#i do not work in a coffeeshop but i do work in food so uh. be kind to workers please sdlksdjf

[noneorother]

The grand unified theory of Good Omens S2 hangs on - you guessed it - a double meaning (and art). *Part 3*

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l The End? This is major spoilers for season 3 territory. You have been warned. I'm also going to split this into parts because wow, I have so many ✨Clues✨! My peeps, before I show you the prestige, we need to discuss Maggie. Maggie is SO WEIRD.

Right up top we get her telling us this. Who loves something since they were a baby? Since you were a kid sure, but how can you remember loving something since you were a baby?

This one's fun. The double meaning here is 1) I was a huge uptight nerd so I never went to parties and/or 2) I wasn't a human teenager so I never got to go to your earth parties. But check out when Nina and Maggie *first* meet in her coffee shop. We spend a lot of time in this scene, because it's framed as a meet cute, but it's also full of weird dialogue.

So i'm not a writer, someone feel free to tell me I'm wrong, but Maggie is remembered by Nina AS A COFFEE. She IS a skinny latte. This works on two levels again. 1) You're not important enough to me to remember you as a person, just as an order. 2) You do not fit into my memory of people I know, but subconsciously I remember you as NOT a regular human.

And then again when she leaves the shop, Nina isn't paying attention and just sort of subconsciously replies:

Again, two meanings. Maggie is unimportant to her, Maggie is also a *coffee*.

Which is weird, because as far as I can tell Maggie never drinks a coffee, or anything for that matter. Sure she orders stuff in the shop, and is offered food and alcohol, but we never see her actually drink or eat any of it. She stirs the tea but never takes a sip.

So what IS Maggie then? Many people have pointed out that Maggie and Nina are a coffeeshop AU of our heroes. Their visual presentation seems to be screaming Nina = Crowley! and Maggie = Aziraphale! And they *work* on opposite sides of the street and everything! So is Maggie just a stand-in for Aziraphale then, to make the parable work? Cool, then what's the parable?

Uh oh. What possible AU fiction ends up with the main love interests breaking up with their toxic ex, dancing in a ball and fighting demons together and then... just not ending up together? An AU written by kind of a bad writer who wants to show the two lovebirds he's trying to separate that it will never work. Oh hey look The Metatron is here:

Now, I think the same guy that has been adding bits and pieces in the past would have no problem adding stuff and/or people in the present to make a point. Maggie also seems to be pretty sure about quite a lot of things that I wouldn't be sure about, given the context.

Maggie's knows it's not going to do any good, but she has to tell them anyway? Tell them what, that Nina and Maggie talked it out and never ended up together? Wow, what a great message. Thanks Maggie. Maggie isn't just a downer of an example though, remember she's also A COFFEE! Shoved in Aziraphael's and Crowley's faces, asking them to take it and help her since the beginning.

There's a concept in magic tricks called a force, where it seems like someone has free will ; to put a card anywhere in a deck, or pick a number, or volunteer, but actually the outcome has been chosen for them by the magician for the trick to work. The actual trick is about getting the person to think they've freely chosen to participate in the trick, not the act of revealing the card. The real trick was never making Maggie and Nina try to fall in love, it was getting Aziraphael to think he had freely chosen to help Maggie get this whole thing going. And if we know one thing about Aziraphael, it's that he's actually terrible at magic. Aziraphael has been primed to take the coffee in S2E6, because he's been taking the coffee the whole season. Ready for the prestige reveal after the force? We're going right to The Metatron in Part 4.

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

"coffee shop au but the barista hates their guts" with magnus and julia? i think it'd be funny

from this prompt list!

Julia ties her apron and switches on her café-approved playlist as Hurley finishes wiping down the counters. Ren gives the pair of them a sleepy wave before heading back into the office to work on paperwork. Rain drums on the windows and thunder rumbles like some long-sleeping beast is waking from hibernation.

“Alright, just nine more hours,” Julia says joylessly as she starts making herself the first of many iced quads for this sleepy Wednesday.

“Starting off in this chipper of a mood, huh?” Hurley asks, unlocking the door and flipping the sign, preparing for the inevitable deluge of customers.

She scoffs, her distaste palpable. “ C’mon, you know I hate Wednesdays.”

“This still about your regular?”

“This is absolutely about my regular,” Julia confirms, rolling her eyes as she pours her espresso shots over ice.

Hurley laughs to herself. “Jules, he can’t be that bad.”

“Listen, I know that your tall, broody regular who tips immaculately may have skewed your perception of our clientele but this dude is a royal pain in my ass. Like, he comes in and stares at the menu he’s seen at least a hundred times before as though it changes ever. Then he changes his order at least once every single goddamn time he’s here. Gonna be medium black coffee or a small caramel latte or a medium mocha. Not to mention that dude pays in exact freaking change. Down to the pennies. And he’ll drop a single dollar in the jar. And I’ll make the goddamn drink for him and he’ll say ‘oh, could I get two Splendas?’ while standing in front of the packets of Splenda. I’ll give them to him because I’m a nice fucking lady. And then he'll hang out for an hour, barely drink his drink, trash it, and leave.” Julia drains roughly half her drink after recounting her tale.

“That must be really hard for you,” Hurley deadpans. “I mean, gotta say, it’s real tough for me to have perhaps one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen always get an iced dirty chai, tip $5, and tell me to have a lovely day.”

“Yeah, tough ‘cuz you won’t ask her out or give her your number or anything,” Julia teases. As if on cue, Hurley’s very pretty regular traipses through the front door, soaked to the bone.

“Hey, Sloane, good morning!” Hurley calls out, entirely too chipper. She shoots a little glare at Julia.

Sloane lights up and starts rifling through her wallet. “’Morning, Hurley!”

“Large iced dirty chai for ya today?” Hurley’s hand is already reaching out for the cup as she asks. Sloane nods and smiles a little shyly.

“That predictable, huh?”

Hurley shrugs. “Not a bad thing. You like what you like. I like that.”

Sloane hands Hurley her cash. “Keep the change!”

“Thank you. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“Thanks!” Sloane goes to pull up a chair at a vacant table.

“Hurley. Please. For the love of any god, give the girl your number,” Julia says under her breath. “I can’t keep watching this until she wises up to the fact that our coffee really isn’t that good and she eventually starts going to another pretentious coffeeshop.”

Hurley flushes. “Julia!” she hisses. “I don’t want to make it weird.”

“Then I’ll make it weird for you!” Julia walks over to the pastry case and decisively pulls out a sugar cookie, slipping it into a paper sleeve. She deftly pulls out a pen and scribbles Hurley’s number on the exterior. She returns to Hurley’s side and sets the treat down next to where Hurley’s finishing Sloane’s drink. Some of the color drains from her face when she realizes what Julia’s done.

“Jules, come on,” she whines quietly.

“Hurley, the worst that happens is she doesn’t text,” Julia murmurs, grabbing a straw.

Hurley frowns a little. “Yeah, but then it’ll be awkward.”

“If it’s awkward then I’ll make her dirty chai real bad next time so she doesn’t come in again.”

“You’re so dumb and I hate you,” Hurley laughs. She lets out a little deep breath and flips the cookie bag over, number-side down. “Sloane? Got your order right here!”

Sloane approaches the counter and blinks in surprise. “Oh! What’s this?” she asks, eyes alight with intrigue.

“Just a little freebie. If you want it, of course!” Hurley supplies hurriedly. She tries to muster up a smile that doesn’t look like it’s barely containing every single one of her nerves, all standing at attention.

“You’re too freaking sweet, oh my God!” Sloane grins at Hurley before grabbing her items. “Have a lovely day!”

“You too!”

Hurley manages to keep her smile firm on her face until Sloane leaves. “Holy shit, I think I have to move away and never work here again!”

“You’re being dramatic,” Julia rolls her eyes at Hurley. She’d kill for a non-rage inducing regular. She half-hopes the shitty weather’ll keep him away. She smiles a little as she hears a quiet chime from Hurley’s phone. No time wasted, it seems.

--

Julia’s not sure why everyone in the entire world decided that they had to come for a coffee at the same goddamn time but she’s kinda over it. Hurley is exclusively working on making a metric ton of drinks while Julia has to keep bouncing between the manning the register and heating up pastries and making drinks. The line is building up and Julia feels a small pit of rage bubble up when she sees her goddamn regular join the line. She thinks God has abandoned her. Maybe God can’t see her in this chapel of caffeine and capitalism. Maybe this is actually hell where she’s being forced to shill overpriced lattes and flavorless breakfast sandwiches to increasingly agitated and entitled customers.

She’s able to take five orders in record time before attending to the shrill beeping of the oven, warning Julia that if she doesn’t drop everything she’s doing right now, these croissants are going to burn. She auctions them and the accompanying drinks off to a handful of customers before making two iced chai lattes. She stands on her tiptoes to address the man next in line. “I’ll be with you in just one moment!” She cringes internally at her hyper-fake, chirpy customer service voice.

The man in line doesn’t acknowledge her. Fine. Prick. Another glance up at the line while she waits on some espresso shots and she feels herself deflate; her fucking regular is behind rude dude. Can she ever get a break? Is this all some cruel twist of fate? All these existential questions and more will have to wait until she can take her break. She churns out another two easy drinks before returning to the register.

“Sorry about that wait, thanks for your patience! How can I help you today?” She plasters on a smile that threatens to shatter her tenuous “I don’t hate my job” mask.

The man in front of her audibly scoffs and she is wildly impressed at her restraint because she manages to not roll her eyes. “Large cappuccino. No foam.”

Oh no. Julia takes a breath. “So, if I make you a cappuccino without foam, that’s just going to be a latte, is that okay?”

“I said I want a large cappuccino with no foam,” the man snaps. He’s looking at her as though she personally pissed in his Cheerios.

Julia’s smile stretches wider. She’s certain she looks like some kind of deranged clown at this point. “Right, but a cappuccino is espresso, steamed milk, and foam. No foam would just be espresso and steamed milk. A latte.” She knows she sounds a little condescending but there’s only so many times you can explain a drink to a person.

“Are you stupid? Just make the goddamn drink.” Hurley whips her head to look at Julia. She raises an eyebrow that Julia just waves off.

Oh fuck this guy. Julia feels her face heat up and she does her level best to keep her voice under control. “Okay, sir. One large cappuccino with no foam. Can I get you anything else today?” Her voice shakes a little and it makes her face heat up even more. She cannot believe this fucking guy is really going to ruin her day. The oven starts beeping again and Julia quickly becomes agitated.

“Yeah. Bacon, egg, and goat cheese croissant. And a cookie.”

Shit. Her smile goes apologetic. “I’m so sorry sir, we just sold out of our bacon, egg, and goat cheese croissants. Could I offer you another delectable selection?”

“Of fucking course you did. No. Just the cookie and the drink.”

Julia nods, not trusting the growing tightness in her throat to not make her voice sound pitiful. She’s not sad, she’s fucking pissed, but of course this is how her body processes anger.

“How will you be paying today?”

“Apple Pay.”

You have got to be fucking kidding. “We actually can’t do Apple Pay. Do you —”

“The fuck kind of place even is this? Get me your manager.” The man scowls at her.

“Sir, I’m sorry that yo—”

“Your manager.”

Julia swallows. “Hey Ren?” she calls down the small hallway. The office door is cracked and in a moment, Ren emerges. She takes one look at Julia and furrows her brow.

“What’s going on?” She’s better at reading Julia than Julia cares to say. Not that reading Julia is particularly hard to do in this moment. Less Crime and Punishment and more Green Eggs and Ham.

“This place is ridiculous. Can’t keep shit stocked, don’t take Apple Pay, and your baristas are slow and bitchy.”

Despite her wishes, more heat blossoms on her face and her throat squeezes again and angry, bitter tears well in her eyes. It’s one thing to be pissed because things are out of stock but it’s another entirely to just call her a bitch.

This doesn’t fly with Ren. “Sir, get out. You’re not going to speak to my staff that way,” Ren crosses her arms and glares at the man.

“You can’t do that, I know my rights,” the man scowls at Ren, who is in no mood to play around.

“I have the right to refuse service to anyone. Your rights protect you from the government, not me, bud. So I’ll ask you politely to leave one more time. Don’t make me ask a third time.” Ren’s voice is firm and confident and everything that Julia’s isn’t in this moment and while she’s never been more grateful, she also can’t help from feeling like first grader running to her teacher because someone pulled on her pigtail.

The man throws his arms up in exasperation before storming out. Ren holds a finger up to Julia’s regular, instructing him to wait. At the very least, he’s the final customer in line. “You wanna go on break?”

“I can take this guy first. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

Ren nods and helps Hurley sling a couple more drinks and replaces the pitiful croissants; victims of a shitty customer tantrum.

Julia clears her throat and looks at her regular only a little morosely. “Hey there, how can I help you today?”

“Oh my God that guy sucked,” he blurts out. Julia can’t help but laugh. “Like, bad. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” More tears manifest and her voice is thick.

“No, but he made you cry! Over a coffee!” Her regular sounds genuinely distressed over the events that just transpired. Julia can’t help but be a little touched.

She shrugs good naturedly. “That’s food service!”

He frowns deeply. “I hate that.”

“It’s not all bad. Not all the time. But this isn’t my therapy corner, what can I get you?”

He stares up at the menu and in a stunning turn of events, Julia doesn’t feel the desire to roll her eyes. “What do you like here?”

Phoning a friend for a suggestion this time? Nice change of pace. “I do iced quads. Basically just espresso over ice.”

He winces. “That seems a little extreme for me.”

Ren and Hurley finish up the tickets that had gotten backed up during the rush. All is calm. So Julia doesn’t feel too bad just chatting with her regular. “Can I ask what you do like? Because I gotta be honest, you’ve been coming in for a while and I don’t think I’ve seen you finish a whole drink?”

He grins sheepishly. “You noticed that, huh?” She nods and waits for him to explain himself. “Well, I just moved to the area and I liked the idea of being a regular somewhere. This is right next to my apartment and I thought I could maybe force myself into liking coffee. Embarrassing, I know.”

“Nah, it’s sweet. You’re definitely a regular, I’ll give you that.”

“I feel like I’m bad at it.”

Julia wrinkles her nose. “There’s always room for improvement. Why don’t we start with getting you a drink you might actually like?”

“I’d like that!”

“You like sweet stuff, then?” Julia wipes at the corner of her eyes, having stopped actively crying.

“I do, yeah!”

She hums a bit as she thinks. “How’s a caramel hot chocolate sound?”

His eyes widen almost comically at the thought. “That sounds great!” Julia smiles and punches it into the system. He quickly slides his card through the reader and drops some cash into the jar.

“Magnus, right?”

“That’s right!”

“It’ll be right out.”

By the time Magnus walks to a table, his drink is ready. Julia decides to go drop it off. “Here, let’s hope this one’s a winner.”

“That’s one of the best things I’ve ever had, holy crap!” Magnus exclaims after a large sip.

“Hell yeah!” she drums her fingers on his table, not wanting to go back to the register just yet.

“I’m sorry again about that dude. I think you’re really nice, if that counts for anything.”

“I think it might. Thanks for being so chill, Magnus. See you tomorrow?”

He nods. “Yeah. See you then!”

She smiles a little before going back over to the register. Hurley scoots over to her and waggles her eyebrows. “Being nice to your enemy?”

“Nah. I have a new enemy. That’s just Magnus.”

A knowing grin worms its way to Hurley’s face.

“Don’t look at me like that, Casanova. How’s Sloane?”

A dark blush colors Hurley’s cheeks. “That obvious?”

“Oh yeah.”

[themochimadeoftaro]

DHGFRHSBDK SO UH HEY UH MUSICIAN AU! I love Stanley but how does Narry go on about his day? A day in the life of the Narrator and stuff all that jazz. (This is the same anon who cried over this au. I just really love your stuff I'm so sorry. It's really cool.)

I think he doesn't really do much HAHA

He has a pretty chill life, or, well, does stuff that doesn't take much of his time

In a normal day he'd wake up and usually go outside to get some breakfast in a nearby coffeeshop. Would order the same strawberry jelly roll with either green or black tea, and sit on the farthest window of the place.

Later, he'd get to a library to read for children, just cuz he likes being listened to. But, he isn't very good at staying in topic, so he starts rambling/complaining mid lecture. It still amuses the children enough so they come back everytime.

And after that, he'd go back to his house (not without getting some food first) and clean for a bit. I imagine he's very neat, so he doesn't do much effort everytime.

He'd later check for new commissions, since besides writing, he also does freelancing va. If he has works to do, he'll record them firstly before writing on his own stories.

He usually writes with a font pen, in paper, but sometimes he'll also get his laptop to work on the bed while he cuddles his cat, Sally.

He's very affectionate with his cat, so before sleeping, he'll give it attention and lots of pets. :) He might also read a book as he's doing so.

And that's how Narrator spends his days! Sometimes it changes and he goes to hang out with Curator, who in this case is the boss of the editorial-publisher he works with and acquintances/friends with Narrator. :)

Also, included a small sketch as a thought of how Narrator's nights are like lol

[plaidbooks]

Dark Secrets: New Beginnings

A/N: This is the first installment of the Vampire!Sonny x reader fic. This chapter is only setting the stage; next chapter will be more about the vampire aspect, I promise! This covers the Bookstore square in @adarafaelbarba​ moodboard bingo!

Tags: mentions of sex

Words: 2233

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart​  @beccabarba​  @thatesqcrush​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ @permanentlydizzy​ @ben-c-group-therapy​  @infiniteoddball​ @glowingmess​ @whimsicallymad​ @lv7867​ @storiesofsvu​ @cycat4077​ @alwaysachorusgirl​  @glimmerglittergirl​ @joanofarkansass​ @caracalwithchips​ @berniesilvas​​  @reading--mermaid​  @averyhotchner​  @mrsrafaelbarba​ @detective-giggles​ @crowleysqueenofhell​ @dreamlover31​

You spent hours on the computer compiling resources for your thesis. After years and years, you were finally getting your Ph. D in History…if you could just finish this damned thesis. List complete, you headed to the local bookstore; you always checked them first before going online, since they were cheaper.

You were intimately familiar with the bookstore; you went there often. And you had double and triple checked online that they had these books. You had a small basket, four books in it, while you looked for the fifth and final book you needed. But its spot on the shelf stood vacant; a perfect hole where it should be.

Shaking your head slightly, you started to search the shelves around it, in case someone didn’t put it back correctly. But you were coming up empty. And this was the book that you needed to buy here; the shop had it for $20, while online was a couple hundred.

“Looking for Making the Revolution: America, 1763-1791?” a voice asked from behind you.

You turned to find a pale, lanky, attractive man, his hair slicked back, his bright blue eyes watching you intently. He was sitting at a table, open book in his hand. Seeing the cover, you knew it was the book you needed.

“I am, yes. Were you intending to buy it?” you questioned, praying he said no.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “I was debating it. Why, do you want it?”

“I do; I need it for my thesis. If you let me buy it, I promise to give it to you when I’m done, free of charge.” At this point, you were just desperate for that book.

His eyes seemed to bore into you as he thought about your proposal. Finally, he smiled, saying, “I think that’s a noble reason to buy this book. You’ve got yourself a deal.” He held the book out to you, and you gently took it from him.

“Thank you so, so much. You don’t know how much this helps me,” you said, placing the book in your basket.

He held a hand up. “No problem. There’s a lot of inaccuracies in that text, anyways.”

You blinked in surprise. “There are?”

“Oh yes. For one, it perpetuates the idea that Christopher Columbus came here to ‘escape tyranny’ in England, which is a load of crap, if I’m honest.”

You took a step closer to the strange man. “Do you have a source on that?”

He thought about it, chuckling to himself about something, before he answered. “Well, I am in the process of transcribing a manuscript from the man himself. But it hasn’t been published quite yet, so I doubt it’ll be of use to you for your thesis.”

“Wh—who are you?” you asked in awe.

He held a hand out for you to shake. “Dr. Dominick Carisi Jr., but you, my dear, may call me Sonny.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you quickly shook his hand. “Dr. Carisi? Oh my god! I’ve been reading your work in class; I loved your thesis on slavery!” You had never seen a picture of him, had no idea he was so young; he was about your age. You had expected him to be an old man, at least in his 80s, not this attractive man in his early 40s at most.

He barked out a laugh. “You’ve really been reading my work? I’m flattered. I didn’t think anyone put stock in my texts.” While it was true he was a world renowned historian, his work was seen as highly controversial. He had a knack for citing manuscripts and journal entries, things that no one had discovered before he brought them to the limelight. But every authenticator had proven that the writings were from the time period. And that was enough for you.

“Please, sir, er, Doctor. Could I spend a day with you, pick your brain for my thesis? I’ll—I’ll buy the drinks and food, just…please?” you asked, suddenly embarrassed.

But Sonny’s smile grew. “I’d like that. But only if you call me Sonny. If you’re doing your thesis, then I assume you’re almost done with your doctorate?” You nodded, and he continued, “then in my eyes, we’re equals, and you don’t need to call me ‘Doctor’.”

Your heart beat a little faster when he called you equals. “Thank you so much Doc—Sonny. Does the coffeeshop next door work for you?”

“It does. And I’m free all week, whenever you need me.”

“How about tomorrow morning? I don’t have class until 3pm; I hope that’s enough time to chat.”

He gave you that heart melting smile once more. “Sounds good. See you tomorrow.” Then he took your hand and kissed it. As he walked away, your knees felt weak. You were infatuated within five minutes of talking to him.

 **********************

Sonny turned out to be an incredible source of information. Plus, he brought books that he thought would help you, letting you borrow what you needed. And, like yesterday, you found yourself completely enamored with him. He didn’t have a ring on, so you assumed him unmarried, but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being weird. Sure, you were close in age, but he was done with school, became a published historian, while you were still finishing up college. But he never talked down to you; on the contrary, he seemed highly interested in what you had to say.

Like before, you had been nervous—star-struck, really—when you met up with him. But as the hours ticked by, you found yourself more and more comfortable with him. He was highly intelligent, especially about history. You had found it hard to find someone who was as interested in history as you were, without sounding like a pretentious asshole. But Sonny checked all those boxes for you. You were just unsure if he felt the same.

“When is your thesis due? I feel like it’s still early in the academic year,” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “It is; I still have months and months to work on it. It’s due next year, but I want it to be perfect, you know?”

“I do, I do,” he agreed, nodding. “I hope you’re taking some time off, though, as well. Don’t let this paper take up your whole life; you should be out, appreciating everything this life has to give you. Don’t get stuck in the past.”

You looked at the table, letting his words soak in. It was like he had looked right through you; for the past month or so, you’ve been deep in your studies. You had friends, sure, but you hardly saw them. And you’d given up on dating until after you finished college, anyways. But maybe Sonny was on to something. You should seize the day, capture every moment in memories.

“Would you like to get dinner with me, Sonny?” you asked, trying to sound as confident as possible.

It was his turn to look surprised. “Oh, uh…sorry, you caught me off guard. In all my years, no one has ever asked me out; it’s usually the other way around.”

You chuckled. “You’re not much older than me,” you joked, and he smiled. “Maybe it’s time for something new. For both of us…that is, if you want?”

“I’d love to go to dinner with you,” he said, and your heart soared.

When it was getting close to 3, you bade him goodbye, and he told you he would be eagerly awaiting your dinner date. You felt your face heat at the words, and you swore your face never cooled off for the rest of the day.

*********************

That date with Doctor Carisi turned out to be the best decision of your life. You both felt the spark between you, and you said yes to a second date before he even finished asking. Now, it’s been ten months of loving bliss between you. You completed your thesis, got your doctorate, and Sonny couldn’t be more proud of you. And you learned that while he was a historian, he was also a detective. He said he wanted to help people now, by giving them both access to history material, and by putting absolute monsters away.

But there were little things with him, quirks, really. Though you’ve been to his place, and he yours, he never made a move to get you into bed. Sure, you’ve kissed—and sometimes this escalated to a full-blown make out session—but he didn’t seem interested in sex.

He also didn’t seem interested in moving in together…or a future at all, really. Whenever you tried to bring it up, he would just nod along with you, agreeing to whatever you said and adding on a lot of “one day’s”.

He had no family for you to meet, and yours didn’t live close. You noticed he also didn’t eat or drink much; he loved to make you dinner, and he would say that he snacked while cooking. And then, about once a month, he’d leave for 3-4 days, claiming he wanted to be alone to work on the manuscript.

You gave him as much space as he asked for, and though you still loved him dearly, you were starting to wonder if there was something wrong with you…or if it was just something he was having issues with.

“Hey Sonny?” you asked one day while snuggling on the couch at your place. “Are we okay?”

He glanced down at you. “As far as I know, yes? Why, something on your mind?”

“Well…I was just thinking about how we’ve been together almost a year and we still haven’t moved in together,” you tried.

He looked to the ceiling as he thought. “Wow, I guess it really has been that long now, hasn’t it? I feel like I just met you yesterday.”

“So, are we not connecting on a deeper level, then?” You sat up, turning to look at him.

His bright blue eyes found yours, and his expression softened. “That’s not what I meant; I’m sorry it came out like that. Time just…it moves so quickly is all. Look, I love you, I just—I don’t think I’m quite ready to make that jump yet. I’m sorry; I know this must be frustrating, but I promise you one day, I’ll…I’ll be ready.”

You nodded. “I love you too, I just….”

“What is it? You can tell me—”

“Why won’t you sleep with me?” you asked softly. His eyes widened, and you quickly added, “are—are you ace? It’s fine if you are, I understand, but I just…I feel like it’s something wrong with me, and I—”

He cupped your face in his hands, looking deeply in your eyes. “No, it’s nothing wrong with you, I promise. I’m just…I’m not ready—”

“I have urges, Sonny. And I love you, want to wait for you. But it’s been almost a year. I—I don’t believe a healthy relationship is built on sex, but well, it’d be nice to have every once in a while….”

He sighed, releasing your face. “It’s not that I don’t want to, because I do. I just want to be absolutely sure I’m ready. Call it shyness, or embarrassment, whatever you want. But I want to make sure that—that you’re the one for me, first, okay?”

You opened your mouth to respond when his phone rang. He gave you an apologetic look before answering with his stiff, “Carisi.” He mostly listened, making little noises of affirmation, before hanging up.

“I’m so, so sorry, doll. But the department needs me. I swear we’ll talk about this once I’m home, okay?” he promised, getting to his feet.

He grabbed his jacket, heading for the front door. “Sonny wait,” you called, and he stopped, looking back at you. You hurried over to him, looking up into those beautiful blues. “Be careful.”

He smiled softly. “I will be; promise.” He gave you a kiss, and then he was gone.

 ********************

You didn’t hear from Sonny again until the next morning, when he showed up on your front door, breakfast in hand. He apologized for leaving you last night during that important talk, but you brushed it off, telling him it was fine.

“That’s not all I have to apologize for,” he said, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m…going undercover. I’ll be gone for three months.”

Your face fell, and you put your fingers under his chin, tilting his face until he looked at you. “Three months?” you breathed.

“I’m sorry; I tried to decline, but the Lieutenant gave her orders. I leave in an hour.”

“Three months…” you said again, worry blossoming in your chest. This was the longest he’d be gone since you started dating.

He nodded. “I’ll text or call when I can, but don’t expect it; it may be too dangerous.”

You’d heard enough; you lifted onto your tiptoes, kissing him desperately. Your hands went to his hair, and you pulled him close, all your fear and trepidation in the kiss. He froze for only a moment before he was kissing you back, hands on your hips. He clutched you tightly enough that you gasped in pain, and he pulled away, releasing you.

“I’m sorry. I love you,” he muttered before turning to leave, but you had a suspicion that he wasn’t apologizing for leaving.

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

pasta & posies

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil Rating: Teen & up  Relationships: Analogical Warnings: Language, food Word count: 1818

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Virgil loves his husband, but he’s pretty darn sure today is not their anniversary. So why the flowers? 

Notes: Day 1 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read. 

Virgil had just set a pot of water to boil on the stove when he heard the front door unlock and Logan clearing his throat as he stepped in, just like he did every time he arrived home. Virgil was pretty sure Logan didn’t realize he did it; he had no plans of telling Logan, in case he tried to break the habit, because Virgil thought it was kind of ridiculously endearing and didn’t want him to stop. Then again, most things about Logan were that way, so maybe Virgil was just a sap.

“Hey, babe,” Virgil called. He glanced at the clock on the microwave; as usual, Logan was home from work right on time, practically down to the minute. Virgil appreciated the fact that Logan was a creature of habit more than he knew how to put into words. The familiarity of Logan’s routines was a regular source of comfort to him.

Logan appeared in the kitchen doorway, smiling, something green and purple in his hand that Virgil vaguely registered but didn’t focus on. “Hello, dear.” He set down his briefcase—and god, Virgil was never going to be over how hilariously on-point it was that Logan had a fucking briefcase, not now after seven months of marriage and probably not ever—and crossed the room to kiss Virgil hello, his free arm easily sliding around Virgil’s waist and holding him close as gently as he had the first time they’d kissed.

Logan lingered in the kiss for longer than usual, though it stayed soft and sweet. Not that Virgil was complaining about any of that. He wrapped his arms a little more securely around his husband’s neck, rising up on his toes so his head was at a more comfortable angle.

Logan smiled and broke away at last, only to tip his head down and press his forehead against Virgil’s.

“You good, L?” Virgil asked, half laughing, reaching up to caress Logan’s cheek.

Logan nodded, humming assent. “I love you,” he said simply. He stepped back. “These are for you.” He offered the thing he’d been holding, which turned out to be a bouquet of purple flowers.

“I—thanks?” Virgil accepted the flowers, blinking down at them. Had something happened to prompt this? “I love you too.”

Logan nodded, leaning in to kiss Virgil’s cheek. “How can I help with dinner?”

“Uh, can you chop… things?” Virgil said, still preoccupied with the flowers. Was today something specific? Had he forgotten something?

“Certainly.” Logan pulled out a cutting board and knife. “We’re having that pasta salad you like, correct?”

Virgil nodded. “Mmhm.” October sixteenth… there wasn’t anything special on October sixteenth, right? Right?

Logan rummaged around in the fridge, pulling out cherry tomatoes and a bell pepper and the second half of a can of olives. The olives were stored in a reusable container, because Logan had casually rattled off the health risks of leaving food in open cans the first time he’d seen Virgil do it, and the next weekend Virgil had dragged him to the nearest slightly pretentious suburban outlet mall to buy a whole kitchen’s worth of storage containers.

Logan rinsed the tomatoes in a small colander and glanced over at Virgil, who was still standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at the flowers in his hands, mind racing. (Virgil couldn’t think of anything he was forgetting about today, but then, that was the thing about forgetting, wasn’t it?)

“I do not believe we own any vases, which I should have thought of; I’m sorry—but I think we have some jars on the top shelf that we could put those in,” Logan said. He reached up with one hand to the shelf in question and pulled down a jar, proffering it.

“Sure thing,” Virgil agreed, accepting the jar, in the back of his mind appreciating that Logan had clearly assessed his distress and tried to help, even if he’d misread what the actual problem Virgil was having was. “Cool cool. Cool cool cool. Um.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, set down the colander in the sink, and turned to give Virgil his full attention. “Is something wrong, dearest?” he asked, bringing the unspoken out into the open.

Virgil chewed on the inside of his cheek for only a beat. “Uh, how come you got me these?”

“The color reminded me of you,” Logan said, and Virgil began to relax. “And I believe flowers are considered a traditional anniversary gift,” he added, and Virgil panicked again.

Anniversary? It wasn’t their anniversary, right? Right? No, it definitely wasn’t. So what on earth was Logan talking about?

But Logan seemed to think this was all the explanation that was needed, turning back to the counter and beginning to slice the tomatoes in halves.

Virgil bit his lip and set the flowers down on the table so his hands were free to fill the jar with water. He set that down, too, and went to the cupboard to pull out a large bowl for the dinner to go in; he set it down on the counter beside Logan.

“Thank you, dear,” Logan said absently, transferring the small pile of tomato halves he had already accumulated into the bowl.

“Mmhm,” Virgil mumbled, heading back to the table and beginning to arrange the flowers in the jar. He had to snip quite a bit off of the long stems in order for them to sit properly in the jar, but after some shuffling, they didn’t look too bad at all.

Logan had gotten started on the bell pepper by now, and the pot on the stove had steam leaking from beneath the lid, hinting at the boiling water inside. Virgil pulled out the bag of dry pasta and the salt and began adding them to the pot.

“Hey, Lo?” he said cautiously, stirring the pasta in the pot.

“Yes, dearest?” Logan didn’t look up from the pepper he was dicing.

“Our anniversary—our wedding anniversary—is March 25. Right?” Virgil reached up and set a timer for the pasta on the microwave. They had been married at sunset in the garden outside the museum that they went to on their first date. Virgil had worn a black suit with a blue vest and tie, and elaborate black eyeliner reminiscent of a masquerade mask filled in with blue and purple eyeshadow, and Logan had worn a white suit with a purple shirt and bowtie.

“Yes, dear,” Logan agreed.

Virgil held back a sigh of relief that he hadn’t somehow totally misremembered. “And our boyfriends anniversary is December 6.” He had been the one to ask, nearly five years ago now. He had no idea he’d gotten the words out, sitting at a tiny table in the coffeeshop and holding hands across it as their third date drew to a close, but he’d somehow stammered out the question, and Logan had lit up and nodded so hard his glasses had slipped down his nose and nearly off his face before Virgil reached out and caught them.

“Yes.” Logan smiled to himself.

“And our first date was on November 13, and we got engaged on September 30. Yeah?”

Logan nodded. “All of that is correct. What—?”

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Okay, so this is probably totally stupid and obvious and I should know it already—”

“No, hey—” Logan began to protest.

Virgil forged on anyway. “—but what the fuck is it the anniversary of today?”

Logan blinked. “Oh.” He set down the knife beside the now fully chopped pepper.

Virgil cringed. “I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No!” Logan interrupted. “No. I’m sorry for making you anxious, dear. I forgot. I don’t think I ever told you.”

That… was unexpected, and Virgil couldn’t quite figure out what it meant. “Uh. Never told me what?”

Logan glanced away, looking flustered. “I—well.” He looked back and reached over for Virgil’s hand, squeezing gently. “Five years ago today, I realized I loved you.”

All Virgil could do was stare for a moment, his chest filled with something achingly sweet at the sight of Logan’s earnest face, dark brown eyes searching Virgil’s as he clasped his hand reassuringly.

“Oh,” Virgil choked out, reaching for Logan’s other hand and squeezing back, feeling a smile stretch across his face. “Yeah?” He reached up, taking one of Logan’s hands with him, and caressed his husband’s cheek.

Logan glanced away again for a second, biting his lip, then brought his gaze back to Virgil’s. “Yes. I—I wrote it down. In my Notes app. And this year I set a reminder for it on my phone.”

Virgil let out a tiny laugh. “You did?”

“I did.” Logan nodded, a smile creeping onto his own face. “It was important.”

“You are such a nerd,” Virgil said, his voice shaking with emotion. He moved forward until the toes of his purple converse almost bumped into Logan’s plain black work shoes and reached up to wrap his arms around Logan’s neck. “I love you so much.”

Logan wrapped an arm easily around Virgil and cradled Virgil’s cheek in his other hand. “I love you too,” he murmured, his expression soft and tender and open and just for Virgil and perfect.

Virgil leaned up and kissed him, cupping the back of Logan’s head in both his hands and drawing him in closer as Logan kissed back, marveling yet again over the fact that Logan was his husband and he had somehow gotten lucky enough that this was the everyday they were creating together, this was the thing that was going to be ordinary for the rest of his life, and he was pretty sure he would never get enough of Logan and his thoughtfulness and the way he worked so hard to be vulnerable with Virgil and the way he kissed Virgil and his curiosity and passion for learning new things and everything about him, he was Virgil’s favorite everything and Virgil loved him so much—

The timer on the microwave went off, startling them both.

Logan was the first to start laughing, and that set Virgil off, pressing his face into Logan’s shoulder and giggling helplessly as Logan reached over to turn off the timer and then the stove, his other arm still holding Virgil close.

Virgil collected himself, gasping in a breath and forcing the laughter back into a fond grin. He pressed another, quicker, kiss to Logan’s mouth, then pulled away and reached for the potholders so he could drain the cooked pasta.

As Virgil set the now-empty pot back down on the stove, Logan touched his elbow to get his attention.

“Hm?” Virgil said, turning to face him.

“You are a wonder,” Logan breathed, pulling him close again and simply hugging him.

Virgil grinned, reaching up to touch Logan’s cheek and gazing into his eyes.

He had picked a pretty good person to build forever with.

[adhd-disaster-willie]

you’re the one that brings the sun; chapter 2/6

Chapter 1

Warnings: Swearing, mention of death (very brief, not graphic)

Notes: Yes it is six chapters now lmao

---

Alex is one month, 4 breakdowns, and probably $100 worth of coffee (even with his employee discount) into his first semester of college and more than prepared for his daily screaming into a pillow session. He stumbles into his dorm, but comes to a screeching halt as soon as the door closes behind him.

“You’re painting the walls.”

Willies spins around, narrowly avoiding falling off his step stool, and gives Alex a lopsided grin. “Wonderful observation,” he quips, hopping down with a paintbrush still in his hand.

“You- you can’t do that.” Alex gapes at him, dumbfounded.

“Ah, can’t I?” Willie raises his eyebrows, smiling. His cheeks are flushed and his hair has been haphazardly pulled up, flyaways falling to frame his face. Alex shakes himself from his reverie. This is not the time to be admiring Willie, idiot.

“No- that’s… that’s against the rules,” Alex says desperately. “The RA lives like, right next door.”

“He’s colorblind,” Willie reassures Alex. “And a homophobic asshole.”

“He’s- what? I…” Alex runs his hands over his face, breathing in deeply. “Okay. Okay. Uh, why are you painting the walls?”

Willie settles into the couch, humming thoughtfully. “I was working on that one essay but couldn’t focus because-” he waves his hands around his head vaguely, like that’s supposed to explain his thoughts. “-and then I remembered that there was a sale at Home Depot so here we are.”

Alex looks up at the wall, trying to ignore the anxiety clutching at his chest like mistletoe to a tree. It’s fine, it’ll be fine. “Why blue?” His voice comes out much less calm than he’d hoped.

“It’s my favorite color,” Willie replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m only painting that one wall anyway, the sale was just for the mini paint buckets. I think a pop of color is nice, y’know?” He jerks his hands in the direction of the wall, grinning.

“You’re gonna have us killed,” Alex states simply. “I’m gonna be expelled and have to crash at Julie’s again and I won’t have a college education and the band is gonna fail and I’ll be uneducated and living on the streets.”

“Woah, hey.” Wille stands up, face knitted with worry. He sets a hand on Alex’s shoulder, steadying him. “Dude, I didn’t know it would freak you out. Shit, uh, I can paint over it. Really, it was stupid and impulsive.”

Alex shakes his head. “No, no it’s fine. It’s just-” In for 4, out for 8, deep breaths Alex. “Just stupid anxiety, I’m overthinking.”

Willie tilts his head to the side slightly. “Yea? You sure you’re cool with it?”

And he really is… cool with it, at least sort of. Apparently there’s an override switch in his brain that makes it so of something makes Willie happy, Alex can’t help but be okay with it. Huh. That’s new.

“Um…” Now that his brain is less foggy, Alex is realizing that Willie is like… really close. “Uh, yea. Just… don’t go painting any murals in the bathroom.”

Willie laughs loudly, throwing his head back and bouncing slightly on his heels. Alex’s gaze rakes over his face, golden sunlight seeping through the window and dancing across Willie’s cheeks. There’s a certain comfort to the way the sun comes through the window each evening. Miraculously, their dorm is positioned in an odd way that gives them a west and east facing window; and the way the light drapes over Willie is different at sunset compared to sunrise. It’s looser, makes him look free and like he keeps the sun right in his pocket, only letting it out when Alex is near. Stupidly, Alex thinks he wouldn’t have much trouble forgiving any future bathroom murals. One month, they’ve known each other for a month and Alex is already waxing poetic about him. He scolds himself internally.

“Tell you what,” Willie starts, stepping back and gesturing vaguely. “I’ll buy you a coffee to make up for it.”

“Dude it’s like 5pm,” Alex reasons, but his resolve is already dwindling at the sight of Willie’s playful grin.

“And? It’s the weekend.” Willie tosses an arm over Alex’s shoulders, sticking his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout. “It’s just coffee.”

“Remind me what happened last time you drank coffee.”

Willie sighs mournfully. “We do not speak of the carnation incident.”

“Right,” Alex chuckles. “Okay. Fine. But no more painting the walls.”

“Aye aye captain!” Willie gives a theatrical salute before waltzing out the door with Alex at his heels.

5:30pm in late September means it’s just chilly enough to wear jeans instead of shorts and just sunny enough to see light slipping through the trees and grass. Willie seems to be a magnet for the sunlight, leading it in a subtle dance as they walk across campus. Alex follows the way his hair sways in the light breeze, painted in a sheet of gold and bronze, like it’s been dipped in a liquid campfire. He wonders if his heartbeat is synced to the rhythm of Willie’s feet, marveling at how each step seems to send a ripple through Alex’s entire body. It’s unfair, the way the evening sun makes everything seem softer and more poetic, and Alex thinks that he could write an entire song about the way Willie glances over at him with a teasing smile. In a- a friend way of course. Because everyone thinks about how beautiful their friends look while walking. Of course.

Willie turns to Alex with his head tilted slightly. His expression is frustratingly unreadable. There’s blue paint brushed across the bridge of his nose and his left cheekbone, like his skin is stained with bits of the sky and Alex has a weird urge to bring his hand up and brush it away, but also a weird desire for that paint to be there forever; it suits Willie. His eyes, shining amber in the light, glance over Alex’s face and Alex feels like he’s being put under a spotlight except Willie’s the only person in the audience. Willie finally speaks his mind, his voice gentle. “Your hair looks golden in this light”

Alex feels his entire face go pink and he almost squeaks “You can’t just say those things!” But his tongue seems to be caught in the back of his throat so he opts for a mortified smile before turning to focus on the sidewalk right ahead of him. Willie doesn’t elaborate, or pressure Alex into responding, and they lapse back into a comfortable silence.

It isn’t until they’re just outside the coffeeshop that Alex comes to what is probably a mildly important realization. Bobby’s working right now. Bobby, Carrie’s cousin who’s known Alex as long as Luke and Reggie have, occasionally plays with the band, and has been involved in too many conversations about a certain long-haired skater. Alex’s stomach fills with an unmistakable dread at this thought.

“Alex? You good?” Willie bumps their shoulders and shoots him a smile that’s soft around the edges. “You can just get tea if you’re that anxious about the coffee.”

“No,” Alex chuckles, attempting to mask his stilted breathing. “It’s fine, coffee’s a good idea anyway. I need to stay up and practice that one horrible drum solo my professor insists I perfect.”

“And you have to do that tonight?”

“Yea, the band has a gig on Sunday so Luke’s probably gonna lock me in the studio to rehearse all of tomorrow.”

Willie giggles bubbily, his eyes squinting in the way that makes Alex’s stomach flip. Alex opens the door and a stupid piece of his mind itches to grab Willie’s hand to pull him in. He doesn’t.

Alex likes his workplace. The lights are warm and drape like a blanket over the building, the walls are decked in posters and paintings and vinyls, the windows are clothed with too many plants to count, and the chairs are the type you can just melt into and fall asleep. If he was still religious, he’d thank god for the fact that he was able to score a job here instead of a stiff, concrete chain store. The place is owned by the sweetest middle-aged lesbian couple who like to bring their cats by and let Alex take home leftover food when he has the closing shift. He likes it, and finding a customer service job Alex enjoys is like finding a needle in a haystack. And yet, his whole body is buzzing with nerves. He loves Bobby, he does, but the boy is just as fond of teasing Alex as Luke and Reggie are, and of course Willie had to pick right now.

Willie’s grinning as soon as he processes his surroundings. “Dude you didn’t tell me this place was so cool!” He grips Alex’s forearm excitedly and Alex’s entire brain just… short circuits. He’s sure Willie’s gushing about the mural on the back wall, because he has the awestruck and giddy expression he always gets when talking about art or skateboarding, but Alex’s brain is not registering a single thing Willie says.

Alex hears a loud and deliberate cough and is swiftly pulled from his mind, realizing three things: He is blatantly staring at Willie with a smile he doesn’t even want to see, Willie is still holding onto his arm and rambling, and Bobby is looking on with an expression that tells Alex that there is most certainly a new picture on his phone that will make for wonderful blackmail material.

“Alex, who could this be?” Bobby asks, and of course he’s the one with a scary good poker face because Alex almost believes that he truly is clueless.

Willie lets go of Alex’s arm, a cruel trick of the light making it look like he’s blushing. He gives Bobby a wave. “That’d be me. I’m Willie, Alex’s roommate.”

“Oh!” Bobby smiles innocently. “The famous Willie!”

“Famous?” Willie cocks an eyebrow at Alex. “You talk about me, hotdog?”

“Hotdog?” Bobby gives Alex an expression identical to Willie’s, but laced with mischief instead of fondness. Alex has an inexplicable urge to flee.

“Let’s just get our drinks,” Alex squeaks, herding Willie up to the counter and sneaking a death glare at Bobby on the way over.

“Hmm, and what’ll that be?” Bobby asks, making a point to plaster on his customer service smile.

“Medium cold brew with cinnamon almond-milk foam for me and a medium green tea for Willie, decaf.”

Willie looks at Alex incredulously. “You know my tea order?”

“It’s- it’s all you drink!” Alex squeaks defensively, picking at the collar of his shirt because when did it get so warm?

Bobby snickers. “Okay, one pretentious-ass cold brew and a horribly boring tea.”

Willie goes to pay, chuckling under his breath.

“Your drinks should be ready shortly, by the way Alex, I like this one,” Bobby snickers.

“Oookay!” Alex blurts, dragging Willie from the counter in hopes that he didn’t hear the last bit of Bobby’s sentence. His cheeks are burning as he directs them to his favorite corner of the shop. There are two chairs nestled in the corner, partially hidden by a rickety bookshelf and a wall of plants that hang down and will occasionally brush against the chair’s occupant. In the mornings, the sun shines through in a way that makes the chairs perfect for curling up like a cat seeking warmth. Alex sinks down into the seat nearest to the wall with a contented sigh and shuts his eyes, humming softly. “This is my favorite chair,” he mutters, eyes still closed.

“Hmm.” Willie’s response sounds odd, so Alex cracks open one eye only to find Willie sat in the chair beside him, elbows on the armrest closest to Alex, his chin resting in his palms. He’s looking at Alex with his lips curled into an almost wistful smile and suddenly Alex feels awfully overwhelmed. “It’s a very nice chair,” Willie says, leaning back to relax his head against the cushion and swinging his legs over the arm rest. Alex almost mourns his gaze, but he quickly shakes that feeling. It’s silly.

A gentle breeze drifts in through the window, which is always open slightly at this time of year, when it’s not too hot and not too cold out. Alex’s nose wrinkles, feeling the plant hanging above his head dance across his face in response to the wind. He hears Willie giggle beside him and he whips around, definitely not pouting. “What?”

“You made a face,” Willie responds, gesturing to his own face and mimicking Alex’s previous expression. “It was cu- it was uh, funny.” Willie goes red for a split second, but Alex writes it off as the heat and is about to ask if he wants the window closed when Bobby comes walking up, drinks in hand.

“I’m obligated by contract to warn you, Willie, that Alex with caffeine past 3 is never a sight you want to behold,” Bobby says, handing them their drinks and pulling up a chair to sit across from them.

“There is no such contract,” Alex protests. “And you’re exaggerating.” He takes a sip of his coffee, glaring at Bobby from behind the cup.

“Maybe not a formal one.” Bobby turns to face Willie now. “Seriously, caffeine at night makes him emotional for some reason.”

“Liar!”

“No dog movies when Alex has coffee at night, he’ll be sobbing for hours, even if the dog lives.”

“Noted,” Willie says, laughing. Alex contemplates kicking Bobby.

“Hey Bobbers, remember that time when you tried jumping an electric fence half naked because you got caught sneaking into a pool at night to impress a girl?”

Bobby blinks, his expression uncaring. “You cannot embarrass me,” he says. “I have no shame whatsoever.”

“Of course you don’t,” Alex grumbles.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Willie-”

“We should get back before dark!” Alex interrupts. He grabs Willie’s hand and all but shoves him from the shop, shouting at Bobby the whole way to prevent him from saying anything more to embarrass him.

Willie looks up at Alex, clearly amused, and they begin the walk back to their dorm. “Bobby seems nice,” He says nonchalantly.

Alex groans loudly. “No, no he’s terrible. He is one of my best friends and I despise him.”

Willie nods, sipping his tea. “Your friends are all pretty cool.”

“Yea… yea they’re great.” Alex pauses, sighing. “I don’t know where I’d be without them. The streets, probably,” Alex snorts bitterly at the last bit. It doesn’t cross his mind that Willie hasn’t been filled in on this. He doesn’t want to get into it. Willie seems to get the hint, brushing the confusion from his face in favor of looking up at the sky.

“I’ve always wished I was better at landscape paintings,” Willie whispers, his tone practically reverent. “Some people can just… capture every detail and emotion in- in sunsets and what-not. And it’s- it’s insane!” He gestures wildly with his hands as he talks, tea threatening to spill everywhere. “I can do abstract just fine, it’s my favorite. But my landscapes are always so… bland. I wish I could paint the feeling behind it as much as the plain details.”

Alex has seen his landscapes, and thinks them far from bland, but he doesn’t say anything. Willie has a way of turning the most horrifically boring pieces into storms of color and emotion, and Alex thinks that each brushstroke holds a piece of his soul. But he keeps his mouth shut.

“The sunset is nice,” Willie says. “I love when the clouds are pink like this. My mom used to-” he laughs nostalgically, remembering something. “-she used to tell me stories about the clouds. They all had their own personalities and lives and families. She would sit at her easel, painting the clouds, and I would be at her feet just… absolutely mesmerized.” There’s a certain shine in Willie’s eyes that Alex hasn’t seen before; it’s bittersweet and sort of disconnected. “And somehow… somehow she could show the cloud’s personalities in the paintings. I wish I could do that. She was the one who made me love art; I remember when I got my first skateboard, I stayed up for hours painting the bottom and I was so proud of it. And after I grew out of it she... she hung it on the wall above the mantel and would tell everyone who saw it how awesome it was”

Willie’s taken on a new demeanor, and Alex realizes this is the first time he’s spoken about his parents. “She seems amazing,” Alex mutters, voice quiet like he’s afraid of breaking something.

“Yea,” Willie replies. “She… she was.” He lets out a shaky breath. Oh. “She was a single mom, I never knew my father, never had the chance to ask about him. She died in a car crash when I was 14, I’ve lived with my uncle Caleb since.”

“Oh. Willie I-”

“It’s fine. I miss her, but it’s been four years y’know? I’m not… shrouded in grief like I used to be.” He gives Alex a genuine smile to prove it, and bumps their shoulder together. “C’mon, we’re almost home.”

Home. Home used to be Luke and Reggie and Julie, now… now Alex isn’t quite sure. College still feels new and different, and he often feels like his doesn’t belong. His dorm doesn’t feel much like home, it feels like a hotel room, like he’s a guest. But Willie… Willie feels more like home than anything in that dorm. Willie and his stupid blue wall and his long rambling and loud laughing. Home is Luke and Reggie and Julie and Willie, and that’s completely and utterly terrifying to Alex.

---

Chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

Notes: This chapter was gonna be longer but I felt like that was a good place to leave off. I hope you liked it :)))

Taglist: @thatsanewflavor @spookiest-sapphic @dovesgrangers @julie-n-phantoms @frostknyte @thegaylink @nervousmiracletrash @crummycassidy @fairygclds @reallyintrospectivepeople @madsmax-37 @swamp-acad @kat-maybe-not @sunsetcurve123 @lookingthroughmirrors @queer-fandom-enby

[starlightinhumanform]

24/7: Chapter One

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Platonic Demus, Platonic Logicality 

Summary: James (aka Janus) works the graveyard shift at a open-all-night convenience store. Logan is a college student who stays up way too late, way too often. While pulling all-nighters, he often visits the store James works at. As time goes on, James begins to care about Logan as more than just a customer. 

Warnings: Moderate Language, Some suggestive jokes, Mentions of ignorant/negative sentiments regarding vitiligo, Mentions of intoxication— some implied to be underage (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: College AU, Coffeeshop AU but weird (that’s literally the best way i can think of describing it), Mutual Feelings, Fluff 

A/N: — Janus’ name in this AU is James (mostly because when I began planning this, his name hadn’t been revealed). I may still include his name by writing in a name-change but we’ll see lmao — I do not have vitiligo and do not personally know anyone with vitiligo; Janus’ experience with the condition is based entirely on my research. That being said, I did my best to give an accurate representation but I do not claim that it is flawless in anyway. If there are any improvements you think I can make in this area, please please let me know 🖤🖤🖤 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3   Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

James’ first shift started normally. That is, as normally as he could assume 24 hour convenience store shifts could be. It’s not like he had much experience with it.

Being his first day, he had assumed that the manager would’ve at least stuck around for a while. Instead, the woman had pointed out the bathroom plunger— advising him to not let anyone steal it— told him how to use the slushie machine, and said that if someone tried to rob the store, let them take the money; she even showed him the quickest way to open the cash register. Then she left within the first hour of James’ shift.

James didn’t mind being alone but he couldn’t fight down the frustration at his manager for abandoning him without actually telling him anything useful. He kept worrying that someone would ask a question that he couldn’t answer. What if the customer got angry and then he got reported and lost his job on the first night? Not to mention every time someone walked in, he was ready to bargain for his life with the $225.67 and a random condom in the cash register.

The adrenaline was getting to his head, stirring up usually dormant worries. He couldn’t stop glancing down at his hands. They were warm tan, patterned at random with lighter splotches. He had a condition known as vitiligo which made areas of his skin lose their pigmentation. For the majority of the time, it wasn’t a big deal; the worst part was the weird looks people gave him and even then, he could usually brush them off. Still, there was always the occasional idiot who felt the need to say something rude or inform him that he showed signs of demon possession. He hoped beyond everything that one of those incidents didn’t occur while he was alone in the store.

Thankfully, the only customers for the next few hours were a couple groups of teenagers at varying levels of intoxication and a traveling family made up of two parents suffering from highway-hypnosis and a small child who tried to climb into one of the drink refrigerators.

By one in the morning, the flow of incoming patrons had completely stopped. By that point James had already thrown back an entire 5-hour Energy drink and reorganized the chip rack— twice .

When the entry bell finally rang again at around two, James’ head was buzzing so badly he wasn’t sure if he had imagined the sound or not. A young man walked in— college aged with messy hair and glasses. He disappeared into the rows of brightly coloured plastic bags without a word and so quickly it made James once again question whether or not he was hallucinating.

It wasn’t until the man had made his way back to the counter, setting down a bag of chips and a couple energy drinks, that James was sure he existed. The man’s hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in two days and his dark circles were so deep they could be seen from beneath his squared glasses. Yup, definitely a college student.  

Despite the obvious signs of exhaustion, the man was undeniably pretty. Counter to his tired scowl, his eyes were bright and alert, framing a sharp nose. The way he kept his strong chin tilted slightly upwards and walked with purpose gave him the appearance of someone who actually knew what he was doing with his life— so basically, the opposite of James.

James was hardly ever self conscious about his appearance but this man— this stupidly pretty, oddly perfect man— made James squirm just a little bit, made him wonder if he was living on one side of some scale while the customer lounged on the other side. James tried to shrugged it off, focusing on the items in front of him instead.

The man spent the entire interaction at the counter muttering to himself and never once making eye contact. It was a little strange, but he was cute and James was bored so he decided to just appreciate the entertainment while it lasted.

It wasn’t until James went to hand the man his receipt that he seemed to even become aware of James’ existence. James held out the thin slip of paper, apparently causing the man to flinch backwards. His reaction was strong enough to make James wonder if he was one of those people— the type that thought vitiligo was some sort of deadly, contagious disease.

His eyes darted up quickly, his gaze sharp as it scanned over James’ face, “You’re not the normal cashier.”

He was taken aback by the accusing tone in the man’s voice, “No, I guess I’m not? I just got hired; the other guy got let off… something about trying to steal the plunger.”

“Oh,” His face transformed into a noncommittal scowl that James simply could not read, “Expect me regularly.”

The man turned on his heels and walked briskly to the door as James stood frozen and mystified behind the counter, “Oh, uh… see you soon then.”

——————

James woke up to the smell of something burning. He didn’t even remember dragging himself home and collapsing in his bed but based on the smell bothering him he evidently had made it back. No one could burn food quite like his roommate.

“Remus what the fuck are you doing?” James shuffled out to the kitchen where his roommate was poking at something on the stove.

“Making lunch.”

Based on his bed head and near-complete lack of clothes (Remus always slept in booty shorts and nothing else) James could guess that he had woken up only a few minutes earlier himself, “Dude that does not smell like anything humans should eat.”

Remus gave him a wicked grin and James decided not to push the subject. He walked out of the room with a sigh and hoped that the smell would clear up soon.

He made his way into the living room, sitting down and flipping open his laptop. James groaned at the lack of new email notifications. No new emails meant no new job acceptions.

“Guess I’m working the night shift again.”

James was grateful he got the job at the convenience store— no question. Getting a job as a college dropout was both necessary and nearly impossible at the same time. He was lucky to get a job at all and being a graveyard shift, he got paid nearly double the normal wage for his position. For now, his sleep schedule would just have to suffer.

——————

The weeks drifted by and James fell into a dull, but easy rhythm. He would go to work every night, spend the hours rearranging chip bags, guarding the plunger, and— if he was lucky— the pretty college boy would come in for a few minutes to grab salty food and a caffeinated drink.

James wasn’t sure when it became “lucky” for the man to come into the store. Maybe it was lucky because he was entertaining, always preoccupied and wandering around the store like his mind was a hundred miles away. He had this odd sort of duality— somehow both spaced out and intensely focused at the same time. It was like he was concentrating on the dimension beyond the one James was living in. He floated through this world, always preoccupied with world in his head. It was endearing and intriguing and James found himself looking forward to seeing the man. James wanted to see the world inside his head, to know what was so captivating that he had no use or interest for what was outside of it.  

The student was quickly becoming his favourite customer— something James never thought he would have— and he genuinely enjoyed having a chance to talk to the other guy. He was handsome, obviously intelligent, and, if given the chance, James definitely would’ve asked him out for a drink.

As it was though, James looked awful in his uniform so he would never have the confidence to make a move the only times he ever saw him.

James started to watch for him. The man came at least once a week, always between midnight and four in the morning. He must have lived nearby because he always walked over instead of taking a car like most of the other patrons. Either that, or he lived further away and walked all the way just for a bag of chips and an energy drink.

It was a Thursday like any other when he walked into the store and James’ curiosity got the better of him.

“So,” James leaned across the counter as the man sat his items down, “you come around here often?”

He tilted his head quizzically, “Yes? I do come here often? You’ve seen me.”

“No I— it was a joke,” James resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was… not going the way James would have hoped, “What’s your name? We might as well get on first name basis since we see each other all the time.”

“I’m Logan,” Logan seemed surprised by the question.

“I’m James.”

Logan gave a curt nod, “I know.”

“But— how? I—“

“It’s on your name tag,” And with that, Logan turned and marched out of the store.

——————

Logan laid on his back, arms and legs spread over the entirety of his bed. The only leftover space of the bed was occupied by Patton, one of his housemates.

“So how did the all-nighter go?”

Logan groaned, “Well… it sure as hell did go all night. I’m so fucking tired.”

“This is what you get for viewing the entire American university system as a challenge.”

He squinted up at Patton. With his blond hair and round, smiling face he looked like the direct inversion of whatever pale little zombie Logan currently felt like, “I gotta stop staying up so late.”

“I don’t know, you kind of seem to like it,” His housemate patted his leg and stood up to walk out of Logan’s room, “By the way, where do you keep going? I hear you leaving the house, like, super early all the time.”

Sunlight was streaming through his partially open blinds. It was probably quite pretty but to Logan it just looked like a headache-inducing glare. He threw a pillow over his face, muffling his voice as he answered, “Booty call.”

Patton laughed as he stopped walking, “Yeah right. The day you answer a booty call is the day I will shave my head.”

Logan shifted the pillow slightly to look at Patton again. The man’s hair was his prize possession, like a curly fluffy cloud that he kept as a pet on top of his head. Logan didn’t know how Patton could afford the time and money he put into his hair. What he did know, however, was that Patton would never risk its safety. Logan frowned in (mostly) fake insult, “You really think there’s not a single person who would send me a horny text at three in the morning?”

“Nah I think there are quite a few people who would do that. I just doubt there’s anyone you’d actually find worth answering.”

Was there anyone he would actually answer? Logan stared up at the dark fabric above him. The pillowcase was a deep navy blue and if he really squinted, he could see the weave of the thread, a thousand random threads coming together to make a greater whole. The way the individual pieces created something far larger than themselves was fascinating to Logan. He had never given it much before, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find a random individual worth making something together.

In the darkness covering his eyes, a vision of the convenience store cashier flashed across his mind. The face he saw was light brown and across that warm canvas, lighter portions sprawled. For the first time, Logan began really thinking about that face. He had sharp features, tired eyes, and when he smiled with lips sloped upwards at a lopsided angle. His skin reminded Logan of the glossy photos of nebulae in his astronomy textbooks— bright splashes breaking up the sameness of the night sky. How had he never noticed that before? What was his name? James.

He heard the creak of their old floors beneath Patton as he walked out of Logan’s room. He probably thought Logan had fallen asleep as he lay there in silence. He was far from asleep, though. His mind was racing, trying to find the missed connections and continually finding new ones in the process. His eyes flickered as previously unrecognized thoughts began surfacing. And they didn’t stop. How had he never noticed?

“I’ve been going to that convenience store down the street,” Logan called as Patton walked away.

James.

Maybe there was someone for him.

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[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for moonanstars124

The request was for fluff, found family, annoying the extended family, and AU coffee shop vibes (which I took extremely literally). I had a lot of fun writing this (my first actual coffee shop AU!) and I hope you enjoy it @moonanstars124!

Read on AO3

*****

The Burial Grounds

“Is there even a point in telling you what I want?” Jin Zixuan asks. “As you’ve never once made what I ordered.”

Wei Wuxian beams at him. “Of course! It gives me direction. A genre, if you will.”

“You do have a specific listing for a surprise drink.” Jin Zixuan resettles a-Ling on his hip. “If I wanted that, don’t you think I’d have ordered it?”

“Well, no,” Wei Wuxian explains reasonably. He reaches across the counter and pats the baby’s cheek. “If you wanted to get what you ordered, you’d have asked Wen Ning to make it.” Wen Ning turns from where he is setting up the soup tureen to shrug in apologetic agreement.

Jin Zixuan sighs deeply. “Someday I’m going to stop tipping you.”

“You can do that on the day that you don’t like what I make you,” Wei Wuxian informs him. “I mean, you won’t, because ajie would never stay married to someone who didn’t tip. But I would understand if you considered it.”

Lan Wangji half-listens to the exchange from his corner table. It is a familiar one, enough so to be pleasant background noise without distracting too much from his book. When the proper disruption comes, it is neither unexpected nor unwelcome, as it happens every morning around this time. He has already closed his book and moved his empty cup to make room for the small chalkboard that appears in front of him.

“Spicy vegetable for the soup,” Wei Wuxian announces, flinging himself down in the other chair. It is not yet nine in the morning, and he already looks happily tired. Lan Wangji nods and wipes the board clean—perhaps not strictly necessary, but if he redoes the borders, Wei Wuxian will sit with him for longer and take a proper break. “White chocolate and cranberry scones, because ajie loves us very much. And...hm. I’ll do a blueberry mint lemonade today, I think. Do we have blueberries?”

This last is for Wen Ning, who sets down Wei Wuxian’s coffee, Lan Wangji’s refill, and a plate with two of the aforementioned scones. “We do,” Wen Ning confirms. “But they’ll go moldy soon, so you should use them up.”

“Perfect.” Wen Ning smiles at both of them and returns to the counter. Wei Wuxian leans back in his chair, stretches his legs full-length, and looks around the coffee shop with satisfaction. One of his ankles comes to rest against Lan Wangji’s. Without looking up from the chalkboard, Lan Wangji puts his free hand on the table. Wei Wuxian laces their fingers together and dips a scone in his drink.

This is how mornings have gone nearly every day for a few years now. Wen Ning arrives early to open; Wei Wuxian staggers down from the apartment upstairs after being prodded awake by Lan Wangji, who claims his table and reads as the coffee shop comes to life around him. Jin Zixuan arrives at some point, bearing the day’s soup and pastries from Lotus Pier Cafe and often as not a dinner invitation for all of them from Jiang Yanli. Lan Wangji earns his coffee by writing out the day’s specials; Wei Wuxian seizes the opportunity to sit down for as long as it takes him to complete the task. Then Lan Wangji gives his table over to the morning rush and goes to work himself. Cloud Recesses Books is close enough to walk to in good weather, and he gets there in time to open. When the coffeeshop closes at three, Wei Wuxian wanders over and spends the rest of the afternoon doing his own reading or debating with Lan Qiren. It is a pleasant routine, and Lan Wangji sometimes has to stop and wonder at how happy he is.

There has been a coffee shop here for decades, under one owner or another, but the Jiangs bought it only three years ago. Lan Wangji remembers perfectly the first time he visited it after that. It was Lan Xichen’s idea to see what the new management had done with the place, and they went for lunch the first month after it reopened. “‘The Burial Grounds?’” Lan Xichen reads, pausing outside the door. “Interesting name choice.”

“After the Burial Mounds, presumably,” Lan Wangji points out. “The nature preserve outside the city.”

“Ah,” his brother says. “Naturally.”

Despite the name, the inside is entirely pleasant: walls repainted to brighten the space, spider plants hanging in the windows, a detailed menu in plain neat lettering on the chalkboard above the counter, specials in the same writing on a smaller one by the pastry case. “They must outsource their food,” Lan Xichen observes, nodding at the familiar lotus image. “The Jiangs own Lotus Pier too, so it makes sense.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji says. He is listening. He is.

Lan Xichen follows his gaze to the mug on the counter, which holds pens for signing receipts and also a small rainbow flag. “Ah,” he agrees. “That is a pleasing development.”

The line is long enough that they can take their time reading the menu. This is good, because it contains none of the conventional titles. The Med Student, Lan Wangji reads. Four espresso shots in a cup. Below that is The Jiejie: soooooup! (See Specials board for today’s variety). And on and on: The Peacock (a white chocolate mocha with nutmeg), The Angry Brother (chamomile and hibiscus tea), The Adorable Nephew (warm milk with honey), The Headshaker (“Decisions are hard, so let us surprise you!”). Some have less of a story, Lan Wangji thinks: The First Timer is just a latte, and The Adventurer promises undisclosed amounts of cayenne. The result is a place that feels well-loved without being unwelcoming.

“It certainly has character,” Lan Xichen observes as they near the counter. The young man who takes their orders has a quiet earnest smile; he carefully lists the non-dairy milk options for Lan Wangji.

Despite the line, they find a window table easily enough—it is towards the end of the lunch hour—and they watch the street while they wait. It is only a few minutes before a different employee appears with their orders, mugs and bowls balanced precariously enough that Lan Wangji watches the soup in some alarm. But the dishes and their contents reach the table safely, which means that he can look up when the server says brightly, “Can I get you anything else?”

Lan Wangji thinks, Oh. He only barely prevents himself from saying it aloud, and the effort keeps him from speaking at all.

“Oh, wow,” the beautiful man says, staring back at him. Then he shakes himself. “Uh. Sorry. Is this your first time here?”

“We thought we’d see what the new ownership had done with it,” Lan Xichen explains. There is laughter in his voice, subtle enough that Lan Wangji hopes nobody else can hear it. “Our family owns Cloud Recesses, the—”

“The bookshop down the street!” The server’s face lights up—lights up more—and Lan Wangji gives up any hope of forming words himself. “I’ve been in there a few times. I thought you looked familiar.” This is to Lan Xichen; to Lan Wangji, he says, “I haven’t seen you before, though.” He does not say, I would remember, but the sentiment comes through clearly enough that Lan Wangji feels his ears go pink.

“My brother just finished university,” Lan Xichen explains. The amusement has become noticeably less subtle. “He will be working with us.”

“Oh wonderful!” the beautiful man says. “We’ll hope to see you again, then. Both of you, of course.” He sticks his hands into his apron pockets. “I’m Wei Wuxian, the manager. Which is, you know, terrifying. I’m probably not supposed to tell customers that part, though.”

Lan Xichen laughs aloud now, kindly, and Lan Wangji loves his brother for the way the beautiful man—Wei Wuxian—relaxes. “We understand,” Lan Xichen says. “Starting a business is a rather stressful experience at the best of times. I am Lan Xichen; this is Lan Wangji.”

“Welcome to the Burial Grounds, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says gravely, eyes dancing. “Please do let me know if you need anything. Or Wen Ning, he’s honestly much more capable than I am.” He jerks his head towards the counter, where the young man who took their orders is wiping down the espresso machine. “Anyway, I have to get back to work, but I hope you’ll come back.”

“I am certain we will,” Lan Xichen assures him. Wei Wuxian’s eyes linger on Lan Wangji’s face for a moment. When he manages to nod agreement, the smile widens. Wei Wuxian ducks his head at both of them and disappears into what is presumably the back room.

“Well,” Lan Xichen says, after a moment. “This is a delightful discovery.”

“Brother,” Lan Wangji says, deeply pained. He suspects that his ears have gone full scarlet by now.

“I mean the coffee shop, of course.” Lan Xichen takes a sip of his latte and hums with pleasure. “And as a small business ourselves, it’s only right to support others in the neighborhood. We shall have to become regulars.”

Lan Wangji sighs.

He returns alone the next day, just for a coffee in the morning. The one after that, Wei Wuxian sets his drink on the table with a hesitation that already seems out of character. When Lan Wangji tilts his head in question, he says, “I, uh, made you something special. If you want the one you actually ordered, I’ll do that instead, I just...sometimes I get the idea for new things, and I thought you’d like this one.”

Lan Wangji looks at the mug in front of him. It looks like the perfectly dull mocha that he had ordered, unsure what else to get, except that there are flower buds of some kind on top of the foam. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods and takes a cautious sip. “Lavender,” he says. He closes his eyes, which helps keep his brain from panicking when Wei Wuxian sits down in the empty chair. “Salt. Something sweet, apart from the chocolate?”

When he opens his eyes, Wei Wuxian’s smile is brilliant. “Birch syrup,” he confirms. “Good, I wasn’t sure how much that would come through; I haven’t used it before. But do you like it? You’re the first person to try that one.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji looks down at the cup again: something made just for him, not for anyone else. “I like it.” He lifts his head again.

“Oh, wow,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, as he had the first day. “Sorry, I know I’m being weird. I just hadn’t seen you smile before.”

“Not weird,” Lan Wangji says, when he finds his voice. “At least, I don’t mind.” He clears his throat. “Thank you. For the drink. You should put it on the menu.”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian grins. “I can do that.”

There is indeed a new listing on the large chalkboard the following day: Dark chocolate mocha with lavender, sea salt, and birch syrup. Lan Wangji looks at the name of it and swallows. The Beautiful Stranger, it says, printed neatly in white chalk below The Headshaker.

When he has been coming to the Burial Grounds several times a week for a month, Lan Wangji arrives one morning to find Wei Wuxian darting frantically back and forth behind the counter. “Wen Ning called out sick,” he explains, when Lan Wangji gets to the front of the line. “This is definitely my reminder to hire more staff. I meant to, since we’ve been doing pretty well, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it. Anyway, sorry, what can I get you?”

Lan Wangji looks at the smear of cocoa powder on his cheek and says, “Is there anything I can do? I do not know how to use the machines, but I could help with other things.”

“You know,” Wei Wuxian says, “that would actually be amazing. Uh, let’s see. I need to get the Specials board up but my handwriting is atrocious. Would you mind? We’ve got chicken dumpling soup and vegan ginger snaps. No drink specials because I have too much else to worry about today.”

When that task is done (“Oh my god,” Wei Wuxian says, staring. “Well, I know I’m never ever showing you my writing”), Lan Wangji clears tables and wipes down the counter and takes orders. All the while, Wei Wuxian darts around the shop like a cheerful whirlwind. “Don’t you have to go to work?” he asks at one point, managing to pour a perfect latte and read the next ticket at once. “I’ll manage. I mean, I don’t know how, but—”

“I have texted my brother,” Lan Wangji says calmly. “He and uncle will cover the bookshop today.”

“...Right,” Wei Wuxian says. “I feel like I should fight you on that, but also I don’t have time. Thank you.”

At three o’clock, Wei Wuxian sets the Closed sign, draws the curtains, and collapses facedown onto the couch where the college students like to study. Lan Wangji regards him for a moment, then puts down the rag he was using to wipe down the last table. He still cannot use the espresso machine, but the kettle is a more familiar creature.

Wei Wuxian lifts his head blearily at the clink of saucer on table. He sits up enough to drink his tea without spilling it, and he devours two of the ginger snaps that Lan Wangji brought over in rapid succession. Lan Wangji sits down in the armchair across from the couch and sips his own tea.

The cookies seem to revive Wei Wuxian a little. “Thank you,” he says. “Again. For the tea and for, you know, everything. How can I repay you? Not a rhetorical question.”

Lan Wangji cradles his tea, glad to have something to do with his hands. “Well,” he says, “when I came in this morning, I meant to ask if you would have dinner with me.”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian looks at him, wide-eyed. “I—hang on, past tense? Did you change your mind? I guess you did just get the total immersion experience, which I’m told is a lot—”

“I enjoyed the experience,” Lan Wangji says. “But I do not wish you to feel obligated. I will not ask you in a conversation about compensation for my labor.”

“...Right,” Wei Wuxian says. “Because you think about things like that, because you’re a ridiculously good person as well as gorgeous and in possession of unbelievably nice handwriting. Hold on.” He sets down his mug and goes to the counter, does something out of sight involving paper and a pen, and returns. “Here.” Lan Wangji puts down his own tea and inspects the offering: a gift certificate (filled out in a scrawl that is admittedly dreadful) for enough to keep him supplied with coffee for a month, more if he cuts down on his visits. “And I’ll get you all the tips from today, once they’re counted.”

Lan Wangji does not imagine that he will be cutting down on his visits.

“This will do,” he decides, and tucks the paper away in his wallet. “And half the tips. You worked very hard.”

When he looks up again, Wei Wuxian is fidgeting beside his chair. “Sure,” he says. “Great. So is the compensation conversation finished? Can we have the other one now?”

Lan Wangji smiles; he cannot do anything else. Deliberately, he stands up so they are facing each other. Wei Wuxian swallows, but his eyes are bright and he is smiling helplessly as well. Lan Wangji says, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian replies immediately. Then, “You mean like a real date, right? I mean, I’d still say yes either way, but just so we’re clear.”

“A real date,” Lan Wangji confirms.

“Oh wonderful,” Wei Wuxian says. “I really hoped that was what you meant. Yes. Did I already say that?”

He is still in his apron, which has great smears on it from when a cup of coffee spilled on the counter earlier. His hair is coming loose from its tie for at least the fourth time that day; there is raspberry syrup on his forehead and powdered sugar on his nose. He is very, very beautiful.

Lan Wangji reaches up and tucks one loose strand of hair behind his ear. It does very little to help anything, but it means that he gets to feel the slight intake of breath as Wei Wuxian goes still. Lan Wangji does not drop his hand back to his side. Instead, he cups Wei Wuxian’s cheek very gently. He whispers, “May I—”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, a little hoarsely. “Yeah, yes, please—”

Lan Wangji kisses him. Wei Wuxian makes a soft sweet sound and puts both arms around his neck; Lan Wangji cradles his face a little more firmly and drops his other hand to the small of Wei Wuxian’s back, drawing him in.

And so now it has been three years, or near enough. Lan Wangji dutifully writes out the Specials board every morning; the main menu also bears his script. He has met Wen Qing, who is now a surgeon and no longer the Med Student of the four expresso shots but who remains alarmingly intense. He has also met the Adorable Nephew and the Headshaker as well as the Peacock, Jiejie, and the Angry Brother, all three of whom received him with some combination of suspicion and amusement. “So you’re the Beautiful Stranger,” Jiang Cheng says, having shown up at the Burial Grounds to demand an introduction all of two days after that first date. “Hmph. He’s been yammering about you for a month; you better have been worth it.”

Lan Wangji is trying to be worth it. He plans to ask Wei Wuxian to marry him soon, and he thinks that Wei Wuxian will probably accept. This doesn’t really make the prospect of proposing any less daunting; what does is the way Wei Wuxian pulls him back to bed for sleepy kisses in the mornings, trusting and sure of affection reciprocated. Lan Wangji rather expects that he will slip and ask the question at one of these times, rather than at the dinner date he has scheduled for their anniversary. He doesn’t really mind the idea.

[sandersstudies]

Espresso-ly for You - Chapter Two

I liiiiiive! Or at least, my writing does. Like I said, I can’t and won’t promise regular updates on this one, but the sweet sweet coffeeshop AU will never let me go for sure.

Chapter One Here 

***

“Hey there, long time no see!” Janus said over the top of his mug. It was the one he brought from home, with a snake for a handle. 

“I saw you on Sunday,” Virgil said, slouching his backpack off his shoulder to store in the employee cupboard. 

“Yeah, but so much has happened since then,” Janus said, and then sipped his drink loudly. “Did Logan tell you about the birds that were fighting outside on Tuesday?”

“No.”

“See, of course he didn’t, he doesn’t care about the fun stuff. God, you look exhausted, let me get you a pick-me-up, you raccoon.” He began to measure a shot of espresso.

“I’ve already been drinking way too much soda to stay awake,” Virgil said.

“I’m not giving you soda, am I?” Janus asked, turning on the steam wand. “I’m giving you sweet bean juice, it will give you things no other drink can.” The shots pulling from the espresso machine dripped like warm honey, and Virgil had to admit they looked enticing. Janus was the most skilled barista in the cafe, going to local barista competitions three years in a row, and making it to the final round the last two years. 

“One of the benefits of working here is all the free coffee you want,” Janus said. “Might as well take advantage of it.” He’d barely looked at the machine while preparing the milk and espresso, but now, with a few seconds of intense focus, he guided his pitcher across the surface of the crema to create a delicate rosetta. “There, my nicest flat white of the day, all for you.”

Virgil took the cup and sipped. Perfect, creamy foam. 

Janus picked up his own cup and slurped the last of the coffee inside. “Well, better prepare for the lunchtime rush,” he said, checking his watch. “How was it yesterday?”

“Not too bad.”

“If you want to run register and food the first hour, I’ll run bar and then we can switch,” Janus said, reaching behind himself to tighten his apron strings. “If it slows down I’ll do a restock but I think we should be fine.”

Janus had been the first barista to push Virgil to run the espresso machine solo. When the morning or lunch rush came and there was a line out the door, Janus would watch and speak encouragingly, but never step in to rescue him the way Logan did.

“See these two cups?” Janus had said one day when Virgil could barely hold a milk pitcher without shaking. “These two drinks are the only ones you need to worry about right now. All those other drinks, all those other people, they don’t exist to you. It doesn’t matter if there are three drinks or thirty drinks waiting, you’re always working on these two drinks, and two drinks only.”

Eventually Virgil learned how to fall into a rhythm where he prepped one shot as another one pulled, poured one milk as another one steamed. Janus would flit back and forth from the register to the hand-off, confidently ringing in and handing out drinks as Virgil’s hands shook too hard to stop cups from spilling.

“You don’t need me,” Janus had said. “Someday you’re gonna be stuck up to your elbows in cappuccinos and I’m not going to be here, and you’ll have to haul them out of yourself. If I rescue you now, you won’t be able to do it then.”

Virgil had burned with frustration that Janus wouldn’t help him. But when the line dwindled, Virgil found himself reaching for the next cup in line, and it wasn’t there. He’d done it, he’d seen only two drinks in front of him and had conquered a breakfast rush. The customers had become a blur, and he’d honed in on more lattes and macchiatos than he could count.

“The next challenge,” Janus had said as they shared coffee in the following lull. “Is to bring the customers into focus too. Two things matter in coffeeshops, the coffee, and the people. You can’t let either one distract from the other.”

“You want me to do all that and small talk?”

“It gets easier with time.”

The retrospect that proved Janus right didn’t help Virgil to not feel aghast at the suggestion. It was easy to envy Janus’ ease around customers, asking Wendy how her radishes were doing as he poured her coffee, telling jokes to kids, and showing them the swan he’d drawn in their father’s latte. 

Virgil tied his apron and went to the front register. He ran his fingers over the screen. Pretending to type up a long order was his key both to eavesdropping and to looking busy, especially if he furrowed his brow just enough to look focused. Whenever a particularly angry customer started to complain at the other end of the counter, here Virgil would be, tapping like he was crafting a novel and not hitting the button for “doppio” a dozen times in a row. Meanwhile Janus, usually, would be the one at the end, silver-tongued and composed, listening with raised eyebrows and a soft smile. He’d turn around only when the cafe was empty to say “could you believe that jerk?”

A gaggle of college girls in matching volleyball t-shirts approached, and Virgil glanced at Janus, who cracked his knuckles dramatically. “May the coffee gods guide me,” he said as the bell on the door jangled merrily. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?”

“Large iced vanilla soy latte.”

“Medium blended caramel coffee, extra caramel, whipped cream.”

“Small almond latte.”

And so on down the line. Janus remained unfazed, continuing to greet other customers who braved entering the store despite the line. He called out every drink he made and made eye contact with each girl who picked hers up, even (Virgil thought he saw) winking a couple times. The hum of the espresso machine and hiss of the steam wand filled the cafe, singing along to the piano playing over the speakers. Was this Logan’s playlist?

The line didn’t end, after that. The girls cleared and were replaced by tides of office workers in pressed clothes from the smattering of office buildings that hemmed in the coffee shop on all sides. Friendly receptionists and personal assistants were a favorite of Virgil’s, and were perhaps the only ones who called him by endearments that didn’t feel horribly awkward.  Most of them tipped well. 

The cafe chairs filled up, representing casual business talks, friendly meet-ups, and solitary breaks from long days. All the grind-never-stop types had the coffee to-go, and those taking a quick respite adored the cafe’s “for here” cups. Virgil liked to watch for the people who perked up or relaxed with their first sip. One of the personal assistants from the building across the street (Virgil thought her name was Jackie) put her cappuccino to her lips and leaned back into her chair, the tension around her eyes softening.

A moment came where a couple of middle-aged women paused to examine the menu, and Janus appeared as if by magic at the register. 

“Tag team, let’s go! Your turn on the bar, kid.” 

Virgil moved to the espresso machine. Janus had not only finished the drinks in front of him, but wiped down the counter and machine to leave Virgil the perfect surface to begin again. The middle-aged women put in their orders, and Virgil felt like his vision zoomed in as he began the two drinks in front of him, and the two after that, and the two-

He was getting better at this now, even managed a croaked “hello,” to most of the customers who walked in the door, and a “thank you” as they took their drinks. He let the steam wand run a few extra seconds to feel the warmth bead on his face every time he started to get anxious. 

The lunch rush came to its merciful end, and Virgil took his break to chew a PB&J sandwich before Janus left for the day. As the clock hit two, the elder barista pulled his keys from the cupboard.

“I bid you adieu and an easy close,” he said, twirling his keychain around his hand as he clocked out. The jingle of his keys was followed by the jangle of the door behind him, and Virgil was alone in the cafe.

He brewed fresh coffee - they’d almost run out during the rush, and pause to sweep the floors and wipe down the counters. Running the store for the last three hours before close, and the chance to close the store by himself was both a responsibility and a chance for peace that Virgil appreciated. He liked helping customers, more spread out then before, and in between them finding little things to clean, extra minutes to practice his latte art - damn, how could Janus draw a rosetta so effortlessly? All Virgil’s came out looking like lumps. 

He aerated the milk gently, and heard the front bell ting.

“Hey there,” Virgil said without looking up, tilting his pitcher so the foam was perfectly incorporated. He turned the steam wand off and gently groomed the milk to pour. “Sorry, I’ll be right with you.” 

The milk texture was almost perfect. He guided his pitcher over the crema and… produced a haphazard rosetta. It was lopsided and a little mangled from Virgil swirling the crema too hard, but it wasn’t one of his worst attempts.

“Hey, that looks pretty good!” 

Virgil looked up and felt his ears get hot. Roman was leaning slightly over the bar (oh wow, he was even taller than Virgil had thought), staring at the cup. “Could you do one like that for me?”

Virgil swallowed. “Yeah uh… yeah, sure.” Nevermind that it was much harder to make oat milk froth properly. Virgil grabbed his non-dairy pitcher.

“Oh, could you make it as an large cinnamon-”

“Yeah, I got it.” Oh no, I cut him off. In too deep now. Virgil felt Roman’s gaze on him as he made the latte. The cinnamon-sugar topping made a nice base to draw with, but Virgil didn’t have as much experience with oat and soy, and the rosetta was barely visible as he finished it. Roman stared into the cup.

“Sorry,” Virgil muttered. “Still practicing.” 

“Oh, that’s okay,” Roman said, but sounded a bit disappointed. He left a ten on the counter. “Thanks for trying, the extra’s for you.” 

He left the cafe, and Virgil watched him vanish down the street, but just before he was out of sight, he put the to-go cup to his lips, and Virgil saw his shoulders relax.

[ddaenggtan]

chasing butterflies | jjk

you never meant to be a jock in school. the volleyball team had just needed people and you were there and then you had a knack for it. you just happened to be good at it and went with it. similar to how you saw jeon jungkook in your friend’s orientation group and thought he was absolutely radiant and just went with it. for two years. you’ve spent the entire time pining from afar, mostly because you always seem to make a fool of yourself when he’s around, but also because jungkook is part of that exclusive crowd, the ones that you never can seem to penetrate: the weebs. that is, until your friends get sick of your hopeless pining and decide to do something about it.

pairing | jeon jungkook x reader

genre/warnings | fluff, college au, coffee shop au, pining, somewhat idiots to lovers, jock!reader, nerd/weeb/otaku!kook, swimmer!kook, jock!jimin, kook smiles a lot, reader is a dumbass, jungkook is a dumbass, everyone’s a dumbass tbh, love confessions, profanity, like a lot of profanity, smut: oral (f receiving), face riding, grinding, hickies, unprotected sex (wrap ur willy before things get silly kids!), creampie, soft!kook except when horny, this is somewhat crack-y, there’s also a very fair amount of secondhand embarrassment in this just fair warning i cringed a lot while writing it

word count | 12.8k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | i busted literally all of this in one day because i couldn’t sleep and had the idea for a coffeeshop au with pining nerd/jock, but i didn’t want to do the trope of pining nerd and i also kept seeing @strawbxxymilk‘s tags saying she was going to fight jungkook, so you can partially blame her for his (love u reni xx) i’m honestly REALLY in love with this fic, it was so much fun to write and even edit, like i honestly have never been happier with how a fic turned out.

If asked, you don’t think you’d be able to point to one exact moment that led to this. You aren’t sure why anything about your college life has been the way it is. You went through almost all middle school and part of high school intending on coasting through under the radar. You didn’t have many friends and you didn’t mind that, citing quality over quantity, and you definitely expected that to continue into your extended school career.

Somehow, though, you ended up on the volleyball team - the captain had seen you playing in a gym class and recruited you. She was adamant that with practice and training, you’d be great, and also they needed at least one more person if they were going to have any chance at competing that year. So you agreed, started practicing, got good, and…kept doing it. You were a talented player, and you made several close friends through the game, ones that had lasted you until even now.

You only got better and better, too, earning you more than one offer from various universities. It was exciting when you finally chose one, and even more exciting that your friend group almost tripled overnight. University teams were large, you discovered, and while that meant more competition, it also meant more friends. More friends that had more connections to people on other teams, in other sports, who were also fun and extroverted and threw really good parties. 

You like to think you’re still that little nobody from middle school. You enjoy your readings and your coursework, and a lot of nights you choose to stay behind in your shared apartment instead of going out. As much as you like to think that, though, you can’t help but face the truth every time you look in the mirror after practice or a game or a workout.

You’re a jock.

You don’t even know why. The labels were supposed to end when high school did, and yet here you were. You pretty much only hang out with other sporty people, since no one has much time to make friends with anyone they didn’t see five times a week and every other weekend. You have a strict workout regimen that you run through with other girls from the team. Your class schedule is built around your volleyball schedule. You call yourself an athlete. You get looks sometimes, from the smart kids who think they’re better because you’re ‘only’ an athlete and they’re not. It reminds you of the people who look down on other sports because theirs is the only ‘true’ sport. Those people used to piss you off, but you’ve grown used to them now; there would always be people who thought they were better because of some imagined divide.

Realistically, there is no divide. People are free to associate with whoever they want, fuck the social norms that become ingrained in high school to contrast class differences. Okay, your Societal Influences class may have skewed your thinking a bit, but your point stands. You had no good reason to conform to the antiquated ideas of high schoolers.

So why, why, are you still standing by a waffle maker and staring helplessly at him?

Jisoo nudges you and you move to let her at the waffle, not looking away from him. She follows your line of sight and laughs when she sees him. “Seriously?” She asks, shaking her head.

“Shut up,” You groan, popping part of a roll into your mouth.

“It’s been almost three years,” She teases. “How have you not worked up the nerve to talk to him?”

“Two years, three months,” You correct as you follow her to where the chocolate syrup and fruit await for her waffle monstrosity. You can’t even look at it anymore, sickened by the mere sight of all the sugar stacked atop it.

“That is not helping your case the way you think it is.”

“I can’t just…talk to him, he’s gonna think I’m weird. Who just walks up to someone and says ‘hi, I saw you in my friend’s orientation group two years ago and thought you were the most beautiful man in existence, and still think that in fact, would you mind going out with me?’” Jisoo levels you with a look that could make cacti wilt.

“Uh, plenty of people do that every day. That’s how relationships happen. I know you’ve got this big hard-on for this whole…pining, lovesick idiot look,” She barrels on, ignoring the squawk of defiance you let loose, “But it’s getting kind of hopeless. That one guy asked you out, like, last month, and you literally laughed at him.”

“In my defense, he was like way older than us! I don’t want to go out with a grandpa!”

“I cannot believe you just called Kim Seokjin a grandpa, the entire team is going to revolt against you for this.”

You huff and lead her to the table you picked out, which she very kindly does not mention gives you a perfect view of him while you pick at your food. She continues to rant at you about your hopeless crush, but you don’t even hear her anymore, because he’s laughing at something across the dining hall and it makes your chest tighten.

God damn, you don’t know how in the hell someone so fucking nerdy can make you so fucking weak in the knees.

Across the room, Jungkook adjusts the round lenses that have been sliding down his nose, and it makes your heart flutter. He laughs again at something someone beside him said. His nose scrunches as he does it, and the cute bunny teeth are obvious, and it makes you want to die a little inside but also throw him off a bridge a little bit. He starts talking, animated and excited, and you wonder what it is he’s talking about. You can almost pretend that he’s talking about you for a second, until he pulls something out of his bag and sets it on the table, covering it with his hands before pulling them back in a dramatic effort to reveal–

God, it’s a fucking Hatsune Miku figurine. 

You feel like sobbing at the sight. “God, he’s such a fucking weeb,” You say, hatred for yourself rolling off the words in absolute waves. Jisoo huffs, probably annoyed that you haven’t been listening to her rant, and waves a hand.

“You knew this,” She tells you bluntly. The issue is that she’s 100% correct; the first time you ever remember seeing Jungkook, he was in a God damn Naruto cosplay, dumbass wig in his hands while he adjusted his ninja headband, and he was still the most beautiful human being you’d ever laid your eyes on.

His eyes dart over like he could hear your thoughts and he makes eye contact; you get whiplash, you look away so fast. Your face is burning, you can feel it, and you’re actually in danger of staring a hole into the table with how hard you’re looking at it.

“You’re safe, he isn’t looking anymore,” Jisoo eventually says. You chance a glance to see that Jungkook is focused on whatever conversation he’s having, Hatsune Miku nowhere to be seen and replaced with a very pretty red flush across his cheeks. You audibly coo over the sight and Jisoo pretends to gag.

“Don’t you have class?” She says. It’s obviously an attempt to distract you, she’s always so transparent about those things. Jungkook looks over again and suddenly your phone becomes the most fascinating thing in the entire world. You balk at the time, because fuck, you really do have class in two minutes.

“Bye Jisoo, love you, don’t gorge yourself on waffles, or Rose will kill you at practice!” You shout over your shoulder as you bolt from the dining hall.

You don’t see nor feel the eyes on your back as you go, too focused on making the five-minute walk into a sixty-second sprint.

Work is boring. It always is. You work the overnight shift, 9 pm to 4 am, so that you can balance your volleyball schedule and your classes and your bills. If there were less 24-hour coffee shops around, it may be busier, but alas, the trend of having spaces for haggard and exhausted college students to roll into at all hours of the day had caught on, and thus, you work at one of four all-night coffee shops. And that’s only on this side of campus. There were even more on the other side, where the dorms were, and they see much more traffic than yours. Kids never want to go very far to get caffeine, so the ones across the way were always bustling and packed full of people writing last-minute papers and emailing for sources and who knows what else. 

Which meant that only the stray customer wandered in after dark, usually people getting off work and wanting to unwind for a second before heading home. You got a lot of homeless people, camping out in corners away from other people and sipping on one coffee for hours at a time. Some of the other workers complained about them, but you didn’t really care one way or another. If it kept them off the street and out of the cold, then you’d let them sit there as long as you could. It wasn’t like there were many people around to complain, anyway.

Of course, the few customers meant that there were fewer interruptions to the daily tasks you had to do, so it only takes an hour or two, max, every night to get everything clean, stocked, polished, and counted. Which left another five for you to fill.

You sigh, staring at a blank page of your notebook. You’re lucky your boss doesn’t care if the workers do schoolwork on the job, so long as the work gets done and the customers are happy, but just this once you curse him for being so kind. You’ve been procrastinating this essay for a week and it was due next class, but you had absolutely no idea where to even start. You sigh again and straighten as the bell over the door rings, the customary 'Welcome to Brew’d Awakening, what can I get for you today?’ already halfway out before you actually look up.

You choke on air as Jungkook smiles at you, small and shy and sweet, and you can actually feel part of your soul shrivel up and die along with every single one of your brain cells. You stare at him for a solid six seconds as he peruses the menu hanging above your head, and you’re so focused on memorizing the way he looks this close up that you nearly miss his order.

“A large iced black, please?” He phrases it like a question and it’s adorable, despite the countless times you’ve bitched to Jisoo about people doing the exact same thing in the past. You tack on your customer service smile as best you can and ring him up.

It’s a relief to turn away from him to actually make his drink. He’s gorgeous, even with the dumbass hoodie with some naked anatomy model on it that has to be from some anime, that it makes it hard for you to breathe. He’s not even wearing the nerd glasses and it just makes his eyes so much more obviously beautiful, and you know Jisoo is going to whine about hearing you wax poetic over them for weeks after this. Your hands shake as you pour the coffee into the cup and click the lid into place, but you force yourself to steady them as you hand it to him.

He’s blushing again, and you want to kiss it so badly, and he waves. “Thanks,” He says as he starts to leave. Your brain is torn between responses, one half reverting to your generic response and the other wanting to assure it him it was absolutely not anything he needed to thank you for, and you can feel the stupidity coming, but you cannot stop the words as they claw up your throat and you nearly shout–

“Your problem!”

He falters in his steps, turning to give you a confused look, and you’re honestly disappointed the earth doesn’t quake and part to drag you directly to the pits of hell, because even that would be less painful than having to maintain your professional demeanor like you didn’t just say the absolute stupidest thing you’ve ever said in your entire fucking life.

Jungkook just nods and strides out of the coffee shop, bell dinging in his wake.

The screech you unleash in the break room a few seconds later is inhuman and chilling, and yet Rose doesn’t seem at all fazed.

“I would say you should just talk to him, but clearly you can’t even do that like a normal person.” She pats your arm as you bang your head into the table, and you consider the option of getting new friends.

You’re no stranger to wild Jungkook sightings. You both go to the same university, you both have similar classes, you both take full advantage of the dining hall at every opportunity, you both use the library. It’s hard to go ten feet on campus without seeing someone you know, and it’s even harder when you’re actively looking for that person everywhere you go.

So you’ve already seen him a couple of times after the Your Problem Incident - and you may have turned around and completely avoided even thinking about it, but who’s going to judge you for that, really - when you walk into an extra-credit lecture for one of your science classes to immediately zero in on the familiar grin.

You’d foolishly believed this would be a popular lecture and as such would be held in one of the big lecture halls, the ones that seat 100+ people, but no. Of course not. This was in a regular ass classroom, with regular tables and regular students and regular everything, including the dumbass that regularly stars in every single one of your daydreams. The impulse to turn and run jolts through you, but before you can do exactly that, Nayun is calling your name and waving you over to the seat she saved just for you.

Right in front of him.

Several people turn at her call, but you focus your gaze on the chair and refuse to look to see if he’s looking at you. You refuse, you will not be that girl, you have standards, dammit, and grades to keep up, and immense public humiliation to pretend never happened.

You have to pass him to sit at your chair since Satan himself designed the classroom and put the door at the back of the room, as only a literal demon would do. You focus on not falling flat on your face, as you’ve been prone to do when Jungkook is in your range of vision, and as such you’re wholly unprepared for the way his scent floods through your brain.

You’re able to sit before you collapse entirely, legs shaking because he smells so fucking good. You’ve become accustomed to the boys’ volleyball team, who’re known for always wanting to hang out right after practices but not ever wanting to shower after practices. You’ve been friends with guys before. You are very close with several of the guys on the volleyball team. You’ve been around college dudes for three entire years. You know how guys smell, you know they all tend to get wrapped up in whatever boys think about and neglect their own hygiene unless gently reminded that no, Taehyung, girls do not like it when a guy is sweaty.

Apparently, one dude didn’t get the memo, because Jungkook smells like fucking heaven. Clean linens and summer flowers and rainstorms, with a lingering and faint whisper of chlorine that shoves you into the nostalgia of high school summers at the pool with your friends. It’s glorious and wonderful and you’ve never been close enough to smell him before, which you also never thought would ever go through your brain.

You wish you could say you’ve never thought of how he might smell, you really do. But the truth is you are a girl in love, with an overactive imagination and a lot of time spent not writing essays. You’ve imagined a lot of things. And yet. Even in your wildest daydreams, there is no possible way you ever could have expected it to floor you the way it did.

Nayun is saying something and you’re nodding along, but she could be telling you the secret to life itself and you would never know. You’re too focused on him. You can’t look at him - a blessing and a curse, because now you may be able to pay attention to the lecture, but you’ll also be too distracted to think about anything but if he’s looking at you - but you can hear him. You’ve heard him speak before, you’ve built up somewhat of a resistance to his voice and the way it slides along the air, which is such a sappy romantic thing to think but here you fucking are.

You have not, however, heard him speak for such a long period of time about the continuity errors in Boku No Hero Academia. You don’t even know what the fuck that is, never heard the phrase in your entire life, but he’s so passionate about it that you can’t help but listen. He’s making all sorts of points and giving all kinds of examples and you want to nod along just to encourage him. For all you know he could be wrong about every single instance he mentions but fuck, he just sounds so sure of himself and so absolute that it has you wanting to agree.

The sheer confidence in what he’s saying has you getting weak in the knees. He’s such an absolute fucking weeb, and yet it’s always been so sexy to you when someone knows their shit and can prove it. You could have gone your entire life without knowing that that particular kink extended to fucking anime.

The professor walks in shortly after and you are blessedly saved from more of Jungkook’s rants about anime inconsistencies. You’re impossibly wet and you curse yourself for the millionth time for somehow falling for the biggest dork the planet has possibly ever seen. You focus all of your attention on the lecture, doing your best to take notes even as you find yourself doodling the best (read: atrocious) representations of Jungkook in the margins of your notebook.

You groan on the way out. You’d spent the full hour and a half taking sporadic notes between doodles of Jungkook as a prince. You still couldn’t decide if you were imagining the feeling of someone watching you, either. Nayun just laughs and leads you to the dining hall for dinner before you both had to head to practice.

You are blessedly free of Jungkook for exactly four days. It is, in fact, a new record, since the first time you saw him.

It’s turned your life into a hellscape and you hate it.

You look for him around every corner and past every door, and more than once you’ve caught yourself expecting him to walk through the door at the coffee shop for absolutely no reason. You’ve only ever seen him there the one time. There was literally no reason to expect him to show up ever again, and yet each time someone walked in, you responded as if it was the 1500s and the king himself had entered the building.

If you’re being honest, though, your biggest issue with not seeing Jungkook’s dumb ass for four entire days is that it is just long enough for you to start to expect not to see him. It’s just enough time for you to get so accustomed to not seeing him around that you stop turning corners and looking for him immediately. You don’t immediately think 'this is it’ when the bell above the shop door rings. It takes a second to kick in, a delayed response that is still habit but one on its way out.

You miss him, that is definite. You find yourself wishing that he would show up out of the blue one day, spouting some nonsense, just for the sake of hearing it again. His rants about which Bleach character would actually win a fight because 'well, according to the manga,’ his tirades about how the revamp of Voltron is nowhere near as genuine as the original and is clearly pandering, you just…miss it. You never understand a goddamn thing he’s saying but it’s so fucking attractive. He’s so passionate about all of it and he’s so knowledgeable that even the discussion you overheard in the library about the top ten most powerful moves in the entirety of YuYuHakusho had you dripping and running for your apartment, and you miss that.

At this point, though, you should know the universe fucking hates you.

It’s late, close to 2 am, you haven’t slept in too long because you had an away game that afternoon that you lost on a fucking bullshit call and then had to stay to watch the boys’ team play. They, of course, crushed their opponents, which you were proud of, but it only made your defeat that much more bitter. You were still pissed about it when you rolled into work that night, Rose lagging behind to talk to the coach and Jimin glowing beside you with how well his team had done.

You’re tired, you’re pissed, you’re starving, you have a test in six hours that you haven’t studied for, the cafe is mercilessly dead, there’s a guy in the corner building an actual literal scale model of a castle, and all you can think about is the bullshit ref insisting that the ball touched Jisoo’s elbow after she made contact and completely fucking over the last serve of the game in favor of your opponents.

Jimin, the light of your life and angel among men, had gotten your food before your break. It isn’t fancy, two quick drive-thru burgers with fries and a drink, but it may as well be the nectar of the gods with the way you’re inhaling it. The angel and future father of your immaculate conception babies sits on one of the stools against the counter, chin in his hand as he watches you eat. He looks torn between horror and fascination and you can’t blame him for it. It must be a sight to behold: you, behind the shop counter, elbows planted for maximum efficiency, mouth stuffed full of French fries, ripping viciously into a burger as you continue to go off about the bullshit that was your match that day.

Really, you wouldn’t be this mad any other day. But the combination of so many shitty things - hunger, exhaustion, stress, frustration, not having seen the love of your life Jeon Jungkook in y e a r s - has you absolutely livid. You’re well past the end of your break by now, but Rose knows all too well how you are and is graciously letting you vent until you’re less ready to rip the head off the next person that comes in the door.

You express the sentiment to Jimin, who laughs, the fucker, and fail to realize that someone has, actually, just walked into the coffee shop. You’re halfway through your sentence - “I swear to God, Park, if I see that fucking ref again, I’m gonna rip his balls off and shove them so far up his ass that he starts to digest them, what kind of bullshit even was that, her elbow was nowhere near the ball, that foul never would’ve stood if we had been on our court,” - when it registers that Rose is taking an order. You glance over, out of habit more than anything, and proceed to attempt to inhale the food crammed into your mouth as you gasp.

Of course, of fucking course, Jungkook would show up while you’re like this. Your hair is a mess, still damp from the post-game shower, you’ve got some kind of stain on your shirt from the food that’s absolutely smashed into your mouth, and you’ve just been basically shouting expletives all over your workplace, which he definitely heard. It’s made worse because he’s staring at you, eyes wide behind his stupid round glasses, and his striped shirt with fucking ridiculous overalls. You’re torn between planting one on him since he looks so fucking cute and bewildered, decking him straight in the face because where the fuck has he been, and just bolting straight out of the shop because the guy you’ve liked for two fucking years witnessed all of that and you want to die.

You stare at him and he stares at you, looking as shocked as you feel. Jimin is just looking between the two of you, a shit-eating grin overtaking his face as he starts to connect dots you never ever wanted him to connect, because-

“Jungkook-ah, I didn’t know you came here!” Jimin says, grinning at the younger boy and one of his very best friends. He’s got a glint in his eye that you recognize and you contemplate not for the first time if you could actually impale him with a coffee stirrer.

“Oh, yeah, well…” Jungkook stutters and you hate that it’s so cute. “The others close to my dorm are all really busy at this time of night, y'know, so I like to get coffee on this side of campus so it’s still coffee and not watered down when I get back to my dorm.”

“Why don’t you just drink it here?” Jimin asks as he stirs his own coffee that had long since gone cold, as if he had every right in the world to offer up your coffee shop to a literal God among men. “It’s quiet, you could probably get more work done here than in your dorm. I remember you said your neighbors have been keeping you up.”

Jungkook turns red and looks away. Rose takes the opportunity to slide his iced coffee across to him and he takes it with a smile that makes your heart melt. You watch the exchange with more focus than you probably should, and the food is forgotten in lieu of your future husband right there in front of you for the first time in days.

“I guess I could,” Jungkook eventually says, eyes darting all over. They rest on you every few minutes before quickly flying away, and it makes you even more self-conscious of the stain on your shirt and the way grease has no doubt pooled around your mouth. You grab a napkin to try to clean yourself up as Jungkook continues. “I just don’t know if I could focus here, y'know, there’re a lot of…distractions.”

The silence that follows the statement is deafening, only broken by the quiet huffs of the guy building a castle in the corner.

Jungkook turns even redder and ruffles the back of his hair. It’s impossibly cute and you’re halfway to offering to ruffle it for him, either between his sheets or in the alley out back, when Jimin cuts you off.

“Well, you should consider it, at least. I always have the best times here, even with all the distractions.” Jimin sips at his coffee as he speaks and you get the very distinct sense that he’s teasing Jungkook about something you don’t know. The younger boy just smiles and gives a quick bye to Jimin and Rose. You like to think his smile softens as he looks at you, and the way he says your name as he waves will forever be embedded into your mind.

He’s gone before you can respond and you’re glad, sure you must be at least as red as the strawberry syrup. Jimin whirls on you the second Jungkook is out of sight, Rose doing her best to pretend she isn’t mortified for you.

“I cannot believe that you didn’t tell me - me - that the guy you’ve been pining after all these years is Jungkook.” Jimin sounds scandalized and betrayed and his face just makes you think of- “Top Ten Anime Betrayals, really.”

“Fuck, this is exactly why I didn’t want you to know! I used his codename for a reason.” You whine, dropping your head to the countertop with a resounding thud.

“Oh, yes, because Dumb DumbDook is oh-so-subtle,” Rose mutters. You ignore her.

“I could have been doing wingman work this whole time, though! Imagine how much further along you’d be if I’d been able to hype you up every time I hang out with him. You’d be able to talk to him, five words at least.” You smack Rose when she laughs.

“No, absolutely not. There’s no way it’s gonna happen, Jimin, I can’t set myself up for that failure.” You shake your head and go back to your food, though you’re much less angry after seeing your weeb. “Besides, we’ve got like…nothing in common, what would we even talk about?”

“Are you serious?” The deadpan is what catches your attention, and when you glance up, the look Jimin is giving is scathing. “I’ve heard you gush about his nerd rants, alright, you said yourself you could listen to him talk for weeks without getting bored of hearing his voice.”

“Conversations are a two-way street, Jimin. What the fuck could I contribute to that?”

“Uh…you’re kidding me, right? You didn’t see that face he made while you were doing your whole 'I’m gonna shit talk the ref because he made a call I didn’t like’ thing.”

“It was bullshit and you know it, he never would’ve done that shit for the other side.”

“Point stands, dude. Kook could listen to you go off about your sports shit for just as long as you could with his anime shit. I’d put money on it.”

“You’re delusional, Park, but I’m gonna let you live in this fantasy world because it’s nice to have company here.” He scoffs but doesn’t press the topic, which you’re thankful for. Instead, you fish your study guide out of your bag and hand it to him so he can quiz you about the test you have in four hours.

It seems that Jungkook takes Jimin’s word as law because he starts to show up more and more often. At first, it was just the coffee shop, where he would order his iced black and then leave with a shy smile that had you melting. Then he was at the library at the same time you were, one table over and typing furiously away at his laptop. You assumed it was for a class until he disappeared and returned with a printed copy and you caught the “Neon Genesis Evangelion: A New Order, Chapter Five” at the top.

You won’t lie, you did judge him just a bit for that because you don’t even know anything about the show but no way in hell would you be caught dead printing your fanfic on wireless school computers when cloud hacks are a thing.

He appears at your favorite takeout place, too; not that he saw you since you dove behind a fish tank to avoid getting caught. You’d watched carefully through the water as he waited, looking around in the meantime as if in search of something. He almost looked dejected when he left, though you didn’t know why until you got your food and found out they were out of crab rangoon like you hadn’t just been playing peekaboo with one in the fish tank for twenty minutes.

The thing that really gets you, though, the one that grinds your gears, is how he makes the coffee shop his thing. He just keeps showing up, night after night, and while at first he just left with his coffee, he apparently decided that wasn’t enough, because now he stays. He parks himself at the corner table near the outlet and taps away at his laptop while you try to do any semblance of work. He’s so distracting. He makes the most adorable faces - the brow furrow and slight frown when he’s focused and trying to figure something out, the clenched jaw with tongue in cheek when he’s irritated or frustrated, the cute ass bunny smile that makes you want to jump off a bridge and/or push him off a bridge.

Honestly, if you’re being truthful, you could’ve gotten used to that. He’s quiet and doesn’t talk much and even though you can feel him nearby like a sunflower to the sun, you could’ve managed eventually.

The issue is that his nerd friends start joining him, and they are not quiet. They are loud and argumentative and enjoy debating their dweeb things and they especially enjoy dragging Jungkook into said dweebates, if you will. Which in and of itself is not terrible. You’ve had a literal debate team in here practicing, you’re accustomed to that kind of thing.

No, the issue is that Jungkook is like the king weeb. He seems to know everything about everything complete with sources to back it up and even if he doesn’t know something he can either find out in ten seconds or he can bullshit his way to being right. And it’s so goddamn sexy. He just fucking…owns the other nerds, no matter what the subject is, and he’s so confident and sure and he gets sassy with them when he knows he’s right and they’re wrong. The body language, the expression on his face, the way he just stomps them into the dirt…it gets you hot and bothered every fucking time, and it’s a problem, because you’re at work. It is not socially acceptable to kidnap someone into the break room to fuck their brains out because they just won an argument about whether Yu Gi Oh or Pokemon was a more successful trading card game.

It’s made even even worse because Jungkook has started to pay attention to your rants. Every time you have a game or watch one with the team, you and Rose spend at least part of your shift talking about the ups and downs, what can be improved, what you specifically need to work on and how you can do it. One night the two of you spent upwards of an hour debating whether Lang Ping or Mireya was a better overall player and why, and when you finally stopped to restock the coffee beans, Jungkook was staring at you with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t place.

Of course, that was when you turned and hid in the storage room for the rest of your shift, but the point fucking stands.

Jeon Jungkook is a menace and he is taking over your life and you really should be more mad about it. It almost comes to a head when Jimin drags you to a swim meet, which you have attended exactly zero times in your entire life because who the fuck cares about swim meets.

“Trust me,” He had pleaded. “I want to go to support some friends, but I’m gonna be bored if I have to sit alone on the bleachers.” You’d eventually caved when he promised to buy you food, and now your ass was planted on the most uncomfortable stand seats you’ve ever been on and you were about to pop a blood vessel because Jimin was being so fucking infuriating about everything. He’d pulled you straight from practice, not letting you change or shower or anything, and he’d been trying to goad you into a debate the entire time you’d been waiting for the meet to start. It was legitimately starting to get you riled up, even as you stretched your legs out, thighs spread wide as your fingers massaged the muscles in your familiar post-game routine.

“For the last fucking time, Jimin, no, the Canada/Mexico save was not better than the fucking Italy/France save!” He rolls his eyes, but he opened this can of worms so now he has to suffer with you. “It was flashier, sure, with the sliding and the moving of the barriers, but the Italy/France save was more technically sound and less likely to result in any kind of ref interference. They were both good, sure, but there is no way you can truly believe that the flashier and less technically sound and less safe of the two is actually better.”

“Oh, your boyfriend’s waving,” Jimin says as he smiles and waves, eyes turning into crescents as he does.

“What? I don’t have a-” You stop when you look. You really should have expected this because life is a cruel mistress and the universe itself is even crueler, but here you were. Rendered speechless by the sight of Jungkook. In swim pants. Shirtless.

“You’re drooling,” Jimin comments dryly.

“Fuck off, it’s not my fault he’s sculpted by the gods.” You don’t even bother to look at Jimin, too focused on the way Jungkook’s back flexes as he pulls himself out of the water. Time legitimately slows, water falling off of him and trailing down abs you did not know were there, and your heart honest to God stops beating. “What the fuck is he even doing here?”

“He’s on the swim team,” Jimin smirks and calls Jungkook over before you can shove your hand over his mouth. “Kook-ah, good luck! You’re gonna do great!”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jungkook says with an excited grin as he jogs over. You don’t think you take a single breath in the five minutes they chat. Your chest may actually explode, and you’re tempted to dive into the pool not two feet away to cool off. Jungkook steps back like he’s going to leave, giving you a small smile as he does.

“Wait, Jungkook, remind me, how did you get into swimming? Someone was curious,” Jimin nods ever so subtly to you but you can’t even find the strength to be upset because Jungkook’s chest is right there and you want to run your tongue along his muscles.

“Oh, there’s actually this anime called Free! I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, it’s really good, but it’s about these swimmers. They complete and a lot of it is them learning how to get better at their techniques so I thought, 'well, that can’t be that hard can it?’“ You let out a quiet sob. He’s just…you clench your fist in your lap and sigh. He’s just such a fucking nerd. Jungkook shoots you a somewhat worried look but continues. “It’s how I learned archery and boxing, too. I saw them in manga and got really interested and figured if the characters can do it, why can’t I?”

“God, that’s so fucking nerdy,” You mutter. It doesn’t register that you spoke out loud until you see Jungkook’s reddening face and hear Jimin’s soft choke. “In a good way! I mean, I think it’s…it’s really awesome that you just saw it and did it, that’s really…” Don’t say sexy. “…cool.”

Jungkook stares at you, cheeks reddened, and you struggle not to start digging your own grave here and now in the middle of this indoor pool area. You’re about to stand and do exactly that when Jungkook’s face brightens and his nose crinkles and the most blinding grin you’ve ever seen in your life takes over his face as his shoulders bunch up. Your eyes are probably actual fucking hearts now, it’s easily the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen on a human male as tall and buff as he is, and it kind of makes you want to shove him in the pool.

You really don’t have to, though, because he just shakes his head and turns to go back to the swimmer’s benches or whatever they’re called in swimming. He’s ruffling the back of his hair again and watching the ground, but he keeps turning back to beam at you and Jimin. You see it before Jimin does, and both of you start to call for him when his heel slips and he falls completely back into the water.

Every face in the area turns to look at where Jungkook is surfacing, wiping his face and slicking his hair back out of his face. The sight of it nearly sends you into heart palpitations because you honestly didn’t think he could get more fucking attractive but you were wrong. You force yourself to calm down because Jimin is too busy rolling on the ground beside you to be of any use in resuscitating you if your heart actually gave out.

“Ah, nani,” You hear Jungkook mutter as he climbs out of the pool and you wish you had a brick to hit yourself with because of course, of fucking course, he looks so fucking good and is so fucking bone-meltingly hot and still says weeb shit like ‘ah, nani’ when he falls into a goddamn pool.

You’re honestly legitimately fucked and the fact that you don’t even care anymore says a lot more about you than you want it to.

It all actually comes to a head nearly a week after the swim meet. The sight of a wet and dripping and half-naked Jungkook doesn’t leave your mind, forever burned into your retinas, but even more wonderful is the shy, bashful Jungkook that greets you the next day at the coffee shop. It’s almost like he thinks you’re going to tease him, as if he didn’t see you shoving your whole mouth full of junk while cursing out a ref, as if he didn’t fully hear you tell him ‘your problem!’ with a happy grin and death in your eyes the first time he came into the shop.

It’s just…it’s so fucking cute that you physically cannot contain it anymore, and you find yourself bemoaning your state of perpetual adoration with Jisoo and Rose while you all shower after the latest match.

“I’m just going to suffer for the rest of my life aren’t I?” You say, speaking louder than you typically would in order to be heard over the several showerheads currently running. “It’s too much for my heart to take, absolutely too much, he’s too fucking…ugh, clenches fist, he’s too fucking cute.”

“Did you just verbalize the ‘clenches fist’ meme?” Rose shoots from her own stall. You shoot a face at the wall separating you, not that she can see it. “Listen, you know how I feel about this. You need to make a move because that boy never will. He’s a mess.”

“Wow, who else do we know that’s also a mess at all times for the guy they’ve liked for years?” Jisoo comments from her own shower across the way. You groan and kick your stall door, which only results in a muffled curse and you cradling your toe as you balance precariously on one foot.

“Do not injure yourself, we have a tournament next weekend,” Rose says offhandedly. You huff.

“Why would I even make a move? He’s got…Hatsune Miku and anime girls and shit.”

“Oh, of course,” Rose says. “I forgot, every guy would willingly give up a gorgeous, real-life girl willing to fuck him senseless for a pretty cartoon. Silly me.”

“What I don’t get,” Nayun calls from the locker room proper. “Is why you think he isn’t interested. He gets a chub every time he so much as looks at you, and don’t think Jimin didn’t tell me about the swim meet. The boy fell into a pool.”

“Yeah, because he’s a goddamn idiot.” You shake your head and wash the conditioner from your hair.

“What if we dare you to do it?” Rose’s voice echoes from too close. You turn and see her silhouette against the plastic shower curtain. She takes your confused silence as permission to continue. “Seriously, if we dare you to ask him out, will you?”

“What the fuck,” You say, sticking your head out of the curtain to level a glare at her. “I’m not ten years old, why the fuck would I do something just because you dare me to?”

“Bet, then,” Jisoo says as she wraps her hair in a towel. Your eyes must be wide as saucers because she laughs. “Bet on it. If the boys lose this game, you have to ask him out.”

“No no,” Rose says, and a familiar and all-too-dangerous grin spreads on her face. “If the boys lose this game, you have to confess. Do the gift and the letter and the whole fucking anime thing for him. If they win, we’ll drop it, and listen to your moaning and groaning for the rest of forever without complaint or comment.” Jisoo and Nayun look much too excited at the prospect, but you’ve been watching the boys play all season.

“What kind of bet is that? The boys haven’t lost a game all season.”

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?” Rose says, grinning as she saunters over to put her street clothes on. “Five minutes before game start.” You curse and rush to finish your shower, determined not to run laps for being late again.

As fate would have it, you do have reason to worry, because apparently, the rival university recruited some fucking professional athlete super mutants or some shit. It’s a close game, the boys only losing by one, but with the level of skill they’ve been playing with all season, it should’ve been an easy win.

And yet.

You’re standing outside the boys’ locker room, waiting patiently for Jimin. It’s a routine you got into when you first met, just after you’d both joined the respective teams. He would wait for you and you would wait for him, as long as it took, especially after a loss. You’re still in shock, still reeling from the game itself. You would almost think Jimin had found out about the bet and thrown the game, just to get you to shut the fuck up about Jungkook, if you didn’t know him.

If you didn’t see the dedication he put into the game, the perfection he expected of himself and his team. It rivals even Rose’s, and you can hear him yelling from where you stand, slamming what is probably his fist into a locker several times before he falls silent. As much as you had riding on this game, as pissed as you are that you lost the bet, you know it’s minuscule in comparison to the way Jimin feels, and you can’t even summon up enough energy to fool yourself otherwise. You’ve known him too long.

When he finally does emerge, you help wrap his knuckles with a clean bandage and ruffle his hair. “It’ll be alright, Park,” You tell him, quiet. He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and you sling your arm around his shoulder to lead him to your car. He’s quiet the rest of the night, even as you eat shitty fast food burgers in your car, even as he sits at the counter at the coffee shop, textbook open in front of him but not reading it.

“So I bet the girls that I would do an anime confession for Jungkook if you lost, you wanna help me plan it?” You ask him towards the end of your shift, long after said dork is gone from the shop. It’s the only time you see Jimin smile all night, but it’s worth it for the way his eyes crinkle and he starts outlining ideas.

“Did you even sleep last night?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Jimin responds as he chugs the rest of his coffee. Calling it coffee is generous, if you’re honest because it smells like he put twenty espresso shots in a cup and added some sugar. You force back a gag and shudder at the thought. “Everything’s in place?”

“This isn’t a bank heist, Jimin, I’m giving him a fucking box and a letter.” Even behind sunglasses you can tell the look he’s giving you is withering. “Whatever, yes, everything’s in place.”

“Good. Target sighted. Commence mission.”

You huff, grumbling as you move forward to the door. Of the cafe. Where you work. Where Jungkook is sitting, surrounded by his dork friends and heatedly arguing about something you no doubt have no clue about. Looking absolutely delectable, despite just being in a regular ass fucking jacket and a beanie that almost matches his skin and his hair looks so soft that you want to rub your face in it and also maybe bury your fingers in it while he’s between your legs.

You open the door and are immediately hit with the sound of Rose choking on her drink, the sudden conversation about which dps character is better - what the fuck that means, you don’t know - screeching to a halt, and every single person in the shop staring at you. Which is only like three people that aren’t Rose, Jungkook, Jimin, or the six people around Jungkook, but still. You force yourself not to throw up and move, cursing the itchy and uncomfortable dress the entire way.

Really, it was Jimin’s fault. You’d been brainstorming ways to confess and how to make it so perfectly Jungkook that he at least had to respond. He’d been the one to suggest dressing up as Hatsune Miku, which you, of course, nixed immediately. You weren’t about to spend who knows how much on a fucking wig and costume of one of the most popular cartoon characters of the modern age, not when you were only going to use it one fucking time.

So here you fucking are, dressed up like god damn Haruhi Fujioka, in an itchy yellow dress that doesn’t move where it should and feels like fucking sandpaper against your skin, that Jimin just happened to have on hand, like that wasn’t super fucking weird, and now everyone at your place of employment is staring at you and the small white box in your hands with a little pink envelope on top of it and you can hear Rose’s muffled laughter as you step further into the shop.

You stare at the ground as you walk, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. It doesn’t take more than a few steps before you’re staring down at Jungkook’s Timbs. You take a deep breath, and then another, and then another before you look up. He’s openly gawking, jaw nearly on the floor as he looks you up and down. Not a single soul is making a noise in the shop, so your voice rings out loud clear as you say–

“My chest hurts when I think about this person. When this person is happy, I am happy. When he smiles, I feel like crying. I distinguish his voice better than other people’s. I think this person is respectable. I want to become this person’s strength. I have scored more than 80 points, and it’s official. I-” You stop, cursing the fact that you’re doing this at three in the fucking morning on your day off in your workplace all because of a fucking bet and the fact that you couldn’t shut up about Jungkook’s stupid fucking face for more than two minutes without being in danger of combustion. “I like him, and I hope that he feels the same.”

You shove the white box into his hands and turn on your heel. Without looking back, you march out the door, grabbing Jimin on the way even as Jungkook calls after you. You keep going, walking quicker than you ever have to get to your apartment as fast as possible. Jimin just laughs as he follows you.

“I can’t believe you actually did it, holy shit. I hope he likes the chocolates, you worked really hard on them.”

“This is going to end up on the internet, I just know it, and I’m stating right now that this was not how I ever wanted to fucking tell him.” Jimin laughs again and hands you the coffee Rose had made you. When you finally make it back to your apartment, he helps you take the dress off and gets the pint of ice cream out of the freezer so you can wallow in peace.

“You don’t even know what he’s going to say,” Jimin protests, though he heaps his own spoon with ice cream in the process.

“I walked up to him in a jank cosplay of a shojo manga character and confessed my fucking love for him, Jimin.” He balks at the look you give him. “I don’t care how much of an otaku he is, he’s gonna think I’m fucking weird.”

“Well, don’t count yourself out just yet, alright?” Jimin ruffles your hair and you swat at him. “You never know. Maybe he’s really into Ouran and you just don’t know it.” You groan and bury your face in a pillow in an attempt to smother yourself. It doesn’t work.

It still hasn’t worked the next day when you wake up around noon to find Jimin gone and your dishes done for you. You grumble about it since you had every intention of doing your own dishes, but you send him a quick ‘thanks for washing my grime bitch’ because no matter how capable you are, you never want to do them.

It’s later that night when you’re fresh out of the shower and getting ready to head to your practice except for the fact that you can’t find your fucking keys that there’s a knock on your door. You open it without looking and dive back into the couch, bent nearly in half while you dig through the cushions. “Hey, Nayun, I’m almost ready, I just have to find my keys. I think Jimin threw them somewhere last night, after that fucking debacle at the shop-” A choked noise that definitely does not sound like Nayun reaches your eyes and you bolt upright, eyes wide.

Jungkook stands in the doorway to your apartment, wide eyes darting up from where he most definitely was staring at your ass and his face bright red. “Jimin gave me your address. Um…can we talk?”

You really want to say no. You want to tell him that no, you can’t, because you have volleyball practice, as he can tell from your uniform, and you absolutely cannot be late because Rose will literally use your entrails to make a new net.

Instead what comes out is, “Sure!”

You wave him in and close the door behind him, shooting off a quick text to Rose to let her know you might be late or may not show up at all, you’re not really sure because motherfucking Jeon Jungkook just showed up at your door. All you get back is a string of the cry-laughing emojis, and you curse whatever deity decided she should walk this earth with mortals.

“So,” Jungkook says. It’s long and drawn out, like he doesn’t really know where to go from here, but you’re distracted because he looks so good. Matching grey hoodie and sweats that are just the right side of baggy, standard Timbs, hair pushed to the side slightly to show off a bit of forehead. God, what is the world coming to that you’re this worked up over some fucking forehead?

“So,” You echo.

“Did you mean those things you said yesterday?” You hesitate and he takes it as an answer in itself. “Listen, I…I get it, y’know? You’re this super cool volleyball star, and I’m a big nerd who swims, haha, let’s tease the kid about his crush, but…it didn’t really seem like you were teasing. And now I’m confused because I can’t tell if you actually meant any of that or if you were just…dared to do it.”

“I was. Kind of. It was a bet, actually.” Jungkook’s face falls and you wince. “No, not like that, it wasn’t. Fuck, okay, it wasn’t a mean bet. I made a bet with the girls on the team that if the boys lost their game, then I would confess my feelings to you in some big dramatic anime way, like all that shit you like, right, and then the boys actually lost their game, so I had to do it, and then, wait.” Your brain catches up. “Did you say you have a crush on me?”

Jungkook’s face is still slightly pink, but he’s got the most tentative bunny smile on and he looks so unbearably fond that your heart is breaking. “I did,” He says softly. “So you really have feelings for me?”

“I’ve been in love with you for more than two years,” You blurt. You immediately want to take it back, want to suck the words back in before they can escape and embarrass you further, but it’s too late. “I mean…I was an orientation leader with Jimin right before my second year and you were in his group, and I saw you talking to some people and you were just really super cute and you have a really nice smile and I was kind of hooked and then later that year we were both at the dining hall and I was sitting near you and this guy said something about some anime and you were all, ‘really, because if you’d bothered to watch the show then you’d know blah blah blah’ and it was the single hottest anime takedown I’ve ever seen.”

Jungkook is silent through your babble, though his smile just grows and he fluffs the back of his hair. He looks around your apartment briefly, like he’s looking for words, and he’s got the prettiest flush on his face and you want to kiss it but he hasn’t said anything.

“I went to your first volleyball match that year, and you spiked a ball into a girl’s face,” He admits. You remember that match, mostly because- “And then you argued with the ref for almost ten minutes about whether or not you deserved a penalty for it because technically she was the one that tried to hit the ball with her face, you hadn’t tried to hit her in the face. I’ve never been so turned on by sports in my entire life.”

“I once spat water out my nose because you said hi to me in the dining hall.”

“I fell into that pool because you looked really fucking hot in your uniform and I couldn’t process the fact that you thought my anime shit was cool.”

“I want to lick your abs.”

He stops at that, and for a second, for a single second you think maybe you went too far, but then he’s glancing around at the apartment as if he’s actually looking for something now. “Is there anyone else here?” He eventually asks. You can’t even finish shaking your head before he’s on you, pressing his mouth to yours in a feverish kiss.

You want to say that it was soft and sweet and gentle at first, but it wasn’t, at all. The two of you had too much pent up sexual frustration for that. Instead, his lips move against yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect, and his hand on the back of your neck is unforgiving as he tilts your jaw to get deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck, Kook,” You moan, hands already roaming along his sweatshirt. “Please take it off, I’m begging you.” He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling against your lips and it sends a wave of arousal crashing through you even as he strips his hoodie off to reveal nothing underneath. You feast your eyes on the muscles he keeps hidden away, hands hesitating as they start to run along the skin. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind, seems to actually bask in it, and he chuckles again as he lets his hands fall to your hips.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” He whispers in your ear, and you find yourself shaking at the way it feels. Erotic and sensual and hot as fuck, you want to return the favor, but you find yourself at a loss.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” You ask, pushing against his chest and walking back with him until his knees hit the couch. “Do you know how often I’ve thought of this?” You push again and he falls back onto it, hands coming to grip your thighs as you straddle him, and you make sure to grind your hips against his as you move to whisper into his ear. “How often I’ve touched myself thinking of you?”

Jungkook moans, and you want to etch the sound into your fucking skin, it’s absolutely glorious. He says your name like it’s a curse and you’ve never wanted someone more. You grind yourself against the stiffness you can feel through his sweats, your own volleyball shorts leaving little to the imagination. You’re absolutely soaked, and you know it’s going to be a bitch to wash but you could not give less of a fuck right now.

He rolls his hips up to meet yours and it’s your turn to moan, hands coming up to brace on his shoulders as your tongue slides along his neck and down to his throat. His breath hitches when you graze the skin there with your teeth, so you repeat the action. His hands tighten at your hips and slide to palm your ass; you never thought a guy’s hand on your ass would feel as good as it does, but you also never thought you’d be making out with Jeon Jungkook on your couch instead of going to practice.

“Fuck, Kook,” You moan into his mouth as he slides his right hand up your shirt to cup your breast. It’s more difficult than it usually would be, as you wear your sports bras to practice, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “Need you.”

“Don’t wanna fuck you on your couch yet,” He replies between the slide of his tongue against yours. “Your room, wanna make you come in your bed first.” Your legs tremble at the thought and you push yourself up. It’s hard to stand, your legs are wobbly, but Jungkook doesn’t even seem to notice it as you turn. His chest is pressed against your back immediately, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady while the other gropes your ass. His mouth is harsh on your neck and you can feel the bruises forming but at this point, you don’t even care.

You press yourself into him, and you can feel him. He curves, you can already tell; the heat radiating from the hardness pressed into the swell of your ass is delicious, and another wave of wetness seeps into your shorts as you think about what it’s gonna be like with him inside.

“You have no idea what these shorts do to me,” He whispers, nipping at the skin of your neck one last time before he slaps your ass - hard. You yelp, more in surprise than anything, but before you can say anything he’s pushing at your hips to force you through the apartment.

You’ve only made it to your bed faster once before this, when you thought you were being chased by an ax murderer that turned out to be a coat rack.

Jungkook isn’t gentle when you get to your room. He doesn’t even pause, just flips you around and shoves you onto the bed. It shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is, and you’re quivering a little because of it. He slides between your legs, hands running slowly up your thighs, and it seems that now he’s decided to take his time.

His touch is feather-light against your skin. You can barely feel his hands as they slide up your thighs and over your hips, around your waist, and between your breasts, but you can’t ever deny where they are. You’re hyperaware of him, and the smirk on his face tells you that he knows it. The competitive side of you, the one that makes you so fucking vicious during games, swells; he needs to know you’re not one to take it lying down, and he needs to know now.

Your legs move up around his waist and you push, using all your weight to flip the two of you so he straddles you once more. He’s rock solid against your ass and you grind back into it. His hands slide along your waist again and he pouts a little.

“Wanted to taste you,” He whines, fingers dipping just below the waistband of your shorts. You hook your thumbs in alongside his and pull, letting the material slide down just enough to tease.

“So do it,” You tell him. He looks confused for a second before recognition washes over him. His dick twitches behind you, but you pay it no mind. You rise up enough to slide your shorts off, a true feat of excellence considering how tight they are, and when you settle back down on your knees, his tongue runs across your slit. You gasp at the feeling and he takes this as permission to continue.

Whatever you expected him to be like in bed, every sexual fantasy you’ve ever had about him, none could ever live up to the reality of Jungkook’s tongue sliding between your folds to flick your clit. You moan, nails digging into your thighs.

“You like that, princess?” He asks, muffled by your thighs and pussy. You nod before realizing that he may not be able to see you.

“Yes, I do,” You tell him, and your nails dig in harder when he flicks it again. He continues, tongue darting out to tease you but not giving you enough to get you where you want to go. You growl, and he laughs.

“Maybe you should be kitten instead if you’re going to growl at me.” You shudder at the name, and when you look down with red cheeks, he has one brow raised. “Really? Kitten?”

“Shut up, I know you have a Hatsune Miku body pillow,” You tell him. He looks ready to protest but you lower yourself so his lips brush your folds. He takes the hint, thankfully, and lets his hands curl up to grip your hips. “Put that fucking mouth to work, Jungkook, or so help me-” You’re cut off by an unexpected moan. He slides his tongue along you once more, from clit to hole, and you whimper.

You can literally feel the smirk against your pussy and you rock down onto him. He laps up your juices, swirling his tongue around your clit and back down to your hole. You grind your hips down into his mouth, desperate for more friction, and you feel soft breaths against you as he chuckles. You whine and he takes pity, angling himself better before sliding his tongue tantalizingly slow into you. You clench around him and are left unsatisfied. As wonderful and skilled as it is, it’s not nearly big enough to do what you need it to. Still, it feels damn good as he thrusts it in and out of you, good enough that when he starts to pull away, your hands dart down and tangle in his hair to keep him right where he is. You can feel your orgasm coming, it’s so close you can taste it, and when he slides a finger over your clit, you break.

Your hips stutter in their rhythm and you slide yourself to the side so he can breathe properly once more. He’s got a grin on his face and looks entirely too pleased with himself. He moves to lay between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your torso and thighs with every breath, and the fondness in your chest swells.

You can see him straining his sweats, it has to hurt, and yet here he is, showering you with kisses and sweet nothings instead of immediately trying to get off himself. What a refreshing change of pace.

“Thank you,” He mutters with a laugh, and you realize you’d been talking out loud. “I do really, really want to fuck you, though.” He trails kisses up your neck to your ear and you shiver. “Would you like that, kitten?” You whine and arousal courses through you once more. He trails kisses back down and unsnaps your bra; you would have to remember to thank Jisoo for suggesting you get a clasped sports bra, because it’s never been helpful before but thank God you don’t have to try to peel yourself out of a regular one now.

Jungkook presses his lips against your nipple lightly, fingers ghosting over the other to stiffen it. “You didn’t answer me, kitten. Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to slide into that pretty pussy?” You whimper, doing your damndest to pull him far enough that you can grind against something that isn’t air, but he holds his body just far enough away that you can’t. He gives your nipple little kitten licks, his saliva making the air that much colder and your nipples that much harder.

“You’re so wet for me, kitten,” He mutters as he lets his free hand rest on your thigh, thumb swiping lazily over your hipbone. “Can you feel it? Because I can, even from here. You’re absolutely soaked, I could probably just slide right in. Do you want that, kitten? You want me to pound that little pussy of yours until you can’t walk straight?”

“Fuck, Kook, please,” You moan. Your hands slide along his body, looking for any kind of purchase and finding none. He’s enjoying himself too much, and you’re too desperate right now to do anything about it. “Please, Kook, please fuck me already. I swear to god, I’m gonna send your fucking Evangelion fanfic to your professors if you don’t get in me soon.”

“How do you even know about that?” He asks, momentarily stunned out of character. You give him a satisfied grin.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lift your hips off the bed completely, letting them brush lightly against him. He stifles a moan and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, your entire body shivers with delight; he’s still that dumbass weeb but fuck, he looks like he’s going to absolutely wreck you.

“I’m gonna fuck this slut pussy of yours until you’re gushing, you hear me, kitten?” He says, kicking his sweats off. You don’t even get a chance to appreciate the sight of his dick before he’s lining up with your hole, the tip brushing against your clit in the process and making you moan. “I’m gonna fucking pound your pussy until it’s so fucking full you can’t remember your own name, let alone random shit about me. You’re gonna be begging for my cock, all day every day.”

“Fuck, Kook, yes, please, I want that,” You grind your hips up again and he moves, sliding inside of you in one easy movement. The stretch burns at first; he’s fucking huge, and he does curve, and it presses against every inch of you in such a phenomenal way that you never want him to stop. Your eyes must have rolled back in your head because when you open them, Jungkook has one hand stroking your cheek as the other supports his weight.

“Are you good?” He asks, soft and gentle. You nod, rolling your hips in a quick circle to let him know how good. He lets out another groan, soft and muffled, as if he’s containing himself. “You’ll let me know if you need me to stop?” You nod again. “Fuck, kitten, you’re so good for me.”

He starts to move then, dick dragging against your walls as he pulls back out slowly before slamming back in. Your moan echoes through the apartment, but all you hear is the soft call of your name from his lips as he repeats the motion. You raise your hips to meet his thrusts and it only takes a couple of minutes before you’re both panting. Your legs lock around his hips to bring him in deeper and he moans at the contact. He sits back on his knees and brings you up with him.

You’ve wanted to ride his dick for years, and it’s so much better than you ever thought. Every drag of his cock has you clenching, every thrust with this new angle has him hitting your g-spot and you’re seeing stars. He’s got one hand on the small of your back to keep you steady and the other on the back of your neck so he can bring you in close and kiss you deeply, whispering sweet nothings in your ear when he has to breathe.

The two of you move in tandem, hips gyrating against each other’s as you chase that high together. Having him inside of you feels like heaven and you never want it to stop. He starts to pull out and you shake your head, slamming your hips down onto his with renewed vigor.

“Gonna cum,” He huffs, and you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Good,” You tell him. His grip on you tightens and he slams into you harder. “Fucking cum inside me, Kook, please.” He moans, loud and unashamed, as he hits deeper inside of you with more force than you expect. You’re bouncing on his dick now, there’s no other word for it, and you fucking love it.

“Fuck, kitten, gonna fill you up so good,” He mutters. You nod, feeling the pressure inside of you tighten. “Gonna paint you with it gonna cover your pussy with my cum, want you to feel me inside you for days. Fuck, take it, kitten, take my cum inside, all of it, don’t let a single drop fall out.” He slams into you, again and again and again. Your throat is raw from the screams, you’re pretty sure he has scratch marks on his back, but you can’t bring yourself to care because, fuck, he feels so good.

He slams into your g-spot again, at the same time he kisses you deep and moves his hand to rub against your clit, and your orgasm slams into you like a freight train. You can’t even say anything, moans swallowed up by Jungkook’s mouth, but he knows by the way you clench and spasm around his cock, you can tell, because it only takes a few more shallow thrusts and he’s over that edge with you. You can feel his hot seed settling inside, spreading to fill you completely.

He lays you back on your bed, gentle, and slides out. His cum starts to seep out of you, you can feel it on your thighs, and when you open your eyes, he’s staring at the sight.

“Is this…something to be worried about?” He eventually asks. You shake your head and tap your bicep.

“Implant,” You tell him. “We’re good.” He nods and leans forward, and you feel his finger slide up your slit once more, gathering all of his cum before he pushes it back inside of you. When he’s satisfied that you’re as full as can be, he lays down next to you and tugs you into a lazy embrace. You take his hand and lick it clean, surprised at the fresh wave of arousal that hits despite your exhaustion. He smiles, cute and bunny-like, with the nose scrunch and everything, and you let yourself get lost in it.

He traces invisible shapes on your skin with his hands, all over your thighs and belly and arms and chest, and it’s an intimacy you’ve never had before. You watch him, eyes following each curve he makes, and trying to figure out what he’s drawing.

“It’s not Hatsune Miku,” He eventually says. You raise your brows at him and he grins. “I don’t have a Hatsune Miku body pillow.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. “Well, then, I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

“It’s Nami from One Piece,” He admits. You roll your eyes and grab a pillow to smack him.

“This is why we can’t have nice things, Kook.”

“I disagree.”

“What do you mean, you disagree?”

“I’ve got you, don’t I?”

The blush on your face gives you away even as you suppress the smile, but Jungkook lets you pretend, content to continue drawing on you with his fingertips. It’s the first time you’ve felt content and at peace in two years, and - you can’t believe you’re about to think this - you’re glad you put on that fucking cosplay.

[sosugasweet]

how you first met: pt 1 [karasuno/reader]

we make friends from the strangest places sometimes. this is basically how you two first met. karasuno/reader, fluff.

hinata

you met at a coffeeshop. except it wasn’t a meetcute because you opened the bathroom door to find him puking into the toilet. 

you rub his back and ask if you need to call for help, he shakes his head 

five minutes later, he says he’s ok as he rinses his mouth out

‘a-are you sure?’ ‘yeah!’

he walks out and orders a drink like nothing happened

kageyama

you were eating lunch in the school courtyard when he tripped and accidentally tackled you to the ground, your food goes everywhere. 

he apologized and gave you his lunch

you hear his stomach grumble

you laugh and tell him you’d rather just share

you sit together and talk about your favorite foods

hinata see you two and gets jealous. he grills kageyama later about getting a new friend

tsukishima

you were shelving books at the library but accidentally caused a domino effect and made a row of books fall on him

he glares at you because you almost broke his glasses

you ofc apologize a lot. he huffs and tells you to be more careful (because he doesn’t want you to fall yourself next time).

helps place the books back on the shelf because ‘it’s easy for me since i’m tall’

yamaguchi

manages to calm tsukishima down by reminding him they’re in a library so they have to be quiet

helps you gather up the books again

he makes you feel less anxious and bad about the whole incident

bless him

nishinoya

you guys meet at a fried chicken place

watching him eat makes food look more delicious

‘i’ll have what he’s having!’

it’s delicious. you decide this is going to be your go-to local restaurant for a while

one day you two see each other at school and point at each other going ‘hey it’s the fried chicken person’ and everyone else just goes wtf

tanaka

you both entered in the local restaurant’s eating competition: if you can eat 30 burgers, it’s all free

you both lose

why did you do this

you both go into food comas later

ennoshita

you were playing with the neighbor’s kid and you kicked the soccer ball too hard so it landed in his yard

he picks it up and tosses it to you

you apologize but he waves it off, smiling

the neighbor’s kid runs over and asks him to play too

you spend a fun afternoon together

sugawara

you meet at a soap-making convention

how is he so good at this

like colors and patterns? too easy, the man is an artist

probably bc he clearly has more patience than you do with this

please wash your hands

you watch him cut the soap and idly wonder if he’s good at cooking

‘do you want to find out?’

‘uh- what?’

daichi

you’re the one working when he shows up, out of breath, and asks if you can make an announcement for a lost child on the PA

‘your child has a beard??’

‘i -  well - so...’

he self-consciously touches his own chin

daichi you’re fine the way you are don’t worry

asahi

he’s the one who got lost in the shopping mall

‘why are there so many clothing stores???’

‘the salesperson was just selling thirty red lipsticks that were all the same color???’

why are these two shopping together

[kjack89]

Both

For @akallabeth-joie, as the first of my fills for the @bishopmyrielfundraiser. Based on the prompt “JBM getting together, and somehow a game of rock paper scissors is involved.” 

Needless to say, J/B/M, modern AU, developing relationship. And lots of fluff.

Joly checked his watch and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he still had twenty minutes before he had to be at the hospital for his rotation. Plenty of time for a coffee, which he desperately needed if he was going to make it through his first pediatrics shift.

He opened the door the coffee shop just down the street from the hospital and gave his order to the barista before making his way down to the pickup area. He had just started scrolling through his phone when a sweet-sounding voice called, “Cinnamon latte with soy milk for Jolly?”

“It’s Joly,” Joly said automatically, reaching out for the cup when his hand brushed against the barista’s, and he looked up at her, his eyes widening when he saw that the hand, and the voice, belonged to a remarkably beautiful woman, her dark eyes shining as she smiled at Joly.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “I’ll remember for next time.”

“Uh,” Joly said, particularly eloquent. “Right. Next time.”

Her smile widened, just slightly, and she ducked her head before going back to make the next drink, and Joly stared at her for a long moment before blurting, “What’s your name?”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Not because he didn’t want to know her name, but because he didn’t want to be that guy, hitting on someone at work when they had no means of escape.

So he did the only thing he could think of in his panic: word vomiting in a desperate attempt to walk it back. “I mean, uh,” he started, his eyes wide, “you don’t have to tell me that, not if you don’t want to. I really wasn’t trying to hit on you at work or anything, or at least, well, it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable, and, uh, consent is, you know, a two-way street, and just be by being an employee here, you inherently aren’t in a position to consent, and—”

“It’s Musichetta,” the barista interrupted, still smiling and now looking distinctly amused.

Joly blinked. “What is?” he asked stupidly.

“My name,” Musichetta told him patiently, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. “It’s Musichetta.”

“Musichetta,” Joly repeated, his face now burning red. “Right. Well. I’ll, um, I’ll see you later.”

He retreated with his coffee before he could somehow make an even bigger fool of himself, vowing never to return to the coffeeshop, no matter how conveniently located it might be.

----------

He didn’t even make it a week.

Thankfully, on his second attempt at ordering a coffee like a regular person, Joly had mostly succeeded, and had even earned an extra-wide smile from Musichetta, topped off with a wink when she called his name correctly. “Told you I’d remember,” she told him, and Joly knew he was well and truly sunk.

It became a weekly habit, and then a bi-weekly habit, and before long, Joly was stopping by the coffeeshop every time he had a shift at the hospital (and, occasionally, when he didn’t). He started arriving earlier, too, so that he could sit in the coffeeshop and try not to be as creepy as he sometimes felt.

Which meant he spent a lot of time buried in his books to give him something to do instead of just staring dreamily at Musichetta, which was also how he didn’t notice the man who sat down at his table one day until the man said cheerfully, “You too, huh?”

Joly blinked over the top of his anatomy text book. “Excuse me?” he said, more startled than anything.

The man, who was almost entirely bald, winked at him. “You’re excused,” he said with a grin. “But I was referring to your reason for frequenting this fine establishment.”

“It’s close to the hospital, and I’m a med student—”

The man waved a dismissive hand. “Sure, sure, and it’s just around the corner from the law library. But don’t pretend like you’re not also here so that you can ooh and ahh over the lovely barista, Musichetta.”

Joly felt himself blush. “That’s not– I mean, I’m not–”

“Sure you’re not,” the man said genially, holding his hand out for Joly to shake. “I’m Lesgle, by the way, though my friends call me L’aigle or Bossuet.”

Joly cocked his head slightly. “Do I want to know the story behind either of those?”

Bossuet’s grin widened. “Probably not,” he said. “Anyway, I just figured it was time I introduced myself before this whole thing becomes a problem.”

He gestured vaguely between them and Joly stared at him. “What whole thing?” he asked, suspicious.

“What, you think you’re the only one working up the nerve to ask Musichetta out?” Bossuet asked with a grin. “Of course, you’ve got a better chance than I do, no doubt about that—” At Joly’s raised eyebrow, Bossuet sighed and added, “I’ve got terrible luck. That’s why I haven’t asked sooner.” He made a face. “Well, that and the inherent power imbalance that comes from asking out someone when they’re at work and can’t readily leave.”

Despite himself, Joly smiled slightly. “I had the same exact thought,” he said. His smile faded when he glanced over at Musichetta, who was handing a coffee to a customer and smiling that same smile that made his stomach do somersaults. He looked back at Bossuet. “So what are we going to do about it?”

Bossuet shrugged. “Dunno,” he said unconcernedly. “But I figured we might as well hang out with each other while we figure it out.”

Joly laughed. “Deal,” he said, clinking his coffee cup against Bossuet’s.

----------

Just like that, a new routine was born. They started hanging out at the coffeeshop whenever both of them were in there, and then Bossuet asked Joly if he wanted to take their coffee to the library, where the seats were more comfortable and the power outlets more plentiful (Bossuet always seemed to pick the seat in the coffeeshop that wasn’t by any open power outlet).

Then Joly asked Bossuet if he wanted to come back to his for Chinese food. Or to watch a movie. Or because Joly had just scored an ounce of really good weed and needed someone to share it with.

It was during one of these times that Joly realized that, despite their hanging out ostensibly to figure out how to ask Musichetta out, they were instead spending a lot of time with each other.

And Joly liked spending time with Bossuet.

He really liked it.

He really liked him.

Joly was well aware that he was bisexual, but he had no clue if Bossuet was, or if he was misinterpreting what had quickly become one of Joly’s best friendships, and the very last thing he wanted to do was ruin that, especially since there was still a very attractive barista in the hypothetical mix.

“Earth to Joly,” Bossuet said, his voice low in Joly’s ear, and Joly jumped before looking over at Bossuet sheepishly. 

“Sorry,” he said, suddenly aware that they were sitting far closer on Joly’s couch than was even remotely necessary. 

“I could practically hear you thinking,” Bossuet told him before lifting his phone and showing Joly the food delivery app he had open. “And to repeat my question that you completely ignored as you were staring off into space, do you want Chinese or sushi?”

Joly blinked. “Both,” he said, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. It wasn’t actually an answer to Bossuet’s question, but was what he had just figured out for himself.

He wanted them both.

And he definitely wasn’t talking about what food he wanted to eat that evening.

Bossuet shook his head, looking back down at his phone. “Fine, but then I don’t want to hear you complaining that you’re so full an hour from now—”

Joly cut him off by kissing him, and Bossuet’s phone fell to the floor with a clatter, food delivery very quickly forgotten.

----------

The next day, Joly waited nervously, sitting at the bar of the coffeeshop and fiddling with the lid of his coffee cup. Bossuet had left early that morning, muttering something about an early lecture he had to attend, which meant they hadn’t had a chance to talk about...well, about any of it.

He perked up when he saw Bossuet come through the door, though he shrank down in his seat slightly when Bossuet made a beeline for him, a determined look on his face. “Right,” he said decisively, sitting on the stool next to Joly. “We’re ending this.”

Joly blanched. “Ending?” he repeated weakly, and Bossuet shook his head.

“No, I don’t mean—” He broke off, and gave Joly a smile before reaching out and squeezing his hand gently. “I just mean that we have to decide, one way or another. So we’re gonna do it the old fashioned way.”

He slid his hand away from Joly’s and instead closed it into a fist, holding it out to Joly expectantly. Joly just stared down at his fist. “What am I supposed to do with that?” he asked blankly.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

Joly couldn’t help himself – he laughed. “What are we, six?”

But Bossuet didn’t smile. “Take it or leave it,” he said seriously.

Joly held out his fist as well but hesitated. “Hang on,” he said, “what exactly are the stakes here? What are we playing for?”

Bossuet shrugged. “Winner gets to decide if they want to ask out Musichetta, or if they want to ask out…” 

He trailed off, but Joly got the picture, and he suddenly felt very tongue-tied. He looked down at his fist for a moment before nodding. “Ok then,” he said. “Rock, paper, scissors. Let’s do it.”

In unison, they both muttered, “Rock, paper, scissors—” but Bossuet flattened his hand on ‘scissors’, while Joly’s made his hand into scissors a beat later.

Bossuet’s hand fell to his side. “What are you doing?” he asked, exasperated.

“It’s rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” Joly said defensively. 

“No it’s not,” Bossuet shot back. “You throw on scissors, everyone knows that.”

Joly glared at him. “What backwards ass place taught you that?” he huffed. “It’s clearly—”

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Bossuet sighed, rolling his eyes. “We’ll do it again, and this time, we’ll both go on ‘shoot’, ok?”

Joly nodded and again they squared up, fists outstretched. “Rock, paper, scissors—”

This time, Joly kept his fist closed, while Bossuet made his hand into the scissors motion. He scowled, but before Joly could even begin to gloat, or at least claim victory, out of nowhere, a hand reached out and covered both of theirs. “Paper beats rock,” Musichetta said, and both men swiveled to stare at her.

“So it does,” Joly managed, and Bossuet added, probably unnecessarily, “Looks like you win.”

Musichetta propped her elbow on the counter and rested her chin on her hand as she examined them both. “So based on what I overheard, winner gets to decide who to date, right?” she asked, her smile sharpening as Joly spluttered on his coffee and Bossuet’s mouth opened and closed silently as he gaped at her. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said brightly, straightening. “And in that case, I pick both of you.”

“What?” Bossuet asked weakly, at the same time Joly croaked, “Both?”

“Yes,” Musichetta said, leaning in to kiss first Joly and then Bossuet on the cheek. “Both. Pick me up when I get off work at six?”

Bossuet and Joly glanced at each other, a slow smile crossing both their faces. “Deal,” they said in unison.

Musichetta grinned at them as she turned back to work, and Joly glanced at Bossuet once more. “So what do you want to do until 6?” he asked.

Bossuet grinned and held out his hand. “Your place or mine?” he asked simply.

Joly thought about it. “Part of me wants to say both, just to be an ass,” he said, grinning when Bossuet groaned. “So how about this instead – either.”

“Now that I can work with,” Bossuet said, tugging him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ash I think the drabble we all need but didn’t know we needed is Danny and Nate each telling Dr. Rosa about their first time since Bram. (Pre bad arc)

CW: References to noncon/dubcon, therapeutic discussion of the aftermath of prolonged captivity/conditioning/noncon.

TIMELINE: Approximately two months prior to the beginning of the Bad Arc. 

Tagging the Danny crew because this got long and Danny is a delight dumbass in it: @finder-of-rings, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @whale-whumps, @swordkallya

Tagging the Danny crew: @finder-of-rings, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @whale-whumps, @swordkallya

“Nate, we are at forty-five minutes of our hour,” Dr. Rosa says patiently, leaning over with her arms resting lightly on her open notebook, reading glasses perched at the end of her nose. “There is something you came in here to tell me, and you have spent three-quarters of an hour telling me everything but that thing. What is it?”

Nate shrugs, swallowing hard. She’s right - he really has. He’s talked about Danny’s recent strides forward - but not the one he’s actually here to talk about - like how he walks by himself to the coffeeshop now, ran two miles the other day and came back sweaty and breathing hard but then he ate an entire meal’s worth of food all at once, and it was… it was normal.

He’s talked about his own halting steps - how he has fewer bad days, lately, they’ve finally found the right dosage to mostly even out the swings between feeling okay and feeling unable to move… and he feels more able to push down the inevitable wash of guilt if he sits still for too long. He even told her about how he took Ryan’s car by himself to the grocery store, and bought everything on Danny’s list, and he’s fairly certain no one looked at him twice.

But he hasn’t talked about the thing that he’s been thinking about since, oh, about nine-thirty Wednesday night.

“I, ah…” He swallows again, compulsively, leaning forward himself where he sits on the couch. “I. Um. Wh-what I came to… what I was th-thinking about-… ah.”

His face is burning red, and he tilts his head forward so at least some of his straight black hair can cover it. He rubs at the stubble along his jaw with one hand, closes his eyes, and forces the words out.

“Danny and I, um, h-had… we… sl-slept together. Wednesday n-n-night.”

There’s a pause.

“From your reluctance, may I gather that when you say you slept together, you are not referencing any type of restful unconsciousness?” Dr. Rosa asks, a lilt of teasing in her tone. Only when she jokes does her island accent start to slip back in, a hint of the Caribbean lacing her tongue. 

“Y-Yes I mean. I mean, n-no, I… yes. We, ah-”

“You had sexual intercourse with Daniel.”

“That… that s-s-sounds… so fucking clinical. It wasn’t l-like that.” Careful, and slow - probably the longest amount of foreplay he’d ever done, with constant check-ins and the edge of Danny’s nervousness twining in and around every motion and movement. But Danny had been the one to pull the condom from the side table, and Danny had been the one to hand him the little bottle, and Danny had been the one to say Please, I think I can tonight, I want to. 

Was that taking advantage? Was he taking advantage of how Bram had broken Danny for him? Is that all last night was? It had felt like more, it had felt… so right. 

“I know it wasn’t, Nate, but I am a professional and I don’t usually allow myself the use of, shall we say, colloquial phrasing with my patients. You know…” Dr. Rosa taps her fingers lightly on her notebook and then sits back, smiling. “If you don’t have anything else to do in the next hour, my 11 o’clock canceled and I’d be happy to stay with you and keep discussing this, since we ran so close to the end of our hour before it came up.”

Nate rubs his hand over his eyes. “I d-d-don’t even know if I want to, it just… I just feel like… it s-seems like… I w-worry.”

“Mmmn. What do you worry about?”

“I’m w-w-worried… I’m worried that he’s t-trying to heal faster th-than he really should… for m-me. And that I… t-took advantage of him.”

Dr. Rosa nods, her expression calm and compassionate but a touch solemn. “We’ve hit on this topic before, Nate - your feeling of guilt and responsibility for Daniel and your concern that he is fitting into a mold that your captor made for him rather than his own natural recovery and inclinations. That his role was meant as a kind of companion for you-”

“I mean, that w-w-was one thing,” Nate mutters, without looking up or lowering his hand from his eyes. “

“Was he consenting?”

“I… y-yes, of course.” Danny’s eyes, wide and clear, focused on his. Oh, fuck, please, Nate-… please, n-now, please, in… in me, please-

D-Don’t beg, please, D-Danny, you never have to beg for m-me…

Can I? If, if I want to?

“Was this consent informed and enthusiastic?”

Nate blinks, finally looking back up at her. She smiles at him, relaxing and serene. “Uh… y-yes. Yes. I… I think so, yes. I mean. As s-sure as I can b-be of it… h-he wasn’t… he wasn’t s-s-subtle…”

“What transpired to make you think you were taking advantage of him?” She doesn’t sound judgemental, more… curious. Still compassionate. He’s been coming to see her for most of a year, now, and she probably knows him better than anyone else alive but Danny.

“N-Nothing, I just… how do I know? He… seemed like-… I mean he sounded like he was having… a good time, I just-… How do I kn-know if it’s about me, or if he’s… just r-r-repeating patterns? Doing what I want h-him to do? If he’s doing this because he st-st-still thinks he b-belongs to me, like he did when w-we first came back from C-Canada?”

“Have you asked him?”

“I… don’t w-want to ruin the night for him, if he d-did… but… No. The answer is no. I haven’t asked h-him yet.”

“Perhaps you should try.”

***

Danny has been sitting in the waiting room tapping one foot, slouched in the hard-backed waiting room chair with his legs kicked out in front of him, beat-up old Converse and ancient blue jeans he’d found in a box in his closet, for twenty minutes maybe. The jeans don’t fit anymore unless he belts all the way to the final hole in the belt, but he’s done just that today.

His shoes, his pants, and one of his old band shirts. He feels like himself, as long as he doesn’t look at his scars. He’s brought Dracula with him, dog-eared already and with all the lines he likes best underlined in red ink. He’s rereading the part where Jonathan Harker climbs the castle wall all by himself, thinking about what a brave motherfucker it takes to do something like that, when the receptionist grins at him and tells him Dr. Rosa is ready.

Ryan, sitting next to him, nudges him with one elbow. “Go get ‘em, tiger. I want to flirt with the receptionist.”

“Of course you do.” Danny’s grinning even as he says it. He slaps the book closed, jumps up out of his seat, and heads down the hall with the shy smile already growing on his face. 

“Hello, Mr. Michaelson.” Dr. Rosa greets him at the door and sweeps her arm out. They start every session exactly the same way, comfortable, a routine Danny can trust. “Are we having a Danny day or a Red day?”

“Danny day, one hundred percent,” Danny says brightly, grinning as he drops onto the couch cushion with only the slightest hint of hesitation, only a moment’s glance at the floor where you belong but he didn’t belong there, absolutely not at all. Not after last Wednesday. 

“Wonderful.” Dr. Rosa smiles widely, then - she is as happy for his Danny days as he is. “So, last week we spent quite some time working through some concerns you had-”

“I have something else I want to talk about,” Danny says, pulling his feet up to sit cross-legged on the couch. “Can I, can I talk about something else?” His face begins to burn, a little, and he sees Dr. Rosa note his flush with a twinkle in her eye and an expression of genuine amusement. 

“Absolutely, Danny. You set the pace, in this room. If you need to perhaps have a change of topic, I know that last week went into some difficult spaces for you-”

“No, last week… helped. Last week was good. But, it’s not that-… I want to-… Um.” Danny grins at her, nearly hiding behind his own hands like a child playing hide-and-seek. “I’m going to just say it.”

Dr. Rosa sits calmly in her armchair and opens up her notebook. She seems to be trying, and failing, to hide a smile. “All right then.”

“Um, ah… Nate and I, um, slept together last week.”

Dr. Rosa sits slowly back, but she doesn’t look as surprised as he had expected her to. “We’ve discussed before that you and Mr. Vandrum have been sexually active since three months after your return-”

“Not… not, ugh, I hate that phrase, but… I mean we… we had actual sex. Well, I mean, it’s all sex, I guess. Uh. But I meant the kind I couldn’t… um.” Danny groans. “Please tell me I don’t have to, um, explain the… the logistics of gay guys having-”

“I am a lesbian, Daniel, not ignorant,” Dr. Rosa says with quiet affection, and Danny rewards her with a laugh - bright and sparkling, it’s a hint of the way he used to be. A drop in the nervous hunch of his shoulders. He flashes a wide smile at her, finally dropping his hands.

“Okay, f-fair… fair, um, fair enough. So, so we… so last Wednesday I was… ready. I think our talk on Tuesday really helped me, you know? We, when we talked a little bit about the stuff Abraham would say, afterward, about me, about my, um, my body, I just… I don’t know. It felt… less true, when I left, than it used to feel. And Wednesday night I was, I was brushing my teeth and I thought, um… I thought… I can have sex with Nate and he can’t stop me anymore. And that thought… it felt… it felt really good, Dr. Rosa.”

“You felt fully in control of your choices when it came to your sexual expression,” Dr. Rosa said softly, but she was still smiling. 

“Um… yeah, I just. Yeah.” Danny looks down at his hands, at the scarring tracing up his arms to disappear finally under his T-shirt sleeves. “I don’t… I don’t feel like my body belongs to me, very much. Because it was always his. He used to make me say it, over and over… and last Wednesday, I came out of the bathroom and got into bed with Nate and I just… I just felt like… like my body was mine. One hundred percent totally mine. And I could make my body do whatever I wanted.”

Dr. Rosa nods, waiting. 

There’s a pause before Danny speaks again, smiling shyly down at the floor. “What my body wanted was, um, to… to do that. With him.”

“Have you told him that?” Dr. Rosa asks, quietly, jotting something down on her notebook. Danny can’t quite see what it is, from here.

He frowns. “I… I guess I sort of thought, when I said I wanted to…”

“Communication is an important part of rebuilding relationships after long-term trauma, especially one that so deeply impacted your ability to communicate without feeling constrained and restricted in the first place.” Dr. Rosa was speaking carefully. “I often suggest reliance on a rule of communicating profusely with your partner during a time of rediscovery.”

Danny’s silent for a moment, taking that in, gnawing on his lower lip in thought. He rubs absently at the scar along his jaw, and Dr. Rosa’s eyes move there, but after a moment he drops his hands back into his lap. “So you… think I should tell him, about all the thoughts I had? In the bathroom, before we… um… did that?”

“I am not telling you what to do,” Dr. Rosa reassures him. “Only suggesting that more communication, in instances like this, may be better than leaving anything to inferences and implications.”

Danny nods quickly. “Okay, okay, okay. Um.” He sits slowly back against the couch. Then he grins at her, his face red but his eyes sparkling and bright. “What if I say we did, um, again on Saturday?” He pauses. “And then Monday? I mean, it was him… to me. I c-can’t, still can’t… you know. The other way.”

“Full recovery takes time. I would say I’m very glad that you feel safe, Danny,” Dr. Rosa says, with a soft, warm laugh. “That’s important. And I am delighted that you are taking ownership and agency over your body.”

Danny tilts his head. “Are… are you proud of me?” He asks, shyly. “For, for being able to… to want something, and ask for it, and then just… just, um-… just do what I want?”

She smiles at him, again, and writes another line in the notebook. “Daniel, you’re not here because you want me to be proud of you. That is not the purpose of therapy.”

“No, I know, but I just… I guess… I’m kind of proud of myself? So I wondered if… you know. I should be. I know it’s not… it’s not something to be proud of, normally, but I just…”

She considers, tapping her pen on the page, and then sighs, shaking her head with affectionate good humor. “What matters, Danny, is that you have taken pride in yourself. In something you’ve done. What matters is that you are in a place where you feel proud of yourself.”

He sits back, staring at her, thinking. Then, slowly, Daniel Michaelson’s smile brightens until it nearly fills the room.

“You’re right,” He says, sounding wonder-struck. “You’re right. I’m proud of myself. I wanted something, and I asked for it, and I got it and I had fun. I wasn’t scared. It was my body and it did what I wanted. And… and I’m proud of myself for it.”

“Good.” Dr. Rosa turns to pick up the mug of tea that is steeping on the table next to her armchair, sipping lightly. “Good. Danny, you have every right to take pride in this. I know it was embarrassing to tell me, but I want you to do something for me. Call it therapy homework.”

“Sure. What should I do? Another worksheet?”

“No. I want you to go home, from this appointment-… I assume your brother drove you today?” Danny nods. “Okay. When you go home, today, I want you to sit Nate down, and practice the open communication that we’ve been working on for the past months or so. I want you to tell him what you told me. Assuming you’re comfortable with that.”

“… that we had sex?” Danny blushes. “Uh. He knows.”

“No, Danny.” Dr. Rosa laughs again. “No. I want you to tell him that your body did what you wanted, and that you feel accomplished, in this. That you feel proud.”

She leans over to meet Danny’s eyes. 

“I want you to tell him that it was your body and it did what you wanted.”

“My name is Daniel Michaelson,” Danny murmurs. “And my body belongs to me.”

Dr. Rosa sits back, smiling. 

“Precisely.”

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 80

Guacamole, nacho-sss, what else? Corn..duhhh who can live without popcorn? Got everything I think, check with Harper first, where is she? Finishing up his shoppinglist on his phone he strolled up the stairs, bedroom? Nope..ahhh there she is, he walked inside the room he had set up for her as her working space. “Babe, I’m going to the shops, is there anything you need?” he typed the last item on his phone, but when there was no reply, he quickly tucked it in his pocket, she sat crosslegged on the floor, above her a whole series of blank canvases. “Earth to Harper, come in Harper” he plopped down next to her, a little startled she looked up at him, she really had been on another planet it seemed, “I think I have a problem” she looked at him and then turned her head again staring at nothing in particular. “Oh? Tell me” he watched her scrunch up her nose, “I don’t think I can do this anymore” she sighed, “do what?” he shuffled a little closer, “paint” another deep sigh followed, this one even more serious than the previous one. “Huh? What do you mean?” he frowned, he totally didn’t get it, “I’ve been sitting here for hours and I just can’t do it anymore..nothing comes, I just don’t know what to paint about anymore..see, I was right, LA numbs any creativity or inspiration” she threw her hands up in despair.  “Heyheyhey” he folded his arm around her shoulders “you’ve only been in LA for what? 48 hours? I really don’t think LA is the problem” he kissed her cheek, “I just think you need to get out of the house, wanna come grocery shopping with me? It might distract you”. Some fresh air was better than being cooped up “sure, yeah..but I think I might be in desperate need of ice cream afterwards” she shrugged and nodded, “ice cream? I can definitely do that” he kissed her again and shot up, pulling her up with him.

Harper was an added bonus to the tedious grocery shopping, every other section they walked through she would grab something he had never heard of or tried and put it in his basket, he had always wanted to learn more about real Italian food, so that was something to cross off his bucketlist now that he was in a relationship with a fiery Italian badass who clearly knew everything about Italian cuisine. And then there was the added bonus of watching her float through every aisle, it was like her feet barely touched the ground, she twirled, stood on her tippytoes, almost danced her way through, she was just the most breathtakingly beautiful creature he had ever seen, he wanted to scratch out the eyes of all the men walking by who were shamelessly checking her out, fuck off, she’s MINE, all MINE. Her mind was still racing, no matter how much she tried to distract herself with shopping, had she really hoped that this kind of stupid distraction would get her to paint again? That it would bring her inspiration? Really? You’re a goddamn loser, Coco, ok so you had one hit with that collection, but it turns out now that you’re nothing but a one-trick pony. “Babe? Do you want vanilla? Babe?” Jared waved a pint of ice cream in front of her, “huh? Vanilla? Oh Jared, I thought you had more imagination in you than just plain vanilla, Dulce de Leche on the other hand” she pushed in front of him to take her favorite flavor out of the freezer “is a whole different, more exciting ballgame” and put the carton in his basket before she floated away again. Something’s up, he could tell “wanna talk about it?” he followed her into the cleaning products aisle, “still fretting about your painting?” he stepped between her and the series of multi-purpose cleaning products, “no!..why?” she so didn’t want to talk about this, this was her problem, not anybody else’s, not even Jared’s. “Oh I don’t know, maybe the fact that you seem so absentminded..” he put his hands on her shoulders, “I’m not..I’m absolutely fine and now we’re here anyway, I think you need kitchen cleaner” she pulled out a random brand of the stuff and dumped it in his basket before she hopped off again, her way of putting down her boundaries and wanting to sort whatever was bothering her out with herself first.

”Wanna go for a coffee?” he tried piercing her bubble again as they were putting all the groceries in the back of the car, “there’s a cool place right across the road” he tried to make eyecontact with her, “sure” she shrugged. Hearts appeared in a woman’s eyes, a jaw dropped here and there and whispers started as they made their entrance, yeah I know I’ve got a gorgeous man, have a good look and don’t get too depressed when you realize he’s only got eyes for me, yay me!. An arm firmly wrapped around her waist, he almost paraded her around the coffeeshop, he’d never been so open about any of his relationships before, but so much had changed, she was the real deal, what on earth had he been thinking only focusing on models in the past, arm candy that’s all they were. Coco was beyond arm candy, plus she was so talented, plus she was highly intelligent..everything was PLUS with her, this woman..well he simply wasn’t worthy of all that beauty and soul, for the first time in his mature life, he believed in..LOVE. “Ah, I love a real gentleman” she giggled as he pulled her chair back, something he always did when they were out in public, but it was still surprising and if she was honest she adored it, it was that old fashioned bit of manners that this world craved so much. “So..?” he started as he sat down opposite of her, but immediately got interrupted by his phone bleeping incessantly, “what?” he frowned and grinned at the screen and started tapping ferociously. “Just a sec..” the tip of his tongue locked between his teeth in amusement as the wooshy ‘sent’ sound made him put down his phone and he grabbed her hand “ok..talk to me, your painting..” but then another ‘beep’, bye bye pouring your heart out, he was completely distracted. “I’m sorry..” he grabbed the phone again and started texting back but when he was still tapping 5 minutes later she got up “I’ll be waiting in the car, ok?”, stay calm Coco, it’s not that big a deal, you didn’t really want to talk about your troubles anyway. Two minutes later, he came running after her on her way to the car “Coco, honey, I’m so sorry..wanna go back and have that coffee after all? I’m all yours now I promise” he grabbed her arm, “nahh, it’s alright, don’t worry, let’s just go back home because that ice cream is probably melting as we speak and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s melted ice cream” no, it’s not ok what you did, and yes my feelings are a little bit hurt, but am I gonna let it show? Hell no! It’s not that big a deal I guess, so come on Coco, just snap out of this funk you’re in.

”I really didn’t mean to ignore you, I just got news that some of my best friends are coming over tonight, just a little get-together, they’re all dying to meet you” he put one hand on her thigh while the other steered the car through the hectic LA traffic. “Oh..ok!” uh-oh, big step this, meeting the friends, well I guess it was only a matter of time before that would be on the agenda, “you’ll love them and they’ll love you, I’m so looking forward to this”, will I? ah well, you know them better than I do. “What is it? you’re awfully quiet” he squeezed her thigh while she tried to look as happy as was physically possible, “Nah, I’m ok..it’s just that..well, you know what an awkward and anti-social animal I am around people” she looked out of the window to hide the nervous blush on her cheeks. The more I think about it, the less I want to do this, I’ll act all awkward and weird again, and these are Jay’s people he’s known for a gazillion years, bleeeghhh!.  “You’re not anti-social or awkward, babe, you’re just your beautiful reserved self, it’s a European thing that us Americans really love, so stop stressing, just go with the flow” he grinningly leaned over the midconsole to push a kiss on her shoulder. Go with the flow, go with the flow, what flow? No, stop it! don’t overanalyze, these people all love Jared and he loves them, so do your best for once to try and get to know them at least, maybe getting to know other people will work a miracle on this lack of inspiration. Jared looked at her nervously biting her lip, “so..it’s just you and me in this car now, so come on, out with it babelicious, let’s talk about what is actually bothering you”, ah he’s offering, come on just spit it out, it’ll make you feel better. His phone ringing again spoiled that party though, don’t pick up, don’t pick up, don’t..a pair of puppy eyes stared back at her while his thumb hovered over the screen, nooooo.. “hey Chloe” he connected the call while his mouth silently formed an ‘I’m sorry, I have to take this’, “hey beautiful” a female voice danced through the car.

If the phone conversation he and this Chloe had in the car was anything to go by, then tonight didn’t promise anything good, goodness could that woman waffle on about nothing at all..airhead much? Stop judging a book by its’ cover, Coco, maybe she’s not all that bad. She let herself slide out of the car “you ok?” he leaned in for a kiss as he opened the boot, “better than this poor ice cream which I’m going to save right now, if there’s anything left to save” she picked a couple of bags out of the car and started walking back to the house. Oh, she’s annoyed alright, pray that tonight will go well, he grabbed the rest of the bags and followed her up to the house, where he found her in the kitchen hugging the fridge “operation rescue ice cream finished, all we can do now is hope for the best” her words made him giggle. “I take everything I said about you not being awkward, back” he pulled her away from the fridge and folded her in his arms “god woman, have you any idea of how much I love you?” he kissed the top of her head. “And do you know you’re actually the only living and breathing person who’s actually said that to me? And have you any idea how sad that actually is?” her warm breath danced against his chest but her confession still gave him chills, it was barely fathomable that not even her parents had ever told her how precious and special and lovely she actually is. “Shhh, wanna know what sad is? Me, in my forties, confessing that I’ve said my ‘I love you’s’ in the past and this being the first relationship where I actually mean those words from the bottom of my heart” he breathed. Suddenly she started to move, swaying in his arms like she was dancing while the silence of the house surrounded them “What are you doing?” he grinned and frowned at the same time as he looked into her eyes, “I’m dancing, is that not obvious? And you’re dancing with me..I just thought that since we’re on a confessing streak here, I might as well confess that I love spontaneous dancing in any part of any house with my boyfriend, I’m a real livingroom or kitchen dancer” she looked at him like it was the most normal thing in the world, oh the mischievous tomboy part of her personality he loved so much, was back, yay!. “But there’s no music..” he giggled, taking the lead in the dance, “oy Leto, aren’t you supposed to be the rockstar here? Because if you are you should always have a tune or two twirling around that pretty head of yours..so why don’t you take the lead here?” she let herself twirl on his hand. “Ok smartass..let’s see what I’ve got..” he pretended to think as he pulled her back against his chest while they kept swaying in a slow dance and then he started a soft, murmured Frank Sinatra version of his own song “Rescue me from the demons in my mind, rescue me from the lovers in my life, rescue me rescue me, whatever you do, don’t ever lose your faith…”. Her head rested against his chest and listening to the sound of his voice and his breaths reverberating in there was simply intoxicating, you’re forgiven for being a bit of a douche today, floppy hair, you’re so forgiven, I love you so much.

[omnivorousshipper]

Can I get a Shobbs classic coffeeshop AU?

Of course you can friend 😘💕💕

Luke is a very busy man. He’s a single father and one of the best trackers at the DSS, and gets loaned out to the DEA and CIA every few weeks because he’s so good. So, he gets busy and likes to pick up a cup of coffee every morning. But, his favorite place closed down, being bought up by Starbucks. He’d rather support a small business and goes on the hunt for one on his way to work. And luckily finds “Shaw’s Cafe”.

When he enters the cafe, he’s immediately hit with wonder smells of baked goods and fresh coffee. The place seems busy. When he finally gets to the front of the line, he completely forgets his order and is left standing there with his mouth hanging open. Because the barista is amazingly hot and adorable at the same time. He looks a bit tired, and has flour steaked across his cheeks and his apron is covered in stains, showing how hard he’s been working. And he’s looking up at Luke with confusion.

“What’ll you have?”

“I... uh.” Luke stutters out, brain short circuiting. “Um. What do you recommend?”

“We have a new latte on our menu. A coconut flavored one, and the blueberry muffins just came out of the oven not too long ago.”

“Then I’ll have that.” Luke says. And does not regret it when he gets his order. Because every sip and bite seems like he’s consuming heaven. He’s definitely found his new favorite place.

He goes back nearly every day, asking for the barista’s recommendation. And he’s overjoyed to see the barista, named Deckard, smile at him and offer his opinion. And Luke absolutely loves the blush on Deckard’s face when Luke compliments the food and how Deckard never fails to recommend him the best things

One morning, it’s a really slow day at the cafe and Luke’s able to hold a longer conversation with Deckard

“I swear, whoever your baker is, they deserve a raise.” Luke comments

“I’ll make sure to give myself a few extra dollars this week,” Deckard replies cheekily and smirking at the surprise on Luke’s face

“You?! How do you have the time? It seems like I see you working every day, do you not get any days off?”

“Not when you’re the owner,” Deckard shrugs.

And Luke is filled with awe. Deckard basically does every little thing in the cafe. Luke’s only seen two younger women working there, and only half the time they’re there.

Luke enjoys coming in and seeing Deckard almost every day, and longs for Deckard’s coffee and pastries when he’s on long missions and can’t frequent the cafe.

After an extremely long mission, Luke shows up at the cafe after two months of not. And sees a flash of surprise and concern on Deckard’s face.

“I was scared that you were dead,” Deckard jokes but Luke can see the worry in his eyes

“Just work. I’m fine.”

When Luke gets his order, he finds that Deckard gave him an extra muffin and a phone number written on his cup

“Make sure to call me next time you’re free ;)”

Thanks friend!! Hope you enjoy! We absolutely need more coffee shop Aus in the Shobbs fandom!

[ahtohallan-calling]

March 11th

coffeeshop + fluff

same verse (single dad kris owns a coffee shop / anna is on a children’s show) as these drabbles

There was a knock on the door, and Kristoff swore under his breath before shouting, “We closed at eight!”

He really, really didn’t have time to deal with whatever student decided they needed a latte this late at night, not when he hadn’t been planning on staying this late tonight anyway. Wednesdays were his midweek break, when he worked only four hours in the morning, spent the whole afternoon with his daughter, and– the latest addition to his weekly routine– he took Anna out for an early dinner date before hurrying home to relieve his mother of babysitting duties and tuck Alice in.

Except that this morning, stupid Randy had called in and said he wouldn’t be able to make his shift tonight after all. 

“That’s three times this month, Randy,” Kristoff had said.

“Uh-huh.”

“You work ten hours a week.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m going to have to fire you. As in, right now, you are fired.”

“Sweet, thanks. Have a good day, Mr. B,” the kid had said cheerfully before hanging up.

Which meant Kristoff had instead worked eight to eight in the coffee shop, and his mom had picked Alice up from preschool and was probably already getting her ready for bed, and he wasn’t going to see Anna until seven A.M. Saturday morning when a new episode of Poppy’s Garden Tales aired.

At least there’s phone calls, he told himself, resigned, and he was considering calling her now as he continued cleaning the kitchen when the knock came again, louder this time. “It’s locked for a reason!” he shouted, but this time the knocking didn’t stop.

Scowling, he stomped out of the kitchen and into the front of the cafe, but when he caught a glimpse through the glass of who was hammering on his door, his expression transformed into a huge smile.

“Hurry up!” Anna shouted, smiling just as widely. “It’s pouring rain, and your dinner’s getting soaked!”

That spurred him into action, and within seconds he was unlocking the door and opening his arms wide for her. She practically fell into him, barely getting the paper bag in her hand out of the way before she was pressed into his chest, teeth chattering. “Sorry,” she laughed, “I’m getting your shirt soaked, aren’t I?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said as the door shut behind her. “Was about to do dishes anyway, and the sink’s still fucked up.”

She propped her chin on his chest and grinned up at him. “Hello, by the way. Hope you don’t mind that I dropped by. I figured that even if you couldn’t make it to the diner tonight I could still bring it to you.”

“You’re too good to me,” he said, gently brushing a rain-soaked strand of hair off her forehead. “Of course I don’t mind.”

“Good, because I’m starving. Food first or cleaning first?”

“You can eat while I finish up.”

She raised her eyebrows at that. “What do you mean? I didn’t come all the way over here to just watch you clean.”

He opened his mouth, ready to apologize to her and tell her this wasn’t going to work out if this sort of thing bothered her, but before he could she continued, “I’m going to help you, so we can hang out, and you can still get home to tell Alice her bedtime story.”

He could have sworn he felt his heart grow at least two sizes in his chest. “Anna, I can’t ask you to do that,” he said anyway, stepping back.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering, because I was really looking forward to seeing you, but I also know how much it means to Alice for her dad to tuck her in. She wrote about it in her latest letter to me and Poppy. So which is it, food or cleaning?”

“You– you’re serious?”

“Okay, executive decision,” she huffed, pulling out two styrofoam boxes and setting them on a table. “Dinner first so we’ve got the energy to clean faster.”

Before she could sit down, he leaned down and kissed her, hard enough that she made a little surprised noise before melting against him, her fingers tangling in his hair. When he pulled back, they both were gasping.

“What was that for?” she asked, breathless.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said, the words spilling out of him so easily that even though he hadn’t put much thought to it before he realized it was absolutely true.

She grinned and leaned up to give him another kiss, this one short and sweet. “I think I’m falling for you, too.”

“Yeah?” he breathed, brushing the tip of his nose against hers.

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, going in for another kiss, but then her stomach growled so loudly they jumped apart, startled, before bursting into laughter.

“Okay, food first,” he conceded, pulling her chair out for her. “And then cleaning, and then bedtime, and then…well, if you don’t mind waiting for me to finish the story, my sofa’s always open for at-home movie dates.”

“Is more kissing included?” she asked hopefully as she sat down.

He grinned and kissed the top of her head before taking his own seat. “Definitely.”