#A Hat in Time Coffee Shop AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

revasserium · 11 months

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death before decaf

opla!zoro; 10,414 words; coffee shop/college!au, vague enemies to lovers, fencer!zoro, sports medicine!major reader, slightly ooc zoro (he's a bit more talkative), fluff and flirting, bff!robin, zoro makes the first move, zoro calling reader "princess", mutual pining, both reader and zoro are dumbasses, making out in locker rooms

summary: sanji and nami bet on how long it'll take you and zoro to finally crack over your caffeine-related discourse; or -- that one coffee!shop zoro au that literally no one asked for.

a/n: i keep on saying "this is the longest fic i've written to date" but this really is the longest fic i've written to date. and no, this will not be the only time zoro calls reader "princess" in one of my fics. trust.

one.

“How long did you say?”

“Two weeks, max.”

“Nah… you think?”

“Probably closer to a week. Week and a half.”

Sanji stubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe before tossing the smoking nub into the bin, casting Nami a disbelieving look.

“They’ve been going on like this for like three months… and you think they’re gonna crack in the next week and a half? Nah, fam — I call bullshit.”

Nami shrugs, smirking, “Your funeral.”

Sanji scoffs as Nami pushes through the swinging double doors into the main body of the cafe, hitching a smile onto her face as she greets the customers already lined up in front of the counter.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters to himself, dusting his hands off on his apron before pushing in after her, putting on his best customer-service smile.

“Mornin’ folks! Welcome to the Straw Hats Cafe, where the coffee’s hot but the people are hotter — what can I get started for you, sweetheart?” he grins as he shoots you a wink and you flash him your best Colgate smile.

“Can I get a decaf latte with —”

“Oat milk, two pumps of caramel, and whipped cream on top? Oh — and a sprinkle of cinnamon cause you can’t have a fall latte without cinnamon, right?” Sanji finishes for you.

You nod, your cheeks flushed a bright, wind-kissed pink from the cold outside.

Behind you, a green-haired boy in a tight-fitting tee and no jacket scoffs under his breath, shaking his head.

“Yep! You know me so well,” you say, giggling and making a point to speak just a bit louder.

“Course I do, darlin’. It’s what I get paid for,” Sanji jots down your order and pushes it to the side where Nami’s already halfway done with making your drink.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite mosshead jock — lemme guess, double espresso, no sugar, no nothin’, right?” Sanji punches in the order just as Zoro makes his way up to the counter, his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah.”

Sanji grins, hiking an eyebrow, “Talkative as always, I see. Alright — that’d be —”

Zoro wordlessly slides a full punch card onto the counter and Sanji pauses.

“Ah — pardon me, I do believe that’s your free drink! You sure you wanna use it on an espresso? Maybe… you wanna try one of our seasonal specials? The maple spice latte’s one of our best —”

Zoro scoffs again, “I’m good. I like my coffee real, thanks.”

Down passed the pastries, you roll your eyes, making an exaggerated face as Nami hands you your drink with a grin.

“Y’know, if you guys just made out I feel like it would fix a lot of this unresolved tension,” she says, even as you nearly choke on your drink.

You’re still coughing when Zoro joins you by the finished drinks counter.

“I’d rather lose an eye than make out with someone who drinks decaf.”

Nami sighs, shooting you a meaningful look as she slides the double espresso toward Zoro.

You wipe your lips with a napkin before leveling him with a glare.

“Well I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than make out with someone who never grew out of his middle school emo-phase.”

“At least I don’t try to use sugar to fill the gaping hole in your life where a real personality should be.”

“At least I don’t make that gaping hole my entire personality.”

“Princess.”

“Edgelord.”

You turn resolutely away from Zoro and smile back at Nami and Sanji, both stealing glances at the pair of you even as they continue to handle the Monday morning rush.

“Thank you guys — I’m gonna be late for class.

Zoro tsks, taking a sip of his espresso.

“I’m gonna be late for practice.”

You huff, pivoting away from him towards the door, purposefully letting it swing shut behind you; Zoro swears as it almost makes him spill his coffee.

Back in the coffee shop, Sanji finishes another order just as Nami washes off her hands to take over at the cashier.

“One and a half weeks?” Sanji asks as he rolls up his sleeves and grabs a few metal cups for steamed milk.

“Yep,” Nami replies, shooting another look out the glass door where they can both still see your’s and Zoro’s silhouettes as you head towards the university campus, “Just about.”

“Alright then, you’re on.”

Nami’s smirk only grows, “Like I said — your funeral.”

two.

You’re fuming all the way to your first morning class — Bio-Organic Chemistry — that you don’t notice your friend Robin until she’s standing right next to you.

“Are you mad at your fencer-boy again?”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a breath, “He’s not my fencer-boy, and no. I’m not mad.”

Robin grins, “Your tone says different.”

You cast her a reproachful look, “I just… bumped into him at the coffee shop again.”

“Ah,” Robin says, her voice saturated with understanding.

You groan, “He just… pisses me off so much! Like, why’s he care how much sugar I put in my drinks or if I drink decaf? He’s just a muscle-head loser who thinks drinking espresso shots makes him somehow more manly or something. Ugh.”

Robin’s grin is amused when you turn to chance her a glance.

“Then… why do you care how he takes his coffee?” Her question is light, but you’ve known her for long enough to know when she’s teasing.

“I didn’t! At least… not until he made fun of my drink first. I mean, who does that anymore? We’re in college! Like, grow up!”

“Mm,” Robin hums, schooling her expression into one of careful consideration and marked compassion, “and of course, you’re just engaging in his… childish antics because he started it first, right?”

You sigh, cupping your very sugary latte between your palms as you both duck into the main lecture building, teaming with students shedding scarves and jackets, shaking off the late autumn chill.

“I know, I know it’s stupid but… he just… pisses me off so much!”

Robin chuckles, her smile distinctly sphinx-like as you press your lips into a pout.

“Well, we can talk about it after morning lecture, hm?”

You sigh and nod, waving her off as she heads down the hallway towards her Ancient Worlds class and you head upstairs for the sciences.

You spend the whole lecture in a mood and by the time you’re excused, your temples have started to throb.

But true to her word, you find Robin waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, a thick leather-bound book clutched to her chest. You give her a questioning look.

“Just some light reading,” she says. You roll your eyes.

“Just say you’re a gigantic nerd and go.”

At this Robin laughs, falling into step next to you as you both start to make your way towards the dining commons.

“Have I ever denied that I was?”

You let out a noncommittal grunt.

Luckily, the commons isn‘t as crowded as it usually is and you both quickly find a seat.

“So,” Robin says as she slides into the seat next to you, propping up her chin on the heel of her hand. There’s a low, lilting tone to her voice that tells you there’s no getting out of it this time.

You sigh again, pursing your lips, staring down at your açaí bowl.

“So what?”

“Tell me about him.”

You scoff, “Not really much to tell — he’s… one of the fencers on the national team. So obviously, he’s got his own head shoved so far up his ass he can probably watch his own lunch dige—“

“So he’s quite good at fencing then.” Robin keeps her voice neutral, taking a contemplative bite of a banana.

“I guess — I mean we’re the top feeder school for the Olympic team, aren’t we?” You jab your spoon into the yogurt, nearly splattering Robin’s new book. She gently tucks it into her bag and motions for you to continue.

“I dunno, there’s not much to tell after that… he’s an arrogant jock who judges people by how they take their coffee,” and at this, you shove a large spoonful of yogurt and açaí into your mouth, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Doesn’t your practical applications class look after the fencing team?”

Again, you grunt, sinking a bit further into your seat at the thought.

“Yeah, I’ve been dreading that all morning, and the class isn’t till Wednesday.”

Robin’s smile is almost too academic as she carefully finishes her banana and gets started on an egg salad sandwich.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

You sniff, swallowing another huge mouthful of yogurt.

“It can,” you say, grimacing, “You should see the number of times I’ve had to hold back from dislocating his shoulder on purpose.”

Robin laughs her tinkling, all-knowing laugh, “Every day, I wake up glad to be on your whitelist.”

Your lips twitch into a reluctant grin.

“I’d be nicer too if I were as tall and pretty as you are. But since I’m not one of god’s strongest soldiers, I’ve gotta find other ways of defending myself, y’know?”

“I’m not sure what you do can be called ‘self-defense’ in a court of law but…” she smiles, “You shouldn’t sell yourself short either.”

You cast her a deadpan look, “But I am short. It’s like where 90% of my rage and spite come from.”

Robin grins, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You make a rather childish face, but a comfortable warmth spreads from the center of your chest out towards all your extremities at Robin’s words. She cocks her head and continues.

“Plus… I’ve a creeping suspicion that your fencer-boy would agree that you’re prettier than you think.”

You freeze mid-swallow on your last spoonful of yogurt, eyes wide.

“Wait — what?”

Robin sighs, looking at you as if studying a particularly interesting monolith carved with all her favorite dead languages. You sit back, crossing your arms, feeling raw beneath her inquisitive gaze.

“You can’t still think that this little… feud you two have is purely based on a difference in coffee preference, can you?”

You realize you’re chewing on your bottom lip and force yourself to stop.

“I — I don’t know how it can be anything else though…” but even to your own ears, you sound distinctly unconvinced. Robin cocks her head.

“Think about it — when we were all little kids and running around on playground, which girls would get their pigtails pulled the most?”

Your frown deepens, “But we’re not kids anymore and this isn’t a play —“

“Yes, I know. Just humor me for a moment.”

You squirm in your seat, your heart thudding erratically in your rib cage, making you feel strangely breathless.

“It was… always the girls that the boys had a crush on,” you answer, your voice growing smaller with each word as the realization seeps into your skin like sunlight. And suddenly, it's too hot. The thought that Zoro might be doing this because he likes you isn’t something that’s crossed your mind. Or rather, it isn’t a thought you’d allowed to cross your mind.

“You know, boys aren’t technically considered ‘men’ until they’re in their mid-thirties,” Robin says, conversational and satisfied to have driven the point home to you. She leans back even as you reach up to press your face into the palms of your hands.

“But…” you try to grasp for some thread of logic that might be able to refute Robin’s claim but come up empty. She’s always been too smart for her own good. And yours.

When you finally lift your head again, it’s to find Robin still watching you, an oddly indulgent smile on her lips.

“C’mon,” she says, gathering her things, “don’t want you to be late for your next lecture.”

She has the audacity to wink as you hurriedly grab your stuff as well.

“Shut up,” you say, bumping her lightly with your elbow as you walk passed her, cheeks darkening with every step. Your next lecture, you both know, is the Nutrition of Sports — which is one of the few actual classes that you and Zoro actually share.

“Have fun in class!” Robin calls as you split ways outside the dining commons. You consider flipping her off but decide against it and opt to stick out your tongue at her instead.

Robin shakes her head, laughing quietly to herself. Really, she thinks, this is just starting to get interesting.

three.

You walk into Nutrition of Sports fully prepared to see Zoro slouched in his usual seat at the back of the class — except, he’s not there. You blink; he’s always been there, always early despite what others might assume of his punctuality. And yet.

“Lookin’ for me, Princess?”

You jump as you hear Zoro’s voice behind you, dangerously close to your ear. Jerking around, you find him smirking, arms crossed as he stares at you.

“N-no.”

“Tch.” He saunters into the room, his arm barely grazing yours as he drops into his seat, leaning back with a sort of damnable, feline grace, doing nothing to hide a huge, lethargic yawn. When he makes a show of stretching his arms over his head, you pause as you notice the way he winces, favoring his left side over his right.

You narrow your eyes.

“You’d be a shit poker player,” he says, grinning as he turns his eyes back towards you, catching you staring before you flush a deep purple and stomp towards your own seat, just one row ahead of him.

You noisily start setting up your supplies — an endless parade of jelly pens and perfectly coordinated sticky notes in aesthetically pleasing colors — pretending like you hadn’t heard him.

Thankfully, the professor hurries in soon after as the rest of the students file in.

Halfway through the lecture, you’re stifling the third yawn of the hour as you feel a small, crumpled something hit the back of your neck. You jerk around to find Zoro ducking behind his arms even as you spot the small wad of paper that he’d obviously just tossed at you.

You bend down to pick it up, only to find a note scribbled in slanted, uneven handwriting —

Sugar crash? Ha. Serves you right.

You nearly whip around but the professor clicks another slide and drones on. You huff, flipping the paper over to scribble on the back —

What happened to your arm?

You surreptitiously toss the note back to him and grin to yourself as you hear him sputtering behind you. The professor glances towards you. You flash him a winning smile as you continue to jot down notes; behind you, you hear the distinct sounds of Zoro scrambling to appear as if he’s paying attention.

The rest of the lecture goes by uninterrupted, though by the end, you swear that your hackles are raised from the way Zoro’s been staring at the back of your neck the entire time.

“What?” you ask, whipping around to face him.

Zoro, for his part, has the decency to look sheepish as he clears his throat and sighs, leaning back.

“There’s nothing wrong with my arm,” he says as he looks away, a slight darkness dusting the high of his cheeks. It’s not the first time you notice the bone-chiseled features of his face — like some gorgeous, careless god, rendered by the loving hands of a besotted Renaissance artist and preserved for the world to see — the way a constellation of freckles scatter across the bridge of his nose, the way his jaw is sharp enough to sting the imagination.

“Right. Fine. Sorry I asked.” You shove your notes and pens back into your bag, rolling your eyes as you shoulder your tote, “And… you’d be a shit poker player too.”

And with that, you turn and leave the room without a single backward glance.

You’re gone so quick that you don’t see the way Zoro stares after you, his own eyes narrowed into slits. You don’t see the way he frowns as one of his teammates nudges him with an elbow, reminding him that afternoon practice starts in 15 minutes.

four.

Tuesday night finds you slumped over a stack of books on the 3rd floor of the library, your entire body feeling odd and boneless. Hundreds of tiny flashcards are scattered across the top of the desk, each filled with a system you have to memorize before your test on Friday for your O-Chem course, when suddenly, a white paper cup appears in your field of vision, plopping onto the tiny slip of table still available between all your study materials.

“Hm?” you jerk up, blinking blearily up at a vaguely familiar green-haired figure even as he crosses his arms and sighs.

“There. Some real coffee. Looked like you need it,” Zoro says, glancing away the moment your eyes come into focus.

You stare at him for a solid ten seconds before looking back down at the cheap, watered-down cup of unsweetened coffee on the table before you.

Ew, you want to say, but somehow, “Thanks,” is what comes out of your mouth.

You reach for the cup, wincing slightly as you jerk your fingers back from the scalding exterior of the thin paper cup.

Zoro immediately leans down, snatching the cup from the table to blow on the surface. You watch him with wide, wondering eyes. It takes him a second to catch himself before he blushes a deep shade of maroon and clears his throat, quickly setting the cup back down on your desk, tucking both his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you.

“It’s — careful — I mean — it’s from the vending machine downstairs so it’s not as fancy as the stuff we get from the coffee shop —”

Maybe it’s because you’re truly too tired, or maybe because Robin’s been right since day one but — you reach for the cup, carefully cradling it between your palms as you take a tentative sip and grimace at the watery, bitter aftertaste.

“Gross,” you say, though without any malice, glancing up at him. Zoro scoffs, dragging out an empty seat across from you, turning it around to straddle the chair, propping both his arms on the back as he looks at you. Your eyes once more catch on the way he’s gentler with his right side.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” you ask again, taking another tentative sip of the truly awful coffee.

Zoro grimaces, “None of your business.”

You sigh, the will to snark back rather feeble as you consider the mountain of vocab you have to memorize before your Friday test.

“Right, sure — keep your secrets,” you drone as you set the paper cup down and nudge it further away from you, “be mysterious for the next —” you check your watch, “eighteen hours before Practical Applications when you’ll have to explain to Coach Mihawk why you've been lying about an obvious injury three weeks before your next —”

“Fuck — okay.”

You pause, looking up from collecting your flash cards.

Zoro digs his fingers into his right shoulder.

“I — I think I pulled it at the tournament last week.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Your tournament was on Thursday.”

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, “And?”

“And it’s now Tuesday.”

Zoro doesn’t answer this time, but you have to actively fight down the urge to throw the no-longer-scalding-but-still-very-hot-coffee at his face. You tell yourself that the only thing stopping you is professionalism and sportsmanship instead of an unwillingness to damage his Michaelangelo-sculpted features.

“It’s been five days!”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to count.”

You bite back a frustrated scream as you push away from your chair and round the table to stand behind him, not giving him enough time to be bewildered before you press a palm to his right shoulder, already focused on finding the tender spots.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

You run an expert palm over the width of his shoulders, focusing on his right, fingers digging into various muscle groups until he winces.

“Ow.”

You grin as you find a tender patch to the right of his spine, almost beneath his shoulder blade.

“You strained your Rhomboid.”

“Gesundheit.”

You roll your eyes and reach over his back for the cup of coffee. You feel his breath hitch as your front presses full against his back.

“Hold still,” you say, pressing the side of the warm cup to the sore muscle.

Zoro makes a choked moaning noise that he tries to bite off, but not soon enough. It sizzles down your spine to curl at the base of your belly, spreading heat through your body in a way you have no urge to examine at this current point in time.

You hold it there for a minute, and then two, till the coffee’s gone lukewarm.

“Here,” you say, tugging the cup away to offer it to him.

He stares at the cup before glancing up at you.

“Caffeine helps with muscle soreness and pain — it’s probably why you’re so addicted to espresso all the time,” you offer by way of an explanation, even as he opens his mouth to ask. He closes his mouth and takes the coffee, downing half of it in a single gulp.

Then, he sets it down on the table before digging a crumpled packet of sugar out of his pants pocket.

“It’s… probably not as sweet as you usually like it but…” he presses it into the palm of your hand, looking anywhere but at your face, “should help the bitterness.”

And then he’s gone, slouching off towards the elevator bank, leaving you gaping after him with the packet of sugar in your hand, your rapidly cooling coffee, and a mountain of revisions you’ve got no hope of finishing tonight.

five.

Wednesday finds you practically sprinting as you reach your Practical Applications course, clutching at your chest as you burst through the gym doors, gasping for breath. Professor Kureha quirks an inquiring eyebrow at you while Mihawk, the fencing instructor, slates you a sharp, rueful glare.

“— as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” his bright hawk-yellow eyes flash back over the fencing team, “regionals are quickly approaching and we need you in top form. So — warm-ups stretches, everyone. Pair up and get to it. Zoro, up here with me.”

You duck your head and hurry towards your normal spot along the bleachers, slowing as you notice what looks like a cup of coffee from the Straw Hats Cafe occupying the place where you normally sit. You pick up the cup — it’s still hot to the touch.

On the coffee slip is a single word — Princess.

And though it’s in Sanji’s familiar coffee shop scrawl, only one person has ever called you that.

Heat crests up your chest, prickling at your cheeks. You don’t have to taste it to know that it’s your order — your favorite order. Briefly, you wonder if Sanji made Zoro recite the entire thing before agreeing to put it down, or if he’d spared Zoro the pain of having to say the word ‘decaf’ unironically.

And then you wonder if Nami teased him at all, waiting for his own drink on top of yours.

“Chop chop,” Professor Kureha says, grinning too wide as she wanders over, peering at you over her John Lennon shades, “you heard old Hawk-eyes — time to pair up.”

You hurriedly drop your bag and take a quick sip of our drink, letting out a soft groan of appreciation as the caramel-cinnamon goodness seeps into your blood vessels. Some nameless freshman hopeful from the fencing team is your partner for stretches and you patiently walk him through all the major motions, pushing on his back and laughing kindly when he can’t quite reach his toes.

You feel the faint tingle on the back of your neck that tells you someone’s staring, and you privately think that you don’t need three guesses to figure out who it is. But you don’t give Zoro the satisfaction of looking over till you help the blushing freshman finish all his stretches, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, reaching up on tip-toe to ruffle his hair even though he’s got a solid four inches over you.

When finally, you glance over towards where Mihawk is putting Zoro through his paces, it’s to find him flickering through the motions — flashes of silver, lithe, fluid — and you find your breath held captive in your chest by the sight.

You’ve always known Zoro to be a graceful fencer, but grace has nothing on the way he flows from one move to the next, each muscle drawn like a bow-string, each intake of breath timed and perfect. His arms and legs move in tandem and there’s a bewitching rhythm to the way his body breaks and bends. It is beauty and strength, dance and magic — power and promise and the sword-tip’s whish of premonition.

When he finishes, you suck in a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding.

You watch as Mihawk murmurs something to Zoro, who winces, looking chastened before Mihawk waves him away and Zoro sets down his epee, making his way over to you.

You open your mouth, about to make some snarky remark but Zoro reaches over his back with one hand and tugs his shirt off in a single, unbroken motion. You gulp, your voice failing you as your eyes settle on the strong ripple of his muscles as he tosses his shirt aside.

Zoro smirks, “Keep starin’ and I’m gonna have to start charging.”

You rip your eyes away, fire licking up the length of your torso as you reach into your bag for a roll of sports tape.

Zoro slumps down in the seat in front of you as you take stock of his sweat-slicked torso, your eyes still catching on the patch of swollen muscle beneath his shoulder blade. You reach forward and run a thumb along it, careful of the way he hisses.

“A hot-patch is only going to do so much,” you say, frowning as you drop the sports tape to focus on massaging the tender bit of skin.

Zoro groans, his eyes falling half shut as you slowly work at the various knots in his shoulders. Your fingers are slow and deliberate, applying just the right amount of pressure. And more than once, Zoro has to bite back what he’s sure would’ve been an indecent moan before it rolls out of his mouth at the way your soft palms press into the planes of his back, the tenseness of his shoulders.

“Keep moaning like that, I’m gonna have to start charging,” you say, much too close to his ear.

Zoro jerks, even as you pull back, laughing. The sound makes his skin prickle up with goosebumps and he doesn’t want to think about the myriad reasons why.

“I bought you coffee, twice,” he grumbles, cheeks pink, his mind still buzzing from the warmth of your palms.

You hum, your fingers flickering over his skin, pulling away for a second before he feels something wonderful and cool pressing against his sore, aching muscles.

“You’re right… you did buy me coffee twice. Even though the first time was horrible vending machine coffee and I used most of it as a heating pad for your injury.”

Zoro grunts, letting you manhandle him as you gently twist his right arm into an array of different stretches to test his range of mobility.

“Still counts.”

You put down his right arm to test his left. Zoro chooses not to think about the way his body tingles where your hands touch him, and especially not where you’re standing too close, your chest occasionally brushing against his shoulder. He chooses actively not to think about the way he can smell the soft, coconut milk fragrance of your lotion as you lean over him, rambling about doing the proper warm-up and cool-down exercises.

He grins as you reach over mid-sentence to finish your drink and you pause, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

He shrugs, “Nothin’… just that… seems like you liked your drink.”

Your eyes slingshot from his face to the nearly empty cup in your hands.

“I always like my —”

They widen when you realize that Zoro had in fact ordered a double shot of espresso in your usual drink instead of your normal decaf. And, that you’d been too distracted by him to notice.

“I — it — wh —”

Zoro languidly rises from his seat, grinning, “Thanks for the treatment, Princess. I owe you one — lemme buy you a coffee sometime, yeah?”

You stare after him as he makes his way across the room, back to the rest of the team for proper bouts. You force down another blush as you shove the now-empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can, your heart skidding to the rhythmic squeak of feet shuffling against the floors, the bell-like ting of epee blades, the murmur of the watching crowd.

six.

Thursday morning finds you ill-rested and grumpy as you join Robin in the quad, heading for the Straw Hats Cafe during free period.

“Trouble sleeping?” Robin asks, looking you over with mild concern.

You grunt, adjusting your bag, “Had coffee too late in the day.”

At this, Robin frowns, “But you only drink decaf.”

You grunt again, not looking at her, “Yeah, well.”

Robin blinks for a second before a knowing smile splits her lips, “Ah… so. Fencer-boy’s made his move.”

You round on her, fists clenched, “He has not! He just — he just bought me coffee!”

Robin remains infuriatingly unfazed as she stares at you, “Yes. And to most, that would constitute as ‘making a move’. And here I thought you were a fan of romance novels.”

You turn away from her, huffing even as your cheeks fill with color, “I — I am.”

“So?” she asks.

“So?” you echo, cursing yourself for sounding like a petulant child.

“So…” she continues, patient as always, “he bought you coffee.”

You crinkle your nose, your stomach a roiling mess as the pair of you make your way across the quad and duck into the cafe to Sanji’s bright, welcoming voice, your eyes scanning the queue even though you know that Zoro’s got morning practice. This does not go unnoticed by Robin, though she mercifully elects to not question you about it.

“Yes, he bought me coffee. But instead of decaf, he made it a double-shot.” You try very hard to make this sound like a personal affront, but Robin only dips her head.

“Ah,” she says again, and you feel the urge to run out of the building even as the pair of you shuffle towards the front of the line.

“Hi there, oh! I’ve got a special message for you,” Nami says as you get to the registers, her voice silken with glee as she reaches behind the counter to tug out what looks like a receipt. You glance down at the paper, confused, but she only winks as she moves to ask what Robin would like.

You inch to the side, distracted by this strange turn, your eyes dropping to the slip of paper, upon which is scribbled — Good luck on test tomorrow. Evening bout. Gym.

You stare at the cryptic message for a full minute before Robin ushers you toward the counter where Sanji is pumping out drinks, making girls blush as he winks at them each in turn.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Decaf Princess — though… seems like your tastes are a-changin’ these days,” Sanji says, grinning wide as you get to the counter, pushing a steaming cup towards you. You frown at the drink — cinnamon sprinkled atop a perfectly placed dollop of whipped cream, underneath which you’re sure is your favorite drink order. You look back up at Sanji.

“A certain mosshead jock put in an advanced order for you — said to give you an extra shot of espresso for the test you’ve got tomorrow.”

You sputter as Robin laughs beside you, thanking Sanji for her own Long Black.

“You know, you could just be normal and call it an Americano,” you say as the pair of you make your way out of the cafe. Robin grins, sipping at her drink.

“I could… but where’s the fun in that?” she slates you a glance, “More importantly, are you going?”

“To what?” you ask, not meaning to sound so defensive, but you can’t help it, and even as Robin sighs, you know that it’s useless.

“To the bout,” she says, unruffled.

You hunch into your upturned collar and your thick, layered scarf, cradling your drink, the sweet scent of syrup and cinnamon wafting up to tickle your nose. You blush at the thought of Zoro’s voice, full of morning gravel, shy as he lists out all the extremities you like in your coffee order.

“Maybe. I mean… why not, right?”

Robin nods, humming as she takes another long drink, “Mhm — why not indeed.”

You nudge her; she nudges you back. You both laugh as a church bell rings out from across the quad, sending a flock of birds scattering through the misty, morning air.

seven.

Friday evening finds you pushing through the wide gym doors, pressing your hands over the skirt you’d painstakingly picked out, chewing on your bottom lip.

You silently curse at Robin for pulling out last minute, begging off to some Ancient Languages focus group.

“I bet it’s not even real…” you mutter to yourself as you slip into the front row of the bleachers, looking for an empty seat. You somehow manage to look up just as Zoro is about to go on, his mask under one arm, his blade in the other.

You raise your hand in a half wave before catching yourself and shoving it back down, scowling as Zoro’s lips pull into a lopsided grin. You drop into a seat just as Zoro tugs his helmet on and stretches his arms. You tense as you see the slight wince he twitches away as he tests the weight of his blade.

But you needn’t have worried — the bout is quick and decisive, Zoro scoring one point after another, his blade flashing through the air, bright as fish scales. And before you know it, the buzzer sounds, marking his victory. You leap to your feet, cheering with the rest of the crowd as Zoro tugs off his mask and pumps his fists.

You catch his eye and for a moment, the wild rumble of the screaming crowd fades to a dull, thumping baseline. He jerks his head towards the lockers and you nod, swallowing hard as you duck through the still-cheering crowd towards the back of the gym.

When you get there, it’s to find him methodically polishing his blade, his mask set to the side, his thick jacket pulled down to pool around his waist, the rest of his protective wear scattered in heaps on the ground around him. You have half a mind to scold him for being so careless with what you know is expensive gear but you can’t keep yourself from staring at the wide planes of back, curving up to his shoulders, the thick cords of muscle that flex up either side of his neck.

He looks up as you shuffle in, your skirt suddenly feeling a bit too short, too risque for the near-winter weather outside.

You clear your throat and cast your eyes about the empty lockers. You don’t miss the way his gaze skates up your bare legs, pausing at the place where your skirt brushes the top of your thighs.

“Uhm — how’s your shoulder?” your voice sounds too high, echoing strangely along the white-tiled walls.

Zoro licks his lips and puts down his blade, rolling his right shoulder.

“Better but… still not great. Mihawk’s making me to do PT.”

You nod, letting out a soft laugh, “I’m glad. You’d never do it otherwise.”

He scoffs, “You know what that means though, right?” There’s a raw, rolling tension beneath his words, a sort of thickened expectation as he stares at you with dark, meaningful eyes.

You purse your lips, your stomach tightening.

“I —”

Zoro gets to his feet, and you barely register the soft clatter of his blade as it rolls to the side on the bench. He closes the space between you in three quick steps and you find yourself marveling at his speed — wondering vaguely if this is how all his opponents feel when he slips forward, the tip of his blade digging into their shoulder or stomach or the bend of their hip.

“Means we’re stuck with each other. At least till you fix me for regionals in two weeks.”

Your back meets the icy chill of the locker doors and the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them —

“Bold of you to assume that you’re fixable in two weeks.”

Zoro quirks an eyebrow, even as you resist the urge to clap your hands to your mouth, cursing inwardly at whatever the hell made you say that out loud. Your heart thuds an insistent drumbeat inside your chest as Zoro leans casually against the lockers next to you. Like this, you can feel the heat of his skin, the rhythm of his long breaths as he looks you over with sharp, curious eyes.

You think you can taste the sweet, tepid weight of his breath. It smells faintly of coffee and mint and synthetically flavored protein bars.

“Then…” he drawls, propping an arm against the locker door right next to your face, his eyes flickering from your lips up to your eyes and back down again. Your gaze is unabashedly caught on the shape of his mouth, but when you finally force yourself to look up at his eyes, it’s to find them warm and amused.

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

You gulp, “To fix your shoulder?”

Zoro shrugs, “That and… whatever else you think needs to be fixed.”

You purse your lips, an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies erupting in your stomach at his words.

“Who knows? Might take three weeks… might take — forever —” your words cut off as he leans in to graze his lips against yours. And you’re momentarily caught between delight and bewilderment that you’re right — they do taste of coffee and mint and salt — but that they also taste of a dull, throbbing hunger as he leans in to kiss you proper. And then, the blooming realization that you’re just as desperate as he is, pushing in, fingers scrabbling against the skin of his chest as his skim along the sides of your ribs, the dip of your waist.

He kisses you so deep and so long that you’re actually gasping when he finally pulls away to suck a stinging hickey into the smooth of your collarbone, his fingers digging grooves into your thighs as he hoists you up to press you against the cold, hard metal of the lockers.

You let out a clipped moan at the same time he does, and his right arm twitches, though he makes no move to let you go.

Distantly, your mind registers the fact that he’s still technically injured, but the part of you that’s hungry and clawing at the base of your stomach with a fierce, immutable need refuses to listen to reason. It takes more effort than it logically should’ve done to extricate yourself from his grasp, to push him away despite his disgruntled sigh as he stumbles back and stares at you with dark, dangerous eyes.

“What —”

“Fuck —” you hiss, even as you let your head fall back against the lockers, the dull thunk pulling a wolfish grin to his lips.

“Yeah, well —”

“Wait — no —”

Zoro cocks his head, “No?”

You reach forward to tug him back, to kiss him as deeply and desperately as you dare, but you pull away before he can properly sink into the kiss and you pin him with a look.

“We — your shoulder —”

“Fuck my shoulder —”

You shake your head, almost delusional with the heat and want and the insanity of it all, “No! We can’t! We — we’ve gotta take care of it first!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, “It’ll get better if we just leave it alone —”

You shake your head again, laughing as he presses back in, slower this time, grazing his knuckles along the skin of your jaw, tilting you back towards him.

“It won’t,” you say, softly, letting him run a thumb along your lips, “but… if you let me take care of it. It will heal faster…” you trail off, letting the implications simmer beneath the surface of all your unsaid words, and it only takes a second for Zoro to consider before he lowers you to the floor and starts haphazardly gathering up his things.

You drag a hand across your lips, watching him.

“So…” you feel yourself blush as you muster up the words but Zoro scoffs, already impatient as he shoves his stuff into one of the larger lockers and slams the door.

“Mine. It’s closer.”

eight.

His, is — in fact — much closer than you’d thought. Only two blocks from the campus, and in one of the most expensive dorm buildings. You wonder how much he must be paying for it before you realize that he's on a sports scholarship, but you can’t even bring yourself to be bitter as he lets you into his spacious dorm, the giant living room scattered with game consoles and opened cereal boxes, leading to a short hallway that opens into his bedroom.

It’s cleaner than you’d imagined, with a set of light green linens drawn neatly over a full-sized bed, and two sets of pillows.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, sweeping some energy bar wrappers into the trash from his desk as he tosses down his duffle bag.

You shake your head, looking around, your eyes catching on the thick volumes of fencing books, the endless stacks of sports magazines, the huge set of free weights on a rack in the corner by the closet.

“Uh… do you want a drink?” he asks, suddenly awkward as he scratches at the back of his head.

You turn towards him with a grin, “No. But I do want you to take off your shirt.”

Zoro blinks before he smiles and moves towards the bed, tugging off his shirt and tossing it to the side. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as he leans back on the bed, his perfectly tanned stomach flexing beneath the slanted desk-light as he watches you through lazily hooded eyes.

“On your stomach,” you say, your voice light and surgical as you open your own bag and tug out a tub of medicated massage cream.

Zoro stares for a second before the smile slips off his face to be replaced by a dull, knowing scowl. Still, he doesn’t argue as he flips onto his stomach and sighs, pillowing his cheek on his arms as he pouts at the wall.

“Like I told you — we need to take care of your shoulder first. Regionals are in two weeks. We can’t have you performing like you did tonight.”

Zoro attempts a glare over his shoulder as you carefully maneuver over his back and straddle his hips, warming your palms with the massage cream before setting to work.

“I still won.”

His voice is tight and petulant. You nod, sighing as you work your thumbs into the dip beneath his shoulder blade where you know he’s still sore. He hisses, jerking away from you. You pin him in place with your free arm and continue to roll your thumb across the bundle of muscle.

Two minutes in, you press a bit harder and he lets out a pitched whine that makes you pause in your ministrations.

“F-fuck —” he buries his face in his pillow, thumping a fist against his bed as you laugh and continue the massage, though taking care to be a bit more careful around his injury.

Nearly twenty minutes later, you climb off the bed and wipe your hands. Zoro groans, shifting to watch you with half-lidded eyes and color-stained cheeks.

“I know,” you say, holding up your hands, “that really hurt but you feel much better now, right?”

Zoro grins, sleepy as he blinks slowly up at you, “Yeah. Whatever.”

And then, a long moment later —

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, flipping onto his side and shifting on the bed as if to make room for you, “stay.”

You freeze, almost unwilling to believe your own ears as you finish putting away your supplies. You glance at him with tight lips and hopeful eyes.

There’s a tiny grin threatening the corners of his lips as he sighs, making a show of yawning and stretching.

“It’s late… and I don’t really feel like walking you back.”

You fold your arms, “I could just call campus security to escort me.”

Zoro stills for a second but a moment later, he casts his eyes up at the ceiling, “Yeah… you could…”

You make no move to leave.

“But you still owe me coffee in the morning,” he says.

You frown, “Wait, what? How’s that?”

He glances at you, “I’ve bought you coffee twice.”

“Yeah, but I just gave you a free 30-minute medical massage treatment for your shoulder.”

“You would’ve had to do it anyway on Wednesday in Practical Applications.”

You narrow your eyes, “Professor Kureha might not have assigned me to you.”

At this, Zoro scoffs, “Yeah right. You’re the best, and so am I.”

“S-she might not have!” you say, though there’s no real conviction in your voice. You both know that he’s right.

“Yeah. Whatever.” He turns away from you, making as if to go to sleep.

You glare at his back, dropping your bag with a loud thump.

“If anything, you owe me coffee now. That massage was worth at least two coffees, if not more.” You plop down on the edge of his bed, scowling at the opposite wall.

Zoro is quiet for a beat too long and you chance a glance at him, only to find him peering you with a strangely indulgent look in his eyes. You blush, tearing your eyes away.

“How’s breakfast?” he asks, his voice once again going soft. Your skin prickles with heat.

“What about breakfast?”

“Coffee and breakfast. That enough to pay for the massage?”

You can’t help the smile that threatens to break across your lips as you glance back at him and catch his eyes.

“I…. guess.”

Zoro chuckles, the sound so low in his throat that it makes you shiver. Quick as anything, he reaches over to pull you down towards him, easily looping an arm around your middle and flipping you both so that you’re pinned beneath him. You barely have time to gasp before you find his lips on yours once more, slow and sweet and shockingly steady.

You kiss him back, letting him push you gently into the crumpled linens of his bed. His fingers are light as he slowly works your skirt down your legs, reaching behind your torso to loosen your bra and tug your shirt from you in a single, smooth motion.

You shiver beneath him and he pulls back to stare. You search his eyes, feeling suddenly uncertain.

“God, you’re gorgeous…”

Heat crests into your cheeks as you try to look away. But he tugs you back with his thumb and steals another kiss.

“It’s late…” he says, pulling away to press your foreheads.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I know…”

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow.”

You laugh, shifting as he curls his body around you, tugging you easily against his chest and pulling the covers over you both. A moment later, the lights click off and you’re both thrown into darkness. You let yourself relax into his arms, wondering just how you’re going to explain this to Robin tomorrow.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Zoro’s voice murmurs into the nape of your neck.

You grin, nodding as you press further back into him and he grazes a soft kiss along your skin.

“That kinda thinking needs breakfast and coffee first,” you say, to which Zoro chuckles, nodding as he lets you hook your ankles between his, your bodies settling against each other, warm and perfect, the curves and bends meeting like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally, finally finding each other at last.

You don’t have long enough to ponder on the light, musk-salt-sweet of his skin or the way you can feel his heartbeat as it threads along your spine or the way that somehow, the shape of him doesn’t feel foreign against the shape of you, before you’re already falling asleep. And to him, he doesn’t have time to ponder the lovely silk of your hair, just as soft as he’d always imagined, or the way your waist feels perfect beneath his hands, or how he’s somehow he’s always known the rhythm of your breaths before he too is falling into the warm embrace of a dark, sweet, restful sleep as well.

nine.

Saturday morning finds you both tangled in each other, the winter sun bright and cold as it slates through the slits of Zoro’s bedroom window. He wakes up first, shifting to stretch until he feels the weight of you beside him. And then suddenly, he's somehow achingly awake and aware of his body against yours, of your paced breaths and his own rapidly increasing heartbeat. For one bewildering moment, he can’t quite remember what brought him here, and then the scenes from the night before — the bout, the lockers, the kiss — the way you’d tasted, how utterly irresistible you’d been, blushing in the dim light of his room, your skillful fingers digging into his tender, swollen flesh — his own rash promise of breakfast and coffee — it all comes rushing back. Zoro lets out a long breath and leans in to brush his lips along your forehead.

You let out a light groan as you shift in his arms, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you.

“Oh… hey.”

Your voice is quiet, almost shy as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, and he finds himself more endeared than he has words to say.

He clears his throat.

“Morning. Uh… sleep well?”

You laugh, the warmth of your expelled breath ghosting across his clavicle in a way that makes him shiver.

“Mhm… pretty well… and you?”

Zoro clears his throat, “Yeah. Guess it wasn’t… bad.”

He resists the urge to roll away, if only because your cheek is still pillowed on his arm, and he can’t bring himself to pull away from you just yet. So instead, he drops his nose into your hair and takes in the milky scent of your coconut lotion. Tiny, pin-pricks of desire shoot through him, teasing goosebumps into the skin of his back and arms, but he forces himself to lie still as you snuggle against his chest with a contented sigh.

“So… breakfast and coffee?”

Zoro grunts, “Hn. I did promise.”

You smile, letting yourself sink into the thick and syrup of his sleep-deepened voice, his moss-green hair even more tousled than it normally is as he adjusts his head on his pillow.

“Hey,” you say, breathless as you look up at him beneath the sweep of your lashes, your eyes so big and dark and wide Zoro wonders if they might swallow him whole.

“Hey,” he answers, just as breathless, uncertainty creeping up the center of his chest as he stares down at you, lying in the glistening, mercurial light, the bend of your shoulder kissed by the morning sun, the shape of you limned in silver and gold.

You lean up to kiss him before he has the chance to second-guess himself, and though he was the more bold, self-assured one last night, you press in against him this morning, the languid sweep of your tongue along his lips making him groan, helpless, against you. He tastes the satisfied grin at the corner of your mouth as he opens his own, his mind frizzing into gorgeous, white static as you spend what feels like hours exploring the sweet depths of each other's mouths — all tongue and teeth and kiss-swollen lips.

When finally you pull apart, he is more breathless than he’d planned for, his body too warm for his liking, an urgent, pulsing something burning at the base of his stomach as he fights the urge to shove you back and sink his teeth into your skin, to hear you hiss, to make you gasp, to leave the indent of his fingers along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, to mark you as his in every way he knows how.

But instead, he places a lingering kiss on your cheek and sits up, slowly stretching his arms.

“Careful…” you warn, pushing yourself up as well, watching him, “how’s it feel?”

Zoro tests his right side, drawing his arm up and then to the side, and then pulling it across his torso.

“Whoa… so much better.”

You smile, satisfied.

Zoro chuckles, “Guess I really do owe you breakfast. C’mon.”

He slips out of bed, tugging open a drawer to toss you a thick sweater and a pair of sweatpants. For himself, he only tugs on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, even as you frown, squinting at him from where you’re nearly swimming in his clothes.

“You’ll freeze.”

Zoro smirks as he looks you over, reaching over to pull the hood over your mussed tangle of hair, “Nah, I’m fine.”

You pout, jerking open the drawer to pull out a sweater and tossing it at him.

“You have to keep your right side warm so your muscles don’t just seize up again.”

Zoro stares at the sweater in his hand, looking reluctant before you press your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“C’mon… I worked so hard on getting it better last night… please?”

Zoro groans, rolling his eyes as he tugs on the sweater.

“Yeah, yeah — fine. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he extend his hand. But the pair of you walk elbow to elbow, hip against hip down the bright dorm room hallway, into the chilly Saturday morning air.

“Geez, if you’re gonna yell at me to keep warm —” Zoro reaches over to tug on the drawstrings of your sweater, frowning as he notices how much skin he can still see beneath the opening of the hoodie.

You blush, tugging at it as the pair of you make your way across the empty campus quad.

Halfway across the frost-kissed lawn, he wordlessly reaches out to catch your hand in his, tucking your entwined fingers into the depths of his pocket. You bite back a stupid, dopey grin as you duck your head, quickening your pace to keep up, your footsteps crunching in the dew-bitten grass, the freshly raked gravel.

ten.

There’s already a decent line at the Straw Hats Cafe, but when the pair of you walk in hand in hand, both Sanji and Nami pause for a second longer than usual. Sanji’s eyebrows jerk up his forehead while Nami’s lips curl into a much too satisfied grin as she turns back to the humming espresso machines.

You savor in the smell of freshly ground coffee, absently tracing your thumb over the back of Zoro’s hand.

When you both reach the front, Sanji looks between you expectantly.

“Well, well, well — I’d like to say I’m surprised but —” he shrugs, grinning cheekily, “Well then I’d be lying, wouldn’t I?”

Zoro clicks his tongue but you shoot him a sheepish smile, pursing your lips.

“So… the usual then?” Sanji asks, his fingers poised over the register.

“Yep,” Zoro says, curt as ever, though there’s a distinct blush on his cheeks that not even he can write off as anything else.

You nod as well, “Oh, but… I think I’ll try a non-decaf latte this time. Just one shot of espresso though, please and thank you.”

Sanji blinks at you for a second before letting out a startled laugh and nodding, punching in your order.

“Coming right up, sweet cheeks. Right then, that’d be 8.75 for the latte and 5.50 for the double espresso.”

Zoro reaches into his wallet and pulls out a 20, slipping it across the counter. Down the bar, Nami is humming, looking cheerier than you’ve ever seen her this early in the morning as she goes about making your drinks.

Sanji sighs as he shakes his head, handing Zoro his change.

Zoro narrows his eyes but Sanji cuts him off.

“Take it from me, fam. You don’t wanna know.”

You and Zoro share a puzzled look as you both shuffle down to the pick-up counter, where Nami is sliding your finished drinks toward you with a bright, knowing glint to her eyes. Zoro clears his throat and reaches over for a packet of sugar, nonchalantly tipping it into his drink before picking it up to take a sip.

You try not to gape as you grab your own drink, flashing Nami a quick smile before turning to follow Zoro.

He picks a table as far away from the counter as possible, tucked into a corner, nearly invisible to the rest of the shop. When you sit down, he frowns at your chair for a second before reaching out to tug you across the floor till your chair is next to his. He goes back to his drink without a single word.

It’s all you can do to blush and stare at your steaming cup.

“I thought we were getting coffee and breakfast,” you say after a brief moment of silence.

Zoro grunts, “We are. Coffee first.”

You nod, somewhat mollified as you take another sip of your drink. The warmth trickles down your chest to rest somewhere in the center of your stomach, spreading heat throughout your body in waves.

“We could just get a chocolate croissant,” you say, giving Zoro a sidelong look.

Zoro frowns, tapping his finger against the side of his cup, “Dessert isn’t breakfast.”

You scoff, “Says who?”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Says me. And I’m payin’ for it.”

You purse your lips, wondering if you should argue more before deciding against it. A few seconds later, Zoro sighs, casting his eyes about the cafe interior.

“We can have a croissant after real breakfast.”

You giggle into your drink, swallowing down the glee fluttering in your stomach, threatening to spill out of your still kiss-chapped lips.

“Kay, whatever you say.”

Zoro rolls his eyes and folds his arms, but his elbow presses against yours and he doesn’t make to move away.

Across the cafe, Nami leans to watch the pair of you, Sanji at her side, looking both stunned and somewhat pained.

“C’mon man, it’s not even been a week!”

Nami grins, rinsing out a few cups and placing them mouth down to dry before pivoting on her heels and holding out an expectant palm. Sanji sighs as Nami’s eyes glitter with mirth and a hard-won glee.

“Right. I think you owe me fifty bucks.”

Sanji narrows his eyes, glancing back at where you and Zoro are tucked into the corner of the cafe.

“Double or nothing on when they’ll have their first fight. I say… not till next week.”

Nami’s eyebrows twitch up. She looks back at where the pair of you are now bickering over where to have breakfast. A smirk teases at her lips.

She puts down her hand, “Alright then… but like I said — it’s your funeral, Sanji.”

Over in the corner, there’s the dull scrape of chair legs as you push yourself away from the table to fold your arms.

“— Belgian waffles are absolutely an acceptable meal for breakfast!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, though there’s still an amused spark behind his eyes.

“Breakfast without eggs ain’t real breakfast. And doesn’t count if it’s smothered in syrup either.”

You make an indignant noise, frowning even as Zoro tugs you back to press a napkin to your upper lip, where there’s a faint line of whipped cream residue.

Sanji backpedals immediately, “Uh — right so, I feel like we need to define what really constitutes a ‘fight’, yeah?”

Nami tuts, shaking her head, “Nope! A bet’s a bet. Now pay up.”

feedback always welcome :) reqs are closed.

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mooishbeam · 10 months

Text

『♡』 Besotted

♡ featuring: yandere!ajax x f!reader

♡ summary: the love of your life knows you without asking, selfless and caring. however, you're slowly starting to realize the man you loved was a mask of the truth hiding underneath. wc: 12.5k+

♡ cw/tw: modern au, mentions of violence/blood, mentions of suicide, stalking, obsession, possessiveness, manipulation, rough sex, sideways sex, cockwarming, mating press, cunnilingus, drugging, overstimulation, praise, pet names (lots of them tbh)

notes: im so sorry i know it took me a long time but my time has been consumed by exams and its finals week soon so ahhhh. it's going to take me a little longer than usual until my semester is over, forgive me!! art by jam8366_dday on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

“Caramel macchiato for… Katheryne?” Your quiet voice deadens among the bustling crowd of businessmen, secretaries, and construction workers alike conversing through their morning wake-up. It’s incomparable to the serene appeal of a corner coffee shop—piled high with board games and books, the nooks and crannies decorated with some sort of trinket or knickknack you collected along the way, baubles that brought you joy and spread some to anyone that entered the cozy hole in the wall—“The Mad Hatter”. People are free to add stickers to the cash register, so convoluted with color similar to graffiti, including the pink-hatted cat Lyney glued to the top. Coffee tables share space with buoyant sofas, opposite of the display case viewing a multitude of extra sweet desserts and breakfast sandwiches. At night, the fairy lights bordering the wide veiled windows glimmered a dim hue that made feathery snow sparkle like stars during winter. You set the coffee under warm lights dotting the ceiling, emanating above the wooden interior. No one is finicky for your tastes; you are happy to see the familiar cheerful or grumpy faces entering the shop. You remember names, faces, and minute personal details they’d forgotten they shared over a steaming cup of latte left to warm because the art was too pretty to drink. They’re busy, but patient; they've acquainted you long enough to not be angry at the wait, and most times come to your defense against unruly customers.

It's the worst—or for you, the best—in the afternoons, swarming crowds waiting for an afternoon pick-me-up. You and Lyney work to the best of your ability, serving up group orders with a quickness unparalleled by nearby chain coffeehouse’s. You regard it as your passion, although your parents were disappointed when you told them you and Lyney would be buying and renovating an abandoned property states over all for coffee; your delectable drinks have the potential to form long lasting relationships between you and other customers, and there’s a certain creative merit you relish whenever a guest takes pictures of the swan-like artistry foaming on the surface. The taste of bitter beans sparks moments of merriment, longing, and love—in some cases, it’s the best form of intimacy.

Your best memories live in this shop; the ground powder that scattered everywhere and painted Lyney like a chocolate sculpture when he tried to push the inventory to the highest shelf or staying up after close in the middle of a blizzard to make flimsy homemade decorations for the grand opening with help from Lynette.

It’s extra special that the very place you stand is where you found the love of your life. You met him at the register, loose curls dipped in autumn tones spilling over his long lashes. The void in his eyes motionless like the ocean before a low tide. You both stared at each other for a moment, taking in the lines and details of your flustering faces. You must’ve been staring for too long, as Lyney tapped your shoulder with a side eye that alerted you to the awkward silence and line heading out the door. You fumbled for apologies and took his order; the ginger boy chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck—Ajax—such a rugged name for a pretty guy. You prepared the Frappuccino with a drizzle of affection bespoken for him. When you gave him the drink, his hand grazed against yours, a kiss without lips. It left you breathless, and with an airy coyness he said, “I didn’t get your name?” You told him, and he tried out the sound on his tongue. You wished he’d say it over and over. With a rosy wash across his cheeks, “A fitting name for your beauty. Have a good day, (Y/N)” was all he said before he walked away, leaving you stunned and smitten. Lyney was the unfortunate victim that dealt with your wearisome fantasizing about Ajax.

But Ajax already knew your name. And address, and friends.

How could he not? When he saw you hanging lights in the windows on a particularly sunny morning that made your glowing face shine with pure radiance unrivaled by deities, he sunk endlessly. He vowed to walk at a distance at that same time every day to ogle your lustrous hair, your soft skin that didn’t break a sweat, the curve of your lips. You soon became an itch he couldn’t scratch, a plaguing thought that wiggled in the wrinkles of his brain and made it hard to sleep or work. You, you, you. Is your laugh a heavy snort or more lighthearted, do you have the same sense of humor as him? You’ll like what he likes, think what he thinks.

You were constantly on his mind, he wondered if you were eating when he ate or how good you were sleeping as he drifted off to his. It’s not his fault that he snapped discrete pictures of your smiling face, you were too adorable to ignore. He valued coming home to kneel at the little shrine he made of your printed gaiety, surrounded by consistently fresh roses and citrus candles he thought you’d smell like. If he stood close enough, it was like you were right in front of him. The apron tied around your waist was a vibrant crimson—his favorite color. It's fate, the way the stars aligned and sent angels down to bless you with a pinafore of his approval. You had to know he was out there; he was already imagining returning to a cheerful home, and your swaying hips as you whipped up a glacé delight. He’d kiss you on the cheek, and you’d pop a tart blueberry in his mouth. Yes—it had to be this way, it must be what you wanted, too.

Ajax coincidentally found himself rummaging through trash cans in the vicinity for an inkling of receipts from the shop. He stumbled upon it, of course—it’s not like he waited out until nightfall right before garbage day to have the highest chances of finding identification. The jagged fragment of a receipt led to your family, social media, and blogs you dedicated to your baking progress. And he’d monitor the sites on different screens with multiple tabs, an infatuated glaze over those dull eyes that kept him glued to the updates for hours. He made many accounts, liking your posts fervently with flimsy justifications of encouragement. You became reachable day by day.

The day Ajax decided to pursue you upfront, it was a dream he hoped never to wake. He’d rehearsed it obsessively until the moment he stood in front of the glass door, a tremble in his restless legs at the thought of looking ridiculous. Seeing you up close felt like a special occasion. His heart was beating off-kilter in his quaking chest, as if jumping free fall out of a plane, and he held his breath until it opened. The confidence he mustered up before he got to the register did little to suppress the giddiness rolling in his veins. His pulse paced the closer he got. Two more orders and there you were; the center of his universe, and you didn’t know it yet. Pictures didn’t do you justice—no, he needed to see your grace preserved in museums depicted in rich Renaissance paintings onlookers could only fantasize holding or loving, but you’d be for him, and him alone. He drew a blank. “May I get your name for the order?” His eyes flickered with a brand-new luster, it melded certainty and delusion.

She wants...my name.

My name.

The sweet harmony of your words lulled Ajax to an addicting turbid spiral that swept fondness through the tempest and scattered infatuation in its aftermath. A feeling too tenacious, it must be love. The incessant burn urged him to protect and guide you to him. You need him. Now he watched compulsively with a winded jaw, your smile to other men who couldn't compare to his devotion. They don’t know you like he does. He could map out the corners of your house from the slim backgrounds of your blog posts or name every club you’ve participated in since middle school. Hunger spread where his fists craved contact, like sunfire corroding the taught skin on his knuckles. They’ve breathed your air and existed in your presence. It’s undeserved, they’re unworthy.

How fucking dare they.

How lost you must be without him, led astray by intruding greed; he selflessly assumed his responsibility. You are his, after all. So, he stalked behind cars shadowed by harsh streetlamps to ensure you got home safe and intercepted your packages to check for threatening substances. The accomplishment he felt whenever he completed his—in his words, “duties”—instilled exultation beyond any memory. Within the envelopes, he’d leave an elegant note embellished with hearts hinting at his infatuation and the care he put in to maintain your safety. One letter turned to two, then five, to the point where you’d receive a sleeve stuffed with increasingly unhinged letters from your secret admirer that fanned out when you tipped it.

On Christmas Eve, a limitless cloak of frozen stardust decided to flurry right before your shift ended. You covered Lyney’s shift so he’d have time to spend with Lynette and Freminent; it wasn’t like you had anything to do afterwards. You counted the flakes of the storm through frosted glass, thinking about the wellbeing of your family back home. Mailed gifts couldn't console the grief you felt during the holidays. A knock on the door turned your attention to the silhouette of a man wearing a slouched beanie with a pompom on top. You unlocked the door, and it swung open from the whirling heft of wind and smattered white across the wood from empty streets.

“Sorry, we just closed-” You looked up, no time to register the freckled face from months ago, that stole your heart with a smile. Icy grains kissed his cheeks, as red as apples, and fused to the wool scarf draped around his trench coat. “Oh! Hello, again.” You tried to play it off, but the crack in your voice teetered. You were suddenly nervous. Ajax grinned hard and shuffled slightly inwards to escape the chill.

“Hi (Y/N)! I was really hoping you weren’t closed, it’s a good day to grab a hot chocolate, y’know?”

“It is. You’re probably freezing, please come in.” You should’ve been home by now, but for Ajax, you could spare a few minutes. He unraveled his winter attire to reveal a tightly fitted turtleneck and took a seat at the chair closest to you. You wrap around the counter and start the kettle, struggling with what to do next at the gaze gripping your mind. “One hot chocolate, coming up.”

“How much I owe ya?” he chirped, arms resting on the table while he watched you grab two mugs. “No worries, it’s on the house. Consider it your Christmas present.”

“I appreciate that, thank you. You really are kind...Lyney left you by yourself tonight?” You wondered how he knew Lyney’s name when they hadn’t met, but quickly brushed it off.

“Yeah, I wanted him to spend time with his family.”

“And you don’t have any here?” You didn’t retain your usual weariness towards acquaintances. On this lonely night Ajax didn’t feel like much of a stranger.

“Nah, moved away to start this.” Your hands gestured to the quaint interior. Ajax scanned his surroundings, marveling at the scenery before he spoke. “What you’ve done with this, it’s lovely. Your ambition and dedication are apparent from the way you treat the customers, I can tell you’re passionate about what you do.” Your body flared like summer and succeeded in hushing the breeze. You poured a cup full of thick cocoa and plopped a dollop of whipped cream on both. “It’s not much, but-” the mugs settled on the table, and you sat across from him. “It smells amazing, (Y/N). You’re an expert at this” he interrupted. You traced the rim with your finger and rested your head on the other hand.

“Thanks...I assume you don’t have family here, either? Think you’d be ripping open gifts by now if you did.” He took another sip. “Yup, they live in a different country. I should visit them soon” he sighed and glanced at the jumbled wool scarf. “Did a sibling make that for you?” you asked.

“Yeah, my sister. A parting gift.”

“It’s beautiful, she’s very talented” you remarked, admiring the delicate fleece. The bittersweet smile in response stuck to your heartstrings. “She is.”

You both drank in silence and occasionally met each other's eyes, only to turn away. Something unsaid hung in the air. "Winter has a way of making us reminisce. It’s so depressing” you confided. You hadn’t told Lyney, but you were terribly lonely these past months. You replaced your emotions with extra shifts, but they came crashing down in the darkness of your bedroom. Ajax gazed at you like he could see through you.

“The sky appears magnificent under the snow's embrace. Its purity is like the moon's gentle radiance. I don’t think there’s anything like a world covered in snow" he soothed. His words flustered you, and you homed in on the white trails dancing in your lukewarm cup.

“I’ve never thought of it like that. I used to hate snow. It feels...intruding, I guess.”

“But if we don’t allow ourselves to be intruded, how will we love?” he blurted. It was comforting to hear in the moment, and you returned his smile.

“Is the hot chocolate good?” you asked.

“It’s perfect.... you’re perfect.” You chuckled at the notion, mistaking it for pity. “I’m not perfect.”

“But you are. The way you carry yourself, your intelligence, your courtesy. You’re flawless, gorgeous inside and out and you don’t even notice.” The way Ajax looked at you, on the verge of his seat and studying your face, lips, and hair. You couldn’t deny the flattery that drowned you and dragged you the more he persisted. “How would you know from one encounter?” His mouth fixed to say it, the truth, but he tight-lipped and reached into his coat pocket instead. He grabbed a blue velvet box and slid it to you.

“I wanted to give you this. Ever since I saw you.” It felt expensive under your fingertips. You unclasped the front, and it opened to a twinkling pendant. It was a cable chain dangling an oval sapphire gem, with 18 karat white-gold halo sunbursts surrounding it. It’s breathtaking, as if stolen from the tomb of a goddess.

“Wow, this is...stunning. Ajax, I can’t accept this; it’s too much” you pressured. You’ve never received a gift of this caliber from anyone, it didn’t feel right to look at it.

“Consider it your Christmas present” he repeated. You shook your head and held up the box to hand it back to him. “I can’t, I shouldn’t-”

“Please” he pleaded. He clasped your hands, a reassuring thumb gently caressing yours. You were so focused on its extravagance that you didn’t notice the note stuck to the roof of the box. Refined script dotted with hearts; the same style as the hundreds in your closet. Your mouth gaped.

“This letter...you...have you been the one sending me all those love letters?” You should've had your suspicions, or the urge to back away, but you weren’t afraid. You tried to string together his ability to find your address or mail, or how he knew Lyney, but your brain couldn’t clear the fog of feeling loved after so many years. It’s a warm hug to the blood that instinctively ran cold. Your heartbeat’s fast, half with anxiety and the other with desire.

Ajax solemnly hung his head and retracted his hands. He fidgeted with his thumbs. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you, I thought about being upfront, but I was so scared of your response and I didn’t want you to hate me, so I thought maybe if I sent them anonymously you could start liking the person behind it or if I played my cards right you’d find out who it was...but that doesn’t make any sense now that I’m thinking about it, I just wanted to be near you. You’re so amazing and smart and beautiful, I just...s-sorry…I’m rambling. I hope you can understand; I-I didn’t mean to harm I just want to make sure you’re safe” he choked. The strained words tumbled over one another and broke in places, where they traveled off at the end. Ajax averted your eyes, pools of tears threatening to fall from the corners. The sudden mood change took you off guard, and you reached for his guilty hands. You were on the verge of divulging your entirety for him, be it the isolation of the big city or lack of attention. He didn’t seem like a bad guy; he might have been misguided. What’s the harm in giving him a chance?

“It’s okay, Ajax. I’m not upset, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered” you giggled. “The letters are sweet, I read all of them. They make me feel a little better about living in a shithole apartment. Thank you.” He looked at you, bottomless intensity searching for more. “I’m interested in you, too” you added.

“Then you’ll be my girlfriend?” It was phrased as a question but arrived as a proclamation. “...I would love that.”

Ajax moved around the table. You rose to wrap your arms around his neck while he squeezed your waist with his head lying on your shoulder. The duping tears vanished like they didn’t exist, and his shameful expression morphed into a conniving smirk stretching unnaturally in his triumph. Your authentic touch, the smell of perfume wafting in his nose. It’s not citrus, but it’s you. You, everything is you. This is how things were meant to be. His eyes curved like arches from sheer elation, biting his lip to stifle the cackle. You’re together, at last.

The snow stopped some time ago, but the blizzard was just beginning.

Your relationship with Ajax progressed fast after that day. A weariness dulled within you after you came to your senses from your prior confession, and you weren’t sure about the stability of his neurotic nature. However, when Ajax showed up with a bouquet of the loveliest flowers you’ve ever laid eyes on during an exhausting shift, it shined above all else. He showers you with consistent love and attention and worships the ground you walk on with doting devotion. He's clingy and somewhat suffocating, but his sick adoration blesses you with rose-colored glasses; you’re divinity on a golden pedestal in his eyes, and if he fell hard, you fell harder. The considerate, caring, good listener he is makes the small hiccups go over your head. In the first few months you were unequivocally enamored, the kind that tied your universe to his. You patter about him to Lynette, who gives you half-concerned approval at the story of how you met and the “little things” you cherish.

Like when he allowed you to move in without a second thought. The paint chipped around dodgy windowsills and fraying carpets, and your landlord wouldn’t pay for the fixes. Unfortunately, you needed a place to stay and couldn’t afford to speak up about the horrible conditions. You were used to your slumlord at that point, but the absence of working heat and busted appliances led you to the arms of your boyfriend, sobbing about the stress your landlord subjected you to. He scooped you like fragile glass as you faltered through shaky breaths grating your lungs and hushed your distress. Kissing your head, he rubbed your back and mumbled into your hair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it...I’ll take care of everything.”

A week later you’d found out that your landlord died from a gruesome suicide, and all tenants had to leave the auctioned duplex. Ajax took you in, and you began adapting to his midtown townhouse. Though you felt like a mooch at first, the welcoming interior had you snuggling between his downy bedding in no time. He shouldered your burden, accepted your genuine self and lavished generous replacements of the items you couldn’t carry. You don’t lift a finger around him, and he readily cooks and cleans for your comfort.

You’ve gotten accustomed to his presence. When you wake, he’s either watching you sleep silently or preparing food for you to take to work. Ajax follows you around like an obedient pet, smoothing your hair and highlighting how beautiful you look in your rough post-morning wake-up state. He’ll try to kiss you before toothpaste, and you playfully mush his disappointed face off to get dressed. He compensates by kissing in other places, your clothed knee as he ties your shoes or your hands when they interlock. Prior to departing, he attaches that sapphire elegance to your neck. You grab your tidy lunchbox and stroll together in the early hours of the morning for your opening shift. “Have a good day, baby” he says, and places sugary smooches from your lips to your forehead and back again. You’d stand there forever, embracing his warmth if your alarm didn’t notify you to start prepping.

When Ajax isn’t around, and you’re busy piping frosting onto cakes, there’s a profound hole in your happiness that can’t be filled with buttercream. The way his nose scrunches when he laughs hard, and those hot honey strands tickling your cheeks when you sleep because his face is directly on top of yours make you crave his sight and touch. Sometimes you ponder what you’ve done to deserve someone so over the moon for you. Hell, you’d give him the moon if that’s what he wanted; it’d barely cover a fraction of the benevolence he’s evinced. For now, you blink distraction away, and there's spread sloppily piled over the cakes and countertop. You simper to yourself; such a handsome, tender handful.

Your daydreams carry you through close, and you and Lyney remain as you wipe down tacky tables with rags lathered in disinfectant. You’re circling surfaces with vigor, quick to move to the next. You hear him laugh from another table. “Okay, speed cleaner. Missing your house husband?” he teases. You roll your eyes and pretend to throw the rag at him. “Hurry up, I wanna go home.” He fake cowers and throws his hands up in surrender. “Yes ma’am. Don’t waste all your strength, Lynette will be upset if you can’t dance with her tomorrow.”

“I’m not some old woman, Lyn. I can party.” You force away the memory of sleeping on Lyney’s shoulder in the lounge area of a booming club.

“Sure, grandma. Don’t forget your cane when I pick you up” he jokes. You chortle, and actually throw the rag this time. Too bad his agile form dodges it. “I gotta let Ajax know.”

“...Right.” Lyney loses momentum and stares at the steaming bucket for a pregnant pause, stirring the rag to buy time. You glance towards him, and he shifts a peccant look. You turn on your heels and lean on the back of a chair.

“Spill it” you demand.

“Spill what?”

“What you actually wanna say.” Lyney bites the inside of his cheek to physically restrain the itch that vents brutal honesty. “I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say.”

You narrow your brows and sigh in disbelief. “So what? We’ve been friends since high school, just tell me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and gulps a deep breath. “Lyney.”

“It’s about Ajax” he exhales. “Oh.”

“I’m worried about you.” You weren’t expecting the serious air, it sounds like an intervention. It's unnatural coming from your easygoing friend.

“Really? Why?” you question. He blinks for a few moments, dumbfounded at the innocent audacity, or willful ignorance.

“Some of the stuff you say about him...it creeps me out. How is it not creeping you out?” he stresses, gawking at the exorbitant gem.

“Hmm, I’m not sure what you mean.” To you, Ajax isn’t the scary type. Mysterious maybe, but his affection prevents you from seeing him as anything but the missing half of your soul.

“Okay. You don’t remember telling me how he kept that rotting coffee cup from when you guys first met? Or how he watches you sleep? He made your favorite meal first try and called it a ‘lucky guess?’” The more he goes on, the more disbelieved he becomes.

“I think it’s romantic” you chide. He expels his frustration.

“(Y/N), I'm not saying any of this to be a hater, but all of this is unhealthy. Unhealthy might be an understatement. I mean, the man acts like he can't live without you. What if you were to break up, can you be sure he won't lose his fucking mind?” The hypothetical calamity of separation sinks seeds in puddles of doubt. It’s not possible.

“We love each other. That won’t happen.”

“It’s been over a year, and you know nothing about him. He comes out of nowhere, sweeps you off your feet, love bombs you, and you take it at face value. Maybe he truly is the one and it’s love at first sight, but this whole situation is...odd. I care about you, (Y/N), and this guy scares me. He’s hiding something.” You attempt to formulate a fact you’ve learned about him, a detail to prove how close you’ve gotten, and come to realize there’s none in your reservoir. You know naught of his friends or family or wealth. Ajax tells you safe verities, like his favorite food and hobby. You don’t thirst for personal space or secrets when it comes to Ajax, and the stygian plunge in his eyes gives you no hints, but you believe the pleasing words that escape his lips either way.

You glance at the empty Tupperware on the counter, that was once packed with a hefty sandwich and strawberries carved into hearts. He's effortlessly adorable, a small berry-stained note with a simple phrase: "you'll do great today <3". Your dream man, he wouldn't hide things from you, you won’t fathom the thought. “I-”

Ding

That dazzling toothy gapped grin spreads warmth across your chest and the room instantly feels a bit brighter. Ajax saunters like he owns the place, engulfing your frame in his stature and placing a kiss on your head. Lyney freezes though Ajax ignored his existence. “I’m getting ready to leave” you muffle into the musky denim jacket. He nods, but his action won’t follow his hands sturdy on your waist as you shimmy out. You make haste to the back room, past the pantry dry goods and collect your sweater and bag.

You’re about to push open the swinging door when you pause, catching a glimpse of Ajax and Lyney through the oval window. They don’t normally interact in the same space, and you thought it best to respect their boundaries. Ajax is turned away from you, but you can see Lyney clear as day, a stone solid unease skipping on his skin that makes calculated breaths too obvious. It’s silent enough to hear a pin drop. His arms are stuck to the sides, and you observe the apron jumbled in his clutches shaking ever so slightly. He’s trained to the hickory grain of the floor, and from a small portion of Ajax’s visible face, it’s a dreadful expression unbeknownst to you.

There’s an almost tenebrous loom towering over Lyney, and you feel an alarming shiver settle in your lower spine. Were his eyes normally this gloomy? Your heart rate palpitates when it shouldn’t. You want to look away from the swirling dark depths possessing your soulmate, shooting daggers at your friend. His jaw is clenched to popping, veins on his neck and hands chasing bone. He has a lethal grip on Lyney’s shoulder, and the rough tension pulls at the wrinkling undershirt. But he sneers—a twisted, coiling kind that doesn’t match his glare—an impersonation of affability.

“Ajax” you mutter softly as you sway the door. He turns sharply, and it’s like a flipped switch. The rage decays to ash swiftly and he’s yours again, your adoring admirer. “I'm ready.” He waits for your approach and tangles your hands. You make your way out, freeing Lyney from capitivity. He holds the door open for you to leave, and you shout “Bye, Lyn! I’ll see you tomorrow.” A shell-shocked cast on his face, he doesn’t say a word.

You sit at the dining table, feeling disconnected from reality while the kitchen rises with a clatter of pans and glass. You scroll through posts on your phone and occasionally peek over at the corridor to watch Ajax work. His passion shows when he cooks, rocking the skillet to upturn the veggies sizzling within. His broad back flexes with skillful movements, and he looks at you, winking with a teasing pucker on his glossy lips. You giggle. I was just imagining things.

He slides the plates on the table and sits across from you. Ajax sits like a giddy child waiting for you to try their creation, and you take the first bite. The bountiful flavor dances on your tongue. “It’s really good!” you muffle through bites. A tinge of pink sets on his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.”

You chew haphazardly out of focus. You can’t help but notice how quiet your phone has been since you’ve moved in, it feels foreign in your possession. Not a single call from your friends came through, forgotten and invisible. You contemplate apologizing to Lyney tomorrow, it was wrong to get defensive towards compassion. Ajax interrupts his eating to track your fork picking at the meal.

“You okay, sweetheart? You aren’t eating.”

You awake from your trance. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Just feels kinda off.” Ajax’s back straightens, and he tenses throughout at a semblance of negative diction. “What does? The food? I’ll remake it” he stumbles.

“No no, the food is great. It’s, I don’t know. I haven’t got a call from Tiggy in a while.” The corners of Ajax’s mouth contort.

“Really...I heard he’s been hangin’ out with some new people.” His tone is dry, it strives to be nonchalant. His elbows rest on the table, and he carves his knife into bloody steak like struggling living bone.

“So, I guess that means he can’t message me anymore, huh” you chuckle. He twists the knife deeper, as if it’s digging in his back. “He’s just a bad friend honestly. Not consistent, you even said he missed your birthday last year. Who needs a friend like that?”

“I guess.” Meanwhile, you flip through your contacts searching for Tighnari’s name; come to find out he’s nowhere in your phone. In fact, a lot of messages and numbers seemed to have dwindled over time. Your own parents, vanished. Perhaps you were so overworked you’d forgotten they deleted. You start scouring for his profile, but it doesn’t come up. You can’t imagine Tighnari wiping out his entire presence, and it’s not just him. Outside him are the piles of male friends you seldom locate, and you become flustered at your blindness. You look at Ajax, and his eyebrows quirk up to inquire about your confusion.

“That’s so weird. I should try calling him-”

“Don't.” It’s not suggestive, its one note, stern demand. It rings in your ears, and when that mask slips for a terrifying moment, you hold your breath until it recurs. “’S not that I don’t want you to, honey. He clearly doesn’t care in the first place, that’s not a sign of a good friend. I’m just trying to help; you know I always have ou- your best interest.” There’s an unrelenting pit in your stomach telling you it’s wrong. “You seem tense since we left, Ajax. Are you alright?” He stops, it leaves you on edge when a formidable shadow casts over his eyes from his bangs that make them look as endless as the bottom of the sea.

“I feel like...you’re straying away from me. You’re becoming more secretive. Have I done something to violate your trust?” You don’t consider how Ajax knew Tighnari, let alone how he’d find the password to your phone. It was your fault, it had to be. The solemn quiver of his lips clears your suspicion. You’d forget it all to see him happy again. You stand and sway to his side of the table, sitting on his lap to take his face in your hands. “Not at all, babe. My phone’s been acting up, I didn’t mean to accuse you. I just asked because you and Lyney looked high-strung. ‘M sorry.” You kiss him softly with reassurance, and he melts in your touch. The foggy residue shows on his blushing face, and you introduce another to his cheek. “I’m going to a party with Lyney and Lynette tomorrow, so I wanted to see if Tiggy would come.”

“Ah...okay. Don’t worry, darling, it was a short conversation.” Vague and unassuming, but it didn’t matter now. Ajax can’t deceive you.

The state you drifted off—lying on Ajax’s chest with his arms embracing your lax figure—is not how you awake. A piercing scream rises, and you jump out of bed in a drowsy stupor. “Ajax?” you addle. Metal clangs to the floor, and the sheets hang low on your hips before you dart down the stairs and through the dining room to discover the cause of the noise.

He’s kneeling on the kitchen tile, compressing his forearm. Vermillion overflows between his fingers and palm and spatters his shirt. The knife, along with a clumsily chopped apple, is muddy with blood. “Oh my god!” You sprint for a towel and first aid kit crammed underneath the kitchen sink. When you return, Ajax is hissing from the sting, salty tears smeared on his eyelashes. You accompany him on the floor, ignoring the crime scene peppering the cabinets and gently glide his hands to get free view of the wound. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, now that you’re here.” It’s a nasty cut, not a gash but painful, nonetheless. You bring him to wash the excess blood, and pat it dry carefully. The fizz from disinfectant makes his arm jolt, but you hold him steady to apply. As you bandage his arm, he blinks away the twinge.

“I’m sorry, baby. You have work in a few minutes, and you’re here taking care of me. Go ahead and get ready, I’ll do it.”

“No way in hell am I leaving you like this. Don’t apologize” you insist, the end of your wrap stuffed to secure. You can’t conceive clocking in or partying tonight while Ajax suffers at home. “I’m gonna call out for a couple days so I know you’re well. Relax, I’ll be right back, okay?” He nods, and you rush to the bedroom to retrieve your phone. Ajax wipes his face on his sleeve, streaking insincere sorrow near the serpentine smirk.

You spent the day cleaning the home, wiping the kitchen top to bottom and making dinner for Ajax. He rests in bed, and you often check in on him. Treating him like an intensive care patient might’ve been excessive, but he accepts your gentle touch and hand fed meals nursing him back to health. You’re lying in bed with him, and the load of his brawny chest forces yours into the mattress with your legs on either side. You massage the pads of your fingers into his scalp, and your breathing weighted blanket emits a groan. Dazed and fully lax, lulling from the rise and fall of your chest.

The second day is the same, but the lack of pressure divides your dreary lids. It’s midnight, and it casts a fluorescent glow that permeates the room. You feel your way from walls to banister, and as you’re about to step down the stairs to get water, you pause before the living room. Crouched, peeking through the bars of the banister, you see Ajax on the couch in absolute quiet. Shade stands in place of his facial features, obscured besides the hazy veneer in his iris that bores into the journal in front of him. The collage catches moonbeams on the coffee table, crowded with tiny notes that peak out the uniform pages, and polaroid pictures glued to each sheet, stacked so thick it can’t close. He uses the pen you thought you’d lost moving in, running his tongue over the older bite marks on its base. Squinting your eyes fails at registering the specifics.

You suck in a breath and take another step, hoping the unreliable foundation won’t give way to whining wood. He skims across the words as if they’re memorized, and crows to himself. Eeeeir. It conforms, and the minute you press into it and that haunting sound whispers through the house, Ajax cracks his neck to your position. You stiffen, a deer in headlights. He puts down the pen.

“Oh, darling. I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he coos. You shoot to a stand, and Ajax meets you at the bottom of the staircase. “I-I just wanna get some water.” You feel meek and small, fairly avoiding his gaze. He enfolds your jaw with his bad arm like it doesn’t hurt, and pecks you on your forehead, light with anxious sweat. “I can get that for you, dear.” Before he can go, you interrupt.

“Ajax.”

“Hm?”

“The book over there, did you make it?” He alternates between you and the book and glisters his pearly whites. He delicately hauls it to you, “I was going to wait for it to be done, but you can read it now if you want.” You hesitate. You aren’t sure if you want to read it. Regardless, you ferry it in your arms, hefty despite being incomplete.

You unfurl the cover.

Page after page, your pulse pumps sonorously in your ears, uncontrollable where goosebumps surge through ebbing limbs. Without a doubt, you’re frightened. Aghast, gaping mouth with eyes the size of dinner plates. Dating from your first encounter, poems and chaotic paragraphs of infatuation. Your sleeping silhouette, columns of reverence, strands of your hair taped like art—pictures of you you’ve never seen taken behind cars and lamp posts.

The lengthy muddled captions emphasize how beautiful you are, how gracious you must be, because he hadn’t met you yet. On top of it all, written repeatedly in red and smothered in hearts, “I love you (Y/N)”. You don’t want to hold it. It’s broiling on your palms; you want it thrown in fire and scorched to shriveling. It almost reads as a manifesto, with jumbled threats sprinkled above overriding ink. Brutal crimes he’d commit if you were ever harmed, the gory actions he envisioned doing to your male customers. It’s incoherent and unorganized. The last page you flip to etches drought in your throat; A dried scrap of the towel you used to tend to his injury is taped inside. A new entry:

“ (Y/N) takes care of me! without her I am nothing my sun and star ♡ my blood and bone ♡ ♡ my goddess, my angel, the very essence of my existence ♡ ♡ my love is infinite and eternal you are destined to be mine ♡ ♡ forever, forever she is mine ”

You peek up from the book, not prepared to face the source. Ajax ogles you with heart eyes that can’t contemplate the absurdity. They surround you, limit you from speaking undulating panic. Part of you is fearful, the other reserves pure love you still have for him.

“Do you like it, honey?” No, you hate it. It’s scary and not the man you fell in love with. But those sonnets and odes dripping in honey—descriptions that trickle raw vulnerability and expose his truest intentions—are hard to detest when he treasures you earnestly. His expression, he’ll shatter to flecks if you devastate him. So, you scrape back the bile and oblige a strained smile.

“I love it, Ajax. Thank you.”

You’re excited to be at work, and relieved to see Lyney. His banter distracts you from the overbearing air at home. Ajax proceeds like nothing happened, or at least nothing for him. It’s fresh in your mind, torments your thoughts as you get ready for the day. His bare chest hugs you from behind while your brush your teeth and he trails groggy kisses from your shoulder to your jaw. It leaves heat on your ears, and dread in your stomach. The necklace going around you is a cage.

Closing arrives, and you start wrapping things up.

“Could you get the dark roast box?” Lyney asks from the bookshelf.

“Heard” you reply, strolling to storage to find that unnamed box squeezed beside larger product. Balancing the contents, you swing open the door, and let out a gasp to your shock.

“(Y/N)!” Hollers from the dining area. Collei, Tighnari, and astoundingly, Zhongli swarm near Lynette and Freminent. They’re removing their sweaters, but you don’t give Collei or Tighnari time before you charge at them with an immovable hug.

“Tiggy, Collei! Oh my god!” She welcomes your embrace, and you hear a labored sigh from Tighnari as he tries to pry your arms. “You might fracture my ribs if you keep hugging so tight.” Collei chuckles, and you break the reunion. “I missed you so much!” she bubbles, practically doing happy feet to exert her enthusiasm. You move to Zhongli and greet him with a lukewarm “Hello.”

Zhongli, your college boyfriend. The terms you ended on were neither good nor bad. He was a cold selfish player, who wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Unfortunately, he got clumsy with the surplus of women he juggled, and you found out you were a number among many. You shed misery in front of his dorm room, and he stilled a detached glare whilst you shouted through its paper-thin halls with unfiltered rage. It was one of the worst moments of your life. A couple years down the line, and you’ve learned to forgive him for his disrespectful, arrogant attitude.

“You look well” he charms with silky bass. “I am.”

The couple hours you spend catching up and playing board games goes fluently. Tighnari, Lynette, and Freminent rib about the rules they established mid-way through their card game, and you and Collei sit enchanted by the cozy villager simulation on her handheld console. One of her legs is on top of yours, and you’re leaning in her space. Zhongli can’t catch your sight, purposely projecting louder than usual as he enjoyed a drink made by Lyney.

“She’s so cute! What’s that one called?”

“Merengue, she’s my favorite.”

“Hope Merengue helps you with your PhD thesis” Tighnari intrudes, followed by an annoyed sigh at the “+2” card Freminent puts down.

“Ugh, don’t remind me!”

“I didn’t know you were going for a PhD, that’s great” you praise.

“I guess you wouldn’t know, since you don’t bother to call. Had to find out how you’re doing from Lyney” he jokes. You tilt your head. “Me? You have me blocked on everything.”

“You don’t come up for me either. I’ve tried calling you a few times, but it went to voicemail. I assumed you had a new phone” Collei supports. You reply with a dry chuckle, and navigate accounts you blocked, evidence they were restricted. It concludes with blank lists where their names should appear. Nothing, not even a way to add them again. This whole ordeal makes you feel like you’re going crazy. You feel bile filling the chambers of your throat, accompanied by a distinct unsettling swell on your temples. Collei notices your furrowed brows and rubs your back.

“Is everything alright?” Her voice is removed from static hammering your eardrums.

“Uh, y-yes. I need some water.” You move to the register, where Lyney is wiping down the counter. He slides you a water bottle from the mini fridge. “Don’t throw up, I just cleaned this.”

“I’ll do my best” you retort. He slants to you, whispering, “Sorry about Zhongli, they didn’t tell me he was tagging along.” You wave it off and take a swig.

“We gotta talk later. You were right...he’s hiding something.” He gives a comforting nod, and a slender hand enters your peripheral vision.

“You mind making another, Lyney?”

“God, you’re insatiable” he complains, and takes Zhongli’s cup for a refill.

“You both did an outstanding job with the café. It’s homely.” You snort, head resting on your hand. “Is that your way of saying it’s shit?”

Zhongli frowns, “I’m being serious, I’m proud of what you’ve done here.”

“Interesting. I’m surprised this isn’t a downgrade to you.”

“Anything you contribute to is an automatic upgrade.” That sad attempt at flirtation makes you scoff. “Guess your post-college affairs aren’t as frequent if you’re stooping this low.” Maybe you weren’t over it completely.

“How many times must I apologize?”

“Until you die.”

“I’m willing to do that, as many times as it takes.”

You huff, “It doesn’t matter, Zhongli. I’m in a relationship.”

“Are you happy?” You don’t have a quip for that question, and it rains on your emotions when you consider it. A flower struggles to bloom through intense downpours.

“Of course I am.” His smile is frail, and he places a mellow hand on your shoulder. “Then he has all he could ever ask for.”

The door abruptly opens. Collei’s holding it, and behind it, is Ajax. Dire tension hangs in the air, arid like the anticipation of disaster. Faint smirk and murky glower; the swirling spiral coaxes the same fear you felt last night, and the previous days. His face can’t decide what demeanor to convey, it forces gladness where darkness veils his stare. You tread away from Zhongli, praying he didn’t see the hand that was on you moments ago. Your friend's wave, but he doesn’t return the friendly gesture, instead firing a shaded cast of disgust. He saunters to you with wrenched posture, and each step makes your heart race.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t answer the phone. I was worried.” He guides you to him by your lower waist. Zhongli watches as Ajax kisses the corner of your mouth, and you beam from the one that tickles your nose. “’M sorry, not feeling so good.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d be at a party.”

“It was a surprise.”

“Ah, I see. These are your friends?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know.

“Yeah, from back home.”

“Hello” Zhongli chimes in, holding out his hand to shake. Ajax methodically turns his head to him. You swear you see a vein popping out of his forehead, a splitting stress on his teeth. “Who are you.”

“Zhongli, I’m an old friend of hers from college. We had a few classes together.”

“...Friend” he mocks with rictus, “I’ve never heard your name before.”

“Emphasis on '’old’. I figured I’d stop by since everyone else was here, it’d be a shame to waste such lovely weather-”

“You talk a lot” he states monotone. Zhongli sneers, “Some may say. I’m quite talkative during social gath-”

“So shut the fuck up.” The room hushes. You feel the witnesses shrinking themselves at the crushing tension.

“Excuse me?”

“Why were you touching her.” He’s jittery, suppressing the turbulent urge shredding through him.

“I didn’t realize she was your ‘property’” Zhongli scolds.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You put yourself between them, splaying your fingers across Ajax’s chest. His mood switches easily at your expecting gaze. “Ajax, baby, I’m tired. Can we go home now?” He pauses for a final glare at Zhongli.

“Of course. Let’s go.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and hold onto his arm as you storm out of the coffeehouse, no time for goodbyes from your friends. You center on leashing Ajax home. Blocks down, you hear the far-off patter of footsteps on stone getting louder. It’s too dinning to ignore, and as you turn around your free arm is snatched by Zhongli. You shriek, “(Y/N), wait, don’t go yet-”

Whack! His head flies back and pushes him off balance before his feet find stability. It happens so fast, and you look at Ajax, who has a most terrifying dusk pouring on his livid features. Blood gushes from Zhongli’s nose, but he straightens up tall with his fists held in front of him. Ajax cackles, and jabs between the fists that barely have time to block. His movements are fluid, swinging effortlessly after they fall to his sides. Zhongli paces back, and Ajax charges towards him with quick solid blows that make his loafers scratch on the pavement. He plants a mean gut punch to his torso, and Zhongli doubles over until Ajax punches him in the eye with steel knuckles. He collapses, but his fighting hands linger, any chance to defend himself against your merciless boyfriend. That is, until Ajax sits above him, and begins beating him to a pulp.

Whack! Whack! Whack! His hits are thundering and vicious, tracking blood to his skin from the momentum. You feel lost to time, lost on what to do to save this situation. It sounds like bone swimming in curdling clots and makes you sick. You dive to Ajax, gone by the dead visage. You snake your arms around his waist.

“Ajax! Please stop!” you scream at the top of your lungs. It falls on deaf ears, but you continue to scream. You’re sobbing into his back and yelling to a hoarse end, when suddenly the punches stop. He gets off Zhongli mechanically and braces your faint legs to rise. It’d be wholesome if not for the blood splattering his hands. He notices your tears and wipes them away, streaking faint blood across your cheek. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m here now.”

The entire walk home, he’s silent. You hate it when he’s silent. There are cuts spread over his hands and blood steadily runs from the top lip to his swollen bottom lip. He stares off in the distance, concentrated on something—rage, anger—stirring in his cotton-filled brain. You can't read him, and you wonder if you ever had that privilege.

The pieces come together themselves in a puzzle you unconsciously rejected. You can’t recall the last time you spoke to your parents. His ability to know your favorite meals without talking or gifting you outstanding presents that surfaced memories you’d long forgotten. Collei, Tighnari, Lyney, it’s unmistakable. You beg to be naïve again, hopelessly in love and enraptured.

You’d rather keep your eyes shut. The sinister rampage spilling out of him is miles apart from the Ajax who serves you breakfast in bed every day and places soft kisses on your body from head to toe. Love is enough, and you know how much he does to show it. Was there another way? Is it your fault this happened? You can’t focus either or organize your jumbled thoughts, and find yourself searching for reassurance within him, any inkling of affection to prove he still loves you. When you sheepishly reach out to grab his wounded hand, he curls around it, and the thump in your heart reignites. A pulse loud enough to subside the dread clamoring in your feet, warning you to run.

You make it home, and Ajax goes to the kitchen sink to wash away his crimes. He watches red cyclone down the drain, and you lean on a counter close to him.

“Ajax?”

“Yea?” he chirps.

“Zhongli...will he be okay?” you meek.

“Mhm. I didn’t kill him.” The matter-of-fact reply renders a shudder in your bones.

“Is something wrong?” The kitchen is small, and from the way you’re standing you’ve closed yourself off to him.

“No baby, nothings….nothings wrong” he says, that convincing tone, smooth like satin.

“But I’m worried. You’ve never acted like this before, tell me what’s on your mind.” He shuts off the water, and the cylindrical pull seeps a guttural groan. He grips the granite, and even that seems to deform. He finally turns to you, a hurt expression colliding with fiendish somber eyes and taut lips.

“Am I not good enough for you?”

“You are more than enough” you hearten. Ajax rebuttals a bitter laugh and spouts the candor he’d been gnawing on.

“I tried. I tried ignoring your kindness. I tried being pitiful, hurting myself so that your eyes were only on me”, he creeps towards you, and your feet move on their own backpedaling. The echo of his self-inflicted scar produces beads of sweat, distracting so that the back of the wooden chair presses into your back and you almost topple over. Nowhere to go, and now he overshadows you with delicate fingertips slithering across your paling cheeks and behind your jaw, “but you’re surrounded by love. People love you.”

His words drag and descend further, “Ohh, and it’s not fair at all.”

“Why are they allowed your attention. It should be me. Only me. Don’t you want me?” Laced with love, but you can’t taste it. His dilated orbs ping-pong as they scan your face for confirmation. You bring your palms over his and muster fading courage in timid waves.

“I love you Ajax. So, so much. But the way you’re acting scares me. It’s my fault and I could’ve gone home, but I haven’t seen them in a long time. I didn’t think things would end up like this.” He pauses, and engulfs you in an ardent embrace, his hand on the back of your head and another on your lower back. Oh, sweetie muffles through strands of your hair as he sways your bodies. You’re mannequin-like in his stifling sight.

“Nononono, it’s not your fault honeypot. You’re too pure for this world, so kind without thinking. So perfect” he mumbles, absurd drivel seeping through the coherent parts in formidable notes—how he loves you, needs you, can’t live without you— “but they’re leeches. They try to taint you, show you horrible, disgusting things. That piece of shit was looking at me, he was asking for a fight. And he tried to put you in the middle. You could’ve gotten hurt, or God know what. I’ll protect you, my sweet, at any cost."

“Ajax, I don’t need your protection.” It’s silent, profound when he retracts. You forget how to breathe or talk as he slides to your shoulders and holds them in place. His voice lowers.

“You don’t need…me?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying-”

“So let me help, let me be yours” he pleads. You don’t respond—you can’t. Each explanation you formulate sticks to the roof of your mouth and swells like a spell drunk in your throat. Ajax tenses, clinging to your skin. He reflects on a thought, and it blooms with a twinkle.

“What if I just...lock you up?”

“...What?” you say, hardly above a whisper. It’s arid to swallow, and shivers ripple under sweltering heat prickling your limbs.

“I wouldn’t put you anywhere bad. It’d be a pretty place; I’ll take good care of you like I always do. Wouldn’t you like that?” He has a hopeful grin on his face, and when he lets you go for a second you jerk away from his reach. Your back hits the opposite wall, nauseous and lightheaded, shaking your head aggressively to push away the existence of the idea. He wrenches his neck, and you glimpse the deluded flush on his face. “No... I’m not gonna do that.”

“Ah, sweetheart, I know it sounds scary. Can we try it first?”

“You’re not gonna put me in some fucking cage like an animal” you assert. His eyebrows furrow, offended at your assumption that he’d trap you somewhere unpleasant.

“I’d never do that to you. I love you.” He inches towards you, and you inch farther. The keys are in front of him, you can’t leave on your own. The steps you take feel critical.

“Let’s sleep on it, we can discuss in the morning.” No. No no no no. You pan to the staircase, and Ajax curiously watches your paranoid glances. Before he can grab you, you sprint for the stairs. Wind travels in your ears and settles at your graceless movement catching hold of the banister, leverage used to leap. Adrenaline flows steadily in your veins, and your senses feel muddled to mush, focused on pushing your legs to proceed. There’s no room for thinking past the will of your body. You hear airy tsks coming from the dining room, and a singsong “Don’t make me chase you, baby.”

Suddenly, the creaking floorboards succeed at a roaring parade marching behind you. Closer and closer, a sound you didn’t know he possessed. You don’t dare turn around; the squeak waltzes with your deafening heartbeat. You change direction, making haste to the peaceful bedroom you share, now eroding under his hearty stomps. You clash with the door, and barge in. Slamming it shut, your shaky hands promptly lock the knob. Ajax stops in front of the door and lets his fingertips dance along the wood, “Open the door, please.”

The knob shakes aggressively, rattling in the socket and threatening to pop. It’s pulling against the edges of the door that rive at his harsh yanks. He perpetually pulls and twists it, “Darling, c’mon open the door, my sweet.” You’re sure if you don’t, he’ll axe his way through instead.

“Please let me in, baby. Please, I’m dying without you.”

“I don’t wanna fight anymore... please”, his tone barely lifts above the depth of wood, but you hear the faulty voice keeling in cracks. You know you shouldn’t open the door, but his sorrow beckons you as it often does. He wails so hopelessly, as if you’re punishing him for an unavoidable inevitable. It’s an innocent sob peerless to the ruthless violence he displayed hours before; the harrowing glare of the man you thought you knew was all too terrifying. But he’d never do that to you, would he? You’re his darling sweetheart, his infinity now and forever. You filled his divergent heart and sutured it anew. He needs you.

Though your hands fidget to stay at their sides from common sense tucked in a forgone crevice of your headache, you force your hand up, and turn the knob. Maybe you should’ve never let him into the shop on that cold night, instead bidding him farewell and trudging in the snow to your crumby apartment. You’d continue running the shop as usual with Lyney. Things would’ve been different, wouldn’t have been so complicated to cut loose from tangling lies knotting the more he consumed you.

But no, that couldn’t have happened. He would find you, it’s destiny that you’d never part. Stalking in bushes and narrow alleyways until the perfect moment he could walk towards you and catch your eye again, and you’d fall for another pass of courting words.

Ajax stands there with sparkling sadness streaming down his cheeks that mingle with his quivering lips. He drops to his knees instantly in prayer and looks up at you with doey puffy eye bags that nearly make you overlook everything, about Zhongli, about the red flags that grow green the more you squint. It’s just you and him, that’s all it had to be. In times like these you reminisce about the sweet boy you cuddled and confided in, and things feel as they were. The messy-haired Ajax you remember pulls your lower half close to him with large hands that latch onto your waist the more you adjust. His face is mushed to merging in your stomach, and he sighs heavily, taking in your scent like the last breath he’ll ever have. They snake around you, and you meet eyes again. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I love you angel. So much I’d rip my heart out and put it in your hands…. you control me” Desperation clings to Ajax, and you urge to console him. You intertwine your fingers through his hair.

“Ajax, this can’t happen again. Okay?” you caution, a warning dripping with compassion.

“Mhm. Okay.” Unexpected warmth blooms over his cold aura, but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. His hands travel the contours of your hips and thighs, occasionally squeezing with an appreciative huff. He parts your legs and dips to your inner thighs to mold the doughy fat as his lips traverse your lower abdomen, decorating it with wanton kisses. “Love you so much” he utters. His touch is impassioned and fluid, he softens underneath your bottom and circles his thumb like a masseur. Ajax takes his time navigating your sensitive points, and switches between fluffy and solid pressure that licks down your back. Skin to skin contact wasn’t enough, he wanted to crawl in your ribcage and live in your lungs so he could sense your steady breaths. He wanted to bask in your existence, feel the radiance of your touch and ethereal voice curl and melt into him, to make him nothing and all in your eyes.

Your digits tangle in his hair, and when he nips your tummy, you tug his scalp. “Fuck” Ajax groans, strained through his lips. The peachy wash draping his cheeks is cherubic, appeased by the rhythmic kneading. One hand slinks under your shirt and guides a fingertip vertically on your spine, the other sculpts your rear. It’s dizzying how easy it is for Ajax to captivate you, a trance that turns your knees to jelly and leaves you at his mercy. You ignored the impulse igniting your muscles to push him off. You want him closer, suffocating you so deep the clouds of his scent dismantle your fear. You take his chin and redirect his attention, and he waits for order like a loyal dog.

“Ajax.”

“Whatever you want, princess” he toys, that boyish simper releasing butterflies through your body.

“I want you.” He hoists you up without a word and carries you to the bed. He brings you down, a priceless vase above the pillowy cushioned bedding. “You comfortable?” You nod, blushing from the way Ajax gawks at your half-hiked shirt, and shorts hanging low on your hips. “Good.” He’s breathless, restraining his impulse to pounce and devour you. No matter how restive he was, Ajax usually prevented himself from indulging beyond your comfort; but tonight is different. It's starving while a succulent meal taunts you, only satiated by the sight of it. He hastily removes his shirt and pants, freckled muscles flexing as he discards them to the floor. It’s hard to avoid the growing spot staining his stretched white briefs. Spreading your legs, he crawls between them. He regards you for a second, but when you reach behind his head he plunges into a longing kiss.

A longing kiss followed by hungrier ones. It’s abruptly rough and needy against your bruising lips, some skimming the corner of your mouth and tracking to the main course. He frees you for a breather, but the space doesn’t subdue the dull ache thrumming in your core. His nose brushes against yours, and you pull his flyaways back to get the full scale of his feral demeanor, sweating and reddening in the unshakable heat.

You collide again, hands behind your head through the wild exchange. You can’t keep up; he bites your bottom lip and relieves it with the glide of his tongue. Your slow and steady lover begs for entry with a ravenous push, and you allow it to ruin you. The wet appendage invades your senses, explores your mouth in nonsensical shapes and withdraws with a filthy sound before returning. “So. Fucking. Good” he exhales through your intertwining tongues. You’re moaning into each other, lasting in the moment, forgetting everything. His hips start to grind against you, practically dry humping your clothed lower half. You wrap your legs around him and steer his twitching length to roll into you, nudging the inseam of your shorts to your neglected clit. He engulfs your moans, and retreats with strings of spit connecting your tumid lips.

Ajax descends to your neck, and places damp and eager kisses along it. You feel the piercing remnant of a bite accompanied by sucking. His fangs pinch and snag and make you whimper. A budding purple and blue blend blotches to your collarbone--draining you like a vampire. His hands stay busy committing your curves to memory in greedy gropes. Ajax doesn’t notice his low rambling, “yea, you’d never leave me, right? I’m all you need”, to “you're mine.” It’s overstimulating, and so is the hammering pulse in your clit.

Your abused neck is exposed to the delicious sweep of cold air, and he hurries to your shirt. In one swoop, it comes off with the impatient unclasp of your bra. He submerges a stiff peak in warmth while he works the other. His tongue swirls around the nipple, pushing in with a stiff tip and trading it for sucking. It elicits a moan where teeth graze and tweak the bud. “My pretty girl” he murmurs and delivers attention to the next. Ajax massages your spit-soaked tits firmly and diligently in fondling motions. His passion renders him shameless, and it encourages you to fold. You find yourself swerving your hips to his bulge to goad his thirst. He responds with languid nudging, and glances at the space inside your shorts, coated with slick film from your panties. Whine caught in his throat, he salivates and unconciously holds your legs apart. You impel him downwards, and he nuzzles the line to the hem of your shorts.

“Can I taste you, princess?” It had to be hypothetical, since he was already unbuttoning them with his teeth and tearing them off. “Please?” he pants, a half-lidded mess itching to immerse in your desire. Before you can answer, a rrrip shreds through the room; the culprit of your mangled underwear remains, and you shriek. “Ajax!” you scold, but he’s not bothered when he rips the rest of it to display your arousal. “I’ll get you new ones, I’ll buy you the whole store” he sighs, forcing your thighs rearwards with his hands. He angles himself like a sniper and submerses in your pussy.

Ajax doesn’t rush, he lazily trails his tongue around the outside and plays with the folds shlicking against him. He outlines the clit and meticulously weaves his skillful tongue, caring for the spots that make your back arch; paying special attention to your entrance, as he teasingly delves in just enough to coax a moan, then laps a flat tongue over your wetness. Ajax’s ministrations are torturous, rapturing all while ignoring your release. He parts the labia and plashes the juices covering his chin and glossy lips. Your heart is in your ears, winding and coiling at the flicks of his tongue, his fingertips forging red indents on your thighs. Ajax begins to rock himself into the mattress, a fleeting friction comforting his sore erection. His leisurely grinding matches the pace of his mouth making out with your pussy. Mmmf he groans, and the vibrations oscillate. He gently slurps your lips, gasping for another mouthful and lapping at your clit. Your back levitates, and you tug his scalp. It only earns another growl, and faster swipes over the sensitive bud.

“O-oh fuck” you moan, watching Ajax lose his composure and rut himself into the bed like an animal. He’s panting with a quiver, whimpering some rendition of your name until he sputters. He jolts from the material emptying his balls and soaking the sheets, but his energy doesn’t deplete—It seems to motivate him as he hoists you to his mouth. Ajax always prioritizes your pleasure, but it’s difficult to stop him once he’s invested. And he isn’t done feasting, sloppily eating you up with little concern for your fluttering senses. He rides out his orgasm and brings you to yours, and you hardly realize the intoxicating slide over your clit spelling his name. Ajax, Ajax, Ajax, marked into you; It brings you to a chant as you come undone. Ajax doesn’t waste a drop, avidly cleaning up the juices pulsating out. “Thank you, fuck, thank you so much” he whispers. He swills the bud, and you spasm and squirm from ecstasy in his iron grip. “Ajax, p-please.”

“I got you.” He gives one last French kiss before exiting tranquility. A combination of spit and arousal blankets his mouth, and he smiles like the happiest man alive. “You okay?” Not a thought in fruition, tender mellowness smothering you. You wince from the prolonged position, and he immediately puts you on your side.

“Need to feel you.” He wrings his underwear down, and reveals his pulsing shaft adorned with beads of come dribbling down the rosy pale tip. He’s above you, trapping one leg over his shoulder, and aligns himself with your sex. “Perfect tits, perfect pussy. You’re so beautiful, all for me.” The bulb slips in effortlessly, and he sighs at the muscle clenching around him. Each inch drives seamlessly into you, stretching your unadjusted frame. He lulls on your ankle, absorbed by the coziness enveloping the base until he bottoms out. Then it’s unmoving. Agonizing, even, the way you feel him twitch inside. “Y-you can move now.”

“Let’s just stay like this for a little.” He rubs your leg, savoring the serene patter of rain smacking the wide windows and toasty light dusting your dazed appearance. It’s intimate and placid minus the rise and fall of your bodies, and you’re surprisingly shy. You rush to cover your face, but Ajax grabs you. “Don't hide, pretty girl. You’re stunning” he flirts, kissing your hand.

“Do you love me?” His blinks are exaggerated, confused that you’d ask such an obvious question.

“Of course.”

“What do you love about us?” He brings your hand to his cheek. “You complete me. You’ve forgiven me, loved me, and accepted me for who I am. I can be open around you.” He kisses your wrist, silken as to quell the trivial thoughts resurfacing.

“I’ll love you until the end. I’ll find you in the next life and start all over, even when this universe collapses. I won’t let anyone get in our way, so love me forever.” Ajax pulls out to the tip, and you whine at the loss of wholeness. Then, he drives his sticky cock unhurriedly to the hilt. You mewl, and he palms your chest. “Shh, ‘s okay.” The milky translucent trail links you and erupts obscene syrupy noises. “What are you thinking for baby names?” You can’t focus, the swinging strokes graze your g-spot. You’d say anything to him at this point; you need him deeper. He casually thumbs your clit and continues at a sluggish tempo. “I really like the name Aleksei” In and out, veins embellishing your walls. You meet his thrusts and shudder, though he stops occasionally to redirect the sopping length.

“A-ahn, you’re so wet, it keeps slipping out” he moans. He picks up the speed, squelching stirring with whimpers. “I love you, honeypot. Sosososo fucking much, just wanna breed this pretty pussy every second of the day. Ah- you wanna be a mommy, yeah? We can have a big family, hah, just you me and the kids. Wouldn’t you like that, darling?” He’s drilling into you, stuffed to bursting. You feel yourself approaching and seize his wrist. “’M close!”

“Give it to me, fuck, please” Ajax whines, and you climax under him, juices saturating his balls. You don’t get time to recover; he fucks you through your orgasm. You’re reeling, clawing at his forearm when he puts you flat on your back. “Wanna come inside. Can I, please? I want it so bad” he pleads. He adjusts you to a mating press with brute force, and plummets inside.

It’s vicious, staggering plap’s and squelching audible from outside. The headboard bangs on the wall while he pummels your pussy. A sheen of lust shrouds his eyes, and his heavy balls smack against your ass as he wrecks you. More, more, more drowns him in senseless fucking, precome frothing at the base. You convulse around him, and he burrows full throttle. When his tongue finds yours, you interweave through the sloppy pumps. His balls tighten, and he chases his high frenetically bobbing. “O-oh, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.” Harsher, meaner strokes hit you quick, and Ajax melts into endless whimpers striking his climax. Ropes of thick white paint your insides, teeming to globs where they crowd your pussy and leak to your ass. Ajax bucks into you, and you milk him dry. The shakes eventually stop, and he goes limp on top of you. You feel him softening, his steady inhale. He smiles at you, showering you with affection you couldn’t resist.

“I should use the bathroom” you suggest, patting his back as a signal to get off. “Sure. Wait here, I’ll get you cleaned up.” He returns after an eternity, with cloudy water and a tepid towel.

“Here, drink this.” You take the cup and sip. Ajax tips it a bit, urging you to gulp. He wipes you down lovingly while you swallow the contents. He disregards your vulva, however, collecting the come on his fingers and pushing it in. Oddly, you’re leaden—insanely leaden, so much so that your head tilts to one side and threatens to give up entirely. Your knees are wobbly, and your bones are lost in a dreamlike state. Ajax passes the towel under your chest.

“You know, I didn’t feel bad about it, when I strung his guts across the wall. I only thought of you.”

No. It can’t be true.

You can’t scream or fight, and simply gape at the words hulking through your numbed rationale. The towel cools your sweat, but the fear persists.

“I met him behind your complex. He was bitching about rent, sleazy fucking scum. I asked him if you live there, and he went on a rant about it. Saying nasty stuff no one should ever say about you. I couldn't help it, (Y/N), I had to see his organs carved out of his body.” Your jackhammering heart doesn’t compare to your sloth behavior. You want to run, move in with your parents again and pretend; pretend like your life hasn’t been propelled into disarray, pretend that the ginger boy caressing your face didn’t butcher a man.

“Ajax, let me go” you cried, a teardrop coursing across your temple. He wipes it, “I’m not holding you, dear. You can’t stand on your own right now, but the effect will wear off after you sleep. Rest for now, okay sweetie?”

“What did you put...in my...” You’re swooning, ferried by the effect of the unknown medicine sprinkled in your cup. With no will to combat, your eyes reluctantly close. His pupils are desolate and obscure, the night of a severe blizzard.

“I’m sorry, but I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

tags: @zhochikennugget (if anyone else would like to be tagged, dm and i'll tag you on the next one :)

#genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin au #ajax smut #ajax x reader #tartaglia smut #tartaglia x reader #childe tartaglia ajax #childe smut #childe x reader #genshin impact #genshin tartagalia #i need ajax BAD #so sorry about the wait this time

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harryspet · 6 months

Note

I love rafe x reader x jj!

I had a similar idea to the previous anon, an AU where reader is Barry’s sister and in between Barry and Rafe’s schemes, Rafe and reader get friendly. And Barry tries to keep reader out of their business so she’s pretty sheltered and depends on them. And JJ is already dealing drugs with Rafe so he gets close to reader as well. And Barry gets arrested for selling drugs (or maybe Rafe and JJ framed him) and reader has no where else to go but to them! They take full advantage claiming Barry made lots of enemies (somewhat true) and reader must stay with them and never leave their side (not true) to be safe.

[warnings] dark!jj x reader x dark!rafe, reader is barry's sister, little editing 18+ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

a/n: i started writing this idea out, enjoy :):)

word count: 1.4k

When the Chateau came into view, your blistering feet thanked you. Your legs were exposed, your white nightgown only covered half your thighs, and the underbrush from the forest had scraped your skin horribly. You’d never actually visited here, and Barry would have never allowed you, but an hour ago, he’d forced you to leave the house.

Heart practically beating outside of your chest, you climbed up the porch, your cowboy boots stepping over empty bottles of beer. You knocked on the screen door, probably a little bit too softly, but you had no idea who was going to open the door, “Y/N?” You jumped, your head snapping to the side to find JJ Maybank lying down on an old couch. He takes off the hat that was resting over his eyes, tosses it to the side, and sits up. “What? What are you doing here?”

Your body was already shaking, and your voice started to do the same, “I-I don’t have anywhere–” You wrapped your arms around your body, holding yourself tightly, “I-I d-don’t–”

JJ, shirtless and wearing khaki shorts, crossed the porch, placing a hand on your lower back, “Hey, it’s okay,” He whispered, his tone not able to hide his concern, “Something happened to Barry?”

You nodded, knowing your voice would just shake if you answered verbally.

“Come inside. The place is empty. John B. has been MIA for a couple of days,” JJ explains, opening the door before smoothly guiding you inside the Chateau. It’s eerily quiet, but you welcome the peaceful sound, finding it much better than the sound of Barry shouting and police sirens blaring, “Come sit, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

He moves a pile of what looks like maps, letters, and a stack of cash before patting the couch cushion. You sit down, still holding yourself to calm your nerves, and watch as he rushes off to grab a glass from the kitchen. You were appreciative – God, he had no idea how thankful you were.

“You mind if I ask what has you hiking through the swamp this late at night?” He handed you the glass, kneeling in front of you as he began to examine your legs, “You’re lucky the mosquitos didn’t eat you all the way up, kid”

Shakily, you took a sip from the glass, “The cops, uhm, they were coming. H-He told me to go a-and …usually he tells me he’ll be back in a few days. But he was getting … he was getting all his guns out and i-it didn’t seem like … I-I just k-kept–”

JJ’s eyes were fixed on you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he listened carefully, “Hey, I know you’re scared …I’ve been in your position so many times with my Dad. And I always ran to the Chateau too.”

You nodded, tears beginning to fall. Gently, JJ grabbed your face, brushing the tears away with his thumb, “You’re going to be okay. I’m right here, you’re not alone.”

“What will-” You hiccupped, “What will I do?”

You couldn’t survive on your own with a tenth-grade education and your ten-dollar-an-hour coffee shop job. You were always a good kid, but you were never book smart, and Barry didn’t force you to go to school after you started flunking your classes. He’s happily taken care of you for your entire life, your parents hadn’t been in the picture since you were five and Barry was ten. You’d never gotten in trouble like Barry had, and he’d made sure of that, never involving you in his business.

Befriending JJ was a consequence of Barry’s business, but JJ never involved you in dealing drugs either. He was someone to talk to, and he’d always come by Sunset Coffee after the morning rush and ask how your day was going.

“Let me make a call. Maybe Rafe will have more information about what’s going down, I know he helped him with a huge shipment the other day. We’ll figure this out.”

You thought it was a good idea instantly. “T-Thank you, JJ.”

“Yeah, no problem, kid.” His smile made you forget, for a small moment, your world was crashing down.

Rafe was around even more than JJ. He could be nice when he wanted to, although you preferred him when he wasn’t acting erratically or getting into screaming matches with your brother. Besides that, you couldn’t even count how many times he drove you home from work and kept you from having an eight-mile bike ride.

It wasn’t long after you’d finished the glass of water, and JJ had started to clean the dripping blood from your legs, that a truck rolled into the grassy front lawn of the Chateau, “That’s Rafe,” JJ said, although it had only been about ten minutes since he hung up the phone, “He said he’d drive by your place, see what’s up.”

You stood instantly, and JJ followed after you as you rushed out of the front door. Rafe was climbing out of his truck when you rushed towards him, “Did you see anything?” Your pitch was raised, fear laced in your tone. That same concern you noted in JJ’s features, unexpectedly, you saw in Rafe.

A sigh left his lips, and nervous fingers ran through his light brown hair. “I didn’t see him; they must’ve already taken him down to the station. There were at least five Kildare officers, and I saw a few special agents, too. They were grabbing stuff from the house.”

You felt yourself sink at the information just as you felt JJ’s hand on your back again. Your hand found its way to your heart, and you checked to make sure your heart wouldn’t explode out of your chest: “I-I want to see him. Maybe I can talk to him, and he can … he can tell me what’s going on.”

“They won’t let you see him yet,” Rafe added quickly.

“It’s also one in the morning,” JJ spoke softly from behind you.

“It wouldn’t be a good move, princess,” Rafe said, his tone soft but somehow still sharp, “The police would just take the opportunity to try and question you about whatever they’re charging him with. They’ll try to break you down and threaten you with jail time. It won’t be worth it. It’s not what Barry would want.”

“What happened?” You shook your head, not believing that was real, “H-He would’ve warned me i-if–”

“You’re right. He would’ve warned you if he knew, so he didn’t know,” Rafe started, “I warned him that these guys he was dealing with were no good. He thought he was some kind of big-shot, dealing with those cartel guys.”

“What?” You gaped, looking back and forth between the two men. You stepped away, but Rafe caught your wrist.

“I’m sorry you’re hearing this from us, not him,” Rafe apologized.

“JJ?”

“He was starting to make a lot of enemies …” His voice trailed off like the words were painful for him to stay, “The Kook is telling the truth.”

“We’ll look after you,” Rafe said.

“Yeah, until this all blows over. It’s gonna take a minute. We gotta, you know, assess the situation. The same guys that ratted him out might be looking for you too. And there are probably people who aren’t happy that the shit they were going to buy off of him is now in police custody.”

“Y-You’re saying people might want to hurt m-me,” You stuttered out, JJ taking your other arm in his hand. Not only was your brother gone for who knows how long, your life was in danger. You found yourself leaning into their touch, letting them keep you balanced so you didn’t collapse.

“No–”

Rafe interrupted JJ.

“We’re saying we’re going to look after you until all this blows over. We’ve both had our ups and downs with him, but he’s had our backs more than once. We owe it to him.”

“I can’t ask you to–”

This time JJ interrupted you, “Trust us. Let us take care of you, Y/N.”

It was a perfect storm, both of them coming together to save you. You didn’t have the time to ponder how exactly it happened, you only cared whether your brother would be okay, I don’t have anything–”

“We’ll spend the night here. You should get some rest. When you wake up, we’ll go to Tannyhill. Everything you need, we'll take care of it,” Rafe assured you, and JJ seemed to believe it was a good plan too.

“Yeah, come on, kid. Let's tuck you in.” Neither of them were making requests, but honestly, you didn’t want to make any decisions of your own.

Together, your two protectors led you back to the Chateau.

feel free to send smutty thoughts/ideas for this pairing or anything else rafe x reader x jj!

#anon ask #dark!rafe cameron #dark!jj maybank x reader #barry outer banks #outer banks smut #rafe fanfiction #jj maybank #rafe cameron smut

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byoldervine · 9 months

Text

How To Always Have Writing Ideas…

For A New Story:

1. Keep a list. Any time you have one of those sudden bursts of inspiration in the middle of writing a separate story, don’t quit your current WIP or pretend you’ll ‘just remember it’, put it into a separate list. You can always go back to this later on

2. Writing prompts. Look them up, use random word generators, pick a random object you can see, whatever helps you come up with any idea at all. Write a few paragraphs. Can it evolve from there?

3. People watch. Go to a public place and make up backstories for the strangers you come across. That man in the hat is using it to hide his elf ears. That woman with the bright pink hair didn’t dye it, she’s secretly the main character of an anime trying to dodge all the tropes and cliches. That toddler is actually a guardian angel reincarnated to watch over their new baby sibling. What brings them to this place? Where did they come from? Where are they going next?

To Continue An Existing Story:

1. Act it out. Say the words aloud, act out what your characters are doing, get props or people to act off of if you need to. See what feels like the most natural progression of the moment

2. Coffee shop AU, or other substitutional one-shot. Good for establishing dynamics between two or more characters, or even just working out a lone character’s day-to-day. Just write a few paragraphs about your characters entering a coffee shop or similar appropriate establishment/ordinary location. What do they do? What do they order to eat/drink? What do they say to each other? How do they treat the staff and other customers? If all else fails, write what they do after they leave, as if it were an ordinary day for them

3. Rubber duck it. This is something programmers use to work out where they went wrong in their code, but I’ve found it can work for figuring out story stuff as well. What you do is get a rubber duck, or any other object of focus, and start explaining your problem to it out loud. In this case you can read your chapter to the duck, or even give it the full run-down of the plot so far. Warning; side effects may include getting frustrated that the problem was right in front of you and subsequently throwing the duck

For Both:

1. Writing graveyards. I talked a bit about them in a previous post, but writing graveyards are basically just the folder you store your deleted scenes in instead of yeeting them into the void. Reread those, see if they have anything you can recontextualise or repurpose

2. Combine ideas. My WIP Byoldervine is a combination of two separate plots I had that I realised I’d be able to combine - twice. I first realised I could put together my ‘angel and demon heroes protecting humans from a war between heaven and hell’ story and my ‘quest through the fantasy realm to find the ingredients to a cure for a dying god’ story into the same universe as two sides of the same story as a duology. Then I realised I could just remove a few characters, tweak a few plot points and mash them completely together into one book. Combining them works wonders and minimises worldbuilding

3. Go out with friends or family. I guarantee that the one time you’ll be flooded with inspiration is when you don’t have an opportunity to write it down

#writing #writers #bookblr #writeblr #book #writersociety #writersnetwork #writers of tumblr #writer #writing advice #on writing #writing inspiration #writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity

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finelinevogue · 1 year

Text

when in rome

summary - just a few random clips from a holiday to rome

word count - +3k

pairing - husband!harry x reader

a/n - can’t lie… this could literally be set anywhere and there’s no real plot, but i hope yous enjoy it all the same <33

at the airport

“Hey, give me that.”

Harry holds out his hand for you to pass over the suitcase to him, claiming that he should be the one to pull it not you.

You were originally going to have two suitcases, but it turns out that neither of you were packing heavy and so one suitcase it was.

“I’m not incapable.” You sigh.

“I’m not saying that. I would just feel better if y’let me pull it.” Harry plucks your fingers off the handle one by one, distracting you with a kiss as he does so to make it easier for himself, before claiming the suitcase for himself.

“I’m not gonna argue with you at this time in the morning.” You give him another sigh.

You walk behind Harry as he directs you from the Uber to the terminal door.

It is holiday time and you and Harry have decided on a getaway to Italy, Rome. One of the most romantic cities in Europe and famous for its history and pizza.

Harry decided that you would fly Economy, rather than taking the jet, because it was more practical for a bunch of different reasons that you didn’t really understand.

Hence why you are grumpy now.

You had to get up at 2AM, to get and Uber and be through security before your flight leaves at 7:30AM.

Clad in one of Harry’s oversized hoodies and gym shorts, your legs are cold, your eyes are heavy from tiredness and your body aches from the run Harry made you go on yesterday.

You rub your eye free of sleep and accidentally bump into Harry as he’s stopped.

Harry is wearing a similar hoodie to you, because he couldn’t wear his favourite one due to lending it to you, running shorts and of course a pair of sunglasses and a hat.

“Sorry. After you.” Harry politely lets an old couple pass, which is why you were stopped short.

He turns around to you to make sure you’re okay and smiles when he sees you unattractively yawn. You look like a small kitten who has just been awoken.

“There better be a coffee shop somewhere in here.” You say as you walk through the doors.

The airport is already busy with hundreds of people buzzing to get out of this dreary country and into hotter destinations.

“Also, I love your fans, but I swear to God if one of them approaches us this morning…” You say.

Harry chuckles, “Yeah? What will you do, love hmm?”

“Turn into the Hulk.”

“I feel sorry for them already.” Harry smiles and you hit him in his arm as a joking reply.

You stand together in a snaking queue to check in and then to get through security, until you’ve made it to the other side successfully. Also, without anyone publicly exclaiming that Harry is here.

You hold Harry’s hand as you walk next to each other out of security.

“Y’wanna get coffee first? Or find somewhere to sit?” Harry asks you, hoping you’re listening but he can’t tell because your hood is up.

“Dunno.” You say indecisively, beyond tired.

“Let’s go find somewhere and then I’ll go get us coffees, yeah? You can just sit and look pretty.” He squeezes your hand.

“No. I wanna stay with you.” You wrap your other hand around his forearm and hold him close, pressing your face against his arm also.

“Okay, okay. Well let’s go this way then.”

Harry directs you to the coffee bar and you both stand in another queue as you wait to order.

“Y’want your usual?” Harry asks and you nod.

When Harry’s called over, he makes sure to bring you with him and scans the bakery section one more time.

“Hi honey! What can I get for you?” The woman behind the counter asks.

“Morning. Hi. Um, can we have one croissant, one pain au chocolat, one black coffee and one latte with a shot of caramel please. Thank you.”

As Harry pays on your shared bank card, you thank him with a small voice.

“Thank you.” You hug into his arm more.

“It’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head. He wants to kiss your lips, but he also wants to remain as PG as possible in such a public space just in case someone is secretly filming.

After you’ve collected your order, you go and find a table to sit at. You find a small booth that overlooks the runway, so you can watch the planes take off. Harry knows it’s one of your favourite things to do in an airport, so he chose this spot on purpose.

You make small talk as you eat, both of you sat on the same side of the booth so that you can lean on Harry to rest once you’ve finished.

You talk about the planes taking off and your potential itinerary for the next couple of days. Harry just listens to your rambles as he finishes your pastry too, because you couldn’t finish it.

“Can I sleep on you on the plane?” You ask.

“‘Course y’can, baby. Think we have a window seat and a middle seat.”

“Can I sit by the window?”

“Yeah. You can lean on my shoulder if y’want.”

“Please. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, love, you know that.” He kisses your forehead again.

checking in

You get out of the Uber first.

It is already so humid here in Rome and it’s just gone midday.

Your hotel is right in the centre of Rome, just a few streets over from the Trevi Fountain and then a few more streets over from the Gucci store too.

Harry made sure to book somewhere that would be accessible to the majority of everything. Money wasn’t an issue. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise you it Harry even booked the most expensive hotel in Rome.

The porter greets you and takes your suitcase for you. Harry tops the driver and thanks him with the Italian he’s been learning.

Harry takes your hand as you walk inside, thankful for the air conditioning in the building.

“Buonjiorno.” The man behind the desk greets you.

“Buonjiorno.” Harry replies. “We’re here to check in?”

You were a little early but decided you would try to check in anyways.

“Of course. Name, please?”

“Styles.”

“Both of you?”

“Yes.” Harry can’t help but smirk as he speaks. You nudge him, because you feel the same way.

“I have… Uh, Y/N Styles and Harry Styles?”

“Sí.” Harry nods.

“For 4 nights?”

“Sí.”

“Okay.” The man shuffles around some papers and types some things on the computer. “So your room number is 406. This is the fourth floor. You can take the lift up, which is just over there. Breakfast is included, which will be on the terrace between 7 and 10.”

“Amazing.” You smile for what feels like the first time since landing.

You’ve been so tired that you have found it hard to keep your eyes open and pretend like you’re alive.

“The pool is on the roof and will be open 7AM until midnight. The gym facilities are open all the time. Room service is three euros per call. These are your key cards and we hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Grazie.”

“Grazie.” You and Harry both thank the man and make your way over to the lift.

A few minutes later and Harry is opening your hotel room door.

You step inside and immediately fall in love. It’s decorated with marble floors and high ceilings with gorgeous artwork - probably that inspired of the Sistine Chapel.

The bed is a large queen size bed with lots of pillows and comforters. There’s a long chair at the foot of the bed and a sofa just across from that.

The most captivating thing about the room is the three sets of french doors, which all open onto a small balcony. There’s sheer curtains draped over the ceiling length doors, softly blowing in the wind.

Beyond that is the view that money did actually buy.

A view of the majority of Rome. You could see St Peters perfectly and Harry mentioned that the sun set will be visible from this room too. All the small buildings below and the little people on their way to work or tourists wandering.

“And?” Harry prompts.

“And what?” You twirl around to see him wandering over, after having shut the door and abandoned the suitcase.

“Is this okay?”

“Is that a serious question?” You raise your eyebrows.

You open your arms as Harry walks into you, wrapping his arms over your shoulders. He breathes you in and squeezes you tight and you follow suit.

“Mm. Want you to have the best time.”

“Harry, babe, this is perfect. More than perfect. Thank you for everything.” Your voice is muffled by speaking into Harry’s jumper.

Harry kisses you on the head a couple of times.

“Do y’want to go for a nap and then go have a wander?”

“Yes please.”

“M’kay.”

It doesn’t take you both long to get comfortable in the bed. Harry opens a door to let in a better breeze and the air con is on full to make sure you don’t overheat.

Harry lays behind you, where you’re laying on your side. Your hood is off now, because Harry likes to lean his face into your neck when you sleep. He likes to breathe in your homely scent and warmth.

His hand lays on your stomach, underneath his jumper, and rubs little circles with his fingers.

You start giggling and Harry asks what’s up with you.

“Tickles.” You hum softly, quite relaxed by the funny feeling.

“Does it now? Y’skins so soft, so I can’t help myself.”

“Won’t be soft forever. Especially if you keep on trying to get me pregnant.”

Harry kisses your neck and leaves a little mark with his teeth. His hand spreads over the span of your stomach and holds it there.

“Won’t care. When you’re pregnant, I am only going to love you and your body twice as much.”

“You say that now…”

“And I’ll say it again when the time comes.” Harry cute you off from any more deprecating thoughts. “Now shush. I’m trying to make sure you get your beauty sleep.”

exploring back alleys

You and Harry walk hand in hand down a busy street in Rome.

It is so hot and humid that your bodies are so sticky from the heat, but you hold onto each others hands nonetheless because you are simply that attached to one another.

Harry leads the way, walking around the crowds of tourists and past random shops selling art and Rome tat.

He turns around and catches you admiring all the colourful buildings and wonderful Roman architecture, and he can’t help but smile at your wonderous face.

You feel a tug on your hand Harry’s holding and giggle a little when you feel him pulling you towards a back alley.

He runs a little quicker and you have to keep up with him. You check behind you to see if he is running away from something, but no one is following and you think he’s mad for running now.

“Harry!” You laugh as he makes a harsh right and pulls you down another side street.

This one bends slightly in the middle so you can’t see the street entrance either which way.

You don’t have the time to ask any questions before Harry is pushing you against a brick wall painted apricot. He holds his hands on your face and presses his lips hungrily onto yours.

You’re not only hot from the weather, now, but also from how attracted your husband is in this moment.

You groan as he steps forward so he’s leaning infinitely close into your body. You sigh when he moves his head to the side to kiss your better, cupping your hands over his to get a guide on which way he will move next.

When he pulls away you sadly pout.

He laughs at your expression and decides to kiss you again, even longer this time. He kisses and kisses you until you make the move to pull away, before you pass out from lack of breathing.

You laugh first and then Harry follows.

Both of you have never felt happiness like this. Just happy being simply together.

“You’re so…”

“I’m so what, baby?” Harry laughs breathlessly.

“I don’t even know.” You laugh, cupping his cheek and flitting your eyes between both of his as you try to decided which one is prettier. “I do know that I love you, like a lot.”

“Only a lot?”

“Well, like as much as the universe is big.” You give him a warm summers smile.

“Oh well that’s alright then.”

He leans forwards and seals his lips with yours again. You kiss him with all the love you have pocketed for him and don’t let him go until you hear footsteps approaching.

It’s a man and his daughter on their way somewhere.

As they walk past, Harry and you loosen your hold on one another as you don’t want to display too much PDA.

Once they’ve gone Harry giggles.

“What?” You ask.

“Just thinking how that’ll be me someday. Lost in a city with our daughter ‘cause I’m too stubborn to use a map and she’ll probably be distracting me with her gorgeous face she got from her mum…” He trails off.

“That was an intense thought, babe.”

“Mm. It’s been on my mind a lot lately. Having a baby with you, I mean.”

“It’s been on my mind too.”

That’s all that’s said, but you both smile at each other knowingly that as of today you’re starting your future together.

dining out

Harry looks divine.

Dressed in an unbuttoned white linen shirt that sits on top of a white vest, with a pair of dark navy blue cotton shorts and his rusty old white vans, he has never looked so gorgeous.

It’s the subtle burn and tan of his skin that has you melting for him.

You are currently clipping his hair back with one of your small hair grips for him. He can do it himself, but he prefers it when it comes from you.

You’re both freshly showered and very hungry.

Sweet Disposition by the Temper Trap is playing in the background as you both get ready for dinner in your hotel room. After walking through Rome for the day, you spent some time in the swimming pool together and then showered together before getting ready.

“Y’look beautiful, m’love.” Harry says, watching you through the mirror.

“Thank you.” You speak softly, cheeks flushing over his compliment.

“This red dress on you is just… it’s perfect. You look perfect.”

Your red mini dress shows of your legs that Harry admires so much, and paired with a pair of platform sandals you look like a model straight from Vogue.

“Feel pretty, actually.”

“Good. Y’look prettier than anyone has ever looked in that dress.” Harry knows how to charm you best.

“Baby, you need to stop complimenting me otherwise we’ll miss our reservation.” You laugh, finishing clipping his hair.

“Can’t help myself. So lucky you chose me.” Harry picks your ring finger up and kisses over the ring that symbolises eternity between you.

“I’ll always choose you. You are too handsome not to.”

An hour later and you’re sitting at the restaurant.

Harry pulled your chair out for you and made sure you were comfortable before sitting in his own chair.

The restaurant is on a lovely little side street, decorated with fairy lights across the terracotta wall. There are ivy vines growing there too and the atmosphere is just peaceful.

There are a few families and other couples here too. It’s not a very fancy restaurant as Harry admitted that the best restaurants in Italy are the most homely and authentic ones.

The waiter was already fetching some water for you whilst you looked the menu.

“What are you thinking, baby?” You ask Harry, from where he is sat across from you.

“Maybe just a Margarita pizza.”

“Really?” You question his taste in food.

“Need something simple but good tasting tonight.”

“Okay, well at least get the bruschetta with me for starters?” You ask, wanting to share something with him.

“Sounds good, yeah.”

When the food comes, you feed Harry some of your pasta whilst Harry gifts you a slice of pizza. Both dishes are beautiful and cooked perfectly.

You both laugh and have the most amazing evening.

The best moment of the evening is when an old couple walk past you, holding each others hands.

“You two are so beautiful together.” The old man says.

“Thank you so much.” Harry smiles and holds your hand in his from across the table.

“Your love reminds me of ours. Precious. Forever.” He goes on to say and you have to swallow back the tears from how sweet his words are.

Harry smiles at you.

“Definitely forever.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles italy #harry styles rome #harry styles boyfriend #harry styles husband #harry styles blurbs #finelinevogue fic

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blog-name-idk · 3 months

Text

The Plot Twist | 05

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chapter 5: "It's fine! South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Of three things you are absolutely certain. First, soulmates exist. Second, the universe – and you don't know how potent its power may be – runs on some sort of karmic imbalance. And third, you are unconditionally, and irrevocably, fucked.

It is raining.

In a rare, extremely odd fit of forethought, you actually have an umbrella in your bag. Normally, you would scoff at weather predictions and dare the clouds to do their worst. But today, you found yourself grabbing your umbrella before leaving for your commute, and the skies that have darkened into an ominous, storm-like gray after your work shift do not phase you at all.

Today, your undoing lies in a different kind of disaster preparedness.

Hard water pelts down almost as if it is herding you, and you hurry from the assault of the rippling sky to the awning of a closed coffee shop to grab your umbrella. Expletives spew from your lips as you dig through your messy bag. You're so focused that you barely register someone also taking refuge from the sudden storm – a man wearing a mask and a bucket hat, but is shivering through a wet, black long sleeved t-shirt that's sticking to what looks like a very toned body.

Not that that's the type of thing you typically notice or anything.

"Found you!" you screech excitedly as you pull out your umbrella and brandish it at the sky. The man beside you flinches, like you're about to attack him, and you give him a disdainful look.

"S-sorry," he mutters, the brim of his hat still hiding his eyes. "I thought you meant something else."

Something else? Is he on the run from the mob, or fleeing the national military? The incredibility of either prospect nearly makes you snicker, but whatever, you need to get home before the storm gets –

BOOM!

– worse.

The thunderclap makes both of you jump, and you wince at the realization that the rain is coming down even harder. Unforgiving sheets of water pour down, and you can barely see even a few feet past the awning. Maybe you can get an Uber instead…

You pull out your phone to see no bars. No data, no phone signal, nothing. The guy next to you is shivering even more violently now, and you internally sigh. You can't just ignore him, not when helplessness is wafting off him in tenebrous waves.

"Do you have a ride coming?" you ask reluctantly, wishing you had been raised to be more selfish. Your mother does whatever the hell she wants, why hasn't she taught you the same? Though, to be fair, she probably would have been able to get the rain to stop by glaring. Perhaps someday, in your final form, you'll be just as powerful.

The man wilts and shakes his head, and you’re alarmed when you hear a sniffle. Shit, you are not equipped to handle a crying man. You're not even equipped to handle your own emotions.

"I – I left rehearsal because I had a fight with my hyung," the guy begins to share, morosely wiping his face with a wet hand that only leaves more moisture behind. His voice quivers, and despite your misgivings, the piteous sight of him tugs at your heartstrings. "And now I'm lost. I only have my phone, and it’s useless right now."

You start to feel a little sympathy for someone who's clearly been having a bad day. You're about to offer to share your umbrella to the nearest train station when he finally looks straight at you, meeting your eyes for the first time.

The patch of skin behind your ear suddenly tingles and–

Oh.

The rain falls, lightning cracks, and your stomach drops in time with the crash of thunder that follows. Yet you can barely hear it over the sudden pounding of your heartbeat.

"Do you… Could you… If it's not too much trouble, could I walk with you to the train station?" Jeon Jungkook pleads, large doe-eyes gazing brilliantly at you from half of an unmistakable face.

This… is why you felt like bringing an umbrella today? Because of the universe and its cosmic–fucking–intervention?

The man across you fidgets, growing self-conscious as he waits for your answer. For a few long seconds, all you can do is stare numbly at him.

Are you going to have to assume every man you run into these days is one of your soulmates? How is this even possible?

You reach your decision in less than a minute.

Dejectedly, you hold out your umbrella wordlessly to Jungkook, and his face lights up. His smile does something unspeakable to your heart that you refuse to acknowledge. His expression scrunches – cutely, to your dismay – in confusion when you just hand him the umbrella. You shove a few crumpled bills from your back pocket into his free hand, careful not to touch his skin, and he looks completely baffled.

"For the train fare," you manage to choke out, already backing away into the unforgiving rain. It's coming down so hard the pelting drops almost hurt, but this is infinitely preferable to whatever the fuck the alternative is.

"What…? No! You don't have to – I just wanted to share – "

"It's fine!" you call over your shoulder, already twenty meters away and sopping wet in the opposite way to what the universe was probably trying to contrive. "Just get home safe! I'm sure your hyung is worried!"

With that you're off, leaving a very confused and equally charmed idol behind. Jungkook stares after the strange, kind girl, wondering why it feels like you're running away.

Pondering, he scratches the tattoo behind his ear.

He’s just about to run after you, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he opens it in surprise to see a wall of text messages.

How odd. The signal bars are full now.

At the influx of messages from his hyungs, his argument with Jimin at the rehearsal studio floods back into his mind, and Jungkook sniffles again and dials the familiar number.

"What do you want?" answers a grumbling Jimin, filling Jungkook's chest with guilt.

"Hyung, I'm so sorry!" Jungkook cries, blubbering in earnest now, the familiar voice opening the floodgates until his tears almost match the tempest around him.

"Don't call me!" his hyung scolds, clearly still angry. And yet, he picked up the call when he could have just ignored him. Jungkook hears Jimin sigh, the sound static and long. "Fine. Where are you?"

"I don't know," Jungkook whimpers as another crack of lightning cleaves the air. Thunder follows soon after, and he hopes that you're okay, wherever you've gone.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?!” Jimin demands, suddenly all love, all worry. "Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

Ah… warmth. This is what his team has taught him: brotherhood, love, and family. To be angry, to piss each other off, but in the end be willing to drop everything to help one another.

Something the stranger had done despite having no need to.

"I don't know where I am," Jungkook replies, already feeling a little better. "But I'll take a taxi home. S-someone gave me some money."

"Come safely. I'll wait outside for you."

Before Jungkook can protest, Jimin hangs up. The maknae can't help but smile despite how stressful the day has been. Between his team members and the kindness of the girl from earlier, his chest feels warm and fuzzy, driving away the cold and the gloom of the gray skies and icy rain.

He just wishes he had gotten your name.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Fuck.

You wake with a head full of cotton and a nose more clogged than a toilet at an American WacDonald's. Feeling like death, you drag yourself out of bed to the bathroom, force yourself into a scalding hot shower that – for a blessed moment – clears your sinuses. You get ready for work, and by the time you're ready, you at least look put together, though inside you're already wishing you could crawl back under your covers.

Any other time, you might have taken a day off to not inflict your coworkers with your germs, but today is that stupid executive meeting and you can't afford to miss it.

You pop some cold medicine into your mouth, mask up, and get to work early, because despite your utter lack of care when it comes to your personal life, you are a demon in the office.

"[Y/n]!" calls Mijoo, one of your favorite administrative assistants. It's for that reason and that reason alone that you pull your head away from your screen to give her a smile she probably can't see through the cloth of your mask.

"Hey," you greet, clearing your throat and relieved you haven't hit the "uncontrollable cough" stage of your cold yet. "What's going on?"

"Soonyoung is freaking out about something again," she replies quietly, casting her eyes over to the corner office where your Senior Vice-President resides.

You're not sure if he ever actually leaves the building.

You sigh. This is a big project, one that is being presented to the company execs, and you really need everything to go perfectly. It's a good thing you got here early.

"When I finish here, I'll go talk to him," you say reluctantly, making Mijoo shoot you a smile of relief.

After you've confirmed that everything should as expected, you push off your desk, letting your chair roll backwards. Then you slip your feet back into your heels, stand, and give a lazy stretch of your limbs before heading to put out the fire, rolling your shoulders as you do so.

Through the glass surrounding the door, you can see your VP frowning at his computer screen, gray brows knit in some sort of frustration. You knock twice, and he looks up, still frowning. It vanishes as soon as he realizes it's you, and with a grin he beckons you inside.

"[Y/n]! Thank goodness," he said in a relieved voice, already angling his monitor so that you can see. "I can't get VLOOKUP to work!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you shouldn't, instead ambling over to help the dinosaur who is (hopefully) planning on retiring soon. Why is someone so high up even messing with spreadsheets, anyway? You barely have time to do any hands-on work at this point, and all you manage is your own team.

"It's tricky," you agree fondly, humoring him not because you have to, but because he kind of reminds you of your grandpa. "Here, let me help."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your next meeting also has an unusually high number of execs, and you frown as you recall the vague wording of the invite. You settle in a chair next to your work friend slash rival Jaesung, who looks just as confused as you feel.

"Any idea what this 'very important meeting' is about?" you whisper in his direction, and he shakes his head.

"No clue, but there are rumors that there's something big coming up," he whispers back. The two of you are unable to speculate any further, however, as your CEO appears. What the hell?

By the time the meeting ends, you are torn between laughing and crying hysterically. The execs have announced the planned launch of a top secret flagship product, one that the company is expecting massive returns on due to a collaboration with – because this is your life now – motherfucking BTS.

And then VP Soonyoung stands, looks at you and Jaesung proudly, and says that as two of his best people, you will be spearheading the marketing and sales efforts. He adds, with an elderly jovial laugh, “Both of you will even get the chance to meet them, so go get your autograph plaques ready!”

As if you needed to be disincentivized!

"You’re so lucky!" wails Mijoo as you sit in your cube, where you have been staring woodenly at your computer screen for over five minutes now. She thinks you're in joyful shock, and maybe, it definitely is shock. The electric chair kind.

It's bad enough that you had to spend an entire wonderful excruciating evening with Hoba – Hoseok – and he is now aware of your existence, even if he hasn't realized you're soulmates. But now this?

You mull over filing for your immediate resignation, which only adds to your headache. Eventually, you conclude that your time and compensation package from Samsong are just too good, too unbeatable, and… you’ve grown as a professional here. People respect you, value you for you, and you absolutely love working with your personally curated team.

The problem is the universe keeps testing your limits. Executive meetings? Easy. Flagship product development? Doable with the right people. But passionate, self-consuming cosmic schemes involving the world’s biggest boy band in the guise of soulmateship?

You’d rather get hit by a car.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The universe hates me.

That is your last thought as you hear the squeal of tires on pavement and the frantic honks of a car horn before you're suddenly staring up at the sky, pain flaring throughout your entire body.

A man gets out of the black Hyundai Palisade with tinted windows, and you suddenly wish that you had been truly run over with no hope of recovery. Of course it's Kim fucking Namjoon of BTS, and he's looking at you in a mixture of panic and concern that makes your heart flutter despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" he asks, to which part of your brain thinks, What a fucking idiot of course I'm not. The other half stupidly admires the broad set of his shoulders, the strange mixture of grace and clumsiness as he stumbles over to your battered body.

Wait.

You return to your senses, and begin to push yourself back up to your feet.

"Yep, totally fine!" you insist through gritted teeth, ignoring the way one of your legs is twisted awkwardly, and the flare of agony that permeates your body when you're able to bring yourself upright. "It was my fault anyway!"

It wasn't, but you're not going to stick around to let this play out.

You begin to limp away as fast as your contorted ankle allows, ignoring the flabbergasted expression on Namjoon's handsome face.

"I – can I at least pay for your medical bills?" he asks as he takes a tentative step after you. You hobble faster despite the burning pain in your legs.

"It's fine!" you call behind you, getting a regrettable glimpse of his beautiful, worried eyes. "South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Unfortunately, you can only wobble so fast until the physically fit, able-bodied man catches up to you. By this point, your vision is fuzzing with strange dotted lights and your body doesn't feel quite real anymore. Namjoon's hand touches your shoulder, and you turn around to tell him off. Instead, you feel your legs buckle and strong arms catch you before everything goes black.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"You keep appearing in unexpected places, and often." Jimin swallows, his heart beginning to race. "Your skin is always covered up. You don't eat or drink anything when I'm around."

He takes a deep breath, knowing you're just a step behind him.

"How old are you?"

You hesitate – just barely – before you reply.

"Twenty-five."

"... How long have you been twenty-five?"

"A few months."

A few months. A few months since he's moved into your apartment complex. A few months since the strange not-quite-ennui and melancholy has begun plaguing him. A few months since you have turned of age to manifest your soulmate connection.

"I know what you are."

He feels your body tense behind him, and a thrill runs down his spine. When you speak, he can feel your breath on his neck.

"Say it."

“Soulma–”

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Kim Namjoon looks anxiously at the nurse checking your vitals as you lay prone on the hospital bed, wishing he could do more to help.

"I think – I think she might have hit her head," he offers, for the tenth time, thinking about the way you had tried to run away on what the nurse is reasonably certain is a badly sprained ankle. The nurse gives him a tight smile, because one does not simply roll their eyes at the leader of Bangtan Sonyeondan, no matter how many times he's said the same thing.

"We'll check for it," the nurse promises, soothing the tall man. For the time being.

Namjoon chews on his lip as he gazes at you, wondering what your story is, what kind of past would drive you to such strange lengths.

For some reason, he itches to hold your hand, but that would be completely inappropriate from a total stranger. Especially when it could cause dating rumors if anyone gets a glimpse or a picture. His manager is already going to kill him for chasing down an injured girl in broad daylight.

His eyes keep getting drawn back to your face, peaceful in sleep and – dare he say it – quite pretty. Very pretty. Beautiful, even. And you had felt so soft and nice in his arms, warm and –

"Sir, please stay seated while I finish here," comes the nurse's tired voice, and Namjoon realizes he's gotten up and has an arm outstretched to stroke your cheek.

"Uh, sorry," he stutters, face burning as he sits back down. What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he feel drawn to this very strange, very lovely girl?

A soft groan tears Namjoon out of his spiraling thoughts, and his gaze shoots to your form as your eyelids flutter open.

"Wha – " you ask blearily, waking up from the weirdest parody dream of the world’s best vampire movie ever. Shifting in your bed, pain contorts your face and you let out a hiss. "Ow!"

Namjoon rushes over, and your mouth drops open when you realize who he is. Before you can react, he's holding your hand in his, and he staggers as something in the universe fundamentally shifts. By your gasp, you're experiencing a similar sensation, and you yank your hand out of his grip before he can get his bearings.

"Your leg seems severely strained," the nurse explains, blissfully unaware of the way the world is tumbling around the both of you. "We'll need to do x-rays to make sure it’s not broken."

"I'll… get a wheelchair…" Namjoon says, in a daze, desperate to be of help even as his mind races to understand what is going on. He stumbles outside of the room, desperately hoping that a moment alone will help him get his thoughts in order and help him find the right questions to ask.

Apparently these are questions he won't receive answers to any time soon, because by the time he's back, the room is empty. The nurse follows after him, and looks around in confusion.

"Where'd she go?" the nurse asks, and Namjoon wishes he knew the answer. Who are you? Why are you so hellbent on getting away from him?

And why does holding your hand feel like home?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

That was too close. Too fucking close.

You pull yourself onto the bus by the railing, ignoring the driver's confused, concerned expression as he takes in your hospital gown and the way you're wincing in pain. You swipe your card, only vaguely aware that everyone behind you can see your rump through the poorly tied flaps of the gown.

It's fine. Your dignity is unimportant compared to the bulletproof boy scout you just dodged.

You drag yourself to a handicapped seat – if there's ever a time you can confidently sit in one, it's now – and fall into it, finding an angle for your leg that gives some sort of relief.

Despite the pain, it's the warm feeling in your hand you can't stop thinking about.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon is at a loss.

Despite searching the entire hospital, the mysterious girl was nowhere to be found, vanishing from the premises as if she were never there. Still, out of personal guilt and liability, Namjoon lingered, offering to settle the missing girl’s hospital expenses, but the charge nurse expertly dismissed his generosity once it became apparent that he did not know you at all. He couldn’t even give them your name, or any proof of relation, and the rest of the staff quickly became tight-lipped around him.

Even Kim Namjoon, the illustrious 148 IQ leader of BTS, can’t argue against health privacy laws.

Since leaving his phone number with the charge nurse – his final, desperate effort – Namjoon has been staring at his phone, waiting for any news about you… news that simply never comes.

That same evening, he walks into the band’s shared dormitory with aplomb.

Single-minded, he heads straight for the living room and picks up the remote control off of the coffee table.

The flatscreen TV goes dark, and Kim Taehyung complains, “Hyung, no! What gives!”

Jungkook cries in offense, shooting up from the sofa, “My vampire baseball scene!”

Namjoon deigns them both with a long-suffering look. “We need to talk, so call the team.”

His assertive voice, usually reserved for critical matters and scolding, makes Taehyung and Jungkook abandon their emotional support movie in favor of gathering the rest of the group.

One by one, the boys pile into the living room from separate parts of the apartment at Namjoon’s behest. Most of them are sporting rumpled clothes and bedheads, save for Jimin, who looked ready to leave for his own place.

Namjoon announces, “There’s something I want to discuss. A… possibility.” He clears his throat. “A girl.”

"That's what you interrupted our movie for?" Taehyung asks, indignant. "A crush?"

Hoseok lets out an immediate sigh of relief. “Is that it?” And then he pauses, scratching at his nape, “Well, me too, I guess.”

Jimin’s eyes brighten. “No way, hyungs! Me too!”

When Jin, Jungkook, and Taehyung concede that they've also had a run-in with a very memorable girl recently, a new suspicion blooms in the back of Namjoon's mind.

Could they be talking about the same girl?

Though unlikely, he decides to ask, “Did any of you manage to get her name?”

Jin nods, seriously. “G0d$l@yeR_69.”

Namjoon shoots him another long-suffering look.

Hoseok stays silent, if only because his memories of you are one of the few non-idol centered things he still holds onto. Besides, his girl can’t possibly be their girl, too. The odds of that happening would be astronomical.

It's not so wrong to want to keep one aspect of his life to himself… right?

“Sorry, I… I didn’t get her name,” Jimin lies, for the same reason Hoseok keeps quiet. Besides, even if Jin is interested in you, Jimin's your neighbor! He should get first dibs! He's not going to give up your name so his handsome, charismatic hyung can find you and woo you before Jimin even has a chance to try.

"What's this important meeting about?" asks Min Yoongi, walking into the room with a mug of coffee in hand.

"A girl," Jungkook replies, somewhat dreamily, remembering the guardian angel that saved him that rainy day. Yoongi rolls his eyes and immediately turns around to leave despite Namjoon's protests. He has more important things to do than sit around gossiping, especially since he has a meeting with Samsong tomorrow about their new collaboration.

There's a hubbub behind him, a thump, and a curse from the ungainly leader as Namjoon's prized George Nakashima coffee table claims yet another victim. Yoongi's toe throbs, and he sighs.

"There's a first-aid kit in my room." He calls over his shoulder as he goes. "Knock yourselves out."

Far away, in a clinic near your apartment where your ankle is being put into a brace, you sneeze.

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Masterlist | Next

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #eserethriddle #reveri #fruit party 🥭🍒

205 notes · View notes

haosweater · 8 months

Text

perhaps i loved you.

content: idol! jeonghan x gn! reader, angst, fluff, past life au, coffee shop au, royalty au (just read, you’ll get it), unrequited love.

summary: a unique cafe down fifth avenue opens a whole new door of surprises for jeonghan.

word count: 1.4k

note: based this off the short exert i wrote at the end lol. totally not inspired by real life events haha… also i’m writing this at almost two in the morning please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes.

it was cloudy. the sun peeked through the smallest crevices it could find as the wind gently brushed against jeonghan’s skin.

he shivered, pulling his green cardigan on tighter. he reached up, grabbing his white bucket hat to make sure it didn’t fly away. god knew the wind was ruthless these past few days. jeonghan felt like the world seemed to be against him.

he hummed along to his music, walking down the street in solace. the cherry blossoms bloomed magnificently, its pink petals falling to spread its beauty. he looked up, admiring the trees with a gentle smile.

there weren’t a lot of people out this time of the day and jeonghan liked that. he liked the comfort of not being recognised, being able to go about his day peacefully. the solitude was exactly what he needed.

inhaling a deep breath, he turned and continued down the street. the shops down this road were vintage. unique little thrift stores, record stores, quaint coffee shops that sold overpriced coffee— wait.

jeonghan paused, staring into the shop. olive green bookshelves lined the beige walls of the shop. behind, there was a counter with coffee machines and cake displays. at the very front of the store, there was a table. it had two chairs with a typewriter sitting on it.

a cafe? no, bookstore? or was it a vintage thrift store? confused, jeonghan looked up at the sign.

‘caffeinated literature’.

‘how peculiar,‘ jeonghan thought. glancing around, he peeked into the cafe again, noticing no one was inside. he wondered if it was closed, a slight pang of disappointment filling his chest.

however, the ‘open’ sign on the door proved him wrong. his eyes moved down, and noticed the poster on the door, prompting him to move closer and read it.

enjoy a cup of coffee,

and let me write you poetry.

welcome to caffeinated literature.

it didn’t take jeonghan another second to push the glass door open, the soft chime of the bell ringing in the air. “hello?” he called out softly.

there was a muffled crash followed by a yelp, shocking him. “hello! just give me a moment! please, take a seat!”

jeonghan sat down apprehensively, fluffing the cushion beside him. the interior was cozy, minimalistic and welcoming. swinging his feet, he continued to observe his surroundings, not realising you had emerged from behind the counter.

“hello, so sorry about that! what can i get for you today?” you panted, handing him the menu.

jeonghan looked at you in awe. your voice sounded like sweet, smooth honey that dripped slowly into a cup of warm tea. there was a sense of familiarity to you, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“uh, sorry,” he mumbles, snapping out of his thoughts. “i’ll just get an iced cappuccino and a poem, please.”

you grin. “great choice. i’ll be right back with your coffee, so just take a seat in tbe front,” you gesture to the table with the typewriter. he nods, getting up as you disappear behind the counter.

jeonghan feels light-headed from staring at you. something about you was so enchanting, so magical and so familiar. he sighed, annoyed that he was unable to figure out what it was.

the aroma of his coffee drifted in the air as you brought it over. he thanked you as you sat across him, smiling as he sipped on it slowly.

“oh, wow, this is really good,” he remarked, licking his lips. “thank you.”

“it’s no problem,” you say, smiling. “now, for the poem,” you gently slot the paper into the typewriter. turning around, you turn the speaker on, calm jazz music filling the cafe.

“i know this sounds rather far-fetched, but i usually hold people’s hands to get a better feel of their aura before i write their poem. do you mind if i do that with you?”

jeonghan shakes his head almost instantly. “no, not at all,” he says, extending his hands.

you smile, nodding in acknowledgement as you take his hands into yours, slowly shutting your eyes.

jeonghan shivered, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the cafe anymore.

he was now clad in formal wear, standing at the entrance to a balcony. you stood at the edge, back facing him. the moon was bright and the stars shone in the sky.

“i didn’t expect you to come,” your voice wavered. jeonghan couldn’t speak– he could not control what he did.

“i’m here now, aren’t i?” he chuckles, swirling the glass of wine in his hand. “what bothers you, my dear, on the night we are to celebrate?”

when you turn around, tears rolling down your cheeks, he freezes. you stare at him, sniffing softly. even when you’re crying, you look breath-taking to him.

averting your gaze, you sigh. “i can’t lie to you anymore, han,” you whisper. “tonight i watched you get married to the love of your life, confessing your love to each other in front of the whole kingdom,” you look up at him again.

“and now, i will confess my love to you, in front of the moon and stars.”

jeonghan is in shock. he doesn’t know how to comprehend this situation. it is all too fast, too quick– was this his past life?

“i have loved you ever since we were kids, han. my heart has held onto you tightly, refusing to let go. i’ve seen the best and the worst of you. i’ve seen all your flaws and imperfections and yet still i love you. i have been your friend, but never once did i love you like one. i loved you more than that. i would sacrifice the moon and the stars just to gaze at your beauty. i would burn the kingdom down if you wanted me to. my heart aches and yearns for your touch, your love, your heart and i know i will never get it, but i had to tell you.”

by the time you’re done, you’re panting, out of breath. jeonghan wants to rush forward and hold you, but his body stops him. there is no control.

“b-but y/n, i’m a prince and you’re a—”

“knight, i know,” you sob. “i prayed to the gods every day that my heart would let go of you because i knew i could never be yours, nor you, mine.”

jeonghan simply stood there, heart aching at the sight of you. “i am sorry, y/n. i am sorry i cannot love you the way you want me to,” he whispers, taking a step forward.

“it’s okay, han,” you say softly, tears staining your once rosy cheeks. wiping them away, you look at him with a sad smile. “it was never meant to be anyways.”

with a loud gasp, jeonghan finds himself back in cafe. he’s panting, eyes darting around vigorously before landing on you.

you were crying.

and so was he.

“sorry,” you let out an awkward laugh, wiping your tears away. “i don’t know why i’m crying,” you whisper, trying to stop yourself from crying, but the tears keep coming.

“it’s okay,” jeonghan stutters, quickly wiping his own tears. he wants to comfort you more, but he couldn’t find the words to. he felt like he didn’t deserve to.

sniffing, your fingers suddenly start to gly across the typewriter, the clicks ringing in the air. jeonghan observes you intensely, watching you throw draft after draft away. you were clearly frustrated.

finally, after his ice had melted, his coffee finished, you were done.

“sorry,” you say, removing the paper. “i had a hard time finding the right words,” you confessed as he smiled.

he looked down, reading the poem as you fidgeted with your fingers. his eyes drift across each word, heart clenching as he reached the last line.

“this is beautiful,” he says breathlessly. “thank you. i love it.”

you return the smile. “thank you for coming. i hope to see you again.”

jeonghan’s heart flutters at your words momentarily. “thank you for the coffee and poem. and who knows? perhaps i will see you again,” he chuckles before waving goodbye, pushing the glass door open as the bell chimed.

the breeze was stronger now, and jeonghan had to grab onto his hat again. with a loud sigh, he began to walk down the street, thoughts flooding his mind. it was racing, restless and utterly confused.

as he reached the end, he stopped at a traffic light, waiting for it to turn green. pulling out the piece of paper, he reread what you had written, tears forming in the corner of his eyes once again.

‘who are you,

stranger?

you look rather familiar.

perhaps i have loved you.

in another life.’

#seventeen 🫧#seventeen x reader #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen fics #seventeen fanfic #seventeen jeonghan #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #seventeen #seventeen imagines #mei’s ✍️

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barnesafterglow · 5 months

Text

night shift

summary: your growing fame becomes too much for bucky

pairing: actor!bucky barnes x singer!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: fame au, dual pov, unreliable narrators, idk how the grammys work (clearly), angst angst angst, steve is a good friend, bucky is Going Thru It, if you think this is joe + taylor coded you're prob right, directly inspired by night shift by lucy dacus

a/n: yearly fic, dedicated to new lovers

masterlist - i no longer have a tag list but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary to get updates! 🤍

You shoved him off of you, heart racing, breaths coming fast. You had said Bucky’s name, had whispered it in your most intimate moment, and now you needed to leave.

You said nothing else, gathering up your clothes and pulling them on as quickly as you could.

“Wha-”

The door slammed behind you, cold winter winds whipping around you as you realized you’d left your jacket on the hook by the door. It was your favorite, but one you were okay sacrificing as long as you didn’t have to face your embarrassment anymore.

Huffing a breath you could see in front of your face, you called an Uber - at least you had remembered your phone - and paced anxiously a block away from his building, hoping and praying he wouldn’t follow you out.

The entire ride home your mind spiraled until you turned off your phone, terrified this would make headlines already and, let’s be honest, no one would be surprised if it did. You hated that was the life you lived. As if your breakup with Bucky hadn’t already been tabloid fodder for weeks now, the public speculating every detail and warping every comment and photo posted. You had taken to keeping off social media altogether in the time since, trying to disguise your outings as much as possible and take back alleys to recordings and friends’ houses.

Your biggest supporter through all of this, surprisingly, had been Steve - Bucky’s best friend. He hadn’t been your friend first, sure, but he had become like a brother to you nonetheless, and he knew the situation better than anyone. You knew he still talked to Bucky just the same and, while that stung a little, you couldn’t fault him for being there for his childhood best friend too.

Which is how you ended up outside his apartment the very next morning, clad in your typical-as-of-late attire of a hoodie and a hat and sunglasses. It was also how you came face to face with Bucky for the first time since that fateful night.

“I didn’t come to sit here and watch you stare at your feet, James.” You stood from his couch, starting to seethe with pent up anger from your gradually failing relationship, all to end up here. What did he want? To absolve his guilt and shake hands and everything would be fine?

No. You had been the victim of his petty remarks and anxious jealousy for so long. You wouldn’t let him think he deserved your time when he didn’t respect the person you had become.

Your anger flashed back to the week before, the last time you had been seen out in public together as he was breaking up with you at your favorite coffee shop, where he had paid for your drink and you gave him a hesitant kiss, even though you knew it was inevitably coming. He had led you to a table in the corner and proceeded to tell you that he was sorry but he couldn’t do this anymore, it was too much for him - you were too much for him. Okay. That’s all you said was “okay” before you pushed out of the chair and walked around the city until the sun went down.

By the time you got home that night, the headlines were already speculating your breakup, though neither of you had yet to shed a single tear.

Bucky blinked as you shuffled on Steve’s doorstep, eyes wide and contemplating the quickest escape. He didn’t blame you.

He had admittedly not handled your breakup the best; in fact, he regretted it almost immediately at the stricken look on your face, clearly not expecting it. He didn’t blame you for that, either, seeing as it had slipped out in a moment of panic.

You had gained a lot of fame over the course of your relationship, even more than him, and he didn’t quite know how to cope with it. And so the words had poured out, unable to be taken back, and here you were, weeks later, still at odds.

He thought every night of how to make it up to you. Public displays weren’t your thing and you had blocked his number the night of your big fight, so that was out of the question, and he didn’t fancy showing up to your house only to have the door slammed in his face either.

But now, now maybe that you were here on the most neutral ground you could stand on, maybe he could keep his foot out of his mouth and apologize. Words stirred in his hindsight, unable to string together a coherent sentence as your face morphed through the stages of grief in record time. Then, just as he was about to speak, Steve placed a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him back into the house. Relief flooded your face as you drifted out of his sight, and he realized this probably wasn’t going to be as easy to take back as he thought.

“Buck,” Steve said as the two of them turned around the corner. “You need to leave.”

Bucky felt his face do something awful, a mixture of confusion and guilt, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. He simply nodded and kept his head down as he shrugged on his jacket and passed by you in the doorway.

He could hear the soft sound of your sobs as the front door clicked shut.

Songwriting could be as easy as breathing and as hard as climbing a mountain. Right now, the words flooded out of you like a tap of water.

And so did the tears, staining your notebook paper and smearing ink, but still in your heart you knew you would never forget these lyrics - these words that so painstakingly came from your soul and laid it bare.

As you finished the last verse, you took a deep breath, sucked up the tears, and called Natasha.

“Steve, I need to talk to her,” Bucky whined over a beer in a rundown bar in Brooklyn.

“No, you don’t.”

“I can fix it, I know I can.”

“I don’t think you can, Buck.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving his lips. “She’s trying to move on. Don’t ruin that for her.”

“But-”

“No.”

Bucky mimicked Steve’s sigh and leaned back in his chair. It had been increasingly hard to justify his decision to end things with you. He didn’t know what he was thinking and he regretted every moment of it since then.

“Do you think she misses me?” Bucky looked so hopeful, but he could see the sorrow in Steve’s eyes.

“I don’t know.”

The Grammys, the fucking Grammys, and you were performing. You were nominated for a couple, and the Academy had asked you to sing - preferably a new song - in honor of that.

Natasha wrapped you in a hug, twirled you around, and announced you were going out to celebrate. You hesitantly said yes, knowing the press would be everywhere and there was always the possibility of seeing Bucky.

But fuck him. This was your moment.

Which is how you ended up at your favorite dive bar in Brooklyn. Your first mistake.

It was your favorite because Bucky had taken you there so many times. But you couldn’t think of another place you would celebrate than the place where so much inspiration and so many lyrics had come from.

You didn’t scan the room as you walked in with your hand clutching Nat’s, the rest of your small circle of friends following close behind. Your second mistake.

Walking straight to the bar, you didn’t notice Bucky in the far corner, watching your every move. It wasn’t until you were a few drinks in, feeling the celebration kick in, that you spotted him.

At first, you intended to ignore him. This was your time, your night, your moment. He didn’t get the spoil that.

That is, until you went to the bathroom and he trailed you into the dimly lit hallway.

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice a harsh rasp of beer and no sleep. “I’ve missed you.”

Your heart stopped beating in your chest.

You weren’t prepared to see him tonight, not that you ever were these days. But tonight of all nights, the one that should have been carefree and fun and a glittery memory for years to come, was smeared with anger and heartbreak as you spun to face him.

“What the fuck,” you snapped as his fingers grazed your bare arm. Immediately you felt bad, seeing the hurt on his face, and your expression softened. “Sorry.”

“I-it’s okay.” The catch in his voice broke your heart, your own watery eyes matching his. For just a moment.

It took you too long to come to your senses - this was the man who had shattered your heart without a second thought - but he was already so close to you. His body only inches from your own, his hot breath fanning your face, and goddamnit you missed him. You missed him so much that your heart broke all over again.

Your mind cycled through a thousand different thoughts all at once: get away, come closer, touch me, keep your hands off. You couldn’t decide what you wanted in the moment.

You were so, so angry, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to him. His hands settled on your waist as the lights overhead flickered. Your hand pressed gently to his cheek, completely of its own volition. Suddenly, you were tracing the planes of the face you had once known so well. He looked older now, like your time apart had aged him, yet his was still as handsome as the day you had first laid eyes on him.

His eyes locked with yours, and neither of you said a word - not him to ask, not you to stop him - as he leaned in to kiss you.

It should have felt like a victory - it did feel like a victory - but there was something else there. Something dark and twisted and Bucky couldn’t figure out if it was coming from you or him.

The kiss could have lasted moments or a lifetime, he didn’t really know. All he knew was one second you were holding him close to you and the next you were shoving him off.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” your voice came out in a whisper, like you didn’t want to draw attention from the steadily growing crowd of the bar. He supposed you didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” You nodded at his words, your fingers pressed to your lips like you could still feel him there. “I’ll just go.”

You nodded again, your eyes vacant, and he made his way back to the main room of the bar. He looked back in time to see you slump against the wall, and he knew that you were thinking of a way to erase any trace of him on you.

The stage lights came on, you strummed your guitar and started to sing.

The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit, I had a coughing fit.

You let the lyrics you poured your heart into spill out across the stage. Still, somehow - in the crowd of hundreds of faces - you spotted Bucky.

This time, it didn’t make your heart clench. Didn’t make you shed a tear or run away.

No. This time, it empowered you. Let him hear the lyrics he inspired. Let him feel that pain of your words and feel the hole in your heart where he had broken it. Where you were now healing.

Bucky watched as you sang, and you were mesmerizing. He could feel the echoes of hurt in your words, the hole in your heart he had put there. He knew, despite the last time he saw you, that there was no making up. There was no fixing what was well beyond broken. No chance for him.

In five years I hope the songs feel like covers,

Dedicated to new lovers.

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jjungkookislife · 6 months

Text

Love on the Rocks

pairing: hfth!jungkook x f. reader

genre: established relationship, college au, 18+

summary: Thanks to Grandmother Jeon, your friends join you for Spring Break.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: alcohol use/mention, grumpy!koo, mention of a quickie, mention of condoms, food mention, implied smut

a/n: support banner made by @benkeibear

date: March 23, 2024

║part one║║part two║║series masterlist║

Jungkook groaned when you shook him awake. He tugged his pillow over his head, hoping that would let you know he was still exhausted.

Midterms had ended yesterday, on Friday in the morning. You had the rest of the day to pack your bags and head to his place for a sleepover.

Turns out, Grandmother Jeon had hit it big on the slots and purchased all your friends' plane tickets and rooms at the same resort you’d be at with Jungkook, her, and Grandmother Park.

You were excited to hit the poolside and relax. You had a large hat and huge sunglasses packed, bottles and bottles of sunblock, and a hot boyfriend at your side. You were beyond ready to relax after such an intense week of exams and stress.

Jimin and Hoseok were already up. You could hear them making coffee and breakfast in Jungkook’s kitchen. Hoseok had slept on the couch after helping you pick your outfits for the trip. He slept over to help Jungkook with his outfits and to get a ride to the airport.

Grandmother Jeon had arranged a limousine to pick up the eight of you and you had about an hour and a half to get your sleeping boyfriend up, have breakfast, and get Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, and Taehyung up.

“Baby,” Jungkook groans as you straddle him. Your hands are warm on his bare shoulders as you rub them. He moans when you knead a knot near his neck. “No fair.”

“Come on, Kook,” you whine.

“Don’t you want to sleep some more, baby?” Jungkook knows you normally sleep in. You’re often the grumpy one in the mornings.

Except for today, apparently.

“We have a schedule!” you remind him, kissing the spot between his shoulder blades. Jungkook turns, flipping on his back and ignoring the pillow that falls off his face and onto his bedroom floor.

“Do we have time for a quickie?” Jungkook wiggles his brows as he grabs your hips. You bite your bottom lip as he moves you onto his hard cock.

“I know you two aren’t fucking in there when the six of us are out here waiting on you!” Seokjin’s voice comes from the other side of Jungkook’s bedroom door.

“Go away!” Jungkook shouts in response, groaning when you climb off him.

“We’re going!” You shout back as you grab your phone charger, earbuds, and a kitty Squishmallow.

Jungkook stares at the ceiling, cursing.

Of all days to get cockblocked.

Once breakfast is over and done with, you gather all your friends in the living room. You have a list in your hand that you made for yourself in your notebook with the little rabbit on the cover.

“Phone chargers?” you start, making all your friends and your adorable sleepy boyfriend, show you their phone chargers and pack them. “Earbuds? Underwear? Swimsuits? Sunblock? Sunglasses? Condoms?”

The men freeze and stare at you.

You roll your eyes. “Come on, condoms?”

Taehyung smirks as he opens one of his carry-on bags. You peek inside and gasp as Tae cackles and shuts the backpack.

“Uh, looks like Taehyung’s got everyone covered,” you whisper, ignoring the rush of heat to your face.

Taehyung grins proudly.

“First aid kit? Toiletries? Snacks? Earplugs?” you continue reading down your list, making sure you check everyone has their plane tickets, bags, and passports by the time the limousine pulls up.

Your luggage has to go in a separate car provided by Grandmother Jeon and you’re grateful you can sit back and relax on your way to the airport.

Once you arrive at your gate (to confirm it exists), your friends run wild as they split up, heading in different directions for snacks and souvenirs.

Your boyfriend starts to head toward the snack shop with Yoongi and Namjoon but stops when he realizes he’s left you standing looking at the screen for your flight.

“Love?” Jungkook asks as he approaches you.

“Go on, Kook,” you encourage him. “I’m gonna find a bathroom and do my makeup.”

“Okay,” Jungkook nods. “See you in a few?”

You nod, kissing his cheek before heading in opposite directions.

By the time you meet up, Jungkook and your friends have taken up two sections of seats while boarding begins. After a quick headcount, you relax when you have all your friends in one place.

Yoongi is on his phone, one earbud in his ear and the other Namjoon has as he sleeps on his shoulder. Seokjin and Taehyung share snacks, while Jimin sips his coffee and scrolls through his timeline. Hoseok eats a bag of gummy bears while waiting for the flight to start boarding, smiling when the first group is called.

You rise, dragging Jungkook with you as Yoongi wakes Namjoon.

Smiling, you greet the woman at the counter. You take out your plane tickets, standing beside her as Yoongi and Namjoon get their tickets scanned, then Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Seokjin, and finally you and Jungkook.

“Thank you so much,” you say as you follow Seokjin with Jungkook behind you. You wanted to make this trip as effortless as possible and you may have a little anxiety of making things difficult for workers when you didn’t have to. You didn’t want any of your friends to have their phones die and not have access to their tickets, nor did you want them to have their data fail or lose service or anything that could make this trip unfavorable.

The eight of you take up three rows of seats. There’s an empty aisle seat beside Jungkook as you take your window seat.

In front of you, Namjoon looks out the window, while Hoseok and Yoongi watch a video. Across the aisle from them, Jimin, Taehyung, and Seokjin are eating snacks, and deciding who gets what.

The fight will be a few hours long, but you’re hoping to nap for most of it. Namjoon is already half asleep as the plane continues to board.

Jungkook laces his fingers with yours. “Our first flight together.”

You smile, kissing his cheek as he takes his phone and earbuds from his hoodie pockets. He hands you an earbud, “I made us a playlist.”

“You’re so sweet,” you grin, taking the earbud from him.

Jungkook holds your hand, smiling when you scroll through the playlist to see all your favorites. Any time you’d hear a song on the radio, you’d smile at him and say “This is our song,” so he made it so.

The people finish boarding, and the flight attendants shut the door. You yawn as you rest your head on Jungkook, nearly asleep when the lights dim after the safety instructions.

Before you know it, Jungkook is shaking you awake gently. The plane is about to land, and your eyes adjust to the lights.

“Make sure you have all your stuff,” Jungkook reminds you gently as he puts his belongings away as the plane begins its descent.

Thankfully, the landing is smoother than you could ever imagine and after a few more minutes, you’re off the plane and inside the airport.

“Bathroom break and snacks?” You ask your friends as you head toward baggage claim. You know the closest bathroom will be less busy as the rest of the passengers wait to get off the aircraft so you rush toward it leaving your boyfriend and his friends behind.

Soon, you’re heading to the baggage claim area with everyone in tow. You almost feel like a tour guide, leading them to the correct carousel to wait for your luggage.

A man is holding a sign that reads, Jeons.

“Um, is that for you?” You ask Jungkook as you point to the man.

Jungkook shrugs but is distracted by a loud commotion at the carousel behind you.

“My baby!” A familiar voice fills the space as Minji rushes toward you.

Luna barks from her bag, not a fan of the sudden bustling.

“Minji!” You exclaim as you’re wrapped up in a tight hug by Jungkook’s grandmother.

“I’m so glad we arrived at the same time. You know I really do hate flying with Luna on board. It gives me the nerves and all that knowing she doesn’t like it. Oh, here’s one of the drivers. He’ll get the bags with his partner once you get them off the carousel.”

“Grandmother,” Jungkook says, brow raised. “Not gonna say hi?”

“Oh!” Minji releases you to hug her grandson as another squeal sounds behind you. Only this time it’s directed at Jimin before he’s wrapped up in a hug so tight, he struggles to breathe.

Yoongi chuckles with Hoseok as Namjoon and Seokjin grab the bags, pushing them to the side as Taehyung counts them to confirm they’ve all arrived.

“Can’t breathe,” Jimin finally whines as his grandmother eases up on her hold.

“I’m sorry, Minnie. I missed you so much,” Grandmother Park says.

“Come on, let’s get going. I’m hungry and Luna could use a nap,” Minji says as she directs you toward the waiting cars. Your luggage gets packed in one and the group splits up in two to get to the resort.

It takes a while to check in and pass out key cards.

Minji and Grandmother Park, Sujin, as she’d asked you to call her, were excited to check out their room.

“We are on the first floor,” Minji informs your boyfriend as she holds Luna’s carrier close to her chest. Though the two grandmothers had a place nearby, it was going through renovations and the two decided to stay in the same resort as the grandchildren.

“Wouldn’t you rather be on the same floor as us?” Jimin asks the grandmothers.

The two women exchange a look before they burst out laughing.

“No offense kids,” Sujin giggles. “But you’ll cramp our style.”

Taehyung chuckles as he helps with their luggage; Jimin guffaws.

“How?!” He pouts as he follows his grandmother into the room.

“I can’t be cruising for men when my cherubic grandson is hovering around, now can I?” Sujin sighs as she sits on the corner of her bed.

“Same,” Minji comments as she opens the drawer to put her clothes up.

“Gee, I didn’t know we were so uncool,” Jungkook whispers.

Seokjin laughs as he heads back into the hall. “We’ll keep our distance.”

“Call if you get into trouble,” Minji states with a firm look, eyeing every one of you.

“We will,” Jimin promises before he leads everyone out of the room.

The eight of you split into groups with your luggage as you hit the button for the seventh floor.

You and Jungkook are sharing a room. Across the hall, Jimin and Taehyung will share a room. Further down the hall near the elevator, Hoseok and Yoongi will share a room, and across from them will be Seokjin and Namjoon.

“Let’s rest and settle in before we grab lunch,” Hoseok suggests as he drags Yoongi toward their room.

Jungkook takes your hand as he drags his large suitcase in one hand and his bag hangs off his right shoulder.

You drag your suitcase behind you while your bag collides with your hip at every step. You’re still tired from the early morning and flight but you want to check out the resort and have a good meal.

Forty-five minutes later, you’re sitting poolside with a fruit bowl on your lap.

Jungkook lies behind you with his legs spread while you rest your back on his chest. He’s shirtless, enjoying the sun for a little longer before you make him put the umbrella up. As much as you loved the weather, it was too toasty.

Besides, you had wanted to eat before your hands got smeared with sunblock.

On the chair next to yours and Jungkook’s, Jimin and Hoseok have thrown their towels, snacks, lotions, sunglasses and who knows what else. They were already rambunctious with Namjoon, Hoseok, and Taehyung in the pool.

To your right, Yoongi read a book while tucked under an umbrella. You knew it wouldn’t be long until he dozed off and you had to save his place with his kitten bookmark and dab some sunblock on his nose.

“Open,” you instruct Jungkook as you press a strawberry to his lips. He obeys easily, biting down before moving his head back to chew. You giggle when you finish the strawberry and offer him a cube of watermelon next.

“If I knew the two of you would be this disgusting, I would have gone with everyone else,” Yoongi huffs but his gaze holds no malice just teasing.

“Aw, want me to feed you, little kitty?” You tease in your best high-pitched voice reserved for talking to babies and cute little things, including one Min Yoongi with his kitten bookmark.

“Yeah, I’m out of here,” Yoongi shuts his book and heads for the bar.

Jungkook chuckles before he kisses your shoulder, his arms wrap around your waist.

“Mm, glad you’re here,” He whispers into your skin. He trails a few kisses across your shoulders as his hands squeeze your hips. “Though I wish we could sneak upstairs for a bit.”

You giggle, “We just got out of the shower in time to meet everyone.”

“They won’t even notice if we’re gone for a few,” Jungkook jokes as he takes the grape from your fingers with a tiny roar.

Fuck, he’s adorable.

“Let’s just put the umbrella up and finish our fruit,” You say as you pat his thigh and he scrambles out of the chair to do as you’ve asked.

“Already got him working?” Minji asks as she walks toward you with Sujin in tow. Both wear large floppy sun hats, oversized leopard print sunglasses, and bright one-piece bathing suits (teal for Minji and yellow for Sujin) with matching coverups.

“You know it,” you grin as the umbrella goes up and Jungkook rushes to open the one for Minji and Sujin.

“What a good boy,” Sujin coos at Jungkook, who blushes and murmurs thanks before sitting beside you.

Sujin looks at the pool to see Jimin splashing Taehyung with a water gun and cackling as he swims away. “Unlike my grandson! Who hasn’t stopped by to say hello!”

Jimin’s eyes widen as his friends chuckle behind him. He gets out of the pool with a sheepish grin.

“Grandma,” Jimin pouts. Sujin smiles and hands him a bottle of sunblock. “Get my shoulders.”

Jimin nods as he opens the sunblock and moves behind Sujin. Seokjin smirks from the pool as he picks up Jimin’s water gun and chases Taehyung.

Namjoon does a lap on the opposite end, racing Hoseok before Taehyung interrupts with his screaming.

Jungkook takes the sunblock and puts some on Minji as you grab a drink of water from the table beside you.

“How’s it going?” You ask as you put your sunglasses on. It’s definitely getting hotter.

Jungkook hums as he races Jimin, wanting to be the first to finish so he can get back to you.

“Pretty good,” Sujin answers as she swats Jimin’s hand. “Easy, I’m fragile.”

“Sorry,” Jimin whispers.

“Oh, hot grandpa alert!” Minji chirps, swatting Jungkook’s hands off her. “Go find something to do, kids! You’re cramping our style!”

“We’re cramping your style?” Jimin guffaws as he drops the sunblock at the same time as Jungkook.

“Ooh, he’s got a friend,” Sujin smiles as she gets up from her seat, taking Minji with her.

“I guess we’re on our own for dinner,” Jungkook chuckles as he watches his grandmother introduce herself to the two men Sujin spotted.

“Looks like Minji is the life of the party wherever she goes,” you giggle as you take Jungkook’s hand to lead him to the pool. He goes easily, kissing you once you’re both in.

“Hey! None of that couple stuff on vacation!” Taehyung shouts from across the pool.

“Yeah,” Seokjin agrees as he sprays you two with the water gun. “You did that on our last vacation!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “The last vacation is why you’re on this vacation!”

Namjoon smiles. “Fair enough.”

Sleep clings to your eyes as you feel warmth on your chest. You’ve tried your best to wake up early but after dinner the eight of you went to bed early and slept, the day’s travel and afternoon being too much on your bodies.

Now, you could decipher it was your boyfriend making you warm as his arm draped around your middle and his fluffy hair splayed on your bare chest.

After a shower and a lazy nighttime routine; the two of you had gone to bed naked, too tired to dig through your suitcases for clothes.

The clock on the wall showed it was just after 12:30 pm and you stifled a yawn.

“No wake,” Jungkook grumbles in his sleepy voice and you smile. You run your fingers through his hair, singing to him softly.

“We can stay in bed all day,” you promise him but he rouses, pouting.

“But then our friends will come barging in,” he frowns because yes, that is what usually ends up happening.

“We can ignore them,” you grin as you continue to play with his hair. He hums as he closes his eyes once again.

The next time you wake up, it’s an hour later and Jungkook is kissing you awake.

He’s in a much brighter mood now that he's gotten enough sleep.

“Jungkook!” You laugh when he kisses your lips messily. “I haven’t brushed.”

“I don’t care,” he giggles as he kisses you again, this time deeper as his hand cups your cheek. “Just want you.”

The next few days are a whirlwind of lovemaking, hanging out with the guys at the pool, group dinner, and trying not to cramp the Grandmother’s style.

You’ve spent most of the afternoon in the pool with your friends and Minji.

A romantic dinner with your boyfriend has just ended with dessert and flutes of champagne.

Minji, Sujin, and their dates for the night are at a table as far away from you as possible.

When you had first set foot at the restaurant, Minji had made a point to hide behind her menu. It’s not like you and Jimin had helped them get ready or anything but Minji admitted she was a little shy when it came to dating with Jungkook close by.

Minji wasn’t looking for commitment. She wanted fun and adventure, and nobody could ever replace Jungkook’s grandfather, so she didn’t even want to try. She was happy with her life, with Luna, her grandkids, and her best friend. She had it all (according to her), so you'd stay out of her business.

Slow music plays from the stage. The singer is crooning as couples get up to dance.

You spot Minji and her dinner date dancing across the dance floor, smiling at each other.

“Want to dance?” Jungkook asks after watching you for a moment. He knew you were admiring the couples on the floor.

“Oh, I don’t know how,” you say sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook assures you as he rises from his seat. He pulls your chair out and takes your hand to help you up.

“I’m not so sure about this,” you whisper as he guides you to the dance floor. He takes your hand in his and the other rests on your waist.

You place your hand on his shoulder and the two of you gently sway to the music.

“You’re doing great,” he encourages you as he pulls you closer.

“I love you,” you tell him as you look into his eyes. A small smile appears on his lips as he kisses you. His lip rings are cold when they press against your lips, a soft moan escaping him.

“I love you,” Jungkook said once you parted. The two of you continue to sway as the song ends.

“Walk with me?” Jungkook suggests and you agree easily.

The two of you head out the door, smiling at each other as you make your way through the resort until you reach the beach.

Jungkook holds your hand in his as you walk along the shore. The sky is filled with sparkling stars but they have nothing against the ones in Jungkook’s eyes.

The waves crash loudly as you approach the shore. Your bare feet sink into the wet sand and you’re glad Hoseok picked out a shorter dress for this.

“I don’t want to go back home,” you pout as you come to a stop. The waves lick at your feet as Jungkook wraps his arms around you. He places his head on your shoulder as he looks at the water.

“Me either,” he admits. He takes a second to kiss your shoulder and then your cheek. “It’s been nice having you to myself.”

You giggle, turning your head to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re greedy, Jeon!”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs before he faces you. “But it’s only because I love you so much.”

Your heart melts into a puddle of ooey gooey love for the man with the cute bunny nose.

“I love you too, Jungkook. More than you can ever imagine,” you whisper as he cups your face gently in his hands. You grip his shirt tight as he kisses you, slowly deepening the kiss until you moan.

With a soft smile, Jungkook presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you speaks as you gaze into each other’s eyes.

“You’re the only one for me,” Jungkook swears as he leans in to kiss you again.

The waves continue crashing as you fall deeper in love with him, wishing this moment never had to end.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #jungkook x y/n #hfth!jungkook #fic: hfth #home for the holidays drabble #hfth drabble

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eoieopda · 2 years

Note

Can you please do a jungkook being dad or to be dad ?!?🥹🫠they’re freaking cute

aaaaaah! i love writing dad!bangtan 🥹

ft. established relationship au, unmarried jk & reader, mention of unplanned pregnancy, matching timbs.

No part of your life proceeded as planned.

Somehow, everything you ended up with fell right into your lap before you could think to seek it. One of those sudden discoveries was Jungkook, your now-boyfriend, who crashed into your life four years ago in the most literal sense — on a bike, right into the side of your car.

Things escalated from first aid on the sidewalk to compensatory japchae at a nearby restaurant. When his nose stopped bleeding and your bellies were full, the conversation kept flowing until the restaurant staff begged to be able to close for the night.

You didn’t expect him to stick around for all of that, but you were glad he did.

He became a recurring character in your life after that; promoting himself to series regular in the same way your sporadic coffee dates became part of your daily routine. From the café up the block to your jointly-purchased kitchen table, he was present at your side.

Your pregnancy came about just as unexpectedly. Only a year into your relationship, you pissed on a stick to confirm a hunch. You — perhaps unfairly — expected a negative reaction to that positive result, but what you got instead was partnership. Jungkook’s presence once again communicating his promise to stay.

And shit, did he make good.

For someone who didn’t plan to become a father at twenty-three, he was as good at this as he was literally everything else. A quick study, he could change a diaper faster than you could blink.

Jungkook made it all look easy, too; not exhausting, not frustrating, just natural. He soothed Jungsoo’s crying with minimal effort — usually with a song — and he was especially adept at keeping that smushy face smiling.

Best of all, you couldn’t identify a single moment in which the work felt unequal. He was adamant that parenting was a team sport.

True to form, he turned the dreaded, late-night wake-ups into a competition against himself. He’d set new personal records in both his response time and his resolution time. He’d be back in bed, wrapping himself around you before your sleep-steeped brain fully processed his absence.

Working full-time from home meant that you got to marvel at his talents in real-time. Watching the two of them interact throughout each day, you fell more impossibly in love with both of them. With their unbridled imaginations; their special, shared language; the eerily familiar way Jungsoo buffered through his confusion.

Because of your beloved boys, your house was full of laughter — every single day. You didn’t have to miss a single second.

Sitting at your kitchen table with your laptop open in front of you, you were halfway through today’s project. Jungkook had taken over the finger-painting session so you could meet your deadline without issue. At some point, though, you noticed a quiet you weren’t used to.

It was too early for nap time, so where was the giggling? The sing-alongs that made up the soundtrack to your day?

In the laundry room down the hall, you heard the door to the garage open and shut again. It was followed by slow, careful footfalls up the wooden steps; then an odd, metallic clatter that prompted you to stand. Before you could investigate further, there they came:

Jungkook, holding a step stool and a shopping bag from the hardware store. The pair of them must have slipped out unnoticed during your conference call earlier.

Jungsoo, holding his father’s hand while keeping plastic safety goggles on his face with the other. They coordinated perfectly with the toy tool-belt wrapped around his waist, and the yellow hard hat on his head.

Both were wearing Timberlands, though the smaller pair had zippers on the sides for ease of use.

“What are you two handymen up to?” You giggled as you placed your hands on your hips. Truly, the sight of them had you swooning; it would’ve been impossible not to smile.

The twenty-six-year-old exchanged a look with his three-year-old colleague; then the former held up the shopping bag. “The playroom ceiling needs a new eyeball.”

He said it matter-of-factly as if his explanation didn’t require one of its own. Jungkook noted the way you blinked slowly back at him, then he cleared his throat with a laugh.

“Sorry — lightbulb,” he corrected himself as he gently patted the top of your son’s hard hat. It shifted slightly at the contact, but Jungkook was quick to fix it. “I’m studying up on Jungsoo-ese.”

At the mention of his name, Jungsoo’s entire face lit up. His nose scrunched as he smiled, leaving his two front teeth on full display. You lovingly tapped the tip of that crinkled nose with your index finger, “I need lessons, apparently!”

Jungkook nodded, then knelt down to consult with his partner. He whispered something that you didn’t catch, and then Jungsoo went rocketing off to the playroom with a whoop. As soon as he was gone, Jungkook stood, wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you in for a kiss that left you breathless.

“I can tutor you, baby,” he promised with a cheeky grin, “But my expertise doesn’t come cheap.”

“Oh?” You smirked, “Name your price.”

He kept his eyes fixed on you as he nodded, much more serious when he spoke again, “We can negotiate specifics after bedtime, but I think this construction crew would benefit from a little expansion.”

Leaning up onto your toes, you carded your fingers through his hair and kissed him deep. You pulled away only to murmur against his lips, “There are more eyeballs in this house than there are hands to fix them…”

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delirious-donna · 8 months

Text

Who? [Kiba Inuzuka]

an: this is a repost of an old story I wrote for @tired-biscuit who we all know is the biggest kiba girlie on the planet. I've reworked it and added an extra 2k (sorry not sorry). Hopefully, it gets a few reads.

pairing: Kiba Inuzuka x female reader

warnings: NSFW, modern AU, friends to lovers trope, characters in late 20s, angst, toxic males (sorry Asuma, Obito, Itachi and Hidan simps!), pussy eating, blowjob after sex, unprotected sex, cum swallowing, biting and marking.

Masterlist

He eyed you with the utmost disdain.

Glowing amber eyes raked from the toes of your scuffed Converse to the brim of the baseball hat that peeked from under your hoodie. A sleek dark eyebrow rose, stern in admonishment of your haggard appearance and you could scream at him for it.

You knew you looked god awful—felt it too—but did he need to sneer quite so fucking openly? Even from the door of the coffee shop, you knew he was going to give you absolute hell, motherfucker couldn't help himself at the best of times. Some best friend he was.

Kiba Inuzuka appeared his usual well-put-together self, the epitome of the aloof bad boy that most girls had that annoying phase of wanting more than reason should allow. Sickening really, but you loved him regardless. Platonically, of course… of course.

He sat with arms crossed at your favoured table in the back corner, his arms tightly crossed over his wide chest and forcing the cotton of the black tee he wore to work to its limit to contain the muscles beneath. You spied his foot stretched out as he practically manspread in his chair, and the ominous tap of his heavy biker boot sounded like the tolls of a church bell as you walked toward him and your doom.

The strands of his chestnut brown hair were tousled in a sexy 'I just got fucked' style that was meant to look like he had rolled right out of whatever bed he had spent the previous night in. However, you knew the truth of it. That particular look took him a straight forty-five minutes to perfect each morning, and you were tempted to ruffle your hand through it just to piss him off more but you didn’t have a death wish–not today.

You always gave him shit for how long it took him to get ready in the mornings, many a time in your college years you had screeched about him being worse than the girls, and you were not wrong. If any of his floozies were to find out about his skincare regime their little airhead brains would likely implode from shock. Perhaps you should never have taught him that he needed to use more than bar soap on his face each morning, for the man owned more luxury beauty products than you did now.

"You look like shit," he offered with a shit-eating grin on his annoyingly handsome and punchable face.

The onset of summer highlighted the fresh dusting of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and his usual sun-kissed skin darkened further from the abundance of scorching sunlight. Kiba was a true summer child, not something you shared with him as you opted to hide from the dangerous rays of the sun until the weather cooled into a more agreeable autumn temperature.

"Well, fuck you too, dickhead!"

You threw yourself haphazardly into the opposite chair, face screwed up from the squeal of metal on the polished floor and pouted.

"Could've at least bought me a drink. Not like you don't know what I like," you moaned sullenly.

Glancing over your shoulder you could see the line was almost at the door, and the thought of standing in it to get your much-needed fix of caffeine sounded like hell on earth. With your best puppy dog eyes, you rounded back to Kiba who was watching you fixedly, jaw set in a firm line.

"Oh no. I already stood in that queue, had to almost sell my soul to Satan himself to get the last apple danish. It's not my fault that you're so hungover that you can't face standing up for longer than a minute," he all but yelled at you.

Kiba was more pissed than you had expected, you must have really caused a scene for him to be this level of mad at you. Caffeine was your biggest weakness, and he knew it. Groaning loudly as you rubbed at your aching temples, you tried to replay the snippets of what you remembered from the previous night.

Anger snapped at your fingers. The burn of absolute fury had you rubbing at your chest in discomfort, and you well remembered the slap you had landed with the stinging pain that still lingered on your palm. A face you would much rather forget loomed into your mind's eye, tall and dark-haired. A cocky lopsided smile on his face as he tried to wave away your well-founded accusations.

Goddamn Obito Uchiha, he was the devil incarnate. Nothing but a cheating scumbag that had promised you the world but in the end gave you only hell and one heck of a headache.

You could recall the heated whispers of your girlfriends, the words that had curdled your stomach and caused your pulse to pound in your ears. Your boyfriend had been seen by multiple reliable sources engaged in acts that should solely be reserved for you. He had fallen back into the arms of his ex, and he didn't even have the decency to end things before he went and stuck his dick in her.

Sure, you could have handled things better, you knew that, but he had it coming to him.

"Kiba," you whined, "I know that I probably didn't do myself any favours last night, but you can't tell me that he wasn't asking for it? The bastard cheated on me! A slap to the face was hardly the end of the world..."

You fell silent whilst his stare iced over instantly.

The warmth of his amber-flecked eyes was gone in a heartbeat, cold fury descended over his face as he leant forward with his arms braced on the table. You couldn't help but admire the black ink that ran from his left elbow and slipped beneath the sleeve of his fitted t-shirt. His bicep flexed as he pointed a thick finger in your face.

"Are you serious? You think I'm pissed at you for throwing a piss poor slap at that self-centred prick?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Be quiet," he added as your mouth popped open to shoot back your reply.

"Course he deserved it, and the rest of what he got..."

You frowned at the ominous statement in confusion, suddenly eyeing his hands intently, and as you had suspected, the knuckles were raw and split open in places. That only ever happened when… Icy dread whispered down your spine at the unwelcome thought.

"What I am downright furious about is the scene you made after that slap. Don't you remember shouting your damn head off, screeching like a fucking banshee for 'that bitch' as you called her? Must have slipped your mind that you stormed right across the bar, literally pushing over your friends that just wanted to help and then threw up all over the pinball machine, yeah?"

You blanched, literally feeling the colour drain from your face as you did indeed recall flashes of what he spat at you so venomously. All you wanted was for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, instead, you raised your hands to cover your face, or at least, you tried.

A rough hand wrapped around your wrist and forcefully removed it from your mortified face.

"Uh-uh, I got more to say and you are gonna listen, so perk those little ears up mama. I could forgive you yelling like a lunatic and spewing your load, god knows I'm more than aware you're such a damn lightweight. What I cannot forgive is you running out the door and going fuck knows where!"

He was getting louder and you cringed.

It felt like a thousand eyes were on the pair of you, and it made the introvert in you crumble like a sandcastle being overwhelmed by the ocean. You had wondered why you'd awoken in your childhood bedroom, why the window was wide open and your dad was holding a baseball bat over his head as you emerged from the cocoon of bedsheets. Old habits die hard and sneaking in and out of your bedroom window proved to be one of them even though you had long moved out of your parents’ home.

Your mouth was drier than a desert, tongue heavy in your mouth as Kiba finished his tirade. He huffed through his nose like an angry bull, and with only the jut of his jaw, he silently demanded a response. The problem was, you didn't know what to say, surely you were out of excuses for the poor choices you had made. It seemed like this was a cycle you were meant to repeat from now until the end of time.

Step One – find a new boyfriend who would quickly become your obsession.

Step Two – Kiba would either know them already or meet them only to immediately disapprove and ask you to end things. Ask was putting it mildly too.

Step Three – you and he would argue like squabbling schoolchildren until one of you stormed out, resulting in a period of silence.

Step Four – said boyfriend would reveal his true colours in the most atrocious of ways and annoyingly prove Kiba right time and again.

Step Five – Kiba picked up the broken pieces of your heart and soul, glueing them back together with an ever-patient hand. Although he never failed to tell you, ‘I told you so.’

Repeat.

Shame burned in your chest, the feeling filled you from head to toe and it was enough to intensify the headache that crested through your brain like waves on a turbulent sea. All this and you had no damn coffee to at least take the very edge off your misery.

What could you say?

You had acted like a selfish brat with those actions, your friend had every right to be angry at you and it was only then you noticed the dark shadows that lingered beneath Kiba's eyes. You grabbed his hand and held it tightly in your own when he tried to withdraw, pulling it toward you.

"Please don't tell me you've been up all night cause of me?"

He shrugged and again tried to pull his hand free, but he didn't truly fight you. It was evident to both of you that if he wanted to retrieve his hand, he would be able to do so with ease. He grunted in reply and looked pointedly over your shoulder.

Fuck!

"I'm sorry," you whispered with a slight hiccup, fighting the flow of tears that threatened to spill upon the bougie-looking rustic tabletop. A fingertip traced a gnarled knot, it grounded you and kept you from completely losing it.

"Kiba, please. I'm sorry, it won't happen again. I know I've said that before but I mean it, I do, I promise. No more idiots and no more making an absolute fool of myself."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

His tone had returned to a more amicable level, with a smirk unfolding on his lips and you knew that the worst of the storm was over.

Worry had been at the core of his fury, not knowing where you were until you had texted him upon waking at your parent’s house. Frantic fingers flew across the keys whilst listening to your dad's yells of indignation about how you should have used the damn front door instead of climbing in through your old bedroom window.

This really was the straw to break the camel's back.

It was exhausting, the emotional toll enough to have you curled into a tight ball on most nights. True that the highs were intoxicatingly good, but the lows were soul-suckingly abysmal. It was time that you stopped endlessly chasing around after men who were never worth your time and effort. Maybe if you stopped searching, the right man would find you instead.

"I'm done, I promise," you reiterated with a steely determination in your eye.

Kiba tipped back in his chair, assessing your words and finding them to be genuine. His normal goofy smile manifested and it was like the first ray of sunshine you had seen in weeks. He truly was the best friend you could ever ask for, and when he stood with a sigh, you realised you couldn't love him anymore.

"Caramel macchiato?"

Or could you?

–

Kiba had known it wouldn't last, it never did, so why would this time be any different?

The trouble was that he adored you from the tip of your sharp tongue right down to your uncoordinated feet that stumbled and fumbled no matter how hard you tried to keep your balance. The pair of you had been friends since your schooldays and you were both prominent figures within your wider social group. What he didn't like about you, and was not quiet about, was your god-awful taste in men.

You couldn't help it, you were downright adorable so of course, men were always gonna be drawn to you, but did you have to pick the worst scumbags imaginable? He had never believed that one person could get it wrong over and over without at least learning some kind of lesson. It must be some kind of imbalance in your brain and it was astonishing, to say the least.

Over the years you had gone through phases, such as the bad boy stage where you swore blind that you could reform idiotic womanizing players like Asuma Sarutobi. Everyone and their grandmother knew that Asuma could not keep his eyes, and hands, off the ladies. It was never going to matter how many times in a day you fucked him, he was destined to stray and stray he did.

Kiba was there to pick up the pieces, to reassure you that it was most definitely his loss, and no, he didn't think you needed to lose any fucking weight! Why would you even think that? He didn’t always understand women and the fascination with weight was his biggest bugbear.

Then there was the sophiscated phase which he referred to as the smugly quiet phase. Itachi Uchiha was only a few years older than you but damn did he act like he was a motherfucking elder. The condescending smiles, the little tuts and eye rolls at what he deemed to be childish acts and that low almost monotonous tone that spoke volumes about his feelings, or lack thereof.

Again, Kiba had warned you off but you chose to ignore him as usual.

Instead, he waited until Itachi sat you down and told you abruptly that you were too immature for him, effectively breaking your heart in all the time it took him to blink those feminine-looking long dark eyelashes of his. Kiba was there for you to cry upon his shoulder, to wipe your snotty nose and assure you that you were not immature, that dude was just an old ass fuddy-duddy.

Obito had simply been the latest in a long line of utter morons, and part of him had desperately hoped you would keep your word this time. The one thing he was glad about was that you had never dated within your friendship circle, though it hadn't stopped some of the guys from trying.

You would never know about the times he had forcibly taken aside the likes of Naruto and Shikamaru, the muttered threats of mortal wounds and outright death if they so much as dared to touch you. Kiba was always met with nervous chuckles, reassuring pats on the shoulder and hastily sworn oaths that they would keep their distance. Shikamaru had even looked downright pleased with himself, as if he knew something that Kiba didn’t and that encounter had lingered with him for a long while.

It had been a good month since you swore 'til you were blue in the face that you were done chasing men, a record for you but it had all come tumbling down when Hidan entered the fray.

Hidan–a dude who swore he had no last name. Seriously, who did he think he was, the goddamn pope? Perhaps he should have taken that final step much like Prince had done and changed his name into a symbol, it certainly wouldn't have made him any more pretentious.

The man clearly thought he was the next messiah and Kiba had taken an instant dislike to him. This time it was different and he couldn't shake the fear that gripped his heart. Worry gnawed at him, the sense that his guy was more than capable of drawing you into things that could endanger you. The saying goes that you should listen to your gut and Kiba took that very literally. His every instinct screamed of danger and put him on high alert for trouble.

Weeks had passed since you two first started dating and although he desperately wanted to teach you a lesson by giving you the usual silent treatment until you snapped, he refrained. Something stopped him, a niggling doubt that poked him at the most random of times. He wasn’t about to let something befall you on his watch, he’d never forgive himself if it did.

Instead, he watched much like a predator would, assessed this cocky-ass male and learned his weaknesses. Kiba knew Hidan hated to be called out on things, his word was law in his mind and that just grated on the Inuzuka to the worst possible level.

He remembered well the night that Hidan had cornered him as he left the bar restroom, his fist thundering into the wall next to his head in an attempt to intimidate him. It didn't take much for Kiba to snap, yet he managed to hold on to his composure this time. Fought to retain his sanity tooth and nail because he would not play into Hidan's hands, for this was a game to him.

"You wanna fuck her, dontcha?"

"Killing you to know that it's my dick that she sits on each and every chance she gets, huh? Cock hungry little slut that she is."

The inflammatory words had been like grenades exploding behind his eyes, what an utter cunt he was for speaking about you in such a derogatory manner. Kiba had stuffed his white-knuckled fists deep into his pockets, biting his tongue and pushing away from the sneering male without further incident.

In hindsight he was shocked that he had managed to keep it together and not outright punched the fucker–he wanted to–but then again so had Hidan. It was a part of his plan to isolate you, to keep you from your friends and family so that he could steal all your time and attention. He was the definition of a toxic male.

Manipulative fucker!

The Inuzuka drained his beer and let his head fall back against the couch cushions. He was at his wit's end, there was no plan to swirl inside his rampant brain that seemed likely to work.

How long had he ignored his feelings for you?

Too long was the answer. He doubted you were ever going fall into his arms as he wished, but he satisfied himself with being your ever-constant rock. If he could not have you, he would make damn sure that whoever was lucky enough to steal your heart treated you like a princess.

It hurt his heart, but it was better than the emptiness that came with the alternative.

Tired eyes looked towards his phone that was buzzing incessantly on the couch beside him, he palmed the device and looked at the screen to find your name illuminated like a beacon in the darkness of his lounge. He schooled his features although he knew you could not see him and answered the call.

"What's up?"

–

You were a dumbass.

There was no other way to describe how dense you were when it came to your love life. You had to wonder if you had a sign above your head that attracted the absolute worst of mankind to swarm you like insects. Was there something wrong with you? Were you actually a bad person who didn't deserve to be loved?

You made your way to the apartment you knew as intimately as your own.

Feet carrying you ever forward, speeding you towards comfort in the arms of Kiba. He would make it all better, wouldn't he?

For once, you didn't know if he could. There were only so many times you could be knocked down before you could no longer get back up and it was getting harder and harder to find your feet.

Tears threatened to fall but you refused. Curling your hands into tight fists until your nails sank into the flesh, close to puncturing the skin but not quite. It grounded you and kept the tears at bay. How long it would last, you weren't sure.

The ache in your chest eased as Kiba answered the door with worry prominent on his features. Pinched brow and pristine white teeth gnawing his lower lip in earnest. Even before you could step inside, he was reaching for you, dragging you into his strong embrace and wrapping you in his essence.

You sank into him willingly, inhaling his musky spice-infused scent until you were filled with it. It felt like stepping into a perfectly hot bath after a long exhausting day, the tension from your muscles draining away whilst you sagged against the chest that rose and fell in harmony with your own. Kiba wrapped one arm wrapped around your lower back, a thumb rubbing against you in soothing motions whilst the other cradled your head and let you settle into his broad shoulder.

Why couldn't all the men in your life be like this?

Kiba accepted you for who you were and had no interest in changing you into something that would better suit him. His soul was filled with warm light, you saw it through the amber flecks in his eyes, the adorable dimple appearing on his right cheek when he smiled broadly and through his caring actions.

"Tell me everything babe," he cooed softly into your mussed hair, ruffling the strands with his breath.

Where to begin?!

You spent the next hour filling in your longtime friend with every dreaded detail from this afternoon, sipping cautiously on a beer that he offered you once seated on his squishy leather couch. The last thing you wanted to do was succumb to alcohol, but one would settle your nerves you reasoned.

"I knew that guy was a motherfucker," Kiba hollered from the kitchen.

Rolling your eyes at the sheer joy that laced his gravelly tone, you turned to find him bent over searching the fridge aimlessly. His tight butt swayed in the hold of his black jeans, it was such a nice backside and if you were in a better mood you might have tiptoed closer to give it a good hard smack. He’d deserve it.

"Mr Kiba 'I knew he was a motherfucker' Inuzuka. Can't you ever give me a break?"

It hadn't bothered you this much when he first said it, but the more you repeated the words, the more fury infused your veins. It hit you like a tidal wave, turning you from weepy sadness to burning anger in less than a minute.

You popped to your feet, pacing back and forth whilst your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides. Wary amber eyes followed your movements, closing the fridge door with a hard thud that made the magnets rattle. Magnets you had gifted that asshole. The grim set of his jaw was back, irritation so quick to line his features until you were both scowling at one another.

"The fuck? Why have you always got to be so fucking high and mighty? You ain't perfect either, you know!" You were yelling now, raw emotion burning your throat and turning your body into a literal inferno.

"High and mighty? You gotta be joking me. Watch your damn mouth, my patience will only remain for so long. I suggest you calm the fuck down and sit down as well!"

He was making it worse, where was his usual compassion when you stormed like this?

"Or what Kiba? You gonna chuck me out?" You snorted through your nose and missed the flash of pure rage that flitted through his blown-wide pupils.

All six foot two of him towered above you, so close you could feel the heat roiling off his body and licking at your flesh. The back of your legs caught the edge of the glass coffee table and he was grabbing at your upper arms in an instant.

You gasped when his fingers dug into the meat of your arms until you almost yelped out for him to stop. Head tipped back and heart thundering from an evil cocktail of anger and bitterness, you straight up growled at him like a dog ready to lunge and attack.

"When are you going to open your fucking eyes?" he whispered, low and so very dangerous that the hairs on the nape of your neck prickled to attention.

Too wrapped in your own negative emotions, you failed to comprehend his words fully. Oblivious to the storm of desire that was rapidly rising to the surface in the male fixing you in place. You ignored his words and spat more venom at him in an attempt to get him to release you.

"When was the last time you even got laid Kiba? Haven't seen any of your airheads flouncing about in forever. They made me sick to my stomach with their simpering eyes out on stalks, drooling over you like you were some kind of fucking god."

He let go in a moment of startled surprise as your words found their mark, and you stormed towards the door only to have your wrist captured in a rough hand. Kiba pulled you back to him, the tug was so forceful that your chest bumped into his and your free hand flew to the wall of steel that was his chest in an attempt to balance yourself.

"Jealous?" he seethed, lowering his face until you were practically nose to nose

Had you been in your right mind, you might have taken a moment to process that incredibly loaded question and see it for what it actually was. Instead, your primal instincts found themselves firmly in the driving seat as a war cry pounded in your ears and a tightness grew heavy in the pit of your stomach.

You snatched your hand back and grabbed two fistfuls of his stupid tousled chestnut hair, pressing yourself onto your tiptoes to reach his wickedly curled lips.

This was no soft kiss, it was cruel and punishing.

Lips met, teeth gnashed and snarls sounded from both of your throats as Kiba reacted in kind. His hands were not gentle as he cupped your face, one hand stealing into your hair and wrapping it around his fist. He pulled, forcing your throat to strain taut and ripping your mouth away from his with a hiss.

White-hot fury veiled your vision in red. His sharp almost fang-like incisors sank into your vulnerable neck, harsh and selfish as he marked you for his own. Greedy lips followed the exquisite sting of pain, sucking at the skin indented by his teeth until the entire area would be bruised and tender to the touch when your sanity returned.

You didn't know what made you say it, the words were out of your mouth before you took note of them.

"Seems like you've been the jealous one.” Kiba froze against your frantic pulse point.

His eyes were positively feral, the pupils almost entirely swallowing his normally warm amber irises. Cheeks dabbled in rough whiskers from the late hour and the tendon from neck to collarbone straining from exertion. Kiba levelled you with a dangerous stare and you couldn't help but look away to admire his forearms instead of succumbing to his piercing gaze. The sleeves of his open shirt rolled to the elbows–a look that had you weak at the knees at the best of times–and the strength in those corded muscles was obvious to your appreciative eye.

"That’s right, m’gonna make you forget about those stupid assholes that didn't know what a treasure they had. Their loss is my gain. If you want this," he pointed to himself to emphasise the point, "if you want me, then come get it."

Without a backwards glance, he stormed to the island in his kitchen and left you there… alone and bereft of his overwhelming heat. Kiba stood with his lower back resting against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded as he watched you. His muscled chest heaved with every laboured breath, cheeks ruddy from the kiss you’d shared and there was a more than subtle bulge on the front of his jeans.

Did you want him, your best friend Kiba?

Hell yeah, you did!

Annoyed by your own oblivious stupidity, the puzzle pieces clicked together in your head. Kiba was downright sexy, his physique godly and a face that was both rugged and angelic depending on his mood. He was funny, a total goofball who made it his mission to keep you laughing until you were clutching your stomach and begging for mercy. A social butterfly who ensured he gave his friends equal attention, he knew every birthday and often was the ringleader of group outings and meetups.

He was your Kiba.

The person you relied upon most in the world, your constant and when you tried to imagine a world without him, it stole your breath until you were crippled by the agony. Had you been jealous of his idiotic little girlfriends? Yes, you always wanted to be the centre of his universe and they distracted from that. You had tried to mask it as a dislike for his taste in women but most of his exes had been perfectly nice if you had given them the time of day to get to know.

It was clear, that you wanted him.

You ran.

Four long strides and you threw yourself into his quickly outstretched arms. He caught you –of course, he did –bearing your weight with practised ease as you wrapped around him like climbing ivy. Hands fisting into the t-shirt that lay beneath his shirt as you found his mouth once more, sought to reclaim it and make your intentions crystal fucking clear.

This time the kiss was more tender, yet the passion was still as ardent and heady. His wide hands roamed your hips until he was kneading the meat of your ass through your pants and making your lower half grind against him in sinful bliss. The zipper of his jeans pressed against your centre through the layers of clothes and you moaned openly into his mouth.

Kiba was famished, he swallowed your lewd noises and was quick to incite more as he turned to perch you atop the counter. His hips rolled into you, languid but forceful whilst he explored the wet cavern of your mouth. Your tongue rolled over his in an erotic dance that had no end in sight. If not for your necessity to breathe, there would be no parting you and only the shared oxygen in the space created by two friends that finally breached a line that had been long held and now threatened to either tie them together or pull them apart.

You tugged expectantly at his clothes, desperate to strip him to your gaze and finally, he relented. Kiba pulled back long enough to tug off his shirt and tee, discarding them haphazardly. His warm breath fanned your cheek, stuttering when your cool fingers stroked and detailed the definition of his torso.

"Eager little thing," he growled. The smile he sported only served to highlight the ego that was often to focus of your teasing. Yet, this time no humourous jabs came to mind. For once you were glad of his self-confidence and eagerness to move things along.

He divested you of your oversized hoodie, thankful you had taken the time to put on a nice bra beneath it despite the mess you had been in earlier. His groan was heaven to your ears and when he dove to kiss you through the sheer material of your bralette you thought you had died right there and then.

Saliva dampened the already thin fabric, those dangerous wolfish teeth nipping at your pebbled buds. With your head tossed back, he used that wicked mouth of his on your breasts and you were unprepared for the piercing rip that flooded the hushed space. Kiba had torn clean through the garment, the halves falling down your arms to lay destroyed on the floor.

"Kiba!" you half yelled, half squeaked as he took that exact moment to suckle your nipple between his plush lips. Your belly quivered, the pulling sensation more intoxicating than the most potent alcohol and the feeling echoed far more intensely between your trembling thighs. Your fingers carded through his lush hair, nails scraping against his scalp and smiling indulgently at the rumble deep in his throat.

"I'll buy you more, promise baby. Lay back, need to get you naked," he said sounding entirely as drunk as you felt.

For once you were eager to follow his instruction, a novelty for Kiba who merely watched with a knowing look that promised he would deliver of your wildest fantasies if you’d just fucking listen to him, at long last. His eager fingers hooked into the waistband of your leggings and were quickly dragged down your supple legs. Slowly, he eased his calloused fingers back up your bare legs, stopping to toy with the back of your knees and listen to the subtle gasp caught tight in your throat.

Funny how you had thought he would be rough and impatient, the deed almost over with and the finish line hurtled towards at inhumane speed when here he was taking his sweet time. It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to feel the searing heat that was radiating from between your thighs, to dip his fingertips against your panties and know how drenched they already were from the mere prospect of being with him.

As if sensing your thought process, Kiba finally parted thighs whilst you rested backwards on your elbows. A low appreciative hum caught your ear and you shifted your focus to the tight grip he had on his bottom lip, teeth sinking deep and the wide flare of his nostrils like he was scenting you as an animal would do. He planted your feet and pushed your knees to the sides until you were splayed out like a cat in heat. It was vulnerable and so exhilarating you couldn't help but wriggle.

His eyes were glazed over when he, at last, moved to touch your panties, zeroing in on the obvious damp patch and letting his head roll along his neck for a second as a visible shiver passed up the length of his spine. You’d swear he appeared like those cartoon characters that have zapped with electricity, near every hair on his body rippling from the sensation.

"Have to taste you, sweetheart. My pretty fuckin’ girl."

A chaste kiss fell to your lips before he began a slow tortured path down your body, stopping here and there as he learned the spots that made you tremble and shake, noting carefully when you would whine and try to cling to him. Smug smiles and smears of his saliva were painted upon your heated skin, and he let loose a triumphant bark of laughter when you whimpered your impatience.

"Please," you mewled, a hand pressing atop his head to hurry his descent. Forward was not something you were familiar with, shyness always overtaking your urge to express your wants, but with Kiba, you knew there was no need for any such concerns.

"Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll deliver."

You could cry at the bubble of pressure that was desperate for release, sitting just below the surface, if he would just touch you.

"Wan’ you to fuck me with your mouth, need it so bad Kiba! Please–"

The last syllable had barely left your mouth before he was diving for your centre, underwear pressed aside as he nudged your clit with his nose and inhaled deeply. One roughened pad explored your slick folds, collecting the nectar and pressing it into his mouth.

His sigh was purely reverential and he settled down to devour you like a starving man sat before his first meal in weeks. It was all too much, the immediate stimulation intense enough to have your toes curling where they now rested down his broad back.

Kiba laid languid swipes of his molten tongue along your slit, alternating between flickering motions against your engorged pearl and slow circular patterns around your sopping hole. The walls of your cunt fluttered, desperate to be filled and clench around something–anything–and when his finger slipped easily inside you bucked wildly.

“Shh, keep still. Lemme hear your pretty voice but gotta hold still, yeah?” He encouraged, mouth only moving far enough way for you to hear his heated request.

It took mere minutes for you to come apart on his mouth, his digit sucked deep as he stroked your slick, spongy walls and suckled at your clit to almost pain. Your legs were limp from the unrelenting waves of euphoria that raced throughout your body and if not for the grounding palm caressing your thigh then you might have passed out there and then when white sparks shot straight through your vision.

Kiba didn’t spill a single drop of your nectar, the wet insistent muscle rolling into your cunt over and over to simply dig more of the delicious juices from your quivering body before he stood with the lower half of his face glistening in your essence. It felt… empowering. The intense lust that blazed in his eyes, a lust that was for you and no one else. Fuck. You loved him. Had for a long time. Why had you taken so long to see it for what it really was?

It wasn’t the time to get stuck in your head like this, there would be moments for these thoughts and what lay beyond but right now, you weren’t entirely satisfied and you wouldn’t be until you had milked the man looming over you for every drop he could deliver.

With renewed vigour and determination, you propped yourself on your elbows and then lunged forward towards the buckle of his belt. You’d never worked so deftly as you worked to unbuckle him, moaning at the loud metal clattering loose. Buttons worked free and zipper pulled down, the waistband of his underwear came into sight and your fingers curled around that final barrier and released with him an audible gasp mingled with his sigh of relief.

You had known he was going to be well endowed, could feel it from the press of his body only earlier, but it was still a shock to see him in all his glory, and what a glory it was. His length was impressive, but it was his girth that was the true beauty–if you could even call such a monster a beauty. Kiba's cock could barely support its own weight, the angry length tipped to a deep purple with precum leaking from the slit under your scrutiny.

It looked enormous in your petite hand, managing to encircle the shaft but only just did your fingertips meet. You stroked his velvety soft skin, paying attention to the stark veins that stood to attention and how Kiba reacted when you traced over the most prominent with a salacious smile. You scooted towards the edge of the counter, eyes locked with him with every deliberate move you made.

The head kissed against your glistening folds and you teased both of you by running the blunt tip along your slit until it bumped against your clitoral hood. His fingers were gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you feared he would crumble the marble under his strong hands if he wasn't careful. You notched him at your slowly pulsing entrance, and on a breathy keening noise, you pleaded.

"Fuck me Kiba."

You knew that he had snapped when an animalistic noise roared from his throat and the death grip moved from the counter to your hips as he pushed into your cunt. Kiba eagerly watched your walls suck him in, utterly drunk on the silken feel of you in much the same way that you were drunk on him. Every drag of his shaft rubbed delicious friction into your most intimate areas with a precision he shouldn’t yet possess. He was made for you and you were made to take him.

There would be a time for slower moments and tender loving making, for you were sure that Kiba was not going to escape from you, not now. He was yours, and you his. This alone had you urging him on, driving that feral side of him to act and do it hard and fast with nips at his lips and nails clawing down his back.

His hips pistoned like a well-oiled machine, and sweat clung to his forehead as he set a pace that saw him pounding into your pussy. A relentless rhythm that matched the pound of your heart, clammy skin on skin and kisses that acted better than any drugs ever could.

"This what you wan’? Hungry for my cock, huh?"

His words were staccato with every thrust that he delivered, your body jerking with the wild and powerful movements. Your head fell back against the counter as moan after decadent moan left your throat. Kiba's tight grip moved to your waist and he began to pull you onto his length, your back sliding against the marble top making your tits bounce and your ass slap against his pelvis. Every drag of his shaft against your walls made you keen for him, full to capacity but craving more nevertheless. He was using you like his own personal fucktoy and you were creaming around him at that knowledge, the lewd squelches of your bodies joined in this way growing louder and louder.

"Tell me. Need to hear you say it, kitten."

"Oh… fu-fuck! Need your dick, feel so good–ah!" You screamed when Kiba leaned over you and altered the angle of how he was driving into you. His mouth sucked possessive marks onto the sides of your breasts as you used the last of your hastily retreating sanity to again fist his hair and force him even closer to you.

"Tell me I'm better than those other motherfuckers. No one can fuck you like this, nobody else is worthy of this beautiful pussy," he growled, breaking from your hold to allow him to press his thumb against your clit and making you jerk at the sudden unsuspecting touch.

"Kiba–best. Gonna, oh god–m’so close. No one but you."

Your brain was a puddle, the ecstasy too much for full coherent thoughts as you felt the gush hit against his groin. You soaked him in your juices, the wet noises crescendoing whilst stars winked into your vision.

"Such a good fuckin’ girl, oh shit. What a beautiful mess you've made on me," he cooed in praise, slowing his pace but never stopping. He had to be close; your walls desperately trying to milk him, to force his release in kind.

Slowly, you returned to the earth, oversensitive from each measured stroke that he delivered until he pulled from you and wiped the sweat from his brow. He fisted his shaft as you watched, tears springing to your eyes at being denied his release.

"Wanna come down your throat, think you can manage?" he asked, his eyes burning into yours as he pumped himself.

Your thighs were shaky, the skin slick with the spill of your arousal but you managed not to fall to the floor. Kiba steadied you with his free hand, groaning in his throat as you knelt before him. His head fell back when you parted your lips and accepted him into your wet mouth.

The taste of his essence mingled with your own, sweet and bitter but definitely not unpleasant. You had never done this before and it felt so wicked as you watched Kiba come apart above you. He could barely maintain his eye contact with you, heat surging to his cheeks and his hands cradling your head in gentle reverence.

His hips jerked, your fingers sinking into his ass that flexed beneath your touch as he kissed against your throat. The muscles constricted and he faltered. "Oh fuck, so close sweetheart."

Your teeth unsheathed carefully, tongue running the length of the litany of veins that ran his shaft and teeth grazing his sensitive flesh until his fingers seized and you felt the hot spurts of his release. It poured down your throat until you pulled back, the rest pooling on your pink tongue.

Kiba panted and whined, losing himself in the moment and the feel of your scorching mouth, chest heaving with each laboured inhale. You showed him the milky seed that coated your tongue, watching his eyes roll to the back of his skull the second after you swallowed audibly and opened up to show your now empty mouth.

The seconds ticked by and neither of you moved as your breathing slowly returned to normal. How gorgeous he looked to you, spent and blushing. The massive frame of his body–Kiba’s body–completely undone by your actions and your body.

"That's one way to get over Hidan," he groused, trying to turn from you.

You were not going to allow him to step away from this, two hearts were on the line and you refused to see him in pain. You stood abruptly, possibly a mistake given how your thighs quaked but not giving a shit at the moment. You pulled him back to you, arms resting over his wide shoulders and placing a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. Pouring every bit of love and desire into your expression, you fixed him with a sincere smile and watched his eyes widen and soften, the creases smoothing out to reveal his true self, the one you were intimately familiar with.

"Who?"

#delirious writes #kiba inuzuka #kiba x reader #kiba smut #kiba angst #kiba x you #kiba

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trashytoastboi · 6 months

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🍽Sanji Masterlist🍽

🍽 Headcanons: Zoro, Sanji reacting to seeing their timid S/O angry for the first time.

🍽 Headcanons: Zoro, Sanji, Crocodile x S/O who is afraid of thunder and being comforted during a heavy storm

🍽 Scenario: Zoro, Sanji and the Master of Disguise

🍽 Headcanons: Sanji x F! S/O who is platonically affectionate with the rest of the Straw-Hats

🍽 Headcanons: Killer, Law, Sanji x Small! S/O

🍽 Headcanons: Usopp, Sanji, Sabo, Zoro x S/O who has a hypersensitive sense of smell

🍽 Headcanons: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji - Reacting to crying S/O who tries to keep everyone happy

🍽 NSFW Headcanons: Zoro, Sanji, Sabo x F! Dom! S/O

🍽 NSFW Scenario: Sub! Sanji x F! Dom! S/O

🍽 Headcanons: ABO AU! Omega! Zoro, Sanji, Luffy + F! Alpha

🍽 Headcanons – Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Sanji – Reacting to their accident prone S/O

🍽 Headcanons: Sanji, Doflamingo – Realizing they like a guy.

🍽 Headcanons: Sanji, X-Drake, Hawkins, Apoo - with F! Keyblade wielder

🍽 Headcanons: Sanji, Law, Kid, Killer - First kiss

🍽 Headcanons: Sanji, Zoro – With Male! S/O who possess a devil fruit giving him the abilities of a black cat.

🍽 Scenario: Sanji x Gardener! Reader

🍽 Headcanons: X-Drake, Sanji, Doflamingo – Reacting to a guy who is actually a cross-dressing woman

🍽 Headcanons: Law, Kid, Sanji – Reaction to their S/O getting compliments and being approached in public for their looks

🍽 Headcanons: Sanji, Law, Zoro - With S/O who is afraid of wind

🍽 Headcanons: Sanji, Zoro, Law, Sabo – Meeting F! Nobody (Kingdom Hearts)

🍽 Headcanons: North Blue Boys – Sanji, Law, Hawkins, Drake at a sleep over

🍽 Headcanons: Ace, Law, Sanji x F! Crush that says easily misunderstood things.

🍽 Headcanons: Law, Hawkins, Sanji, X-Drake at a Sora convention

🍽 Headcanons: Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Ace reacting to discovering their S/O is a Sea Dragon (Non-Devil Fruit user)

🍽 NSFW Headcanons: Law, Sanji, Zoro

🍽 Headcanons: Ace, Law, Zoro, Sanji x S/O – Hinting at some intimate time together with a S/O that misunderstands their meaning

🍽 Headcanons: Ace, Law, Zoro, Sanji x S/O – Who is very honest with their thoughts and feelings

🍽 Headcanons: Yandere! Zoro, Yandere! Ace, Yandere! Law, Yandere! Sanji x S/O

🍽 Short Scenarios: Sanji, Shanks, Whitebeard – Trying to get {Name’s} attention in the middle of a fight in a flirtatious way.

🍽 Headcanons: Modern AU! – North Blue Boys (Sanji, Law, X-Drake, Hawkins) sharing a house.

🍽 NSFW Scenario: Dom! Sanji x Shy! Sub! F! S/O – A Taste of Something New

🍽 Headcanons: ABO AU! Alpha! Luffy, Alpha! Sanji, Alpha! Zoro x Omega S/O

🍽 SFW AND NSFW: ABO AU! Alpha! Luffy, Alpha! Sanji, Alpha! Zoro x Omega! S/O Who is in heat

🍽 Headcanons: Law, X-Drake, Sanji, Ace x Shy! S/O that loves affection

🍽 Headcanons: Law, Zoro, Sanji - Reaction to Seeing M! Reader and F! Reader throwing pick up lines at each other

🍽 Headcanons: Sanji, Sabo, Shanks reacting to Crush! Reader who is super wary about sleeping around other people, but is fine around them.

🍽 Headcanons: Modern AU! North Blue Boys – Sanji, Law, Hawkins, X-Drake - Running a coffee shop

🍽 Headcanons: Alpha! Aizawa (BNHA), Alpha! Nanami (Jujutsu Kaisen), Alpha! Sanji (One Piece) x Omega! S/O – #15. Pregnancy; Wife having cravings.

🍽 Headcanons: Wedding/Honey moon for Sanji and his F! Partner

🍽 NSFW Scenarios: Ace, Sabo, Sanji getting a blowjob from their S/O who is hiding under the desk during a meeting (Or something to that effect)

🍽 NSFW Headcanons: Kid, Crocodile, Sanji, Shanks x S/O using their safeword.

🍽 Headcanons: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace with Sleepy head S/O – They just love sleeping and taking naps

#trashytoastboi #sanji #one piece #character masterlist #masterlist #fluff #sfw #one piece imagines #one piece headcanons #gender neutral reader #gender neutral pronouns #one piece headcanon #female reader #male reader #unholy toast #kuroashi no sanji #one piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji

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yuujispinkhair · 2 years

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From Sukuna, made with love

Christmas is your favorite time of the year. You love the coziness, the warmth, the love. But unfortunately, all this feels less magical when you know you will spend Christmas Eve alone. And so you desperately try to find someone to keep you company via your dating app. But maybe the real magic of Christmas is already right in front of you, brewing your favorite coffee and baking your favorite cupcakes while wearing a far too smug smirk and complaining too loudly about the stupid Santa hat he has to wear at work.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff, Christmas AU, Coffee Shop AU Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: none, just lots of fluff, flirting and kissing. This is a non-curses AU. Sukuna is the barista from hell to some of his customers but not to you :) All characters are of age. My blog contains 18+ content. Minors don't interact.

There is now art for this story!! Thank you so much to the lovely @irideste for drawing barista!Sukuna!!

This is my contribution to my sweet friend @shirohyorin's Ficmas Calendar! Thank you so much for hosting this cute collab, Loni! I hope my story can add to the coziness you are spreading over our dash. I wish everyone a sweet December and merry Christmas if you celeberate it!

December 1

The doorbell jingles softly as you enter your favorite coffee shop. It makes you smile because the sound reminds you of Christmas. Like Santa's sleigh with the reindeer. The smell that drifts towards you adds even more to the Christmassy feeling. The rich taste of coffee and hot chocolate laced with cinnamon and gingerbread spice.

You sigh happily. This is your little safe place, your sanctuary every morning before you start your hectic work day. And especially now, when the countdown to Christmas has begun, and the pretty Christmas decorations and lights are up, this little coffeeshop all in white is the coziest place you know.

You smile to yourself, already looking forward to a little treat before work, a gingerbread latte, and maybe a cinnamon roll. You look over at the counter, expecting to see the owner or one of the usual baristas. But you blink in surprise when your gaze lands on someone else.

A new guy.

He stands out in the white interior like a black sheep amidst its white herd. He is dressed all in black and is tall and muscular with an athletic build. His hair is pink and styled in a fashionable-looking undercut. His ears are pierced several times, and his face is adorned with filigree black tattoed lines.

He looks intimidating. Strikingly attractive but scary. And definitely very out of place in the middle of all the sparkly white and silver Christmas decorations.

The woman before you grabs her bag of cookies and leaves, giving you space to step up to the counter.

Your breath catches when a pair of pretty maroon eyes meets yours. They are framed by long black lashes and a second pair of eyes, tattoed ones, black and red. But what strikes you the most is the intensity with which those eyes look at you. As if the owner of those eyes can see right into your soul.

The corners of his eyes crinkle, and you realize that the new guy is smirking at you, looking almost infuriatingly smug, as if he knows how flustered you are by his gaze.

Even his voice is mocking you. A sexy lazy drawl that should rather be used in the bedroom than in a cozy little coffee shop at 7:00 in the morning!

"Good morning, princess. What can I get you?"

"Sukuna, you shouldn't call customers pet names!"

"Oh, shut up, Yuuta! Get back into the kitchen or something and stop getting on my nerves. I'm just being nice. Isn't that what is expected of me here?"

You watch the little quarrel with wide eyes until those maroon eyes snap back to you. The new guy, Sukuna apparently, laughs softly, revealing two rows of straight white teeth. And a pink tongue that curls upwards to press its tip to his front teeth, letting you catch a glimpse of something sparkly in his mouth. You realize only a split second later that Sukuna has a tongue piercing. You don't know why this fact makes your pulse flutter.

Sukuna cocks his head, fixing you with his intense gaze and a lifted eyebrow, like a cat checking you out, deciding whether you are worthy of its presence,

"So, let's try this again, huh? What do you want to order?"

"Um...I...a ... a large gingerbread latte, please...but can I get extra cinnamon, please?"

"Sure, anything you want, princess."

He smirks at you again before walking over to the coffeemaker. He is really tall. And his skinny black jeans are snug on his thighs and firm butt, making you silently curse yourself for checking out your new barista's ass. Sukuna is looking at you over his broad shoulder and asking in that velvety voice,

"What's your name?"

You tell him, and he nods, grabbing the pen next to the coffeemaker and scribbling your name on a paper cup before he starts preparing your order.

A few moments later, Sukuna puts the cup in front of you with another big grin on his handsome face.

"Here, enjoy!"

His long fingers are still wrapped around the cup. He's wearing black nail polish. Of course, he is! You almost snort. But his handwriting is surprisingly elegant.

You take the cup from him and give him a polite smile,

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

"Have a nice day too, sweetheart. Make sure to come back tomorrow."

His voice is filled with amusement, and the cheeky wink he gives you is absolutely not the way the other baristas treat the customers.

You quickly leave, wondering why your face feels so warm. It must be the heating in the coffee shop.

December 2

"Good morning, princess. I'll get your order."

You are greeted by a smirking Sukuna, who is leaning casually against the shiny white counter, bracing himself on his elegant hands. The sleeves of his black sweater are pushed up to his elbows, exposing a pair of tattoed forearms. Tattooed and toned.

You stare at them for a moment too long before you lift your face to blink still a bit sleepily at Sukuna. His words register in your mind, and you frown in confusion.

"But...I didn't order anything yet."

"Oh, you don't have to. I know what you want."

His maroon eyes sparkle teasingly. You hate the way you get so flustered by a stupid comment like that. But something about the way Sukuna looks at you with so much confidence and smugness makes it hard not to get nervous.

Sukuna chuckles and turns around to walk over to the coffeemaker. When he comes back to place the paper cup in front of you, you see your name written on it correctly with a smiling face next to it, and Sukuna announces in a triumphant tone,

"Large gingerbread latte with extra cinnamon."

He really remembered your name and your coffee order. You can't help but be impressed. It took his coworkers weeks to remember those things.

You leave the coffee shop with a smile, sighing happily as you take the first sip of your gingerbread latte with extra cinnamon. Perfect! Exactly like you want it.

December 6

You are in a bad mood this morning as you wait in line in the little coffee shop. Your thoughts are occupied with what your workday holds in store for you today. So you barely manage a weak smile when it's your turn to place your order.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow,

"Rough morning ahead, princess?"

You nod, oddly touched that he noticed something is amiss.

"Yeah, I have a meeting with my boss today, and he will probably give me even more work."

Sukuna srunches his nose,

"In that case, you need something sweet to get you through the day. Take one of the red velvet cupcakes! They are the best. Trust me on that."

Before you can reply, he is already leaning down to grab a plate with a delicious-looking cupcake out of the glass display. He puts it on the counter in front of you with a boyish grin.

"Something sweet for a sweet girl."

You feel like an idiot when you drop the money you want to give him and have to pick it up from the floor with your ears ringing from the blood rushing into your head. Sukuna's laughter still carries through the coffee shop when you have already reached the door.

December 7

"There she is! Hey, how did you like the cupcake? I didn't promise too much, did I?"

You can't help but laugh as Sukuna greets you with those words.

"It was one of the best cupcakes I ever ate! Thank you for recommending it."

He pouts, huffing in mock exasperation as he crosses his toned arms in front of his defined chest.

"Only one of the best? Then I'll make it even more delicious next time, so it will become the best cupcake you ever had. I'm not ok with only being second best!"

That makes you stop and raise your eyebrows,

"Wait, did you bake them?"

Sukuna laughs and nods smugly. There's a proud twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, I did. Tell me what you want me to change about the recipe, and the next batch will be the custom-made cupcake of your dreams."

Somehow you have no doubt that he is ambitious enough to really do that. And so you put a finger to your lips and lift your eyes in a playful thinking gesture,

"Hmmm, in that case, I really would love dark chocolate frosting instead of the vanilla one."

"Ok! My favorite customer wants dark chocolate. She'll get dark chocolate!"

You can't help but laugh at Sukuna's words, and hours later, when you are already sitting at your desk at work, his low playful voice still plays in your head. "My favorite customer," he said.

His favorite, huh?

A smile lifts the corners of your lips. Sukuna is definitely well on the way to becoming your favorite barista too.

As rude as he is, he is also pretty charming. You have to admit that. He definitely manages to lift your mood before a long workday. And maybe you are looking forward to his teasing comments and smug smirk every morning. Just a tiny bit.

December 8

The first thing you see when entering the coffee shop is Sukuna's smirk, and he lifts a tattoed hand to wave at you and give you one of his teasing winks.

You chuckle softly and wave back at him as you get in line behind the other customers.

When you are only one customer away from the counter, the man in front of you steps to the side, allowing you to get a good look at the display stand. Behind the glass is a delicious-looking tray of red velvet cupcakes. This time with a dark chocolate topping, exactly as you wished for.

Your lips lift in a smile. And then your gaze lands on the little chalkboard in front of the cupcake tray. There is written in Sukuna's elegant handwriting, "(Y/N)'s dream cupcakes".

December 10

When you enter the coffee shop this morning, you are greeted by the sight of red amongst the otherwise white interior. The two employees you see both wear bright red Santa hats.

Not Sukuna, though. He chooses that moment to stride out of the kitchen, carrying a baking sheet with Christmas cookies, looking as un-Christmassy as usual.

"Hey, Sukuna, put the hat back on! You know we have to wear them! Same rules for everyone!"

Sukuna rolls his eyes at his coworker as he places the cookies in the glass display.

"Tsk, I won't do that shit. It looks ridiculous."

His maroon gaze meets yours, and he grins.

"Let's ask a customer! Hey, princess, I'll let you be the judge."

And before you can say anything, Sukuna already grabs his discarded Santa hat and puts it on his pink hair. His eyes sparkle challengingly as he raises an eyebrow at you and points one long tattoed finger to his head,

"What do you think? This looks stupid, doesn't it?"

You stare at him wide-eyed, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights with all eyes on you. Especially that pair of maroon eyes that fixes you with an intense gaze and a smirk so attractive it should be illegal.

Your mind isn't functioning properly with all this attention on you before you even had your first fix of caffeine. And so you just blurt out what comes to your mind,

"I think it looks really good on you!"

It does. Everything looks good on Sukuna! He is gorgeous. He could even wear some reindeer antlers and a glowing red nose and pose as Rudolph, and he would still look hot!

Maybe your answer was a bit too enthusiastic, though, judging by the smug look on Sukuna's face. You feel embarrassed, averting your gaze quickly and feeling much too hot suddenly. But Sukuna just laughs.

"Well, in that case, I'll leave it on. Just for you, sweetheart."

The loud "Ooooooh!!" coming from the people in the waiting line behind you makes you wish the ground would swallow you whole, but at the same time, you cannot help but snicker softly and grin as you take your coffee from Sukuna.

The grin won't leave your face even when you are already on your train to work.

December 12

Today you chose to pay the little coffee shop a visit after work. It's already pretty late, but you can't bring yourself to get up from your comfy seat at your favorite table that lets you watch the wintery street. People rush past the coffee shop on their way back home from work. Some carry big bags filled with Christmas presents, probably. You see small children on their parents' hands, pointing excitedly at the Christmas lights installed on the street lamps and the buildings.

It started to snow an hour ago, and now the trees lining the street are covered in fluffy-looking powdery snow. You watch, mesmerized, as big snowflakes slowly soar down from the sky.

It's so comfortable here in the coffee shop. Warm and cozy. You take a sip from your coffee before closing the e-mail you have been responding to. And now your finger lands on another app.

Tokyo Hearts – The dating app for lonely city hearts.

You open the app and get greeted by their current seasonal welcome message. You don't want to be alone on the merriest day of the year? Find a date for Christmas Eve here and discover true love.

You sigh. If only it was so easy! As much as you love Christmas time, it also gives you a little pang this year because you know you will be lonely on Christmas Eve.

Or maybe not! A notification pops up, telling you there is a new message for you.

The guy who sent it looks cute. And he works in an animal shelter, which makes him sound like the type of guy you could like.

Your finger hovers over the reply button, thinking hard about what you could message him back when a low voice next to your ear makes you jump,

"Are you looking for a boyfriend online, princess?"

You squeal loudly and almost drop your phone, struggling to catch it before it falls into your coffee.

Your gaze snaps up to Sukuna's tall figure, seeing him grin that insufferable grin at you.

You hurriedly lock your phone screen while trying to fight the embarrassment washing over you. As if Sukuna caught you doing something dirty.

"W...what are you doing over here, Sukuna?"

Sukuna graces you with a shit-eating teasing grin as he replies,

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I work here. Maybe I am being a good employee for once and checking on my customers to see if they are happy in our wonderful coffee shop or if they have another wish. Crazy, I know!"

His maroon eyes are full of mischief as he leans casually against your table.

You huff and roll your eyes,

"Wow, I guess I am talking to the employee of the month. But I don't need anything at the moment, thank you."

Sukuna laughs at your reply, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he shoves his hands into the pocket of the apron he is wearing over his black jeans and sweater and eyes you with a strange look on his handsome face.

"Be careful if you want to meet up with one of those guys from your little dating app. You never know what kind of idiots hide behind that screen."

That makes you blink up at him, surprised at the uncharacteristically serious tone of his usually so playful and teasing voice. Sukuna is towering over you with his tall height, but the bright red Santa hat atop his pink hair makes him look cute instead of intimidating today.

And his concern is touching. You find yourself nodding slowly and smiling gratefully at him.

"I'll be careful. Thank you, Sukuna."

December 13

Your date with the animal shelter guy is a disaster.

You asked him to meet you in the coffee shop, and at first glance animal shelter guy is cute. But it only takes about ten minutes to realize that a cute face doesn't make a cute personality.

He is annoying. A know-it-all who keeps talking over you, making fun of your taste in movies and music, scrunching his nose at your job, and even looking down on the gingerbread latte with the extra cinnamon you love so much.

Not even half an hour into the date, you already know you never want to see him again. But he refuses to get the hint even when you start responding with only one-worded answers. You have a feeling he even prefers that you don't talk anymore because, most of all, he likes to listen to himself. And so he keeps on talking, sharing his opinions with you about this and that.

You zone out and let your gaze wander across the coffee shop and over to the counter, where Sukuna's tall figure is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. His maroon eyes meet yours. He has been watching your table, you realize.

He raises one eyebrow curiously, and then his gaze slips to your date and then back to you with a knowing grin. He lifts his right hand and makes a throat-slitting gesture.

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud, but your eyes sparkle amusedly at him as you nod softly.

Sukuna pushes himself off the wall and grabs a tray with a large coffee cup that his coworker just put on the counter, making said coworker complain loudly. But Sukuna ignores him and, to your astonishment, starts walking toward your table.

Your eyes widen in foreboding as Sukuna stops next to your table, smiling down at animal shelter guy. It's a dangerous smile. And his low voice is sugary sweet, dripping with fake politeness,

"Here is your order, sir."

Your date lifts his head to snap at Sukuna,

"What do you mean!? I didn't order anything."

Sukuna's smirk grows wider as he stands there in all his glory, tall and gorgeous, looking intimidating with all his tattoos and piercings and the toned muscles of his biceps flexed from balancing the tray.

He cocks his head, eyeing your date with an amused expression on his handsome face that reminds you of a cat playing with a mouse,

"Aww, you didn't? Well, I guess this is on the house, then. Enjoy."

And with that, Sukuna flicks his long fingers against the large coffee cup, making it tip over.

You watch in fascinated horror as the coffee spills out of the cup and gushes over animal shelter guy's shirt.

"What the fuck!!?? Can't you be more careful!??"

Your date jumps up from his seat, hands twisted in his soaking wet shirt while he glares daggers at Sukuna, who just watches him with a satisfied grin.

You can't help but laugh but try to hide it by coughing into your hand while you watch the scene before you.

Animal shelter guy is now gesturing wildly with his hands, spitting insults at Sukuna.

But Sukuna just smiles devilishly at him and informs him in a dangerously soft voice,

"I want you to walk out that door now and never come back."

"I will NOT do that! Who do you think you are? I want to talk to your boss!"

That makes Sukuna laugh,

"Oh, I can do anything I want. My shift, my rules. And you are banned for a lifetime. Bye bye loverboy."

Sukuna jerks his chin towards the door and adds,

"You better not make me drag you out."

His gaze is stern now. The smile is gone. And apparently, your date finally gets the hint that he shouldn't get on Sukuna's wrong side. He scrambles to grab his jacket and hurries towards the door without a glance back,

Sukuna calls after him,

"And don't ever contact her again! I will find out about it if you do!"

You spend the next hour chatting with your favorite barista and eating a red velvet cupcake which he brings to your table with the words:

"On the house because you deserve that after having to listen to that loser for longer than a minute."

When you leave, you smile and call out softly,

"Thank you, Sukuna."

His answering smile is so genuine and pretty that it makes your breath catch in your throat.

December 14

You have a dream where you are at a speed-dating event in the coffee shop, and Sukuna walks from table to table and pours various drinks over every potential date partner.

December 15

You can already spot Sukuna from outside the coffee shop. He stands out, as usual, dressed all in black, tall and athletic, with pastel-colored pink hair and black tattoos.

But you realize immediately that there's an important detail missing. Where is the Santa hat he is supposed to wear?

You scrunch your nose. Maybe he decided to fuck the rules after all. It would suit him. You shake your head in amusement and push the door open.

The little bell jingles, and the comforting smell of coffee and Christmas wraps you in its cozy embrace.

And a pair of maroon eyes instantly meets yours.

Your heart does a weird thing. It throbs.

And Sukuna strides over to the counter and grabs something off it. His Santa hat, you realize a moment later, when he puts it on his head while grinning broadly at you.

The gesture makes you laugh, and when it's your turn to place your order, you can't help but comment teasingly,

"I see you are following your boss' wishes. Good boy."

At the beginning of the month, you wouldn't have dared talk like that to Sukuna. But by now, the two of you have established quite the playful banter, so teasing him back a little won't hurt, you assume.

Sukuna throws his head back, laughing loudly, revealing his slightly pointy canines and the silver tongue piercing that glitters in the light of the coffee shop. His voice is a low, seductive purr when he answers,

"Oh, I'm not wearing that stupid hat for my boss. I'm only wearing it for you."

And once again, you leave the coffee shop with a big grin and a fluttery feeling in your stomach.

December 16

There's a small heart doodled onto your coffee-to-go cup.

You spot it in the middle of a meeting when you play with the cup in your hand and turn it to look at your name in Sukuna's elegant handwriting.

A heart.

It's red.

You didn't even know they have a red pen in the coffee shop.

When your boss asks you a question, you stutter because you have no idea what he is talking about.

The paper cup stays on your desk even after it is empty.

December 17

The 17th day of December is the day when the "red velvet incident" happens.

You're standing in the waiting line, smiling to yourself as you already look forward to your gingerbread latte and a yummy red velvet cupcake. Of course, the ones with the dark chocolate frosting. The ones Sukuna always bakes for you now.

But your smile wavers when you catch a glimpse of the display and see that only one cupcake is left. And, of course, the guy in front of you orders a red velvet cupcake right now.

You silently curse and already try to come up with a replacement when Sukuna looks the guy dead in the eye and informs him,

"We are out of red velvet."

You blink. The other customer is just as surprised as you are because his head snaps from Sukuna to the cupcake and back again.

"Um, no, there is still one left."

Sukuna shakes his head,

"No."

"What do you mean? It's right there."

"It's not available."

"B...but.."

Sukuna lets out an irritated breath and straightens up, crossing his toned arms in front of his chest. His maroon eyes glitter dangerously as he glares at the customer,

"Do you want to be a problem? When I tell you there is no red velvet cupcake available, then there is none available. Now order something else or leave!"

Your eyes widen, and you watch in stunned amusement as the man stares at Sukuna for a long moment before he takes the hint and nervously asks for a cinnamon cupcake instead before hurriedly leaving the coffee shop, probably never to return again.

You step up to the counter. The same maroon eyes that were so unrelenting only a moment ago twinkle amusedly at you now, and the face that was so stern and threatening, is now lighting up in such a genuine and dazzling smile that it makes you feel a bit lightheaded.

"Hey, princess. Fancy a red velvet cupcake?"

December 19

It's hard to focus on work today.

The paper cup standing in the middle of your desk is just too distracting. Maybe not the paper cup itself, but definitely the message that is written under your name.

From Sukuna, made with love.

A stick-figure is doodled next to it, with a grin on its tattoed face and a Santa hat on its head.

And somehow, your heart beats a bit too fast.

December 20

You roam through your dating app just like every night before you sleep. But you skip all the guys it suggests to you. They are all lacking something. Even though you can't tell what it is you don't like about them. They all seem nice and good-looking. So what is it that you are missing?

But in your dream that night, you see yourself sending a message to a very familiar guy with pink hair and tattoos on his handsome face.

December 22

"So, did you meet anyone new on your little dating app, princess?"

Sukuna's gaze burns into yours, making you gulp hard before you manage to answer.

"Um, yeah, I have been exchanging some messages with someone. He asked me to be his Christmas Eve date."

Yesterday morning you woke up to a message from a good-looking businessman who rather straightforwardly asked you to be his date for Christmas Eve since he didn't like spending the evening alone.

As unromantic as the message was, you replied to him and agreed. After all, everything was better than being alone on that day. And this way, two lonely hearts wouldn't have to be so alone on that special day.

You thought you would feel relief upon finding someone to keep you company on Christmas Eve. After all, this was the sole reason why you downloaded that dating app. You were scared to spend this special evening alone. So you should be glad you found someone who wants to take you on a date. Right?

But why do you feel so unsure about it all of a sudden now that you are standing here in front of Sukuna? Why does it feel so wrong?

There's a strange twinkle in Sukuna's pretty eyes, and his smug expression wavers for a split second, but then he huffs softly, and his arrogant smirk is back in place. His soft, teasing laughter fills the air,

"Good for you. But I hope this isn't another loser like the last guy. Bring him here, ok? So I can have an eye on him. You know I'm excellent at getting rid of your failed dates."

Your fingers touch Sukuna's when you reach out to take the paper cup from him. His fingers are warm, and only the silver of the rings he's wearing feels slightly cool to the touch.

His eyes still look deeply into yours. They are an enticing shade of brown you have never seen on anyone else before. Maroon, like rich red wine, dangerous and warm at the same time. Framed by pretty black lashes and the filigree tattoos on his face.

Sukuna still hasn't pulled his hand away. And your fingers are still lightly wrapped around his, not making a move either to take the cup from him.

Only when Sukuna's coworker yells from the kitchen that a fresh tray of Christmas cookies is ready, do the two of you pull away.

When you leave the coffee shop to run towards the train station, you can't help but let a treacherous thought slip into your mind.

What if your date for Christmas Eve had pink hair and a smug smirk and made the best red velvet cupcakes you ever tasted? Would you feel happier about your date then?

You know the answer but forbid yourself to think about it.

December 23

"Do you have any plans for Christmas Eve, Sukuna?"

You curse yourself for asking. You didn't want to give in to the urge, but you couldn't stop obsessing over it. What is your favorite barista doing on that day? Does he have a date himself? Will he leave the coffee shop behind to meet some beautiful girl or boy and take them on a date, making them laugh and flirt with them until they are so flustered they can only stutter? Will he kiss someone under a mistletoe? Will he take someone home and keep them warm in his strong arms while the snow falls down over the city?

The thought makes an uncomfortable knot form in your stomach.

Please don't say you are going on a date! Please don't say you are meeting someone else!

"No, I don't. I took the evening shift. I'll be here, blessing the love-drunk couples with my presence. The best Christmas gift, I dare say."

He winks at you, sounding smug and teasing like ever, but you feel like there is a little edge to the comment.

You are already at work when it hits you: Sukuna took the evening shift. He will be here tomorrow when you meet your date.

December 24

Christmas Eve.

The time for couples. The time for love and romantic dates.

And yet you are sitting alone at your favorite table in the coffee shop.

Your date is already twenty minutes late.

The truth is you aren't even sure you still want him to show up. Or that you ever wanted him to show up at all. Because isn't all of this just a farce anyway?

You aren't interested in that guy. You don't know him and don't want to get to know him. Your heart doesn't beat faster when you think of him. There aren't any butterflies in your tummy when you see his pictures. You have no warm feeling in your chest when you hear his voice. He doesn't make you laugh. He doesn't make you look forward to talking to him. He doesn't know your favorite coffee order or that you like dark chocolate frosting on your red velvet cupcakes.

So what are you even doing here? It's an uncomfortable truth but one you have to face. You only wanted to meet him because you didn't want to be alone on Christmas Eve.

But is this the right way to do it? Fight loneliness with a meaningless date?

It was stupid to do this. And now you are sitting here amidst all those happy couples, clutching your coffee cup tightly in your hands, feeling the sadness wash over you.

So stupid.

How could you think that you could force yourself to have a romantic Christmas Eve?

You get startled out of your misery when Sukuna suddenly plops down on the bench on the other side of your table.

"He's not coming, is he?"

His beautiful maroon eyes are watching you carefully.

You bite your lip and shake your head, feeling tears gather in your eyes. You feel so small and pathetic, sitting here all alone while around you all the couples have their romantic dates. And all you managed was to get stood up by some random guy you weren't even interested in. It's so embarrassing. Surly Sukuna thinks the same.

But his eyes narrow at your words, and he reaches out to put his large hand on top of yours, giving it a short but reassuring squeeze.

"What an asshole! He doesn't know what he's missing."

"It's... it's ok, I guess. I didn't really like him anyway. I don't even know him. I just...I didn't want to be alone on Christmas Eve. That's why I wanted to meet someone on that stupid dating app."

"You aren't alone, princess. I'm right here! I'll be your Christmas Eve date!"

The smirk is back on Sukuna's face, looking so handsome and charming that it makes your heart skip a beat. And his words...

You blink at him, feeling heat spread through your body. Is he serious?

You eye him shyly, not sure if this is just part of your usual banter or something else. But there is a softness on Sukuna's tattoed features you have never seen there before. As if sensing your insecurities, Sukuna adds with a smile,

"I mean it, princess. I would have asked you anyways if you didn't tell me you already had a date. And come on, I am much better than any of those guys in your dating app! With me, you'll experience the ultimate Christmas magic! So, say yes, and I'm all yours."

Laughter bubbles out of your mouth. The gloominess from a moment ago is already forgotten as you smile at your favorite barista and nod softly,

"Ok, how could I say no to an offer like that?"

Sukuna's answering laugh is warm and genuine.

"Good girl. You won't regret it. Give me five minutes, and I'll make this the best Christmas Eve of your life!"

And with that being said, he gets up and walks over to the counter. You watch him across the coffee shop, feeling your pulse race and smiling from ear to ear at the fluttery feeling you have in your stomach when Sukuna's gaze meets yours across the room, and he winks at you.

He comes back after a few minutes carrying a tray that's overflowing with red velvet cupcakes, Christmas cookies, and two slices of Christmas cake as well as your gingerbread latte with extra cinnamon. He sets it down on the table and sits down across from you with a big cheeky grin.

"Merry Christmas, princess."

He looks so pretty with his glittering maroon eyes and boyish smirk. And his low voice is gentle and playful, making it impossible not to smile brightly at him.

"You are actually really nice. Do you know that, Sukuna?"

"Oh, I can be nice if I want. But don't tell anyone. I prefer it if they are scared of me. It's more fun."

Both of you laugh at that, and after that, you fall into a comfortable conversation while sharing the delicious Christmas treats and sipping coffee. It feels so natural to be here with Sukuna. He makes you laugh and roll your eyes in mock exasperation at his arrogant comments, but your heart feels so full at everything he says, at the familiarity of it.

And you realize at that moment that this is what you have been looking forward to every morning for the last few weeks. These flirty comments, that smug smirk, those warm maroon eyes that always sparkle so mischievously.

And all the nice little things Sukuna did for you. And finally, you let yourself think those thoughts you used to consider treacherous. You let yourself feel those things you thought would lead nowhere. You let yourself admit that you like him.

You enjoy Sukuna's company. You like the way he talks and smirks and is so insufferable in the most attractive and irresistible way. You think he is the most charming person you have ever met. And as tough as he appears at first glance, he is actually caring and sweet when you don't let yourself get tricked by his rough attitude.

Another customer chooses that moment to clear his throat loudly before he addresses Sukuna,

"Hey, um, can I order?"

Sukuna musters him with a cold look, his face a stony mask.

"No, you can't. Don't you see I'm on a date too? If you want more cake, just go behind the counter and get some. Put the money on the table."

The corners of his lips lift in a grin when his gaze meets yours again, and you laugh softly, shaking your head,

"Aren't you going to get into trouble with your boss?"

Sukuna shrugs,

"I don't care. And the owner is actually my cousin. So as much as I have tried, he hasn't fired me yet. I think you'll be stuck with me as your barista."

"Oh, that's good to hear! You're my favorite, after all!"

"I know. Who else would prepare your coffee so perfectly and bake your dream cupcakes? I'm the only one who gets it right, don't I?"

And yes, it's true, you realize at that moment. Sukuna is the only one who gets it right. Not just your coffee order and your favorite cupcakes. He also gets it right when it comes to making you feel happy. He is the only one who gives you this magical Christmas feeling that you crave. He has been doing it the whole month.

And suddenly, you are filled with so much affection for your gorgeous barista. You catch yourself wishing there was a mistletoe above your table so you could seal this Christmas Eve date with a kiss.

You look around the coffee shop for one, thinking you are sneaky. But then your gaze meets Sukuna's, and you see the sly grin on his face.

"You know, you don't need a mistletoe to kiss me, princess. I'm your official date now, so you can get a kiss anytime you want."

Before you even have a chance to get embarrassed, one of Sukuna's large hands lands on yours again, and this time he interlaces his fingers with yours. He leans over the table, smiling that boyish grin at you that makes your stomach fill with butterflies.

You see his gaze wander to your lips, and you instinctively lean closer to him too.

Is this really happening?

Maroon eyes gaze deeply into yours as Sukuna places a long finger under your chin, tilting your face up and smirking that sexy smirk at you.

And then his lips are on yours. Warm and soft and surprisingly gentle, making you melt into the kiss with a happy sigh.

Soon your mouth opens against Sukuna's, and he deepens the kiss, making your heart race when his tongue strokes tenderly against yours. Letting you feel his tongue piercing and making you gasp at the sensation of the metal stud gliding over your tongue.

You smile when your fingers land on the back of Sukuna's neck and caress the soft stubble of his undercut, which makes Sukuna groan softly into your kiss. Before long, the Santa hat on his head falls to the ground, but neither of you cares.

Not when Sukuna's kiss is so sweet and enticing. Not when his kiss is your personal Christmas miracle.

Sukuna's fingers caress your jaw, a firm but tender touch. Just like his kiss is passionate and gentle at the same time. A deep, slow French kiss that makes your head spin.

When the two of you pull apart, you are both grinning broadly at each other, eyes filled with wonder.

Your voice is a bit hoarse when you confess softly,

"This is really the best Christmas Eve date I ever had."

Sukuna's grin grows even wider at your words,

"I am the best choice for a date all year."

"In that case, I think we should go on many more dates."

"Anything you wish, princess. I told you, my favorite customer gets anything she wants from me."

You roll your eyes, but you can't hide how pleased you are, brimming with happiness, lips lifted in a smile and eyes shining brightly. Before Sukuna can go on even more about how perfect he is, you quickly lean over the table again and shut him up with another kiss.

The other customers are forgotten. The only thing you know are warm maroon eyes and soft lips and a smug smirk that turns into a beautiful smile when you caress the tattoos on Sukuna's cheek.

It's getting late, and gradually all the couples around you leave the coffee shop to head home or to go see the Christmas lights.

And then there are only you and Sukuna left. He joins you on your side of the table. And soon after, you find yourself sitting on his lap, with Sukuna's strong arms wrapped tightly around you, his warm solid body pressed against yours, and his lips moving on yours in slow sensual kisses that taste like gingerbread spice and cinnamon.

You send a silent thank you to your original date, who decided to ditch you. Because, after all, Sukuna was right. He really is the better date. The best one you could have ever wished for.

Your perfect Christmas gift.

Thank you so much for reading my Christmas story!! I hope you enjoyed barista Sukuna :) He definitely baked his way into my heart! I didn't plan for this story to get so long, but I couldn't stop writing. All the Christmas fluff with Kuna made me feel so happy and warm! I hope he can make your December sweeter too! If you are lonely on Christmas, you can count on barista Sukuna to make you feel better.

A big thank you again to Loni for hosting this amazing collab! It's such a sweet idea!!

Please let me know how you like barista Sukuna! Comments and reblogs make me happy :)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #ryomen sukuna

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