#anyway frankly The Menu WISHES

[finitevariety]

Succession has totally ruined me. At this point I cannot watch a movie without going 'you know what...'

[hannahssimblr]

The restaurant is sea facing, our table on a balcony over the water, shimmering in the fading light. Astrid, in a linen dress, a thin gold chain around her neck. Supreme beauty, men turning to look at her as we sit. What it must feel like to be her, to be always the centre of attention, unable to escape the eyes of other people. I suspect I would hate it, that sometimes I’d grow tired of being looked at, and would wish I could hide from it. All those gazes, all the time. I want to shrink just thinking about it. 

“Mi scusi,” she raises her hand for the waiter’s attention. “Le dispiace se spostiamo quel tavolo? Abbiamo altre due persone che si uniranno a noi.”

He shifts a table next to ours, then two chairs. 

“Grazie” Astrid says sweetly. 

“Well, that was easy.” 

“I said it would be. You just have to ask.”

I think it depends on the person asking, personally, but instead of making my point, I simply nod and take the menu off the table to look through the pasta dishes. 

Silvio and Suzana arrive arm in arm, drifting across the balcony. We stand to greet them, hug, shake hands, and as Suzana presents her cheek to me, I understand there is an expectation here to do that thing where I kiss her the way only people of a particular generation do. I press my cheek against hers and kind of kiss the air around the vicinity of her ear, feeling then, inauthentic and embarrassed.

Immediately, they clasp hands across the tablecloth. Letting go of one another for a minute is unthinkable for them, I suppose. They go on about how beautiful the view is, how tired they were after the sailboat tour, the nap they took afterwards, all while petting each other constantly. Silvio turns his palm over for Suzana to trace shapes with her nails as he explains the location of their hotel to us. She massages his forearm rhythmically, up to the crook of his elbow where his shirt is rucked, back down to his wrist again. I glance at Astrid to see what she makes of this, but her full attention is on their faces, making the right sounds so they know she’s listening. Comments to reinforce this: “Oh yes, how nice. Mmm, I’m sure.”

She isn’t the person to notice the strange behaviour of others and privately laugh about it. I can picture us later, at the villa, as she methodically undoes the buttons on her dress and hangs it in the wardrobe, saying: “Oh, Jude, that’s obviously how they show affection and stay connected to one another. Some people are just like that.” I’ll feel like bringing it up was redundant and frankly unkind. 

After ordering variations of pasta dishes, our guests feed each other, dabbing sauce from one another’s faces. I offer Astrid some spaghetti, which she takes daintily off my plate and exchanges it for one piece of ravioli. 

“How long is it that you are together?” Silvio asks. He has very intense, light, amber coloured eyes. 

“Five months,” I say. 

“Ah, that’s it? You seem you have been together longer.”

I twist spaghetti noodles around my fork. 

“It’s because you seem relaxed together,” Suzana adds. “And mature.”

“Mm,” Astrid says. “That’s interesting.”

Then Silvio says: “How old are you two, anyway? It strikes me we never asked earlier.”

“Twenty-three,” she says smoothly. I rest my fork and stare across the table at her as she slides a piece of ravioli around in cream sauce. “Jude’s birthday is November, and mine December.”

“Oh, you are babies!” Suzana cries, and grasping her arm; “we shouldn’t be hanging around with you two, should we? You’re much too young.”

“Oh, I know, we’re so young, but really, we prefer to mix with an older crowd. We find more similarities than with our age group.”

Beneath the table, I nudge her chair with my shoe, and she adjusts herself and continues avoiding my eye. “And you? You know, since we’re being frank.”

“Well, I’m twenty-eight,” says Suzana. “Silvio is thirty-two.”

Astrid lifts one shoulder, an easy shrug. “Well,” she says. “There you go.”

They go on talking about other things, but again, I have been overcome by the strange, tight chested feeling I had on the boat, like my footing has gone, or like another person has come and snatched something belonging to me right out of my hands. The food seems no longer appetising, so I lay my fork on my plate and listen to fragments of their conversation interspersed with a buzzing sensation in my head.

“...love it there. It’s perfect. And, oh, I have to tell you about… now, I don’t know a lot about the history of it. To be quite honest, I’ve never been drawn to… but there is a boat that takes you a few times a day… one day I’d love to visit too. It sounds fabulous…” 

I realise at one point that everyone is looking at me, and alarmed, I try to pull the last few minutes of garbled conversation out of the air and form it into something coherent, something to which I can add a point, or answer a question, or whatever else might warrant three faces staring expectantly in my direction. 

“Sorry, excuse me, what was that again?”

“Asia,” Silvio says. “You’re going?”

“Ah, yeah.” For no reason, I pick up my fork and poke at the cooling pasta in the dish. Still no intention of eating it. “In June. My friend and I are heading out to Thailand for about a month.”

“What is it about Thailand?”

“Hm. Well, it was him, Jonas, that wanted to. He says he’s drawn to it, and I, well, I just kind of thought it’d be fun, to be honest. There isn’t any other reason in terms of like, research I’ve done or things I particularly want to see. I was just invited, and I said I’d go, so.”

It’s an unsatisfactory answer. I can tell by their faces, but once I have replied to their questions with enough bland, unexpanded answers, they leave me alone to stare at the tablecloth unbothered until my eyes lose focus. Two glass candle holders floating about. Twenty-three. Why did she say that? Is it she knows, through some experience, they would bother about twenty, but not twenty-three? Is it my nineteen that changes things, makes me, us, suddenly repellant? 

Astrid could be. Twenty-three, that is. Or twenty-five, thirty, even, with her elegant, ageless beauty, and thoughtful conversation that spills from her clever mouth. Look at her there, the demure expression, her pale eyes practically sparkling, intelligent, squinting as she nods along to show she understands the point. What point? I have no idea. I would know if I were listening. 

I am not twenty-three, and doubt I could pass myself as such. Too stupid, immature, a childish humour and no experience of the world. A lanky body, tall, yes, but not broad, face still feline, barely grown into my nose five minutes. My arms are more muscular now, of course, for all the work I’ve done, but I’m juvenile looking, too. More like those freakish child bodybuilders than an actual grown man with a full beard and significant hair on his chest. 

Silvio, grand gestures, hairline retreating, the flash of brilliant white veneers too large for his mouth. I know those, my father warns patients against them for reasons of blatant artificiality. They make him look uncanny. Half man, half marionette. Would he care Astrid is twenty? I doubt it. He probably wouldn’t care if she was sixteen. 

He watches her speaking, tongue wetting his upper lip, gaze flicking around her face, down, for a split second, to the seam on the collar of her dress. A stupid feeling comes then, like jealousy, competition, as though she isn’t already my girlfriend. He should envy me instead, the man who she lets do what every other man who has ever seen her wants to. Except that she hasn’t actually let me for a while, and when she has, she’s been dispassionate and obviously bored. 

Then Suzana, with her round, pleasant face. Dippy, oblivious. I think of her, arms linked with Astrid earlier on the boat, and the way they spoke with their heads close, touching arms, voices lowered to scandalous whispers at different times, and their laughter, high and tinkling like bells, together. Is the lie for her? Is it Suzana she thinks would care? Does it, to be twenty-eight and hanging out with a twenty-year-old, feel the same as to be twenty and talking to a twelve-year-old? Is it accompanied by the same self consciousness? That to relate to that person points to some personality defect, some lack of appropriate intellectual maturity? Perhaps there is something else, some aspect of women and their friendships that I’ll never understand. 

Or it’s me, and I, in fact, am the one that lacks maturity. Me, who cares too much about an age gap? But if that’s the case, then why–

“...menu. Jude, what do you think?” She’s speaking directly to me again, Astrid. And again, three staring faces. 

“About dessert?” I venture. “I mean, none for me. I guess I’m not hungry, but if everyone else wants it, then go ahead.”

A strange look from her. Irritated. “We just decided we should skip dessert. I was asking if you agree.”

“Oh, well yes, then, obviously, I agree.”

“You’re distracted,” she says. “Where have you gone?”

“I think I’m just tired.”

“I always get tired after a day in the sun,” says Suzana, and gives me this warm, sympathetic smile, that although kind, makes me feel like I’m being spoken to by my primary school teacher. 

“Yes, a good night’s sleep is needed then, I think.” I push my plate of stone-cold spaghetti away. “Maybe we should think about calling it a night.”

I feel my words ignored as Silvio leans in and lists bars where we can drink. 

Oh yes, great, I think. More time with these near strangers we are actively lying to, for some reason, and then it’s twenty minutes later, and we are ordering shots at a sticky club with blasting hip hop music and people grinding against each other on the dancefloor. 

Shots. Oh, God. It’s almost boring. Maybe if there were pills... I down mine, vodka, with a dull feeling, and wince, not because of the alcohol, but because Silvio and Suzana, and the way they cheer for themselves afterwards, like swallowing a shot is worthy of some sort of exuberant celebration. Surely Astrid hates that kind of thing. She’ll think it gauche. She doesn’t, however, meet my eye to confirm this. 

The bartender asks for my ID when I order a second, and through loyalty to Astrid, I hide my year of birth from Silvio, hovering beside me, head bobbing to the beat. “They checked your ID?” He says, big weird smile. “I cannot remember the last time they wanted to see mine.”

Obviously. Crow’s feet. Lines on his forehead that don’t go away even when it’s relaxed. An elderly man. 

“It’s the baby face,” that’s Suzana, hanging off him now, and his hands are on her arse right in front of me, like somehow I’d want to see that happening, his fingers squeezing her flesh through the stretch fabric of her dress. “Do you know you look so innocent? Like the way teenagers still have soft faces.”

Silvio laughs then. At me, maybe. It’s hard to tell. I’m downing the second shot when he says. “Don’t you think he’s handsome? Nice bone structure, hm?”

That’s not a normal thing to say. He’s likely making fun of me. I don’t know for certain, but I don’t think it’s common for someone to ask their girlfriend to rate someone else’s handsomeness. I assume she won’t answer. 

“Hm,” she says, though, and appears to be genuinely examining me through the dry ice and the disco lights. Part of the joke, surely. “He reminds me of an actor. I can’t think of the name. You know I’m bad with the names.”

“I know, baby, but I don’t know who you mean.”

Baby. If I ever reached a stage of depressing cringe where I called a girl ‘baby’, especially in front of other people, then I would like to be assassinated. Euthanized like livestock. Where is Astrid?

Talking to someone else, someone new. Two stringy Italian men with gel-slick hair all spiked up. Oh, fantastic. I go to take her away, save her, because that’s my role, forever rescuing her from creepy men, from who she seems to have remarkably little instinct to save herself. 

“Are you alright?” I’m blocking them, making a big, assertive point of it. 

“Yes, I’m okay, they were asking me to dance, which is,” she rolls her eyes, “obviously pathetic. Like they really thought I would.”

“Well, come dance, then. Dance with me instead.” On the subject of women, I mostly have smoother ways of asking for what I want than coming out and saying it directly, with that tinge of pleading desperation in my tone as though frightened she, of all people, my actual girlfriend, will say no to me. 

Blessedly, she agrees, and on the dancefloor together I realise I am already drunk. It’s the mostly empty stomach, the two shots of vodka in quick succession. It all makes the lights of the ceiling blurry, the music vivid. Heat, sweat, a hundred bodies and ours swaying among them. My hands touch her hips as she sways. Her gorgeous, slender body. Perfect. Like, 90% legs, somehow, and I’m instantly aching for her. The sweat in my hair, its sheen across her collarbone and my hands touching her here. It’s a sense memory. Her body on top of mine, sighing with luxurious pleasure. Oh, God, fuck–

“Can we go?” I’m murmuring into her ear. One song in, and the DJ is blasting an air horn. “I’m not into this club.”

“We have been here about ten minutes.”

Yes, but there are things I’d like to be doing other than dancing, if at all possible. I cannot go on touching her like this, being close, her body brushing against mine, as long as there are others around us. It’s indecent.

“Come on. Come home with me.”

He’s howling into the microphone now, suggesting repeatedly that we should make some noise. It’s horrific. Surely Guantanamo bay level torture, being in this club. We are part of a human experiment to see how long we can endure this DJ. She says, then: “Fine, yes. I’ll get my bag.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[forever-once-gone]

Day 3: Yoongi - You Meet Your Fated at a Coffee Shop <3

Part of the Love, Amour, Aur Pyaar drabble series for February! (lol)

Word count: 3.7k (can't keep them short for the life of me)

Content and Warnings: soulmate au, coffee shop au, gn!reader, sharing preferences, arguing, frustration, they're both a bit dense lol, but other than that nothing too terrible in this, just sweet honestly, almost throwing up, coffee snob!Yoongi, barista!Yoongi, mocha slander, terms of endearment: baby, dear, Y/n is ready to FIGHT

Author's Note: Hey! So like I know it is well past Feb, but tbh it was crazy of me to even think id have time to publish these things during midterms season. Even though I had reading week, it was just not going to happen. Even though I did manage to write some of the days, I obviously couldn't every day. And posting? Forget about it. Anyway, even if it's past Feb, would you want me to post the ones I did write? It won't be instantaneous, but I would like to share what I did write, and maybe even finish all the other days as I had already planned out what I wanted to write each day. Let me know if you're interested! Anyways, as always, enjoy! <3

Another mocha, just another mocha to fill up in the takeaway cup for another person who is trying to get through the February cold. Yoongi gets a lot of mocha requests before the winter holidays season. When so many are hyped up with Christmas cheer. Even people who do not celebrate Christmas tend to indulge in peppermint mochas when the snow hits the ground. And the trend trickled into the post holiday months every winter season. To the point when people ordered mochas even into early spring.

Yoongi, ever the coffee enthusiast, hated having to make so many mochas.

Frankly, he considered mochas just snobby chocolate milk with the smallest hint of caffeine. Like do mochas even deserve to be considered coffee-based beverages? He thought not. You could barely even taste the coffee in between the thick, tongue-coating taste of chocolate and the heaviness of way too much milk.

Everytime he had to make mochas, every single time, he’d be cursing in his head about how he would rather just be able to make his espressos, black coffees, and iced americanos. Iced americanos are the most he’d be willing to go when it comes to diffusing the taste of coffee.

Adding milk? Forget it.

Adding sugar? He’d rather just pour it down the drain than drink it.

Alas, when it comes to his job, he has to fulfill the customer’s wishes. No matter how much he hated the sugary, barely-even-coffee, more-like-milkshakes drinks, he would make the drink for them. A waste of good coffee in his books, but he needed the money that came from his overpriced caffeinated chocolate milk 

So, when it came to a coffee-novice coming into his coffee shop asking for a mocha, he would grit his teeth but make the drink nonetheless, the underline he requires to be able to pay his shop’s mortgage and keep all of his employees.

It was another one of these spring days when he’d unlocked the front doors of the café only to see someone new. Normally, only a few select people would come to his café so early in the morning, after all, most people started work at 9 or later. Only a few people would come at 5:30 when he opened. But today, there was someone new.

There was you, a person he’d never seen before standing behind his regulars. A cheery looking person, giving him a smile when he unlocked the door and opened it for the small group of people to trickle in.

He made his way behind the counter as he began his small routine with his regulars, smiling at each one of them as they gave him their orders, even though there really was no need as he had gotten each one of them memorized ages ago.

He took and prepared each order with practiced ease, until he got to the last person in line. The one who had spent the last ten minutes scanning the chalkboard menu with an analytical look.

You.

“Good morning,” you said to him with a kind smile.

“Good morning,” he replied. “What can I get started for you today?”

You wrung your hands, scanning the menu again, before looking back at him. “Can I get a large mocha?”

He scoffed. Seriously, chocolate this early in the morning? Typical from a cheery-looking person like yourself.

“What?” you asked, wondering if you’d broken some unspoken social cue. You’d seen the way he’d kindly spoken to the customers before you, making small talk, so what happened when it came to you?

“Nothing, nothing,” he waved you off, before pressing some buttons on his cash register’s screen. “That’ll be 5000 won.”

“No, no. That definitely was something. Did I say anything wrong?” You insisted, brows furrowed together in a mix of worry and a bit of indignation.

“No, not at all. It’ll be 5000 won.” He tried to force a smile, but your eyes were squinted together just as you did before when you were scanning the menu, but this time your object of interest was him.

“What? You just don’t like me or something?” You felt a bit uncomfortable, out of place in this cafe with a barista who seemed to hold a certain disdain for you from the moment you opened your mouth. But that didn’t mean you were going to back down from this entitled man. You eyed him up and down, letting him know the contempt was mutual.

He let out a small scoff, before seeming to recompose himself with customer service professionalism. “Of course not. I’m sorry if it seemed that way. Your total is 5000 won.”

You could see through his poorly reconstructed composure, but nonetheless gave him the requested money. You were already running late to your job interview, and you needed this job if you hoped to actually be able to rent a place in this city. You had already spent three weeks staying with your friend after moving here from your old city. You couldn’t stay with her forever, even if she was willing to keep you for forever if you needed it.

You stepped away from the register after he had given you your change and moved away to make your drink. You took the time to continue admiring the interior of the cafe as the barista flew around his counter space. You took in the worn furniture resembling something half between industrial and contemporary. The hanging lights and the various maps lining the walls of the place. Very hipster. Fitting for a coffee shop.

The call of: “One large mocha?” brought you back from your inspection. With a hum, you took your drink from him, feeling the drink warm your gloved hands.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, have a nice day.” And with that he was moving back to his dishes to clean up the dishes he’d used before the next customers wandered in.

You turned away from him, moving towards the door. Before you pushed open the door to brave into the cold, you flipped open the flap on the top of the to-go cup. You took a quick sip, ready for the delicious drink to coat your tongue, but instead your tastebuds were assaulted with a heinous amount of sugar. It tasted like you’d boiled a pool full of chocolate and dumped a truck full of sugar and then reduced the entire pool full over a roaring fire until only a cup of the concentrated mixture remained full of pure chocolate and sugar.

You immediately turned back on your heel. Pressing your tongue against the tip of your mouth, trying to rid it of the sweet assault. “You messed up,” you slammed the cup on the counter, seeing the barista’s shoulders jump at the loud thump.

“What’s the issue?” he asked, as he wiped off his hands on a hand towel before flipping it onto his shoulder. He leaned onto the counter with the palms of his hands, not even trying to hide his annoyance with you anymore considering the frown he sent your way.

“This is way too sweet. Like what, did you dump a whole bag of sugar into this thing?” You nudged the cup towards him. “If you didn’t like me, you could have just refused to take my order, you didn’t have to do all this!” You gestured to the cup.

“Please, I need you to calm down. I didn’t do anything to your drink. It’s just a regular mocha. Mochas are sweet, you should have known that before you ordered it for the first time.” He rolled his eyes slightly.

“First time? Oh, honey, no—I know what mochas are meant to taste like and this is not it. It’s practically the only thing I ever get!”

He scoffed yet again. Typical, he thought to himself. Never would've guessed. “Just take your drink and go, I don’t have time for this.”

“You don’t believe me do you?” You said in disbelief. You never would dare fight with someone like this, but for some reason, this one guy was just getting on your nerves. Typically, even if your order had gotten mixed up you would just swallow your disappointment and try to enjoy the drink anyway. Even if it was something bitter and boring like a plain black coffee. But the way this man had been acting from the moment you ordered has been rude and completely ruined your confidence. Not what you needed at all before trying to get this job. And for some reason, it felt like all your senses and emotions had been turned up to 100, so controlling your anger was a lot harder.

“Drink it,” you told him, holding his eye contact. “Yeah, drink it. If you can drink even one gulp without making a face, I’ll admit I was wrong and leave.”

The barista tongued his cheek for a moment, contemplating what you said. “I don’t want to. I don’t like mochas, besides, I can’t drink a customer’s drink anyway.”

“I’m just gonna take your refusal as you admitting that you fucked with my drink.”

By this point the two people left in the shop were watching the two of you fighting at the counter. A middle aged man walked up to the counter, stepping in to try and defuse the situation. “Why don't you just take a sip of it, Yoongi? Just to prove them wrong?”

“I refuse,” the barista, Yoongi, said to the man. “It’s a matter of principle at this point. I’m not drinking it. I know my abilities, and I know that that mocha would be as good as mochas get. I’m not gonna take a sip of a nasty ass mocha just cause this person wants to throw a fuss at five in the morning.”

“So you admit you fucked with it?! You admitted it’s nasty!”

“No,” he rolled his eyes at you for the umpteenth time this morning. “I just hate mochas, they taste like shit. But anyone who likes those chocolatey messes will admit mine are as good as they get. I might not like them, but I still put all my effort into making sure they taste good.”

“Just fucking drink it then! I’m not joking, this tastes like shit. Maybe something is wrong with your milk steaming machine or something—this just isn’t right!”

The middle-aged man decided to try and put the fight to an end. “Why don’t I just give it a try, huh?”

“No!” But Yoongi and you said at the same time, before turning back to each other again.

“He refuses to admit it, and he has to be the one to try it!” You crossed your arms.

“And they’re the one who is making a big situation over nothing, you should never give in to people like them.” He glared at you. Now that his patrons were getting involved, he wanted to get you out as soon as possible.

“Just try it! I swear it’s unbelievable. Just give it one sip!” You threw up your arms in frustration. “Come on, I’m not even asking for a refund or anything, I just want you to admit that you took your anger out on me for no reason. That’s all, I don’t even want an apology!”

“I don’t need to apologize! I didn’t do anything wrong! That mocha is PERFECT! I’d bet my life on it.” Yoongi was fuming now, chest heaving with frustration and annoyance. He was this close to calling the cops on you and calling it a day.

“Oh shut up with the ‘perfect’ nonsense! It’s not perfect! Just try it! This whole thing would have been over ages ago if you just gave it a try!” You pulled the cap off of the cup. “If you’re afraid it’s poisoned, I’ll take a sip of it before you drink it. See look.” 

You took a swig of the drink, nearly choking on the sugary beverage as you tried to keep the concoction from coming right back up. You gagged for a second or two, before finally straightening back up, wiping your mouth with the back of your gloved hand.

The two men around you exchanged expressions, their anger turning more to disbelief. Either you were a great actor or that drink really, really sucked.

“There, see. I didn’t tamper with it. Now, please, please just try it. Please. Don’t make me look insane. Just try it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll try it. But if it tastes fine, you need to leave my shop and never come back, you hear me?”

“I swear. I won’t come back, don’t plan to anyway.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at that, before grabbing the lidless cup from the counter. He held it up, hesitated, and then said, “I really don’t like mochas,” with a scrunch of his nose. He took a breath and then took the smallest sip you’ve ever seen a human being take before slamming the cup down. His hand immediately came up to cover his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed.

You couldn’t bear to hide your smug look. How was he gonna hide how terrible the drink was now? He looked like he was going to throw up. Ha! That will show him!

But then he did the weirdest thing. He took another sip. A long sip this time. Other than his furrowed brows, he didn’t choke, gag, or even dry heave for a millisecond. Just watching him drink was making you nauseous.

“Oh my god!” you yelled, snatching the cup from his hands before he could take another sip, holding it up behind you, away from him. “You’re going to give yourself diabetes if you drink that whole thing!”

Immediately he tried to reach across the counter and get it back from you. “Hey! Give that back! This makes no sense!”

“Yoongi, calm down!” The man said, pushing the barista back off of the counter that he was practically leaning his whole body onto at this point.

“Why does it taste good?!” The distress that the barista was under put even you on pause. You watched the barista scramble around, rubbing at his head as if it was aching him. Was this the effect of all the sugar?

“Hey, man, you doing alright?” You placed the cup back down on the counter, holding a hand out to him to show you meant no harm.

He just shook his head, picking up a half empty mug from behind the counter that you had seen him periodically sipping from between the preparation of yours and the others’ drinks. He took a large gulp only to immediately run to the sink, spitting the drink right into the drain.

“Why does my coffee taste so heinous?! Why does it taste like fucking bitter gasoline? Why does the mocha taste so fucking good?!” He was still hunched over the sink, the only thing you could see of him was his back a bit of his lowered head. His arm reached to grab the hand towel on his shoulder to throw it to the side.

You had no answer for him. This was all so bizarre.

“This—” the middle aged man brought both your and Yoongi’s attention to him, as he brought the cup back to his lips for another sip. When had he taken your mocha from you? Was it when Yoongi was losing his mind? 

“This tastes…” He took another sip. His brows furrowed in concentration. 

“This tastes like a regular mocha.” He put the cup back down. “I think you guys need to calm down for a moment and think about what this means.”

“What do you mean?” you asked him.

“I think you know what I mean, dear.” The man had a kind-hearted look on his face as his eyes flitted between both you and Yoongi.

“OH MY GOD.” Yoongi grabbed the edge of the counter, seeming to understand the man’s insinuation. “There is no way.”

“What? What am I missing?” The man only shook his head as Yoongi raised his head to meet your gaze. He just pushed his half empty mug to you. Inside was black coffee.

“Try it. I need to see if it’s true.”

“Um, no. I don’t like black coffee. Yuck.” You nudged the mug right back to him only for him to stop the movement halfway. 

“That’s exactly why you have to try this,” Yoongi said as calmly as he could, though you could swear he looked almost like he could faint right then and there.

“Fine,” you took the mug from him. “Just cause you did drink the mocha.”

You swirled the dark liquid in the mug, debating whether it was worth it to drink the bitter liquid. But when you looked up to see that both the man and Yoongi were watching you like scientists inspecting their latest mutant rats for their observational notes, you just took a sip only to get them to stop staring at you.

Instantly your throat was soothed as the smooth taste of the perfectly roasted coffee made its way through your mouth. You’d never drunk anything so refreshing, so calming as it warmed you up from the inside out. Even though there was no sugar or cream, you surprisingly didn’t mind it as it allowed the rich flavour of the black coffee to shine through strongly. It tasted so good.

You didn’t put down the mug until you’d finished the whole thing.

The middle aged man had a small smile on his face, while Yoongi seemed to be still in his inspector mode.

“So,” the man began. “How was it?”

You thought about it for a second. “Good. Like really good. Like surprisingly good.”

The man clapped his hands. “Well there you have it. Congrats you two.”

You shook your head for a second, scrunching your face in annoyance. “What are you talking about?”

Yoongi came around the counter, finally coming to stand beside you without anything between you two. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Easy, Yoongi. Don’t want to scare them off now do you?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes at the man but then nodded his head in understanding. “You don’t like black coffee right? Too bitter or something?”

You nodded. “Yeah, too bitter. I need more sugar or else I just can’t get it down.”

“And I hate mochas. They’re too sweet and you can’t even tell there is coffee in it since it's so overpowered by the sugar, chocolate, and milk.”

“Okay… What does that have to do with me though?”

“But I just liked the mocha. Not just liked, I loved the mocha. And you loved the black coffee.”

“Yeah…” You waited for him to clarify further.

He waved his arm as if urging you to think further, but when you just cocked your head to the side in confusion, he dropped his arm back down to his side. “Seriously?” he asked, exasperated. “I hated my usual coffee and loved your mocha. And you hated your usual mocha and loved my coffee.”

You nodded your head, trying to understand what he was trying to get at. Until it just clicked, your eyes widening instantly, reaching to grab his elbows. “OH MY GOD! We’re soulmates! Oh my god! We switched preferences! We’re soulmates!” You threw your arms around him, pulling him as close to you as you could through your thick winter jacket.

“Took you long enough,” he huffed, his arms reciprocating your grasp.

“Oh my god! I knew I was meant to move here! I have to tell my roommate! But wait—” you pushed him out of your hold.

Yoongi let out a light groan, as he caught himself from stumbling.

You pointed a finger at him accusingly. “You hate mochas, you black coffee supremacist!”

“Seriously?” Yoongi asked you. “That’s your biggest concern now?”

“Well yeah! I mean, I don’t know if my preferences will change back, but if they do, I can’t stay with a soulmate that thinks he’s superior to me because of his coffee preferences!”

Yoongi let out a small laugh, his lips tugging into a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I think I will never be able to hate mochas after today.”

Even with your finger still pointed at him, you felt your lips pull into a wide smile at the hidden meaning behind his words.

You both jumped at the clearing of a throat behind the two of you. The man had made his way to the front door of the coffee shop with his order in his hand. “Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to let you know that my wife, Maria, had been recording the entire thing in case you needed to call the police.” He nodded towards the other patron who had been at the shop when you and Yoongi had started fighting who was now standing holding the door open as she waited for her husband. “Let me know if you want the video of your first meeting, I’m sure your friends and family would love to see it,” he said between kind-hearted soft laughs, before leaving hand-in-hand with Maria.

“Maybe even our future grandkids,” you teased him happily, taking a step back towards him.

Yoongi just smiled in reply, showing off his perfect teeth to you.

You felt your heart swell.

He took another step towards you, grabbing a hold of your hands by your side. “I would like that.”

You heard the door chime as a customer walked into the coffee shop before their steps halted somewhere behind you.

“Uh, is this a bad time?” The customer asked from behind you.

“Give me a second,” Yoongi replied.

“Alright,” the person cleared their throat. “Just don’t want to be late for work.”

That seemed to jolt you out of your Yoongi admiring stupor. “Shit! I have an interview!” You tightened your hold on his hands before letting go.

By the time Yoongi realized what was going on, you were already halfway out the door.

“I’m going to be so late! I’ll be back later, okay, baby?” You had pushed the door open taking a step out before turning back to him. “I am allowed to come back right? Or am I still exiled from your shop?” You asked with a smile.

“Seriously?” He laughed, shaking his head as he made his way back behind the service counter. “Maybe you’ll just have to try your luck.”

“You’re impossible.” You laughed into your hand, waving your hand at him. “When I come back, if you don’t let me in, I’ll tell all your customers that I almost threw up after drinking your mocha.” You stuck out your tongue at him as he fake gasped, before finally actually leaving the shop.

Well, there's that.

So if you didn't get it, in this case, soulmates have different ways of finding out if they're meant to be in this universe. For Yoongi and Y/n, they met and ended up switching coffee preferences (or maybe even more preferences but the only thing they noticed so far is the coffee). Even though their reactions may seem extra, when you meet your soulmate all your emotions/feelings/everything is meant to be heightened. So they had each other's preferences, but n times stronger. So that's why they loved the other's preference like it was ambrosia, but their own preferences tasted like so bad to them. Y/n found the mocha wayyyy to sweet like Yoongi would usually, and Yoongi found the black coffee wayyyyy too bitter cause Y/n likes her coffee well sweetened and with a lot of stuff to mellow the coffee flavour.

But anyway, yes they're in love.

So yeah, do let me know if you want me to post the rest of these. It will be a slow process, but I would like to do so.

Take care!!

[rottenpumpkin13]

How does an award ceremony dinner for the Firsts go horribly wrong?

The Award ceremony (from hell)

• After a year of successful military conquests, it's time for Shinra to honor its soldiers and military personnel, and the First Class trio is no exception.

• To commemorate the SOLDIER program, Shinra hosts a MANDATORY award ceremony dinner.

• Unfortunately for the First Class, this award ceremony comes with strings. Sephiroth is expected to give a speech, Genesis has a personal affair on the same night, and Lazard passed the duty of green-lighting the menu onto Angeal.

• All three of them are stressed. Sephiroth trusts his ability to write a speech just fine; it's the prospect of speaking on a stage with a hundred eyes on him that freaks him out.

• Angeal is going over the menu options and cursing Lazard for—quote—trusting his better judgment.

• Meanwhile, Genesis is feigning nonchalance. He's confident that he can attend to his personal affair and be back for the award ceremony all in one night.

• The award ceremony dinner arrives. Sephiroth and Angeal enter the ceremony hall dressed to the nines, the former with a stack of cards in his shaking hands.

Angeal: You know, if no one likes the food, I'm blaming Lazard. I don't know the first thing about fancy dinners.

Sephiroth (exasperated): I wish I had your problems. Meanwhile, I fear I'm going to throw up the minute I step foot on that stage.

Angeal: Oh, well, don't eat the shrimp.

• Sephiroth gives him a critical look.

Angeal: Oh, don't give me that look. I don't know what you're so worried about, anyway. You're Sephiroth. You could go up on that stage and talk about the consistency of chocolate milk, and everyone will still eat it up.

Sephiroth: Ugh. Have you heard anything from Genesis?

Angeal: No, and I haven't seen him since this morning.

Sephiroth: Huh, how odd. I saw him a few hours ago before he left. He was wondering if I had any spare bobby pins to lend him

Angeal: What was he up to?

Sephiroth: I don't know, but he smelled like women's perfume—*Sephiroth gags*

Angeal: Woah, you okay?

Sephiroth: It's the nerves.

• Angeal sees a waiter walk by with a tray of champagne and whisks a glass away.

Angeal: Here, have some alcohol. It'll calm you down.

• Sephiroth takes a reluctant sip, willing to try anything to calm himself down.

Sephiroth: Oh... this tastes nice!

Angeal: See? Just don't drink too mu—

• Sephiroth downs the champagne in one go and reaches for a glass of wine from a passing waiter. He downs that in one go too.

Angeal: Oh boy.

• Angeal leaves for the kitchens to make sure everything is according to plan. Meanwhile Sephiroth is too busy drowning himself in alcohol.

• By the time the award ceremony begins, the man is WASTED.

• Angeal is sitting at a table with Zack and Kunsel. Everyone's eating dinner. At the table adjacent to theirs, Heidegger, Scarlet and the rest of the board dig into their food. Angeal overhears everything.

Scarlet: My, this coq-au-vin tastes dreadful!

Heidegger: Utterly inedible!

Scarlet: The meat is clearly low quality and whoever thought pairing this with pasta is a proper barbarian.

• Angeal starts convulsing in his seat.

Zack: Ignore them, 'Geal.

Kunsel: Yeah, I think the food tastes fine.

Zack: ...

Zack: Kunsel?

Kunsel: Yes?

Zack: You haven't eaten a single bite.

• Sephiroth takes the stage with a wave of applause. He's stumbling, disheveled, and smiling like an idiot.

Sephiroth: Okay! Genuine, question. Show of hands, who pines for the sweet release on the daily? Eh? Eh?

• The audience laughs, unsure if Sephiroth is joking.

Sephiroth: I was told to prepare a speech, but I did not bother memorizing it, dunked my cue cards in the punch, and now I frankly don't give a shit anymore.

Zack (whispering to Kunsel): Is he drunk?

Kunsel: Nah.

• Back on the stage, Sephiroth tries to unscrew the microphone from the stand, struggling at first, but finally freeing it with a violent yank. He then launches the microphone stand into the crowd, where it knocks out Professor Hojo in one swift move. The audience gasps.

Kunsel: Oh he's hammered.

• Meanwhile, Angeal is quietly seething with rage as Heidegger and Scarlet continue to joke about the food.

• On the stage, Sephiroth loosens his tie.

Sephiroth: Instead of a speech, I find it much more productive to have a conversation. So here's my opinion about every single one of you. *He points at President Shinra in the crowd* Starting with you, Colonel Sanders.

• Meanwhile, Genesis rushes back into the building. He's almost grateful his costume makes him unrecognizable, he'd be utterly humiliated if people knew that the Genesis Rhapsodos was late.

• He pulls up the hem of his dress as he steps into the elevator, adjusting his corset with one final huff. He made it. Good. Now he can—

• Genesis pales as he looks to his left. Leaning against the elevator mirror is Rufus Shinra, looking utterly enchanted.

Rufus: Good evening.

Genesis: ...Hi?

Rufus: I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of meeting you. What's your name?

• Genesis is both relieved that he doesn't recognize him and a little stunned.

Genesis: Uh...Gen...ee, Genny! I'm Genny, nice to meet you.

Rufus: What an enchanting young woman. Are you unaccompanied? Going to the award ceremony, perhaps?

Genesis: *panicking* Yes.

Rufus: What a coincidence. I was heading over there myself. You wouldn't mind keeping me company, would you?

• The elevator door opens just in time.

Genesis: Oh, look at the time! I gotta go!

• He runs out, leaving Rufus swooning in the elevator.

Rufus: I have found the future Mrs. Shinra. *he runs after him*

• Meanwhile, Sephiroth is giving the speech of the century.

Sephiroth: Oh! Here's a joke, why did the chicken cross the road? Any guesses? Anyone? TO GO SEE HER MOTHER BECAUSE CHICKENS HAVE MOTHERS. *He points at palmer* STOP EATING THAT CHICKEN WING, PALMER.

• Palmer, terrified, drops his chicken wing.

• Meanwhile, Angeal is slowly rocking back and forth as he listens to Heidegger and Scarlet's critique.

Heidegger: Ha! As if that chicken was edible.

Scarlet: So dry, right?

• Angeal slams his fist down on the table and stands up.

Angeal: THAT'S IT. DON'T LIKE IT? DON'T EAT IT! STARVE!

Heidegger: Don't yell at me, Hewley! If you have a problem with me, come over here and let's settle it like men.

• Angeal grabs a handful of pasta and launches it at Heidegger. This makes Heidegger grab a handful of mashed potatoes and throw it back at Angeal.

• Zack takes the golden opportunity to leap up on the table and yell "FOOD FIGHT!"

• It takes .2 seconds for the entirety of the Third Class to comply, turning the award ceremony into a juvenile chaos. Meanwhile, Sephiroth is still going at it while people throw food at each other

Sephiroth: —which is why I think that if you think human experimentation is ethical, DON'T HAVE CHILDREN! ABSTAIN FROM INTERCOURSE! WRAP YOUR WEANER!

• Meanwhile, Genesis comes rushing into the ceremony hall. He doesn't even care about the food fight, he's too busy trying to get away from Rufus. So he ducks under the first table he sees.

Genesis: Ah, greetings.

Angeal: WHY ARE YOU A WOMAN?

Zack: Wow, Angeal, that's a little sexist.

Kunsel: Yeah, be nice to the lady.

Genesis: It's me. Genesis.

Angeal: Explain, Gen.

Genesis: Look, the why's and how's of my fabulous look are irrelevant right now! We have a problem!

Angeal: Tell me about it. Sephiroth is drunkenly airing out his woes and I just saw president Shinra get hit with an entire platter of shrimp.

Kunsel: Thanks to Zack.

Zack: Hey, it was Angeal who started it!

Angeal: And it was you who instigated it!

Genesis: Guys! Rufus is in love with me because he thinks I'm a girl! I lied to him in the elevator because I was under pressure! Do you have any idea how much trouble I'm gonna be in when he finds out!?

Zack: So you bagged a billionaire and you're complaining?

Genesis: ZACK!

Zack: Fine, fine. Give me your key card and wait here. I'll go get your guy clothes and you can change.

Genesis: Thank you.

Angeal: In the meantime, Kunsel, come help me drag Sephiroth from the stage.

• They emerge from under the table to find Tseng and Reno trying to wrestle the microphone away from Sephiroth.

Reno: Let go, man! You've had enough!

Tseng: I agree, Sephiroth. How about we go get you into bed? Hm?

Reno: Yeah, and then—AYE! HE'S BITING ME HE'S BITING ME HE'S—

• Tseng panics and punches Sephiroth in the face, knocking him out instantly. Angeal and Kunsel watch on in horror.

Kunsel: Uhh...I guess that means we don't have to do anything?

Angeal: We run.

• They take off amidst the chaos.

• Zack returns a few minutes later with a tuxedo and makeup wipes. He slips under the table and helps Genesis get dressed.

• When they emerge, they're dodging flying wads of food and rushing towards the exit. That is until they bump into Rufus Shinra.

Rufus: Ah, Gentlemen, have you perhaps seen this tall, gorgeous ginger in a red dress? Her name was Genny and she smelled like—*sniff sniff*

• Rufus pauses, sniffing the air. Genesis starts receding, trying to hide behind Zack. It's no use, Rufus recognizes the scent instantly. Fury blazes in his eyes as he looks at Genesis.

Rufus: Y O U.

Genesis: ZACK RUN!

• Genesis and Zack take off screaming as Rufus chases them.

• Moral of the story: Don't abuse alcohol, don't lose your temper, and don't let your boss's son fall in love with the gender-bent version of you.

[magicalbuffalotransformerman]

(alright bet)

[A lumbering machine strapped with a sharp suit lay itself upon a chair - one of those comfy semi-couches, tired and aching from forgetting to sand down his armor. He'd not bothered to meet up with his nemesis Kellska in eons, assuming he'd killed them 5 cycles ago.]

[As the waiter passed by, however... he realizes he'd been had.]

Kellska: Ah, the Tyrant! Been a while, ye old bastard! How's the legendary status treated ya?

[Tyrant had been in no mood for games since the loss of his son the year prior, but today he decided he'd entertain his long-time nemesis.]

[These two go way back, about 500 cycles of history that neither of them remember clearly. Think of Kratos and Megatron, but if the two were in a thriller comedy; that is effectively Kellska and Tyrant's dynamic. Two horrible creatures, duelling half for fun and half for glory.]

[Anyway.]

TYRANT: ...DO MY EYES DECEIVE ME? KELLSKA DEATHWRANGLER, IN THE FLESH. I THOUGHT I KILLED YOU FIVE CYCLES BACK, EH?

Kellska: HAH! Oh, you wish. Yae'd be surprised how efficient me scientists are ae healing battle damage. Now,

- [Kellska takes a seat, across from the Tyrant.] -

Kellska: Whadderye buyin'?

[Tyrant considers the menu ahead of him... barely.]

TYRANT: HELL, I COULD GO FOR A CHAI LATTE RIGHT ABOUT NOW.

[Kellska - though imperceptible - grins from beyond their helm. It'd been a while since someone had the balls to buy one of Kellska's chai lattes. They say the sweetness kills. They say Kellska doesn't know how to prepare a chai latte properly. Frankly - Tyrant can't taste anything anymore, why would he care?]

Kellska: Horrible choice! Aye'd be more than happy t' serve you, jus' know- waie... Yae don't know the reputation my chai lattes have, do ye, Ty?

TYRANT: JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING CHAI LATTE, PLEASE.

Kellska: Aye... no need for volume, eh, lad? Ye got it.

[Kellska disappears into the employees-only center of the Killer's Lounge, a bit soured from Tyrant's attitude.]

[Tyrant hadn't had the patience for reputations of drinks after what happened last year.]

[Picture this. You're stuck in jail after committing an apparently heinous crime -- you killed an oppressive president. You're of two minds of your situation; You couldn't care less about getting stuck in jail, but your son? He still needs guidance with certain things like taxes and interacting with people without cold-footing away from everyone. Naturally, you're worried about him. He writes to you weekly, when he finds the time to inbetween his schooling and part-time job. All seems well.]

[And then, a week before you're to be released? "{NAME REDACTED}, alleged child of the infamous Tyrant, has been found dead on Highway 17 after being run over by a semi truck carrying a broken down bulldozer." You can't hear anything else of the news in the corner. You can't hear anything. The pain is too unbearable, even after your many eons of needless violence.]

[...So yeah, the Tyrant isn't in the highest of spirits.]

[Kellska returns with the Tyrant's order, placing it on the table ahead of him. Their curiosity gets the better of them, inquiring into the psyche of the Netherbulian in the seat parrallel to their own.]

Kellska: What's with the outburst, Ty?

TYRANT: HAVE YOU EVER BEEN HOUNDED BY PEOPLE ON THE STREET BECAUSE OF THE LOSS OF A LOVED ONE?

Kellska: ...ah. This be about your son, then. I can't say I understand, 'cuz me own daughters don't bother to call anymo'. Ah'm convinced they think I'm dead, frankly.

TYRANT: THEN WHAT'S STOPPING ME FROM TURNING YOU INTO A TINY PILE OF MUSH AND RUSTY OLD SCRAP?

Kellska: Please, mate. Here ah thought we were through since my death, but appa'ently you haven't moved on. Gimme a window into ye mind, here.

TYRANT: TRUTH BE TOLD, I FORGOT ABOUT YOU EVER SINCE I KILLED YOU. I HATE STARING AT YOU, KNOWING YOU HAVEN'T GIVEN LESS OF A SHIT ABOUT ANYTHING AND LOOKING AT MYSELF WITH MY DESPERATION TO GO BACK HOME. I WISH YOU STAYED DEAD. I WISH YOU NEVER EXISTED. GOD, I WISH I NEVER MET YOU. YOUR-

Kellska: You, mate. Not me.

[The Tyrant regains a bit of composure.]

TYRANT: [He groans to himself.] MY APOLOGIES. THE WEIGHT OF HIS DEATH DROWNS ME MOST OF THE TIME. I JUST NEVER... THOUGHT I'D EVER BE GONE FOR LONG ENOUGH TO BE UNABLE TO BE THERE FOR HIM WHEN HE NEEDS IT MOST. IT HURTS, KNOWING I COULDN'T DO ANYTHING TO... [He growls under his breath.] I MISS MY SON, KELL. I MISS HIM A LOT.

Kellska: T'is alright, mate. You'll recover, I'm sure. Aeh, ye have been pushing through threats for thousands of cycles now, I guess I've never had the chance te ask what your end goal is. Mind if I indulge?

TYRANT: DOES 'GO HOME' RING A BELL?

Kellska: Ah, ye already said-! [Kellska laughs to themself.] Soz, mate, my ears are utter shite these days! [He sombers up a bit.] How long have you been... searching foah Netherbulia for?

TYRANT: FOUR THOUSAND, ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY SIX CYCLES. EFFECTIVELY THE LENGTH OF MY CAREER, LET ALONE MY EXISTENCE.

Kellska: Mmm. Ye should try looking up the latest astronomy news, mate. They might have a lead.

[Tyrant hadn't expected a hint from... a nemesis, let alone this one. He blinks, staring into Kellska's helm at a loss for words.]

TYRANT: A-

Kellska: -'m not lying to you. Trust me, mate. Go online, check it out, get back to meh if ye feel like it.

[Kellska hears someone else call for a waiter across the restaurant.]

Kellska: Enjoy your chai latte, Titan 'o' Time.

[The Tyrant's eyes fall to the liquid in the cup that lay steaming upon the table.]

...

[The Tyrant may be able to go home after all.]

You’re immortal, and have passed the ‘hero’ phase centuries ago. You enter a small coffee shop one day to find that it’s owned by your millennia-old arch-nemesis. You really, really just want a chai latte though.

[archerincombat]

take me to the lakes

They look at each other for a moment. It feels brief, but then again it doesn’t. Buck quirks his lip up, almost teasingly. “Ready, cowboy?”

Eddie thinks he could melt. The softness makes him vaguely nauseous, like he’s sinking. “I’m from Texas,” he reminds him, “Not a western.”

or, eddie's a novelist, and buck never wanted to stay

read on ao3 | 16k | 2/2

February 18, 1989

Dear Eddie,

I’m in Virginia Beach now! (At Virginia Beach? You would know better than me). It’s super cool. Palm trees, girls (if you’re into that sort of thing), all of it. I think I might take up surfing—someone told me I look like the type. I don’t know what that means, but it seems pretty legit. The ocean is the bluest thing I’ve ever seen, by the way. It’s incredible.

I’m not entirely sure if you’ll get this postcard. I’m sending it to your old address, but I guess it would be impossible for you to tell me whether that’s changed yet. I hope it hasn’t. If it has, I hope the USPS is nice enough to return to sender. 

(Anyway, this is just a long winded way of saying I miss you; I wish you were here.)

Love,

Buck

November, 1988 — Lakeview, Pennsylvania

Eddie meets Buck on a Sunday at the diner off Rainier street

He thinks, probably, he isn’t supposed to be here, at this particular establishment that college kids frequent to a). get drunk b). breakup with people or c). breakup with people and then get so drunk, Eddie could almost hear it driving down.

So it’s clear he’s not supposed to be here, if only because he’s 24 and has a novel to finish for his editor, who’s frankly a lot more blasé than Eddie needs him to be if he’s ever going to finish Chapter Eight where the morally gray character becomes a lot more dark gray than off-white and—

He’s also pretty afraid of college students, so there’s that.

Somebody opens the door before Eddie can and he ducks in, mumbling a small, “Thank you” that the college kid neither heard nor cares very much about. He rubs his hands together and blows on them. It’s rainy for November, even in Pennsylvania. Eddie isn’t sure that Cafe 118 is that much warmer. 

The hostess, a blonde girl whose name tag reads  Lucy, looks at him and then back down at the notepad in front of her, detailing which tables are occupied and which waiter is in charge of them. She’s wearing trousers and a button-down, unlike some of the other girls scattered across various booths, and a black apron around her waist.

“How many?” she asked boredly, like she’s supposed to be popping chewing gum.

“Just one,” he replies, clutching his messenger bag a bit closer to his side as they navigate through some of the football crowd. They stop at a booth in one of the more secluded sections of the diner. Eddie blinks in surprise. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, well,” Lucy says, and this time she really does pop her gum, placing the leather-back menu in front of him. “You don’t look like the normal type.”

Eddie presses his tongue to the top of his teeth and tries not to laugh.  No kidding, he wants to say,  I’ve got a ballpoint pen and a deadline. Oh, and a couple more brain cells. “Are you calling me old?”

Lucy flashes him a quicksilver grin, but it trails off into suspicion. “You from around here?”

“Nah,” Eddie replies, self-consciously. He’s heard about newcomers in small, pit-stop towns, how they’re not always welcome, but he’s heard good things about this place from the cashier at some random Pittsburg gas station. “I’m just driving back from New York.”

Lucy doesn’t look satisfied with this answer. Fair enough; Eddie isn’t either. “Driving back to where?” she asks, smacking her gum again.

Eddie shrugs. “Anywhere,” he answers truthfully. “I don’t—I’m just, is this an interrogation?”

Lucy cackles and then disappears back to her hostess stand. With a sigh, Eddie pulls out the aforementioned ballpoint pen and a notebook, his brand new laptop too uncertain to take out of his bag in public, and looks over the drink menu: he’s got the choice between a house coffee and a milkshake.

He can feel his waiter approaching, but still examines the descriptions in front of him with more scrutiny than they deserve. “What can I get for you?” Eddie hears, probably another college kid, judging the way his you quirks up into a  ‘ya?’ 

“What do you recommend?” Eddie wonders aloud, finally looking up. “The coffee or the uh—”

The boy beside him has the bluest eyes Eddie’s ever seen—a combination of colors that looks like it should be stormy, but reminds Eddie more of the ocean, like they’re desperate to escape elsewhere. Eddie’s a novelist; he takes his inspiration from the people around him, but he’s having a difficult time verbalizing anything past the coiled feeling in his stomach.

His name tag reads  Buck!  and Eddie swallows and lets himself wonder, and then shoots that train of thought down immediately.

Buck raises an eyebrow. There’s a soft look to him, but the frown makes it less than conspicuous. He’s probably been working this shift for hours; he doesn’t have time for Eddie’s indecisiveness. 

“Or the what?” Buck prompts. “Because I have to say, I don’t know that coffee at 7 PM is that great of an idea.”

“I was going to order food,” Eddie protests. “Most people start by ordering a drink, you know.”

The corner of Buck’s lip twitches upwards. Eddie counts that as a win in a game he wasn’t even aware he was playing. “Right,” he drawls, except it comes out sounding more like ‘ rat ’, like he grew up in a town even smaller than this one and hasn’t quite managed to play catch-up.

Eddie grew up in Texas and then made his way to New York before running from it, but even he doesn’t have that bad of an accent. He leans forward a little before he can stop himself. “Are you in college?”

Buck scoffs and taps his pen twice on his notepad. Eddie feels the sting like a paper cut. “I’m getting you a coffee,” he decides. “Hope you didn’t want decaf.”

Eddie doesn’t really care that much about his coffee, but Buck looks pretty proud of the spite, so he won’t argue. He looks over the menu one more time, settles on the cheapest burger and fry combo that money can buy, and turns back to his notebook.

this is not a love story, his awful handwriting details at the top of the page. do   not turn it into one.

continue on ao3

[velidewrites]

The Holiday

When two sisters with a terrible taste in men (or is it?) decide to swap houses for the holidays, they don't expect to fall in love.

But guess what?

They do.

Pairings: Elucien, Feysand, background Jassa

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: A bit of spice ;)

Notes: This was written for my FAVOURITE @vulpes-fennec for the @acotargiftexchange! I hope you enjoy this fic inspired by the iconic movie "The Holiday" (my god was Jude Law hot in this one). Thank you so much to the amazing mods for organising this event. Merry Christmas everyone!

Read on AO3

Elain Archeron adored Christmas. The bright, golden lights shimmering from every corner of New York City, the sound of song and laughter on the streets, the scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls filling her small bakery as she pulled them out of the oven.

Truly, there was nothing quite like it.

She wished her sisters were with her, though. Yes, they each had their own lives now, yet Elain couldn’t help but miss the old days—when there wasn’t a thing in life they had to worry about but the continuous presence of Feyre’s bright paint on her and Nesta’s clothes, paint that had somehow managed to find its way onto the fabric despite their younger sister’s adamant protests and rather theatric displays of shock and confusion.

Elain sighed. This Christmas would mark two years since she had last seen Feyre. There would be the wedding in spring, of course—but April was months away, and Elain had nearly gone insane last year when Nesta cancelled last minute and Feyre made it clear she was not coming. It had been a miserable holiday, and Elain shuddered at the prospect of ever having to spend it in solitude again. New York, while certainly beautiful at Christmastime, had a cruel way of sometimes making her feel lonelier than ever.

She supposed she had Greysen, now. As for Nesta…

Her phone vibrated in the small pocket of her apron, and Elain wiped the cinnamon off her hands, the fragrant streaks of the spice staining the cream white fabric.

Are you busy? Nesta’s name appeared above the message.

I’m about to open the shop, Elain typed her reply. I was just thinking about you. How come you’re awake? It was nearing six in the morning in Los Angeles, and while Nesta had always been an early bird, getting up before the sunrise seemed almost too dreadful to accept.

Working on a case, or, more specifically, this dickhead of a prosecutor. If he thinks I’m going to let my client go for the shit deal, he’s got another thing coming.

Elain smiled. I almost feel bad for the poor guy.

Well, you shouldn’t, Nesta answered. Anyway. Got a minute?

Sparing a quick glance at the clock hanging above the large coffee menu, Elain asked. What’s up?

It was unlikely for Nesta to devote so much of her time to a conversation, let alone a text exchange, and frankly, Elain was getting worried.

The reply arrived in an instant. Feyre left her fiancé last night.

Elain’s eyes widened, and without thinking, she dialled Nesta’s number.

“You know I hate talking over the phone,” her sister said in a manner of greeting.

“Well, you hate texting too, and there are way too many questions in my head for my fingers to catch up anyway, so deal with it,” Elain said. “What happened? How do you even know?”

A brief pause. “She texted me for legal advice. Apparently, the asshole wants to keep the house.”

Elain’s brows furrowed. “Didn’t Feyre buy it under her name?”

Nesta sighed. “Don’t even get me started.”

Neither of them had ever had the chance to meet Tamlin, and from what she was hearing, Elain decided it had perhaps been for the best. “Do you know why she left him?”

“I don’t,” Nesta said. “Feyre didn’t tell me. She only asked me this one thing and when I asked her more questions, she just left me on read.”

Elain chewed on her bottom lip, mulling over the words before she spoke again. “Maybe I should call her. Or text, at the very least.”

Another sigh. “I don’t know, Elain. She seemed like she could use some privacy.”

“Surely we can’t leave her to deal with this alone?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta repeated, papers rustling in the background. Elain winced at the sound, the unpleasant pitch scratching at her ear. “I need to get back to work now, Elain. Let me know what you decide do,” her sister added, and then the call was over.

Elain suppressed the urge to scoff, though her focus was quickly reoriented to the time again as she spotted a noticeable queue gathering outside. Whatever she decided to do, she would deal with it later. First—work.

With a smile on her face, Elain opened the door.

***

Elain had been dating Greysen for six months, though she felt as though they’d been together at least five years. Only a short walk away, he was always there to offer his company, in whatever way she’d need him. Greysen was so…familiar.

This year would mark their first Christmas together, and though Elain had no expectations, it was only natural for her to have hopes.

She wouldn’t mind a proposal. A proposal meant stability in her hectic world, a source of comfort in a trying time. If Greysen asked, she would say yes. She would. Happily.

With that thought in mind, Elain placed her keys on the counter, her other hand grabbing the carefully wrapped cinnamon rolls she’d put aside earlier this morning.

“Will you be able to close up tonight?” she asked Nuala. “I have to drop these off at the office.”

The office. She liked that world. It made her feel as though she was part of Greysen’s world—his other world, one that did not revolve around her. If she was being honest, she knew very little about her boyfriend’s professional life—he worked in investments, he’d told her as much, though he’d also added the “details would bore her.” And so, Elain remained blissfully oblivious.

At the very least, paying him a surprise visit would mean she got to see him in a suit. Greysen looked good in suits.

“Sure,” Nuala’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Are we still on for Saturday?”

Elain nodded. “Of course. I’m so excited to meet your sister”

Nuala smiled tentatively. She hadn’t been working at Elain’s bakery for too long, though in that time, the two of them had managed to build a close bond. Elain enjoyed her company, quiet and with an aura of peace. Nuala blended in perfectly with Elain’s little corner of the world. “She can’t wait, either,” the woman said.

“I still can’t believe you have a twin.” Elain shook her head. “Does it make it any easier?”

The corner of Nuala’s mouth twitched. “Twins or not, sisters are always a pain.”

Elain sighed. “Tell me about it.”

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

***

Greysen’s office was only ten minutes away.

Their pastry drop-off had an unspoken routine—the concierge would let Elain in, she’d then take the elevator to the fifteenth floor to be greeted by the secretary. From then, depending on whether Greysen was in a meeting or not, Elain would either leave the food at the reception or deliver it personally—with a little extra treat that was hardly appropriate for a serious office. She didn’t care. She’d shaved her legs last night and she wouldn’t let her new lotion go to waste.

Silence greeted her as she entered the office, the distant ringing of the phone breaking it occasionally with a high-pitched, irritating beep.

It was unusual for it to be this empty, but Greysen was definitely out there somewhere—he’d sent her a text earlier in the morning, after all, wishing her a great day and not to wait for him with dinner. He’d be working late again and there was no need for Elain to hang around her apartment with a cold meal.

A few cinnamon rolls would make a nice gesture, though. Greysen would know she was thinking about him and his wellbeing without imposing her presence on him too much. And so, Elain circled around the reception and walked straight into her boyfriend’s office.

She did not expect to find him half naked with the secretary bent over his desk.

For a moment, Elain said nothing, the pastries crushed on the floor somewhere by her feet.

Their eyes met, and Greysen open his mouth.

“We’re done,” Elain told him, proud to have kept her voice steady enough not to reveal the slight tremble of her jaw. She tore her eyes away from the sight and turned on her feet.

“Elain!” Greysen’s voice called behind her.

She did not grace him with an answer. In a few short steps, she walked out of the room, shutting the door with a loud bang.

And then, she was gone.

***

Elain had gotten so used to staying at Greysen’s apartment that her own home felt like a stranger’s. Too dark and too empty, the space only accompanied by the sound of sirens that had usually accompanied the New York City landscape.

She set the cinnamon rolls on the counter, promising herself not to look at them until the next morning. She would deal with them—with him—later. Right now, Feyre needed her—or at least, she hoped she did. Elain could not bear spending the evening on the couch by herself, with nothing better to do but dwell in the events of the day.

Pulling her phone out of her purse, Elain sat at the small desk in the corner and typed in her sister’s name.

Hey. I know it’s late, but I want you to know I’m here if you need someone to talk to.

It was nearing midnight in London, though Elain had a feeling Feyre wouldn’t be sleeping. Breakup or not, she had always been more nocturnal, opting to paint under the pale moonlight. Her painting of the night sky over New York still hung over Elain’s dresser.

Her phone beeped a minute later. I’m awake.

Elain held her breath, staring at the notification until the screen turned blurry. What, exactly, do you say to someone who was just about to be married?

I heard what happened.

Pathetic.

The phone beeped again. Nesta?

She’s worried about you, Elain replied. We both are.

She could practically feel Feyre’s loud sigh, as if her sister was standing right beside her. I hate men.

Elain almost laughed. I’m right there with you.

Feyre’s message came only a few seconds later. Did something happen?

Elain fought the urge to bang her head against the table. She cursed herself for being so selfish—Feyre’s situation was much worse than her own, and yet, Elain somehow managed to direct the topic to herself. It’s nothing. Really.

Like Feyre would ever buy that.

Sure enough, her sister’s name appeared on the screen, the loud buzzing of the phone on her desk breaking the dreadful silence. Elain closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath before answering.

“It’s really nothing, Feyre.”

“I don’t care,” Feyre’s voice, a tinge distorted by the static, came through the speaker. “If it’s two men we’re shit-talking tonight, so be it. It might make me feel better, actually.”

“Alright,” Elain said, then grimaced as her own voice echoed through the call. “God, your service must be terrible.”

“I live in the middle of nowhere, Elain,” Feyre said. “I’m standing on a dining room chair just to try and catch some signal.”

Elain chuckled. “How is it there?”

She knew Feyre had moved to the outskirts of London, thought that was about the extent of her knowledge. The only thing Feyre would ever send her—apart from the one singular photo of the Big Ben from when she’d taken a trip to the city—was the stuffed deer head hanging above her fireplace with the caption: “Gross.” Tamlin, it seemed, was a hunter—a hobby Feyre had not been particularly fond of.

“I feel like I’m going insane,” Feyre finally said. “It’s too…quiet.”

Elain sighed. “That sounds like a dream.”

She imagined a stone cottage, just on the outskirts of London, and in front of it, a small rose orchard, glistening under a thick layer of snow. The thought was so overwhelmingly serene that for a brief moment, Elain could almost feel the warmth of Feyre’s home hugging her skin.

“Well, it isn’t,” Feyre said. “I miss New York, you know. Everything seemed so simple there.”

If only that, Elain thought bitterly.

“You should come, you know,” Elain said. “It would be nice to spend Christmas with you. It’s been too long.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. “I take it Greysen is out of the picture,” Feyre finally guessed.

Elain’s jaw clenched. “It’s probably for the best.”

She flinched as her phone buzzed again, displaying Greysen’s name, a small heart emoji still next to it. She’d delete it later. “Speak of the devil. He’s calling me right now.”

“Do not answer,” Feyre instructed. “I made that mistake already, and believe me, whatever they have to say, it won’t change a thing.”

Elain ran her hand through the long waves of her hair. “I hate it here.”

Her sister huffed a laugh. “I know how you feel. I…I wish I could get away sometimes. If only for a bit.”

The thought came so suddenly Elain might have swayed off her chair. “We could switch,” she said absently, her mind running through the logistics of the idea.

“What?”

“We could switch places,” Elain repeated. It felt as though someone had turned on the light in her brain. “Think about it. You move into my place, and I move into yours. It’s brilliant.”

Feyre’s tone indicated she thought the exact opposite. “Elain, I can’t just move out of England.”

“It would only be for Christmas. We could both get the escape we need, and you’d have the chance to see the city again.”

“Elain, I can’t,” Feyre insisted. “I have an exhibition on New Year’s Eve, its this big name London gallery. It has to go perfectly. I have to work.”

“Exhibition?” It wasn’t that Feyre was not talented—she was, truly— but the last Elain had heard of Feyre’s work, she’d still been struggling to find an audience.

“Someone—an anonymous patron, I think—has found my art online and arranged the exhibit. All expenses paid. I have to work,” she repeated.

Elain was growing more desperate with each second. “You could work here,” she pleaded. “I have enough space for you to work on your art and enjoy the city in the meantime. We’d switch back before New Year’s Eve.”

Feyre did not sound fully convinced. “I don’t know…”

“Please, Feyre. For both our sake’s.”

Elain held her breath as she waited for an answer.

“Alright,” Feyre agreed.

Elain squealed, and Feyre laughed in the background. “God, I hate it when you make that sound,” her sister said.

“Thank you, Feyre. You won’t regret this.”

“I’ll call you in the morning to discuss the details. I feel like I need to sleep after this, and my legs are getting sore from standing on the chair.”

Elain laughed again, and the two said their goodbyes. Releasing a long breath of relief, Elain opened her contacts and searched for another name.

Nuala, please don’t hate me, she typed onto her screen. But I’m going to have to reschedule.

***

The moment she stepped out of the cab, Elain decided to take back every single word she cursed London Heathrow with.

Yes, the airport had been busy—an understatement, really—but she’d go through pushing through the crowds for two hours straight all over again if it meant not having to walk a mile in the cold snow. In heels.

What dark, sadistic forced had prompted her to wear heels for a ten hour journey, she’d never know. Well, she did know, actually. She had just started reading a book about an airport meet cute and thought, well, if it happened to her, who says it won’t happen to me?

It didn’t.

Just like Feyre had said, her sister truly did live in the middle of nowhere. The driver stopped at what seemed like the middle of a forest, the path in front of them too narrow for the car to fit in. Elain had almost cried when he told her to walk the rest of the way on foot, cocking his head to the side with an apologetic “sorry, love.”

The good news was that she was almost there and Feyre had a fireplace. She’d curl up in front of it, finish her book, and then go straight into bed to fight off her jet lag. There were four days left until Christmas Day—she had time to figure everything else out.

A few extremely wet steps later, Elain reached her destination.

Rosebud Cottage was a dream come true.

It looked as though it had been pulled straight out of Elain’s memory—the snow-clad orchard out front, the cobblestone pathway leading up to the red front door. Feyre, it seemed, had hung up a wreath to greet her, and Elain smiled at the thoughtful gesture. Doing her best not to slip on the icy stones, Elain pulled the keys from underneath the doormat, taking a mental note to school her sister on burglars and responsibility—though, she supposed, no one would actually bother to go this far for a robbery, no matter how many riches the house contained within.

Having fought with the door lock for about a minute (why do British people do everything the other way around?), Elain finally walked in.

The journey had been worth it.

Though it wasn’t much bigger than her own studio apartment, the house radiated warmth.

A fluffy couch gathered around the old English fireplace with two armchairs of red velvet on each side, making up a cozy living room that connected to the small kitchen. With cabinets of a light green and wooden countertops, it called out Elain���s name louder than any kitchen she’d ever stepped into. Abandoning her suitcase by the door, she moved to explore the pantry, her tiredness long forgotten in favour of the inviting prospect of baking fresh bread in such a beautiful space.

How disappointing it was to find art supplies there instead.

It was then that she truly began noticing Feyre’s presence in the house. The kitchen cabinets, immaculate at first sight, had paint splattered on them in the most peculiar places. The bookcase, standing proudly in the back, full of art history books and manuals. The violet handprint on the balustrade, surely from when Feyre had decided to take a break from painting upstairs and had clearly forgotten to wash her hands.

Her gaze moved back to the fireplace, and Elain’s brows furrowed. She reached for her phone, opening the conversation between her and her sister. The last text was from Feyre, announcing her arrival at Elain’s place about two hours ago.

Where’s the deer? Elain asked.

The reply came almost immediately. I buried it.

Elain laughed.

***

Feyre Archeron was finally home.

She wasn’t usually the crying type, though upon seeing the New York City skyline, she had to admit her chest had swelled a little bit. It had been too long.

Unpacking took her ages, and by the time she was finally done, it was already late and dark outside. She quickly did the math, and, by London standards, it was already way past midnight for her—one last bag to go, Feyre promised herself, and she would go to bed.

A grimace twisted her features as she realised she’d have to wake up early in the morning to open up Elain’s bakery—the only favour Elain had asked her of, really, so she couldn’t be as bitter about it as she perhaps would have wanted. Her sister’s friend, Nuala, would arrive an hour later to take over. Then, Feyre would be free to explore.

Her face lit up at the realisation that the last bag contained her art supplies—along with the newest brushes that had managed to arrive the day before she was due to leave for New York. She made way to set up her painting station by the window, hoping to get some daylight the next day, short as it was during winter. Setting the bag down carefully, she looked out the window and up to the stars.

Feyre’s breath caught in her chest.

She picked up a brush and began painting.

***

The bakery had only been open for five minutes when the small bell at the door announced the arrival of a customer.

In the back, hands covered in four she’d accidentally spilled, Feyre quickly wiped it off on her jeans, immediately cursing herself for her foolishness. She had most definitely left white handprints on her ass.

“Just a minute!” she shouted, wiping her hands frantically on her (also black) shirt this time before realising she was absolutely making it worse. 

With a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair, the powder falling into the strands and onto the floor.

“Shit!,” she swore, finally managing to grab hold of a kitchen towel, hanging—of course—on the wall right beside her.

“You alright there?” a rich voice, definitely British and definitely male, reached her from the front of the shop.

Opting not to look at the small mirror in the corner, Feyre gave up on any attempts to sort herself out, and made her way out.

“Sorry, I…” she began before her gaze finally met his.

Standing before her was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

Tall and wearing an all-black suit—who wore suits at eight thirty in the morning?—he had an air of confidence around him, hands resting nonchalantly in his pockets. A briefcase hung over a broad, muscular chest, and Feyre had never hated shirts more than in that exact moment. The man was ridiculously good-looking—but his eyes…

His eyes had captivated her.

So deeply blue they seemed almost violet, shining with curiosity as they measured her in full.

“What happened back there?” he asked, and damn him, he had a nice voice.

Forcing on a shred of composure, Feyre crossed her arms. “Running a bakery isn’t as easy as you’d think, you know.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I’m sure. Except I know this isn’t your bakery, and Elain isn’t here."

Feyre’s brows knotted. “You know Elain?”

“You could say I’m somewhat of a regular.”

“Oh?”

“I always stop here for a coffee before work,” he explained.

“Right. Let me guess, all black, no sugar?” Feyre guessed.

He smirked. “Only if you insist.”

If it came from anyone else, she might have rolled her eyes. But this man…it was unfair, really. “Takeaway?” she asked instead.

“Yes. Large, please,” he added. “I’ve got a long day ahead.”

Feyre got started on the coffee, though her gaze remained locked on the sight before her. “And what is it that you do?”

Why the hell would she even ask?

The man smiled broadly now, a self-satisfied smirk that told her he thoroughly enjoyed her personal questions. “Investments.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That could mean anything.”

“Perhaps I could tell you more,” he said. “Over a cup of coffee.”

Placing a lid on top, Feyre handed him the cup. “Here. Is that cup good enough?”

His smile turned feline. “Clever,” he praised.

“I’m Feyre,” she said before she could stop herself.

His fingers brushed her own as he took the coffee from her hand. “Rhysand."

***

Elain spent her second day in England completely and utterly bored.

She’d woken up to sixteen missed calls from Greysen, and immediately decided she needed to distract herself. It turned out there weren’t many distractions in the small village Feyre lived in.

She’d gone to the supermarket around lunchtime, having finished her book right after breakfast. Baking supplies, mostly—she had to entertain herself somehow. And so, she’d spent the rest of the afternoon with her hands full in dough, making a point not to use cinnamon in any of her inventions.

Hours later, it was nearing midnight, the house smelled like bread, and Elain had no idea what to do.

Why am I even here?

It was a stupid idea to come. What did she think she would get here? Peace and quiet? It had only been a day, and she already had enough of that. Silence, as it turned out, did not do anything for a raging mind.

Greysen had left her a couple of voicemails, but Elain hadn’t listened to any of them. Time, she decided. She needed time to process this.

Still, it would have been nice to have someone to process it with.

Maybe she didn’t belong here. Maybe the life she’d had in New York was the best the world had to offer her. Maybe escaping hadn’t been the right option. Maybe…maybe Greysen deserved a second chance.

Elain unlocked her phone and entered Greysen’s number.

A loud bang on the door almost knocked it out her hands.

Wrapping the blanket tighter around her, Elain got up from the couch and made her way to open the door.

She was greeted with the sight of a very drunk man.

Bright, russet eyes narrowed on her a bit absently. “You’re not Feyre,” he noted.

Elain lifted a brow. “A keen observation.” The man snorted. “Who are you?” she asked.

The man leaned over in a mocking bow. “Apologies, my lady. My name is Lucien.”

Despite herself, the corners of Elain’s mouth twitched. “That tells me nothing, you know.”

He sighed in resignation. “It hurts that she never mentioned me, you know.”

“An honest mistake, I’m sure.”

“We’re friends. She moved in here shortly after I did.”

Elain angled her head. “I see.”

The man looked at her expectantly. “And you are…?”

“Oh, sorry,” she straightened a little bit. “I’m Elain. Feyre’s older sister.”

His face lit up straight away. “Of course you are. You look similar, you know. Well, under certain angles…”

A laugh escaped her this time, and Elain asked. “Why are you here, Lucien?”

Lucien leaned on the doorframe with another deep sigh. “I’m so sorry, Elain, Feyre told me she was going back to New York for a bit, but it completely slipped my mind. She lets me crash on the couch here every now and then.” 

“Oh,” Elain said before the realisation hit her. “Oh. Well, I…”

“No, no, it’s all good. It’s my bad, honestly,” Lucien explained. “I’ll be on my way.”

“No, wait, I…” Elain hesitated. She couldn’t leave him out in the cold, could she? There was no doubt in her mind that Lucien was not in the right state to walk home by himself. “I suppose you could stay. I don’t mind, really.”

Lucien waved a hand. “I don’t want to be an imposition,” he insisted, swaying on his feet a little.

Elain laughed again. “Just come in.”

Lucien offered her a lazy smile. “How could I say no to a lady like this?”

And damn him, Elain blushed.

***

Lucien passed out on the couch the second he stepped over the doorway, and Elain had decided it was best to just leave him there.

Now, in the morning, she made her way back down as she heard a noise coming from the kitchen—a clear sign her unexpected guest was awake and searching for a hangover cure.

The first thing she noticed was a flash of long, red hair. And then, Lucien turned to face her. “Good morning,” he greeted, a tentative smile playing on his handsome features.

Shit. She did not remember him looking this good last night.

“Hi,” she said, straightening the sleeves of her sweater. Of course now that he was sober, she had to wear one of her uglier, Christmas themed ones that she just so happened to also sleep in. Great first impression, really.

“I made you some tea,” Lucien said, sliding a steaming cup towards her. “Milk?”

“Oh,” Elain reached out in surprise. “Thank you. For the tea, I mean. No milk, please.”

Lucien chuckled, the sound deep and honeyed. “I suppose you haven’t been in England long enough.”

Elain’s gaze narrowed. “Alright. I’ll have a little bit.”

“That’s more like it,” Lucien grinned. “Listen, I’m so sorry about last night. Again, thank you for letting me stay here.”

“It’s no problem,” Elain said. “But I should warn you, I’m leaving the day after tomorrow and Feyre’s not getting back until a few days later, so the house will stay locked until she’s back.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “Christmas Day? Feyre said you’d be leaving after that.”

“Yes, well…” Elain sighed. “This place isn’t what I thought it would be. Actually, that’s not fair. I just…don’t think I belong here.”

Lucien sipped his own tea, considering. “How’s that?”

“It’s too, uh…” Lonely. “Quiet.”

He smiled at that. “If you’re looking for chaos, you’ve come to the right place.” He set the cup down on the counter. “A couple of my friends and I are meeting up at the local pub tonight. It’s sort of a tradition we do before Christmas Eve. You’re welcome to join us, and I promise I’ll go to my own house afterwards.”

Elain laughed. Something about this man was so…different. Despite having just met her, Lucien seemed so at ease—so comfortable in her presence. As if he actually enjoyed it.

Her suitcase was already half packed—maybe she deserved a small sendoff. At least she wouldn’t spend the last few nights of her trip blankly staring into the fireplace. And so, Elain smiled at him again. “I’ll think about it.”

***

As promised, Rhysand showed up the next morning.

Feyre didn’t have to open the bakery this time—though, as she told Nuala, she didn’t mind doing it again. And so, at 8:30 a.m. sharp and flour-free, Feyre was ready to find out more about this mysterious stranger.

Rhysand, it seemed, adored teasing her as much as he adored the personal questions. She’d made the mistake of telling him she was an artist, getting herself trapped in a promise of one day drawing a portrait of the prick himself.

“You need to see the Met before you leave,” Rhys, as he insisted on being called, told her. “I’d be more than happy to show you, if you’re not too busy.”

Feyre could only laugh. “I’m a New Yorker and an artist. I’ve been to the Met,” she said, making a point to sound terribly offended. “And that wasn’t as smooth as you think it was, you know.”

Rhys placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “You wound me.”

Her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Is this how you get women to go out with you, Rhysand? By inflicting pity?”

Impressed, his violet eyes twinkled. “Cruel thing.”

Choosing to ignore the heat rising through her at his words, Feyre shrugged. “You just seem like the type.”

Rhys’s lips twitched. “The type?”

“You know the one. Always with a compliment at hand, calling every woman he meets darling or…something.”

“I didn’t know you were so eager for a nickname, Feyre,” Rhys purred.

“Oh, shut up,” she rolled her eyes, though a smile played in the corner of her mouth.

“I still do think you should see the Met,” he continued. “After all, it has been a while since you last visited, has it not? I’d bet your knowledge has grown somewhat rusty. And I’m not just talking about the Met.”

“Okay, now I’m officially offended,” Feyre crossed her arms. “You’re British and you think you think you know New York better than me?”

Those eyes sparkled again. “I’ll tell you what, Feyre darling,” Rhys began, and Feyre’s stomach fluttered at the name. Once again, she chose to ignore it. “I’ll make you a bargain: we find out who knows the city best—if I win, I get to take you out on a date.”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “And if I win?”

“Remember that portrait you promised?” Feyre nodded. “Well,” Rhysand winked, “I do nudes too.”

***

Jurian and Vassa were probably the funniest people Elan had ever met.

They had met at university and had remained together ever since. Elain had never seen two people share such strong bond—in the six months she’d dated him, Elain had never laughed with Greysen as much as Vassa had with Jurian in one night. And aside from all their teasing and jokes, Elain didn’t miss the way Jurian’s arm wrapped around his girlfriend, the way her head rested lightly on his shoulder when Elain and Lucien had gone up to the bar to order more drinks.

“They look really good together,” Elain sighed.

“They do,” Lucien agreed. “Though I must admit, I do not particularly enjoy the third wheeling.” Elain laughed, and Lucien answered with a smile of his own. “What I mean is—it’s nice to have you here.”

“I am having a lot of fun,” Elain admitted.

“Do you…” he hesitated, his russet eyes searching for hers. Elain angled her head, questioning, and Lucien cleared his throat. “If you don’t have any plans tomorrow, I’d love to show you more of this place. Maybe you’ll like it enough to come visit us again.”

Elain smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

***

Lucien had taken her to the gardens.

Elain had never seen anything more beautiful—who would have thought there would be a small castle in a hidden place like this. The gardens were nothing short of spectacular, with the greenhouses hosting plants of all kinds and bright, exotic colours she had never even seen on pictures.

“Feyre mentioned you like to garden,” Lucien explained, a pleased smile lighting up his features at every small gasp escaping her. “I thought this would be a great place for you to see.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Elain sighed, leaning over a particularly vibrant flower.

Quiet fell for a brief moment before Lucien spoke again. “It is.”

Turning back to him, Elain offered a small smile. “I’d like to see more, if we can.”

With a nod, Lucien extended a gloved hand. “Of course.”

Elain took it, and they walked out to the glistening snow.

***

It had only taken them minutes to get into a snowball fight, and only after both their hair was practically wet, Elain had finally decided it was time for a glass of wine.

The restaurant inside the castle had been lovely—cozy and candlelit, with the sound of Christmas carols coming faintly through the speakers. Once they had dried off, their body warmth stimulated by the rich, red liquid, the conversation could finally begin.

“I never thought Christmas Eve could look like this,” Elain mused.

Lucien’s brows rose in question. “Good or bad?”

“Definitely good.” 

He smiled at that. “How do you usually spend Christmas Eve?”

Elain’s face fell a bit. “Well, the past few years have been somewhat chaotic. My sisters had all moved all over the world, and I…stayed. I was meant to spend this year with my, I guess ex-boyfriend now.”

“Oh.”

“We broke up just over a week ago,” Elain explained. “He…ah…I caught him with his secretary.”

Something flashed in Lucien’s eyes, and for a moment, Elain wondered if he would say anything—if there was anything he could say, really.

“I wish I could say I was sorry,” he began, and Elain’s brows shot up in surprise. “But any man that was lucky enough to have you and didn’t appreciate it was never really worth it in the first place.”

Elain swallowed hard. “No?”

“No,” Lucien agreed. “He never deserved your light. Your kindness. Your beauty.” Their gazes met, hot an fiery and unyielding. “He never deserved you.”

***

This time, they stumbled into Elain’s cottage together, clothes falling on the living room floor one by one until there was not a layer of fabric left.

Damn him, Lucien was even more magnificent than she imagined. With his strong arms, a broad, sculpted chest, and brown skin gleaming in firelight, he looked like a god materialised right in front of her. If her cheeks had not been already flushed, she might have gone more red than the couch he’d laid her on.

She could feel the race of his heart against her body, her own chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he lowered himself further.

Elain’s eyes widened. Greysen had never…

“Lucien,” Elain breathed, and he stilled immediately, his stare meeting her own. “You don’t have to…”

Lucien laughed quietly, the sound dark and smooth against her skin. “Have to?” he asked. “Elain, if I don’t get to taste you right now, I’m going to go insane.”

The words ran the core between her thighs molten, and Elain allowed herself one last coherent thought before nodding her permission.

Lucien wasted no time.

Before she knew it, his tongue reduced her to a whimpering mess, desire twisting in her stomach as he licked and sucked with an abandon that only told her he enjoyed it as much as she did. Elain chased that feeling, rocking her hips into his face, so close she was certain she’d explode any second.

A gasp tore from her lips as Lucien’s fingers grazed her entrance, then slid in with ease the moment his mouth closed over her clit.

Release slammed into her without warning, her whole body trembling at the white-hot pleasure shooting down every nerve. It felt so good.

His pace slowed down as he coaxed her through the orgasm, his hands laying heavily on her hips now, and Elain released a trembling breath.

Lucien’s mouth made its way up her stomach, leaving soft, wet kissed on what seemed like every inch of her skin, and Elain moaned his name again, her voice straining with pleasure.

His breath was hot on her neck as Lucien placed one final kiss below the shell of her ear. “Ready for more?”

***

Feyre, of course, had lost the bet. Embarrassing, really, but if she was being completely honest with herself, she did not mind at all.

Rhys, it seemed, had not made any plans on Christmas Eve, and so the two of them had scheduled their date for the evening.

She’d expected a grand gesture from Rhys, something in the manner of a lavish candlelit dinner, maybe at the Plaza. He seemed like the type.

Instead, she’d arrived at the rooftop of Rhysand’s building to find nothing but a fluffy blanket, two candles, and a basket with what she suspected were carefully selected snacks.

“What’s this?” Feyre asked quietly, taking a step closer.

Rhys turned to her then, looking even better somehow, with a shirt of black satin loose and unbuttoned under his coat and dark hair ruffled by the wintry breeze. His gaze landed on her, and in what felt like hours, he took her all in. “A picnic,” he finally said, those violet eyes meeting hers at last. “You look beautiful.”

Feyre smiled. “I’ve never been on a rooftop picnic before,” she said. “I would’ve thought of Central Park first,” she added, teasing.

Rhys sighed theatrically, extending out a hand. “See, you even suggesting that only tells me I am a fair winner of our bargain.”

Feyre took his hand, and they both made themselves comfortable. “I’ll bet you secretly wish you lost, though. You did seem very excited about the nude portraits.”

Rhysand hummed appreciatively. “Quite right. I’ll tell you what—if it makes you happier, Feyre darling, I’d be more than happy to offer up my body for artistic research.”

Feyre shook her head, laughing once more. “You’re unbelievable.”

At that, his grin faded into a gentle smile, and slowly, he reached out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “So are you,” Rhys said quietly.

The air suddenly became tight between their bodies, and Feyre looked out to the city skyline. “So, why the rooftop?” she asked again.

His eyes never left her for a second. “Another thing about New York, Feyre darling,” Rhys said. “It looks most beautiful at night.”

Feyre turned to him at that, something warm spreading through her body and tingling at her eyes. She let herself drown in those pools of violet, leaning in closer until their eyes closed and she felt the soft brush of his mouth on hers.

She didn’t remember how they ended up in his bed, their legs tangled between the sheets. She only remembered the stars shining above them, and feeling the happiest she’d ever been.

***

Elain’s phone buzzed in the middle of the night, and she was too soon ripped from her sleep to look at the caller ID before answering.

“Hello?”

“Elain?”

She shot up the bed in an instant. “Greysen.”

“Elain, I’ve been trying to reach you for over a week. Please, talk to me.”

“I…” she shot a quick glance at Lucien, his naked form peaceful beside her. “Give me a minute.”

Hands trembling, she slid into her robe, and quietly made her way downstairs. Somehow, in their nightly activities, her and Lucien had eventually found their way to her bed.

Propping down on the arm of the couch, Elain took a deep breath. “What do you want, Greysen?”

“Elain,” his voice sounded at the end of the line. “I was an idiot. I am begging you to forgive me.”

“I’m afraid it is too late for apologies, Greysen.”

“I know you’re in England. Please come back to me,” he pleaded. “I miss you. I need you. We need each other.”

“I…”

“We belong together, Elain, and you know it.”

Another, deep breath.

Somewhere upstairs was a man who, in only three days, had treated her better than Greysen ever had in the entire time they’d known each other. Who had made her feel whole again. A man who had shown her what true affection felt like.

And so, Elain said her final goodbye. “I’m not sure that we do, Greysen.”

Then, she hung up the phone.

Back in the bedroom, Lucien stirred, a strand of red hair falling over his face. Elain smiled, gently pulling it away to tuck behind his ear. Something sparkled in her chest, a feeling she’d never felt but wanted to hold on to forever.

And then, the realisation had kicked in.

Elain had caught feelings for Lucien. Lucien, who, in those three days, had managed to capture her heart forever. Lucien, who, after tomorrow, she’d probably never see again.

Elain would not let her heart break again. Not like this.

And so, she began packing.

***

When she came downstairs in the morning, Lucien was already in the kitchen, a cup of tea and a plate full of chocolate biscuits waiting for her on the counter.

The sight brought tears to her eyes.

“Elain?” Lucien asked, stepping in closer and taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong?

“I have to go,” she whispered. “I have to go, Lucien.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Go where?”

Elain shook her head. “I need to make it for my flight.”

Lucien stepped back, something like panic flashing through his eyes. “Elain…”

“I can’t stay here,” she denied him before he got the chance to say anything.

“A few more days,” Lucien pleaded. “Leave before New Year’s, like you originally planned to do.”

“I can’t stay here, Lucien” she repeated. “My heart won’t handle it if I stay.”

“Elain,” he begged.

She took his face into her hands, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “Merry Christmas,” she told him.

Then, she left.

***

Rhys had already been awake by the time Feyre opened her eyes.

His thumb brushed her cheek, and she sighed in delight before reality came crashing in. “I have to go now, Rhys.”

“What’s the rush?” he asked, his voice roughened by sleep. The sound sent her heart fluttering all over again.

“I have to pack,” she explained. “My flight back to London is tomorrow.”

“Stay,” Rhys only said.

Feyre chuckled. “I wish I could, but I need to do the final touch-ups on one of my paintings as well. I need it to dry off before I leave.”

“You could stay longer,” Rhys protested. “The exhibition isn’t until New Year’s Eve.”

“I know that, but…” she frowned, mulling over his words.

And then again.

And again.

Only then did Feyre realise she’d never told him about the exhibition.

He must have realised that, too, from the way his eyes widened and mouth opened with an empty explanation that would mean nothing to her.

“It was you,” Feyre accused.

“Feyre darling…”

“Do not call me that,” she ordered, and Rhysand fell silent. “You arranged for the exhibit, did you not?”

Silence.

“Rhysand,” she warned.

He sighed. “I did. But, Feyre…”

“I was shocked,” she began, “when I received that invitation from the gallery. Such a short notice, too, and so unusual. The day after my engagement fell apart. Did you know?”

“Yes.”

Silver began burning her eyes, but she continued. “You knew I was an artist from Elain, didn’t you? Did she tell you how miserable I was? How I spent two years in a foreign country trying to build a career and getting nowhere? Did my sister ask you to make me your little charity case?”

“Allow me to explain…”

“You knew who I was from the moment you met me,” she whispered. “And you said nothing.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to see you again.”

And with that, Feyre was gone.

***

This time, Elain actually did cry in the cab, though it had nothing to do with wearing heels in the snow. 

The flight wasn’t for another few hours, and Elain decided if she was going to have her heart broken anyway, she might as well stop at the local bakery and treat herself.

Asking the driver to wait outside, Elain entered what seemed like the only shop opened on Christmas Day.

“Merry Christmas!” a lady greeted her at the register. “What can I get you?”

Elain sighed. “Anything for a broken heart?”

The lady smiled knowingly. “Not a cure, I’m afraid, but these freshly baked cinnamon rolls do make life a little sweeter.”

Elain went completely still. “What did you say?”

The woman raised her brows, confused. “Cinnamon rolls?”

Her heart thudded in her chest.

What the hell am I doing?

“I’m so sorry, I have to go,” Elain turned practically running out of the shop. “Merry Christmas!”

The cap sprinted through the streets until it reached the very familiar forest. “Sorry, love,” the driver began, “I’m afraid…”

“That’s okay,” Elain laughed. “I’ll run.”

And she did. Her socks were wet in an instant, but Elain did not care one bit as she finally reached the red front door.

She banged on it loudly until she was greeted by Lucien, his handsome face the perfect picture of shock.

Elain threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in until their lips collided in a kiss hot enough to warm the coldest winter. He hugged her tightly, whispering her name into her neck and running his fingers through her hair until he’d made sure she truly was real and standing before him.

Elain pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. “I’ll stay here,” she said at the same time Lucien declared “I’ll move to New York,” and they both broke out in laughter, Lucien bringing her closer for another kiss.

“We’ll figure it out,” Elain whispered.

Lucien nodded fiercely. “As long as we’re together.”

***

New Year’s Eve

The exhibition was going perfectly, but Feyre wasn’t happy at all.

There was one person missing—and she hated how much she missed him.

Her sister, at least, seemed to be enjoying herself. Lucien did, too—and she couldn’t be happier for either of them. Still, looking at that one painting of the New York City skyline…Feyre wanted nothing more but to go back. Even if it was simply to yell at him.

A light tap on the shoulder brought her back into reality. “Feyre,” Elain told her. “There’s someone here that wants to speak with you.”

If she had to deal with another critic tonight, she would have probably broken into tears. “Show me,” she asked her sister anyway.

Elain nodded, leading her to an empty hallway just a few meters away.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

Feyre froze in her steps. “What are you doing here?” she asked, barely noting Elain quietly removing herself from the conversation.

“I only ask for a moment. Please,” Rhysand said, his violet eyes shining with a silent plea. “You can hate me forever, but allow me to explain.”

I could never hate you.

“Alright,” Feyre agreed, and Rhys released a breath.

“I knew who you were,” he began. “Elain loves talking about you, you and your other sister. I had been coming to the bakery for months now, and I knew you paint. It was one of the first things she told me about you.” He smiled. “She told me about the dresser you painted when you were kids. She told me you painted the night sky on yours.”

Feyre held her breath, her gaze remaining fixed on his face, the slight tremble of his jaw.

“You asked me what I invest in. Art,” he told her. “I buy and collect art. I have been for a while. And when Elain showed me your paintings, I…they took my breath away. I had never met you, but it felt as though your art told me enough. Like it spoke to my very soul, understood me.” He swallowed hard. “I knew we would probably never meet, but fell in love with your craft, Feyre, and all I wanted was to share it with the rest of the world. I didn’t do it for Elain, not even for you. Your talent needs to be seen. The way I feel seen through you.

“When Elain told me about the swap, I knew I had to see you—at least once, if only to tell you how incredible you are. I should have told you—I know I should have—but I fell for you so deeply I wanted you to see me—not as your anonymous patron, or even as Elain’s friend—but as me, the same way your art does. You have captivated me, my darling Feyre, and I am yours forever—if you’ll have me.”

The whole world felt as though it swept away from her feet, and Feyre could only utter one word.

“Rhysand,” she breathed, her lips finding his own.

Soft and gentle, their kiss caressed her heart and soul, their arms wrapped tight around each other and not letting go. In the background, fireworks exploded and people cheered, celebrating new love and beginnings.

For only a moment, Rhys pulled back and inch. “Happy New Year, Feyre darling.”

She laughed, and with tears of happiness like stars in her eyes, Feyre kissed him again.

[these-are-the-first-steps]

SO, Let's talk about what abusive manipulation looks like! Courtesy of anon

So I would like to elaborate a little on what anon is going through because, frankly, it's textbook, and for younger followers especially it's good to know what you're looking at and being confronted with because this WILL happen to, or even be you, at some point in your life.

Anon is sitting in a place that I like to call "The Dark Pit of Despair". This is a place where literally nothing is working out for you, no matter what you do you can't get work, you have no money, maybe you can barely feed yourself, you are lucky to have a roof over your head if even that. And instead of 1. Finding a way to ride out the wave until it passes and the wheel turns for you, and/or 2. Talking to others about what your options are, whether it's unemployment payments, continuing to churn out those job applications even if it seems pointless, making some sort of decision, etc., The Dark Pit instead begins to engulf you so that even others who are muddling through their own hardships become easy targets because they may have one thing different from your situation that you wish you had, and suddenly you have your target. You then write your long comment about how shitty your life is and how The Target clearly has it better and why can't they be awful and miserable like you? They clearly have more money even if it's one penny more! How dare they! They had a dollar menu dinner when all you could do was make pizza bagels for yourself, what a glutton when you are starving! You terrible person! You knave! You deserve to die in a ditch because I said so! etc. etc.

Something very, very important to remember when you see or hear comments like this is that, at the end of the day, this tirade is not about you. It's not about you! It's about the Pit of Despair the person is in. They have become, through their moment/s of hopelessness, a crab in a boiling pot and they'll be damned if any crab in there with them tries to escape because how dare anyone else try to save themselves when they're at the bottom of the pot? They will try to reach up and pull the other crabs who are also in the pot trying to do their best back down into the death water with them.

It's not about you when this happens. And Anon's very messy message was not about me! I was simply the first person they came across that tripped their wire- it could have been anyone they sent this to. And it is transparent what is going on because you know what? I've been there. And when I was a lot younger, at one of the scariest times of my life, I did this very thing to a friend of mine. And, hey, I lost that friend. And rightfully so! I deserved it! Because comments like that, comments like anon's, are emotional manipulation and abuse. I learned my lesson, and learned that no matter how shitty my Pit of Despair, I still have ways to do and be better. Admittedly, this is easier to see the older you get- when you're young it's so hard weathering the truly rough spots, especially when you can't pay your bills, can barely eat, have zero support, and are scared to death by it all. I know what it's like!

But see the transparent self-own for what it is, see the back-handed self-abuse and emotional abuse for what it is. It's projection. It's not about you. And you know what? When this happens to you, you are actually not obliged to buy into any of it. You are not obliged to offer help or even an ear. Because this kind of behaviour is unacceptable- take it from me! All you can do is walk away, really.

And to be frank, I nearly deleted anon's extremely silly message but hey, I'm glad boredom didn't let me do it because now we can have a teachable moment about what emotional abuse, manipulation, and self-sabotage looks like when someone is personally in a bad place and can learn that at the end of the day, it isn't about us, which is super SUPER important to recognize.

Anyway, thanks for reading through all this. Anon, I still think you're a piece of shit and still think you should come back into my inbox so I can block you. :) But hey! At least you taught others what an important form of bullshit looks like, so I suppose your day wasn't a total waste! <3

You probably haven't considered this, but you posting about your first world problems when there are many of us who are out here struggling just to afford the basics is really tone-deaf, and not like you.

There are plenty of us whose are struggling to afford food and rent, those of us who are sick and can't see a doctor because we can't afford a doctor's bill, those of us struggling to find a job that will pay a decent wage and still treat us like human beings.

We get it, you are financially well off. Congratulations, you played the game correctly and won. But please bear in mind that there are plenty of us who would love it if our only problems were shaky arms from going to the gym too much, or wondering if a new air-conditioning unit will work.

I am literally on unemployment and have gone TWO YEARS without air conditioning. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

I am not obliged to trauma dump on the internet so you, a complete fucking stranger, can point and laugh at my problems and feel better about yourself. Go watch reality tv if you want to feel superior. Fuck off.

PS: please come into my inbox again so I can block you. Piece of shit. Feel better now? 🥴

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 2

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut,

Word Count: 5.2k

Masterlist

A/N: o my god i did not expect so many people to have read the first part… even if only one person reads im still happy :D anyways heres the second part (i swear bang chan wont just be a side character later on hhahaha)

The insistent beeping of the alarm on your phone was what first woke you up from your dazed sleep. Your head still pounded from the night before, and frankly, you were ready to get fired for an extra five minutes of sleep. Tapping the ‘cancel’ button on your phone, you flipped over head down on your pillow to find the beautiful dreamland you were in. However, after just five more minutes, the triggering beeping of your backup alarm took you out of your slumber again, this time really waking you up. 

You trudge towards your bathroom, still dreading the day, on your way to take a shower. Thankfully, the steam from the warm shower combined with the fragrant smell of your conditioner slightly woke you up and dampened the aching in your head. 

Being drastically more awake than before, you made your way over to your kitchen to prepare breakfast. You opened the fridge, mind blank, just staring at the empty shelves. I seriously need to do some grocery shopping, you thought before grabbing an egg. 

You struggled to turn on the stove, not knowing which knob correlated to which burner. Turning a random one, you flinched when an excessive amount of fire appeared. However, after an embarrassingly long amount of time, you finally figured out the stove. Why are there still gas range stoves when electrical stoves exist? You wondered. 

You looked at the sad cooked egg in front of you. 

Was this really how you were going to live from now on? You cursed your whole family for spoiling you so much back home. Sure you were grateful for being able to live with your family for twenty three years, but the consequences of your mother making a fuss when you tried to cook for yourself was really showing now. 

You were about to dig into your lonely meal when your phone buzzed all of a sudden. Taking a quick peek at it, you saw Na-eun’s name flash up. You beamed with joy. Although you already worked up the nerve to be the first one to contact her, you were thankful she did first to break the tension. However, there was a small — microscopic even — part of you that wondered: what if that were Bang Chan?

You unlocked your phone. 

Na-eun: Hey! I know it’s kinda last minute, but do you wanna meet for breakfast?

Na-eun: There’s a café five minutes away from the building. 

Na-eun: ^-^

Smiling to yourself, you quickly typed a reply.

Y/n: Sure! My breakfast looks too sad to eat… 

Y/n: ^-^

In a flash, you stuffed your egg into a plastic tupperware container and put it in the empty fridge before booking it out your door, making sure to carefully enter the passcode to lock it before running to the staircase. You almost tripped over the stairs going down as you tried to sprint and text Na-eun at the same time. Checking the maps app on your phone, you told her how long it would take for you to arrive at the café. 

Na-eun: Do you mind if I bring my roommate? She keeps complaining about how boring it is at home haha.... 

Na-eun: She’s really nice though! ^^;

You happily agreed since you weren’t in the position to turn down another potential friend. Already two potential friends? You were so excited. 

There was a bounce in your steps as you made your way down to the subway. Scanning your card, you made your way to the big group of people on the platform and waited for your train. Taking the subway was so new, yet refreshing. There was something exciting about seeing a brand new set of people board the cart every stop, it was almost like refreshing your Instagram feed over and over again. 

After just a couple minutes more of waiting, your subway came. You naturally found your way in by shuffling along with the flock of people and found a good place to stand. 

You surveyed your cart. Some high school students, a few elderly, and many many businesspeople dressed in attire very similar to you. They all seemed to be busy on their cellular devices, so you quickly pulled yours out as well, eager to blend in. Your little Tamagotchi friend was happy to see you. 

The sound of the automated woman’s voice was what drew you out of your concentration, as she announced that the subway would be stopping at your destination next. When the subway stopped, the sea of people rushed out in a big tidal wave and you just went along with the flow. 

The map posted on a big pillar in the station was difficult to read at first, but after embarrassingly asking a station officer, you were confident you knew where you were going. The station was big with many interwoven hallways, each connecting to a different location. It had a couple shops and convenience stores located along the sides where students running late could buy some bread or tired businesspeople could inject their early morning dose of caffeine. 

You weaved your way through the long halls, confident that you could remember how you got out the right exit yesterday. Finally, after passing by many familiar stores and signs, you eventually made it above ground at the right exit. It was a cloudy September morning, the wind flew past you at just the right speed to elicit a slight shiver. You curse yourself for not bringing a jacket in your rush to the café. The streets were busy with cars zooming by, but it was nowhere near as congested as the subway traffic.

You started following your phone’s GPS to the marked location, and after a couple minutes, you spot the café. You immediately recognized it as a chain café as you’ve seen a few more of these scattered around the city as you got around. This one, however, appeared to be larger than the others (presumably because it was near so many big name companies) as it had three floors in total. 

You texted Na-eun, telling her you’ve arrived. She let you know that they were both in one of the booths on the second floor, so you decided to order before heading up. Walking over to the cashier, you scanned their massive menu, trying to find what you were looking for.

“One mango juice, please.” You politely ordered. “And also a slice of the red velvet cake.”  

After you had paid, you waited patiently, hands folded in front of you for your food. Because it wasn’t busy in the morning, it wasn’t that long until one of the baristas handed your food to you on a tiny plastic tray and you started making your way up. You reached the top floor and scanned your eyes around the room to find a familiar face. 

“Y/n!” Na-eun waved.

You waved back and made your way over. She was in the booth, and there was another girl sitting beside her. 

“Y/n, this is my roommate Yoojin.” She smiled at you and made a gesture towards the smaller girl sitting beside her. She was a fluffy haired girl. Her appearance was puppy-like, with her wide eyes and a large smile that was almost too big for her face. 

“Hi Yoojin.” You said as you sat down. 

“Hi Y/n! Na-eun told me about you yesterday. It seems like you have similar jobs.” She looked back at you with wide eyes. “But I think you got luckier because you actually get to interact with the idols.” 

“I think both of us are lucky to even be working there,” you chuckled, “plus, I don’t actually get to be working directly with the artists. I could only wish.” You joked. 

“Still extremely lucky, Na-eun told me she saw Bang Chan and Felix from Stray Kids at your building’s cafeteria yesterday.” Her hair bounced. “Finally, now I can say I’ve indirectly met famous people.” 

You and Na-eun both laughed. Although Yoojin looked the same age as you, there was something about the way she acted that just seemed so precious and innocent — like a little sister. How old was she anyway?

“Yoojin’s younger than me by a few years,” Na-eun said as if she read your thoughts, “She graduated university a year early. Top of her programming class. She knows everything about technology; one time, I stupidly forgot the passcode to my P.O. box and she cracked it for me in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Stop it.” Yoojin whined, looking down and playfully hitting Na-eun on the shoulder. “I told you before that I don’t like it when you talk about me. Let’s talk about Y/n instead. Na-eun told me you’re not from here, what do you do at JYPE then?” 

“I’m an assistant to help market some of the artists in China.” You leaned in a bit. “Actually, to be honest, I’m working on a secret project and Bang Chan from Stray Kids is technically part of the team.” 

Both Yoojin and Na-eun’s eyes widened. “No way, you’re so lucky.” Yoojin said. “Why can’t you have a job like that?” She poked at Na-eun.

“Get your own job first,” Na-eun smirked, “then we can talk about mine.”  

“Hey! I do have a job.” Yoojin clenched her jaw, looking at her plate and avoiding eye contact.

“I’m not sure if talking to people online all day counts as a job.” 

“Whatever.” Yoojin swirled her fork on her plate, stabbing at a piece of her cake. The scraping of metal on ceramic made all of you wince. 

“Anyways,” you started, trying to change the atmosphere, “did anybody watch the first episode of that new drama?” 

The two girls seemed to have a mood switch, looking relieved to start a new conversation. They gladly added their input and opinions on the new drama, talking about both the plot and the actors. Time passed by twice as fast as the three of you sat at the booth talking about the most random things. However, it was soon time to go to work for both you and Na-eun. 

“Hey, before you leave, could I get your number?” Yoojin asked. “We should hang out again sometime.”  

You gladly typed your contact into her phone, excited to hang out with Yoojin again. She was so full of energy, it reminded you of your university days. Not to mention that fluffy curly hair. It was so cute. 

You and Na-eun both made it out of the café and walked side-by-side over to your building before parting ways at the elevator corridor. It was a miracle that you managed to arrive at your cubicle in time, without getting lost. There was a pile of papers on your desk; they were the files you worked on yesterday. You remember that yesterday Manager Chen marked some improvements that could be made to the papers, but you checked your email just to be sure. 

Hello Y/n,

I put the documents from yesterday on your desk for some final edits. I’ve also added a few more. Could you finish them all by the end of the day?

Best, 

Manager Chen

You flipped through the stack of documents, and sure enough, there were about five more letters that needed to be worked on. Feeling determined, you gritted your teeth, got out your pen, and started to do your job. 

There were more corrections to make than what you expected, plus, you wanted to make sure your work was perfect this time. You skipped a trip to the cafeteria for lunch and ate something from the vending machine at your desk instead. You tried your best to work diligently, but because of your inexperience, it was taking longer than expected. You lost track of time as the hours passed by. 

“Your team is working hard today, Manager Chen.” A voice came from across the room. You looked up from your stack of documents to see Manager Kim walking over towards Manager Chen, who was standing casually outside her office doors. 

“What can I say, I keep them busy.” She replied. “Are you heading home now?” 

“Yes, and so should you.” Manaker Kim stopped at your cubicle, putting a hand on the wall. It was cat-like the way he looked at you. “Y/n, you’re working hard. Are you going home now? I’ll give you a ride.” 

You couldn’t head home now, not with the amount of work you still had with the new letters Manager Chen added to the pile. “Thank you for the offer, Manager Kim, but I’ll stay later today. I need to finish this work by today.” 

“Let her be, Manager Kim, you know how new employees are.” Manager Chen nagged and crossed her arms. “Come, I’ll walk you to the parking lot.” 

You bowed at both your managers and stretched your back before getting back to your work. The black lines of both languages started to blur into one as you strained your eyes to hold a tighter focus on the documents. It wasn’t until two more gruesome hours later when you finished your work. You did a long deserved stretch of the arms and checked the clock for the time, praying that it wasn’t too late. Thankfully, with the time being only eight, it wasn’t that dark out. You took a quick peek at your phone to check your notifications before leaving the office. 

There were only two texts sent fifteen minutes ago. Both from Bang Chan. 

Your chest tightened when you unlocked your phone. 

Bang Chan: Hey, I know it’s a bit late, but I have some ideas for the project and I was thinking we could meet up to discuss them

Bang Chan: Only if you want that is…

Your brain was in jumbles as you thought of what to text back. There were a couple staff that wrote you emails about their ideas for the project, but none of them asked to meet in person. And now, the first person who asked you to have a meeting in person was Bang Chan. Whom you rode back to your apartment drunk with. On your first day at work. And now you missed his work-related text by fifteen minutes. However, even though it was late, you still felt like you needed to take his ideas in. After all, like Manager Chen said, you know how new employees are. 

Y/n: Hi, sorry my reply is late… Are you still free? 

You anxiously stared at the blue-lit screen of your phone, jumping in and out of the text app waiting for a reply. After less than a minute, you saw the little dots at the bottom which indicated that he was typing. It disappeared for a moment, only to come back less than a second later. Your thumbs started unconsciously fiddling with one another in front of your phone screen as you waited for what felt like eternity. 

Bang Chan: It’s alright haha 

Bang Chan: There’s a cafe about 5 minutes from our building, wanna meet there? 

You immediately knew which café he was talking about as you conveniently hung out with Na-eun there this morning. You texted Bang Chan back, letting him know that you would be there as soon as possible. You grabbed your bag, along with your trusty pen and notebook,  before leaving your desk for the elevators. The elevator ride was unusually fast as it was already well past working hours for most people.  

Once you were out of the building, you made your way down the familiar sidewalk, passing by the familiar street shops as you felt the bite of the wind against your face. The sky was becoming dim as the sun made its descent, but the illumination coming from the streetlamps helped guide you there. After five minutes of a brisk walk, you saw the familiar sign of the café. You also saw a familiar person standing outside the door, dressed in all black, with his head down looking at his phone. 

You tried to make your footsteps slightly louder the closer you got to him in order to make your presence known. It seemed to have worked, as Bang Chan heard you and turned his head up. He immediately gave you a boyish grin, putting his phone in the pocket of his hoodie and pulling his face mask down to his chin. 

“Hey,” You waved awkwardly, “did I make you wait long?”

“Not at all.” Bang Chan said as he held open the door, “Let’s go in, it’s pretty chilly today.” 

You thanked him and walked inside. You both made your way to the cashier and looked up at the menu, deciding on what to buy. 

“I think I’ll get an iced americano.” Bang Chan said. “Are you getting anything?”

“Hmm. I might get the mango juice.” You decided and lined up behind Bang Chan, waiting for him to order first. 

Bang Chan walked up to the waiting barista. “Hello, I’ll get an iced americano please.” A second passed. “Also a mango juice.” 

Your eyes widened as you silently tried to stop him from buying your drink, feeling embarrassed that Bang Chan — who was essentially your coworker — was buying your drink. He didn’t seem to notice your quiet protests, as he pulled his card out of his wallet and quickly tapped it on the pin pad. After he was done paying, he turned around and tucked his card back in his wallet, giving you a smug grin. 

“I’ll pay you back later.” You insisted, embarrassed once again that he was doing something for you. 

“Of course, of course.” He casually replied and stood beside you with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I’ll wait for our drinks. You can go find a table.” 

You nodded and left to find a table on the first floor. Surprisingly, there were more people there at night than when you were there in the morning. Some people had their textbooks out to study, some were quietly enjoying a book. Some were on dates. 

Finally, after weaving through many fully filled tables, you found an empty one near the table. You sat down, taking out your pen and notebook to prepare for Bang Chan’s ideas. Not long after, you saw Bang Chan walking around, turning his head left and right to look for you. You caught his eye as you waved at him to come over. He strolled over and put the tray of drinks down on the table, placing yours beside your notebook. 

“So,” You took a sip of your delicious mango juice, “do you wanna get started now?” 

“Sure.” His usually friendly face turned serious. It seemed like he took his work seriously. “So I was thinking, we need to film some content to start promoting our debut right? How about we film content for the Mid-Autumn Festival? It falls on the same day as Chuseok, so we can use this as a small promotion for our debut.” 

You nodded in agreement. Although this idea would be a little last minute to carry out, it was a great opportunity to promote their group in order to gain more popularity before their debut in China. “This is a great idea Bang Chan,” You hurriedly jotted down everything he said, “did you have more to add on?”  

“We could make several episodes of this content. I was thinking we could camp in the mountains and maybe cook some food, make mooncakes.” 

“All of this is really good, we have three weeks until the actual Mid-Autumn Festival. If I rush this idea to Manager Chen, we could have one week to plan it, and two weeks to film and produce it.” You beamed, glad that you could be involved in a potential big production. 

You and Bang Chan kept discussing his idea for content, and as time passed, your conversation turned more casual as it eventually evolved into topics unrelated to work.

“So, why are you having coffee this late anyway?” You tipped your chin towards his glass. 

“There’s this part of a song I’m working on that I just can’t get perfect,” Bang Chan noticeably clenched his jaw, “I wanna figure it out before I leave.” 

“Do you usually stay up late to work?” You asked. 

“I can’t sleep anyways, so I might as well work.” 

“Insomnia?” You questioned. He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his coffee. A few seconds of silence passed. “You know, my mom made me pack some of her special tea before leaving. She said it was for jet lag, which is weird because there’s only a time difference of an hour here.” You rambled. 

“Oh?” Bang Chan tipped his head. 

“I could give you some tomorrow.” You said. Your eyes wandered everywhere except to him. “If you want.” 

“Really, you’d do that?” His eyes widened as he stirred his coffee with his straw. 

It may have been your subconscious need to make friends, or just the fact that you mom gave you so much tea for your non-existent jet lag, but you gladly offered your mom’s solve-all remedy. “Of course, anything for a friend.” 

He blinked a couple times. He stopped stirring his coffee. “Thanks.” He looked at you with a slight grin. 

“Plus, this way I can pay you back.” You teased. 

“Okay, fair enough.” He chuckled. A dimple appeared on his cheek as his smile widened. “But seriously, you don’t need to worry about paying me back for anything next time.” 

Next time? You wondered. Of course he would have more ideas for his own group. You wanted to roll your eyes at yourself. It seemed like, despite his easy-going personality, that he cared a lot about not only his job, but the boys he worked with. His work ethic inspired you and made you want to work just as hard as he did. Except you definitely couldn’t stay up as late as he did. 

The two of you kept up the back and forth that was established, talking about whatever came to mind, with a few sprinklings of work-related conversations throughout. You talked about your first day impressions and how well you were adjusting to life in a new country, and he retaliated by sharing his own experiences of moving across the world. You were so enraptured by your riveting conversations that you easily lost track of time. It wasn’t until you had already spent minutes playing around with your straw in the empty glass that you finally remembered how late it was.

“It’s kinda late, I think I should get going now.” You said as you checked your phone for the time. 

“Are you taking the subway?” He asked as he started gathering the empty glasses. “It’s pretty dark now — I could walk you there.”

“It’s alright. I don’t wanna take time from your work” You said, gathering your notebook and pen. 

“It’s no problem, really, it’s just a five minute walk.” He stood up with the tray of empty glasses in one hand and pulled up his face mask with the other.

The two of you left the café and walked the short distance to the subway stairs.  There, you parted ways and you started your trek home. Taking the subway at night was vastly different from morning; the morning rush was filled with rows and rows of busy people, whereas the night train had a completely different feeling to it. There were actually available seats, to begin with. You found an empty seat and took out your phone to kill time. You checked your missed notifications.

Yoojin: Hi Y/n!! ^-~ Today was so fun, we should go again sometime! 

You smiled at the little text from Yoojin, visioning her wide smile stretch across her face. Texting a quick reply back, you were about to put your phone back down when another notification popped up. 

Unknown: Stay away from him. This is a warning.  

A flash of panic rushed through your body making your chest tighten. Your heart was coming out of your chest, the beating was so hard you could hear it even in the running subway. Completely fixated on the bright white of your phone, your eyes strained from the light. Adrenaline filled your blood, and in the spur of the moment, you quickly blocked the number and deleted the text chain. It had to just be a prank text, after all, you have gotten pranked through text multiple times before in your past. 

You put your phone down slowly, turning your head to survey your subway cart for any suspicious acting people. There was only a grandma with her cane and a few middle school girls comparing their new lip tints. Your thumbs naturally started fiddling with each other. Your eyebrows knit together as you clutched your bag tight to your body for the rest of the subway ride. 

The walk back to your apartment was done carefully. You chose the side of the sidewalk with more light as you kept your senses open, trying to remember the face of every person that walked past you. Although it was more likely than not that the text was just a prank, you were still somebody living alone with very few connections in a new country. Your legs quickened at the thought and you hurried your way back.

Arriving at your apartment door, you carefully entered your lock combination and slammed your door shut, double checking that it was locked. Your home was dark, with only the moon casting long shadows on your furniture. You quickly switched your light on. You tried to put this text to the back of your mind as you got ready to sleep, but it loomed, feeling like a shadow cast by the moon. The shadow in your mind stayed as you closed your eyes, waiting for your sleep to chase it away. 

The next morning, you woke up to the obnoxious beeping of your alarm. You sleepily sat up, getting ready to perform your familiar morning routine. Everything felt like routine, so monotonous that the text from last night was completely forgotten. You opened the fridge and ate your suspicious egg from yesterday morning. 

Before leaving, you suddenly remembered to bring your mom’s magical tea. You rummaged through the cupboards until you found the ridiculous packaging your mom insisted on using. 

The route to work was already starting to feel familiar as you mindlessly made your way from your quaint apartment all the way to the opulent blue building. You entered the office and sat at your desk, checking for new emails. After nothing of immediate importance came up, you got out your notebook and started to type up your notes from yesterday. 

You were in a trance. The repetitive task of reading and typing completely hypnotised you as hours passed by without you even noticing. What broke you out of your trance, however, was the voice of your boss. 

“Bang Chan.” Manager Chen called out. You looked up from your monitor and peeked up from your cubicle to see the familiar hair of a certain man you knew. Assuming he was here for a meeting with Manager Chen, you went back to your hypnotising work. The walls of your cubicle were too high for him to see you anyways — something about eliminating distractions to maximise work efficiency. 

You hit ‘enter’ on your keyboard to start a new paragraph when all of a sudden, you spotted an object appear on your desk from the corner of your eye. 

A bottle of mango juice. 

Quickly turning your head around, you were met with Bang Chan’s back. He was already making strides towards Manager Chen, but something about the sway of his broad shoulders and the way his right hand stretched open told you that it was him who gave you this little bottle of happiness. You unscrewed the lid and took a sip before getting back to work.  

Thankfully, the gift you received was enough sugar content to keep you working efficiently for the rest of the day. You had finished all your work and could hopefully pitch Manager Chen the idea by tomorrow. You found your mom’s tea in your bag while gathering your stuff, remembering your promise to Bang Chan. 

Y/n: Hey, I have my mom’s tea — I could give it to you right now?

There was a reply almost immediately. 

Bang Chan: Sure ^^ I’m in a practice room on floor X right now, I’ll wait by the elevators. 

You made your way over to the elevators and tapped your nails on the package of tea whilst silently waiting for an elevator to arrive. The silence, however, was promptly cut off as your phone started to ring. It was from Yoojin. She probably wants to hang out soon, you thought as you happily answered right away. 

“Y/n!” Yoojin yelled into the phone, she sounded worried. 

“Yoojin, is there something wrong?” You frowned, concerned for the girl. 

“I-I was in the parking lot near your building, a-and I fell down the stairs.” She sniffed. “I think I sprained my ankle or something — I can’t stand up. It hurts so much.” 

“Oh god, Yoojin, do you want me to come help?” You were in the elevator by now, already pressing the button for the main floor. 

“If you’re not far, I don’t want to trouble you.” You heard sounds of her wincing. 

“It’s no trouble Yoojin,” You exclaimed, “your ankle is much more important now. I’ll be right there.” 

“Thank you Y/n.” You heard her sniff again through the phone. 

You bolted out of the elevator as soon as it reached the main floor, stuffing your forgotten package in your bag. Ignoring the looks of confusion of the people you sprinted past, you located the parking lot building as soon as you left the main doors of the JYPE building. Your chest burned and your breaths were heavy. 

You were worried for Yoojin. She seemed like such a sweet girl that it pained you to even imagine her hurt in any sort of way. With her fluffy hair and wide eyes, it made you feel like you were helping an injured puppy. 

Your legs felt like concrete after a while of running, but you finally made it to the parking lot building. Entering the parking lot, you looked for any sign of a staircase where Yoojin said she fell on. There were none. 

“Excuse me, where are the stairs to this parking lot?” You asked the parking lot attendant, assuming it was just hidden somewhere. 

“There are no stairs here,” He said, “if you want to get to the second floor, there is an elevator over there.” He pointed to the other side of the lot. 

You thanked the man and ran to the elevator, hoping Yoojin wasn’t too hurt by now. You’ve experienced injuries like these before whilst playing sports back home, they hurt like hell. Your breathing was staggered by the time you reached the elevator, however, you didn’t give up and kept looking around trying to find the girl. There was nobody. You were about to call Yoojin again just to make sure you were in the correct place, but a voice interrupted you. 

“Y/n.” 

It was Manager Kim.

[aesterblaster]

Over Coffee

Kenyu x gn Reader bc we need more him content <3

Summary: You start to bond with the one customer at the coffee shop who's nice to you (also reader is specifically not Japanese/just moved to Japan)

Tropes: Unrecognized celebrity, Friends to lovers, Hidden identity, this is a one shot lol

Moving to another county is hard. You could count on both hands and then some how many times people had noted how "exotic" you looked or asked you where you were from. Not to mention how everyone seemed to think your accent's funny. You sighed and threw away a scrap of paper that had some guy's number on it.

The small coffee shop you worked at only had business because it was the only one in town, frankly. It was understaffed and some of the lights wouldn't work. At least the rent around here was cheap. And it was only a temporary job, just something to get you off your feet. You looked up from scrubbing the counter when the bell rang.

Hm, he was pretty handsome, his hair had a causally messy look that he pulled off well and his round sunglasses matched his outfit perfectly. Those had to be some sort of designer shoes. You couldn't help but wonder what someone so stylish was doing in this worn down town.

You heard one of your coworkers squeal as she pushed you out of the way and asked for his autograph. He obliged kindly and signed his name on a hand out menu. "Yukimiya" huh? The more coworkers squeezed behind the counter space the more annoyed you got. Snippits of conversation reached you, phrases like home town and just stopping by, not that you cared.

"Excuse me, everyone! He still hasn't ordered." you shouted over the hustle and bustle.

"Oh, shut up! I know how he likes coffee already!" that same coworker hissed.

"Then go make it!" you replied curtly. Soon enough the crowd thinned out enough for this Yukimiya guy to talk to you directly.

"Thanks for saving me back there." he chuckled. "My hand was starting to cramp up."

"Mhm, don't mention it. I don't know why they went so crazy anyway. I should thank you for bringing some life to this place." You could've sworn you saw his eyes widen for a moment but he masked his shock well. This was an opportunity to actually get to know someone, someone that didn't know who he was; and he wasn't planning on waisting it. He changed the subject.

You two talked about simple things like where the best restaurants were and the weather and why you moved. But you found that you quite enjoyed his company, besides the occasional glare from a fellow worker, the atmosphere was peaceful when he was around. Plus, he left a huge tip. Hopefully, this stranger would show up more often...

. . . .

He did show up more often, and each time he made sure to talk to you and each time your heartbeat sped up. It wasn't long until you too knew how he liked his coffee and his full name. You wished his was as giving with his number as the less fashionable regulars. He did a good job at hiding his identity though, the more you thought about it the more you realized you didn't know. You'd never really bothered to ask what his job was even though you knew his favorite color.

Your coworkers started to avoid you more and more. You were fairly sure they were starting to spread rumors but you didn't care much. If no one would tell you, not even the mystery man himself, then you'd just look it up. Why you didn't think of it sooner you had no idea. You looked up his name. You shook your head slightly and refreshed the page. He was a famous model?

That explained a lot. But then that meant, that you knew (and was thinking of asking for the number of) a renowned model. Your palms started to sweat as the bell rung. Speak of the devil. "On your phone at work? I thought you were more professional than that!" Kenyu said as he walked up to the counter.

"You- I- You're- Model?" you stuttered out in response. Now it was his turn to get flustered.

"Yeah, you caught me." he said after a short pause. "I mean I was going to ask you to out but it's kinda awkward now that you found out the whole famous thing." Another pause ensued. You two stared at each other and to your surprise it was still him. He didn't look a bit different than he had before you learned he was a model. In fact, his eyes looked a bit softer now as if pleading for you to forgive him for hiding this from you.

"No, no, let's go to that market you recommended before. I never had a chance to go." you sighed. "Just, no more big surprises ok? You gave me a heart attack just now!" In an instant Kenyu was back to himself and gave you a grin.

"Sure! How's Tuesday at 8 sound?"

[kelleah-meah]

The 3rd of 3 Full Moon in Pisces/Autumnal Equinox spreads

Not feeling too great today. I fear I may be crashing from my 2 days of general euphoria, and now I feel the return of anxiety and fear I wish I had addressed instead of spending 2 days in the kitchen cooking my delicious Mabon menu.

Alas, you can't unring that bell. And frankly, I think the euphoria was aided by my 2 days of pouring my heart and good humor into my food while enjoying movies I love playing in the background.

Anyway, enough of that.

For today, this is the spread I choose to do a reading for:

And this is what it told me:

1. What needs to be brought into balance in ... my relationships?

3 of Swords

Interpretation: Healing and finding inspiration again (or in my case, trust).

2. What needs to be brought into balance in ... my work?

Queen of Pentacles

Interpretation: Grounding myself and stress over financial risk, as well as healing from work/life imbalance

3. What needs to be brought into balance in ... my home?

Page of Wands

Interpretation: My creator angst and creative ideation -- in other words, my eagerness to start something new, but feeling blocked by internal and external obstacles

4. What needs to be brought into balance in ... my health?

Ace of Swords

Interpretation: Feeling stuck or stalled, lacking clarity on how to move forward physically, psychologically, financially and more.

5. What needs to be brought into balance in ... my spiritual practice?

10 of Cups

Interpretation: Relationships and my expectations within them, particularly with my family, my community and the divine.

6. How do I bring balance to ... my relationships?

8 of Wands

Interpretation: Focus and listen to your gut. Even if society has conditioned you to act one way, listen to your gut first.

7. How do I bring balance to ... my work?

The Devil

Interpretation: Realize that you are giving your power away and break that cycle. Delve within your shadow self and heal.

8. How do I bring balance to ... my home?

Ace of Pentacles

Interpretation: Prioritize what matters most and you'll never have to worry about prosperity or success again. Prioritize, focus and act.

9. How do I bring balance to ... my health?

4 of Pentacles (clarified by The Empress)

Interpretation: Be in flow with the universe and clarity will follow. Life isn't about constant expansion. It's about action and rest, give and take, learning and teaching. Go with the flow, and the universe will tell you what to do. Action flows from non-action. And stop placing so much value on money. There are many ways to achieve the health you desire.

10. How do I bring balance to ... my spiritual practice?

7 of Wands

Interpretation: Express yourself, but protect yourself. Continue to share your authentic self, but erect energetic boundaries.

----

I also pulled a daily oracle card from the Animal Spirit deck. Yesterday's Dove was replaced with a Crow and told me to co-create with Spirit ...

I also pulled an energy card from my regular tarot deck for the day. That is, what kind of energy I am feeling at this moment in time. For Tuesday, I pulled this lucky card: 10 of Swords

[jaskiersvalley]

Lockdown Lovers

The pandemic had gone on long enough. By his very nature Jaskier was a social creature and he missed company. Sure, he could hang out online with friends, play games and chatter away but it didn’t scratch the itch that was getting desperate. Stupid lockdown and its apparent determination to deny Jaskier even a simple hug. As much as he loved living on his own and keeping whatever hours he wanted, he still found he very much missed human contact.

In a desperate attempt to connect with a fellow human, Jaskier took to dating apps. Not that he could realistically meet anyone and do anything but part of him hoped there might be a connection. Swiping dejectedly, he ignored yet another promise of knowing a quiet corner of a park or alley where they could get off in a socially distanced manner. It just didn’t hold appeal. Plus, it was cold, Jaskier very much doubted he’d be treated to the sight of the bodies the pictures promised. Most were too far away anyway, Jaskier wasn’t going to walk 8 miles for a mediocre mutual wank behind a dumpster in a dingy alley. Just as he was about to give up, another profile flashed up in his phone.

Looking for a socially distanced park buddy. Must like goats.

The profile photo was of a rather cute goat and, as Jaskier scrolled through the pictures, all he got in terms of glimpses of the owner was a large hand with thick fingers, scarred and definitely most intriguing. What kind of large man had a pet goat who he bought ribbons and outfits for?

I don’t have my own goat to bring to park, would that be an issue?

There was no reply but it wasn’t like Jaskier was really expecting one. Such a profile was probably a joke one set up to stave off lockdown boredom. Whoever had it probably had a great deal of fun finding goat pictures. Mentally, Jaskier wished them well and set his phone aside. There were better things to do than scroll endlessly through profiles and know he didn’t really want anything to do with any of them. Which was why, when he checked the time a few hour later, he was surprised to find a reply.

Not at all. I only have Bleats until the weekend anyway. Can you do 10am in Vizima Park on Thursday?

Eager (not desperate) for the connection, Jaskier jumped at the chance. He had no problems with walking to Vizima, it was only up the road and well within the advised “stay local” rule. There was no doubt he’d be able to recognise his new park buddy, Bleats would be an absolute give away in terms of identity. To make it easier to be recognised, Jaskier pulled his fanciest mask from the hook, the one with wings curving out along his jaw.

In the park Jaskier was glad for his mask because it kept his jaw from dropping to the ground. Bleats was cute for sure but her owner was otherworldly. Large, broad and the warmest, friendliest eyes Jaskier had ever seen. The scar that was peeking out from under the mask and hidden by hair was a whole story that would hopefully come out.

“Bleats and owner?” Jaskier called, waving from a distance.

“You can call me Eskel,” the mountain of a man replied. “And her full name is Little Bleater but she ignored Bleats just the same.”

Delighted, Jaskier wished he could get closer. As it was, they made a slow loop of the park together, Jaskier chattering away while Eskel listened and chipped in. “You said you’ve only got Little Bleater until the weekend?”

“She goes back to my brother’s farm. I only have her when she’s poorly and needs a bit of extra attention. Her arthritis flared up with the cold snap we had so she came to me for cuddles.”

Jaskier knew he fell in love too easily but this was a new record even for him. He looked at Eskel, took in the sight of his red leather jacket, the dragon scale pattern of his mask, the ease with which he kept Little Bleater’s leash from turning into a knot and Jaskier was gone already.

The first walk turned into a second one, that one without a goat and Jaskier found he adored Eskel’s company. Quiet but not silent, respectful and gentle until Jaskier pushed him for stories and he quickly realised that Eskel wasn’t quite the stoic, mild man he seemed to be. Stories about parties, sneaking around late at night, even a hint at what sounded like a joyride in his foster father’s car with his younger brother. They only served to make Jaskier even more intrigued. Which led him down a bit of a rabbit hole into social media. He found Eskel but there wasn’t much up there. The most recent picture was from over a year ago, probably taken on a night out by Lambert (who looked to be his brother), it was blurry, Eskel turning away from the camera but at least Jaskier could see his jaw and lips. It wasn’t the side with the scar but that was okay. What was more interesting was how Eskel looked a little worse for wear, probably drunk though, if Jaskier had to put money on it, he would have maybe said there was more than alcohol blowing Eskel’s pupils wide and giving him a slightly glassy glaze. The only other photo was from probably about 15 years ago, a much younger Eskel grinned at the camera with two other boys. A scan of the comments revealed it was Lambert and Geralt.

On the whole, Jaskier decided that Eskel was an enigma and he wanted to know more. So the walks in the park continued, even became jogs when Eskel admitted he missed going to the gym. While Jaskier knew he wasn’t the embodiment of fitness, he quickly realised he was vastly out of shape in comparison to Eskel. One loop of Vizima wsa more than enough for Jaskier while Eskel did another couple before he even got out of breath. Frankly it was unfair, mostly because Jaskier got to watch him lope around the park and he could only watch from a sensible distance.

“We should have a picnic,” Jaskier declared as the weather turned nicer. “We can figure out a menu together and bring our own portions.”

There was a moment of hesitation in Eskel and Jaskier wondered what he’d said wrong.

“Okay. As long as we don’t have any seafood, it should be fine.”

Their picnic had no seafood in it, Jaskier wasn’t a fan either so it was no great sacrifice to make. They settled 2 meters apart on their own blankets and pulled out their picnics. Despite their months of friendship and messaging back and forth, there was a tension between them that had Jaskier worried. He tried to ignore it and pulled his mask off, sending Eskel was cheeky smile. It was the first time he’d been without a mask around his friend.

Watching as Eskel reached for his own mask, Jaskier could see a soft hesitation, a fortifying breath expanding Eskel chest before the mask was pulled down. It revealed scars that stretched all down his cheek, snagged his lip into a permanent snarl.

“You sure you still want to have a picnic with me?” Eskel asked, head dipped as if that would hide his scars.

Rather than answer directly, Jaskier took a deep breath. “You haven’t formed a support bubble with anyone, have you?”

Confused, Eskel shook his head.

“Neither have I so-” Jaskier stood up and he saw hurt flash through Eskel’s face as he gathered up his picnic and blanket before moving closer. “-bubble with me?”

Eskel stared, wide eyed as Jaskier arranged his picnic blanket next to his and sat down on his right, not trying to avoid sight of his scars. In the silence, Jaskier reached for one of those big, scarred hands he had spotted from the very first photo he saw of Eskel and linked their fingers. He beamed happily when the limp hand curled around his in a gentle hold.

[httpsohnpouts]

𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓬𝓴 𝓲𝓷 𝓪 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶.

⊱ pairing: eric x fem. reader

⊱ warnings: i’m pretty sure i wrote ‘ass’ a couple times

⊱ word count: 2.8k

⊱ a/n: i try my best to make my work gender neutral but for my collab pieces where i have a lot to write, i tend to forget to write from all perspectives and therefore found it easier to make them from fem. reader perspectives, i apologise if this upsets some of my readers <3

my first collab piece! @atbzkingdom thankyou for the opportunity! i planned for this piece to be longer and better, please don’t hesitate to give me feedback as i’m still a little unsure on some parts. i’ll possibly edit and rewrite some parts in the future! thankyou and i hope you like it!

⊱ taglist: @heartyyjeno @atbzkingdom @chaoticdeobi

inserting the cassette into its player, the nostalgic melody slowly echoed around the room; you were entranced into a flood of beautiful and precious memories playing on repeat in your mind.

you were seated, cross-legged, on your roommates bed. she had invited you over upon your arrival at campus, to which you gladly took her invite, considering you wouldn’t really have a lot of time to spend with her with classes starting so soon. she was currently parading around in several different dresses, some tight, some loose, some just outright hideous. she claimed she was in a rush - her boyfriend, sangyeon, on his way to pick her up for the party they were attending that night. she ushered you to go with them but you opted out, wanting to get settled in before rushing off to a party.

pulling on the tiny bobbles on your socks, there was a knock at the door, and the next minute you were met with two guys. one in which you assumed to be sangyeon, considering your roommate sprung herself into him upon seeing his face. and the other - someone you didn’t know. that was, until he was introduced to you, as eric sohn.

your second encounter with eric, was - funnily enough - at a party. you were in your last years at college when your friends wanted to let off some steam and somehow had managed to get you to tag along with them. you couldn’t handle your alcohol very well so let’s just say you were pretty befuddled.

“woah, watch where you’re going there, princess” someone chimed.

you were wobbling slightly and accidentally backed up into someone, sending their drink down the front of their shirt.

the next thing you knew, you were being swept up by your legs, your face in vision sight with the person's back, “hey! put me down.” you screeched between each punch of your fist. whoever it was, was really enjoying themselves, chuckling at your childish behaviour.

you were finally put on your feet, coming face to face with the ever-so-rude person who happened to escort you out of the building before a fight occurred. for some odd reason you just felt feisty tonight, probably since you haven’t let yourself loosen up since the start of classes and all of your wild and chaotic energy was protruding through all at once.

“i’m guessing you’re y/n, right?” he looked oddly familiar, as did his voice, but through your blurry and clouded vision, you couldn’t really make out who it was. he must’ve sensed your hesitance, tugging at your wrist before giving you a small high five, “i’m eric.”

ever since that night, he would take you out somewhere. and for someone who hadn’t explored much or had never even gone out of their comfort zone, it meant you had a lot to see and a lot to learn.

your favourite hangout had got to be the night where he drove the two of you to an outdoor cinema, seated on a plaid blanket that laid flat against the grass, your jacket shared between the two of you, your thighs pressing against one another whilst the pillows you brought propped your heads up comfortably to watch the movie playing. every so often, you could smell eric’s perfume as it blew with the wind, intoxicating you almost. without him realising, his hand would unconsciously fall and lay on your thigh, you ignored it however, knowing he didn’t mean it and is something you shouldn’t really be making such a big deal out of.

you were occupied in the screen played before you, giving eric the chance to etch your features into his brain. he had liked you for a while, even before you first saw him in your roommates dorm, sangyeon brought him along, knowing you’d be there and thus giving eric the chance for you to finally meet him. your hair was tied back, checking the weather before leaving knowing it would be windy and figured you’d pull it back to avoid the nuisance of doing it later on, except your baby hairs escaped it’s capture in the bobble and floated around with the direction of the wind. the screen’s light shone and bounced across your face, illuminating it in a way that made you look like you were an angel visiting earth but without the wings and plus, he knew you were real. he couldn’t help himself but to occasionally stare at your hands and wonder what it would feel like fitted between his, wondering how smooth they were. oh, how much he wished he could just squish your hands together right there and then. so he settled for leaving it purposely nearer to you, hoping you’d feel the same as him, yet a little braver by slipping your fingers together. you didn’t, but he figured it was wishful thinking anyways.

or there was another time, where he snook you out of your dorm past midnight just so you could both watch the sun rise. his safe place, he’d never brought anyone there before and he told you just that, causing butterflies to flutter crazily from inside of your tummy. just like how you smiling and letting out a little giggle at one of his lame jokes, he told the boys the same one and earned an eruption of laughter but it just didn’t create the same feeling compared to when you did it.

no. your favourite moment had got to be the moment you realised you loved him. you had been working yourself to the bone upon exams nearing and eric knew this, trying his best to relax you and to take your mind off of everything causing you distress. engulfing you into his warm embrace when the tears began rolling down your face. promising to stay the night with you in his arms to keep you safe and comforted and just so you weren’t alone. it’s also the moment you shared your first kiss.

what followed consisted of a few things. you celebrated your three months together before leaving education to finally turn into your own independent people with individual plans and paths they want to take. in other words: growing up. becoming an adult. and hence, you split. it was hard, at first. eric became your rock, as did you, become his. you never left each other’s sides and maybe that was why it was so hard for the long distance to work. you were both affectionate, both two loving and caring soles that just needed that physical touch, facetime can only go so far.

the door chimed, indicating someone had come through the door, “hi, welcome to moonlight’s diner what can i get for you?” you cringed at your superficial tone of voice as you casted a smile to the new customers, one of which left to find the pair a table. what a cute couple.

the woman was pretty, the way the sun shone through the open glass windows as she peered behind you at the menus, “hi, can i get two hot chocolates and chocolate chip muffins please?” she gleamed, fiddling with the cash notes she held in her hands as she looked at you expectedly.

“of course,” imputing the order into the cash register, excusing yourself as you went to prepare her order as she left to accompany her friend.

you were quite used to the machines at the diner, considering you had worked there long enough to learn everything like the back of your hand, so it only took you a couple of minutes before making your way to the table, placing each saucer and plate in front of the two, concentrating too much to notice the eyes watching your every moment.

“here’s your order and the bill, enjoy.” pushing the tray between the fold of your arm as you slid them the bill, only just having the chance to spot the man sat opposite the woman you served at the counter.

“oh hey y/n.” eric spoke, flashing his pearly whites as he began to stir his hot chocolate, “i haven’t seen you in… years. it’s nice to see you again.” the girl now staring at you instead, curious as to how eric knew you.

turning on your heel, wanting to get out of the situation as quickly as you could, you were just about to leave but god had other plans for you, “hey, i’m hanna, eric’s girlfriend. nice to me you.. y/n.”

you didn’t see eric for weeks after the encounter with his girlfriend. nothing much happened after that, your manager had called for you from the back room to tell you it was the end of your shift and how you could go home. not even sparing eric or his girlfriend a second glance or word, you gripped the tray tighter and scurried out the door, not caring to even say much as a goodbye or see you tomorrow.

“so that’s y/n, huh? is that why you brought me here?” eric had been watching you leave, you looked different from the last time he saw you. god, he couldn’t imagine you being any prettier but there you were; proving him wrong. proving to him that he never actually stopped loving you. all those nights he would stay awake silently hoping you would surprise him at his dorm and you never leave his side again, “was a surprise for the both of us it seems.”

he met hanna through a mutual friend from his baseball team. they weren’t really that close, only a few civil greetings shared between the two but when he stopped eric in his tracks on the way out of the changing room, pleading him to go on a date with his love-struck friend, there wasn’t much to lose. he was lonely and she reminded him of himself; bubbly, energetic, and hence, they started dating, seeing one another more often. something he wasn’t able to do with you. he told hanna all about you. the girl he was once head over heels with, quite frankly, she knows everything about you. as do his group of friends.

except, the difference is, they met hanna and hardly know anything of her. but you, someone they have yet to meet, hell, they know everything from how you can’t eat dairy due to your intolerance to how when you were a child, you got bit by a donkey and still have the scar on your wrist. it wasn’t pleasant, comparing the both of you. you both have different traits, different personalities, different styles, you were polar opposites. and maybe that’s why things weren’t working well between eric and hanna and why he still loves you. you match him like a missing puzzle piece. hanna knew it too, but she was too blind sighted by the four letter word called love, that she didn’t want to lose eric. maybe it was out of nerves or worries, not knowing what the future had planned for her: would she ever get married? have kids? would she even meet another boy if she broke up with eric? she was being selfish really, but she couldn’t help it… especially when she saw the sparkle in his eye and the fond, lingering smile on his face by just the slight glimpse of your shadow.

it seemed like someone in the clouds above were playing some kind of god, putting scattered pieces together. almost like a person putting a broken jigsaw puzzle back together, nothing happening too fast, but also too noticeable for it to be just a coincidence.

life was hard, to say the least. some days better than others, some appearing as though it’ll never end and whilst some, you wished would stay around forever. but that’s how it goes, time still ticks on and moves through the waves of reality and if you just happen to stumble and trip, there’s the risk of never being fully able to catch up. time. something that is very limited, something people take for granted, that some people have too little of and others struggling to stay just one foot in front of; the fear of falling behind being all too real.

“penny for your thoughts?”

he spoke, breaking the tranquility that filled the empty playground.

“how funny, sohn.”

“so tell me,” he softly murmured, turning on his side to look directly at your side profile, “what brings you here? this is where we always went during school on our breaks.”

you nod, “i know. it brings peace, you know? i like it here.”

to which the male simply nodded.

“and you? shouldn’t i be asking you the same thing?”

“me and hanna broke up. came here to clear my head.”

“oh.”

abruptly, eric stood up, his hand outstretched towards you as he dragged you to your feet, “c’mon, we’re going to get ice cream from that place around the corner.”

and with that glimmering smile, you couldn’t refuse.

“and that, is how sunwoo managed to get stuck inside of our dorms dustbin.”

“so, you’re telling me, at half three in the morning, sunwoo climbed into a tiny ass desk bin as he wanted to prove to you that he could get from one side to the other in thirty seconds or less?” letting out a cackle, your head thrown back as your hand covered the ice cream in your mouth.

sighing, “i miss how things used to be.” putting your spoon into the ice cream tub, resting your chin in your palms as you stared at the scenery occurring outside of the parlour, “i feel the same.” eric replied, huffing a little whilst his lips protruded into a pout as he copied your form, looking at you.

“want to restart?”

“restart?”

“yeah- why not? i’m not saying forget about what’s happened, just, i miss you.”

popping the spoon back into your mouth, a small smile forming on your face, “me too.”

eric was true to his word, every chance your schedules allowed, were you spending time with one another. like nothing had ever changed, and that you were still in school.

but there you were, sprawled across eric’s bed in his small - one man - apartment. both of you laid beside one another on your backs whilst observing the coloured star projector he had pointing to his ceiling.

“hey y/n?” eric whispered, closer to your ear than you expected, the tip of his nose rubbing against the shell of your ear slightly.

copying him, your noses now skimming each other but neither of you daring to move, “yeah?” you whispered back. unknown as to why you were whispering, possibly not wanting to burst the bubble the two of you were entranced in.

“do you miss us?”

smiling slightly before it dropped, recalling all the memories from your younger years, when you lost the love of your life, your best friend, the person who was always there in your time of need. just like you were to him, “i never stopped.”

never did your feelings for eric disappear, some might say you were meant to be together; soulmates your friends and family would say.

in which, probably explains why you were here to begin with, the same place, the same position, the same old

ceiling with the star projector. except, this time you were saying goodbye.

goodbye to eric’s one-man apartment, your life together with your identical rings located on your ring fingers as tiny hands held each of your empty hands. leaving heartbreak in the past, and focusing on loving one another for eternity whilst bringing up your two children that came after three years of marriage.

maybe it was always meant to be this way. maybe you’re meant to go through hard times to be stronger for the person you were always meant to be.

the puzzle was complete, and your happy family decorated the pieces. memories were memories for a reason. what was important was to live in the present, to stop daydreaming of the past, things that could’ve been better, regrets, mistakes- all made and done, but accepting you for you. and being complacent with that.

maybe you’d be stuck inside a daydream for the rest of your life, especially during the tough times. or just maybe, life itself is your daydream.

a knock on the door was what brought you out of your trance, and there you were - seated, cross-legged, on your roommates bed when her suited up boyfriend waltzed in with a familiar man trailing behind him.

eric sohn, the infamous, and handsome, baseball player on campus. the same boy of whom you’ve harboured a crush on for as long as you could remember and-

oh my god?! is he walking up to you?! okay y/n, stay calm!

“hi. i’m eric sohn.”

and that’s where the cassette stops.

[smutandfluffohmy]

His Sweater #4

From: Smutandfluffohmy Pairings: George Weasley X Slytherin!Reader A/N:  How would y’all feel about George and the reader having a child?? (Not now, homeboy can’t even look at you much less take your pants off) Wait! Read it from the start (Part 1) Part 2? look no further (Part 2) The trilogy, but not really (Part 3)

Hanging on to George I tried to look anywhere but down or up. Where was there left to look? at the speeding trees passing us or perhaps Fred doing tricks on his broom? “Where are we going now?” I said clinging on the his shirt that I was sure going to be a wrinkly mess once we land.

“How about a drink and some food?” George yelled giving me a quick smile before looking back. Brooms the awful things, hypothetical I should learn how to ride one but the bloody things have no security.

“I’d l-” I smiled looking at him, Fred flew next to us interrupting me not even halfway.

“Merlin yes Hermione told me of this muggle place that’s in Diagon Alley.” Fred said flying under us, brilliant exotic muggle foods in Diagon Alley.

“Actually Y/n and I were thinking w-” George started saying and I frankly did not know what we were thinking as I for one was in fact I was wondering what food muggles ate.

Fred came back on the other side “Thinking about getting breakfast? Brilliant let’s go.” He said and I wondered what mental hoops he has his brain jump through to get to the conclusion of us wanting to eat breakfast at noon.

They landed the brooms in Diagon Alley that had a drastically different feel to it when it was not crowded by Hogwarts students. It all felt more grown up and I was starting to worry wee would get ratted out for being out of school. However we walked through the streets and sat down to eat without being thrown into Diagon Alley jail, I suspect that it had something to do with out frizzy hair and the twins towering over everyone.

Humming I looked over the menu, trying to figure out the odd names and what on earth was written down.‘hot dog’ blimey the muggles truly are ruthless if they serve up dog on a bun. Fred got up to go to the restroom and I for one was glad I could have some quiet without his excessive finger drumming which the worse part was that he didn't;t even play the drums.

George watched till Fred had disappeared behind the door before he even looked back at me. “You know I really meant what I said.” He said leaning in towards me, his forearms resting on the table top.

Leaning in I did the same “About marriage?” I questioned, while indeed a flattering offer I wouldn’t be too thrilled on getting marriage out of a business contract.

“No?” He mused, squinting at me as if it would further help him read my mind and with the look he was giving me I wondered for a second if he did in fact have that ability.

“Fred being a git?” I asked filling my head with bizarre thoughts to throw him off if he truly indeed was able to look into my mind.

“Yes but I mean about going out sometime.” He said, softer as if he were testing the waters to see my reaction. Perhaps I was wrong. He couldn’t read my thoughts.

I couldn’t help my face grow red at his suggestion. I guess this was what we were thinking on the ride over “Oh.” Was all I could say. After all how can you clearly answer when the guy you’ve been smitten with was a few inches away from you.

His eyes got big and frighten and his face drained of all color “If you don’t want to we don't have to I can go obliviate myself right now I-” He started going on, it’s something I learned about him. Whenever he gets particularly thrown off his mouth starts going speeds his brain can’t keep up with.

I reached over to gently pat his hand but by the way he reacted you would thought I reached over to strike him “George I ne-” I started to say, apparently interrupting people mid thought was a skill both twins were versed in. George started looking through his pockets and patting himself down.

“Merlin I can’t find my wand. Do you have your wand on you?” He said turning to me before rapidly looking away. I’ve seen him stunned but never to the point of obliviating himself, it was weird seeing the usually collected Weasley be so skittish.

“George calm d-”

He shook his head at me as if that were to make me disappear from were I sat. “I could always throw myself off my broom done it countless times what’s one more really.” He reasoned with himself, a skill I now knew he lacked greatly in.

Reaching over the table I clasped his hands down on the table “Merlin Weasley calm down I never said no.” I said looking at him wondering if perhaps I knocked my head a bit too hard and was now dreaming this all up. A peculiar dream but a dream none the less.

“Are you saying no now?” He looked at me trying to size me up, see if my eyes could give away the answer but I think if eyes held that much power I would’ve passed my O.W.L.S with much better marks.

“What? No! I’d love to go out sometime.”

“Alright that’s good. Swell indeed.” George gave me a tight smile but the color never returned to his face “I need to lie down I feel my heart about to explode.” He said and for a minute I wondered if I need to check his temperature and if I was even equipped to know the difference in a persons body temperature.

“I think it’s all the hash-browns you ate.” I said getting up from my seat to look at the state of him, I’d be real awful if I had accidentally killed him. He gave out a small laugh, not one that was earned but one that let me know that, at least for now, he was fine.

“George get off my seat.” Fred said swatting at his head and with that George sat up, noticeably more red but at least some of the color had returned to his face. “So what did I miss?”

George looked at the rather dull wall, in what I suspect that he suspect if he were to look at his brother he would know everything that happened in the time it took him to pee. “Nothing that concerns you Fredrick.” I said looking over the muggle menu for the tenth time waiting for the words to shift into something more comprehensible than ‘Coca-cola’.

Fred didn't believe us for a second and it was probably written all over our faces but how would I know. “Fine keep your secrets.” He said squinting his eyes at us before picking up and putting down the menu in front of him. “So how are we going to tell mum we dropped out?”

My blood ran cold at the thought that they had left out a vital plan out. Surving their mum, who I've heard various Weasley children say was rather scary, long enough to even set up shop.“You didn’t tell her?!”

George snapped out of his viewing of the rather bland wall “No figured we’d figure it out once we got to that part but” He said scratching below his eyebrow faking a deep thought that I knew he wasn’t capable of having.

“You complete our plans so well that we’re leaving it up to you.” Fred said airing fake responsibilities my way which I fake aired back to him rather aggressively.

“How generous.” I said with a tight lipped smile “I’m not doing it.” I shrugged leaning back on my chair and playing with a relatively loose button on my sweater.

Fred got quiet looking from George to me as if the answer to them living yet another day was encrypted there, somewhere. “You can snog George if you do it.” He said that made both George and I turn to look at each other with beat red faces, my hand tended making the button come off in my hand.

“Fred!” George said looking at his brother in utter disbelief and truly utter betrayal, I kicked Fred under the table wanting more than anything to melt into my seat.

He looked stunned as if he didn’t ruin out totally meticulous pinning we had come to perfect and that was all part of a bigger scheme and not at all because either of us were too scared to say anything.  “What! You’re both always drooling over each other anyways.”

I was at complete loss for words “I’m not going to do it even less.” I said trying to figure out what muggle song was playing if one at all.

“Ouch Georgie that hurt me a bit.” Fred laughed shoving George who I suspect also wished to kick Fred in the shins. Rubbing my temple I wondered if they left all working brain cells at Hogwarts or if they had fallen out on the broom ride over here.

“Hypothetically if I agreed to help you. I would say to have a clear thought out plan of how the shop is going to run, a layout, business transaction you’ve already done, some product-” I started speaking feeling myself get lost in the meticulously planning they had obviously neglected or perhaps just conveniently forgotten about.

Fred rapped his knuckles against the table giving me a smile. A smile George often has and despite having similar faces this smile fit differently on Fred. “I hear what you’re saying and I can’t wait for you to think that all over to show our mum. You’ll love her come on.” Fred smiled pushing out of his chair and making his way to the door, thrilled I didn’t have to eat any weird foods but disappointed at trying to figure out what exactly they were getting at.

Getting up I walked quickly to catch up with Fred “No you’re going to have to tell her yourself.” I said pulling Fred by the arm, knowing full well hell stroll out of here and force me to tell their mum as to why exactly they had already probably received a letter from Hogwarts.

“She is our mum.” George said shrugging behind me.

Fred looked over my head, a habit I wished they would both kick, to look at his brother in utter disbelief “Oi what’s this? Two against one isn’t fair.” Fred said pointing between the two of us giving me a look that if it were for not them doing the exact same thing to me I would feel utterly horrid.

“If we do it now we can catch her with Remus and Tonks, she won't come down at us that bad is she’s there.” George reasoned with him, an awful reasoning but a reasoning none the less. I don’t suspect our ex DADA Professor would back them up on their plan and although I did not know who Tonks was nor her character she must be really cool to back up their poorly thought out plan.

Fred huffed walking to get his broom“Fine whatever. Bloke is already whipped, what hope is there left.” he whispered, badly and rather loudly, I threw the button I had in my hand at his head “Ouch! I didn’t say anything.”

“I told him he’s shit at whispering.” I said rolling my eyes at the back at Fred’s head that he was rubbing. I know for a fact it didn’t hurt him, if he can tells bludgers to the head he’ll live with a brown button being thrown at it.

George bumped my shoulder “I think I owe you a snog.” he said laughing.

“Shut up.”

He walked in front of me stopping me in my tracks, he really was tall and for a second I wondered just how tall “How about that date?” he asked

“Let’s see if you’ll live long enough for that.” I laughed walking around him, I wonder if I could slip it into conversation or if that was just an incredibly rude thing to ask.

“You’re not coming with us?” He asked

“God no I don’t want your first impression your mum has of me is that I’m irresponsible.”

“But you are irresponsible!” Fred called out to me as he mounted on his broom, next time I see him I should give him a good wack with it.

I turned my attention away from George to throw a finger to Fred who promptly did the same “Shove off.” I called out to him, which earned me the disapproving glares from some elderly couple. Who I think would do the same if they were in my more fashionable and probably more gun powder smothered shoes.

“See you later?” George asked as he got on his own broom. Next time I’ll make sure to bring a portkey, at least you can’t swallow a whole colony of bugs in a portkey.

“Not if I see you first.” I said smiling walking the opposite direction of the seemingly dreadful scene that awaits them. They took on Umbridge and I’m more than sure that their mum is loads better than that woman. But I guess in all fairness he-who-shall-not-be-named is probably more agreeable than she is.

A couple days passed and George wrote to me saying that their mum was crossed they dropped out without them telling her. A sentiment that I think if they would’ve told her she’d probably nail their robes to the school. He also said Tonks was rather excited for them and that I simply must meet her. He also wrote that we should have our date at the end of the week at 10pm.

Knocking on the door I began to wonder if my outfit was even appropriate to were he was taking me. The door swung open before I could give more thought into my choice of clothes.

“Oh hello dear you must be the girl George has been telling us so much about!” Mrs. Weasley said taking me into a hug, she had the same vibrant red hair as all of her children and the same kind eyes George had. Fred however I reckoned stole his eyes from the bloody devil himself.

“I swear he talks about you whenever you’re not around.” Fred said making talking motions with his hands and fake gagging at the thought of it. As if he himself didn’t also spend most of his time talking to me.

“What? No I don't!” George said between varying shades of red, an accomplishment I would've found rather amusing if not for my own face heating up.

Thumbing could be heard of someone coming down the stairs “Fred hav- oh this must be the girl George talks about all the time.” Who I assumed to be Mr.Weasley said and further solidifying my theory on Freds eyes.

I smiled at both of them “Hi it’s very nice to meet you.”  I said sticking my hand out for a proper greeting before it got yanked by George.

“We should get going.” he said waving his family off, for a second I forgot that we were not sticking around. I had so many things I wanted to talk about like Mr.Weasleys muggle studies and if he knows how those miniature jukeboxes work and how Mrs.Weasley make the warmest sweaters.

“Bu-” Was all I could say, not only because I was cut off but because I did not know were or if I even had a formed thought to continue that sentence.

George said over me dragging me away “Bye don’t wait up!”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Fred called out to him before earning a smack on the arm from Mrs.Weasley.

“What wouldn’t you do?” George shouted at him and I wondered what in fact wouldn't he do besides actually come up with a reasonable non-lethal plan.

“George Weasley remember what we talked about!” Mrs.Weasley called out to George was tugging at my arm to drag me to his broom faster.

“I remember!” he called out dismissing them with a wave. I do not know what they had talked about and wondered if this was a werewolf situation and if it was I don’t think I’m prepared to be turned or mauled into one. Although I don’t thing anyone is ever ready for that.

“It was nice meeting you Mrs. and Mr. Weasley!” I called out waving goodbye to them the best I could and I could only guess they were waving at me too.

“It was nice meeting you too dear!” Mrs. Weasley called to me, I hope I could get the chance to talk to her again. George hurried me on towards the broom without another looks back at his family.

“What was that about?” I questioned that I both did and did not want the answers to. If I was being turned into a werewolf I rather it being kept a fun surprise.

“Nothing. Close your eyes.”He said standing in front of me motioning me to sit on the broom which I in fact did not do. “You don’t trust me?”

In all reality I trusted him with my life, however I did not entirely trust him with my life on a broom “I trust that you won’t let me die but I reckon if I fall off the broom you won’t notice.” 

He smiled down at me placing his hands on my arms “I’ll notice before you hit the ground.”

“Charming.”

Crossing his heart he beckoned me to sit down “I swear I’ll take care of you.” He said and I swore I would melt as pathetic as that did sound.

Nodding I sat down and closed my eyes “Okay fine I’m trusting you on this.” I murmured. Time passed just like how kilometers passed but I could not entirely say just how many as I did promise to keep my eyes closed. George landed the broom with I took as cue that I could both open my eyes and I was in fact not dead. “Where are we?” I asked, the field around us was empty but filled with flowers and the spots that weren't were layered with grass. 

George tugged me towards an already set up spot with a blanket laid out and various other things set on top of it that I couldn’t exactly make out “If I tell you it won’t be as impressive.” He sat down on the blanket “Come sit.” He beckoned me over patting the spot next to him. We both laid down looking up at the stars, I’ve never seen them this bright and it made me a bit cross that if I knew they looked like this I would've payed more attention in class. 

George pointed up at the sky  “That star looks like you.” I moved closer to see which one he was pointing at. He got a jelly bean out of the box and ate one “Yack lawn clippings.” he said through some disgusted chewing then proceeded to offer me one.

I put it in my mouth cautiously chewing swearing that if I got a barf flavored one I’d personally have a word with the creators “Dead?Popcorn.” I said thankful it wasn’t awful but also confused as to how exactly they made a jelly bean taste of popcorn. He took out more jelly beans handing some over to me before putting one in his mouth.

He smiled at me and for the second time in my life I felt completely stricken by George Weasley “No radiant.Hot chocolate.” He said breaking my fleeting train of thought that had become increasingly harder to keep up with, with him around.

Shaking my head I couldn't help but feel embarrassed, a feeling I often felt around him but never this strong.Never enough to make me at loss for words. “You’re such a sap.” I laughed looking at the star he pointed at trying to commit it to memory, but it seemed the more I looked the more it looked like all the other stars.

“You make me one.” He said turning to me before eating another jelly bean “Cherry Fizz. What did you get?” He asked turning to me, propping myself up with one hand not particularly minding the rocks gently digging against my palm.

“Hmm I don’t know what are the flavors again?” I said reaching over to the box but before I could George grabbed my hand in his. His face was dangerously close to mine and I was overly aware of my breathing.

I leaned in closer trying to ignore the loud beating of my heart that I could feel through my body.His other hand cupped the side of my face that he caressed with his thumb. He broke the small distance his lips softly pressed against mine, he smelt of the outdoors and fireworks and I could feel myself getting lost in it.

His hand moved from my hand to my knee, the two being fairly closed together but feeling I got in the pit of my stomach made me lean into his touch. My hand rested on his arm, touching the sweater I made my familiar acquaintance with last year.

He broke the kiss giving me the same goofy smile I’ve seen plenty of times but for once I knew why “I think it’s butterbeer.” He said slightly out of breathe, my lip gloss was smeared all over his mouth and I suspect mine as well. What was that rule? No kissing on the first date? Whoever made that up has obviously never been star gazing with George Weasley.

What felt like minutes had passed before I could trust myself with my voice again. “You’re going to be the death of me Weasley.” I whispered, my heart felt tight and my palms were sweaty. I wanted to reach over and cup his face but I was afraid this moment will disappear if I made any movements out fo script.

It wasn’t till the end of the year did George, Fred and I hear the news about Sirius Blacks passing. Everyone blamed themselves swearing that if it they were just there ,a minute earlier, if they hadn’t stoped for that cup of coffee three days ago everything would be different, Sirius would still be alive. But I don’t think that the case, I think more of us or someone else might be dead if we were all there. Death is unpredictable and we are all just one wrong move away from it.

I do feel bad for Harry. Seeing your Godfather die in front of you must be an awful thing. I feel bad sometimes, smiling, especially smiling in front of him. I feel like I’m mocking him but I hope he knows that those aren’t my intentions.Hermione keeps saying that time will make things better but time hasn’t been feeling the same.

Time all together feels altered. Everything moves at speeds it’s not supposed to but I reckon that's the effect looming danger has on people. I cannot tell how long I’ve been dating George Weasley but it’s been long enough that I know he’s fond of sweets but only after 12, he thinks muggles know more than they’re letting on, pranks are better without a purpose and balls of yarn are great for baby quidditch.

[bicycle4two]

say you wanna, say you wanna be || Sam Drake x Reader || Chapter 2

Summary: Sam isn't looking for a girlfriend and, frankly, you don't think you'd be a good one anyway, but you two aren't some one-night stand and it's been a long time since either of you thought of each other as a convenient booty call. This is something more, something the two of you didn't realize would be. It's uncharted territory. And there is no other choice but to figure out how to navigate through it together.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Fem!Reader

Tags(ish): developing relationship, implied/non-explicit sexual content, romance/fluff/hurt/comfort, age difference (though reader’s age is not stated), switching povs (second person reader, third person sam), no y/n but reader has a nickname

C.1

Chapter Two:

It really isn’t something you want to talk about but you guess you aren’t that good at hiding how bothered you are by it because your boss, and local gossip, Agatha corners you one morning, finally having enough of the dark and gloomy aura you’re emitting. So you have no choice but to tell her. Which, frankly isn’t much to tell. Because it’s just the facts.

You and Sam had a good night, sharing food and riding his bike to who even knows where, and the next day he left. Poof. Radio silence for three and a half weeks.

“What do you mean you haven’t heard from him?” Agatha practically yells, unable to comprehend the very idea of it.

It really is too early for this and you really should be focusing on your job, logging the expiration dates of the milk and whipped cream in the mini fridge.

“I…I don’t know how else to put it.” You furrow your brows, rearranging a few cartons. Who closed last night? “He hasn’t called or texted. For a month.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Of course you aren’t. Who would be? But you can’t let Agatha know that you aren’t okay. You also can’t let her know that this isn’t the first time Sam’s disappeared. Agatha, who has practically been married to her wife since they were in high school. Agatha, who believes that there’s someone out there for everyone and practically felt the blow of all your failed relationships with you.

(This isn’t a failed relationship, you tell yourself, we aren’t even together.)

“If Sandy disappeared on me like that,” Agatha grabs the front of her blouse, right above her heart. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I think the kids these days call it being ‘ghosted.’” You close the fridge and use the counter to help yourself up. You don’t know how long you’ve been squatting for but your joints pop at the action.

“‘Kids these days,’” Agatha scoffs. “You talk like you aren’t one of them.”

“My back would like to say otherwise.”

“No, that’s just bad posture. I keep telling you to stop slouching.” She taps your spine with her pen and you straighten yourself, chin up high. “Now you’re just exaggerating.”

“I think I need to get my eyes checked, too. Things are looking a little blurry.” You deliberately look away from Agatha. Outside, you see your co-worker waiting to be let in. “Agatha? Is that you?”

“Oh, shut it. Go unlock the door. It’s time to open.”

  You’ve gotten used to this job.

Although it doesn’t pay as well as your last one, you’re happier here. The smile on your face is second nature by this point—your cheeks don’t even hurt at the end of the day. When a customer comes through the doors, you greet them with a smile and a cheerful “Welcome!”. Your tone is light, excited even, when you answer their questions, give your recommendations.  Getting everyone’s name right is difficult, still. Sometimes you have to ask them to spell it out for you, but it’s all part of the job.

At least you don’t have to make the drinks today. Tim, a college junior with curly hair and straight teeth, prepares drinks with a sort of flourish you wish you had. He actually memorized the recipes. Even the monthly specials and secret menu items.

You pass him a plate of pastries that go with the drink he’s just prepared, some sugary concoction that’s only available this month. It’s the last order from a long list, the lunch rush finally calming down. The idle chatter that mixes with Agatha’s playlist tells you that you’ve hit a lull. You turn your back to the cash register to sneak a peek at your phone.

If you get caught, you can blame Agatha. It’s all her fault anyway.

You wanted to get through the day without thinking of Sam, of his gentle touches and raspy laugh, but now he’s back in your head and you go over your last night together with a critical eye. Again. For the nth time. Did you say something? Do something? Maybe he sensed something, like maybe you acted out of line, a little too much like a girlfriend and not enough like a sex friend. Or a regular friend.

The line is really grey.

Anyway, you were supposed to be focused today, you’re finally getting the benefits from your silk pillow case, but now your lock screen is staring up at you, showing nothing but the time and the date today and, goddammit, is that not a disheartening sight?

“One month, huh?”

“Jesus. Did she tell you?” You look over at Tim. He’s refilling the paper cups. It’s hot outside. A lot of large drinks were ordered.

“She’s just worried, you know that.” Tim shrugs, talking as if he doesn’t really care. But you know better. He’s just as bad, if not worse, as Agatha. “You don’t exactly have the best record with men.”

“Record?”

“Yeah. You have shit taste.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who dated the psychopath.”

“He didn’t seem like one at the start,” you scoff.

“Oh, honey, he could have been a pirate with a red flag that big.”

“Yeah, fine. That’s one guy.” You busy yourself with wiping the surface by the coffee maker. “There have been better ones.”

Tim is silent and you think he’s dropped the topic until, “Like the married guy? Hey!” He holds up the dish towel you threw, crumpling it in his hands before placing it back on the counter. “We’re just looking out for you. You’ve had your heart broken one too many times.”

“Thanks, but I can take care of myself, Tim.” You give him a smile to show him that you appreciate the concern even if his delivery needs some work. “Besides, it’s not like we’re serious. We aren’t exclusive or anything. No hearts at risk if it’s just for fun.”

“So, it’s not fun for him anymore?”

“So,” you grit your teeth. The tact of this boy! “So, it doesn’t matter if he disappears for a month. A year. We made no promises. He’s free to do whatever he wants and so am I.”

Tim raises his brow at you and even you’re having a hard time believing yourself. It’s all true, though. You and Sam aren’t together. He doesn’t owe you anything. He doesn’t have to text you, tell you where he’s been, what he’s doing. He doesn’t owe you answers to the questions you don’t get to ask.

Because you two aren’t like that.

What that is, you don’t know.

All you know is that your phone is quiet and the silence has never been so loud before.

…

Sam’s sore in places he didn’t even know existed.

The job, so to speak, wasn’t exactly difficult but it was long. It felt like he was going around in circles for a minute before all the clues finally made sense and before he knew it, he was climbing up mountains and sliding down muddy slopes with a purpose.

Although Nathan’s got a few lost cities ahead of him, Sam can at least say he’s gotten away with more than a couple of trinkets as proof of his efforts. Bruises fade and his scars are all starting to look like each other. It’s nice to have something shiny as a reward. That, and after this adventure, he finally (he says finally) has an excuse to get some new clothes. The rugged look he’s been sporting is starting to look less intentional and more like he has no choice. Some mud and blood stains just can’t get washed off anymore.

When Sam had gotten home the other day, he’d practically collapsed on his bed after a well-deserved (and needed) hot shower, knocked out for what only felt like minutes but, according to Nathan and Elena, was about an entire day, maybe a bit more. It was their idea to drag him out, to at least get some actual food in him before he passes out from other reasons.

Sam thinks it’s their new lifestyle that makes them believe that the spam in his cupboard isn’t a nutritional meal. He can’t imagine the drinks at this café Elena insisted on going to are any better.

At least the sandwiches look good. And there’s pasta on the menu, too. Oh. Is that apple pie?

Okay. Maybe this place isn’t so bad. He also knows better than to deny a pregnant woman her cravings.

“Get me that drink with chocolate chips in it and maybe a cheesecake,” Elena says as she eases herself into a seat. She waves Sam’s hands away when he tries to help her. “I can still do things on my own, Samuel.”

“Oh, so you don’t need me to tie your shoelaces then?”

Elena glares. “I’m wearing flats.”

“What color are they?”

“Watch it, mister. Don’t make me sit on you.” Elena holds up a finger in warning and Sam thinks she’s going to be a pretty good mother. She’s got the look down pat. “I think Nate would like something with hazelnut.”

Sam raises is brows. “Hazelnut, eh?” He knows for a fact that his brother likes black coffee just as much as him, maybe with a bit of milk if he’s feeling up to it, but, again, he knows not to say no to Elena. Pregnant or not, it’s just the principle of staying on her good side.

He makes a quick scan of the menu on the wall behind the cash register on his way over, trying to see if something will catch his eye. The drink of the month looks like a one-way ticket to diabetes (the cigarettes are enough to regret in the future, thank you) but the pasta really does look tempting. He can’t remember the last time he had a good slice of garlic bread.

“Hi, I’ll have, uh, the chocolate chip and the hazelnut,” Sam rattles, eyes not leaving the menu. When did drinks become so complicated? “And the, let’s see, the puttanesca and a cheesecake.”

“Would you like your drinks with whipped cream?”

Sam looks at the cashier, eyes wide with surprise. There she is, dressed in a familiar button-down shirt with an apron he’s never seen before. She must have kept it here at work, probably so it wouldn’t get lost. Her hair is tied away from her face, tucked under a cap, and Sam would say that she’s cute, looks younger than she’s ever looked under the guise of the night, but his mouth is dry, uncharacteristically speechless.

“Sir?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

There’s that look in her eyes again, the questioning look, but it’s different today—looks a bit sadder than usual, somehow betrayed. Sam doesn’t know what he’s done to warrant such a look, besides showing up at her place of work unannounced and, well, disappearing without warning…

Yikes. He messed up.

“Hey, look,” Sam begins, racking his brain for some sort of explanation that doesn’t mention (somewhat illegal) treasure hunting and (definitely illegal) shootouts, but sees that she isn’t looking at him anymore but at her co-worker. From the back, Sam can tell that the boy is young, probably just working here as a parttime job, and although it looks like he’s busy washing mugs and plates at the sink, he’s definitely listening in on their conversation.

Right. Time and place. What was she asking again?

“Whipped cream is okay,” Sam clears his throat. “That’s how the drinks are supposed to be, right?”

“Right,” she scribbles something on a cup with a marker. Orange ink. Sam’s never seen it before. “I’m guessing no coffee?”

Sam frowns and looks up at the menu again. “I thought these were coffee based?”

“The drinks can be customized. So…whip, no whip. Coffee, decaf. Low fat milk, almond milk, oat milk…”

“Uh, no coffee then.” Sam’s mind is reeling. Oat milk? “Unless pregnant women are allowed to have them now?” His knowledge is, regrettably, limited. All he knows is what he remembers from when his mother was pregnant with Nathan. And that was a lifetime ago. A time before Avery, before Panama, before the orphanage.

Although her eyes are still sad, she manages a smile and Sam is a sucker for her smile. He wants to say more, see if he can make her laugh, but, again, time and place.

“There have been studies but, just to be safe…” She trails off, eyes glancing behind him, probably at Elena.

“No coffee. Gotcha.” She’s scribbling on the cup again. “It would really suck if my brother found out I hurt his wife and baby with a bunch of beans—whoa!”

She nearly drops the cup in her hands, barely catching it, the marker clattering to the floor. Sam bites his lip to hold in a laugh. She had accidentally crushed the cup from the force of her catch, rendering it completely useless.

“I’ll, uhm, I’ll get you a new one.” She mumbles, quickly bending down to pick up her maker.

Oh. Oh. So that’s what she seemed so bothered about. Sam should probably not feel as giddy as he does but the blush on her cheeks is egging him on, daring him to say something.

“That would be great, princess.” Sam keeps his voice low, just for her to hear. He’s pretty sure that they got the full attention of not only her co-worker but a few customers nearby. Maybe even Elena. Elena’s definitely been watching them since Sam walked over to the cash register, to make sure he got her order right if anything. “I wouldn’t want my sister-in-law’s drink to spill or anything.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, glaring at him from beneath her eyelashes. She refuses to look up, scribbling on another cup. That’s right. He had two orders. He’d make more just to stay with her but he has no clue what the hell is written on the menu board. “Shut up.”

Her blushing cheeks are nothing new. Sam can’t count how many times he’s embarrassed her in more intimate moments, but right here, under the low lights of the café, it’s a whole new picture, and Sam is living for it. He knows from experience that heat of her skin isn’t going away any time soon, and the way she fans herself as she punches in his order just proves it. He can’t hide his smirk now, leaning lazily against the counter. Her eyes look up at him from the screen and her frown deepens like she’s read his mind.

He wouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like she hasn’t before. He supposes all those quiet nights together helps hone some other skills. Like being able to tell what the other wants, needs, through just the way they gasp, the way their face changes, their body…

Ooookay. He should probably stop his thoughts there. Time and place.

“How much didya say it was?” Sam asks, realizing that she’s already given him the total while he was fantasizing. Maybe the rugged look is good for him. Loose jeans and all.

She repeats herself, tilting her head at him once more. Again, with the mind reading. But Sam won’t let her figure him out. He wants to leave with the upper hand. So, he hands her a couple of bills and, with a well-practiced wink, says “Keep the change, princess.”

  Sam is trying, and failing, to hide his smirk behind his drink.

This is different. He isn’t used to seeing her in the daylight, living the life he doesn’t know about. It’s like he’s walked into something he shouldn’t have, but Sam sort of does that for a living so he sits in this incredibly comfy chair and watches her.

And she knows that he’s watching because she glances over every now and again, when she’s done giving a customer their change, when she calls out an order. She looks and she blushes and she pouts and she’s beautiful.

She also spills a couple things, messes up in small ways. Like the whipped cream, accidentally overflowing a drink. Sam knows that, in a way, it’s his fault. That just by being here he’s a distraction, but he’s living for this so, again, he’s going to stay.

Nathan’s just arrived, too, grimacing at his drink. Elena drinks most of it anyway, her chocolate chip monstrosity already empty.

“Isn’t she a little too young for you, Sam?” Elena asks as she eats her second slice of cheesecake. Nathan had eaten half of the first one while waiting for his order, one which Sam voluntarily got for him just so he can talk to her again and, well, order his own drink. Black coffee. Hmm.

“She’s older than she looks,” Sam says with a shrug. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before, mulled over their age difference when they started seeing each other more often. He can’t say he didn’t feel guilty about it before, but there really isn’t any going back now. “She’s got all these bottles that’re s’pposed to take care of your skin or something.”

“Like, a magic potion?” Nathan asks, chewing his sandwich. “Keeps her young?”

“Huh. Fountain of Youth. Have you ever looked into that?” Sam leans over the table, a wave of excitement washing over him. Nathan looks the same, sandwich forgotten. Elena rolls her eyes, taking Nathan’s drink for herself.

“Now that you mention it, years ago I found some maps…”

...

Chapter 3

Read on AO3

[writeofmind]

a ghost?! (pt. 1)

Genre: fluff, slow burn, multi-shot <3

Pairing: College!Rosé x Reader

anon: Hi! If possible could you make a master list of all the fics and scenarios you have posted? 😅 I’d also like to request a blackpink college AU focused on Female Reader x Rosé 🥺 lots of fluff and maybe some slow burn and smut? I’d be happy with any Rosé fluff or blackpink fluff though 🤍🤲🏻 thank you 😊

A/N: hi, j anon! this is part 1/? of your slow burn college!au. :D I will try to make this as slow and fluffy as possible. i don’t have a specific plot that i’m sticking to rn, but i have general ideas that i’m very excited to write. that being said, feel free to send in suggestions as to how you want this story to go! (or you can leave it up to me, and be in for cute surprises >:) ) 

a ghost?! | caramel lattes | your favorite regular

-

There were two things that you learned from living your college life. One, you definitely weren’t a morning person, and two, your roommate was a ghost. 

Not literally. The thing was just that you had never formally met them; when you moved in, they weren’t home, and when you would wake up in the afternoons, they would already be long gone and out of the house. Your schedules never lined up with each other, so for the past few weeks, you’ve just been barely missing them, not even knowing their name. 

You didn’t mind, really. The apartment was kept clean at all times, so it really did feel like only you lived there sometimes. But, you can say: if your roommate was a ghost, then they were the loudest ghost. Ever.

It was just your luck to be paired with them, too; they would be up at the crack of dawn, most times even earlier. You’d often wake up in the mornings to music playing or their (you’re sure you can say her) voice singing along. If you were being honest, the latter was your preferred way of waking up. She did have a wonderful voice, and you wished you could get yourself out of bed to tell her that; but she just woke up way, way too early. 

Today was another one of those days. Music was blasting in the background, yet another replay of “Call Me Maybe.” 

Ugh, god... you raised your head at the rude awakening, squinting your eyes at the door. Not this song again.

Based on what little you knew about your roommate, you had an image in your head of what she may look like. To put it short, you imagined a sorority girl, in a way. The type that dance and sing along to pop songs, dresses in tank tops and jeans, partying everyday, that sort of thing. You figured that maybe she didn’t party a lot though, considering she was already home and sleeping when you would walk through the front door. 

You let your head drop back into your pillow. You were too groggy and beat from work the night before that you blocked out the song, blocked out your roommate’s singing, and fell soundly asleep once again as her music faded out the front door and into the hallways of your apartment. Jeez, that girl needed some headphones.

When you woke up a few hours later, the apartment was silent. There was a sigh of relief from you, and you groaned as you stretched your entire body out. Class started in about an hour and a half, so you decided not to laze around in bed and instead get ready for the day.

When you walked into the kitchen to grab something quick to eat on your way to campus, you smelled something delicious. Sniffing the air, you smelled... something spicy? 

Sure enough, when you walked inside, there was a pan of tteokbokki sitting right on the stove. The aroma of the spiciness itself made your mouth water the closer you got to it- then, you saw a note next to it, sitting right under a bottle of water.

Good morning, roomie! I heard you come home late last night, (not that I was trying to be a stalker, but I couldn’t sleep so I was still up when you got back. Crazy, right?) Anyway, I figured you didn’t eat because I didn’t hear you in the kitchen, so I made extra tteokbokki this morning for you to take with you. I made it a little too spicy, so make sure you grab the water too!!

- PC

Your eyebrows raised higher the further down you read the note. She made you breakfast? And packed you a water? 

How sweet of her, you smiled. You wasted no time in scooping a whole bunch of the delicious rice cakes onto a plate and devouring every single piece. (She was right, though, it was super spicy.) 

That was really sweet of her. I should do something for her, too. I feel bad that I haven’t thought to even leave a note. And PC, huh? I wonder what that could stand for. I should make a mental note to ask. 

After eating and cleaning everything up, you realized that you wasted a little too much time in your own head and was running a bit behind schedule. You grabbed the water bottle quickly and ran as fast as you could out the door, into the elevator, and out the main lobby of your apartment. You didn’t even notice the blonde haired girl you almost ran into along the way. 

-

When you were finished with your school day, you always dreaded having to go to work afterwards. Not that it was a terrible job, you were just a barista at a café near campus, after all- but you would be tired and drained after pulling afternoon to closing shifts.

So there you stood, leaning against the counter top at your job as you sipped away at a small cup of espresso. You and your coworkers chatted absentmindedly. It wasn’t too busy tonight, except for a few straggling students that stayed to study. Your manager had even offered to let you go home early, but you decided you needed the money- you were practically getting paid to stand around, anyway.

The bell on the door jingled after what seemed like hours (and maybe it was). Your coworkers, all clowns, hid away from the incoming group of customers and shuffled behind the counters, leaving you to take care of them all. You glared at them and groaned internally, but that was the rules of a college student barista. If you’re not fast enough to hide, you face the consequences.

“Hey, guys,” you put on your smile as you approached the register, “what can I get for you tonight?”

When the girls got closer, you were glad that your hat was a bit too big for your head. It covered the burning read at the top of your ears at the sight of how pretty they were— all four of them, to be exact.

One of the shorter ones smiled back at you. “Hiii,” she greeted, “do you guys know what you want?”

The redhead of the group spoke up first. “Yes, can I just have a tea, please?” She turned to the other girls, “I noticed that my voice has been kind of raspy from rehearsal. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

You minded your own business as you punched in the order. “Of course, and for you?” You looked at the tall brunette, who was squinting at the menu board. You had to hide a laugh as you slid a smaller menu to her. “Here you go, our menu is printed kind of small.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you,” she laughed and took the menu in her hands. The shorter one that spoke earlier laughed too and simply pushed the brunette’s hands down. 

“Can we just get two large white mochas, please?” 

You smiled as you punched in that order too. “Of course.” You now turned to the final girl of the group, who stood silently, staring back and forth at the pastries in the case and the menu board. “For you, miss?”

When she looked up at you, you froze. 

Wow, she was cute. 

She smiled at you so sweetly, brushing her blonde hair behind her ear. “Um, yes please, can I get all of the vanilla scones that are in here? Oh, and a caramel latte, please.”

Just from eyeballing the case, there were at least 10, if not a couple more scones in there. You glanced at her with a humorous smile and nodded. “Yeah, no problem.”

As you punched in the order, you made sure that you only rang her up for four scones. It was almost near closing time anyway (you told yourself that, but really you still had a couple hours left), and you didn’t want to have to waste any pastries. 

“Can I have your guys’ names for your drinks?” You popped the tip off of your sharpie. 

The redhead, again, spoke first. “Jisoo.” 

Then went the brunette. “Lisa,” she then pointed to the shorter one, “Jennie.”

Lastly, you turned to the blonde. Again, she smiled, and nodded when she spoke. “Rosé.”

Such a pretty name, you thought to yourself. You made it a point to draw a little flower next to her name, just for funsies. You let them know that their drinks would be ready soon, and you gathered all the scones in the case for the girl to have.

The girls didn’t notice the price difference at first when they paid. After calling out their names for their orders, it wasn’t until they sat down at their table with their drinks and snacks that they realized something was off. 

It was Rosé who came back up to the counter as you were wiping it down. 

“Um, hi,” she spoke softly as if not to surprise you, “I’m sorry, but I think there may have been a mistake?”

You looked up at her from the counter with raised eyebrows. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was your drink wrong?”

“No, not at all! It’s great,” she shook her head and showed her bag of scones, “but, um, I think you mischarged me for these.”

Ah, so she did notice. “No miss, that’s okay,” you laughed at her innocence and honesty. Her face even looked worried just from you saying that. “We’re going to be closing in a couple hours anyway, and to be honest, the scones can be a bit overpriced when you buy a lot. Don’t worry about it.”

Her eyebrows were furrowed in the cutest way possible. “But— are you sure? You won’t get in trouble?”

“I’m sure, I’m sure. It’s fine, really miss.”

“Aww... well, thank you—” she beamed and squinted at your name tag, “Joy.”

Aw, shit. You internally slapped yourself in the face, I put on the wrong apron. 

Of all days to be talking to a cute girl, you weren’t even wearing the right apron with the right name tag. You really didn’t want to have to explain yourself and essentially embarrass both you and the girl right now, and you were quite frankly a bit shy already from talking to her for as long as you have. So you just smiled back. “It’s no problem, Rosé.”

With a giggle, the girl turned back around and hopped over to her table, where you could hear her recounting your conversation. You chuckled.

-

As your shift went on, the students inside the café began to disperse and pack up their bags to head home. One of the last students to leave was the group of girls you served earlier, and they even made sure to call out “bye, Joy!” as they left. Your coworkers looked at you funny but ended up laughing at your awkwardness once they realized your mistake.

“Oh, come on, y/n!” One of your best coworkers, Seulgi, laughed, “Now you’re gonna be known as Joy to them! Joy is not going to be happy.”

“Look, man, I didn’t wanna correct her, alright??” You sighed and palmed your forehead, “I got nervous!”

“Ah, well,” your other coworker Yeri shrugged, “at least you may not see her again. So you don’t have to be too embarrassed.”

Your shoulders dropped at the sound of that. You may not see her again? Boo. 

Your closing shift went by smoothly and before you knew it, you were walking through the threshold of your already dark apartment. You saw that your roommate’s door was closed and her light off, but her shoes were on the shoe rack, so you knew she was already sleeping. 

You almost went straight to your room to knock out before remembering what your roommate did for you this morning. You didn’t want to just leave her hanging and make yourself seem ungrateful, so you grabbed a post-it note and a pen.

Hi there, roomie, you began, thank you for the tteokbokki this morning! It was delicious, actually, and I only needed a few gulps of water between each bite. (lol, i’m just teasing, it really was good. i love spicy food.) i’m not sure if you like flavorings in your coffee, let alone if you like coffee or not, but here’s some for you for the morning, since you’re usually up earlier than me. you can use any of my coffee cups, i have way too many.

- y/n

After setting up the coffee machine to brew in the early morning, you stuck the note on top and dragged yourself into your room to get ready for bed. 

-

The next morning, you woke up to silence. No music, no singing, nothing. And it wasn’t early in the morning- it was the usual time you yourself would get up and out of bed.

Huh? you wondered, This feels... unnatural.

You got yourself out of bed and ready for your day as you normally would. You walked into the kitchen for your usual breakfast of coffee and a single granola bar, when you saw yet another note waiting for you on the kitchen table.

it’s no problem at all! i almost thought you hated the tteokbokki when i didn’t see any feedback when i got home. TT TT it’s so funny that we haven’t even met yet. btw, i’m sorry i’m loud in the mornings, i never realized how late you got home every night. i’ll let you sleep in more. :) and you’re so sweet, thank you for letting me use one of your cups, and thank you for the coffee this morning :)

p.s, just so you know a fact about me too, i love caramel in my coffees.

- PC