#all the vanilla milkshakers come rushing out like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shyxcherry · 2 years ago

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Drinking Games 2 | San

summary: when you need an easy way to make money during your last semester of college, your friend gets you a job at a local bar. you wish that didn’t include the cute singer who won’t leave you alone, but when do things ever go your way.

pairing: Singer!San x Bartender!Reader

genre/warning: fluff, angst, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Word count: 8.4k

note: finally a second part. i hope you enjoy!

"Order for table three."

You put the coffee pot back on its stand as you turn to look at Reggie. He placed the two plates on the window seal. He also placed a small basket of fries. You looked up at him.

"I told you I'm going to fatten you up. You need to get some meat on those bones.

You let out a small laugh as you grab the two plates. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

You bring over the plates to table three. You place their plates down before refilling their drinks. After making sure all of your tables didn't need anything, you grabbed the fries and told the other woman working with you, Jisoo, that you were taking a break before she leaves for the night.

You make your way to the small employee room. There were a few lockers for people to put their things in. There was also a fridge and microwave. You sat back in your chair as you flipped through the TV channels. You settle for some movie that you've seen a million times. You start to eat your food as you watch the movie.

It has been two weeks since you had been fired from Red's Bar. You had spent a week looking for a job, but no one wanted to hire you with your schedule. That was until you walked into this place.

Loves Diner.

You had spent the whole day begging someone to give you a job with no success. With swollen eyes from your breakdown in your car, you entered this place for some food. You tucked yourself away in a far corner so no one could see your frustration. You scrolled through your phone for any possible jobs when someone sat down in front of you.

"Here you go my dear."

You look up to see an older woman sitting in front of you. She looked like she had stepped out of a 1920's movie. Her long hair had faded to white as it was pulled up in a bun. Her dress was red and black as it flared out. She also had bright red lipstick on.

You looked down to see that she had placed a vanilla milkshake in front of you. "I'm sorry, but I didn't order this."

Her wrinkles grew as she smiled at you. "I know. Whenever my grandkids are sad, these milkshakes always cheer them up. It's the grandma in me."

You look at her for a moment before sliding the milkshake towards you. You take a sip of the milkshake before looking up at her. "I see why. This is a pretty good milkshake."

"It's my mother's recipe." She told you. "Now, why don't you tell me what's bothering you."

You didn't want to talk about it, but the way she looked at you made you spill everything. From college, to San, and even getting fired from your last job. You spent a half hour giving her your life story, and not once did she interrupt you. She listened intently. She even wiped away a couple of your tears as they fell. Once you were done, you apologized for throwing all of that at her. Even if it felt good to get it out.

"You don't have to apologize, my dear." She told you. "I'm going to tell you a story. You see that man over there?"

You turned to where she was pointing. You saw an older man talking to some of the customers. He was matching the woman who was sitting in front of you, Leslie. His red shirt was tucked into his black pants. He also had a pair of black suspenders.

"Is that your husband?" You asked.

"It is." She answered. "We have been married for 43 years."

"Wow."

"We had met in a restaurant quite similar to this one. I was a worker, and he had come in with all of his friends. Back then, we had worn roller blades to get around." She laughed at the memory. "He had walked out in front of me. I tried to stop, but almost fell backwards on my bottom. He rushed forwards and caught me. The rest is history."

"So, you recreated this restaurant because of that?" You asked.

"Not quite." She answered. "It's very similar to your story. Leonard's friends had dared him to ask me on a date. When I had found out, I wasn't very happy."

"I know the feeling."

"He tried to apologize in every way imaginable. Flowers, candy, you name it. I had finally agreed to talk to him, and he brought me here. It was abandoned previously, but he had bought it and turned it into the place like where we had first met."

"Did you forgive him after that?"

"I did." She answered. "I could tell how sorry he was. I also knew how much he loved me. Just like San loves you."

You look down at your shake. "I know he does, and that's the hardest part."

"It will all work out my dear." She rubbed at your hands. "Wait for him to do some grand gesture. One that proves he's really sorry and doesn't include fighting anyone."

You laugh at the end of her statement. "Do you really think we'll work this out?"

"I do." She answered. "You just need time to heal. And until then, you have a job here."

"Really?" You asked her. She nodded her head at you.

"I will work with your schedule. You're going to get through this."

"Thank you so much."

You had work almost every weeknight since then. She paid you more than Red did which you greatly appreciate. She also worked with your schedule better than anyone has. If she knows you have a test coming up, she won't allow you to work that previous night, so you can study.

You could never find a way to repay her for all she has done for you. Even though you try, she won't allow it. She's just a kind woman who wants to help, and you couldn't be anymore grateful for that.

The next few shifts at work you were on your own. You didn't have a problem with it. It was mostly quite on weeknights. Except for Friday. You'll get a lot of teenagers, but it's nothing you can't handle.

Reggie had cleaned up the kitchen and left for the night. Normally he waits, but his kid had a recital. You weren't going to let him miss that. You had your phone blaring music as you wiped down the counters. You were singing along until you heard someone come in the front doors. You cursed as you forgot to lock the doors.

"I'm sorry, but we're closed for the night."

"Damn, I was really hoping for a milkshake."

You turn to look as you recognized the voice. There dressed in all black was a now blonde Wooyoung. He stood at the door with his hands tucked in his pockets. When your eyes met his, he smiled nervously at you. This was the first time the two of you would have a proper conversation without San.

"What do you want?"

"Can we talk?" He asked.

You weren't really close to any of San's band members. You had heard the most about Wooyoung though as him and San were close. You thought he was nice from the few times you met, but that changed after you watched that video. He was the one who started the who bet.

"Why?" You asked. "So, you can rub it in my face that you won?"

Wooyoung let out a sigh. "No. Things got out of hand, I'll admit. But I feel like I needed to tell you what happened since you won't listen to San."

"Can you blame me?"

"No." Wooyoung answered. "But unlike him I not going to take no for an answer. I'm not leaving until we talk."

You raise your eyebrows at him. You thought about saying no, but you remember San saying whenever Wooyoung has his mind set on something, he's not going to stop until he gets it.

“Whatever.” Wooyoung walked over to the spot in front of you before taking a seat at the counter. You leaned back on the counter. “How did you even know I work here?”

“I have my resources.” Wooyoung answered. You stared at him before squinting.

“Hongjoong?”

“Hongjoong.”

You let out a small laugh. “That’s the last time I tell him anything.”

“I mean. You did tell the one who was the most against you two turned into the biggest supporter of you and San.” Wooyoung smiled.

You shrug your shoulders. “Point taken.”

“San’s really struggling over your breakup.” Wooyoung admitted. “We’re having to drag him out of bed to perform. He’s not interacting with the crowd like he used to. He’s also forgetting lyrics to the songs he wrote. It’s getting bad.”

You look down as you listen to him. “I understand. My grades are starting to slip because I can’t focus anymore. Between that and my tuition, I don’t think I’m going to graduate on time.”

“I’m sorry (Y/N).” Wooyoung apologized. You could tell that he meant it, but it still hurt. “I would have never made it into a bet if I knew. As much as I love San, I didn’t think he was capable of a love like yours.”

“So why did you?” You ask.

“I don’t know. We always make stupid bets. I thought this one was no different.” Wooyoung answered.

“You didn’t think it would hurt me or your best friend?”

Wooyoung shook his head. “Like I said, I didn’t think he was going to get attached to you. When I did see it though, I realized what mistake we had made.”

“Was that before or after you had gotten your money?”

“San broke off the bet after your first date.” Wooyoung answered. “I never got any money.”

Your eyes widened at Wooyoung’s confession. San hadn’t told you this. Though he never got the chance to as you never let him speak. You now realize that may have been a mistake. At least now you had a chance to know everything.

“What happened Wooyoung?”

“After your date, San immediately made his way to mine and Mingi’s apartment. He told us that he wasn’t going through with the bet anymore. He said he would pay us to make us shut up, but he didn’t want to be a part of it anymore.” Wooyoung started to explain. “Of course, Mingi and I threw a fit. We thought it was because he knew he was going to lose, but that wasn’t the case at all.”

“What was it?”

“He was already starting to fall in love with you.” Wooyoung answered. “We listened to him go on about you for a while. About how you were different than anyone he’s ever met. He said if he could listen to one sound for the rest of his life, it would be your voice. After that, I felt like we had no choice but to agree. I couldn’t stand to see him get hurt.”

“So, the rest of our time spent together wasn’t under the bet?” You asked.

“Correct.”

You let out a sigh of relief. In a sense, it made you feel better. You were still hurt that the only reason he pursued you was because of that bet, but it wasn’t the reason why he stayed with you so long. 3 months may haven’t seemed that long, but for you it was. Your and San’s relationship was something you never thought could happen to you. It was like the sappy stuff you read about that normally grossed you out. It was entirely different when it’s you and him. You feel some of the anger fade away. Maybe you could find yourself to forgive San, but you still had some doubts.

“I just wished he would’ve said something, you know?” You tell him.

“Would you still have been mad?” Wooyoung responded.

“Probably.” You answered. “But I would have rather him tell me then to find out from a video. Why do you guys record it anyway?”

“We didn’t.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Then who did?”

“That’s what San was trying to figure it out.” Wooyoung answered. “He ended up bribing the security guy to let him watch the cameras. The only ones who entered the locker room was you, Hongjoong, and Red.”

“Hongjoong wouldn’t do something like that.” You spoke up. Wooyoung nodded.

“Exactly, so we knew it had to have been Red. I had never seen San that mad, and we have been friends since we were kids.”

You were scared to find out the answer to your question. “What did he do?”

“He didn’t fight him which really shocked me.” You let out a sigh of relief. You didn’t like the idea of him fighting. “San questioned him. At first, he refused that it was him. That was until San threatened to quit.”

“Why did he do it?”

“I know Chae told you about the girl they hired before you.”

“The one that became obsessed with San?” You asked.

Wooyoung nodded. “That girl was Red’s niece.”

“You’re lying.”

“I swear.” Wooyoung told you. “She went to Red upset at what San did. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t want to lose us. Because we’re great and all.”

“So, he waited this long to have his revenge on hurting his niece?”

“Well, he was the one who slashed San’s tires. He thought that was make him feel better, but it didn’t. He said the more he saw San with these other women, the angrier he got. He recorded every session to find something to hurt San with.”

“He waited until we got close before hurting San.” You concluded. Wooyoung nodded at you signaling you were correct. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of something so messed up. Are you still working there?”

“Yes, but only for one reason. San’s trying to buy out Red for the bar.”

“Are you serious?” You asked. He had never told you that.

“We had played in that bar since we had formed Purple Rose. That was our first gig. The place is special to us, and none of us want to see it trashed by Red.” Wooyoung answered.

“I hope you get it.”

“I hope your there to see it.” Wooyoung told you.

“I’m not as upset as I was before this conversation.” You could see Wooyoung start to get hopeful. “I still need some time to heal.”

Wooyoung was upset before he realized what you said. “That’s not a no.”

“It’s not.” You had a hint of a smile as Wooyoung jumped out of his chair in excitement.

“I will take this meeting as a success. I’m going to leave before I say anything to make you change your mind.”

You laugh at Wooyoung’s statement. “Thank you for talking to me.”

“Be sure to tell San that I’m the reason you got back together.” Wooyoung said as he walked out of the door. You walked behind him to lock the door and turn out the lights.

“Not gonna happen.”

You heave the giant metal door open before you slipped inside. You were inside the place you hated the most. The financial building of your college. This is where you have to come to pay your tuition. You pay some out of every paycheck, but it seems like the numbers never go down. Damn interest. You take a seat as everyone was busy assisting someone else. You scroll on your phone as you wait for an empty window.

It's been almost two weeks since yours and Wooyoung’s conversation. The longer you waited to talk to San, the harder it got. You wanted to talk to him. You really did, but you just had too many things on your plate. You just hoped that San would wait for you. You couldn’t blame him if he didn’t though. You only had one month left of college. Finals were in 3 weeks. You hoped you could hold up until then without falling apart. You are one surprise away from a breakdown.

“I can help whoever’s next.”

You look up to see an empty window. You put your phone in your pocket as you walk up to the counter. “I’d like to make a payment.”

“Student ID, please.”

You place your bag on the counter and pull out your wallet. You hand her your ID. As she looks you up, you pull out the small paper you keep in your wallet. It had all of your deductions and how much you owed. If you had done the math right, you finish paying off your tuition with a week to spare. The only reason is Chae told you not to worry about the rent for this month. You tried to argue with her, but she wouldn’t listen. She said you could make it up by taking her on a ‘date’ to a fancy restaurant she had been dying to go to after you graduate.

“(Y/N), correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She looked at the computer in confusion before looking up at you. “I don’t see any balance on here. Did you pay it off and not realize it?”

“There’s no way. I still had $1,800 left on it.” You answer in confusion. Did she pull up the wrong student?

“When was the last time you paid on it?” She asked.

“Two weeks ago on the 25th.”

You watched anxiously as she typed away on her computer. “It says that the last payment was made two days ago.”

"That's impossible." You muttered.

No one you knew had access to your account. You went over your account with the woman once again just to make sure she had yours pulled up. You should be happy about this. You could graduate now that your tuition was paid off. It just made you feel anxious for some reason. All of these questions were going through your head. What if someone deposited their money into your account by accident? Unless someone was doing this from the good of their heart, you couldn't think of anyone who would pay for it.

"Is there any way I could find out who paid for it?" You asked.

"I don't know." She answered. "I've never had this happen before."

Despite your nerves, you laughed at her response. You watched as she got up and walked away from you. After a minute, a different woman walked over to you.

"Good afternoon." She greeted. "My name is Sooyoung. I was the one that helped the young gentleman with the payment. I remember because we don't have this happen very often."

"Gentleman" You asked.

"Yes. He said that you were an angel and had helped him through a lot over the past few months. He was a real cutie."

Your heart felt like it stopped when she said angel. The was only one person who has ever called you that. San. Why would he pay for it? He knew that you didn't want any help. Everyone did. Even if you did, you were stubborn. You felt like you had to do everything yourself.

You pull out your phone and pull up a picture of San. "Was this him?"

"It was." She recognized him instantly. "He was a real sweetheart."

"Thank you for your time."

You picked up your bag before walking out of the building. You pulled your hood over your head as you exit the building. You speed walk as you make your way back to your car. You open the door before sliding in, throwing your bag in the back seat. You were glad no one was around as you placed your face in your hands as you let out a frustrated scream.

Was this the grand gesture Leslie was talking about?

You couldn’t wrap your head around San doing something like this. Even though you should have seen it coming. When you were with San, he had gotten you to open up to him. That included both good and bad. You remember him holding you all night as you cried about your money struggles. He had begged you to let him help you, but you always said no. You felt like you could do it yourself. That was until San outed you one night.

Your parents told you that you would never survive on your own. Not without them. They have since apologized for that, but you still remember. You didn’t want to feel like a burden to anyone else like how you once did with your parents. San understood that, but he still wanted to help you. He tried to convince you that just because he helps you doesn’t make you a burden. You wouldn’t have to pay it back which also upset you. You knew that everyone was only trying to help you. But it was hard to ask and receive help when you haven’t had it in so long.

You walk into yours and Chae’s shared apartment. Chae was sitting on the couch waiting for you as she always did when you went to pay your tuition. You always came home upset as the numbers never seemed like they were going down. You would always go to her and let out your frustrations and fears. You felt like you were never going to graduate. Chae always did her best to erase those worries. Even if it involved holding you all night while you cried. You would never find yourself a better friend, and you always made sure to tell her that.

“How did it go?” Chae asked hesitantly. You just stood there for a moment after kicking off your shoes. After not answering her, she lifted up the edge of the blanket. You threw your bag onto the floor as you ran to her arms.

She hugged you tightly as you cried. This time it wasn’t because you felt like you were going to graduate. This time it was because you were going to graduate. All of those sleepless nights of studying would finally pay off. All because of San. You didn’t know how you were going to repay him.

“Was it that bad?”

“No.” You sobbed. You pulled away from her and wiped your tears with your sleeve. “My tuition is paid.”

Chae’s eyes widened as she jumped up. “You finally paid it off. I’m so proud of you! I knew you could do it. Even if you are a stubborn bitch.”

“That’s the thing. I didn’t pay for it.” You told her. She looked at you in confusion.

“Then who did?”

“San.”

Chae finally understood your tears as she sat back down onto the couch.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” You asked.

“Graduate.” Chae answered. You looked over at her. “That’s what San wants, or he wouldn’t have paid for it.”

“But what about San?” You asked.

“What about him?”

“Wooyoung said that San had been saving up to buy the bar.” You told her. “What if he can’t buy it now because of me?”

“I want to say that isn’t your concern anymore, but that wouldn’t be the case because you still love him. And it’s obvious that he loves you back. He paid your tuition even though you said you hated him.” Chae answered.

“I also said I never wanted to see him again.”

“Is that true?” Chae asked. You shook your head as you looked at your lap.

The two of you have had this conversation many times since you and San had broken up. Of course, Chae was on your side. She always was. Even when you were wrong. That also meant that she didn’t believe you when you went on your drunk rampages about him. Screaming that you never wanted to see him again. That you wished you had never met him. All things that she knew wasn’t true. She also knew that you knew that they weren’t true. You were just lying to yourself and to her. She knew you wanted to stay strong, but you can only stay strong so long before you break.

“No.” You answer. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“What do you want to do?” Chae asked. You sighed as you flopped back on the couch. Chae laid the cover over the both of you as you thought about your options.

“I am still upset over everything, but I’m not mad anymore. I feel like I can forgive him now that I have had time to think everything over.” You told Chae. She listened as you ranted.

“(Y/N), you know he’s sorry, or else he wouldn’t have paid your tuition. He also sings your favorite songs every night at the bar.”

“Does he really?” You ask her.

She nodded her head. “Last night he played (Y/F/S). It was funny listening to all of the drunks try to sing along with him.”

“My finals are coming up. I feel like that needs to be my main focus. I feel bad not saying anything to him though.” You admit.

“I’m sure he’ll understand. He’s waited for you this long. What’s two more weeks?

“I feel like a proud parent.”

“Shut up Chae.”

The two of you get out of the car. Today was finally the day that you felt would never come. You were graduating college. All of the pain and tears were finally worth it. You were finally going to walk across that stage and get your degree. Your parents were going to watch you do something they never thought you would.

“I can’t help it. All of the struggling paid off. I can finally be your sugar baby.”

You laughed as the two of you made your way to the auditorium. You left her side as you made your way to where you were supposed to go. You didn’t know where Chae was sitting, but you easily found here by her yelling.

You watch as everyone along with you graduated. You prayed that you wouldn’t trip right as you walked across the stage. You smiled as you grabbed the degree and walked off the stage. You looked over to Chae. You smile as you see her hold her phone up. She snaps a picture before yelling loudly.

“That’s my best friend!”

Your cheeks turn red as you make your way back to your seat. You sit down and wait for everyone else to be called. You listen as they thank everyone for coming. You did the traditional cap toss before everyone started to celebrate. You push through the large crowd as you looked for Chae. You barely had time to register as you were nearly knocked down by a hug.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you. I don’t think I would’ve done it without you.” You tell your best friend. She slaps you before fanning her face.

“Don’t you dare make me cry.”

You look around, stopping you spot a familiar face. “Mom?”

Your parents walk up to you. This is the first time you had seen them in 3 years. They seem nervous as they smile at you. Your father decided to speak up first.

“I’m very proud of you (Y/N).”

You look at him in shock. “You are?”

“We both are.” Your mother spoke up. “You stood up for what you believed in and look at you now. A strong, beautiful woman. I’m sorry it took us so long to see that.”

“Thank you.”

You are shocked once again as your mother pulls you into a hug. You take a second before you hug her back. When she lets go, your father also hugs you. It felt weird to be around them again. They had caused you so much pain when you had told them what you wanted. They had basically disowned you.

“We’re going to be in town for a few days. Can we meet up for dinner?” Your mother asked. Did she want what you think she wanted? “I know we hurt you, and it will take a long time for your forgiveness. But we want to try to earn your forgiveness and trust once again. For good this time.”

She was right. They hurt you, and it would take a long time to forgive them. That’s if you forgave them. Even if they were your parents. If there’s anything you learned, it’s to be the bigger person. And if they were willing to try to fix their mistakes, who were you to stop them. You would continue to try to fix your relationship with your parents, but only if they were willing to put in the effort on their side. And by the looks on their faces, they were willing to.

“How does tomorrow sound?” You ask.

You parents smiled at the thought of spending time with their daughter finally. They didn’t think it would happen with the pain they caused you. They knew they had no one to blame but themselves, so they were happy you were willing to try to forgive them.

“That sounds great.”

You bid your parents goodbye. You look over to Chae who had the same look of shock on her face. You stared at her until something caught your attention. You watch as someone pulls a hood over their hair before walking away from the ceremony. You couldn’t see their face, but you did see the familiar streak of red in their hair. You were then shaken from your spot.

“(Y/N).” You look back to Chae. “Are you okay?”

You nod your head. “I’m fine. I just thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Well, you did just graduate with these people.” You slap her as she points out the obvious.

“I thought I saw San.” You admit. You watch her face. You knew she was trying to hide something. “What did you do?”

“Why do you automatically think I did something?” She asked.

“Did you?”

“No.” She immediately answered. You looked at her before tilting your head. “Okay. Maybe I sent San an invitation to come to your graduation.”

“Why did you do that?” You weren’t upset at her. You just wanted to know.

“Because he has been messaging me to see how you were doing these past two months.” Chae admitted. You would be shocked, but you already knew this. She was horrible at keeping secrets.

“I know that. I was just waiting for you to finally admit it.”

“No, you didn’t.” Chae answered.

“You admitted it when you got wine drunk last week.” You told her. Chae let out a groan.

“Did I really?”

“Yeah. You also admitted that you threatened to hit him with your car.”

“Damn drunk me.” You laugh at her. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No. You were only looking out for me, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“Sans.” You answered. Chae squealed before pushing you away from her.

“Then what are you waiting for. Go! We’ll celebrate later.”

You knocked on San’s apartment door. You knew what you came here to do, and that was listen to San's side of the story. You want to see if it matched Wooyoung's. If it did, you could finally see yourself forgiving him. If it didn't though, this would be the last time you would ever see San.

You were about to knock again when the door opened. You looked at San who was clearly shocked to see you. "Angel?"

You looked closely at San. This was the first time you'd seen in in two months. You didn't feel pain anymore when you looked at him. That was until you see how much of a mess he was. His hair was damp and sticking in every direction. He looked like he had been sweating. He shirt was wrinkled, and his pants were loosely on his hips.

As much as you wanted to look at him, a wave of anxiety washes over you. He doesn't look like he was just at your graduation. He looks like he was busy with something else. Were you wrong about everything?

"Am I interrupting something?"

San furrowed his eyes in confusion. That's when he remembered how much of a mess he looked. It must look bad in your eyes.

"No." He quickly answered. "I was about to take a shower. There isn't anyone else. Not since you."

Your heart fluttered at his last sentence. You could tell he was nervous by his constant running his hand through his hair. It was cute. You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing, but it didn't work. You let out a small laugh as you walk past San and into his apartment.

"I never thought I would see the day you would be nervous. Especially over a girl."

"Can you blame me?" San asked. "This is the first time you've talked to me since; you know. I don't want to mess it up."

"Like you did when you made that bet." You asked. You watched as his face dropped. You decided to apologize. "Sorry, I'm being petty. That wasn't the full reason I can here."

"Why did you come here? Not that I don't mind, but the last time we spoke, you said you never wanted to see me again." San watched as you sat on the couch. He wanted to sit next to you. He wanted to hold you like he had been dying to do these last two months. For obvious reasons, he didn't do that. He sat on the chair across from you.

"I did, didn't I?" You mumbled. "A lot of things have changed over the last two months. One of those changes being my anger towards you."

"So, you don't hate me anymore?" San asked. For the first time you looked into his eyes. San felt like his heart had stopped beating.

"San, I never hated you." You told him. "I hated your stupid actions, yes. But not you."

"How don’t you hate me?"

"Do you want me to hate you?" You asked. You laughed when he jumped up.

"No! Please don't hate me. I'll do anything."

"Calm down, San. I'm not going anywhere." San could feel the hope build up when you said that. He hoped he didn't misinterpret it. "The reason that I came here is because I'm finally ready to talk about everything that happened between us. I have questions, and I want answers. Honest ones."

"I promise to be completely honest with you." San held up his pinky, something he always did to you. You smiled softly as you wrapped your pinky around his. He let go of your hand before standing up and walking towards the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"If we're being honest, we might as well loosen up properly." San answered. You assumed he meant alcohol.

"Only if its-" You stopped your sentence when San held up your favorite wine. The only kind you would drink. "Trying to earn some brownie points I see."

"For you always."

San poured the two of you a full glass of wine. You tucked your feet underneath you as you sipped on your wine. You knew that San was waiting for you to start the conversation. You were just trying to figure out how. You decided to just start from the beginning.

"Is the only reason you talked to me because of that stupid bet?"

"No." San answered. "I would've talked to you regardless. You were and are still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I would've done anything to try and make you mine."

You looked up at him. "If that's the case, why didn't you tell me about the bet?"

"Because I'm an idiot." San took a long sip of his wine. "I thought it would ruin everything. I didn't think that you would trust me when I said that bet didn't matter to me. Only you."

"I can't say that things would've been fine, but I don't think I would've been as mad if you would've told me yourself." You told him. "The way things played out was very confusing. I felt torn because I knew that you had cared about me, but I also felt like you had used me."

A hand gripped yours as San moved next to you on the couch. "I will never be able to forgive myself for the way I made you feel. I never wanted to hurt you. I know I broke your trust in me, but please believe me when I say that I never used you."

"I know that now." You told him. "I also know you cut the bet off after our first date."

San looked at you in shock. "How did you know that?"

"Wooyoung." You outed his best friend. "He also told me that you cried like a baby."

"He told me he would never tell anyone." You laughed at San's outburst.

"I was joking about that. Did you really?"

"No." He quickly answered. He pouted as you continued to laugh, even though he loved the sound. "Stop laughing"

"I'm sorry. You're just so cute."

You watched as San looked down at his lap. "I should be the one apologizing. I am so sorry for this whole bet situation. I didn't want to let you down. I'm not sorry for loving you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me."

"Were?" You asked. "You say that part tense like we're through."

"Aren't we though? You said so yourself."

"San, look at me." You tell him. He continues to look at his lap. "Please, San."

You could see the tears in his eyes as he looked up at you. You placed you hand on his cheek as you wiped away his tears. You felt like you could spend the rest of your life telling him how much you cared for him, but you knew of a better way.

You leaned over and pressed your lips to San's. He instantly responded to you. You could taste the tears as you poured all of your emotions into the kiss. You leaned your forehead on his as you pulled away.

"Why did you do that?"

"Because I love you."

You let out a sound of shock as San pulls you into his lap. His hands wrap tightly around your waist as he buries his head in your neck. You softly rub his back as he cries into your shoulder.

"You shouldn't. I hurt you."

"It would be different if it didn't affect you this bad." You answer as you play with his long strands of black hair.

"But-"

"San, do you love me?"

San pulled back to look at you. You almost edited cooed at his puffy face. He looked so cute. "So much. I just want to spend the rest of my life making you happy."

"Then say it back."

"I love you, (Y/N)."

You smiled as you gave him a quick peck on the lips. "I love you, San. I just want to forget everything that happened."

"Really?" San couldn't believe what he was hearing. Instead of responding, you pulled him into another kiss. This one more sensual than the others.

San pulls you impossibly closer as he deepens the kiss. All of your past worries and stress melt away as San kisses you. It was just you two. The way it was supposed to be.

You let out a sigh as San pulls away from your lips and makes his way down your neck. You grip his shirt as he sucks on a tender spot. He was making sure to leave a mark. He wanted to make sure that everyone knew that you belonged to him. And he wasn’t going to mess that up again.

As you pull his shirt over his head, he pulls away from your neck. You throw his shirt to the side before reconnecting your lips. You slowly run your hands down his chest, feeling every muscle clench underneath your fingertips. You stop right below the waistband of his pants making him groan in anticipation.

Before you could go any further, San's hands tightly grip your thighs before lifting you up. You kiss down his neck, leaving a few marks like he had done to you. You feel him squeeze your ass as he sits on the bed with you in his lap.

"You're going to be the death of me."

You laugh at his statement before pecking his lips. Apparently, it wasn't enough for San as he chased after you as you pulled away. You get off of his lap before kneeling in front of him. His words were mumbled, so you couldn't understand him as you unbuttoned his pants. He holds his hips up as you slide his pants down his legs.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

You look up at him. You haven't given him a blow job yet. Only a hand job. He always wanted to make you feel 100% comfortable during your time together. He always gave you pleasure. Now you were going to return the favor.

Instead of answering, you grab his semi hard shaft before licking a strip along it. You watch as San throws his head back in pleasure as you place his head in your mouth. You softly suck, looking up at him to see if you were doing it right. You had no experience in this. As bad as it sounds, you were just going off of the videos you had watched.

San's hand strokes the side of your face as your eyes meet his. "You're doing so well, Angel."

You test yourself as you fit his length in your mouth. You fit as much as you could, and you wrapped your hand around the rest. You slowly bob your head up and down his length. You could tell that you were doing good by the sounds that were coming out of San's mouth.

You didn't know what to do with your other hand until you remember what you had watched. You softly grab his balls before giving them a small squeeze. A rather loud moan comes out of San's mouth. You look up at San to see him staring down at you. He swears he could come just from the look you were giving him.

"Are you sure you've never done this before?"

You pull away from him. Your hand tortures him by continuing to move slowly across his shaft. "No. Am I bad?"

"Quite the opposite." He answered. "I don't think I've ever seen a prettier sight. You've almost made me cum twice already."

"Really?" San nodded before pulling you back up into his lap. You tried to continue what you had started, but he stopped you with a kiss. "You don't want me to continue?"

"As much as I do, I only want to cum inside of you. Is that okay Angel?"

"Yes."

"And you're going to be a good girl and let me, aren't you?"

"Please." You beg him.

"Then let's get these clothes off."

You get off of San's lap, so you could take off your clothes. You watch as San props himself on a pillow to watch you. You felt a blush form on your face as you slowly take off your clothes. Just because you were nervous doesn't mean you couldn't tease him.

After you had shed all of your clothes, you crawled back into San's lap. San instantly responded to your kiss. He easily slipped his tongue past your lips, exploring the inside of your mouth. You moaned as he pulled away from you.

"Angel, I think you're sitting on the wrong spot."

You looked at him confused. "What do you mean? Where else would I sit?"

San leaned close to you, his lips brushing against yours. "My face."

"Oh." Your face turned red as you understood him. San laughed at your response as he kissed your forehead.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I do. It's just- What if I hurt you?" You ask.

"You won't. I promise." You sit up as San scoots down the bed. "If you want to stop at any time, let me know."

You position yourself to where your heat was directly over San's face. His hands gripped your thighs as he pulled you down onto his face. He wasted no time licking a strip up the center of your heat. You let out a moan as he eats you out like it's his last meal.

"Oh my God, San!"

"Does it feel good?"

He sticks two fingers inside of you making you grip his hair in pleasure. San let out a groan as you pulled his hair. He loved it when his hair was pulled. He had told you that, but you hadn't done it before. You were always scared that you would hurt him.

"S-so good." You moan out.

If San felt like he was on cloud 9 before, he was in heaven when you rolled your hips in pleasure. He knew you didn't realize you were doing it by the way your eyes were screwed shut. His name was coming out of your mouth in small chants. He knew you were close. The louder you got, the closer you were.

You felt a familiar knot rise in your stomach. "San, I'm close."

"I know. Cum for me."

As soon as San said that you released with a loud moan of his name. Your hand untangled itself from his hair as you brush your hair away from your face. You lifted your leg and sat on the bed before your legs gave out. San wasted no time pressing kisses all over your face as you recovered.

"Are you okay?" San asked.

"I don't think I've ever came that hard." You panted out.

Once you had come down from your high, you pulled San into a kiss. Your back landed on the bed as he hovered over you. Your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him down closer to you. San felt himself grow impossibly hard as his shaft brushed against your heat. You yourself had moan at that.

"Please, San." You beg the man above you.

"Please what, Angel?"

"Fuck me."

"With pleasure." San gave you one final kiss before reaching over and grabbing a condom. That was until he realized he didn't have anymore. "Shit."

"What's wrong?" You asked.

San buried his head in your neck. "I don't have any condoms."

"It's okay, San. I trust you."

San looked up to meet your eyes. He saw no hesitation or fear in your eyes. Only love and affection. He pulled you into a sweet kiss before pulling away.

"Are you sure?"

"I am." You assure him. "I love you, San."

"I love you too. So much."

"Then make love to me."

San pressed his lips to yours as he slowly pushed inside of you. It wasn't as painful as your first time together, but it had been two months since you two had sex. San knew that, so he took it easy until you said otherwise. Your nails scrapped down his back as you adjusted to his size.

"Are you okay?"

You waited a minute before responding. "I'm okay. You can move."

San kissed your cheek as he pulled out before pushing himself back into you. San loved the way you felt against him. Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your hands tangled in his hair. He felt like you were made for him. He wouldn't mess this up again.

You let out a soft moan as the pain drifted into pleasure. "San, can you go faster please?"

"Anything for you."

You throw your head back has San picked up his pace. He took the opportunity to place kisses along your neck. He could tell that he was starting to get close by the way he sped up. He was starting to become sloppy. But he wouldn't cum before you.

San reached down to rub your already swollen clit. You buried your head in his neck as he brought the two of you closer to your highs.

"S-San, I-I'm close."

"I know baby. I am too."

San watched as you came first. You let out a loud moan as you came to your high. San watched you in awe, completely unaware of his own high until it was too late. He didn't want to come inside of you, but he couldn't help it. The way you clenched around him. San let out a moan of his own as he released inside of you. San placed his head on your chest as the two of you caught your breath.

"I love you." You spoke up first. San looked up at you with a smile.

"I love you more."

You let out a whimper as San pulled out of you. He pulls you into his side. You threw your leg over him as you cuddled into his side. The two of you were covered in sweat, but you didn't mind. Especially when San kissed you sweetly on your head as he pulled the covers over you.

"San, can I ask you a question?" You speak up after a moment of silence.

"Of course."

You prop your head up on your hand so you could look at him. "Why did you pay off my tuition?"

"I could see how much you had worried about it. You always told me not to worry, but your eyes said differently. I wanted to help you, whether we were together or not." San explained.

"But what about the bar?" You asked. San looked at you in confusion.

"What about it?"

"Wooyoung told me that you were saving up to buy it."

San let out a scoff. "Did he tell you all of my secrets?"

"San."

"It did take a portion of that away, but that's not going to stop me. I will own that bar." San told you.

"I can help you." You tell him. San shook his head.

"I'm not taking your money."

"Will you take my knowledge?" You asked. San was confused once again. "I did just graduate with a degree in business and finance."

"We'll take about that later, okay? All I want to do is to take a shower with my love and spend the rest of the evening together."

You smile and kiss his lips. "That could be arranged."

"I love you, Angel."

"I love you too, San."

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez san #ateez reactions #san #san reactions #san imagines #san scenarios #kpop #kpop reactions #kpop sceanrios #kpop imagines #reactions #scenarions #imagines

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veryace-ficrecs · 4 months ago

Text

Stephanie Brown Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

closet space by adelfie - Rated T

“Hi,” she says in a breathless rush, then takes a moment to swallow and wet her lips. “I, uh, need your help?” “Are you dying?” “N-not exactly.” “Then you don’t need me,” comes Jason’s lazy, uninterested reply. The call ends with a click. -- Steph doesn't know what's more embarrassing: that she's been locked in a closet during a party, or the fact that her "friends" aren't really her friends. And to top it all off, Jason's the only one who can come rescue her.

heroes and thieves at my door (i can’t seem to tell them apart anymore) by Hinn_Raven - Rated G

Bruce really can’t help but think that Stephanie Brown, pre-medicine, piano player, and honors student, with Leslie vouching for her, would be a far better girlfriend for his daughter than Spoiler, the new vigilante in town.

Spoiler Alert: It Gets Better. by carolinaa - Rated T

Red Hood's been running Robin's Nest, a secret youth shelter in Gotham, since he came out of his murdery craze. He wants it to be a place to stay, no questions asked, with a hot meal provided if you stick around for breakfast. The kids of Gotham deserve that much. Enter Stephanie, whose new name isn't the only secret she's keeping. (or: how steph outsmarts her dad, makes gay friends, and gets the guy)

DON'T YOU CRY, DRY YOUR EYES. by orpheusaki - Not Rated

After inhaling her food before Bruce's even halfway through his vanilla milkshake, Stephanie seems to have sobered up a little. She's looking less green, and more like she's trying to develop x-ray vision and look into Bruce's soul. Or maybe she's still drunk, because she very suddenly and very bluntly tells him, "I used to wish you were my dad," drowning her chips into a little pot of ketchup. Bruce pauses. He slowly drops the chicken nugget he was about to put in his mouth — since now is probably not the time to complain about how the nuggets are a little dry today. (Bruce Wayne is not Stephanie Brown's father, not at all.)

No Body Nobody by snackbaskets - Rated M

Now, worst case scenario: What’s so bad you call Jason? Easy. You call him when you need someone beaten, killed, or otherwise met with incredible violence. You call him when you’re running away for a week because Bruce is being a dickhole. You call him when you want to eat food by someone who can cook Gothamite comfort, and to yell really really loud. When she spoke again, it was with a whisper, strained as if it were creaking its way out of her body, wasting away all the air in her lungs and making her voice into something high and reedy, splintering on the last word in her mouth. “Don’t tell Bruce.” You call Jason when you need to hide a body. This fic contains graphic depictions of violence/gore, mentions of sexual assault (NOT to Steph or Jason), and POV dissociation. Proceed with care.

Before the World Was Big by luckyymoth - Rated T

Stephanie Brown is back and better than ever! Well. Okay she's back. And is trying to cope the best she can, especially with her best friend leaving her behind with nothing but a hand-me-down costume. She just can't help but wish for the way it was before the world was big.

Stephanie by revstarbrainrot - Rated T

Stephanie is thrown to the ground, something cracking beneath her. No. No, she wasn’t Robin anymore. This is different, Stephanie is different. She’s trained with Cass more since then, she’s stronger, she- Rubble falls from the ceiling, landing on the center of her back. The air is knocked out from Stephanie, and this is looking horribly familiar.

paranoid android by SnappleSnapSnake - Rated T

“Hello, Stephanie. Or should I call you Spoiler?” A woman’s scrambled voice rang out, talking like a fucking Bond villain. Okay, so, yeah. Probably a mob boss. Play it cool, Steph. “Um, how exactly do you know my name? Or where I live?” She asked instead of screaming or swearing or literally anything else she wanted to do. To be fair, it was a really good question. “That is unimportant,” the woman (who steph hereby dubbed as ‘voice lady’) answered, definitely more collected than Stephenie was. And why wouldn’t she be? Voice Lady had all the power here. “I am here to ask for a favour.”

#veryace recs #stephanie brown #stephanie brown spoiler #spoiler dc #batman fic recs #batman #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #ao3

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hetr0ph0bic · 2 years ago

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can you do a shuri x riri smut for valentine’s day?

warn; smut jealousy oooo i luv it, porn yall, strength kink, size diff, possessive shuri.

a/n oooo yalll i luvvv this one, ALSO I DIDNT PROOF READ BITCH IM TIRED

JEALOUS

if his bitchass look over here again im going to fucking kill him

needless to say, the night isnt going to play. riri and shuri sit hand in hand, in a booth. the two find themselves at a diner, in chicago for valentines. riri got the invite from instagram.

“ come on shuri please, can we go? plus its a good time since your in town” riri pleaded to shuri.

“oh fine we can go plus i want a good unhealthy american milkshake”.

so here they are slurping on vanilla milkshakes and chewing on a large order of fries. pink and red paper cutouts float all around them. cute hearts and x’s and o’s, placed all over the table. big themed balloons cover the ceiling. and honesty, the night was going so, so well. shuri and riri talk about any and everything. from work and college life to how to eat a milkshake and fries properly.

“no bruh you have to dip the fry in the milkshake” riri reaches to grab the fry from shuri’s hand

“what no i don't want to” she weaves riri’s hand, scooting farther in the booth

“what? why not, it's good!” riri gives up and grabs fries from the basket.

“i don't think thats…right. like who wants soggy fries?”

“girl please here just try it” riri dips the fry and hands it to shuri. the older reluctantly strains her neck. with one more look at riri she bites down on the new food. after a few chews, she chimes in.

“mmmm this is good”

“i knoww” riri claps her hands together, happy that shuri actually liked it.

“ although i can feel the diabetes growing on me”

happiness danced between the two. well, that was until, some guy walked into their sight. he stopped and leaned on the white walls. placing his disgusting eyes of lust on riri.

“ummm” riri begins to shift uncomfortably, shuri speaks up quickly, noticing the change.

“wait, you know him, because what is he looking at?” shuri starts already on defense mode

“wait, chill. chill! if he doesn’t stop, then we can just leave. okay?”

shuri slowly agrees, and she sets her eyes of the man. he quickly turns his head, noticing a man walking up to him. he says something to the random man, seconds pass, and the ugly eyes are on riri again

“okay, his time is up” shuri rises from the booth

“shuri ! shuri sit down” riri leans over the table, a loose grip on shuri’s wrist

“what?” she speaks but doesn’t move her eyes from the new target

“you can’t just go hitting on people! this is america!!!”

“uhhh okay? your point”

“the chicago police will have our ass because you be hitting people”

“ look, i know you're new here but, america’s navy blue gang doesn’t scare me. plus with your criminal history now you decide to be scary ”

“GIRL-okay look shuri, don't. hurt. nobody”

“riri if his bitchass look over here again im going to fucking kill him”

“oh my god”

“bast what, first of all look at him. thats a MAN! YOUR GAY WITH A GIRLFRIEND. ri he doesn’t even view you as a human, looking at you like that. and i don’t share nor like it”

while the two genius pass words, the nightmare of the night walks up to them. shuri jumps up with no hesitation. riri rushe's to grab her top, yanking her back.

“aye aye slime let holler at you-”

“she good” shuri speaks up for riri, hoping this guy would just get the hint.

“tuh! i was talking to shawty with the fat-”

a loud smack is heard throughout the diner. with a blur, riri sees the man’s body fly back. the boy slams into a broken chair. he slumps down on a now broken chair, way pass his original standing point. riri watches and lingers as people gather around the man. slurping pulls her out of the daze, looking over to her right she sees shuri. the royal carries on slurping the vanilla shake.

“ damnit i want the cherry but i can’t get it”

“ bruh you can’t be for real right now”

“i don’t see why you so worried about his ugly ass”

“i’m not worried bout him you just can’t-”

“did he make you feel uncomfy?” riri’s breath gets caught in her throat. he did. and a part of her is happy shuri punched his ass into the wall. riri stammers over her words as shuri sits in the booth.

“oh okay then” shuri says while slurping her straw

riri shakes her head, looking to the right she sees the people walking through the door. two of them, muscled men in blue wrinkly outfits, strutting over to them.

“shuri them people coming, we gotta go” riri grabs the two bags on the table.

“oh okay i’m talking the milkshake, you want the fries tho?”

“no i don’t want no damn fries! let’s go.”

“ooooo aggressive! wait! wait!” riri walks out of the diner, making shuri jogging a bit to catch up with her. shuri sees the tiny girl in a pink top and loose jeans get closer and closer.

“okay slow down! mama slow down!” shuri breathes out and sucks in long breaths

“man bye, stop acting like your tired! im tired. i need a drink after the shit you be pulling”

shuri thinks it's smart to keep quiet as they walk down the chicago streets, looking for a decent bar. soon the two have two drinks each. watermelon and strawberry margaritas. shuri currently chews on her and riri’s pieces of fruit from their drinks.

“no because? what is wrong with you- like we get it your strong as shit but like all that so unnecessary” riri starts wanting to get to the bottom for why shuri acted like that.

“it’s a problem that i don’t like that bitch”

“stop fucking lying, WHY don’t you like him besides the entire creepy? weirdo? part”

“girl, im not lying”

“ …girl? shuri you buzzed a bit?”

“don’t make me feel like that! so are youu”

yeah they most definitely feel it. luckily two drinks are the limit, only to feel a little buzz. and in riri’s case it allows her to shed the nerves and anxiety.

“ i know what your problem is” riri smacks and chews on the ice from the drinks.

“ ri please, it's valentines” shuri joins, gnawing down on the ice.

“ girl hush up- you sooo jealous of everything and everyone”

“that’s not true” shuri calls over the bartending closing out the tab. they still linger, chewing on the ice, still talking.

“oh its not true? ok what is then big head”

“number one, your head is bigger than mine. and im not jealous-”

“ you’re right, it's call delusional i mean possessive”

“ yeahh…. and that’s not a crime! i know what i am do you know what you are?”

“ oh easy a genius!”

hours later, shuri is grabbing riri’s hand and leading her out of the bar.

“where we finna go?” the smaller ask but is meet with silence

“ummm where are you taking me? helloooo answer the question!” riri begins poking the panther's cheeks and tugging their matching clothes.

“ahem ahem! ngangamsha (your majesty) where areth thou taking me”

“ooooo okay you’ve been practicing” shuri breaks the silence, surprised on riri’s improvement

“yeaaa! cuz i’m in the game fr, you know i do this!”

“ but i do have a little surprise. since we had to leave the restaurant because of weirdos”

shuri covers her eyes as she leads her into the further into the airbnb. riri jumps and shakes from excitement.

“ooo okay okay is it food or like something else” riri asks for a hint, while she sticks her hands in the air trying to feel around for the answer.

“i’m not telling you, you’re literally about to see it”

“okay well move your fingers” then she tries to pry shuri’s fingers from her eyes. once the engineer gives up on the method, she starts to duck under the hands.

“slow down” shuri laughs and her antics slow down

“ you are gonna hurt yourself” walking a few steps forward shuri let’s riri’s eyes see the room.

valentines theme food is everywhere. from their favorite fruit, desserts,candy. watermelon, cupcakes, cookies, donuts, big candied grapes, every red and pink candy under the sun. and if it isn’t red or pink, it’s covered in colored chocolate.

“awwww baby this is so cuteee pause. is this our name on the cookies? stawp”

“ yeah since i cut the diner short i thought you would like it”

“like it? i love it ” riri grabs a pink cookie biting into it

“good, i love you” shuri wraps her arms around the smaller’s waist. riri leans her head back on shuri’s chest. she still nibbles on the sweet cookie, eyes full of stars. body working up a nice heat, as shuri rubs up and down. she traces words in her skin and plays with her pink tank top. the smaller twists her body in shuri’s hold. turning to look up at shuri she offers the rest of the cookie. shuri holds on riri as she feeds her the cookie. once shuri has eaten it all, riri brushe's off crumbs and pink sugar pieces with her fingers. soft fingers brush skin around shuri’s lips.

“clean” riri whisperers.

riri doesn’t move her fingers though. she slowly makes her way to rest her limbs on shuri’s shoulders. the two share a look of want and need before moving closer.

“i love you too” riri breathes out before shuri crashe's their lips together. small pants fall out of each other's mouths. they both put in effort to wreck the other. riri bites down on shuri’s bottom lip, knowing it will cause her to lose her shit. in return, shuri swipes riri off the ground and puts her against the wall. placing her veiny hand on riri’s jaw, shuri kisses into her mouth. using her other hand, she holds her up against the wall. riri spreads her legs, welcoming shuri into her. shuri grinds their clothed heats together, causing riri to break the kiss.

“ fuck don't stop” riri sucks on shuri's tongue and laps every part of the older’s mouth. tears swell up in the engineer's eyes. growing restless, shuri holds riri to her chest as she makes her way to the bed.

shuri tightens the hold on riri neck as she dips her long fingers into riri’s pussy. she pumps at a steady pace, curling fingers. riri screams as she plays with the sensitive muscles. she leans down to her lips. using her free hand, she spanks riri’s ass. the recoil doing nothing, but rocking her in the digits even more.

“spread it open” shuri demands. riri recess her grip the sheets and shuri’s hair. she wiggles her hands to gain more feeling. finally, she reaches down to her legs. hands on her thighs, she pulls them apart.

“ummhmmm keep it like that”

while riri holds her legs, shuri pumps her fingers in and out mesmerized. she’s in a loop, brown and pink with slick has her in a trance. the only thing breaking her out is the whimpers from the girl herself. she slowly pulls out, eyes locked with riri’s. shuri only has the tip of her fingers in as she pushe's all the away back in and uses her thumb to circle riri’s clit. riri eyes roll to the back of her head as she throws her head back, hitting the bed

“hhayi (no) get up and look at me” shuri rasps out

on wobbly arms, riri manages to sit back up. shuri again slowly pulls out. she looks at her glistening fingers before offering them riri. as riri tongue swipes over shuri's fingers, the taller allows a long then line of spit to fall over riri’s spread out heat. shuri leans down and kisses riri’s pretty swollen lips. smacking fills the room

“haa haa fuck shuri mmmm” riri let’s the moans spill out her mouth.

“i bet you thought that shit was cute huh” shuri talks while eating

“what are talk- fuck me god”

“can’t nobody touch you like this but me."

“can’t nobody do it like you baby” riri cries out. shuri places her hands on riri’s thighs. she pushe's back on her legs, making her body curve. she can make riri’s body rock, and on her mouth she did. tongue flat she works riri’s body against her. heavy planted up and down her legs go, while shuri's mouth slurps side to side

“fuck baby fuck”

switching it up, she picks up riri from her spread position, and plopping her on her face. above, riri tries to buck away from shuri. griping on to riri’s thighs, shuri continues to eat. juices poop out of the smaller, quickly covering shuri face as they drip down her neck.

“shuri i’m s-s-sh mama i’m so close”

humming, shuri focuses on riri’s clit, she sucks and licks fast. when riri voice cracks, shuri lick her slit. she watches as the tiny girl arches her back with a cry. riri shakes as shuri continues to please her with her fingers.

finally, shuri eased riri back on the bed. the younger still shaking and sniffing her cry’s

“okay so how you want it” with a cracked voice, riri starts up.

“what”

“man don’t be asking dumb questions, i said how you want it?”

“well missy… you can wait a second, don’t want you crying in my shit”

“oh you got jokes!? you think you did yo big one and you DIDN’T” riri raises her voice as she's about to get up. the poor girl didn’t even process shuri moving, but she did. she grabs riri throws her down on the bed again. shuri placed her thumb on her clit, she moved it just a teenie weenie bit

“wait please okay”

“ohh that’s what i thought… and i kinda want you on your knees or something”

“okay” riri slips down off the bed, hitting the tile with haste.

“after you eat a bit” shuri says while passing a plate of fruits and water.

tags @karimwillia @shuri'smainbxtch @shuri'szn @widowmakker @letitias-fav @rxcently @acommonwhor3 @garbagesleepschedule @nightlife-things @sweetalittleselfish-honey @louderfortheback @heartsforjojo @youralphawolf72 @blackqueensforeva

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poundersburgers · 1 month ago

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Pounders Burgers: Glen Waverley's Best Burger Joint

If you’re on the hunt for mouth-watering burgers in Glen Waverley, look no further than Pounders Burgers. Known for its generous portions, creative burger combinations, and laid-back atmosphere, Pounders Burgers has quickly become a favorite spot for burger enthusiasts in the area. Whether you're craving a classic beef burger, a juicy chicken sandwich, or a hearty vegetarian option, Pounders delivers big on flavor and satisfaction.

Why Pounders Burgers Stands Out in Glen Waverley

Glen Waverley’s food scene is growing rapidly, with an array of international cuisines and eateries to choose from. But when it comes to comfort food, burgers reign supreme, and Pounders Burgers in Glen Waverley has carved out a niche for serving some of the best in the business. Here’s why this local gem stands out:

Fresh, High-Quality Ingredients At Pounders Burgers, the focus is on using fresh, locally sourced ingredients. Each patty is crafted with high-quality, premium beef, chicken, or plant-based ingredients, cooked to perfection, and served on a freshly baked bun. The toppings are just as important – think crispy lettuce, juicy tomatoes, crunchy pickles, and their signature sauces, all of which elevate the burger experience.

Creative Burger Menu What sets Pounders apart from other burger joints is their creativity. Their menu features a range of unique burger options that go beyond the basic cheeseburger. Whether you’re a meat lover or looking for something different, you’ll find a burger to suit your taste. Some fan favorites include:

The Pounder: A towering burger stacked with a double beef patty, crispy bacon, melted cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, and their special house sauce. It’s a must-try for those with a big appetite.

Cluck Norris: This crispy chicken burger is a hit among chicken lovers. With fried chicken, slaw, pickles, and a spicy mayo, it’s got the perfect balance of crunch and flavor.

Veggie Delight: For vegetarians, this burger is a winner. It features a flavorful veggie patty topped with grilled mushrooms, avocado, and a tangy pesto sauce.

Delicious Sides and Shakes What’s a burger without some delicious sides? At Pounders Burgers in Glen Waverley, the options are endless. From classic fries to loaded fries covered in cheese and bacon, every side dish complements the main star – the burger. If you're feeling adventurous, try the Truffle Fries, which are a favorite among regulars for their rich, aromatic flavor. And don’t forget to pair your meal with one of their creamy milkshakes. Whether you opt for classic flavors like vanilla and chocolate or their more adventurous options like salted caramel, these shakes are the perfect indulgence.

A Welcoming Atmosphere Pounders Burgers is not just about the food; it’s also about the experience. The restaurant has a relaxed, welcoming vibe that makes it a great spot to hang out with friends or enjoy a casual meal with family. The interior features a blend of industrial and modern design, with comfortable seating and a laid-back atmosphere that invites you to sit back, relax, and enjoy your meal. For those in a rush, Pounders also offers quick takeaway service.

Great Value for Money One of the best things about Pounders Burgers in Glen Waverley is the value for money. The portions are generous, and the quality is top-notch, yet the prices remain affordable. Whether you’re grabbing a quick lunch or a hearty dinner, you can enjoy a gourmet burger experience without breaking the bank.

Pounders Burgers: A Local Favorite

Since its opening, Pounders Burgers has garnered a loyal following in Glen Waverley. Locals rave about the friendly service, the wide variety of burger choices, and the unbeatable flavor combinations. It's the go-to spot for burger lovers in the area, with many customers returning again and again to try different items on the menu.

Final Thoughts

If you’re craving a burger that’s big on flavor, look no further than Pounders Burgers in Glen Waverley. With its diverse menu, fresh ingredients, and welcoming atmosphere, it’s easy to see why this burger joint has become a local favorite. Whether you’re stopping by for a quick bite or planning a casual night out, Pounders is the perfect place to satisfy your burger cravings.

So, the next time you’re in Glen Waverley, make sure to swing by Pounders Burgers and experience one of the best burger spots in town.

#POUNDERS BURGERS in GLEN WAVERLEY

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manor-tea-time · 7 months ago

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🍝 SPAGHETTI 🍰 SHORTCAKE? (for anyone you want)

🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)?

🍰 SHORTCAKE — what is/are your oc's favorite sweet(s)/dessert(s)?

from this ask game: here!

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Ivy ξ(❁) ⊕) ξ :

"I've always enjoyed teatime sandwiches. They're always the perfect size to snack on or to keep beside you as you work. I usually make myself pinwheel sandwiches, but chicken salad sandwiches are nice as well - and more filling if one is hungry." Ivy said, gesturing the approximate size of one of the sandwiches in question. "I also have gained an appreciation for different soups and breads as Wayne has been experimenting with making a few different kinds. He usually fetches me for a second opinion on taste."

"As for desserts, I have to admit I am quite the sweet tooth. If I had it my way, I'd have access to a lot more here within this place. However, if I had to pick favorites, they'd probably be Fruit Tarts, Mousse Cakes, and Creme Brûlée."

Wayne (-⊕ ζ ⊕-)<:

"I mainly enjoy cookies when it comes to sweets. They usually don't overwhelm my tastebuds and are easy to store for later." He nodded, making a quick mental note to make some more for himself to snack on between matches. "As for general foods, I tend to be a bit... boring I'm afraid. I usually like eating different breads, cheeses, and soups. I have tried to try some other foods when the others cook though. I've enjoyed most of them quite a bit."

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

LeRoy 🗝️>(⊖▼⊗´)•ζ :

"I have a soft spot for asparagus soup. It's something my mom used to make me all the time whenever I was feeling down in the dumps as a child! I also like scrambled eggs and bacon for a similar reason - it was the first dish my pa taught me how to make!" LeRoy laughed a bit at that. Bless his poor father's heart for being patient enough to let him burn nearly a whole carton of eggs before he got it down.

"As for sweets, I like things like parfaits or milkshakes! Specifically cookie dough milkshakes." He nodded, pausing as he remembered something. "I have had some good strawberry milkshakes with Willow though, so thats a close second flavor wise."

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Pip (◼⊗_⊗’)/*:

"I really like those Danimal shake things! I was kinda bummed at how hard it is to get some here. Although, I can still get some of my other favorite foods like chicken strips so, I'm alright." Pip explained, kicking the ground lightly as he spoke.

"Mr. Smith and Delilah sometimes will make me sandwiches or other things to eat if I catch them in the kitchen at the right time. It might not taste the same as my mom's, but I have to admit it's pretty good. Don't tell them I told you that though."

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Delilah and the Ghost orbs Ⴑ(‘❁◡❁’)Ⴑ {◎ᝰ.ᐟ, ◎𑁍.ᐟ, ◎꩜.ᐟ}:

"Hmmm lets see..." Delilah trailed off in thought. Most of the time she was usually rushed to makes questionable meals between work or pick something up. "When I have time lasagna is fun to make! I also enjoy testing out different salads to pair it with. If I have time and money to go somewhere really fancy, I absolutely love grilled salmon and rice."

"For desserts, I enjoy apple pies and ice cream. You can't really beat a classic like that!" She laughed to herself before pausing to hear some of the spectral voices from the orbs. It seemed they had their own opinion on the matter. "Oh? It seems we all like ice cream then. Although, I don't know if it would be worth it getting 4 separate flavors when you all can't eat it."

Bonus Ghost Orb Translation:

◎𑁍.ᐟ "Vengeance”: Likes Vanilla Ice Cream with fruit on top.

◎꩜.ᐟ"Guiding Hand": Likes Strawberry Ice Cream - Especially, in milkshakes.

◎ᝰ.ᐟ"Calming Aura": Likes Pistachio Flavored Ice Cream. Only orders it in a small cup.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Miss Manni (,◡ _ ◡,):

"One of my favorite treats to get myself when I could was macaroons and hot chocolate. Both were so sweet and fun to snack on throughout the day! They also made quite the statement when I had other ladies over for tea huhu!" Miss Manni laughed to herself, tidying up the remains of another sewing project as she spoke.

"I also enjoyed pampering myself lavish things like duck or mutton as well. I could always make sure they lasted me for a good while depending on what kinds of cuts I'd gotten that week." She said, a certain fondness filling her voice as she remembered her old house. "Potatoes were also fun for me to prepare as well! Oh! All this talk is making me want to cook something for someone!"

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Shadowed Man /++ ◡ ++\:

"Hm, I'm unsure. Most of the foods I'd eat consisted of animals I'd hunt during the evening when my summoner was asleep. Perhaps a lone wanderer if I had gotten lucky." A dark laugh escaped the shadow as they spoke. "Ah, but if I were to pick a meal more fit to human standards, I suppose the honeyd ham my summoner enjoyed was nice. If it made them content, I was content."

"As for sweets, the cake one of you creatures provided me was quite delectable. I'd enjoy eating another. The mannequin informed me they come in multiple flavors! How quaint."

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Eleanor (´⬬_⬬`)<:

"I like strawberry cake. The kind with fluffy icing and cute decorations on top. I was very excited when the other hunters made me one for my birthday! I loved all of the flowers, dancers, and animals on it." Eleanor mumbled, prefocused on winding a small music box. "I also like bread. It's so simple, but can be shaped like so many fun things - like rabbits!"

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

#idv oc ask blog #idv askblog #idv ocs #oc #identity v #The Costume Maker #The Lampsmith #“Key-Master”#The Glass Artist #The “Hero”#The Living Mannequin #The Automaton #The Shadowed Man #◎𑁍.ᐟ "Vengeance”#◎꩜.ᐟ“Guiding Hand”#◎ᝰ.ᐟ“Calming Aura”

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ask-kado-thorne · 2 months ago

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(Kado continued to sit in the room, waiting for the sound of rushed footsteps going past the room and into the lobby. But he didn't hear them. Nolan was likely too terrified to even leave the closet, thinking Kado was still in the room. He wasn't sure how to approach the situation, and groaned in frustration. If there was a chance to make this right, he would do everything he possibly could.)

(A few minutes later, he got a notification about the delivery driver approaching. He sighed deeply and went out to the front, meeting them and carrying all the food inside. There were several bags, filled with different types of cakes, pies, and cookies, and breakfast items like pancakes, waffles, and muffins. He'd also gotten milk, along with vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate milkshakes. If Nolan left without getting to have any of these treats, Kado would be absolutely crushed. He wanted to fix this, but it may have been too late for redemption.)

(He took everything to the break room, setting it on a table. From a cabinet he pulled out plates, cups, and silverware, placing them next to the food. Then he pulled his phone out, sending a text to Nolan.)

"The snacks are here. I put them on a table in the break room. Take however much you want. You can eat in the room if you'd like. I'll send an assistant if you need help getting the TV or PlayStation set up.

Of course if you'd rather leave right now, I completely understand. What I did was unacceptable, and I'm deeply sorry. You don't have to worry about me coming back in there. I'll be in another room for tonight, and you'll never have to see me again if that's what you choose."

*slams his fist on the reception desk* You can't kick me out because "I don't have a reservation". Do you know who am I? Do you have any idea?! I know the owner of this resort! And you'll get fired!!

-@ask-kado-thorne

I'm sorry... Who is this? I think you meant to tag your blog and not mine, dear.

And I don't intend on firing myself, so let's see how your complaint goes.

#Nolan's Visit

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littlefreya · 4 years ago

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Vanilla Milkshake

Summer: Henry and a long time friend hangout at their usual spot when things turn chaotic because of an innocent misunderstanding...

Prompted by:

Oooh Freyaaaa I just *need* some scene featuring Henry and ofc drinking milkshake.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (no description of ethnicity or body type).

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: RPF, major fluff, friends to lovers, sexual innuendo, mild seduction, sex talk, an unwanted boner, Henry being a boomer, Henry having a meltdown.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own.*

A/N: So, first thing first, thanks @agniavateira for quickly beta’ing my work! And of course thanks @the-soot-sprite for bouncing ideas with me and being an emotional support. Decided to go with friends for lovers because I live for that stuff. Also, I am aware that “Milkshake” can be interpreted in several ways but for the sake of the story I went with that particular reference. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. 🖤

Title: Vanilla Milkshake

“I swear, this diner looks like Barbie had an orgasm all over the place.” A whimsical grin sliced between Henry’s marble cheeks. Eyeing the pastel-esque surroundings, he huffed scornfully and adjusted the cap over his nest of unruly curls.

“Remind me again why we always meet here, young lady?”

Staring at the beastly man who barely managed to squeeze into the plastic-pink faux leather booth, she couldn’t help but chuckle. Henry carried himself with something that was both eloquent yet unmistakably feral, reminding her of a burly forest creature. Sturdy tree trunks stood for limbs, torso, and shoulders—the widths of icy mountains and a blanket of thick fur coated the entirety of his body, deeming him a dangerous bear.

No wonder he preferred himself clean-shaven. The sharpened edge of a razor kept him a cut away from becoming ‘Henry the Barbarian’.

Seeing him surrounded by pastel and sparkly fairy dust brought far more joy than she could ever imagine. The utter look of contempt gleamed on the surface of his shifty eyes.

Oh, by God, how much he hated glitter!

“And what would you know about Barbie’s orgasms?” she teased with a crooked eyebrow and a comical suspicious glare.

Readjusting his cap over the messy mane of chocolate curls, Henry offered a terrible wink and shrugged, “a gentleman never tells.”

Her fingers rapped on her thigh while she contemplated whether to allow this naughty joke slide, but then the urge to provoke him was far too great. After briefly chewing on the inside of her cheek, she broke into a wicked grin.

“Is that… like a role play you have with the missus? She’s Barbie, and you’re G.I.Joe? Because I kinda don’t want to hear about it, but then I kinda do.”

Henry’s smile gradually faded along with the playful glee in his eyes, his melancholic gaze dropping to the sparkly table. He slumped into a heavy sigh, “If by missus, you mean ‘Miss Hand’, then no… not really.”

Dumbfounded, she frowned at Henry with confusion when then it struck her; a sense of incredible embarrassment drained the blood from her head to her gut.

“Oh…”

“Yep.” Henry blurted and grabbed the menu, pretending to be incredibly interested in the kids’ meal options.

Just in time to rescue them from a prolonged awkward silence, the waitress arrived with their order, serving Henry a hot cup of double espresso while she received a tall glass of a luscious vanilla milkshake.

“Enjoy your drinks, guys!” the waitress smiled sweetly and kept her eyes glued to Henry as she walked away. But the gloss of the waitress’ flirtatious excitement was lost on him; drenched with greed, Henry’s blue sapphires were fixated on the generous scoops of ice cream and the dark chocolate swirls that decorated his companion’s dessert.

“Henry, my eyes are up here!” she provoked and grabbed the straw between two fingers while throwing an amused glance at his simple cup of coffee. Henry followed her gaze and scoffed before raising the cup to his mouth and blowing to cool his drink.

The way his lips pursed together and his finger stroked the ceramic surface did not escape her observation. A sudden tingle swam down the length of her spine once it resonated in her mind that kind, charming, and beastly Henry was now single. Here they were, long time buddies, but now sitting together felt less comfortable than before. Her limbs felt like pins and needles while staring directly at his eyes was as risky as staring at the sun.

“Cheers,” Henry mumbled and took a sip from his cup.

Almost jolting in her seat, she stiffened and then grabbed her straw.

“Cheers.”

Giggles came from the other side of the diner. Among the retro gumball machines and rounded plastic bar stools, the waitress and a colleague leaned against the counter and stared at Henry, who turned his head for a brief moment and tipped his head.

Their giggles turned even louder.

She frowned.

“So, have you been single for a while?” she heard herself asking with a rather urgent tone. Right away, a look of contrition crept on her face as she regretted her verbal onslaught and lack of sensitivity.

Henry directed his gaze back to her and watched as she slowly sipped from the milkshake and then suckled the cream off her mouth.

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips. “Since May. How about you, weren’t you with…?”

“No, ended, dodged a bullet.” she spat and pumped the straw up and down the thick beverage. “My milkshake brings all the boys… except it doesn't.” she sighed.

Henry frowned and shook his head with confusion. “What? You never told me you make your own milkshake. How come I never had some?”

Her face abruptly froze, her eyes rounded with surprise before she snorted so loudly the waitresses stopped their whispering.

“Umm… Hen?” she called out, trying to hold herself from bursting into chuckles as her friend accidentally asked for a very sexual favour, “you honestly don’t know what ‘milkshake’ is slang for...?”

“Uh…”

“Omg, you’re such a boomer.”

“No, I was born in ‘83! I’m a millennial. But please, indulge me.” he begged and crossed his arms together.

Clearing her throat loudly, she did her best to fight the wicked grin that stretched on her already painful cheeks and wrapped her fist around the straw. “So you know... how… certain male bodily fluids are sometimes white and creamy...? And when you perform a certain motion it’s like you’re shaking it…?”

Henry blinked and became silent. An unbidden rush of blood pooled at his groin as he watched her thumb graze over the tip of the straw and her fist pumping it into the smooth liquid in a slow, gentle motion. Wickedness glazed her eyes, but he tried to dismiss it as nothing but their usual playful banter; yet his adam’s apple bobbed up and down while his shoulder tensed at the oddly arousing sight of her performing a sinful act on a milkshake.

There was an unmistakable stir in his cock and for once, he was thankful for narrow spaces as it hid his predicament.

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around the straw. She went deliberately slow, making him watch while she playfully licked and suckled the tip until finally wrapping her lips around it and taking a generous sip.

Henry gawked utterly smitten, unaware that his jaw was nearly at the floor.

And to make things worse, she moaned—not too loud—but definitely enough to make his shaft harden more.

She wasn’t sure what stirred this whimsical boost of confidence, only that seeing the large, handsome man pale at her provocations made her feel like the most powerful woman on earth. She also gathered she’d regret it forever and a day once they’ll part ways, but it was too late for that now.

Gingerly she pulled back, though not before allowing a single drop of cream to trickle down the corner of her lips.

“Oops,” she smirked casually, wiping the cream with her fingertip and sucking it clean.

“Please stop…”

It was then when she noticed that Henry’s playful mien was all but gone. Far from amused, he glowered with a clenched jaw. “If you’re going to keep doing that, I’ll have to leave,” he stated matter-of-factly.

A rush of panic made her freeze in her spot, the same needles that pricked her skin were now setting jolts of electric bursts. “I’m so sorry, I crossed the line,” she said and covered her mouth with shame, “did I offend you? Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No, no, not at all.” Henry’s voice softened right away, and he reached a hand in the air, as if trying to stop her from leaving. The last thing he wanted now is for her to think he is angry with her. If anything, he wished they could spend more time together, not because of his obvious arousal, but because for the first time in a long while, he was having fun.

Still, she looked at him so utterly distraught.

“Then…?”

Henry scanned the diner as if trying to make sure no one was staring or taking any photo and then shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His eyes altered between his spread thighs and her several times, trying to signal toward his… trouble.

“Oh...” she gaped.

An odd sense of pride began to permeate her chest, battling over the burning embarrassment that flamed up her neck and cheeks. At this point, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, only that it was definitely the most awkward hangout they had to date.

Problem was, she never knew when to shut up.

“Is little Henry hungry?”

Hearing those words, his brows dropped to an irritated sulk. “There is nothing little about it.”

“Ha! Prove it!”

It was as if the entire diner and perhaps the world fell into silence. Had the clatter of the dishes being washed in the back kitchen not rung their ears, she would have thought she grew suddenly deaf.

“I didn’t mean it… sorry, I’ll stop,” she mumbled slowly and pressed her fingers to her mouth while shaking her head at her stupid behaviour. That was it, this was to be the last afternoon she would ever hang out with Henry and right now, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

Henry chewed onto the inside of his cheeks, trying to stop the words that came faster than his thoughts.

“You didn’t?... Because I’ll definitely be up for proving...”

She blinked at his words and tilted her head, hoping that he won’t notice the wild tremors that shook her limbs, “What was that?”

“I... yes? No?...I… fuck!”

Henry lowered his head and slapped his palms across his face, rubbing back and forth with an utter meltdown while mumbling, “Forgive me,” a couple of times. He couldn’t care less of what the waitresses or whoever was watching would think of him; all he cared about was to make her feel comfortable around him again and maybe… even make her like him?

“Henry?”

Soft and warm her voice called to him, slowly pulling him from his anguish like a sailor being rescued from a sunken ship. His blue sapphires shone, an ocean of confusion and anxiety still pooling within while he peered back at her face that was now smiling at him a mixture of comfort and exhilaration.

“Would you like some of my milkshake?”

#henry cavill #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfiction

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

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this is my part of the rockin’ around the christmas tropes collab with @yeojaa, @underthejoon @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna, @untaemedqueen, @xjoonchildx ✨ MERRY (early) CHRISTMAS Y’ALL

summary: yoongi is your favourite regular. he’s patient, polite, and predictable, a-large-black-coffee-to-go-please, no cream, no sugar, thank you. rinse and repeat. the seasons might change, but yoongi’s order stays the same.

and then one fateful day in winter, yoongi asks about the weekly specials, orders a cup of christmas and sugary sweetness, and everything starts changing.

pairing: yoongi x barista f!reader / word count: 14.8k / genre: coffeeshop!au, fluff, dash of smut (NSFW)

warnings: slow burn, terrible drink concoctions, pining, miscommunication (kind of/reader comes to incorrect conclusions based on literally nothing), the tiniest bit of swearing, heated makeouts, oral (m receiving), I think that’s it

a/n: I have a lot of people to thank: thank you to my loveliest most beautiful wife @yeojaa for the beautiful banner ��💖 thank you to @morndas for helping me name this fic and suggesting some of the awful weekly specials featured within 🥰 thank you to @yeoldontknow for letting me have multiple meltdowns at her and for letting me pick her brain about working in the music industry, and for helping me with plot points I wasn’t sure about!! 💕

also thank you to @hobi-gif for helping me brainstorm the original fic idea with her; she hasn’t beta’ed this fic because I am TERRIBLE and literally finished this like an hour before posting. that’s on me and not her. I am a shambles without her indomitable proof reading skills; any mistakes are down to me, and I apologise for that. I’ve only read this through like once, sorry in advance, I’m literally formatting this while I should be getting ready for work

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

Like, okay, you’re on your feet for hours at a time, the pay isn’t exactly the highest in the world, and coffee beans have a tendency to end up in the weirdest places (how did you get the light roast in your bra?)—but it’s not entirely terrible.

Here’s a (totally not comprehensive) list of good things about working at the Paradise coffee shop:

The free drinks (y’know, for taste testing purposes)

The free food (you probably eat more than you’re actually allowed, but who’s telling?)

Your coworkers (like Taehyung, who is—yep—currently shoving a whole mini panettone in his mouth)

Most of the customers are pretty nice, too (you have some lovely regulars)

(If you had to be more specific, there’s one regular in particular that you really, really like—)

(Yoongi appears like clockwork every week. Just after the Tuesday lunch rush, the bell above the door will sing out its greeting as he steps inside, ordering the same drink each and every time he’s here—a large Americano, to go, plain and simple and unadorned, no room for cream or milk, no added sugar or sweetener.)

(Yoongi really is the perfect customer. He has been from the very beginning, a point of quiet in a churning sea of hot, sweaty people all begging for frappés and milkshakes, the hottest point at the very peak of summer. The queue had been growing longer and longer, out of the doors as the blenders whirred their way through a neverending cascade of sugary, iced blends; the counters were a mess and all the baristas were running around and everything was chaos and in had walked this guy, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes, even in the height of summer—you were ready for death at this point, hands sticky with syrup and apron streaked with flecks from almost every drink from the summer menu, and you’d braced yourself for some terse words, impatience and passive aggressive comments on the long wait—)

(—and this intimidating man had just patiently asked for an iced Americano, calm and quiet and polite.)

(You’d fallen a little in love, then and there. Fallen in love with that simple order, quick and easy to make, and fallen a little in love with the dichotomy of the man who looked like nothing but sharp edges being the softest customer you’d had all day. There was nothing rushed about his motions, no desperate need to get his drink and get away, no anger at having waited for so long.)

(He’d been ready to pay, too, no fumbling with his wallet or money; he’d tapped his card, easy and breezy and all lemon squeezy, but he’d left a tip in change, dropped almost thoughtlessly into the jar. He’d collected his cup with the smallest upturn to his lips, a tilt of his head, and then he’d left, other customers parting before him like the Red Sea.)

(The only thing that’s changed over the months is that the iced coffees of summer have changed into hot Americanos for the cooler months, autumn and now almost-winter, warding off the chill in the air. Everything else is the same; his dark eyes and low voice and patient smile, small but ever present, pressed lightly into the surprisingly soft line of his mouth.)

(So, yeah. Yoongi is your favourite customer. Even if you’ve barely spoken, really, the two of you dancing through the same short script each time he comes in—the longest conversation you’ve had so far is the one where you’d tentatively asked if he’d like a rewards card, and after a moment of contemplation, he’d quietly agreed.)

(You like to think that you’re Yoongi’s favourite server, too. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but—)

(Taehyung had been stunned into speechlessness, because, to quote his words exactly: “I tried getting him to sign up for a card last time and I swear he just pretended he couldn’t hear me? He just straight up didn’t respond? What?”)

(—you know Yoongi likes you at least a little bit.)

Anyway. You’re getting off the point. Paradise is a decent place to work, the people are nice, and the building is pretty and airy and welcoming and warm, toasty and cosy in the upcoming cold of winter. It’s one of the things that keeps people coming back, that lovely atmosphere.

Another thing that people apparently love about Paradise is the constantly changing menu. It’s not enough to have seasonal menus, no—you need to have weekly specials, apparently, to keep people interested. It’s like a gachapon, but instead of cute little capsule toys, it’s a random mix of concoctions that are hit or miss.

“Well, I liked the Peachy Keen Jelly Bean,” Taehyung says, around a mouthful of sweet bread, still chewing his way through the panettone.

“You’d be the only one,” you reply, swiping a cloth over the counters and crinkling your nose at the pile of coffee grounds you gather. “Iced peach tea with blackberry and vanilla and cherry and watermelon syrup has got to be one of the worst things we’ve ever served.”

That had definitely been one of the misses. This week’s special, though, is far more palatable, if incredibly sweet—Crystal Snow, a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and a crystallised sugar stick to stir in. Sugar on sugar on sugar, basically. (Your teeth ache just thinking about it.)

But there’s always something so fun about making the winter specials, no matter how sugary they are; the smell of the sticky syrups, the swirl of cream to top off the cup, the dusting of cocoa or cinnamon, everything mulled in the sweet warmth of winter. Even if the drink you’re making is questionable, you get so excited about it, genuinely enthusiastic when you recommend them to customers, carrying everyone into the spirit of the upcoming holidays. You’d hardly describe making coffee a billion times a day fun—it’s pretty exhausting, actually—but you’ve always had a weird affection for the winter menu and the weekly specials alongside it.

You don’t upsell the drinks because you have to. You do it because you want to.

(You’re pretty good at it too. Not a flex: just a fact. Your customer service is on point.)

The only person you’ve never tried to persuade into trying something new is Yoongi. He might not be rude or short tempered, but he clearly knows what he wants, and you hate the idea of ruining the easy flow of his visits. You’re not about to embarrass yourself by asking Mr No-Cream-Or-Sugar if he’d like a drink that's nothing but cream and sugar. Asking about the rewards card had been nerve-wracking enough, even if it had been worth it for the genuinely-unintentional-but-definitely-not-unpleasant brushing of your fingers when you’d handed the card over to him.

(Okay. Look. Yoongi is patient and pleasant and polite and cute. You never thought that you’d crush on a customer, but here you are. He just… oozes masculinity in an understated, self-assured way that has you internally swooning. He looks intimidating and serious but when he smiles his eyes go soft-soft-soft, his voice a low rumble as he gives you his gentle thank you, and everything about him is just so… attractive. Even the way he holds his coffee is hot, fingers loose around the lid as he makes his way out of the café, your eyes tracing every motion as he goes. Like. Come on. Of course you’re crushing on him.)

(Just a little bit, though. Just a little bit. It’s just an itty bitty crush. A teeny weeny crush.)

The bell above the door chimes. Your kneejerk reaction is to snap your head over to see who it is—but you hold it together, instead letting your head turn at a normal, natural pace. It’s just an unfamiliar woman, rearranging the tassels of her long scarf with one hand and holding her phone with the other as the door swings shut, and you deflate.

(... It’s a small crush, you swear. It’s not like this is around the normal time Yoongi appears and you’d thought it was going to be him. Nope. Definitely not that.)

As the woman lingers near the counter, eyes flicking between her phone and the chalkboard menu on the wall above your head, Taehyung finishes licking the panettone crumbs off his fingers.

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

“It’s just past two o’clock,” he continues.

“I know,” you repeat, glancing at him quizzically. “You told me what the time was less than five minutes ago.”

“I did.”

The bell chimes again. This time, a gaggle of giggling girls come bubbling into the café, cutting you off before you can ask what Taehyung is trying to say. You go to flick your cloth at him before thinking better of it, not wanting to rain dark roast everywhere.

“Go wash your hands,” you say, just as the scarfed woman approaches the counter, ready to order. A bright smile splits your face, voice rising into its usual peppy Customer Service tone. “Hi, welcome to Paradise! How can I help you today?”

She barely glances up from her phone as she orders, asking for a latte macchiato and croissant, a distracted ‘no thanks’ when you ask if she’s interested in this week’s special. Oh well. The girls behind her, though, all seem incredibly excited when they catch wind of it; they all eagerly listen as you describe what a Crystal Snow is, your eyes lighting up as you mime piping the cream and dusting the sugar on top, laughing when they ask if they can buy extra sugar sticks to take home, because of course they can, you’d be happy to do that for them, would they like those in to-go bags? Yes, the bags are cute, aren’t they, the snowflakes are lovely, you agree.

Taehyung’s just finished wiping the steam wand when you give him the next order. You see the way his face crumples before his brows lift and his lips purse, pleading as he looks at you with big eyes, and you just roll your own eyes affectionately.

“Yes, yes, I’ll make them even though you’re meant to be on the bar, it’s fine,” you say, and Taehyung’s whole face lights up.

You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough by now to know that it takes him until at least Wednesday to memorise how to make whatever that week’s special is. And there’s not a queue, so you don’t mind taking over, pulling espresso shots and steaming milk and pouring everything together, puffing air in Taehyung’s face when he peers at your cream swirling technique. (No matter how many times you’ve tried to teach him, he’s never been able to get it right, usually just farting a mess of cream out of the nozzle and hoping for the best. Results are… mixed.) Maybe the flourish you put into dusting the sugar on top is unnecessary, but, hey. It’s fun. You smile to yourself as you give a small flick of the wrist over each drink, powdered sugar floating down like snow, and, done.

You don’t like to toot your own horn but the drinks come out Instagram perfect, each latte glass set on a tiny napkin on a saucer, sugar stick on one side, and you take a moment to admire your work.

“They’re so pretty,” Taehyung says, and your smile grows wider.

The girls all agree, cooing over the drinks in a way that only makes your smile grow even more, wide on your face. You watch as they squirrel themselves away in a corner, talking and laughing and nibbling their food and sipping at their drinks, pleased at the way their eyes widen at the first taste.

Yeah, it’s the small things that makes your time here good. Being a barista is a thankless job most of the time, as relaxed as Paradise usually is, so you try to appreciate the small things. Like having fun when you make a drink, for example. Making nice customers happy. (Having cute regulars that you can quietly ogle.)

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

You tear your attention away from the table of girls at the sound of Taehyung’s voice. “My what—?”

There’s someone in front of the glass display, hunched as they slowly and quietly peruse the selection of pastries and food inside—and you realise with a jolt that it’s Yoongi. You have no idea how long he’s been there, so distracted with patting yourself on the back for making a few nice drinks; oh, God, what if Yoongi had seen your pleased expression? Do you look smug? You probably look smug. Great, now he probably thinks that you’re a self-obsessed clown, honking your nose like some sort of narcissist.

“You’re spiralling,” Taehyung points out mildly, voice low enough that Yoongi doesn't hear.

His surprisingly perceptive comment snaps you out of aforementioned spiralling, and after shaking yourself off, you glance over at him. “Why didn’t you serve him?”

He shrugs. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to be served so I just left him to it.”

To be fair to Taehyung, he’s not wrong. Yoongi is staring intently at a slice of carrot cake—even if he’s never ordered any before—and it’s not until you move to your usual spot behind the till that his attention finally rises, meeting your gaze with his deep, dark eyes.

Your inner schoolgirl feels like she needs to sit down. Your entire stomach and chest is a looping mess of frantic butterflies after making eye contact with the cute boy who you’re crushing on, but you’ve got a great poker face; you’ve worked as a barista long enough that you’re good at shoving your real feelings down, none of your internal turmoil playing across your face as you smile. Customer service mode activate.

“Hi, and welcome back to Paradise. What can I get for you today? The usual? Large Americano, to go, for Yoongi?”

You’re a little softer than you would be with other customers, a little more subdued, dialing down how upbeat you normally are to match Yoongi’s level. His lips lift almost imperceptibly, the faintest smile playing across his mouth, and it takes all your strength for your knees to not immediately buckle.

“Hi,” he says. His voice is soft and low, faintest drawl at the end of his words, and yep, just your weekly reminder that you’re enamoured with him. Cool. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

He already has his card ready, you know he does. He always does; card to pay, loyalty card to swipe, tip to drop in the jar, quick and smooth and easy. This is normally where you’d rattle off the price—as if he doesn’t already know what it is—but you pause, thinking about how intent he’d been on the pastry display, as uncharacteristic as that is.

“Did you… want something to eat, too? I couldn’t, um, help noticing that you were eyeing up the carrot cake?”

Yoongi blinks, wispy lashes fluttering. You can see the muted surprise that flashes across his face, and you wonder if you’ve misstepped, thrown off the usual rhythm of his visit. It’s an unusual step away from your regular script, an ad-lib that he wasn’t expecting.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he says. “Maybe… next time.”

He’s polite as ever, thankfully. You’re not surprised at his answer but you do have to wonder why he was looking at the cake so closely if he hadn’t planned on getting anything; you know he likes getting served by you the most, if the evidence over the months means anything at all, but you don’t think he’d stare at cake just so he would avoid Taehyung. You’re making assumptions based on the fact he just drinks black coffee and literally nothing else, but you’ve guessed he doesn’t have a sweet tooth. (The only time he’s ever ordered food had been two months prior when he’d asked for a single croissant, and nothing since. Taehyung still talks about the croissant sometimes.)

Well, it doesn't really matter. If he doesn't want cake, you're not going to force it on him, and the rest of the transaction goes as normal. Yoongi hands over his rewards card, fingers long and knuckles knobbly and altogether lovely, pays for his Americano—made by Taehyung, cup wrapped in the sleeve that you’ve written Yoongi’s name on, black sharpie bleeding into the cardboard—and smiles at you both when Taehyung hands it to him across the smooth wood of the counter.

“Thanks.” He gives you that slight tilt of his head that he always does, and you smile helplessly back.

He’s a gentleman, through and through, even if he looks as distant as ever; dressed in all black, his ripped jeans the only splash of lightness in his dark outfit. Maybe you’re biased, but no matter what he wears, he looks stylish, somehow. It’s something in his aura. All cool understated elegance and power.

And here you are, in your cream jumper under the dark mulberry apron of your uniform, a flower blooming next to the name on your badge. All chirpy customer service, smiling broad and wide as you go through the same motions over and over with each new person that comes in. Sometimes you wonder what Yoongi thinks of you, as different as you are to him, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter—because he keeps coming back, doesn’t he?

“Have a nice day,” you say as he turns to go, and when he glances over his shoulder and says you too, smile soft and eyes softer, you know he really means it.

(And if your eyes always trail after him once his back has turned, who’s telling?)

“You’re staring.” Taehyung’s telling, apparently.

You tear your eyes away from Yoongi, bell tinkling as the door swings shut behind him. “He’s my favourite customer,” you say. As if that explains why you were staring.

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

“He’s my favourite customer,” you say again, emphatically. “He comes in, he gets the world’s simplest drink to make, is always polite, always leaves a tip, and he goes. Literally the perfect customer.”

“Alright, true,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered that before now. “Cute, too.”

You sigh. A little wistful. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, he is.”

Taehyung opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else when someone spills their drink on their floor with an unholy clattering sound, even if nothing breaks; without saying anything, both you and Taehyung raise your hands, eyes narrowing at each other.

"Rock, paper, scissors," you chant. Taehyung promptly loses, and the pout that forms on his lips doesn't disappear until he's finished mopping everything up.

(“Why do I always end up having to clean spillages?”

“Because you never win rock-paper-scissors. You always choose scissors, Taehyung. You literally always choose scissors.”)

The tradition of the weekly specials at Paradise is a weird one, truth be told. Each Monday whoever’s on the opening shift will enter the coffee shop and find that the board on the wall has been updated, the recipe typed up and laminated, waiting on the counter for the baristas. You all assume it’s the mysterious owner, who no one has ever seen, and no one even knows the name of, apparently.

“Someone has to know their name,” you’d said, once, back when you’d first started, only to receive a shrugs from everyone.

“I heard one of the old baristas say the owner’s name was Jackson,” Taehyung had said, and you’d just blinked at him.

“Huh?” you’d said, but Jimin had rolled his eyes and told you to ignore him, so you had.

This week’s drink is the Marshmallow World. As always, when you and Taehyung start your shift together, you read the recipe and follow it step by step to learn how to make it. Warmed milk, vanilla syrup, topped off with marshmallow fluff instead of whipped cream—not bad in theory, if you like sweet things, although it does pose one significant problem.

“It’s clogged my hole,” Taehyung says sadly.

You sputter on your own drink, desperately hacking your lungs out as you try to stop milk from going down your windpipe. “I’m-sorry-it’s-what,” you wheeze all at once, struggling for air.

Taehyung tilts his takeaway cup at you, gesturing at the lid. (All the mugs are still out back or on a rinse cycle so laziness had forced you to make do.) “My drink hole. It’s blocked,” he explains. “The fluff is getting in the way.”

So, yeah. It clogs people’s holes, apparently. But other than that, you have to admit it’s pretty nice, and if you drink it in the café (and thus out of a mug) then you’re fine. You just get into the habit of warning the customers if they order it to go and laugh about it with them and it’s all fine and dandy and everyone is happy.

It’s starting to get busier, now. The nights are getting longer and the days are getting colder and everyone’s starting to think about Christmas, which feels both close and far away, all at once. Close, because you still have presents to buy and there’s never enough time for it; and far, because the lights have yet to go up and Christmas songs aren’t dominating the radio yet and you have yet to experience the real winter rush. Students home for the holidays and families out to see Father Christmas and workers grabbing Secret Santa gifts, everyone desperate for something warm and soothing, hot and comforting in the face of the snow which has yet to fall.

But there’s something in the air, that cool hush that lets you know it’s nearly here—the changing of the seasons, the burnt sunset colours of autumn melting into the iced blues and greys of winter. No matter if you prefer hot or cold weather, there’s something about the beauty of wintertime that’s undeniable.

And it’s a lot easier to sell something like the Marshmallow World on a day like this, the nip in the air almost solid, biting cold into the apples of your cheeks, nibbling at fingers that are so cold they feel frost-bitten. Once again, your genuine enthusiasm shines through, persuading people to give the drink a go, happy to add a shot of espresso for whoever needs it, desperate for caffeine to buoy them up through the day.

You’ve just finished laughing with a lovely old couple, wearing matching scarves and hats—awwww—waving them goodbye as they go to sit down, when you come face to face with Yoongi, blindsided by his sudden appearance. You’d been so caught up, once again, too busy giggling your way through the conversation with your other customers, able to persuade them to try one special to share alongside everything else they’ve ordered.

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” you say. Your hand is still by your face after you’d given the couple a cute wave, and when you realise, you freeze. Flustered. Behind you, Taehyung is struggling to spoon the marshmallow fluff neatly on the vanilla steamer, making small noises of distress, but you’re too caught up in your own distress to really notice.

Once again, you have no idea how long Yoongi’s been there. You’re slipping. You’re normally aware of him as soon as he steps into the coffee shop. (You know, because you’re always aware of when a new customer steps in. Like any good barista would be.) Had he witnessed you enthusiastically waving your hands and talking about marshmallows and s'mores? Seen the way you'd grinned and laughed as you'd gotten excited over the weekly special, yet again?

Well, if he had, he doesn't seem perturbed at all. His usual smile is on his face, though you would swear it seems a little softer around the edges, almost fond.

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

There’s no addition of his usual that would be great, and that’s when you realise you haven’t asked about his coffee. In fact, your fingers are still curled near your chin, almost like a claw. You clear your throat and let your arm fall to your side, fiddling with the tie of your apron.

“Hi,” you repeat. Flounder for a second. Try to remember your usual line. “Large Americano?”

“Y/n.” Taehyung whines your name from the bar, loud enough that it catches your attention. “The marshmallow isn’t staying. Why do you keep recommending Marshmallow World? Why must I suffer through this torture? Every day I wake up and I make coffee—”

“Sorry, sir, one second,” you say, face scrunching in apology at Yoongi.

“It's just Yoongi,” he replies, gentle, and your heart thuds in your chest. "You don't have to call me sir."

Your face feels warm. "Um, okay, Yoongi." You've said his name before, of course, said it dozens of times to confirm his order, but never like this—by invitation from the man himself, an acknowledgement of familiarity.

Taehyung makes another noise. Yoongi's expression turns into one of faint amusement, eyes drifting over your shoulder to your friend; when you turn around, you can see why.

The other barista’s managed to get marshmallow fluff all over the edge of the glass, on the handle of the cup, all the way up the spoon, on his fingers—everywhere except on the drink itself. It’s funny, in a sad sort of way.

“Wow.” You have no idea how he managed it, but you’re here to help. “Alright, go wash your hands, Tae. I’ve got this.”

The cup is a goner. There’s no way you’ll be able to wipe off the sticky marshmallow. You’re acutely aware of Yoongi at the counter, able to watch your every move, but then you get distracted as you salvage Taehyung's attempt at a Marshmallow World. You just feel grateful that it’s a steamer so you can pour it into a new glass, not having to worry about layers of coffee and milk and foam; it’s a pretty easy fix. Good. (You don’t want to keep Yoongi waiting, as patient as he may be.)

It doesn’t take long to spoon the marshmallow on, whipped peaks in the sticky white, and by the time Taehyung returns you’re ready to present him with the picture perfect drink, not a single lick of fluff anywhere it shouldn’t be. You've got your hands on your hips as you survey your work proudly, and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you.

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

“You’re welcome,” you say. “Alright, shoo, go take this over to the table before they start wondering where it is.”

When you turn back, Yoongi’s watching you. Contemplative. You tamp down the flush that threatens to spill onto your cheeks, face burning, but before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Was that the weekly special?”

You blink. Blindsided. Yoongi’s never asked about the special before, never commented on the A-frame outside, the sign on the wall that sits next to the regular menu. No surprise there—why would someone who only drinks Americanos want to drink ninety-nine percent of the weekly specials you offer? “Um, yeah,” you say. “We’ve got the Marshmallow World this week.”

“Would you recommend it?”

You can’t help it. You light up. You love when customers ask for recommendations, and the fact that it’s Yoongi—whose blood must be made of coffee at this point—who’s asking about it? Americano Yoongi, asking about something without caffeine? Black coffee Yoongi, asking about a weekly special that’s nothing but sugar and sweetness? Something inside you switches on, a Christmas tree, all flashing lights and shimmering tinsel and excitement.

“Oh, if you like sweeter drinks, absolutely! It’s great for a cold day like today,” you gush. Maybe you should reel it in, far more exuberant than you usually are with Yoongi, but. You can’t stop. “It’s warm milk and vanilla, so it’s a lovely comfort drink, and we can add a shot of espresso too if you were wanting a little pick-me-up. And then you’ve got marshmallow fluff on top for some extra self-indulgence. We were meant to, uh, toast the top, actually, but we don’t have the necessary health and safety clearance for blowtorches. I guess you could do that at home if you really wanted to. Everyone likes toasted marshmallows, right?”

Yoongi hums, and you wonder if you’ve maybe gotten ahead of yourself. Oversold it. Maybe he was asking out of curiosity. Just because he’s asking about it doesn’t mean that he wants one—

“Can I get a Marshmallow World, please? Large, to go?”

—or maybe Yoongi is an official convert to the world of sweet drinks, changing after a lifetime of drinking unadorned, unadulterated black coffee. Holy shit. Holy shit? Holy—

“And a large Americano to go, too, please.”

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

Yoongi of-the-black-coffee is ordering his usual drink, and another. Both large. Too much for one person to reasonably drink before one of them got cold. He’s not ordering for one person; he’s ordering for two people. Of course Yoongi wouldn’t order something as heart-stopping as the Marshmallow World—not for himself, anyway.

Mental maths. Two plus two is four, four plus four is eight; one large Americano and one Marshmallow World is two people. Yoongi and one other person is two people, a couple of people, a couple—

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? It’s sort of like that, but rather than remembering your life, you immediately recall every moment over the months where you’ve looked at him or thought about him with even the smallest iota of longing and you want to crawl under the counter and never come out.

You feel weirdly guilty. Like… like you’re some sort of unintentional homewrecker. Even though, you know, you thought Yoongi was single and you haven’t made a single move on him and nor had you had any plans to. The guilt bubbles up inside you anyway.

All at once, you feel immensely, incredibly embarrassed. Of course he’s taken. There’s no way he wouldn’t be, as attractive and nice as he is, and you’ve just been sat here crushing on him like a big dumb idiot.

You are the worst.)

You manage to squeeze this internal breakdown into the span of a few seconds. You’re grateful that you have your customer service face locked on, giving nothing away—from the outside the smile looks just like that, a smile, rather than the rictus of deathly mortification it actually is, burning through you like a wildfire.

Yoongi seems none the wiser, just patiently waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his order. Most of your brain power is still taken up with the mish-mash of humiliation and guilt that’s roiling through you. Luckily, though, the part of your brain that’s still in the moment (trying to drag you back to the real world, shame-faced as you are) forces you to move before things get weird.

“One large Americano, one large Marshmallow World, both to go.” You tap the drinks into the till on auto-pilot, dimly noting that Taehyung’s been pulled into conversation with the old couple at their table, having delivered their drinks and food to them. It’s just you behind the counter, no one else to man the coffee machines. “Let me get those started for you.”

Luckily, making the drinks means you can turn your back to Yoongi, oscillating through the five stages of grief as you fiddle with hot milk and coffee grounds and paper cups. You always take pride in your work—especially when it comes to Yoongi—and you take even more pride now, determined to make these drinks as lovely as they can be. His Americano is fairly simple, but the Marshmallow World requires a bit more finesse, and you lavish attention on the fluff, swirling it beautifully, even though you know it’ll stick to the lid anyway.

(Okay, listen. Whoever this person Yoongi is seeing must be as nice as he is. They both deserve nice drinks.)

There’s something sweet about it, actually. Before the lids go on, you spent a second staring down at the drinks and the juxtaposition between them; black coffee and white marshmallow, bitter and sweet, night and day. It’s lovely, really, these two opposing things coming together. You wonder what Yoongi’s partner is like. Exuberant and bright, rather than his subdued warmth? A balance, yin and yang, opposite but complementary.

(Isn’t that a nice thing to think about? Finding someone who’s different to you but matches you so well?)

You firmly press the lids into place, making sure they’re secure. The protective cardboard sleeve of Yoongi’s Americano has his name—the name you’ve memorised, written out countless times—while the Marshmallow World has a scrawled happy face, and an enjoy! on it, for this mysterious person who likes sweet drinks. You do sincerely hope they enjoy it. You really do.

“The fluff blocks the hole,” you warn, sliding the cardboard tray for both drinks carefully across the counter. “It’s probably a better idea to just take the lid off.”

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, too fast for you to identify. But then he nods, lifting the tray up with equally careful hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

He’s always polite to everyone, Taehyung and the other baristas, but he seems to smile at you the most. He’s smiling at you now, curling at the corners of his lips, and you smile back, fighting through ten layers of embarrassment and self-inflicted shame to do so. Just because he smiles at you the most doesn’t mean anything. You can smile at people and not have it be weird; it doesn’t mean you return their ill-fated attraction.

Why, oh why, oh why.

By the time Taehyung returns to the counter, having escaped the chatty, kind clutches of the elderly couple, Yoongi is long gone. Your fellow barista finds you crouched down in front one of the cupboards with your head in your hands.

“Y/n?” He sounds incredibly concerned. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Are you sick?”

You let out a quiet noise, a mix between a whale dying and a hippo trying to swallow porridge, muffled into your palms. “I’m such a doughnut,” you say. “Just an absolute doughnut.”

Taehyung crouches beside you. “A glazed doughnut or a jam doughnut?”

Your hands drop away from your face as you think. “Plain,” you say, eventually. “Unglazed. No toppings or fillings.” A little sad and disappointing. It seems fitting.

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder, warm and comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You feel embarrassed all over again, thinking about admitting your (now-squashed) crush to your friend. It was stupid in the first place, crushing on a customer, especially as you’d barely spoken to him; Yoongi might be cute, and nice, but your crush was silly and dumb and you’d been silly and dumb not to think that he was already in a relationship.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just going through it. And by ‘it’ I mean life generally, you know?”

Taehyung makes a noise of understanding, patting your shoulder. “Big mood,” he says sombrely. He always knows what to say, empathetic to a fault.

“Uh,” a customer says, craning over the counter to see the two of you. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I get a refill on my coffee, please?”

That effectively kills the conversation, which is good. Keep yourself busy and distracted. By the time you see Yoongi next week, this crush will be dead and gone and you’ll be fine. Just fine. Absolutely fine.

He’s dyed his hair.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the café is full of people, and Yoongi has dyed his hair.

You’d spent all of last Tuesday alternating between all-consuming guilt and embarrassment, Taehyung catching you with your head in your hands in one moment and furiously cleaning the steam wand the next, channeling your tumult of emotions into anything that will distract you.

It had worked. Mostly. You’ve had a week’s worth of time since, to get over this month’s long crush, your brain consistently reminding you that Yoongi is in a relationship, with someone who’s probably lovely and attractive and all around just wonderful (just like him). You remind yourself about this every time you find coffee grounds under your nails, or notice milk flecked on your apron, soured and off-white after a day of work; your life isn’t a meet-cute, and you’re not the cute barista who falls in love with the cute regular. You’re the tired barista who makes more cups of coffee in a day than most people probably drink in a year, and Yoongi is the cute regular who’s already in a long term relationship and comes to Paradise just because he likes the dark roast you use. That’s as far as it will go, because this is real life, and not a romance film or novel. (Even if you wished that it was.)

You’ve come to terms with it. Really, you have. But then he has to step into the coffee shop looking like that, his hair bleached so blond it almost looks white, silver hoops in his ears, and he’s still dressed in dark clothes but he’s wearing glasses, no, this isn’t a drill, Yoongi’s dyed his hair, he’s all light and dark, soft and sharp, and you want to crouch behind the counter again. Because he looks so good and of course he’s in a relationship because he’s hot, and you feel dumb for not having realised it sooner.

You can’t hide behind the counter, though. There’s a queue of people, all waiting for your attention and your time, and it’s still just you and Taehyung; none of your usual Christmas temps are back yet, still away at uni, hence the we’re hiring! posters that are up for all the customers to see (and mostly ignore). The seasons are changing and the weeks are passing and the really eager people are starting to think about Christmas shopping; you swear you don’t even need a calendar, able to trace how close you are to Christmas just based on the amount of foot traffic the coffee shop gets. You’re definitely hitting peak.

But it’s fine. You have this down to a fine art. You and Taehyung are both good on the till and scarily efficient at making drinks and plating food, dancing past each other with an ease that only comes with time spent working together and friendship alongside.

People aren’t ordering the weekly special as much, either, not today. You can’t blame them. Candy Cane Dreams is a white hot chocolate, flavoured with mint and coloured green, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles of candy cane bark and red and green drizzle too; it’s… pretty overwhelming. So it means you don’t have to take over for Taehyung from the bar, focusing on smiling at customers and soothing them after their wait, taking their orders and shuffling them along as quickly as you can. You keep a smile plastered on your face as Taehyung pulls espresso shots and grabs tea bags and heats milk, routine and familiar.

When Yoongi steps up to the counter, you’ve barely had time to mentally prepare yourself, so focused on serving everyone else in the queue; it feels like a slap to the face, a kick to the knees, but then you take one deep breath and exhale. Long, deep, slow, forcing air out of your lungs and thoughts out of your mind, and you smile.

You’ve been so careful up until this point, wanting to keep Yoongi happy, wary of misstepping—but he’s just a regular customer. You feel more confident, now, less worried about breaking this tenuous thing you thought you’d had; less worried about what you’re doing being construed as some weird, roundabout way of flirting, because. You know. He’s in a relationship, so it doesn’t matter either way. He’s definitely not interested. You can talk to him like you would anyone else.

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

And, just like you suspected, Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered that you’ve broken your usual script. “Oh, yeah.” He reaches up, touches his head, as if he’d forgotten. “I did.”

“It looks nice,” you continue, because it does.

He’s smiling back at you. He looks pleased; maybe a little bashful, even, as surprising as that is. “Thanks,” he says, warm and genuine. (The tiny gremlin of a crush that’s still lurking in your soul lets out a wistful sigh.) “Can I get a large Americano and a—” he squints at the board— “large Candy Cane Dream, please?”

(One plus one is two, Yoongi and his other half, the sugar to his coffee.)

“Sure!” Your voice is bright. “I’m guessing the Marshmallow World went over well?”

There’s a brief beat of silence, but you don’t notice, too focused on typing Yoongi’s order into the till.

“Yeah, it was great,” he says after that moment of quiet, and you smile. Good. You’re glad they enjoyed it.

“I’m really happy to hear that,” you say, genuine and bright.

“What’s actually in the, ah, Candy Cane Dreams?” Yoongi asks, and you laugh, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“It’s horrendous,” you say in a low voice, as if you’re sharing a secret. “Have you ever seen green hot chocolate before?”

You’ve never spoken to Yoongi like this, easy and light, and it’s… nice. He gives no indication of surprise at your sudden friendliness after months of barely talking. If anything he looks pleased, and at one point he even gives you a smile you’ve never seen before, wide and wonderful, flashing his teeth and gums. (The crush gremlin rattles at your ribcage like prison bars, trying desperately to escape, but you don’t give it a chance.)

“Alright, let me just swap with the other barista, he’s still not gotten the Candy Cane Dreams recipe down.”

You hear a suspicious crunch as you make your way over to Taehyung. He turns to you with a guilty smile, edged with sugar, munching on shards of candy cane while his back is to the customers.

“You’re terrible,” you say affectionately. “Go take over on the till, I have a special to make.”

Taehyung glances over, sees Yoongi making his way down to the collection point. “Huh. Alright.”

The Candy Cane Dreams recipe might be a questionable one, but it’s definitely fun to make (watching the white hot chocolate turn green makes you feel like a kid all over again, mixing shampoos together in your bathroom and calling them potions), and maybe you’re overly generous with the candy cane bark, giving Yoongi’s beau more to nibble on and enjoy. It’s not Christmas yet but you’re already in a giving mood, so sue you.

“Here you go.” You slide the drinks towards him, the man busy reading one of the vacancy fliers, eyes flicking away from the poster when you appear. Your lips quirk up. “Looking for a job?”

You’re expecting a huff of a laugh, a small shake of the head, but he answers you seriously. “Not me, but I have a friend who is,” he says, reaching to take the tray.

You realise your hands are still curled around the cardboard; you quickly pull away so that there’s no chance your hands will brush. (You might have shoved your crush down as far as it will go, but you have to be careful with your weak, gooey heart.)

“We could do with any help, honestly. Your friend is more than welcome to apply.” You glance over at the queue, which is small but ever present, and you know it’ll only get worse as time goes on. “And, hey, if you ever decide for a change of pace from whatever it is you do, we’d be glad to have you, too.”

This gets a laugh from him, a warm burst of sound. (The gremlin points out that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh, really laugh, a little raspy and a little quiet and altogether lovely; you beat the gremlin back with a stick.) “I’m better at drinking coffee than I am at making it,” Yoongi says, eyes soft with lingering amusement. “I’ll leave that to the experts.”

You might have gone off script, but the nod he gives you is his usual one, that familiar tilt of the head. “See you next week?” His eyes are dark, dark and deep, and it’s so hard not to fall into them, to fall all over again.

“See you next week,” you echo, hoping the smile you plaster on your face doesn’t look as forced as it feels, as you struggle once more. Yoongi is just nice, okay? He's just being nice, but still. He needs to let a girl breathe.

(He needs to let the gremlin of her crush wither away, instead of making it threaten to come back as strong as before, fuelled by his smile and his eyes and his everything.)

(... maybe you’re not as over this crush as you thought you were.)

It seems like the we’re hiring! posters actually worked.

“I’m Jungkook,” says the new starter, all crooked smiles and warm eyes and thighs so thick they threaten to split the trousers of the café’s uniform, ties of his apron emphasising his small waist.

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

It’s the last week of November and even though Jungkook is still learning the ropes, he’s a massive help, and you know he’ll be a lifesaver over Christmas. He’s eager, learns quickly, and gets stuck right in, material of his shirt straining across his shoulder blades when he rips a bag of coffee beans open with his bare hands, rather than having to use scissors like you or Taehyung.

Taehyung watches with stars in his eyes as Jungkook pours the beans into the grinder. You cover your smile by sipping at one of the espresso shots Jungkook has pulled—full-bodied and dark, rich in your mouth.

“This is really good, Jungkook,” you say. He looks over, eyes squeezing into a smile.

“Thought it would be,” he says, and you can’t help but huff a laugh into the tiny espresso cup. He’s cocky and competitive, telling you that he’d never made coffee before but he was going to do a better job than any of the other baristas here. He’s too endearing to come across as arrogant, though, and you have to admit that the coffee is good. (Not as good as yours or Taehyung’s, of course, but still. Pretty good.)

Taehyung coos at him and reaches out to shamelessly squeeze his bicep. “Jungkookie is a natural barista.”

Jungkook’s cocky smile turns equal parts pleased and flustered. You continue to sip at the espresso as Taehyung moons over him, then the bell above the door rings, and the mooning temporarily is put on hold. (Temporarily, because Taehyung continues to moon over him for the rest of the shift, insisting on doing the bulk of his training, which is fine by you.)

It’s the 1st of December tomorrow, so not only do you have to clean after the café is locked up, you have to put out all the Christmas decorations, too. But it’s more fun that it is work, the three of you dragging the tree out of the storage room and decorating it with a menagerie of tinsel and baubles; Jungkook lifts Taehyung so he can get the star on the tree, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist and hoisting him up effortlessly, leaving your friend with a pleased smile on his face.

Jungkook is new, only on his second shift, but he’s slotted in so easily. He laughs at Taehyung when he wiggles his butt along to the Christmas songs you've put on to play, and he helps steady the stepladder as you string garlands of snowflakes on the ceiling, even if he doesn’t really need to.

He absently readjusts the reindeer headband Taehyung had unearthed from the storage room and proudly placed on his head. “Yoongi-hyung talks a lot about this place,” Jungkook comments, offhand.

If you’d heard this a few weeks ago, you probably would have fallen off the stepladder, inner gremlin grabbing your heart with both hands and squeezing tight-tight-tight. As it is you only pause for a moment, one of the larger snowflakes cradled in your palm, before you go back to your job of hanging them up.

“So you’re the friend he mentioned that needed a job,” you say.

“That’s me.” Jungkook grins, boyish and bright, and you laugh. “He really, really likes this café. Wouldn’t shut up about it, even before he told me that you were hiring.”

You can’t imagine Yoongi gushing about a café to his friends, but then again, he clearly is passionate about his coffee. Jungkook will know him better than you, having a real friendship rather than this patron-and-customer back-and-forth that you’ve had, so who are you to imagine what’s normal for Yoongi and what isn’t? You didn’t even know he was in a relationship, after all. You don’t know anything about the guy, really.

“Well, we appreciate his custom,” you say. “I know Yoongi is the one who actually comes in, but you can thank his other half, too, and I hope they enjoy their drinks as well.”

You’re too busy hanging the garland to see the way Jungkook’s face twists.

“Huh?”

“You know. Yoongi always comes in for his Americano and the weekly special for his partner,” you say.

You’re focused on stepping down the ladder without falling to see the expression on Jungkook’s face, nose scrunched and lips pursed, like there’s something he’s smelled that he really doesn’t like.

“Did he say that to you? That it was for someone else?”

“Hm?” You pause in grabbing another string of snowflakes, glancing up. “Oh, no, I just worked it out, you know? Yoongi is a religious coffee drinker, why else would he order something that’s basically hot sugar water? I think it’s cute,” you add, belatedly. “That he always comes in to grab something for them, too.”

(You wish you had someone to do that for you.)

There’s a beat of silence. Jungkook’s holding the stepladder, ready to move it, staring at you in a way that’s weirdly intense. “I see,” he says, like that isn’t weird or mysterious at all.

Then he drags the stepladder’s rubber feet across the floor with such a loud noise that Taehyung startles, bauble falling out of his hand and shattering. Jungkook, of course, profusely apologises and insists on cleaning it up—but not before making sure Taehyung is okay, of course, grabbing his hands and looking over them, as if the bauble had broken in his palms and not the floor.

Taehyung looks immensely pleased. You just smile quietly to yourself, roll your eyes lightly, and go back to hanging snowflakes as Jungkook speaks to Taehyung, soft and low.

You think your favourite thing about training a new starter is witnessing their reaction to the weekly special.

“So,” Jungkook says, slowly. “You put in the whole gingerbread man—gumdrops and icing and all—and just blend it?

“Yep.” Taehyung’s reply is cheery. “Straight in and whizz it all up.”

This week, it’s You Can’t Catch Me, I’m the Gingerbread Frappé which is a) probably the longest name known to mankind and b) probably the most questionable name known to mankind and c) who orders a frappé in December?

These thoughts are clearly playing across Jungkook’s face as Taehyung coaxes him to drop the gingerbread man into the blender, and you’re too busy enjoying the consternation on Jungkook’s face to notice someone stepping up to the counter—until they clear their throat, that is, and you all turn.

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

It’s chaos. Frappé ends up everywhere, splattered over the counter and the floor, splashed across the wine-red aprons of both of your fellow baristas, as close to the blender as they were—saving you from any of the sugary fallout, unwitting human shields.

There’s a beat of silence, where you all stare at each other—

And then Yoongi laughs.

You’ve never seen Yoongi laugh this loudly, eyes squeezed so hard you wonder if he can even see, almost cackling as he laughs at Jungkook’s expression, joyful and loud and free. It’s another dimension to him, another new part you witness as Jungkook wipes gingerbread and ice off his face and Taehyung stares at the mess spattered across his hands and arms.

It makes you think of a paper crane. Yoongi is this unfinished thing in your mind, each new thing you learn about him another fold that you add, a flat sheet of paper turned into something entirely and wholly new. You wish that it weren’t so alluring, watching it come together, finding out more and more about this man you’ve technically known for months, but only recently started to get to know.

(You wish that it wasn’t so easy to keep falling for him.)

Once the counter is cleaned, both Jungkook and Taehyung retreat to replace their aprons, leaving you—once again—alone with Yoongi. He’d stopped laughing to tease Jungkook, to gently rib him, but you can see the smile that’s etched on his face, the echoes of mirth written across all his features.

“We usually train the baristas to keep the lid on, I swear,” you say, and Yoongi’s face splits into another smile.

“I was going to say that it’s an unorthodox blending technique,” and you can’t help but smile back at this, even if you’ve been trying not to laugh. Professionalism barely wins out, your lips trembling as you try to hold your giggling back, but Yoongi spots it anyway, looking pleased, like he’s accomplished something by getting you to (nearly) laugh.

You’re not laughing when you have to make one of the special frappés, though. You stare at the gingerbread man as you hold him above the blender, at his cheery iced face and his cute little buttons (not the gumdrop buttons), and brace yourself to drop him.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and let him go, before quickly slamming the lid on top and turning the blender on so you don’t have to look at the betrayal you’ve just committed.

When you turn, Yoongi has an expression of sympathy on his face; for you or the gingerbread man, you can’t tell, but his face smooths the second he notices you looking at him, blinking innocently, as if there’s nothing unusual going on. It’s disarming, seeing that expression on his face, when you’d gotten used to seeing him act more reserved, but it’s cute.

(It is cute, whether you’re crushing on him or not. It’s just a statement of fact, okay? It’s nothing more than that. Even if that tiny gremlin of a crush still lives in your chest, scuffing its feet against your heart, reminding you of its presence when you least need it.)

(It digs its heels in when you put the frappé and Americano side by side, nestled snug in their cardboard tray. You slide it towards Yoongi and you’re a little too slow, fingers brushing his when he reaches for them; you’re surprised by how quickly he moves, how eager he seems to be reaching for his order, fingertips dragging across the back of your knuckles, and the gremlin kicks your heart, pulse rising just at that glancing touch. Even if you know it’s fruitless, useless, you can’t help but like Yoongi anyway.)

(“See you next week,” he says, and you can’t do anything but smile helplessly back.)

You normally love snow. You love waking up to the sight of it, pure and pristine white, adding another dimension to your familiar world—you love snowball fights and snowmen and snow angels, even if it all leaves you feeling cold, chilled right to the bone, nose running and hands freezing. The best part about winter is getting warm again, the season of throw blankets and hot water bottles, knitwear and scarves, tea and hot cocoa, all cosy and lovely and wonderful.

It’s a bit different when you have to work all day, though. You watch as the snow on the streets outside is threatened by the spray of salt and a thousand spinning car wheels and busy feet, ice turned to slush water; for now the snow is winning, though, and judging from the weather forecast, you think that’ll be the case for the rest of the day. You hope it lasts through to tomorrow, too; by the time you get home you’ll be too tired and it’ll be too dark to play in the snow, and it leaves you feeling disappointed and sad.

(Winter is lovely but it can be a hollow season, too, something about the leafless trees and fogged windows making everything feel like an empty dream.)

At least Paradise is warm, even if you’re cooped up inside, safe from the still-falling snow that keeps trying to turn the world into an untouched, frozen wonderland. It’s quiet in the coffee shop today. Only the bravest of people have ventured out into the not-a-blizzard-but-basically-a-blizzard, plastered against radiators and putting drinks to their faces, letting hot steam heat their cold cheeks.

It’s why you’re both surprised and unsurprised when Yoongi appears, bell chiming above his head as the door swings shut and he stamps his feet on the front mat, knocking snow off his boots. He somehow looks disgruntled and soft all at the same time, a royal blue beanie on his head forcing his fringe down to sit messily over his eyes, bundled up warm even if his face is scrunched up and his cheeks are red from the cold.

“I hate cold weather,” he tells you once he reaches the counter, gloves peeled off his fingers so he can reach for his wallet, his nose tinged pink as he sniffs.

You proffer him a box of tissues. “You look like you need it,” you say gently, and he smiles at you, a warm hearth in the cold winter.

“Thank you.” His voice is equally as gentle as yours, and something aches in your chest.

It’s just you behind the counter right now, so you take Yoongi’s order and make the drinks too—one large Americano and one large Latteggnog (a basic latte made with eggnog instead of milk, rich and thick and creamy), this week’s special: everyone’s favourite Christmas drink, but with a twist of coffee.

The quiet gives you time to think. Jungkook and Taehyung are out back, the older barista coming up with the most ridiculous excuses to take them away from the counter; you don’t mind that they’re taking the time ‘counting the coffee beans’, as deserted as the café is.

The café is practically empty and Yoongi hates the cold but here he is, venturing into the ice and snow to get this person he cares about the drink they want, because they’re that special to him. (You hope they realise how lucky they are.)

You’re normally okay being single. Don’t really think about it. But there’s something about today, this moment, that has you reflecting; Taehyung has this budding thing with Jungkook, Yoongi has this steady thing with his love, and here you are, by yourself, alone. It’s hard to summon up your usual energy, going through the motions as you make the drinks. You tilt your head forward, dusting nutmeg on the eggnog latte, watching the way the sprinkle of spice settles delicately and softly in the foam. No flourish, no flick of the wrist, not today.

(There’s two cups in front of you now, but later, when you’re home, there’s just going to be one. Yours. Yours, and no one else’s.)

(When you get home, you’re going to do what any self-respecting single person would do: order too much takeaway, rewatch The Good Place, get emotional over Eleanor and Chidi’s relationship—they’re so different but they’re so perfect for each other, why can’t you have that?—mope for a bit, rewatch The Princess Bride, get emotional over Westley and Buttercup—where’s your cute farmboy who saves you from an evil prince?—mope a bit more, before finally climbing into bed and hugging a pillow to your chest in the space of having someone else there. You know. Perfectly normal single person things.)

When you turn to Yoongi, drinks ready and raring to go, you’ve forced a Customer Service Smile onto your face. They say that just the act of smiling makes you happier, right? Maybe if you smile hard enough, you’ll cheer up, chasing away this sudden sadness that lingers in the back of your throat, scratching at your lungs like black ice.

“Here you go!” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet hush of the café, but you roll with it anyway. “Enjoy your drinks!”

Yoongi takes them from you, hands carefully cupped around the tray, but his eyes don’t leave your face. He doesn’t return your smile, as convincing as it should be (even Taehyung struggles to tell between your real smile and your work smile, sometimes); he stands for a moment, looking at you.

You think he’s about to say something when he clearly thinks better of it. He tilts his head, like he always does, but you’d swear his expression is tinged with concern. “Thanks,” he says. Pauses. “The roads are really icy. Get home safe, okay Y/n?”

Blink, blink. Your eyelashes flutter. You suddenly realise that he’s never said your name out loud, never had a need to, even if he must have known it all along from the badge on your chest. It sounds so good in his mouth, soft and safe.

“Oh,” you say, slow with surprise. “Thank you. I will. You, too.”

Yoongi nods again, as if to himself, before he turns to go.

He stops one more time before he goes. He stands at the open door, glances over his shoulder before he steps out, dark eyes meeting yours, as if checking that you’re still there, still tethered to the ground. Seems satisfied when he finds that you are. He gives you one last smile, all soft around the edges—that’s something you know intimately about Yoongi, that he’s soft through and through, even if he can look sharp, as cold as the ice outside—and then he goes, back into the falling snow to deliver a steaming sip of warmth into the hands of the person he loves.

(Your heart aches.)

It’s the week before Christmas. The whole world has that feeling it always does at this time of year—excited and bright, if a little frantic, the hanging lights in the city a backdrop to people’s last minute shopping, their breaths pluming out into the air as they rush around in the cold. The whole world feels full of life, that final push towards the end of the year; the hearth fire of Christmas before that weird in between before the new year, that held breath of potential, before the clock ticks over and the world is thrown into the next year.

Paradise has been busy. It’s like summer, only instead of sundresses and shorts, everyone is in knitwear and scarves, shivering as they wait to be served, desperate for a drink to warm them up, something to eat to fill their bellies. You spend more time in the coffee shop than you do at home, pulling overtime shifts to help your fellow baristas out—everyone thinks Christmas is a time of relaxation and coming together, but it doesn’t feel like that when you work in a customer facing job, oh no. It’s just non-stop busyness and being rushed off your feet.

(You’d barely had a chance to speak to Yoongi, café full when he’d stepped in, your pace frenetic as you’d danced around behind the counter with Taehyung and Jungkook; you’d slid his drinks towards him, his Americano and the special, and maybe your smile had looked more harrowed than you thought because he’d caught your hand and squeezed it.

“I hope you get a chance to rest over Christmas,” he’d said, concerned and sincere, as you’d stood in stunned silence, not expecting that almost-intimate touch, gentle against your skin.

“I will,” you’d said eventually. Yoongi had seemed to suddenly realise he was still touching you, fingers clasped around yours, and he’d withdrawn quickly, giving you a smile that felt like a whispered secret, before leaving you to deal with the ever-growing queue.)

Suffice to say, it’s been a long week, and you’re tired, and your feet hurt after all the running around you’ve been doing, and you just want to go home. You just need to finish the close, need to finish setting everything up for the open tomorrow, need to finish cleaning everything, and then you can get some sleep.

At least, that’s what you thought. Instead, you’re standing across from Jungkook and staring at him incredulously. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Wait.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What do you mean, we need to deliver some coffee?”

You don’t know if Jungkook is being deliberately obtuse, but he just stares at you as if you’re the one talking nonsense right now, and not him. “We have a customer order to deliver,” he says.

“Yes, I gathered that,” you say. “I just mean, why did no one tell me sooner?”

Paradise doesn’t do deliveries, as such. You cater for events, and you technically do deliveries then, but it’s less ‘one coffee to go’ and more ‘enough sandwiches and pastries and bagels and coffee to feed an entire office’. It’s not that you can’t bring someone their order directly, it’s more that you just… don’t.

“Taehyung took the order,” Jungkook says, as if that explains everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose again. You can’t ask Tae about it, the other man having had to leave just as you’d been about to flip the sign to closed (‘Jimin says Tannie peed in his shoes again! I have to go clean it up! I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll cover a close for each of you next time!’), so it’s just you, and Jungkook, and the slip of paper on the counter between you. You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough to trust his judgement and his decisions, as inexplicable as they might seem sometimes, but you do think it’s weird that he’s taken this delivery on board.

“It’s not too far from here,” Jungkook adds, peering at the address on the paper. “It won’t take long.”

“We have to finish closing, Jungkook,” you say.

He shrugs casually, carelessly. “I’ll do it, I don’t mind. You can just do the delivery and then go home straight after, it’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” you mumble. “Why can’t you deliver it?”

“You’re the senior barista, you’re a better representative of the brand,” he says, and you have no idea where he pulled that from. (You blame Jimin. You know they’ve had shifts together, and Jimin is too smooth-talking for his own good.)

As much as you want to argue, you can’t help but cave, because the prospect of getting home early is one that you’re not about to sniff at. (You’d worry that Jungkook would get home late, what with the amount of prep he still needs to do for tomorrow, but you half suspect that Taehyung will reappear at some point, anyway.) You’re too tired to want to argue. “I just want to say this is a one off, and normally we cater for events, we’re not really a delivery service, okay?”

“Duly noted.”

It’s a simple enough order, anyway—it’s just two drinks. The first is a large quad shot latte with caramel and toffee syrup, extra whipped cream and cinnamon on top (something you’d definitely order, you think, indulgent and milky and with enough caffeine to kick you up the ass). Jungkook dutifully cleans as you start the second drink. The special this week is far, far less sweet than normal; a Rudolph the Red-eyed Reindeer: a simple red eye with a pinch of holiday spice, coffee with an extra espresso shot and topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. You take in a deep breath, swallowing down the warm smell and letting it flow through you before you double check the details on the note.

It takes you a second as you squint at the address, wondering why it looks familiar—and then you pause. This is Yoongi’s office, you think to yourself, and it feels a little like there’s an apricot pit sitting heavy in your stomach, heavy and hard. Paradise had catered a breakfast for them last week, and it hadn’t been on your shift and so you hadn’t gone, but—you’d heard enough about it from Jimin, the type who gets to know everyone and everything the second he walks in the door. You’d heard about the team that Yoongi manages, found out that Yoongi works in music, in artist and repertoire, and when you’d had the chance to Google exactly what that meant, you’d been bowled over. He has such a complex, high skilled job, and here you are, struggling to get a job with your degree, hence the barista thing. (Thanks, economy.)

You hastily shuffle past the address, trying to ward off your sudden sense of inadequacy, focusing on the name instead. What sort of name is Suga? you think to yourself, and then shrug. Probably one of the workers had enjoyed the breakfast the other week and was still hanging around before going on holiday for Christmas, or something.

“Alright, I’m off.” You’re ready to advance into the cold outside: coat on, scarf looped around your neck and hat secure on your head, cardboard tray of drinks clutched in your hands. “If you need help closing, just call me and I’ll come back, okay?”

“I won’t, but, thanks,” Jungkook says, equal parts self-assured and reassuring. “Don’t fall on your ass!”

It is icy outside, the entire world a winter wonderland, beautiful but cold and daylight long gone; snow drifts slowly from the sky above, dusting your shoulders and the top of your hat, flakes caught so softly by the weave of your clothes. It’s the kind of day that’s perfect spent indoors, curled up with the people you love, warmed through and through—and here you are, picking your way across the pavement slush to deliver a coffee to someone. (You’re not even getting paid for this.)

At least it’s not too far, really, just a few blocks away. The building is small, which is a plus, because it means you won’t have multitudes of rooms and offices to trawl past to get to your destination. The receptionist is more than helpful, too, when you say that you have a delivery for Suga; she gives you exactly directions and then she smiles at you, pleasant and pretty and lovely, and that gremlin that’s still clinging desperately onto your feelings for Yoongi whispers: what if this is Yoongi’s girlfriend? She’s beautiful.

Shut up, you think, before smiling back and thanking her, and heading on your way.

This close to Christmas you’d think that the building would be almost empty, but you’d be wrong. It’s not a buzzing hive of activity but there are still people walking around, speaking behind closed doors or laughing through open ones, decorations and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. Up ahead you see a someone come out of a room, shutting the door behind them before they walk in your direction. It’s a man who looks like he’s just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and as you pass in the corridor he pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. Not suspicious, just surprised.

“Uh, I have a coffee for Suga,” you say without prompting, as if he was about to accuse you of some sort of nefarious scheme and your coffee delivery is the only thing saving you from that.

“Oh,” mister-model-handsome says, suddenly smiling widely, like this is all perfectly normal and not weird at all. He’s got some of the poutiest lips you’ve ever seen. “You’re nearly there, he’s just down the corridor and on the right. Have fun!”

“Uh, you too?” you reply. (Is he Yoongi’s boyfriend? He’s tall and broad shouldered and incredibly attractive, with the type of smile that makes people’s hearts race, and Yoongi definitely deserves someone like that.)

Your destination seems to be the office the (probably) model just came out of. You look around the corridor, which seems to be deserted now, the hubbub of people elsewhere in the building. You knock quietly, not wanting to disturb the hush that’s filled the air around you.

A beat. Then: “Come in,” someone says, voice muffled through the door.

It swings open easily at your touch. You stand on the threshold, mouth open around the announcement of your delivery when the words die on your lips.

Yoongi’s there, sitting behind a desk and his head bowed as he scribbles something in a notebook. He doesn’t look up. “Shut the door,” he says. Dumbstruck, you do just that, and it’s not until the door’s quietly clicked shut that he starts to raise his head. “Hyung, I already said that I don’t need to eat—”

And then he spots you standing there.

He stops mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes widening. He looks as shocked as you feel, utterly taken aback and agog, and even now you can’t help but notice how good he looks. He’s in a black button up, sleeves rolled to the elbow and top button undone, revealing the pale skin of his collarbones. It’s another juxtaposition, the Yoongi that you’re familiar with (an aura of effortless authority and attractiveness) in a place you don’t know at all, completely professional, his desk neat and the entire space put together. There’s a tastefully decorated tree in the corner but it doesn’t throw off the balance of the room at all.

“Uh.” You cough lightly. “I have… a delivery… for Suga?”

Yoongi stares at you.

“Is this… not the right room? I can go,” you mumble, gesturing over your shoulder with a thumb.

This seems to snap Yoongi out of whatever thoughts he was having as he shakes his head. “No, this is… Suga’s office,” he says. “I just didn’t order any coffee.”

You open your mouth. Shut your mouth. You don’t have an Americano on the tray, but he’d probably like the red eye, coffee with extra coffee, no sugar or cream. Just a little pinch of spice.

“Maybe it was a surprise, or something? Couples get each other gifts all the time.”

Yoongi’s lips quirk up. “I’m not really the type that gets surprised with gifts.”

Something about this strikes a discordant note in you. He’s always delivering gifts of coffee—he deserves those expressions of love returned to him. You can’t help but say as such.

“You’re always giving gifts, though,” you say. “Those weekly specials. I wouldn’t be surprised if your other half is returning the favour.”

Blink, blink. He looks perplexed. “I don’t have an other half?”

Your mouth opens again. “Uh,” you say eloquently. “What?”

“I… don’t have an other half? I’m… single?”

“You’re…” Your face scrunches up, wrinkled in confusion. What? He’s… what? “But you always buy two drinks?”

Silence. Then: “I… the Americano is for me,” he says. “I usually just pour the special away. I only started ordering them because you got so excited talking about them and making them. I never planned on drinking them.”

Your mouth falls open, soft around a quiet breath, a soft oh. “You—wait. You ordered them because I got excited about them?”

Yoongi’s eyes are so dark, so gentle; melted chocolate, warm. “You started to talk to me more, after the first time I did,” he says, and you know you had. Because you thought it was safer to talk to him, though you were secure in the knowledge he wasn’t single—but he is single. “So I kept doing it, because I wanted to talk more to you. I thought you knew? And that’s why you started having real conversations with me.”

You’re frozen in place, eyes as big as dinner plates. Min Yoongi, your futile crush, who looks as sharp as a knife but is as sweet as spun candyfloss, has been coming back week after week—for you. He’s not in a relationship, and he’s been flirting with you.

Or at least he thought he had been. You, however, hadn’t even realised.

“I was going to ask you on a date after Christmas,” he continues, calm and steady, as if your brain isn’t melting. He’s still sitting behind his desk, and there’s something about his tousled hair and bared lower arms—watch on one wrist and a few bracelets on the other—that has your heart pounding, that casual air somehow not at odds at the weight of the surroundings. Because the world is a backdrop to Yoongi, and he makes it work.

“What the fuck,” you say. You realise you’ve never sworn in front of him when something flickers in his eyes; not a bad flicker, no. Definitely not. “I thought you were taken.”

“I’m very single,” he says lightly, belying the weight behind the words. And then his eyes drop to your hands. “You said you have a coffee for me?”

Which leads to this: Yoongi, in his chair, you, leaning against his desk. He’s taken the red eye (of course) while you sip at the latte, relishing the punch of espresso, the flavour of the syrups.

You’re both staring at each other as you drink, air in the room growing thicker by the moment, when Yoongi breaks the silence. “This is probably the only weekly special I’d actually want to drink.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Black coffee with more espresso? That’s you all over,” you say. “The other specials aren’t so bad, though. I think you just need to give sweet drinks a chance.”

You’re speaking without thinking, but the second those words leave your mouth, the air turns electric. Yoongi’s still staring at you, unwavering and intent, and everything inside you is melting, leaving you flushed and hot. The smile hasn’t left his face, which had been warm but it’s changed, evolved, edged with something sharper.

“If you say so,” he says. His eyes are on your lips. “Let me try?”

His fingers are so gentle on your face, hands cupping your jaw as he tilts your head down. All your thoughts leave you. There’s nothing in your mind but Yoongi, his warm hands and dark eyes, the heat of his body so close to yours, his mouth; you can’t help but look down, tracing the shape of his lips with your gaze, a small soft pout that’s so at odds with the weight of his intensity.

When he kisses you, it’s featherlight. Barely the softest of pressures, the potential of something more—and then he pulls you in deeper, and there it is, that heat flickering in your stomach jumping into a full fire. The kiss turns hot and wet as he licks the flavour of caramel and toffee syrup out of your mouth, and he tastes like coffee, dark and bitter; you make a noise against his lips and he swallows it down, pulls you closer.

You’re straddling his knees, a little awkward and cramped in his office chair, but you don’t care. You’ve been wanting to kiss Yoongi for so long, even when you felt like you shouldn’t, thought about his dark eyes and pink mouth, the curve of his lips, the paleness of his hands; a steadying presence around your waist, holding you in place.

When you pull apart, Yoongi’s lips are flushed, kiss swollen. It looks good on him. Really good on him.

“I’ve thought about that more than I’d like to admit,” he says, and you can’t help but feel warmed by it, the realisation that you’ve wanted to kiss him but he’s wanted to kiss you, too.

“This really isn’t comfortable,” you say, wriggling a little—your ass is starting to go numb, sat on Yoongi’s knees—and Yoongi sucks in a quick breath at the way you’re all but squirming in his lap, even if he doesn’t say anything.

Oh, you think.

When you move away, he lets you go without protest, hands sliding off your waist. It’s not until you fall to your knees that Yoongi realises what you’re doing, his eyes widening.

“Y/n,” he breathes. “You don’t have to—”

“Please, Yoongi, I’ve wanted to do this for months,” you say. Maybe it was a little crass to start with, wanting to get on your knees for a man you barely knew just because he was hot and polite to you, but now you know he wants you back. You’re not about to let this opportunity pass you by, staring up at him between his knees, hands braced on his thighs. “But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

He looks torn, just for a second, eyes darting away from your face and to the door. It’s shut, but it’s not locked, and though the building is quiet there’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk in at any second.

Without thinking, you lick your lips. Yoongi’s eyes flicker back at the motion, watching how your tongue moves, and you can see how he crumbles.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, and you dig your nails into his trousers, electricity shooting through you.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down,” you warn, and reach for his zipper.

It’s a struggle for him, you can tell. He’s already biting his lip by the time you’ve tugged his trousers and boxers down, hardening under your grasp, and you knew his dick would be as pretty as the rest of him. You don’t have the luxury of worshipping him the way you want to, acutely aware of the fact you’re in his office, but it doesn’t mean you’re not going to make Yoongi feel good. It’s dirty and messy, the way you suck his cock into your mouth lewd and wet, lavishing attention on the most sensitive parts; his hips jump as you circle the head with your tongue and jerk the rest of his length with a hand.

Everything’s sloppy with spit and precum and Yoongi’s biting off curses, hand tightening in your hair as you take in as much of him as you can, relaxing your throat and swallowing him down, down, down. When you look up at him through your lashes he looks wrecked, the paleness of his skin flushed pink, and you can’t wait to see that all over. Can’t wait to see Yoongi entirely bare in front of you, when you have the luxury of time and pleasure.

But there’s something about this, too, that has your heart racing, cunt throbbing. You’re running your spit slick lips down the side of his shaft, tonguing the throb of the vein there, when you hear footsteps nearby, muffled through the door. It doesn’t sound like they’re coming in this direction and Yoongi seems almost entirely lost to the feeling of your mouth on him, but you flick your tongue across the spot where the head of his cock meets the shaft and he bows forward, swallowing down the noise that threatened to spill from his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this, falling apart under your hands and mouth, and you know he’ll give as good as he gets.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. You smile up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, jerking him off hard and fast as you lick and suck—and when he cums it’s with a noisy exhale of breath, a muffled groan, and even as you’re swallowing down his cum and mouthing at him until he winces with oversensitivity, you’re imagining what he sounds like when he doesn’t have to be quiet.

He’s not shy, either. You’ve barely tucked him back in when he’s reaching for you, kissing you. There’s no taste of coffee any more and you shiver, molten and boneless at the way his tongue presses into your mouth.

“Still want to take me on a date?”

You’re being cheeky, voice light as you joke, but Yoongi’s responding look is equal parts serious and affectionate. He sweeps a thumb over your cheekbone and you relax into his hands, feeling like a cat that got the cream. Here you are, on your knees in his office, the glittering lights of his Christmas tree thrown across your hair and skin, warmed by the touch of a man you’ve wanted for months but never thought you would get.

“Of course,” he murmurs, gentle-gentle-gentle, as if you hadn’t just sucked his soul through his dick—and you love that about him, love his inherent soft core, his big heart. You might not know him as well as you’d like—not yet—but you already know that much about him. “I owe you a present, too.”

Your face scrunches. “What, because I gave you a blowjob?”

At this he laughs, mouth split wide and gums on show as his whole body shakes with the intensity of it. “No, because you brought me a coffee,” he says. He still has your cheek cupped in his hand, palm warm against your skin. “But if you want to say it’s because of the blowjob as well, then sure.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” You smile at him, gentle expression at odds with the meaning behind the words and your position—still on your knees.

You don’t know if they ache when you stand, because Yoongi is kissing you again, distracting you. And it’s easy, this back and forth you have, comfortable as you finish the (now lukewarm) coffees and get ready to go, because Yoongi insists on walking you home. Because he’s a gentleman, your gentleman, and he even holds the door open for you.

You’re not sure if you can reach for his hand, if that would be too forward in his place of work, if he doesn’t want to when this thing between you is so tentative and new. But you’re barely halfway down the corridor when he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm; when you look over, he’s smiling at you, and then tilts his chin up.

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say.

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

#btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #magicshopnet #houseofddaeng #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts #yoongi au #bts au #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #PLEASE feel free to message me with any typos or whatever and I'll get on those when I have a chance

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seiyasabi · 4 years ago

Text

Bulls in the Bronx

(So…. long story short, I’m now a hucow simp. Thanks a lot @/biskywrites and @/dark-side-blog2 for making me this way (ﾉД`) lol, all jokes aside, I wanna suck some tiddy milk from a buff man ;)) Anyways, this is Yandere Hucow(Hubull?) Bokuto x Fem Reader ;0 This fic allows me to flex my farming knowledge lol, bc my grandparents owned ponies and dogs.

TW: !Noncon!, !dubcon!, creampie!, he hits you twice!, somnophilia!, predator vs prey?, manipulation!, cumflation!, breeding kink!, size kink!, ur a farmhand!, lactation!, tiddie sucking!, Asshole farmer Ushi, etc..

Please don’t proceed if any of the above are triggering! Also, sorry if Bokuto is too OOC lol)

“Bokuto got into the lackweed again,” You can’t suppress the laugh that explodes from your mouth. The idea of the biggest hucow (hubull??) on the ranch freaking out (again), because he’s now dripping milk is hilarious.

“Where on Earth does he keep finding those damn weeds?” The other farmhand laughs as well, stooping down to fill two buckets with water.

“I think those grass seeds were cross contaminated, the other hucows also started to lactate a lot more than usual. But, it’s kinda funny that our best breeder is dripping like a heifer,” Chuckling in acknowledgement, you can’t help but feel a pang of pity. Poor Bo, he’s probably really self conscious at the moment.

“Maybe I should go check on him-” Your coworker almost drops the bucket she’s filling, looking up at you as if you just grew three heads.

“Why would you do that? Did you forget that he’s going in rut soon?” Frowning, you glance down at the floor in mild shame.

“Well, yes, but he isn’t supposed to start until next week! Plus, I’m not ovulating right now, so I won’t trigger him,” The other girl thinks for a moment, before nodding slowly.

“I suppose it’d be fine. If anything, he may calm down if his favourite handler is there,” Nodding, you grab two buckets from the shelf beside you. Squatting down next to your coworker, you place a bucket underneath a faucet, turning the circular handle to the left. A gush of cool water rushes out, quickly filling the plastic pail. Quickly switching it out for the empty one, you wait a few more moments, before turning off the rushing water. Grabbing the handles of the buckets, you lift them whilst standing to your feet, using your legs instead of your back.

Nodding towards the other girl, you bid her farewell. Turning on your heel, you tromp towards the bull pens. The large red barn is quite a far distance from the shed you were once in, causing you to break out in a light sweat. It doesn’t help that it’s mid spring, causing the farm to be quite warm.

Setting the buckets down on the dirt ground, you wipe your brow with the back of your hand. Huffing out a deep breath, you quickly move the concrete slab keeping the barn closed away from the sliding door, before shoving it open. The sound of the cowbell on the red and white door handle on the inside clinks noisily, queuing a symphony of deep ‘moos.’

Picking up the buckets with bent knees, you hurry inside, relishing the feeling of the barn’s fans on your sweaty skin, “Hey guys, is the barn cool enough for you?” Grumbles and shifting of large bodies are all you get in response, causing you to laugh, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Gunning it for a certain grey haired bull’s stall, a bright smile makes its way onto your face, “Hey, Koutarou, how’re you feeling?”

He’s currently laying on his bed of compact hay, tears sliding down his handsome face. His cute ears are droopy, his bell earring not jingling with life like normal. His tears drip between his septum piercing, and drop onto his well defined abdomen, “Not good, (Your Name).”

With a small gasp, you set down the pails rather harshly, some of the cool liquid sloshing onto the wooden floor. Hurrying towards him, you sit on the prickly ‘mattress,’ “What’s wrong? I heard that you’re lac-” A small sob leaves his lips at your words, causing you to grab his hand reassuringly, “Are the other guys making fun of you? I can go yell at them if you’d like!”

The buff bull-man sits up, one arm covering his chest self-consciously, “No! They’re not being mean,” He grips your hand almost to the point that it’s painful, “I-it’s just… my chest hurts, real bad.”

Nodding in understanding, you motion towards his covered pecs, “Let me see, Bubs. I’ll see what I can do.”

His face flushes bright red, “But it’s embarrassing!” You shush him sweetly, releasing his hand to coax his arm away from his chest.

“It’s okay, I won’t make fun of you! I just wanna help you,” After a moment of hesitance, he obeys, revealing his swollen, red nipples.

The area around his nipples is raised as well, showing just how much his milk is backed up.

Eyes softening even more, you delicately rub both pecs, “You’re alright, Bubs. This happens to the cows sometimes when we don’t milk them as much as we need to. If you’d like, I can go find a pump!”

“No! I don’t wanna pump!” You jump slightly, and move away from him, only for his hands to trap your own to his chest. More tears gather in his eyes, as he becomes distraught, “I don’t want my milk to go to waste!”

Taken aback, you nod, although you don’t understand his reasoning, “Kou, why’re you acting like this? You know we don’t get rid of milk, we sell your guys’ milk at the market.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t want you to sell it. I want you to drink it,” The look of shock on your face is mistaken as disgust, causing him to cry even more, “Do you think I’m weird? Why do you look like that?” Seeing the bull act so sensitive is adorable, but you feel as though you have to comfort him.

“No, no, it’s okay! I’m not weirded out, I’m just surprised. I’ll go get a bucket-”

“No bucket!” Sighing at his weird behaviour, you cock an eyebrow at him.

“Then how am I supposed to collect it?” A big grin crosses his teary face.

“Drink from me! I promise I’ll be good!” Shifting in discomfort, an anxious sweat starts to form on your brow.

“Ahaha, that’s funny, Kou. You know I can’t do that,” More tears well up in his eyes, squeezing your heart painfully, “Don’t look at me like that, Bubs. I don’t think your owner would like me getting so close-”

“I don’t mind,” Ushijima’s voice booms throughout the barn, scaring the living daylights out of you. Whipping your head around, you make eye contact with the large male, an uncharacteristic smirk on his face, “As long as my star bull is happy, I’m happy.”

Kou releases your hands, only to grab your face, forcing you to look at him, “See! He doesn’t care! Please, (Nickname), please help me! My udders hurt so bad!”

With Ushijima’s eyes on you, and Koutarou’s sad and pain filled face, you finally relent, “Okay, okay! Don’t freak out, Bubs, I’ll help. You just gotta let me go.”

He releases you quickly, before shoving your head towards his chest. The jingling of his earring is heard, telling you that his ears are no longer pressed down on the top of his head. You hear heavy footsteps walk away from his stall, probably gathering the bulls to let them graze outside.

You try to push away from where your head is being smushed, but the bull gives you no leeway, “Why aren’t you drinking?” The male practically whines, as you whack his shoulder lightly.

“I’m being smothered in between your tiddies, Kou,” You chuckle in slight discomfort, but he finally allows you up. Moving towards his most swollen nipple (the left one), you pinch it between your thumb and forefinger, causing a small stream of milk to come streaming out.

A small moan leaves the large man’s lips, as he shoves you once again face first into his chest, “Don’t tease, (Nickname), I feel like I’m dying!” A flash of empathy goes through your heart.

Removing your hand from his nipple, you take a deep breath, and latch yourself onto him.Your chapstick covered lips are soft against his sensitive skin, causing him to keen. When you suckle, a tidal wave of milk bursts into your mouth. Luckily, it doesn’t taste very bad; his milk tastes like vanilla, causing you start to slurp it up like a babe.

Your one hand kneads his other pec to soothe him, “Fu-fuck, you’re making me feel so good!” You don’t bother trying to say anything, instead, you just suck harder. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his tit that you’re currently nursing on, causing him to pump out more of his yummy milk.

After a few long moments, you release his nipple. A drop of milk trickles down your chin, which the large bull laughs at. A thick finger wipes off the excess, pushing itself into your mouth. A tender look is in the grey haired man’s eyes, as he kisses your forehead.

“Thank you, pretty girl. Can you do the other one, please?” Now that he’s no longer in a painfilled state, he’s back to his normal, boyish self. Nodding, you lick your lips, before latching on to his other nipple. He barely chokes back a moan, his hand gripping the back of your head.

You suck as hard as you can without hurting him, pretending his nipple was a straw to a thick ass milkshake. Between your massaging and sucking, his teat no longer feels as painful as it once did.

Pulling away, you give him a wry smile, “There, all better. Well, I should pour your water into your trough now,” Standing up with wobbly legs, you move towards the filled buckets. Picking them up one by one, you pour it in with unsteady hands. Why are you so shaky right now? “Well, I should get going now. I hope you feel better later,” You try to walk out of his stall, only to be yanked back into Bokuto’s lap. Both empty pails fall to the ground unceremoniously, clattering loudly through the empty barn.

“Don’t leave me, Lovely, I need you,” His warm skin against yours feels nice, and you suddenly feel sleepy.

“Kou, I’m tired. I think-I think I’m gonna take a nap,” He runs his fingers (through your hair/over your scalp), tantalising you into drifting off.

“That’s alright, (Nickname), I’ll watch after you,” With a muffled ‘Mhm,’ you fall into a deep slumber.

When you awoke, you woke to your body shaking. Brow furrowing, you blearily open your eyes, only to see a tuft of grey hair in between your bent, spread legs.

His long tongue is currently fucking in and out of your dripping cunt, his thumb rubbing against your clit.

“Ku-Kou? Wha-“ He looks up immediately, a look of shock on his strong features.

“I-It’s Not what it looks like! I-I just wanted a taste!” You groggily push at his head, catching his ears slightly, causing a small jingling to sound throughout the empty barn.

“You didn’t ask, why, why are you-“ He grabs your hand, kissing each knuckle with a slobbering kiss.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Let me make you feel good! You taste so good,” You yank your hand back, trying to kick off the hand that currently wrapped around your right thigh.

“Get off of me! Bokuto, you-you’re doing this without my consent! I thought we were friends!” You shout, pushing at his face harshly. He grabs one of your hands, trying to kiss it, only for your other to clap him upside the face harshly, “Don’t! You’ve already done enough.”

Kicking him away (even though he’s much larger and stronger than you, meaning he just moved away), you stand to your feet, pulling back up your halfway down jeans and panties.

Snatching up the buckets previously discarded, you don’t even shoot the crying bull a glance, just turning on your heel, and stomping away.

Tears of your own drip down your face, humiliation and betrayal weighing down your aching heart.

Forcefully sliding open the barn doors, you run from it, catching the eye of a certain green haired farmer.

It seems Bokuto fucked up.

But that’s okay, when he goes into rut, there’ll be nothing keeping him from breeding you full of his massive calves.

You avoided the bull barn like the plague for the next week. The hucows are very pleasant company. They treat you as if you’re their young, making you feel well loved.

That is, until Hachi asked you why you’ve been avoiding Bokuto. She’d told you that he hasn’t acted the same, in fact, he’s acted depressed and withdrawn.

Since then, you’ve stuck with aquatic life. The fish, swans, and ducks don’t give you that much trouble.

But, when you come back from the pond and fish pools, the farm is ensued with panic. Apparently, Bokuto’s finally gone into rut.

And, unfortunately for you, he’s on the prowl for you.

So, when your coworker runs up to you, begging for you to calm him, you turn on your heel, and start walking back towards the pond. They can figure this out themselves, you’re not going to sacrifice yourself to someone who tried to take advantage of you.

Sadly, that doesn’t work out.

You’re immediately stopped by Ushijima, his broad form blocking you from advancing forward, “Where do you think you’re going?” His arms are crossed, an angry scowl on his usually handsome features.

“I forgot something at the pond,” You lie, smoothly, “I’m going to go grab it real quick-”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” His strong voice booms, “What you’re going to do, is march yourself into the barn, and make my prized bull happy.”

Your own scowl forms on your pretty face, “I will do nothing of the sort. Interspecies sex is illegal! You can fire me for all I care, I’m not going in there!” You try to move around his large form, only to be manhandled into a chokehold.

His left arm is wrapped around your neck, your back to his chest, and your face being held in a large hand, “Interspecies sex is legal when a human and hybrid are mates,” He hisses through gritted teeth, and you struggle in his hold, “If you don’t go in there, I’ll drag you in.”

“Fuck you,” You spit, “I’ll fucking castrate you!” You kick backwards, landing a solid hit on the large man’s groin. With a loud yell, you’re let go, allowing you to run towards the farm’s parking area. Pulling your truck’s keys from your pocket, you haul ass, not bothering to look behind you.

The barns and sheds fly past you, as you run through the open field leading to the car park. You suddenly hear loud footsteps follow after you, and you assume that it’s Ushijima, that is, until you hear them, “(Nickname)! (Nickname), where are you going? Why are you running away from me?” Bokuto’s voice rings out at top volume, hurting your ears. His voice a lot more gravely than before, and without looking at him, you know that he most likely looks crazed.

You don’t respond, trying to pick up the pace. You click the unlock button one time, only unlocking the driver’s side door. Because you had a head start, you cleared the field in less than three seconds, allowing you to hop into your truck, and lock the doors. Shoving the key into the ignition, all whilst buckling your seatbelt, you press on the brake, and turn it, only to hear the spluttering of your failing ignition, “Come on! Don’t do this-” Bokuto slams into the driver’s side door at top speed, rocking your large vehicle harshly. His hands and face are pressed against the window, his expression looking like that of a kicked puppy. You then notice the fact that the buff male is completely naked, his impossibly large cock bobbing against his toned stomach.

“Why are you trying to leave? I need you so badly, pretty-pretty. Why don’t you open the door, and we can figure this out? I promise I’ll make you feel good, after all, us bulls pride ourselves in taking care of our mates,” You cringe in disgust, not bothering to answer him. Instead, you continue to fiddle with your ignition, muttering expletives under your breath. His large hands start to beat on your driver-side window, trying to gain your attention, “(Nickname), come out already! Ushi already cut your fuel line, so you’re not going anywhere! Come on, I just wanna make you feel good-”

It was your turn to cut him off, “Shut up! We aren’t friends anymore, Bokuto, much less lovers! Just leave me the fuck alone! I’m sure many of the cows would love to help you through your rut, why can’t you just ask them?” Tears of frustration dot your eyelashes, as you pop open your glove box and search for your phone. Catching sight of the black cased (phone type), you snatch it from its confines with a loud ‘Aha,’ “Don’t make me call the Farmer’s Union, Bokuto. I’ll report you and Ushijima for-”

“You won’t! You love me too much!” His frantic words raise in volume, as he hit the glass even harder than before, “You wouldn’t put me down! Come on, (Nickname), why won’t you call me ‘Bubs’ anymore? I love you!” You swipe open your phone, and go to the contacts. Pulling up the Farmer’s Union phone number, you go to press ‘call,’ only for the shattering of glass to halt you.

You scream in both fear and shock, throwing up your hands to protect your face. This, in turn, causes you to drop your phone. In this time, Bokuto is able to grab you by your arms, and drag you towards the broken window. Your seatbelt keeps you in place, causing him to pull you even harder, and making you scream in pain.

You use your arm to whack his against the broken glass on your truck’s window area. He releases you in a moment of pain, allowing you to unbuckle yourself, and throw yourself to the passenger side. Once there, you unlock the door, and bolt towards the road.

“(Your Name), come back here! Stop being so difficult!” You pay him no mind, a few meters away from the busy road. Noticing a car speeding towards the area you’re running to, you push yourself even harder, trying to throw yourself into the road. Unfortunately, you’re grabbed by two buff arms that encircle your waist. They use all of their strength to smash you into their chest from behind, knocking the air from your lungs, “Are you crazy? You could’ve been hurt!” You thrash and try to bite at him, causing Bokuto to backhand you across the face, “Now look what you made me do! If you’d been good, I wouldn’t have had to do that!”

To be completely honest, you’re in shock. Bokuto has never raised a hand at you, and that slap wasn’t a warning tap. No, that was him using a good majority of his strength, causing your cheek to throb painfully.

You continue to thrash and curse after freezing for a moment, drawing the eyes of concerned coworkers, “Let go of me! What the fuck is wrong with you? Put me down!” You try to kick him in the junk, only to kick him on the inside of his thigh. In retaliation, he backhands you again, this time on the other cheek. Gasps and whispers are heard from those around you, drawing the large hucow’s eyes.

“There’s nothing to see here, guys! Just my mate making a scene,” He shakes you a bit to shut you up, causing you to become disoriented. The farmhands and other hybrids look like they’re about to step in, only for Ushijima himself to show up.

“What Bokuto said is correct,” His harsh gaze is on you, his hand gripping his dick, “She’s just making a scene. Let them through.”

They reluctantly go back to their business, as Koutarou guns it to the empty bull barn. Ushijima only watches as you’re dragged to the large building, as tears drip down your face in fear, and his fist at his side clenches in fury.

Stomping into the barn, Bokuto makes quick work of getting to his stall. Once inside, he tosses you on the hay mattress, and straddles your waist. With pawing hands, he rips your t-shirt and jeans off of you, leaving you in your bra and underwear, along with your boots and socks. Yanking off your boots, be tossed them out of his ‘room,’ as you try to throw punches at his muscular chest. He grunts, but doesn’t stop.

With beefy fingers, he yanks off your bra, ripping it in two. Your tits jiggle at his harsh movements, making him lick his lips in enjoyment. He then rips off your cotton panties, exposing your cunny to his hungry eyes.

“You’re beautiful, pretty-pretty. I can’t wait to see you stuffed with my calves,” You shake your head no rapidly, pushing his hands away from where they rest on your hips.

“No! Stop it, Bokuto! I thought we were friends!” He tightens his grip on your pelvis, forcing your legs open.

“That’s Not my name, (Nickname), you know that. Now, you know that I’m way more than just your friend-I’m your mate, and you know that I’ll provide for you and our calves,” With grubby fingers, he rubs at your clit, trying to draw a good reaction from you.

You squirm in response, trying to wriggle out of his one handed grip. You shove at his chest, but he remains unmoved, choosing to press down harder than before, “Stop it! Let me go!”

He inserts his middle finger into your moist cunny, forcing it in and out. You try to kick him in the head only for him to catch your leg with the hand that previously held your hip, “If you wanted me to eat you out that bad, you should’ve just said so, pretty girl,” Before you can refuse, he throws your legs over his shoulders, and dives in.

His long tongue fucks in and out of your hole, one of his thumbs rubbing your clit. A loud whine escapes your throat before you can stop it, making you feel a wave of disgust for yourself. Bokuto shouldn’t be making you feel good, he’s assaulting you, after all.

But, when his tongue brushed against your g-spot, you can’t help but convulse in pleasure. Thighs quaking, you try to stop yourself from cumming.

“St-stop! I’m, I’m gonna-“ He stops before you can cum, instead, pushing your hips down to where his cock lays against his abs. Forcing the bulbous head against your tiny hole, he pushes harshly, trying to fuck into you like an animal, “No! No! You’re too big! You’re going to tear my-“ With one powerful thrust, he forces his way inside, and you can’t help but scream.

Tears drip down your face at the feeling, your pussy feeling like it’s been ripped open. Bokuto grabs your head, and forces it against his chest, practically making you take one of his pink nipples into your mouth. You’re immediately met with the taste of his vanilla milk, drinking it up as the hucow starts to buck into you at a lightning fast pace.

Your teeth bite down on his nipple, but instead of being angry, he just moans in lust, “Yes! Yes, pretty girl, you’re taking me so well!”

His hand that isn’t cradling your head goes to your tummy, feeling his huge length moving underneath your skin. He presses down a bit, causing another wanton moan to leave to both of you. With this thought in mind, he picks up the pace, practically fucking you into unconsciousness.

Eyes rolling back, your ruined cunny gushed pathetically, coating you and the bull with your juices, “(Nickname), you’re so pretty when you cum,” He continues his breakneck pace, getting close to orgasm himself, “I’m gonna fill you up so good, that you’ll be dripping with my fun for days! Your little womb will be bloated with my fertile cum!”

You try to speak, but you can’t, just continuing to suck his yummy milk from his teat. Walls fluttering with another orgasm, you feel yourself clamping down on his enormous cock.

With one last mighty thrust, he seats himself fully inside of you, cumming directly against your unprotected cervix. A muffled scream erupts from your chest, as you feel your womb expand with copious amounts of beeile cum. Releasing his nipple, you throw your head back, a loud cry echoes throughout the barn, as you squirt once more around his cock.

Now completely filled to the brim, you pass out from the trauma. Entirely exhausted, Koutarou grins down at your bloated form. He rubs your tummy like a Buddha statue, kissing it tenderly.

“You’ll be a good Mommy, I’m sure of it,” he then trails his hand up your abdomen, groping your right tit, “You’ll look so pretty all milky and filled with my calves.”

The sound of a throat clearing gains Bokuto’s attention, as he practically throws his naked body over yours. A loud ‘moo’ of warning escapes his chest, even when he notices that the person is just Ushijima.

“I see that she mates with you well,” His eyes trail over your sleeping face, not straying downwards, “I hope this means that you’ll enter more shows.”

Bo smiles, “Yes. Now I need to show off, so my mate thinks I’m an eligible male.”

Nodding, Ushijima turns on his heal, making his way to leave the barn, “I hope your children take after you in strength. (Your Name) is a lot prettier than you are, so maybe they’ll be pleasing to the eye as well.”

Snorting, the grey haired man’s ears twitch, jingling throughout the room, “You bet she is. She’s perfect.”

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