#i am genuinely so excited guys its coming on TUESDAY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snackhobi · 4 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say.

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

#btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #magicshopnet #houseofddaeng #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts #yoongi au #bts au #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #PLEASE feel free to message me with any typos or whatever and I'll get on those when I have a chance

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years ago

Text

fragrance | a.h.

summary: Plato said, “The god of love lives in a state of need. It is a need. It is an urge. It is a homeostatic imbalance. Like hunger and thirst, it's almost impossible to stamp out.”

WARNINGS: LMAO SMUT (18+), oral (m!receiving), swearing, drinking, nervous and awkward y/n and hotch heehee pairing: college!aaron hotchner x fem!reader word count: 4.8k

a/n: lmao so i watched a tiktok of THAT SCENE in love and human remains so i am legally obligated to write what inspired me. ok but @venusbarnes,,, it happened,,,

part of the bitter end universe but not required beforehand to read this. takes place in their second year of college

In retrospect, you know you’re freaking out over nothing.

You just showered, changed outfits twice, tried to fix your hair, inspected your makeup constantly since you’ve finished, and tried to figure out a way to call it off to pass the time.

Why are you even worried? Ever since you’ve gotten off the plane, which, in itself, is a step you cannot backtrack since you are merely a college student with limited funds, your knees have been weak and you feel like you don’t really have a stomach.

Why? It’ll be fine.

You’ve been over Aaron for two-and-some-months years, now. The distance did you good, did you both good. Namely, you’re quite damn sure you don’t feel anything for him anymore besides the occasional flicker of irritation, the excited burst in your stomach, the absolute terror of seeing him again.

How has he changed? It feels like it’s been so long.

You glance at the clock.

9:55

You said 10AM. You have five minutes at the most to get yourself together and just run down the staircase, shove yourself into his presence before your nerves can tell you to turn back. Taking a deep breath, you look at your reflection in the mirror one last time before heading to the desk and grabbing your wrist watch. It’s worn down leather is soft to your touch and you feel an overwhelming sense of calm overtake you.

This will be fine.

As you fasten it to your wrist, you glance at the face. Time seems to tick by slower as you pull on your ankle boots, swipe a finger over your lip, and grab your room key. As you descend the cold stairwell, memories grasp at your consciousness, tease you, but you push them away and instead focus on putting on foot in front of the other, focus on gathering the courage to stand in front of him again.

Before you know it, you’re opening the door and walking over to the pacing figure you only know to be your best friend. His hair is still long, but he’s wearing a leather jacket, so that’s new, and he’s frowning to himself.

And it makes you smile, because that’s him. Aaron Hotchner, master frowner, broody boy. His hair is still long, his eyes still so dark. He hasn’t changed.

God, what will you say to make him laugh?

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you say without thinking.

“George? And here I thought I was John,” he replies just as quickly, matching your tone and your entire heart lurches into your throat as your smile grows stiffly.

Crap.

And that’s when you realize that, quite frankly, that convincing yourself that you’re over Aaron Hotchner is going to be a lot harder than it looked at first.

You’re fighting the urge to let the whole facade drop, but you can’t because this is Aaron, your best friend you haven’t seen in forever and although you’re so fucking happy to see him, you know everything is easier said than done.

He’s just your best friend, and you’re… you’re… feeling great. Your stomach is a bundle of nerves but that’s because you’re excited to spend time with him. Right?

“So, where to?” you ask, feeling quite exposed as he looks at you strangely. “I’m starving,” you say, an overwhelming need to explain causing word vomit to spill out of your mouth, “so, I was thinking we could get some breakfast, first. I’m in the mood for anything really.”

“Oh,” he says. “I have a place in mind.”

“O-okay. Lead the way, then. It’s kinda chilly out, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah. Do you needa grab another coat?” he asks as you step closer and they begin to walk to the door. He opens it for you and as you slip past him, your entire system shuts down. Your mind heads straight for the gutter, vivid images, voices, feelings from your dream flashing through your head.

Cheap beer, smoke, sweat, and a cologne you can’t forget.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“N-no. I’m okay. Are you, uhm, are you going to be okay in just that jacket? It looks great, by the way.” Are your hands shaking or is that just the swelling throat and the hard lump in your gut’s fault?

Shit. Holy shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

“Thanks, and, uh, no. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

You nod and smile shakily. “Great. It’s just… I’m really glad to see you.”

He stops for a moment, stares as if he knows or maybe you just feel naked in your own skin, and then matches your timid smile. “I’m really happy to see you too.”

Right. What did you say again about nerves?

[TWENTY HOURS EARLIER]

“You guys better behave,” Aaron sighs. “I’m not gonna be responsible if I have to deck Carter.”

“Woah there, Hotch,” his roommate comments, sliding off his bed and slinging an around his shoulders. “You have a girlfriend.”

“We’re on a break, actually.”

“I thought you don’t believe in breaks.”

“Well, we’re just talking things out with the long distance thing. It’s not like when she was in high school. She just needs to adjust to her first year, and we’re still talking. So, it’s more like… an intermission before we resume after mid-terms.”

“So, you’re single.”

“Technically, but I’m also not looking,” he retorts, just in case his roommate tries to set something up behind his back, but the guy merely shrugs.

“Whatever you say, Hotch-o.”

He scowls, getting up and running a hand through his hair before grabbing his jacket off the hook. “I’m just trying to say that Y/N’s been there for me since before you guys and before Haley.”

“I get it,” his roommate, named Earl, says as he flips the collar of his varsity jacket and grabs the room key. “She’s like a sister to you, right?” Aaron doesn’t say anything to that and Earl doesn’t prod him any further as he grabs his backpack and slings it onto his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hotch. I’ll spread the word to the guys. They won’t try anything.”

“Yeah, thanks, Earl.”

“I’m heading to class, but it’s the bar tonight, right? You’ll pick her up from the airport?”

“Yeah.” The door opens and closes with a click and Aaron lets out a sigh, turning away from the mirror so he can stop pretending he’s trying to fix whatever Earl thought was wrong with his appearance. He just wanted to stay busy so his friend could leave him alone to his messy thoughts.

He had received your last letter on Monday, confirming your flight for the Thanksgiving weekend. You’d be here with him and his friends for three days.

It wasn’t his idea, nor yours. Sort of like… a mutual epistolary understanding that enough is enough and one of them should just… go.

You had volunteered for that. You had always wanted to see Harvard’s gorgeous campus, according to your last letter.

Aaron runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He has one day off to catch up on the work assigned, get ahead of the reading, and just relax before his friends drag him off to hang out until the sun rises for an entire weekend. He’s sure you’ll love it. You’ve always loved staying out at night where it’s light, watching the sunrise and going to sleep to it.

Despite everything, you enjoy the solitude the night, the contemplative silence of it. Just like him.

He can’t wait to see you again.

Sitting in the RA office and watching time tick by, he can’t help but feel like something is chaining him down. A heavy weight sits between his shoulders and he stares at the clock for what feels like a short eternity, unable to focus.

The day is slow in its passing, and a growing, unwanted hollowness begins to fill his soul as he half-heartedly finishes his criminal causation theory assignment, reviews for the quiz on Tuesday, and reads the next chapter on the foundations of the criminal justice system. He doesn’t really pay attention to any of it, though, and he feels like his head is stuffed with cotton as he gets up for the first time in hours and stretches, glancing at the time.

Your plane is supposed to land at 6:30.

It’s 6:00 now, and he was supposed to eat dinner before going to pick you up.

Shit. He’ll just have to eat at the bar.

Gathering his books and papers into his bag, he slings it onto his shoulder, trying to ignore the cold sweat clamming his hands up just as the phone in the RA office rings. It’s so jarring her starts, turning to the device and his heart pounds in his throat as he goes to grab it. Duty to the job means he has to, even if he might be late. You’ll understand, right?

“Hello, Resident Assistant speaking,” he says with a sigh.

“Hey.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Student Services was kind enough to reroute me.” A car beeps behind you and he frowns, holding the phone closer to his ear as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder to sit more firmly. “I’m calling from an airport payphone, but bad news. My flight got delayed, so I can’t come to the bar tonight. I’ll be arriving, like, dead in the morning. Two or three AM.”

“Damn. The boys will miss meeting you,” he says, unable to help the unhappy but forced smile. It comes across as a grimace but he hopes you appreciate the effort. It’s what you’d say if you were here.

“The boys?” you echo, amused. “Well then, tell the boys that they’ll have to wait until morning.” More seriously: “I’m really sorry, Aaron. I was so excited to see you tonight.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s—it’s okay. Don’t worry about it, Sunflower.”

“Sunflower?” you repeat and Aaron feels his throat shrink to the diameter of a needle. “You don’t call me that unless you’re genuinely sorry about something bad. Like, death-bad.” Then, a bright laugh that shouldn’t bat away the dreary disposition overcoming him, but it does. “Aaron, it’s not that important—just one night. Look, let’s meet up at 10AM in the hotel lobby tomorrow morning and make up for it, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. See you in a bit, Hopscotch.”

“Bye.”

He heads to his room, your voice echoing in his head. Freshening up with a splash of cold water and a rake of a comb through his hair, he explains the situation to Earl as they head down to the bar near campus where some of the other guys are already drinking.

“That’s too bad. Would’ve been nice to meet her.”

“Tomorrow, Earl. She isn’t cancelling.”

“I know, but y’know, it would’ve been fun to beat her in darts.”

“You’re awful at darts.”

“Bigger opponent pool. C’mon, cheer up, Hotch. It’s just a delayed flight, you said so yourself.” More grumpy silence. “Hey, I know what’ll cheer you up. First shots are on me.”

His cheeks flushed with heat, he grabs at the shot blindly and throws it back, laughing as his friends get on the dance floor. The bar seems to haze before him. The darkness is pierced by blue lights and red as the shadowed patrons swing to and fro on the floor. Everything is gauzy, edges blurred as the lights flicker and filter through the crowd. Aaron slouches against the booth, smirking at the way Earl’s trying to lay the moves on a girl who merely walks away and he flashes a sympathetic thumbs up before his friend simply rejoins the rest of the guys on the floor.

Everyone had chipped in to buy him round after round in order to get him to loosen up, and it’s hard to admit, but it’s worked. Everything is ethereal, and he feels like he’s floating through life.

He wants to dance, but he doesn’t think he can stand on his own two feet, to be honest. His entire world is tipped and the silly smile on his face isn’t going to disappear any time soon as a figure makes her way through the crowd, making her way towards him. It catches his eye, the way she moves around people, keeps her head held up.

He can’t quite see her face but even then, he knows that he knows her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks before he can stop himself, like he isn’t in control of his mouth. He gapes as the woman sits down beside him. Her skin smells like sweet fruit and the sting of tequila as she slings an arm around his neck, and his entire stomach flips as she leans over, her arm bent and her fingers playing with the hair by his ear. “You’re not… you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Why not?” she asks, twirling hair around her finger as she gently trails her other hand down his chest. “You don’t want me here?”

“No, no, I’ve missed you, I just—” Her palm runs lower, over his stomach and further. His head whips towards her and he catches the sweet, dulcet notes of warm vanilla spice shampoo. It calms him, sweet in his sinuses and he watches her indistinguishable face. Despite not seeing quite clearly, he knows she’s beautiful with an unintentionally seductive smile, a tentative charm to her movements.

The hand stops and a heat burns through his chest, following the trail she’d carved into him and he feels blood drain from his head so viciously it leaves him lightheaded.

“Just what?” she asks quietly, yet still so loudly over the pub’s pounding music and he groans softly, head tilting back.

“Shit. I just didn’t expect you here. I should introduce you to my friends—” He wants to get up but finds his entire body moving through molasses. He can barely lift a finger and, through the blurred streams of the conscious and the subconscious, he knows he doesn’t really want to.

He doesn’t want to share.

“Oh, then let’s go.” Her hand lifts but, like a flash of lightning, his fingers wrap around her wrist and keep her firmly against him. “Aaron.” Chastising this time, like he’s a housecat, and she, the exasperated owner. Fingers thread through his hair as he grins at the woman.

“I’m not keen on sharing you right now,” he admits, eyes falling to lips that press into a wondrous smile. “I don’t feel keen on sharing you ever.”

“Is that a fact?” she asks, and he nods, his nose brushing against hers as she leans down to kiss him. Her mouth is warm ecstasy, like cider on a cold winter day that burns through his blood, and his heart is beating everywhere at once—in his throat, in his fingers, between his legs. Fingers card through his hair as his hand finds the curve of a hip and he pulls.

Immediately, as if sensing his intentions before he even thinks it, the woman swings a leg over his hip and straddles him, the dress riding up luxurious thighs and he chuckles to himself as her hands find his neck, thumbs brushing over the sharp cut of his jaw. Her mouth opens against his, breathing into the next ferocious kiss again as his hands trace the shape of her, the swell of her legs, the cool heat of her skin against his burning hands.

“What do you want from me, Aaron?” she whispers, leaning in close enough that he can feel her lips against the shell of his ear, and then down his neck. He gasps, breath catching in his throat as her hands gently squeeze his throat as if reminding him of her previous question but he can’t quite speak. She kisses down past his collarbones, pulls down the neck of his shirt teasingly and peppers kisses to the skin that she can reach. Her fingers are pressing into his pulsepoint, the other hand travelling down his waist again and he knows she can feel it, the hard bulge pressing up between her legs.

She trails back up again, her kisses teasing the corner of his mouth and he turns, trying to catch the elusive minx only to delight in her light laughter when she pulls back.

“Tease,” he mumbles, eyes shut tight and only then do her lips find his again just as fingers pull at his belt buckle and he sucks in a breath as she glances down with him, curiously running her knuckles gently along the curve of it. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows down his gasp and he hears her chuckle. As if he’s a mere bystander to his own actions, Aaron watches his hands trail up the sides of her and slowly find purchase on her shoulders.

With the gentlest of pressure, he pushes down, and it’s like she melts between his hands, legs sliding, entire body sinking as his legs open wider to welcome her. Her breath is warm as she unzips his jeans, fingers prying his boxers down until they brush against it, pulsing and hard against his abdomen.

“Jesus,” she whispers but he hears it so clearly, her breath teasing the tip as fingers wrap around his dick. A strong, warm tongue follows, from the bottom to the tip, tracing the vein and every single ounce of oxygen leaves his body when she goes down on him, endlessly warm and wet. Hands wrap around what isn’t in her mouth and his fingers find her scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair as his head hits the wall behind him.

Swallowing tightly, a lopsided smirk crosses his face and he lets out a soft sigh when she tilts her head, takes him in until she’s gagging on it. His hips twitch but a hand against his pelvis stalls him, a firm pressure that makes him open his eyes and look down to see her already staring back at him. Eyes dark, lips shining in what light there is, he nearly loses it right there as she swallows him down, making his entire body clench. His jaw tight, he lets out a hissed moan and the hand not on her head grabs his thigh, trying to stave off the desire to fuck her mouth.

The bass beat of the pub beats in his head as the hand on his hip finds the hand on his thigh, traces the tense veins along the back as her head slowly draws up, teeth grazing, tongue flat against his cock.

And then, down again, heavy breaths against his navel through the nose, and he’s in fucking bliss as the woman just goes on and on, deeper and deeper and when she gags, it almost makes him lose his already ill-tempered control because her fingers dig into the back of his hand, the other one squeezes the base of his cock, and stars explode behind his eyes as he chuckles breathlessly, blindly to the ceiling.

A ringing splinters through his skull as he groans, the need to thrust growing too powerful but she squeezes his hand, telling him to stay still without ever lifting her mouth off his cock. He can hear it, the sounds of her wet mouth rising and falling, sucking and licking and fuck, if he’s not going to come down her throat—

Her tongue drags along the underside of his cock as she pulls away, hollowing out her cheeks and dragging her fingers up his painfully hard erection, through the wet slick her mouth left behind and she pulls herself up, back bending underneath his hand, chest pressed flush against his and he can taste her again; the sweetness of vanilla, the sweat the pub brings all its occupants, the desire that fizzles so wantonly against his tongue.

“Am I still teasing?” she asks, lips brushing against his chin before he’s lifting his head again. Her hands run over his chest, find the planes of his shoulders, the cord of his neck, and he chuckles, squeezing his waist as she climbs into his lap again, sits squarely so that his erection rubs against her stomach. He bites back a groan and her smirk tells him all he needs to know.

“Seeing as you didn’t let me finish…” he trails off, just as humorous and she laughs, mouth ghosting his, and he almost reaches for it before she’s drawing back, always just out of reach. Never his. Never. “C’mere.”

“You’re no fun,” she mutters, but her smile betrays her faux displeasure and as his hands down and under her dress, skirting along the waistband of lacey panties, he chuckles huskily. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. And do you know how much I want you? How much… how much I need you?” His fingers hook on the waistband and begin to tug just as she cups his face and leans down. His eyes flutter shut and everything seems to melt away as her breath tickles his nose and he grins, pulling down, down, down…

“You could show me, if you’d like…”

Her laughter is the only thing he can hear. Well, that and…

And that ringing—

Holy shit, what is that ringing?

Opening his eyes, there is nothing. Reaching blindly in the darkness, his hand collides with his alarm clock and he slaps the button, turning it off as he groans, turning the digital numbers towards him.

5:45AM

When did he get back? God, his head is pounding, and… he has to get up. Shit. His thoughts are a disorganized mess as he gets up, throwing off the blankets and it’s only then he’s painfully aware that he got… more than excited about his dream.

His dream that’s fading from his memory the longer he’s awake that he can barely remember any of it. Iit was at the bar last night? When did he even get back to the dorm?

Swinging his legs off the bed, he flicks the light on the nightstand, spotting a glass of water with a dissolving alka selzter tablet and a note. Grabbing it, he squints against the light as he reads the messy, uneven scrawl.

Stayed by your side all night because you sulked and got hammered. Like blackout drunk. Even outdrank me, buddy, which is fuckin impressive.

Wake me up for breakfast. I’m drunk.

Goodnight. And you’re welcome.

-E

Shaking his head, he downs the water despite how much his head throbs at the movement before he gets up and awkwardly palms the front of his boxers, trying to ignore how much it physically hurts that he’s not doing anything about it.

He needs to shower and take care of this.

Grabbing new clothes, Aaron glances at his snoring roommate and curses his routine of waking up so damn early. He collects his toiletries, and as he heads for the shower, he tries to think back on his dream, but it’s dissipating quicker by the second.

It was definitely at the bar, he thinks. Something about… he doesn’t know but something smelled and tasted sweet. What was I even doing at the bar?

Well, by the erection against his thigh, it’s safe to assume what he was dreaming about.

The question is more about the who.

Your eyes fly open and you lurch up on your bed.

Your whole body is burning as the remaining wisps of your dream begin to fade and you glance around yourself, disoriented. You could’ve sworn you weren’t in your bedroom for a second, but as you glance around, you know you are. You’re no longer in that dark place with blue lights that swung, figures blurry. That someone who was crouched in front of you, you think, is gone and his hands which had pulled your legs apart with gentle hesitation hadn’t left scorch marks, but they might as well have.

The sensation still lingers.

God, it feels like you haven’t slept a wink and as you slowly wake, your body rebooting, you become more filled with dread. Sighing heavily, you rub at your eyes and touch your cheeks, trying to remember what you did before sleeping.

I showered, went straight to bed. Didn’t go out… then… What’s happening? What was I even dreaming about?

It’s only then you become acutely aware of between your legs. The soaked, uncomfortable sensation, the strange tightness of your thighs.

Holy fuck. And about who?

Running a hand over the cold sheets, you shiver and get up, grabbing the unopened complimentary mini bottle of water you’d gotten from the plane from your bag.

As soon as you take one sip, you’re chugging it down, trying to alleviate the sweat gathering at the nape of your neck, slipping down your back. You feel oily and strangely empty, your heart racing as you toss the empty plastic into the trash can and head back towards the bed, reaching blindly for the light switch. Turning it on, you glance at the clock. 5:47 in the morning.

Charming.

In less than five hours, you’ll have to be heading down to the lobby and facing your best friend.

Why does that thought suddenly fill you with a terrible concoction of nerves, nausea, and cold shivers?

Trying to grasp the last remnants of your dream, you head for the bathroom to splash some water on your face and change your underwear, too bone-dead tired to even think about showering. Then, you head back to bed to try to get some sleep, but the heat seems to be more than skin-deep because despite the amount of splashing and patting of freezing water against an exhausted face, a terrible, sinking feeling twists your gut, making your knees weak.

What on Earth were you even dreaming about? You can’t even remember now except you feel utterly exhausted in the wake of it and the only hint of the content is the slick between your thighs.

Your sleep-addled brain eventually convinces any part of you still awake to just try to sleep, and as you slip into the covers, the faint but entirely unique scent of cologne, beer and smoke clings to your senses.

[THE PRESENT]

Really, it should be okay.

The hotel isn’t too sketchy, the lobby smells vaguely of lavender and cinnamon from one of those bath shop candles, and he shouldn’t be worried.

Why is he worried? His guts have been in knots since he’s woken up, his head feels like it's been dunked in water for hours and everything is swimming as he sits in the lobby, his palms sweating. Maybe it’s the hangover, but it feels heavier than that. Yes, his head is hammering, but there’s a strange upset in his gut, too.

Must’ve been something about that dream he can’t quite place. Just thinking about it makes his head beat even harder.

But, you had said ten o’clock.

Ten o’clock.

He looks at his wrist watch.

9:57

Time seems to be passing so slowly that he’s not sure the seconds even tick by as his knee begins to jiggle, his hands run flat against his jeans. When he can’t take the nervous ticking inside his chest, he gets up to pace, eyes darting to the staircase where you’d be coming down from.

Is he nervous about seeing you or excited? Is it both? Neither? Something else?

Aaron thinks he’s going to throw up. What if it’s awkward? After all, years between the last visit and now—in the summer, somehow they always just miss each other or there’s money problems or some other plan—things are bound to change.

It’s nerves. It has to be.

The door opens and he turns around to see you there, walking over to him with a dark jacket over a green shirt. It clashes wonderfully and you’re smiling like the sun lives in your heart and you’re smiling at him.

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you tease, gesturing to his leather jacket.

“George?” he repeats easily, too easily. An overwhelming flood in his chest and you arch an eyebrow, grinning still, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “And here I thought I was John.” Your smile only grows and he feels like he can’t breathe and that’s when he knows he’s fucked.

As you adjust your own jacket, compliment him on his, and ask where he wants to go for breakfast, Aaron can’t help the terrible ache in his chest.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Shit.

He opens the door and you walk by, the smell of shampoo invading his entire space and he reels back, blinking. His breath hitches, his entire body stiffens.

Warm vanilla spice.

Oh, shit.

a/n: so, uh, sex dreams for the win? to be decided ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) dont forget to reblog if u liked loves ❤️

TAGS: @withyoutilltheendofthismess @thebriarpatch @joemazzello-imagines @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @sera-wonderland @pity-mee @duvetsandpillows @roses-and-grasses @stainedpomegranatelips @angelsbabey @sansonnette @xxlovingfandomsxx @rachelxwayne @kingandrear @simsvetements @emery--nicole--morrison @genevievedarcygranger @mooneylupinblack @sercyan @forgottenword

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windsweptlassie · 4 years ago

Text

On Love

So as you know I made this uquiz with an open-ended question at the end, tell me something about love, and I’ve gotten the most wonderful responses! They range from descriptions of wonderful partners:

Lauren: oh, how long I went without being myself until I met him and he showed me who I truly was and that my worth was higher than I ever thought was possible

Levi: I love who we are with each other. I love who I am with you. In your company I am me. In your company I am the best of me. The best with the best, I've told you. I wouldn't give you up for anything

Daniel: i fell in love for the first time when i was 17... at the time, i didn’t realize it was the first time, i thought i’d been in love before, a couple times actually, but falling in love at 17 was such a fulfilling experience, it felt so forceful yet so right. it’s when i first truly understood what love was. never before had i felt so understood and so cared for as i did when i was in love with her, and she was in love with me. it’s been nearly 4 years since then, and nearly 3 years since we broke up and stopped talking, and still, i think about her almost every day. i’ve never known anyone like her; to me, she was love itself.

El: oh i’m in love with everyone that i know op!!! especially my girlfriend, of course ,but also my friends and my family and random people on the street and uh

Grace: i’ve met my soulmate and we plan on getting an apartment and marrying after college

A: I’m going to ask the woman I love to marry me and I just wanted to tell someone because I am so excited

Jeremy: you ever have that feeling where basically after years of denying that someone couldnt understand you in a way or love you and then the next thing you know you happen to find that person and its just great from then on out? idk how to explain it anyways I love my boyfriend so much he means the world to me

Lucy: i am so happy i have found the one i love

to descriptions of best friends and favorite people:

Nightbyrd: Love is a hug from an alzheimer's patient who hasn't the foggiest idea who you are, but they know you're worth hugging.

H: I have been doing so much yoga with my roommate recently!! It's a great way to center my mind for an hour

Riv: [platonic] i’ve literally never met anyone who understands me in the way that my best friends do. they’re literally the best people in the whole world and i genuinely don’t know what i’d do without them. i love them with my whole heart

Cillian: when i talk about how much i love my best friend i get so teary eyed because i cant believe that such a genuinely wonderful person wants to speak to me every day - i care for her more than anyone else on this planet

O: my two besties are my sources of happiness and they’re so pretty i would die for them :D

to beautiful quotes:

Kai: "you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on." DARCYYYY PLS MY HEART CANT HANDLW THIS PAIN

Dorian: When the plane went down in San Francisco, I thought of my friend M. He’s obsessed with plane crashes. He memorizes the wrecked metal details, ____the clear cool skies cut by black scars of smoke. Once, while driving, he told me about all the crashes: The one in blue Kentucky, in yellow Iowa. How people go on, and how people don’t. It was almost a year before I learned that his brother was a pilot. I can’t help it, I love the way men love. (accident report in the tall, tall weeds- ada limon, bright dead things)

Adam: every day I think about lemony snicket I will love you if I never see you again I will love you if I see you every Tuesday or however it goes. and it KILLS ME. love only fits in small things

Hero: “Your heart beats in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God’s… The divine magnet is in you, and my magnet responds.” - Herman Melville to Nathaniel Hawthorne

Mary: "Love is watching someone die."

Alex: "meet me at blue diner, i'll take coffee and talk about nothing baby"

Sparrow: "How dare you love me like you've never known fear?" and "For you, the world," and "Darling, I was born to press my head between your shoulder blades," and "Will you start where I end?"

V: " You want to die for love. You always have. " and "someone will remember us, I say, even in another time" are living rent free in my mind 24/7 and I'm shaking. When will I finally be not the only one falling ?

Sahar K: To love another person is to see the face of god!!!

Miriam: all the love in the world is useless when there is total lack of understanding- kafka

Juls: Don’t you think they are maybe the same? Love and attention

to practices of love:

Leo; i love feeling happy bc somebody that i love is happy and comfortable....like its not about me i just love seeing you smile. we are safe together...idk i just feel it bro

A: I like to think love is leaning on each other during the light or dark days. Its a personal mission of mine to find out who I am and what I want. Yet I never seem to find my place in this world and as I look and look , I realise the only place I can be myself even with or without the efforts to find myself was done on that day or not, I am always tired so shall I lean on you? And you can lean on me as well. I shall be your fig tree and you shall be my favourite willow tree.

L: It's too late at night to be soul searching, but it's a journey we all seem to find ourselves on these days.

Anthi: feeling safe and at home, I guess (also I love frogs)

Julia: ive found that loving someone is like becoming your own thesaurus. you have to find or come up with infinite ways to say, you’re beautiful, or, i love you. it’s a gift

Galexies: ive been writing letters to the person i'd love one day since i was 14. i write them in a little journal usually, but i've been digitizing them into emails and sending them to one account that i'll give to them someday. i'd like to put pictures, but i haven't been outside much recently so theres that. i wonder if they'd like the sunsets i have on file, or if they'd find my cat cute in a bowtie.

Caeles: Love is sharing fruit slices and making someone tea at random

Dundy: Love is sending your friends cursed shit and watching them react in horror

to crushes and potential loves:

Jess: I have a crush on my roommate. It sucks, but it's also wonderful. I get to be around him all the time when we're at school. we share a life together; it's rather domestic. I think a lot about marrying him and being domestic with him forever. It won't happen, and I'll move on eventually, but I'll be happy with him for as long as I can. I hope you feel loved tonight, because you are. Sleep well.

Aki: I so desperately want to believe that love is fake because I’ve seen what happens when loved ones leave but whenever I start to convince myself that I’ll never love anyone my best friend messages me telling me she loves me. She’s the only person I’ve ever pictured having a future with but love scares me and I don’t really know what to do but I think as long as she’s with me in some way, I’ll be fine

Hi: her her i keep thinking abt her.... gonna see her in 8 days or so i really miss her. its ok if shes never gonna love me like i want her to really being her friend spending time with her makes me the happiest girl on earth.... outsold antidepressants

Kit: this guy i have a crush on has hypnotically dark brown eyes and he's wonderful and shows me kindness like no one else

Juno: my crush has all the stars in his eyes

Mads: When I have the courage to meet my eyes with hers, the world stands still

Be Nice To Me: Look bro I never do these but I am yearning to hold them SO badly right now and someone needs to know it besides me

to the trials of love:

Pppppp: I just wanna love like from the movies and what I read about.. but everyone tells me that that’s fictional and rare to find in the real world and it sucks bc it seems like all the guys I’ve met are terrible and the norms of society are all about not respecting women and uthdjdjdk

Manny: I have been in love before and I will be again but I’m not now and I miss it

Ok: I don't think I've ever been in love, though I love many people. I am waiting for the day I look at someone and can say, YES. IT'S YOU.

Chloe: idk rn i'm like okay with my love and i'm happy so we'll see i'm just a little cautious rn bc my last partner told me i didn't know how to love

L: love is so fucking complicated I don't even know where to start

Corrin: He’s not real and it worried me that I will never allow myself to live or be loved because I will always be waiting for him

Sean: Good luck it dont exist

Serena: i want 2 b in love :(( </3

13: I don’t know anymore

M: I just really don’t like dealing with it lol

to beloved characters:

Janaya: I’m madly in love with my comfort and kin character and I hope maybe in the afterlife I can relive a life with him in some sort of dimension

Jhgjdf: when i was a kid i had a crush on ash ketchum from pokemon and id always daydream about being a female pkmn trainer and meeting him and we fall in love

to advice and prose:

Mikolai: Love is earth, gentle and soft at first flight but upon being broken, drowns you in the dry choking wastes of its consequences...

Thex: Your hands will not go cold without someone to hold them. I am here. I will be here.

Kat: it is the nearest proof to god that i find myself surrounded by people who love in a way that complements so wonderfully the way i love

H: believe in love out of spite believe in love to prove everyone wrong believe in love because you were told not to and we will not do what we’re told anymore believe in love because it’s the strongest act of teenage rebellion we have left believe in love because it’s easier not to and when is easy worth doing? believe in love because everything says otherwise but you are untouchable, you are your own, you are not made by their design believe in love because, perhaps, you are love

Ali: I used to want a kind of love that feels like coming home and now I want nothing more than to be away from home on many different adventures

Em: you dont need to love yourself to accept it from others

to the small, the simple, and the sweet:

Ireal: Poems

O: Flowers

Fay: ah im sorry that i’m feeling unmotivated but you are very kind.

Ad: we love LOVE

A: <3

Isak: small things

H: intense

Hey: Listening to a clock ticking away

S: her

E: <3

Hania: Amorous, I adore that word ^^

Catboy: wholesome

J: i love love so much it hurts

Emmy: hi i love the song darkest of discos!! try and give it a listen!! <3

Nora: Love is painful, but most of the time love is great

Ariel: i like the comfort it can bring

M: i love love

to food!

Cool Whip: Matzoh ball soup!!

Woop: I love sausages.... I hope that's ok with you?

and animals too <3

Nee: hmm i have pet geckos and i love them very much!

96: raccoons ????

DJ Big Penis: cats

:3: I Love frogs,,, love is stored in the frog,,,

I hope that this serves as a sweet compilation of what love means! Love to all of you, it warms my heart so much to hear about your people and your geckos and your characters and soup and all the songs and quotes you love. <3 Strength to all of you who are figuring out to do about your feelings for your crush, and congratulations to you who are proposing or moving in with your person! Your words are a source of light to me, truly.

#on love #love files #uquiz #mine #shut up queenie #long post

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prettyboy-parker · 4 years ago

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favorite fics of 2020 (and a goodbye)

hi all!

first, i wanted to say this is inspired by one of my closest friends my bitch @honeybunstarker . thank u for that

secondly, i wanted to say a final goodbye. i know that i nearly left a few months ago, but i was still on the fence about writing for marvel then. now, ive lost all interest. thank you all for fueling my love for writing, and making these past two (??? i actually don’t know) years full of excitement and encouragement! from the ups (the blocklist, secret santa) to the downs (my favorite blogs and friends deactivating without a word), ive had the greatest time in this fandom.

in case you were worried, i am NOT deactivating. my fics will be available for you to read whenever you want.

but, i will not be writing for marvel anymore, nor will i be posting on this blog.

now that the sad part is done, i didn't want to leave you guys without anything to entertain yourselves with. so, here are my favorite fics, including some non-marvel, from this year!

(all descriptions are from the work itself)

my top fic from this year, which is also one of my favorite fics of all time, is a dog named sunshine.

“Bucky Barnes has issues. Mental health issues, and a whole lot of them, to be precise. Bucky is fucked up, and he knows that. His apartment looks like a dumping ground on most days, he can’t sleep through the night, sometimes he doesn’t shower for six days and doesn’t leave the house except to see his therapist once a week. Mostly, Bucky has no idea how the whole “talking about your problems” thing is supposed to help him, but sometimes his therapist has some really great ideas. Like getting a dog. Which is how Bucky meets Steve. Steve has blond hair and shoulders as broad as Bucky’s future if he wouldn’t suffer from depression and multiple mental disorders, and a waist as small as Bucky’s self-esteem. Steve also has a yellowish dog with floppy ears called Sunshine. And sunshine makes its way into Bucky’s life with a bounce in its step.”

a modern stucky fic which portrays depression in the best way i have seen in a fic so far. unfortunately, it has been orphaned before being finished :(

starker:

hey baby, slip between my beta-pleats and get to know my alpha-helix? By @starkerforlife6969 and @darker-soft-starker

“Even though Tony can't tell the difference between Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo, Peter really has no other choice.

His heat is around the corner, so even though he loathes the party-going, booze drinking, smug playboy know-it-all that is Tony Stark-

He'll just have to do.”

if you asked me what my favorite starker fic of all time is, i’d tell you it’s this one

raising hybrid puppies by jaypendragon

“A non-powered Tony/Peter coffee shop AU with billionaire Tony and working-class, teenage Peter. Also, Toomes has a bakery and somehow Last Week Tonight is a genuine plot point.”

underage, slowburn, happy ending

even though it’s one of the most notorious fics for the ship, i never read it until the summer.

waiting for marriage by tuesday

“In which Tony gets married and kidnapped in that order.

—

Tony Stark went to Vegas to cause a scandal.”

just super fun!

push you out (pull you back in) by @lovelystarker

“So basically, Peter's kind of fucked. And not in the way that he wants to be-preferably by his mother's hot new boyfriend who has beautiful brown eyes and a disposition that's more than put-together. It wouldn't be so hard to ignore the crush, really it wouldn't, but Mr. Stark has practically moved in, so Peter can't avoid him if he wants to, and unlike his mom's past boyfriends, this one actually likes to spend time with him. So yeah, Peter's kind of fucked.”

just,,, wow. important to note that it is unfinished.

stucky:

you go to my head by alby_mangroves and brideofquiet

“Why would you do that for a man you don’t know?” Bucky asks.

Steve raises one slow eyebrow at him, then the other, till his expression turns from skepticism to disbelief. His forefinger and thumb reach into his shirt’s front pocket and draw out a wrinkled dollar bill.

Steve looks him in the eye when he says, very patiently, “For money, Bucky.”

40′s stucky is my favorite stucky

that boy is a problem by 2best friends

“In which a twinky little goth punk named Bucky puts a leash around Steve's dick and he's really into it.

(The leash is a metaphor. For now.)”

just porn

all the angels and the saints by speranza

“In which Steve Rogers loses God and finds God and loses God, and also: Bucky.”

if it makes you cry, it’s probably good!

sugar sweet by colorcoated

“College Student Bucky finds himself immediately attracted to Steve. He knows that Steve's a bit older than him, and that Steve himself is put off by the age difference. . . But that doesn't stop Bucky from wanting to climb him like a tree.”

the only slowburn i have tolerated

my bucky by cleo4u2 and xantissa

“Bucky finds a feral Alpha in the woods. Rather, the Alpha finds him. Bucky is sure it’s the end of his life as an independant Omega. It turns out to be the beginning of the strangest romance Bucky’s ever known.”

stony:

(i want you to see) the darkest side of me by ann2who

“In Monte Carlo, Steve meets the wealthy widower Anthony Stark. It’s love at first sight—at least for Steve—and he can’t believe his luck when Tony asks him to live at Stark Mansion, his large estate in Malibu. Never in his life had Steve thought something like this was possible… never had he been this happy. However, soon Steve realizes that Tony is still deeply troubled by the death of his first wife and haunted by the many ghosts she left behind. The longer Steve lives in her shadow, the more he understands that… He can never be what Tony’s wife had once been for him. And Tony might never truly love him.”

total mindfuck.

ironstrange:

let it be by lucifersfavoritechild

“While dealing with his son's car accident and a rapidly-dissolving marriage, Tony is drawn to Peter's surgeon, Dr. Stephen Strange.”

where severus snape is hot, not a stalker, and somehow gets the girl by utopiste

“Or: Peter Parker is sick and wants to cut his Neuroscience class. Tony just wants to help (and maybe date his son's hot teacher). Stephen Strange just wants to give his lecture in peace.”

miscellaneous:

geraskier: who needs plans anyways by NTK

“All witchers are alphas or betas by nature, since no omega has ever survived the Trial of the Grasses. Gerald has never had any problems with satisfying his needs on the occasional rut, for the whores from Poviss to Nilfgard were eager to be of service to a sturdy hunk like him. On the other hand, a certain omega/ bard/ occasional witcher tagalong has always made certain to acquire enough suppressants from local healers before setting out on a new adventure. That is, until the travels with his favourite White Wolf led the unlike pair into uncharted territory for longer than expected… life ensues”

philtriss: bound by sapphiresmoke

“Leashing involves a pupil being bound to their master in body, mind, and magic,” Philippa explained, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. “It is not something to undertake lightly, but if you accept, I will be able to share my magic with you, and instruct you in ways that would be otherwise be impossible if I were to only rely on verbal communication. It is intimate, it is at times invasive, but if you consent to this, Triss, it will make you vastlymore powerful, and from the look in your eyes, that seems to be exactly what you are looking for.”

vandermatthews: one more night like this would put me six feet under by jukeboxgraduate

“To be alongside the same person week after week, to share honesty and trust with someone day after day, is a rare treasure in a life that hinges on dishonesty. Hosea holds it close to his heart.”

din/cobb: every wave is a tidal if you hang around by wolfhalls

“Din comes to Mos Pelgo, and finds a lot more than he was looking for.”

and finally, rough day by @no-droids, because we all need to be a little indulgent sometimes.

#starker #stony #ironstrange #stucky #fic recs #geraskier #philtriss

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wistfulcynic · 4 years ago

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The Meet-Cute (2 of 2)

In which Ruby decides that what Emma’s love life needs is a good old-fashioned meet-cute, and sets about arranging one for her. Or two, or three, or six... whatever, she’ll set up however many it takes for her friend to meet The One. But it may turn out that Emma doesn’t need any help finding The One after all...

First part on Tumblr and AO3

a/n: this chapter contains sweetness, quite a lot of silliness, and a big ol’ hot kiss.

Thanks to @optomisticgirl for the idea and @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, and @katie-dub for support and general delightfulness.

PART TWO:

The next day was Wednesday and Emma spent the morning on patrol, driving around Storybrooke and trying not to think about how far away Friday was. She was just about to take a break and go to Granny’s for some coffee when her phone rang. The name on the screen was just about the last one she would ever have expected, and she frowned hard at it for the space of a good four rings before answering.

“Graham?”

“Hey, Emma.” His voice was just as she remembered it, gruff and accented. And faintly apologetic, which was new. “Um. Long time.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. How’s life in the woods?”

“Ah, yeah, it’s good. And, um, about that. It’s actually why I’m calling. Because I can’t come in to town, I mean.”

“Well I didn’t think it was because you wanted to catch up on old times,” said Emma drily. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s my truck.” Graham paused and the silence stretched.

“Your truck?” Emma prompted, her patience wearing thin. She was not in the mood for Graham’s strong-and-silent schtick today.

“My truck.” He sighed. “It—well, it seems to be out of gas.”

Emma rubbed her temples. “And how is your lack of forward planning the responsibility of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department?” she asked, in a voice just shy of a snap.

“Well that’s the thing, I did forward plan,” said Graham. “I had a full tank last night because I knew that today I needed to drive to Portland. There’s a forestry convention I’m going to—well, it’s not important, but I wanted to get an early start so I made sure everything was ready before I went to bed last night. Then this morning I wake up to find my tank empty and the spare can missing.”

A creeping suspicion was beginning to crawl up Emma’s spine. “So you think, what, someone stole your gas?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but honestly I can’t come up with any other explanation.”

“Graham, do you happen to know Ruby Lucas?”

He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was confused. “Ah, the woman at the diner?”

“That’s her.”

“I chat with her whenever I go there, maybe once or twice a month. She seems nice. Why?”

“No reason.” Emma glowered through her windshield at Granny’s sign as she drove past it. “Listen, I can bring you a can of gas but it’ll take me at least half an hour to get it and get out to you. Does that leave you enough time to get to Portland?”

“Yeah, it should. I’ll have to change my plans a bit, but it’ll be okay. Only, Emma, what about the person who emptied my tank—”

Emma set her jaw as she pulled into the gas station. “I’ll take care of it.”

—

Thursday morning found her in Granny’s early, marching up to the counter with her fists planted on her hips.

“I could arrest you, you know. I probably should.”

“What?” Ruby blinked innocent eyes as she prepared Emma’s coffee, with plenty of milk and extra cinnamon and hazelnut syrups. “What did I do?”

“Emptying a gas tank is stealing, Rubes. You’ve got to stop doing this stuff!”

Ruby handed her the coffee, and a bag containing a fresh bear claw. Emma scowled at it as Ruby asked “Did it get you a date, at least?”

“It did not. At least, not in this decade.”

“Um.” Ruby frowned. “What?”

“I already dated Graham.” Emma decided that while the bear claw was unmistakably a bribe she could always just eat the evidence, and took a big bite.

“You did?” Ruby demanded. “When?”

“I’m surprised you don’t remember,” muttered Emma around her mouthful of pastry and nuts. “It wasn’t long after I moved to Storybrooke. Just before he decided to ‘escape the cage of civilisation’ and moved out to the middle of nowhere.”

“Wait, wait. It’s coming back to me now. Are you saying that Graham is Mountain Lodge Guy?”

“Yep.”

“Fuuuuck Ems, I’m sorry.” To her credit, Ruby did look genuinely apologetic.

“Well you should be,” retorted Emma, hardening her heart. “And you should stop doing this, Ruby! It’s getting ridiculous. I mean, it was always ridiculous but now it’s branching into minor-felony-level ridiculous. Please, I am begging you, stop.”

“Ah,” said Ruby, biting her lip. “Um, can I stop tomorrow?”

Emma’ blood ran cold. “Why?”

“I—may have already put the next plan into motion.”

“What? What plan?” Emma demanded, just as her phone started ringing.

Ruby grimaced. “Let’s just say you’d probably better answer that.”

—

Emma took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before knocking firmly on the door of a large, sprawling house on the edge of town. It swung open immediately to reveal a man wearing a frantic expression, his dark hair standing up on end.

“Oh, thank God!” he cried, falling to his knees. “Thank God.” The dog at the end of the leash Emma had looped around her hand wriggled in delight as he licked the man’s face. The man hugged the dog tightly, laughing as his cheeks was thoroughly washed. “How’d you find him?” he asked.

Emma watched the reunion with a reluctant smile. “I had a tip,” she replied wryly. “Someone spotted him in the street and managed to grab him. They let the sheriff’s department know, and we cross-checked his description with reports of missing dogs.” Or at least that’s what she would have done had the dog actually been missing, and not lured into the backseat of a car by Ruby armed with a juicy steak. The dog had spent the morning in the storage room of the diner, gnawing happily at the bone for an hour before taking a long nap on a cosy blanket. And now he was home again, unharmed and with a belly full of steak. All in all not a bad morning for him, Emma reflected, though she felt sorry for his owner.

The owner who was now rising to his feet and eyeing Emma with the eye of a man who, reassured of his beloved pet’s safety, could turn his attention to other matters.

“I’m August,” he said, offering his hand. “August Booth.”

Emma knew this of course, because Ruby had told her, but she took his hand anyway. “Emma Swan.”

“Emma,” August repeated. “I’ve seen you around, obviously, but—well it’s nice to finally meet you. Can I offer you a drink or anything?”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’m on duty and I really should get back to it.”

“Of course.” He gave her a hopeful smile, as the dog bounced cheerfully at his side. “Another time, maybe?”

“Ah, maybe.” Emma’s own smile was noncommittal. “Have a nice day.”

“You too. Emma.”

Emma got home that evening to find Henry with a huge grin on his face and an A on his solar system project.

“Look, Mom!” he cried, waving the paper at her. “Mr Johnson said it was one of the best projects he’s ever seen!”

“Wow, that’s great, Henry!” Emma took the paper and examined it with a beam of pride. “Well done!”

“I can’t wait to tell Killian.’ Henry was bouncing on his heels. “Can we call him? Maybe he can come over again!”

“Um, it’s a bit late to invite him over now,” Emma hedged. The truth was that she’d been looking for an excuse to text Killian since he’d left her place on Tuesday night, but was also not sure he’d want her bothering him. “But you can tell him tomorrow.”

“Is he coming over tomorrow?”

“Um, yeah. We’re going out.”

“Out?” Henry’s eyes went wide. “Like on a date?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Mom, you don’t need to ask me if you want to date someone. It’s your life.”

Emma shook her head, lips pressing together in a bittersweet smile. Sometimes her little baby boy seemed so grown up. It had been happening more and more often lately and though she loved to see it, it also gave her an aching twinge in her heart.

“But you’re the most important thing in my life,” she said firmly, “and I’m not going to date someone you don’t like.”

“Well, I like Killian. So as far as I’m concerned, date away.”

She laughed, and pulled him into a hug. “So you can wait until tomorrow to tell him about your project?”

Henry heaved a great sigh, though his eyes were laughing. “I suppose.”

—

Henry may have been able to wait, but Emma found she couldn’t. Barely two hours later, after they’d eaten dinner and Henry had settled down to do his homework, Emma found her fingers typing out a text to Killian without her permission, and sending it before her brain had a chance to object.

Emma: Henry got an A on his solar system project.

She held her breath after she clicked send, nerves fluttering in her belly. But it was barely a minute before three dots appeared below her message and then Killian’s reply.

Killian: That’s brilliant! Tell him I said well done.

Emma heaved a breath and felt her lips curve in a silly grin. I think he’d rather tell you himself, she texted back. I was just too excited to wait.

The reply came almost immediately. Your secret is safe with me, love, it said. I’ll pretend it’s the first I’m hearing of the news.

The silly smile was still on Emma’s face as she tried to think of a way to extend the conversation. Before she could come up with anything the three dots appeared again followed shortly by a message.

Killian: How was your day, Swan? Any exciting crime on the mean streets of Storybrooke?

Emma’s cheeks began to hurt as her grin widened further, and she settled in to regale Killian with the story of the dog, minus a few key details of course. When she finished he told her about a frustrating patron he’d had, who was looking for a very particular book but could not remember its title or author, or in fact any details about its plot or characters. All he could recall was that it had red on its cover.

Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, did not much narrow things down, Killian remarked.

The conversation drifted then onto other topics, flowing so easily that before Emma knew it they had been texting for three hours. When she finally got to bed that night—an hour later than usual—she drifted off with a smile still on her face, thinking of him and of their date the next day.

—

Wear something warm, Killian had said, and so late on Friday afternoon Emma changed out of the thin blouse she’d worn all day and into a sweater. A new sweater, one she’d bought on an impromptu trip to the boutique that morning. It would be winter soon, she’d reasoned, and she could always use another warm layer. It was definitely not because the sweater was a pretty shade of rose pink that complimented her complexion and made her feel soft and feminine, or because its slim fit hugged her breasts in a very flattering way.

Not at all.

She finished the look with dark jeans and a brown leather jacket with a sheepskin trim and headed out into the living room, ten minutes early.

Henry was watching TV but when she came into the room he looked up and his eyes widened. “You look awesome, Mom!” he said.

“Thanks, kid.” Emma rubbed her damp palms on her jeans. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so nervous. “Are you sure you’re okay with staying here by yourself?” she asked Henry, who rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “I have your number and Killian’s number and the hospital’s number and Mary Margaret’s number. Mary Margaret is just upstairs if I need her and she’ll come in to check on me at bedtime and make sure I’m not throwing any wild parties.” He gave Emma a sardonic look and she couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Dinner’s in the fridge,” Henry continued, “I’m supposed to do my homework so it’s done for the weekend then I can play video games, and you’ll be home by midnight. Did I forget anything?”

She put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him. “No, I think that covers it.”

He got up from the couch and gave her a hug. “I’ll be okay, Mom,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just for a few hours.”

Emma nodded, squeezing him tightly. “I know.” He was still her baby, though, and it was a mother’s prerogative to worry.

Henry seemed to sense her mood because he gave her a cheeky grin. “Be sure you’re home on time, though, or else I might turn into a pumpkin,” he teased.

She laughed. “I promise.”

Just then the doorbell rang, sending Emma’s heartbeat into overdrive. She took a deep breath and then another as she smoothed her hair and adjusted her clothes. Henry smirked at her and went to open the door. “Hey, Killian!” he greeted.

“Hello, Henry,” Killian replied, and God, Emma thought, his voice was even sexier than she remembered. “How are you?”

“Good,” said Henry brightly. “I got an A on my solar system project!”

“That’s brilliant, lad!” said Killian, catching Emma’s eye and giving her a wink. Probably the least stealthy wink she’d ever seen, more of a full-face twitch.

Fortunately, Henry was too busy grinning with delight to notice. “Thanks for helping me,” he said.

“It was my pleasure.” Killian smiled at Henry but his eyes kept flitting to where Emma was standing behind him, hands clasped and trying not to twist them nervously. “Swan,” he said, transferring his smile to her. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks.” Emma flushed at the compliment and searched for the right words to return it. Killian was dressed in a sweater as well, a thick fisherman’s one in a deep blue shade that brought out his eyes. “You look...” Hot. Gorgeous. Highly fuckab—gah. No. She shook that thought from her head. “…um…”

He shot her a small smirk, one that said he knew what she was thinking, even as his cheeks went pink. “I know,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. Of course he did.

They stood grinning foolishly at each other until Henry gave a loud cough.

“Ah.” Killian scratched behind his ear, the flush in his cheeks deepening. “Are you ready then, love?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Henry, are you—”

“Mom.” Henry gave her a stern look. “I’m fine. Go.”

“All right, all right,” she sighed. “I’m going.”

She allowed Killian to guide her out the door and down the stairs with a hand hovering just over the small of her back. From another man such a gesture would have felt controlling but from him it just seemed sweet—old-fashioned, like the way he spoke and the general air of courteousness he carried.

“Where are we going?” she asked, when they exited her building and turned down the sidewalk.

He smiled, soft and a bit nervous. “You’ll see.”

They chatted lightly as they walked, conversation made easier by all they had shared in the texting marathon of the previous evening, and when they arrived at the docks a good twenty minutes later Emma felt as though no time had passed at all.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, looking around in confusion.

“Come with me.” He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation. Briefly she wondered at how easily she trusted this man she hardly knew, she who almost never trusted anyone, and then he led her up a gangplank and onto a long wooden sailing boat and she forgot everything else in her astonishment.

“This is yours?” she exclaimed.

“Aye,” said Killian with a small shrug. “You can take the lad off the sea but you can’t take the sea out of the lad. Or something.”

Emma laughed. “You bought this after you left the navy?”

“I did,” he replied. “Lived on board for a few months. I was going to stay on her while I was in Storybrooke but Belle said that was ridiculous when there was an empty apartment above the library, so…”

“Yeah. And doesn’t it get cold at night? On the boat I mean.”

“I have blankets. And rum.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed. “But yes, the apartment is much more congenial as a place to sleep, so I’m grateful for it.”

On the boat’s deck a blanket was spread out, with a pile of cushions on one side and a small camp stove on the other. “I thought we could make grilled cheese,” Killian explained. “Henry, ah, told me it was your favourite. And everything tastes better under the stars.”

Emma felt a lump rising in her throat. “There—there aren’t any stars,” she said.

Killian smiled at her. “Not yet.”

She made herself comfortable on the blanket while Killian produced a leather satchel, from which he removed plates and napkins, bread and butter, and a dizzying array of cheeses.

Emma gaped as he lined them up in front of the stove. “I usually just use the kind that comes in pre-wrapped slices,” she said.

“Aye, I have some of that.” he replied, holding up a small, square parcel. “Though I thought, maybe, if you were in the mood for it, that you, ah—might be up for trying something new?”

His expression was so hopeful, so open, and she knew that he wasn’t just talking about the cheese. He meant the way she’d been living, closed-off and untrusting. Alone. He was asking her to let him in, and God, Emma thought, she wanted to.

“I—yeah.” She swallowed hard, but the smile she gave him was genuine. “I’d like that. But, I’m gonna be honest here, I have no idea which one.”

Killian laughed, a deep, rich sound that warmed her inside and out. “Try the gouda,” he advised.

“I don’t even know what that is,” she said, laughing with him.

The warm smile remained on his lips but there was something deeply solemn in his eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

Emma swallowed again. “Yeah,” she replied, and it was true. She really did.

Killian nodded. “Gouda,” he said firmly.

She nodded back. “Okay.”

—

The gouda turned out to be delicious, melting into the kind of stringy, gloopy mess that had Emma’s eyes rolling back in her head with delight. Its flavour was mild, almost nutty, and absolutely delicious—way better, she was sure, than the soft, smelly stuff Killian put on his bread.

“This is amazing,” she said around a mouthful of melted cheese. “That, on the other hand…”

He chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“I’m sure. So... why exactly did you acquire it?”

An odd look crossed Killian’s face. “Sometimes you eat what’s put in front of you, love, and learn to like it later,” he said, in a voice grim with not entirely pleasant memories. “I’ve been in places where to refuse the food would be a grave insult, and a grave insult could result in... well, let’s just call them unpleasant consequences.”

“Wow.”

He gave shrug and an offhand smile. “I mean, not to be dramatic or anything.”

“Oh no, obviously not.” She munched her cheese, trying to think of a lighter topic. “So, um, what made you become a librarian? No offence but you don’t really seem the type.”

“No, probably not.” His smile warmed and softened and Emma felt herself relax. “I wanted a quiet life after the navy and I’ve always loved books, so it seemed like a natural choice.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

“It’s been healing,” he said softly. “In more ways than one.” He was silent for a moment, then turned to her with a quirked eyebrow. “And what about you, Emma, what brought you into law enforcement?” he asked.

“What don’t I seem like the type?”

“On the contrary, it seems a perfect fit for you. I’d just—like to know you better.”

Emma felt a flush rise in her cheeks as her heartbeat quickened. “I was in bail bonds before I came to Storybrooke, but there’s not much need for that here so I sort of fell into sheriffing,” she explained. “I didn’t even intend to move here, I was just passing through. But I had car trouble and got stuck for a while, then the job opened up and I just—stayed.”

“It’s a good place to stay,” Killian remarked.

“Yeah. Way better than where we were living in the city. Henry was really little when we moved and I’m glad he’s growing up in a place like this.”

“Aye, it seems an ideal spot to raise a child.”

There was a wistfulness in his voice that made her heart thump harder. “I just realised I never asked you where you live,” she said.

“Ah.” He scratched behind his ear again. “That is a question. I’ve been in Boston for the past few years but I’m starting to think I need a change. One of the reasons I was glad for this break in Storybrooke.”

Emma focused on keeping her breathing steady. “Where do you think you might go?” she asked.

“I might”—he shot her a mildly wary glance—“stay here.”

“Here? As in Storybrooke here?”

“Aye. There’s a job opening up next year at the high school library that I’ve applied for.”

“I—” She blinked in surprise. “Wow.”

“I hope it doesn’t freak you out, love,” said Killian, stumbling over his words in his haste to speak them. “It wasn’t because of—well, it isn’t as though you aren’t a factor, but mostly I just—”

“You could see a future here.” Emma nodded. “Hey, I get it. Same.”

He visibly relaxed, expelling a long breath before continuing. “I actually put in the application before we met,” he explained. “About fifteen minutes before, in fact. But I’d be lying if I said the prospect of staying here didn’t grow considerably brighter when I realised there was a chance you could be part of that future.” His eyes widened when he realised what he’d said. “I mean, I—”

“Yeah.” Emma reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know what you mean.”

Dusk had fallen by that time, and the stars were beginning to appear in the sky. Killian quickly tidied up the plates and utensils and cheese, then produced from his seemingly bottomless satchel a thermos full of hot chocolate.

“Mmmm,” said Emma, “that smells amazing. Though I usually have mine with some—”

“Cinnamon?” Killian grinned at her as he held up a small jar of the spice. “Aye.”

“Henry told you,” guessed Emma.

“That he did.”

“When did you have time to mine my son for information about me?” she teased him.

“We had some quite interesting conversation in between discussions of moons and planets,” he informed her. “It’s a truly wonderful boy you have, love.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, accepting the steaming cup he offered her. “He really is.”

Cradling their cups of chocolate, they relaxed back against the pillows and gazed up at the darkening sky. As the stars grew brighter Killian showed her some constellations, pointing to them with one hand while the other lay next to hers on the blanket, close enough that she could brush his little finger with her own. She slid her hand closer and let her fingers curl around his, and when he turned his hand to grip hers more firmly she relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder as they sipped their chocolate, looked up at the sky, and talked. They talked about everything, likes and dislikes, pastimes and pet hates. Their childhoods and their dreams for the future, their hopes and their fears. She told him, haltingly, about Neal, and he replied with the story of his affair with a married woman, which had led to him leaving the navy. For two such different people they had a surprising amount in common, she realised. Not so much in the specifics of their lives as in the way they looked at the world, and the experiences that had shaped them. Emma had never in her life felt so understood.

All too soon her phone buzzed in her pocket, reminding her that it was almost midnight and she had promised Henry she’d be back before then.

“I have to go,” she said apologetically. “Henry—”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll walk with you.”

He kept her hand in his as they stood and headed back to her apartment, twining his fingers with hers and brushing his thumb feather-light across her knuckles, setting her heart racing in her chest. His hand was warm and rough and the gentle movements of his thumb sent sparks dancing up her arm and all across her skin.

When they reached her door she turned with a smile, still holding tight to his fingers, loath to break the contact until she absolutely had to.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said. “We should do this again.”

His own smile lit his face, stealing her breath as it always did. “Any time, love,” he murmured. “Perhaps next time we can go for a sail.”

“I’d love that.”

His eyes were soft as they caressed her face and she found herself holding her breath as they swayed in each other’s orbit, easing closer and closer, and then closer still until she felt his fingertips brushing across her cheek, until he cradled her jaw in his palm and their lips met.

The kiss began gently, tentatively—sweet brushes of lips and sighs of breaths that soon grew deeper, hotter, more insistent as the hands they still held gripped tighter, as his fingers left her cheek to tangle in her hair and hers fisted in his sweater to pull him closer. A deep groan rumbled in his chest and Emma felt herself pushed back against the door, his lips insistent now, his tongue hot in her mouth and his body firm against hers. She released his sweater to curl her arm around his neck and hold him tight, pressing herself as close as she could get, rolling her hips over the hardness she could feel low against her belly.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this way, if she ever had. Like she couldn’t get enough of him—his feel and smell and taste—like she wanted to tear off his clothes and have him right here, and damn the consequences. But also she felt safe, secure in the certainty that while he clearly wanted her just as much, once the kiss ended he would say goodnight and go, no pressure, no demands, no resentment. She was certain of this because she trusted him, and the inherent decency she’d sensed in him from the beginning. That kind of trust was freeing, she realised in a bright and stunning flash of understanding. Wonderfully freeing, to let down her defences and put herself into the hands of another person, knowing he wouldn’t take advantage or use that trust to hurt her. Her heart soared as she hugged Killian tighter and kissed him with everything she had, and when the kiss finally ended and he rested his forehead against hers, all she felt was happiness and the stirrings, deep in her heart, of a far stronger emotion.

“That was—” he gasped, blinking dazed eyes and clearly struggling for words.

“Amazing?” she supplied. “Incredible? Hot as fuck?”

He gave a breathless chuckle. “One hell of a goodnight kiss. Plus yeah, all those other things.”

He pressed another kiss on her lips, brief and chaste and gentle, then released her and stepped back. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

Emma tried not to feel bereft at the loss of his warmth and closeness. “Maybe you could come over for dinner,” she said. “I mean, if you’re not busy. It’s just Henry would love to see you, and—”

“I’d love that,” he said, gently interrupting her before her stream of words could get out of control. “Let me know what I can bring. Not brownies this time.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement and she gave a slight wince. “Was it that obvious?”

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, Emma, but you’re a bit of an open book,” he replied. “One I’d very much like to read more of.”

“I—I’d like that too,” she said softly. “And my favourite dessert is lemon bars.”

“Lemon bars I can manage.” He smiled, a bit wistfully but with a new light in his eyes that made her feel like she could fly. “Goodnight, Emma,” he murmured.

“Night, Killian.”

She watched him until he disappeared around the bend in the stairs then slipped into her apartment, shutting the door silently behind her and leaning against for a moment. She closed her eyes and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, then gave herself a little shake and took off her jacket and shoes before padding silently into Henry’s room. He was fast asleep, with the blankets kicked off and bunched around his waist. She pulled them down and tucked them in around him.

“Mom?” he muttered.

“Yeah, kid. I’m home,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Henry blinked heavy eyelids. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Go back to sleep.”

“K,” he replied, and in his next breath she could tell he was asleep again.

—

The next morning Emma dropped Henry off at a friend’s house and went to Granny’s for some coffee. Ruby greeted her with a scowl.

“You here alone?” she demanded.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “I am.”

“August another no-go, then?”

“I have to admit, he was closer than the others,” Emma conceded. “Probably your best attempt yet.”

“But not good enough?”

“Nope. Not good enough.” Perhaps once there may have been a time when someone like August would have caught Emma’s eye. Before Neal. Even, possibly, before she’d met Killian. But now...

Ruby planted a fist on her hip and shook her finger at Emma’s nose. “I’ll get you, Emma Swan,” she declared. “Sooner or later, come hell or high water, I will find the man for you. I swear it.”

“Ruby—”

“Nope.” The shaking finger became a palm in Emma’s face, which she irritatedly pushed aside. “I know you don’t approve of my tactics,” Ruby continued, “but the gauntlet’s been thrown down. My honour is at stake.”

“Your honour? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! I’m going to find you a guy or die trying, and that’s just how things are. Now, here’s your coffee.” She thrust a takeaway cup into Emma’s hand and Emma sighed heavily, watching Ruby through narrowed eyes as she handed another cup to another customer, before finally taking a long sip.

It was a minute before her brain registered the taste of what was in her mouth and then she spit the coffee out with a choking gasp.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Coffee,” said Ruby, who was standing ready with a pile of paper napkins. She fluttered her lashes innocently. “Why, is there something wrong with it?”

Just then Emma heard the sound of vigorous coughing and a very familiar voice spoke up from behind her.

“Excuse me, lass, but I think you may have given me the wrong drink,” it said.

“Oh did I?” cried Ruby. “I am so sorry! What seems to be the problem with it?”

“Well, it’s, er, very sweet.”

Emma sighed and turned around to face Killian. His face brightened in surprise and pleasure but she spoke before he could greet her. “I think you must have mine,” she said. “You take it black?”

“Aye.”

“Here.” She held out the cup she was holding. “This one’s yours.”

“Ah. And I suppose that makes this yours.”

They exchanged cups and smiles, Killian’s bright but confused and Emma’s resigned, especially when their fingers brushed and her heart began to race.

“Wow,” said Ruby loudly, “what a funny mix-up. You two should definitely get each other’s names, in case it happens again.”

Killian opened his mouth to reply but Emma gave a tiny shake of her head and he closed it again, his forehead wrinkling with a baffled frown. Emma turned to Ruby.

“All right,” she hissed. “You win.

“I—what?”

“I like this one. I’ll take him. Congratulations, you did it.”

Ruby looked genuinely nonplussed. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“Well I am a bit of a catch,” piped up Killian, who was watching the exchange with amusement and dawning understanding.

Ruby’s eyes flitted between them, narrowed in suspicion. “Emma Swan,” she growled, “if you’re fucking with me…”

“I’m not! Honestly. Here, look, I’ll prove it.”

She set her cup down on the counter and turned back to Killian, watching his eyes go wide and the smirk fall from his face as she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss. Dimly she heard the sound of Ruby’s gasp and of Killian’s coffee cup hitting the floor, but then his arms were around her and he was sighing against her lips and all Emma could think was that what she’d told Ruby just now was true. She did like this one, and she damned well would take him. For the first time in far too long Emma truly and honestly envisioned what her life could be with a man in it, a partner to share it with, and found that the prospect didn’t scare her. She was excited for it. She wanted it. She wanted Killian.

For all its heat and passion he kiss ended softly, and she smiled up at Killian, still clinging to his jacket, pressing her forehead to his. He grinned back, delighted if slightly dazed. “That was rather forward of you, lass, considering we only just met,” he said, deadpan. “But I can’t say as I object.”

“Mmmm,” she hummed. “What do you say we take our coffee somewhere quiet and get to know each other a bit better?”

“I’d say that’s an excellent plan. But as to the coffee, well—” He indicated the steaming puddle at their feet.

“Here you go,” said Ruby, and they both turned to see her holding out a fresh cup. “On the house.”

Killian shook his head. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Look, anyone who gets a kiss like that off Emma is going to need it,” said Ruby firmly. She raised an eyebrow at each of them in turn. “There’s something going on here that I don’t know about, and rest assured I will find out what it is,” she informed them. “But for now take your coffee and go. You two are distractingly hot together and I have other customers.”

“Well if you’re—”

“I said go!” Ruby glared until Killian took the cup from her. “Enjoy. Oh, and Emma—”

“Yeah?”

“Call me later.” Ruby tapped a sharp-looking fingernail meaningfully on the countertop. “Or else.”

—

@kmomof4, @stahlop, @spartanguard, @mariakov81, @teamhook

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #modern au #romcom #captain swan #matchmaking #hijinks #the meet-cute #profdanglaisstuff

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prettyguardiankore-blog · 3 years ago

Text

Love in Literacy ch5 (Levi x Reader)

(sorry i haven't been updating this much, with how forgetful i am, and the fact that i took a short writing break, it just happened like that :) as always, the fully updated chapters are on my ao3!)

CHAPTER 5

THREE WEEKS AGO

Upon first meeting her, Levi didn’t care for her. The artificial smile she plastered on her face left a sour taste in his mouth. It reminded him of the smiles that the corrupt government officials held themselves to, waltzing into the Underground from their mansions on the surface, preaching of equity for the lower class, all while simultaneously draining their pockets with the outrageously high prices they charged for essential items. It was irksome. For this reason, while she talked, he zoned out, only refocusing when she addressed him directly. Otherwise, he feared he might get snappy, which would only earn him a lecture from Furlan later. Thankfully, the interview went by rather quickly, until eventually the librarian snapped her notebook shut, and shot them another polite smile.

“That's it for the questioning, only one thing before I let you guys go, I’m going to need a print of your signatures.” she said, as she scurried back over to the front of her long….and incredibly messy desk. How disgusting. He could see the thin layer of dust that covered its surface from where he stood. He scrunched his nose slightly in distaste as he fought the urge to shove her out of the way and begin to clean it from the inside out himself. Another reason he was wary of her.

Soon, the librarian had pulled out three blank sheets of paper and pens, and handed them out amongst them. As she did, Levi silently thanked himself for learning, at the very least, how to print his signature… but he knew the same couldn’t be said for others. His eyes flicked over to Isabel, who was staring intently at the paper, with a dumb expression on her face. He grimaced. She really did wear her heart on her sleeve. Is she going to say something?

He watched as Isabel took a shaky breath and took a large step forward toward the librarian, who looked like she was just preparing to occupy herself with another task. She stretched her fingers out to give the librarian a small tap on the shoulder to capture her attention. She turned back with a puzzled look on her face.

“Is something the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I don't really know how to write a signature.” Isabel grumbled.

Levi expected her to give Isabel a pitying smile, and patronizingly apologize to her, for even thinking that Underground thugs would be literate. Since they'd gotten here, the biases that people held for those who resided in the Underground had become evident in the way that they were spoken down to, but she didn’t. She looked at her, processing her words for a moment, before offering her a small smile.

“That's perfectly fine, you can always just do some sort of figure, or if you’d like I can teach you a simple one for your name. ”

Levi could see the tension releasing from Isabel's posture. She was probably expecting the same as he had been.

“...Really?”

“Of course! I’ll show you right now.”

Levi shot Furlan with a questioning look.

Do you think this is going to take a while?

Furlan responded with a small shrug.

I dunno.

Levi sighed, and turned his head back to Isabel's situation.

The librarian's eyes brightened as she grabbed Isabel's hand and tugged her over to the tables, pulling up two chairs for them to sit, with Levi and Furlan still waiting at the desk.

“Some people when signing documents, will only use their first name, their last, or both, some will even abbreviate. A lot of them honestly look like random scribbles...hmm...how about we write yours as ‘Isa Magnol?”

“O-okay!”

“Okay! I’ll write it down right now, and you can practice it every now and then, until you get it.” She said, as she grabbed her pen, and began slowly moving it across the paper. After she was done, she turned back to Isabel.

“Well? What do you think of it?”

”It’s really pretty...but it looks kinda complicated, will I really be able to do this?”

“Of course you can! You seem very capable! Here, give me a moment.”

She moved behind Isabel's seat, leaning over her to grab her hand. Levi noticed Isabel tense at the touch, but relaxed when she remembered she meant her no harm.

“I’m going to show you the motions of it, and then with that, you’ll be able to try it on your own.” she said, quietly.

He felt himself soften at the sight. He knew Isabel wasn't used to this type of gentle treatment, it wasn't something that he or Furlan were capable of providing for her, and it certainly wasn't something she had received before she had tumbled onto their doorstep, all battered up. He sometimes felt guilt for not being able to provide her the life that a young girl should be living, although she didn’t seem to mind. They had a good dynamic among the three of them, but as a result of their harsh environment, it lacked a certain tenderness. The librarian's expression was different now. During the interview, it seemed like she was putting up an artificial persona for them, which had been annoying him more than it probably should’ve, but the way she spoke to Isabel now seemed genuine. He internally reprimanded himself for judging her so harshly initially. She looked down at the paper with intense focus as she wrote the name down. When she was done, she straightened back up, gazing down at the paper with pride.

“How nice!”

Isabel beamed at her compliment.

“Okay Isabel, you keep the first piece of paper so that you have something to reference when you practice, and I’ll take this one as your official signature." she said, pulling up the paper from the table.

Suddenly, as if she had just remembered they existed, her head snapped back to their direction. Levi flinched slightly, and snapped his head to the side. He hadn't realized he'd been staring. He looked up to Furlan. He looked absolutely smitten, gazing at her as she made her way back to them. Good grief. She let out a pensive chuckle.

“I’m sorry, I got a little distracted, didn't I? ...If you guys have completed your signatures I can take them right now.” she said, reaching her hands out towards their papers.

Levi quickly handed his paper over, but as she moved over to Furlan, he quickly shoved his own behind his back. Levi raised an eyebrow at him. What is he doing?

“Excuse me!”

“Yes?”

“Well, as it turns out, I was actually having some trouble with my signature as well. ” He said sheepishly. Levi could see his face going a light shade of red. He gave him a hard stare. He knew Furlan was perfectly literate, so why was he lying to her?

“...Oh? With what part specifically?” she asked, with a bemused look. Furlan's face was beet red now.

“W-well... I was thinking it would be useful to me if you ‘Showed me the motions of it’ like you did with Isabel th-” In an instant the situation became clear. What an idiot. Was this his way of flirting with her? How annoying. He wasn't going to let him waste their time. He raised his arm up, and quickly jabbed him in the gut with his elbow. Furlan doubled over. Levi's eyes widened slightly, it seemed he'd unintentionally put too much force into his hit. Well, whatever. Furlan was a big boy.

“We don’t have any more time to dilly dally around here, we should’ve left ten minutes ago” he said flatly. “Just give her what you have.”

Furlan sighed, and shot him a stink eye. Levi knew he'd be receiving an earful from him later, but he didn't care. He watched as Furlan defeatedly handed the sheet over to her. She gave him a small, awkward smile before walking back to her desk, and filing her papers away. She turned back to them.

“And with that, you guys are all done here.”

“Thank ya! I’ll try to come here when I can to say hi!” Isabel piped, practically vibrating with excitement. She'd really taken a liking to her. The librarian gave her a soft smile.

“I look forward to that very much." she beamed. She paused for a moment, before turning back to where he and Furlan stood.

"The nurses office should be two doors down, on the right side of this hallway, you can’t miss it.” she directed.

He gave her a curt nod, and began heading back through the large wooden doors, and the others followed suit behind him. As soon as he entered the hall, he could feel an angry pair of eyes boring through the back of his head. He turned around to face Furlan.

"If you're going to say something, then just say it."

"She was really cute! Why'd you have to go and do that!? I looked like a fool." He complained, running his hand through his hair. Isabel snickered under her breath, and Furlan shot his head to her direction.

"Don't laugh!"

"It's kinda funny isn't it? You don't have a chance with her anyways." she jeered. Levi sighed.

"You were wasting time. We came here for Erwin and those documents, not to get girlfriends. I was just trying to stay on track." Levi, said unbothered.

"I can multitask." Furlan responded, plainly. Levi rolled his eyes.

"Well whatever, you can always come back. We have shit to do now."

Isabel let out a sharp cackle. Furlan sighed defeatedly, but didn't object. With that, the three of them continued down the hall, to the nurses office.

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THE PRESENT

“Are you going to go now?” Furlan whispered, leaning down slightly. The two of them hovered in front of their barrack door. It was pitch dark...It had to be at least two am. A cool breeze of air ruffled their hair, the only thing to be heard was the soft howling of the wind. Levi gave him a hard stare.

“We only have two more days before our first expedition, and our client's deadline falls shortly after. We can’t afford to waste time, we have to make the most of every second we have from here on out.” Levi responded dully, running his fingers through the bottom of his leather satchel, feeling around for something.

He sighed. Ideally, they would find the documents they needed before the expedition, and be back on their way to meet their client by Tuesday morning. Although Levi was confident in the abilities of Isabel and Furlan, the small knot in his stomach only became more prominent as the day of the expedition drew near. No matter the circumstances, he didn’t like the idea of throwing their lives in needless jeopardy. He felt his hand wrap around a small wooden box, and immediately drew his hand from the bag. His lockpicking kit. He opened it, carefully examining its contents. It looked like everything was in place. He looked back to Furlan.

“Erwin left for a meeting in Mitras a couple of hours ago and most likely won't return until morning. I’m going to go and look in his office. You and Isabel will go look in Shadis’s office.” He said. Levi noticed Furlan shift pensively where he stood in the dark, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you sure you don’t want me and Isabel to stand lookout for you? This all goes down the drain if we end up getting caught, and you know that.” he pushed. It certainly was a valid point, but Levi wasn't going to change his mind. Tonight was an indispensable opportunity that he wasn't going to pass up.

“No, we need to do this tonight, and since Shadis is actually in headquarters, it makes more sense that you take Isabel so that she can stand lookout for you while you go in.”

“I suppose that’s true enough...” he said quietly, chewing his bottom lip. He let out a small exhale, “...Okay, fine, I’ll go fetch Isabel now.” His confidence seemed to be slowly but surely returning to him, which was a relief. Furlan worked most effectively when he was self assured.

Levi reached his hand up and placed it firmly on Furlan’s shoulder.

“I’ll meet you back here in an hour.” Levi instructed.

Despite the sheet of darkness covering them, Levi could still spot the smug smile Furlan was shooting him. There he is. The corners of his lips upturned ever so slightly in response. Furlan pulled back, stretching his arms behind him.

“Of course, just don’t take too long.” He teased, as he began to walk away, waving a hand back at Levi.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Levi muttered, as he made his way in the opposite direction, and to his Captain’s office.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Levi faced no issue getting into the castle, the guards were criminally incompetent at their jobs, prattling away with each other, paying little to no attention to the task at hand. He'd managed to slip past their post, and into the castle, far too easily. After that, the long halls were completely empty. They've put far too much faith in their Royal Guard, he mused. Still, he stuck close to the walls. As he made his way through, he soon found himself passing the library doors. His eyes trailed down to the bottom of the door, he could see a faint yellow glow emitting from the thin crack. He slowed his steady pace.

Is she in there?

He blinked.

...Why do you care.

Levi let out a small huff as he continued to the end of the corridor, and slowly pushed the large wooden doors open. They let out a long shaky creak, despite his efforts. This should be it. His eyes darted left and right between the various doors, until they landed on the second to last door, on the left wall. There it is. As he walked over, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his lockpicking kit. He kneeled down and began his work, all while keeping a small focus on his peripherals. Shortly, he heard a small click from the knob, so he lifted himself up, and slid in.

The Captain's office was just about what you’d expect it to look like. It appeared to be a bit smaller than the other rooms...or perhaps that was due to the copious amount of books lining the walls. And it didn't stop there. His long desk was covered in them, too. Although, despite the clutter, it was still tidy, which Levi could appreciate, it made the task at hand a lot easier. Aside from the books, the desk was seemingly bare, except for a small stack of papers, and a black pen placed next to it. Levi took a couple steps forward, and reached up, picking a random book off the shelf. He flipped lazily through the pages. He wasn’t going to bother to try reading them closely right now, but he was curious of its contents. As he scanned the pages, he saw that there were a lot of dates written in, which lead him to believe that it was a history book. He gingerly closed it, and put it back in its place, before picking another one from the opposite shelf. Same deal. So our great Captain is a history nut, huh?

📷

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Fuck.

Levi ran his hand through his hair. His hour was almost up, and he hadn’t found shit. He had practically turned the room upside down. He’d checked under the carpets, all of the cabinets, the backs of furniture. He’d even checked the drawers for false bottoms, but to no avail. It simply wasn’t in there, which meant unless Furlan for some reason found them in Shadis’s office, that Erwin most likely kept it on his person. If that was the case, that meant the situation was more complicated than anticipated. The theft and the assassination would have to occur at the same time. Levi sighed, and slumped into the Captain’s large velvet chair, closing his eyes for a couple seconds. He opened them back up, staring at the ceiling. A wave of disappointment washed over him. It wasn’t in there. I should just leave then. He heaved himself up from the chair, and placed himself in the center of the room. He began scrutinizing every inch of the office, searching for any remaining signs that someone had broken in. Once he was satisfied, he headed back to the door. He opened it slightly, putting his ear up to the small crack he had created, listening for anyone. When he heard nothing, he began to silently slink back to exit the castle. Once again, he passed through the halls with no issue, and once again, he found himself wanting to check inside the library, an urge that he quickly shoved back down to wherever it came from.

He picked up his pace, towards the last hallway. When he arrived, he placed his ear against the door. He could hear the two guards still chattering away. The guards didn’t stand directly in front of the door, rather, they stood at the bottom of the short staircase that led up to it. There was a thin floor space along the stone walls that Levi could walk through, so as long as Levi didn’t make a single sound as he crept through the door, he could make his escape scot-free. He took a deep breath, before opening the door, creating just enough space to peer through. There were two of them, the one on the right was a bit stockier, with spiky blonde hair, hardly being contained by his cap. He was doing most of the talking, he had a loud, abrasive voice, like a foghorn. The one on the left was lankier, with a shaved head, his contribution the conversation was goofy, nasally laughs. They were still in position, gabbing away. His eyes moved down to their hands. The one on the right held a bottle, which appeared to be nearly empty. Even better. With a bit more confidence, Levi pushed the door further, and began moving through. He kept his eyes locked on the two buffoons, who still made no note of his presence. Soon he was completely outside. He ducked down, and began creeping along the walls back to his room.

“Have you seen that librarian around lately?”

Levi halted. The tall one let out an exasperated groan.

“No, I haven’t, it’s a real shame, she’s a cutie, huh? I was planning on askin’ her out.”

“Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“I think I have a good chance, the last time I saw her, she was practically throwing herself at me.” He bragged. The smaller one let out a harsh cackle.

“Yeah right!”

“No, no, I’m serious! She kept shooting me this flirty smile while we talked.”

”Whatever.”

“I'm serious! The next time I see her, I’m gonna ask her out! And she will say yes.”

“Well...wanna bet some cash on it?”

"You're on!"

Levi suddenly remembered a past conversation he’d had with her.

Oh? And what is?

I don't know... stocky men?

Levi glanced back at the man. He definitely wasn’t pretty to look at. Was she actually interested in him? She really did have poor taste then… but something about what he said didn’t sound right, a flirty smile? That woman glued a polite smile onto her face whenever she spoke to anyone. That’s probably what it was, and he misinterpreted her motives. That sounded right. He continued along the wall, and then stopped. Why was he trying so hard to rationalize the situation? So what if she was flirting with some guard, he wasn't her dad. He shook his head, and did his best to ignore the feeling of relief he’d felt when he’d come to his conclusion, as he snuck back to his room.

Soon, he was out of the castle grounds. He now walked back through the barren training fields. It was still dark, and wispy grey clouds covered the sky, blocking any light the moon would have provided him. The only sound was the soft rhythmic thumping of his own boots hitting the ground. It would be a ten minute walk until he was back in the barracks. He grimaced at the thought of the harsh training he'd be subjected to later in the morning, running on, if he was lucky, an hour of sleep. Suddenly, his head jolted up as he heard a crash in the sky. He furrowed his brow. Thunder? Soon after, it began sprinkling, but unfortunately it didn’t last long, the light shower had quickly turned into a full on downpour. Levi groaned. Just my luck. He thought, glaring up at the gloomy sky, as if he could intimidate the rain into submission with his stare. He quickened his pace, and the barracks were soon in sight, when he heard something. It was difficult to see through the heavy rain, but he squinted his eyes, and made out the figure of… a woman. He stopped in his tracks. Who was it? Well, whoever it was, they were looking straight at him, and it seemed like they’d recognized him. Levi sighed, and began walking towards them. They’d already seen him, so instead of trying to hide, he began to fabricate a story to feed them as to why he was out in the dead of night. He settled on telling them that he was trying to fit some extra 3DMG training into his schedule. It might be unbelievable, but they couldn't prove otherwise. As he moved closer, her identity became more apparent. The delicate features of her face, the way her hair was put in place, the shape of her body… his eyes unwittingly lingered on the way her corset framed her figure.

“Levi? What are you doing out so late?” she asked, wide eyed.

His eyes shot back up to her face.

“I could ask you the same.”

She let out a high pitched giggle, quickly bringing her hands up to cover her face. He cocked an eyebrow. This was unlike her. Something's off. She was disoriented. She wore an empty-headed grin on her face, that lacked the usual stiffness her smiles usually held. She put her hands down, lazily giving him a dismissive wave.

“I suppose you could,” she mused, “I-I was just headed-” She lost her balance, and staggered forward slightly. His hands instinctively shot out to catch her, but she caught herself before he needed to. As she did, a light but apparent scent filled Levi’s nose, and the situation became clear to him. She was wasted. He couldn’t hide the disdain on his face, but she didn’t seem to notice. He hated alcohol, and everything that came with it. Or maybe he just hated drunkards. Nonetheless, the situation was less than ideal. She let out another giggle.

“I was just headed back to my room, I decided to go out tonight.” She said, matter of factly. He clicked his tongue. It would be a hefty task, considering her condition.

“You can’t even walk in a straight line”

“I-I don’t need to walk in a straight line to get to my room! There’s lots of t-twists and turns to get there.” She lifted her pointer fingers up and began revolving them around sporadically, motioning these ‘twists and turns.’ She looked up at the sky. Her smile weakened. Levi watched her intently as he saw her eyes shift into something more sorrowful.

“It’s raining,” she noted, softly. Levi groaned. She was really out of it.

“It has been, for the last ten minutes.” She gave him a serious look.

“I really hate the rain, yknow.” Levi shook his head, she was sputtering nonsense.

“Where’s your room?”

Her eyes slowly moved over to the castle as she lifted her hand, and waved it in its vague direction.

“There.”

“I’ll walk you. It’d be irritating to wake up and find you passed out on the ground.”

“How fun! I was just thinking that I could use s-some company!” He shot her a look of annoyance.

“I'm just taking you to your room.”

“Well whatever, it’s better than that fake Marla.” she grumbled.

Levi rolled his eyes. Fake Marla? He had no idea what she was talking about, but he decided not to ask about it. He wasn't eager to subject himself to her drunken rambling. If he recalled correctly, Marla was that soldier girl that had died that day… How close were they? So she was drinking to forget, then? He sighed and stepped over to her.

"Put your arm over me."

"W-why? I can walk."

"I have places to be, I don't have time to be waiting around for you, stumbling about."

"Rude." She pouted, but she obliged, throwing her arm over his shoulder. Levi leaned down and reached his arm over to her waist, pulling her closer. He adjusted slightly, preparing to walk, when he halted. He had initiated all of this, offering to walk her to her room, giving her his shoulder to lean on, pulling her close...wasn't he being far too friendly? Did he have ulterior motives that he was unaware of? He glanced back at her. Her face was close, her eyelids drooped slightly. No, he was just doing this because she was moments away from blacking out. The heat of her body against his became very obvious. He shifted, and for the first time in a very long time he could feel his face flush ever so slightly from embarrassment. He cleared his throat, and began walking forward.

"This way right?" He asked, nodding to the front of the castle. She shook her head.

"No, go right."

"The entrance to the castle is that way." he said, frowning.

"I-I know, but sometimes there's a guard there that I really don't like…” she leaned in even closer, bringing her voice down, “So lets go my secret way." she whispered, with a grave expression on her face.

God, she was talking like a seven year old. He marveled in the fact that she was only a couple years younger than him.

"What does he look like?"

"Huh?"

"The guard."

"O-oh, ehhhh well he's blonde, kind of tall…." So it was him.

"Sounds like he's your type." he said, dully. She shot him a look of disgust.

"I still have standards." She sneered back.

Levi scoffed, but her response had made him smile a bit. He returned his focus to the task at hand.

"So where is this 'secret way' you're blubbering about?"

"Just keep goin' this way."

Levi continued walking to the right, which seemed to lead to the back of the castle. As far as Levi knew, there were no entrances that way, just some shrubbery. I hope she's not making this shit up. Once they'd arrived, it was just as Levi had remembered, no entrance. He groaned.

"Are you seriously so shitfaced that you're actually making things up?" He demanded. She pushed herself away from him, taking a short moment to regain her balance, and glared back at him.

"Stop being so impatient! God, you really are like a baby! So temperamental!" She began to walk over to the garden. She glowered back at him.

"Give me a moment!" She shouted over her shoulder.

Levi scowled back at her. He wasn't used to people speaking to him like that, but seeing as she was barely conscious, he decided to let it slide tonight. Levi watched as she kneeled down, clasping her fingers tightly around the round bottom of the ceramic pot that held a tall, bushy shrub, and with a small grunt, lifted it up, away from the wall. Levi's eyes shot back up to the wall, and he could now see some wood peeking through the leaves. A door? She continued with the two following pots, until a small, wooden door was completely revealed. She shot him a knowing smirk, and he rolled his eyes. She reached into her pocket, pulling out an old, janky key, and shoved it in, and with a small click, the door popped open.

"Told you so."

"Whatever."

They entered the narrow doorway, and she closed the door softly behind her. Levi walked over and placed himself under her arm again, and hoisted himself up, and they began walking down the silent hallway. She had been extremely chatty the way there, but she was now eerily quiet, only telling him which turns to take every now and then. Levi thought he would've been grateful for some peace, but now that she wasn't jabbering away, things that he'd been able to ignore earlier became impossible in the stillness of the old castle. The way she smelled like roses, the way her waist felt under his hand…

“Levi?”

“What.”

“Why are you doing all this?”

Thankfully, he’d asked himself this question earlier, so he was able to answer without missing a beat.

“It just seemed like the decent thing to do.”

“But you didn’t have to go through all this trouble… you could’ve just had the guards escort me.”

“It’s not that much work. Think of it as payment for my reading lessons.”

She hummed in response. He glanced back at her. She looked like she wanted to press him further, but was stopping herself. Maybe she's sobering up??

“You smell really good.” she said softly.

Nevermind.

There was that bothersome heat in his face again. He swallowed.

“Didn't take you for a pervert.” he retorted, as if he hadn’t been thinking the exact same thing earlier. She snickered.

“Whatever- Oh! Here it is! My room.” she piped, jumping up a bit, causing Levi to sway to the left. Thank God. Another second with her and his brain would've went into overdrive. He released her, and she lurched forward, shooting her hands up to catch herself on the door, which miraculously she was able to pull off without eating shit. Levi clicked his tongue. It seemed like he was going to have to babysit her. He grabbed her arm, pulled her back, and pushed the door open. He was absolutely disgusted with the sight before him. Loose papers, dirty clothes, and books strewn all over the floor. His eyes moved up to the bed. Same deal. Covered in papers, some empty teacups, and other random items. He shot her a dirty look.

“What the hell is this pigsty? How the fuck do you live like this.”

“As long as no one else sees it, what’s the big deal? It’s my room anyways.” she grumbled. He clicked his tongue. It seemed that she was really going to make this whole thing complicated, every step of the way.

“Gross. Stay here.”

He walked over to the bed, and began cleaning it off. He placed all the papers in a neat pile on her desk, carefully stacked the ceramic cups, and settled on putting all the other various items on a pile on the floor. He began shaking out the bed sheets, which, to his grave disappointment, had crumbs. Repulsive. He walked back over, navigating his way through the maze that was her floor.

“Come on.” he instructed, reaching out his arm for balance. She clasped onto it tightly, slowly making her way to the bed, and throwing herself on it. Letting out a blissful sigh, she rolled over to her stomach, closing her eyes. Levi awkwardly stood at the foot of the bed, gazing down at her. He quickly averted his gaze. He felt like he was doing something wrong.

“I’m going to leave now.” he said.

“Mhm” She was already half asleep.

Levi nodded, and began exiting the room.

Fuck.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"What the hell are you talking about?" Furlan shouted.

Levi squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. They'd failed retrieving the documents before the expedition, and the nerves that were chewing Levi up from the inside were now spilling out. He didn't want Isabel and Furlan to go on the expedition. He was capable of doing it all himself, going on the expedition, killing Erwin, and retrieving the documents.

After he'd returned to his barrack from the librarian's room, he'd stayed up. That woman still mourned the death of her partner that had died a year ago. Her sorrowful face as she gazed up to the rainy clouds flashed through his mind. He didn't want Isabel and Furlan to become memories for him to grieve over, while he got drunk at some dirty bar. They meant too much to him. Like she'd said, it was a very real possibility that they would all die out there, at the very least, he wanted to lower the chances to only one of them dying. He looked back to Isabel and Furlan's pained, confused faces with cold eyes.

"We haven't even seen a real titan yet, and it'll be our first time outside the walls. It may take all we've got just to make it back alive. But if I'm by myself, I'll manage somehow."

"Why would you say that bro-" Isabel began, desperately, before she was cut off by Furlan, who shot his hand up. Her mouth clamped shut. Furlan's demeanor shifted into a more stoic one. Levi could tell he was trying to understand why he was dropping this on them so suddenly.

"So what you're saying is," he started, in a low voice." That we can't handle the expedition, right?"

"That's right, in my opinion."

Isabel jumped down from the crate she was sitting on, and began stomping over to him, until she was just inches away from his face. Her fierce green eyes bore into him.

"How can you say that?! We won't know until we try! What's the matter... this isn't like you at all!" she cried out. Levi scowled, snapping his head away from them. He rubbed his temples. Why were they making this so difficult? He was just looking out for them.

"If you wont stay behind, then this conversation is over!" he shouted, angrily, "We'll wait for another opportunity." he said, with finality. He stormed off, with no destination in mind. He couldn't meet their eyes. He could hear Isabel calling out for him as he walked away, but he ignored her, continuing on.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

After Levi had stormed off, he considered going back to his barrack to sleep, but he didn't want to deal with other people. After wandering around the castle for about fifteen minutes, he'd come across a tall set of stairs, and decided to go up. He'd soon found himself at the top of a tower, the vast night stretched out before him. He gazed back up, thoughtfully. Wispy clouds covered any light the stars are moon would've given him. Just like the Underground. He slowly stepped forward, and sat himself at the wall's edge, staring up at the grey sky. It's all the same. He shut his eyes, trying to escape the situation he faced, just for a short moment. Why were they pushing so strongly against his attempts to keep them safe? Were they that opposed to his care? He sighed. He'd come up here to clear his head, yet here he was, getting himself even more mixed up than before. He closed his eyes again, when he heard the door click open. His head jolted in its direction, and he saw Isabel's head pop through, and Furlan's followed. They walked over to him. They still looked angry, rightfully so. He tore his eyes away from theirs. He couldn't bear to look at them right now.

PLAY THIS.

"Bro!" Isabel called.

"Levi, we need to talk. We can't agree with you going off on your own." said Furlan. Isabel nodded her head furiously in agreement.

"You said that we'd all take the first step outside the walls together, are you really going to go back on your word?" She asked woundedly. Levi turned from them, and back to face the sky.

"It's all the same...Above, Underground, when the clouds cover the moon and stars, it looks exactly like the Underground, even up here," he said, softly. Isabel looked at him with utter confusion. He couldn't blame her. He didn't know what he was rambling on about either. A short silence filled the air.

"...If you're only referring to the color of the sky, I suppose you're right...B-but this is completely different!" Isabel exclaimed, eyes bright, "Unlike the Underground, we know there's no roof! It just goes on!" She turned to Furlan.

"Right?" Furlan nodded at her and smiled back at Levi.

"That right, this sky is endless. You can't even compare the two!" He said, with a small laugh. "That would just be silly!" Levi looked back at them in wonder. Suddenly Isabel's eyes widened, and she started jumping up and down excitedly.

"Hey, hey look" Isabel yelled, frantically pointing up to the sky, "The clouds moved! The moon is so bright!" She ran over and plopped down next to Levi. Furlan carefully seated himself on the opposite side, warily eyeing the edge.

Levi's eye followed her finger. He could see it, gleaming brightly through the clouds. Its soft glow washed over him. His eyes widened.

"You can't ignore the difference anymore now, huh?" She said, cheekily.

He turned to Isabel, and then to Furlan. How could they be so hopeful? How could they march aimlessly into the future, without knowing what it held? Were they just that different from him?

...

What did that make of him, then?

"Levi." Furlan said, turning to face him "You need to believe in us."

"Yeah!" Isabel chirped.

Levi looked up to the illuminating sky, and the two equally illuminating people seated next to him. For once, he decided to give in.

"Okay."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083745

#levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi aot #snk levi #levi attack on titan #levi #attack on titan #aot hange #hange zoë #hange zoe #aot #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #angst #slow burn

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dreamingofmilk · 5 years ago

Text

Poetic Justice

This was a joy to write. Shout out to @chaneajoyyy and @shaekingshitup for doing this challenge.

Synopsis: You meet Erik at an open mic night and it changes everything

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 2597

Coming to open mic night at your favorite cafe was worth it. You only just found out about the elusive and secretive gathering of college individuals. But you made it your goal to go at least once a week. Sometimes it was hard, school work piles up quickly when you are having fun.

But tonight, you had to get out no matter how many essays and online homework you needed to complete. And you regretted nothing once he took the stage. Tall dark and handsome, Erik Stevens, the poet had you entranced. His poetic stories about black struggle and black love pushed you further down the rabbit hole than you could ever imagine.

This man seemed to be everything you could ever imagine. And you were so happy to have a seat up close and to the far right of the stage where you could fangirl in peace.

You’d seen this beauty around campus a few times, but never once did you imagine that he had such a way with words and his voice was that smooth. And the way he strummed the guitar… You only hoped he could strum your clit that delicately.

You watched his set intensely, his every move an imprint in your mind. You wanted to record it to play it back later, but you knew that would be wildly inappropriate. Snaps filled the room as he finished up and he smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgment. The man knew he was fine.

Erik Stevens stepped off the stage and packed away his guitar as another talented student took the stage to share her beautiful voice. You watched his broad back shuffle around until he went behind the curtains and came around. The exit for the stage right in front of your high table.

Erik’s eyes watched you closely, you bit your lips gently when his eyes raked over your body with lust. Damn. How can Just one look from this man have you ready to risk it all? You smiled shyly at Erik when you made eye contact again. Erik sent you a wink and a smile so genuine it made your thighs clench. He then quietly made his way through the crowd to join his friends.

You smiled softly to yourself then settled in to enjoy the rest of the night with your friend.

————-

Early morning classes were not your thing. But when one of your major classes is only offered at 8 am on Tuesday’s, you had no choice. Hence why you were in the juice line in your increasingly crowded dining hall. You desperately wanted some freshly juice fruits and were willing to wait in a long line to get it. That or you were looking for any excuse to be late for class.

“Excuse me. Do you know what juices they have today?” A deep voice from behind you asked.

“No but it looks so good. Soo… goood…” your voice trailed off when you turned around to talk to the stranger. Erik again. You smiled a polite smile and turned back forward, your heart racing in your chest. Fuck. He was even more attractive up close and in the light. And he smelled so good too.

Erik smiled and held out his hand for you to shake. You gently put your hand in his.

“I’m Erik.” His voice washed over you. “You were at the show the other night. You look good in blue.” He complimented your dress from the other night.

“Thanks.” You told him your name. “You’re a great artist.” You were up in line to order your juice.

“Thank you babygirl.” His eyes dropped to your lips before flitting back up to meet your eyes.

“You sitting down to eat? Maybe I could join you?” His voice was hopeful as you stepped up to order.

Your heart sunk. “Erik I really wish I could but I have to get to class, I'm already late enough waiting for this drink. Next time though. I promise.” Instinctually you held out your pinky finger for him to seal in the promise. You blushed and went to remove yourself.

“Wait. A promise is a promise and has to be sealed in some way.” He wraps his pinky finger around yours and brings both your hands up so that you can both kiss your fist. The two of you break away, eyes intense and your heart beating out of your chest.

“Next time.” You smile and step back over to the juice counter.

He smiles as you leaned forward to accept your drink. “Have a good day.” His eyes watched you as you walked past him to the exit of the dining hall, a smirk on his lips as his eyes fell to your ass.

————

Laundry day was one of your faves on campus. Usually you did it so late at night that you had the laundry room to yourself so you would sit on one of the machines, playing games on your phone.

You’d just beaten a really difficult level and you were up out of your seat cheering in circles for yourself.

“Damn, if I knew this is the type of introduction I would get, I would ask you to announce at poetry nights.” Erik smiled at you. You turned around quickly, a heat creeping up your body as you saw him leaning against one of the machines. A smirk sat on his full lips and his arms crossed tightly on his chest.

“Don’t stop now, the only thing I would change is you screaming my name.” Erik’s smirk grew bigger as your ears burned.

“Shut up.” You smiled bashfully and climbed back on top of the washing machine. Erik approached slowly coming to stand in front of your legs.

“What’s got you so excited anyway?” Erik took your phone from his hand and started dying of laughter.

“Candy Crush!” He laughed loudly, you smiled in a daze watching his beautiful smile. “Well I guess I should take it as a win.” He handed you back your phone. “At least it’s not no guy in your phone making you smile like that. I wanna make you smile like that.” Erik stared up at you.

You looked away, he just didn’t know what he was doing to you. Or he did and he was determined to make you become a massive puddle. Well he succeeded at least halfway, there’s a massive puddle in your shorts right now.

“Tell me… what do I have to do to make you smile like that?” Erik’s soft hand found its way on the top of your knee. Very gently, his eyes asking for permission.

You shrugged and nodded at the same time. Erik laughed. “What does that mean?”

It means that you can eat me out on this washing machine! You screamed in your head.

“It means that I don’t know what you have to do.” Erik stepped closer bracing his hands on either side of you.

“You know, I’ve seen you around a lot before. You’re so pretty that I can always pick you out of a crowd. But I never had the courage to speak to you. That is until I saw you at my set.” Erik spoke softly, a small smile found its way onto your lips.

“There we go. Got something. So I just gotta compliment your fine ass and your face will shine brighter than the sun.”

“Erik if you don’t take your poetic ass somewhere. Don’t you have clothes to wash?” You say smartly.

“Nah. I just saw you in here and I had to come speak. You see now that we are friends you ain’t never getting rid of me.” Erik gently rubbed the outside of your thigh. “Besides, you owe me company for a meal.”

You rolled your eyes remembering your pinky promise in the dining hall.

“After your clothes are finished you are coming with me for a midnight meal.” Erik’s eyes twinkled once you agreed and you wondered what his idea of a midnight meal was.

________

You sighed and rubbed your face. Fuck this paper! You figured if you went to the library really early you'd be able to focus and get it done, but you were struggling. Coffee wouldn't even help. You'd been at it for 4 hours and barely had 2 pages finished. It was time to cut your losses and try again later. You were putting your last book in your bag when you heard that all too familiar voice.

"What are you doing here so early Y/N?" Erik looked down at you, a smirk on his face.

Why did you always run into this man? Ever since the open mic night it seemed like you saw him all the time.

You frowned, "I was trying to get a ten page paper done, but I can't focus."

He scoffed, "You took Mandrake didn't you? That's where you fucked up. Everyone knows she assigns a big paper at the beginning of the semester."

You couldn't help the pout that formed on your lips, "I didn't know!"

"Let me help you. I have some work I need to finish too. Maybe we can help each other focus and get out of here sooner." He smiled sympathetically.

He sat down across from you and pulled out his materials. He also pulled out a pair of gold rimmed glasses that made him look sexy as fuck. Who the hell makes glasses look that good?

You couldn't help but be nosy and when he pulled out a book with Freud's name on it. You had to ask.

"Are you a psych major?"

Erik followed your eyes to the book and smiled. "I'm a double major. Psychology and African American Studies."

You whistled "Oh so he's woke and smart."

"I want to be a psychologist for at risk black kids. I went through a lot of shit when I was a kid and it fucked me up for years. I want to prevent that from happening to anyone else." Erik shrugged.

"That's amazing, Erik." And you meant it. What a great way to make an impact on the community. You already really liked Erik, but this took the cake. He really was a great guy.

He shrugged, his embarrassment clear. "I wish there was someone that could have helped me back then. It would have saved me from making a lot of dumb decisions."

You grabbed his hands, "Seriously Erik. That's really cool. You should be proud of it. You're going to do great things."

Erik's thumb rubbed over your hand and he smiled softly before raising your hand to kiss it. "Thank you, babygirl. I really appreciate that."

You felt like your heart was going to beat right out of your chest. You've never felt chemistry like this with a guy, and you had a feeling you never would again. Erik was someone special.

Erik smirked at you. "Now stop ogling me and get moving on that paper."

Your ears burned as you focused on your laptop, his laugh wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You did peep him sneaking glances at you while you both worked though, so you considered it a win regardless.

________

You rushed out of class. The professor held everyone an extra 10 minutes, and you were running late for your next class. Once you got closer to the quad you noticed there was a crowd. You didn't really care what was going on, you didn't have time to see what had everyone so fascinated. You had just got to where the crowd was but you heard the most beautiful music and you couldn't help but move closer to see where it was coming from.

And to your surprise standing there, looking more gorgeous than anyone had the right to, was Erik Stevens. The sun lit his profile perfectly, his brown skin glowing in the light. His fingers glided across the guitar, the music lulling you into a state of peace you've never experienced. You couldn't look away from him. He was so captivating. Before you realized it you moved across the quad and stood in the front of the crowd, but off to the side. Erik closed his eyes and his body began swaying to the music. The notes sounded very familiar, but you couldn't put your finger on where you recognized it from. After a few seconds of strumming Erik opened his mouth and started singing India Arie 'Ready for Love'.

You were absolutely sure your jaw was on the ground. You had no idea he could sing! His voice was beautiful, smooth and rich, like the most expensive Hennessy. He glided through the notes effortlessly, adding a few of his own runs and techniques to make it his own. You believed every word he was saying, his voice was so honest. He really sounded like he was in love with someone and it just made his performance that much better.

Someone next to you walked closer to him and dropped a few bills in his guitar case. As they walked back to their spot Erik opened his eyes, instinctually following them. When his eyes met yours you felt your heart rate pick up and your breath catch in your throat. Erik looked right into your eyes and kept singing, a slight smile on his lips. This man was LETHAL. It felt like he was serenading you. You couldn't help but smile back, you were pretty sure there were actual hearts in your eyes.

I am ready for Y/N

The two of you couldn't look away from each other. You could actually feel a force pulling you to him. The crowd erupted in shocked chatter when he slipped up and sang your name. Erik just smiled and kept going, but you could hardly breathe. You've never heard your name sound so beautiful before. You had a big dopey smile on your face but you couldn't get rid of it if you wanted to.

He strummed the guitar, the notes tapering into silence. As soon as he finished the crowd erupted into loud cheers and applause. As everyone dispersed you made your way over to him.

"That was amazing Erik. I had no idea you could sing."

He smiled softly, "Yeah, it's not something I do often."

"It was beautiful. You really should sing more often." It'd be a shame for him to hide his talent.

He smirked. "Sing more in general or sing to you more?"

You looked away in embarrassment, your ears burning. "Why did you say my name?"

"It was an accident. When I saw you I got nervous and made a freudian slip I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck, his smile sheepish.

You pouted, "So you didn't mean it?"

He smirked, "Of course I meant it. I did say a Freudian slip. You were on my mind so I said your name."

You rolled your eyes, but your tone was teasing. "There's my psychology nerd. I was starting to get worried."

He chuckled and moved in closer, until his chest brushed up against you. He reached out a hand and fixed a piece of your hair before cupping your face. "Be my girl and there's a lot more where that came from."

You smiled, looking into his eyes. "Yes."

His smile was bright. Erik grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you. You may have made a Freudian slip of your own when he sucked your soul out of your mouth.

Taglist: @aislinnsilver @wawakanda-btch @chaneajoyyy @marvelmaree

#quarantine writing challenge #milkyfics #imagine #erik kilmonger fic #erik kilmonger x reader

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buddha-in-disguise · 5 years ago

Text

So, I’m still ruminating over 5.17. I’m still equally grateful that Melissa directed in a truly wonderful way (although the Eve fight scene was great, I do get annoyed at an entire sink moving as a guys head hits it, as if it weighs nothing & isn’t attached to anything. I get it. It is for dramatic effect, & it’s the kind of thing that happens throughout TV & movies, but still..... However, I digress).

Melissa directed the episode fantastically well. The lighting, framing on shots, overall pace on scenes - brilliant.

Sadly though I’m coming away having watched it wanting to tear my hair out, as I have far too often this season.

‪It is more than the general thoughts I’ve already written about in my last post. It is details like Alex suddenly referring to her dad as Jeremiah. We know how angry, hurt & upset she was with the news of his death. Is this a manifestation of that? That she is so angry, she can’t bring herself to use such personal terms in calling him dad? We have no idea, because suddenly it occurred. This is the sort of detail Chyler herself usually picks up & asks to be changed, which makes me suspect it was addressed somehow in other dialogue, but was cut. Maybe that was the case, maybe it wasn’t. Who knows, but I’d love to ask Chyler about it.

I’ve said this before - season 4 ended on a high. Fans were really feeling positive in ways they hadn’t for a while. You just need to look back on SM at the time.

Listening to the premise of S5, & again people were energised. The SM energy from SDCC was the most positive I had seen since the series began!

I’m still trying to figure out how they are expecting to wrap up the convoluted mess this season has been in 2 more episodes. I am struggling to figure out how they could even do it in 3, if 5.20 was going ahead. Even if 5.19 is extended to let’s say 1.5 hours in the schedule, it still wouldn’t be enough in my opinion.

I said briefly in my last post, I get frustrated because so much filler has occurred this season. Seriously, why did we have those two Winn episodes? ‪Well, Lex got on his ship & grabbed the cube...... but nah. I got nothing! ‬

‪Oh a few references for Dreamer (but we barely see her, so ...) & reassuring Kara ref Lena (which also .... when?) ‬

‪So nope. Those could be mentioned in a hot minute elsewhere.

Oh & pushing Kara to date William (a whole other mess I hate, but that’s for a different time).

‪But hey. We got Winn back!‬ Now before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, I really am not against having Winn hop back in on occasion. However, for 2 episodes that right now offer nothing to the plot beyond those I’ve mentioned? On an already shortened season, to having two full episodes taken up with filler? Use Winn in episodes that fully pertain to the season. Not this.

I want the Danvers sister couch scenes back. I want Alex & Kelly having the discussions they did in S4 (we got more about them in S4 before they were together, than anything so far in S5 as a couple). I want J’onn to do more than flop around his Private Eye firm & use The Tower with Alex. I want Alex to be a kick ass agent, girlfriend & sister. I want Kara & Lena to make up! I want Brainy and Nia to get together again. I want Brainy & Lena to have their friendship back. I want Alex & Lena get together in a lab, or just work on cases - anything other than this stalemate we are getting. I want Kelly to be able to show her friendship with Nia & Kara & to actually get to know Lena. I want to know does she know Kara is Supergirl properly, not conjecture, (I think she does as I said in an earlier post - see photo).

All these interpersonal relationships can still also have some conflict between them, if that’s the sort of thing they want. After all, no matter how great a relationship (I include friendship in this) is, it isn’t always perfect. I’m not saying it all has to be through rose tinted spectacles. But not to the level of destruction we have seen this season.

Give us meaningful villains (like Lex in S4, not rehashed Lex in S5 that give us episodes that mirror what we already know). It isn’t as if they don’t have, oh I don’t know, a load of comics they could reference for ideas if they need them. Stop with the constant push/pull on Lena as a character, & allow her to be accepted into the friends, flaws and all, just like everyone else - including Kara!

Now - now fans are feeling flat. The loss of viewers has been incredibly sad & worrying to watch. This weeks number was - pitiful, & yet my timeline was full of fans all saying to watch because of Melissa’s debut directing. Some argue it was because of yet another hiatus, yet Batwoman didn’t slide like that on its return. The Flash (which Supergirl used to regularly keep up with on viewers) was a solid 1.2 million viewers on Tuesday.

If it hurts me as a fan to see this decline. I can’t imagine how most of the cast & crew feel. They deserve so much better.

SuperCorp fans are either a delusional minority, or causing the loss of 300k viewers (& counting) according to some, which is causing a lot of hurt & upset. I’ve seen SC fans not wanting even post on their own timelines for fear of some fans coming in to attack them for it.

I’ve had it happen to me, if I mention I ship SuperCorp (while we are at it, I ship Dansen - which is my 1st ship, then SC) and Brainia, which is especially close to me as my husband is transgender & I want representation to show that being transgender doesn’t mean you can’t have a meaningful relationship with someone. I want a Black lesbian woman to be shown as successful in her private & professional live.

The thing is, these ratings drop aren’t because of a minority of fans (& truthfully, whether anyone likes it or not, SC fans are the biggest in terms of fandom size). But general fans are leaving the show. Now die hard fans are starting to leave. Media outlets are increasingly critical on aspects of the show.

With the hiatus due to Covid-19 & coupled with Melissa’s pregnancy, will Supergirl survive without further erosion on viewing figures before S6 resumes? I don’t see how it can on current viewing.

The CW (or WB, but since Robert Rovner’s wife is now one of two heading up WB, I’m afraid nepotism might well be playing a part here - but I add, I have no basis on this beyond just a worry it might be happening & I truly hope it isn’t. I don’t want to imply it is happening, just that I worry it ‘might be’), need to step in and do something to save this show, because it has crashed and is burning faster than Krypton.

Having minorities on the show achieves nothing if they’re not being used properly. If those who constantly berate others with racist, homophobic & misogynist posts, who feel emboldened and comfortable saying all those things, because of validation from someone on the show, then it is a problem.

This post could go on into reams of reasons why I feel so disappointed with the show as a whole at the moment.

I genuinely wish more for the actors and crew. I feel sad that Melissa’s debut as a director landed the worst ratings demo all season. I absolutely hate that occurred in fact. I genuinely don’t want to be writing posts like this. There have been good (occasional great episodes) this season, but simply not enough. Maybe 25% off the top of my head fall into that category for me, with the other 75% either entirely unforgettable or so frustrating as a viewer I want to scream; whereas it should be the other way around, & good enough that for the odd episodes you might not enjoy much or at all, you forgive them because the rest are good enough to compensate.

I’m hoping we get something exciting enough to keep interest for S6. Will we? We won’t have long to wait & find out.

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thebachelordiaries · 4 years ago

Text

Clare seeks HIMBO: ‘The Bachelorette’ cast first impressions

The Covid-19 pandemic has been rough for the entire world, but Bachelor Nation faced some dark days too. Going eight months without a single new episode from The Bachelor franchise is something I would really like to not relive.

Fortunately, those dark days are over. Clare’s season has me sucked back in.

The quality of this image is atrocious.

Most of these men—presuming they followed CDC’s social distancing guidelines— haven’t seen a woman in months, are touch deprived, possibly unemployed and contemplating moving back to their hometown while stalking the housing market on Zillow. Everyone’s desperate. That makes for some pretty good TV.

This season features men ranging from ages 26 to 41. We’ve got a boy band manager, a grooming specialist, several men who look like they masturbate in front of full length mirrors and even more who probably want me to join their MLM pyramid scheme.

I’ve never been more ready to roast a bunch of men who have nightmares about going bald. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since March.

Let’s go:

AJ, 28, Software sales

AJ is the kind of guy who writes “Looking for the Pam to my Jim <3″ on his Bumble profile. His bio is generic and probably not reflective of who he is as a person. If I were Clare I’d swipe left.

Ben, 29, Army ranger veteran

“Ben's favorite indulgence is an ice bath.“ Well then.

Alexa, play “Run” by AWOLNATION.

Bennett, 36, Wealth management consultant

Bennett’s profile is the biggest red flag I’ve ever seen. This man says he is the total package but hasn’t always been "this successful and good looking.” But wait, there’s more: “According to Bennett, his high school girlfriend is the only girl he's ever had to work for.“

Can someone tell me what NYC neighborhood he lives in so I can blacklist it?

Blake M1, 31, Male grooming specialist

Blake’s just another stereotypical “29th round draft pick who sat on the bench of the practice team before getting cut, but claims he left the sport due to an injury on his own accord.”

Blake M2, 29, Wildlife manager

This Blake is an outdoorsy Canadian who seems pretty genuine and cool. Unfortunately, he has the face of someone who’d get sent home on night one. I hope I’m wrong.

Brandon, 28, Real Estate Agent

Just another boring hot person. Nothing to see here.

Brendan, 30, Commercial roofer

Brandan, not to be confused for Brandon, “loves some good true crime, working out and hanging out with his friends.” I can’t even make fun of this man. We have the exact same interests.

Chasen, 31, IT account executive

The Winklevoss twins are actually triplets and Chasen is their long lost brother. But more seriously, have you ever seen someone who looks more like their name than this man?

Chris, 27, Landscape design salesman

“Chris hopes to find a woman who is sharp and witty but also easygoing.” Chris, sweetheart, have you met Clare? Easygoing...? There’s still time back out of this before it’s too late.

Dale, 31, Former pro football wide receiver

Dale aggressively screams “Bachelor material.” I’d say he’s auditioning for that role but Matt James already scooped it up. Better luck next year, Daley.

Demar, 26, Spin cycling instructor

Demar is a “very popular spin instructor in Scottsdale and says he can get on that bike and spin to any beat thrown his way.” Imagine how many trophy wives Demar has f*cked?

Eazy, 29, Sports marketing agent

Eazy is very similar to Dale on paper. Except his name is Eazy so he automatically loses that battle.

Ed, 33, Health care salesman

“Ed is looking to find a woman who has natural beauty without looking overly fake.” Ed deserves to die alone.

Garin, 34, Professor of Journalism

Garin’s bio is giving me hubby material vibes. And maybe a little bit of a “gets eliminated on night one” vibe too.

Ivan, 28, Aeronautical Engineer

Ivan, what are you doing here? We’re in a recession. Please go back to your normal job before it’s too late.

Jason, 31, Former pro football linemen

“He is a former NFL offensive lineman who, after suffering too many concussions on the field, decided to prioritize his health and change the direction of his life.” A big, brawny HIMBO with CTE? I feel like he’s Clare’s type.

Jay, 29, Fitness director

There are too many things about Jay that I dislike and I’m trying to keep this brief. Jay says “it's time to take a break from worrying about others and focus on himself instead.” I am willing to bet money that this man has never made a woman c*m.

Jeremy, 40, Banker

Jeremy is the oldest contestant ever to come on "The Bachelorette,” which may seem like a monuments accomplishment but he’s literally only one year older than Clare.

He also “hates Instagram models, both male and female,” so he should have a lot of fun here.

Joe, 36, Anesthesiologist

Before I even saw his profession and location, I thought Joe looked like a doctor I’d find on a NYC dating app...and...uh...I probably did see him on there now that I think about it.

Anyway, this man has apparently been through seven stages of hell while on the front lines fighting Covid-19 in NYC so I definitely think he deserves to find love. Someone marry him please.

Jordan C, 26, Software account executive

I can already tell Jordan is going to get the “I’m young but mature” edit which means he’s probably not going to be good TV.

Too bad someone a tad younger (like Tayshia) wasn’t the Bachelorette. I feel like they’d make a cute couple.

Jordan M., 30, Cyber security engineer

I was going to say something mean but Jordan’s into cyber security and I don’t want my blog to be deactivated, so never mind. Cast photos are historically bad so I’m sure he looks much better in real life.

Kenny, 39, Boy band manager

I could go for the obvious drags regarding this man’s profession (or his sh*tty chest tattoo, or his suspiciously boyish face relative to his age), but I like to think I’m more clever than that.

I’d like to take this time to talk about men, who are obviously difficult people, who rant and rave about how they want an “easygoing” woman. Look into the mirror, bud. No, not the one you use to jerk off to your reflection; the mirror that looks into your soul. Out of respect for the rest of humankind, have some self-awareness. Or maybe just see a therapist.

Mike, 38, Digital media advisor

Mike is seemingly a decent catch, but I can’t help but wonder why he’s still single or how he never (accidentally or on purpose) impregnated a woman in his 38 years of life.

And now that I’m thinking about it, do any of these men have children? I have yet to see any mention of it in their bios. But there are eight men left to review, so there’s still time.

Page, 37, Chef

I spoke too soon. Page is a father! He also hates football! I’m a fan of this man. I was initially going to drag him for his name and say that Page is not a real name. PAIGE is a real name. PAGE is a piece of paper. I’m allowed to say this because we have the same name except mine is spelled the correct way. Based on my (mostly positive) review of his cast bio, I have decided not to hold his name against him.

Riley, 30, Long Island City

Riley, once married with children, would like to go on a family vacation that consists of touring every single MLB stadium in the country. If i were his wife, I would simply never give this man children.

Robby, 30, Insurance broker

No more Robbys on The Bachelorette. Society has evolved past its need for more Robbys.

This Robby described his dream woman as: “Incredibly athletic and able to throw back a few beers with him after a day of hiking. She has a sweet personality and won't mind that he spends his Sundays on the golf course.”

Someone please give this man a sex doll. He just wants a hole.

Tyler C., 27, Lawyer

“Tyler C. is a badass lawyer who says he is a businessman by day and a cowboy by night.” How does that make him a lawyer? Does this mean he’s into cosplay? I’m confused.

Tyler S., 36, Music manager

Tyler makes an honorable living off riding his brother’s dick success as a country singer. “He just LOVES his job!” Uh yeah, I would too if I had a low-show, high-paying job off the merits of nepotism. It’s the American dream.

Yosef, 30, Medical device salesman

Another dad! He’s totally going to pull the “girl dad” narrative. That saying is kind of sexist to me but the masses generally eat it up, so I’m fairly confident Yosef will get the "sweet guy” edit he’s looking for.

Zac C., 36, Addiction specialist

“He loves Philadelphia sports and dreams of sharing a Philly Cheesesteak with his future wife while watching the Eagles win a Super Bowl.” This man is so South Jersey it hurts.

On a more serious note, I don’t think anyone in recent history has spoken openly about their personal struggle with addiction on this show, so I hope Zac gets a chance to tell his story.

Zach J., 37, Cleaning service owner

Zach is seemingly obsessed with Clare already and hopes to introduce her to his mom as his fiancée. Since Zach watched Clare on Juan Pablo’s season, you’d think he’d know that Clare would first meet his mom during the final four hometown dates. Assuming he makes it that far. My prediction is that he won’t.

Final thoughts

After eight long months Bachelor Mondays are back!!!

Uhh....wait.

Actually, we now have the less-exciting Bachelor Tuesdays. Yeah, it definitely doesn’t have the same ring to it. But I’ll take anything at this point.

Here are my final predictions:

First impression rose: Dale. It just looks like he can turn on the bullsh*t charm

Final rose: Jason. Clare wants a HIMBO I just know it.

Bachelor: nobody (Matt James is The Bachelor)

Most likely to get engaged on Bachelor in Paradise: Blake M2

Most likely to get canceled online: Bennett

Most likely to get sent home night one but deserve better: Chris

Who are your favorite men cast on this season?

#The Bachelorette #abc #clare crawley #chris harrison #photo credit: ABC

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gb-fics · 5 years ago

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Art Class - Friday (5)

AU Fanfiction:

Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)

Note: Read Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.

“So”, Utahiroba Sensei said and looked down the lined-up pictures resting against the wall. “We have one sketch of flowers. Twelve paintings of flowers. One painting of a trash bin. And one painting of a toilet. Interesting.”

Shou could see that the corners of his lips were slightly twitching. He was trying not to laugh.

The students were standing in front of the paintings, too, finally studying the results of what the others had been working on.

“As you know, I am forced to grade your work for project week”, Utahiroba Sensei said. “Although I believe the system of grading goes against the spirit of artistic expression. It is important to me to give you all some detailed feedback, though. A grade tells you nothing about your strengths and the ways in which you still need to improve.”

Shou looked over at Yutaka.

He was standing closest to the wall, several students between them. He hadn’t been ignoring Shou, it really wasn’t like that. He had greeted him friendly in the morning. He had even cracked a half-hearted joke about Shou’s painting looking like trash when they put it up in line. But instead of standing next to him now and trying to make Shou laugh with his comments, he had put some distance between them clearly on purpose.

Shou didn’t know why it made his chest hurt like that. Maybe it was because he felt like he had lost another friend. But then maybe they shouldn’t be friends after what had happened last night. Just thinking of the way, he had kissed Yutaka yesterday in this very room, Shou felt his whole body grow hot with a weird mixture of excitement and shame. He wasn’t sure if he felt ashamed of having kissed Yutaka or because of what had happened afterwards.

Yutaka’s face right now was rather expressionless. Shou still thought that he was painfully handsome.

For some reason, he couldn’t even spare the energy to be nervous about his date with Sakura. He was too busy wishing Yutaka would talk to him like nothing had happened. If they could just go back, Shou could have it both. He could date a cute girl and have fun hanging out with Yutaka.

“I will talk to each of you personally and in private”, Utahiroba Sensei went on. “You know my office right on the other side of the corridor. Please, come there one by one. I hope we will be through by noon and then you can all go home. Alright? Then I’d suggest it is ladies first. You’ll agree on an order on your own.”

He walked out the door, leaving it open behind himself. The girls around Shou started chattering until they had worked out, whose name came first in an alphabetical order. The winner followed Utahiroba Sensei to his office.

Shou looked at the pictures. He looked at Sakura’s sketch, too. She wasn’t untalented, but Shou really wished she hadn’t drawn flowers.

“Why would anyone paint a toilet?”, a girl behind him asked so loudly that the entire class could hear her. Shou recognized the voice. It belonged to Sakura’s friend.

Some of the girls giggled.

Shou looked over to Yutaka. He expected him to defend himself. He expected Yutaka to pick a fight, because that seemed to be what he was best at. He always had a witty remark at hand and he didn’t take shit from anyone. Shou admired him for that, because he himself suffered from the inability to speak up too often.

Yutaka’s jaw was clenched tight. It was the only indicator that he had heard the comment at all.

“It’s just gross”, Shou heard Sakura’s quiet voice behind himself. It was almost a whisper.

And somehow, that whisper made Shou feel really upset. If she was talking badly about someone else, she should at least have the courage to say it out loud. Yutaka would have blurted it out for sure.

And how did she dare to judge Yutaka’s painting anyway?

Shou looked at the toilet. It was bad taste, yes, but it was also original and pretty funny in its absurdity. Among the row of flowers, it looked even more hilarious.

Shou looked at Sakura’s sketched flowers. They were pure and beautiful. There was nothing gross about them, nothing vulgar. They were drawn way more skilfully than anything Shou or Yutaka would have been able to produce. But they were entirely boring.

He tried to imagine what it would be like to lead a relationship with Sakura. Not just the dating, where you were still nervous whenever your arms brushed and you chose your words carefully. She was cute and Shou would be excited. But he tried to imagine not only their next 3 dates, but the next 30 ones. He thought of how she would let him hold her hand and how the silence would probably stretch out between them eventually, because they didn’t really have anything in common. He thought of how Sakura would never laugh at Shou’s dirty jokes and he would have to watch his language constantly. He thought of having to speak quietly always and having to strain his ears. He thought of a group date at karaoke, where she would sing boring songs with her boring friends and Shou would start to feel boring himself.

And he thought of how Yutaka would not just let him hold his hand. He would grab it tight and pull him along. He’d joke around with Shou in the worst kind of way and make him laugh extremely hard. He thought of going to karaoke with him in a group and how Yutaka would surely put on the most ridiculous performance of all times, shouting off-key instead of singing and how Shou would start doing an overdramatic dance and he thought of the fact that people would look at them and sneer and he thought, that when Yutaka grinned at him in that mischievous manner, Shou would not care what anyone else thought at all.

He imagined touching Sakura and he felt excited, but he knew that he would be hesitant and clumsy and never sure how far he was allowed to go. And he thought of touching Yutaka and he felt excited, too, just the same. But in his imagination, he wasn’t awkward and shy. Not because he thought that Yutaka could handle his greed better than Sakura, but because with him Shou wouldn’t feel ashamed for that greed. Not because he thought it would be easier with a guy in general. If Shou imagined being with another guy – even if it was someone really handsome such as Darvish Sensei – he knew he’d be nervous and awkward, too. Just with Yutaka, he would be alright. In his presence, Shou felt genuinely comfortable.

Shou stared at the toilet painting and realized he had been a liar.

He had told himself that he couldn’t be with Yutaka romantically, because he wanted someone to talk to and someone to take along on group dates. But truth was, that he could talk to Yutaka far better than he would be able to talk to Sakura, and he’d have more fun with him at group dates, too.

What Shou had honestly wanted was the easy way. He had wanted social acceptance without it getting difficult in the slightest. He hadn’t wanted love. He had simply wanted a girlfriend.

He swirled around on his heels.

He thought of how proud Yutaka had looked when he finished the painting yesterday. So proud, that Shou had wanted to kiss him. Because the painting was a symbol for Yutaka’s personality. It was dumb and it was funny and it did not care what people thought of it.

Love could be found in strange places. Shou might just have found it in a toilet bowl.

“Sakura?”, he said. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He had known when he kissed Yutaka last night. He had known when he had thrown the paint at him. He had known when they gazed at the stars. Truthfully, he had known when Yutaka dropped the lighter.

Sakura cast her eyes down and threw a shy glance over to her friend as if waiting for some kind of permission.

“Sure”, she said quietly.

Shou nodded over to the door and they stepped out onto the corridor. The door to the classroom stood ajar and Shou could still hear the other students chat loudly.

His face was burning again; not with nervousness but with shame. It was the same feeling he had had when finding the paint brush Yutaka had dropped on the floor yesterday. It was the knowledge of having made a giant mistake and no one else to blame. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, yet he was going to do it again.

“Sakura, I’m sorry”, he said.

He was speaking loudly, not hushing his voice this time. The words were sitting in his mouth uncomfortable, but he had to get them out.

“I know we wanted to go out today”, he said. “And I’m so, so sorry, but I can’t.”

Sakura peeked up to him through her lashes.

“It’s alright”, she said. “We can go another time.”

Shou hesitated. He wanted to take the easy way out badly. If he just said “sure, another time” and then never got back to it, she would certainly just forget about it eventually. It would remain something that just hadn’t happened due to the circumstances, but that was absolutely not Shou’s fault at all.

He knew that this solution was cowardly, though. He needed to take responsibility. He would need to take responsibility for kissing Yutaka last night, too.

“I’m sorry”, he repeated. “I feel like the last asshole asking you out and then cancelling. I think you are absolutely cute and I really wanted to go out with you for a while now.” The words came easier now that they didn’t mean so much anymore. “But I think there is someone else I like. I tried to ignore those feelings, but …”

Next to them, the door to Utahiroba Sensei’s office opened and a girl came out, giving them a curious look as she walked over to the art room. Shou kept quiet while the next girl came out to disappear into the office. She was openly staring at them, too. Sakura did not speak either.

Only when the door to the office was shut tightly again, did Shou inhale deeply.

“I didn’t mean to change my mind so quickly”, he finished. “I was just stupid.”

Sakura nodded; her expression set tightly.

“Thank you for telling me honestly”, she said.

She did seem a little hurt, but Shou didn’t know her well enough to tell for sure. But she didn’t get upset and Shou thought that maybe they would have gotten along indeed. She seemed to be nice and if only he gotten to know her better, she surely wasn’t all that boring. They would have found something they had in common.

But if he was honest, Shou currently didn’t care enough to find out.

He thought of going back inside where Yutaka was. His heart beat more violently instantly. He’d have to tell him, too. Somehow, it made him more nervous than turning down Sakura.

“We should go back inside”, Sakura suggested. She spoke rather formally.

“I’ll be there in a bit”, Shou said and remained standing alone in the corridor as Sakura went back to class.

He needed time to prepare. He needed to think about what he wanted to tell Yutaka. That he was sorry for kissing him? That he wanted to kiss him again? He wasn’t sure Yutaka would forgive him for practically toying with him. He wasn’t sure Yutaka would trust him to have changed his mind for good now, either. Maybe he wouldn’t even believe Shou if he confessed now.

The office door opened once more and caused Shou to flinch. The next girl crossing the corridor was Sakura’s friend. She shot Shou a deadly look as she walked by.

Shou realized that Sakura had told her. He realized, too, that Sakura would tell her other friends as well. Shou would forever be the guy who had asked out a girl to dump her the very next day for someone else. He was marked as untrustworthy now. He was scorched earth now. None of the girls from their year would go out with him for a long time now. He really hoped it would be worth it.

He stared down the hall absent-mindedly.

He wondered what Yutaka was doing right now. If he had overheard that Shou had cancelled the date? Probably not. Yutaka wasn’t one to care for what the girls were gossiping about. But wasn’t he wondering why Shou didn’t come back inside after Sakura had long returned? Somehow, Shou wished Yutaka would check on him. He wouldn’t be able to approach him in front of everyone. Asking Yutaka out to talk right after telling Sakura he liked someone else might cause rumours, too. Shou wasn’t sure he was ready for that. But walking in and just ignoring Yutaka until class ended and everyone left didn’t feel like an option, either. He really wished Yutaka would just come out to check on him.

With a sigh he gave in and walked back into the classroom.

Sakura was sitting with a small group of friends.

Yutaka was standing next to the paintings, explaining something to a girl with sweeping gestures. The girl laughed. Shou felt furious.

He walked over to the window and sat down on one of the desks alone. It felt impossible to approach someone and talk to them. He realized that this was what his week would have looked like, if it hadn’t been for Yutaka. Surrounded by pretty girls, Shou would probably have managed to not talk to even one of them for the entire week. Without Yutaka looking at him, Shou would have remained invisible.

Instead of watching Sakura, Shou was trying to watch Yutaka now without attracting attention. Yutaka was still talking to the girl. Shou wondered if he was flirting with her. He probably was. Flirting came easy to Yutaka. He felt bitter that their kiss had obviously not affected Yutaka much. He had just moved on to the next person. Shou didn’t even have the right to blame him.

He pulled out his phone, staring at the screen to pretend he was busy while the girls left and entered the room again. He wasn’t doing anything on his phone, though.

Finally, the last girl came back, Utahiroba Sensei by her side this time.

He cleared his throat to draw attention.

“Now, we are only left with our two gentleman artists”, he announced, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Since it is quite late already, I’m not sure we will finish in time, but both of you are already used to staying late by now, aren’t you? Everyone else, I kindly ask you to stay inside the room until the official bell, so we won’t get in trouble. Feel free to leave at noon, though. Shou, would you come to my office first, please?”

Shou jumped up from the desk and followed Utahiroba Sensei over to his office. It had a desk in it and not much more. Utahiroba Sensei sat down on the desk chair and gestured for Shou to sit down opposite to him.

Shou stared onto his lap. Although Utahiroba Sensei was friendly and even funny at times, Shou never felt comfortable in the presence of his teachers.

“So, Shou, tell me, did you enjoy project week?”

Shou looked up in surprise and shrugged awkwardly.

“I’m asking this question to anyone. It’s not a trick question”, Utahiroba Sensei soothed him.

“It was fun at times”, Shou admitted. “But I’m no good at drawing.”

“I was surprised you signed up for my class”, Utahiroba Sensei said. “I heard from your music teacher that you’ve got quite the talent in other fields.”

Shou shrugged once more.

“It’s good to try out new things, too, isn’t it?”, he asked defensively.

Utahiroba Sensei nodded gravely. Shou wished it would be possible to ask him about his relationship with Darvish Sensei. He had wondered a lot if Yutaka’s assumption was true. He didn’t want to be rude, though. Also, there was a fair chance that Yutaka was going to ask himself.

“Absolutely”, Utahiroba Sensei confirmed. “And project week is also about learning teamwork. I have to admit that you showed up for your partner, staying after class with him yesterday to restore his painting.”

Utahiroba Sensei paused.

“I’m just worried Kyan Yutaka might be a bad influence on you. You seem like a quiet and reasonable person. He is a troublemaker. You should be careful about picking him as a friend.”

Shou bit down on his lower lip hard.

Utahiroba Sensei’s judgement made Shou angry. Yutaka seemed like trouble, but he had done his best to support Shou in any way.

“Yutaka is a good person”, he said between clenched teeth.

“He is the Antichrist”, Utahiroba Sensei said with a sigh.

“He is just trying to fit in”, Shou insisted.

Utahiroba Sensei nodded.

“He hasn’t found his place yet”, he agreed. “He thinks he has to claim it. He’s angry at everyone for not accepting him. But he has to learn that he can’t fight the entire world.”

Shou was surprised at the deep insight. Utahiroba Sensei seemed to know exactly what Shou had been talking about.

Shou knew perfectly well, that if he dated Yutaka, it would mean Yutaka introducing him to all of his friends, even if they had a problem with two men dating. He would also insist on holding Shou’s hand in public, even if people would stare. Because Yutaka never backed off from a fight. He wanted to show people far too hard that he was right. He acted like he didn’t care, because he truly cared a lot.

“Yutaka can’t fight the entire world”, Shou said quietly. “But he sure as hell is going to try.”

Utahiroba Sensei chuckled under his breath.

“What about you, though?”, he asked. “What do you want?”

Shou stared down onto his lap again.

He wanted to hold Yutaka’s hand with no one staring at them. He didn’t want to put his energy into convincing people who were going to judge him anyway.

“I want a quiet piece of the world”, he said. “Where nothing is difficult and I’m happy.”

Utahiroba Sensei exhaled loudly.

“I’ve always wanted that, too”, he confessed. “But things are always difficult when you stand out. I saw your painting. You definitely need to improve your skills, but I can see what you were trying to do. You wanted to be different from the others. And it worked. Your painting isn’t the best one in class, but it stands out because of its difference. It’s a good way of achieving that, but it’s also going to cause you trouble.”

“Wanting to be different, you mean?”, Shou asked.

Utahiroba Sensei nodded.

“It makes you unique, but people often don’t like it when you are different. You’ll have to make a choice. You are not a fighter like your friend.”

Shou swallowed. He had the feeling that Utahiroba Sensei was trying to give him some advice that had nothing to do with painting.

Once more Shou wondered if Yutaka had chosen his class because of that. Utahiroba was a watchful teacher. He’d make a good role model for someone who seemed as lost as Yutaka.

“Is it worth it?”, Shou wanted to know. “From your experience, is it worth being different if people will be against it so much?”

Utahiroba Sensei turned his head so he was looking out the window. It looked out onto the sports field. He was smiling.

“Yes”, he confirmed. “It usually is. But I think you have made your decision already anyway.”

Shou looked out onto the sports field as well. He thought of Yutaka trying to take a nap beneath the stairs.

“Yes, I do”, he said.

“So”, Utahiroba Sensei concluded and clapped his hands. “The execution of your painting still needs to improve, but the idea was original and you did a good job on the teamwork exercise. You get a B for project week.”

“Thank you!”, Shou exclaimed, somewhat surprised. He hadn’t expected to do anything better than pass.

“Now, get out and send that troublemaker in”, Utahiroba Sensei commanded and Shou got up.

Just when he left the office, the school bell rang out. On his way into the classroom, students were spilling out. He had to wait to let a group of them pass.

“Yutaka, your turn”, he called out.

Yutaka had his bag ready and took it with him as he left for the office. Shou took his time to collect his things and put on his jacket. He was the last person in the room.

Finally, he left, setting up tent in front of Utahiroba Sensei’s office. He put his school bag onto the floor and leaned against the wall. Then, he waited.

Yutaka stayed inside for a long time.

Shou wondered what they were discussing. He assumed Utahiroba Sensei had some advice for Yutaka as well. Probably, talking openly was a lot easier for Yutaka than it was for Shou. Maybe Yutaka had asked about Darvish Sensei. If he had, maybe he had told Utahiroba about Shou’s kiss as well. Shou really wondered if Utahiroba was that kind of consultant teacher. But then, Yutaka somehow seemed to be his favourite. He seemed to care. And Shou figured there weren’t a lot of adults around to talk to about this kind of issue.

After a time that had lasted far longer than with any of the other students, the door to the office opened.

“Thank you again, Sensei!”, Yutaka shouted, his voice cheerful, but somehow Shou thought his profile looked a little troubled nonetheless.

Only after shutting the door did Yutaka turn around to the corridor and spotted Shou. For a second, his expression seemed unable to settle for a definite emotion. He looked confused.

Then he beamed at him.

“B minus!”, he announced proudly. “Told you Utahiroba wouldn’t give us a hard time.” His cheerfulness sounded a little fake.

“Good”, Shou said and smiled nervously.

“But what are you still doing here?”, Yutaka asked and furrowed his brow. “I thought you’d be long since off with your little girlfriend.”

He said it in his usual, joking manner, but Shou thought his words sounded mean anyway. He couldn’t blame him.

“I, uhm”, Shou said. “I cancelled the date.”

“You messed up with the reservation at the restaurant, didn’t you?”, Yutaka asked, sounding angry now. “I knew you’d ruin it somehow. After we tried so hard.”

His anger seemed unjustified to Shou. He probably was still pissed at Shou.

“It’s not that”, Shou interrupted him, before he could go on. “I didn’t want to go out with Sakura.”

Yutaka’s expression softened instantly. It was hard to tell what it was that suddenly looked gentler. Maybe it was the angle of his eyebrows, maybe his jaw that wasn’t clenched so tightly anymore.

“You didn’t?”, he assured, rather calmly now.

Shou shook his head.

“I don’t want to date someone, just because it’s easy”, he said. “Especially not when there is someone I actually like.”

Yutaka licked his lips. It looked as if he was trying to buy time.

Shou realized that he looked scared. Fearless, carefree Yutaka looked scared of what Shou was going to say next. Yutaka looked down onto the floor and for a moment, Shou thought it seemed as if he wanted to punch a hole right through it.

“About yesterday”, Yutaka said softly. “I need something real, Shou. You can’t just …”

“Shh”, Shou interrupted him and Yutaka looked up.

He could see all the things Yutaka was afraid of written across his face. He was scared that Shou would ask him for more secret kisses, for meetings late at night on the rooftop when no one else was around. He was scared that Shou would try to hide him, where he wanted so desperately to be seen.

“Just one question”, Shou said and managed a smile, although his stomach was revolting. After this, there would be no going back. “Kyan Yutaka, do you like Italian food?”

For a moment, Yutaka just stared at him blankly. Then he realized what Shou had just said. His face lit up and Shou thought his grin was as blinding as staring right into the sun.

Because Shou wanted to see Yutaka make a mess out of his face and out of the tablecloth while eating spaghetti. He wanted to hold his hand on their way back home. He wanted to slap his head when he said something stupid and he wanted to throw stuff at him when he made him feel embarrassed and he wanted to kiss him when Yutaka made him laugh. He didn’t want just another adventure. He wanted love.

“Tell you what”, Yutaka said and turned his head to look down the corridor to their left and to their right. They were the only students still around.

Then he took a step towards Shou, dropping his schoolbag. It sprung open and spilled its insides across the floor. Yutaka did not pay attention to it.

He put his hands against either side of Shou’s face. Then he kissed him. Not gentle and not heated, but goofy and full of enthusiasm.

When Yutaka pulled back, his face wearing the typical lopsided grin was still close.

“Kiryuuin Shou”, he said. “I really like all kinds of food.”

#Golden Bomber #Kiryuuin Shou #Kyan Yutaka #kirikyan #fanfiction #fanfic #utahiroba jun #somehow I can only think of silly plots currently so I hope you are ready for more along those lines to come ^-^

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callboxkat · 6 years ago

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(Un)Broken - part 3

Author’s note: I’m back! It’ll be at least a week before you guys get another part, but have this one for now. :)

Warnings: self deprecation, headache mention, doctor mention, injury mention, food mention

Word count: 1579

Masterpost in the notes!

...

Patton walked into his apartment and quietly shut the door behind him. He slid the lock into place, then leaned back against the door with a soft sigh. He didn’t know why he was upset. He should be happy, shouldn’t he? He’d spent the evening bowling with his friends, after all.

He just kept remembering that moment, when he’d cheered about Logan knocking down those two pins—because Logan had been having a really hard time, and it was the first time they’d hung out together having fun like they had before his injury, and Patton had just been so excited to see him finally hit some pins! Logan, though, had clearly not been nearly as excited. Patton had seen how he rolled his eyes. Probably thinking that Patton was making fun of him. But Patton would never do that—Logan was one of his favorite people in the world!

Patton traipsed over to his sofa and threw himself onto it heavily, facedown on the cushions.

He knew that it was dumb. It was just one little thing, one little eye roll. It just hurt him to think that Logan might have thought poorly of him, even for a second.

He was distracted from his wallowing when his phone chimed its text tone at him. Patton reluctantly rolled partway over, just enough to grab his phone from his pocket and bring it up to his face.

Oh! It was Logan! Patton quickly swiped to open the message. It was a group text, sent out to all of them.

Logan: I greatly enjoyed our excursion to the bowling alley this afternoon. I hope that everyone else had as pleasant of a time as I did.

A second message popped up a minute later.

Logan: My apologies if I somehow lessened anyone’s enjoyment of the evening. I understand that especially while I am still in recovery, I am not the most ‘fun’ person to be around. Thank you for inviting me along.

Patton started furiously typing, but a series of other messages were already flooding in from Joan, Virgil, and Roman, all telling Logan that they’d had fun too, and yelling at him for implying that he’d somehow made the evening any less fun. Patton sent off his own message anyway, and as soon as he did, the notification that Talyn was typing their own response came up. Good. Logan didn’t get to talk bad about himself! Not on their watch!

Several long minutes went by, and then Logan responded.

Logan: Perhaps I misread the situation. Thank you for your assurances. It will not be necessary to ‘march over to my house’, ‘physically fite’ me, or hug me so tight that you ‘wring out the nerdiness’

Logan: Additionally, Virgil, I feel the need to remind you that Patton may decide to physically fight you if you continue to insist that gloominess is your area of expertise.

Patton paused, then scrolled up. He must have missed that message in the barrage of notifications. He found it—Virgil didn’t get to be self-deprecating either!—then scrolled back down to reply.

Patton: I will! I’ll fite both of you if I have to!!!

Virgil: Ok Pat chill, no fighting necessary

Patton: Good!

Roman: We should go bowling again. You all only got a glimpse of my skills.

Roman: (Virgils dont interact)

Virgil’s and Logan’s replies came through simultaneously.

Logan: I do think I would enjoy another such outing.

Virgil: You can’t stop me

The chat devolved into banter after that, mostly between Virgil and Roman. Patton just read the messages as they came through, not replying, until the others had to leave.

…

Monday rolled around all too quickly for Patton’s taste. He didn’t particularly want to get up early today, to go to class—one of them was math, after all—but he supposed there were bright sides. He did also have an art class today, and he would get to see his friends at lunch! He just preferred Tuesdays and Thursdays to the other three days of the school week because he had his actual classes with his friends.

Patton struggled through his morning class, which felt like it was moving at a glacial pace. He felt like he’d been there for so long. But finally, the bell rang; and with immense relief, he traipsed down to the cafeteria to meet his friends.

“I don’t blame you,” Roman said when Patton had finished sharing today’s math class woes. They and Virgil were sitting together, eating lunch in the cafeteria. “When are you ever going to need to know how to calculate a third derivative?”

“Exactly,” Patton sighed, putting his head down on the cafeteria table. “But it’s required, for my major….”

“You—you could always ask Logan for help,” Virgil suggested after a moment. “He’s pretty good at math.”

“Uh, yeah, I sure hope he is,” Roman said, his tone of voice mimicking that of a certain well-known six-second-video. “He’s a math major.”

Patton shook his head, but he did so without lifting it off the table, so it was more like he just rolled it morosely from side to side. “I don’t wanna bother him. He’s still got his concussion thingy to deal with.”

“C’mon, Pat, it couldn’t hurt to ask,” Roman said. “Besides, he could do derivatives in his sleep. Concussion or not.”

Patton just let out a soft, extended whine. If he hadn’t still had his head down on the wooden table, he would have seen Virgil and Roman glance at each other.

He felt a gentle poke on the top of his head. “What’s up?” Virgil asked.

“He’s gonna think I’m dumb,” Patton mumbled.

“Why would he think that?” Roman sounded genuinely confused. Patton could hear Virgil’s chair creaking as he shifted.

“Because he already does,” he heard himself whine. He knew he should just stop talking, but… whoops.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Virgil argued.

At the same time, Roman said, “That’s preposterous!” He normally had a habit of pronouncing it like ‘perpostrous’, which annoyed Logan to no end. He was pretty sure Roman did it on purpose at this point, evidenced by the fact that he said it correctly this time, when Logan wasn’t there.

“Logan knows you’re not dumb,” Virgil continued. “And it’s not like he hasn’t helped you before. What’s up?”

Patton sighed, gathered his willpower, and lifted his head from the table, sitting up. “I… I guess you’re right,” he sighed. He forced his features into a meek smile. “Sorry, kiddos. I’m just tired.”

“That’s okay.” Roman said.

“I mean… I get it,” Virgil said quietly. “Logan’s got stuff to worry about already. But he’s getting better, isn’t he? He’s allowed to drive and use phones and everything again. And it’s—it’s like Ro said, the stuff you’re working on is easy for him. I’m not—I’m not saying it is easy,” he amended quickly, even though Patton hadn’t been offended. “Logan’s just….”

“A huge nerd?” Roman suggested.

“A huge nerd. In a good way. Not being like him doesn’t make someone dumb. And you—” he fixed Patton with such an intense stare that the sophomore actually shrank backwards a bit. “You. Are. Not. Dumb. Nobody thinks you are. Not me, not Roman, not Talyn or Joan… and Logan sure as heck doesn’t think you’re dumb either.”

“But….”

Virgil was clearly running out of steam (that still happened sometimes when he talked a lot, though he was getting better) so Roman jumped in.

“If we’re not allowed to talk bad about ourselves, neither are you.”

Patton looked at them both for a second. Virgil was chewing the corner of his bottom lip and Roman had half a piece of Crofter’s-covered toast forgotten in one hand, but both were looking at him intently.

“O-o-okay. You’re right. I just got a bit silly, I suppose. I don’t like not understanding things.”

“We know,” Roman said. “You could always get someone else to tutor you, but I’m sure Logan’ll help if you ask…. Where is he, anyway?” He frowned slightly, leaning away from the table to look around.

Patton searched the room for a moment too, then glanced at the Mickey Mouse watch on his wrist. Logan should definitely have been here by now, if he were coming.

Virgil briefly chewed his lip a bit more intensely than before, then stopped and opened his mouth. “He—could he be sick?”

Roman sighed. “Probably… I hope he’s okay. Logan never misses class.”

That was true. The first time any of them remembered Logan missing class had been when he’d gone to the hospital after his accident. Logan valued class attendance too highly, and he was religious about hygiene, so he rarely so much as caught a mild cold. Recently, though, things were different.

“Could be another doctor’s appointment,” Patton mused noncommittally.

“I thought he had one on Friday, though,” Virgil pointed out with a frown.

Roman shrugged. “He’s probably fine.” He set down the toast that he seemed to finally remember was in his hand. “I for one am just glad he’s taking care of himself.”

Virgil nodded in agreement. Patton took a sip from his drink and didn’t respond.

“Hey…uh, you’ve got an art class today, right?” Virgil asked, changing the subject.

Patton nodded, brightening. “I sure do!”

“What are you working on?”

Patton turned to grab a little sketchbook from his backpack and opened it up, showing Virgil a few sketches as he talked about his current project. He knew Virgil was trying to distract him. He let him do it.

...

Tag list: @patton-loves-coloring @starryfirefliesbloggo @purplesoul-at-hogwarts @gaylotusthatexists @quoth-the-sparrow @awesomelissawho @amuthefunperson @faithfreedom @heck-im-lost @gayfandomsaremything @bunny222 @syndianites @astraastro @momolinia @captainswan618 @hamilin-manuel-miranda @goldenkiddos @afilhadehades-blog @virgeofselfdestruction @theresneverenoughfandoms @iris-sanders-athena @super-magical-wizard @rainbow-sides @thefallendog @fanficptsd @zodiac-awesome @lookitsthatquietgirl @nerd-in-space @pearls-of-patton @ab-artist @angered-turtle @im-so-infinitesimal @raygelkitty @dr-gloom @whats-going-on-kiddos @the-dumbster @oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall @fillyourteacup @kittiebrick @youtuberswithalex

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fan fiction #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #ts fanfic #fanfiction #(un)broken fic #unbroken fic #college au

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saultnpeppah · 5 years ago

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Tightrope Tuesday!

CH 26

It’s back y’all ;)

_____________________________________________________

June 12. 1814. Prince/Hol Residence.

"So, are you going to tell me why you had Jacob and his brother at the office today, or am I going to have to force it out of you?"

Bruce let out a sigh, trying to cover the chuckle that threatened to escape his lips, as he placed his phone on the table before looking up at his girlfriend. He watched as Diana walked away from the table towards the sink, tilting his head, appreciating the view as he watched the mother of his child gently sway her hips to the music coming from the television.

"My lips are sealed," Bruce replied, leaning back in the chair, trying to relieve the tension that resided in his back. His week had been filled with meetings upon meetings and although he was able to afford the highest quality of chairs, his back could only take so much. He watched as Diana reached up and opened her top cupboard, before she reached in and grabbed a glass, completely unaware that the hem of her shirt was riding up, giving Bruce an even better view of her back.

Diana let out a small sigh, knowing Bruce wasn't going to tell her anything. He was so secretive, and even though she admired he was confidential about his business deals, she wondered what he was keeping from her. "You know," she began, as she started to fill the glass in her hand with juice from the refrigerator, "I have my ways of making you talk." She took a sip from the glass and took a seat across from Bruce, watching with a raised eyebrow as he let out an exhausted sigh. Had he even heard her?

She watched as he dipped his head back and loosened his tie. He was exhausted, but he had promised to take her out for a nice dinner, as the two had hardly seen each other for a few days, and he was going to make good on his promise to her. "Bruce?" she asked quietly. She stood from her seat and made her way over to Bruce, gently taking a seat in his lap. She watched as Bruce lifted his head, gently opening his eyes, and flashed her a smile. "We don't have to go out."

Bruce silently shook his head and placed his hand on her hip, gently rubbing circles into the fabric of her jeans. "No, we can go out. I'm just a little tired."

Diana gently wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned in, and carefully placed a kiss on his lips. "Stop staying up so late, stressing yourself out about every little thing."

Bruce gave Diana a smirk, gave her one more kiss, and shook his head. "It's not my fault," he replied. "I have this brunette that likes to sleep over, and she can't keep her hands off me at night." He gave Diana a wink and watched as she rolled her eyes, before she stood from his lap.

"You don't seem to be complaining," Diana said over her shoulder. "Now, let me change out of this shirt and I'll be ready to go."

Bruce nodded, watching as Diana walked towards her room, gently lifting the shirt she was wearing over her head. He quickly stood from his chair and followed her to her room, stopping to lean against the door frame. He watched as Diana rummaged around in her closet, looking for the shirt she had her mind set on, a smile on his face as he watched the muscles in her stomach tighten with every movement. "So," Diana began, pulling a shirt from the closet, "I didn't want to bring this up, but has Selina made another appearance?"

Diana quickly pulled the shirt off its hanger and slipped it on, trying her hardest to avoid Bruce's gaze. She knew mentioning Selina was going to be awkward, but she couldn't help but wonder exactly what Bruce's ex-fiance was up to. Bruce shrugged and shook his head, clearing his throat when he realized Diana hadn't seen his silent gestures. "No," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't heard from her." He watched as Diana fixed the hem of her shirt, absentmindedly nodding to his response. Truth was, Bruce had been skeptical since they had run into Selina while on vacation, and when she had shown up at his office, he knew this could only mean trouble. But he had more than enough on his plate, with Diana and the baby, and Damian and these new deals he was working on. The last thing he needed to think about was Selina and the drama she brought.

Bruce opened his mouth to expand on his response, however the sound of the front door opening quickly stopped him from saying anything further. "Diana!" Shayera called out, rushing into the apartment, letting the door slam behind her.

"In here, Shay," Diana called over her shoulder, watching as Bruce quickly stepped inside the room and took a seat on the edge of the bed, giving Diana's roommate room to rush into the bedroom.

Shayera quickly rushed into Diana's room, her eyes wide, a smile on her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was labored and Diana could tell her roommate had run up to their apartment instead of waiting for the elevator. Whatever had happened was obviously important. "Hi, Bruce," Shayera said, giving Bruce a small smile. She had promised Diana she would try to be friendlier to Bruce, and she was trying, but it still irritated her to see him constantly.

Bruce responded with a courteous nod, watching as the redhead rushed up to his girlfriend and placed her hand on her shoulders. "Bratton is retiring," Shayera said in between pants.

She watched as Diana raised an eyebrow, confused. "Okay…." she began. Diana looked over her roommates shoulder at Bruce, who only gave her a sly smile. He knew who Lieutenant Bratton was. He also knew Bratton had been the officer assigned to the Hol's murders years ago, and had made it his mission to mentor Shayera throughout her career.

"Oh," Diana said, her eyes widening when she saw Bruce glance at the gun strapped to Shayera's hip; it was the one Bratton had given her when she had graduated academy. "Wade?" she asked, realizing she was on the right track when Bruce nodded and placed a finger on his nose.

Shayera nodded enthusiastically, her grip on Diana's shoulders tightening. "Anderson is being promoted and so they're looking to promote someone to Sergeant. I got the results of that exam I took last month. I got the promotion!"

Diana's smile grew wide as she saw her roommate continue to talk excitedly. She knew how hard Shayera had been working for this promotion, and she knew how much it would mean to her parents. She only wished they could be here to celebrate with their daughter. "I'm so proud of you," Diana said, wrapping her arms around her friend, squeezing her gently. "I knew you could do it!"

Shayera responded with a gentle squeeze, silently thanking Diana for everything, before she took another deep breath and pulled back, sitting on the edge of Diana's bed next to Bruce. In her rush to see Diana and tell her the news, she had run up the stairs and into the apartment. Now that the adrenaline and excitement had worn off, she was realizing just how exhausted she was. There was a knock on the front door and Shayera's eyes widened. "Crap," she whispered under her breath, realizing she had been with John at the time, and had completely forgotten him in her rush to see Diana and share the news. Without a word, Shayera ran out of Diana's room, leaving Diana and Bruce, who only chuckled.

"Well that was….exciting," Bruce finally said after a moment. He watched as Diana fixed her hair, letting her long tresses bounce off her shoulder as she moved to face him, before she offered him another smile.

"Yeah," she said, walking over to Bruce. "She's been working so damn hard, and she deserves it." Diana sat on Bruce's lap and wrapped an arm around his neck, placing a kiss on his cheek, watching as the man under her raised an eyebrow. "I think we should all go out and celebrate."

Bruce let out a sigh and buried his head into her shoulder. He had been set on having a night with Diana all to himself. But Shayera was her best friend, and he was genuinely happy for her. The least he could do was go out to dinner in celebration. "Fine," he said, placing a kiss on her shoulder. "We'll go out and celebrate."

Diana flashed Bruce another smile and nodded, before rising from Bruce's lap and walking out of the bedroom. Bruce followed Diana out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, where Shayera stood besides John, who had finally made it into the apartment after having been left by his girlfriend downstairs when she had received the call from her old mentor. "So we're going out to celebrate," Diana said.

She watched Shayera steal a glance at Bruce, who only shrugged and gave her a small smile, before her attention went back to John, who was pretending to read the paper, ignoring the other man in the room. It was obvious he still didn't care for Bruce, but he liked Diana and he didn't want to say anything else about him around her. That had been easy when he was able to avoid Bruce, but dinner with him…...it would be nearly impossible to go a few hours without speaking to the man. "Diana," Shayera said, placing a hand on John's shoulder. "You guys don't have to do that." She knew Diana had been looking forward to this night out with Bruce - she hadn't shut up about it since last night.

Diana stole a glance at Bruce, who only rubbed his temple, the beginnings of a headache forming. "No, Shayera," Bruce began. "We're celebrating you tonight."

Shayera stared at Bruce and offered him a genuine smile. "Thanks, guys."

"That settles it," Diana said, clapping her hands together. "Palinos?" she asked, knowing there was no way Shayera could say no to her favorite restaurant. She watched as her roommate nodded, a sparkle in her eye that only a nice plate of chicken alfredo could produce, before Diana smirked and turned to the refrigerator.

"Give me ten minutes and we can go," Shayera said, placing her hand on John's shoulder. She gave it a gentle squeeze, watching as he turned his attention from the paper in his hands to her, before giving him a small smile, trying to reassure him things wouldn't be too awkward.

June 12. 2047. Palino's - Downtown Gotham.

The delicious aroma of spices and herbs, blended together in a multitude of sauces filled the air as Bruce sat in silence besides Diana, listening to her explain some unheard of show to John, who sat and listened intently, a smirk on his face as his girlfriend remained quiet as she finished her glass of wine. Dinner had been awkward, as he had imagined it would be, albeit he had gotten Shayera to actually have a conversation with him, and had gotten her to laugh, so he figured he was making progress on the woman who knew Diana better than anyone. John, however, had remained stoic whenever Bruce spoke, which had only led to Bruce's suspicions that the man just did not like him. Normally Bruce would've ignored John's skepticism, laying on the playboy charm to get him through the night until he could retreat home, where he could forget about the military man's demeanor. But this was Shayera's boyfriend, and the two of them were more serious than he and Diana; the man was there to stay.

"So, in this show," John began, popping the last piece of garlic bread into his mouth before continuing, "What is the point of all the pranks?"

Diana shrugged, stabbed a pepper with her fork, and shoved it into her mouth. "It's funny, is all," she explained.

"Yeah, John," Shayera said, grabbing John's face and squeezing it in her hand, watching as he tried his hardest not to snicker at how ridiculous his girlfriend was acting. "We can't all be workaholics with no time for fun."

Diana took a small sip of her tea and turned to Bruce, who absentmindedly placed his hand on her knee under the table. "Are we talking about John, or Bruce?" she asked with a chuckle.

John watched as Bruce raised an eyebrow and snorted, taking a sip from Shayera's glass of wine before he shook his head. "Like he does much work," he said under his breath, jumping slightly when Shayera grabbed his arm, warning him. Unfortunately Bruce had heard him, and having gotten the cold shoulder from the man in front of him all night, he was in no mood to let this comment slide.

"Do you have a problem with me?" Bruce asked, taking his hand off Diana's knee and placing it on the table, clenching it besides his half eaten plate. He furrowed his eyebrows and stared hard at the man across from him. "What did I do?"

John snorted once more and sat up straighter, letting his hand clench into a fist on the table. "Nothing. That's my point."

"John," Shayera warned, placing her hand on John's fist. She knew why her boyfriend hated Bruce, and before the baby, she couldn't stand the man either. But Diana was her best friend, and they all needed to get along if not for Diana's sake, then they needed to do it for the baby.

"No, go ahead," Bruce said, egging on the man. He saw Diana turn to glare at him from the corner of his eye, and although he knew he was making a scene, he needed to get to the bottom of this now, or any time the four of them were together it would be unbearable. "What is your problem with me?"

John quietly shoved his plate further away from him, giving him space to press his finger into the table, firmly, proving a point. "You walk around like you're God's gift to the world, but what have you done? Nothing. Everything you have, all that money you like to blow on pretty women and parties, you didn't earn. You had everything handed to you! You don't know the meaning of hard work!"

Bruce watched as John's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. His fist clenched tighter and he could see the vein on his forehead beginning to pop as he grew more and more angry. "You see a magazine with a photo of me and a biased headline and think you know me, but you don't. I had to work. I had to work damn hard to get where I am. I had to fight to keep my own company, had to prove myself to every person in that company and I had to work my way up from the bottom. So don't say I never did anything!"

John continued to stare at Bruce, his lips twitching as he tried to contain his shock. He knew about the tragedy Bruce had endured as a child, everyone did, but no one knew about his company being taken from him- from the look on Diana's face, she didn't know this either. "I just worry about Diana. Diana and the baby-" He watched as Shayera's eyes widened before she jumped as Diana kicked her roommate's shin under the table. "Do you think you're father material? What is a baby going to do to your image?"

Bruce shrugged, trying not to let John's comment get to him, however on the inside he was seething. This man didn't know who Bruce was- the kind of man he was; the kind of father he wanted to be. He was like everyone else who had a biased perception of the billionaire playboy, but he was going to prove him wrong. He was going to prove them all wrong. "As you can recall, I didn't have a father growing up. I'm not doing that to my kid" he said quietly. He waited a moment before he locked eyes with John. "And I don't have to prove myself to anyone besides Diana, and our child."

June 12 2215. Hol/Prince Residence

Diana walked into her bedroom, Bruce quickly following her, neither knowing what to say. After John and Bruce's argument, dinner had been slightly more awkward, neither men knowing what to say. Bruce was adamant about not letting John get to him, wanting to prove to Diana that he could be the better man, but everytime John looked at him, he had to bite his tongue. He had gone his whole life with people saying negative things about him, his lifestyle, and the women he had been with, but with Diana things were different. She didn't deserve to be attached to all those negative connotations; no wonder he had gone along with keeping things between them a secret.

"You know," Diana said, nudging the bedroom door closed with her foot. "I'm surprised you didn't punch him," Diana whispered, knowing if she spoke too loudly her roommate would hear them.

Bruce only chuckled and shrugged. "I'm trying to be less impulsive," he responded. He took a seat on the edge of Diana's bed and let out a sigh. The last forty-eight hours had been rough, and dinner had only added to his stress.

Diana kicked off her boots and let out a chuckle of her own. "Is it bad I wanted to?" she asked, taking a seat in Bruce's lap, before she wrapped an arm around his neck.

"Remind me to never piss you off," he said, placing a kiss on her temple. "I should get going though. We have that thing at two tomorrow." He moved to get up, however when Diana didn't budge, he sighed and raised an eyebrow.

"Stay tonight?" she asked quietly, kissing him gently. She gently moved in his lap and straddled him before she kissed him once more, not bothering to hear his response, before she felt his hands on her back, holding her close. Without another word, Diana pushed Bruce onto the bed and crawled on top of him, grinning from ear to ear as he flashed her a smirk and began to loosen his tie.

The next morning, Bruce woke up to the sound of Diana mumbling in her sleep. He opened an eye, trying to keep as much of the sunlight off his tired face as he could, as he listened harder, trying to comprehend what Diana was saying.

Again, Diana began to mumble into Bruce's bare chest. Her arm, which was draped across his stomach, gently squeezed him, and her bare leg dug in between his, trying to get closer. Bruce gently rubbed Diana's bareback, welcoming the body heat she was providing. His eyes began to close, wanting to get a few more minutes of sleep in, before they started another busy day, when he felt Diana's hand on a particular appendage. "Now I know you're awake," Bruce said. He heard Diana giggle before she snuggled tighter into his body. She placed a kiss on his chest and took a deep breath, before she moved her hand up to rest on his hip. "What do you need?" he asked.

Diana lifted her head, meeting Bruce's eyes with her own. She let out a small yawn, letting the last bit of sleep escape her body. "Some water, please." She watched as Bruce let out a small sigh and rubbed his hand down his face, rubbing any last remaining bits of sleep from his eyes, before he sat up and threw the blanket off his bare body.

"You only asked me to stay over so you could boss me around in the morning," he said with a smirk. He bent down and picked up his boxers laying on the floor, glancing over his shoulders when he felt Diana's curiosity filled eyes staring at his rear; the blush on her cheeks only made her inner thoughts evident, as he quickly pulled the piece of clothing up his body and reached down for his discarded shirt.

"You found me out," Diana said, a grin plastered on her face as she laid back down on the bed and pulled the blanket up and over her face, blocking out the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder once more, smiling when he heard her breathing even out. Carefully pulling the shirt onto his body, he walked over to where Diana slept and gently pulled the blanket off her face, tilting his head as he watched her eyebrows furrow slightly at the intrusion of the light in her face, before relaxing once more, still sound asleep. Without a word, he pulled on his pants from the previous night, walking to the bedroom door as quietly as possible, making sure they were secure on his waist before he walked out into the hallway and into the kitchen, where he saw Shayera sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Morning," Bruce greeted as he stepped into the kitchen. He watched as Shayera glanced up at him over her mug, contemplating what to say to the man, before she settled on flashing him a small smile. "Have a nice run?" he asked, glancing down at the leggings she wore, trying to make small talk as he made his way over to the sink.

Shayera only chuckled. "Some of us didn't get a workout last night," she quipped, watching as Bruce merely shrugged, before he grabbed a glass from the top shelf and began to fill it with water. "Little advice, Bruce: our walls are extremely thin."

Shayera watched as Bruce turned off the sink and turned to face her, his lips pressed tight as he tried to think of a response. "I'll be sure to tell Diana to keep it down," he finally replied with a wink, which only earned him an eye roll from the redhead seated across from him.

"I was talking about you," she replied back, not missing a beat, smirking when she saw the faint trace of a blush creep across Bruce's face. "Coffee's fresh," she said, taking a sip from her own mug, letting her focus shift from Bruce to the phone in her hand. She heard him mutter a quick thanks, before he reached up for a mug.

It was quiet for a moment, neither knowing what to say to each other. Shayera, still skeptical of Bruce and his intentions with Diana, had promised to be nicer to him, but that didn't mean she was still comfortable with the man. And Bruce…..well he still didn't know how to respond to her earlier comment about him and their paper thin walls. It seemed like an eternity before Shayera let out a sigh, getting Bruce's attention, as she mentally prepared herself for the conversation that was sure to follow. "I'm sorry about John," she whispered, raising the mug to her lips once more, before taking another sip of coffee. She let the cup linger against her lips, mentally debating whether she should take another sip to stall the inevitable, before she lowered her hand, letting the bottom of the mug gently rest on the table besides her empty plate. "He speaks his mind a little too much and-"

Bruce raised a finger, silencing the woman, and shook his head. "It's okay," he said. He placed his cup of coffee and Diana's glass of water on the table, before he pulled out a chair and took a seat. "I understood where he was coming from, just like I knew where you were coming from when Diana and I started this whole….thing. I understand we all don't know each other very well, but I don't plan on leaving, especially once the baby gets here."

Shayera only nodded and leaned back in her chair. She let her eyes meet Bruce's, and for the first time she was able to see just how blue they were - they were nearly as beautiful as Diana's; they were going to have a beautiful baby. "So what are you and Diana actually doing? Where is this whole 'relationship' going?"

Bruce only chuckled. If he could count the amount of times he had thought the same thing, he would have gone insane. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to be with Diana. He wanted to raise their child together, at the manor, maybe even settle down completely with her. But he was scared, and he knew she could sense it, which is why she was so adamant on keeping things a secret. "I think the first step is to make it public, and we can go from there. But you know Diana, she's focused on work and what our relationship will do to her job, so I'm giving her all the time she needs."

Shayera watched as Bruce took another sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. "That's very unlike yourself," Shayera stated, watching as Bruce only shrugged once more.

"What can I say," Bruce began, standing from the chair. "I'm a man of mystery." He grabbed the two cups on the table and quietly scooted the chair in with his foot, giving her a wink, earning another eye roll.

He turned to walk back to Diana's bedroom, intent on waking her for work, when Shayera began to speak once more. "Just be careful, Bruce," she said to his back. She watched as he froze and glanced over his shoulder, knowing there was more that needed to be said. "Diana's not like any of your other girlfriends. If you hurt her, you won't need to worry about me. She'll kick your ass for the both of us."

Bruce nodded and tried to hide his smile. Shayera wasn't lying, Diana would hurt him if he ever did anything to her or the baby, but that's what he liked about her. She wasn't afraid to be a hard ass, or get her hands dirty if need be. "Noted," was all Bruce said, before he walked back to Diana's room, leaving Shayera to chuckle at her warning.

June 13. 1013. Wayne Enterprises.

"What about this one?"

Diana looked up from the file on Paul's desk, her eyebrows furrowing at the scene in front of her. Her hands clenched the sheet of paper tightly and she shook her head, unable to give a response to the two men standing in front of her. She tried her hardest to keep a straight face, letting her nostrils flare in an attempt to keep the laughter buried behind tight lips. She wanted to show her men she was the mature leader that she claimed to be. But the more she watched Paul dance, with his hips awkwardly moving side to side, as his crooked arms jabbed the empty space beside him, the less composed she became. Finally, without warning, she began to laugh. "Please don't tell me that's how Quinn fell in love with you," Diana said in between giggles.

Paul playfully turned his face from Diana, feigning hurt at her insult, before he raised the volume on the speaker that had been playing rock for the past hour. He turned to face Sterling, who sat next to Diana, his head shaking in his hand, as he tried to fight the laughter as well. "You see what I have to deal with?" Sterling asked, raising his head and pointing to Paul.

Diana only chuckled once more, before grabbing the remote to the speaker, and turning down the volume, much to Paul's dismay. "Di," Paul began, pouting as he took a seat on the edge of his desk, "This is what happens when you do all the work yourself, and leave none for us."

Diana only shook her head and flashed him a smirk, before she handed both he and Sterling a file. "Well, today is your lucky day," she said. "After the whole fiasco in Metropolis, Mr. Wayne has decided to look elsewhere to help with the Gotham City Police Department. There's a shipment that's coming in this afternoon. I need the two of you to make sure it makes it back here in one piece."

"What's in it?" Sterling asked, watching as Diana took a sip of water, popping a pill into her mouth before she shrugged nonchalantly.

"Tactical flashlights, tasers, pepper spray. Basic stuff for now. We still don't know why Mr. Wayne was targeted in Metropolis, so we'll start small for now." Diana watched as Paul continued to bob his head to the music, only partially listening to her. "Sterling, if he continues to dance and not pay attention, you have my permission to taze him."

She watched as Paul's head snapped up, his eyes wide as he stared at his boss, before he turned his attention to the young man sitting next to her. "Don't even think about it," he said, pointing his finger at the newest hire, before he slid off his desk, listening to Diana chuckle once more as she leaned back in his chair.

"So, if we're done with work-"

"We just started," Diana reminded him.

Paul only shook his head, ignoring Diana, earning an eye roll from both her and Sterling. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Diana raised an eyebrow, both intrigued and frightened. Out of the two men in the room, one knew she was pregnant, and the other had some sense that she and Bruce were in a relationship. It was only a matter of time before that information was shared and everyone knew everything. The last thing she wanted was to answer personal questions directly and have everyone get to the truth faster. "About?" she asked cautiously. She watched as Sterling leaned back in his chair, his lips turning into a grin as he moved closer to Paul.

Paul only shrugged. "Why aren't you dating anyone?"

Diana stared at him, unconsciously biting her lip as she contemplated the question. "What makes you think I'm not dating anyone?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

Paul only shrugged once more. "Well... are you?"

"No," Diana answered with another uncomfortable chuckle as she gathered the papers in her hands into the file on the desk, letting her eyes focus on the task rather than on the two men staring at her, trying to will the blush that she knew was forming on her cheeks, away.

"Why not?" Diana looked up, slightly confused when she heard Sterling ask the question.

Diana absentmindedly shrugged, gathered the file in her hands, and stood. "Well for one, you guys keep me busy, since I'm the one who does all the work apparently. And there's a lot going on in my life right now," she answered, trying her hardest to keep her eyes from locking with Sterling's.

Paul only raised his hands in surrender, feeling the hostility that his boss was sending through her responses. "Okay, I get it," he said. "I was just asking because I have a friend I think you would really hit it off with."

Diana shook her head in disbelief. Her own employee was trying to set her up with someone. But why? Didn't he know about her and Bruce? Paul was a smart man, there was no way he couldn't have put things together….or maybe he had and he was trying to save her from being with Bruce. Either way, she was content keeping everyone in the dark and out of her personal life for now. "I'm good," she said as Paul's phone began to ring on the desk.

"Thought I'd give it a shot," was all Paul said, as he watched Diana take a step towards her office, before he reached over the desk and answered the phone. "Wayne Enterprises, Security. This is Paul," he said into the phone. His head lifted and he turned to watch Diana walk into her office before he nodded at whomever was on the other end. "Yes, I can relay that message," he said. "Okay, see you then." He quickly hung up the phone and walked to Diana's office, gently knocking on her open door when he saw her digging through her desk.

"Yes?" Diana called out, placing the file in her hand in her desk, before she turned to her computer to answer the emails that had come through since she had checked her computer an hour ago.

"Hey, Mr. Wayne just called. He wanted me to remind you that you guys had a meeting at two."

Diana nodded, trying to hide her grin, before she turned to Paul. "Thank you," she said, watching as he nodded once, before he walked out of her office, leaving her alone for the first time all morning.

June 13. 1353. St. Catherine's Regional Medical Center.

Bruce stared out the front windshield of his car, letting his slow deep breaths calm the anxiety he was struggling to keep hidden. To his left sat Diana, silently sitting in the passenger seat of his car, quietly scrolling through her phone, completely unaware of Bruce's internal struggle. He turned to face her and let out a small sigh. He was nervous, although he wasn't entirely sure why. After all, he had gone to the doctor's with Diana when they had found out she was pregnant. So why was he so worried about today's visit? He couldn't put a finger on it, but things felt different; things felt tense.

"Stop staring," Diana whispered, her gaze still focused on the phone in her hand. He watched as her hand absentmindedly roamed down her stomach and over her hip, landing on the seat belt buckle, before he chuckled and shook his head.

"I wasn't staring," he said, unbuckling his own seat belt. He watched as Diana unbuckled her own before she turned to glare at him, offering him a smile before she shoved the phone into her pocket.

Without a word, Bruce opened his door and exited the vehicle, quickly marching over to Diana's side, before he yanked the door open and offered her a hand. "Thank you," she said, placing a hand in his, before she slipped her feet out of the car and planted them onto the edge of the sidewalk just in time for Bruce to pull her to her feet. "I forget you can be chivalrous when we're alone," she said with a wink, listening to Bruce let out a small scoff before he shut the door behind her back.

Bruce quickly turned to face his girlfriend and shook his head. He watched as Diana adjusted the hem of the blazer she wore, gently tugging at the bottom before she unbuttoned the article of clothing. "You know, people at work will eventually figure it out," Bruce said. He gently placed his hand on the middle of Diana's back and led her from the parked car towards the front door of the building a few feet from where they stood. "Not everyone we work with is an idiot. Blazers and loose shirts will only work for so long."

Diana chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. "When they figure it out, then we'll worry about it. No use parading my expanding body in the office right now. That'll only lead to more questions."

"I happen to like your expanding body," Bruce mumbled. He listened to Diana let out an unrepressed laugh, finding his unexpected comment hilarious, before he leaned in and kissed the back of her head. He knew Diana was going to make comments about her changing body, nearly every pregnant woman did, but he wanted her to know he found her just as beautiful now, if not more, than when he had first laid eyes on her. He opened his mouth to make another comment, give her another affirmation that he truly loved the body that was nurturing their future child, but when he saw who stood in front of the couple, arms crossed, smirk thrown on their face, he froze.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Once she heard the familiar voice, Diana froze next to Bruce. Her head snapped up to see the woman standing in between them and the front door, and although she knew she had no reason to, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. "What do you want, Selina?" Bruce asked. His hand trailed from Diana's back down, settling on her hip. "Are you following me?" he asked, unconsciously pulling Diana's body into his own.

Selina only shook her head, her smirk growing as she uncrossed her arms and dug into her pocket, retrieving a piece of paper with some scribbled writing in pen. "In your office, I noticed today's date circled and this address. I was curious." She shoved the folded piece of paper back into her jean's pocket and ran a hand through her short dark hair. "You've done a lot of careless things, Bruce….but knocking up one of your employees. Now that's a new low, even for you."

"Excuse me?" Diana asked, taking a step towards the woman who had just insulted the father of her child.

"Diana," Bruce warned, placing an arm in front of the Grecian woman. "Go inside. I'll deal with her."

Diana fiercely tore her eyes from Selina, settling on Bruce. Her eyebrows raised in confusion and she scrunched her nose. "Bruce," she began, stopping only when she noticed him shake his head.

"Please," he whispered. "Just go inside. I'll be right there."

Diana took a deep breath and nodded. "Fine," she said. She felt his hand slip from her hip and she took that as her cue to leave, taking the few extra steps to the front door, before she pulled it open and stepped inside, flashing Bruce a look of confusion before leaving his sight.

Bruce waited until he was sure Diana was inside the office before he focused his attention on the woman standing in front of him. Without a word he took a step closer to her, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration as he decided how to go about reprimanding the woman. "You have some nerve," he finally said, his arms crossing over his chest, building that metaphorical wall that had gone up when Selina had left - the same one that had taken Diana all but a week to tear down. "You have no right to judge my decisions, and you have no right to decide what kind of person Diana is."

Selina raised an eyebrow, slightly confused with Bruce's behavior. He was defending her, almost as if he was in love with her, defending her honor. "You're happy with her, aren't you?" she asked, her face softening as she watched the man she had once loved. She watched as he took a large breath, before he nodded.

"Very much so," he replied. "And I appreciate if you, or anyone else, didn't ruin this for me. For us." He narrowed his eyes, hoping she would understand what he was implying.

"I know what it's like being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne, remember? It's too public, even for someone like myself. I would never sell you out like that." Selina took a step closer to Bruce and placed her hand on his chest. "I did love you Bruce, and I really did hope we could start things back up, try once more." She let out a small sigh and shook her head, before she pulled something from her back pocket and slipped it into Bruce's jacket pocket. "But the moment I saw you two together, the moment I saw how you looked at her, I knew any chance I had was over. I just-" She gently patted Bruce's pocket, before she let out another sigh. "I just want you to be happy. You deserve it after everything I, and everyone else, put you through."

Bruce nodded, watching as Selina took her hand off his chest and let out another sigh, a sign she had given up on this unwinnable quest, before she pulled something else from her pocket. "Keep it," Bruce said, putting his hand up, stopping Selina from handing him the ring he had given her long ago. "I don't need it."

Selina locked eyes with Bruce and raised an eyebrow silently asking what he meant, however when his eyes glanced down to the pocket where his most treasured possession laid, she knew what he was trying to say. "I see. Well then, good luck, Bruce. If that child is as stubborn as you, you're going to need it." With that, Selina turned on her heel and walked off, knowing she had missed her chance with Bruce. She was a thief, that she could admit, but she wasn't a homewrecker. Bruce was happy, and she wasn't going to do anything to ruin that for him. Despite what everyone thought, she knew him to be a good man that deserved happiness.

Bruce watched Selina walk down the road, disappearing into the crowded street, before he turned and walked into the building. He quickly walked into the waiting room and took a seat next to Diana, who was busy reading one of the many pamphlets that lined the wall. "Selina isn't going to be a problem," he whispered as he placed his hand on her knee.

He watched as Diana continued to read the pamphlet in her hand, not bothering to acknowledge his presence or what he had just stated. "Diana," he whispered, turning to face her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, silently asking her to look at him, however the door to the waiting room opened revealing one of the nurses, a clipboard in hand.

"Diana," she said, nudging her head to flip some of the greying curls from her face, before her eyes settled on Bruce and Diana, who both stood. "Right this way." She turned to walk back down the hallway, making sure Diana and Bruce were both following before she turned the corner and led them into the first room on the left.

Bruce quickly took a seat next to the examining table, watching as Diana took a seat on top, before the nurse started asking her questions of how she was feeling and what she had been experiencing since her last visit. He zoned out, wanting nothing more for the nurse to leave so he could explain himself - he knew she was mad at him for making her leave earlier. "Okay Diana," the nurse said as she finished typing the last few sentences of her notes, "Dr. Khan should be in here shortly." With that she got up and left the room, leaving the two to discuss what had happened outside.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said after a few moments of silence. He watched as Diana turned to face him, her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the father of her child.

"I could have handled myself," Diana said. "You didn't have to make me leave."

Bruce stared at Diana. "I know," he said. "But I didn't want to give Selina anymore information about you, about the baby, than what she already knew. And I didn't know what she was going to do, so I wanted to be cautious. You can't blame me for that."

Diana let out a sigh and let her eyes close and her head fall back with a groan. "I know," she said. "I just- I don't like the idea of her knowing so much."

"I know. But trust me, she's not going to say anything. She knows I'd do anything for my family, and if she hurts you, or the baby, I'll fight back." He watched as Diana stared at him, searching his eyes as she processed his words, trying to find the right thing to say in return, before there was a knock on the door.

The door quickly opened and Dr. Khan stepped into the room, giving the expectant parents a welcoming smile, however when she noticed the tension in the room, her smile wavered. "Good afternoon, Diana," she greeted, gently closing the door behind her. She watched as Diana smiled her way, letting the doctor know she was alright, before Dr. Khan turned to face Bruce. "Bruce," she said with a small nod. "How are we feeling today?"

Bruce smirked at the doctor and placed a hand on Diana's knee. He knew the question was directed towards her, but he couldn't help but get under Dr. Khan's skin. If she was going to see him as an immature boy, then he would act like one. "Feeling a bit hungry, could use a snack." He turned to watch Diana glance up at him, her eyes shoot daggers at him as she did not find his attempt at humor amusing.

Dr. Khan only rolled her eyes and turned to face Diana, who only shrugged and let out a small sigh. "Still feeling nauseous?" She watched Diana nod as she tried to contain a small yawn. "I see you're still feeling tired."

Once again Diana nodded. "Very much so," she answered. "Although the nausea is becoming less frequent."

Dr. Khan nodded, took a few steps towards the medical table Diana sat on, and took a seat on the stool in front of the ultrasound machine. "Good, good." She motioned for Diana to lay on the table, silently watching as the younger woman obeyed, before she flipped on the machine. "Now, you remember how this goes, right?"

Diana nodded and lifted her shirt, folding it just under her breasts, leaving her abdomen bare for the doctor. Without a word, Dr. Khan squeezed a bit of the ultrasound gel onto Diana's stomach and placed the wand in the center of her abdomen, before gently running the wand over her bare stomach.

The room filled with the sound of the baby's heartbeat, fast and strong, and it took Bruce by surprise. Without warning he grabbed Diana's hand and stared at the screen that was displaying the source of the heartbeat. There in black and white, Bruce saw the baby he and Diana had created, and it took everything in him to not cry at having heard his baby's heartbeat for the first time; it was the most beautiful melody he had ever heard.

June 13. 1703. Wayne Manor.

Bruce pulled up to the manor and turned to watch Diana as she unbuckled her seat belt. The smile that had formed on his face when he had heard their child's heartbeat was still plastered on his face. He didn't know why, but when he had heard the baby's heartbeat, heard the evidence that this was indeed happening, something inside him changed. He wanted to be there for every doctor's appointment. He wanted to make sure he was there to see every milestone. He would be there for every heartbeat, every cry, every word; there was so much he would do for this baby, and they weren't even here yet. He couldn't wait to have his child in his arms.

"So I gave Alfred the night off," Bruce said casually, sliding out of the driver's seat of his car and over to the passenger side, opening the door for Diana before helping her out of the car. "I guess that means you and I are in charge of our own dinner."

Diana chuckled. She watched as Bruce shut the door before he placed his hand on the small of her back. "Should be easy enough," she said with a wink.

Bruce only nodded, leaned in and kissed the side of her head, before he shrugged. "How hard can it be?"

____________________________

"Alfred is going to kill you."

Bruce looked over his shoulder at Diana, who leaned against the counter, a smirk on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the messy kitchen they both stood in. He quickly turned his attention back to the stove he stood in front of, trying his hardest to save the chicken in the pan, but when he saw how black the edges had become, he knew there was no way to salvage the food. "You could've helped," he said as he removed the pan from the burner, placing the inedible piece of meat in the trash as he made his way to the sink.

Bruce quickly placed the pan in the sink, making a mental note to gift a new one to Alfred, before he turned to face his girlfriend. He watched as Diana shrugged her shoulders as she continued to smirk, her attention falling to the stove top that was stained with the residue of Bruce's failed attempt at dinner. "I'm with child," she said, gently placing a hand where their child grew. She watched as Bruce rolled his eyes, trying not to let the chuckle escape his lips, "Besides, you were pretty insistent that you could do this by yourself."

Bruce only nodded as he made his way to Diana. It was true, when they had come back to the manor, he had told her she could relax as he made dinner - too bad it had ended up a disaster. "I'm sorry I couldn't make you a nice home cooked meal," he said, pushing his rolled up sleeves higher on his arms. "Maybe I should have listened to Alfred more when he attempted to teach me some of the basics."

Diana only chuckled as she shook her head. "What are we going to do with you," she whispered. She gently grabbed his tie and tugged him closer, smiling when his arm wrapped around her waist. Without another word she pulled him down, letting her lips meet his in a chaste kiss.

Bruce gently squeezed Diana, letting her know he was grateful she was understanding of his shortcomings, before he pulled back. "Alright. Looks like we're going out."

June 13. 2023. Carl's Diner.

"So, remind me again how you know Oliver Queen." Diana shifted her focus from her phone on the table to Bruce, giving him a small grin as he gently shrugged his shoulders.

"We run in similar crowds," he answered, turning to give Diana a smirk. He watched as she rolled her eyes and shook her head, unsatisfied with his answer, before he turned his attention to the waitress talking to the people in the booth behind them.

He watched as she continued to chat with the older couple, placing a hand on her swollen abdomen, the smile on her face reaching her eyes. He watched as she nodded at something the older woman said, her gaze settling where her unborn baby was housed, before her hand pressed to the lower right of her stomach as she felt the baby kick.

Diana looked up at Bruce, her eyes narrowing when she noticed he was caught up staring at the waitress behind her. She watched as he tilted his head, intrigued by the younger woman, and she could only wonder what was going on in that head of his. Unable to help herself, Diana kicked Bruce under the table, letting her foot make contact with his shin, her lips curling into a small smirk when she saw him jump from the contact. He turned his attention back to Diana, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "What?" he asked innocently. He watched as she stared at him, her face emotionless as she took a sip from the glass in front of her.

"Nothing," she responded with a shake of her head.

Bruce only chuckled. He knew what she was thinking. She thought he was checking out the waitress, staring at yet another young woman who could have been another notch in his belt. That couldn't have been farther from the truth. "I was just imagining what you're going to look like when your bump starts to grow," he said, before he took a sip from his own drink. He watched as Diana raised an eyebrow, slightly shocked by his confession, before he flashed her another smile. "Plus," he began, "Your breasts." He wiggled his eyebrows, watching as Diana shook her head and began to chuckle, kicking his shin under the table once more.

"You know," Diana began, "I've always liked the name Oliver."

Bruce only shook his head. "No."

"What about Jason?" she asked.

Once again Bruce shook his head. "Do you only have boy names picked out?" he asked, his head tilting in curiosity at what she was getting at.

Diana only chuckled once more, happy that she was getting under his skin. "You're the one convinced we're having a boy."

"Well," Bruce began, giving Diana a small shrug. "I wouldn't be disappointed if we had a girl…..either way I'm happy."

"Well then, Mr. Wayne, what name would you like to throw into the pot?"

Bruce shrugged his shoulders and opened his mouth to speak, stopping when their waitress came to the table, food in hand. He watched as the younger woman placed their plates on the table, making small talk with Diana, before she headed back to the kitchen with a smile. "I hadn't really thought that far," he confessed, popping a french fry into his mouth.

"So, when is Damian coming back?" Diana asked, watching as Bruce continued to munch on the fries on his plate.

"I should have a date by the end of the week," he answered, letting his eyes meet hers. He watched as she nodded, before she reached over and grabbed one of his fries and popped it into her mouth.

The two were silent for a moment, enjoying their meals with stolen glances and flirtatious smiles. Had anyone walked into the diner they would have simply thought the two coworkers were sharing a nice meal, but they knew this silent dance they were doing-this silent conversation they were in the middle of- was something only they could understand.

"Two and a half weeks."

Bruce took a bite from the burger in his hands, before he glanced up at the Grecian woman, his eyebrow arched in confusion.

"Two and a half weeks. That's when we can announce the pregnancy; that's when we can announce everything."

Bruce continued to chew his meal, letting Diana's words repeat in his head. "Why so specific?"

It was Diana's turn to shrug, as she took a bite from her own meal. "That's when I'll tell my mother." She watched as he bit his lip, the unspoken question on the tip of his tongue. "I would rather be in charge of when this all comes out instead of a reporter finding out and selling the story for a quick buck."

"Agreed." Bruce watched as Diana finished her meal, leaned back in the booth, and let out a sigh. "So does that mean you'll agree to move into the manor?" he asked with a smirk. He watched as her eyes narrowed, knowing he had his answer, and held his hands up in surrender. "A question for another time I suppose."

The rest of their meal was eaten in silence, both content with Diana's decision to allow their relationship to be public knowledge. Neither knew how it would unfold, but they both knew they would be ready for it, one way or another.

It wasn't long before Bruce was asking for their check, paying for their meals and leaving a hefty tip for the pregnant waitress, before the two walked out of the diner and out into the humid summer air.

"Thanks for dinner," Diana said, adjusting her pant leg, dusting off a fallen end of a fry.

Bruce only nodded. "Of course," he replied, placing his hand gently on her back, ignoring her silent look of protest as they continued to make their way to his car. That, of course, only made his smug smile grow wider. He loved pushing her buttons.

The two continued to walk towards his car, letting the flirtatious smiles continue as they inched closer and closer to the vehicle parked at the edge of the lot. It wasn't until someone stepped in front of the duo, did they stop, but once they had, they realized what a terrible mistake they had made parking so far away from the diner.

The man who approached the couple cleared his throat, getting their attention, as he stepped in between them and the last row of cars that remained in the diner's parking lot. He watched as both Bruce and Diana stopped in their tracks, clearly aggravated, before he laid out an empty hand. "Give me all your money," the man said, the collar of the dark jacket he wore muffling his voice.

Bruce only stared at the man, narrowing his eyebrows as he glanced down at the stranger's empty palm. As a man who was famously known for being a billionaire, he had been approached multiple times by those who would beg for money, and on occasion he would find it in his heart to buy them a meal or two. And he was prepared to do just that, however when the man took a step towards Diana, his eyes growing darker as he demanded money once more, Bruce knew a simple meal wouldn't satisfy this man.

"Hey buddy," Bruce said, stepping in front of Diana. His hand instinctively pushed Diana behind him and his jaw instantly clenched as he waited for the man to respond. He had expected an outburst. He had expected the man to yell, scream, spit at him, or even try to swing at him. He had expected the man to growl in annoyance and demand money once more. What he hadn't expected, however, was to see the man whip out a gun from the pocket of his jacket and point it at the couple.

"Give me all your money," he repeated, as he pressed the barrel of the gun against Bruce's chest.

#wonderbat #fanfiction #au #tightropetuesday

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