confessed.

who’s afraid of little old me?

based on the song by taylor swift

saving you

spencer has to save you before it’s too late

hair tie

spencer's hair is getting too long

the fifth kiss

lila archer gets in the way of you and spencer.

you make me happy

spencer acts quite differently around you and it shocks the team

all alone

spencer doesn't want to get hurt, too bad it hurts you in the process

the joys of a workplace relationship

a new addition to the team causes some very strange conversations to be had- and a very embarrassing moment for both spencer, and you.

confession

spencer's birthday was supposed to be fun for him and his girlfriend, what happens when his mentor (his girlfriends father) shows up at his door?

picking

spencer notices one of your issues, and is determined to fix it.

broadway baby

a secret gets out

revealed

derek tricks you both, uh oh

don’t dwell

you and spencer reconcile after a bad case

controlled turns out spencer doesn't hate you...

under pressure endings are bittersweet...

----------------------

derek morgan

friendly fire

you and derek don't get along very well

high maintenance

you're told your high maintenance, you set out to prove it's not true, it goes badly.

my girl

derek is there to wash your insecurities away (tall reader x derek morgan)

take down

you take down an unsub threatening your husband, derek morgan

labour

derek has to do something when you're three days past your due date (18+)

----------------------

series

pride: you, a bau team member are faced with quite the choice when both aaron hotchner and spencer reid are interested in you, but what will happen when a family emergency calls them into action? And which will you choose?

part 1, (in progress)

----------------------

birthday blues: spencer, your boyfriend makes a choice that cuases something in your relationship to break. can he even fix it?

part one part two(in progress)

----------------------

regrets: spencer, your fiancè comes home from prison and an amalgamation of your grief and his causes the collapse of your relationship. Fast forward five years and the question still stands, can he fix it?

part one | part two (in progress)

----------------------

insomniac au: your life with aaron and jack, working with your insomnia

insomniac

treatment plan (part 1) treatment plan (part 2)

aaron oversteps and it starts a fight.

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 6 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 8 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: hey hey! i wrote a little minimum wage, maximum suffering side story for a nanami x reader request! obviously, it’s not canon to this main fic—just a fun little “what if” scenario where the barista and nanami get to be two overworked exhausted souls, bake together, and accidentally start catching feelings. if that sounds like your vibe, feel free to check it out! also, just a reminder that i’m taking requests, so if there’s something specific you wanna see in this universe or any jjk x reader content in general, send it my way! thank you all so much for the love and kind feedback—reading your reactions truly makes my day. hope you’re enjoying the chaos!! 🫶

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing aggressively against your nightstand. You consider letting it vibrate itself into the abyss, but then you see the name on the screen.

Greg the Manager.

Of course, it’s Greg.

You contemplate ignoring it. After all, you've gotten pretty good at ghosting calls from him. But then you remember the last time you did that, and Greg left you a voicemail that said, "Hey dude, I know you don’t like getting called, but I need help because the espresso machine is like… emitting a black fog? But no worries, bro, I handled it—put a towel over it."

The towel, you later discovered, had caught fire.

So, for the sake of fire safety and whatever remains of your sanity, you begrudgingly pick up.

"Yo," Greg the Manager answers, sounding unreasonably chill.

"What’s wrong," you say, already bracing yourself.

"Uh. Don’t freak out, but the espresso machine made a sound that was, like… unholy."

You close your eyes. Rub your face. Consider throwing your phone out the window. "Greg. It always does that."

"Like, bro, I’m telling you, it sounded sentient this time."

"It’s just a machine, Greg," you reply, a deep sigh escaping you.

"I don’t know, man. It said something."

You sit up now, the exhaustion of life creeping up on you. "It spoke?"

"Not, like, English," Greg clarifies, sounding very much like he’s trying to convince himself. "But it made a noise that felt like it had intent."

Before you can even come up with something appropriately sarcastic, Greg makes a noise of panic. "Oh god. It’s smoking. Again."

You hang up.

By the time you drag yourself to work, the café smells like burnt espresso, disappointment, and what you can only assume is the palpable scent of existential dread. Greg the Manager is standing frozen in front of the espresso machine, which looks like it’s on the verge of giving up on life—or maybe plotting to drag him into some alternate dimension. You can’t decide. Either way, it’s rattling violently, as if trying to break free from the shackles of this mortal plane.

"Hey," Greg greets you, looking vaguely guilty.

You stare at him, then at the machine, which lets out a low, menacing hum. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" he says, a little too defensively.

You narrow your eyes.

"Okay, so I may have, like, smacked it real hard because it wasn’t working."

"You WHAT?!" You take a step back, half-expecting the espresso machine to come alive and launch itself at you like some caffeinated version of The Terminator.

"I—"

Before he can finish his sentence, the espresso machine lets out a noise that can only be described as otherworldly. It’s a screech that would make an animal in pain sound pleasant by comparison. The lights flicker. A single ominous spark shoots out of its side.

You take another step back, because honestly, at this point, there’s nothing left to do but stare at the impending doom of your workplace with all the grace and patience of a minimum-wage worker who’s clocking in for a shift that’s definitely going to suck.

“Cool,” you say flatly. “So we’re all gonna die today.”

When you hear no response, you turn. Of course, Greg—ever useless—has disappeared. Just gone. Like a damn mirage. You glance around the café, mentally preparing for the usual gauntlet of weirdness.

Muffin Guy is in his usual spot, staring at his muffin like it holds the secrets of the universe, and a woman is peering at the menu like it’s written in hieroglyphics. The vibes are bad. Just another typical day at the café.

And then—because life loves making things worse—the door chimes. You look up to see Choso and Yuji walking in. Well, Yuji walks in like a normal person. Choso, however, enters like he’s surveying enemy territory. He, as usual, zeros in on you like a heat-seeking missile.

"Barista," Choso greets you solemnly, as if he’s about to deliver some deeply important news.

"Choso," you reply, because this is just how your conversations go now.

"I have returned."

"You sure have, bud."

“You look exhausted.” Choso observes, his brows furrowing like he’s genuinely concerned.

You, running on caffeine and spite, give him a tired look. “That’s just my face.”

Choso doesn’t get sarcasm. Not even a little. His frown deepens. "I will give you nourishment."

Yuji, sensing an impending crisis, groans loudly. "Choso, please. We talked about this."

You already know what’s coming. You brace yourself. “Let me guess. You brought an entire feast again?”

Choso, ever serious, reaches into his pocket. You hold your breath.

And then, finally, he pulls out a single, modest red apple and places it on the counter like he’s offering you the Holy Grail.

Yuji’s jaw drops. “Character development?! He only brought one thing?”

Choso nods solemnly, like he just made a sacrifice. “I am learning restraint.”

You stare at the apple. “Where did you even get this?”

Choso pauses. Looks at Yuji. Looks at the apple. Looks away.

Yuji’s expression shifts to pure betrayal. “Did you—DID YOU STEAL THIS FROM THE FRUIT STAND WE WALKED BY EARLIER?”

Choso looks totally unbothered. “The barista needs nourishment.”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN JUST COMMIT CRIMES—”

Before Yuji can launch into a full-on rant about the ethics of fruit theft, the door chimes again, and in walks a new customer.

This guy?

He radiates vibes.

The kind of vibes that scream, "I’m either a cult leader or a very rich businessman who just walked out of a TED Talk on ‘The Secrets of Power.’"

Tall, sharp features, long black hair partially tied up in a man bun with loose strands framing his face. He’s wearing traditional robes that look like they cost more than your monthly rent. His movements are slow and deliberate with the kind of controlled grace that screams villain.

As he steps inside, he sniffs—like a Victorian aristocrat who just walked into a peasant’s barn. Then, with a look of absolute disdain, he pulls out a small spray bottle, mutters "disgusting," and mists himself like a beauty influencer on a self-care day.

You blink. Slowly.

Did this man just Febreze himself?

He catches your stare. Of course he does. And you instantly know: This man is judging you. Hard. You can feel it deep in your soul.

Choso immediately tenses. Yuji just looks confused.

“...Do I know you? You look sorta familiar,” Yuji asks, like he’s trying to place the guy who just sprayed himself down with Eau de I Think I’m Better Than You.

The man ignores both of them and strides up to the counter.

Then, he smiles.

It is fake as all hell. You would know, you give fake smiles on the daily.

"Hello," he says, voice smooth and deeply insincere.

Your customer service instincts activate against your will. “Hi. Welcome to—"

"You work here?" he interrupts, in the same tone someone might use to ask, "You live in filth?"

“…No. I just wear the apron and make lattes for fun.”

His lip curls slightly, as if your existence alone offends him. "I see. Sharp-tongued for a monkey."

There’s a pause.

You stare at the man.

Yuji sputters, clutching his hoodie like it might protect him from the sheer audacity unfolding before him.

Choso glares, his resting murder-face intensifying.

The man—who is now on your personal Most Hated Customers List, right beneath that one guy who asked if oat milk had dairy in it—lets out a long, exasperated sigh, as if he’s the one enduring the most in this situation.

"It’s just an observation," he says smoothly, like that somehow makes it better.

You deadpan. "Observation of what? My ability to use tools? My advanced problem-solving skills?"

"Charming," he muses, as if you’re some kind of exotic street performer. "No wonder Satoru enjoys this place."

Your eye twitches. Oh god. Of course.

"You know Gojo?"

The man’s expression flickers—just for a second. His eyes darken slightly before he schools his face back into the usual smooth, infuriating calm.

"In a way," he says cryptically, which is not an answer, but whatever.

Yuji cautiously clears his throat. "Uh. So. What’s your name?"

The man smiles, slow and deliberate. "Suguru Geto."

Choso, who has not stopped glaring since this conversation began, somehow glares harder. Geto notices and, rather than feeling threatened like a normal person, looks vaguely pleased.

"Can’t a man enjoy a cup of tea?" Geto asks, all silk and smugness. Then, he turns back to you, fixing you with an expression so judgmental it makes your soul itch. "This is an establishment that serves tea, isn’t it?"

You squint at him. "You seem like the type to order something obscure, like… oolong infused with the souls of the damned."

His lips twitch, like he wants to smirk but refuses to let you amuse him. "Just green tea will suffice."

"Sure," you nod half-heartedly. "Coming right up."

As you prepare the drink, you vaguely register that Yuji looks like he’s trying to astral project himself out of this situation, while Choso—without a word—has positioned himself just slightly in front of you, like a silent, glaring guard dog.

Then, as if the universe has decided that this moment isn’t chaotic enough, the café door SLAMS open.

And in saunters Gojo.

Like he owns the place. Like he’s walking onto the stage of his own Broadway debut.

"HELLO, MY FAVORITE MINIMUM WAGE WORKER!" Gojo announces loudly. "HAVE YOU SEEN A—"

Then, he sees him.

Gojo’s entire body freezes.

Geto, for his part, remains utterly calm. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift. The only movement comes from his fingers, lightly tapping against his tea cup you had just placed in front of him like this is some casual interaction and not charged with enough tension to power the national grid.

"Satoru," Geto greets smoothly, tilting his head.

Gojo blinks once. Twice. Then he grins—but it’s different. It’s not his usual annoying, gremlin-esque grin. It’s sharper. Tighter. Colder.

"Suguru," he replies, voice light, but not playful.

You, oblivious to all actual context, just sigh.

"Cool," you say, absolutely exhausted. "What is this? A long-lost soap opera reunion?"

Geto lets out a low chuckle. "Something like that," he hums, setting his tea down with elegant precision. "We're… old friends."

You know drama when you hear it.

“Old friends,” you repeat, skeptical. "Like actual old friends, or ‘we broke up and now we’re enemies who pretend not to care but totally do’?"

Gojo, without missing a beat, grins. “Oh, it’s the second one.”

Geto’s eye twitches.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

There’s a pause. The kind of silence thick with unspoken words and deep-seated resentment. The kind of silence that happens right before someone dramatically walks out of a family Thanksgiving dinner.

Naturally, Gojo—because he can’t handle silence like a normal person—fills it.

“Man, this really takes me back,” he says wistfully, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Us, standing together in a café, like old times—”

“We never did this,” Geto interrupts with an unimpressed expression.

“—Me, looking as handsome as ever,” Gojo continues, undeterred. “You, glaring at me because you can’t admit you miss me.”

Geto lets out the deepest, most suffering sigh you have ever heard. “I don’t.”

“Lies.”

You press a hand against your forehead. "I don’t get paid enough for this."

Unfortunately, Geto has now turned his hyper-critical stare back on you, and it is very much unwelcome.

"How pathetic," Geto murmurs, studying you like you’re some kind of pitiful lab rat trapped in the maze of capitalism. "To be stuck in such a miserable life."

You're too exhausted for whatever pretentious nonsense he’s about to drop. "I know you’re about to say some weird philosophical nonsense, and I do not have the mental capacity for it today."

Gojo snorts.

Geto tilts his head, smiling in that way that makes you feel like he thinks he’s playing some kind of intellectual chess match. You are, unfortunately, not interested in playing.

Choso, usually the embodiment of silent, looming presence, apparently hit his limit. Without hesitation, he stepped directly in front of you like he was personally responsible for your well-being, his posture stiff and protective, his face a masterpiece of disapproval. His expression was one part overprotective, three parts ready to physically launch a man through the nearest window.

"Do not insult the barista."

His voice was so serious, so weighted with dramatic intensity, that for a moment, the café itself seemed to still. Geto raised an eyebrow, vaguely intrigued. Yuji looked like he was about to pass out from the amount of secondhand embarrassment. Gojo’s grin stretched wider, already living for the drama.

You sighed, deeply accustomed to the daily horrors of customer service. "Choso, I literally get insulted daily. It’s fine."

"It is not fine," Choso insisted, his voice filled with righteous indignation. "You are valued."

There was a pause.

A long one.

You blink a few times.

Yuji made a noise. A high-pitched, inhuman noise that sounded like a balloon deflating in sheer disbelief.

Gojo clutched his chest, looking like he’d just witnessed the most beautiful love confession of the century.

Geto? Silent. Watching with rapt fascination, like a scientist observing a new species exhibit an unexpected behavior.

Meanwhile, you stared at Choso like he had just dramatically confessed his eternal devotion to a bag of expired croissants.

"I… okay," you said finally, unsure how to respond to this level of sincerity at nine in the morning. "…Thanks?"

Choso nodded, as solemn as ever. "You deserve respect."

Yuji, still desperately trying to process what was happening, let out a tiny, suffering groan, like his soul was actively exiting his body. "Choso, please. You can’t just—just declare things like that—"

"But it’s true, brother." Choso replied simply, as if that justified everything. "The barista is important."

Gojo, absolutely thriving on the chaos, turned to Geto with a shit-eating grin. "See, Suguru? That’s how you show appreciation. Unlike someone I know."

Geto ignored him, his eyes flickering between you and Choso with a quiet, analytical interest. He looked like he was filing this entire interaction away for later use, tucking it into some folder labeled: Barista-Choso Phenomenon. His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

"My, my," he mused, tilting his head. "How unexpectedly devoted."

Choso, ever the man of direct responses, stared him down. "I would kill you."

Yuji visibly malfunctioned. "CHO."

"Oh, this is interesting," Geto murmured, his eyes twinkling like he was delighted by this development. "Satoru, did you know your little friend here had such a strong sense of loyalty?"

Gojo, grinning like he just won the chaos lottery, threw an arm around Choso’s shoulders. "Oh, yeah. Big bro instincts. Real serious about them."

Choso immediately shrugged Gojo off like he was nothing more than an unwanted speck of dust.

Gojo dramatically clutched his chest, stumbling back. "Oof. Rejected. That one hurt."

You exhaled sharply, ready to throw all of them out. "Can we please get back to the part where I have a job and you are all customers and not—whatever the hell this is?"

Gojo clapped his hands together, bright as ever. "Okay! So! What’s my favorite barista been up to?"

You considered lying. Unfortunately, your reality was too bleak to sugarcoat.

"Oh, you know," you said, voice flat as a pancake. "The usual. Greg is definitely useless. A man tried to pay for his coffee with wisdom, which, fun fact, does not pay my rent."

Gojo gasped dramatically. "Shocking. Wisdom is worthless?"

"Yes," you deadpanned. "Turns out, landlords prefer actual money. Who knew?"

Gojo nodded, stroking his chin like an old wise sage reflecting on the tragedy of the modern world. "Late-stage capitalism. Terrible stuff."

"You don’t know the half of it," you muttered.

And then—because your suffering was never-ending—Greg the Manager wandered in from the back, looking just as dazed and blissfully unaware as ever.

"Yo," he greeted.

Geto’s nose wrinkled in visible disgust. His gaze flicked to you, then back to Greg, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely baffled that such a person existed.

“…Who is this?” Geto asked, his voice laced with pure judgment.

Greg, oblivious to the chaos around him and completely missing Geto's stare of disdain, stretched lazily. "The espresso machine started making weird noises again. It was, like, growling or something, so I put a sign on it."

Your eyes narrowed. "What kind of sign?"

Greg shrugged again. "You know. ‘Out of Order.’ But also, ‘Do Not Anger It.’ Just in case."

Geto slowly turned his head to you, processing this information. His expression was unreadable.

"…Your machine growls?" he asked, a little too intrigued.

You exhaled sharply. "It makes noises. But it’s not haunted."

Geto looked from the espresso machine, back to you, back to the espresso machine, like he was staring at a very stupid child.

"…You poor, oblivious fool."

Before you could fire back with peak sarcasm, the espresso machine let out an unholy screech that could only be described as a hundred lost souls wailing in agony.

The lights flickered violently.

Muffin Guy finally blinked.

Geto’s fingers stilled around his cup. His gaze flickered toward the espresso machine with genuine curiosity.

"Tell me," he said, tilting his head. "Do you ever feel like something is… watching you in this place?"

"Dude, I work in customer service. I feel eyes on me all the time."

Geto chuckled, seemingly amused by your suffering. "No, not customers. Something… else."

"Oh my god," you scoffed. "Are you also about to tell me the espresso machine is cursed?"

The espresso machine, as if personally offended, let out another deep, guttural groan. The lights dimmed.

You refused to react. This was just your life now.

Geto raised a single brow. "You don’t find that strange?"

You sighed and crossed your atms. "It just does that sometimes."

"Fascinating." Geto mused, though you had the sense that he was being condescending. He then turned to Gojo, still lounging near the counter. "Satoru, I have to ask. Why haven’t you exorcised that thing yet?"

Gojo grinned. "Hey, it’s part of our beloved minimum wage worker’s daily experience! It would be cruel to take away such an iconic workplace feature."

"Why does everyone keep making ominous comments about my espresso machine?!" you demanded. "It’s just a little broken!"

Greg the Manager nodded sagely and put his two cents in even though nobody asked. "Yeah. Just a little."

The espresso machine rattled violently.

Greg backpedaled. "Actually, maybe more than a little."

You caught Choso still glaring at Geto like he was actively plotting his downfall. Yuji, meanwhile, looked like he was actively trying to escape this awkward situation through sheer force of will.

And then—just when you thought it couldn’t get worse—Geto picked up his tea and walked straight to the nearest table.

And sat down.

And got comfortable.

Your stomach dropped.

"…You’re staying?" you asked, dreading the answer.

Geto sipped his tea, looking far too smug. "Oh, yes. I think I’ll linger."

You turned to Gojo, silently begging for intervention.

Gojo just grinned. "Oh, buddy. He’s a linger-er."

Your soul left your body.

Yuji, still tense, whispered to Choso, "Uh. We should probably go."

Choso crossed his arms. "Not until he leaves."

Geto, ever the bastard, smirked.

Yuji groaned, fully done with everything. "Oh my god. This is literally the worst possible dynamic."

It was.

It really, truly was.

And as you watched Geto settle in, taking in the café like he owned the place, you realized something horrifying:

Your life was about to get even worse.

₊⊹. tag list: @alpha-mommy69 @luluminati @amortsukii-writes @inthedarkshadows000 @isomehowexist @not-aya @emochosoluvr @lov3vivian @literallyushiwaka

[htaesan]

　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ IT’S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS　　────　ᅠ ( park sungho )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀love, to park sungho, is just a waste of time. yet when he falls for you (literally), he might just change his mind.

　　　ᅠ 박성호 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 1.7k ⠀ genre love at first sight fluff meet-cute baker / cafe au ⠀ contains mentions of food profanities ⠀ note my first fic here AND my first bnd work ever! sungho's just awkward in here kekeke (actually idk what i'm writing here) ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

Sungho wasn’t the type to easily fall in love. To him, love is a waste of time and money—why would you pour your heart, time, and effort out to someone who you won’t even spend the rest of your life with? All of his friends, from different points of his life, have tried various ways to get his heart hooked onto a girl. But, of course, none of their attempts proved successful. To everyone around Sungho, he’s just a cute guy with a heart of stone. 

However, after 20 years of letting Sungho decide for himself, the universe decided to catalyse the whole entire reaction for him—pushing the future love of his life into his face, right at his workplace, where he had only recently gotten a job at. 

Literally. 

“Oh my god…” 

You blink confusedly—one second ago, you were getting up from your seat to go grab the drinks the barista had prepared for you. Now, you’re on the floor, with lattes spilled over your clothes, and your back slightly aching from the impact. 

“What the f—oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” Sungho says, scrambling to his feet. How could he be so stupid? Knocking a customer down and drenching the lattes in her hand all over her is certainly going to ruin his perfect reputation. Quickly, Sungho reaches out his hand, offering it to you. 

You look up, eyes widened. Was this handsomely cute guy the one who pushed you to the floor, having both of your drinks soaking your clothes? You blink again, perplexed, as you try to take in the situation. 

“Oh, yes,” you mumble, taking his hand, realising that people are watching. 

“I’m really, really sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to–” 

“It’s okay,” you say through your polite smile. As you steady yourself, you look down on your outfit and realise that it is certainly… not. 

Sungho watches you analyse the situation of your latte-drenched clothes with eyes widened in horror. He panickedly searches for napkins in his apron and his pockets, and hands you a crumpled one he’s found in his pocket. “Here.” 

You give him a chuckle. “It won’t really help a lot but,” you pause, grabbing the napkin from him, “it’s the thought that counts, hm?”

Bingo. 

As you smile, tingles rush through Sungho’s skin. He’s suddenly hyper aware of how his arm is still extended awkwardly, long after you’ve received the napkin. His eyes blink forcedly as he retracts his hand. Sungho gulps, weirdly feeling faint.  

“Well,” you chuckle sheepishly. “It’s getting awkward—I should go back to my table. Thanks for the napkin,” your eyes look at the name tag pinned to his apron, “Sungho.”

You give him one final smile before walking away, oblivious to Sungho’s tongue-tied state. 

“Yo, Sungho,” he hears Dongmin, the barista, call. “Are you gonna just stand there or what? The mess ain’t gonna clean itself, you know.”

Sungho then burst himself out of his daze, scurrying to clean up the mess, ignoring the eyes of people in the cafe. As he’s mopping the final traces of the homemade tomato sauce off the floor, his eyes catch a glimpse of you—laughing angelically, illuminated by the sunlight shining through the window. 

That was two weeks ago. And Sungho is desperately trying to get rid of this fluttering in his empty stomach, one that he feels every single time his brain replays the scene in his mind. 

Love is a waste of time, he repeats to himself like a daily mantra. 

However, Sungho knows that repeating that isn’t doing anything to combat the fact that his cheeks are heating up every single time he sees you walk into the cafe. And, certainly, hiding behind the fresh baskets of bread he baked this morning and eavesdropping on you ordering your menu for the day isn’t a really good solution, either. 

“What the hell, Sungho?” Dongmin hisses. “You almost hit me!”

Sungho smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, Min.”

“Welcome to The Boy Next Door. Good morning, Y/N,” Sungho’s attention is pulled to Donghyun, the part-time barista, who’s greeting you. You smile back, leaning against the counter as you think of what to get for the day. 

“Good morning, Donghyun,” you nod. 

“What’s the occasion today? Assignments or an online meeting that you can’t be bothered to take at home?” Donghyun asks, giggling. 

You laugh with him. “I need a quick brunch—I have a nail appointment after this. What do you suggest?”

Maybe it’s the love hormones, or maybe it’s the fact that Sungho’s completely bewitched for you—he stands upright, eyes staring straight at you. Without hesitation, he voices, “you should try the Mushroom Cream Pasta—it’s my own recipe.”

Regret flushes through Sungho as your eyes widen with surprise. “O-oh! Sungho, I didn’t see you there,” you say with a fond look that makes Sungho’s heart pump even faster than it already is. 

“Sungho… what are you doing?” Donghyun questions. 

“I…” 

Cover this up quickly, you idiot. 

Sungho gives you a small grin. “Well, I just heard that you wanted a brunch… idea? So, I gave you one!”

You laugh, and it hits Sungho right in the heart. “Alright, I’ll take one of the Mushroom Cream Pasta,” you tell Donghyun, who nods in response.  

“You’ll be cooking it for me, right, Sungho?”

Yes, ma’am. 

And that’s how Sungho found himself in the kitchen, eagerly yet nervously cooking up a pasta dish for the girl he’s somehow grown shy of. As he’s tossing the ingredients together, Sungho thinks about your laughter—how angelic he finds it, and how it makes your eyes crinkle so cutely. As he’s grating the cheese into the pan of pasta, Sungho’s reminded of his “meet-cute” with you—how cool you sounded when you shrugged off his frantic apologies, instead of getting worked up about it like some other customers do. As he’s carefully plating the dish with rather shaky hands, Sungho confirms to himself—he might just have a tiny crush on you: one of The Boy Next Door’s loyal customers. Cupid’s cheering in the background—his arrows had hit the target, exactly where it’s needed: right at Park Sungho’s heart.

“Here… you go,” Sungho manages with a small voice. He stands rigidly at your table, his arms tightly kept next to his body. He forces a polite smile, secretly wishing that you wouldn’t notice his nervousness. 

“Are you usually this awkward… or is it just me?” you ask, laughing at how wide his eyes get at your question. 

Sungho quickly shakes his head. “No! Certainly not, I’m not… usually... awkward…”

You laugh again. “Well, then it’s just me.” 

If it were totally up to Sungho, he’d love to just take a seat in front of you and watch you eat. However, the universe isn’t totally on his side, so he excuses himself to go tend to another customer’s order. 

“Hey, man,” Dongmin says, catching Sungho’s attention. He looks up from the salmon sandwich he’s constructing. “Is it just me or you’re just weirdly obsessed with that girl by the window?” 

Sungho’s eyes widen in surprise, and he gives a train of awkward laughs. “What? No… what are you talking about?”

No, you know what he’s talking about.

“Dude, even a five year old can catch up on it,” Dongmin rolls his eyes. He ruffles his hair before continuing. “You better shoot your shot before it’s too late—I think she’s just waiting for you to ask at this point.”

“Huh?” Sungho says, handing the finished plate to Lia, another coworker who passed by. 

“Are you really dense or what?” Dongmin replies, laughing. He pats Sungho’s shoulder before signalling towards you. “Y/N, right? Just go tell her you like her.”

Flabbergasted, Sungho freezes. His eyes widen in realisation, and everything starts to kick in. 

He actually likes someone.

He likes you. 

Dongmin is just teasing him, trying to get him to like you—however, little did he know that this isn’t a simple tease that Sungho would ignore. 

“It’s a fucking wake up call,” Sungho mutters to himself. “I… finally like someone.”

However, being a man with no experience of approaching a girl he likes, Sungho remains at his post, arranging freshly baked pastries as he waits for you to finish your meal and pass by him when you walk out of the cafe. 

“Sungho!” you exclaim, rushing towards him. 

“Yeah?” he replies, breathless somehow. 

You smile shyly. “Thanks for the meal—I mean, for cooking it. It’s really good! I love it.”

Sungho mirrors your smile. “You do?” he laughs, “oh—oh my God! I- that’s such a relief! I really– I really thought it’d be horrible or something, you know, I’m afraid I accidentally put in sugar instead of salt, and sour cream instead of the normal one… you know?”

You nod, still smiling. “It’s really good, Sungho. I’d eat it again next time I need brunch.”

“Of course! Yeah, yeah. Of… course,” Sungho nods, eyes darting here and there. 

“Also, may I ask you something?” you continue. 

Sungho tilts his head as he narrows his eyes a little. “Sure, of course.”

Taking a deep breath, you say, “did I… do something wrong? To you? ‘Cause all you’ve been doing these past couple of weeks is avoiding me whenever I come in…”

Sungho sucks his breath through gritted teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He exhales heavily before replying. “Are you… willing to hear me out?”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod. “Make it quick though, I have a nail appointment soon..”

“So, this is really really awkward—’cause we’re talking in the middle of the cafe, and I’m holding bread tongs as I’m speaking—I told my friends for the past twenty years that I’d never fall in love, and that love is a waste of my time but then I kinda fell in love and I would absolutely love it if you gave me the honour of becoming your boyfriend,” Sungho says, in one go, without taking a breath in between his words.

“Oh.” is all you’re able to manage. 

“So,” Sungho gives you a smile. “I know the… first impression isn’t great but I could make your second impression of me better?”

You laugh, giving him a napkin that you’ve neatly folded into a heart and written your phone number on it earlier. “Actually, it’s the third impression. And of course, feel free to make it better than the pasta you made me just now.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

[ashthesalamipiece]

i hope you’re taking requests right now!! but i have an idea for maybe hawks or bakugo where they took a picture of something intimate and instead of just saving it or sending it to someone they put it on their story or something by accident. i feel like that would be so funny how panicked they would be 😭

Feathers and Fiascos

It all started with a harmless selfie.

Well, harmless in theory.

In reality, it was a photo of Hawks—real name Keigo Takami—flat on his back, absolutely wrecked, with your legs draped over his shoulders, his hair tousled, and a look on his face like he’d just seen God.

And you?

You were in the frame, too. Sort of. More like, your hand holding the phone was, and one of your thighs. That was about all Instagram got before the blurry, NSFW chaos of post-coital bliss kicked in. His tongue was out. There was a feather stuck to your chest.

He took the picture with a smug grin, murmuring, “For posterity,” before collapsing back onto your body with a satisfied sigh.

“Don’t send that to anyone,” you warned, already half-asleep.

“Babe, I’m a Pro Hero. I’m discreet.”

Ten minutes later, the scream from the other room nearly gave you a heart attack.

“OH NO NO NO—”

You bolted upright, dragging the sheet with you. “What? What happened?!”

Hawks looked like he’d seen a ghost. Or worse—Endeavor.

“I—I posted it. To my story.”

“You what?!”

“I thought I was saving it to my camera roll and—WHY IS THERE NO UNDO BUTTON FOR LIFE?!”

Cue the descent into chaos.

---

1 Hour Earlier...

The pro hero agency group chat was alive with the usual banter.

Endeavor: “Team meeting tomorrow. Be on time.”

Mirko: “Not if I break my ankle fighting this villain. Again.”

Edgeshot: “Remember to submit your patrol reports.”

Mt. Lady: “Omg who’s watching Hero Housewives tonight??”

Then, suddenly, a ping. A new story.

@hawks_official has posted a story.

The thumbnail?

Blurry skin tones. A shock of blond hair. A bare foot. A very unfortunate angle.

Mirko clicked it.

Immediately spat out her protein shake.

“YO WHAT THE HELL—”

She screen-recorded it before it could vanish.

Mt. Lady opened it while waiting for her iced latte. She screamed so loudly, a barista dropped a blender.

Endeavor opened it.

Dead silence.

Then:

Endeavor: “Takami.”

Hawks: “I CAN EXPLAIN—”

Mirko: “Bro that was your entire soul leaving your body.”

Mt. Lady: “Is that a feather stuck to her—OH MY GOD I NEED TO WASH MY EYES.”

Edgeshot: “...That was the most flexible leg positioning I’ve ever seen. Impressive.”

---

Meanwhile, you were trying to fix the damage while Hawks hyperventilated into a pillow.

“Keigo, calm down. It was only up for a few minutes—”

“Long enough for Mirko to save it. She’s going to meme me into oblivion.”

Your phone buzzed.

Mirko: “Tell Birdbrain I want royalties if I use this as my new reaction image.”

Another buzz.

Mt. Lady: “Girl... y’all good? Because from that angle he looked like he saw heaven and got dragged back.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to have to wear a disguise next time I go to the grocery store.”

Hawks groaned. “They’re never gonna let me live this down. This is gonna be a panel at the next Hero Con.”

You tried not to laugh, but failed miserably. “At least they know you’re flexible.”

“Flexible?! Babe, I was folded like laundry. Laundry. And I moaned!”

You wiped a tear from your eye, cackling. “Oh my god, you did moan.”

Hawks flopped down dramatically. “I’m retiring. Effective immediately.”

You kissed his forehead. “You’ll live. Eventually.”

Another buzz.

Dabi: “LMAOOOOO.”

Hawks stared at it. “I don’t even KNOW how he saw it. He’s BLOCKED.”

“Not from chaos, apparently.”

---

The next day.

The pro meeting room was dead silent when Hawks walked in.

All eyes on him.

He sat down.

Someone snorted.

Edgeshot handed him a small trophy that said “Most Enthusiastic Hero 2025”.

Mirko winked and whispered, “Nice arch, Romeo.”

You owed her a drink for that one.

Endeavor stood at the head of the table, glaring.

"...Next time, Takami, check your privacy settings."

[solecize]

°⛧  ‧  ₊   　 　⠀mnemonic 　⠀⠀⠀　 　⠀⠀　 　⠀⠀ [3]

　 　⠀　 　⠀⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 *ੈ  ✩  ‧  ₊  ˚  .ೃ

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: swimmer!jk x female reader, college au, slow burn friends to lovers to ??, fluff, angst, slice of life, coming of age

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, substance use, college party and hookup culture, mentions of greek life hazing, characters experiencing just about every feeling a lost college student goes through, depictions of and discussions surrounding mental health (depression, anxiety, substance abuse), slow burn ish, disgusting amounts of yearning and clueless pining, yes he's her tutor at one point, yes they're in denial, also features other third gen idols, dare i say found family, there is a beach episode and a fireworks festival too lol

in which a little box of memories tells the story of how you and jeon jungkook slowly, but surely, fell in love against the backdrop of the growing pains of your college years. jungkook presents this box to you as a final gift at graduation and each item in the box is a snapshot frozen in time, capturing the forces that brought the two of you from strangers to friends to more. 

⇢ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐱: masterlist. / prologue. / the loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop. / ticket to the haunted horrors house (admission for two). / a worn out deck of cards. / handwritten no-bake cheesecake recipe. / cd soundtrack for stand by me (1986). / travel brochure to derry beach. / a clipping from the school newspaper. / pieces of confetti. / one empty tequila shooter. / epilogue & the final item.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i'll be updating more often now fingers crossed! there's just one and a half more chapters set in freshman year :)

  the haunted horrors house ticket (admission for two)

 homesickness was real and you couldn’t believe it. you missed the way your parents argued in the kitchen. you could count the number of cracks on your front doorsteps in your daydreams, missing the way you used to watch the sunset from that spot. you missed the local boba tea place, where all the baristas knew your name. you missed home.

 college was freeing, but so suffocating at the same time. by the time sweater weather rolled around, you had yet to accept this unnerving truth and distracted yourself with what you could. clutching your nth wine cooler of the night at a sorority party on the 31st of october, your drunken state left these heavy feelings behind.

 halloween during freshman year lasted eons for everybody. there was a sense of carelessness in the air, infectiously swimming about. even doyeon came out to party on halloween night in a half-assed cat costume, which shocked you. even though it consisted of just an all black outfit and face paint, she made it clear that she wasn’t a fan of greek parties. regardless, the peppermint air of autumn embraced all freshmen like a long lost friend on halloween, where the night never seemed to end.

 “yo! creepy mario and barefoot peach, we’re heading out - you coming?”

 you’d only ever seen parties get broken up by the police in the movies and were baffled to witness a pair of officers shut down tonight’s get together as a result of a noise complaint from the poor family next door. you imagined that it wasn’t fun, living next to a sorority house. when the girls started kicking everyone out, you’d been watching the ordeal from the living room couch with jungkook.

 “hey!” he exclaimed at yeri, who’d been making fun of his fake moustache all night for making him look like a 70s porn star. 

 you snickered. “jungkook, the mustache is a little ridiculous.”

 meanwhile, you’d decided hours ago that you would discard the pair of heels you originally opted for your costume. you were not a stiletto type of girl and immediately regretted your choice of shoes about thirty minutes into arriving at the party. you surely looked silly, lounging around with nothing on your feet, but you refused to even try one more time. 

 thankfully, jungkook decided to accompany you on the couch, as you’d otherwise be abandoned by the rest of your friends who spent their time mingling. yeri had been attempting to set up doyeon with someone from the cheerleading team for the past hour, while seokmin and jaehyun teamed up for a game of beer pong in the backyard. it was fitting, anyway, as the two of you showed up in unplanned matching costumes. yeri had whispered in your ear about how cute you and jungkook looked, but you ignored it.

 jaehyun was standing by the doorway, gesturing for you two to get up. “c’mon!”

 “where are we going?”

 “the fairgrounds!” he responded.

 the local fall fair wasn’t of much interest to you initially, especially since you preferred spending time on campus. you found yourself enchanted by the changing leaves in the quad and the smell of pumpkin spice in your lecture halls. there was something special about the season of fall on a college campus, a buzz of warmth settling in the air. going out into town felt like a hassle, if anything.

 with that, jungkook rose and to your confusion, squatted slightly. he noticed your expression and laughed. 

 jungkook said, “hop on.” 

 you realized that he was telling you to get on his back, to save you from your aching, barefoot feet. it took half a moment, before a grin tugged at your lips and you wrapped your arms around his neck, legs curling around his waist. despite swaying back and forth drunk, he hoisted you on and impressively grabbed your shoes with one arm at the same time. 

 things were just the slightest bit confusing with jungkook. over the past month, a group formed with him, seokmin, jaehyun and your roommates naturally and you’d all been hanging out here and there. you were forming a tiny crush on the attractive male, but then you’d heard that he was hanging out with dahyun - some girl on the women’s swim team. meanwhile, your roommates had been encouraging you to keep meeting different kinds of guys and that freshman year was not the time to be settling down. well, it was mostly doyeon, as yeri was convinced you and jungkook were soulmates. 

 “don’t tie yourself down,” doyeon had said to you one night, after the three of you came back your dorm from the dining hall. you all ran into jungkook and on the way back, yeri was poking fun at your obvious crush.

 yeri cut in. “they’d be cute together, though!”

 “i don’t even think he likes me like that. sometimes, i think he does, then the next day, he fist bumps me like i’m one of his bros.” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

 you pushed these thoughts away from your mind, as jungkook effortlessly carried you out the front door. most of the other partygoers were walking towards their ubers, while you spotted doyeon’s car at the corner of the intersection. the rest of your friends were already comfortably seated and as it was a five seater, you knew that you’d unfortunately be one to squeeze in. 

 “don’t worry, i have extra shoes in my trunk,” doyeon called out. 

 seokmin sat in the back, pouting. “why are we going to the fair again?”

 “what else do you want to do?” she shot at her cousin. “besides, i’m the one with the car and i don’t want to go to another party.”

 that point was enough to shut him up. at the very least, he began rambling about the ride he wanted to go on.

 the back of the car popped open and jungkook grabbed a pair of hot pink sandals - fitting for your costume, at least. you thanked him as he set you down right on them, a giggle escaping you. the shots you had earlier definitely still had its effects on you.

 when you came around the corner, the three boys were seated in the back and it looked nearly impossible to squeeze in. however, instead of yeri offering to switch with one of them, a mischievous glint shone in her eyes. 

 “y/n, just sit on jungkook’s lap, he’s mostly sober. seokmin or jaehyun will probably throw up on you if you sit on them.”

 jungkook raised an eyebrow at her. “why don’t you just swi - “

 “can you guys decide, please? now? the guy behind me is getting mad,” doyeon cut in.

 right on cue, the car to the back of doyeon’s honked repeatedly. your eyes went wide and had no choice but to take your place on jungkook’s lap. you could have sworn you saw the flash of a smirk on yeri’s face through the rearview mirror. as soon as you sat down, doyeon immediately zoomed off without warning.

 you yelped, but were thankfully saved by the grip of jungkook’s hands on your hips. it was a blessing that it was nightfall, as nobody could see the tint of pink on your cheeks when he did so. 

 “geez, doyeon,” jungkook remarked, while she apologized profusely. “you good, y/n?” he asked, hands still in the same place.

 you nodded. “yeah, thank you. i thought i was going to die.” the joke elicited a round of laughter from your friends.

 “i swear i’m a good driver!”

 an hour later, you and your friends were at the fairgrounds, debating on what attraction was up next. it was nearing midnight, yet the event was still bustling and full of life. kids’ laughter chimed in throughout, joyful with the spirit of halloween and the freeing nature of being permitted out late for this special night. salty popcorn filled your lungs along with. . .smoke?

 after getting tired of losing to yeri in every game stand, seokmin led the six of you to the haunted house at the very back of the grounds. the sputtering of its smoke machine sang like a bad song and was slightly concerning, but it was one of the last places that you hadn’t checked out yet. there also happened to be no line and after listening to the boys complain for ten minutes, waiting for the ferris wheel, it was ideal.

 ‘nah. no way i’m going in there,” jaehyun vigorously shook his head upon taking in the exterior, which caused the rest of you to giggle.

 the so-called ‘haunted horrors house’ was a towering sight to behold, structured to mimic gothic architecture in a way that did not fit in with a cheesy fall carnival. other than the neon green sign that read its name, its old and run-down exterior fit the bill of an actual haunted house. the columns were lined with cobwebs and its windows highlighted by cracks and bloody handprints. just from the outside, you could notice flickering lights and hear echoes of giggles - even if it was just a sound recording of some kind, it was bone-chilling. 

 yeri teased, “what, are you scared?”

 although he remained silent, you noticed the way jungkook sighed upon the suggestion. it seemed like jaehyun wasn’t the only person who didn’t want to be there. he caught your eye and nervously turned away.

 “you can only buy a ticket in pairs,” advised the person manning the front of the haunted house. she pointed to the sign by the register, which informed customers as such.

 seokmin continued insisting that everyone go for the experience, as he offered to partner up with jaehyun to ease his fears. that left yeri with doyeon and all of a sudden, the four of your friends looked at you and jungkook expectantly. 

 there didn’t appear to be a choice in the matter - you and jungkook were going to be paired up.

 zero qualms emerged, though, until no one stepped up to be the first ones to go. the booth attendant began growing impatient, as there was now a line forming behind your group of friends. her bored eyes fell on the two of you.

 “hey. mario and peach. it’s going to be ten bucks, cash only.”

 even though he didn’t have an ounce of excitement on his face, jungkook pulled out his wallet without hesitation. as if on cue, you reached for your phone in your back pocket, already ready to electronically transfer him your half of the ticket money. he noticed and put his hand up.

 jungkook said, “don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”

 “it’s fine, i got it,” you insisted, as he handed the girl a ten and still held his hand up in protest.

 she stuck the bill into her tin and pointed at the sign behind her, prompting the two of you to sign a waiver. there were a set of rules for each participant, basic ones that went over health and safety risks. no attacking the actors, the house was a one way path only, etc. then, she looked back at you and jungkook and narrowed her eyes. her voice fell below a whisper.

 “and there are cameras in there. so no funny business with your boyfriend,” she warned and both you and jungkook were now tomato red in the face. “got that?”

 thankfully, with her quiet volume, none of your friends were able to hear what she said. when the two of you didn’t respond out of embarrassment, you feared that she would repeat the statement again, only this time, louder. so, to avert disaster, you nodded furiously and grabbed jungkook by the arm.

 “yeah! yeahwegotitthanks,” you choked out in one breath, dragging him past the booth attendant and into the haunted house before she could say anything else.

 as soon as you and jungkook stepped into the foyer, the air immediately went icy. the area looked exactly the way you expected it to - ancient and dark. the only source of light was a single candle propped up by the arch into the hallway. hung on the walls were rusty portraits of paintings with faces scratched out by claws. an eerie set of porcelain dolls welcomed you on a shelf, which jungkook jumped at. 

 creepy sounds alarmed you - louder giggling by a child, creaking floors, and unsettling music. you looked back and noticed that the attendant actually locked the front door, hearing the click of a key. no wonder there was a damn waiver.

 goosebumps popped up along your legs, as you shivered. you noticed that your arms weren't as freezing and realized that it was because you were still clutching onto jungkook.

 “oh, sorry!” you yelped, jumping back. 

 it seemed like jungkook was too busy scanning his surroundings, his fear growing with each passing second, despite just standing there. the haunted house had barely begun. he turned back to you, stone cold expression.

 “you won’t make fun of me?” he requested, slowly.

 “as long as you don’t make fun of me.”

 jungkook let out a sigh of relief. as a last resort, he checked the knob of the front door once more, just to see if escape was plausible. he fiddled and fiddled - still locked. 

 at the same time, the two of you met a shared understanding. jungkook held out his arm once more - whether it was for your safety or his own, it wasn’t clear - for you to grab and you did so. you were positive that his grip was even tighter than yours, but you bit back the complaint. poor guy was shaking, but you found it incredibly endearing. 

 “it’s just a fake house, let’s have fun,” you soothed, rubbing his arm playfully.

 he forced a chuckle. “alright, let’s go, princess.” it took a moment for you to realize that he was calling you princess in reference to your costume and not you.

 the two of you trekked forward into the first hallway, where every other lightbulb flickered on and off. several other portraits hung on the walls, depicting some sort of family in each one. the faces were all still scratched out.

 “cool, there’s a storyline or something,” you said, trying to break the tension.

 “AHH!”

 jungkook’s voice filled the hallway when a hand popped out of one of the portraits. you gasped loudly, nearly falling over. that was jump scare number one.

 when you both recovered, you couldn’t help but look at each other and laugh. 

 “i swear, y/n, what happens here stays between us,” he muttered, tugging for you to keep walking forward. you liked the way he took charge and held onto your wrist.

 you replied, “of course.”

 that is, you kept walking forward until you realized all of the doors were blocked off with caution tape. the haunted house was supposed to be one way and you were left confused. where were you supposed to go next? jungkook was wondering the same thing, as he looked around.

 “this is getting kinda weir - oh, shit.” his eyes widened when a new entryway appeared, just as he stepped on a loose plank of wood in the floor. it triggered the opening, revealing a smaller, darker hallway that seemed to be the next part of the house.

 your jaw nearly dropped to the ground. “nah. nuh uh, no way am i going in there!”

 “come on, you’re supposed to be the brave one out of the two of us here,” jungkook groaned, scratching his head.

 you were right. the ten bucks was already spent and the front door was locked. it wasn’t like there was anything going back now. you took a deep breath, imagining yourself in a far away paradise in front of the ocean instead of a creepy haunted house. when you opened your eyes, you had no choice but to shrug it off and pull jungkook into the new hallway.

 some sort of sound recording of whispers and giggling grew louder as you and jungkook crouched down to fit into the entryway. the hallway lead to just one room and as you approached it, the two of you jumped at the sudden sound of a scream that didn’t belong to the two of you.

 jungkook nearly squeezed the life out of you this time.

 “shit! ah, sorry, y/n!” he exclaimed, completely freaked out by the noise. you barely heard it, as you were screaming yourself. you were certain that your friends outside could hear your shared yelling, probably laughing their asses off. 

 the two of you hadn’t even reached the door yet and you saw that it was staged to look like a library of some sort. you and jungkook were practically holding onto each other for dear life now. you were so close to him that you could hear the beating of his heart. another small jump scare occurred when the books began moving on their own, vibrating in place as if possessed by a ghost.

 here, you nearly rammed into the taller man, having whipped around and forgetting he was right behind you. he caught you from toppling over, arms wrapped around your body, and you swore you were close enough to count the number of eyelashes on his lids. his look was intense and you felt dizzy, under a hypnosis that you’d never felt before. he didn’t let go and it wasn’t because of your frightening surroundings. 

 for once, an eerie peace wafted in the air, as silence spread. you and jungkook looked at each other, weary. 

 his lips parted slightly, as he refused to break his gaze. you could feel your heart beating louder and louder, like a relentless drum, and you hoped he wasn’t close enough to feel it. you could have melted into him at that moment, an unknown desire creeping up on you with jungkook just inches away. he was so. . . pretty. and you were drawn to him, a magnet. 

 “you know,” jungkook began, just below a whisper. “i’m kind of glad we did this.”

 you fought a shiver trailing up your spine. “what do you mean by that?” there was only one answer you wanted to hear. 

 you wondered why he wasn’t moving either, as you missed the way his eyes swept over your lips. this wasn’t good - if neither of you moved now, you were under a spell that released all common sense. you wanted to kiss him and you were afraid of getting let down.

 “y/n - “

 at that moment, an actor in a clown costume popped out from behind a bookshelf and a new door simultaneously opened to its left. this time, you and jungkook screamed at the top of your lungs and hand in hand, sprinted out of that door. 

 “eumph. . .jungkook, you’re a little too strong,” you whispered, the first excuse coming to mind, and he immediately loosened up.

 “sorry, sorry!” he apologized profusely. “that thing is going to kill us!”

 “koo, it’s just a costume!” you tried chasisting, despite being scared out of your mind.

 the two of you kept running until you found the next room, which was the kitchen. the cycle of jump scares and actors continued on, as your and jungkook’s shared unwavering nerves bonded you closer the entire time. at some point, both of your laughter filled the air.

 eventually, as soon as the exit sign was in sight, jungkook practically dragged you out with all his might. you were surprised when you met a stream of bright lights upon pushing the last, rusty door open and it turned out to be the outside world, instead of another hidden room or jump scare around the corner. jungkook sighed loudly, as the two of you made it out.

 the shit-eating grins of your friends greeted you. however, it didn’t seem like they were amused at the fright the haunted house gave you two. they all stood exactly where they left you, except they were now all staring intently. you wondered if your screams must have been that loud.

 “was it that bad?” doyeon sang and you eyed her with confusion.

 safe to say, you’d long turned stone cold sober, but were drunk on something else. a swarm of emotions settled at the pit of your stomach, before it was stripped away. you noticed that jungkook had finally broken away from you - his hand was clasped in yours the entire time, even upon exiting the haunted house. it took a second for both of you to notice, as a pink tint stained his cheeks and ears when he did. that was why your friends were grinning.

 “our turn!” seokmin yelled, causing jaehyun to groan and the rest of your friends to laugh at the pair.

 the attention was now off of you and jungkook, but your mind was fixated on the absence of jungkook’s touch for the rest of the night and how it almost felt like something you didn’t realize you needed.

 it seemed like the push and pull game with jungkook went on for a little too long and he found something new to play with. the sideways glances and lingering touches weren’t enough, but you didn’t know what to expect in the first place. the sight wasn’t betrayal by any means, but it didn’t mean that you didn’t harbour a pit of disappointment when you saw jungkook making out with another girl the very next day.

 “halloweekend” was every college student’s favourite made-up holiday, along with march madness and st. patrick’s day. okay, maybe the last one was somewhat of a real holiday, but you’d think it was the biggest deal in the world if you walked onto any college town’s streets during this coveted day. too early into the year, you wouldn’t know just quite yet, too fixated on how jam-packed halloweekend was. 

 you were planning to stay in the next night after the fair. it wasn’t common knowledge to you that you were apparently meant to continue partying into the weekend, even past actual halloween day. this news was rudely broken to you at six pm on that saturday, when a loud banging on the door interrupted your pedicure session with doyeon.

 it was like doyeon could smell her cousin’s antics from a mile away. her lips curved into a scowl, somehow already knowing that it was seokmin in the hallway without needing to be told. you swore that girl was psychic sometimes.

 “leave!” she shouted through the walls, putting down the cherry red nail polish back on the floor with a slam.

 the knocking persisted and doyeon sent you a pointed look when you stood up with a sigh. you sent her one back. at this point in the school year, the two of you were already able to communicate with nonverbal gestures. she resigned with her own sigh, as you continued walking towards the door. you were certain that the two of you were not going to be left alone, which left you with only one choice.

 looking through the peep hole, you burst out into laughter. you had no choice but to open the door.

 “what?” asked doyeon.

 upon swinging the door, her jaw fell. it was hard to not do so, when seokmin and jaehyun stood outside in the most ridiculous elf costumes. or, at least that’s what you assumed they were. seokmin appeared particularly enthusiastic with the most ridiculous grey beard hanging off his chin, its string tucked just underneath the impressively pointy magenta hat on his head. meanwhile, jaehyun looked more embarrassed than anything and you could tell whose idea this was.

 doyeon already had her hand up. “no - ”

 “hear us out - “

 “why would i hear out dopey and bashful?”

 you stifled a snort, stepping aside to let the two fools in. 

 jaehyun raised an eyebrow at doyeon. “those are snow white’s dwarves. wrong fantasy race.” he pointed to his fake ears. 

 she wasn’t listening. she sat in the same place with her arms folded across her chest and simply waited for the explanation.

 turned out that there was a costume contest being held at some frat house. seokmin already convinced yeri and jungkook apparently and thought it would be best to show up in person in order to coax you and doyeon out. 

 “it’s halloweekend! you thought the festivities were over?” he said. 

 it wasn’t too hard to convince the two of you, surprisingly. of course, when you heard jungkook was coming, that was all it took. on the other hand, seokmin bribed his cousin with some pre-rolls and soon, the four of you were on your merry way to meet your other friends. apparently, seokmin changed his pledge from kappa alpha psi to sigma chi (not that you knew the damn difference) all of a sudden and wanted to make a good impression with the whole costume thing.

 dryly, you murmured to doyeon, “you’re so easy to bribe.”

 “what? seokmin has a really good plug and he only gets the pricey shit.” doyeon shrugged.

 you weren’t particularly interested in competing in the contest, so you threw on yeri’s bunny ears from last night and called it a day. 

 the party ended up being just as bustling as the one the night prior. the walls danked like nobody’s business and you felt the humidity of the room as soon as you stepped inside, as there was barely room to walk with the sheer amount of bodies filling the space. the frat house was definitely grimier than last night and you had to hold your breath moving through various vape clouds. seokmin, being a poor freshman pledge, told you and your friends that he would catch up to you later on, as he was assigned door duty.

 “yeri and jungkook are probably somewhere around here,” jaehyun said, voice at the loudest volume you’ve ever heard his quiet self talk at, as he fought to be heard against the booming bass of the party’s speakers.

 it was easy to find yeri, who was sitting on the couch with her fellow cheer team members or model un students - whatever the hell it was from the endless list of extracurriculars that she was involved in.

 “you convinced them!” yeri exclaimed, pleased to see her two roommates out and about.

 jungkook, on the other hand? even easier to find. it was almost impossible to miss the way he sat on a poolside chair with jung eunbi sprawled on his lap, with her tongue down his throat.

 the living area was situated right next to the sliding doors that led to the backyard. as soon as you approached yeri, you could see outside through the floor to ceiling windows and ultimately, the view of him.

 maybe it wasn’t that easy. there was at least fifty people in the backyard and about a dozen more lounging about in the pool. a volleyball strung across the middle and neon lights installed underneath the water shone an impressive array of amethyst, sky blue and bubblegum, reminding you of birthday cake sprinkles. the way your cheeks heated up certainly wasn’t as sweet, but you allowed yourself to get lost in the swirl of led lights to keep your eyes off of jungkook. the speakers outdoors were just as loud as the ones inside, as the bass of some migos song boomed and crawled underneath your skin. 

 “jeez, another one?” jaehyun mused aloud and it forced you to come back to reality.

 yeri turned around and upon noticing jungkook, clicked her tongue. “what the hell?”

 only she seemed to notice your dejected look, but you’d already turned away and pretended to be busy taking a sip of the disgusting jungle juice the frat offered. the drink stung your throat, but not as much as the sight outside stung.

 “what do you mean another one?” doyeon asked, turning to jaehyun.

 “sorry, that sounded objectifying. but,” he shrugged. “kook’s just been on a roll these past few weekends, if you catch my drift.”

 oh.

 you felt your chest crackling like fresh ice, each crevice burning you - mostly with embarrassment, at that. you didn’t have to look at yeri to know that her expression was strewn into one of pity. again, you reminded yourself that this wasn’t betrayal. it was just a silly little crush. jungkook didn’t owe you anything and it wasn’t like you voiced any of these potential feelings to anyone, despite yeri’s encouragement.

 those potential feelings were definitely gnawing at your stomach at this point, as you spared another glance out the window. 

 eunbi was a pretty girl, a sophomore that was the student union treasurer or some shit like that. she was one of those people that everyone on campus knew, somehow amassing a healthy couple of thousand followers on her socials. you remember her from orientation week, giving out t-shirts to freshmen with a blinding white smile. it was the same smile pressing into jungkook’s lips and that’s when you had to turn away again.

 “should we play some pong?” you suggest aloud to no one in particular.

 jaehyun and doyeon were immersed in a heated debate about the moon landing after spotting someone in an astronaut costume. meanwhile, yeri simply stood there in awkward silence and tried to not make it obvious that she noticed the dejected look in your eyes. the three turned their heads towards you and immediately agreed, moving to take over the mostly empty dining table on the other side of the room - thankfully, far away from the backyard.

 “i don’t want to drink beer,” groaned yeri, as you all took your positions around the table.

 sipping on beer turned into taking half shots of smirnoff for each cup during the game. given what you just saw outside, you agreed to the rules without hesitation. 

 as the game begun, you thought back to the past month, getting to know jungkook and his friends. the six of you all saw each other at least once a week and even more often in smaller numbers. it was easy when you all lived in stratton hall. seokmin would sometimes join you and doyeon for breakfast in the dining hall. you and yeri went to the gym a few times, around the same time jungkook would be in the middle of his workout and there was always room for chatting. 

 during the times where it was the six of you, usually out at parties like this or even group study sessions, jungkook never failed to sit next to you. he never failed to joke with you and defend you from seokmin’s teasing.

 maybe you really were looking too much into it. you swore there were lingering looks and one too many late night text conversations about nothing. jaehyun was your partner for the pong game and while he took his shot, you peeked at your phone to reread the last thread of texts you had with jungkook from last night, after the fair.

 saturday november 1   [3:35 am] jungkook 🍓: dude theres like 3 ppl passed out in our hallway lmao did you guys get in okay? [3:36 am] you: yes worry wart haha we made it and didn;t trip over any drunk bodies [3:36 am] jungkook 🍓: WHATEVER  [3:36 am] jungkook 🍓: jaehyun and i almost died getting into our dorm so [3:37 am] you: well you almost died in the haunted house today so congrats [3:37 am] you: you cheated death twice today!! [3:37 am] jungkook 🍓: you’re evil let’s not talk about that place ever again [3:37 am] you: i wish i had my phone to take a picture of ur face it would have been golden blackmail material [3:37 am] jungkook 🍓: [attachments: 1] [3:38 am] you: don’t pout at me :(((( that’s dirty koo [3:38 am] jungkook 🍓: because you’re evil [3:37 am] jungkook 🍓: sleep well princess peach  

but, that wasn’t even the end of the conversation because you and jungkook began exchanging tiktoks and memes for the next hour after that. you wanted to bang your head on the nearest wooden surface. being awful at pong helped alleviate the desire, as with each missed shot came vodka.

 “you guys suck,” yeri cackles, watching another one of her balls sink into the final red solo cup.

 jaehyun groaned next to you, but he was just as bad as the game as you were. you smiled sheepishly at him.

 he held out his hand. “good game. we tried our hardest,” jaehyun said, being a good sport about it. he also took the courtesy of taking the final shot just before that and you silently thanked the heavens. 

 you laughed and shook it. the laugh that came out of your mouth sounded like you needed water, as you were certainly drunk after losing so badly. one of your hands was gripping the ebony of the dining table, as your eyes swept your surroundings for the nearest sink. 

 “i’ll be right back!” you exclaimed to your friends and already left before any of them could offer their companionship.

 the song playing in the background was that one katy perry song about dancing on table tops and funnily enough, there was a gaggle of girls dressed up as charlie’s angels doing so. you prayed that none of them would fall on top of you as you squeezed across the room.

 unlike last night, you learned your lesson and did not wear a ridiculous pair of heels. you hadn’t even given your costume a second thought when seokmin and jaehyun barged into your dorm earlier that evening. yet, somehow, you were having a harder time walking tonight.

 you thought it was just the bass of the music throwing you off guard, but you realized you were genuinely swaying back and forth a few seconds later. 

 “shit! fuck!”

 it was like one of those slow motion videos you’ve seen online of disaster striking out of nowhere. a car crash or something. you saw the big, burly guy come your way without even looking straight and you shouldn’t have trusted him to get out of the way. he crashed into you before you could even process what was happening - hell, your swaying back and forth made it so that you were practically leaning into it.

 with a gasp, your entire upper body was soaked in the disgusting jungle juice that was offered to you earlier. in a murky maroon colour, it not only seeped through your white shirt and stained it, but your bra was now visible. you only noticed this because everyone around you decided to stare right into your chest.

 “shoot, i’m sorry -” the guy began, but he was slurring and obviously not in the right state of mind.

 you stuttered, feeling heat creep up on your cheeks at the feeling of dozens of pairs of eyes on you. in your inebriated state, you didn’t even know what to say. you’d never had so much unwanted attention in your life before and you thought you were about to shrivel up and, well, die. 

 “i - “

 then, you felt something heavy drape over your shoulders and the scent of sandalwood and whisky filled your senses. when you looked up to see what it was - or rather, who - he already had your wrist clasped in his grip and was tugging you to another room.

 jungkook.

 he was leading you through the house and you heard him cuss when the two of you stumbled upon an insane line for the bathroom. jungkook looked back at you for the first time, concern glimmering in his eyes. you looked down and it was his denim jacket that he put over your shoulders.

 “one sec, there’s gotta be a free bathroom upstairs,” he says calmly, peering over to the staircase. “are you okay to go up the stairs?”

 “mhmm,” is all that you could muster, too stunned at what just happened and how he just appeared out of nowhere.

 jungkook gave you one of those boyish, crooked smiles that you liked. he gently led you to the staircase, one hand on your back. 

 “where’d you come from?” you asked, as if you didn’t already know.

 he answered while still steering you up each step. “i was in the backyard. i was waiting for you guys to all come and when i came inside, yeri said that you went to get some water.”

 when he led you into the bathroom, you noticed that he had a bottle of water in his hand. jungkook noticed and chuckled.

 “i figured you’d have a hard time looking for it. the frat is kinda stingy with water and i wouldn’t trust their sinks.”

 you managed to snort. “again, always giving me beverages.”

 jungkook put the toilet seat down for you to sit on and handed you the water bottle. earlier, you didn’t get a chance to even notice his attire. he was wearing just plain blue jeans and a white tank top with a flannel around his waist, maybe his hair styled slightly different.

 “koo, are you. .  .a plumber?”

 he let out a bark of laughter at that. “no, stupid.” jungkook points to his hair slicked with pomade and his discarded denim jacket on your shoulders. “a greaser, actually. i put all my effort into mario and got lazy today.”

 “same.” you shrugged and pointed to your forgotten bunny ears. 

 jungkook let out a fake yawn. “booooring. recycling your friend’s costume. super lame, y/n,” he teased and you smacked his arm for it.

 “you’re literally just wearing denim, don’t talk to me about being boring,” you shot back.

 jungkook had obviously just found random clothes in his closet and put hair product in, calling it a day. you figured that the invite was also last minute for him. 

 “are you a john travolta greaser or a matt dillon one?”

 “obviously matt dillon. he’s way cooler, “ jungkook scoffed. “but, i got summer nights on my playlist and i promise you, i’ll never skip that shit. best song ever.”

 the two of you fell into your usual banter for the next few minutes, conversation easy as ever. jungkook poked a little bit of fun at you for what happened downstairs, which you accepted with a huff. 

 “halloweekend is not for the weak,” he chuckled, leaning against the counter. 

 his bare arms made for a clear view of his tattoos, which were rapidly increasing since the start of the school year alone. you tried not to stare, instead pretending to find the marble tiles of the bathroom fascinating.

 you looked at his denim jacket around your shoulders and cursed aloud. “oh fuck. i’m sorry, jungkook, there’s a bit of jungle juice on it - “

 “it’s fine, really,” jungkook interrupted without hesitation. “there was no way i was gonna leave you down there like that.”

 the realization that jungkook also saw your soaked shirt was a bit sobering and it also made you remember that the two of you were sitting in a random bathroom. the pause also seemed to help jungkook in remembering as well and he pushed off the counter. 

 jungkook untied the flannel around his waist and held it out to you. “here, get dressed. i’m sure you don’t want to walk around with red 40 all over your body,” he chuckled.

 you blinked, not expecting the gesture. “oh. shit - thank you, jungkook,” you said, genuinely grateful.

 he grinned. “and drink that water. don’t worry, i’ll be at your service all night to give you more beverages, milady.”

 “whatever.” you playfully rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the matching grin forming at the corner of your lips.

 “want me to wait for you?” jungkook asked and you shook your head, as he’d already done more than enough. “okay. i’ll be downstairs where the others are.”

 the end of halloweekend was certainly not as fun as the beginning, but you left that party smelling of jungkook’s cologne. even after you returned to your friends, jungkook waved you off when you tried handing his jacket back to him and said to keep it if you got cold. the rest of the night wasn’t as eventful, thankfully, and you nearly forgot about what you saw earlier. 

 it did help that you never heard about eunbi ever again, so you figured it was just some sort of drunken makeout session. you and jungkook continued to operate as normal, but for the time being, you didn’t allow yourself to get your hopes again. this was college and people just did that sort of thing, the “casual” thing. you accepted it and even began to indulge in it yourself as the year went on. 

 all in all, you decided you didn’t need a relationship right now either, between school and transitioning into this new life. jungkook was your friend for now and soon, would become your best friend. of course, that’s where it always gets complicated.

⇢ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @fancypeacepersona @petiteparler @lanie97 @httpjeonlicious @bleumornings @rpwprpwprpwprw @kikiflwr @kissyfacekoo @knivesdoingcartwheels @joyjunk @jksusawife @haru-jiminn @fancypeacepersona @softhaes @whoa-jo @kooloveys @mar-lo-pap @seokjinthescientist (reply to be tagged and if i forgot to tag you!)

[duskier]

Invisible man but it's toxic Ghoap x reader ...

cw: this is literally just ghoap mentally torturing reader and there are mentions of them intending to kill the reader 🫶

Them having access to fictional sounding levels of military technology and getting two suits of their own that allow them to go completely invisible- suits designed to even erase their shadows via a complex system of reflections and lights.

Of course, you're the first thing to come to mind when they put them on. You were their favorite barista at a café close to base. You probably didn't remember them out of your sea of regulars, but they never stopped thinking about you, a mutual fixation on you blooming between them. They start out small, breaking and entering in the middle of the night. Unplugging your phone from the charger so you wake up without an alarm, the battery long dead. Turning off power to your fridge and leaving the doors open, the food spoiled by the time you wake up.

The best part of the suits is they get to stick around and watch your devastation. Scrambling out of bed with a panicked, half asleep noise, putting on the first set of work clothes you can find. Soap leaning against your fridge so he can get a full look at your face as it crumples at the sight, your vegetables wilted and your meat already smelling.

Ghost takes it a step further after nights of keeping you awake with strange knocks around the house or precious items crashing to the floor. Soap has to bite his lip to keep from giggling as they take turns whispering your name in the night. They wait a few minutes between while they watch you peer into the dark, breath shaking in your chest in fear. You look so adorable with your eyes wide and darting about, like a pretty little thing of prey in your thin tank top and comfy panties. Like you're just waiting to be eaten.

Ghost brushes by Soap, hands reaching out purposefully to give his hand a squeeze. A silent command to stay. Soap is left waiting with you, continuing to admire how vulnerable you look. All it does is leave his cock swelling in the pants, fantasizing about ways he could get you to make that pretty frightened face for him more directly. Soap couldn't wait to get his hands on you, make you feel real weakness under his grip. They weren't going to fuck with you forever, this was just them playing with their food. A sort of foreplay. He wonders if you'd cry, if you'd beg for your life. Or would you try and play along, in hopes they'd spare you? Would you try to fight back, could you maybe land a blow on him? Soap palms himself quietly, careful to not let your now focused hearing catch him in the act. He really hopes you can split his lip or something, leave a scar to remember you by.

The both of you startle as suddenly you hear Ghost bellowing your name from somewhere on the first floor. His voice is so loud, so angry, it barely sounds human and is left ringing in your ears for a full minute after. You're paralyzed with fear, hyperventilating now. Before you could snap out of it and reach for your phone, you screamed at the feeling of a hand gripping your ankle and yanking you to the foot of the bed.

There was nothing and no one there. Even in the limited light you could tell that you were alone. This must have been a break in your psyche, you reassured yourself, just because you haven't been sleeping well and things have been going wrong in the house. No matter how you reassure yourself, you still creep down the stairs to look around for any signs of intrusion.

Every step, you pause and listen around for something, anything. Maybe a bear broke into your house for food or a thief was rooting through your office for your safe box. Maybe it was something as small and harmless as mice knocking over furniture. Every second feels like an eternity, your heart racing in your throat.

"Hello? I know there's someone here. Just leave, and I won't call the cops."

Ghost sneers at you behind the suit. What a stupid thing for you to do and say. He considers jumping the gun, ruining the mystery by revealing himself and teaching you a lesson. Soap inadvertently stops him, setting off your security alarm.

The high pitched alarm rang out, making you wince and cover your ears. Your house phone starts ringing, you scramble to pick it up. Backing yourself up against your living room wall to stare wide eyed into the darkness.

"Knight Security. Please provide your security code." The voice on the line said. The man sounded calm, kind, certain. It somehow helped to make you focus, take a deep breath. Probably why the guy worked there.

"CL-NG-8675."

"Alright, got you. The alarms were tripped at your property. Everything alright?"

Was everything alright? Now talking to another living being, you weren't so sure. You tried to put everything you were experiencing into words but found you sounded incredibly silly... or one foot into a mental break.

"...Yeah, I'm alright."

"That's good. I'll get those sirens turned off for you and call off emergency services. Now, procedure does require me to have you walk through all possible entrances and exits in the home just to verify security. Would you mind checking the front door, love?"

Blissfully, the alarm turned off. The ear piercing sound finally gone, you let out a sigh of relief. The handsome voice on the phone asked you to check the front door, so you did. Confirmed it was locked and secure, just as you left it before bed.

He had you do the same with your garage door, the side door to the yard, and the back door.

"Perfect. You did a great job. Best customer of the night, if I may say," You could hear the smile in his voice.

"Why, thank you. You may," You quipped back, smiling to yourself in the darkness of the living room.

The man on the phone sounded like he was going to say goodbye, but he paused and made a small sound. "Oh! Before I let you go, I have one more question I have to add to the report."

"Of course, anything," You say, eager to please now that your heart had stopped racing.

"Are you alone in the home?"

Your response was immediate. "Yes."

The line went silent for a few beats. "...Are you sure?"

You could still hear the smile in his voice, but these words were spoken softly, dangerously.

"...What?"

"Turn around."

[yeyinde]

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him.  (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6knotes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met. 

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really. 

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with. 

Stupid. 

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine. 

Because maybe you are, too. 

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent. 

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him. 

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you. 

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him. 

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married. 

And where does that leave you? 

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber. 

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both. 

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar. 

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet. 

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight. 

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush. 

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways. 

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape. 

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore. 

Moving on. Moving forward. 

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent. 

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this. 

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him. 

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness. 

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location. 

You send him your pin. 

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way. 

You met Kyle Garrick at university. 

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre. 

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met. 

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap. 

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care. 

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed. 

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth. 

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?" 

And that was that. 

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them. 

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him. 

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him. 

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain. 

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart. 

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square. 

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots. 

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring. 

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner. 

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots. 

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes. 

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest. 

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it." 

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you." 

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult. 

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes." 

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid." 

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it." 

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought. 

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot. 

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips. 

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain. 

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks. 

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all. 

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you. 

Except—

It isn’t. 

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes. 

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know? 

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips. 

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort? 

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him. 

He’d know, he said. 

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic. 

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around. 

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement. 

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken. 

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison. 

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat. 

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet. 

He seems to understand. 

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here." 

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance. 

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him. 

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it. 

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do. 

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area." 

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe." 

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—" 

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat. 

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame. 

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold? 

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state. 

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish. 

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back. 

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy). 

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making. 

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away. 

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign. 

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now. 

Because you do. 

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts. 

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too. 

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin. 

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences. 

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same. 

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam. 

And oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing. 

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it. 

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it. 

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always. 

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him. 

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun. 

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. 

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free. 

Confessing goes like this: 

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears. 

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands. 

"...and that's basically it." 

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you. 

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all. 

You want it. Want him. 

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam. 

But he isn't. 

He's here with you. Still. Still. 

"I just—," you say, or try to. 

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth. 

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated. 

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation. 

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence. 

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin. 

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain. 

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take. 

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air. 

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you. 

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind. 

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox. 

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke. 

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable. 

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames. 

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown. 

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home. 

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all. 

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it. 

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this. 

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration. 

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two. 

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food. 

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along. 

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling. 

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know? 

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

[queennerd81793]

YO what if we got a Sonic 4 ending where Stone, who's accepted that Robotnik is gone and is back working as a barista, is taking orders one day when a guy who looks exactly like Robotnik (excluding the mustache and a lot more friendly) walks in and orders a latte (cue Coldplay's Life In Technicolor). Stone, both in shock, saddened, and over the moon all at the same time, nevertheless takes his latte order and asks for the guy's name, but before the guy can say his name, it cuts too black. Whether it was Jim playing himself or another character is up to the imagination.

Basically, the scene would play out like the Night At The Museum 2 ending. (If you've never seen the NATM 2 ending go watch it, it's both romantic and bittersweet.)

[jestercouture]

Hii, i really liked your last post about jonathan and blackmore tending to sick darling! May i ask one like that but with yandere bruno and mista (the diiference being that reader got sick after trying to escape from them and spending the whole night hiding from them on the cold streets)

Bruno Bucciarati

warnings: stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior, light gaslighting, threats of violence.

His hands were shaking as he placed a warm blanket across your body; in anger or nervousness you did not know. You could gather that he was angry with you, for hiding, for running away from him but did you really have any other choice?

It was either run or spend the rest of your life in a locked room, disguised as a luxurious paradise, with the “love of your life” attending to your every whim. Except, Bruno wasn’t your lover and he had been closely following your every move without your knowledge as he prepared to take you for himself.

Oh, and he was a capo to the local Italian mafia.

But you hadn’t had a chance to spill a desperate apology from your chattering lips, eyes glazed over with tears burning and about to run down your cheeks. His eyes met yours and you just felt your heart stop; he was furious, that much you could tell, but he was trying his hardest to keep his composure.

Bruno was a man of utmost respect; it was his very nature to care and nurture to the best of his ability despite a difficult situation on his hands. If you had liked him the slightest bit, perhaps he could have also commanded your respect without intention.

Because Bruno did care. Too much, to his own and to your detriment, which is how you got stuck here. He always tended to notice those on the fringes of society, those who weren't cared for and abandoned. You had a family, but after moving to Italy for a gap year as you decided what to with yourself for the rest of your life...it could get quite isolating. Staying in a cheap hostel wasn't easy, especially with your limited Italian.

But you made it work, as an English tutor to parents who wished for their kids to have more options for study and work. It paid well, most times, but you still fought tooth and nail to find a more stable and higher paying position as a barista or something.

If only you hadn’t taken that job at the local coffee shop, with good pay and regular customers who were (mostly) kind.

If only he hadn’t laid his eyes on you, you would be free. And happy.

There was no use in thinking about that now. You life, your freedom, you had been snatched away from all of it, without any thought as to how you would feel. He acted as though you should be grateful. Bruno thought, genuinely envisioned that you would be overjoyed to be stolen away from your own life.

“Do you find joy in being so difficult, mia cara?”, you almost jumped as his voice rang out in the bedroom, almost morose as he looked at you. Disappointment was worse than anger sometimes, because what did he really expect to happen?

“You can’t keep me here forever, Bucciarati. I don’t want to be here an-“, a slew of coughs wracked your body, ceasing your oncoming insults.

“Mmm, and I suppose I should have left you out there in this state?” Warm, strangely soft hands brushed against your forehead, drawing away after he felt the light sheen of sweat forming.

His chiding tone did nothing to inspire guilt, or even a sense of shame for running away from him, it only made you feel much more fury towards him.

Towards what had happened to you. A sadness of what you had now lost, and had no help of returning to.

You let your eyes wander up to his face- admittedly attractive, but his beauty was tainted by his selfishness. Big blue eyes gazed down at you, a sickening mocking care in them that made you begin to shake.

“Oh, carina this is why I keep you here, hm? Nice and safe, warm and right by my side,” Bruno gently placed another blanket over you, smoothing your hair and kissing your forehead.

You could have fallen in love with him. You felt weak enough as it was, sick and shivering and pathetic whilst still despising the man who ruined your life.

“You need me, sweetheart. You just need to give in, let me love you, let me adore you and all of your pain will go away.”

You had that minute of freedom; you grasped it with both hands desperately, knowing it would be last time you would taste it for a while.

Your eyes began to lose your energy faster than you wanted, eyes drooping but fluttering to stay awake.

A relieving, cool hand touched your face and stroked your cheek with tenderness; you almost felt sicker when your heart stopped at the feathery touch.

“Just sleep, amore, I’ll be there when you wake up.”

That’s what you were afraid of.

Guido Mista

"Aww, baby, you really outdid yourself this time, didn't you?"

You were feverish, barely able to see the shadows flittering around the room. It felt as though tiny creatures were jumping and crawling throughout the sheets, nipping and tickling your skin.

"Mista...where?..." you could barely form words, your throat was dry as all hell and your foggy vision was clouding your frail efforts to catch sight of a glass somewhere, anywhere in the haze.

“Shh, shh, just let me take care of you, carina. You’ve only gone and caught yourself a nasty little cold, huh?” His voice was teasing you, that much you could make out, yet your sweating body almost went into shock at the undertones of dread it gave you.

Mista was being uncharacteristically caring about your escape attempt; you had been bracing yourself for a long lecture and one-sided argument at your selfishness, your callous disregard for how you had abandoned Mista when all he wanted to do was love you.

Yeah, love you to death, more like. You had seen him dispose of low-life criminals on the streets of Italy, callous and violent, like it meant nothing to him. He may have tried to shield you from his occupation but you both knew what he was.

You forced yourself to watch Mista if it was possible to remind yourself of what he could do to you if you ever went too far; his gun could be pressed against your head one day if you pushed him far enough, right?

It didn’t matter right now, though. The pitter-patter and united whining of Sex Pistols still rang in your ears until the irritated voice of your captor scolded them for disturbing you in your time of rest.

“Mista, I-I’m sorry for leaving, I just wanted to-“

“Carina, rest your head. You made a simple mistake, hmm?”

Your foggy eyes widened. Mista was letting you off for now? That would have made you sigh with relief months ago, but you’d come to understand over time that he had a bit of a temper at times.

But now, as he fussed and pampered your bedridden body, a new stab of dread became more present in your gut. This could be dangerous.

He could have hurt me, you realized. But he didn’t, or rather hadn’t yet. Was he waiting until you were back on your feet to punish you? To make you regret you’d ever run away so foolishly, throwing his love and adoration for you back in his face?

But you could feel his painful anger towards you, no matter how hard he tried to keep it down. Eyes twitching, tense shoulders, all of them were hallmarks of a Mista meltdown ready to snap on you.

Bated breaths escaped you as a familiar, sickly feeling began to wash over you; anticipation. Whether or not you knew what was coming, you never failed to feel a few stops short of vomiting when he got like this.

“I don’t know why you do these things, bella. It really hurts my feelings when you act up and make me lose my patience.”

Mista pressed a damp cloth to your face, dabbing gently as he spoke, eyes fixed on your reactions. His tendencies is what was scaring you the most, you almost wanted him to lose his shit with you.

“But I know you’re sorry. I know you feel bad about making me worry and chase you down like that!” That last part…why was it spoken with such glee, such assurance in himself? In you, even after you’d run away?

“I-I really am sorry, Mista, I d-don’t know why I did it”-

“You were scared, weren’t you?”

You shut your eyes instinctually, baring yourself to face the inevitable consequences of your actions. But there was nothing, nothing at all, apart from the slow whisper next to your ear.

It made your hair stand on end, your heart thudded to point where you felt as though you could collapse into the pillows and cushions.

“But I forgive you. This time. If you do it again…I’ll break your legs.”

Somehow, you weren’t sure if you would make it out intact.

If you would make it out at all.

——————————————————

like my work?

ko-fi

i hope you enjoyed this one! took me a while, and i struggled with writing Mista a bit and i hope they turn out well!

jjba is on the brain im literally frothing at the mouth morning noon and night

[spider-stark]

Having a 'Thing' with Coworker!Daniel Blake | SFW & NSFW

| SFW

if you look up "simp" in the dictionary, you'll find a picture of Daniel Blake's face

no, but seriously. after the two of you meet?

game over

no more drunken hookups during a night out, no more trying (failing) to flirt with the cute barista before work

he probably deleted Hinge off his phone within seconds of learning your name

man knew what he wanted. and one thing about Daniel? he's determined

after you start working for Fisk's team, Daniel is up your ass 24/7—professionally, of course

goes out of his way to touch you. nothing inappropriate—just sweet, lowkey touches

a hand on the small of your back as he slips past you in the office, or playfully bumping his arm into yours during a meeting, catching your attention after someone says something that definitely wasn't supposed to be funny, but totally is

he also flirts like his life depends on it

crooked grins, teasing nicknames, the occasional wink (that never turns out as sexy as he hopes)

but nine times out of ten? his flirting ends with him tripping over his own feet, knocking over a vase, spilling coffee all over his shirt, or something equally as embarrassing

you might think he's doing it to make you laugh

but nope

he's actually just a major klutz who's nowhere near as confident as he pretends to be

luckily for him, you happen to think it's adorable that he's perpetually doomed

his love language is acts of service

anything you don't want to do? he's got it covered

the two of you will be doing something simple, like eating lunch, when he casually drops:

"Oh, I filed your reports, by the way." "What? I hadn't even finished them—and they weren't due for another week!" "Well, sure. But filing's like, super annoying, and I know you hate it. So."

definitely shrugs like it's no big deal

but it's very much a Big Deal

because while he might try to hide it, Daniel definitely craves your praise like a sweet little puppy

and while you've gotten used to how touchy he is, you never really return it

not because you don't want to, but because your job at the mayor's office is your first real job, and you don't want to risk looking unprofessional around Fisk or the rest of the team.

but one morning, the elevator gets stuck on your way up to Fisk's office

it's just you and daniel, locked in a big steel box for who-knows-how-long

Daniel handles it pretty well

he's cool, calm, collected...

for approximately five seconds

then he's sitting on the floor, scrubbing his face like he's about to have a full-on meltdown

"Holy shit, this elevator's real small, innit? Fuck... Have you ever seen that one scene in Star Wars? The one with Han and Chewie where the walls start closing in and—oh god. Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod, we're gonna die in here, aren't we? We're gonna die and—"

you do it without thinking. crouch in front of him, brush a rogue strand of hair off his forehead

Daniel immediately shuts up

his body goes still

he's not even breathing

(probably for the best, since he was borderline hyperventilating)

and then you smile at him, and dear god, he swears his heart's gonna thump right through his chest

"We're going to be fine, Danny boy."

wait.

Danny boy?!

he pretends to be chill about it. the nickname, the fact that your hand is still in his hair, gently fixing the neat hairstyle he wrecked during his panic

but let's be real

on the inside?

he is so not chill

"By the way,” there’s a teasing lilt to your voice, a sound so sweet and hypnotizing that Daniel tried to commit every note to memory, “they were in a trash compacter in A New Hope," you told him. "So this isn't even close to being the same thing."

if he wasn't in love with you already, he was now

because holy shit

you liked Star Wars

| NSFW

as time goes on, Daniel easily becomes a fixture in your sex life

after all, working for Fisk isn't your usual 9-to-5

it's overtime all the time, so you can't be bothered fitting hookups into your already packed schedule

but a girl's got needs, so...

Enter: Daniel Blake

you try telling yourself it's not that big a deal

people fuck their coworkers all the time, right? and it is awfully convenient: quickies in the bathroom between meetings, getting fingered underneath the table at some fancy gala

(an exception being the risky blowjob you gave him from underneath the mayor's desk after everyone left for the night—that leaned more desperate than convenient)

man is a giver with a capital G

the type of guy to catch you by the wrist when you're stressed, dragging you somewhere private so he can stuff his head between your thighs

"Look at you, gettin' yourself all worked up. How 'bout we blow off a lil steam, yeah? Lemme take care of you."

no matter how cocky or nonchalant he tries to act, he's always freaking out on the inside

genuinely so glad you're letting him hit, tho

probably Googles dumb shit like

How to not nut fast?

or

Map to G-spot?

(bless him, this boy genuinely just wants to be the best lay of your life)

p r a i s e k i n k

will literally melt if you tell him what a good job he's doing

but if you say it while his dick's inside of you there is a 99.99% chance he's gonna cum immediately, so wield this power wisely (and use birth control)

a whimpering little bitch boy when receiving

probably begs without even realizing it? always under his breath and always something simple, like muttering "Fuck, please"

even outside of sexual situations, Daniel definitely struggles with getting embarrassingly hard over stupid things

you brought a banana for breakfast?

boner

you compliment his shirt?

boner

you so much as breathe in his direction

BONERBONERBONER

praying for him if the two of you ever actually make it official, because knowing you're his is just gonna turn him on even more

pray for Fisk, too, cause his two best employees are gonna be late all the damn time cause they're too busy trying not to slip during early morning shower sex

(and let's be real: Daniel Blake's 100% got big dick energy—the dorky loser variety, sure, but still)

a/n | i had thoughts. got thoughts out. now we have this? i don't usually write headcanon type stuff, so apologies if it's kinda meh lol

also: there's a rival-to-lovers scenario in my head where daniel and the reader live in the same apartment building and she either is a vigilante or is aligned with them and boy--i want to write it so bad but i have like four ideas going right now that i need to finish first. every day i curse myself for writing as slow as george r.r. martin while not possessing even half his skill

[kiwii-11]

order up!

in which . . . you and a fellow student keep bumping into each other, as if something is forcing you two to interact.

or . . . the first few times guy and honey meet each other, and how their friendship blooms.

cw . . . gn reader, they/them pronouns, second person pov, pre-relationship guy x honey, honey! reader, flirting, honey is a criminology major and a barista what more could you want, one use of y/n, one coworker flirts with honey, I LOOOOOVE GUY X HONEY SM RAGAGAHAHHHH

you were upset that student accomodation cost an arm and a leg. why did you have to pay over a hundred dollars more to live on campus than just next to it? wasn’t the university getting enough of your money?

these thoughts ran through your mind every time you hopped off the train and had to walk towards your campus. public transport was supposedly used to make your life easier, but the patrons diseased that purpose. the guy who squished beside you on the train wouldn’t get off the phone and kept obnoxiously speaking to his friend about whatever came to his mind. you were trying to make space between the both of you and kept your bag close to your chest. what an idiot…

you were currently rushing to your class that was across campus from the public entry. whilst you left early, the train was late, pushing your travel time to be from the usual 45 minutes to an hour. you were pissed off, to say the least, and it seemed your peers noticed it. every person handing out a flyer had coincidentally looked away from your direction.

“—like editing, your presentation, style, things of the sort.” the professor speaks as she draws up her powerpoint.

however, she stops short at the sound of the door whacking open, you looking breathless in the doorway.

“i—i apologise, i was running late,” you huff out in an embarrassed tone as you fix your shirt, “please continue.”

she raises her eyebrow at you. “well, with your approval, i will.” she turns back to the board and begins to speak more on the overview of the class.

you frantically look around for a spot to sit, noticing how full the class was. the seminar room wasn’t small by any means, and some empty spots were in between two people. what an awkward way to enter the room.

luckily enough, you see a fellow student sitting in one of the back rows waving his hand your way. he has this dumb on his face as he’s pulling his backpack from the seat beside him. taking the signal, you make your way over to the end seat he was gesturing to and hastily take out your laptop.

“nice entrance,” he whispers under his breath as you fix your small seat table, “you looked like a dear in headlights, y’know? and you’re so serious and knit-browed — are you sure you’re in the right class?”

you’re a bit taken aback by his statements and question. as you pull up your note-taking app, you huff, “this is creative non-fiction, right? room GB-204-1A?”

he raises a brow and glances to the back of the room, where the sign read just that. he purses his lips and hums, “you got that memorised in that pretty head of yours, huh? wonder what else—”

“this is an introduction class, sir,” the professor calls out to the boy beside you, making him sit ip straight, “if you know everything i am about to teach that you feel so inclined to speak to our latest arrival, then you may leave.”

“o—oh, no, i’m okay!” he stammers in a nervous rush, “i mean, like, i will stay! not that i know everything, even though this is just the first class and you’re just going over the course outline, i will stay. if you’ll have me. please.”

the professor hardens her gaze before she returns to the class once again.

you’re half-thankful for the professor being a hard-ass, because the student beside you was now shutting up and doing his work. the whole room was doing so until it came to the time to make friends in this class. you were told to take a ten minute break and talk amongst yourselves.

while you were trying to catch up on the work you had missed, the student beside you took it upon himself to continue your conversation from earlier.

“so, why were you late?” he asks as he shuts his laptop, “everyone usually gets here, like, twenty minutes before class so that they can get good spots. not you, though. do you just like all the attention on you, hm?”

you peer over to him with a raised brow. he’s smiling widely.

“my train was fifteen minutes delayed.” you say flatly.

he nods his head, waiting for you to go on. your fingers continue to type along the keyboard.

“i haven’t seen you in any of my core classes,” he claims, leaning towards you, “i’ve had all of them this week. are you just now realising that all the money you’re puttin’ into this course is real and that you should probably start taking things seriously? that’s so real, i can totally understand that. hey, maybe we—”

“this is just an elective for me.” you cut him off.

“ooh, so you’re not a little word wizard like i am, then,” he chuckles, “what’s your deal? you seem really left-brained, y’know, and putting up a cold front. maybe inside you’re all warm-hearted and sweet.”

“you’ve known me for an hour, and i’ve said less than 30 words to you,” you point out, “and if you’re asking what i’m majoring in, it’s criminology.”

“what? so what are you doing here?”

“criminology falls under the this bachelor, so i picked this elective to try and get a break from my core work.” you explain as you mindlessly type.

“oh, that makes sense. so this is the only class we’d share this semester. what a pity; these people would kill for a dynamic like ours.” he thinks out loud.

“i… i guess?” you murmur as you glance at him.

he gives you a smile. the small gesture is a bit weird after what he just said, but you go back to working like usual. he tries to talk your ear off the whole time until the break is over.

when the class ends, you pack up your things and leave promptly. the student sitting beside you noticed this and rushes to do the same.

“h—hey, wait!”

you’re putting your second earbud in when you feel a tug on your bag. you look back to see him again. “what is it?”

“oh, scary,” he mumbles under his breath, “i just wanted to get your name. we didn’t exchange it back there and you weren’t there for ticking off the roll. you were the only one i talked to in class, so we’re practically best friends now—”

“we aren’t.”

“—and best friends should know each other’s names, isn’t that right?” he finished with another smile, “i’m—”

his phone is ringing in his hand just as he goes to speak. he stammers before answering. you stand there awkwardly with your earbud in, ready to play music. you could leave right now and get something to eat before work, but your feet are stuck in the ground. maybe you felt bad about trying to leave…

“right! i’ll be there right away, rosa!” he says before he ends the call and turns back to you, “i’m sorry, i know i held you back, but… my job just asked me to come in. right now. a few seconds ago. it’s getting pretty busy and—”

“i don’t need an explanation, you can just go.” you say as you shrug your shoulders.

“oh yeah. i’ll see you next week, stand-offish person!” he waves at you as he rushes passed to make it to his car.

you only let out a sigh, put in your earbud and continue to listen to your music as you head to the campus foodcourt area. on the way there, you pass the noticeboard, where you desperately searched for a place closer to campus to live. most of it is about student accomodation on school grounds, which you’ve completely ruled out already, but one flyer stands out. it’s fairly new, and there’s a phone number on the bottom to contact about a three bedroom apartment that was a five minute walk from campus, saving time and money.

you hastily type the number into your phone and send a short message introducing yourself and your interest in the apartment. as you continue to your destination, you get a text back. the person, kayla, was telling you to come by in the next few days to check the place out. you thank kayla for the opportunity and decide on a time.

today seemed hopeful.

the next day, you come home from work with a huff of tiredness. living with your parents did help you save money, but the travel was agonising. if the train wasn’t late, it was cancelled all together, or it had a platform change that made you miss it. you loved tour parents, and they didn’t mind you staying during studying, but everything else screamed at you to move out.

“sweetie, i’ve ordered dinner already,” your mother says from the living room as you change clothes in your bedroom, “it’ll be here in a couple minutes, okay? my wallet’s by the door.”

“yeah, okay.” you call back as you stifle a yawn.

as you take your time studying, a knock at the door comes to your attention. you walk downstairs to grab the food, passing your mother setting up the table. she thanks you for getting the delivery.

the door swings open and you glance up to the man holding the food.

“hi, delivery for—…” the same student from your elective class is staring back at you, blinking in surprise before a smile breaks out on his face, “it’s you! the—the, uh, stand-offish person! wow, what a coincidence, huh? i didn’t know you were a fan of max’s. i can’t believe i didn’t recognise you.”

“you’re… the pizza guy?” you mumble out with a tilt of your head.

“well, yeah, but you can just drop the ‘pizza’,” he chortles as he shrugs his shoulders, “i’m just ‘the guy’. as in, that’s my name. ‘guy’, just ‘guy’, i mean. why would my name have a definite article?” he lets out another nervous laugh as you stare at him. “these are for you.”

you take the boxes from guy and place them on the table beside you. “thanks, uh, guy. how much do i owe you?”

he’s staring at you and you can feel it as you take the wallet from the key plate. he can’t help but trace your features where you looked so much calmer now than yesterday. he’s glad to have run into you again.

“hello?” you hum.

“oh, well, uh… nothing,” he clears his throat, “it’s… on the house. or in the house, you could say. i mean, how else would you get your dinner, am i right?”

“i have to pay for this, dude,” you say as you pick up the receipt that came with the food, “$35.70.”

you’re shoving two twenty dollar bills into his hand and clasping his fingers around it. guy blinks at your warm touch and how you give him a once-over in his uniform. he fixes his hat on his head and straightens on the hem of his shirt.

“keep the change, pizza guy.” you say, giving him a half-assed smile.

“really?” he widens his eyes.

‘it’s less than five dollars’, you think to yourself.

“yeah.” you hum as you hold the doorknob.

“thank you, that’s, uh… thank you,” he tells you with a grateful smile, “you’re very sweet.”

“like honey.” you sigh.

guy lets out a small chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck. you hold your stance for a second before you begin closing the door, muttering out another ‘thanks’.

the door shuts in his face.

he stands there for a few seconds, face warming up in the 6pm wind. you were intriguing, in a way a lot of other people weren’t. he was good at reading people, but he just couldn’t with you. granted, this was only the second time you’ve met face to face. after taking in a deep breath, guy bounces back to his car with a wide smile, returning to work.

“here, thanks for dinner.” you say as you place the boxes on the table.

“did you know the delivery person?” your mother asks as she hands you a plate.

“we’re in the same elective class,” you state while pulling two glasses from the cupboard, “i sat next to him yesterday.”

“ooh, is he cute? does he like you?” she jokes.

“he talks a lot and it’s a bit distracting,” you sigh and pour the drinks, “but he seems to have good intentions.”

you mother studies your face a little before she hums, nodding her head.

the next few days pass by without anything major happening. lots of studying and lots of working. you had gone over to see the apartment, and it was in good condition. kayla seemed to be in a bit of a frenzy, telling you that not a lot of people were calling back to sign the lease. you wondered why that was, since this was a great spot for students. you were sure that you would move in, with all the benefits it had for you.

today, you were scheduled to work the opening to closing, 8am to 6pm. your car was parked outside beside your coworker’s, and the sign was already flipped. while the cafe didn’t get too busy all the time, fridays were always busy.

“oat latte for peter,” you call as you place the cover over the cup, “have a good day.”

you turn back to the coffee machine to ready the next order. your next coworker would be coming in at 12pm, so one of you could go on your thirty minute break. it was getting a little hot, being in front of the machine so much. your store’s coffees were good, but you didn’t think so many people would be coming in to have it all the time.

as the orders begin to calm down, you take to clearing the tables and washing some dishes. a sigh leaves your lips as you stretch your arms over your head.

“hey,” your coworker says as he pops his head around the corner, “wanna’ take your thirty now? tina should be coming any minute now.”

“yeah sure,” you reply as you wipe your hands on the towel, “i’m grabbing lunch.”

you peel your apron off and hang it on the rack before grabbing your jacket and pulling it over your shoulder. as you leave, you pull out your phone and your earbuds to listen to music. there was a sandwich shop you liked to visit on the corner of the block, which is where you were heading right now.

when you feel a tap on your shoulder as you go to open the store door, you furrow your brows and glance over. it’s him.

he’s saying something that’s getting drowned out by your music. you carefully take an earbud out.

“—oh you didn’t hear me, haha,” he laughs to himself as you stare at him, “it’s nice to see you again. do you remember me? i’m the pizza delivery guy that also happens to be in your creative non-fiction class! y’know, the class you were late for and then happened to see lil’ ol’ me and sat next to me.”

“yeah,” you respond as you enter and guy follows you, “uh, what’re you doing here?”

“i’m on my lunch break right now,” he claims, “i like this spot, makes the best chicken pesto sandwiches, oh my god, they’re so good. i didn’t think you could even make them into sandwiches, i thought they were just pasta. it’s not even my favourite pasta, though, pesto. i just really like it as a sandwich. my favourite pasta is—”

he continues to ramble as you uncomfortably stand in line waiting to order. when it’s your turn, guy halts his speaking. then it’s his turn. but right after that, he’s standing with you as you wait for your food. he continues on about his likes and dislikes and you decide to put your earbuds away. not really because you were interested, but because it seemed rude to listen to music when this oblivious man was trying to talk to you.

when you get your sandwiches (at the same time, no less), he sits with you.

“so, honey, what are you doing here? other than eating such a delectable sandwich with such delectable company such as myself.” he chuckles out with a grin.

“—‘honey’? wha—” you scoff, “i’m on my lunch break too.”

“woah, what a coincidence!” he says, “it’s like you ‘n i are linked! do you ever think about that? how the universe makes people meet up so that they can be friends and always hang out and probably give your number to—”

“are you following me or something?” you sigh as you put your sandwich down, “i see you everywhere, at my own house.”

“‘following you’? no! of course not, why would i follow you?” he gasps dramatically, “i am but a humble man, asking for just an inch of your attention — a crumb, if you so allow it! i swear on my little life that i have no ill intent! isn’t that weird? no one believes in fate anymore and j will prove that it’s real one way or another.”

you raise a brow at him as you take a sip from your drink.

“how will you do that?” you muse.

“oh, i don’t know, is this not proof enough?” he gestures between the two of you, “the two of us, honey—”

“that’s not my name—”

“—we’re already starting up our own evidence file, right? i’ve seen you more than any my friends in the past week, which means that we are besties now. we should be getting to know each other now. what’s your favourite piece of media that has been so incredibly overwhelmed by the male gender that it’s, against the creator’s wishes, conformed to such ideals? i would say american psycho but that’s such a basic bitch answer.”

you blink at him slowly, wondering how he’s managed to eat half of his sandwich already when he’s been doing all the talking. you bite into the bread and listen to him absentmindedly. this was saving you phone battery, at least.

a few minutes later, he’s somehow moved on to talk about how you live pretty far from campus.

“yeah, i know, i’m… trying to make up for it.” you exhale heavily, “what about you? i know max’s pizza probably delivers everywhere around dahlia.”

“well, i live just about the same amount away from campus too, just the other way,” guy says, “trying to find a place closer so that i can just get up and go. or go to all those campus parties and get fucked up and just pass out straight away, no regrets. no, actually, i would definitely regret that, it sounds like literal hell to get pissed drunk and then go to class the next morning. mmm, i’m getting a headache thinking about it, owie…”

you shake your head, trying to steer the conversation back. “oh well, uh… if you’re looking to move out—”

“oh my god, are you proposing to me?” he giggles.

“—there’s this place next to campus that’s offering one more spot,” you say, ignoring his question, “i took a look at it and i’m probably gonna’ take the offer. it’s a good looking place, and the other person seems to be needing some roommates, like, now.”

a genuine smile begins to crawl onto guy’s face. when he realises it, he clears his throat and covers his mouth. “that’s… actually a really good idea. you’d take me as your roommate?”

“you make it sound so formal,” you deadpan, “i’m just putting the offer out there.”

“it’s a good offer! i’ve been so busy with work that i haven’t even begun looking for places around campus,” he admits to you, “but yeah, i’ll take a look."

you nod your head and sit in peace for exactly three seconds.

"can you send me the address? and the person i'd have to contact?"

"huh? oh, yeah okay," you respond as you take out your phone, "what's your number?"

"ooh, moving fast, are we? you're so smooth, i knew you were into me, i can always tell. it's in the look of your eyes, you're always switching between staring at my own gorgeous eyes and looking at my lips which means that you're waiting for the right moment to kiss me!"

"it means i'm waiting for you to shut up."

"oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you?" he mumbles out.

you roll your eyes, but can't hide the smile on your face at his stupid comments. guy lets out a small laugh as he plays with his sleeve.

"you really are as sweet as honey, you know that? not everyone would be as nice as to offer up a place to live! you’re a saint, you need your name on a plaque, a statue in your honour! oh, i could write you a biography! hire me when you get famous!” a huge grin is plastered on his face now.

you roll your eyes a little as another smile taunts your lips. “so you’re a writer, huh? what do you write?”

that seems to send him off the deep end. you spend the rest of your break listening to him talking about his most recent work. you don't end up remembering much about what he was saying, but you know for sure that he'd happily tell you about it all over again. you hear about his book that’s in the works and the main character’s goals, the setting and the major plot points. you have to admit, it intrigued you; maybe you’ll take a look at some manuscripts of his.

the next time you see guy outside of class is your move-in day. you gave your mother a big hug and waved goodbye as she drove back home from your new place. you only had a couple of things left to bring up, boxes by your feet. kayla was out at the moment, handing you the key as she passed you. thankfully, it was a day off and you had the whole day to settle in.

as you pick up one if the boxes, you hear a call of your name.

“been a while, honey,” guy claims as he exits his car, spotting the cardboard by your frame, “ooh, special day! so you ended up signing the lease? that’s so exciting, i hope that one day something this magical could happen to me. perhaps… today?”

“what’re you doing here?” you question whilst you heave the box of pc parts.

“kayla said i could come over to go over some contracting stuff, all the legal things, y’know? boring, boring, blah, blah, blah,” he moves his head side to side while he speaks, over exaggerating his tone, “forgot you were, uh, moving in today! do you need a hand?”

“oh, uh…”

“ugh, how stupid of me! a true gentleman should just help when he sees it is required!” he claims as soon as he picks up the box of textbooks.

you thank him as you enter the apartment building. leading guy into elevator, you scoot to the side to make space for him. he humps his shoulder with yours.

“oof, some heavy stuff in here. not that i don’t think you could carry all these yourself, honey. i think you can do a lot,” he reiterates with a grin, “and i, uh… think you got plenty of attributes, if y’know what i mean, uuhn—”

you nudge him in the ribs with furrowed brows and an embarrassed expression. he lets out a loud laugh.

“shut up.” you scoff.

“hey, it’s a compliment! meant to make you feel nice!” he jokes around as the elevator door opens, “i mean… there are other ways to—augh!”

he bumps into your shoulder as you turn to the apartment and take out your keys. you choose to ignore his comments and head inside.

“my bedroom’s the farthest one to the left. you can just put that box on my bed.” you say, closing the door behind the two of them.

he gives you an ‘okey-dokey’ before travelling down the hall. you place the keys on the bench before going after him.

“woah, you got the nice sheets!” guy claims as he places the box on the floor instead and jumps onto your double mattress, “ugh, it’s so comfortable. we need to swap beds, honey.”

“hard pass,” you grumble out and tug the back of his jacket, “off my bed, you’re dirty.”

“oh i know, uuhn—”

you put your box on the desk and open the window, letting fresh air waft through.

“kayla’s room is the one closest to the living room and kitchen, so you’ll be across from us. the bathroom is right in front of your room, so that’s pretty good,” you explain, “i thought you’d appreciate the bigger space for your… bookshelves or something…”

when you turn around to grab your textbooks, you see guy’s devilish grin on his face. you pause.

“what?”

“how did you know i was gonna’ accept this offer before today, huh? or, and stay with me here, honey, did you just… oh well, i don’t know, perhaps… hope that i did?” he shrugs his shoulders as he sits up and swings his legs off the side of the bed, “aw, honey, were you wishing that your perfect, amazing, fabulous man would come swoop in and save you? always rely on me to make your life exciting! i can picture it now, the hot new show revolving about guy and honey — the deep, brooding softie honey, and the charismatic, ever-loveable and quite talented and handsome guy! what whacky stuff will this duo get up to today? stick around and find out!”

you roll your eyes with a scoff, “you’re stupid.”

“i make up for it by being sexy.”

as you try to organise your textbooks in your shelf above your desk, guy continues to talk. it’s not long til kayla returns and she and guy get to talking about the apartment again. you take your time fixing the rest of your belongings, carefully listening in through your open door.

it sounded like guy was moving in for sure now. you let out a sigh of relief; thank god the third roommate isn’t a complete stranger.

a few weeks later, you’re at work and the store’s died down a little. you’re thankful for the break in pace and begin to clean the coffee machine.

“hey, y/n,” your coworker says as he sidles up beside you, “i wanna’ ask you a question.”

you glance over your shoulder and hum, “yeah?��

“we’ve been friends for, what, two years now?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the counter, “that’s a pretty long time.”

“yeah, i think that’s about right.” you pay half a mind to him as you fill up the coffee grinder again.

“mhm. got me thinking — we’ve never hung out together. outside of work, i mean.” he claims as he fixes the coffee cups.

“that’s not true. those work dinners that tina organises, i always go to them.” you retort with knit brows.

“that’s not what i meant,” your coworker chuckles nervously as you wipe your hands on your apron, “just us two.”

you stop on your tracks and stare at him, suddenly so aware of how close he was standing to you. his smile was gentle and he seemed a bit nervous.

“are you free anytime soon? i’d love to take you out, my treat.” he hums with a hand on his chest.

your coworker was nice to you and others. he was pretty cute, and he didn’t do anything that make you think he was a bad person. but you just weren’t feeling attracted to him. you had no idea why.

“would you like to go out together?” he asks for confirmation.

you swallow your nerves and look to the ground. “uh, listen—”

then, you hear the door open.

“hi, honey!” guy calls obnoxiously as he enters the cafe with his laptop bag over his shoulder, “how’s your day so far?”

you blink at the sight of him as you move to the register, further away from your coworker. you pretend not to notice the way his smile falls upon guy’s greeting.

in all honesty, you’ve grown content with the nickname. it started off a joke between the two of you, but soon it was like guy forgot your name as a whole. you’re too far into knowing him that you decide not to ask about it.

“hey, it’s pretty good. steady day,” you reply, fingers dancing across the pos machine, “what’re you doing here?”

“thinking of working on my manuscript, and where else to do so than in the company of the most adoring, bright, kind-hearted, never ever ill-willed person i know!” he cheers with a big smile, “when do you go on break? i’ll buy you lunch.”

you glance at the clock on the wall and purse your lips. “probably in an hour, unfortunately. but thank you for the thought.”

“aw man, i guess i just gotta’ stick around ‘til then. my poor honey, forced to work while i’m in your presence, in all my glorious beauty.” he lays a dramatic hand over his heart in faux pain.

you roll your eyes with a short laugh, “idiot. what do you want to drink?”

he orders his usual coffee for dine in, pays (secretly with a staff discount but you never tell him) and takes a seat by the window, shoving his headphones on. you watch as he fumbles with the zipper of his laptop bag until he finally releases his device. when he notices that you’re still watching him, he makes a face and blows a kiss your way. you blink at his action and pretend to swat it away, making him laugh.

“so…” your coworker clears his throat, “who’s that?”

you turn back to him as you take out the oat milk. “oh, uh… that’s guy, we have the same seminar this semester.”

your coworker sidles up beside you as he grabs the coffee mug and plate. “that so? he seems… nice, i guess.”

“why do you say it like that?” you huff, raised brow.

when he realises your tone, your coworker shakes his head. “u—uh, nothing. i’ll make this one, can you grab some more napkins?”

after giving him a look, you decide to go back to the storage room and grab the napkins like he asked. you return a few minutes later to find your coworker cleaning the coffee machine and guy drinking his coffee. however, when he sees you, he turns away. you furrow your brows.

“did you make it right?” you ask your coworker as you check that the oat milk was used — it was.

“what? his coffee? yeah, of course.” he scoffs with a confused smile.

“like with the extra foam?”

“i—yeah?”

“and the hazelnut?”

“yes, yes, i did,” he places his hands on your shoulders and chuckles, “relax, dude, it’s fine, he’s loving it, look.”

he gestures to guy, who was already looking back to you. when he’s been caught, he continues to sip his coffee and turns back to his laptop.

“see? he seems nice, it’s not like he’s gonna’ write a bad review or something,” your coworker claims as he leans against the bench and releases your shoulders, “so is he your roommate? he said you two live together.”

“oh, yeah, we’re roommates now. he moved in a couple weeks ago.” you state as you lazily wipe the marble tabletop.

“that’s cool.” your coworker sighs out.

the two of you continue to work for the next half an hour until the next worker comes in and you leave for your break. guy’s just about finished his coffee, trying to drag it out, it seems. when you take off your apron and walk towards him, he closes his laptop and tucks it away.

“ready for lunch?” guy grins.

“let’s go.” you respond.

you two are walking to the sandwich shop when you pick up on his change in demeanour. he’s quieter right now, and he’s staring at the floor.

“what did he say to you? the other person i work with?” you question after about five minutes.

“oh, do you mean the incredibly nice and definitely not threatening or secretly in love with you coworker you have? that person?” guy responds, “nothing at all. he gave me the wrong order and then told me he was gonna’ ask you out so i should probably ‘lay off’.”

he has a hint of annoyance in his tone when he says that last part. you don’t speak on it, but you hear it.

“i’m sorry, i think he was trying to ask me out before you came in.” you sigh with a shake of your head.

“r—really?”

“yeah. he’s probably just confused or something. he’s not usually so hostile.”

“duly noted.”

you peek at his expression — still a bit upset.

“hey, it’s fine, don’t listen to him, if he knew you better i’m sure he’d love you,” you nudge him in the side gently as you speak, “i got a job on campus at that cafe you took me to. i won’t be seeing him for a while, i think.”

“yeah?” guy hums out as a small smile moves onto his face, “i can’t believe you’re willing to relocate for me, a little guy, who’s just feeble and a small spec in the universe, in your universe. gosh, i must be so special. you must have a soft spot for me. ‘cause i got a hard one for you, honey, uuhn—”

“gross.” you joke back and hold the store door open for him.

he laughs along with you, heartfelt. you feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders as he does that.

having him as a friend and roommate was starting to look good. he’s cook, you’d clean, kayla would… be somewhere.

a few months later, one very early morning, at around 2am, you woke up to guy knocking on your door, asking to sleepover because of the scary movie you forced him to watch. you rolled your eyes and ended up preparing a makeshift bed on the floor for him, your hand hanging off the side of your own bed so he could hold it while sleeping.

guy would come home with pizza ready for you after your shift at work. a big smile plastered on his face and all as you walk through the door, tired, and he shoves the box in your face.

when the two of you have class together, he makes you two breakfast and you make sure everything is cleaned up and tidy before you leave. you don’t wear your earphones on those days, the silence being filled with guy’s talking.

you didn’t mind at all, not that you’d outright say that to him. he’s gotten more words out of you than you think any other friends from university have. guy was different; he was kind and thoughtful.

and you realised, six months into living together, that you had a huge crush on that stupid pizza delivery guy.

[raytoelicker]

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[etherealising]

chapter fourteen | your love is not too kind

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣

pairing(s): carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto x fem!reader

summary: you begin your hunt for a special surprise, while cortez and syd gang up on you. also an adventure between you and carmy ensues where you both receive advice from two very nosy old ladies, out of love of course. (honestly just a fun incoherent day with our two losers).

warning(s): angst | addiction | substance abuse | recovery | hopelessness | minimal editing | ooc carmy |

wc: 7.6k (thass a lot of filler)

The harsh cold of the Chicago air sporadically whipped across your face, the wind cut into the small patches of skin that weren’t covered by the scarf you chose to wear. You occupied yourself with the loose bits of concrete surrounding the sidewalk, kicking a few rocks around with the toe of your boot, one hand tucked tightly into your pocket while the other began feeling numb as you held your phone up to your ear.

Your eyes found Cortez’s figure inside the small cafe the two of you decided to meet up at, a smile tugging on your lips as you watched him converse with the person behind the counter while he waited for your orders.

The voice of the event planner on the other line continued droning on about what was expected of you at the gala tonight as if they hadn’t spoken to you in the months leading up to the gala or profusely sent you emails with an itinerary. You wished there was some way for you to get out of the whole ordeal, a few weeks ago you wouldn’t have minded but now you were resigned to spending your night with Hayden and a bunch of other mediocre middle-aged men who would pay you compliments for everything besides the journalistic work you pride yourself on.

You let out a small sigh followed by a noncommittal hum as you listened to the line go silent for the final time, stuffing the phone into your jacket pocket just in time to gratefully receive the to-go cup of hot cocoa Cortez patiently held out to you.

A nod of appreciation was sent his way as the two of you began your walk to the restaurant, your brows furrowed at the neatly wrapped box in his hand that wasn’t occupied with his cup of tea, “You buy the whole bakery or something?” You nodded towards what you assumed was a pastry box when he looked over in your direction.

A small smirk pulled at his lips “Nah, after ya little story about that sad ass baby shower you threw for Natalie, thought I could bring her some pastries ya know since I ain’t get no invite or nothin’.” You rolled your eyes slightly shoving your elbow into his side as you laughed him off.

“Aren’t we like not supposed to have a personal relationship outside of this sponsor sponsee situation?” A slight smile tugged at your lips as you listened to Cortez’s scoff.

“The way yo ass use me like a personal diary we might as well be fuckin’ friends.” Cortez turned his head away from you hoping it was enough to hide the small uptick of his lips, but it did next to nothing as you caught a quick glimpse of it.

You opened your mouth to respond, apologizing lightly to the stranger you almost ran into while your eyes were on Cortez. The man let out a huff of annoyance before carefully balancing his cup of the pastry box and then looping his free arm through yours.

“Bad enough I gotta listen to yo dramatic ass life stories, now I gotta be yo guide dog too?” Regardless of the quiet laugh he let out to signify he was joking, you weren’t sure how you put up with constantly being roasted by the man whenever you were in his presence.

You took another sip of your hot cocoa appreciating the way it warmed you from the inside out, a thought coming to you as you fixed your hold on the cup. “You seemed to know that barista at the cafe pretty well.” It was hard to keep the curiosity out of your tone, hoping if you avoided his stare he wouldn’t clock that you were trying to pry into his personal life.

Cortez let out a chuckle shaking his head at your antics, finding it amusing that you wouldn’t just outright ask him whatever questions you had considering all the times he’d intently listened and advised any dilemmas you went through. “Damn girl, you hella nosy!”

It was hard to hold back the laughter that began to bubble in you at those words, Cortez’s innate sassy nature was something you would always appreciate about him. “Nah I’m playin’,” the almost shy smile on his face cut off his words, and the reaction surprised you. “But uh, I been frequentin’ that cafe for a bit. They uh asked for my number last time I was there, we been talkin’ and shit.” He shrugged it off like he didn’t just tell you the most exciting news you’d heard all week.

Although his complexion didn’t allow for a blush to spread across his cheeks, you could tell he was flustered just by the way he was trying to hide his smile. “Talkin’ and shit hmm,” your imitation of him drew a frown from the man. “Is that all the two of you are doing?”

Cortez chuckled at the teasing undertone in your voice, “Ion really think that’s ya business ma.”

A quiet scoff left you at Cortez’s answer of course he would give you a morsel of his personal life, only to take it away when you got too curious. You didn’t mind though his life wasn’t really any of your business but you sure as hell liked to bug him about it like it was.

“What about you, still cut up over homeboy who stay playin’ with you?” If you spent any more alone time with this man you were sure your eyes would permanently get stuck in the back of your head from all the rolling they did.

“You don’t have to say it like that and actually ‘ion really think that’s ya business bro’.” The laughter from the two of you came immediately at how ridiculous you sounded when trying to mimic Cortez’s vernacular. The strange look from those gathered around you as you waited to cross the street did little to appease your good humor.

The two of you continued the rest of your journey in mostly silence unless one of the two of you made a quip here and there. You weren’t sure what compelled Cortez to tag along with you to the restaurant especially since you’d spoken in length about how you were doing with your sobriety back at the cafe, if anything you were sure Cortez’s nosiness was catching up to him and he wanted to put a face to all the myriad of names you mentioned. But you’d pretend his excuse about seeing Natalie was legitimate.

You stopped in front of the restaurant, the windows covered and not allowing anyone on the outside to see in. You looked back at Cortez for a moment, eyes narrowing as you watched a smug smirk grow on his lips, “What’s that look for?”

His smirk widened as he leaned around you opening the door, “Nothin’ ma just excited to meet that loser you stay fuckin’ cryin’ over.”

You scoffed turning to enter the restaurant, only to be stopped by the sound of Nat’s voice coming from behind the two of you causing you to turn in your tracks with a smile on your face as she approached both of you. Pleasantries were exchanged as the three of you headed inside, your eyes landing on exactly the person you were looking for as you excused yourself from the conversation.

As you made your way further into the restaurant, you realized what was so different about it. It was weird the more you looked around, you realized just how much things had changed thus far. In reality, the only major change you could pinpoint was the lack of walls, but it was also more than that to you, it was no longer the restaurant you once used to come to on the weekends when you and Carm were kids. While most of the foundation was the same there would be no more looking at a particular spot and being sucked into a memory from all those years ago. It was refreshing, to say the least, but it also felt like the last tangible piece of Mikey was being torn down bit by bit, piece by piece.

Nat’s laugh broke you from your reverie, your eyes finding her still locked in conversation with Cortez, whatever stress you’d seen on her face outside had calmed a bit as she spoke with the man. You turned moving to the man you were here to speak to, eyebrows furrowing as you watched Syd look at dishes on the table.

“Fak, hey mind if I cut in?” You waited for his response watching as his eyes darted between you and the man he was speaking with, the latter sending you a welcoming smile as he held his hand out to introduce himself.

The panicked look on Fak’s face as he fought the urge to step away and speak with you made it clear whatever he was doing with Tim was important, so you decided he could be privy to the conversation.

“If I let you in on a super secret mission, you have to promise me Carmy doesn’t find out.” You looked down at Fak in his seated position, the rapid nod of his head enough to let you know your words caught his attention.

You looked around the restaurant just to make sure Carmy hadn’t made a surprise appearance before turning and taking the nearest chair to sit in, leaning forward and beckoning Fak with you, Tim watching from his place next to Fak somehow just as intrigued.

“Okay, I need you to tell me everything you know about what happened to Mikey’s jean jacket, you know the one with that cool blanket lining?” You watched as realization flashed across Fak’s face.

His hands flew to his mouth as he tried to hide his excited laugh, the noise drawing not only Syd’s attention but Nat and Cortez’s as well before they returned to what previously held their attention. Your eyebrows furrowed as you shushed him hoping it wouldn’t draw anyone else’s attention.

“You’re trying to find the jacket for Carmy!” Your eyes widened at how loud he said Carmy’s name, regretting your decision to do this at the restaurant. “So is this like a lover’s gift because you know I’m Carmy’s best friend,” he paused, wincing as he looked at you. “No offense Baby, but you’d be like the coolest fucking girlfriend ever if you found that jacket for Carm.”

While Fak’s excitement made you feel hopeful that getting the jacket would be easier than you once thought, you needed to nip this idea of you and Carmy being an item in the bud before Fak got too carried away, no matter how much the idea warmed you inside.

“Uh…no, no Fak were just friends, but if I’m going to relieve you of best friend duties- thanks for stepping in for the past 10 years by the way,” you gave him a small wink. “I need your help to find that jacket, please.” The puppy dog eyes weren’t necessary but you needed to assure his help.

Fak kept quiet as he looked at you, both of you easily ignored Tim as he sat watching the stare-off between the two of you intently, waiting for one of you to crack. It was immediate the way Fak deflated into himself the excitement still there as he began telling you the information he knew.

You politely nodded along as Fak went off on various tangents, paying extra attention as he recounted Carm being beaten up by someone in a carrot costume, wanting to keep that in the back of your mind just in case you needed it. A few more attentive nods and quiet “mhms” left you before Fak finally gave you something you could work with.

“Chi-Chi? And you’re sure he has the jacket?” You were surprised, to say the least, but after listening to Fak explain how tough things got at The Beef, you understood the need for quick cash. Your mind tried to remember how you overlooked the state of the restaurant when helping out Richie last year.

“Thanks, Fak I really appreciate the help, don’t let Carm find out though please?” You raised your eyebrows hoping he realized how serious you were, your eyes dropping to his extended pinky before letting out a quiet laugh and connecting your pinky’s in a pinky promise.

You gave Fak one last smile in thanks before apologizing to Tim for interrupting their riveting conversation about music and returning the chair to the table you stole it from. As you looked up you caught Syd’s knowing smile out of the corner of your eye, the seat next to her occupied by none other than Cortez, a smile of his own lining his lips.

“Don’t you two just look cozy.” Your voice was sarcastic as you looked between the two of them, sure they heard the whole conversation and even more sure that Cortez provided Syd with commentary. Your eyes fell to the small wares lined up on the table trying to distract yourself from Cortez’s smug grin.

Cortez cleared his throat, “Baby?” The smile was evident in his voice before your eyes shot up to his. “Oh that shit was serious,” he paused on a laugh hand moving to wipe across his mouth. “Not you walkin’ around lettin’ grown ass men call you Baby.”

You looked in Syd’s direction for help, an awkward smile lined her lips as she looked between the two of you. “It’s a childhood nickname, why are you still here anyway?”

He shrugged finger tracing across one of the plates, “Nat asked me to stick around for lunch, and ya girl over here was starin’ at these dishes hard as hell, thought she could use a pastry.”

Your eyes narrowed at Cortez’s words, his hands holding out the pastry box to you in offering. Nat wasn’t around to corroborate his story but you also knew he was just as nosy as you and probably took up Nat’s offer in hopes of meeting Carm, you brushed it off before turning back to Syd.

“Why isn’t Carm helping you with all this?” Your hand moved in a gesture to everything set out on the table, you could feel the tension radiating off Syd like it was something palpable.

The look on Syd’s face was a mix of irritation and exhaustion as she looked at you before looking in Cortez’s direction, the man all ears as she decided whether or not to talk about what was plaguing her in mixed company.

“Oh, you know Carm, everywhere and nowhere,” she gave a forced laugh before finding your eyes, the look on your face telling her to cut the shit. “He’s stressing me out more than I already am, which isn’t great. There’s so much to get done and when I bring it up he’s already working on a million other things, or he’s just not even here”

You nodded understanding her frustration, “Makes sense, is there anything I could do to help maybe?” It was a shot in the dark but you understood how Carmy could get, and Syd didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his shenanigans.

“I uh…maybe like I dunno, not occupy so much of his time…please?” Syd wouldn’t meet your eyes as she fiddled with the plate closest to her turning it back and forth. You were too shocked to say anything, Cortez’s chuckles filled the space your voice hadn’t.

“Damn ma, you just out here makin’ everyone’s life fuckin’ harder huh? Thought I was special.” Cortez sent you a small pout as you turned in his direction.

You sent him a mocking pout to match his, tired of being bullied by the man in front of you. “I’m sorry, why the fuck is the peanut gallery speaking?” He rolled his eyes mocking your words before you looked back in Syd’s direction, “Listen, Syd, I didn’t realize I was monopolizing all of Carmy’s time, and I apologize for any stress I’ve caused you, but for now on I’ll be more mindful of your time.”

Syd sent you a small smile, her shoulders relaxed as she realized you weren’t upset with her. Could her words have been nicer, maybe, but without them you wouldn’t have realized just how much Carmy spending time with you was taking away his attention from the restaurant. And while Syd definitely should’ve voiced her concerns to Carm, you were sure she was taking the less volatile approach by speaking with you.

The sound of Syd calling Carmy over drew your attention, your eyes immediately met Cortez’s as his eyes moved from a spot behind you before landing on yours. The two of you had a silent conversation through your eyes, trying your best to shut down any thoughts running through Cortez’s mind as a smug smile graced his features, hands raising in acquiescence.

A warmth at the small of your back had you turning to Carmy. His body now stood next to yours, you tried to tame your smile in front of Cortez not wanting to give him any more ammunition to tease you with. It was subtle but you felt the warmth of Carmy’s fingers trace across your lower back before his hand fell to his side.

“Hey,” his voice was breathy, quiet as his eyes roamed over your face taking inventory. “Are you good, did you eat?”

You gave a soft nod doing your best to ignore the way Cortez and Syd turned to look at each other in your peripheral vision.

“Homeboy just looks lost 24/7 don’t he?” Cortez’s words met your ears, you listened as Syd hummed in agreement, your eyes turning to the two culprits, Carmy’s following shortly after. Cortez stood up after that leaning over the table with his hand outstretched, “Good to properly meet you, kid, seein’ as we ain’t get a chance to talk last time I saw you.”

Cortez’s words confused you, eyes following the hesitant way Carmy’s hand met his. “You two know each other?”

Cortez shrugged smirking in your direction, “I ain’t say all that,” he paused before his eyes shifted to Carmy’s eyes his smirk widened. “Baby over here, talks so fondly bout you homie, feel like I already know you.”

You rolled your eyes at Cortez’s antics letting out a sarcastic laugh before gesturing between the two of them and speaking, “Cortez meet Carmy, Carmy meet Cortez.”

Carmy stood tensely beside you his fingers bumping into yours as his hand moved across his body to scratch his tricep, “I uh, remember you…from the church.” Carmy began nodding his head, this whole situation was news to you but it made sense considering neither man knew who the other was until today.

“That’s great, this is great. I love reunions, quick kinda off topic question which plates should we use to serve our guests, or are we going for a whole like BYOP vibe?” Syd’s hands gestured to the table with the various choices on it.

It was quiet for a moment as Carmy’s eyes flashed across the selection, “What’s BYOP?”

“Bring Your Own Plate.” Your voice along with Cortez’s rang out in sync before the man raised his hand towards you waiting as you reached out to high-five him both of you laughing.

Syd and Carmy shared a moment staring between the two of you before their eyes met. Carmy couldn’t understand it but for some reason seeing you and the man he now knew to be Cortez reminded him of you and Mikey.

“Um, this plate.” Carmy’s hands reached for a sleek black plate that you admired as he set down.

Syd grimaced before speaking up, “Well, that's 55 bucks a plate for that type of silence, so... ”

Cortez let out a low whistle as he leaned in closer to look down at the plate, “Damn y’all got money, them some nice ass plates.” Cortez looked up at the silence that fell over the group, “I can see my opinion ain’t wanted,” he raised his hands in surrender. “But when you got time I’ma need the name of the designer cause these mugs is fresh as fuck.”

You let out a quiet laugh, Syd’s mouth twitching at the corners from Cortez’s humor, “I’ll keep that in mind for your birthday…are sponsees allowed to gift their sponsors, things?”

“The best gift you could get me is yo ass shuttin’ the hell up.” Syd tried to disguise her laugh as a cough when you glared at her, you even saw Carmy’s lips twitch from the peripheral vision.

Before you could respond Nat made her presence known joining the group with an envelope of some sort in her hand. You tuned out the conversation Carmy and Nat engaged in as you occupied yourself with the dishware on the table, cataloging the pieces you thought were nice in your head.

Syd’s tired sigh pulled your attention as you caught the end of the conversation, Carmy offering to drop something off for Nat.

“I can drop that off, that way you two can stay here and get all the hard work done.” The voices quieted as your suggestion rang out, your eyes flashing around the group waiting for a response.

Nat nodded as she began handing the envelope over, “Will you have enough time to get ready for the gala tonight?”

You shrugged not caring too much about the event as you gripped the envelope. Before you could wander off and grab your belongings Carmy spoke up, “I’ll go with you.”

Remembering Syd’s earlier words you offered him a small smile before shaking your head back and forth, “Don’t worry about it, you’ve got plenty of stuff here to worry about.”

Cortez laughed looking between the group gathered around, “Damn it takes two of y’all to drop off a little envelope.”

Carmy ignored his teasing as he began speaking directly to you. “Did you drive here?” You shook your head no at his question, “So you’re just gonna walk all the way to Winnetka?” You weren’t sure when Carmy had become so sassy but you stood there staring at him with a slight smile on your face at his persistence.

“Oh my goodness please just go!” Syd’s words pulled the two of you out of your staring contest, “Just Carm, can we please go over plates and napkins when you get back, maybe even the chaos menu?”

Carmy listened to her request and nodded before turning to you nodding his head and signaling for the two of you to leave. You sighed feeling bad that you were once again occupying Carmy’s time, but the quicker the two of you got this errand done the quicker Carmy could return and get the important work done.

As the two of you moved away from the group, you couldn’t help the small smile as you listened to Syd and Cortez begin a conversation regarding Coach K.

The quiet song playing on the radio was the only noise filling the space of the car, your thumbs twiddled against the steering wheel, eyes locked on the pile-up of cars in front of you. You could feel Carmy’s eyes searing into the side of your head when he stole glances in your direction, for someone who was so adamant on joining your journey, he sure didn’t have much to say.

“Sometimes when I dream, it's always these fucked up scenarios where I’m in a car and I just don’t know how to drive.” You looked over to Carm to see his eyes already on you before continuing. “I always get in these accidents, like the brakes don’t work, or I just fucking crash right? And like what if this is one of those dreams?”

Carmy let out a quiet cough as he looked between you in the driver's seat and the cars ahead of you, “Is there uh…ever any passengers in your dreams?”

You smirked at his question before shrugging, “Sometimes but they never actually have a face, their faces are just smooth.”

“You know how fucked up that sounds?” Carmy’s voice was incredulous as he caught your eyes once more, the two of you sharing a laugh at the whole thing.

While an unusual conversation started, it did the job to break whatever tension had settled between the two of you, as you could see Carmy’s body relax into the seat out of your peripheral.

“So Cortez…he’s your uh sponsor?” Carmy listened as you hummed in approval of his question, his eyes strayed to the way your hands moved to signal a lane change.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to drive knowing how much other drivers pissed you off, “My sponsor, personal pain in the ass. Same difference.” You gave Carm a small smile as you checked the passenger side mirror before merging.

Carm nodded debating whether the questions racing through his mind deserved to be spoken aloud. “What’s it like?” There was a moment of silence between the two of you, Carmy realizing just how insensitive the question was, “Shit uh…you don’t have to answer that.”

Carmy’s question rang through your head as you thought of how to respond. You weren’t sure if meeting Cortez made him so curious or if he had underlying questions since finding out about your accident, it was worth mentioning that your experience wouldn’t help him understand Mikey and his experience even more but that wasn’t a conversation you wanted to get into while driving.

“It’s a lot of fucking discipline,” you stopped trying to gather the best way to articulate your feelings. “There’s this romanticized idea of what being a recovering addict looks like, and it's honestly a bunch of bullshit. People think you make the choice, you get clean, and then like fucking magic you’re just cured.”

Your eyes were hyper-focused on the road as you drove, the words pouring out of you without a second thought. “I’ll be a recovering addict for the rest of my life, there’s no end to this shit. My whole life is different now, the day I chose to use, will affect every single choice I make going forward.”

“And I don’t think I have to tell you, but this shit is a disease. I’m fucking sick Carm, and there’s no getting better, not really. Recovery is like putting a bandaid on a wound that needs fucking life-saving surgery, but the surgery doesn’t exist and you just hope to fucking hell your bandaid will last. I used to be one of those people you know…I thought addicts just had to get clean and all was good again but then I lived that shit.”

Carmy hung onto every word intently, watching the sheen that overcame your eyes as you followed the GPS directions on autopilot, your hands tightening around the steering wheel every few moments as he lost you.

“It’s a lot of pretending too…for me at least, pretending that I’m fine, pretending that the urges aren’t there slowly eating away at me if I give them too much thought.” You paused sniffling as tears fought to drip down your face. “P-pretending I didn’t tell Nat it was her fault that M-Mikey passed, that she should’ve paid more attention as I laid there saying the most vile things hoping they’d give in and just give me something. Pretending I don’t spend days locked away in my room as thoughts of just using one more time bring on bouts of anxious tremors.”

Carm watched you from his spot in the passenger seat, through all that you somehow managed to safely navigate the two of you to your destination. His chest felt tight as a few tears slipped down your cheeks, his eyes catching sight of the way your grip slackened on the steering wheel, the appendages shaking slightly. He could feel the disgust rising in his chest as he realized if it weren’t for his curiosity you wouldn’t be upset.

Carmy unbuckled himself, hands reaching out to collect yours between his. Your unfocused eyes found his as he gave you a minute to collect yourself, the embarrassment of the moment washed over your face. “Sorry, I probably should’ve taken Cortez up on his offer to meet more often.” You let out a pathetic laugh hoping the severe look of concern on Carmy’s face would slowly ebb away.

You allowed him to unbuckle you before his hands found yours once more, you watched as he brought them to settle against his warm chest just barely realizing the slight tremors radiating off of them. He held your hands against his chest allowing the warmth to help calm you down, the steady beat of his heart bringing the comfort you needed.

Carmy’s hands moved from their place atop yours before moving to pull you into his chest as best he could. Neither of you said a word about the uncomfortable way the center console dug into your stomachs. As Carmy’s warm lips pressed into your temple you relaxed into him as much as the positions allowed for his arms bringing you the comfort they always did.

You were thankful that Carmy agreed to the pit stop you’d asked him to make. After sitting in the parking lot for longer than necessary you realized it would be easier to pick up your dress now rather than Carmy dropping you off at home and then leaving to pick it up.

The gentle squeeze to your hand stole your attention, your eyes were staring out the window, not focused on anything in particular as you debated whether to attend the gala or just forget about the whole thing and spend your night home alone. You turned to face Carmy, a small smile on his lips as he nodded to the house he’d parked in front of.

Both of you exited the car meeting up in front of it before you offered him your best encouraging smile and led the way to the door. The warmth radiating off his body behind you is the only notion to let you know he followed you before your hand reached to press the doorbell.

It was a few minutes before a voice yelled from inside the house, noises met your ears as the door was yanked open. The screen door made it difficult to see exactly who stood behind it, but the dramatic gasp let you know who it was.

“Well I’ll be damned Baby, you sure do know how to pick up stray…dare I say bears.” The joke was mediocre at best, but it was Ms. Sadie’s high-pitched laugh that stole a giggle out of you as you turned in Carmy’s direction, eyebrows raised in amusement.

Ms. Sadie left the two of you on the porch, quickly unlocking the screen door as she moved slower than she once did all those years ago, the sound of the lock was enough of an invitation. “We won’t stay long I promise,” you knew just how uncomfortable being social made Carmy. “Take off your shoes.”

Carmy nodded as he watched you step out of your shoes before moving inside his motions following yours. He hadn’t seen Ms. Mable or Ms. Sadie since returning to Chicago, he honestly wasn’t sure they were still alive, but he remembered just how much the two women loved you all those years ago and while he was never as close with them as you and your mom, he felt his cheeks warm at the idea of you bringing him to their house, it didn’t mean anything but he couldn’t help the way his mind read into it.

“Mabel! Baby’s here, and she brought her little friend.” Carmy followed you through the living room as Ms. Sadie’s voice rang through his ears, his eyes floated around the room landing on several photos of you throughout the years, his hand reaching for a photo of the three of you at what he assumed was your college graduation. Carmy’s eyes studied your smile frozen in time, your happiness practically radiated through the picture as you stood in your cap and gown. He knew he would never have these memories with you, and knowing that everyone else besides him celebrated your successes no matter how big or small would always stick with him.

“Carm,” the whisper of your voice made him look in your direction, finding your hand reaching out for him, he gave you his small signature smile before replacing the picture frame.

Carmy allowed you to lead him through the house before the two of you stepped into the sunroom, Ms. Mabel sat at a table, a game of chess in front of her. His fingers twitched as your hand left his to greet the woman, watching as you dropped down to hug her, the older woman’s eyes landing on his as they lit up. He stood awkwardly trying to ignore the glare Ms. Sadie pointed his way as her partner whispered something in your ear. Your soft laugh rang through his head like a breeze in the early morning.

“Carmen Berzatto, you just gon’ stand in my house and not say nothin’?” His eyes widened as he looked between you and Ms. Mabel, mouth opening and closing as he watched a slow smile rise to both of your faces. “M’ just messin’ with you honey, Baby’s been tellin’ us about the restaurant, been wonderin’ when she was gonna bring your round.”

A tense smile raised to his lips, the sense of uncomfortableness slowly ebbing away as you moved back to his side. “Baby, why don’t you go on with Mabel and get your dress, I’ll get Carmen here to help me in the kitchen. I know y’all can’t stay long so we’ll send y’all off with some red beans and rice. How that sound?”

Carmy gave you a reassuring smile as you looked in his direction, he couldn’t voice it but Ms. Sadie intimidated him and he knew her suggestion wasn’t a question but more so a demand as his eyes flitted to Ms. Mabel trying to hide her chuckles behind her hand. His head began nodding before he even realized, your hand reached to give his a light squeeze followed by the smile that was etched into his memory as you and Ms. Mabel left the two of them.

You stepped from behind the partition beaming as Ms. Mabel gasped, clapping her hands. You did a little spin once you made it to the middle of the room stepping on the raised dais so the older woman could assure the alterations were perfect. You watched the woman move around in the mirror thankful for her agreeing to make the few alterations you needed, staring at the way the dress hugged the shape of your body made you feel a bit better about the gala tonight. You hoped the confidence you felt as you stood there would translate to the event and help you get through the night.

“So, you and that Berzatto boy.” Ms. Mabel’s words had a knowing undertone as her eyes met yours in the mirror, a kind smile on her face to let you know her curiosity was genuine.

You gave a slight shrug trying not to show just how flustered the question made you, “We’re friends again if that’s what you're asking.”

Ms. Mabel’s smile widened in the mirror before her mouth opened taking the form of an ‘o’ as she gave you one more once over. “Do you permanently alter your body for all your friends?” The question was paired with her cold fingers tracing the amalgamation of lines that now ran down your spine, a quiet gasp escaped you at the feeling. “Now I was born at night Baby, but I wasn’t born last night. And I know for damn sure you didn’t have this tattoo when I first took your measurements.”

A warmth flushed over your body at having been called out by the older woman as she gestured for you to step off the dais and join her on the settee, your mouth opening to respond.

“Hush up for a minute now,” her wrinkled hands reached out to cup yours as they fiddled in your lap. “It’s beautiful work Baby, don’t get me wrong but I would like to see you find the happiness you deserve before I leave this Earth.” She waved you off as you opened your mouth to protest, “Now Sadie and I ain’t gon’ be here much longer and we love you like you’re our own. But don’t you think you’d be happier if you let that boy go?”

A sigh deflated your body as you took in Ms. Mabel’s words it would have been easy to get defensive and fight tooth and nail for Carmy like you usually did, but you knew she was only asking because of how much she cared about you. You allowed yourself a few seconds of silence as you thought of your response, searching for the best words so as to not disrespect the woman you held in such high regard.

“I think I would be a lot happier if I let Carm go,” saying the words out loud left a bitter taste in your mouth and you weren’t sure if it was the remnants of truth left on your tongue or heartache. “But letting him go wouldn’t remove the space he’s made for himself in my life. We lost contact for 10 years and even that wasn’t enough for me to forget the memory of him. It’s like,” you paused your eyes looking up into Ms. Mabel’s before continuing.

“The love I have for him is burrowed deep in me, like roots. And it’s more than just being in love with him, it’s the love I shared with him growing up, in friendship. I don’t know Ms. Mabel, maybe it would be easier if we didn’t encompass each other’s lives in the way we have, a-and maybe it’s stupid of me to one day hope he could devote himself to me, but whatever love I have for him, I’m just not sure I could find it in someone else.”

The crow's feet by Ms. Mabel’s eyes crinkled up as she offered you a warm smile, her hands squeezed yours as a way to translate the care she had for you. “You know I was married before Sadie right?” Her question had your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I didn’t love him, hardly knew him but all women were good for back then was marryin’ and homemakin’. There was someone else though, and the shame those feelings caused me put enough fear in me to marry that man. And he was a good man, treated me right, respected me, but I just couldn’t love him the way I loved my Sadie.”

There was little surprise on your face as Ms. Mabel revealed the identity of the person who held her true affection. “I won’t get into all the messy details, but when I was finally free of that marriage Sadie and I found our way back to each other, and it was then that I knew, no matter what I could never love another soul in the way my soul loved Sadie’s. So no Baby, it’s not stupid but you can’t allow that type of love to live rent-free in you if whoever’s on the other end of it ain’t returin’ the affection. Sometimes Baby it’s just best to love from afar.”

Ms. Mabel pulled you into a warm embrace as she finished talking, hoping that her words wouldn’t just go in one ear and out the other. “Now gon’ on and get outta that dress you done let me talk your ear off so long you might not have enough time to get ready.” She smiled as you laughed along with her before stepping behind the partition to redress.

You and Ms. Mabel stepped into the living room laughter left the both of you as you maneuvered the dress bag so it didn’t get caught on any of the shelves. Carmy and Ms. Sadie seemed to be in deep conversation as the two of you entered the room, a part of you surprised at how comfortable Carmy looked sitting on the plastic-wrapped couch.

“Sadie stop talkin’ that boys ear off Baby needs to go home and get ready.” The sound of Ms. Sadie sucking her teeth caused you to laugh as Ms. Mabel mumbled about how the other woman talked too damn much.

Ms. Sadie said something to Carmy before rising from the couch taking both of their mugs with her before returning with a plastic bag full of Tupperware, “Oh Baby, you got that little fancy gala tonight don’t you.”

You looked in her direction as you moved through the living room to reach Carmy’s side, “Yes ma’am, Ms. Mabel’s alterations were perfect as always.”

“Mhm, so Carmen here is your plus one?” She raised her eyebrow in question as she handed the bag of food over to the aforementioned man.

You tried to ignore the heat of Carmy’s eyes as he turned to look at you. Shuffling in your spot as you looked to Ms. Mabel for help while she pretended to pick up the nonexistent dust particles on one of the shelves. You weren’t sure why she was even asking this question, you’d explained to both of them you were unsure about inviting Carmy every time Ms. Mabel asked.

“W-well I would love for Carm to come with me,” you looked in his direction as his eyes fell to the floor, a blush coloring his cheeks. “But it’s last minute and who knows if he even has a suit. A-and I’ve taken up too much of his time already. Syd really needs him back at the restaurant.”

Ms. Sadie narrowed her eyes at you being able to smell your bullshit before you even opened your mouth. “Well, speak up Carmen.”

You watched as Ms. Sadie raised her eyebrows to Carmy as he looked up, the older woman trying to communicate something without using words. “N-no…uh yeah, Baby’s right I uh gotta get back to the restaurant.”

Ms. Sadie didn’t even try to hide her sigh of disappointment as she shooed to two of you out of the house, Ms. Mabel joined her partner as they walked you and Carmy out to the porch, “We’ll see you for Sunday dinner right Baby?”

You nodded before being pulled into a hug by both women receiving kisses on both of your cheeks, “And you bet not show up here without Carmen.” Ms. Sadie’s words tickled your ear as she whispered to you before pulling away. You gave her a confused smile while nodding, since you’d been back in Chicago Ms. Sadie had made her disapproval of the youngest Berzatto clear, and you couldn’t pretend to know what had changed in the 30 minutes she was left alone with him.

Ms. Mabel and Ms. Sadie stood on their porch waving you and Carmy off as they watched his car pull away. “What got you invitin’ Carmen to our house for Sunday dinners?” Ms. Mabel looked up at her wife having heard her whisper to you, “Thought you didn’t like that boy after everything.”

The taller woman shrugged her shoulder before wrapping her arm around Ms. Mabel’s waist, “That boy just needed some sense smacked into him.” Before Ms. Mabel could open her mouth to protest, Ms. Sadie hushed her. “I’m just messin’ but before you scold me for not mindin’ my business you better figure out which one of us is the pot and which one is the kettle.”

They divulged into boisterous laughter as they stood there in each other’s embrace. Relishing in just how well they knew each other, “If that hardheaded boy don’t make his move tonight I’m uninvitin’ his ass from Sunday dinner.”

Ms. Sadie’s heart warmed as she watched Ms. Mabel’s face light up from just how much she laughed. Ms. Sadie led the smaller woman into the house, and although her jokes regarding the Berzatto boy got raucous laughter from her lover, she sure would be put out if she sat her old ass on that couch talking sense into that boy instead of watching her program and he decided the wisdom she kindly bestowed upon him didn’t need to be put to use.

a/n: i know this was a bit much for a filler chapter but i promise it sets up a very important story arc that we’ve all heavily been anticipating. hope you all enjoyed, hope you’re all doing amazing my loves! reblogs and comments are much appreciated! 🫶🏽🤎

[dere-yanyan]

Rosé Misfortune

↬ m. yanderes x gn. reader

It was an accident. You should never have decided to create that.

With all your desperation to gain mutual feelings, you brewed a love potion. Now, imagine your horror when the wrong person drank that very potion.

An original story introduction post.

Welcome, welcome! Thank you for taking interest!

As you can see, the cover art is... just a sketch. I'm an artist as well as a writer, but my drawing skills are buffering [it's stuck in 16 yo me's style]. I'll finish that art someday.

Right now, it's a concept. Which is the very thing the story, Rosé Misfortune, currently is.

WARNINGS ;

This is a yandere story.

Obsessive, possessive, manipulation, dubcon, stalker behaviors.

HOWEVER, I will not write pure smut.

Tension & suggestive, yes, but never explicit.

MC (reader) is morally gray/stupid. They used a love potion without consent.

I should say they might get annoying at times, depending on you tbh 😭

There are two (2) yanderes, so it's a love triangle,, or a love corner.

Rosé Misfortune—in which you, a college student, are working part-time in a cafe.

No partner since birth.

And having to watch all those couples have a date in the cafe? It's painful. Your chest hurts, literally, and you don't know if you should be concerned.

Rosé Misfortune—in which you, the protagonist, find yourself head over heels over your co-worker.

How convenient that your world has living witches in it.

In fact, your best friend is a witch who specializes in brewing potions.

How very convenient.

Rosé Misfortune—in which despite your best judgment, you decide to brew a love potion. Trix, for some reason, helps you with your wish.

Then the wrong person takes the horribly-made potion.

— MEET BEATRIX !!

Or, for short, Trix. Your best friend and current roommate.

Coming from a line of magical witches, Trix doesn't exactly know how to cast a wand. Instead, she learns to brew potions and decides to make it her life's work to engineer new ones.

Her ancient family heirloom, a whole book of potions, can finally be used with her very hands!!

A big responsibility, indeed.

— MEET GRANT !!

The guy you're crushing on. A barista just like you. Newest recruit, actually.

Grant's unbelievably basic. But also very gentlemanly, kind, warm gaze, soft spoken, patient, and chill. His adorable freckles and thick eyelashes— wait, who's talking?

Some would say you only like him because you're desperate.

— MEET RIVER !!

a/n: btw he's tall, and has a much darker skin than in the picture 😭 limited colors of skin, sadly. will change soon

The baker in the back of the cafe. You barely see him, and you barely speak to him. Sometimes, he'd act like you don't exist.

You don't mind. There's probably something going on with him. Or, at least, you hope his glares aren't intentional.

But... for such a dry guy, he sure makes the best sweets ever.

THE STORY IS NOT FINALIZED.

It has a three-chapter book in Wattpad [click the underlined for link], but I will not deem it canon. Although it's close.

This post is only a summary of the story—a premise, a gist.

I am still exploring the potential of this story, so some may be different from other depictions.

➵ Requests are open! 💌

Feel free to ask about the story, the characters, and the scenarios itself fr!!

PICREW LINKS:

Trix ; https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1787745

Grant & River ; https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2151243

altho the pictures were created a long time ago,,,

[daintyshu]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

ix. hee knows (0.72k written)

heeseung watches as his friends walk through the crowded streets of hongdae. despite having been made to pay for their group of five, he was having a good time. it had been a while since he went out with his friends.

even though they live together, the three college boys had been busy studying for their exams and so was his fellow college graduate friend who was tutoring them. most days he would be at home alone, gaming or doing whatever he deemed interesting that day (he should really get a job).

both jake and heeseung just recently graduated and had decided to take a gap year before deciding what to do with their lives. jake's has been eventful so far since jungwon's mother asked him to tutor her son, which then led to him tutoring sunoo and riki as well.

heeseung, on the other hand, had been out of school and unemployed for the past 3 months. he deserved the rest but at the same time it was getting too boring for him. which is why he initially thought of applying at odd atelier after hearing all his friends rave about it —about the insanely pretty girl that works there— all day and night.

he should've figured it out, really. jung yn and park jay had always been attached at the hip since little so of course the jay and yn that works at odd atelier was the one he knew from high school.

"hey, guys! we should go have dessert at odd atelier!" speaking of the devil, really.

heeseung turns to the voice that broke his daydreaming. jungwon had on a bright dimpled smile as he turns to look at his friends for approval.

"i'm down,"

"yeah, sure,"

"yay let's go see noona!"

"you guys go ahead, i've g–" he pauses mid sentence, staring at his friends who collectively gave him looks as if he was crazy. "hyung, weren't you the one who badly wanted to go to the cafe? to see the pretty barista?" sunoo questions.

"i never said it was to see her, all i said was i was feeling left out cause all of you were there," he shrugs, as if unbothered. "hyung, you have to go see her. like i've never seen a real life person as pretty as her," jungwon urges, shaking his shoulders. "yeah, hyung. super pretty," riki nods in agreement.

trust me, he knows. (hee knows 🤣)

"i'm good, guys. think i'm just gonna head home and play some games," he tells them, ready to walk away when jake grabs his arm.

"nope, we live together so we're gonna go home together. and we haven't had good quality time together all five of us so you're coming along. i don't care if it's willingly or we're gonna have to drag you there," it seems jake's words were final since he was already dragging along the older while the other three followed close behind.

heeseung sighs, hoping neither you nor jay were on shift today.

-

it seems that luck is never on heeseung's side as their group of five enters the fairly empty cafe. he nervously hangs around the back of the group, hoping you don't see him as you and your supposed guard dog were conversing animatedly with riki.

riki turns to see if there were people behind them wanting to order and when he sees no one, he decides to introduce all of his friends to you and donghyuck.

"hyung, noona, these are my friends! guys introduce yourselves," riki tells them and they do one by one.

"hi! i'm sunoo!" he shows off his pretty eye smile which you couldn't help but melt over. the next one introduces himself as jungwon and you think he has the cutest dimples ever. the one named jake goes next and you have to nudge donghyuck on his side so he doesn't bark at the poor boy again.

heeseung wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole when the pantry door opens and out walks your best friend, your ride-or-die, your soulmate since birth.

"ynie, lisa noona wants to know if yo—lee heeseung?" his words get cut short when his eyes fall upon the boy trying to poorly hide himself behind his friends. your eyes widen as you turn to where jay was looking.

"heeseung?"

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synopsis. in which you work at odd atelier cafe and can only make hearts in your lattes, causing a certain boy to misunderstand your intentions..... then he brings his friends and chaos ensues.

author's note. ignore the timestamp on the tweet im too lazy to change it 😭

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