#*perks up from work/caffeine daze* fics?

[ajscico]

*sprawled on the table but I’m backwards*

Anything specific you’d like me to entice you with?

(Aka: any fic type you’re wanting? said in funniest way possible because I’m in a mood)

Well, been breaking my own heart with my writing plus the time change is making me simultaneously sleepy and sentimental. Got any good "ends in fluff" fics?

[butterbeerblurbs]

"wanna, like - I mean, if you're not buy...we could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don't have a lot of time?" - coffeeshop!fred

bruuhhhhhhh smiles, i swear you read my mind sometimes because i actually have a coffeeshop!fred au currently in the works. FFFFFFFFF UR GOOD. TOO GOOD. GIVE URSELF A CUP OF COFFEE AND A HUG BC UR GOOD also here it is HAHAHA. so the one i had in mind was for the reader to be the barista (but that’ll be a full... long fic, so instead!) in this one, fred’s the barista working at the coffee shop!

88 dandelions celebration 🌼 // dandelions: 88 tag

"wanna, like - i mean, if you're not busy...we could get lunch? or even just coffee if you don't have a lot of time?" // coffeeshop!fred (barista!fred) x reader 🌸 [set in a modern!au - refers to hogwarts as a college!]

fred weasley was the barista at the golden brew a couple of blocks where hogwarts was located. he was pretty well-known amongst any crowd - especially since he’s not exactly the most quiet when he has a twin that erupts the same reaction in a sea of people.

put that two together? a mess. chaos. complete mayhem.

but when fred wasn’t causing a ruckus in college, playing pranks whenever and wherever he could, he was working as a barista. strangely enough, as much smiles as he brings to people’s faces, he does the same with making coffee. and one day, a couple of days, weeks, since you became a patron to the golden brew, fred takes any opportunity to make you smile. to create small chatter. the few sentences he exchanges with you was enough to make him feel warm inside. it fueled him stronger than caffeine.

fred was screwed... the moment george and his group of friends noticed the way the ginger head barista looked at you. how he grew silent as he watched you completing your writings by the window - it was always the corner seat to the right of the shop and it... cruelly (gratefully) grants him a nice view of you. 

he would’ve been fine on his own if it wasn’t for his meddling friends urging him to just ask you out on a date and... well... that leads to the situation now. fred’s standing by your table after calling your name and it feels like the world is spinning in slow motion. he’s barely able to catch his breath when you look up to him. a couple of strands of your hair falling between your eyes and the way the sun gently caresses your skin as it goes down - being here the whole day to finish up your work, you hadn’t noticed it’s gotten this late. it wasn’t until you see fred’s face in the same glow - your heart skips a beat.

what fred does beat, is the bush. because it takes him awfully long to string out his sentence.

“d’you wanna, like, i mean, if you’re not busy - could we get dinner?” he stammers out, and he mentally slams himself for being so god-damned awkward. he can hear his friends trying to cheer him on with a soft keep going, freddie! it’s as if they pretended you couldn’t hear it. “o-or just coffee? if you don’t have a lot of time?”

you lift your pen from the paper and fold your arms on the table, smile growing wider as you gaze into his eyes. finally. you breathe a sigh, before nodding, “i would love to, freddie,”

freddie.

he swallows the lump in his throat, fiddling his fingers behind his back, “great!”

“i just have to finish this really quick, is fifteen minutes alright?”-i’d bloody wait forever if you asked-“o-of course! yeah, that’s perfect-i mean, that’s fine,” his eyes slam shut and he does this thing with his face like he’s scolding himself without words, but it speaks volumes to you at how much he cares how he’s presenting himself to you. you bite back a grin and he exhales deeply, eyes opening to you, “l-let me know when you’re ready, yeah? i’ll be by the counter, cleaning up-waiting, i mean-”you officially make him melt to goo when you reach out with your free hand, trying to peel for one of his hands behind his back into your hold.

his eyes widen, cheeks almost red as a tomato as he gapes at your gesture. shit, my hand is sweaty!

“i think you’re charming, freddie. i’ll come over when i’m done, okay?” you hope you relieved some of his nerves, but on the contrary, he’s having a breakdown. how on earth could someone like you exist? more importantly, did you just say yes to going on a date with him?

“f-fantastic,” he manages to squeeze out quietly, before giving your hand a squeeze and he fumbles away from your table, scattering back to behind the counter to hide his face from you. his group of friends wave and create a ruckus to get your attention. you spare them a wave and a chuckle, before going back to your work.

when he reaches back to the counter (after trying not to fall to his knees at how much he’s shaking), he rests his elbows on the marble surface and continues to sigh at you from a distance.

“she said yes, didn’t she?” katie snorts, and based on how dazed fred looks with a soft mhm, we’ll head out in fifteen, the rest of the group erupts in laughter at fred’s success. even more when you peek up to see fred’s still staring at you and it makes you blush, trying to lower your head down in hopes they wouldn’t see, they cheer him on. but past the ruckus and rowdiness, when you lock eyes with fred and his brows perk up at making eye contact, he has a good feeling when you smile at him with your eyes - without even trying - and he’s... he’s a goner.

fred weasley was head over heels for you.

[army-author]

namjoon scenario | midnight coffee

❝ Your boyfriend has an odd habit of waking up at ghastly hours to work on his latest novel. You would complain about disrupted sleep, but waking at midnight comes with its perks...❞

➝ pairing: author namjoon x barista reader

➝ word count: 3.0k

➝ genre: fluff

➝ warnings: implied smut

➝ author’s note: this is a valentine’s drabble for my fic ‘americano’, you don’t need to read it to enjoy this. this was requested ages ago (last valentine’s day actually, oof!), and i’m so sorry for the wait. hopefully you enjoy this, and have a lovely valentine’s day, and a lovely every day!

Moving in with Namjoon led to you discovering some odd habits of his. Like the way he needs to be on the left side of the bed to fall asleep. Or the way he likes to turn up cheesy music full blast, and have it pounding around the rooms when he’s cleaning the house. Or the way he’ll wake up at ridiculous hours in the middle of the night, suddenly hit by inspiration, and need to leap out of bed, and rush to grab a coffee and his laptop, so he can sit up writing out the next scene for his new novel.

So you find yourself waking up to darkness, hearing the soft crumpling of sheets, as Namjoon carefully rolls out of your bed, breath caught in his lungs, trying not to wake you up. You can’t help but let out a soft groan, pulling the blankets up to your chin in protest.

“Sorry,” he whispers, his voice cushiony on your ears despite the horrendous time of night… or is it morning? “I didn’t mean to wake you up again.”

“What’s wrong?” you croak back, throat clogged after sleep.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he leans across the bed to smooth down your hair, and press an indulgent kiss to your forehead. You can feel the ghost of his lips when he parts from you, “I just need to write. I had an idea.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?” you ask, wiping at your eyes, and breathing in deep, hoping more oxygen in your lungs will help you feel more awake. Everything feels like it’s floating above you. You need more sleep.

Namjoon stands up from the bed. You hear him bump into the chair where he’d thrown his jeans and t-shirt from yesterday, and then comes a rustling of cloth and the clinking of his belt. “No,” he says, “If I sleep now, I’ll lose my inspiration.”

Sitting up, you let the world wobble as your body adjusts, and then blink over to his dark shape, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

He pauses, looking at you. “Go back to sleep,” he soothes, “I’ll be in bed soon.”

You pout, although you know he won’t see it in the dark.

“Rest,” he insists, moving back to bed, and leaning over to give you a hug. You melt against him, unresisting, as he gently pushes you back down, pressing you into the soft mattress. You close your eyes, feeling his shape fitting snugly against yours, until he moves away again, leaving to sneak out of the room. You listen to his footsteps padding down the landing, and then the thump, thump, thump down the stairs.

You lie for a few minutes, waiting to feel sleep descend on you again, but the cold space beside you, where Namjoon should be, keeps you awake, your ears attuned to his soft noises carrying to you from downstairs. You know he’ll be going to the office to pull out his laptop, where he’ll sit down with a huff, and begin typing, with the same concentrated look you know so well. It’s the same look you watched a year ago, when he would come into the café you worked at to write his novel, while you served him americanos – the look where his lips pout, and his brows fold down, and a crease appears on his forehead.

There’s no way you can fall asleep now. Throwing off the duvet, you shiver as the cool air slaps your bare skin. You reach across to the bedside table to check your phone: 00:24. That late? Or is it early? You blow out a breath, and then double check the date below the time: 14 February. It’s now Valentine’s day. Despite your limited sleep, you smile. Your second Valentine’s day with Namjoon. It brings back all the memories of last year. You and Namjoon had just started dating, and he was beginning to plan his third novel – he told you it would be a romance, and you knew you were the inspiration. After that, he’s only been writing on the topic of love, because as he says: “Love is the only thing worth writing about. It’s the best thing humanity has.” You’d gone out to a café that day, on a date. It had been a long time since Namjoon had been to a café without the intention of working, so he told you. It had been a while since you’d been to a café, without having to work behind the counter, making coffees. It was a fresh experience for both of you.

You had sat over steaming mugs: Namjoon with a black americano as always, and you with a caramel latte. It tasted different from the way you made it, but you liked it. The morning was whiled away with you and Namjoon occasionally sipping your coffees, and sharing small pieces of each other. You’d learnt with every second you spent together that he was perfect for you, down to the number of kids you both wanted, your dream house, your outlook on the world, the universe, and the possibility or impossibility of a deity.

If you hadn’t known it before then (and you had), that day had solidified every feeling: you loved him. You had more love for him in your heart than you knew what to do with. All you could do was smile at him over coffee, and reach for his knee under the table, and hold onto his shape beneath your fingertips, grounding you down.

Now you’ve moved in with him – and have been living with him that way for a few months. Your love is more certain than ever, even with all his weird habits. Even when he wakes you up at 00:24 in the morning.

With a dazed smile, still caught in flossy webs of happy nostalgia, remembering a time when you were just getting to know Namjoon, and hadn’t shared your first kiss, hadn’t lain naked with him in your bed, carefully learning about every inch of each other, and hadn’t known for sure that he was your soulmate, you shake yourself from a glazed grin, and slide out of bed to dress yourself in the dark.

Sneaking into the landing, the light spills up from downstairs, straining against your sleep-deprived eyes. You descend the stairs, pulling your hoody further around you, still cold after the warmth of blankets. Hesitating by the office door, you wonder about going in to see Namjoon, but then decide you want coffee first.

You pad to the kitchen, where your cat is curled up on the windowsill, her sides rising and falling. Her shining green eyes peer over as you flick on the lights, and go over to the coffee machine, pressing a button to froth the milk. “Sorry, Emerald,” you coo, stretching out a hand to her in apology, “You know how Namjoon is when he has a new idea.” Emerald bumps her head against your outstretched hand, with the beginnings of a purr, before she remembers that she should be angry at you for disturbing her sleep, and slinks out of your reach.

With the milk well frothed, you make two coffees. It’s not as good as the coffee you could make with the machines in the café, but you still think you do a good job with the milk frother Namjoon got you for Christmas.

Carrying the two mugs, you struggle with the kitchen door, trying not to spill any of the precious liquid gold, well caffeinated. It rolls around the inside of the mugs, frothing, eager to escape the rim. With a soft grunt, you manage to flick the handle, and push the door open with your hip, sneaking across to the office.

As expected, Namjoon is hunched over his laptop, his brows scrunched. He barely registers when you walk in, until you place the coffee in front of him, and the fragrant steam rouses him.

He looks up to you, eyes glowing from the laptop screen, “Thank you, honey.”

“No problem,” you set down your own coffee, and drape yourself around his shoulders, hands coasting across his chest, forward and back in soothing motions.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says, as he picks up the mug and blows on the surface, displacing frothy bubbles, before taking a sip.

“That’s okay,” you kiss his neck as you murmur the words into his skin, “I’ve gotten used to you by now, haven’t I?”

He laughs, and with you leaning against him, the sound moves through you in a rumbling wave.

“Well, thank you for being so understanding,” he says. He twists his head, just as you go in to kiss his cheek, and catches you at the edge of your lips. You kiss him again, properly, the feeling of his mouth on yours tingling through you.

As he pulls away, you murmur, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Namjoon.”

His eyes widen. “That’s today?”

You smile at his surprise. “Yep.”

“Aw no,” he leans back in his chair, “I didn’t mean to mess up your sleep today. I was going to get us up early and go out for coffee like we did last year.”

“We can still do that,” you say. As the clock slides to 00:30 on his laptop screen you highly doubt it. You were never good with early starts, particularly when your sleep was disturbed.

“No way,” Namjoon shakes his head, “It’ll be a nightmare to drag you out of bed tomorrow morning, especially after that.” He nods to the coffee, it’s smell already making you feel wide awake.

“Well, that’s okay,” you reassure, “We don’t have to do anything special for Valentine’s Day. I’m happy, so long as I spend it with you.”

Namjoon swivels his chair around, so he can wrap his arms around your torso. You take the opportunity, with him away from his screen, to swing your legs over his, and settle in his lap. “Good,” Namjoon rumbles in your ear, “Because I only want to spend the day with you.”

Even after a year and a few months of hearing this from him, it still has the ability to send an army of butterflies to wage war on your stomach, so that you squirm in his lap, and snuggle your nose into the space between his neck and his shoulder.

He laughs, shaking against you, making your head bump lightly up and down. “So, what do we do today? To make it special, I mean.”

You cast your eyes up to the ceiling, in the guise of deep thought. “Oh, I don’t know,” you say, drawing out the words slowly, as your fingers walk their way along his shoulder blades, and down his spine, “I’m sure we can think of a few ways to entertain ourselves.”

Looking back to him, you find he’s smiling at you, his dimples popping up. You lean in to indent kisses on them, which only deepens them further, as his smile stretches. He gives a contented sigh. The words “I love you” might have been breathed softly, barely there. You press a few more kisses along his jaw, and down his neck, and confirm the words as he breaths them again, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmur, your fingers walking back up his spine again, until the come to rest at the nape of his neck, cradling him where his skin is soft and downy, just where his hairline begins.

His eyes are dark and glossy, like black coffee, in front of you. He leans closer, his lips almost grazing yours, and you move back a little, playfully, so he kisses the air. “Hey, don’t you have writing to be doing?” you ask.

“Don’t tease me,” he groans, a happy groan, his eyes closed. You take the opportunity to kiss his eyelids, the light blue veins quivering under your lips.

“This is what you get for disturbing my sleep,” you joke, as he opens his eyes and hits you with another surge of pleasure when you see his dark dilated pupils, wide and black.

Before he can complain any more, you close the distance, and meet his mouth with your own. He’s warm, his tongue soft. He feels like velvet against you, as you move your lips with his, moving your hands to catch a fistful of his hair. He tastes of your coffee. His fingers slide down to your waist, around your hips, past the waistband of your jeans. You sigh against his skin as he breaks away, and you share a look – you know what it means, as much as he does. When your eyes stare deep into his, his back at yours, searching deep, as if he can get inside you with his very soul, clambering in, and making himself cosy behind your irises. Looks like this normally end with you lying on your back in bed, breath ragged, a smile etched on your face, and your muscles shuddering in pleasure.

You know Namjoon is ready for this as much as you are, you could say the word, and he’d take your hand, lead you upstairs, and back to bed, where he’d keep you awake a lot longer than you’d both intend.

Your eyes flicker to the bright, white light of his laptop screen, and decide it’s not time yet. You’ve interrupted him in the middle of a sentence, white space stretching down below his blinking cursor, empty and yawning like an early morning.

“Later,” you promise him, as you feel his hands moving up from your hips, to brush across your chest. His gaze is focused on yours. “You need to do a bit more writing,” you remind him, stepping off from his lap, and giving his hair an innocent ruffle, so that it falls across his face all wrong.

He grins, “What on earth did I do to please the universe and get rewarded with you?”

“I don’t know. I guess you’ll just have to accept that you’re an amazing person, if the universe rewarded you with an equally amazing person.” You stick your tongue out at him, and then move over to the corner of the room, where you pick up one of the many books that sit piled up, and pick up your place again, while Namjoon begins typing. The rhythm of his fingers on the keys becomes a kind of melody, dispersing on the air, resonating through your blood and nerves.

A few minutes lapse into an hour, as the pages sweep past you, transporting you to a fantasy kingdom that’s not quite as exciting as your own personal – and very real – fantasy found in Kim Namjoon, discovered in the bend of his smile, in his dark cosmos eyes, in the dips of his body, where muscle and skin meet, in the crook of his arm, in his hard chest pressed to you, in his laugh, his scent, his gentle touch in the early morning when he wakes you up – his everything. All of him. Better than anything you’ve ever read about.

You smile, looking from the pages, and find him looking up from his laptop to smile back. “I’m done.” His breath comes out husky, after not being used for a while.

“Finished?” you ask, just to check what you’ve already heard.

“I’ve got through all I can for now,” he leans back in his chair, and stretches his long arms up the ceiling, pleasuring in the luxury of stretching every muscle.

“Well then,” you set the book down, and stand up, moving across to him. Your hand cards through his hair, feeling it fall through your fingers, as they move down to his face, where his stubble is just beginning to show after his last shave, and then down his neck, his torso, his stomach, lingering. “Why don’t we go back to bed?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, and you copy the expression, you lips lifting up halfway, as he says, “I’d love nothing more.”

Then, before you can react, he stands up in one swift motion, and grabs you around the waist, picking you up. You scramble to wrap your arms around his neck, as he tries to find purchase on your legs, and hold you, bridal style. He almost drops you a few times – and you wonder why you put your body in his arms sometimes, when you’ve seen what he can do to china plates, and his own phone screen – but you can only laugh, and hold on, as he finally balances you against him, muttering, “They make that look so much easier in movies.”

You kiss his temple, and then bury your face in his neck, as he carries you upstairs, with your body bumping against his, and then watch in amusement as he struggles with the handle on your bedroom door, with you still in his arms. Finally, you’re tumbling into bed with him. Above you, he leans down, reverently pressing kisses along your neck, down, until your hoody prevents his lips going any further. You help him remove that barrier, pulling it over your head, along with your t-shirt, and giggling, as his warm mouth goes back to greet your skin. He keeps moving down, sending tingles across every nerve, spreading out to your toes and fingertips as he moves from your chest, down to your stomach.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, as he lingers with his hands on your hips, curling his fingers under your jeans.

“Of course,” you’re already breathless.

“You’re sure you don’t want to sleep,” he smiles. He already knows the answer is ‘no’.

“Well I’ve had coffee,” you reason, “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping for a while anyway.”

“Then I suppose we’d better make the most of that caffeine, before you get tired again.”

You smile, coasting your hand across his hair, as he smiles down at you. “Happy Valentine’s day, Namjoon.”

“Happy Valentine’s day. I love you.”

[END]

author’s note: thank you so much for reading! i hope you have a lovely valentine’s day, make sure to tell your friends, family and loved ones how special they are to you :’)