#T-cafe spoon

[lamisplast]

The disposable T-cafe spoon is suitable for cafe use such as tea and coffee. This spoon can be used both at home and in coffee shops.

[featherandferns]

sugar (fic)

ex!jj maybank x ex!fem!reader | set in season 4 without the Blackbeard mystery! (non-canon) | inspiration

content warnings: mentions of/references to sex (m and f receiving; MDNI); drug use; unfaithful relationships

word count: 18k.

blurb: JJ comes back into your life - older, richer and different again from before. Can the past stay the past, and the two of you be friends, or is there too much history there to let it all lie?

Cinnamon Buns

“Where would you like these?�� Someone calls out to you. You turn and take in the tray of mouth-wateringly delicious looking cinnamon buns that a volunteer holds. Smiling, you point to a far table on the grassy field. 

“Anywhere over there is good! Those look amazing, thank you so much!” 

You turn back to the task at hand: organising cans of tinned, chopped tomatoes. To your left is a stack of bags of rice and to your right, bags of pasta. It’s quick work as you separate them by flavour: garlic and herb; chilli; regular…In the background you overhear chatter of fellow volunteers. Where should I put this? Who had the plastic bags? This was your happy place. 

‘The Stirring Spoon’ is what you had called it. It was your passion project born out of daydreams. A collaborative, community effort, providing food to anybody and everybody, free of charge. It wasn’t a traditional food drive. Instead, it was like a potluck dinner that you hosted every Wednesday in the late afternoon, running into the evening. People brought whatever dish they had prepared, or any ingredients that they had going spare which you and a handful of other volunteers whipped up into mains and desserts. Tomato soup and lentil curry and meatball subs and rainbow brownies and chocolate chip cookies. You’d even managed to rope a few local establishments into it. Any leftover bakes that they had when the workday was over, or things that were just a smidge out of date by a day or two, you took and offered out. Today? Cinnamon buns that were baked yesterday at a humble cafe in the town centre, just shy of Figure Eight. Food health and safety laws were strict but you could stretch them for The Stirring Spoon. After all, you weren’t technically selling a product so no harm done. People were clued in about the supposed “risk”. 

You lift up a can of tomatoes and study the ‘best by’ date on the metal lid. A month in the safe zone. Perfect. As your mind flicks through recipes of what you could cook up, a voice stood out amongst the chatter nearby. It was like a siren’s call; distinct and damning. You could pick it out even when deaf. 

“I gotta delivery here for y’all.”

“What’s in it?”

“Fresh sorta stuff. ‘Tatoes and that kinda thing.”

“Over there, I’d say.”

As the footsteps approach you can feel your heartbeat quicken. It taps nervously in your ribcage like you’re sixteen all over again. Your focus remains on the task at hand until a slight shadow casts over you, and you know you can’t stall any longer.  Your hands freeze over a can of tomatoes. Looking up, standing in front of you, clear as daylight and bright as dawn, is JJ Maybank. He’s dressed in his usual attire of a worn-down t-shirt and shorts; his fingers and wrists decorated with metal rings and beaded bracelets. If you squinted, it’d be like no time had passed at all. He doesn’t look all that different from the last time you saw him and yet, he’s entirely changed. In his hands is a large cardboard crate of various fresh produce. You smile. 

“JJ.”

It comes out in a breath as though you’re seeing something supernatural before you. In a way, you are. How long has it been now? Two years? Nearly three?

His own surprise mirrors yours on his face. But JJ was always better at hiding his emotions, once he had a chance to catch them. It was like a teasing glimpse before he closed the curtains. His recovery is quick as a smile starts to show, and he says your name like he’s practised it everyday. 

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing here?” you ask.

“Brought some deliveries,” JJ says, hitching the box. “Kiara mentioned something ‘bout a community kitchen drive y’all do and we thought we could contribute and stuff.”

“Well, that’s nice of y’all. Thank you,” you reply. 

You shuffle some stuff out of the way on the pop-up table in front of you to make space for JJ’s box. It’s hard not to watch his arms as he lowers it down, the way the biceps flex and tense beneath the skin. It’s hard not to think of other times his arms have looked that way, wrapped around your body, tugging you closer. You blink the memories away. 

JJ’s hands slot into his short pockets. He rocks on his feet. “Looks like it’s a pretty popular thing, huh?v This food drive, I mean.”

You glance around at the bustling volunteers. Smiling, you say, “Yeah, I guess it caught on pretty quick. Could say the same about y’alls tackle-and-bait shop you got going. It’s the talk of the town ‘round here.”

JJ grins with visible pride and it isn’t until you see it that you realise how much you missed his smile. You wonder if he’s surveying your face and body the way you are his, as if looking for some inconsistency or change since the last time you saw him. 

“Yeah, it’s coming together pretty nice. Helps having a bunch of us working on it, though.”

“I bet,” you say. You’d heard the chatter on the island about the Pogue’s latest venture. The sneers of the kooks and the curiosity of the locals. Their bets and wagers on whether the business would sink or float. You’d wanted to wander down and check it out for yourself but you always chickened out. Truth was, you’d been avoiding JJ Maybank like the flu, and now here he was in front of you, putting all your quarantining to shame. Your eyes flit down at the crate and you gently rifle through the food for a distraction. Tomatoes and potatoes and bunches of fresh berries and fruit. 

“I, uh, don’t know if there’s much in there that y’all need but–”

“No, no, this is great,” you assure him, smiling. “It’s really generous of y’all. Every contribution is appreciated.”

“Happy to help. To be honest, it’s Kie and Sarah you should be thanking.”

“Yeah, I didn’t peg you as the gardening type,” you tease. 

“Well, only for the stuff that matters,” JJ grins with a wink. You consciously try to fight away the warmth running to your cheeks. Damn it, you weren’t sixteen anymore. “So…how have you been, then? Since we last…y’know–”

“Baby!”

It’s a reflex reaction to turn at the sound of Mark’s call. He comes bounding over with a wide grin. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and flour is dusted on his khakis. It’s a reflex to close your eyes when he dips his head to plant a kiss to your lips, too. You rub them together after as you prepare yourself for what might be the most awkward interaction you’ll ever go through. 

“JJ,” you say, turning to the blonde haired boy. “This is Mark. Mark, this is JJ. We used to…uh…Well, we used to hang out.”

“JJ - pleasure,” Mark says sincerely. He sticks out his hand and for a painful moment you genuinely worry that JJ might never take it. But he does, shaking it. 

“Likewise,” he says. 

You feel Mark’s spare arm slide around your back, his palm placing itself respectfully on your side. That was Mark: respectful. Righteous but not in an arrogant way. He was kind and caring without judgement, like the sort of Christian boy your nana would want you to bring home. The sort of guy who would bring your mother flowers and play golf with your father on the weekends. The kind of face you’d see flash on the television during the six o’clock news as the reporter relays a daring and heroic tale of saving orphaned kittens from a burning tree. 

“This is the guy that’s started the tackle-and-bait shop. Y’know, the one with the surf store and stuff,” you say to Mark. Realisation dawns upon Mark and he wags his finger at JJ. 

“Wait, wait, JJ as in JJ Maybank? One of the gang who found El Dorado?” 

You roll your eyes at the pure awe in his voice. JJ chuckles somewhat nervously and nods as he says, “yeah, uh, that JJ, I guess.”

“Holy shit! Baby, why didn’t you say!? Oh man, I read all about that. It sounded freaking incredible! I have so much to ask you, I mean-”

You place a hand to his chest and laugh, slightly embarrassed by his fangirling. “Baby, baby! Cool it a second, yeah?”

Laughing, you glance at JJ. And you catch it. That emotion he lets slip just before correcting himself. His eyes dart to yours in a second but they were looking elsewhere before. They were looking at your hand on Mark’s stomach. 

“Nah man, it’s cool. You guys should stop by sometime and I can tell you all about it. The other Pogues too, yeah,” JJ cordially replies. 

“Oh sick, man. That’d be great,” Mark beams. You smile at JJ and nod. 

“I’d love to see what you guys have done to the place,” you tell him. JJ smiles but it falters, like a flickering lightbulb that’s fighting to stay on. An awkward quiet passes and you clear your throat and glance around at the voluntary effort. “Well, I should probably get back to work.”

“No, yeah, course. I ought’a get back to the shop,” JJ replies. 

“Thanks for the stuff though. We really appreciate it.”

“You brought this?” Mark wonders, picking a strawberry out of the crate. He pops it in his mouth and hums happily. “Damn, those are some fresh strawberries.”

“Yeah, man. All from our local garden we got going.”

“This place sounds like the dream,” Mark tells you. You smile up at him. He takes the crate in his broad hands and lifts it easily into the air. Being sandwiched between two toned-up guys had you feeling as brittle as candyfloss. “I’ll take this over to Nancy. Nice meeting you, JJ.”

“Yeah, you too, man.”

You watch him wander off a moment before turning back to JJ. He offers you another smile. “I’ll come check out the shop soon,” you promise. 

JJ points at you, playfully warning, “you better!” before walking away. You watch him with every step he takes and the moment he’s out of sight your head drops. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. Your entire body feels as though it’s vibrating; your heart running laps in your ribcage. And the funniest part of all is the strange thought that races around your mind, he’s real. It had been so long since you’d seen JJ, let alone heard from him, that it felt like a daydream. The memories were so hazy now that they’d been painted over in sepia and you wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing. But no, here he was, knowing you and recognising you, and talking to you. The two of you back in Kildare, seemingly for good. 

“Baby! Can you give us a hand?”

The call drags you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fall onto your boyfriend. He stands a good head taller than most people. He’s almost lanky in build but not ungainly; broad shouldered and slim nosed. His eyes are those of an otter: nearly black with how brown they are; beady and shining, even from over here. There’s a smattering of freckles over his cheeks which is adorably boyish in contrast to his stubble on the jawline. He’s smiling at you in a way that all girls want to be smiled at. Unashamed in his admiration for you. It grounds you from the dizzying interaction with JJ and you walk over to him, ready to help out in any way you can. 

The rest of The Stirring Spoon passes without a hitch or unexpected visitor from the past. It’s as popular as always, with locals and tourists stopping by. The lentil and tomato soup that you whipped up disappears within the first half hour, alongside the nearly stale but still delicious cheese bread. Mark stands by your side the whole time, smiling as he serves. He whispers little jokes in your ear that have you giggling in the quiet periods of the food drive. Then came the evening rush, with people stopping by after work. The culmination of it all meant JJ was pushed out of your thoughts and back into the long-term store, where he’d been haunting before. That is, until you’re tidying up. 

“That JJ guy seemed nice,” Mark says from the table to your right. You look up from the plastic snack-bags you’re tidying away. “You said you guys used to hang?”

“When we were sixteen,” you reply. 

“How come you stopped hanging out?” he wonders. 

You look down at the bags and obsess over the colours of the labels as you debate how best to word your reply. What do you divulge to him? There’s an index of memories labelled JJ and you know not all need to see the light of day, let alone enter the mind of your boyfriend in scarring reenactments. 

“We just grew apart. He was going through some stuff, I think, and then he got really into that whole treasure hunting thing,” you tell him. It was true enough to not be a lie. Mark hums in thought. 

“That’s a shame.”

You quirk a brow, amused. “Why? Cause I could have cashed in on the gold too?”

Mark shrugs and you laugh. “What!? I’m just saying, some people are worth staying friends with!”

But that was the thing. You and JJ weren’t just friends. Shaking your head, you close the cardboard box of repacked snack-bags and carry it over to the table where he’s working. You held him wrap individual muffins in napkins before placing them in a large tupperware box. 

“Hey, y’know what’d be nice?” Mark says. 

“What?”

“If we took them over some leftovers. I mean, we made most of this stuff with the ingredients they gave us anyway. And there’s still some of those cinnamon buns going spare.”

You take pause and look up at him. He’s obliviously working away, head tucked down to look at the muffins. There’s an easy smile that’s permanently etched into his face, as if he came out the womb cheesing away. That wasn’t why you fell for him though. No, it was his kindness. His offhand generosity that came so naturally to him it was almost offensive. Pressing up onto your toes, you cup his jaw and press a kiss to his cheek. He chuckles quietly. 

“You’re wonderful,” you hum happily. “I think that’s a great idea.” 

“You go wrap up some cinnamon buns then. I’ll pack up some of these muffins for them.”

You do as he asks and soon enough, there’s a box of miscellaneous leftovers from your food drive. Mark drives. The sky is a delicate colour of amber and pink warning of soon nightfall. Colours like that always make you feel relaxed. It helps ease the nervousness of seeing JJ again. You weren’t sure why it was making you so antsy. It wasn’t as if you and JJ parted ways on bad terms. You suppose it’s just a bitter-sweet memory. All memories of JJ came with that sour coating now, like sherbet lemons on your tongue. You wonder if you’d feel the same way if Mark weren’t around. 

But he is, and you’re glad he is. 

Looking over to him, you reach out your hand to capture his, resting on his thigh. He glances over at you and smiles. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just happy, s’all.”

“That’s good,” he says, looking back to the road. Like something from a music video, he raises your interlocked hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Means I’m doing something right, if you’re happy.”

It’s impossible not to do a double-take as you pull up to what was formally the Maybank property. It’s as if new life has been breathed into it. More than just a lick of paint, there’s two brand new buildings alongside a pretty sturdy looking pier and dock. There’s a handmade charm to everything that makes it all the more enticing and impressive. Mark seems to think so too because he whistles as the two of you pull up the driveway. You look to your left and see the Twinkie. A relic from your past, of memories half-naked, rolling around the back with JJ, sharing a blunt in a post-orgasmic haze. Your thoughts shut off with the engine. 

Mark takes the lead, his hand in yours, and carries the box of leftovers up to the house. You both wander up the porch and Mark knocks twice on the door. Your eyes look at everything, taking it in, admiring every detail, until someone opens the door. It’s Kiara. 

“Hey. Can I help you?” she asks your monolith of a boyfriend. You poke your head from around his body. 

“Hey Kie.”

“Oh my Gosh! Girl, where have you been?” Kie beams. The two of you embrace, laughing and smiling. “Wait - did you get the stuff I sent JJ over with?”

“Yeah, we did,” you say. “Thank you so much.”

“We actually brought this as a thanks,” Mark adds, offering out the tub. She eyes him almost with suspicion. 

“Sorry, I forgot to say - Kie, this is Mark. My boyfriend,” you explain. Kie’s eyebrows shoot up with that final word but she recovers quick. 

“Nice to meet you, Mark,” she says. She takes the box and glances through the plastic. 

“Just some leftovers we thought you might like. Muffins and cinnamon buns and things like that.”

“Thanks guys, you didn’t have to. We’re happy to contribute,” Kiara tells you. “In fact, me and Sarah were talking about maybe making it a regular thing. Like every Wednesday we bring some stuff from the garden, or fish that we’ve caught?”

“Oh my God, yeah, that’d be amazing,” you nod enthusiastically. “We can definitely figure out a system.”

“Perfect. I’ll put these inside. You guys want a drink or anything? I can show you around,” Kiara offers, opening the door wider in invitation. 

You glance over her shoulder into the room and then around the porch, behind you out to the water. You’re not sure why you were expecting JJ to just appear out of thin air in front of you. 

“JJ’s out on the dock, if you want to catch up,” Kiara posits, as if hearing your thoughts. You look at her and hold her gaze, and - unable to read what her expression means - nod. 

“I think I’ll go say hi. We didn’t get a chance to properly catch up,” you reply. You glance up at Mark. “You want to come with?”

“It’s alright. I’ll stay here and get the tour,” he tells you with a wink. You smile, press a kiss to his lips, and wander off with a wave to Kie, towards the dock. 

Feet thudding on the slabs of wood, the structure creaks as you walk to the shop. An American flag waves in the breeze. You run a hand along the thick rope bannister and glance down into the growth of plants and water weeds underfoot. I can’t believe they built all of this, you can’t help but think as you walk up to the wooden-slatted tackle-and-bait shop. As you walk into the store under the wooden ‘WELCOME’ sign, reggae music blesses your ears alongside the smell of incense. It’s jam-packed with miscellaneous water accessories: fishing gear, surfing gear, refreshments, you name it. There’s nobody behind the counter. You glance around and squint, catching onto a spot red through the window. JJ lies outside atop of a vintage cooler, feet crossed one over the other, arms tucked under his head. You can’t help but smile. Walking outside, you lean against the doorframe and fold your arms over your chest. 

“Well, as far as customer service goes, this is pretty crappy.”

He snaps up to sit like he has the joints of a ken doll. You laugh as he blinks his eyes awake, laying them on you. 

“Oh shit,” he says, clearing his throat, running a hand through his hair. “When’d you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. You looked pretty comfy there,” you say, amused. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a good nap spot,” JJ chuckles nervously, glancing down at where he just lay his head. He straightens his t-shirt and then looks back at you. His brows furrow. “Wait, what’re you doing here?”

“Came by to see the new place,” you reply, gesturing around you. “You offered.”

“Didn’t think you’d be in such a hurry.”

“No time like the present and all that.”

You’re acutely aware of how you’re avoiding mentioning Mark and how he’s currently being led around JJ’s former house and yard under Kie’s tow. 

“This is a pretty sick set-up,” you praise. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good, huh?” JJ grins, getting to his feet. “Here, you want a beer? We’re technically closed for business anyway.”

Laughing, you shrug. “Sure. Why not.” 

Cracking open the cooler, he reaches in and retrieves two ice-cold cans. One is tossed to you and you catch it, and a feeling of deja vu rings through you. JJ, younger, just as handsome, throwing you a can of beer at a kegger. He leans against the cooler and you against a wooden pillar. Cracking cans and the fizz of beer, and you take a refreshing sip. A comfortable quiet comes and the two of you catch one anothers eyes. You smile. 

“I don’t think I said earlier, but it’s really nice to see you again,” you tell JJ. 

He smiles, small and reserved. “Thanks. It’s nice seeing you too. Even if it is with Joe America over there.”

“Joe America?” you snort. “Come on, he isn’t that bad.”

“No, no, he seems…uh, he seems nice.”

“He is nice.”

“I believe it.”

“Well…good.”

That marked the end of that conversation. You take a sip of your beer and sigh, looking out to the view of sunset over the marshland. 

“I wish you could’ve seen it,” JJ suddenly says. You look over to him with a frown, confused. “El Dorado, I mean. South America. It was beautiful. Like actually fucking stunning out there.”

“Really?” you say, smiling. 

“Hell yeah,” he grins. “Like there was colours out there that I didn’t even think existed without, like, LSD, man.”

You laugh and he does too and you’re glad whatever awkwardness that just came passed quick like a seastorm. 

“I still haven’t gone farther than Charleston, so I guess I’ll have to live vicariously,” you lightheartedly remark. 

“Yeah, well, turns out there’s a pretty big world out there,” JJ grins. 

“Glad one of us got to see it,” you hum. 

“Nah, you’ll see it too. All of it. Even Paris.”

The city’s name hangs heavy in the air. It was more than just a throwaway comment. It was a secret message, as if JJ was speaking in code. I remember it. I didn’t forget. You wash down the adrenaline with another sip of beer. 

“But no place like home, huh?” JJ says, clearing his throat. 

“Probably helps now that John B ain’t a fugitive anymore,” you muse. JJ laughs, nodding. 

“Yeah, yeah, no, for sure.”

“Well, I’m glad you found your happiness, JJ,” you say, smiling at him. “I’m glad you found yourself out.”

“Ain’t we all?”

The two of you watch one another for a moment. His resting smile lingers on the edges of his thin lips. His round, soft cheeks that add to a boyishness about him that his jawline doesn’t allow. You always liked JJ’s hair though. A mop of blonde planted atop of his head with sun-bleached highlights and deep-sea lowlights. But he’s taking you in too. You can’t take the weight of his stare after a while. Taking a deep breath, pushing away from the beam, you ditch your half-drunk beer atop of the cooler. 

“Well, I better get going.”

“You sure? I mean, we can hang out a bit longer, if you like?”

You smile politely and shake your head. “I’m not the one driving, so…”

JJ looks over your shoulder and spots Mark. “Ah. Didn’t know Dollar Store Chris Evans was here, my bad.”

“JJ! Don’t be mean!”

“I ain’t being mean! If anything, that’s a compliment,” JJ defends. You roll your eyes. “Look, I’ll see you around though. It’d suck to go back to being strangers again when we’re both in the same place for a change.”

Despite the innocence of the offer, something in your gut tells you that you shouldn’t agree. You should set a boundary there, draw a line, and leave it in the past. So, really, you have nobody to blame but yourself for saying “I’d like that” with a smile in farewell, before walking back across the dock to your boyfriend. 

Salted Chips

JJ had always been in your life. However, in the past, he was more of a background character, like an NPC in a videogame that creators constantly add in like an Easter Egg. The kind of character you’re curious about, in terms of their past and their present, their wants and their fears, but the kind you never have the privy to get close to in that way. He’d be at parties, at the surf break, at the shops or at school, but he wasn’t in your life. Until he was. 

Fate came in the form of a seating plan for history class. 

You and JJ were classmates. Table buddies. At first, the conversation was nonexistent. Sometimes JJ wouldn’t show up to class at all, either bunking off or playing truant in the bathrooms to light up a joint. But sometimes he’d come to class, usually escorted by Pope, and you’d share an uncomfortable silence as you worked through the hour. But then came an assignment that needed to be done out of class, and numbers were exchanged and words were shared outside of ‘what did he say’ and ‘what’s the homework’ and ‘what answer did you get for five?’. At your prompting to start on the project, JJ offered up the Chateau to work at, John B’s house that was a renovated fishing shack on the marsh. 

To stimulate inspiration for the poster the two of you had to create - outlining the history of the American Civil War - JJ had offered up beers and a blunt, and you were glad to take him up on the offer. If you’re going to be doing schoolwork at the weekend, you might as well get something out of it other than mind numbing boredness. It seems you saying yes to JJ’s “gifts” put you in his good books. It’s as if you could see the moment his opinion of you changed. From there, it was as if the two of you had always known the other. Conversation came easy, banter even more so. Time spent together stretched outside of the classroom and instead into lunch breaks and evenings and weekends. He’d seek you out at keggers and hang with you at the beach. Somewhere in the roots of you friendship grew an attraction from the fondness. You noticed it in his lingering glances, his drifting gaze from your eyes to your mouth to your body. Later, you heard it in his words, finding innuendos in smalltalk, catching compliments like falling stars. Eventually, both slightly intoxicated, it came to a head, about three months into this natural-forming friendship. 

“Yo!”

You turn around, beer in hand, startled by the interruption. It’s JJ. He’s wearing a cap, squishing down his beautiful locks of blonde; the muted green pairs well with his t-shirt. His combat boots sink into the ground, damp from the rainfall earlier in the day. Everything smells piney and fresh. You lift a finger to your lips to coax him to be quiet. His brows quirk up, a bemused smile gracing his gorgeous face. God really does have favourites, it seems. 

“You good?”

“Sh! You’ll scare them,” you whisper. At his cocking head, confused, you fervently gesture for him to come over. He does. His presence by your side is almost overwhelming. The buzz from the liquor makes it difficult to keep your itching hands to yourself and your inhibitions at bay. “You see them?”

“See what?”

“The birds.”

“What?”

“Look, here,” you mumble. You lean close to him so you can point clearly with your finger, just along his line of vision. A whiff of JJ’s scent dusts your nose. He’s warm like he creates heat. Through the canopy of leaves, you can make out a single branch of a tree. In the nook, against the trunk, is a nest, and inside is a bunch of baby birds, cawing out for their mother, hungry, blind. You’d left them some salted chips on the floor, crumbled and scattered, in case the mother wanted to steal some to take up and gift. She probably wouldn’t, but something about their cries made you feel the need to do something, and it wasn’t as if you could offer up your beer. 

“Woah.”

“You see ‘em?”

“Yeah,” JJ breathes. “That’s sick, how did you see them?”

“I heard them first,” you tell him, keeping your voice low so as to not frighten them. “Needed some air.”

“The smoke from the campfire botherin’ you?”

“I swear to God, it targets me,” you sincerely reply, making JJ laugh. You finally retract your finger (still sticky from the Smores made earlier) and turn, looking up at him. He looks down at you. Some strands of hair stick out from under his cap, pressing against his forehead. His brows are almost permanently slanted, eyes bright in the dusk of the evening. His shark tooth necklace sits against his chest. JJ’s lips quirk at your staring. “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“You’re so pretty,” you say, shaking your head, smiling. The alcohol has given you too much confidence, it seems. Loose lips. His eyes widen in momentary surprise but he catches it, covers it well. Then, comes his mask of confidence. He gives you a cocky smile. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” he suavely replies. 

“Nah, I mean it. You’re really something, Maybank,” you smile, doubling-down. In for a penny and all that.  

His smugness fades into something more real. He doesn’t seem to know how to take compliments like that. Then, strangely, something like panic tugs his brows together. “I’m not very good at this sorta thing.”

Your frown of confusion seems to spur him on. 

“Being honest. Real. I’m…I’m pretty fucked up, y’know?”

“The best people are,” you murmur, meaning every word. 

“Nah, I mean it, though. I’m not…I don’t wanna hurt you.” JJ says it so quietly, so sincerely, that you get the sense that he’s never said it before. Maybe only thought it on dark nights, when you’re so alone with your thoughts it’s maddening. Smiling, shaking your head, you lift a hand to his cheek. Your heart hiccups at how he relaxes into your touch. 

“I don’t think you have to worry ‘bout that,” you whisper. 

You’re not sure who moves first, whether it’s him or you, but you end up a hair-width apart at the lips. His breath is hot as it fans onto your lips. Risk comes like a lightning rod and you take it, pushing onto your toes, connecting your lips with his. His hand finds yours and squeezes. That small gesture, as innocent as it is, tells you that you’re crossing this boundary together, from friends into something more. 

Pistachio Pastries 

The smell of coffee rouses you from sleep. You hum sleepily into your pillow, nuzzling in the scent of your boyfriend: peppermint and sage. A heavy palm gently pets your hair. 

“Wake up, sleepy,” Mark murmurs. 

You grumble in protest and he chuckles. The bed dips and the duvet lifts as he climbs back into the cocoon of warmth. Rolling over, you tuck yourself against him. He always slept in pyjamas. It was adorable. Nothing cheesy: just a simple shirt and flannel bottoms. His arm hooks around your waist and holds you against him. You swear to God, you could hide here forever. Mark was safety and security. Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car. 

“Wednesday again,” he says, stroking the skin of your back. “Kiara messaged the Instagram page today. Said one of them will drop off an order around one-ish.”

“Sweet.”

An alarm blares from Mark’s phone and he cusses, breaking apart from you to retrieve it and turn it off. You take the opportunity to sit up and grab your coffee. The steam tickles your nose as you blow on it. Routine. Mornings spent in the mini home Mark had made in his parents backyard, in their old shed. He brought you coffee in the morning and you brought him tea before bed. You’d be asleep by ten and awake by eight. Your shifts at the smoothie shop typically followed a Monday through Friday routine, with the exception of midweek, with Wednesdays reserved for The Stirring Spoon. Weekends passed in a blink. Then, you reset to continue with the same thing again. 

But that’s okay. Routine is okay. It’s reliable. Monotonous in a way that assures certainty. Besides, you liked your job, and your coffee, and your Stirring Spoon. But maybe it might be nice to stray from it all, just for a change. 

You carefully place your coffee back on the side table and look over to Mark. He’s scrolling on his phone, lips set in a line, brows tugged together in vague concentration. A thrill runs through your body at the thought, as you press several kisses to the skin of his neck. You feel him breath beneath you. Then a kiss comes to your forehead, quick like a grandparent to their least favourite grandchild. 

“Baby,” you hum, lifting a hand to rub your finger along his jawline. 

“Mhm?”

“Do you have any, like…things you wanna try.”

He takes a moment to think, looking up from his phone. A smile comes to his face and he looks down at you, and your body burns with anticipation. “Surfing. Was never that good at it but I’d like to try it again, y’know?”

It fizzles away like water atop of a dying flame. “Oh. Yeah, no, yeah…that’s…you should do that.”

He frowns. “You okay?”

“Well, I just meant more…in the bedroom. Like anything, I don’t know…” Your face burns like you’re a nun stumbling across a Playboy magazine. “Kinky?”

“Kinky?”

“Not like oh my God, kinky. Just…I don’t know…”

He quirks a brow, smiling at you in a teasing sort of way. “You got some kink you’re not telling me about?”

“Maybe,” you tell him, hoping it comes out seductive. 

“I don’t know,” Mark sighs, resting his head back against the wall. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and you lick over your lips. He grins, like something dawned upon him, and he dips his head suddenly to press his lips to yours. “Wanna know what I’ve always wanted to try?”

“Mhm,” you say, lifting your hands to cup his face and keep him near. Yes, your body practically cries. Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

“Well,” he stalls, kissing you again. You chase his lips, shortening in breath. “I’ve always wanted–” another kiss “-to try-” another kiss “-doing it in the shower.”

It’s hard not to deflate completely with disappointment. 

Wow, yeah Mark. Kinky. 

But when you open your eyes, you come face to face with a nervous, sweet, caring Mark. A Mark who always makes sure you feel good and safe. A Mark who would never walk past an elderly man struggling to cross the road. A Mark who would donate a twenty dollar bill he found on the roadside. And you can see it in his eyes, this burning passion, this shock at his own words, because for him, that was like confessing to watching gangbang porn in a Church. So, you plaster on a smile, feigning excitement. “No, yeah. That’d be fun. We should totally do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grin, kissing him again. He sighs, pushing back against you. Your body sparks up again. The feel of his hands on your sides is like static energy. “We should try it now.”

“Now?”

“Mhm,” you nod eagerly, kissing at his lips desperately. “Good way to start the morning, huh?”

“Maybe,” he says. He pulls away slightly, guilty as he adds, “but it’s been a while since I cleaned the bathroom. And I promised my mom I’d help her out today, and I gotta be good to go in like ten minutes so…”

“Oh.”

He kisses you fleetingly on the lips and then tosses the bedsheets off his lap. You watch him get up. “But maybe soon? Like Friday?”

Routine with scheduled sex. 

“Okay,” you say through a false smile. You sink against your pillow and watch him put on his slippers. The moment his back turns, you drop the expression. You’re so disappointed there doesn’t feel much point in trying to get off by yourself now, either. You don’t seem to fix your frown quick enough before he turns back around. 

“Oh, hey, baby, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Mark frowns. He lowers down so his eyes are level with yours. You pout like a child as you look at him. He pushes some hair off your face. “I swear, if I weren’t about to go help my mom, I’d be all over you right now.”

“Mhm.” Maybe you are being a bit selfish. He’s helping his mother for God’s sake! Smiling, properly this time, you jokingly warn, “I’m gonna hold you to that, Mark.”

“You better,” he winks. He kisses you before leaving the room, into the bathroom. Sighing, you roll on your back and blink up at the ceiling. You practise your mantra - Mark is good. Mark is good for me. Mark is good. Mark is good for me - and you get up to start your day. 

The Stirring Spoon is a good distraction from your whining libido. It’s hard to think about fucking when you’re comparing shapes of pasta. And yet, you still find a way. Because as you stack packets of spaghetti, you try and recall the last time you and Mark had really good sex. Not sex where it’s soft and nice and satisfying. Sex when you feel like you might cry or scream, just to cope with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Sex when you’re actually scared that you might have a heart attack from how fast your heart’s beating. Was it ever like that with Mark? Was it ever like that with anybody else?

Yes. 

“Hey.”

The very boy who just popped into your mind like a vision stands before you, crate in hand, smile on face, as if you manifested him. 

“JJ.”

“You good? You were looking at that spag pretty hard,” he asks, amused. 

“No, yeah, I’m good,” you say. You drop the pasta like it’s incriminating to what you were thinking about. Don’t tell JJ about the hot sex I was thinking about with him, pasta, please. “What’re you doing here?”

“Delivery from Kildare County Kitchen,” he says, dropping the crate down onto an empty spot on the table. “Some of Cleo’s less deadly version of her gumbo; a few sandwiches that Sarah whipped up; and some fish me and John B caught the other day.”

“Damn, that’s quite the haul,” you say, glancing into the crate and surveying its contents. “Thanks, JayJ.”

As you retrieve the items and lay them out carefully and neatly on the table, JJ shoves his hands in his short pockets and looks around the yard. “So. Loverboy here?”

“He’s busy today, helping his mom.”

“Ah. You short of a helping hand today, then?”

“Why? You want to help?” you say, half-joking. But JJ shrugs. 

“I’m not doing much. Why not?”

“Don’t the others need you back at the shop?”

“There’s five of them, I think they’ll manage,” JJ replies sardonically. He claps and rubs his hands together. “Where do I start?”

“Um…” You stand upright and scan the area, checking what looks the most chaotic. As if on cue, the local bakery van pulls up. “Oh, sweet. Delivery. You can help me unload and log inventory.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two of you walk over to the van, side by side, hands kept politely to yourselves. Small talk sits on your tongue but doesn’t make it into the world. 

“Morning Mr Parker,” you call. 

“Morning, darlin’,” he croons in his southern accent. “You too, Maybank.”

“Good to see you, sir,” JJ nods. 

“What you got for me today?” 

“Some good stuff, I’m not going to lie to y’all,” he grins over his shoulder before opening the doors to the back of the van. Mr Parker pulls out a tray of sealed baked goods. JJ steps in and takes it, and as he holds it you crack open the lid to peer in. 

“Pastries?”

“Pistachio pastries,” Mr Parker says proudly. His takes off his cap and brushes a hand through his short grey hair. “My wife got a bit carried away. People in this town don’t have that fancy of taste buds.”

“Maybe not on the Cut,” JJ mumbles, making you smile. 

“Well, be that as it may, glad I can contribute something to your little venture,” Mr Parker tells you. He squeezes your shoulder sweetly. “Y’all doing a good thing, with this here Stirring Spoon.”

“Thank you,” you say, overwhelmed by the simple praise. “Well, we appreciate any contribution, especially pistachio flavoured ones.”

With that, the three of you get to work carrying the four trays of baked goods to a spare table. Bidding Mr Parker farewell, you and JJ take pause against the table. 

“I think I’ve earnt a break.”

“You’ve been here less than an hour.”

“Time flies by when you’re having fun, and all that,” he says passingly as he cracks open one of the bakery tubs. He grabs one of the pastries and tosses it into his mouth. His eyes widen as he chews. “Holy shit. These are so good.”

“JJ, you’re not supposed to eat the–”

“--try one.” A pastry is shoved into your mouth. You glare at him but bite, and holy shit this is really good. It must read on your face cause JJ grins. “Yeah, right? So good.”

“Oh my God,” you mumble. The two of you smile at one another like you’re stealing cookies from a jar. 

“You remember that time we got high and raided Pope’s dad’s fridge?”

You laugh and nearly choke on the flaky pastry. “Oh my God, I totally forgot about that.”

“You were like a fucking racoon,” JJ sniggers. 

“You were the one that got me high in the first place.”

“I didn’t fucking drug you! You wanted to try it!”

“Yeah, I did,” you grumble, unwilling to accept responsibility for completely draining the Heyward fridge. 

“You’re cute when you’re high.”

You glance up at him. His smile is coy, like he knows he shouldn’t have said that. Because he shouldn’t. Rolling your eyes, you play it off as best you can. “Cute whilst I’m stuffing my face with questionable cheese?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, shrugging. “You’re cute all the time though, so guess it’s not very hard for you to be even cuter high.”

“JJ, stop it.” Your tone is gentle but firm. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” JJ says. “Captain Vanilla.”

You hate how he isn’t completely wrong. “That’s not his name.”

“It’s just too easy,” he shrugs, playful as always. “The guy is a walking textbooked ‘good guy’.”

“What’s so wrong with that?” you mumble, picking out another pastry and studying the way it’s rolled. 

“Nothing, I guess. Just find it funny.”

“Funny how?”

“That you’d go from me to him.”

You glance up from the pastry to meet his gaze. “We never officially dated, JJ.”

“Same difference,” he shrugs. “But hey - you know you. You know what you want.”

“Exactly…” 

You do know you, don’t you? It sounds like such a crazy thing to question. But the older you get, the more you think you don’t know a thing about yourself. What’s your favourite colour? What’s your favourite animal? What do you want out of your future? What do you want out of a relationship? Journeying back to the morning, your mind replays the scenes like a horror movie. The worries of when the last time you felt passion in the bedroom feeds into worries of when the last time was that you felt passion, period. Oh no: it feels like an existential crisis might be coming on, about thirty years too early.

“Hey.” You snap out of your spiral. JJ forces a smile. “Just wanna know that you’re still living, not just secure. Y’know. As a friend.” 

Funnily enough, that does little to cheer you up. 

Croissants

JJ’s skin is warm against your cheek. Your face rests on his bicep, using it as a makeshift pillow, as you lay skin-to-skin, body-to-body. One of your legs is hooked over his, and his palm rubs large, mindless patterns against the sweat-sticky skin. The room is bathed in moonlight, the curtains drawn closed, and you can hear the sounds of the marsh from outside the Maybank residency. You wonder if JJ might have fallen asleep. His chest is rising and falling rhythmically and you can’t see his face from here, to tell if his eyes are open or shut. But then he sighs and you smile against his arm. 

“Tell me about your family,” you request in the quiet of the room. 

“What about them?”

“Anything, really. Like about your mom and dad; if you have any siblings,” you murmur. 

“Not much to tell,” JJ replies in a hum. 

“Still. Tell me anyway.”

“Tell me about yours,” JJ deflects. You crack a smile. 

“Alright,” you relent. “I live with my mom and my dad. She’s a waitress and he’s a mechanic.”

“You got any brothers or sisters?” he asks, his thumb massaging your upper leg. 

“I did,” you say, your voice turning softer. “An older sister.”

“What happened?”

Your lips press together. An image flashes into your mind like a jumpscare, of a coffin dressed in white daisies and lilies. Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes and will the memory away. It’s then that you decide to confide in JJ. 

“Do you know who Andy Warhol is?”

“I recognise the name,” he replies after a moment, not questioning why the sudden change in topic. 

“He was an artist. Painted a lot of pop-arty things.”

“Is that the freakshow who painted those boring-ass soup cans?” JJ wonders. You laugh quietly. 

“I wouldn’t describe him like that but yeah, that’s the guy.”

“What about him?” JJ asks. 

“He was in love with this man, way back when. He kept a diary and this man he was in love with died, and Andy was heartbroken. But he ain’t like to say that somebody had died. Instead, he used to write that ‘they went away’, like on a trip or somethin’,” you tell him. Your voice trails off towards the end, fearing JJ might laugh at you as you go on to say, “I don’t know. I think I’d like to say that about my sister.”

JJ shifts underneath you until the two of you are lying side by side, now able to see one another’s faces through the muggy darkness of the room. His eyes glow in the non-existent light, shining and present, gazing into yours. 

“Where’d she go, then? On this trip of hers,” he coaxes. Your lips part in surprise, and for some reason, you want to cry for his small act of kindness. Then, you smile, small and sombre. 

“To Paris, in France,” you whisper. 

“She go to the Eiffel Tower?”

“Every day. She eats dinner there at night and watches it twinkle. For breakfast, she buys a croissant and sits by the Seine,” you murmur. Tears wet your eyes as you picture your lost sister, venturing the streets with the wind in her hair, kissing her plump cheeks. Your voice is thick when you continue, “it’s her dream to see all the stuff in the Louvre. She goes every week and keeps a note of where she’s been and where she wants to go.”

“Like the Catacombs?”

You laugh and sniffle. “Nah. They’re too creepy for her.”

“Damn straight,” JJ mumbles. “They scare the crap outta me.”

As a tear lets slip, trickling down your cheek, JJ reaches out his thumb and wipes it away. His hand lingers on your face and you feel yourself lean into his hold. It’s like he’s holding you up. He’s holding you together. You open your eyes into his. There’s a smile on his face, different to the others. More reserved, less obvious, so different to the JJ you’d known and heard of before. You’re terrified of losing it entirely or saying something especially stupid, and so instead you mouth two words: ‘thank you’. 

When he kisses you, it’s different too. There’s something about it, like a taste that wasn’t there before, and it lingers in your mind and mouth. It only grows as JJ deepens the kiss. Your hand traces his jawline and your fingers loop through the locks of his hair, and you tug him closer with a breath. The dance of your lips and tongues and teeth is growing more and more familiar by the day and it terrifies you how easy it has been to become accustomed to it. How easy it has been to become accustomed to JJ. Hands on your hips, JJ lifts you atop of him with a grunt, him rolling onto his back. You shrug the comforter off your back and straddle him. Your hands cradle his face, palms cupping his cheeks. You kiss him like he’s the antidote to all your ailments. Your mouth chases him in the teasing of his lips, breaking apart just to reel you back in. JJ’s teeth nip at your lower lip and pull, just so, just enough to have you whining and sighing like some lovesick fool. Maybe you are. 

“JJ,” you mewl, rocking back against him. He groans as you begin to torture his jawline and neck. Groans louder when you suckle on the tender skin by his ear, painting hickeys like a beautiful landscape. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips deep enough to leave delicious bruises. You feel him growing hard beneath you as you grind against him like some animal in heat. 

“Fuck, you’re so…Fuck…” 

Your lips continue their descent down his body. Kisses are peppered along his windpipe, bridging over his Adam’s apple, and you can feel every breath, every stutter, every sigh. Down his chest, bare and broad, and down his stomach. His hands are now free from your hips and instead they tether into your hair, combing through the strands. You look up at him from between his legs - he’s made space for you - and can make out his lazy smile through your hooded gaze. JJ’s looking down at you too. His eyes glow. 

You ghost a kiss over his boxers and he inhales a long, deep breath, his head tilting back into the pillows, eyes undoubtedly slipping shut. Lips upturning with a smile, your fingers tuck into the band of his boxers, and you pull them down his legs tantalisingly slow. Somewhere in the shadows of the room you hear him mumbling, ‘please.’ Taking him in hand, revelling in his short gasp, you guide him to your mouth. The smell, the feel - it all consumes you as you go down on him. The brush of bristly hair scratching against your nose, flooding your senses. JJ’s hand comes to the back of your head quick, as if guiding your pleasure, wordless praising your ways. Until it’s not wordless. 

“Fuck, that’s it…Taking me so fucking good, huh? Look so pretty like this…”

You hum around his length and he stammers out a moan. Your eyes flick up to take in the sight of his exposed neck, head thrown back, mouth hanging open as he lets noises slip through, shameless and sinful. And you love it, the way you can bring him to the brink, the way you can manipulate his satisfaction like moulding something out of clay. A finger here, a stroke there. The tip hits the back of your throat uncomfortably. You pull away with a damning pop and a trail of saliva connects the two of you. Resting your head against the apex of his thigh, you jack him off with your hand, almost mesmerised by the way he pulses in your hold. Maybe it’s the sounds he makes. JJ Maybank walks like he’s a God; it’s a power trip to have him weak at your hold. 

“Please, please, fuck…Jus’want your mouth, baby, please,” he begs through gritted teeth. His hand gently yet firmly pushes at your head, trying to guide you back to him, and you feel a giggle bubble up through your throat. It feels unnatural, this version of you. Sexy, seductive, sly. 

“You want my mouth?” you tease, pressing a kiss to his throbbing dick. 

“Fuck - yes, yes, please,” he groans. You glance up at him and meet JJ’s gaze. His hair, damp with sweat, hangs over his forehead, dangling over his eyes. A sadistic smile is on your face as you pull away, easing your hand off him too. His brows furrow. It’s like something snaps inside of him - some restraint he was holding breaking like the overstretching of elastic. His hands are on your in a second, gripping and grabbing at your body like you weigh no less than feathers, and you gasp as he tosses you onto your back. He’s on top of you, ravishing your throat and collarbone so mercilessly, you’re gaping at the ceiling, eyes wide. 

“Think that’s funny, huh? Wanna see how much you like it?”

You stammer something out; you don’t even know yourself if it’s a yes or no. All you know is you want him - you need him - on you, in you. Anything. JJ doesn’t make you wait. His hands pull your panties away swiftly. A finger slips all too easily through your slit and you gasp, eyes rolling shut. His laugh is deep, crooning, cruel in your ear. 

“So fucking wet for me, hm? Such a fucking slut. Wanna see how it feels?”

“P-please.”

The stretch of your walls isn’t unpleasant as he eases a finger in. You let out a wanton moan. It pumps leisurely inside, the foreign metal of his ring overwhelming, and the brush of the tip of his thumb against your clit has you panting from the pleasure. 

“Yeah, you like that, huh?”

“Fuck…”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. Then the torture begins, of the instant movement of his finger, in and out, in and out, before easing away so suddenly it’s like he was never there. After that, the faintest of pressure on the exposed skin at his mercy. His damp finger trailing the inside of your thigh. He repeats this cycle until you’re almost in tears. Your hands clutch the bedsheets in fists, feet writhing uselessly at the head of the bed, kicking at the flimsy pillows. You know he’s gloating from the power he holds. Something tells you he doesn’t get this much control in most aspects of his life. Something tells you he gets off this just as much as you. “You wanna come? Do you?”

“Fuck! Please, please, JJ, please. I’ll do anything, please, please,” you blubber. You don’t care how embarrassing it sounds; how much it pleases him. All you care about is feeling that hot, blinding, pulsing pleasure consuming your every nerve, every bone, every fibre of your being. His breath is hot against your collarbone. JJ kisses the lobe of your ear in such a tender way you wouldn’t be able to fathom the magic he works with his hands below the belt. And as you finally break, tumbling over the edge, letting out a fucked-out sob when you do, you can make out JJ’s low voice, his Southern accent thick like molasses. 

“That’s it, baby. Make a mess on my fingers.”

Smores 

Despite telling Mark where you’re going, it still feels like sneaking around behind his back as you walk up to the Pogue’s house. But this isn’t anything nefarious. This is just you breaking routine. This is you catching up with old friends, current friends, and having fun. Sharing some drinks, smoking a joint or two, sitting around a campfire. Good, old fashioned fun just like when you were sixteen. 

Yep. That’s all. 

“Hey yo! There she is!” JJ hollers the moment you come into view. 

“Hey!” you smile, waving. In your other hand is a bag filled with a six pack of beer, a packet of graham crackers, some chocolate and a bag of marshmallows. You ditch it by the cooler to hug everyone hello. JJ’s last. His arms wrap around you like tree vines, secure and strong, and it’s familiar in a way that has you lingering. Mark. You break apart and take a seat on the opposite side of the campfire to him. 

“What’s in the bag, mystery girl?” the girl you now know as Cleo asks. 

“Some refreshments,” you say, lifting up the six pack. That earns a few whoops and hollers of approval from the already tipsy group. “And some snacks.”

“Smores?” Sarah gasps. She takes the bag of marshmallows from you. 

“Just like old times,” you say. Your eyes catch JJ’s. He’s watching you. 

“Let’s light these bad boys up,” John B announces. The gang is vocal in their approval. Sticks and twigs are gathered for skewers. Marshmallows dangle over the open flames that lick into the dusky air. A marshmallow shoves at yours and you glower at JJ. 

“Leave my marshmallow alone.”

“Hey, this is America. I got rights, y’know?”

“Says who?”

“The constitution,” he retorts, grinning. You roll your eyes, trying and failing to bite back your smile. 

“Y’all better stop it,” Cleo says in her thick Jamaican accent. “I ain’t wanting any marshmallows going to waste.”

“You heard her,” you playfully quip at the blonde haired boy. He rolls his eyes at you. He’s smiling. The amber of the fire paints his face like an oil artwork. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? 

No, no, stop it. Stop it! God, what is wrong with you? This is just because you and Mark have been a bit distant lately. Yes, that’s all. You’re getting stuck on nostalgia. It’s a mind’s trick. It didn’t work before with JJ so who’s to say it will again. The two of you are friends - he’s been a good friend - and you don’t need to go muddying the waters. You punish yourself by staring into the flames and trying to make images of Mark’s face in the fire. 

The night spurs on with drinks that wash down the sickly sweet snacks. You listen to the tales of El Dorado and laugh at the reminiscences of youthful madness when you were all in high school. It isn’t until you’re back in the bubble of the Pogues that you realise how much you missed it. It’s like rediscovering your favourite movie from childhood. It brings a certain comfort that few things can match. They ask about The Stirring Spoon and you recount the tale of how you came about with the idea, of how you got it off the ground. Nobody asks about Mark and you’re ashamed that you don’t feel the urge to bring him up, either. 

You go for another swig of your beer to find it empty. The cooler by John B is empty too, upon investigating. You drop the lid. 

“You guys got any more beers?”

“Probably some down at the fish and tackle shop,” Kiara tells you. 

“Thanks,” you say, starting towards the dock. The further you walk, the more the vivacious chatter turns into a humming like the crying cicadas and croaking frogs and cooing owls. The water laps at the wooden pillars and you smile, letting your eyes slip shut for a moment as you walk. Nature is so wonderfully peaceful. The cooler is full of bait and chum, but there’s a small section for the beers. You retrieve one and drop the lid to find JJ standing in your peripheral. 

“Holy shit!”

“Sorry!”

“What the fuck, man?” you laugh. 

“Just wanted a refill too,” he says, shooting you a squiffy smile. His hair is dishevelled. He seems to wear caps less now, you note. You’re happy about that. In your tipsy state you can admit your attraction with less shame. You chalk it up to appreciating beauty the way one can appreciate a perfect sunset or timeless painting. To stop your staring, you open the cooler and hand him a can. “Thanks.”

“Hey, cheers,” you say, holding your drink out. He clinks his against yours. “To old friends.”

The two of you take a drink. Neither of you go to move back to the other Pogues (who are seemingly in some weird charades battle that is far from quiet). JJ gestures over your shoulder. “You seen the boat yet?”

“The H.M.S?” 

“Nah, the new one,” JJ answers. 

When he walks past you, you catch a whiff of his smell and it reminds you of home. You turn and follow him. He steps up onto the large boat. It’s painted bright green and in yellow paint, the name reads The Snapper. JJ offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you up onto the boat. You feel your phone vibrate in the pocket of your shorts but you’re in no mood to check it. 

“Pretty sweet, huh?”

“So sweet,” you agree, looking around. JJ wanders over to the main console and flicks on an overhead light. He glows beneath it. When he takes a seat on the bench, you do the same, sitting opposite. Sighing, you lean your head back against the brutal plastic. “This is the life.”

“Yeah? You miss the marsh?”

“I miss it all,” you quietly confess. 

You can hear the rustle of clothes and the flick-flick of a lighter. The smell of cannabis drifts into the air. “Here.”

Opening your eyes, you lift your head to find a joint extended out to you. Smiling, you take it with thanks and have a hit, then a second, then a third. You haven’t smoked in what feels like forever. Mark doesn’t like the smell; says it makes him feel sick. You wonder why you stopped indulging in something you enjoyed just because of that, even on your own time. 

“Thanks,” you say, passing the joint back. You ditch your beer can to the side. One poison at a time would be best in these sticky situations, you reckon. 

“What’d you mean, ‘you miss it all’?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You gaze off into the distance; it’s hard to make out much definition in the dark, save for some lights of houses in the far distances and the silhouette of plants and trees. “I feel like my life is so…‘same’ now.”

“Same is good.”

“Sometimes,” you say. “But I keep thinking about what you said to me, the other day. About being secure but still living. What if…What if I’m not living?”

“Well–”

“--I mean, look at you guys! You went to El Dorado! You found El Dorado, and the Royal Merchant, and the Royal Merchant’s treasure, and the Cross of Santo Domingo. What did I find? A mouldy tomato in a box of potatoes.”

JJ cracks up and you roll your eyes. “It’s not funny,” you mutter, smiling nonetheless. You take the joint back and have another drag. Relief fills your system. The muscles in your face loosen along with your mouth. “It’s pathetic. I’m nearly twenty-one and I’ve been as far as Charleston and have about a handful of exciting memories to my name.”

“Woah, come on now,” JJ chuckles, taking the blunt back. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on yourself? You heard what Mr Parker said: that Stirring Spoon thing is awesome, and that was all you. You’re feeding the community, bringing people together. That’s way cooler than some shiny fucking  stones.”

“Meh,” you shrug. “Guess I’m just jealous of you.”

“Ha! Yeah, don’t be,” JJ sarcastically berates. A shadow comes to his face. Foot in the mouth syndrome curses you.

“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You’re good. I sometimes forget how bad it was too, with how things are now,” JJ admits. He smiles at you and takes another hit. “But I guess I didn’t fully let you in then, huh?”

“You think?” you jest. He laughs, thankfully, and you inhale the sweet scent of the herb. “Guess I just get stuck on the good memories from before. Like all the days skipping school to surf. And how the summers felt like they could go on forever. Or that time we broke into City Hall, or pranked Topper’s house.”

“Damn, I guess we did get up to a lot of shit, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you grin. Following the dance, you take the joint back. 

“Well, I can think of some other memories, too,” JJ says. His grin is telling, tongue poking through his teeth. You bite back your smile. 

“Don’t,” you warn. 

“What?” he chuckles. 

“Don’t! That’s dangerous territory,” you tell him. You point your joint at him. “That’s no man’s land.”

“Oh man!” JJ groans, tossing his head back. “Why’d you have to call it that!? You know that’s like calling a moth to a fire or whatever!”

“What?” you giggle, eyeing him. 

“Telling a guy not to do something is the exact thing to do to get a guy to want to do something,” JJ argues nonsensically. You laugh, shaking your head at him. He holds your gaze and you feel your smile settle into your skin like footprints into damp sand. “They were pretty good memories, huh?”

“Yeah,” you quietly say. “They were pretty good.”

“Remember that time we did it on the beach.”

“Stop it,” you say, but there’s little conviction in your words. You can’t take his eyes anymore, the blue dragging you under like currents in a riptide. You look down at the joint and fixate on the way the embers burn at the paper. 

“Or that time–”

“JJ, I mean it,” you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. “We should talk about something else.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ surrenders, holding his hands up and all. He relaxes back against the plastic seat of the boat and you do the same. Your legs outstretch so you can rest your feet on the spot beside him. The two of you catch each other’s gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. “How’d you meet Mark, then?”

You glance at JJ. “A few months back. He’d just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.”

“He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. “Y’know, just cause I know what you look like naked don’t mean we can’t be friends now.”

Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. “There was definitely a better way you could have put that.”

“Probably,” he shrugs, grinning, “but it’s true, ain’t it? We can be friends.”

“Of course we can. We are,” you emphasise. 

“So…That means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,” JJ offers. 

Laughing, you rock your head back and gaze up at the sky. The stars are out. They shimmer white and crystal in the abyss of the night. “That’d be too weird, I think, but I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.”

“I just got one question. Just one.”

“Go on,” you reluctantly reply. 

“Does he say ‘thank you’ after the two of you fuck?”

You burst into fits of laughter. It’s so sudden that it has you doubling over. Tears slip from your eyes and you wipe them away, looking at a grinning JJ. God, you missed him and his twisted sense of humour. 

“He just looks like the kinda guy who would!”

“Oh my God, no!” you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, “no, he doesn’t say ‘thank you’.”

“Is he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.”

“JJ stop! I’m gonna pee myself!” you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pier’s lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

“I can give the guy pointers if he needs them,” JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning. 

“Don’t you dare!” you say, trying not to crack up again. “‘Sides, he doesn’t need pointers.”

“Everybody needs pointers,” JJ says with a roll of his eyes. “John B gave me one of the best pointers.”

“I find that impossible to believe,” you snort. 

“He did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, I’m telling ya.”

“Mhm, I’ll bet,” you sarcastically return. You glance at the joint to check if it needs tapping off, take another drag, and then look up to find JJ watching you. He hasn’t changed enough for you to forget what that expression means. 

“You want me to show you?”

“Show me? How?” you say with furrowed brows. Something in the air shifts with your question. An unspoken thing, an unseeable thing, but something nonetheless. A nervous tickle comes to your throat. 

JJ doesn’t reply but he slowly leans over the seat towards you. Your breath catches in your lungs the moment he enters your bubble, breaking some unspoken barrier, and your smile fades away like day into night. You feel as though you’re stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and you’re ashamed to admit that you don’t hate that you are. You’re ashamed that you’re not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. You’re ashamed that you’re curious as to what he’s going to do next. 

JJ’s close enough now that you can smell him. His cologne mixed with something sweet but tangy, like seasalt and citrus. Something masculine underneath, that has a primal instinct inside of you wanting to claw its way out. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat instead. Your eyes stare into his. You study the laps of green and grey in the sea of blue, mesmerised in the way the night sky reflects in the iris. His gaze darts down to your lips and you have no idea how this happened and how you got here, and everything is blurry but so, so clear from the cannabis as he leans forward, and you can’t move but you should move and you want to move but you don’t, you never want to move again, as his lips brush against yours just so, just enough for you to know that they have, that he has, that he’s real, but that he hasn’t, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesn’t count and it shouldn’t and you shouldn’t but–

Your hand clutches his jaw and you pull him in. His lips crash against yours in a breath. You kiss him like you won’t ever kiss him again. He sighs against you in the hurried mesh of mouths, groaning as your tongue brushes against his, tasting him for the first time in years. It’s like finding a childhood toy and it smells like nostalgia. It’s like eating a baked good and it tastes like a specific holiday. It’s like smoking your first joint and it feels like floating. 

Until you’re not. 

Your body falls back down to earth with a thud. You shove JJ away as if he’s flammable and you’re the deadly spark. Your mouth hangs open in shock, your eyes filling with horror, and the worst feeling you’ve maybe ever felt overcomes you so suddenly, you worry you might be sick. 

Guilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper. You lift a hand to your lips and your fingers brush against the damp of his spit that lingers, and it confirms that it was all real. “Oh my God.”

JJ’s lips move to try and formulate words but nothing happens. He looks just as stunned as you do. His eyes are wide, lips swollen, cheeks pink. Those three words bang about your brain as you take in the sight of him. It’s not at all unfamiliar. 

Hot ash from your joint drops onto your thigh and you cuss, brushing it off. You toss the joint into the sea behind you as if it’s the culprit, the plotter, behind all of this. Then you’re on your feet and rambling out excuses. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I think it was - it was definitely the weed. I really should go, it’s so late. I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I have no idea-”

It’s as you’re about to step off the boat and onto the wooden pier that JJ’s hand locks around your wrist. It freezes you in place once more and you want to climb out of your body and scream at yourself. Instead, you look down at him. 

“You can stay, y’know,” JJ whispers. There’s a pleading in his eyes, a tenderness that you haven’t known before in him, and you finally know how Eve must have felt with that damn serpent in Eden. Temptation at its finest, dressed up in blonde, unruly hair and dreamy eyes and sculpted muscles and a graphic tee. 

Mark. 

You shake your head and snatch your hand free. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

And no matter how vehemently you tell yourself that you mean it as you hurry away from the pier and from the house, you know you don’t. 

Cheap White Wine 

The tart tanginess of the wine is sharp on your tongue as you take another swig. It’s late, or perhaps early, and the Chateau is illuminated by amber and orange from lamps. It’s raining outside as hurricane season rattles on, but you and the Pogues could care less. When you have wine, you really have everything you need. 

“Come on, come on!” Kiara laughs, egging on you to loop your arm in hers. The two of you line dance together to an old noughties CD in the player. You swing one another around in a tipsy haze to the upbeat tempo. Pope and John B heckle and holler from the pull-out sofa, toasting their beer cans up in approval. You’re happy here, like this, in your bubble. As the song comes to a close on a major chord, you and Kiara giggle and take joking bows to your audience. You frown when you look around the room, not finding JJ anywhere. 

“He’s on the porch,” Pope says, seemingly catching on. 

“Thanks,” you smile, a little embarrassed that you’re that easy to read. Taking the wine, you venture out the door, closing it behind you as another song starts up. Kie’s cheer and begging for John B to dance is muted through the shutters and windows. 

JJ sits on the sofa, a joint lit up, legs outstretched on the coffee table. He glances up at the sound of someone coming out and smiles at the sight of you. 

“Hey. Can I join?” you wonder. 

“Course,” he hums, shuffling a cushion in invitation beside him. You sit and lean against him, hitching your feet up onto the table beside his. He knocks one of his shoes against yours teasingly and you smile. Through the netting of the porch, you can make out the lashing of rain in the yard. It’s pitter-pattering is soothing like a nursery rhyme. You sigh and let your eyes slip shut. “Having fun?”

“Always,” you mumble, making him laugh. “You got any dreams?”

“Like sexy ones?”

“No,” you giggle, elbowing him, making him let out a few laughs too. “Like actual dreams. Ambitions. A wish.”

JJ takes a pause for thought. You have a swig of your wine as you wait, revelling in the sound of his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and constant. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Your heart sinks with disappointment. This wasn’t the first time this has happened. It felt as though every time JJ came close to pulling back the curtain and letting you see a glimpse, he caught eye of something that scared him and he slipped it shut again. He told you what he wanted to tell you and kept the rest close to heart. You weren’t going to pry his cards from his body to see them, but it would be nice if he showed you them once in a while. It felt like the more time you spent with him, the less you knew. You could guess things from small clues as if playing a boardgame. He hardly went home, never mentioned his mother, and his father came into conversation with a shadow. He spoke lowly of himself, presumed the worst before others could, and it saddened you how clearly he believed everything he said. JJ couldn’t see himself the way you did. 

“I do,” you whisper, hoping it might entice him to share. 

“Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”

“I want to start a kitchen.”

“Huh?”

“Like a community kitchen thing. Not a bakery or a restaurant, just a place for all kinds of food, for all kinds of people, y’know? A good thing, like that. My sister used to help out at a soup kitchen and…I don’t know. I always liked that.”

JJ squeezes your thigh in acknowledgment. “Sounds fuckin’ amazing.”

“Thanks.”

In the Chateau, John B and Kiara laugh and Pope speaks loudly over them, something teasing, and you smile. The smell of weed fills the air before you and blends in with the notes of your wine and the telling scent of JJ. You wonder if the smell of you affects him in the same way; if the flavours of your perfume haunt him when he can’t sleep the way his cologne does for you. Suddenly, somewhere in the serenity of the moment comes a calamitous realisation, like a rumble thunder breaking the rain. 

You were falling in love with JJ Maybank. 

Biscuits  

Food poisoning. That’s what you’d told Mark. The heavy sickness that had sat in the bottom of your stomach like a boulder since last night lingered still. You hoped it was a hangover, but that passed with an advil. You knew what this was. 

You only escaped the guilt in your sleep. The moment you returned home, you climbed under the sheets of your bed like a child hiding from the bogeyman. Sleep was the only reprieve, though it didn’t come easy, and the second you came to in the morning, the first thought in your head was the look on JJ’s face just before his lips touched yours. 

Fuck. 

Your phone pings with another message that is no doubt from Mark and you can’t bring yourself to look at it. It doesn’t help that there’s a framed picture of the two of you staring at you from the bedside. It was his gift to you for your one month anniversary, because of course Mark cares about one month anniversaries. You hadn’t gotten him anything; you had to make up some lie that it was late in the mail, and then run to the shops that night. Just further proof that you don’t deserve him. 

Hello, hell? I’d like to reserve my spot in advance. Queen sized bed please, for me and my whorish ways. Much love. 

When the phone begins to ring you groan aloud and send it straight to voicemail. You bury your head beneath the pillow and close your eyes, but the memories haunt you like flashbacks. JJ’s eyes. JJ’s lips. The way he tasted, the way he bit your lower lip just so, in that way that only he knows, in the way that he always knew drives you crazy–

“Stop it!”

Hello, hell? Quick update: I think I might be going insane, too. Just thought I should preface you. 

Somewhere in your self-loathing, you manage to drift off into another restless sleep. It’s broken by a tapping on your door. Groaning, you force yourself out of the safety of your bed and wander to your door, expecting to find your mom. Instead, your head tips back to see the face of your boyfriend. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice is thick with concern, brows knitted with worry. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Thankfully, you didn’t have to lie with that one. “What’re you doing here?”

“I needed to check on you,” he replies. He steps into your room and you make space, sitting on your bed. He closes the door behind him. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, sorry, uh…I was just feeling really frail, y’know?”

“Oh, baby,” Mark sighs. He sits beside you on the bed and places his large palm on your forehead. His brown curly hair sits in perfect ringlets atop of his head. One dangles over his forehead, out of formation, and it reminds you of JJ. Just how you went from me to him, JJ had said. Were they that different, after all? “You got a temperature?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. You gently push his hand off your face. “I think I just need to sleep.”

“Well, I’m here to take care of you.”

“Really?” You hope the dread in your voice isn’t obvious. 

“Course. You’d do the same for me,” he smiles. He lifts a bag you didn’t even notice he was carrying and shows you each item. “Mama’s homemade biscuits. She’s real worried about you, y’know?”

“I’m fine,” you insist, “just a bit sick. I think the worst of it has passed.”

“That’s good, then. I’ll make you a hot drink, yeah? We can watch a movie or something. You get cosy,” Mark tells you. You nod and try your best to smile. Mark leans forward and presses a fleeting kiss on your lips, and the sickness comes back tenfold. You want to cry the second he’s out of your room. 

Mark is good. Mark is good for you. But what if you’re not good for Mark? 

Chocolate Chip Cookies

“I don’t understand.”

You sigh, rubbing tiredly at your forehead. Bile lingers in the back of your throat but you swallow it down, alongside the feeling of self-reproach. This was it: the conversation you’d been dreading. The conversation that needed to happen. You’d rehearsed your words in the mirror like practising lines for a play. Journals and diaries filled with debate, as to whether you stay or bolt. But now was as good a time as any, and you knew in your mind what the right thing to do was. You can’t risk getting in the car accident if you step out of the vehicle. 

“Did I do something?” JJ then asks, his voice weak, naked. You meet his gaze and shake your head firmly. 

“No,” you breathe, “no, you ain’t do nothing, JJ.”

“Then I don’t get it,” he repeats, stronger this time. Frustrated. You knew none of this would be easy. 

“Look,” you cut yourself off with a sigh. You shuffle your crossed legs, sitting on JJ’s bed in the Chateau in a way that you never have before, as if you’ve never stepped foot inside his life. “My parents are heading to Charleston for a couple months anyway, to stay with my grandmother and help look after her, and…well, maybe it’s for the better, that we have this distance sooner rather than later.”

“Distance?”

“You’ve been removed, JJ,” you mumble, hoping not to sound accusatory. “And that’s okay, I know you’re busy. I mean, you told me from the start that you don’t do the whole relationship-thing. But I don’t think I can stay, not right now.”

“Okay, is this some kinda joke?” JJ snaps. He gets to his feet and paces a few steps in the small throughway of his bedroom. Taking off his hat, JJ rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks at you, eyes fiery, expression hard as if to shield from the hurt that you don’t mean to cause. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I thought we were fine.”

“We are fine,” you insist. Sighing, you try and find the best way to explain yourself without giving it all away. “Look, I ain’t meaning that you’re a bad guy or that you’re damaged or anything like that. I don’t think that, not at all. But…How can I explain this?”

JJ takes a moment or two to calm himself as you hang your head and clench your eyes, searching for the perfect turn of phrase to make your thought process make sense. You find it. Lift your head, soften your gaze at the hurt on his face, and try your best to smile through the sorrow. This wasn’t easy for you either. 

“You know when you see a tornado?”

He stares at you for a short while before nodding, urging you to continue. 

“Things that like…They’re always so pretty for afar. So mesmerising, how nature can create something like that. Stunning, really. Epic. But then, you get too close, and you get sucked in. And it’s just chaos and there’s no way out of it without being broken.”

JJ nods again, pursing his lips. 

“I think that’s what might happen here,” you whisper. “If I stick around.”

“I don’t get it. You’re saying I’m gonna break you?”

“No, I’m saying…I’m saying you’re not in a spot right now to give me what I need. That ain’t your fault, JJ, but I can’t let myself stay knowing that I’m gonna have my heartbroken. I wish I could - I wish I could just wing-it like that - but I can’t.”

There’s a pregnant pause that JJ drags out, staring at you as if trying to see into your head, searching for some lie. Sighing, he must come up empty, as he takes the spot beside you on the bed again. You test the waters, leaning against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate through his t-shirt. One of his hands lifts and strokes your hair, smoothing it down. 

“I really do care ‘bout you, y’know? Like, that ain’t fake,” JJ admits in a hushed tone. 

“I know, JJ,” you reply, just as soundless. “I just think you gotta figure yourself out before you can…”

“...love you?” JJ hesitantly whispers, after you lose nerve. Your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Mhm.”

“You can’t love me ‘til then, either?”

Laughing sadly, you shake your head against him. He really couldn’t tell how much you’d fallen for him already, could he? “I don’t think you gotta worry ‘bout that ever, JJ.”

A soft kiss is planted on your forehead. “So…Just gotta do some soul searchin’, huh?”

“Somethin’ like that,” you hum. “But hey, I tell you what.”

You break apart from the comfort of his hold, tilting your head so you can look up, into his eyes. The pain in JJ’s gaze tears you like wrapping paper, and it’s worse to know it’s your fault, but you know that it’s the only way to save you both from further pain. It isn’t the right time, and that’s a shame, and it isn’t fair, since you’ve memorised the outline of him and drawn him into all your plans and daydreams. But you can hear it when you talk and feel it when you sleep together, this detachment, this removal of himself, that can’t come until he’s healed in a way that he’s far away from now. There’s something pulling him away from you, an adventure of sorts, and you don’t want to keep him from it. You want JJ to love you but you want him to choose you, too. And until then, you don’t have it in yourself to sit around on the sidelines, waiting for your heart to be broken. It’s like sitting a toddler in front of a plate of chocolate chip cookies but demanding them not to touch; the temptation might just kill you. 

“What?” JJ gently prompts, bringing you back from your thoughts. 

Your smile is sick with inner lamentation. “If you do figure yourself out, after some soul searchin’ and all that, then chances are I’ll still be here. So, I guess, if you ever feel like fallin’ then lemme know. You can catch me on the way down.”

JJ’s smile is beautiful, even when his eyes are wet with unshed tears. You lean up and press a fleeting kiss to his lips, but you don’t let yourself linger. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll never leave. You murmur some sort of goodbye, making an excuse that you should get going, and JJ doesn’t argue. He watches you as you stand, waves farewell with two-fingers as you leave, and you walk home with your heart halfway broken but more whole than it might’ve been if you stayed and tried to make this impossible thing work. JJ wasn’t ready to fall in love, not yet, but you already had. 

Ham and Cheese Sandwiches  

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I promise,” you reply to Mark, smiling reassuringly. You wonder if it looks like a grimace. It feels like one. Even touching him makes you want to cry, as you brush your hand atop of his on the table. Your feigned food poisoning was two days ago now but Mark was still worried for your health, likely because you were still acting so withdrawn and drained. It’s hard to sleep when you’re consumed by guilt and confusion. “Why don’t you see if Nancy needs a hand in the kitchen, yeah? I can work on the inventory out here.”

“You sure? I don’t mind helping.”

“I’m sure,” you nod. “I can come get you if I need anything.”

“You better,” he grins. He dips his head and kisses you and it takes everything inside of you not to pull away like a flinch. It’s not him. It’s you. You feel like you’re poison. Like JJ’s kiss has infected you and you can’t get Mark sick too. His brown curls bounce as he walks back to the building. You busy your mind with counting tins of soup. The Stirring Spoon had never had so many posters, so many new recipes, with how much you’d been trying to keep yourself busy. You picked up extra shifts at the Smoothie Shop to avoid Mark during the daytime, and you submerged yourself in your voluntary-planning work and ‘early nights’ to avoid him during the night. It wasn’t fair to him but you didn't know what else to do. 

Well, that’s a lie. You know exactly what you should do, but denial is so much easier. 

Ducking down, you grab another box of leftover soup from a local supermarket. They’d recently changed providers and all the old stuff had to go. You were thinking of making toasted sandwiches with soup. Grunting, you lift the box onto the table. The sun beats down on you as if the universe is punishing you. Good, it’s the least I deserve. 

You can spot him anywhere, even blind. He’s in the far corner carrying a smaller box than usual, compared to his crate. A sudden wave of panic comes over you and you speed walk over to him. He frowns as you approach. 

“You good? Hey!” 

You grab his arm and drag him out of sight from the field, behind an overgrown bush. “W hat are you doing here?” you hiss. 

“Bringing sandwiches?” he replies, as if it should be obvious. “Are you okay?”

“JJ, you can’t be here,” you snap. “Mark is literally in the other building!”

“So?” 

“So? Do you…Do you not remember what happened the other night?” you ask, calming down slightly. 

JJ sighs and puts the box down on the floor. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. “Look, clearly you spun out. I ain’t gonna mention it if you don’t want me to.”

“Wait…Really?”

“Jesus Christ, I ain’t a homewrecker,” JJ chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. You want to crack a smile but you think your face might be permanently stitched in perpetual concern forever. His laughter dies. “Listen, I think you got some stuff to figure out, a’right?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t get offended! I’m jus’ saying…” JJ cuts himself of with a sigh and brushes a hand through his hair. He pinches the bridge of his nose. You missed all his little ticks and quirks. “Look, don’t kill me for sayin’ this, I’m just tryin’ to be honest. I don’t think Mark’s the right guy for you.”

“I-”

“I’m sorry, a’right? I don’t think you want to admit it either but…I think you gotta be honest. You don’t love him, okay? And that’s a’right, I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. I just think you need to make a choice.”

“What does that mean? A choice?” you quietly ask, terrified for his answer. 

His smile is sad as JJ shrugs. “I was an idiot to lose you once, I ain’t gonna lose you again - not if I can help it. If Mark’s who you want - if Mark makes you feel like you’re living - then I’ll never bring it up again. Hell, I’ll stay away from you forever, if you want. Least, I’ll try to. I don’t know if I can be held accountable for when I’m drunk but- look, now I’m getting side tracked. The point is:”, JJ speaks with his hands,  “if Mark isn’t the one for you…I’m here to catch you, y’know?”

You blink at JJ and blink away the tears. You’re not sure if you can form words right now, not even sure what words they would be, so you try your best to nod. JJ tries another smile. 

“There’s some sandwiches from Kie and Sarah for today. I hope it all goes okay. Just…lemme know. Or don’t, y’know? Either way,” he trails off with a shrug. You feel cemented into the dirt as JJ backs away. Then he’s gone. Your eyes slip shut. Some weird hybrid of JJ and Mark’s faces fill your thoughts. 

‘If you ever feel like fallin’ then let me know. You can catch me on the way down.’ 

‘I’m here to catch you.’ 

You need to figure this out and fast. It wasn’t fair to anybody, not even yourself. Dragging things out doesn’t make it any easier, it only delays the inevitable, like tediously inching a bandaid off the skin. Sometimes you just have to rip. You just have to prepare for the aftermath.

How ironic, how when you were sixteen it was you waiting for JJ to figure himself out, and now it’s your turn. It’s a shame you were never all that much of a fan of irony. 

Cinnamon Buns 

Baking is therapeutic. The precision of weighing out the ingredients; the cathartic relief from beating together butter and sugar until fluffy like clouds; the tapping and cracking of eggs; the rhythmic folding of flour; the soon-to-arrive reward for your labour. You like baking when life gets stressful. Few things are so systematic, so simple, so quick to resolve, as baking. Life is more complicated than that. 

Mark and JJ. Two sides of different coins. Neither good, nor bad. Human, just like you. 

As you prepare the batter for cinnamon buns, you try to make sense of everything. Figure yourself out, as JJ had put it. 

Mark was designed to be easy to fall in love with. It was as if the universe had a recipe for him, everything the girls crave, the people fawn over in romance novels, the parents pray for in their child’s partner. Responsible; caring; thoughtful; kind; secure; safe. Mark was good. There was no other way to put it. Hell, you met him at a voluntary community kitchen. He gave you stability like a white picket fence. Perfect and practised, like he’d been waiting for that his whole life. But you found yourself restless in the fairytale. Found yourself itching for change, for chaos, for clutter. He was sentimental in a way you weren’t. That wasn’t to say you were heartless - the two of you just loved differently. 

JJ Maybank? He wasn’t designed for it in the same way, but it was impossible to not fall in love with him. You knew it from the moment your paths crossed, back when you were sixteen and the two of you tumbled through two months together. That’s why you left in the first place. To save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that it would bring, because sixteen-year-old JJ was in no place to commit to anybody. You assumed that with time your feelings would fade away and when you met Mark, you believed they had. You liked Mark - that wasn’t false - and you had feelings for Mark. But the love you had for JJ didn’t vanish. Like energy, it could only be transferred. It went into the back of your mind as if in hibernation but the moment JJ waltzed back into your world, it was awake. It was impossible to ignore. 

Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist, but JJ was the acrobat. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car, but JJ was the driver. But JJ was safety too. He made you feel safe, but he also made you feel alive. 

And you wanted to feel alive. 

Mark was routine. He was predictable. You could see the next five, ten, twenty years of your life laid out nice and neat with Mark. But did you want that? Did you want to give up the adventure? The chaos? The things you missed so desperately. 

As you drizzle the topping on top of the cinnamon buns, you summarise your scrambled thoughts into one neat realisation: you wouldn’t have kissed JJ if you truly wanted Mark. 

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as you walk to Mark’s house. The buns sit neat in the tupperware and you’re careful not to shake them. His door looks like a tombstone as you knock on it. There’s a noise from inside and the door opens. Mark smiles down at you. He’s dressed in a baby-blue waffle sweater and it’s so undeniably, so wonderfully him. 

“Hey!” he grins. 

“Can I come in?” you ask. It sounds ridiculous asking that when you used to sleep in this house almost daily. 

“Course,” Mark replies. He opens the door further and you slip inside. It shuts behind you. You place the tupperware on the countertop, taking too much time in letting go. “You alright?”

“Mhm. I just…I think we should talk about some stuff,” you say, feeling your voice losing power. 

“Alright. Come, sit,” he urges. You do as he asks and take the spot on the bed beside him, leaving a gap. “What’s up?”

You fumble your fingers together and stare intensely at your hands, racking your mind for the words, for where to start. You’d practised this so many times in the mirror. Childish. 

“I did something and I need to tell you, because you’ve always been so good to me, and so honest with me, and it isn’t fair to hoodwink you.”

“Okay,” Mark faintly replies. 

You take a steady breath in. Mark is good. He deserves the truth. “I went to see JJ last week, and one thing led to another, and we kissed.”

For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the sounds of the air conditioning unit humming as white noise. Then, 

“Oh.”

You clench your eyes shut before looking up at him. He’s detached in his expression. Your eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry, Mark,” you whisper, scared your voice will break if you talk any louder. He meets your gaze. “You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be treated that way. You’re such a good, genuine person. I just…I don’t know why, but I just…I can’t love you.”

Mark swallows thickly. The tears are warm and sticky on your cheeks. It’s so selfish to cry when you’re the one who threw the punches. You hang your head with shame and watch the teardrops land on your restless hands.

“I swear I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know I still had feelings for JJ until…Well, until then.”

“I did.”

Your head snaps up. He’s staring at you, but he doesn’t look angry. No. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips. A sad smile, no doubt, but a smile nonetheless. 

“You did?”

“The minute you saw him, that Wednesday at the start of the month. I saw it on your face, clear as day. You never used to look at me like that.”

“Mark–”

“--That’s okay,” he nods. He’s crying too, now, and you’re not sure what to think, what to do. But Mark does. Of course, he does. His hands reach out to hold yours, warm in his clutch, and you blubber like a petulant child. “You’re not a bad person, Y/N. I could tell something was bothering you this past week.”

“I just didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t even know what it meant. But I have to be honest for the both of us, and I don’t…I don’t think I’m the girl you’re looking for, Mark,” you say through your tears. 

Mark smiles solemnly and nods once. The squeeze of your hands tells you everything. I know. I agree. It’s okay. 

“Do you hate me?” you ask in a moment of pure patheticness. Mark laughs and shakes his head. 

“You’re too pretty to hate.”

“Ugh! You can’t say things like that!” you whine, throwing your head back. He laughs again, soggy with his sorrow, and he shrugs. 

“Just got to keep my good-guy rep up.”

Laughing, you shake your head at him and smile. The two of you share a breath and he nods. A conclusion. His smile dwindles. 

“I’m gonna need time, though…Before we can be friends, maybe. Just to…You know…”

“Of course,” you whisper. “I understand. Whatever you want, whatever you need. It’s all on your terms, I promise.”

Mark nods. Thanks you. It is so fucking bizarre to have the man you cheated on thank you but here we are. Life is full of strangeness. 

“Can I give you a hug?” you wonder. Chuckling, he nods, and you waste no time in throwing your arms around his shoulders. Mark holds you in the embrace and the two of you savour the feeling of one another for one last time. Against his shoulder, you murmur, “I’m going to miss you, Mark.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” he tells you into your collarbone. “JJ’s a lucky guy. But make sure to tell him I know where he lives if he hurts you.”

You tearfully giggle against him. “I’ll pass on the message.”

Bacon Sandwiches

It’s warm today; bright and brilliant. The critters are happy, chirping in the trees, croaking in the overgrowth by the water of the marsh that lines the Pogue’s house. Your footsteps feel heavy as you walk up the driveway, anticipating weighing you down. You lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight and make out JJ. He’s at the entrance to the shop, stood a few rungs up a free-standing ladder. He’s trying to staple something to the walls - a banner of some kind - and you make your way over. 

“Need a hand?”

He jumps and you cringe. Oops. JJ looks down at you and his lips quirk at the corners. The muscle tee he wears is grey and hangs loose on his well-kept frame. He’s armed with a staple gun. “Yo. What’re you doing here?”

“Want a hand?” you repeat, nodding up at the banner, not quite ready to confess. JJ shrugs and nods. 

“Sure. Thanks.” 

You glance around and find something that looks sturdy enough to stand on. Dragging it over, you boost yourself up and hold out your hand to take the other side of the banner. Holding it up against the wall, JJ leans forward and steadies himself with an elbow on the wooden panelling. 

“We’re selling bacon sandwiches on weekends now, so thought we oughta advertise it, y’know? So, anyway, what’re you–” a grunt and a click of the staple gun, “-doing here?”

You step down from your boost and JJ takes your place. You don’t speak, stalling time, as JJ secures the banner. Sighing, taking it in, nodding with contentment, JJ jumps down and ditches the gun. The he stands with his hands on his hips and looks at you, shrugging again. 

“I, uh…I needed to talk you,” you say, clearing your throat. 

“A’right. What about?”

“Just like…” You rock your head back, take a breath, and steel yourself. Somewhere in that split second, you find a new mantra. JJ is good. JJ is good for me. I’m good for JJ. We’re good for each other. Smiling, you look at him again. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” he mumbles. 

There’s a playfulness, a teasing, as you shrug. “That you’ll catch me.”

You can see the words as they process through his head. See the moment he tracks the meaning, parses it altogether. A smile, beautiful and brimming, greets you, and then JJ crosses the gap between you in two large strides. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up in an embrace. He swings you around for good measure and you laugh, looping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, smiling against him. This is good. 

“You mean it?”

“I mean it,” you whisper in reply. He carefully reunites you with the ground. You smile up at JJ, gazing into his blue eyes, bathing in their depths. Your hand strokes along his jaw, slides down his front until it rests just above his heart. “It was always you, JJ.”

“You think…You think you can love me now?” he nervously asks. 

You shake your head with a silent laugh. It feels like breathing, like you’re finally free, as you admit, “I’ve always loved you.”

It comes and goes like a comet; the flash of shock in his eyes; the glow of his smile; the burning passion of his lips on yours. And as you kiss JJ, without guilt, without fear, you finally feel at home. When you break apart, short of air, JJ rests his forehead against yours. His thumb smooths along the soft line of your jaw and you smile. He takes a small breathe, shaky, unsure, but JJ's words are sure like bedrock.

"I love you too."

[svtswhorehouse]

DATING SEUNGKWAN INCLUDES…. — sfw

• he’s definitely the type of person to call you pookie.

• he uses the term “gyat” whenever he sees your butt. not in a sexual way, someone pls take away tiktok from him.

• his go to nickname for you is DEFINITELY boo — he thinks he’s soooo creative for this.

• he is constantly thinking of you. whenever he's buying groceries he always asks if you need something, before he makes plans with someone else he makes sure you don't want to hang out, or he thinks carefully about what he says to you incase he hurts your feelings with his jokes.

• he treats you like his personal diary. seungkwan was used to writing in his journal every night before you two started dating. you are the one person he truly feels "seen" with.

• y'all once had a phase in your relationship in which he would wake you up at the crack of dawn to exercise with him.

• one day you decided to drag him to a pilates class. he complained the entire way there, but ended up loving it. now it's HIM that drags you to the class.

• he makes sure you take your vitamins ! he's definitely the type to prioritize your health more than you do.

• if y'all aren't together for the day and you tell him you haven't eaten, there's definitely gonna be a food delivery at your door within the next hour or so.

• he's the type to get SLIGHTLY jealous, but after some reassuring he would let it go quickly.

• i'm ngl, he's not against being the big spoon, but he probably prefers little spoon tbh.

• he makes sure you know all the iconic korean songs word for word from back in the day. if you can't sing every single girl’s generation song start to finish with him, you're gonna get side eyed.

• whenever you two are separated because of touring or work, y'all are definitely the type of couple to FaceTime 24/7 and have meals together. you two also fall asleep while on the call.

• he was SO SO nervous when meeting your parents for the first time he thought he was going to pass out.

• he is NOT a morning person. he gets so sassy, sometimes you have to give him that mom look.

• seungkwan constantly praises you and makes sure you never doubt yourself.

• before you two started dating, it was actually really easy to make him flustered. he blushed with everything you did and every word you said. the rest of seventeen ended up having to play matchmaker because he was too shy to make a move.

• karaoke dates are a MUST !!!!

• y’all are the type of couple to go to disney with matching shirts and mickey mouse ears.

• he would try and teach you badminton, but gets frustrated and ends up just having you be his cute lil cheerleader on the sidelines.

• y’all typically always meet at a cafe to have a coffee or grab a bite on your lunch breaks.

• he has made it a tradition to sing you a ballad on your birthday. you look forward to it every year.

• he forces you to do face masks with him or indulge in self care nights. you don’t care though cause who can say no to a bubble bath with him.

• he would definitely pass the orange peel theory.

• you have a folder in your camera roll specifically dedicated to photos of him that would make good memes.

• you’re really close to both of his sisters and tend to go out on cute girls nights with them. sometimes seungkwan tries to worm his way along to make sure y’all aren’t talking shit about him lol.

• y’all have promise rings !!!

• he actually has your proposal planned down to the t. i’m talking ring, place, and moment.

• he’s such an active person that loves to do a bunch of activities, but it’s nice because it gets you out of the house.

• seungkwan is a person who constantly has to be doing something otherwise he feels unproductive so having you around definitely brings him down to earth. you’re the only person able to get him to relax.

• he always has a bunch of snacks on him so if you ever get hungry, don’t worry. you know who to ask.

• at the end of the day when y’all are cuddled up in bed together, you two typically watch dramas to fall asleep. it’s kind of difficult though because kwannie gets so into it and sometimes yells at the t.v :/

[bringmeanangel]

Tons of Germs

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warning: None. Maybe just too gosh darn adorable. Synopsis: Reader is home sick and Spencer comes to take care of her.

A/N: This popped in my head and I had to share.

You were lying on the couch, Kleenex spilled out of the trash, you felt miserable. There was a cold going around and you caught it.

You had gotten nice and cozy on the couch, with your big blanket and prepared to stay there forever.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. You sighed, groaning as you stood. You peered through the peephole and there he was...

The world's greatest boyfriend. Spencer had texted you that they were home from the case and you let him know you were sick.

"Go away" you said, not opening the door.

He chuckled "open the door, love"

"No. You hate germs and I've got tons of them"

"Angel" he cooed, your favorite nickname of his. "Open the door please"

"Okay, but I warned you Mister!" your tone was teasing, but a hint of seriousness.

When the door opened Spencer was met with your pale face. Your nose was red, you were in your sweatpants and oversized t-shirt. You looked exhausted.

He looked at you sympathetically and you took a step back to let him him.

"My poor girl." he soothed.

He made his way to the kitchen, taking a quick glance at the set up you made in the living room. He placed the bags that he had down on the counter.

"You brought me things" you sounded hopeful and he looked at you, smiling softly and nodded.

"I did. More ginger ale, those plain chips you like to eat when you're sick and some chicken soup from the cafe down the street."

"With the little little dumplings instead of noodles" you looked almost child like and he nooded.

"Yes, love. With the dumplings."

He reached a hand out and placed it on your forehead. He furrowed his brow for a moment, and then removed his hand, quickly going to wash them.

"You feel warm, but it's not a fever" he said. "Why don't you go draw yourself a nice bath, with some eucalyptus and I will bring the soup in there."

"Oh, special treatment." you teased, before turning away from him and coughing into the crook of your elbow. "You should just go." you whined, looking defeated.

"I'm not going to leave you like this. That wouldn't be very nice of me, would it?" he smirked and you shook your head pouting a bit.

"It would not."

"Go, get your bath ready. These dirty clothes in the hamper, I'll take care of everything."

"You're going to do my laundry?" you questioned, raising your eyebrow and he laughed.

"No. You're very particular about that. You'll feel better in new clothes. Now go."

It was no secret, you were so thankful that he had come by tonight. You were feeling so crummy and really wanted him here to help you.

You started your bath with some eucalyptus and then made your way to your bedroom to get out of your clothes. You threw your hair up to get it out of the way.

While you were doing all that, Spencer put the kettle on to make you some hot water with lemon and honey. He changed the garbage can in the living room, sprayed some Lysol around too.

He then washed his hands, grabbed a bowl and got your soup ready. When he walked towards the bathroom, he saw that the door was ajar.

He lightly pushed it open and saw you relaxing in the bath. Your face lit up when you saw the soup.

You had a nice tray that fit perfectly for the bathtub. He placed the bowl and and spoon on the tray that you had ready.

"I'll be right back, angel. I've made you a drink and I'll get you some fresh clothes, then I'll help wash you." you chuckled a bit.

"Spencer, it's just a cold."

"Just let me take care of you."

"Okay. Thank you for my soup. I think you like me."

"I think I love you. Be right back."

A few minutes later you were carefully eating your chicken and dumping soup. Spencer had brought you the warm drink and grabbed an oversized sweatshirt and some pyjama pants for you.

"How's the soup." he asked, rolling up his sleeves.

"Mmm. Thank you" you beamed up at him and he smiled wide.

"Good."

When you were done eating and drinking, he put the bowl and cup on the counter while you moved the tray to the end of the bathtub.

He knelt back down, grabbing a washcloth and dipping it in the water and started washing your back.

You brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your head on your knees, content.

"Feeling better?" he whispered and you hummed happily. "Sweet girl, don't fall asleep on me just yet." he soothed.

"Feels good. Too sweaty." you mumbled.

"Yeah. This always helps." he agreed.

Once he had washed the sweat off of you. He grabbed your big towel and helped you out of the bath. You held onto the counter as he dried you off.

He got you dressed in your Pyjamas and carried you to your bed.

"M'sleep now?" You mumbled out

He kissed your temple "yes, angel. You can sleep now"

[chvoswxtch]

hi my love, my sweetness!! congrats again on 4K you deserve it so much and I love youuu!!

I know the cafe is technically closed but I thought maybe if I flirt a bit with the owner, who’s such an amazing lovely person who writes excellent fics, I thought I might be able to order a drink or two (only if there’s time and of course fine if not<3)

so could I order a macchiato over ice for Frank or Hotch. how would they be/react if they saw you in their clothes? I think both are so territorial and like daddies and if they saw you just in their sweatshirt or jacket or whatnot in a completely innocent situation they’d lose it. Let’s not even get started on at home or bedroom related

love you thank you for sharing your writing with us <333

SWEET BABY D!!!!

oh i've missed you so. thank you so much my sweet. you can order anything you want <3

sjdkshdsjkd do you know how absolutely feral hotch would go if he came home after a shitty week & saw you wearing one of his dress shirts bc i'm going feral just thinking about it so let me paint you a lil picture

as a reminder, over ice means it's spicy ! (minors dni)

headcannon below the cut

aaron hotchner likes you in his clothes

let me set the scene for ya. it's been a long week for our bau daddy, dealing with narcissistic psycho killers & keeping all his kids in line (the rest of the bau), & the frustrations are high when he finally steps off the jet. he doesn't even stay back to handle the mountain of paperwork waiting for him, that's how fed up he is

when he finally makes it home, it's well after midnight, & he's so tired he doesn't even wanna take a nice hot shower like he usually does to unwind. he just wants to fall into bed & let the exhaustion take over

but when he passes by the kitchen, he instantly freezes, bc there you are standing by the counter, having a lil midnight snack (eating ice cream straight out of the tub), wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts. and when I say nothing, I mean hotch can tell you are wearing absolutely nothing underneath

his eyes quickly darken with pure lust & his cock is already half hard when he stalks over towards you with determined steps

the spoon is still in your mouth when you notice him, a smile stretching across your lips around it before you lick off the sweet remnants & slip it out of your mouth

"hey, how was the c-"

you don't even get a chance to finish that sentence bc hotch cuts you off by grabbing the back of your neck to capture your mouth in a heated kiss & he does not hold anything back as he pushes you up against the counter

his kiss is aggressive & needy, & the muffled moan that escapes you tastes delicious on his tongue. his fingers make quick work of unbuttoning the few buttons you'd had done, but he doesn't push it off your shoulders. oh no, he wants you to keep it on

his hands roam over your newly exposed skin, greedily grabbing at your breasts to squeeze them roughly, his thumb & index fingers toying with your sensitive nipples knowing it'll get you all riled up for him, & the sounds you make let him know it's working

he grabs your hand & guides it to his belt, & without hesitation you follow his silent command, your nimble fingers unbuckling it while he sheds his suit jacket & tie

in a flash he swiftly spins you around & bends you over the counter, bunching the bottom of his shirt up around your hips, & he spreads your legs further apart with his foot

he wastes no time pushing forward, burying his cock deep without warning, his hand quickly covering your mouth to contain your sharp moan. his other hand has a bruising grip on your hip as he leans forward & hisses in your ear

"be quiet."

the sensation of your warm, tight walls completely enveloping his cock makes his brain go blank. he can't focus on anything else other than how good you feel. he immediately begins snapping his hips, fucking you hard & fast while grunting in your ear

with every powerful thrust, the stress & tension built up in his body from this week starts to fade, & the pleasure rapidly builds. even though he's chasing a much needed release, he's not selfish, so he slips his hand between your thighs & begins to strum swift circles over your clit with two of his fingers

he lets out a quiet, wrecked groan in your ear when he feels your pussy start to contract around him, the muffled moans against his palm only heightening his arousal. as badly as he wants to hear you fall apart, he doesn't wanna wake up jack

when he feels your body seize up as you come, hotch squeezes his eyes shut & lets out a strangled groan, gripping your waist tightly with both hands as his hips start to stutter

"fuck fuck fuck."

he comes hard, spilling deep within your snug walls, emptying himself completely. the way your cunt continues to contract around his cock milks him of every drop he has to offer, & it makes him let out a shuddering breath

placing both of his palms down on the counter to steady himself, he buries his face into your hair, panting heavily. if he wasn't exhausted before, he sure as hell is now, but he's definitely more calm. a breathless laugh leaves your lips before you speak

"well, hello to you too."

letting out a breathless chuckle of his own, hotch smiles & wraps one of his arms around your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your neck

"sorry, hi."

reaching one of your hands back to caress his face with your hand, you hum softly with a grin

"missed me that much, huh?"

leaning into your gentle touch, hotch's smile turns into a full blown grin

"always. but I have to say, I love your choice in pajamas tonight."

glancing down at yourself, it clicks that seeing you in his shirt is what set hotch off, & a devilish smirk spreads across your lips

"i'll keep that in mind. sir."

in conclusion if you hear screaming from across the world it is me

[kazuko-stuff]

Parfait

Young Justice Robin! Dick Grayson x YJ reader

The bell on the door jingles when the two of you walked into a dessert cafe in Gotham. “Hi what can I get you…” the bored employee stops in mid sentence as he looks up, realizing two well known side kicks were in line for desserts. Since the two of you finished a mission you both got assigned to, Robin wanted to go to a dessert cafe that is hosting a Justice league theme parfaits.

“Umm, uh, Do you need help h-help with a-something?” The employee asked, shocked

“ We’re here to have the special event parfaits” exclaimed Robin in excitement

Robin looks through the Justice league theme menus before. Wonder Women’s strawberry warrior parfait. A Batman parfait’s chocolate crumble cookie crusade and finally, Robin’s eyes widen in excitement, Superman’s Kryptonite sensation.

“So I’m guessing you want the chocolate crumble cookie crusade?”He asked without looking up

“No, I would want the Superman’s Kryptonite Sensation please.” Answered Robin

You give a smug smile to yourself, fully aware that his favorite superhero is Superman, much to his mentor’s dismay, along with the cashier’s jaw dropped and other customers shocked.

“Aww, poor Batman.” You giggled in false pity. “Here I thought, that as Batman’s partner in heroism, you’ll pick Batman theme merch”

He gives a small crackle, at your sassy remark, “well Superman is my favorite flavor”

“I’ll take the Batman’s Chocolate Crumble Cookie Crusade then, as pity” you order, as you smirk at Robin in retaliation.

The employee and his co-workers get to work into your orders and the two of you paid. Robin picks a table in the middle of the room, where everyone can see the two of you chilling in a dessert cafe.

“What’s next, going to the Batburger place” you teased as one the employees shyly placed your order on the table.

“Nah, been there many times at the batmobile with Batman” as Robin scoops up a spoon of ice cream into his mouth.

“Must been a sight to see the actually batmobile within the drive through with the bat” you bring up your two pointer fingers up to head to mimic the infamous cowl, chains Robin to laugh at your antics.

All of the sudden, a inexperience robber with a a knife came into the cafe.

“HAND IT OVER!” Threaten the robber using the knife, with the other hand holding a sack

He then notice nobody was screaming in fear and realized the middle table of the two heroes just looking him lately while eating their parfait.

The robber started nervously, especially under Robin’s gaze, with his Cheshire smile as he slowly continuing eating his parfait while you just give a tight lipped smile.

“I t-think I got the w-rrong place” stammer the defeated robber

“Yeah, this is the wrong place” replied Robin as he continued eating his parfait.

“Umm..I… g-give this too-o you” The robber handed you the sack and the knife while in a stuttered mess.

“And I’ll give this to you” Robin stated as he handcuffed the robber, while you got a chair for the guy to sit, while waiting for GPD.

You got up to order a box of a dozen justice theme pastries for the others and some for yourself. You give a Superman theme donut to Robin and an ordinary donut for the robber.

The robber ate the donut in embarrassment as he failed his plan on his easy target and only to have sweets with the Boy Wonder and a girl just absentmindedly eating her sweet treat as nothing had happen.

[onceonafullmoon]

could i pleaseee request some sendou x reader hcs?

Okay, just to be clear about this and get it out of the way, you do not need to be a hollywood actress to bag Sendou 

He is actually such a pathetic man and he would literally have his knees go weak if any attractive person looked at him (which you, dear reader, are)

So rest assured, do not worry about that

You’d probably meet him by chance actually, like a romance novel cliche where you accidentally bump into each other and he goes to help you gather your things

Only when he finally looks up at you and you make eye contact, both of you freeze

Him because as I mentioned before, attractive person, and you because, well, you’re a pretty big football fan

You excitedly tell him about what a big fan you are while he stares at you dumb struck, and it's only after he’s given you his autograph and you’ve walked away that he realizes that he probably should have asked for your number

Well damn, he’ll probably never see you again

At least that’s what he thinks before he sees your familiar face in a cafe and a spark of hope shoots through him 

In his head, he’s really suave about walking over to you and easily seducing you.

He’s actually a complete fucking mess when he talks to you, stuttering slightly over his words and his body language awkward, but you either choose to ignore it or simply don’t notice and chat with him excitedly about how hyped you are for the upcoming season

But eventually, somehow, someway, he manages to get himself to ask for your number

And of course, flattered, you give him it and he leaves that cafe almost floating from how light he feels (though he’d never admit that to anyone)

You start texting each other pretty regularly after that, and he finds that it’s much easier to hit on you through text when he doesn’t see your face and get flustered

At least that’s what he thinks before you start flirting back, and then he’s back to square one

(The first time you flirted back he stopped responding for a solid 10 minutes because he was so flustered.)

Anyways as time goes on he gets a little more relaxed around you, even managing a few meetings with you before the season starts

And you’ll find that after you get through his faux arrogance, and after that his nervousness, that he’s actually a pretty determined person working hard for his goals. And you can’t help but find that admirable.

Then the season starts and you find that you guys don’t have as much time to talk, but you still manage to stay in touch

He texts you after practice and on breaks most definitely, earning some teasing from Aiku who pokes fun at him for being “whipped”

The whole team joins in actually, praising their star Ace for finding someone, Sendou wants to die

It’s after the season ends where he finally asks you out, and his whole team ends up helping in his endeavor

To clarify, he did not want them to help, they came to help anyways

And after a series of very close calls and near fuck ups on your outing, he eventually just blurts out that he’s interested in being your boyfriend

And that’s how you start dating

As a lover, he can be incredibly sweet with how he watches you with stars in his eyes when you do almost anything

Don’t ever ask this man for fashion advice though, because he’ll literally drop to his knees if you wear anything (or nothing)

You also learn that he can be a bit of a whiny brat at times too

ex. Whenever you have to leave to do something, he’ll whine about it, he always needs to be the little spoon, and complains loudly when you ignore him after an argument

He’s also a sucker for praise, so if you compliment him he’ll try to play it all cool but he visibly lights up

Don’t praise him too much though, he’s got a bad habit of getting cocky

He’s also super clingy and has a thing for laying his head in your lap and letting you run your fingers through his hair

All in all, he’s a very pathetic man (endearingly so!) and he’d do anything for your attention and praise despite putting on the front of being an arrogant ass

[asraxfile]

what do u think with non-idol!ningning xf!reader

━━━ (ू˃o˂ू) ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ᶜᵒᶠᶠᵉᵉ

sypnosis a regular customer, the girl you're too afraid to ask for her name, rushes inside your cafe bar one day, drenching in rain. Making this situation lead your hopes up for the further close encounters with her, tomorrow. pairing non-idol!Ningning x fem!reader genre fluff warnings ??? wc 1.3k

A/n: thank you so much dear anon for requesting this !! This one was first on the poll so I'm going to write phantom of the opera au next, THOUGH SOMEONE HELP ME I forgot how I wanna write it.............Enjoy readingg ^^

November 21st, it was slowly becoming much colder and rains were much more usual. The wind roughly freezed the passer-bys as they melted into the warmth of their thick clothes. You have been working all day now in your small little cafe bar. 

It was also raining heavily. Meaning that not many customers will stop by today. You walked over to the near tables and wiped them, cleaning off the mess. Your mind was filled with one regular customer, a girl, who always stops by for just a coffee. 

She was so cute in your opinion, but you never got her name though she came by almost everyday. Her usual order is an espresso with extra sugar and milk, and after she drinks her coffee she buys a Mogu Mogu drink for later right before she leaves the cafe bar. 

You could say she was a passing crush for you. Though you never got to have a real conversation with her, the glances and gazes both of you exchanged made the tension between you rise slowly. The smile on her face when you make a drawing on her coffee that’s different every time she orders. All the little things made you feel closer with her. 

As you were mopping the floor, suddenly a figure rushes inside the cafe. 

It was her. The girl that stops by for just a coffee. 

Her jacket soaking wet and her dark wavy hair tangled from the wind. Breathless she looked around for someone to help her until she saw you. 

“Oh my, are you okay??” You rushed towards her. “Here I’ll get you a towel” you exclaimed while rushing back to the bathroom. 

The mysterious girl thanked you after you got back and sat on the chair next to her usual table. “I forgot to bring an umbrella and now I’m...soaked.” She whined, looking down on her wet clothes as you sat down next to her. 

You watched the girl drench her hair in the towel you gave her. Happiness overtook your head, you were happy she was there with you again. You smiled softly at her, “What brings you here, the rain completely drenched you?” 

“I was on my way to get groceries and I guess I’ve had bad luck today.” She started with furrowed eyebrows, watching her with a small smile as she dried her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, probably from the cold outside, and you noticed her hands were still shaking a bit from the chill. 

Suddenly, you stand up and walk back to the kitchen bar, leaving her confused but letting her dry herself up. She didn’t notice it right away but you were making her usual coffee. An espresso with extra sugar and milk, you place a spoon in the cup and when it’s done, you walk back to her. 

Her eyes widened at your kindness but she took the cup, watching you sit next to her. “T-thank you so much.” Slowly she drank the coffee sip by sip with a smile. “I’m glad you like it.” You exclaimed, resting your hands on the table. 

“Y’know…” the start of your sentence made her look over to you, confusion splattered over her face. “I never got your name,” looking deeply inside her eyes, you send a signal of curiosity. “You’re a regular customer too.” 

At your words she just chuckled lightly and answered, “Yizhuo, Ning Yizhuo, but you can call me Ningning.” She said while giving you her hand as you shake it gently. Her name suited her—soft yet warm, warm like the presence she radiated when she was in your cafe. 

“Ningning,” you muttered, savoring the sound of it. “It’s nice to finally meet you properly.”

The rain continued to tap against the windows, casting a gentle rhythm to your quiet moment together. She finished the last sip of her coffee and set the cup down with a small sigh of satisfaction. Ningning looks into your eyes giving you the look of gentleness. “That coffee was… perfect,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes lingering on yours. 

What caught your attention were her eyes. SO dark yet so inviting, you were lost in them. Gazing at them you rested your left cheek on your hand. You chuckled, your voice soft, almost hesitant. “Glad I could make it just the way you like… especially on a day like this.”

She glanced down, a slight blush warming her cheeks, and you felt your heart racing with a quiet, steady joy. She stood up slowly, but then took a small step toward you, her gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity.

Before you could say anything, she leaned in,pressing her lips to your right cheek, a heartfelt kiss that left you holding your breath. The tension rising through the air, gentle and sweet, making the world outside the cafe feel distant and unknown.

“Thank you, really,” she whispered, her voice as soft as Ningning’s lips, her breath brushing against your skin. Her hand lingered on yours, squeezing lightly before she pulled away, her eyes shining with something tender and unspoken.

As she reached the door, she turned back to you. Ningning put on her jacket as she watched you try to formulate a sentence after what she did. “S-see you tomorrow?” you stuttered, your voice a little unsteady while still holding your right cheek. 

She chuckled at your stutterness, a gaze in her eyes that seemed to enjoy the whole moment. “tomorrow” she promised, her voice a soft whisper. With one last look, she slipped out into the rain, leaving you standing in the quiet cafe with the warmth of  her soft lips lingering on your cheek, and a memory that would stay with you like the hope of you seeing her tomorrow once again.

[project-sekai-facts]

In June and July 2021, there was a pop-up cafe based on WEEKEND GARAGE at the E-DINER cafe located in a mall in the Toshima Ward in Tokyo.

The menu consisted of five items based on the members of Vivid BAD SQUAD and their starting Virtual Singers.

1. Kohane's dream plate, consisting of two peach buns filled with red bean paste, and two sesame balls filled with sesame seed paste. These are Kohane's favorite foods, hence the name of the dish.

2. Colorful punch tea, a fruit punch drink with mint. An grows mint as a hobby, which is why the drink is mint flavored. The drink is also the same color as her image color.

3. Marscapone pancakes, consisting of two pancakes topped with cream made from marscapone, orange slices, blueberries, and syrup. Akito's favorite food is pancakes, and his image color is orange (and Toya's image color is blue).

4. Coffee shaved ice, a coffee flavored shaved ice drink topped with coffee jelly. Toya's favorite drink is coffee, and he is not fond of sweet things, hence the unusual flavor for a typically sweet drink.

5. Tricolor omurice: chicken rice with omelette, ketchup, basil, and broccoli. Designed to match the image colors of the virtual singers - red ketchup for MEIKO, yellow omelette for Len, and green basil and broccoli for Miku.

Above images are all from corocoro's article about the diner.

Various merchandise was also available, such as WEG t-shirts like the one Ken wears, WEG tea cups, and Vivid BAD SQUAD ice cream spoons.

[tangerinesilk]

domestic!tangerine headcanons ♡

rating ✷ all ages!

tropes ✷ major fluff and only fluff, established relationship, mean to everyone else but you, golden retriever!gf x black cat!bf

warnings ✷ not many -- just trying to be tooth-rotting adorable! if anything bullet train deserved more soft!tangerine okay so let me fill that void.

word count ✷ 500+ (very short)

a/n ✷ i wanna say thank you to the huge attention my fic gained. i was really nervous it was gonna flop since it was my first for tangerine / just a different fandom. so i hope to write some more <3 once again, feedback is always welcomed and send any ideas!

❥ tangerine is a sucker for hugs from behind him. you wrap your arms around his torso and lay your head against his back. his heartbeat is the only thing you can hear & you feel so close to each other and safe－ especially after he's been away for a long time.

❥ calling you love, darling, babe. any cute pet name just rolls off the tongue with his accent. he'll say, "c'mhere, love." or "darling, what's goin' on?" and comfort you with open arms.

❥ sometimes, he'll lay his head on your lap and you'll run your fingers through his soft curls. tangerine would never admit how good it actually feels, but it's also comforting after a long, hard day.

❥ when the two of you cuddle in bed, he actually likes being the small spoon. you'll run your fingers through his soft curls, his head on your chest, and you'll massage his scale. you trace your hand down his toned back and it makes him fall into a deep sleep.

❥ he'll put on music while he's cooking a meal. you giggle at how he sways his hips, moving around the kitchen in rhythm. you'll sit at the counter or table and enjoy the little show he puts on in his west ham t-shirt and grey sweatpants.

❥ tangerine remembers how you take your coffee/tea. of course, he does with other food and drinks, but you know you need to start off your day with your specific morning beverage of choice and he never fails at the measurements.

❥ you have matching rings. they're gold and not too chunky. they have either your initials or dates of significance on them. both of you wear them often but the two of you either play with them or are more aware of them when he's away.

❥ he just has a sense of if you're having a rough day. you'll be talking over the phone on the way home, and he can sense your tone. next thing when you walk through the door, your favorite meal or snacks will be displayed on the kitchen counter.

❥ tangerine looks at you like the first time he fell in love with you. his blue eyes gloss over, shimmering in awe, at you whether you're wearing a nice fitted cocktail dress or the same pajamas you wore two days ago. he thinks the world of you.

❥ he pulls you over when there's space between you on the couch. he can be silly, just tickling at your ankles and calves before pulling you over. you play his game and either straddle his hips or lay your legs over his lap while you watch tv.

❥ after a mission/heist, tangerine will show you the 'vacation pictures' he manages to take on his free time. some will be with him alone, others with lemon that they take in front of historical sites or cafes they enjoy. goofballs they are.

❥ bonus: his heart swells when you tell him to 'be careful'. with his occupation of choice, it's easy for your mind to wander so doesn't matter where he is, you'll always say it to him and he reassures you with a smile that he knows

[starsstuddedsky]

Slice of Love

Haechan x reader

summary: birthday cake and boyfriend material

genre: fluff, non idol au, not really angst but haechan is so dramatic

warnings: swearing, food/dessert, i dont know anything about art, pls lmk if i missed any

wc: 1.8k (who is she???)

a/n: finally wrote something short and sweet :) it's been so long since i've done that lol. this is heavily inspired by 7dream cafe cake-making and my full belief that none of these boys should be unsupervised in the kitchen. thank you to @chocolatemilk139 for being my beta as always <3 (even though you didnt edit anything smh)

It’s not horrendous.

Donghyuck stares at the cake in front of him. The process started well: he made the tester cake last week week that the council (also known as his friends) approved with generous support (“wait, what’s actually kind of good,” from Jeno, “it’s edible,” from Renjun, “the hint of orange really sells it,” from Jaemin, “it’s not burnt so it’s already better than anything I could make,” from Mark, “you didn’t buy this?” from Chenle, and Jisung, who just stared at him with wide eyes). 

No, the problem isn’t the batter. He slaved over it all last night and chose the two cakes that rose most evenly in the oven. Everything but his tears went into making them. 

“Wow,” Renjun says, leaning over the counter. “You fucked up.” 

Donghyuck smacks him, leaving a trail of lavender buttercream on the wool sweater. 

“Hey, that’s going to be a bitch to get out!” Renjun cries. 

“Cry me a river,” Donghyuck says, “which is a good song, but also, you deserve it. It’s not that bad.” 

Renjun raises his eyebrows but Donghyuck raises a spoonful of extra frosting. Renjun backs off. 

Despite his strong defense, Donghyuck fears Renjun may be right. Though the cake stands tall, crumbs mix in with the frosting on the sides. What was supposed to be an artistically plump edging around the base of the cake and around the top corner looks like it exploded out of the piping bag (because it did, popping the cap off several times). In his head, the center would be filled with flowers and hearts and all sorts of pretty shapes in all sorts of pastel colors—but by the time he got to the center, he’d fully given up on piping bags, meaning he had to get creative for the flowers. Instead of flowers, he made blobs of frosting pushed off a spoon. In some spots he accidentally mixed the colors together, a green one shade away from brown, not at all like the field in the pictures on his Pinterest board. 

Jeno appears next, wandering out of his room. He misses Renjun’s warning glare, though Donghyuck doesn’t. He steps right next to Donghyuck, tilting his head. “What is this supposed to be again?” 

“What do you think?” Donghyuck asks evenly. 

Oblivious or uncaring, Jeno pauses to ponder. “A really ugly version of Shrek’s swamp?” 

“Get out.” 

“Get out of ma’ swamp!” Jeno attempts a Scottish accent, authenticity as questionable as the flower field in Donghyuck’s cake. Jeno retreats with Renjun on the couch, dodging Donghyuck’s frosting spoon. It would be a waste of the delicacy on his stupid dri-fit t-shirt, which he wears even when he doesn’t work out. 

“It’ll be fine,” Jaemin says. “It’ll taste good, which is the important part.” He sits at the counter, the only one to offer moral support while Donghyuck decorated. But his attempts at comfort are in vain; Donghyuck doesn’t just want the cake to taste good, he wants it to taste perfect, to look perfect, for all of it to be perfect. It’s the least you deserve. 

Donghyuck ignores the banging on his door, letting one of the guys let Chenle and Jisung in (no one else would threaten to break down a metal door instead of waiting the five seconds it takes to unlock the door). 

“We come bearing food!” Chenle shouts, plastic bag singing in his hand as Jisung follows precariously carrying a stack of pizza boxes. Far more food than needed, but Donghyuck won’t skimp out on you. Chenle tosses his bag full of snacks on the table, crossing the room to see the ‘masterpiece’ Donghyuck spent the past week hyping up. 

“Dude, are you seriously going to give that to YN?” 

“Are you trying to get dumped?” Jisung asks. “Ow!” he cries when Chenle smacks him. 

“Your welcome,” he says, “though he sort of has a point, that looks like literal shit.” 

“Does it really?” Donghyuck pouts. 

Chenle points at one of the browner spots. “You’re telling me that’s not a piece of shit?” 

“They were supposed to be flowers.” 

Jaemin, Renjun, and Jisung manage to cover their laughs as coughs but Chenle and Jeno let out a bark of laughter. 

“Yeah, you’re screwed,” Chenle says, clapping him on his shoulder that sags even lower than his normal bad posture. “You could call Mark and get him to pick up a cake on his way.” 

“He’s bringing YN,” Donghyuck says glumly. “Besides, I already told YN that I would make it myself. I’m not going to be a failure and a liar.” 

“It’s really not that bad,” Jaemin says, ignoring the chorus of dissent from the rest of the guys. “It’ll taste good!” 

Donghyuck shrugs. He can’t explain it, at least not so that they can understand him. He knows perfection is a subjective definition that he’ll never be able to fulfill but he strives for it anyway. If it isn’t perfect then why would he do it at all? Even if it’s his first time attempting this level of artwork, he should at least be able to make something that looks okay, or recognizable. 

And you—you deserve more than a dry store-bought mess and more than a half-assed attempt at love. You’ve only been together for a couple months but he’s determined to prove himself. A birthday was the perfect opportunity, even when you’ve known him for years and spent plenty of birthdays with him. This was his chance to show you the boyfriend material he’s made of, except instead of black velvet or creamy silk, Donghyuck thinks this cake is the work of a neon yellow polyester shirt worth less than $2 at the thrift store. 

“Mark just texted that he just parked,” Jaemin announces. He glances at Donghyuck. “You ready?” 

Donghyuck glances at himself. His hands are covered in frosting that’s dried and crusted, spread up his arms. His Kiss the Chef apron protected his shirt and most of his pants from the damage, but the mess is the least of his concerns. There’s nothing he can do about the disaster (he’s given up calling it anything else) in front of him. Shrek’s Swamp or a toilet bowl, it’s definitely not a flower field and it’s definitely not what you deserve. But it’s all he’s got. 

The final punch hits with a gentle knock at the door. Donghyuck crosses the room to his doom, stepping past his silent friends who bow their heads in respect for the walking dead. He pulls open the door slowly. He sees your shoes first, white sneakers you spent three hours with a Sharpie decorating, full of hearts and stars and unmistakable flowers—daisies and chrysanthemums and lavender, more than he can name. 

You wear your favorite jeans, loose bootcut that tighten at the thighs, hugging you in all the right places. A loose shirt hangs from your shoulders, one of the bands you always play for him with lots of bass and visceral lyrics that romanticize suffering. A family of silver earrings dangle from your ears, and he recognizes each of your favorites, the miniature swords, sparkling star shaped studs, a curly twist of metal that wraps around the higher part of ear. You look perfect. 

Donghyuck has always loved the way you smile, a gentle turn of your lips, like the happiness belongs to only you. You lean forward, pressing a short kiss to his lips, a peck more than anything. Donghyuck stares at you, eyes wide. You gesture to his apron. “Just following the rules.” 

He smiles though it fades as soon as he sees the frosting–no, the evidence of his failures, spread down the black fabric. “Happy birthday,” he says, wishing he could put more heart into it. A tiny frown furrows in your brow but you don’t question him. 

He steps back to let you walk in, trailing behind you as the rest of the guys wish you happy birthday. Mark catches up easily, clapping a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Jeno sent me a picture.” 

Renjun hugs you, which Donghyuck belatedly realizes he never did. 

“I brought the food,” Chenle announces. “Don’t go thanking anyone else for my efforts.” 

“Our,” Jisung corrects. “You barely even carried anything.” 

“That’s because I had to drive,” Chenle says, waving his hand. “And don’t even get me started on the pizzeria, you better appreciate every molecule because—”

“Thank you, Chenle,” you say. 

“Thank me,” Donghyuck says. “It was my detailed instructions that perfected absolutely everything about today, which reminds me, did Mark behave?” 

You turn back to face him, linking your fingers with his. “Yes, babe, he followed your script. He almost cried because the barista messed up the order and he didn’t want to be annoying but he said you said ‘if anything goes wrong, I’ll kill you,’ and meant it.” 

“And I did,” Donghyuck says. He nods at his best friend for his service. 

“Now.” You squeeze his fingertips. “Where’s this cake you’ve been so excited about.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t try to hide his face. There’s no use delaying the inevitable. He lets go of your hands, leading you to the crime scene to lay the final verdict (the judicial system of his brain is in need of some reformation). 

You reach the counter and freeze. A list of concert dates greets Donghyuck, your back facing him while you study the cake. There’s no name for the opposite of a masterpiece, no artist that wants their worst creation recorded in history. 

He inches closer to you, peeking at your face. He recognizes the expression, the narrowing of your eyes, the way you flatten your lips. He’s been to enough art shows and spent enough time with you studying for art history to know what you analyze art. 

“It’s not Van Gogh or Monet,” he says, “it’s not even that asshole guy who made the Bean.” 

“Mm,” you hum, “no, you’re not any of them.” 

“It’s an ugly cake,” he says, “I know. I tried, I really did, but apparently you actually do need a decade or two of experience to make a decent cake, which is totally unfair, like, I spent more time on it than my research project, and this only looks marginally better than that.” 

“It’s amazing,” you say, “reminiscent of the expressionist era.” 

“Really?” 

“No,” you say, turning to grin at him. “But you made it, so none of that matters. Maybe it doesn’t look like what you thought, but seriously.”  You rest a hand on his arm. “It’s perfect.” 

He meets your eyes, sees sincerity and not an ounce of teasing. No, it wasn’t what he wanted for you, but that doesn’t really matter. Perfection is subjective and to you it’s perfect—why did he ever think it wouldn’t be? 

He grins. “Perfect?” 

You step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a hug, ignoring the frosting that must be smearing across the band member’s faces. 

“Perfect.” 

a/n2: thank you for reading! as always, i appreciate any feedback :)

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #27

Boozy Belly 🍺 / Dragon's Hoard 🐉

Marcille and Falin’s housewarming party is Kabru’s first time seeing where his friends live. He’d met Marcille first, at the queer affinity lunch hosted in the university library every month, and then Falin last semester when her schedule changed and she could finally attend the lunches too. They’ve hung out outside the library before, to co-work in cafes and do karaoke in Chinatown and, on one particularly memorable occasion, even went to an on-campus brain dissection Falin was excited about. Kabru and Marcille spent most of the dissection event playing What Would You Rather? under their breath, at least until Falin shushed them and they switched to M*A*S*H*, shaking with silent giggles like they were both in seventh grade again. By the end of the event they’d made a paper fortune teller and transposed all of their M*A*S*H* outcomes inside. 

(“Pick one,” Kabru said to Falin as they rode the train off campus, and she pointed to the flap labeled amygdala. He spelled it out with the fortune teller, then had her pick again. This time she chose hippocampus, spelled it out again, and held out her last options: hypothalamus, pituitary, brain stem, cerebellum. She picked cerebellum, and he opened the corresponding fortune.

“You’re going to live in a shack, drive a scooter, marry Shuro and have eight children with him, and you’ll be working as a forklift driver.”

“Marcille!” yelped Falin. “You put Shuro in there?”

“As a joke!”

“What’s wrong with Shuro?” asked Kabru interestedly. He knew he worked with Marcille at the library, but didn’t know much more about him than that. 

“Shuro’s fine,” said Marcille, though Falin frowned. “He just wildly misread the reason Falin was spending so much time at the circ desk before we started dating and got his panties in a twist about it.”

“I didn’t mean to lead him on,” said Falin, leaning into Marcille as the train swayed.

Marcille rolled her eyes. “If anyone was at fault in that situation, it wasn’t you, Falin. Shuro completely blasted past the insane gay vibe you give off. I just put him in because I thought maybe Kabru would think he was hot.”

Kabru had almost laughed. Shuro was tall and slender, with the kind of waifish, moody mystique people associated with fictional vampires. “No, he’s not my type. Like, the total opposite.”

Kabru is thinking of that now, in Falin and Marcille’s small and charmingly cluttered living room, less than six feet from a guy who really, truly, furiously is his type. He’s got a pretty good guess as to who he is, because he’s the spitting image of Falin and he knows she’s got a brother. Like Falin, he’s built tall and sturdy, lush with extra padding — Kabru knows Falin used to play college rugby because Marcille has swooned about it, and this guy has the same look of an overfed former athlete who hasn’t kept up with his training or diet. His dark red t-shirt is a little too snug, the soft, wobbly flab of his belly pressing at the fabric so that Kabru can see exactly where his navel dimples into his skin and where the fat at the very bottom of his belly softens into a gentle peach cleft. It’s like catnip to Kabru. He can practically feel his pupils dilating even though the room is solely lit by a mushroom-shaped lamp cycling through all the colors of the rainbow. If he weren’t already two of Marcille’s signature extra-strength sangria into the night, he might finagle a more seamless introduction, melt into the existing conversation or accidentally bump hands as they reached for an appetizer on the folding table in the corner. 

But the guy isn’t talking to anyone else. He’s just nursing a beer and hovering over the crockpot of buffalo chicken dip. As Kabru watches, he takes a spoon from one of the plastic cups full of disposable utensils and bends over to eat a mouthful of dip right out of the pot. 

Which, in this state, is all the in that Kabru really needs.

“Mind if I get in there, big guy?” he says, sidling up to the table. Big guy? He has no idea where that comes from. Thanks a lot, Marcille. 

“No, of course!” says the guy, squeezing himself into the corner to give Kabru more room than he needs. “The dip is really good. And so are the mac and cheese bites. And the antipasto skewers. And the —”

“I’m Kabru,” says Kabru, sticking his hand out. “You’re Falin’s brother, right?”

“Yes!” says the guy, pumping his hand. “I’m Laios. Do you go to school with Falin?”

“Sort of. We’re at the same university, but I’m getting my master’s in psychology, so I’m in a different department. But we both go to the queer lunches in the library every month, which is how I met her and Marcille.”

Laios grins. “Oh, you’re queer, too! That’s great!”

“Um … yes? Are you?”

Laios bobs his head and goes back in for more buffalo chicken dip, this time with a plastic cup. Satisfied, he licks around the rim and sticks his spoon inside. “Uh-huh. I just don’t really care about gender. I mean, I care about my gender, at least mostly. And I care about other people’s genders in the sense that, you know, I respect them, of course. But it doesn’t really matter one way or the other to me what gender someone is. I like everyone.”

He chases the words with a big gulp of beer, and Kabru nods slowly, taking it all in. He can’t tell if the guy is chatty, drunk, or both. “Cool,” he says. “I’m gay. Are you in school too?”

Laios shakes his head, spooning out a bite of buffalo dip from his cup. The mushroom light casts him in red, then green, then blue. “No, not anymore! I work at the wild animal sanctuary a few towns over, you know, the really big one? It’s over thirty thousand acres.”

“Oh, wow,” says Kabru. “What kind of animals?”

“Everything! We have a lot of big cats, and a bunch of wolves, and some bears, and almost thirty wild horses, too.” He lowers his voice and leans in closer to Kabru. “I don’t like zoos because they can be so sad sometimes, but the sanctuary isn’t like that! Every animal has so much space to roam and we try to make their habitats as similar to their natural ones as possible. And I handle a lot of the enrichment, which is cool. This week all the big cats and the wolves and bears got pumpkins to play with and eat. They love them.” He beams, and Kabru can’t help but grin back. His hay-blond hair flops over his forehead, and his honey-brown eyes are big and earnest. Kabru can just picture him heaving pumpkins into animals’ enclosures, muscles shifting beneath fat in his plump upper arms.

“That’s awesome,” says Kabru, taking an antipasto skewer and eating it slowly, saving the olive for last. There’s a bit of fuzz or something stuck to Laios’s shirt just above his left pec, and he can’t stop staring at it. It’s not that often that he looks at a guy and thinks, I want to suck his tits, but here he is. He’s gonna blame the sangria.

“Oh, hey — you have something,” he says in an attempt to save himself, plucking the errant fluff from the swell of Laios’s chest with his breath trapped in his throat. 

“Dog hair, probably,” says Laios with a laugh. “I have three of them and they’re all light-colored: a big samoyed-husky mix, a lab-pit mix, and a shepherd mix who’s actually part wolf.”

Kabru’s eyes go wide. “Is that even legal here?”

“Of course,” says Laios, suddenly serious. “I wouldn’t do anything to endanger him. I want him to have the best life possible.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Kabru backtracks. “Yeah, obviously. I just don’t meet a lot of people with wolf dogs.”

“Wanna see?” Laios is already taking out his camera. “That’s Kensuke, the one who’s part wolf. It means ‘strength’ or ‘vitality’ in Japanese, because he had a hard early life but he made it through and he’s such a good dog now! This one, the husky mix, is Chimera, because she has that mane in front like a lion! And the lab mix, this one, is Smok. It’s Polish for ‘dragon’ because she has the worst breath.”

“Are you Polish?” says Kabru, trying to keep up.

“Me? A little, but I really just liked the word. It sounds cute, right? Like a small dragon, Smok!”

“It’s cute,” Kabru agrees. “Hey, I’m going to grab another drink. You want one?”

“I’ll come with you,” says Laios, tipping the rest of his beer down his throat and following suit with his cup of buffalo dip. He burps gently and puts a hand on the curve of his belly. “’Scuse me. I could use another beer. And I heard Marcille say something about cheesecake earlier.”

Kabru lets Laios lead the way, only a little bit so he can check out his ass, which is as plump and wide as the rest of him. His khaki pants are straining a bit, the seams starting to pucker, and Kabru savors the jiggle of his back fat and love handles as he moves. 

Marcille and Falin are hanging out in the kitchen with Namari, who Kabru also knows from the queer lunch group. Namari is short, fat, and butch, and although Kabru doesn’t know them well, he respects what she’s got going on. For a while she was talking about trying to organize an axe-throwing group from the lunch attendees; he makes a note to ask if she ever succeeded.

Marcille sees him first and waves. Laios gravitates to Falin and Namari right away, and Marcille seizes the opportunity to shoot him an evil look.

“I see you’ve met Laios?”

“Yes?” says Kabru defensively, although he’s not sure what he’s defending. “We were talking.”

“Mmm-hmm,” says Marcille. “More sangria?”

Kabru nods. “With ice. How much brandy did you put in there?”

Marcille shrugs. “I measure with my heart. Isn’t he exactly your type? Are you dying?”

“Was this your plan all along?” he asks suspiciously, pieces starting to fall together. “Setting us up?”

“Were we wrong?”

Kabru scowls and slugs from the sangria she hands him. “No. But I think I’m slightly too drunk for the way he talks. I don’t want to be! But I am. Let’s play a drinking game or something so we’re all on the same level.”

Marcille shrugs. “Works for me.”

Which is how Kabru ends up sitting on the floor next to Laios, trying not to ogle his stomach where it flops heavily into his lap, his pants where they strain around his thick hips and thighs. He can always tell when he’s passed a certain threshold of drunk by how he catches himself just staring blankly at things. Luckily, Laios keeps losing at King’s Cup, so he hasn’t noticed that Kabru stares even harder every time he chases a swallow of beer with a belch. 

And then Laios gets up and misses a turn, which means he has to chug when he comes back with yet another beer, which he does, knocking the whole thing back in a few heavy gulps. He sets the empty can behind him and pulls out a paper plate piled with mini cheesecakes, and Kabru catches his breath. It’s not, like, a normal person amount of mini desserts to have on a plate. It’s, like, twenty.

“Oh, my god, Laios,” shrieks Marcille from across the circle. “Leave some dessert for everyone else!”

“I get hungry when I drink!” he retorts, slurring a little as he curls protectively over his plate. “And they’re so good!”

“Okay, well, it’s my turn to decide a rule anyway,” says Marcille, tossing her long blond braid over her shoulder. “I declare that Laios has to play the next three rounds with cheesecake instead of beer.”

Fortunately, and also unfortunately, for Kabru, Laios is so bad at this game that the cheesecakes disappear pretty quickly. He also, Kabru is discovering, is genuinely kind of delightful. He takes everything very literally and has the kind of comedic timing that can’t be learned and probably comes from decades of being the one outside the joke, but Kabru’s charmed by it. So many people he knows are so obsessed with trying to make themselves seem funnier or cooler or sexier they are and it’s so clearly a performance, but not Laios. Nothing about him seems to be anything but what it is, and it’s refreshing. And also, the guy can eat a lot of cheesecake, which is one of Kabru’s favorite qualities in a man.

He refills his plate and comes back with another beer, and when he takes his seat again next to Kabru, he’s panting a little.

“Oh, man,” he says, hiccuping. “You know when you don’t realize how drunk you are ’til you stand up? That’s me right now.”

“Eat something,” says Kabru, patting his pudgy knee. Laios turns a tipsy, beatific smile at him. 

“You’re so right. And I have so much cheesecake.”

Kabru nods. “Eat the cheesecake,” he says, “it’ll help,” and it has to be sangria that compels him to pick one up and feed it to Laios, who accepts it happily and belches after swallowing.

A few more rounds and Laios’s shirt is struggling even harder to cover the soft, swollen roll of his gut. He’s not so bloated that his belly isn’t still wobbling, and between its gentle jiggle and the little huffs and puffs of effort he makes when he moves. He keeps letting out little burps that he’s either too gone to notice or thinks no one else can hear over the general laughter and hubbub of the party, but Kabru can hear. He’s savoring each one, watching Laios’s gut jump and jiggle when he hiccups and appreciating how efficiently he’s putting away his veritable three dozen cheesecakes.

Finally, the game winds down when Falin nods off on Marcille’s shoulder, and Kabru follows Laios unsteadily over to the loveseat by the window. He flops down heavily, his whole midsection wobbling with the impact and his refilled beer almost sloshing over the rim of his cup, and Kabru takes it upon himself to get him some water to recuperate from the massive glut of calories he’s consumed in the last hour.

“Thanks,” says Laios when Kabru presents it to him, and he slugs down half of it in one go and lets out a rumbling belch. “Oh, god, I’m so — hic — full. I never drink this much beer.”

“I think the thirty cheesecakes might have also been a factor,” says Kabru gently, squeezing himself onto the half of the loveseat Laios isn’t sprawled across, big belly hanging out of his t-shirt, pink stretch marks just visible in the rainbow mushroom light.

Laios groans. “And I ate before coming! Some of my coworkers invited me out for dinner and I couldn’t — hic — say no.” He sips at his beer, then his water. “We went out for barbecue and you can’t just — hic — eat a little barbecue.”

“Wait,” says Kabru. “You were in the kitchen eating mac and cheese when I got here! And then when I found you in here, you were eating buffalo dip out of the pot!”

“I have a big — hic — appetite,” says Laios with a sheepish grin. “I could probably eat for most of the day before I got too — hic-urrrrp — full to keep going. ’Scuse me, oof. I need to — hic — unbutton my pants. Do you mind?”

“God, no,” says Kabru, wide-eyed.

Laios pops the button of his khakis and leans back, stomach spilling forward into the sudden space. “That’s better,” he sighs, rubbing at the crest of his belly idly. “Oh, man, I can hear it sloshing. Can you hear that?”

Eyes even wider, Kabru shakes his head. Laios motions him in, and Kabru, suddenly uncertain that he’s not in some kind of kinky feeder dream, gently rests his head on Laios’s stuffed belly. Sure enough, he can hear all the little squiggly noises of digestion it’s making as it tries to process the massive amount he’s eaten. 

Fever dream. Not feeder dream. For the love of god. 

Laios hic-urrps again, and Kabru feels his stomach jump beneath him. He pulls back, but scoots a little closer.

“I could rub your belly,” he offers, barely even sure he’s still speaking English. “If you want. If it would help.”

“Please?” Laios says, his head lolling toward Kabru with puppy-dog eyes so intense he must have learned them from his own dogs. “I feel so heavy. But I wanna finish my beer first.”

“I don’t know if —” Kabru tries to say, but Laios gropes around on the end table until he finds the plastic cup and drains it in a couple of loud, strenuous swallows. He belches once, then again, then angles himself toward Kabru with some difficulty, belly jiggling helplessly as the Jell-O shots one of the other library queers was passing out earlier. 

“Thanks,” he says dreamily, eyes flickering shut as Kabru puts his hand on his belly experimentally. Despite how much he’s eaten, most of his stomach is luxuriously, tantalizingly doughy, and he grabs at it as gently as he can, aware that his force modulation right now is not at its best.

“Mmmmm,” groans Laios, and Kabru splays his hand over the expanse of his gut and begins rubbing circles into the warm skin, noting the sunken threads of old stretch marks and the red rivers of new ones, wondering just how long Laios has been putting on weight since his jock days. Wondering how much he’s put on, to be this soft and wobbly even when he’s stuffed full of fat and carbs. 

“You’re good at this,” says Laios, finding Kabru’s free hand with his own and lacing their fingers together. He gives it a hearty squeeze, more than Kabru would have expected for how drunk he is. “Have you done this before?”

“Yes,” mumbles Kabru.

“Wow,” sighs Laios. He hiccups once more, and then he’s snoring heavily on the couch, belly flopping out for all to see. Kabru tries his best to tug his shirt down to give him dignity, but he’s got a lot of stomach and not that much shirt to work with, so in the end he grabs a blanket from the basket in the corner and just tosses it over him.

He’s in no state to go home himself, so he helps Marcille set up the air mattress for Namari and drags a giant bean bag over by the couch for himself. He dozes off a few feet from Laios, sleepy drunk fantasies about taking him on food crawls and dressing him in tight clothes lulling him off.

He wakes up to Namari picking herself up off the floor, the air mattress having deflated completely in the night. They share a stifled giggle at the absurdity of it all, despite their pounding hangovers, and he helps her roll up the air mattress before she takes off. He follows her out, but not far — he splits off at the coffee shop a few storefronts down, and decides to be the best friend any of them will have this morning and lugs a growler of cold brew, a dozen doughnuts, and half a dozen breakfast sandwiches with varying fillings back up to Falin and Marcille’s. He’s the only one up, so he fumbles around the kitchen and googles their oven to figure out how to put the sandwiches in to warm. Possibly he’s still drunk. There’s actually a very strong likelihood that he’s still drunk. It doesn’t matter. He’s going to be the friend group hero this morning. And more importantly, he’s gonna get Laios’s number when he wakes up, and he is gonna feed him so many carbs.

[hatsukeii]

"WE ARE THE BLOOD IN OUR...WAS IT VEINS OR ARTERIES AGAIN?" / T. KUROO

#3. COFFEE AT TIFFANY'S | M.LIST | PREV. | NEXT. |

warning(s): biology, mention of vomit, caffeine addiction and awful, awful life habits, don't do anything the tutor does in this i beg you please

wc: ~2.1k

"Long black for you, and hot chocolate for the mister, right?"

The barista winks as he slides two mugs across the counter, two drinks of differing degrees of brown swirling and frothing at the surface. Kuroo watches as you hold the coffee to your lips, taking a swig without so much as blowing at the steam that emanates from the mug. His fingers tug at the handle of his mug, other hand holding his head as he turns to stare at his more childish choice of hot chocolate. When he hears the knock of ceramic on wood, and your lips smacking together once, then twice, Kuroo finally lifts his own mug to his mouth, hissing at the thick liquid that burns along his tongue and throat, and he wonders how you could stomach something as bitter as black coffee, when the bitterness is a second displeasure to the taste buds after the scalding heat.

"So, y/n, you into anything in particular?"

"If you wanna ask about volleyball for the third time, the answer is still no." Kuroo's pathetic attempt at engaging in conversation backfires once again, and he curls his fingers into the handle of his mug tighter. He needs an opening to figure out your weakness, so he can pry it open until you let your grip on academic excellence loose.

"No, just anything in particular."

A droning hum sounds from your pursed lips as your wrist rotates above a spoon that stirs at coffee aimlessly. Anything in particular... you're not too sure of what intrigues you either. Coffee? You've always wanted to learn how to make drip coffee, but never had the time to watch liquid fall into a flask for hours on end. Maybe music? The guitar from last Christmas is collecting dust in the corner of your room, untouched for the past year and only ever plucked at to study the way its strings oscillate in standing waves. Your wrist stops moving when you come to realise a grave problem- you don't really have the energy to be into anything at all nowadays.

"I used to be, not so much now. Volleyball wouldn't be a bad idea, though."

Kuroo's head snaps towards you, his beloved sport finally piquing some semblance of interest from your unfeeling facade as you take another gulp of your black coffee. The thought of exploiting your interests flees his brain as it is replaced with a set of new questions. Should he bring up the pep talk now to veer the conversation? No, it's too risky, you'd kick him out of your sessions for someone who's serious about biology, and then he'll never get the badass speech he's been putting himself through torture for. Is it still worth humiliating himself in your sessions? He thinks so. If you manage to make it through biology with flying colours, then so can he. So, Kuroo settles for the next best thing.

"Well, it's actually really fun if you gi-"

"Need the bathroom, gotta piss. I'll be back."

You scuttle out of your seat, hopping off the stool and leaving Kuroo in the dust. He sighs, taking a sip at his chocolate, which has finally cooled enough to uncover the silky sweetness that lies beneath its scalding touch.

You go for a piss a total of six more times in the hour following your return from the first bathroom break. Kuroo finishes his chocolate in the silence of your presence, and the silence of your absence.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Kuroo watches you from the two-seater table as you return from the bathroom, and hover over the counter across the cafe to grab at two drinks. Your usual seats are occupied by a bickering couple, whose hands are linked by the pinkies beneath the cool concrete counter as they point and snicker at each other. He can see the corners of your eyes crinkle at every word the barista says, and when your hands place the two drinks down to chat for a little longer, he wants to curse at you for wearing his patience thin. What’s so funny? You barely know the guy anyways, so how is normal talk coming to you so easily? Kuroo wonders if by the time he’s utterly destroyed you in chemistry, you would see him enough as an equal to consider bringing up something even a little interesting to talk about.

“Here’s your chocolate..!” Your voice ticks upwards towards the end of your sentence, as you offer a thick mug of hot chocolate to Kuroo.

“Do you know the guy?”

You shrug, gently placing down a steaming latte onto the table. Kuroo takes a peek at the milky brown that foams at the surface, and offers you a packet of sugar from a wooden box on the side. To his surprise, you pluck it from his fingers with a quick “thank you,” and empty it into the mug, stirring the sucrose into your coffee and tapping your teaspoon against the rim with a tink.

"Nah, he just recognised me from this morning, so we had a chat. Nothing major." Your eyes crinkle as you grin into the latte, taking a sip and swallowing it with an ah! Awfully cheery for a person who specialises in cutting Kuroo down like an axe to a tree.

"This morning?"

"Yeah, I grabbed another this morning too."

And out comes the truth.

"You are addicted."

"No, I'm not. I can do just fine without it."

Kuroo scoffs, obnoxiously sucking air in as he sips at his chocolate and eyes you from the horizon of his mug. You roll your eyes, and do the same with your coffee. The couple from the cement counter finally leaves, this time their arms are linked as they mock each other's voices.

"Two coffees in a day sounds like an addiction to me."

"Well, it keeps me awake."

"Only because the caffeine replaces adenosine and blocks reception temporarily. Your own words from today."

You smile at the shameless regurgitation of short term memory Kuroo spews, waving your spoon in circles like some wand.

"See, the coffees are worth it. You're starting to get the hang of this topic."

Kuroo makes a sound, one that curves like a question mark. Something pulls at his chest, and he knows something has gone wrong as he watches you point at him with the spoon, wiggling your eyebrows. He doesn't understand a word of what he has just said, and only knows the pronunciation from hearing you say it over and over again twenty minutes prior. Something about hormones, and glands, and a bunch of other stuff that he swears he'll fully understand. Someday.

"What?" That comes out more like a judgemental drone than he intended it to.

"The notes, they're good right? Said you were bad at hormones and all the other day, and I didn't have notes that were easy enough to understand, so I remade them last night."

You take another swig at your latte, and Kuroo can do nothing but stare, silence taking over the noise of his bickering. He only said hormones to joke about his recent acne outbreak.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"No chocolate today?" The usual barista offhandedly comments at the new order that graces the counter.

"Nope, just the matcha, and the latte, thanks."

"I assume the matcha is yours?"

Kuroo shakes his head, nudging it in your direction. The barista peeks over his shoulder to see your hunched figure, a mess of hair lying motionless on the concrete surface. Kuroo's condition isn't much better, dark bags lining the underside of his eyes as he slides the drinks towards his seat, waving the barista off and sitting beside you.

"Rough night?"

"Understatement."

"Understood."

The brown liquid swirls alluringly in Kuroo's mug as he rips open two packets of sugar, and empties their contents into his latte. If he's understood his studying from last night correctly, small doses of caffeine should, by all means, compensatorily increase adenosine content within the body, which stimulates circulating chemoreceptors. He can only hope that it all works the same on a coffee virgin. The first sip is odd, the combination of tooth-achingly sweet sugar and scalding, putrid coffee is certainly eye opening, but not half-bad. The second sip nullifies all effects of sugar, and all Kuroo is left with is the acidic aftertaste of espresso. Never again after today.

He turns to ask you how you could possibly stomach any more caffeine that what is in his watered down, sweetened latte, only to see your empty drink. Bubbles of green settle at the bottom, the ceramic of the mug still steaming as you wipe your mouth lazily on a napkin, before setting your head back down on the counter. From the chapter he studied last night, Kuroo also knows that the theanine in matcha enhances dopamine and glycine release, which should counteract the spike in energy levels that caffeine brings about, and promote relaxation. He isn't sure that it was what you wanted, but he thinks you knew it was what you needed.

"Why the change of heart? Coffee just not doing it anymore?"

You mumble into your arms at his question, legs still wobbly and numb from the usual walk to the cafe as they hang from your stool.

"Can't do any more of it, might blow my guts up."

"See, told you it was an addiction."

Your arm comes up to smack at his shoulder, before dropping back onto the counter lifelessly.

"You try getting three hours of sleep only because you can't stop throwing up."

The matcha does absolutely nothing to get your mind moving again, and you want to punch yourself for it. You cringe at the mistakes you made during the tutoring session beneath your arms; confusing adrenaline with adenosine an embarrassing number of times, losing track of hormonal glands on diagrams that looked more like drawings of a child in your hazy vision, even forgetting what chemoreceptors were. Having to remake notes, study for two upcoming chemistry and biology exams, and somehow be energised enough to teach the next day, you'd be lying if you said this tutoring gig wasn't taking a hefty toll on you.

"That doesn't sound good, y/n."

"It's not, I know. Therefore, matcha."

If the cafe has some sort of furnace, or fireplace, or maybe even a trapdoor, Kuroo would like to jump in right now. This was supposed to be easy, get the pep talk, and go on his merry way.

So what in the world has he roped you, and himself into?

He watches you stir in your cold slumber, the cold counter serving as a pillow. There is no more edge, nothing to shield you from the world. Your words are soft, tired, yet they shoot into Kuroo's chest like bullets of guilt, and he rethinks every decision he's made leading up to this moment.

"You need to rest."

"Then you won't get your notes."

I don't need the stupid notes, but you need the rest. How could I feel satisfied beating you, if I'm only beating you when you're half dead?

Kuroo bites his tongue, and swallows his unspoken words. He takes another sip from his latte.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"We're not going to coffee."

"Fuck you mean?"

Kuroo pulls his bag from beneath his chair, unzipping it to throw a thermos flask, and a package of baking paper in front of you. You pout at the thermos, the familiar scent of coffee nowhere to be found even as you pick it up and sniff the edges of the lid.

"Eat and drink up."

"I want my coffee, though."

Another thermos comes out of Kuroo's bag, yet the scent of caffeine is still glaringly absent. He sighs, twisting open the cap and taking in a mouthful of iced tea and honey. You unwrap the baking paper to reveal a sandwich. Ham and egg, nothing special, tempting nonetheless.

"Yeah no. No coffee. Can't have you half dead and vomiting everywhere."

"When will I get the coffee back then, Kuroo?"

He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he takes another drink out of his thermos. You stuff half the sandwich into your mouth in one go, pillowy bread and creamy egg salad filling your taste buds as you hum in satisfaction. If this is the kind of food Kuroo's cooking up, maybe giving up coffee for a while is worth it after all.

"Dunno, probably when we graduate or something. Not my problem anymore once you get rid of me."

author's note:

finally got this chapter finished and i kinda love how it turned out!! esp the last two parts but that's just me ANYWAYS sorry for supes inconsistent updates i've been drowning in sm work and stuff irl and it's really killing me lowkey but writing genuinely makes me feel so much better that i just knew i had to finish this chapter off so i hope you guys like this as much as i do<3

tags: @staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @hiraethwa @kuroppiii @iiwaijime @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @cupidsblonde @catsoupki @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @fiannee @shoyosluver @haikyuusunsalad

[hypnos333]

Koi no yokan

Kim Seungmin x reader

Synopsis: Knowing you’re going to fall for him eventually.

Koi no yokan doesn’t mean love in first sight, it’s closer to love at second sight, it’s the feeling when you meet someone that you’re going to fall in love with them. Maybe you won’t love them right away, but it’s inevitable that you will.

In your case the second you met Seungmin, you had this strange feeling you never felt before but you thought nothing of it.

You both first met in your favorite cafe, after you ordered your regular order before accidentally sitting across someone at their table. When you noticed them you instantly apologized.

He was a handsome guy, who was just stairing at you with a cup of coffee and a red velvet cake beside it.

“I’m so sorry,Sir I wasn’t paying attention and-“You can sit here” he interrupted you with a smile. You let go of your apple pie with ice cream leaving it where it was with your hot cocoa.

“What’s your name?” He asked you liking how clueless you are when you still haven’t noticed who he was.

“My name is ___, What’s yours?” You asked back making him tilt his head adorably.

“My name is Seungmin” He answered as he watched you take a bite on the pie and you seemed to noticed his glaze because you took a fork full of pie and held it to his mouth.

“This is my favorite thing to get from the Cafe, they have the best apple pie” You stated proudly making him take a bite without hesitation. For some reason he trusted you and would take your word for everything without hesitation.

He slowly chew on the apple pie before his eyes went wide with how right you were. “T-This is so good” He said craving more.

“See I told you! Try it with the ice cream it tastes even more better” You said giving him a second fork filled but this time with vanilla ice cream on it. He gladly let you feed him the pie smiling in enjoyment.

You ate the rest of the pie feeding him most of it at the end, and then Seungmin remembered he still had his red velvet cake and you were packing up to leave.

So Seungmin secretly packed the cake and wrote a little letter as you left to the bathroom and put it in your bag when you left it with him. “I’m so sorry Seungmin but I have to attend a meeting, goodbye” You said rushing for your bag and leaving him before he could say goodbye.

As you made it in your car you forgot to ask for his number, you weren’t in love but it was a different feeling. You looked in your bag for your phone until you saw a red velvet cake and a fork in a clear container with a hand written note.

I had a good time with you maybe we can hang out again and show me different foods or desserts - Seungmin

You smiled hoping you’ll see him again before pulling out the parking lot to head to that meeting.

A week pass by and your back to your favorite cafe, you been thinking about Seungmin 24/7 and you miss his smile and clueless look.

You were an absolute foodie and this time you ordered a brownie sundae. You sit at a table waiting for the waitress to bring your order till a guy sat across of you making you confuse before realizing it’s Seungmin.

You squeal in excitement before rushing over to him and hugged him. “Well someone missed me” He said jokingly.

“I did miss you” You said with no hesitation making him blush. “I missed you too Love bug” He said back.

You pulled away slightly where he can see your face “Love bug?” you asked dumb founded making him laugh.

“What? it’s cute” he whined making you roll your eyes playfully before going back to your seat. The same time the waitress came with your order, you thanked her noticing she been staring at Seungmin in shocked before she rushed away.

“What are we trying now love bug?” He asked excitedly just wanting to enjoy his time with you quickly.

You scooped a spoon full of ice cream before putting it in his mouth as he opened it slightly for you to feed him. “It’s a brownie sundae, it’s another thing I love here” You said as he swallowed the frozen treat.

“Mmm” he said enjoying the flavor.

With this Seungmin felt human around like he was a normal, regular person and he loved it. You just saw him a normal citizen instead of a famous k-pop singer.

You were falling for him and he was falling harder for you. Koi no yokan was a thing between them where they just fell in love after time.

[gunilslaugh]

haii, i’ve been reading your imagines and honestly they’re my favorite + you’re my favorite author, I was wondering if you can write a polyamory relationship between Y/n and 02 line of xh, like some scenarios of how they share the s/o and how each of them treat the s/o. Also can I be anon 👾 or 🫧? You can choose a different one for me if you’d like (this is my first time writing an anon ^^)

Welcome 🫧 anon! Thank you so much for saying I'm your favorite author that means a lot.

A/N: I've never written poly relationships before so if this sucks I didn't write it lol

Kwak Jiseok/Oh Seungmin/Han Hyeongjun/Lee Jooyeon

Summary:What being in a poly relationship is like with the 02 line of Xdinary Heroes. (idol/non-idol au)

WC:743

Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner.

Sharing:

When it comes to the four of them sharing you things can get a bit messy sometimes. Complaints of another member hogging you is a common recurrence. 

“You’ve been with y/n all morning and afternoon. Stop hogging them,” Jooyeon complained to Seungmin. 

“We’re watching a show,” Seungmin dismissed.

“That doesn’t make it fair,” Jooyeon sulked. He plops himself beside you on the couch, practically curling up on your lap. Your hands went to card through his hair. 

“This is the last episode. Just wait a bit longer then we can do something ok?” you tell him.n Jooyeon lets out a muffled sound, pressing closer against you. 

You never find yourself short of receiving affections though. Especially when you find yourself sandwiched between all of them in a cuddle pile. Whether you guys are a row of spoons or a tangled mess of limbs. 

“Who’s hand is touching my butt?” you asked in the mist of one of your group cuddling sessions. 

“I think it’s mine. Do you feel this?” Jooyeon replied.

“No,” you answered. 

“That’s my butt,” Hyeongjun stated, sounding less than impressed. 

“Oh. Well I’m touching Hyeongjun’s butt. I don’t know who’s touching yours.” You guys break out into a chorus of giggles as Hyeongjun tells Jooyeon to move his hand away from his butt.

“Do you feel this?” You feel a light drumming of fingers. 

“Yeah,” you say. 

“Then it’s mine,” Jiseok states cheekily.

A group date has the tendency to feel more like a hangout rather than a date, but then one of them does something that reminds you that it is a date. Like Hyeongjun linking his pinky with yours or Jiseok pecking your cheek. Seungmin lacing his hand with yours, making sure that you’re not feeling too tired or Jooyeon’s hand coming to rest on your lower back as he talks to you. 

Jiseok

In your poly relationship Jiseok likes to keep things a bit playful with you. The type to take you out on fun dates to try new activities, but he also enjoys staying in and being alone with you. He will “hog” you for as long as he can get away with it. Yes, he agreed to sharing you, but sometimes he just wants to cling to you. He really just wants to make you smile. It’s his goal to make you smile everytime you see him. He puts your happiness before everything else. If you ever come to him feeling sad he’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy again.

O.de/Seungmin

Seungmin takes on a bit more of a nurturing role in your poly relationship. Things can get a bit chaotic at times and he somehow found himself being the one to try and manage it (When he isn't contributing to it himself that is). When he’s with you he likes to relax and keep things simple. He likes to take you on cute cafe dates or for a stroll in the park. He always looks out for your well being. Reminding you to eat and drink or to take a break and rest. Your number one forehead kisser. 

Junhan/Hyeongjun

He’s very sweet and more laid back in your relationship. Sometimes he might feel a bit insecure when he thinks about you with the others, but it’s not because he’s jealous. He just worried that he might not treat you “well enough”. He thinks his dates with you might be more boring. Which definitely isn’t the case. He’ll play his guitar and maybe even sing to you. He likes to watch shows. He also likes to cook with you, whether you’re good at it or not. Had to do the thing where his hands guide yours while you cut something (even if it made him a blushing mess).

Jooyeon

He is always excited to hang out with you. Literally doesn't matter what you’re doing as long as you’re with him he’s happy. He would try to convince you to game with him at some point, but if you’re bad at it or simply not up for it you can find yourself situated in his lap instead. He likes stay-in dates with you, but is also totally up for going outside. He particularly likes going out on late night adventures with you. Stopping by a convenience store then exploring the city as you share snacks together. Number one complainer about not getting to spend enough time with you.

Taglist: @purplelady85 @odesonnets @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses

[sephifrog]

Zack fair alphabet headcanons

A -Affirmations (what he calls you)

Pretty, beautiful/handsome, gorgeous

B -Blush (does he blush when you're close by?/How do you make him blush)

Zack gets flustered if you tease him, it could be as simple as giggling at his squatting and he gets a pink tint on his cheeks He also gets flustered when you hold his hand, rubbing the back of his neck with a chuckle and voice crack.

C -Comfort (how does he comfort you or what do you do that comforts him)

Pulling him close and playing with his hair, tracing his scars, your presence in general is a comfort to him

When you are upset he would try and make you smile, joking around until he hears a giggle, if he can’t he will hold you close until you're ready to talk

D -Dates ( what do you do on your dates)

He would have to beg Angeal for help the first time he planned a date, stressing you wouldn’t like him anymore if he messed this up. Your first date was at a cafe, he spilled the coffee on your white clothes and almost pulled his hair out about it you just laughed as he dabbed at the stain with a washcloth, it broke him out of his worries

E -End (what would end your relationship?)

Being unfaithful, hurting others he holds dear

F -Fear (what he’s afraid of)

He fears you not being there one day, as a friend or romantic partner, he doesn’t care what you are to him as long as your in his life

G -Gossip (can you gossip with him?)

He would live for gossip i mean have you seen him and kunsel

H -Hold (how he holds you)

Zack is the type to pick you up and hold you in a death grip, even if you're taller than him he’s not satisfied until only your toes are touching the ground and you're letting out the laugh he cherishes

I -Injured (what would he do if you were hurt?)

If you get hurt there will be hell to pay, he would cradle you until he knows he can't anymore, handing you over to the medic who showed up before rushing out to find who or what hurt you

J -Jealous (is he Jealous?)

Semi? Certain people would make him jealous but not everyone who shows interest in you because he trusts you and what you've built together

K -Kiss (favourite place to kiss)

He loves kissing your cheek and lips

He loves it when you kiss his scars or collarbone L -Laugh (something that makes him laugh)

The way you would throw down for him even if you know you would lose

M -Memory (his favourite memory with you)

When he first met you will always be something he holds dear N -Needy

Very, he isn’t called puppy for nothing

O -Over (what is something you had to get over as partners)

His missions were hard in the beginning and you both had to reassure each other.

He promised to be careful

You promised to be there when he comes back

P -PDA

He goes with what you prefer unless he’s excited then he would kiss you before he starts to squat

Q -Quip (can he joke around with you? Do you have inside jokes)

He hopes so, he’s very playful and craves to be stimulated be it through jokes or just pestering you he hopes you are close enough not to mind it

R -Romantic (is he romantic?)

He tries, it’s a hit or miss but the fact he tries is good enough for you

S -Sleep (how do you sleep next to one another)

He moves around a lot so you could start as the little spoon but wake up with no blanket pushed against the wall

T -Treasure (what is something he had that reminds him of you and what did he give you to remind you of him?)

He got you a custom buster sword keychain

You gave him a photo from one of your dates together he has it on him at all times

U -Unlikely (what is something that he would probably never do)

Watch Loveless, Genesis would be too insufferable if he found out

V -vulnerable

The only time you can see him vulnerable is if you got hurt really bad and he's begging you to stay with him

W -Wedding (would he want to get married?)

I believe he would want to but it’s not something that would make or break the relationship

X -(e)X (would he be friends with an ex)

Depending on how it ended- I feel like he would, zack’s a nice guy but would respect it if you feel uncomfortable with it and act accordingly

Y -Year (how would he act on New Year's?)

Would always kiss you at midnight even if he had to sprint across town to get to you

Z -Zack Fair

Zack Fair is a lovely and loyal man, someone who puts others before himself, and would be an incredible partner he's a bit forgetful sometimes but that doesn't mean he loves you any less, he would be an amazing father if you wanted children and if you don’t he would spoil his friend’s kids. He respects you but can be pretty if you get into fights, they never last for long though because he misses you