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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

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kinktober '22 ║ XXIII

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, horror

word count: 2.2k

summary: you and marcus are asked to investigate an old manor that might have stolen paintings. however, due to problems with your schedule, Marcus heads there before you, getting himself cursed while investigating. You find him, or at least something that you think is him, at the manor two days later.

warnings: monster!marcus, monsterfucking, size kink, horror elements, explicit oral (giving), tentacles

MLISTS . LIBRARY. TAGLIST . KINKTOBER '22

It is a small town that he’s in.

Marcus enjoys small towns; the people, most of the time, are friendly and greet him with open arms. Only a couple are suspicious of him, especially when he gives his reason for coming here. He’s here to investigate the paintings of an old manor that the FBI believed to be stolen. However, he isn’t supposed to be alone during all of this, but after a clash of messy schedules you declared that you could make it two days later. Marcus didn’t mind. Things like that always happen. Before he left you playfully told him not to start without you, he had laughed it off. A little bit of pre-investigation hurt no one and what else is he supposed to do for two days? Visit the farmers market?

That isn’t a bad idea actually.

After an hour of buying fresh fruit and conversing with the locals, Marcus finally found himself inside of the mansion. The floor creaks with every step, and of course the lights don’t work when he attempts to flick them on. Typical. Eyebrows knitting together, he pulls out the flashlight he brought with him, flicking it on, he notices that he’s stationed in a long, narrow hallway. He heard a lot of horror stories from the locals, telling him that the place is haunted and those who ventured inside never came back. It was easy to bounce their worries off of his shoulders, but now that he’s actually inside, he can’t help the fear crawling up his skin, his brain flashes him scenes of every horror movie he ever watched. It makes the hallway he’s walking through seem even more sinister.

The soft light from his flashlight doesn’t help either, casting eerie, human like shadows across the worn out wallpaper. He heaves out a stuttered breath, trying hard not to make even the slightest noise. At the end of the hall, there’s a room, and there he finally sees the first painting.

A wave of relief washing over him, he swiftly heads towards it, standing only an inch away. It’s an oil painting of a beautiful park and a girl on a large swing, behind the swinging girl, there’s a forest. Marcus, not recognizing the painting, pulls out his phone to take a picture and when his eyes flicker back to the painting, he notices a dark silhouette coming out of the forest.

“What the hell?” he whispers, squinting his eyes. Surely that figure wasn’t there before?

Marcus shakes his head, blaming it on his nerves. As soon as he took the picture he’ll come back here with you by his side, and maybe a light that actually lit up the whole room. His eyes drops to his phone, swiping, he opens the camera app and looks up to the painting again–

His eyes go wide, mouth devoid of moisture. The silhouette became bigger, more visible. It seems like a beast, two hallowed yellow circles for eyes. A shadow grows behind the beast, reminding him of very oddly shaped tentacles. Confused, Marcus closes his eyes and opens them up again. His heart stills. Ghost needles poking into his body. It’s closer now, heading towards the girl.

Shit, there’s no way this is happening right?

Again he closes his eyes, longer this time, the beast is closer, claws visible at the end of its arms. Cold sweat coats his skin, now too afraid to close his eyes in fear of the monster. His breathing is uneven, the dust he inhales rattles his chest. Marcus contemplates whether he should run away or not. If the beast moves when he’s not looking doesn’t that mean he’ll be free when he leaves? What happens when it reaches the girl?

His gun feels heavier than ever on his hip, his fingers twitching with the urge to take a shot at it. He hasn’t been blinking for a while now. Marcus knows he can’t keep it up forever, even now he can feel his eyes drying out, the dry air pricking away the moisture he has left in them.

He blinks.

The monster is closer now. It has dagger-like teeth.

He keeps his eyes open longer this time. His muscles tense as he puts up a fight with his body, teeth grinding together, his eyes water.

He blinks.

The girl is only at arm’s length now.

What would happen to the girl?

What would happen to him?

Marcus blinks again.

You stare up at the manor, it’s much bigger than you expected it to be. It looks like it might fall apart at the faintest of wind. Your gaze drops to the door, you hadn’t heard from Marcus since he got here. With worry, you had asked around as soon as you arrived, learning that he headed up to the manor…without you.

You told him to wait for you. There was a reason two agents were assigned for this job.

A sigh falls from your lips, the sun is about to set, the sky a dark shade of orange. You can save your I told you so’s for after you find him, hopefully he’s safe, though if he was safe he would’ve called so you hope that he's as minorly injured as possible.

Gun in hand, you walk up the stairs and push the door open. The orange hue follows behind you, making your shadow seem tall and large as it stretches out across the carpeted floor.

“Marcus?” you call out despite knowing that it’s a rookie thing to do, nevermind stupid.

Walking in, you’re surprised that the door doesn’t close from behind you. It’s easy to get sucked into the horror-esque sensation the manor provides, the fact that the door acts like a normal door and stays open sends a sense of relief across your body. Reaching the end of the hall, you hear a creak. The sound isn’t loud, but even a needle falling would echo in such a silent environment. You follow the noise, heading into a large room that you assume to be the living room.

Well not anymore, you muse.

“FBI!” you shout, the voice of your tone quickly falling into a more authoritative one.

When no one comes out, you sigh and look out the window. The sun is nearly gone.

“Hey–”

Your eyes widen, startled as you see Marcus at the end of your gun.

“Marcus?” your eyes quickly scan his body for wounds, he seems squeaky clean. “Where the hell have you been? Why didn’t you call me?”

“It’s…complicated,”

Your fingers loosen around the trigger but you don’t lower your weapon. You can feel the small hairs at the back of your neck stand up as a warning. Something’s wrong.

“You should go,” he says quickly, eyes flickering to the window. “Come back tomorrow morning,”

“What?” you shake your head, confusion churning in your gut. “I’m not leaving you in this creepy place. Tell me what’s going on,”

Marcus parts his lips to speak, at least that’s what you assume, but instead a gut wrenching growl rips from his chest and he lunges forward, falling to his knees. You make a move towards him but he raises a shaky hand, stopping you in place.

“Don’t,” he says between gritted teeth. “Just leave,”

“No, I’m not leaving you,”

He meets your gaze, chocolate brown eyes soft and concerned, pain soon masks it all, another shout for you to leave tumbling from his lips. You stand your ground, refusing to leave his side.

Marcus begins to change.

You hear the sound of bone cracking, his body becomes bigger, more muscular. You see his nails becoming long and sharp, hairs spurting from his skin. His ears become dog-like, arms of shadows curling up from his back, his clothes now in tatters. Your heart sinks into your chest. Your worry for his well being is stronger than the fear. When he finally looks up to you, the sounds of pain and agony subsiding, you observe that his canines have grown, nose now more wolf-like. He slowly picks himself up from the floor, your neck hurts as you look up to him.

“Marcus?” you ask, failing to hide the tremble in your voice. “Is that you?”

“Yes,”

“What happened?”

He gives you a brief explanation of the painting he saw, how it turned him into this when it reached the girl. However, the transformation seemed to be only effective at night, so during the days he was regular, human Marcus.

“So, how do we stop this?” you take a step closer to him, only an inch between your bodies. He’s warm, your fingers ache to touch him.

“I don’t know,” he answers, eyes moving away from yours. “I’m scared,”

Your heart breaks at how defeated he sounds. Finally you find the courage to touch his arm, it’s a barely-there touch, enough to draw his gaze back to you.

“You’re not alone,” you whisper. “We’ll figure it out.”

You don’t know how it started.

You and Marcus sat on the couch and talked about his “curse” for about two hours, you looked up info that might help until your phone died, sadly there wasn’t much real information to help them out. Then the conversation shifted into a more personal one, you knew that Marcus was broken deep down. His fear of abandonment and loneliness visible to those who knew him, his self-deprecating jokes didn’t help him hide the fact. During all of this you couldn’t help but feel a tad bit warmer at how big he’d gotten, he was already a handsome man, but this new form of his made you feel…things, things that always lingered right beneath the surface.

Then without warning he gently pulled your legs to his lap, minding his claws as he absent mindedly rubbed your leg. You soon found yourself on his lap, thighs spread to the point that the tendons ached. He kissed your neck, the corner of your lips, his fear of hurting you etched into his every move.

In the end, you got on your knees for him, your pussy throbbing as you witnessed the enormous bulge underneath his ripped pants.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, thumb following the curve of your jawline. “I don’t want to hurt you,”

“You won’t, and I want this. Just relax,”

You’re shocked when you can barely wrap your lips around the tip, his cock heavy and throbbing against your mouth. Marcus lets out a soft whine, hips sliding an inch off the couch. Wanting to please him, you drag your lips down the length and wrap your hand around the base, stroking him as your tongue dances along his fat cock. You trace every vein, tongue dipping so low that you get a taste of his balls, you gently suckle on them, your own body heating when he openly moans.

Sliding your mouth back up to the tip, you circle your tongue around him, precum heavily coating your tongue. Pleasure rakes up your spine, something long rubs between your folds and with surprise you pull away from his cock. Looking down, you notice the shadow-tentacle thing cheating its way into your underwear, slowly, yet surely, working you towards your orgasm. You turn your face to Marcus and he’s grinning, the tips of his fangs shining under the candle light.

“It wouldn’t be fair if I was the only one having all the fun,”

You smile back at him, placing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock.

“I didn’t know you could control them,”

“Neither could I,”

Placing your mouth once more, you force yourself to at least take a quarter of him into your mouth. Another moan drop from his lips, his hips thrust forward, the tip hits the back of your throat.

“That’s it baby,” he growls, he shallowly start to fuck your mouth with only the quarter of his cock. “I know you can take it, want me to cum in that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You nod with teary eyes, you only move your hands now, allowing him to use your mouth as he pleases. Meanwhile the tentacle finds your clit, drawing tight circles around it. Heat blossoms across your body, pleasure and desire numbing every other thought.

“You like this huh?” Marcus groans, his tone laced with a cruel tease. “You enjoy the fact that you can barely fit my cock into your mouth, never thought you would enjoy this,”

Marcus makes you cum first, your cunt gushing around the tentacle as he continues to fuck your mouth. Feeling your body spasm, his release soon follows, filling your mouth with more cum than you can take. It spills from the corners of your mouth, sliding down your chin and making a mess of the old hardwood floors. He quickly pulls out, cock still spurting thick ropes of cum as you cough, some of it stains your cheek.

“S-Sorry,” he stutters with no ounce of regret in his voice. “I should’ve warned you,”

“You worry too much partner,” you say, attempting a sultry voice. You climb up his lap, his cock already starting to harden once more. You decorate his face with soft kisses, grinding down on him. You keen as he groans, hands hesitantly grabbing your hips.

“We still have one more hour until morning.”

kinktober tags: @tusk89 , @amneris21 , @witchisenpai , @pedrito-friskito , @tom-whore-dleston , @lola766 , @batdarkladyvampir , @dindjarinswhore , @dnxgma , @eyelessfaces , @queenofthefaceless , @softtdaisy , @saintlike78 , @timpletance , @xdaddysprincessxx , @stardust-galaxies , @spacecowboyhotch, @queenofthecloudss , @prettyouttherethoughts , @reaperofmen , @partr1dge , @bbyanarchist , @alwaysdjarin , @thevoiceinyourheadx , @absurdthirst , @levi-llama , @damnyoupedro , @stardust-galaxies , @all-the-way-down-here , @welcometostayingawake, @bullet-prooflove , @rainbowcreepie

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfiction #kinktober '22 #kinktober 2022

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nu-abo-misser · 1 year ago

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cursingtoji · 3 years ago

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"❥ Set the pic of your naked silhouette laying on the bed as his desktop wallpaper, shared the wrong screen during a live stream, the chat blew up with people asking “is that y/n?”. He was banned from Twitch for 2 months for sharing inappropriate images. Kenma" YOU NEED TO WRITE A DRABBLE ABOUT THE REACTION AND THIS SCENE PLEAS EI WOULD DIE FOR IT. i wanna hear how kenma casually breeds us like whores

❥ based on this

cw: streamer!kenma x f!reader, oral, leaked nudes (more like semi-nudes)

The day Kenma took that picture he had no idea the headache it would cause him a few weeks later.

You were looking so pretty, stretching your naked body on your shared bed with the morning light behind you.

"Don't move" Kenma ordered from doorstep when he returned to the bedroom after going to get a cup of water for you, his words immediately putting you on an alarmed state.

"What? Is there a bug?" you asked eyes widened watching your boyfriend going to the nightstand and taking his phone only to return to the door.

"No, gem" he laughed at your frozen state and wide eyes "You just look ethereal right now, give me a smile" your body relaxed and a natural smile adorned your face as you kept your arms above your head on the pillows and knees up. Kenma's face was illuminated by the light coming from the window behind you, looking just as ethereal with his messy morning hair and tinted cheeks.

You loved the picture when he showed on his phone to you, but later that day when you saw it in one his screens you almost choked on nothing.

"Liked it?" he asked with shiny eyes.

"Kenma! What if someone sees it?" you rushed to his side.

"No one comes here, and I only share the middle screen, gem, don't worry" he assured kissing your cheek.

His words backfired weeks later when he ran out of coffee during a long stream and shared the wrong screen. He was talking to the chat about the game until a robotic voice interrupted him.

kozumelvr22 donated $20: uuh kenma? is this a gift for the chat? :)

"What?" he turned his head to read the chat confused by the messages.

markw3: is that his gf?

nekochan6: damn

kitty99: fuck shes hot

then something snapped on his head and he remembered the photo turning his head to look at the other screen and seeing the live sharing symbol there.

cloud69 donated $10: uh-oh someone's in trouble

"fuck" he cursed once the message pop-up on his screen that his stream was canceled due to inappropriate content being shared and he was banned until his case was analyzed by the staff, "fuck fuck fuck" he slammed his head on top of his desk.

He didn't even had to tell you cause while he was thinking of how to say your semi-nude was leaked to his thousands of followers you came barging into his room with your phone on your hand and a shocked/angered expression.

He apologized a million times, even dramatically getting on his knees to bed for your forgiveness which you gave him after screaming for a couple of hours about how you were right and he should be more watchful of stuff like this. Thankfully the image wasn't so revealing since your silhouette was dark due to the light behind you, and your face was barely recognizable.

"You know I would never do that on purpose, right?" he whispered kissing your jaw once you two were in the bed ready to sleep, you just hmphed to show him you heard, "Gem, come on, you're not still mad are you?" you hmphed again, "Fine, you were right, I'm sorry" his kisses continued to your neck and chest going down until he reached your underwear and started to bring it down your legs.

"What do you think you are doing, Kenma?" you questioned him in a serious tone.

"Showing my gem how truly sorry I am" he kissed your thighs raising them for you to place your legs on his shoulders. You decided you deserved to be spoiled after what he put you through that day.

His lips, tongue and fingers did not leave your intimacy until you told him it was enough after your third orgasm on his mouth.

"Nuh-uh, what are you doing?" you placed your feet on his chest once he sat up and started to lower his pants, he lifted his gaze in a surprised expression, "How long did you say you were banned from Twitch?"

"Mhm two months I guess?" he seemed confused by your question.

"Then it's two months with no pussy for you Kodzuken" you called him by his gamertag before turning around and raising the sheets to cover you as you shifted into a comfortable sleeping position.

"What? But—"

"When you're back from beating it in the bathroom please bring me a glass of water."

He groaned and made his way out of the bedroom, by now he was already soft with disappointment so he went to make himself a sandwich and started a instagram live to update his followers.

"So yeah, I'm banned for two months and my girlfriend is mad, not crazy mad 'cause you know, it was not such a lewd picture, but I'm definitely suffering the consequences" he talked alone taking a bite of his sandwich and reading the comments while he chewed.

titkuroo: your gf should consider getting a onlyfans acc

"This live is over."

#kenma x reader #kenma x you #iuaishiah sorry stormy kenma will not breed anyone for quite some time #— mailbox 💌

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voiceswithoutlips · 4 years ago

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Fallen - Chapter One

— pairing: OT7 x Reader (F) — genre: Fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff, Eventual Smut, ANGST , Poly!BTS — word count: 2.8k — Rating: M — warnings: minor character death, slight gore — beta: Thank you so much @taegularities and @unoriginal-username15432 for all you feedback <3

Click for Tag List

— chapter summary:

The people you killed, they haunted your dreams. They would say to you, “What you do always comes back to you, there is no escape from this miserable life.” It was true, there was no escape. In your world there was only darkness, sorrow, fear, hate and death, always death.

— A/N: It is I, your idiotic author. Welcome to my blog <3

Ch. 2

The sound of rain was like a roaring beast. It was almost midnight and the roads were lonely. You stood there in an alley facing a madman, uh, mad-vampire. His eyes were glowing red; he was wearing a dirty grey cloak on his rag like cloth. His brown hair had gotten messy when he’d run away from you but there he was, still as a dead body, waiting for you to attack. There were thick walls on both sides of the alley and behind him was a dead end. He was trapped.

“Lockham, why don’t you come back with me? That way I won’t have to kill you,” you suggested to the psycho killer vampire who stood a mere ten feet away from you. There was no way for him to run so maybe he would attack. You weighed your options - fight? That would’ve been nice; at least your body would’ve gotten some exercise.

He laughed. “You think you can win? Destiny is waiting for you Hunter,” he said in an impressive voice. Another one of those ‘destiny’ believers. Apparently the Goddess had a plan for us all, not that you had much faith in it. Gods don't care about who kills whom or who eats what, they’re more concerned about their own entertainment. You’d never put much faith in any higher power, God or not, nobody gave a shit.

“You’ve killed people Lockham, you’ve been a very naughty vampire and now it’s time for your punishment,”you said as a teacher would say to a naughty kid. He took a step back.

“Who are you to punish me?” he mocked, showing you his blood covered teeth. He was just having a meal when you found him and then you two had a nice chase. You were glad that he ran, you wanted to stretch out your legs anyway.

“Exactly, I’m no one,” you said and took a step forward; he took a step back simultaneously and vanished. What? Vanished? How? You walked forward to investigate and sighed. How careless of you. There was a hole, he fell into the sewer. He must have used cloaking so that it would look like he vanished. The only thing he forgot was to close the hole. You shook your head, you hated wet places! You jumped down and landed lightly on your feet, without making a sound, perfect.

You were getting bored of chasing him, it was almost dawn and you needed your beauty sleep. You took a deep breath and pulled out your silver dagger. It was your favorite weapon. Silver was deadly to vampires. It was very pretty with a finely carved snake on the handle with emeralds where the eyes should be; a gift from someone you had known a long time ago. You closed your eyes and let your mind wander through the tunnels. Just like your immunity to silver, your telepathy was stronger than centuries old vampires and you could perform magic. You were a half-witch after all.

You found him running through the tunnels. As soon as your mind touched him, he froze. You were inside his mind now. Reading someone’s mind was nothing like watching a movie or reading a book. It was like waking up from a dream, you don’t remember what you saw or heard but the thing that you remember is the feeling, the essence of the dream. Every being has a certain essence, unique to them. Like walls that you can’t see or touch, but you know they’re there. You could clearly see the tunnel before you, but it was like a distant memory, you were no longer there.

You were in a room, an old room with cobwebs and dust. It smelled of something rotten, like a thousand dead rats. There were worn out clothes hanging from the ceiling - correction, there was no ceiling, just clothes hanging midair and swaying with the wind, except there was no wind. At one corner sat two rusty iron chairs. The window with broken glass showed a full moon.

There was an old cupboard on the wall with the yellow wallpaper. It was white as if someone had carved it from bone. There were noises coming from the cupboard, screeching, screaming, the cry of a baby, the soothing voice of a mother, someone’s last words. A shudder ran through your body. I will never ever do this again, you promised yourself.

You heard a creak from behind and you swiftly turned back. There he was, sitting in a corner, the little boy. He held a tattered grey cloak in his hands. His body was folded at impossible angles. He was white as a sheet, there was no blood in his body. He was thin with brittle bones. Dull brown eyes in a sunken face held unimaginable terror.

He looked up at you. “I’m tired, I want to sleep,” he whispered and quickly stole a glance at the cupboard.

“Then why don’t you sleep?” you whispered back, clearly not wanting to wake anything in there. Yeah, getting into someone’s mind was a nice thing, you could get full control over them... but there was a catch. If something went wrong in that mind or if you failed to escape in time, then you’d be trapped there forever, or die. You were pretty sure that you didn’t want to be trapped in this mind, not here.

“They don’t let me sleep, they keep me awake so that I could bring more and more food for them,” he replied, pointing a finger at the cupboard. Slowly, you understood what he was saying. ‘One without a soul feeds on other’s souls,’ the thought crossed your mind, not a good one.

“What if you don’t bring them food?” You already knew the answer but you asked anyway, maybe just to confirm it.

“I’ll go mad,” he whispered back with horrified eyes.

“Come to me, I’ll help you sleep.” The words left your lips, the real ones which were still attached to your face. Lockham turned back and slowly walked towards you. You could hear his heavy footsteps in the tunnel. At last he took the last turn and there he stood right in front of you. His eyes were blank. It was like there was no soul in his body, no life. You had him entirely under your control. If you told him to do ballet, he would dance like a professional, but you weren't a sadist. Life had already tortured him enough.

“Come forward,” you said softly, the sooner it ended the better. He walked forward and your silver dagger slashed through his throat, severing his spine, killing him in a second. Blood splashed and soaked his body. It was a merciful death, you had seen worse. There are worse things than death in this world. Death was just an easy escape.

You stood there for a moment, looking at him, wishing that the outcome would’ve been different. Were you feeling sorry for him? No, you were feeling sorry for yourself. You were a fifty year old vampire and in all your years as a hunter you’d killed hundreds of criminals, but you had never been able to save one.

People knew and people talked. Some said that you were cursed; you were the representative of death, the spawn of darkness. As a result, the council only gave you high profile cases, criminals that were too far gone to be saved. It was always death. The people you killed, they haunted your dreams. They would say to you, “What you do always comes back to you, there is no escape from this miserable life.” It was true, there was no escape. In your world there was only darkness, sorrow, fear, hate and death, always death.

You pulled out your cell phone and called the police. They would take care of the body. You bent down to leave a tracker near it, so they would find it easily. Lockham’s eyes were wide open, and you closed them. “At least one of us is at peace,” you whispered.

“You’re home!!” little Lilly exclaimed happily as you walked through the door. Your family was sitting in the dining room, having supper. You were the firstborn, the eldest of your father’s children. Your father was the Duke of Serafino, the City of Snake; one of the two warrior cities in the Vampire Kingdom. He was a nice man with brown eyes and hair, fair complexion, nicely built but a little short.

Your stepmother was a beauty; she had blue eyes, fair complexion, sharp features and hair spun like gold. Her children took after her, all cream and gold. They all hated you, except for the little one, Lilly.

“Yay, I’m home,” you said sarcastically. It was hard not to be nice to the little girl who looked at you with wonder in her eyes; she was so full of life. To no one’s wonder you had blood on your clothes and your darling step mother eyed it with a look in her eyes that said filthy. For you, it was like an invitation. You were planning to have supper in your room just like any other day, but you sat down at the end of the table. Your father was seated at his normal seat which belonged to the head of the family. The chair right across from him was the place for his wife, but that was your mother’s place and now it belonged to you.

Your mother had died in childbirth, you had her amber eyes and olive skin. Her name was Katina. People told you that she’d been a beauty; you had some of her pictures and sometimes you would feel her close beside you. It was a weird feeling, but not bad, not at all. You weren't a person who put her feelings on display, heck you hadn’t even cried in like twenty years! The only permanent feeling you had left was emptiness. You felt numb, like a shell, nothing inside, no love, no hope, not even sorrow after all these years. It felt like you were dead and it was true, your heart was dead.

“I would like some blood sausages Charles and don’t forget the wine,” you said cheerfully to the butler. He was a nice guy, always talked politely. You suspected that he was in love with the cook, Ms. Glen; it would be nice to have some love in this house which felt like living in a coffin.

“How was your day, Y/N?” Lilly asked, her cheerful eyes trained on you. You wondered for how long this child would be allowed to keep her innocence? When you’d been her age ...you shied away from that thought. Thoughts bring back memories and your memories were like old corpses, one would never want to dig them. Instead you took a bite of your sausage - man, they were delicious.

“It was almost nice, Bunny. I played who-can-catch-me with a friend and I won!!” Bunny was the nickname you had given her because she was never still. Everyone paused for a moment; it was really weird and funny at the same moment. You loved how all the eyes drifted to you and back to Lilly. She was beaming because you had won the game. You gave her a small smile.

“Oh that’s wonderful!! Where is your friend now?” Curious little kid, everyone paused again, including you this time.

“You see, we were playing on a bet. He lost the bet so he had to …go to another city.” You were very good at lying, but her beaming eyes and pure innocence made it hard. It was impossible to lie to that child.

“When would he come back?” she asked, and you sighed. Your plate was half empty and the looks everyone were giving you just killed the hunger inside. You stood up with the wine glass in my hand.

“Chew your food, Bunny,” you replied and left the room.

Your room was a mixture of blue and gold. The wallpapers were straight lines of different shades of blue. The furniture was of mahogany wood with fine carvings. The round rug was golden on the edge and blue in the middle, it looked like a pool of water. All the linen was blue and gold as well. Your bed was round and big with golden bedposts and curtains. You had a balcony of your own with a little fountain with a sculpture of a mother and her child. You had spent a lot of time taking care of the blue roses in your garden.

The front wall was covered with your music collection. You found peace in music, it was the only time when you could just forget everything and float. You quickly changed and crawled under the sheets, picking up the remote from the side table and pressing the play button. It was Mozart’s duo. What an amazing symphony! It helped you drift back to your happy memories.

Unlike your half brothers and sisters, you were raised in Tiria. It was a small town on the edge of Serafino. You were raised by the Countess of Tiria, a very kind woman. She had grace, beauty, and wealth but no children. She showered you with love and pretty gifts. You had excellent teachers for your education. You learned everything from crochet to fencing.

The manor there was old and beautiful. It had a beautiful garden and a whole forest around it. You would often go into the forest, just to explore it. Those were the happiest days of your life. Until your tenth birthday - the day the Countess died.

Just like the symphony, your thoughts turned darker. You’d been happy that day; the maids had told you that you were going to have a big birthday party. The Earl had been there for two weeks now. Your innocent mind had thought that he was there for your birthday. That morning you were out in the gardens, picking up some red roses for the Countess, it was something you did every day. You would just run into her room to put them on her side table, she loved that. You held the bunch of roses in your tiny hands, running through the house to her room. You were wearing a very pretty white dress with laces and pink ribbons. Your bare feet softly met the stone floor as you ran to her room and pushed the door, happily calling to her.

The Countess was there, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. There were bruises on her body and a sword, stabbed right through her heart. The handle of the sword was in the hands of the Earl. He twisted the blade with a cruel smile in his eyes. Then you screamed. The flowers falling from your hands, red roses into red blood - they were the same color. Your pretty white dress was now red. You backed away still screaming, leaving little red footprints on the floor. The maids came running to you and held you tight as you screamed and screamed. You don’t remember for how long you were screaming or what happened later.

You drifted off to sleep.

It was a beautiful forest. The trees were so thick that sunlight barely touched the ground and everything was covered in moss. You were standing there in front of a giant wolf. It wasn’t a werewolf, it smelled like a regular one but just giant, like a direwolf. It was growling at you, baring his teeth. You had no weapons with you, you double checked. You looked around for an escape, you could kill him with your teeth but they weren’t as sharp as they’d used to be. You looked at your nails, they were fragile. Heck! You were human!!

“Y/N, wake up!!” the wolf suddenly spoke in a girly voice. It didn’t make sense, really.

“Are you a girl?” you asked the wolf who was ready to kill you. Talking to an animal, guess you had finally lost your sanity.

“Y/N!!” Someone was shaking you, trying to wake you up without much success. Then you realized you were sleeping under a bunch of blankets and pillows. It was three in the morning; you could tell by the smell of the air. You peeked at the person who had dared to disturbed you. It was Lily.

“What is it, Bunny?” you asked sleepily. It was good she had practice understanding you while you sleep talked, if it was anyone else, they would’ve thought you were talking gibberish.

“I had a bad dream,” she said with a puppy face. You knew what she wanted; she wanted to sleep with you.

“Me too,” you replied and ran your tongue over your teeth, yup, still vampire. “Come here you,” you said, grabbing her and stuffing her under the pile of blankets and pillows. You loved a warm cozy place to sleep. You held her like a teddy bear and dozed off again. She was so soft in your arms and she held tight onto you. Protecting someone was a good feeling. You went back to sleep as if you had never woken up.

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caxsthetic · 5 years ago

Text

Homesick

Oikawa Tooru x F!Reader

The scariest thing in life is when you get lost, and you don't have a home to come back to.

Part 1 > Pt. 2

Knock knock knock!

The urgent knock could be heard from the door, made the poor man to opened up his eyes. He fell asleep on the hotel room's desk; neck got cramped from the position. His brown eyes gazed to the window, seeing the sun was already down as the hotel room he was in right now only showered with moonlight. Suddenly, another set of knock intrude his hearing once again,

"Tooru, we are hungry. We are going to search for something for dinner," The voice of his teammates made him jolted, his mind still jumbled up after his nap, "Don't tell me you are asleep there.”

"I-I am not!" He tried to sound as awake as he could be while he stood up and grabbed his wallet. The chuckle from outside noticing him that they knew about his secret nap, "I will be outside in a minute." Before going out, he stopped in front of the mirror. He spruced up the white shirt from his sponsor that got crumpled when he's asleep. His hair got a little bit messy, but it's not something that his hand couldn't fix.

"What took you so long?" The English accent from his teammate could be heard immediately by the time he opened up the door, "You look drowsy," Oikawa scoffed, a little bit annoyed as his teammates teased him playfully.

In high school, he was the one who usually teased his teammates and bullied his underclassmen. But here in a foreign country, he usually was the one who got teased. Though, he's grateful that they were just playing around.

"Please, I woke up like this!" He tried to act it cool, but instead, making himself cringed as his teammates laughed. The three of them walked to the elevator while he pouted the whole time. To kill the annoyance that was bubbling inside his head, he decided to grab his phone from his pocket, but he found nothing, "Shit, I left my phone in my room. You guys could go down first!”

The setter ran back towards the hotel room, panicking a little while he unlocked the key. His brown eyes were scanning the space, searching for his phone. There on the desk where he fell asleep, lay the black coloured phone that he treasured so much.

With a sigh of relief, he grabbed it and unlocked the key. A sincere smile appeared on his face when his brown orbs caught sight of his wallpaper. It was a picture of you, wearing his volleyball jersey from Aobajohsai with a wide grin on your face.

The picture was taken the night after their loss from Karasuno in his third year. You were there in his house to accompany her, and he remembers every line that you said towards him that night. But one particular sentence always struck his heart, step inside his mind like a cure for his every sorrow,

"You can lose in any match you play, Tooru. But you will always be number one in my life.”

A single tear rolled down his cheek, remembering how you pronounce every syllable that came out from your lips,

"And no matter where you go, I will follow you. Because when we are together, it will always be home.”

The loud ringtone from his phone woke him up from the daydream. He almost dropped his phone to the ground at the process, but thank god his reflex was quite good. When he knew it's just his teammates, he immediately answered the call.

"Have you found your phone?" Oikawa let out a snort at the question, shaking his head with how dense his teammates could sometimes be. He went out and locked his hotel room before answered,

"If I didn't find it, I wouldn't be able to pick it up." The brown-haired man goes down to the lobby where his friends were waiting for him. It's breezy around their hotel. After all, his teammates decided to choose one place near the beach.

The three of them stroll down to enjoy the soft sand while searching for an excellent place to eat. His hand kept fiddling on the phone, unlocking it just to catch a glimpse of your face. It was always a habit of him whenever his teammates didn't talk to him.

"You never told us who's the woman, you know!" Oikawa flinched when one of his teammates suddenly looked behind his shoulder, eyes scanning the picture on his phone, "She's cute!”

"She's mine!" He blurted out without thinking, eyes blazing with fire as he looked at his teammates, "Oh— I am sorry," His friends were a little bit taken aback by his outburst. They never saw him act like that before, like a king that was protecting his queen from the lurking eyes. No, it's not like that.

It's more like a king who's afraid to lose his queen to someone else.

The desperation in his voice could be sensed by his teammates. Making the two adults looked at each other, throwing glances because they didn't know what to say to their setter. Oikawa let out a long sigh and put his phone in his pocket. He looked at the two who was now curious,

"I am sorry for blurting out like that," They nodded, trying to be understanding at the foreign setter, "She's not mine anymore, so I actually didn't have the right to say that." There's a visible agony in his brown eyes, making his teammates wonder what happened to him, "Let's just say that we-”

"NICE KILL!”

Oikawa jolted when he heard the voice, one familiar voice that he knew from some matches that he had in his high school days. He turned around to find Hinata Shouyou, the boy that was now all grown up to be a man. Somehow, just a glimpse of an old acquaintance made him remember how his home felt like.

"Seriously though?" A wide grin appeared on his face as the orange-haired boy turned around, now finally facing him, "Is this real life?" Hinata wore his typical shocking look because nothing prepared him to see the Grand King that he and Kageyama always afraid of, even now.

"THE GRAND KING?!”

Both of them talk for a while; Oikawa decided to stay with the boy he used to call shrimp while his friends continue to search for dinner. Every time Hinata talked, his eyes will always shine with excitement, a fiery passion never dimmed in his heart when it comes to volleyball. It was something that the setter has forgotten, the reason why he started to love the said sports.

Hinata asked him to play beach volleyball together, shocking Oikawa in the process. But when he heard a rumble from Hinata's stomach, he couldn't help but laugh and treat him to a recommended place. They were now seated face to face, eating the tasty dinner as the two started to relax and shared some information.

"Do you have something that you regretted by going here?" The setter almost choked by the question, he was sure he didn't expect that kind of issue, "How do you recover from homesick? It's tough for me even though I am just a few months here.”

Oikawa gulped down some water to his throat, trying hard to arrange the perfect words. So that your name didn't have to slip from his lips, "Well, sometimes I miss my family and friends," and someone else, "But to be better, I need to push my limit, you know?" that, and for what?

"Whoa! So cool!" Hinata was always be someone who got easily pleased, "You already look like you were ready to go to every country!" Oikawa smirked at this, sipping at his drink with a satisfied smile. But something then appeared on Hinata's mind, "But you really didn't look homesick at all! Does your girlfriend follow you here?!”

He splurt out the water from his mouth, coughing uncontrollably from the question, "H-How do you know I have a girlfriend?!" He shouted, it's not an angry tone, but more like a shocked one.

"Well, the two of you weren't really discreet at all in high school," Hinata said a matter of fact, remembering how you always cheered the loudest and tackled the ex-captain of Aobajohsai every time he's done with a match.

"That's a rhetorical question, damn it!" The setter groaned, it's like the beach boy just wants to rub salt on his wound, "And no, she didn't. She's not my girlfriend anymore.”

Hinata widened his eyes, didn't know what to say at this point. He really has to blurt everything from his mind without filtering it, and now it made him feel guilty. Even though he's dense sometimes, he couldn't help but notice a pained look that was evident on the brown orbs.

"C-Come on! Let's go play!" Hearing the excitement from the younger man, Oikawa gave him a faint smirk, "Everyone's play until late at night, come on, Oikawa!”

After paying the bill, he walked up to the beach. The sport was crazy, he slipped to the sand, again and again, feeling embarrassed in front of Hinata. But even after he fell for numerous of time, Hinata still looked at him with amazement in his wide light brown eyes, "Today, for one second, just for one second, I was really depressed, but," Hinata crouched down to grab the volleyball, "After meeting you, I am feeling way, way, way better!”

Oikawa knew how hard it is to adapt in a foreign country, he was actually relieved that he met a familiar face after almost three years not coming back home. There's a longing look in brown eyes as the pair play the beach volleyball. It was fun, something that he missed after years playing indoor volleyball.

He felt like he's back to his childhood time, when everything was simple and life didn't slap him in the face every time he woke up. He fell and got sand all over his body, but for the first time in forever, he smiled genuinely, loving every second that he spent playing a branch of the sport that he adored so much.

Just like what he thought, of course they would lose. But right now, he didn’t care about that at all. It’s like he was back to zero once again, not knowing about what step he will take after this. Satisfaction coursed inside him as he gulped down the beer with his opponent.

After bidding goodbye to Hinata for today, he walked back inside his hotel room. It was late at night, around 12 pm when he plopped down to his bed. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the warmth that you always radiate when you were cuddling with him.

Is it really a good decision? To just leave?

Oikawa felt like a douchebag every time his thought was back to you. How you told him that you love him, even if the two of you will enrol in a different college. She didn’t know back then, about his choice. You were laying in his embrace as he cradled your body one last time before he went.

“You are so clingy today, Tooru.” Your voice was soft, it’s not an accusation, more like you were pointing out the obvious fact, “Something bothering you, my king?” But Oikawa didn’t answer, he just put his head on the crook of your neck, trying to absorb as much scent that he would never get for the next few years.

“I miss you,” It’s scary how he couldn’t seem to live properly without you. You were his home, and will forever be, “I am going to miss you so much.” He was now teared up a little.

Your eyes widened at this, your boyfriend was not someone that cried so easily. His words were like a confession, and at the same time, it was like he was saying goodbye to you.

“Oh, Tooru… I am going to miss you too, love.” You turned your body to face him, his eyes were glossy with tears, “I am going to be here when you wake up, take some rest, Tooru.” You kissed his lips, oh so softly. There’s no lust on it, just pure adoration as your lips moulded with his.

He knew that you would be there in the morning, in the same room, same bed. You will wake up with wonderful feelings after a good night's sleep. There will be bed hair, but you will look as gorgeous as ever. You will wake up peacefully, knowing that the love of your life was there, sleeping soundly beside you.

But he’s not.

It’s cruel for him to leave you without a trace. He even changed his email and phone number, didn’t want you to follow him. Iwaizumi punched him in the gut at the airport when he told his best friend what he did to you.

“You are such a selfish trash!”

He chuckled bitterly, he is a trash after all for leaving you. But he knew if he told you about his plan, you would follow him without any hesitation. You will leave every dream that you have planned just to support him every step of the way, and he wouldn’t let you do such things.

Ring! Ring!

Oikawa put his phone on the pillow, letting it ring as he waited for someone to pick it up. He’s too tired to hold the phone with his hand so he just turned on the speaker. A pout emerged on his face as he waited and waited,

“Are you in jail? Do you need a bail?” He snorted when he heard the familiar voice, “Isn’t it like midnight there? Why the fuck you called at this time of day?”

“You are always so mean, Iwa-chan~” Oikawa whined, his best friend wasn’t someone who would coo at him and coat him with kindness. But the abrasive man always made him feel like he was in a vacation home, made him forget about all of the problems in the world, “Don’t you miss me? It’s been weeks since the last time we called!”

“I don’t miss you. We still messaged each other, after all.” Iwaizumi sipped the coffee in his hand, it was lunchtime for him, the sun peeking through the window as he pondered, “But I know someone who does,”

Oikawa knew who Iwaizumi was talking about, he inhaled a lot of air to his lungs, suddenly felt like he was suffocating, “Damn it,” He wondered what are you doing right now. Did you miss him like how he missed you every second he breathes? “H-How is she?”

“Like a machine,” Oikawa bit his lips, those words could be a piece of great news or bad news for him, “She worked himself hard, never taking any rest. She just ate, worked, slept, and repeated.” Tears already soaking the pillow where he lay down right now, “Don’t you understand the impact of your disappearance?” Iwaizumi’s voice got higher with every second passed.

“I-”

“She’s fucking death inside! It’s like there’s no life in her for three whole years!” Iwaizumi was now shouting at the setter, and didn't care about the glance from the others as he shouted at a restaurant, “I couldn’t see her like that, please just let me tell her where you are.” The pleading voice cracked Oikawa’s heart even further. He told his best friend to never tell his whereabouts to anyone, not even his family, and never to you.

“She will leave all of her achievements behind if you tell her!” He stood up and stood in front of the window, eyes were now blazing with rage, he’s trying so hard to coated his sorrow with anger instead.

“IT’S BETTER THAN TO LIVE WITHOUT LIVING!” If Iwaizumi was in front of him, he would already be thrown to the ground and become his punch bag, “For god sake, she’s suffering every day, Oikawa.”

“See you later, Iwaizumi.”

“OIKA-” He hunged up, throwing his phone to the bed and screamed out, thanks to his teammates that they got a soundproofed hotel room. Oikawa sat down on the corner of the room, feeling so small and dejected. It’s crazy how his mood could be turned upside down just like that.

He was feeling invincible before, playing with Hinata brought another side of him that was long buried. But now here he was, sitting in the hotel room, once again feeling like he missed something in his life. He knew he needed you, but your dreams and his were different.

Who is he to throw away all of your dreams? He didn’t want to be the one who stole your freedom. So he left you, he left his home without giving a heads up. Oikawa just kissed your forehead, taking his bag that was seated in the living room, opened up the door of your house and never looked back.

Oikawa lost his home that day, he lost the safe house that he had since his ex-girlfriend dumped him because he only prioritized volleyball. But you were too understanding, always there at the stands when he has practice, telling him to get some rest if he’s forcing himself too much, cheering him on and never missing one match of his. Not even once.

You were the warmth that he always longed to have, no matter how far the two of you were apart. He missed you, too much that his heart couldn’t handle it anymore. Oikawa was never the one who cried so easily, but now, he felt like he was lost, too far away from home.

The home that he neglected, a home that he needed to leave without warning. It hurts him, but it was the path that he chose. He will come back someday, though he didn’t know when. And if by that time he will watch you happy with someone else, then it must be the price that he needed to pay, so long you still have the glimpse and passion to chase your wild dreams.

He stood up, cheek still stained with his overflowing tears. His feet brought him in front of the mirror in the bathroom. He wiped all of the remaining tears, feeling your fingers that usually did the same thing for him. Then his brown eyes bore to the man in the mirror. The man's skin was so pale, eyes streaking red for crying too much.

Oikawa Tooru was homesick. It’s not the sakura tree that he missed, neither the sun who always poured inside his room, not even how different the court feels there. It was you that he missed, just your presence. But he needed to remember it was the path that he chose.

After all, he didn’t want you to settle for someone less, someone like him that only has volleyball in his head. Someone that maybe even on his deathbed will only reminisce about how he serves and tossed at the court.

You deserve so much more than a man who will never be satisfied.

And that someone is not him.

#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa imagine #oikawa angst #oikawa fluff #oikawa torū #oikawa scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagine

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hobidreams · 5 years ago

Text

The Early Shift | Second Taste {M}

determined to find the truth, you pay yoongi a visit at his apartment and get more than what you bargained for.

pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst (well, more like anger) words: 7k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, lots of banter & sarcasm, face f*cking aka oral (m), dirty talk, yoongi continues to be an ass index: first sip - second taste - last cup

“Hmm. I think we should give Yoongi a call.” This is what Sooah suggests, fifteen minutes before the end of your shift. Her full lips are downturned as she cocks a hand beneath her chin, bats you those doe eyes.

The glorious freedom you were fantasizing about disappears in an instant. “Why?”

“Maybe he got into some trouble and needs help.”

You decide she’s much nicer than you. “Or maybe, hear me out, just maybe, he’s decided to skip work today and continue being the inconsiderate jerk he is.” You have no such patience for him, but that might be because you still remember the heat of his lips nipping at yours. Or maybe it’s because the marks he left on your thighs still remain in faint traces of dark pink.

“Hmm.” Sooah doesn’t look convinced. “Still, just in case. We have his number already. It’ll just take a minute.”

You let your nails sink into your palm. “Fine. I guess there’s a .0001% chance that something actually tragic is happening.” You make for the shop’s landline, where all the employees’ numbers are saved. You fully intend on handing Sooah the phone. But when you whirl back, she’s busy taking an order, with another customer in line behind the current. “Fine,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll do it.” You hit the call button.

There are a few long rings, by the end of which you’re certain that voicemail will pick up. You tune out, listening instead to the bop released a few months ago that Sooah insists on playing at least three times an hour over the speakers. Your foot absently taps along to the catchy beat.

Click. There’s some fumbling, and you, only half-paying attention, wait for the robotic voice. Except what you get instead is a hurried, low-toned “yeah.”

You blink in surprise, pausing as your brain processes.

“Hello?” The voice is more annoyed now.

“It’s me.” You say your name.

A sigh. “What do you want?” Translation: why the hell are you calling me?

That tone has the magic ability to spark irritation in you like no other. You’re actually thankful for your visceral reaction to it; it squashes any unnecessary nerves that might want to flutter in your stomach. “Hmm, let me think. What do you have every Monday morning? Why might your coworker be calling you?”

There’s some more rustling, perhaps a whisper of a curse that you don’t quite catch. “Uhh... I’m sick.”

“Really. Sick.” You enunciate every thick syllable. “Why didn’t you tell Mina?”

“Too sick to.” The fake cough he manages is the worst excuse you’ve ever heard. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Your thumb grinds the end call button for a few seconds longer than necessary before you set the phone back into its cradle.

Sooah hands a warmed muffin over before she turns to you. “So? How is he?”

“He says he’s ‘sick’.” You make air quotes, just as the backroom door creaks open.

“Who’s sick? Yoongi?” Namjoon, who’s scheduled to take over for you, comes out looking concerned. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s completely fine.”

Sooah frowns. “Hmm, but I don’t think he’d just not show up unless something was really going on.”

“When he’s sick, he tends to forget everything and just stay in bed.” Namjoon turns to you. “You’re off soon. Do you mind just swinging by his place with some porridge?” That’s his go-to; you know because he once did the same for you when you had an awful fever. Remembering that day reminds you that you still owe him one for it. Damn it.

You scratch absently at the back of your neck. “I guess not...” You really can’t come up with a single excuse, because you don’t have any homework to do tonight nor do you have classes. Plus, if Yoongi’s truly ill, you’re not about to let him starve to death.

“Great.” Namjoon’s dimples flash as he pulls out his phone. “His place isn’t too far. Here’s the address.”

That’s how you wind up in front of Yoongi’s apartment door nearly an hour later, a tasty bowl of chicken porridge in hand. It’s a quaint building, small but cozy in its own way. Humble is the word that comes to mind as you take in the older, yellowed wallpaper, the slightly crooked number on his door. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot, feeling somewhat awkward. Like you’re intruding somewhere you shouldn’t be.

But you’re here to get the truth.

Some part of you hopes he’s actually sick. That, or he was just being a dick for the hell of it. Anything works, as long as the reason is not you.

You raise your hand and knock thrice. There is no sound, not even after the first minute passes. So, you knock again. One more minute, you tell yourself. If he doesn’t answer in one more minute, then I’m going to go home and eat all the porridge myself.

Finally, the door opens a crack. Bleary eyes with heavy purple bags behold you from beneath tangled, dilapidated blonde hair. Behind this disfigured creature that was once your coworker, all you can see is darkness even though it’s noon o’clock.

“Yoongi?” You ask, a little incredulously. “Are you okay?”

He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you said you were sick, so...” You hold up the takeout container. “Namjoon made me check up on you.”

“I’m fine. You can go now.” He’s about to shut the door on you but you push your palm insistently against the wood.

“No way. You look like shit, Yoongi.” You sigh. “Look, I don’t want your death on my conscience, so at least let me heat this up for you. Namjoon’ll never let me live it down if I don’t.”

“Ugh…” He contemplates, but ultimately seems to recognize the combative fire in your eyes. “Promise to leave right after.” He turns, leaving the door open for you to follow. “I hate letting people in here,” he mutters as he walks.

“Trust me, I don’t want to stay any longer than I have to either.”

You step inside, and your nose instantly wrinkles. Everything just smells kind of stale, in need of a good airing out. Empty ramen containers litter the kitchen counter while scattered papers decorate the carpet. But what’s worse is when you behold Yoongi in all his glory – stained sweatpants, ratty t-shirt, and all.

“Is your hair allergic to brushing or something? God.” You gingerly set the bag on the table, wondering if he even has clean bowls to use. You’ll find out. Curse you and your empathy. “Go take a shower or something. Please. For your own sake.”

“You’re not my mother,” Yoongi mutters, but he seems to know you’re right. He drags his shirt off, and instead of admiring his slim physique, you cringe as he tosses the top carelessly onto the already messy couch. “Don’t mess with anything while I’m gone.”

“What, afraid I’ll fuck around and make it all cleaner?” You shoot back, but he’s already disappeared into the bathroom. “Jerk. Wouldn’t want to snoop in this place anyway.” Grumbling, you rifle through the cabinets and manage to fish out a single bowl that doesn’t look too suspicious.

Despite what you said just minutes before, while the porridge spins away in the microwave, you lean against the counter and take a good look at your surroundings. It’s a studio apartment, already tiny but made even smaller by the clothes strewn around. The bulk of the mess seems to be centered around the electronic set up shoved against a wall, consisting of two huge monitors, a lit-up keyboard, and something that you’ve only seen on TV, usually for a stereotypical depiction of a DJ. What the heck is Yoongi doing with something like that?

The roar of the shower is still going, so you take a few steps towards the desk. The screen is locked, asking for a password but you’re more fascinated by this soundboard with all its knobs and controls. Does Yoongi make... music?

Your first instinct is to think that it doesn’t fit your perception of him. But then it strikes you that your perception of him is incredibly limited. You suppose you’ve never asked about his hobbies or anything about him. You feel a little guilty now. You’ve never tried to understand him, just gotten pissed off at him time and time again.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Yoongi walks out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair. Wet droplets are still rolling down his bare chest. A second wimpy towel hangs off his hips, looking seconds away from falling. He’s already glaring. “Get away from my shit before you break something.” He walks towards his bed, lifting a pair of sweatpants off the mattress.

“Please. I’m not as clumsy as you think.” You roll your eyes as you move to fetch the congee from the microwave. You set the bowl in front of him as he finds a spoon. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi mutters as he slips a spoonful into his mouth. “For checking on me too, I guess.” The bags beneath his eyes have gotten even more obvious and gaunt after the shower, as if he hasn’t slept in days. And hasn’t eaten either, judging by the way he goes at the congee as if it’s his last meal on this planet.

“Geez, you’re gonna get indigestion like that,” you say with a wince. “Do you live like this all the time?” Is this why he’s always late?

“Kind of.” Yoongi barely stops eating to breathe. “But this week is especially busy.”“With what? You should at least get some sleep...”

Yoongi’s already almost done his food, meaning your time with him is running towards its end too. “With important things.”

“Nothing’s more important than taking care of yourself.”

“God, please stop talking. Don’t you think I know that?” Yoongi squeezes his eyes together, rubbing fatigue from the corners. “But certain things have deadlines that have to be met.”

“You can’t make deadlines from the grave. Can’t you get an extension or something? What’s it even for?”

“Contest. Song writing contest. Only runs once a year.” His spoon gives a final clatter before resting against the empty bowl. “So, no. No extensions.”

So he does make music. “You should have just started earlier instead of being late, as per usual,” you tease, hoping to lighten the sour look on his face.

Bad choice. “Don’t you think I did?” Yoongi surges to his feet. His palm slams into the counter, rattling the bowl. “You don’t understand how it feels when everything just comes out shitty and not good enough!”

You face his fury, swallow it to fuel your own irritation at how absolutely careless and ridiculous he’s being. “So, you’re just going to not sleep or eat or come to work until its done?”

“That’s the plan.”

Yoongi turns away, trying to end this conversation as he heads towards his computer. You don’t let him escape, because you’ll be damned if you work your next shift alone. “Why don’t you just wait for the contest next year?”

“Well I was going to.” He swivels his head back, “but aren’t you the one who said to fight for what you believe in?” He snaps it, exasperation in his tone. Then he instantly looks away again as if he’s said something embarrassing.

That makes you stop, your jaw slackened in half-surprise, half-amusement. “Wait… You actually listen when I talk? You’re doing all this because of what I said?

“No. Shut up. Just, ugh, get out.” You wonder if he’s turned away so you can’t see the expression on his face.

Okay, now you feel a little proud that some of your words finally made their way into Min Yoongi’s thick skull. A task you once thought impossible. But that makes you a bit responsible for his predicament, doesn’t it? Plus, you’ve never seen this (perhaps a bit overly) dedicated side of him before. It fascinates you.

“Show me something you’ve made, Yoongi. I’m sure it’s not all shitty.”

He snorts as he drops into his groaning chair. “What do you know about music?”

“Well, I listen to it. A lot.” You may not be Beethoven, but you love music and consider yourself pretty well-versed in several different genres. You’re so curious: what kind of music does Yoongi write? “Seriously! Just show me something.”

Yoongi still looks unconvinced.

“Hey, I brought you food. And covered your ass at work. So you owe me one.”

“And this is what you want to use it on.”

“Yup.”

He shrugs. “Dumb choice, but I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you.” But he starts to click through folders. He ultimately pulls up a file named TRASH. Interesting choice, you think as you gingerly perch yourself on his messy bed. Yoongi fiddles with the volume knob on his speakers. Seconds later, the music begins to flow.

You’re already tapping your foot along by the time the tenth bar hits. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this is good! Like, actually good! Instead of vocals, a keyboard plays out the main tune. It’s sounds rather bare, but you assume that’s because it’s unfinished.

But wait… The melody sounds familiar.

Once you realize it, the more obvious it becomes. Yes, some elements have been changed: this version is much more R&B influenced, the song dips in slightly different ways, and the opening has synth elements that the finished piece you know lacks, but…

“Hey, isn’t this…?” You trail off when the chorus hits, and the similarities become undeniable. “We don’t talk together—” you sing, the lyrics going perfectly with the tune. It’s the very same song Sooah’s been playing relentlessly at work.

Yoongi is staring intensely at the screen with something so unfathomably sad in his eyes. He doesn’t speak.

“It’s different than the final version, but similar enough. You wrote this?” You whip out your phone from your pocket. “Wow, you’re amazing, Yoongi!” You hum the song beneath your breath as you pull up the song’s production page; you’ve looked at it before, but you never noticed Yoongi’s name under the credits. Why the hell is he still working at the café? Shouldn’t he be off writing the next big hit? Wasting talent, really.

On the page, three names appear. The singer, then the rapper. Then final name you don’t recognize and assume to be the producer. He doesn’t have an artist page yet, no image or real name revealed on the website. “You’re DJ ALEX?”

Yoongi shakes to life at the sound of your voice. He lunges out, almost breaks the knob as he forces the volume to zero. “No. I’m not.” The words feel strange in the sudden silence. Uncomfortable.

“...But this is the same song, isn’t it? ‘We Don’t Talk Together’?”

“It used to be.” He whirls towards you. “Look, you heard something I wrote. I ate the food. You can get out now. I have work to do.”

You don’t move from the bed, knowing you’re pissing him off by the tensing of his jaw. “What do you mean? Who’s this Alex guy then?”

“Just drop it.”

“Yoongi, what happened?” You push him despite the way his hands have curled into fists. “There’s no way this is a coincidence because—"

“Tch! You want to know so badly? Fine! He stole it from me, alright?” His piercing glare forces goosebumps on your skin. “We wrote it together. He took the original and deleted my copy and passed the song off as his own. Now he’s the one getting all the record deals while I can’t write shit and stuck making coffee with an annoying ass coworker. Happy? Good enough of an explanation for you?”

You shake your head. “You just let him take it?!”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Yoongi’s voice is dangerously guttural, as if on the verge of breaking altogether. “He blocked me. Dodged me when I went to see him. Before I knew it, he was signing contracts and the song was being produced.” Yoongi sets his fists back on the table with not much strength at all, as if he’s just so exhausted of it all. “It was half a goddamn year ago. It’s too late now.”

Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing. “No, no, you can’t just let it go like this!” Not when it puts that look into his eyes. “You can fight it! You can, uhh, report him or show some proof that you wrote it together or something!” When he doesn’t respond, you step towards him, intending to put a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon Yoongi, you’re better than this!”

He knocks your hand away as he surges to his feet too. “Shut up. Just shut. Up.” He rounds on you, fury’s fire back in his eyes, worse than you’ve ever seen it since hurt is what stokes the flames to blazing. “You don’t know anything about me. You think just because we fucked once you have some insight into who I am or what I should do?”

His words hit you like bullets as you stagger back but the bed prevents you from moving too far, caging you in. “Yoongi, no, that’s not—”

“Or what? Are you gonna tell me you came here today because you missed my cock that much?”

Thoughts seem to fly clear out of your mind at the dip in his voice. Your heart thuds in your ears as Yoongi takes a step. Then another. Breaking every boundary of personal space until his lips are aside your ear. Breath curves around your lobe, coming hot, much too hot as he growls, “didn’t get enough in that pretty little pussy of yours, did you?”

“I... Uh...”

“That’s why you’re running your mouth, huh?” He captures your bottom lip, tracing it with a calloused thumb. “When you should be choking on my cock instead.” Yoongi pulls back enough for you to see how his mouth curls into that damn smirk, and you remember. God, you remember how he stole what he wanted from your body and left you stuffed full of his pleasure. But this time, there’s a desperation behind his words that was absent before. As if right now, he’s the one that needs you despite the lewdness rolling off his tongue.

So you drop to your knees.

Yoongi’s eyes widen, then narrow with deep pleasure as he thumbs your cheek with more tenderness than you would have expected. That thought is shattered when he harshly tugs your chin up, forces you to stare into the gaze that you can only find predatory. His other hand works the waistband of his sweats, tugging it down to spring his stiff cock so violently it smacks you in the face. “Open wide, baby,” he snarls, the word not sweet but condescending, the way he enunciates the syllables.

You let your mouth unhinge, but you don’t move to engulf his dick in your heat. Instead, you drag your gaze across the few beads of pre-cum are already gathered on the tip, just waiting to be slathered all over the smooth head by your fingers. He groans when you curl your hand on his shaft, bucking his hips into your touch whether he wants to or not. He can’t control himself when you pressure his frenulum, squeezing to coax another moan from him. You love that you can drive him this wild with need, put that look on his face as if he’s seeing the bright lights of heaven behind those half-closed eyelids.

But he’s not about to let you take control.

“Don’t be a fucking tease.” He shoves his hips forward, sliding himself between your parted lips and onto your awaiting tongue. You taste the saltiness of arousal leaking from his swollen cock, swiping along the head to gather every last drop of sin. He stiffens even more under your touch and the slippery texture of your agile tongue; you take it all in stride, swirling saliva around while your fingers use the excess spit to work his shaft.

“Unh, your tongue feels so damn good.” Yoongi moans like his stresses are melting away with every lick you slather across his taut skin. You trace the fat vein running along the side, carving the curves into memory. Which spots make him shiver, which ones make him moan. “Fuck, almost as good as that tight cunt of yours.” Said cunt gives a pulse of wanton need and you have to squeeze your walls around air, feeling so damn empty when you know how full you could be.

Without a single regard to your wants, he continues to urge his hips forward, mercilessly plunging in thick inches of dick until the head prods at the back of your throat. You’re trying your best to breathe through your nose but he makes that impossible when he tests your gag reflex with two brutal thrusts. Only after does he bring himself back, let you suck in much-needed oxygen before you’re bobbing your head again to his groans.

Yoongi seems torn between squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them trained on you, mired to the sight of your lips stretched and wrapped so obscenely around his cock. “How much of me can you take with that filthy mouth?” It’s a challenge he issues despite his tense, sweaty thighs and the unassailable glaze in his eyes that says he’s closer to the end than he’d like to admit.

“All of it,” you say as best you can with your mouth stuffed full. You’re not afraid of him, of any attempts he’s made to scare you off. You prove so by supressing your instincts and easing him into the slick of your throat. You push on despite the protests of your body, spurred by the painful fist in your hair that keeps you speared on him. His fine pubic hair tickles your nose, smelling like soap and his natural musk that is somehow more intoxicating than it should be. You’re so close; if you strained, you could give his crotch a sloppy French kiss.

“Then take it.”

You choke when he fucks in the last few inches, forcing his bulging cock down your throat. He pulls back only to repeat the action, earning himself a fresh gag. He seems to love that lewd squelch, imprinting it in his mind along with the tears coalescing at the corners of your eyes. Spit flies everywhere as he rocks his hips like a machine made solely for this purpose, abusing your aching mouth but even that turns you on. You don’t think you’ve never been this aroused by sucking a dick but Yoongi just has that effect on you, for better or worse.

You can barely hold onto his skinny thighs as the muscles ripple beneath your grasp in name of erratic, orgasm-seeking thrusts. They make him occasionally jerk his dick but if he grazes your teeth, he doesn’t show it. Just keeps pumping like a madman, getting himself off on how you take him so well – his good girl. Your jaw aches from his girth but you don’t dare pull away; not when he’s slamming into you like you’re the only thing in his world that matters right here, right now.

Now Yoongi’s the one choking when you lift your hand, cupping the sensitive skin of his balls. His lust-drenched eyes have flown open with surprise. Then he’s grinning, impressed with your eagerness. “Just like that—god—yeah, use your tongue, fuck…!” His moans are becoming increasingly broken, interrupted by gasps when you work your throat in tandem with fingers. “I’m gonna cum down your throat, baby,” he promises. “You better drink every fucking drop.”

You suck him harder as agreement, slurping with noisy abandon as if there’s nothing you want more than his seed coating your throat. Messy spit bubbles beside your lips but there’s no stopping you, not when his knees are buckling and he’s moaning your name in a hoarse voice that should be illegal.

“C-Cummin...!” Yoongi doesn’t even get to finish the word. Two hands on the back of your head force you all the way down. His shaft pulses and the first shot of cream hits your throat, followed by several hot strands that you automatically swallow down. He’s still gasping when he pulls back, tip profusely spilling the last remnants of bliss onto the tongue you leave exposed for his viewing pleasure. Then you gulp it down while you hold his heated stare.

With something like a growl, Yoongi yanks you up off the floor, crashing his mouth on yours to tangle your rather-numbed tongue with his own. One hand is still arrested in your hair but the other finds your waist, dragging you close to his body as he brutally sucks, bruises your bottom lip. You let yourself believe he needs to feel you, that he wants you even while his cock softens and carnal lust slips away.

“Y-Yoongi,” is the only thing you can exhale when he finally lets you go. The kisses only add to the arousal pooling between your thighs, demanding attention. But Yoongi makes no moves to take care of your need.

Instead, he wipes his lips of spit with the back of his hand. “Damn. That mouth of yours is something else.” He’s still panting, clearly having left most of his sanity on your tongue.

“I know.” You’re the one smirking now, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Looking around, you find a tissue and use it to clean yourself off. Yoongi does the same, and for a moment, it all just feels normal between you two.

“Thanks. That really cleared my head.” It only takes Yoongi a minute to get his pants back on. Then he’s planted himself in his chair again. Wait. Is that it? Your smile twists, droops into a frown as you watch him pull up the complicated software with all the soundbites back onto his screen, typing away as if inspiration has struck.

“Yo—”

“Looks like you’re not the worst coworker after all.”

…Right. How could you have forgotten? That word sends you crashing down into reality like an icy bath. You stare at the side of his face, focused squarely on his screen as if you’re nothing more than a houseplant. Not even giving you the title of fuck buddy, or friends with benefits. But, then again, you’re not friends in the first place.

“You can stay if you want, but I have to keep working on this.” That just sounds like an afterthought, a consolation prize that’s more bitter than the taste of his cum still lingering in your mouth.

You’re already moving towards the bag you left near the door. “No thanks.” You pull the strap onto your shoulder, twisting the icy doorknob. “Bye, I guess.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look back.

To set the record straight – you are not a coward. You are a rational adult making rational decisions that fit into your adult schedule. Begging Namjoon to switch shifts with you for the next month is just part of your regular plans, in no way influenced by the mixed, confusing, dizzying feelings that pop their heads up like groundhogs every time Yoongi crosses into your line of sight. Or your thoughts. Or really in any way whatsoever.

Okay... Maybe you’re a little bit of a coward.

But you can’t seem to help it. He’s too distracting, now that you’ve had a second taste of his poison. A poison that, instead of stealing your life, seems to have claimed your rationality as victim instead. You experienced the consequences of this robbery for the first time on Friday morning, when Yoongi showed up on time (shocker!) for his shift. Instead of being absolutely delighted, all you could think about was that he should have slept in a bit more because of the bruised bags beneath his eyes.

Friday was the first time you’d seen him at all since that visit to his apartment four days prior. Namjoon and Hoseok had taken Yoongi’s shifts throughout the rest of the week, you assumed to give Yoongi time to finish his song. You couldn’t muster up the courage to ask Yoongi about the piece; it felt like you were prying into a world that he wanted you to stay firmly out of. You still don’t understand why you’re so interested in the first place, when you should be hating him.

The rest of that shift had been a hodgepodge of awkwardness, what with the flinching every time Yoongi brushed past your arm reaching for the syrup, then the weird high-pitched tone your voice went to when he addressed you. By the time you left work on Friday, you were determined never to repeat that again.

So here you are. Today. Monday night. Except this time, you’re not spending it knelt on a musty apartment floor, swallowing Yoongi’s anger. That’s probably a good thing, you tell yourself. You need the time and the space to sort out your own emotions. To think about why the hell you keep replaying the sadness in his eyes, then corrupting that image with the coldness of his back in that chair and—

“Hellooo? Anybody home?”

A hand abruptly appears in front of your face and you jolt back to reality, whipping your gaze to find Hoseok grinning brightly at you. “There we go. I’ve been calling your name for ages.”

“Oops, sorry Hobi. I just spaced out. What did you say?”

“I said that I’m leaving soon, silly.” Hoseok leans against the counter, playful curiosity in his expression. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

“...Nothing important.”

“Well, guess I can’t blame you. All the downtime will do that to ya. And you’re staying for the next month?”

“That’s the plan.” A customer approaches the bar, bringing you their empty plate. “Thanks, have a good night!”

Hoseok chuckles. “I thought you had night classes. Don’t tell me you dropped out of college to avoid working with Yoongi.”

The plate you were holding clatters as you drop it, smack the porcelain against the counter. “W-Why would I want to avoid working with Yoongi?” How did he know? Oh god, did Yoongi tell him what happened?

“Because he’s always late?”

“Oh! Oh. Right. Yeah. Well, no, no, it’s not because of him…” You don’t sound convincing in the slightest, yet you have no choice but to plow on. “I’m just taking an online course this term. So why not take an easier shift because I have the time, you know?” To be fair, you were planning on taking the course anyway. It was just a matter of physically going into class or not.

“Makes sense.” Hoseok grins. “And I’ll always be on time.”

“Yup. I can always count on you, Hobi.”

He stares at his watch, watching the second hand tick the seconds away. “Aaaand I’m off. You’ll have to count on me next time because I have a hot date!”

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Hope it goes well!”

Hoseok is out like a whirlwind in the matter of minutes. Left alone in the shop, you run a hand through your hair, surveying the little café. One customer taps furiously away on their laptop. Another devours what remains of their quiche. A third jots down notes while they parse through War and Peace. You’re expecting no one else tonight, certainly not Yoongi to come bursting in like he had the last time you had a night shift. You’d better get started on cleaning.

As you wipe down the counters, remove the leftover food from the display case, the customers leave one by one. You hum a song beneath your breath, distracting yourself from any errant thoughts of a certain person that might be wanting to poke their head through. You’re not having any of that. Not today.

Time speeds by, and soon you only have thirty minutes left to go. You’re now alone in the shop, working quickly enough to ensure you’ll be finished right as your shift ends and not a second more.

Then the door chime goes off. Your head snaps up, and for a moment, for an infuriating moment, you hope it’s Yoongi.

Instead, another familiar face appears, that same, smooth, self-assured smile painted across his lips. Jiwon. This time dressed in a fitted suit, one that makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot. Still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. Still not Yoongi.

“Hi. Hi!” You correct yourself, realizing you should sound less disappointed. “Welcome.”

“Hi.” His easy smile widens as he approaches the counter, devastating with those melting chocolate eyes. “Wishing I was someone else?” He asks with a laugh as he pulls out his wallet.

Oops. Your face must have given you away earlier. “No! Of course not.” You force on a grin to match his, wiping your damp hands on your apron.

“Good. Because I was hoping for you. That you’d be working tonight.”

“Oh...” Your face automatically heats up. There’s no way he’s flirting with you, right? Him, who is so far out of your league you’re not even playing the same game. “I don’t normally work night shifts.”

“I noticed.”

“I. Um. Ahem.” You clear your throat out of sheer nerves. “What, uh, what can I get for you?”

“Just a black coffee this time, please.”

“Got it. Go ahead and tap.”

When you hand over the hot cup, Jiwon takes it leisurely. This time, there’s no denying how he lets his fingers graze past yours for that extra half-second, how his eyes hold yours with something unfathomable and exciting.

“I’m working every weeknight for the next month!” You blurt out before you can stop yourself, not even knowing what the hell you’re hoping for. Shooting your shot with this incredibly good-looking man. Making a fool of yourself, apparently. “So, uh, yeah.”

To your great relief, Jiwon nods his head. He raises his coffee like a toast. “Then I’ll see you soon. Goodnight.” The way his voice lilts around and teases the parting word remains in your mind through the rest of your shift and even after when you get home, still thinking about how he’d smiled at you like a promise.

Maybe forgetting Min Yoongi won’t be so hard after all.

The weeks come and go. Before you know it, half the month has sped by, and you’re having more fun than you ever could have expected at work. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of Yoongi, working so well with Hoseok and a newly hired college kid Jungkook that you’ve barely had the time to think about him. Sure, it’s a bit odd not to have someone to bicker with every shift, but that’s more than made up for by the presence of Jiwon.

True to his word, Jiwon comes in practically every night, with that same casual smile that makes your heart unfairly quicken and flipflop. He always asks about your day, listening intently as you rattle on about what mundane thing has occurred like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Still, he hasn’t asked for your number in all this time, nor has he offered much information about himself. So, tonight, you’ve decided, after two weeks of this flirtation, you’re going to ask him on a proper date. Tonight is Friday night, one of the busier nights. So, to compensate, you’ll be closing together with Jungkook.

With that in mind, it’s no wonder that you walk though the doors of the café feeling nervous but excited. You love working with Jungkook though, and know he’ll dispel your nerves before too long with one of those wildly hilarious stories of his various exploits. The door chimes tinkle behind you as you take note that the place is rather busy. Gross. Then you sweep your eyes to the counter, expecting to see Jungkook’s bright smile.

It’s not Jungkook handing over a green tea Frappuccino, stacked high with whip cream to a young woman. It’s Yoongi.

“Yoongi?!” You exclaim, voice carrying across the café.

He turns his head, finds your surprised eyes. “That’s me.” His voice is as dry as ever, but he’s looking better than he did two weeks ago. Much better. You try to ignore the squeeze of your heart at the casual mess of his bangs, the falsely sweet smile that still lingers on his lips from interaction with the customer.

Just a coworker, you remind yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s gaze follows you as you move behind the counter. “Working.”

“Well, gee, I can see that. But you never work the night shift. You hate it.” He had said very vehemently so before, when you suggested he switch shifts if he couldn’t wake up in the morning.

“Yeah, well...” The floor suddenly becomes quite fascinating to him. “It’s just this once.”

Hoseok appears out of nowhere, his jacket already on. He swings his arm over Yoongi’s shoulder. “Nah, he doesn’t hate it! I heard him begging Jungkook to switch shifts with him a few days ago.”

“Hoseok, shut up,” Yoongi spits, spinning around pointedly to face the customer approaching the counter.

You giggle as Hoseok rolls his eyes quite dramatically behind Yoongi’s back. “You’re on your way out, Hobi?”

“Yup. Just you and Yoongi tonight.”

You nod, licking your dry lips. “Okay, got it. Have a good night!”

Yoongi may not be Jungkook, but that doesn’t mean that your plans have changed. You’re asking Jiwon out. You’re moving on from the unaddressed, oddly in-between relationship you and Yoongi have, and you’re hopefully going to have a date by the end of the night. You slip an apron on, determination in your veins.

Whatever downtime you usually have on Friday night (that you were worried would give you time to be pensive about Jiwon’s impending arrival) soon becomes a long-lost dream as the customers just start pouring in. It seems there’s a big event at the theatre across the street, causing an enormous boom in caffeine and snack needs that keep you and Yoongi on your toes, a fact which Yoongi looks especially irritated by. That might be because he looks like he has something to say to you every time you have a minute of break; but he can’t get out anything substantial past a ‘hey’ before he’s drowned out by another group of people.

It’s hours before the crowd finally dies down, leaving the shop sparse and you exhausted. As glad as you are for the break, it also means you have to face whatever Yoongi wants to say. You can’t fathom what he could possibly want, but it looks like he’s about to tell you as he turns in your direction.

“Hey.”

You take a sip of your water. “Hi.”

“Uh…” You say nothing, just stare at him. Yoongi looks decidedly uncomfortable, and you’re starting to worry he’s about to drop that he has an STD or something. “I, err, just wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” Bringing you food or sucking your dick?

Yoongi sighs, raking his hair back with a hand. “I finished my song because of you.”

“Oh. Oh.” Okay… You can’t deny it; that actually makes you pretty happy. It makes you drop the frown and walls you thought you had to put up around him, replacing it with a genuine smile. “Congrats, Yoongi! When do you hear back about the results?”

“Not for a few weeks. But without you, I think I wouldn’t have entered at all this year. I just couldn’t write anything decent after…” Yoongi cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Look. Even though the song’s still not perfect and I’m still not too happy with it, it’s done. So. Thanks.”

Your heart threatens to pound at the sincerity in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “Anytime.”

Yoongi coughs, cutting off the moment prematurely. “Anyway, I’m gonna do inventory in the back.” You hate inventory, thinking it a mindless task that you would rather make a hundred lattes than do. You don’t know if Yoongi knows this, but you appreciate him all the same. You’re smiling faintly as you watch him disappear into the backroom.

Seconds later, the front door clatters, chime going off. You look up, customer-service smile already painted on, but it becomes that much wider when you find Jiwon’s friendly face grinning right back at you.

“Jiwon!”

“Hey! Can’t stay long today, but had to stop by for my coffee fix. And to see my favorite barista.” He winks, way too smooth for your health.

You fight the automatic flush of your cheeks. “No problem. Iced macchiato? Skim milk and light ice?”

“Yup. You get me.”

Your hands begin to tremble as you turn to make the drink, thinking about how best to ask him those difficult words. Oh god, you’ve never been good at this, but you’ll be kicking yourself forever if you never try. Do you want to go on a date? Nope. Too direct. Are you free on Saturday? Or maybe you should go with a simple do you like pasta? But what if he doesn’t? Oh gooood.

The drink is finished all too soon. You hand it to him, watching him take a sip. “Mm, you always make the best coffee.” The compliments come too easily to him, you swear.

“Haha, I try my best!” Okay. Now or never. “Oh, um, by the way…”

The door of the backroom swings open, interrupting you. Yoongi’s voice can be clearly heard over the music. “Hey, do you know where th—” He stops. His gaze rakes across the scene, taking in your silly, flustered grin, your faintly flushed cheeks. Then his eyes fall on who you’re talking to. His jaw slackens. “...Hyung?”

a/n: so uh,,, i’m sorry to end it like this again haha. what do you think is up? 👀 inbox is open; let’s chat! also the song i reference is “We Don’t Talk Together” by Heize and Giriboy, produced by Yoongi!

thank you to my beta readers: @sweetlyseokjin, @jiminspjm, @mypurplelamp, @hoseoksdior, @bigtiddiejoon 💞

and as always, a fat shoutout to my best girl @jeonshome for helping me brainstorm & hyping me up like always when i was struggling. don’t know what i’d do without you!! ♡

want to be on the tag list? the link is in my navi! (or send an ask!)

#btssmutclub #bts smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #coffeehouse au #e2l #college au #enemies to lovers #min yoongi #the early shift #rain writes #enjoy!!! <3

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