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crystlizabeth · 2 years ago

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Dangerously Yours.

Paring: Carl Grimes x Blackfem!Smith!Reader

Paring: Negan Smith & BlackDaughter!Reader

Summary: You two where enemies, but there was just something that drew you two each other, but a war was in the making.

Warning: cursing, mentions of childhood trauma and abuse.

A/n: Carl lives au!! And im gonna add some songs that came out not during TWD time like or after 2013 i think! This is kinda of a self insert, This might be multiple parts, I noticed its turned into a Negan Smith x Daughter reader along with Carl x reader so enjoy.

The first time you met him he caught an additude with you trying to take some batteries out of your hand, it didn’t go well for him you grabbed his wrist twisting it telling him to fuck off. There were more instances when you would go and he somehow always pissed you off but it made sense you and Carl Grimes where enemies. So where your fathers you didn’t quite know what had all happed but you did know people died, some of your people and a few of his.

Now you where on your way back to Alexandria for a pick up you went along this time to see Eden, she was a decent girl but also a girl your age it wad hard to find friends in this day in age. Eden was closed of and was always followed by the one and only one eyed grimes, but that didn’t stop you from trying to get to know her and one of those ways was music, may it be mp3, cds or even vinyls.

“I found this mix tape a while back, its a costume one and actually really good music.” You said to Eden as you walked with her towards the supply house.

“Any songs you can recognize?” She asked taking the tape from your hand.

“Not really only a few like, Elvis, Hozier, Taylor swift, i hear alot of her music in the mixes i find.” You ended with a small laugh.

“I like Taylors music, Elvis’s pretty good to” she said with a small smile.

You two shared similar music taste even rap, you two enter the supply room running into Negan, Rick, Carl and a gal with glasses.

“Lookie here, making friends are we?” Your dad asked his usual grin on his face.

“Yeah you could say just trading some music but i need some batteries.” You said shrugging your shoulders.

Rick moved out of the way as the lady with glasses handed you 4 batteries “I only need two don’t worry about it. Unless,” you look over at Eden., “you need any?” She shook her head you nodded and handed two of the batteries back to her.

“Thank you..” you spoke lightly waiting for her name.

“Oh, its Olivia.” She said she voice shaken.

“Well thank you Olivia.” You said then turning to your dad.

“Not giving her a hard time are you?”

Negan raised his eyebrow giving you a cheeky grin “Not at all this time they actually have there shit in order.” He spoke wiggling around the list in his hand.

Nodding you left with Eden heading back to the truck with Carl running behind you two.

“Eden where are you going?” He asked.

She held the bag up in her hand that was filled with music “Trading music.” She answered simply.

He didnt say anything but continued to follow you two, you could feel his eyes burning you in the back of your head he watched every move you made.

You and Eden had gone through a crate you brought she had taken out a few albums and surprise mix tapes you liked to call them. She took ‘I love you.’ The neighborhood, ‘Anti’ Rhianna, ‘AM’ arctic monkeys and ‘Lungs’ Florance and the machine. You didn’t take any from her she didn’t have many good options so you just lended them to her.

“Really you want nothing back.” Carl voiced from behind you.

Giving him a glare “yeah theres no reason for me to take what little music she has, what are you even doing here doing you had somthing better to do cyclops.”

He glared at you “good to know your an asshole like your dad.” He spat back, he didnt appreciate the nickname but you weren’t a fan when he called you a bitch last week so your really didn’t give two shits.

“At least my dad doesn’t stand around like a bitch between his legs last time I checked you did the dirty work.” You said walking past him.

He turned to say something only for his dad to stop him. You only scoffed turning away.

A few weeks later you saw him again but this time he came by one of the trucks, he shot a few of your fathers men. When that whole mess was cleaned up Laura came and got you saying ‘your dad needs your help.’

You walked down the hall meeting Your Dad, Carl and Daryl out side on the little balcony. Carl didn’t have his bandage on this time covering his eye, Carl put his head was down after meeting your eyes.

“Whats up?” You asked.

Negan smiled “I need a favor Sweetheart, Carl here needs a little tour but i need to fix some shit the he fucked up. Keep and eye on him yeah?” He spoke looking at Carl.

“Sure just us or..?”

“Just you two, get to know each other and dont kill him, I for one actually like him unlike you.” He said laughing a little knowing the tension between you both.

“If he keeps the attitude to a minimum.. personally not a fan of it unlike you.” You say crossing your arms moving more of you weight to one side of your body.

With that they left leaving you and Carl by the railing watching over the workers, a few kids running around playing with one another.

“Is he actually your dad?” Carl asked breaking the silence. You weren’t surprised why he asked you, you two didn’t look alike and many obvious aspects.

You looked at him, his eye focused on you looking you up and down and searching for any kind of reaction. You watched as his eyes finally met yours again.

“No..” you said admitting it to him.

He tilted his head a little as a way of say ‘What’.

“He found me at the beginning of this, what about 3 years ago? Put it simply my biological father left me to fend for myself, fucked up right?” You said walking towards a stair way sitting down on the steps.

Carl stared down at you, looking up at him through your curls letting a laugh out from the look if his face.

“Are you serious..” he asked sitting down with you.

You looked over at him, “Yeah but my father had never actually been a good person. He was far from a good parent. He was a selfish, abusive man, he wasn’t fit for kids non the less 3 girls.”

Carl seemed interested. “You have Sisters?”

“Had.”

“Oh, sorry I didn’t know.” He said.

You leaned back on the stairs “Why would you? We aint friends.”

He nodded turning his head looking straight. He seemed vulnerable almost. But so where you you just opened up, trauma dumped to some guy you haven’t been able to stand for months. But in that moment there was a kind if peace and understanding.

“Why did you stick around after knowing all the bad things he’s done?” Carl asked looking back at you.

“All the bad.. nobody is good or bad. Especially in this, it survival.” You scoffed, he tried to makes his people out to be what they weren’t.

“He killed good people, friends, one of them had a kid on the way!”

You looked at him your eyes nerow slightly “Your little group took out an whole outpost of more than 50 people. Many of them had family and one of the women there was carrying a child.” You spoke sharply.

“Your people, your friends aren’t so clean of blood. Nor are you.” You finished harshly.

He did say anything else. Only looked back at his hands fidgeting with them in irritation.

He knew you where right, but he also knew you weren’t clean of blood either nobody was. There is no good or bad anymore just survivors.

You both eventually got up and you showed him around. How things work, people had jobs they earned money and they got what they need. That this was our normal, even you worked did chores to earn your keep.

You two continued to talk to each other, getting to know each other you never talked about either of your peoples. There was a spark for only knowing him and hating him for the past few months he understood you. They way his eyes lingered on you as you talked how he took in every word you where saying. What was that feeling that lingered as he left the feeling of wanting to see him again.

As weeks went by you two spoke over walkies, nit the safest options but it worked. You hadn’t let anyone this close since Negan, funny how you wanted nothing to do with this boy but now you did. He made you laugh over stupid things, gave you good advice as you did with him. He heard you cry for the first time, you even snuck out to see him one time showing him a little abandoned house by the river it was the first time in long time you both had fun.

He was feeling it two, his heart fluttered at the way you smiled, how he always held eye contact taking in the sight of you as it may be the last. You did the same but he never caught you looking at him like the way he did you. The hard truth you knew was that you two are enemies, maybe not you two but your Dads, your people.

But then shit hit the fan.

You didn’t get trapped in a sanctuary when they attacked the place, you watched as the walkers surrounded the building the echos of gun shots rang through your ears as you watched in horror as rick started to shot him down.

The only thing you could do is try and reach a different outpost. Warn them, but then you where caught.

He didn’t look familiar which scared you even more, you quicky grabbed your knife cutting his arm. He let go of you making you fall back only for someone else to grab you.

“The little bitch cut me!” The one man yelled you turned around quickly ready to strike again thats when you saw Rick and Daryl.

Your heart dropped, you where surrounded. Rick took a step toward you his hands visible “Dont Fucking come near me!” You yelled.

Rick put is gun down on the ground “Relax I don’t wanna hurt you.” His voice was calm.

“Then fuck off!”

“Where are you gonna go.” Daryl spoke.

You eyes shot over to him, you didn’t answer him. He was right though where were you gonna go, to an outpost you didn’t even know where it was at.

“Y/n we just wanna help you. I told Carl you wouldn’t get hurt.” Rick said.

Why would that matter?

“Please. Just come with us.”

You just looked at him, dumfounded.

Was it stupid yes, but you went with them handing over your weapons and walked to the gates. As they open they looks you got looks of horror from them. Rick pulled on my arm slightly letting go when I flinched. He took me into a house there sat a few people talking about what to do next.

But the all stop once their eyes landed on me.

“Sit.” Daryl said pointing at the couch his tone serious.

You where scared what did they want with you what was their plan, why where you not dead, locked up. You picked at your finger s peeling the skin off them drowning out everything around you. What the fuck is happening.

A hand fell on both of your hands you quickly looking up you saw him. His face filled with concern, he spoke but you never heard what he said the way he brows frowned trying to reach you. You began to break as both of his hand touched your arms squeezing them slightly wanting and answering out of you.

“Why am I here...” your voice tender and cracked.

“I..” Carl started but never finished he just looked at you.

“Why the hell am I here.” You asked again.

He took a deep breath “Help us end this.”

You stared at him, help them, help them. Why would you help them.

“Get away from me… Get AWAY.” You shouted pushing him away.

He stood back as you stood up, your hands gripping harshly on your hair.

“Your fucking kidding me right?! What makes you think I would help you, help these people! You know how crazy you sound.” You slightly laugh the frustration in your voice very clear. These people wanted your help. They just destroyed the only place you called home.

“Please Y/n, please.. hear us out.” Carl said.

“Your acting a fool, you just attacked my people, my home! Theres more than just Negan in there theres kids! Family, old people! What the fuck is wrong with you guys!” You yelled. “And- and you know that.. you saw it, so did he!” You finished pointing at Daryl.

They all knew that.

“What makes you think you can trust me anyway? What it your head makes you think I wouldn’t betray you.” You said your arms falling to your sides.

“Because your the one that let me out of that cell, made sure I had a clear way out.” Daryl spoke up.

You looked at him, he knew.

“And I trust you.” Carl said. “They may not but you help out friend and you’ve earned my trust, my respect.”

You shook your head, you wanted to cry, to cry like a little kid. Carl came to you again slowly pulling you in for a slight hug. Something sincere he cared for you he may have only truly known your for few weeks but he wanted you safe but with that came a cost. The talks over that walkie you had with him you could careless who herd them. Carl had fallen for a girl who he couldn’t have with out a cost.

“Y/n your something to believe In again, you could change things. Help your people.” Rick spoke.

You wanted to help your people, they deserved it they deserved to be safe. To have a life beyond the sanctuary. Alexandria was a safe place but so was your home they where good people in there people who don’t know how to protect themselves.

“But you’ll have to go behind, Negan. Lie to him.” Michonne finished.

Your head snaped at her, “I cant, i… i wont! I’ll just lie to you tell him your plans.” You said trying to get them to not believe you.

“If you do you’ll only hurt yourself…”

For my people.. but the cost was to betray a man who would do anything for you. You caught Carls eye he gave you a pleading look. He practically begged you with that look, betray your Dad for a boy.. for a boy and peace between people.

“If i betray you, I hurt myself.. if i betray my people, my family, I betray my dad, my dad is very important to me..”

“More important than your people and peace dont you want more for those family’s. For us.” Carl said, him whispering the last part only for you to hear.

For us..

You wanted that more than anything..

“Okay..”

So you helped them, you got back in through a old drain the led into the basement, you knew people would have noticed you where gone or maybe not.

When you saw Simon and Dwight they nodded at you figured you where out hidden in your room. Stupid men.

But you also knew Dwight was working with them as well, he was a traitor too.

Days had passed they finally cleared the walkers out. The plan was to attack hilltop but there was a twist, Negan on the other hand didn’t want you to have any part of it he stated “I need you here, with out people.” So you stayed.

You stayed back with your people started cleaning up putting things back together, when they came back your dad wasn’t to be seen.

“Wheres my dad?” You asked walking up to simon, he shared a look with Dwight looking back at you.

“Someone ran him off the road, all we found was blood when we finally found his car…” Simon said his tone quiet.

All you could do was stare at him “what.. is he.”

They nodded, the two men shared a look again.

Something isn’t right. They’re lying, they gotta be he couldn’t just be killed that easily.

After that Simon took charge, he seemed pleased with himself it was sickening. He bossed everyone around hell even threatened you that if you didn’t keep your mouth shut there would be ‘consequences’. It was just crazy to you, how easily he forgot his place.

But even now you had a job. So you did it you told them what happened leaving a note in the woods for them to find.

When you got back, There stood Negan. He turned to look at you giving you a smile.

“Hiya Sweetheart, how ya been.” His voice sweet giving you a hug.

“They said you where dead.” You said in a whisper only for him to hear.

He nodded looking at you back to Simon who was staring you down. You already knew he was fucked but lets make it worse, not here though. Negan wanted to talk anyway.

You sat on the couch in his room waiting for him, he startled you out of your trace as he placed his hand on the side if your head kissing you on the top of the head.

“Now tell me what the shit has he all done..?” He asked coming around sitting next to you.

“He pretty much took over your place bossing people around, and that attack on hilltop went south from what I heard, oh! He also threatened me” you said.

He turned his head to look at me. “ Do I dare ask what he said..” his voice went dark the look he held could kill.

You told him you may have exaggerated it a bit but you could careless the son of a bitch deserved it. His actions has consequences.

After that conversation you just sat there with him your head laying on his shoulder your arms wrapped around his arm.

“Im sorry..” you spoke softly, you could feel your throat swell up as you hold back tears.

“Its not your fault, Princess..” its been a minute since he’s called you princess, hell you where. You may not be his blood but your the only child he’s ever had, you where his daughter, his little girl.

The day finally came, but you weren’t standing with them you stood with Carl not your Father. The sound of that familiar call rang through your ears as everyone raised there gun.

“Well damn Rick, lookie here.” Negans voice echoed through a radio.

“Pegged again, pegged so very hard.”

Everyone moved around looking for them “ I ambushed your ambush with an even bigger ambush.” You could hear a slight chuckle after.

“Why don’t you step out and face us!” Rick yelled out as he looked around looking for any kind of movement.

“Oh I am everywhere Rick.” He said.

You closed your eyes settling your breath you felt a hand on your back, opening your eyes looking to you left you saw carl. He gave you a nod trying to give you some kind of comfort. You could hear Negan he went on talking about Eugene and Dwight, going to to Gabriel. Then he said your name.

“Where is my daughter because I would love to know. Kind fucked up how your little psycho of a son came in one day and now my daughter is gone. You happen to know anything about that.” His voice was serious, you had been gone since yesterday.

Rick looked back at you, you shook your head telling him not to say a word.

“But here we go, congratulations Rick.” Was the last thing he said before he started a count down.

They came out starting to fire only for their weapons to back fire on them.

Every thing happend to fast.

Soon enough they had surrendered, the saviors where on their knees hands in the air. Rick and Negan ran off, you looked around for them Carl and Rosita following behind me a little.

You finally got up to the hill you saw them standing in-front of each other talking, Negans face fell looking like he was going to cry at what Rick said. For a moment they stood there. Then it happened.

“NO!” You screamed, you went to run towards them only for Rosita to grab you holding you tightly.

“NO YOU LIER! YOU SAID YOU WERNT GONNA KILL HIM!” You Sobbed, struggling against Rosita and she tried calming you down.

“You fucking Lier! Please he’s all i have, please.” You begged your body slightly collapsing in Rositas Arms Carl came in front of you helping Rosita turn you so you did have to see him bleed out.

“You fucking people lied. I trusted you.” You cried.

“I didn’t know, Y/n I didn’t know.” Carl said his hands cupping your face making you looks at him.

Your sobs continue, As you fell into his arms. Rosita let go of you only staying behind you. The only thing in the field you could hear was you sobbing, Carls gentle tone trying to calm you. His hand gently rubbing your back, your hands covered your face your head resting on Carls shoulder.

“Save him.”

You pushed of Carls shoulder looking up. The widow started to do the same thing you had just done, Michonne holding her back as she yelled at rick, begging him to keep Negan dead.

“We have to make it right.” Maggie sobbed.

A year had now passed, you hadn’t been able to see Negan they wouldn’t let you. But what they did do it tell him that you had helped them, not by much but you did.

“Why would they do that..” you asked, Carl looked up at you.

“In not sure.. ask my dad why he did.” He said, you only glared at him.

“Common babe, you cant hold that anger with him forever especially that your my girlfriend.” He laughed slightly standing up from the step turning to you pulling you up.

“Its called a grunge, and yeah I can. They go on telling Negan i betrayed him and i don’t even get to explain my self to him.” You spoke the irritation in your voice quite visible.

Carl sighed, “I know Y/n..” he pulled you in by your hands.

“Talk to Michonne, you like her at lest.” Carl said giving you a kiss.

So you where gonna do just that but first you had to find her. When you did she was with Judith on the porch Rosita with her. Rosita gave you a smile as she left.

Michonne looked at you giving you a small smile “Hi Y/n how are you?” She said.

“Im fine but i have a question.” You spoke, she nodded letting you continue.

“Why wont you let me see him” befor she could speek you cut her off “I know i ask this way to often but you told him everything i could attest give him an exclamation, you just letting him believe that what i did was for the worst, so please. Wouldn’t you want Carl to tell you if that had happened to him not just to stay quiet and believe he did it to hurt you.” You finished.

Michonne signed “You’ll have five minutes.”

Your face light up “Thank you, Thank you!”

She grabbed Judith giving her to a friend as she walked you to the basement, Carl and Rosita followed you two and you walked down the stairs she told you to wait.

“You have a Visitor.” She said before waving you in.

It was dark but you could see him, and he looked like shit. “Five minutes.” Michonne said walking over to the door keeping it open but she walked up them.

The silence between you two lingered for a minute, after all that begging you couldn’t get your self to say anything but when he did your heart dropped.

“Well kid, hows your new life, boyfriend, freedoms.” He said harshly.

“I-its fine, can I explain..” you said.

He stood up moving to the bars looking at you. “What that you stabbed me in the back yeah I got that.”

“Dont be a dick-”

“Really your gonna call me the dick?” He scoffed.

“I never meant you any harm i wanted what was best for our people.” You said softly.

He didn’t say anything, his eyes never left you but he was mad and he had every right to be. You had all of his trust, he would’ve done anything for you and you betrayed him. Everything he had done for you was thrown out the window after that stunt those 4 years were practically all for nothing.

“I know your mad at me and you have every right to be, I just wanted our people to see more the kids in the sanctuary to have more of a life beyond that, here those kids have a playground more people to become friends with.” You said, you watched as he turned around midway through you talking, he didn’t want to look at you.

You took a breath in bitting your lip to stop you self from crying, you crossed your arms holding your self in a hug.

“I haven’t seen you in a year man common say something, yell at me something anything.” You spoke in a whimper your lip trembling.

Nothing.

“Please don’t hate me.” Your tears fell down your cheeks.

“Your all i have left to family, I never thought I would call someone dad again let alone a man that actually cared for me..” you cried out your head falling down looking that the floor.

The tears continue to fall down your face making your cheeks glisten. He was your dad, maybe it was a cycle with you to make them hate you at some point.

“I don’t hate you, I don’t think I could ever bring myself to hate you.” He said quietly not turning around.

“Then why wont you look at me..” you asked not even sure if you wanted to know the answer.

He sighed deeply turning around “That better?”

You nodded not sure what to say next, things may never be the same again but you do know that is he doesn’t hate you, you didn’t have to worry about the fear of him never wanting to see you again.

#twd #negan smith #the walking dead negan #carl x reader #carl the walking dead #carl grimes x reader #x black reader #poc reader #negan daughter #carl grimes #the walking dead #smith reader #daryl dixon #rick grimes #michonne #maggie rhee #twd rosita #twd simon

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etern9lotus · 2 years ago

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breathe ; jiara

summary : the pogues return to the chateau after jj gets into a fight. he’s pissed like crazy as usual and kiara being the newly girlfriend she is helps him calm down and reassures him.

this is my first time writing a fic, my summers going pretty boring and i’ve been wanting to start writing stories, so enjoy!

Slamming the door shut to the twinkie, JJ cursed to himself stomping up the stairs of the chateau. “You gonna be able to deal with that?” Cleo looked at Kiara as she nodded her head. “I do all the time”. Just 30 minutes ago the pogues were all having fun at a bonfire, everything was going good until JJ saw some touron trying to get at his girl. He knows Kiara‘s a big girl and can handle herself but that dickwad had the nerve to start shouting at her, like a fucking maniac.

JJ thought that he the thought the alcohol in his system mad him trip for a second, next thing you know he was up on his feet pacing over seeing straight red.

flashback -

The sounds of music and laughter ringed through the crowd of teens. The boys were versing two kooks in ping pong, it was Pope’s turn to toss the ball he swapped places with John b whispering something in his ear laughing. “Come on bubba.” John B cheered him in giving him a quick shoulder massage. “Pope we can’t lose man get on his ass!” JJ stated.

They cheered him on while he concentrated, tossing the ball watching it skip each cup slowing down. The small crowd they had watched closely, the ball tilted into the last cup. Cheering his name, Pope dusted off his shoulders, taking the defeat the kook lifted the cup to his lips downing the whole drink, JJ howled “Atta boy Pope!” dabbing him up.

Suddenly feeling thirsty he lifted his cup to his lips expecting a cold tangy taste to hit his tongue but instead got nothing but a drop. “Yo, be back i needa a refill.” he shook his cup showing the boys, they waved him off.

Excusing himself through people making his way to the juice stand. Observing the opened cooler he stuck his hand in it, swaying his fingers searching for a beer. “Cold cold!” he squeaked feeling the ice cold water sting his digits, he swayed around for a few more seconds and grabbed a bottle hoping it was a beer.

Grabbing the can shaped object he pulled his hand out of the water and smirked. “JJ?” a voice spoke, he turned around and his eyes went wide-eyed seeing a green eyed blonde curly headed girl “Sa-Samantha?” he stuttered, she smiled “It’s been a long time.” she spoke.

“Uh….yeah” his voice sorta cracked, she giggled “My family came down to visit my aunts new baby, so i’m here for the whole week.” she said excitedly. He nodded giving her a fake smile “Uh that’s great.” turning his attention back to his beer, opening the can pouring it into his cup. “If your not busy or anything i was thinking..maybe you wanna get out of here?” she bit her lip.

JJ sighed placing his cup down, “Look Samaria- Samantha.” she corrected him. “Yea yea, see i’m not on the market anymore but i’m sure their’s a nice young fello over their waiting to scoop you up.” he pointed out a boy in a green button up shirt whispering to his friends looking at her. The girl blinked a few times “Really? because i didn’t see you come here with anyone?” the blonde rolled his eyes in annoyance blocking out the girls pitchy voice as she continued to go on.

An echo of shouting ringed in his ear, he looked up to see who was about to get into a scrap because only in the obx you can’t have a decent party without somebody shoving or insulting the other person and not getting a punch to the face. Looking off into the distant he squinted his eyes trying to get a better look, his blurry vision was not helping but he saw a boy and a girl going at it.

Listening closely to the girls voice it sounded familiar to him. Eyes focusing on her trying to get a better view he spotted her curly brown hair and blonde highlights, she also wore green converse. The guy standing in front of her started getting in her face, she pulled a piece of her hair behind her ear and JJ got a clear view of her side profile.

Their was some shithead yelling at his girl, getting in her face like he was about to do something. His jaw clenched, slightly his fingers started squeezing his cup, 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘫, 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭. Watching them going back and forth the guy smacked her cup out of her hand, that trigged it. Dropping his cup not even caring about the beer splashing on his shirt he bolted over there getting close enough to where he shoved the guy.

“The fuck is your problem?!” he spat, the boy now laying on the sand got up dusting himself off. Kiara looked at him “Jay it’s fine, i’m okay.” she gave him a small smile. He looked at her, eyes wondering over her face checking if she was okay, his eyes snapped back to the boy, “Who the fuck are you?! You just go around pushing people you don’t know?” the guy spat back.

JJ scoffed “Nah but you should be asking yourself something like that, you go around picking fights with girls. What are you a fucking sissy?” giving him a dirty look. People started luring in, phones started to be pulled out of pockets. “Oh i see…is this your boyfriend?” the boy looked at Kiara and laughed “Don’t fucking talk to her!” JJ shoved him again creating a barrier between them.

Sound of ouu’s ran through like a wave, “Jayj.” Kiara looked at him with worry eyes. “Don’t even give him your energy.” she mumbled to him, “You let her bitch you? You getting bitched on?.” the boy continued on, JJ was getting tenser, the blood in his body rushing to his fist, Kiara could feel his body tightening from the grip she had on his forearm.

“Bitched? Your getting in her face yelling at her like she’s some fucking dude!” squeezing his knuckles so tight they started turning white. “Yea well she’s got a lot of mouth on her, don’t you cupcake?” Kiara rolled her eyes flipping him off. “Hey jackass, when a girl kindly tells you to fuck off the first go you don’t keep trying to go at her.” her eyes bored into his.

Feeling his breathing giving heavy, JJ tried to calm down. “I asked you for a drink and you started bitching off.” he threw his hands up, causing JJ fist to twitch. Still holding on his forearm Kiara continued “Uh yea and i told you no thank you than you started talking to me clearly not seeing that i was uninterested until i showed you which came to the conclusion of you now yelling at me.”

“Your not even that special, don’t overhype your head bitch.” his nostrils flared. Being held back by Kiara was not helping “Jay come on.” she focused her attention back on him, “Yeah listen to your bitch.” the voice of the touron kept going through his ears, him and Kie made an agreement where whenever somebody pushed his buttons trying to persuade him in a fight, all he had to do was just walk away.

But this fucker was speaking out of his neck disrespecting his girl, he exhaled the air he had built up in him about to turn around and walk away “Instead of you talking shit you can put your mouth to better use, like sucking my dick you slutty whor-“ he was cut off by JJ delivering a sharp punch to his jaw.

The boy stumbled back while people started chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” he looked at the blood dripping on his fingers, spitting to the side he got up and stumbled on JJ. “Pope! John B!” Kiara yelled out to the boys. They rushed over such as Cleo and Sarah who were in their own conversation, “Hey, you good?” Sarah placed her hands on Kiara’s face, she nodded looking at the two boys fighting on the sand.

The touron landed a few punches to JJ’s side but he threw sand in his face and flipped them over now on top of boy sending straight decks to his face. He could hear her shouting his name but that couldn’t stop him, he was seeing red. the boy’s face started getting bruised and bloody. John b grabbed his shirt trying to separate him from the boy, so did Pope.

“JJ, the hell get off him!” John b struggled to get a hold of the blonde. Kiara felt shallow and breathy, “Jayj! JJ!” she shouted. Finally managing to separate him from the now poorly beaten touron, they pulled JJ up hooking their arms around his.

“Shit man, you fucked him up.” Pope mumbled. “Let’s go.” Cleo said walking to the twinkie. Pope and Sarah catch up with Cleo, still looking at the boy on the floor he was still heated, gritting his teeth. “JJ go!” Kiara pushed him towards the van.

flashback over -

John b shut the door “He’ll be good in a few, might sleep it off.” Kiara scoffed “Well then clearly you don’t know JJ.” she got out the van following behind him. She thanked him for holding the door and went inside going to the bathroom to get the First Aid Kit, already knowing where he would be she opened the screen door to the backyard. Their he was laying in the hammock rocking his legs back and forth looking off into the dark distance.

“Knock knock.” she spoke setting the box down on the chair walking up to him. He turned around seeing her, “Sup.” then turned back around. She pouted picking the box back up and taking her place on the hammock forcing him to move over. She observed his face, he was biting his nails and bouncing his leg. “That was pretty rad dude.” she said, twisting his lips trying to hide his smile he turned his head the other way.

He mumbled a sentence under his breath “What was that?” she raised an eyebrow. He shook his head “nothing.” playfully rolling her eyes she sighed, “Let me see those sausage fingers.” she held her hand out waiting for him to place his hand on hers. “Sausage fingers? Yea okay giraffe legs.” he shot her a dirty look placing his hand in hers. Looking at his hand she sighed suddenly feeling guilt wash over her, taking his eyes off his hand he looked at her. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked concerned.

She shook her head “We’ve talked about this Jayj. Not letting meaningless things get into your head.” looking up at him with tears building up in her eyes. He caressed her cheek moving his hand to her chin “It wasn’t meaningless though Kie and you know that.” he pointed out. Frowning she opened the box taking out some alcohol wipes and gauze.

JJ pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, he’s been learning all this new stuff about being in a relationship and being open more, he is new to being a boyfriend and he wanted to be the best he could even if that means he had to force himself to agree with the things he didn’t agree too. But this was different because he cared, he cared about Kiara. She’s one of the things that he cherishes in his heart, he loves her and wants nothing but to protect her at all times, and he surely wasn’t going to let someone or anybody speak bad on her.

With his uninjured hand he gently caressed her thigh, “I’m sorry…i truly am it’s just…Kiara he was all in your face like..like he was about to do something and it triggered me.” he spoke softly, she ripped open a pack of alcohol wipes taking a sheet out. Nodding signaling him that she was listening as she placed the wipe on his hands causing him to hiss.

“Sorry” she mumbled cleaning the blood off his knuckles, when she was done she placed the now bloody wipe on her leg and blew on his hand. “I was..i don’t know shooken up a bit.” his tongue rolled in his cheek. She finished patching his hand up gently rubbing circles over them, he felt himself getting tense again replaying back of what the touron guy said.

Removing her hands from his knuckles she rested her hands on both sides of his face “Hey.” she gave him a faint smile. His eyes shifted down looking at the space between them tapping her leg, “I understand and i’m sorry that you had a moment, you know that i hate seeing you get hurt.” he swallowed the lump in his throat nodding.

“My love….you know that i love you right?” she pressed her head against his. “Yea i know.” she gently rubbed her nose against his, his hands moved up to her waist. She pressed a gentle kiss onto his lips, she gives him butterflies every time. “Do you really?!” her voice squealed, he giggled nodding. She furrowed her eyebrows “Does Jesse Maybank know that i’m madly in love with him?” she gripped his shirt. “Why do you gotta go all federal?” he whined.

She giggled “Because that’s your name and i love it, Jesse…Hey Jesse ouuuu!” she sung the anthem to Jessie. He quickly smacked his hand against her mouth shushing her “Hey hush, i don’t want them finding out my name!” he whisper yelled. Playfully shoving her she gasped, he pulled out a joint and a lighter from his pocket. “Hey! Don’t light that blunt until i get back or your ass is grass!” she said getting up.

“Where are you going?” he quirked an eyebrow holding her finger, she lifted her hand up showing the used up wipes and wrappers “To throw your nasty dirty bandages away- I’m serious too don’t smoke that joint without me!” she closed the screen door. She knows he won’t.

He leaned back into the hammock, closing his eyes listening to the crickets chirping and the wind blowing low. The sound of the screen door opened, Kiara came out with a blanket, “figured it would get cold.” tossing it on him. Sitting down again she tossed her leg over his, he wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her closer as she rested her head on his chest, she fixed the covers on them getting comfortable.

Lighting the blunt he took a pull then passed it to her, she took it out of his hands taking a pull herself feeling the smoke fill up her insides, exhaling. “You know your my one and only right?” Kiara spoke. His hands moved up and down her back “I love you.” he spoke softly, she smiled looking up at him through her lashes with adoration.

“I love you.” she kissed his neck, they were each others safe space and that couldn’t be taken away from them. They both can only understand each other on the same level.

“You and me.”

They spent the rest of their night, warm and cozy in each other’s presence sharing kisses and cuddles.

please! tell me how did i do?! i hope you enjoyed!!

#jiara fanfic #jiara #jiara fic #kiara carrera #jj maybank #jj x kiara #jj x kie #outer banks #obx #jiara obx #kie x jj #first time writing #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #john b obx #sarah cameron #pope heyward #cleo obx

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toony-fanfics · 11 months ago

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Goodmorning, Dear! 🧇

~🌹~

Oneshot

Pairing: Alastor x Atlas (OC)

Word count: 881

Summary: just atlas waking up to breakfast for once!

Warnings: none!

~🌹~

The streets of Hell were never really known for being “relaxing” or “calm”. There were almost always screams, fights, music, anything you could think of. Hell never got less overwhelming, one just got used to everything after a while. You’re stuck there for all of eternity, after all. It’s something you have to get used to. However, there were places and times where it was bearable. Specifically, early morning at the Hazbin Hotel.

Usually Atlas had been the one to wake up first. After all, he was the hotel’s chef. Guests depended on him to provide sustenance. Granted, there weren’t many guests, but the staff also needed food in them to go about their day. Plus, the more time Atlas got to spend in the kitchen, the better. It was a safe place for him, one he didn’t share with many.

Except one, of course.

Though, this morning, Atlas woke up to the sound of Heartaches by Al Bowlly echoing throughout the hotel. Someone else was up, and by the music, Atlas could guess pretty well that the one awake was none other than Alastor. After all, Atlas didn’t know anyone else who listened to old music like this.

Sitting up in his bed, Atlas rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before stretching. Glancing over to the mirror that hung up on the wall, the blue goat got out of his bed and walked towards the closet. Tilting his head slightly, he picked out a white long-sleeved button-up, along with a pair of blue jeans and suspenders. A bit out of the ordinary, since he usually wore his blue sweatervest, but he’d subconsciously wanted to look at least decent for Alastor. Another Al Bowlly song starts playing, and it wasn’t long before Atlas started humming along with it. Taking a hairbrush, the goat began fixing his hair a bit, not particularly enjoying the bed-head look.

The goat takes a step back and observes himself in the mirror. With a smile, he sticks his thumbs under his suspenders and rocks back and forth for a moment, nodding before grabbing a dark blue tie. Draping it over his neck, he got distracted by the multitude of shoes he had. With a hum, he finally slips on his black oxford shoes, and steps out of his room with a stretch. The music gets noticeably louder as Atlas heads down the hall.

Atlas also picked up a smell from the kitchen. It was food, that much he knew. None he’s ever made or tasted before, though, since the smell was unrecognizable. Stepping into the kitchen with a head tilt, the blue demon spots Alastor at the stove, an apron tied around his waist. Another Al Bowlly song begins to play, and Alastor hums along, the soft, melodic tone of his voice wrapping its way around Atlas like a warm hug on a cold autumn day. With a smile, the demon made his way over and hugged Alastor from behind. The radio demon tensed up momentarily, softening milliseconds after realizing who the culprit was.

“And a very good morning to you as well, my dear. I trust that you slept alright?” Alastor asks, glancing down at Atlas. The goat shrugs, leaning into the taller demon.

“I slept in. ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Nonsense, cher! No trouble at all, I assure you. You needed the rest. After all, a fine chef such as yourself needs to be at his best!” Alastor reassured.

Atlas smiles a bit before his eyes flicked down to the skillet on the stove. He’d recognized pecans in there, though wasn’t sure why. “Whatcha makin’?” He asked. Alastor’s grin seems to grow in excitement, as if he’d been waiting for Atlas to ask him that.

“Why, I’m making something my mother used to make me for breakfast when I was a boy! Sweet potato-pecan waffles. They’re absolutely delightful, my dear. You’ll love them!” He spoke, swaying along with the next song that played. Atlas chuckled a little bit.

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard of those. Maybe I should try makin’ ‘em at some point.” The smaller demon mumbled, his mind drifting off. What other foods did Alastor like? Maybe if he figured out a way to subtly ask, he could make them for the taller demon, or-

Atlas was snapped out of his thoughts when Alastor began tying the untied tie around his neck. A small laugh escaped the blue demon as he realized he’d completely forgotten to tie it.

“My dear, I have to say… I find this little fad you’re trying to start quite humorous!” The radio demon spoke, laughing as he finished the job, patting Atlas’ chest. “Tell me, mon cher, what’s the occasion? You’re dressed quite differently this morning.”

“No occasion. Jus’ wanted to switch it up a lil’ bit. Y’like it?” The goat asks, sticking his thumbs through his suspenders just as he’d done in his room. Alastor tilts his head while staring down at Atlas, a look of adoration forming in his eyes.

“It’s wonderful, darling. Quite becoming on you, I must say! Now! How about some waffles?”

Atlas smiles and nods, and with that, the two sit down at the counter, waffles in front of them as they spent the morning talking and laughing.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #fanfic #alastor

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5sosfanfictioncatalogue · 1 year ago

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Mutual Pining Masterlist

Apricity - @ashtcnirwin (elivigar) Michael/Ashton T, 23k

Summary: In which Ashton and Michael miss their flight home for the holidays and are forced to spend Christmas together.

a simple equation with no complications (ao3) - cyberpunknct Luke/Ashton N/R, 12k

Summary: luke ends up tutoring the older boy that can't seem to concentrate for a decent amount of time, but he doesn't really mind it.

Can You See Inside (ao3) - lourrygum Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton E, 11k

Summary: Michael is ridiculously cute and has amazing thighs and it's cool, it's fine, Luke's okay with it.

Comment, Like, Subscribe My Heart (ao3) - thesoulsailor Michael/Luke N/R, 54k

Summary: Youtube!AU in which Luke is a non-binary beauty guru, Michael is the lead singer of Ashton's cover band and Calum thinks gender roles are overrated anyways.

Daydreams - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) Michael/Ashton T, 6k

Summary: It's not Michael's fault the owner of Fletcher's Flowers is so good-looking. And no one—Luke—should be able to blame him for wanting to come to the shop and admire the pretty buff man with large delicate hands as he assembles bouquets or pets his cat.

extra credit (ao3) - galacticsugar Luke/Calum E, 21k

Summary: Calum smiles at the last person in line at the bar as he hands them their glass of wine, then turns to Luke and sighs heavily, crossing his arms over his chest. The material of his shirt wrinkles and folds and stretches in all the right ways. “From the first day of school after I moved here, I knew you were going to be a problem.”

“A problem?” Luke feigns offense, scoffing and sucking violently at his tiny straw, trying to get to the dredges of his drink. Calum rolls his eyes and starts making another. By the end of the night, Luke’s going to have the process of Calum assembling a California Dream emblazoned in his mind for eternity. “I wasn’t the one who showed up and immediately acted like I owned the place.”

i’ll be patient despite our racing hearts (ao3) - expectopatronuz Michael/Ashton, Luke/Calum T, 5k

Summary: The thing is, Michael and Ashton aren’t not friends. They do things that friends do. They enjoy each other’s company. They have the same taste in music. They have good talks. “You can be friends with your boyfriend, Michael,” Calum says, exasperated.

or, Michael and Ashton are accidentally fake dating

I Only Wanna Talk (ao3) - dafeedil Michael/Calum E, 16k

Summary: He thinks it should feel wrong, kissing Calum here in the dark, when the thousand dollars he paid to have this is sitting neatly in its envelope just feet away. But it doesn’t feel wrong, not at all. In fact, it feels unnatural not to be kissing Calum.

Or, more simply, Michael falls in love with a prostitute.

i wanna hold your hand while we’re growing up (ao3) - nothingliketherain (39_killer_queen) Michael/Calum T, 12k

Summary: 5 times Michael grabbed Calum’s hand over the years + 1 time Calum grabbed Michael’s

I Wanna Sleep Next To You... (ao3) - milecgv Michael/Calum, Bryana/Ashton T, 54k

Summary: Calum gets the opportunity to live out his dreams in New York City but it proves too much for him, and on a lonely night he ends up calling the professional cuddle service he swore he'd never call.

put the stars in our eyes (ao3) - burstintocolor (anchormate) Luke/Calum M, 25k

Summary: Ben hangs up, leaving Luke still reeling. His family thinks he and Cal are dating. And they weren’t surprised. They’d been waiting for it. His mum cried because she was so happy for him. And worst of all, he hadn’t had a chance to correct Ben. Luke rolls over on his bed, burying his face in his pillow and letting out a groan.

or, luke's family thinks he's dating calum. luke doesn't correct them.

Take Notes - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) Luke/Calum E, 78k

Summary: “Calum,” Luke replies shakily, reeling. “I can’t take your virginity.”

“You’re not taking it,” Calum says in a small laugh, bobbing his head, “I’m giving it to you.”

Or, the one where Calum wants someone to teach him about sex and Luke happens to be an education major.

The Best Autumn Ever (ao3) - merlypops Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton T, 19k

Summary: Luke and Michael are too scared to admit that they like each other, Calum and Ashton want them to get their shit together (and are also dating), and the four of them have the best autumn ever.

The Twinkling Trinket (ao3) - fourdrunksluts Luke/Calum, Michael/Ashton N/R, 12k

Summary: Calum's a mischievous shapeshifter, who steals from Luke's boutique to earn his attention.

trusting you (ao3) - lifewasradical Luke/Ashton, background Michael/Calum E, 38k

Summary: He clutches a sparkly acoustic guitar in one hand, baby blue painted nails biting into the strings as he waves at the crowd and settles onto his stool. “Hello,” he says, voice swaying from a deep register to a higher head voice with one single word, elongated through a crooked smile. “I’m Levi Halloway, and I’m here to play a few songs for you tonight,” he says, plucking a chord as he straightens his shoulders. His shirt strains over the length of his wingspan.

Ashton would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued already, drawn in after only a handful of words. He’s seen more random performers than he can count, mostly no name aspiring artists who just want someone to listen to them. Half the time they’re good enough to get a rousing applause at the end, while the other half of the time everyone has left the sitting area before they finish their set.

Other than Ashton of course. He always stays until the end.

Truth or Dare (ao3) - L4ashton Luke/Ashton

Summary: It was a single question that started it all. A single question that brought Ashton’s world crumbling down, and a single question that fixed it too.

walmart sonata (ao3) - kaleidoscopeminds Luke/Calum M, 33k

Summary: Luke shakes his head. He doesn’t really understand Calum. What is this beautiful man doing being sweet and kind to him in the Walmart he works at several times a week? Luke’s life doesn’t include things like this. He just smiles at Calum slightly disbelievingly, it's not like Calum will ever really see him perform. He’s just a hot stranger from his grocery store.

Where the Heart Is (ao3) - LyricalPary (hoseoky) Luke/Ashton, side Michael/Calum E, 86k

Summary: By the time that Ashton Irwin is twenty-seven years old, he's already a widower and a father of three. After his third nanny quits on him, he comes to the conclusion that life in general doesn't seem to like him very much—that is, until his luck turns around when he discovers a particular nanny by the name of Luke H.

The question now is, can a twenty-two year old man with mile-long legs and a smile made of gold really be the super nanny that Ashton needs?

Perhaps so.

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #5sos fanfic #5sos #mutualpining #mutualpining masterlist #masterlists #pining

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jurassicpark1990 · 3 years ago

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thanks for tagging me @officialbabayaga 💗💗

rules: You can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to. Put your On Repeat playlist (or equivalent) on shuffle and list the first ten songs then tag a few folks. No skipping.

1. holiday by turnstile

2. montero (call me by your name) by lil nas x

3. he mele no lilo by mark keali'i ho'omalu

4. comme si by christine and the queens

5. all i really want by alanis morissette

6. don't you (forget about me) by simple minds

7. kalahari down by orville peck

8. the curse of the blackened eye by orville peck

9. king brown by barkaa

10. meditjin by baker boy

i'll tag @maharielhawke but if anyone wants to do this, let me know and i'll tag you too 💗💗💗

#i think this is a pretty decent summary of my music tastes #the only surprising one is simple minds #i have no real memory of listening to that lately #and also that there's only two orville peck songs lol #i've been smashing bronco lately #but anyways ily zoe!!!#and legit if anyone wants to do this let me know #beth stuff

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heffrondriving · 2 years ago

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sorry this is a bit late but thank you vv much for the tag @thequartz0ne!! <3 i made this more difficult on myself than i ought to lmao *growls sobs yells at my overstuffed mess of spotify playlists* but these are just some of the songs i've been obsessed with lately~ ヽ(o´∀`)ﾉ~♬♪♫

Honey/Fall/Not Giving You Up/Call It Like I See It - Big Time Rush (SHHHUSH THIS TOTALLY ISN'T CHEATING THEY'RE ALL GR8 DON'T MAKE ME CHOOSE FROM MY SONS >:^×)

Translucent - TERMINA

Maybe You Saved Me - Bad Suns ft. PVRIS

Jag E Nån Annan - Omar Rudberg

As We Fall Into Deep Waters - Royal Coda

i'm not sure who to tag and i really don't wanna be a bother hgshshjk so anyone who sees this and wants to join in please feel more than free to do so!! ✨ i enjoy tag games too much and i wanna snoop in ur fave music too hehe ;3

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

Okay I will do a chain ask I get sent at last

1. Fly me to the moon by Frank Sinatra

2. Piano Man by Billy Joel

3. American Pie by Don Maclean

4. The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

5. Don't Stop me now by Queen

________________

@geeky-gay-greek @italian-wall-lizard @undeaddfelix @aqueerembrace @soulvee-animationz @whatsorryiwasntlistening @hotpinkbitch-breakfast @autistic-submas @felipe-kuso @bart-allens-boyfriends

#honourable mention goes to Got Weird by dodie but hoOoOboy that's a whole other post and a half *cries in sapphic*#but yeah i think this is a pretty decent summary of my current music tastes lmao;;; btr + djent/metal + swedepop + dash of indie + swancore #that plus the entirety of pierce the veil's discography played on a loop for the last six years bc WHEN TF IS PTV5 COMING OUT SIRS!!!!!#but yeah unlike the fren who tagged me i'm def missing that heffdrive rep though which. is a disgrace to my username ajajaj #it's been a while since i've been tagged in one of these and it never fails to excite me every time (≧◡≦)#btw that everyone's tagged is a serious offer!!! pls reblog this and lemme see ur fave songs as recs and keep the love going <3 #thequartz0ne #tag games #<< i don't really have a proper tag for that yet??? idk if i need one so far ;-;#do pretty girl don't speak

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kissagii · 2 years ago

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𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 - 𝕠𝕤𝕒𝕞𝕦 𝕞𝕚𝕪𝕒 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

summary: for some unfathomable reason, osamu decided that he'd rather spend his time at the national volleyball teams' party catering instead of celebrating. so as the two of you spend hours together in the kitchen, he can't help but think you're the closest he has to a plus-one.

reader is gender neutral so anyone can enjoy (they/them used once)

warnings: a decent bit of cursing, food & eating

You considered yourself decently strong, so you grabbed two chafing dish trays from the back of the Miya family's minivan and carried them into the party venue's kitchen. Carrying them one at a time would have been smarter, but time was tight and you could handle two of them. You set them down quickly, escaping the heat that began to seep through the fabric cushions on your hand.

Back at the van, your classmate and cooking partner was hefting up a precariously tall stack of trays, leaning them against his chest as he began to make his way to the doorway. You held it open for him, watching in amazement as his large arms held up the stack with ease. Four trays. Four damn trays. He's gotta be insane.

"Showoff. You'd better not drop those," You said as he walked away, feigning a lack of awe. Though really, you wouldn't mind if he did it again, allowing you to catch another glimpse of his corded arms. It wasn't fair, you thought, that he could be so good at cooking and athletic at the same time. Not to mention that he had a nice face.

Oh god, [name], now's not the time to be ogling the pretty volleyball boys. Save it for later, there are plenty of others and you won't be stuck in a room with them all night. You chastised yourself for letting your thoughts wander from the task at hand. It was silly, you admitted, to be crushing on your undeniably attractive classmate and cooking partner, but it wasn't your fault he happened to be the exact definition of your type.

You grabbed another pair of trays, the last two in the van, and made the short trip back to the kitchen. You took a better look at it this time - the ample space with minimal appliances clearly made for catering. The left counter had already become cramped with your supplies, but the other two were blissfully empty. At the very least you'd have enough space to work.

"Let's get started then," He said tersely. "I'll take the shiozake, can you start with the negi miso?"

It wasn't long before you could hear the clamor building outside the kitchen, with only a metal screen between you and the growing party. When you first arrived only the setup crew had been there, but the variety of voices you could now hear told you that at least one team had arrived.

The kitchen, however, remained mostly silent. Every once in a while you'd ask one another for an ingredient or supply, but that was the extent of it.

"Y'know what, fuck it, this silence is awkward. Mind if I play some music?" Osamu asked, moving towards the sink to wash the sticky rice off of his hands.

"Yeah, go ahead. I'll listen to anything," You said. Though, in all honesty, you had your particular music tastes, part of you wanted to know what sort of music Osamu liked.

"Oh, great, I'll just... put on my usual playlist then," Osamu took his phone out of his backpack, fumbling with the screen for a moment before his music app started working. He hadn't brought a speaker, so he put the phone on an empty patch of counter.

The first sound that came out of it was an advertisement. More specifically, the exact same advertisement that had followed you around spotify for the past week or so.

"Broke bitch," you said jokingly as you continued work on the rice balls, forming some while others grilled.

"It's a responsible financial decision," Osamu replied with a sharp sarcasm, a breathy laugh escaping his lungs.

"Yeah, ok, sure. But I swear if I hear that ad one more time I'm just going to cave and deal with paying it."

The loathed advertisement came to an end, and the first song began. You'd recognize that slightly muffled drumbeat anywhere.

"Osamu... is that... Wildest Dreams?" You asked hesitantly.

"Shit- uh- that's uh...." Osamu moved to skip the song, but he had already begun work on the onigiri and the rice coated his fingers. Instead he settled for a disgruntled (and slightly embarrassed) huff.

"Oh my god, you're a swiftie," You said between laughs.

"I- hhhhhhh. I know it's weird. Laugh all you want," He grumbled, cheeks pinkened.

"No no, it's not that, it's so unexpected but it makes so much sense- Not gonna lie, it's adorable," The laughs continued to rack your body, the cheesy romantic song in the background such a precious contrast to your co-chef's moody exterior.

"Shut yer trap," Osamu mumbled, turning away from you with a childish pout.

While the rest of his music was more of what you had expected for a guy like him, you didn't pay much attention to it. The two of you talked too much for the music to matter.

When it came time to serve dinner, you were more disappointed than you should have been. I'm here to share food with people, I love sharing food with people, so why am I so bothered?

The volleyball boys were... interesting. To say the least. Some of them far too energetic for your tastes, others looked as if they were about to fall asleep any moment. Most were far taller than you, and nearly all of them did a double-take when they noticed you serving food. After all, very few of them would have seen you before, and those that did were unlikely to have remembered you.

The onigiri trays emptied surprisingly fast. With the few other foods set up on tables outside, you began pulling the empty metal sheets back into the kitchen for cleanup.

"So, 'Samu, this is yer plus-one, eh?" The cocky voice was one you knew well enough - Atsumu, the popular and, frankly quite annoying, twin brother of the boy you'd spent the entire afternoon cooking with.

"I think they'd prefer assistant chef," Osamu replied blandly with just a hint of sharp distaste for his brother.

"Well I think since you've locked yerself in the kitchen all day it might as well be a date," Atsumu teased, "It's like you'd rather spend time with your assistant chef than with the rest of us."

"Shut it, 'Tsumu. Unlike you, [name] is actually a decent person," Osamu spat, dramatically pulling down the metal screen between the kitchen and hall. It hit the blonde atop the head (not too hard, you hoped) and he recoiled backward with an offended face.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Atsumu's voice was muffled by the metal but still clearly audible, "Enjoy your date~"

Osamu shot a glare in his brother's general direction before turning back to his work washing the rice-coated utensils.

"So I'm just a 'decent person,' huh?" You asked, leaning leisurely against the sink, mindlessly fiddling with the dish towel.

"Well, I'd've been nicer, but that woulda given 'Tsumu the wrong idea," Osamu said quietly, scrubbing with a determined fervor.

"The wrong idea... how?"

"First off he'd've taken anything short of insulting as an ego boost, he always does. Or he might've thought... that we were together."

"Oh."

You cursed yourself for such a simplistic response, but your thoughts were racing too fast to put together anything more coherent. Atsumu thinking we're together is bad... does he actually not like me? No, he probably just sees me as a friend. Damn.

"Well, for the record, I think you're pretty great," After a moment you fumbled the words out of your mouth. 'Pretty great' was a terrible understatement - you thought he was amazing, wonderful, so funny and talented and handsome.

"Yeah, you too," He murmured. How strange it was to hear Osamu, usually so outspoken, being quiet. Almost... shy.

"And, well, while assistant chef is a nice title and all... I wouldn't mind being your plus-one either." Your words were nearly drowned out by the running water, hesitant but entirely sure of what you meant. The whole evening had made you realize how much you were into Osamu, his immaculate sarcasm and love of food, the dry but entertaining banter over stupid things. Maybe he had been flirting. Maybe he hadn't. There was no way to know.

"I think I'd like that too." Osamu looked over at you with a shy smile, cheeks tinged with red, dropping the dishes in his hands.

"You're so fucking adorable," You said with a little laugh, the warm flush building in your own face. Holy shit. This is actually going well.

Osamu snatched the towel from your hands, drying off his hands and forearms. "Can I like... hug you? Is that okay?"

You skipped over a verbal response, choosing to throw yourself at him instead, wrapping your arms around his broad torso. He was warm, comforting, and the perfect height for hugs. Gently, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, placing his chin on top of your head in an a silly, condescending way.

"You're such a dork, Osamu."

"And you like it."

©nesswritesnonsense 2022

#{🍄 - mushrooms}#miya osamu #osamu x reader #osamu #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu x gn!reader #osamu x gn!reader #osamu x you #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x gn!reader #haikyuu osamu #hq osamu #hq x reader #hq x gn!reader

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say.

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

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

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ticklishtimothee · 4 years ago

Text

what a roadtrip (kyle scheible x reader)

summary: the reader is going to see a concert out of town with some friends, kyle included, and gets stuck in the back seat with him on the drive.

a/n: an anon asked for some kyle angst-turned-fluff, and i’d already had an idea based on this post to write. not too angsty, but definitely an enemies-to-lovers type of dynamic. i hope you enjoy!!

words: 1,115

You and your friends were planning to go to a concert that weekend, much to your delight. What you weren’t looking forward to, however, was the drive there.

Not many concerts happened near you, and so the venue was about a two hour drive away, and that was just to get there. All together, it was four hours.

Four hours you’d have to spend in the car with Kyle fucking Scheible.

You weren’t sure why your friends still hung around Kyle. He was insufferable, a total douchebag who got off on treating girls like shit. It pissed you off to simply be in his presence, and he knew it too.

The feeling seemed to be mutual, as he never went out of his way to speak to you or even acknowledge your existence. Whatever. You liked it better that way.

Jenna was driving, and Ladybird had called shotgun.

Your other friends had called the middle two seats of Jenna’s mom’s minivan, and all that was left was the very back row, for you and Kyle.

“Jenna, can you please tell someone to switch with me?” you pleaded.

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s two hours. Just put your head against the window and take a nap or something,” she said. “He’s not that bad, I promise. Maybe on the way home I’ll convince Ladybird to let you sit up front.”

You huffed, but knew that arguing wouldn’t get you any further. So, you clambered into the back seat beside Kyle, crossing your arms over your chest.

He didn’t look at you when you got in, just kept his gaze out the window, even though the car hadn’t even begun moving.

“Okay, ground rules: Don’t get crumbs all in my mom’s car, she’ll kill me. Driver picks the music, so don’t complain. And if you have to pee, hold it until we get to the venue,” Jenna announced cheerily. “I’m not gonna risk being late for the sake of your bladders.”

You swore you heard Kyle scoff, and your gaze flickered to him.

He caught your eye and regarded you for just a moment, before turning to look out the window again.

God, you wanted to punch him so badly.

The drive went pretty smoothly. Jenna’s music taste was decent, and you caught yourself humming along to a few familiar tunes. If Kyle noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Traffic wasn’t bad, and Jenna’s insistence on getting an early start meant you arrived to the venue in under two hours, as well as early enough to the concert to comfortably use the bathroom, grab some sodas (or alcohol, depending on the place’s stance on carding), and find your seats.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jenna asked you in the bathroom, nudging you playfully as she washed her hands.

“We just sat in silence,” you replied. “So yeah, it wasn’t bad.”

“Do you really hate him, or do you hate that he doesn’t reach out?”

You scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve never liked him. I think he’s rude, and I’d prefer it if he didn’t talk to me at all.”

Jenna gave you a knowing smile that made you want to punch her, too. “If you say so.”

The bar was asking for ID, but thankfully, your friends had planned ahead and snuck some mini-bottles of liquor in their bags.

The concert was amazing. The whole group of you had an amazing time. At one point, you even caught Kyle grinning, strumming the song’s bassline in the air to himself.

It was clearly just the alcohol talking, but you almost found it cute.

“That was fucking incredible,” Ladybird said on the way out.

Your ears were ringing from the volume inside, and the adrenaline was still flowing. “I can’t believe they played that song!”

As you all piled back into Jenna’s car, you’d almost forgotten about the seating situation until that moment. Ladybird had already settled back into shotgun, and you didn’t want to make things awkward by asking her to switch now.

Whatever. You survived the way there, how bad could it be on the way back?

Soon, the post-concert drop began to settle in. Your head throbbed dully, and your feet were sore from dancing. Being tipsy suddenly felt more like being drunk, and being sleepy felt like being exhausted.

Your eyes were already half-shut, your face pressed against the cool glass of the window when you felt a nudge to your leg.

“Hm?”

“That can’t be comfortable. You can put your head on me, if you want.”

You did so, without questioning it.

In your drunken, tired state, you’d forgotten who you were sitting next to. It wasn’t until the car was pulled into Jenna’s driveway that you awoke and realized what had happened. You and Kyle had both passed out in the back of the car, your head on his chest, and his face pressed into your hair.

To top it all off, one of your friends had brought a disposable camera and taken a photo of the two of you, so there was permanent proof of your moment of weakness.

You were suddenly questioning why you were friends with any of these people.

The girls were all spending the night at Jenna’s, while Kyle and the guys were going home.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” you muttered to Kyle.

“It’s fine. I offered, don’t you remember?” he replied.

“Oh, I guess that part slipped my mind,” you said, gaze focused on the ground.

He took a step closer, and brought a hand to your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. “I know we haven’t always gotten along. I’m just shit at making conversation. I don’t like getting to know new people, so when Jenna introduced you, I was skeptical. But now...I’d be willing to make an exception for you.”

You rolled your eyes. “What changed all of a sudden?”

“The way you were dancing tonight. And singing. You looked so free,” he said.

“I caught you playing air-guitar,” you whispered.

You swore you saw his cheeks flush. “Bass, actually.”

“Bass, whatever.”

“Come to my next show? We can go out to eat after, or something.”

Your heart fluttered. It wasn’t the alcohol, or the tiredness, or the excitement of the night anymore. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Cool. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

“See you.”

Him and the guys went off, and before they were even out of sight, Jenna and Ladybird were on you like flies, asking you what he’d said.

You just grinned and told them it was nothing, much to their displeasure.

And although you hated to admit it, maybe Kyle wasn’t so bad after all.

#kyle scheible imagine #kyle scheible x reader #kyle scheible #kyle ladybird #kyle x reader #Timothee Chalamet #ladybird #ladybird fic #*

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high-supernatural · 4 years ago

Text

You Have Me Written All Over You (take 2)

Kai Parker x Female Reader (y/n)

Word Count: 2593

Warnings: Smut, Kai is consensually (a little more than the last one) mean, but also very sweet at points, knife play, wrist ties.

Summary: Kai and reader annoy each other on the road trip until Kai makes her pull over into the forest. Extra juicy at the end.

*pic from google*

---------------

Kai and y/n drove for about an hour before y/n decided to take a nap in the passenger seat.

“I think I’m gonna take a nap,” y/n said

“I tire you out that much?”

“No, you’re just boring, and your music taste is old,” y/n smiled and laid her head against the window. “Wake me up if something interesting happens.”

She dozed off periodically. Between Kai playing his music and singing obnoxiously loud, purposely hitting bumps, and pretending like they’re about to wreck to get her reaction, y/n slept pretty decently.

She woke up to the car stopped, Kai gone, in a parking lot. She decided to rest her eyes until he got back a few minutes later.

“Oh good,” he opened the door, “you’re up, I got you something,” he held out an energy drink.

“Kai I’m sleep deprived that’s not gonna do anything, I need sleep,” she rubbed her eyes.

“C’moooon, this road trip is so boring with you sleeping through it,”

“Well you shouldn’t have made me stay up all night then,” she said and closed her eyes again.

“Fine, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you sleep for two hours, but then you’re driving,”

“I don’t even know where we’re going,” y/n said, “but if you promise?”

“You can even sleep on me,” Kai smiled.

y/n laid her head on Kai’s arm and drifted off again. He loved watching her sleep, it was almost the only time she looked at peace, it was the only time he could really admire her in ways he was too nervous to do while she was awake.

He periodically rubbed his thumb on her face, and kissed her on the head gently, not to wake her. Every time her head would start to fall he would make sure it stayed on his shoulder.

He carefully moved her to lean on the passenger side door after two hours on the dot, and pulled over. She woke from the feeling of kisses and bites down her neck and a knot in her stomach.

“Oh my god, Kai,” she exclaimed, waking up right before another magic-induced orgasm.

He took his hands away right before she could finish and whispered in her ear, “it’s your turn to drive,” biting her ear before getting out of the car.

y/n got out too, “you can’t just wake me up like a normal person?” she half-yelled.

As they passed each other when changing seats Kai grabbed the front of her waist and leaned her against the hood of the car, “nothing about us is normal, y/n, and you know that because you know I could start making you scream my name on the hood of the car in front of this whole parking lot and nobody could say anything about it.” He pushed his way off her and kept walking to the other side of the car leaving her speechless.

She sighed in mixed emotions when she got to the drivers seat. Kai silently put his seatbelt on and was quiet for once.

“Where’s the music?” y/n asked

“Kai, where’s the music?” She asked louder. She took an earbud out of his ear, “really? You had those the whole time and just didn’t use them? I want to listen to music and the music is on your phone,” she got annoyed.

“That’s too bad,” he said, putting his earbud back in.

“Where am I going?”.... “KAI, where am I going??”

“Just drive where I was driving I’ll tell you if you need to turn,’ he responded.

She huffed and started driving in silence.

After a while, the silence started to get upsetting and he could see it on her face.

“What’s the deal?” He asked monotone. She didn’t answer so he put his earbud back in.

He started singing again, songs from her playlist to add to the annoyance. This went on for what felt like hours before she pulled over in a random wooded area and got out of the car.

Kai got out too, “where you going?” he asked, “I just need a second,” she responded walking into the woods.

He didn’t follow her, but he listened.

She knew what game he was trying to play with her, it was overwhelming, she hated being ignored by him and he knew that, but there was no way she was going to let him know that. She took a moment and dried her eyes, put her sunglasses back on, and got back in the car where Kai was sitting headphones in again.

After another hour of driving on a straight forest road, Kai lifted his head up and went to place his hand on her leg but was pushed away. He tried again but was pushed away, again.

He sighed and took his headphones off, turning his body to stare at her.

After a while she got annoyed, “what?”

“You wanted my attention, didn’t you?” he said

------(good part below)

She sighed and ignored him so he got closer to her,

“you really want my full attention, y/n?” he twisted a strand of her hair, “pull over again,”

“I just want to get where we’re going,” she said.

“We’re almost there. Let me make it up to you,” he pushed her hair behind her ear to trail down her neck.

She pulled over and started preparing to get out of the car when Kai opened her door, “let’s go for a walk,” he said.

“Kai I’m in a skirt I can’t walk through the forest,”

“C’mon, it’ll be fine, don’t be a baby,” he pulled her behind him until they were out of sight from the highway.

He pulled her into a kiss with his hands on her waist and hers around his neck as he guided her back against a tree, moving her arms from around his neck and down to her sides slowly.

In one movement he put handcuffs around one of her wrists and quickly moved behind her to cuff her other wrist behind the tree.

“Kai what are you doing?!” She asked, he didn’t answer.

She looked around and didn’t see him anywhere. She struggled to get herself free, “Kai this isn’t funny,” she yelled.

He appeared behind her laughing, “you shoulda seen your face, you were all--” he mocked the expressions she made.

“That’s not funny,” y/n said seriously.

Kai stopped laughing and cupped her face again, getting closer, “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you--” he said, “although... we are in the middle of the forest aside a near-abandoned highway... nobody for miles... if I were to let something happen, nobody would hear a thing,” he joked with her but his tone said otherwise.

“Something like me--” he brought his hand to hold her face, kissing her again and pushed her legs open with his other hand.

“We can’t-- in the middle of the forest,” y/n muttered.

“Why not? Does it scare you?” he joked ominously, bringing a knife under her chin to look at him, “because I think I’m the only one you should be scared of,” he finished.

“You don’t scare me, Kai, you wouldn’t do anything to get rid of the girl who saved you,” she said.

“You say that as if I haven’t killed the people who literally gave me life before,” he reminded, “you trust me too much... tell me, do you really trust me with this knife in my hands? Not even inches away from your arteries... or do you just not value your life?”

“Bit of both,” y/n responded.

Kai smirked and grabbed the bottom of her shirt, slicing it off with the knife and nicking her skin between her breasts.

She silently winced.

“Oops,” Kai said sarcastically before leaning down to lick and bite where he had cut her.

He kissed down her torso and looked up at her, “do you want me to keep going,” he asked, making sure she wasn’t actually scared, “yes,” she said quietly.

He unzipped her skirt and let it fall, getting on his knees. He pressed his lips to her core and wrapped his arms behind her legs, spreading them apart and lifting her up slightly.

Kai looked up at her, “look at you, always so eager,” he bit at her core, still looking at her as she winced before getting fully lost in focus as he sucked, bit and licked her core.

y/n wriggled and moaned Kai’s name.

“Oh my god Kai-- Kai jesus christ--” she threw her head back as she came undone under Kai.

He stood up and breathed out, “oh, y/n,” he ran the knife down her torso, “what am I gonna do with all of this?”

He breathed out again, putting the knife in his pocket, looking into the distance and taking his time to put a piece of gum in his mouth.

“Stand there like an awkward prom date by the looks of it,” she said.

He smirked looking at her, roughly taking a breast into his hand, pushing his clothed body against the side of hers, “or I could violate you in ways you didn’t know were possible, y/n,”

He took a small step back and cockily told her, “get on your knees,”

She slid down to her knees with her arms behind the tree and looked up at him.

“Take my pants off,” he demanded.

“I don’t have my hands right now--” Kai cut her off, “guess you should use that little brain of yours to cough up some imagination then,” he looked down at her.

She went to undo his belt with her teeth. “You suck at this,” he said, pulling her by her hair off of him and doing the rest for her.

He held his length in his hand, “stick out your tongue,” he demanded.

She stuck her tongue out and looked up at him as he slid his member on her tongue before sliding it in her mouth.

He looked down at her looking up at him, hallowing her cheeks and bobbing her head.

Kai gripped her hair, tensing his face and closing his eyes, pumping into her mouth, he pushed her head against the tree behind her and pumped into her mouth faster.

She fought against the cuffs, trying to hold his thighs to control his speed but couldn’t. To make her run out of breath even more, he started using his magic to push her to another orgasm.

She moaned and choked around him as she orgasmed and he pushed into her throat farther, filling it with his own orgasm as he pulled her hair tight.

He pulled her to her feet by her hair and attacked her neck with sucking and harsh bites on each side, curling his fingers fast inside of her.

“Kai-- Kai this is too much--” she moaned out, knees about to collapse beneath her.

“Is it, is it really too much y/n,” he said aggressively, he lifted her leg and held it in the crease of his arm as his hand reached to grip around her throat, “I don’t think you know the definition of too much,”

He pulled the toy from earlier out of his pocket. Moving his hand from her throat to under her jaw, “open your mouth,” he slid it into her mouth, “look me in the eyes,” he tightened around her jaw, “look at me,” she looked at him with wet eyes from silently gagging, “you like being exposed to me like this don’t you,” he cocked his head to the side, “tied up and nude for the sociopath.”

He removed the toy from her mouth, “legs wide open for me, I could do anything I wanted, and you know I’m unpredictable...” he looked down and inserted the toy.

y/n gasped and shifted into it. Kai pulled her hair back for her to look at him, “but you like that, don’t you?” he asked, moving the toy in and out faster than she could moan. Kai chuckled, “cat got your tongue?” he asked, pumping harder.

He kept his speed and went back to attacking her neck and chest with his mouth. y/n struggled to keep her knees from buckling under her and screamed in moans. Right before her legs buckled Kai took the toy out and spun her around, pressing her chest against the tree and smacking her ass.

He grabbed a handful of her hair as he stood behind her, making her gasp, letting him put the toy back into her mouth without warning. “You like that don’t you,” he smirked watching her, “you like the way you taste?” She shook her head yes, pulling her own hair with his hand when she did.

He dropped the toy onto the ground and smacked her ass again a few times. Kai placed his hand around her throat again and inserted himself into her with the other, gripping her ass hard enough to leave marks as he thrust into her hard, pushing her chest into the tree.

“My god...” he breathed out, getting close to her ear, “your pussy is priceless y/n,” he breathlessly said.

He pulled her hair so she was looking over her shoulder at him thrusting into her at fast paces. She closed her eyes a moaning mess before he snaked his arm under her breasts back to her jaw, smacking her ass again he went faster.

She screamed obscenities' along with his name, feeling like she could buckle and pass out at any moment before harsh bites up her shoulder snapped her out of it.

He took his belt from around his jeans and put it around her throat to pull her head back, arching her back farther for him. He pulled out of her, leaning to bite her ribs and ass, pulling his belt with him as he moved down. She whined in pleasure/pain as she felt blood rushing to build bite shaped bruises where he went. “You’re perfect,” he said, resuming where he left off.

He reached to her wrists, slowing his pace so he could remove the cuffs she had around her and crossed her arms behind her back, holding them in place as her face and chest rubbed against the tree harder, leaving more marks.

He finished without warning, pushing far into her a few times as they both moaned.

He pulled out of her and let go of her arms to pull her into one more aggressive hug from behind, cupping her breast again, “I love you, y/n, there’s not anyone else I can imagine being toxic with,” he kissed her neck, “I love you, Kai,” she whispered.

He spun her around to admire and kiss the marks he had left on her torso before putting his own shirt over her head for her to wear, helping her to get dressed.

He made sure they grabbed everything before picking her up bridal style, “wouldn’t want your wobbly legs falling on the way to the car,” he kissed her again.

----

He drove the rest of the way to a fancy hotel where they took a bath together to ease the soreness.

When they got out and wrapped themselves in towels Kai disappeared for a second before standing inches away from her again.

“y/n those marks aren’t enough to say you’re mine,” he spoke.

“what do you mean,” she breathed.

“those marks are temporary, but we aren’t,” he got on one knee and took her hand.

“would you be mine, forever?” He pulled out a big ring, “you already know,” she smiled.

#kai parker #kai parker x reader #kai parker x you #kai parker x y/n #kai parker imagine #malachai parker #tvd #tvd fanfiction #tvd au #kai parker smut #kai parker fluff

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forcefullyawake · 3 years ago

Text

Hello! This is for @ketslketslketsl claws and creampies collab.

Summary: It’s not every day a pretty girl gives you her number, or pursues you so much. Sure, it looks like Mikasa is hiding something, but how bad could it be?

Pairings: Mikasa x Reader, Monster! Eren x Reader

Warnings: non human sex, noncon, violence, tentacles, gaslighting

WC: 4.8k

You look like an idiot.

There’s really no way around it. The dress your friend had all but forced you into is a little too tight, the straps on it digging into your plump flesh a little too much. The color on your lips is a little too red, the makeup on your eyes a little heavier than you’d ever done before. All of this to stand out, to show to the party at large that not only were you available but you were looking- something you hadn’t gone out of your way to advertise before. Your friends say that you look hot before you leave, but you think you look like you’re trying to hard.

It’s especially obvious when you’re handed a red solo cup as soon as you walk into the door, and immediately find a place on the wall to people watch. Nobody gives you a second glance (well, maybe a couple do, but at the resting frown on your face nobody gives you a third or tries to strike up a conversation). All of the makeup in the world can’t overcome the fact that you just don’t like talking to new people. Hell, even the friends you came with tonight basically adopted you into their friend group your first week of college, instead of you engaging them.

People filter through the home all around you, some dancing where there’s open space, grinding on each other to a low thumping beat that reverberates through your chest. You have to shift on the uncomfortable heels you’re wearing, trying to subtly grind your thighs together. It’s not like you don’t want that- it’s not like you don’t want to throw caution to the wind and disappear upstairs with some pretty boy or gorgeous girl. It’s just that you don’t know how- it’s like you missed that lesson in school, too wrapped up in a book to learn to relate to people who didn’t exist on a page.

Your mother says it’s not too late to get out there and learn about these things, but it feels that way sometimes. In times like these, it’s hard to gather up the courage to strike up a conversation, even when you’re on your second drink. At least you think it’s your second drink- whatever is in your cup is red and fruity, and it doesn’t taste like there’s much alcohol in it, which even in your limited experience you know is a sure sign there’s probably a whole bottle or two of something in it. It makes your head swim a little, it’s nice in a way but it mostly makes you sleepy.

Maybe you can call an Uber. You can find one of your friends to let them know you’re leaving, call an Uber and go to sleep at an almost decent hour. Let them have all the fun, and the hangovers, while you get a solid eight hours of sleep. At least it’s the weekend, and you have two days of freedom before your job takes up your time again. Your eyes start slowly scanning the crowd, looking for anybody you know- Annie, maybe, she’s tall and her blonde hair sticks out. Or Reiner, the lone male in your group, but knowing him he’s snuck off with Bertolt the first chance they got. Lucky bastard.

“You look lonely,” Someone says to your right, and when you look over there’s a girl standing there. She’s a couple inches taller than you, slender but the sleeves on her shirt are short enough you can see her muscles too. Black hair, pulled back into a ponytail, a dainty gold chain resting on the pale skin of her neck with a little ‘M’ on it. Startling grey eyes that are doing their level best to bore into your skin. Definitely not the type to talk to you.

“Just trying to find my friends,” You say, but it mostly comes out as a whisper. She leans forward a little more, so you repeat yourself, a little louder. There’s a slight edge to her smile when she realizes you’re alone, you think, something about it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It must be a trick of the light, though, because the next moment it’s gone.

“It might be easier to find them if you’re in the crowd,” She says, murmuring right next to your ear, her breath dancing over your skin, “They could be upstairs, even. I could help you.”

You mean to say no, thanks but no thanks, you’ll be on your way. Your parents talked to you about stranger danger, and you’re on the wrong side of tipsy but what comes out of your mouth is, “Yes, please.” She smiles, victorious and promising.

“I’m Mikasa,” She tells you, putting her hand low on your back as you move away from the wall. The way the dress is designed, all wrapping layers, means there’s a gap in the fabric on your lower back, just enough that you can feel her hand on your skin, cool against you despite how warm it is in the room. You give her your name, watching as she repeats it to make sure she has it correct, eyes rapt on the way her lips move around it.

She doesn’t guide you upstairs, but closer into the makeshift dance floor. It feels like a scene out of one of the romance novels you have tucked away on your bookshelf at home. People seem to part around you, time stands still, all the cliche’s come to life. Her hands are on your hips as she moves behind you, steady and squeezing into you just enough to make your heart race. Mikasa isn’t especially broad but you feel remarkably safe with her right behind you.

“See anybody you know?” She has to lean down to speak in your ear, and between the alcohol and how close she is, you’re not sure you would even recognize your own face. You can feel her moving in time with the music, your own hips starting to sway with hers. Your eyes drift shut, letting her hands wander over your sides, skimming up to right under your breasts before the make a trail like fire back down to your hips. Maybe this isn’t so bad, you think, as you let yourself turn in her arms, her thigh moving between yours.

You’d think it’s a dream, that you did go home when you thought to, and your mind was wandering but the pleasure that courses through your when her jeans rub against your clothed cunt feels too good to be a dream.

“You do this often?” She asks, drawing you back to earth. All you can do is shake your head, arms coming up to wrap around her neck. She laughs at that, mouth forming words you can’t quite make out when you hear your name being called.

“I think your friends have found you,” Mikasa smiles, taking a step back as she eyes someone over your shoulder. Your hands drift back to yourself, helpless in the air before she catches one, grabbing a pen out of her back pocket to scribble something on the back of your hand. She presses a kiss on it when she’s done, giving you a warm smile.

“Call me,” She says, before being swallowed into the bodies behind her. On your hand there’s a phone number. You hold your hand close to your chest as your friends surround you.

“There you are!” Annie hisses at you, wrapping a protective arm around you, “What were you doing with her?”

“Mikasa?” You ask, glancing behind you like you would still be able to see her, “She was helping me look for you. You left me.”

“She looked like she wanted to eat you alive,” Reiner huffs, Bertolt nodding in agreement. You roll your eyes at them.

“Maybe you’re just seeing things,” You suggest, pulling away from them, “Either way I think I’m going to head out. You know this isn’t my scene.”

“I’ll drive you,” Annie says, looking over your shoulder, “Armin is ready to go too.”

“Thanks,” You walk with Annie and her boyfriend to her hatchback, stretching out your legs in the backseat. You ignore their hand holding and longing looks. Clearly, when Annie said Armin was ready to go, she didn’t just mean home. At least the drive home is short. You say your goodbyes and make your way into your apartment, locking the door behind you before getting ready for bed.

Normally you would be tired, but there’s a thrumming in your veins, an undercurrent of excitement at the number written on your skin. You enter it into your phone, debating on sending Mikasa a text, but you hold off, not wanting to seem overeager. Still, you toss and turn, your skin feeling overly sensitive, each brush of your sheets feeling like the brush of fingers.

With a sigh you give up on sleep, rolling onto your back, one hand trailing down your neck while the other pushes up your sleep shirt, fingers skimming up, cupping one breast. You let your eyes close, imaging someone else touching you, Mikasa’s fingers being the ones to curl around your neck, her fingers tweaking at your nipples until they’ve pebbled. You picture her lips, her tongue, when you spread your lips, fingers making tight circles around your clit. It’s not you touching yourself, but her, playing your body like a fiddle until you cum, quicker than you can remember in recent memory, hard and fast, one hand smothering down your moans from your neighbors.

Maybe it should concern you though- no matter how hard you concentrate on Mikasa, picturing her above you, or between your legs, you can seem to recall the color of her eyes.

They only look red in your memory.

Dawn rises bright and early, pulling you from your sleep. You wake up with your heart racing, pounding in your chest. You don’t remember much of your nightmare, only that something was chasing you, nipping at your heels as you ran for your life. With a shudder you roll out of bed, thoughtlessly grabbing your phone to take it with you to the bathroom.

You gather courage as you brush last night out of your teeth, compose a text while washing your face, and hit send right before you step into the shower. It’s nothing special, a quick text that lets Mikasa know it’s you. Your phone balances precariously too close to your shower, music playing steadily out of it when the sound cuts off- your ringtone starts to play. You’re getting a call.

Grabbing your towel from where it rests you dry your hand, half your body out of the shower as you take the call without checking who it is. Nobody calls anymore, you assume it’s an emergency.

“Hello?” You try not to sound too panicked. The voice on the other end laughs, low and throaty.

“I thought I said to call me?” Mikasa teases you, can you feel your skin heating up for a reason that has nothing to do with the shower. There’s no way to turn the water off from where you are now, not without getting your phone soaked, and you’re sure she can hear exactly where you are. “Though, maybe I should give you a call back.”

“Give me ten seconds, don’t hang up,” You say, not listening for her reply as you place the phone back onto the counter. Reaching over to twist the shower off, ignoring the soap left on your body to grab your towel and wrap it around you properly. It’s not enough but it’ll have to do.

“Still there?” You ask as you make yourself comfortable on the bed. Your sheets are gonna get wet but it’s worth it. Your skin is cold where the air hits it, but you don’t wanna hang up, not yet.

“Of course,” Mikasa breathes, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. “I know it’s a bit old fashioned to call people now, but I find it’s a much better way of communicating with people, don’t you?”

No, you don’t. You get flustered and stutter over your words, so you much prefer texting where you can make sure you say what you want to, but you certainly can’t tell Mikasa that and so- “Yeah, I think so too. It’s hard to read tone over text.”

That part isn’t a lie, at least. Mikasa’s laugh is like honey in your ears. “You don’t have to lie, I can put you out of your misery now, if you’d like. Send some texts with the letter u as you.” Her teasing doesn’t sting you, not even a little bit.

“Or we could just meet up?” You suggest, breath catching in your throat as you wait for her reply. It could be that you’ve completely misread the situation, maybe she’s just being nice, maybe she doesn’t like girls, maybe-

“Give me an address and I’ll pick you up tonight at 7,” Mikasa replies, so smooth and confident it makes your head swim a little. You rattle off your address and she tells you to dress casual before hanging up. You have all day to get ready but you start immediately, drying your hair and styling it before picking out what you hope is a casual enough outfit- a soft white sweater over a sundress patterned with strawberries. A few swipes of pink makeup later and you’re set.

Now all you have to do is wait.

It feels like the hours manage to double themselves, or even triple themselves. A whole lifetime of waiting in one day until you manage to lose track of time and doze off on the couch. Three sharp knocks on your door startle you awake, sending you flying towards the door.

“I’m awake!” You practically shout, throwing the door open. “I mean. Hello. Hi. Can we do that again?”

“No, it was cute,” Mikasa says, smiling at you. You can feel heat rush to your cheeks, trying to ignore it. You’re not sure if you should invite her in but she solves that problem for you. “Are you ready? The place I’m taking you isn’t that far away.”

“Just let me get my shoes on,” You say, quickly turning to slide your feet into the first pair of sandals you see, strappy ones that make you trip if you’re not careful. But it’s fine. You know you’ll be careful tonight.

Mikasa leads you to her car, a silver hatchback. The interior looks spotless, and there’s an almost overwhelming smell of cleaner permeating through the car. You buckle yourself in before looking at her.

“Got it detailed just for me?” You think your voice is teasing but Mikasa stiffens, inhaling sharply as she looks at you. Her reaction takes you aback. “Whoa. Sorry. Teasing!” Mikasa relaxes almost imperceptibly at that, but you can see her shoulders sag down a little.

“Sorry, normally nobody notices how clean a car is,” She says, “Took me off guard. You’re very perceptive.”

“A lifetime of being a wallflower,” You reply without thinking, “You get good at people watching, all that jazz.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” She teases you back now, bringing a smile to your face. She’s right, the place she takes you isn’t that far away and the drive passes smoothly as she pulls into the parking lot of your towns oldest diner. You sit up straighter in your seat- you haven’t been here since you were a kid.

“It’s a little old fashioned, I know,” Mikasa says as she gets out, and you must be distracted because the next thing you know she’s opening your door for you, and there’s no way she moved that fast. “But the ice cream floats here are to die for.”

“Oh no, this is great!” You exclaim, walking next to her into the diner. She asks for a booth in the corner, something you didn’t know people did outside of your romance novels.

“Order whatever you want,” Mikasa says, barely giving the menu a glance. “It’s my treat.” Your mother didn’t raise you to take advantage of someone’s generosity even on a date so you order a small combination meal- though you do opt to upgrade your drink to an ice cream float at Mikasa’s insistence you try one.

“What do you do for work?” You ask, trying not to cringe at your attempt at small talk while you wait for your food to come out.

“I’m.. uh,” Mikasa hesitates now, looking anywhere but your face. It takes her a fraction of a second too long to answer, just enough time to make you frown when she continues, “I’m a caregiver.” Even to you it sounds like a half truth, but you let it slide, not wanting to be too pushy on a first date.

“Oh?” You say, shifting in your seat, “How did you get started in that?”

“It just kind of.. picked me, I suppose.” Mikasa still isn’t meeting your eyes and you figure it’s time for a change of subject.

“How do you know Historia?” There, that should be a safe question. She was at Historia’s party last night, after all.

“We were friends way back in elementary school,” Mikasa explains, clearly relieved to have moved to something different. “I live one neighborhood over from her, so we’ve already just hung out together.” That makes sense to you- Annie has known Historia since high school, and Annie seemed to know of Mikasa.

“Got any embarrassing stories?” You know you probably shouldn’t ask but you can’t resist. The Historia you know is almost regal in nature, prim and perfect at all times. You can’t even imagine her as a child.

“Oh, do I ever,” Mikasa says, voice a little lower as she leans towards you, launching into a story from her childhood. You hardly notice your food appearing, and then barely taste it as you eat, hanging on Mikasa’s every word. She’s funny and engaging, and it’s not until you hear the pointed cough of the man behind the register that you realize it’s closing time for them.

“Yeah, Zeke, we’re going,” Mikasa says with a roll of her eyes as she pays him. He huffs at her a little bit but soon enough the two of you are sitting inside of her car, an awkward silence growing. What do you say now? You don’t want this date to end but would it be to forward to invite her over? Or will she invite you over? You don’t get too far into your thoughts when the car starts moving.

“Do you wanna come over?” She asks, the car sitting long at a stop sign. She’s looking dead ahead, fingers gripping the wheel so hard it turns white. She’s just as nervous as you are, you realize.

“Yes, please,” You manage to breathe out before continuing on, not wanting to sound rude, “If you want me to, that is.”

“Trust me, I want you to,” Mikasa replies, something laced in her voice but she doesn’t relax at all on the drive to her place. The drive is quiet, tense in a way you don’t understand, but there’s still an electric current in your veins as her house comes into view. It’s one neighborhood over from where you were last night, just like she said, a small place that looks like a two bedroom.

“I got it from my parents,” She explains as she leads you inside, locking the door behind you. “When they passed.” You’re not sure what to say at that but the moment passes. Mikasa leads you to the couch.

Now what?

“So,” You start, barely getting the word out before her lips are pressed against yours, pushing you back onto the couch. Her mouth is firm on yours, insistent. Her hands are on you, sliding down your sides, teasing your thighs under the hem of your dress. Her mouth moves to your neck, biting and kissing and sucking her way down.

It’s a lot, almost too much. You want to tell her to stop, to slow down a little but Mikasa presses forward, your dress sliding up as she slides down between your legs. The shadows on the wall dance in a weird way, that doesn’t seem to move with the way the lights are. You can’t voice anything as Mikasa’s mouth covers your pussy, mouthing at it over your underwear. Her spit wets the fabric, her tongue dragging over your clit, making your eyes roll back. Your fingers curl into fists at your side, legs spreading wider to accommodate her shoulders- which you realize seem too wide now.

You’re so close when your eyes finally open and you look down.

Mikasa isn’t between your legs.

Whatever’s taken her place isn’t human, the face looks human enough but his body (and he’s definitely a him- you think you almost recognize him) blends in with the shadow, tentacles sliding up behind him, reaching out for you.

“Hello,” The monster says, ignoring the way you scream. You manage to twist free, catching him by surprise as your hand shoots out to scratch right at his eyes. You’re on your feet, running as you hear two voices call out your name.

But your shoes, your stupid strappy sandals- your ankle rolls in them and then something grabs you before you fall completely, your head slamming against the front door as everything does dark.

“Wake up,” A harsh voice commands you. It’s a growl, in human and it seems to be inside of your head. You ignore it, trying to roll over, thinking you’re dreaming but you can’t move. That makes your eyes shoot open.

“You’re up!” The monster is looming over you, using it’s many tentacles to hold you down. Your clothes are gone, the cold air biting at your skin. You’re not even sure how it’s this cold inside of a bedroom, one that looks to be incredibly decorated as well. There’s a chair in the corner, a plush blanket under you. It almost looks like a hotel room.

“Mikasa brought you just for me,” It tells you , leaning in close, his tongue coming out to lick at your throat. “You’re so sweet, I can’t wait to play with you, can’t wait to eat you right up!”

“Let- let go of me!” You shout, trying to make your voice as loud as possible. Maybe a neighbor will hear you. Maybe the monster doesn’t like loud noises. “Mikasa!”

“You can scream all you want, nobody is coming to save you,” The monster seems to delight in the way his cruel words make you cry. “It’s just me and you.” It pauses. “Maybe I’ll let Mikasa play with you a little too, before I kill you. She really liked you, she almost didn’t want to give you to me.”

He leans closer, speaking into your ear, rancid breath sweeping over you, “But I insisted. And she won’t ever deny me.”

“Eren,” Mikasa’s voice comes from the door way, “There’s no need to be cruel.” She’s not looking at you at all, looking rapturously at the monster on top of you. She looks in awe, in love even.

And not even slightly afraid of him.

“You know they taste better when they’re afraid, Mikasa, how many times do I have to tell you that?” The monster, Eren, snaps at her, hardly giving her a second glance. A tentacle creeps up your leg, twisting around it, the tip grazing over your cunt. A shudder of revulsion runs through you when it taps your clit, sending a spark of pleasure through you. “It’s better when they fight it. It always is.”

“Whatever you say, Eren,” Mikasa gives a sigh, taking up the seat you saw before. She’s wearing sweat pants now, a sports bra, looking like she’s just came in from working out. There’s a light sweat on her skin.

“Going to watch this time?” Eren asks, shifting so he’s to your side now, his tentacles holding you open, putting you on display. You try to close your legs but he’s too strong, his grip too tight. “Normally you don’t. Is this one special?”

“You know as well as I do that she’s just like the rest of them,” Mikasa says, and that, more than anything is what breaks you. A sob tears from your throat, as reality comes crashing in. You’re nothing more than a mark- she was never really into you at all.

Of course, you think, why would anybody like her be into someone like you?

More of his tentacles come up, holding your pussy open to their gazes. Despite her harsh words Mikasa has a hard time looking away from it. Eren’s tentacles are softer than they look as one circles your clit, drawing wetness from you no matter how much you tell yourself you don’t want this.

The tip of the tentacle is insistent though, circling your clit with more pressure until your hips jump up, chasing after it when Eren moves it back. He laughs, mocking and mean, before returning to his ministrations. He’s not soft in the way he touches you, one tentacle coming up to start to slowly push it’s way inside of you. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever taken before and it hurts.

“Stop,” You whine, hips twisting away from him as much as you can, “It hurts, please, stop!”

“I’ll stop when I’ve had my fill,” Eren replies, his voice mockingly sweet as the tentacle rams into you, splitting you open. The one circling your clit has left, leaving you reeling as your mind focuses in on the pain. The pace he sets is brutal, and his tentacle doesn’t feel like a cock or any of your toys. It squirms inside of you, pushing upwards along your front wall until-

“Fuck!” You wail now, thrashing on the bed. Eren smiles, and Mikasa gives a little whimper. You manage to look at her only to see her sat low in the chair, her own legs spread, with one of her hands down the front of her sweats, clearly touching herself while the other works at one of her nipples. “Please!”

“I knew you would beg,” Eren sounds delighted, “They always beg!” Your words seem to be what he was waiting for- the tentacle returns to your clit while the other attacks that spongy spot inside of you. You’re crying outright now, absolutely sobbing with- with everything, really. Your cries are of pleasure, of pain, of fear, of ecstasy. You cum harder than you ever have in your entire life.

But Eren doesn’t stop.

He keeps going, now moving to to lap up your juices with his tongue, cleaning you as one orgasm trips into the next, and then another. You can’t tell if you ever really come down from one. It’s too much, it hurts again, and you don’t want this- you know you don’t want this, you want him to stop and-

You pass out, somewhere after what you think is an hour, if not more. Your mind blissfully goes blank, locking you away behind a door, away from your fractured reality.

People are talking above you, in quiet, hushed tones.

“We can’t keep her.”

“You said you just wanted a snack tonight, Eren. Not.. not that.”

“She’ll go to the police.”

“They won’t believe her, you know that. They didn’t believe Historia.”

“Historia was a child.”

“I’ll convince her she fell asleep or something, you know I can.”

“Fine. But Mikasa?”

“Yes?”

“Next time she’s mine.”

You don’t hear anything after that.

“Hey,” Mikasa is by your side. You’re back on her couch, clothes in place. You jerk up, away from her, looking for signs of what happened but there’s nothing. You don’t see any bruising. You feel sore between your legs, but nothing that would match what you went through. “You fell asleep. After we fucked.”

That’s not true, you know it isn’t true but the only other explanation doesn’t make sense. Monsters aren’t real. You weren’t… assaulted by one. Mikasa has to be right.

“Oh,” You struggle to sit up, feeling sluggish. “I’m sorry. I’m normally not like that.” The smile on Mikasa’s face is warm, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I think I need to go home. I don’t feel so good. Can you take me?”

“Sure, of course,” Mikasa sounds relieved. That’s good, you think, she’s not mad at you. It must have been awkward for her when you fell asleep, had that nightmare. It felt so real. She helps you gather up your things. One of the straps on your sandal is broken. You’re not sure how but it’s a short walk to her car, you can go barefoot.

She starts it up, already talking to you about meeting up again, maybe next week if you want? You tell her it sounds nice, that you had a really good time tonight. You can’t tell how she’s lying through her teeth.

You give her home one last look as she pulls the car away.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think the shadow in the window had a face, that it waved at you.

But you know better.

Monsters aren’t real.

#collabs #mikasa x reader #eren x reader #noncon tw #gaslighting tw #violence tw #non human sex tw

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