#if I were to pick one up off the counter and roll it around (I probably couldn't.. I tried to lift a corner of one and they seemed very

[alchemistc]

@liminalmemories21 - this isn't exactly what you asked for but:

Abby C. 8:51 PM: So how'd it go? With the talking?

Buck stares at the message. Stares at the milk frother sitting in his counter, and the candlesticks he'd really considered dropping off the side of his upper balcony, ten minutes ago. (He's a firefighter, he knows how that ends. But, like. Still)

Bad, he texts back. So bad. But he also won't give me my sweatshirt back and I know he has it. Any sage advice?

It's a little weird to be texting her. She'd been one of the first people he'd ever talked to consistently on the phone, and he'd grown to enjoy it, grown to appreciate that voice in his ear.

Abby texts back immediately: I'm not entirely sure I know what that means. He actually LIKED you.

Buck can feel the buzzing under his skin, the rush of adrenaline at remembering Tommy not only not denying he'd loved Buck, but admitting off-hand that he still did.

It means I'm getting my man back, Buck sends, and then stares at the slippers he can see poking out from the right side of the bed.

His phone rings.

"You know," Abby starts, before Buck can so much as greet her. "I spent a long time beating myself up for not seeing this as a sign, but that's not the point."

"What... is the point?"

Abby chuckles. She sounds good. Happy. Buck is far enough removed from it to feel glad for her, and jealous of her, and then he's rolling right back around to being fucking livid that Abby and Tommy had both run. Different reasons, same result. A first of Buck's that'd just walked away.

"He used to watch movies with my mom constantly. All the terrible schlock that I couldn't stand - Hallmark movies, and D-Lister rom coms, all those trite based on true events Lifetime shows."

Buck nods. Waits for her to continue.

She doesn't.

"I'm not picking up what you're dropping down."

"He and my mom would just critique them all the way through. Just tear them to shreds. What was unrealistic, what was just plain stupid. She - mom was never more lucid than when she and Tommy were bemoaning the lack of reality in those movies."

"Listen, I already know asking him to move in with me was a dumb idea. I'm the himbo, remember?"

Abby pauses. "...that's what he called you?"

"Apparently all your mutual friends did."

Abby sighs. "The point is, Buck. They liked watching them because they liked talking about what real relationships were actually like. What happened after a curtain close kiss, how much a couple was gonna fight over the financial sustainability of a Christmas themed donut shop, what the fiance that got left behind in the big city was gonna do now that they were finally free of the person who'd spent the holiday season losing their entire brains. Tommy's a realist. He wants to be stopped before he gets on the plane, but he wants to be stopped because you already have a ten step plan to make things work. And he's terrified of giving too much of himself away to someone who thinks he shits rainbows and puppies and hasn't reckoned with the fact that he's just as screwed up as the rest of us."

"You swear more than I remember."

Abby laughs. " But you see my point?"

Buck doesn't want to. But he does. "Well, I definitely don't think he's perfect anymore."

"And you still love him." She says it like she knows. She says it like she'd once expected to spend a life with Tommy Kinard.

"And I still love him," Buck acknowledges, and they both drift into silence. It's comfortable. Easy. He sort of misses being able to talk to her about shit like this.

"Call me if you need anything, Buck."

Buck hangs up the phone with a million new, vaguely more hopeful thoughts swirling around in his brain.

Twenty minutes later he texts her one more time: This is the only sex thing you're getting from me - that thing he does with your nipples? What the fuck?

Abby C. 9:22 PM: I taught him that. You're welcome.

Tommy ignores the knock at his door. He's in day three pajamas and the only person who might make the effort to check in on him is his exes best friend. Which.

The knocking continues.

It's getting louder.

There's a Kings game on in the background and he's been elbow deep in the Jeep manual he'd finally cracked open in some sort of weird, fucked up pattern of mourning.

Tommy's never gonna buy a fucking Jeep. He hates them. You own one for more than five years and more than half the parts are replacement parts.

He's been staring at a diagram of the timing belt for half an hour, at least. The last thing he remembers about the game is Kuemper letting in three goals on five shots and somehow the Kings are up two, now, and there's still 25 minutes of game time left.

Tommy reaches for the remote. Turns the volume up.

The knocking returns less than a minute later.

---

There's a box of odds and ends tucked under the table in his entryway. He avoids looking at it. He knows there are a few things missing from it and he really doesn't want to examine what he'll have to do to avoid giving it to Eddie tonight. He cut the cords, he shouldn't be lingering watching the frayed edges sway in the wind, clutching his line like there's anything braced on the other side of it.

Evan's oldest, softest LAFD hoodie, the one that's technically too small for both of them but has stretched shockingly evenly and is definitely not sitting unwashed at the bottom of Tommy's laundry basket. The program from a recital of Denny's they'd stopped by to support him for, on their way out of town for a long weekend. Evan's stupid keto bread and the milk frother he'd left behind three months ago and never bothered to grab because he had more than one.

Whoever is at his door is still fucking knocking, and suddenly Tommy doesn't feel like being polite. He'll shove the box in Eddie's arms and tell him to fuck off and close the last few remaining open doors he has to this.

Only when he swings the door wide it's not Eddie on the other side, and the box nearly takes out whatever Evan - Buck, Jesus Christ - has in his own arms.

Not a Tommy box - too small for all the shit that he'd left behind. He misses the house slippers that had had a permanent spot tucked under the left side of the bed.

Tommy flinches, reels away, tries to shove the box away before Buck can see its contents.

"What are you doing here?" Even tone. No quiver in his voice. He's been called rude and dismissive for less.

Buck scowls. Hefts the rectangular dish in his hands and shoves past Tommy before Tommy can blink.

It's silly to say he chases after him, down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he's not exactly following along behind at a casual leisurely pace.

The glass pan slams down on his kitchen counter and Buck spends a minute staring at the calendar he was only getting two months out of because he couldn't look at the one with all Buck's notes penned in anymore.

"Wow," Buck says, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"What are you -?"

"Jee and I made you birthday cupcakes," Buck says. His voice is hard. Angry. Hurt. "Happy birthday, asshole."

---

He cracks the lid and there are only three cupcakes inside. Tommy forgets himself. Raises a brow, amusement rolling over him pleasantly, prepared to tease him, but then he catches the set of Buck's legs and the curl of his mouth and the tight way his arm tucks itself back in against his belly, a protective gesture that reminds Tommy very effectively what this is.

"Why?" Tommy wonders aloud, and Evan's scowl deepens.

Buck's scowl.

God.

"We've been planning it for weeks." Something flashes across his eyes before he schools his features. "Jee made me promise to bring you some."

"She must not be a skilled baker," Tommy jokes. "If these are the only ones that made it."

Evan's expression twists. "I ate most of them."

The frosting looks fresh. No creases in the paper cup holding them together.

"I had to make a new batch of frosting because I used some of it for -." He cuts himself off. Looks like he'd like to throw it in Tommy's face but can't quite force himself to hurt Tommy.

It hurts as much as he'd expected, anyway.

The world is a small place. It's not the first time he's had to speak to an ex when he didn't want to. It's never pleasant.

This is worse. The cut and run is supposed to give him time.

Evan Buckley has been an ache behind his ribcage for months, now, long before he'd made that final decision. He'd known it was too little too late. Buck's gonna be the shadow other men see behind his eyes for years.

Buck's apparently found and slept with someone within the week and a half span from Tommy walking out to his sad shitty mopey birthday.

That he'd forgotten about.

Tommy leans in. Picks up a cupcake. Licks a stripe through the frosting and makes a face when he realizes it's buttercream.

"The ones you were supposed to get had the whipped cream one you like," Buck says, accusingly.

That somehow stings just a little bit extra.

Tommy pulls back the paper, takes a bite. There's raspberry filling inside, and Tommy can feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, because when he'd told Evan about how his grandma baked he'd been thinking of Evan being a grandparent, the kind of shit he'd forbidden himself from imagining with anyone he was dating years ago.

"Thank you," he manages, and Buck frowns.

"He thought the whipped cream was too sweet." And Tommy probably deserves this but he's not particularly in the mood.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Buck rolls his jaw. "I just figured you'd wanna know how it's going. Maybe I could tally up the hookups for you, count them all up by gender and stamina and opinions on how I should feel and act and fall for someone. Find out if I'm actually gay enough to be a man's last."

---

The rest of the cupcake kind of collapses and oozes as Tommy smacks it down on the counter. He takes thirty seconds to pull the other two cupcakes out before he's grabbing the too-large fake Pyrex and turning heel. The keto bread goes in the pan. Then the milk frother.

Tommy yanks the recital program off the fridge and tosses it in the trash.

Buck almost looks triumphant.

"The box under the side table has the rest. You can see yourself out."

He actually does exactly as he's told, and Tommy listens to his footsteps drift off, shoulders hunched in and the breath tight in his throat. He'd been cruel, it was only fair Buck got a few final kicks in.

Tommy sucks in a breath and blinks away the moisture at the edges of his vision.

The footsteps take a heel turn at the side table and turn right back around.

"This isn't everything."

Tommy half expects some panned comment about how Tommy's got his heart - the kind of silly shit he'd say to a dead outlaw.

"My sweatshirt," Buck says, and Tommy freezes.

He could lie. He could pretend he had no idea where it was. Claim he didn't remember it even being here, because that particular piece of clothing did have a tendency to travel.

He doesn't fucking want to hand that one over.

Buck smirks, like he's caught the crack, and is looking for ways to exploit it.

"I own my own house!" Tommy says, and it's a terrible launching point but Buck latches on.

"You just left, Tommy! I know I jumped the gun, Tommy, but you didn't even - you just left! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry I didn't know I was into men until you. I'm sorry you had to be my first, I'm sure that must have been such a burden for you."

"That's not fair."

"You didn't even give me a chance. That was - I'm so angry with you, Tommy. I'm so fucking mad."

"I know."

"But that's what you planned for, right? That's - you ripped the bandaid, Tommy, except there's a whole fucking untreated stab wound right underneath and it's still bleeding, Tommy."

"Did you even make this round of cupcakes with your niece?" It's better to keep his family's names out of his mouth. Just keep those ties cut.

Buck looks livid. "No, you idiot, I whipped up a tiny batch of this recipe just for the excuse to see you and - and tell you what a stupid, awful coward you are."

"That's not f-." He isn't sure whether Buck is being facetious about the small batch thing or not. He doesn't have any time to think about it.

"My sister and Chim are having another baby. Bobby and Athena are probably gonna host Christmas this year. Eddie shaved off the mustache and he's, like, dancing now, I guess. Hen and Karen are good for the first time in -." He shakes his head. Stares at Tommy. Tommy can't quite hide from that gaze. "We were good, Tommy. We were - you loved me."

He'd never said the words. Neither had Evan, but they'd both known. Both felt it. Tommy let it go too far, did it scared for longer than he usually would.

"It's not like that just went away when I walked out, Evan," Tommy hisses, and then regrets it immediately.

Evan has spent most of this visit pushing, pressing, digging fingers into the wound to make it hurt.

Evan goes silent now, reeling back a little. He seems shocked that Tommy had admitted it.

"I want you to go," Tommy says. "I need you to go, Buck."

It was the right dagger the first time, but apparently it's only effective once.

"I love you too, you know." His voice is soft. Tommy can't meet his eye. "And I hate you. I hate you even though I know that's what you wanted but I love you too much to not hate you out of spite."

Tommy knows if he caves it's done. He's signing himself over to whatever fucked thing will end them a week, a month, five years, two decades from now.

"Go home, Buck. Hate me there."

---

He goes in for the kill.

"I called Abby, two nights ago."

Right for the jugular. No survivors.

"She laughed for like twenty minutes, and then she tried to get me to chat about our sex life for comparison, and then she was shocked silent for a full minute when I wouldn't." Because Evan had always been a little too open about those details. "She also told me she forgave you but she doesn't think you ever forgave yourself."

Tommy agrees. For all that they'd been terrible for each other, they'd known how the hell to take care of one another like no one's business.

"I want you to go," Tommy says, steady, quiet, nearly a snark for how deep his voice goes to hide the tremor in it.

Buck cocks a hip against the doorframe. "I want my sweatshirt."

The breath that escapes him is shaky, but her think he hides most of it behind the hand over his face, the finger pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this."

"Exactly how many men and women do I have to fuck before you believe the future I'm looking at is with you?"

"All of them! None! It was a stupid thing to say and it's not what I meant and I can't do this."

Buck spins on his heel. Grabs the box he'd set aside and hefts it up into his arms. "I'm coming back for my sweatshirt," he says. "You let me know whether you want to talk about the data points of the sexuality spreadsheet or about us."

"There is no us, Buck." His voice sounds defeated even to himself.

"If that was true you'd just give me the stupid sweater and be done."

Tommy sits in silence. He does not get up to retrieve the hoodie. Buck is still angry, but his smile is wide and bashful.

Tommy listens to his footsteps trail down the hall, towards the door, out of it. He hears the Jeep's ignition catch, the wheels roll off the drive.

He realizes he'd left the goddamn Jeep manual open on the timing belt page, right there on his side table where he'd pointed out the things he wanted Evan to take to clear him from his life.

---

There is someone knocking at his door.

Tommy doesn't quite ignore it.

He hid the sweatshirt in one of his toolbox drawers when Evan texted him this morning to let him know he'd be over with a six pack and a pot of chili.

There's a zero percent chance Evan's getting that sweatshirt back, tonight.

[theereina]

Big Mama Pt. 6

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +2.3K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, no smut, use of pet names (Daddy, Mama, lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, b*tch, etc.), fluff, dirty talk, choking, Dom/Sub(brat)~relationship established

A/N: I don't know how many parts there will be. However, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 4 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 5 => 🦋

*Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

“So, where yo’ man at? He still ain't back yet?” asked Monica. We had been on the phone chatting all morning. “I guess on the lake. He's still probably fishing,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Oh, so he out fishing, and you at home being all domestic and shit. Okay, housewife!” Monica laughed. “Shut the hell up,” I laughed.

I had been cooking all morning since Terry left. I packed his lunch in a cooler before making breakfast earlier that morning. “So, we cooking three meals a day now?” she said being messy. “Listen, you messy whore. Stop picking on me,” I said, smacking my lips. I turned back to the stove and stirred the pot of collard greens. “You right! I'll leave you alone,” Monnie said.

I walked to the fridge and pulled out the variety of shredded cheeses I bought. I poured all of them into a glass bowl I placed on the counter. Since it was too soon to cook it, I only wanted to start preparing the macaroni and cheese for now.

“We both know you're lyin’!” I said into the phone. “Girl, it's just crazy seein’ you like this. It's so fuckin' cute. You all soft and shit,” she said giggling. “Whatever!” I yelled back while rolling my eyes. “You and I both know you ain't never did no shit like this. I'm used to Big Mama who be pressin’ niggas. Now, yo’ ass in the house cookin’ for one,” she hollered. I scoffed at her remark. Was I really that down bad?

I opened the oven and checked on the cornbread. The sweet smell of honey wafted through the air. I lightly pressed the top of the bread checking the firmness. I put on an oven mitt and pulled it from the oven. I sat it on a towel on the counter. “Girl, I wish you could see this cornbread. It's beautiful,” I said smiling. “Only you would call cornbread beautiful. Keep teasing me, and imma pull up, bitch. I'll bring my own Tupperware, so don't worry!” she cackled. “So, you just gone show up to eat, then leave?” I asked. “Well, what else am I supposed to do? Y'all too busy playin’ house and shit!” Monnie stated.

“You know what? Fuck you! I'm getting off the phone,” I snorted. “That's right! You betta have Mister’s plate on that table by the time he make it home. Oh, and bring me back a niece or nephew while you at it,” she giggled. “Bye, and it's still fuck you!” I said, hanging up the phone.

At this point, I was floating through the kitchen— mixing Mac and cheese, stirring collard greens, frying and flipping chicken, and whipping up a banana pudding. It felt so good to be in my happy place.

4 hours later ~ around 7 p.m.

Rinsing off the day, Terry was upstairs taking a shower, and I was finishing the final touches for dinner. The mac and cheese was browned to perfection. The collard greens were flavorful and savory. The fried chicken was chef’s kiss. The cornbread smelled like heaven. The banana pudding was just waiting in the fridge. I had outdone myself. Maybe Monnie was right. Was I in my housewife era? Had Terry put me in soft girl mode? Ah, shit!

As I reached to retrieve the plates from the cabinet, I felt something press against my back. “I got it, mama. Let me,” Terry said, reaching over me. “Thank you,” I said, kissing his cheek. He put the plates down on the counter in front of me. “Shit, I didn't realize you had done all this. You really weren't playin’, huh?” Terry asked, wrapping his arms around my waist. He leaned over and started planting small kisses on my neck.

“If you wanna eat, you gotta leave me alone. The plates haven't even hit the table,” I giggled while shrugging my shoulder to get him to stop. “It’s a shame that a man can't have dessert before dinner,” he said, turning me around to face him. He pressed his body against mine and trapped me against the counter. “Terry, you promised to behave. Come on!” I said, pushing my hip towards him. “No, I promised to try. I did. I swear, but you look so damn good,” he said, placing his arms on the counter beside me. I whined and scrunched my face. Did I want to fuck Terry’s brains out? Yes! However, I had also spent all day cooking his favorite meal and dessert.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Ah, mama! Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. I asked you to cook for me, and you did just that. Thank you, love,” he said pulling me into him. His lips crashed into mine. He held my face in his hands and tilted my head to look him in the eyes. “Forgive me?” he asked flashing that devious smile. This sneaky bastard knew how to get me. “Yes, now move!” I said nudging him away from me.

Terry reached for the plate in front of me. “I said move. Didn't I? That means sit down, Terry!” I said rolling my eyes and laughing. I turned towards the counter, blocking him. “My bad. I don’t know what it is, but you knowin’ yo’ way around a kitchen like this makes me wanna…,” he said backing away from me. “Makes you wanna what?” I questioned as I turned around to look at him. Terry’s eyes lingered on my face and slowly dropped to my abdomen. A smile so sinister spread over his face. “I know damn well you aren’t suggestin’ that. A baby, Terry?” I scoffed while smiling. “I mean… You love me, right?” he asked while sitting at the table.

“First, it was Monnie talkin’ about bring her back a niece or nephew. Now, you! I can't deal with this. Why does everybody want me to get pregnant?” I laughed. “I don't know Monnie’s reasons because I wouldn't trust her to watch a pot of boiling water. However, I know mine, and I have… well,… many,” he said leaning back against the kitchen chair. He raised his arms so that they rested across the back. “And what might those be? Hm? I really wanna know, sir. Tell me,” I said as I turned to the food waiting on the stove.

“Don't worry about it, Mama. Just know I haven't found a reason not to. I'm just waitin' on you,” he said smiling. “Yo’ ass gone be waitin' a long ass time, too. A baby? Terry, you can't be serious!” I squealed. “A long ass time, huh? That's what you think. Imma get one out of you, ‘Vana. Best believe, I'm not gone have to trap you to do it either,” he cackled. “You know what? I'm not doin' this with you!” I said beginning to plate the food.

20 minutes later

“Done, baby?” I asked Terry while standing with my plate in my hand. “Uh,… Yeah,’’ Terry said. “You sound unsure. Baby, I ain't gone ever tell you you can't have more,” I said placing my plate in the sink. Terry’s eyes rose to meet my backside. His eyes lingered on my ass since my back was still turned. “More of what?” Terry asked biting his lip. I could sense a hint of something in his voice. I peeked over my shoulder to see him watching me. I giggled at his antics. “Terry? You know I can see you, right?” I said walking back to the table. I leaned over so that my face was close to his. If this was the game he wanted to play, let’s do it!

“Mmm. Why you playin’ wit’ me, ‘Vana?” he said shifting in his seat. “It’s easy,” I responded. “Oh, really?” he said licking his lips. I could feel his breath on my face. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. I could tell he was becoming more aroused by the second. “You never answered my question, honey. Do you want more?” I asked squatting down in front of him. “And you never answered mine. More of what?’” Terry asked as he leaned up to gently grab my chin. “You want my honest answer?” I asked placing my hands on his knees.

Terry's eyes watched my hands. “Of course, I want honesty, mama. Talk to me,” he said letting his thumb stroke my cheek. “If Daddy wants more, he can have whatever the fuck he wants,” I said trailing my hands up his thighs. Terry’s movements stilled, and his eyes shot up to my face. His eyes clouded with lust and darkened with desire.

Terry’s grip on my chin tightened as he used it to pull me forward. My knees hit the floor so I was kneeling in front of him. I leaned over and let my cheek rest on his growing erection. “Mamas, don't start something you can't finish. If you aren't ready for this, find you something safe to do,” he said. “The fuck is that supposed to mean,” I snapped as I looked up at him. “Aye, watch yourself. You heard me, little girl. I meant what I said,” he said grabbing my chin again. “Me? A little girl? Does someone need a reminder of who the fuck I am?” I asked leaning back on my calves and folding my arms across my chest. “You got one more cuss word before I…,” he said lowering his eyes into slants.

I couldn't believe I was doing this. I was initiating “playtime”. The excitement of the unknown pulsed through my veins. I was about to allow Terry to fully indulge in his needs and wants. I calmed my breathing before looking up at Terry again. “Before you what? You ain't gonna do shit, and we both know it. There ain't shit you can give that I can’t take,” I said fully committing to brat mode.

“You sure you wanna take this route? Once we begin, there's no turning back. You know that, right?” Terry asked leaning over me. His posture had changed and so had his energy. His shoulders were stiff and squared. It was as if his body was blanketing my entire aura and being. I sat for a minute contemplating my next move. How could I outdo myself?

I smiled as a thought crept into my head. I pulled my hands away and placed them in my lap. With the confidence of a goddess, I said, “You created this monster. Deal with it.” Terry's breathing halted before a smirk spread across his face. His hands instantly grabbed a handful of hair at the back of my head. “You got a lotta mouth, lil mama. I don't like that. I don't like it all,” he said tightening his grip. I moaned loudly. I could feel a puddle growing in my panties.

I was fully committed to my role as a brat. I laughed at Terry in an attempt to piss him off. That was having little to no effect on him. I knew I had to make him execute his fantasy to the fullest. I took a deep breath before speaking. “Fuck all that! What you trying to do, huh?” I asked biting my lip and cocking my head to the side.

All sentiments of expression left Terry’s face, and his body grew in anger. His hand quickly left my hair and found my throat. He squeezed tight enough for my breathing to stop. Ironically, all I could think about was how good this felt. My pussy quivered and ached as I released what felt like a mini orgasm. It soaked through my panties as he loosened the grip he had on my throat. “Look at you. Daddy’s little slut. You just couldn't help yourself, huh? That’s fine, mama. Just know this— when we get in that room, I’m gone turn yo thick ass every which way but loose. Don't run. Don't speak. Don't touch shit. It's my turn. Got it?” he said, releasing me with a push.

I looked up at Terry with big doe eyes before speaking again. “Yes, Big Daddy. I understand,” I said while struggling to hide my excitement. “Oh, you think those pretty brown eyes gone help you, huh? Ha! Too late for that. I’m trying to see the monster I created. Bring her out. Fuck all that cute shit!” he said leaning back into the chair. “But…” I started. “Aye, I don't remember asking you to speak. The only thing I want you to do with that there pretty mouth of yours is to suck, lick, slob, swallow, and do it again. You nasty, bitch!” Terry demanded.

As if activated on cue, I could feel the heat between my legs. I wanted this man’s hands all over me. RIGHT THE FUCK NOW! It was Terry’s turn to indulge in his fantasy as a dom. I loved the idea since he would show hints of it sometimes. His only request was not to be easy. He didn't want me to fully submit without any pushback. He liked the idea of me talking shit and provoking him. Terry’s plan involved leaning into a darker side of himself that he had never completely let out, and I trusted him enough to agree to do it. I felt he deserved this moment especially since he didn't judge me about mine.

So, let’s see where tonight takes us.

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[heyheydidjaknow]

Two in a row! We’re back in business! We aren’t going for three in a row but I do want to at least acknowledge that Dazai exists if we’re doing the bsd thing now.

Kindling

You were supposed to be fun.

He remembered the day he met you in that coffee shop. He had an hour to kill before a meeting. The shop was dead— the local schools had not been let out yet— and you stood behind the counter, eyes flickering from the clock on the wall above the door to the textbook in front of you. He had never been there before. He never had much reason to bother around largely residential areas before then. He had never seen you before. But you were nice to look at, so he approached the counter.

He liked the look you gave him. Cold, annoyed, almost indignant, desperate in the overblown way students often are: it took you a moment to remember your manners. You must have been new in town. “How may I help you?”

“One black coffee, please.” He smiled politely.

You straightened yourself up, not bothering to hide the way your gaze flitted between him, your book, the clock. “How much sugar?”

He blinked. “I said—“

“You’re not a black coffee drinker,” you answered dismissively, clearly distracted. “I’ve served three guys today already who asked for black coffee and then asked for cream and sugar and— no offense, guy— I’m so not in the mood to waste more of my time.” You picked a pencil from between the pages of your book, grabbing a notepad from your apron. “So, how much sugar, and how much cream?”

“Do you know who I am?”

You paused at that, giving him a once over. “No,” you said. “Should I?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, an easy smile crossing his bandaged face. “No,” he replied. “You shouldn’t.”

You tapped your foot against the ground. “Fascinating. So—“

“May I ask you a question?” He nodded at the book. “How come you’re studying so hard at this time of day? It’s not midterm season already, is it?”

You looked down at the floor. “No.” Your brow furrowed. “Why is this your business, exactly?”

“It’s not.” He shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

You swallowed. “Huh.” Regret. “I’m sorry for snapping at you; I’m in a bit of a rush to get this stuff done.”

“What sort of stuff?”

You held the pencil between your forefinger and thumb, rolling it back and forth between them. “I’m helping a friend with a project. I owe him one, and he’s in a different time zone so my part is due in a couple hours.”

He went on his toes, peering over the register to read the textbook’s text. “Forensic pathology,” he noted. “Is your friend a criminologist?”

You shook your head. “A writer,” you explained. “He needs a comprehensive explanation of how corpses rot, and I’m the only one he knows with an understanding of that sort of thing.” You pursed your lips. “What he doesn’t know is that I’m taking this class as an elective and that I also have no idea how a corpse rots. But I can’t tell him that, because then I’d be letting him down, and he’s put so much trust in me and helped me so many times—“

He stopped you. “That’s all?” He held his hands behind his back. “Well, that’s simple enough. Most anyone downtown can tell you that.” His smile brightened. “How about we make a deal? If you pay for my drink and promise that this won’t take…” He looked back at the clock. It was an hour off. He wondered if you knew. “If you promise it won’t take longer than forty-five minutes, I can give you all the grisly details of human decomposition, with added notes accounting for weather, location, and time of day.”

The look of hesitant relief on your face brought him a sense of satisfaction he had not felt in a long time. You took a deep breath. “Sir,” you nodded, “you have yourself a deal.”

“Call me Osamu.”

You were easy. That was what first drew him to you. You had no reason to lie to him, so you did not. You had no reason to respect him, so you treated him like anyone else. The two of you— at least on the slice-of-life flavored stage the two of you played on— were equals, which he appreciated. Not many people offered him that luxury. The ones who did tended to disappear in the night for one reason or another, but you had no reason to, so you did not. Your problems were largely emotional. You stayed out of trouble. You were consistent. You were simple.

More important than your being simple, however, was the fact that you thought of him as a liar.

He remembered the conversation well. It was a Thursday. He had a couple hours before he was scheduled to help his newest apprentice train. The coffee shop was as slow as it always was and you, as always, stood behind it with a casual dismissiveness that would have gotten you beaten were you in different company. You had been in town long enough to know of the mafia— about a month— but had not yet accepted all of the stories you heard as true. You were recounting one of those stories to him, weight leaned against the counter as you described an incident regarding a teenager with phantom black limbs that could, without his so much as lifting a finger, murder a building’s worth of people in an instant.

“It’s bullshit, obviously.” You took a sip from your water. “I don’t get what they’re trying to prove; if they wanted to scare me, they’d come up with a half-decent lie.”

He did not have to smile around you— to you, he was nobody— but he did regardless. You were fun. “I know him,” he said. “I tutor him.”

You scoffed. “Yeah? What do you tutor him in?”

“Martial arts.” He took a sip from his coffee, which was thoroughly diluted with copious amounts of sugar and cream. You were right; it was bitter. “He’s not very good. He keeps trying to think of himself as a hand-to-hand combatant when he’s much more suited for support and has such a large inferiority complex that he loses all sense of strategy in exchange for a slavish need to validate his existence. In other words, he is close to useless.”

And, of course, you groaned tiredly. “Why are you encouraging them?” you asked. “You already know I know it’s bullshit; what kick do you get out of me already knowing?”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, knowing you would not believe him. “I’ve been with him on hits before; a couple months ago, we killed thirty people in cold blood.”

And you laughed half-heartedly— as you should; to any regular person who did not know about how many bodies they had hidden, these claims were beyond ridiculous— and said, “Well, I knew the man that trained you, and I know he has a small dick, so what do you think of that?”

“I’m just glad to know he isn’t a pedophile.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee.”

He wondered what you thought of him sometimes. For the first week or so, you asked him questions, but you learned quickly that he was never going to give you satisfactory answers. You probably thought he was an ass, but you still talked to him like you would a peer, so he kept showing up. You must have thought he was a dick. He was sure that he was by your standards.

Once, on a Sunday, he had to attend a funeral. He had some time to kill before, so he walked into the coffee shop, clad in clothes nicer than what was typical, and ordered.

You looked him over. “You got a date?”

“No,” he replied, cheerful. “I have a funeral in an hour.”

You set his cup in front of him. “Oh. For someone you know?”

“My boss,” he explained. “He died the other day so we’re doing a service.”

“Oh.” Your brow furrowed, sympathy making way for confusion. “I’m… I’m sorry, but did you like him?”

He shrugged. “He was alright.”

“How long were you under him?”

He considered it. “A couple years?”

“Oh.” You nodded. “So enough time for your nonchalance to be weird. Cool.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s not as if he were my father.” He leaned back in his seat. “He was bound to get shot eventually; I’m just surprised it took this long.”

“He was what?”

“Shot,” he repeated. “In his sleep.”

You lowered your voice, looking around the cafe like someone would come out to shoot the two of you. “What,” you mumbled, “like an assassination?”

He nodded, looking around courteously. “Exactly. But it’s alright; they won’t stick around too long, I’m sure.”

“How come?”

He leaned his head on his hand. “I don’t imagine whoever did it could get very far out of the city. People are upset that he’s dead; I’m sure someone will lash out.”

You crossed your arms, swallowing thickly. “You know most people don’t speak so casually about people getting shot or whatever.”

“Well,” he shrugged again, “it happens often enough. It’s not like being formal is going to bring him back from the dead; who cares?”

“Don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you…?” You searched for the right word. “… I don’t know, shaken? He was a coworker, wasn’t he?”

He took a sip from his coffee. “Yeah.”

“So, isn’t his death a bit shocking?”

“Not really.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, actually, that’s a lie. It means I’m in line for a promotion, and I thought I’d have to wait for him to die of a heart attack for it, so I’m happy about that.”

You cradled your head in your hands. “I don’t think you get my meaning,” you insisted. “Do you not feel anything for his death?”

He set the mug down, meeting your eyes. “No,” he repeated. “I don’t.”

Your questions were simple. “Why?”

“Because,” he answered, “His death was inevitable and his life’s impact on mine was nearly nonexistent. All he did was give me orders; why would I care if he died?

You stared at him, meeting his cold, bottomless eyes with ones aflame with passion. “You sound like a serial killer,” you said.

His smile was as vacant as the rest of him. “I feel like one.”

You were fun until you were not. If asked to identify when your relationship— acquaintanceship, friendship, whatever you called it— stopped being fun, he would point to an otherwise inconspicuous Monday morning three weeks after the funeral. The two of you were splitting a cinnamon roll. It was your break and you got a discount and you had no desire to eat a whole one. You were talking about something silly— a friend of yours had broken up with your other friend— when you had stopped in the middle of a sentence to look out the window, seemingly distracted by something. Witnessing this development, he turned to look out the window too, only to see that the scene outside— an overcast sky, street populated by people rushing on their way to work— had not, in fact, changed since he last looked out the window. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

Your words were soft, eyes transfixed on the window. “I need to buy a decent camera,” you murmured. “Or write. Or paint.”

“You want to take a picture?” He looked out the window again. The scene was still the same. “Of what?”

“Leave me alone, Osamu.”

“I’m not messing with you,” he said. “I just have no idea what you could possibly be looking at.”

“Sure you aren’t.” You gestured with your fork, not looking in his direction. “You have a reputation. I refuse to indulge you in something you’ll clown on me for.”

He sighed. “You are being so over dramatic.”

You shot him a glare. “I told you my friend’s boyfriend got stabbed last week and you said, and I quote, ‘I wish I could say the same.’”

“Yeah, but that was a joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not my fault you have a lame sense of humor,” he protested. “Why won’t you tell me?”

You peeled your attention from the window. “You wanna know what I think?” You gave him a cold smile. “I think you’re so neurotically obsessed with knowing everything that whatever joy you’ll get from knowing will be totally outweighed by the amount of pleasure I get at getting to make you squirm for once.” You stuck your tongue out. “You’re the nihilist. Suffer under the weight of your ideals, dipshit.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Do you seriously think I can’t get you to tell me? Is this the hill you want to die on?”

“What if it is?” You crossed your arms, mimicking his pose. “What if it was really emotionally impactful to me? What if it was literally nothing and I’m just fucking with you? What, are you going to torture an answer out of me?” Your smile grew. “I get why you do this now; this is fun.”

He huffed. “You’re such a child.”

“No, you’re just easy to read.” You reached for your drink, cradling it to your chest. “Lenin gave himself a heart attack when he came to power, you know; it’s not healthy to obsess like that.”

He crossed his arms. “It was a stroke,” he grumbled. “He died of a stroke.”

“See, like that. You have issues.” You crossed your legs. “ Maybe it’d be good for you not to know.” You covered your mouth as he leaned forward and adopted an all too familiar smile. “And so help me if you try and seduce me into telling you what I saw so help me I will laugh you out of the room.”

His face soured. He stared you down, and you stared back, unphased, because why would you not? The two of you were equals as far as you were concerned; this was how you treated your peers, and despite the fact that the two of you barely knew each other in any meaningful way, you knew him enough to know what the rules of the game he was trying to play were even if you did not know what it was called. “I could kill you,” he said. “I know plenty of ways to do it. I know how to make it hurt, too.”

And you, knowing you had won, replied, “You could, but you won’t. Who would serve you your coffee?”

The two of you stared each other down one last time. Finally– and mercifully, he liked to think– he looked away. “You win.” He tossed his hands up. “That’s all my cards.”

Your smile softened at the edges. “Good.” You sat up. “I’m not going to tell you what I was looking at, but I can tell you how to see it, if you want. That way you get to know but you don’t get to be all smug.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off. “Because I’m not allowed to win, right?”

“If I knew you weren’t going to try and rule-lawyer me, I would just tell you.”

“I spend too much time here.”

“You said it.” You set the fork and the cup down on the table. “Close your eyes.”

He groaned. “I am so not into meditation.”

“Is that backtalk I hear?”

“No, no,” he relented, closing his eyes. “I’m with it or whatever. Now what?”

Your voice lowered. “Breathe in.”

He inhaled.

“And out.”

He exhaled.

“Now,” you continued, “what do you hear?”

“You talking to me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You asked.”

You huffed. “I– look, besides me, what do you hear?”

He paused, considering it. “People outside,” he said. “And the air conditioning unit. And the milk steamer.”

“Good.” He heard you sit back in your seat again. “And physically, what do you feel?”

“Isn’t this a panic attack thing?”

“Answer my question.”

He considered it. “It’s cold in here.”

Your voice was soft. He wondered how exactly this place stayed in business for how quiet it was. “What do you taste?”

“For giving someone who was just talking about flirting–”

“I have a point. What do you taste?”

He meant to say, ‘My mouth.’ What came out was, “Cinnamon and icing.”

He heard you smile. “Good. Open your eyes.”

He did, blinking at the light. You were back to looking out the window; the scene had not changed.

You nodded towards it. “Now, look and tell me what you see.”

He looked between you and the window. “A tree,” he said. “And people.”

“Look at the tree, first.”

The tree itself was, by his estimation, the same sort of tree that could be found just about anywhere in this part of town. There were fewer as the years went on, he knew– there was some government initiative to get rid of the trees on the side streets– but the tree itself was unextraordinary. “It’s dead,” he noted.

Your eyes didn’t leave the window. “It’s overcast.” You sounded a million miles away. “The light from the sun is hitting it from the other side, so the side that we’re on is dull and dark. It’s casting a shadow on the table, on your face.”

He looked down at the table. Sure enough, in the low light, cold shadows laid across the table like faint veins.

“The people,” you continued. “What do you see in them?”

He shifted his attention to the passersby. “People going to work.”

“How are they dressed?”

“Warmly.”

“What color are their clothes?”

“Dark. Are we at the point yet?”

“Almost.” You took a breath of your own. “Now, take all of those things together, and look back out the window again.”

He did.

Nothing had changed. His heart caught in his throat.

“It’s more now, isn’t it?”

He looked back at you.

You witnessed that mundane scene with the seeming awe of an acolyte before their god. It was as though you had never seen a street or a tree or the sun before, as though you would never see it again.

With a horrifying ache in his chest, he realized that he had never seen anything quite so beautiful or enviable as you in that moment. “So,” he asked again, voice tinged with an entirely unbecoming and uncharacteristic reverence, “what are you looking at?”

“I’m not looking at anything,” you replied. “I just remembered how lucky I am to be alive, here, with you.”

He wondered if you would mourn for his indifference like he would.

[ppumeonae-bigvibe]

sugar, spice and everything nice!

↖ navigation: ateez masterlist || main masterlist 

pairing: pining! barista wooyoung x gn! customer reader

tags: when i was writing this i was thinking to myself, "hear me out -wooyoung as the local cafe barista who has a massive crush on you, him being so so delusional about it", and then i decided to roll with because i can write about that so please enjoy! <3

summary: wooyoung's a barista, you're a (his) regular and he thinks this is his chance at a cafe slow-burn romance.

word count: 1.6k words

+ 1

"what can i get started for you today?" wooyoung monotonously greets like clockwork, fingers hovered over the touchscreen.

"what would you recommend?" he lifts his eyes to meet your inquisitive ones. pointing to the chalkboard, wooyoung replied flippantly, "these are our cafe's specialties." your eyebrows furrowed, repeating, "i know. what would you recommend?"

he paused in his tracks, much like a dear in headlights, "uh..." his face burns from the focused stare you had pinned on him. unsure, he rambles, "everything's...delicious! my favorite is the latte paired with the apple crumble pie." this time round, wooyoung takes a proper look at you.

you're pretty cute, he observed, hands idly fiddling with the cloth tucked in the pocket of his apron.

"okay. i'll have that." he enters your (his) order, and hands you a receipt, directing you to the pickup counter as he prepares your items.

when he finally hands over your items, you sheepishly apologized, "sorry if i had troubled you earlier. i didn't know what to get since it is my first time here." wooyoung found it difficult to be mad, "oh...it's no problem at all. i can assure you that everything here is good."

"thanks so much, uhm...wooyoung." you glanced down at his nametag and then back up to express your gratitude. as you picked up your items, he nods and responds out of habit, "come by again!"

+ 2

wooyoung leans his weight against the counter, phone in his hand as he goes on about his day, "—yeah and i was saying...oh! wait."

his voice dies down when he hears the bell ring, thinking it was another customer. but as soon as his gaze lands on you, a confident smile replaces the nonchalant expression he once had.

"catch you in a bit, my favorite person is here." he ends the call, not bothering to hear his friend's complaint. you were one of his frequent customers, and also someone he's taken interest in. a little bit too much interest in though, ever since his first chance meeting with you. you have been coming in at least once or twice a week, and each time his heart soars when you're around.

"hey sweetheart, anything i can get for ya?" he props his head up with his hand, eyes never leaving you as you scrutinize the chalkboard menu, "sweetheart...is that a new nickname? i bet you call everyone sweetheart, right wooyoung?"

"nah, only for you." he assures, and he jumps when he sees the sides of your mouth twitch upwards—no doubt holding back a grin. you rattle off your order, something he also knew by heart. this special order wasn't written on the menu, but something he had went out of his way to make for you, lying about a "secret" menu that only a few people (read: only you) knew.

"do you want anything else to go with that order? for you, it's on the house!" he gestured to the pastries at the display shelf and you teased, "are you sure about that? you're going to make a loss at this rate."

true, he was always offering to gift you a free pastry with your drink. not that it mattered because he'd gladly cover the cost with his salary just to see you smile.

"of course not. there wasn't much business today." a lie.

"and also, who else is going to taste my efforts?" partly the truth.

"i want to give one to you to cheer you on." absolute truth.

you relented, shaking your head, "okay, okay. you can pick one for me." he nearly swoons at the sight of you beaming at him, "of course." wooyoung prepares your order—making small talk with you—his silly smile never once disappeared in your presence.

"here you go." he hands them over to you, nearly dropping the items when your fingers brushed over his to collect your order. "thanks a bunch! i'll get going."

"bye...see you again!" he precariously leans over the counter, neck craning as you walked off. he sighs dreamily before having a "reality check" when another customer not-so-subtly coughs a distance away from him.

"sorry, what can i get for you today?"

+ 3

wooyoung checks his appearance against the reflection of the fridge by the back of the store, donning his apron on before stepping out. almost immediately, butterflies erupted in his chest when he spots you typing away on your laptop.

"hey." he smoothly greets you. you were seated at your usual space near the counter, a cup of tea beside you.

seems like today was a "no-procrastination day", judging from how your teapot was completely close to empty.

you raised your eyes to meet his, "hello! did you just start work?" he excitedly nods, then schools his expression not a second later, "yeah. need a refill?" he juts out his chin and you sighed, "yeah. your colleague had boiled the water a couple of times for me already."

so you've been here for a while now, wooyoung chews the inside of his cheeks to hide a triumphant smile. moving automatically, he grabs the hot kettle, "don't worry, i'll reheat your teabag as many times as you request me to." you beamed at him, "that would be nice."

"anything for you."

the next few hours passed by in a flash, yet the constant reminder that you were still sat there a great encouragement for wooyoung as he pushes through the dinner rush. as the last bit of the dinner crowd titters away, wooyoung makes his way to stand behind the counter to rest, standing opposite you. the empty dinner plate on your left made him smile knowing you were being fed well by him.

"how's it going?"

you hummed, "not bad! i think i'll go home and rest for a bit before i pull an all-nighter to complete this manuscript." wooyoung makes a face, "again?" you hid your chuckles behind your palm, "what do you mean 'again'? i swear i don't stay up late often."

"everytime you come here and stay here for nearly the whole day, you're most definitely pulling an all-nighter." he holds up a finger, as if to prove a point. "and secondly, you're drinking tea. because if you chugged coffee the whole day you'd be holed up in the toilet instead of doing your work." flabbergast at his statement, you reached over to playfully whack him, "wooyoung! how could you!"

he laughs, shoulders shaking and hands clutched over his stomach, "it's the truth!" you pouted, "you're too much...you didn't have to announce it to the world!"

wooyoung easily balances your plate and teapot on one hand, "i'm gonna be closing up soon, in about 30 minutes. will you be...making a move?"

your eyes comically widened, "it's that late?" a flick of your wrist shows the time on your watch, an amused wooyoung watching you.

"yeah, it is. you might as well wait till i finish clearing up and i'll send you to a bus stop or subway station," he offered, hoping he didn't sound too eager. "oh! that would be nice of you actually. is it alright?" you clasped your hands in front of you, a sparkle lighting up your eyes.

"of course."

+ 4

"are you closing?"

wooyoung had his back facing the door and he holds back a groan from the question. of course we're closing, he grumbles, the neon sign is already switched off and...

his thoughts trailed off when he spots you sheepishly standing by the door.

"what are you doing here this late?" wooyoung blurts out and you rubbed your neck nervously, "i was...craving an ice americano and also a..."

"let me guess. an apple crumble pie?" he teases, pretending to think hard about it. "exactly that." you levelled your gaze to meet his, eyes twinkling. but not a moment later you shook your head, "but if you're closing i'll go—"

"how about i see what i can do for you?" the moment the sparkle in your eyes seemed to light up brighter, wooyoung thinks he'd better remember this moment for the rest of his life. he ushers you in, "you know, i realized you haven't been passing by here lately. i'm going to have to extend my working hours if you only appear at this time of the day. it's not good for my business."

"hey...! i've been busy, okay?" you huffed and wooyoung just laughs, "i'm kidding. business has been great too, since it's the holiday season more people have been coming in to try our limited time menu." he bustles around the counters, making your request all while you peered over to state at him.

you mused, "you don't sound happy about this good news." he smirked, playful tone lacing his words, "clearly, because i haven't been seeing you around." the oven dings behind him and he pulls out the tray.

"that doesn't look like an apple crumble." setting down the tray before you, he slides your drink up next to it as your confusion settled in.

"ice americano this late isn't good for your stomach. and we also ran out of apple pies so, i made you hot cocoa and reheated some of the milk bread i made just now."

a second passed and wooyoung was afraid he did something wrong. "is...it not to your liking? i should have—" "—no! no, i'm just touched that you'd go out of your way to do something like that."

wooyoung's triumphant smile stretched wide on his face, "then, please enjoy while i clean up the store."

in comfortable silence, you had your supper while he tidied up like clockwork: mopping the floors, putting away utensils, straightening tables and chairs and not to forget, glancing at you as you happily ate.

"how much is this?" you fished out your wallet and wooyoung was quick to grab it from you, "nuh uh. this one's on me. you don't owe me anything." arms coming to cross in front of you, you pouted, "fine, then how can i repay you?"

"let's go on a date. you can pay me back then."

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[izudeeilo]

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You can study me

Sero hanta smau

volley-ball player sero x art student fem!reader, no quirks au, college au.

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a/n before you go on! there's going to be more pictures throughout this part, so when you see the divider (yellow line), stop and go back to the reading part :)

Senior year is finally here! You thought that this time, the teachers would be more lenient with you and your classmates, but not at all. In fact, they even got stricter... They assigned you a half year-long work, which would be worth 30% of your final grade. What does the work consist of, you ask? Making a complete study of the life of a student you need to pick and paint it.

But... you can't pick a friend.

Part.5 • Part 7 (soon)

Part 6

Ever since he sent you that message you’ve been anxious of what he had in mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about it and hated that you had to wait the whole weekend for it. He hasn’t texted you since and your head was overflowing with scenarios.

“I think I'm going to go insane” you say groaning as you walk in the kitchen where the girls were cooking together.

“It’s going to be fine you drama queen. It’s not the first time you hang out without any plans” Himiko says while chopping vegetables.

You cross your arms and lean on the doorframe. “But it feels like it's more than this, he hasn’t even texted me since” you retort.

Throwing your head back with another groan, you approach the counter and take a piece of cut cucumber.

“Listen, it’s Hanta okay. There’s nothing to worry about” Mina comes up to you and puts her hand on your shoulders. “So stop your drama, and we’ll soon clear your mind with our little girl time mmh” she tilts her head with a reassuring smile.

You sigh and laugh. “You’re right, now that I admitted that I liked him, I've been overthinking every small thing he does…”

“So you do still have some sense left in you” Ochaco turns to you both with a smirk.

“Oh shut up” you roll your eyes. “Now what do you need help with” you ask, rolling your sleeves up.

You and the girls were now having a little party every weekend when you didn't have anything else planned. You cooked and baked together, chose a movie to watch while sipping a glass of wine. Pretty cliché yes, but don’t clichés always end up being the best.

At the end of the night, you all go back to your rooms and as you lay down on your bed slightly tipsy, you grab your phone and open your discussion with Hanta and just type.

You

made me anxious whole weekend dumbass

You woke up the next day thankful classes were canceled today, so you could prepare yourself mentally before 6pm came. You were of course excited to spend the evening with him but you just had that weird gut feeling that something was going to happen.

As you slowly got ready, showering, finding a simple and comfortable but still cute outfit, you were left sitting on the couch. It was only 3pm and you decided to draw some composition ideas for the painting.

”What are you working on?” Ochaco walks in with two cups of hot chocolate, handing one to you. You smile and thank her, sipping on the warm drink.

”Trying out some composition for the painting. Pinpointing where everything is going to be you know”

“It’s ending soon right?” she asks, seating next to you.

“Actually, our teacher realized she may have been too hard on us and gave us the whole year.” you chuckle.

“Wait what— How come I didn't hear about this?!” she straightened herself.

“She sent us an email quite late in the night. Some sense got knocked in her head at 2am I guess” you laugh.

”That’s great! More time with Hanta” she elbows you and chuckles.

”Stop…” you say shyly, hiding your face with your hand.

—

“Do I look good?” you ask worriedly as you show off your outfit.

”For the hundredth time… Yes you look great” all three of your friends sigh dramatically.

You’ve been running around between your room, the bathroom and the living room to make sure you were looking good. You knew it had to be a simple hang out but couldn’t help the amount of stress you had inside you. And before you knew it, the sound of the doorbell echoed in your apartment and the girls immediately went into hiding.

You shook your head at their silliness and went to open the door thinking to yourself. This is Hanta, it’s going to be fine, nothing is happening.

As you open the door, you see him standing there with a smirk on his face but you could see the crease between his eyebrows, indicating he was nervous. He looks you up and down and you can see him gulp before taking a breath.

“Ready to go?”

“Been waiting forever” you walk out the door and roll your eyes teasingly and he guides you down to his car. Once you get there, he opens the door for you.

”What a gentleman we have there” you tease.

”You doubted it?”

”Never”

After a few minutes he parked his car in front of a quite big building.There was no indicative sign of what the building was, it only had two wide doors in the front. He gets out first and helps you out of the car.

”So what are we doing?”

”You’re so impatient, wait a few more seconds” he ruffles your hair.

”Well if you had texted me, maybe i wouldn’t be so lost. “your words come out a bit more bitter than you wanted to.

You walk through the reception with him and he grabs your hand and asks you to close your eyes.

”Hanta seriously…”

“Come on, hermosa just a few more seconds.” he pouts and you couldn’t resist.

Guiding you through a corridor, he opens the door and you can feel the breeze hitting you again in the face. He stops and walks behind you.

“You can open your eyes now”

You take a deep breath and open your eyes. You are greeted by an empty ice skating rink. No one, absolutely no one was here. Small lights were hanging all around the rink, you could hear a song quietly in the background that you recognise to be Just like Heaven by The Cure.

You turn your head to Hanta, mouth agape. You had no idea what to say, did he set everything up himself. Did he ask to privatize the whole ice rink for you two?

”Hanta this…this is absolutely crazy. Did— did you do that all by yourself?” you ask.

”Well I’ve had help but it was my idea yeah…” he rubs his neck nervously. “You like it?”

“Like it? Hanta I love it! This is incredible” you ran to his arms hugging him. He’s taken back but hugs you back almost instantly.

After breaking the embrace, he grabs your hand again.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You don’t think you’ve ever had that much fun before. This was truly like something out of a movie. You and Hanta were both skating for god knows how long, dancing along to the playlist he had made for the occasion and you couldn’t help but fall even more for the boy.

How could you not honestly. He’s all you had ever dreamed of and he keeps showing you that everyday. As you hold hands you can’t help but have a constant smile on your face.

Hanta kept glancing at you and his eyes softened anytime you looked at him with that sparkle in your eyes or with that pretty smile of yours. He keeps going back to the day you first met and how everything had evolved between the two of you ever since.

All thanks to that assignment you had been given. He never felt luckier than right now.

He spins you around just to hear that laugh he wishes to hear for the rest of his life. And as you continued to skate around, he let go of your hand and you slid away, without realizing he wasn’t by your side anymore.

The lights suddenly shut off but came back a second later, less bright this time. As you turn around, you see Hanta a bit further away from you and the song changes.

Can’t Take My Eyes of You by Frankie Valli begins playing at a low volume and you hide your face in your hands trying to hold in your chuckle and the warmth that was spreading to your cheeks. Surely this wasn’t real right, you had to be dreaming.

When you look back up, Hanta was right in front of you. A dorky smile is present on his face as he holds a bouquet of flowers tightly in his hands.

You can’t help the wobbly smile that spreads across your face as you both stare at each other before Hanta begins talking.

“First of all I’m sorry for not texting you at all this weekend. I may have been as nervous as you and maybe even more because I wanted everything to be perfect.” He chuckles and you continue smiling at him.

”Fuck..uh” he struggled to find words when you looked at him like that.

“I don’t think I can hide how I feel anymore. Ever since we first met, you’ve been the only thing on my mind and I only wanted to get to know you more. The more time we spent together, the more this feeling grew.” he looks down before looking back up.

”You brighten up every single one of my days and…” he stops for a moment but you continue looking at him adoringly. Heart beating fast you think it might get out of your chest. It seems like time had stopped before he continued.

”I love you y/n… Te amo querida.”

You feel your eyes getting wet so you take your hand to wipe them away but you suddenly feel Hanta’s hand caress your cheek and wipe a falling tear with his thumb.

”You okay?” he asks worried.

You nod reassuringly. “Never been more okay.”

”I love you too Hanta” you respond back through a half chuckle and sob.

He softly puts down the bouquet before wrapping his arms around your waist, taking you off the ground and spinning you around. Surprising you as he still had his ice skates on. He puts you back on the ground and asks.

”Can I kiss you?”

”Of course you idiot”

I love you baby and if it’s quite alright I need you baby…

His hands held both of your cheeks tenderly before he plants his lips on yours. You were quick to wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to you. One of his hands slowly moved to wrap itself around your waist. Your mouths moving slowly in a perfect tender rhythm. He couldn’t pull away, you were too sweet for that. And as you moved your hands into his hair he felt like he was in heaven. You pulled away for a second to breathe and chuckle at your flushed faces before his lips found their way back to yours. Snow was falling all around you and as the slow kisses turned fast you both got lost in the moment.

His lips finally parted from yours after a while. Panting and heavy breaths were all you were hearing as you looked at each other.

“Does that mean I’m yours mi amor” he breaks the silence.

“What do you think…”

”I don’t know, maybe it was just a friendly kiss.” he jokes.

”Oh you’re such an idiot. I hate you”

”You know you love me” he grins, pulling you closer if that was even possible.

“Yes. Yes I do”

—

After that, he wanted to immortalize this day. So Hanta brought you to the nearest photo booth and had you both take the cutest pictures ever.

“Come on this is going to be fun” he urges you.

You take off your coats and begin posing. You laugh and make the silliest faces. Bringing his face to yours, you pepper his cheek with kisses.

He drives you back to the apartment and both of you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. You were still in his car, the only difference was that you were now sitting on his lap. The kisses grew deeper and he couldn’t let go of you. He became obsessed the moment he had a taste of you. You tug slightly at his hair as you feel him bite your bottom lip before going back to kiss your already swollen lips.

“Hanta…” you whisper when you pull back from him.

”Yes mi vida…” He places soft kisses at the nape of your neck, eyes not leaving yours.

“It’s getting late. I should go” you caress his cheek.

”Already…what time is it?” He reaches for his phone and reads the time. 11:05pm.

Hanta groans and settles his head on your chest as you begin playing with his hair. Staying in that position for a few more minutes before you plant a small kiss on his head and get back to the passenger seat. You put your coat back on and hear Hanta open his door. You get ready to get out with the bouquet in your hands but he beats you to it and opens your door before bending down and wrapping his arms behind your back and knees.

”Hanta, what are you—“ you make a small noise as he slightly adjusts you on his arms. He closes the car door with his legs and locks it.

“Up you go” he smiles down at you and you roll your eyes.

He takes you up the stairs and to your front door. He sets you down and you search for your keys.

“Thank you for today Hanta” you say, opening the door quietly.

You set the bouquet on the table before turning back to him.

”I’ll see you soon” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and plant a sweet kiss on his lips one last time.

“Dream of me amor” he winks at you and steals another kiss before making his way to the stairs. You begin to turn around but stop yourself in your tracks when you see him kissing his hand and sending the “kiss” to you.

You chuckle quietly and mimic grabbing the kiss and planting it on your cheek and watch him smile like a little kid. Only then you truly go back to your apartment and close the door with a smile on your face.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

a/n i finished this at 2 am...i'm going to sleep hope you enjoy this longer part!

[taesansbeloved]

I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU. (엔하이펜)

synopsis: doing skincare/cozy stuff with bf!enhypen warnings 🚨 tooth rotting fluff, skinship, petnames, and kissing.

(OT7)

Nova notes: HIHI ❣️ this was based on this request. I will probably do a whole one for Ni-ki later, and also probably Heeseung because I cannot resist writing fluff for this man.

Heeseung (희승)

You were sat on the bathroom counter with Heeseung in between your legs, hands on your thigh, rubbing up and down gently, watching you with heart eyes while you apply moisturiser on his face. "Stop looking at me like that." You said shyly, his gaze making your face heat up. "Why? You're pretty." He stated, his gaze not wavering from your ethereal face. Your smile widens as you feel Heesueng leaning closer to your touch. "Everyday I'm shocked that you're my girlfriend, because omg, you're fucking gorgeous." He whispered, relishing in the feeling of your warm hand. You roll eyes, trying to hide your flustered face, but that's impossible when he is looking at you like THAT. He chuckles slightly and turns his head, kissing your palm lovingly.

Jay (정성)

You were having a tough week as it was midterms season. Constant studying, endless stressing, and a ruined sleep schedule that had Jay ruining his aswell. Jay knew that one of the ways to help you ease the stress, besides his cooking, is simply taking care of you. "Baby, I'm fine really. I just need to sleep." You said as Jay placed you on the bathroom counter and stood in between your legs, having your entire night care routine out beside you. "Yeah, and you also need some me love. So I'm giving you some." He said softly as he picked up the cleanser. He gently wet your face with a damp towel and began rubbing the cleanser all over your. You can feel your eyes getting heavier with every warm touch against your skin. Jay chuckled as he took in your drowsy figure, feeling his heart warm up with an overwhelming amount of love. "I hate seeing you this stressed, baby, you know that?" He said softly as he was caressing your face tenderly. "Blame the school system." You said, voice low with sleep and exhaustion. Jay sighed as he walked you to the he'd and completed your skincare while your sleeping soundly on the bed. "Sleep well, princess."

Jake (재윤)

You and him were sat opposite to eachother on your shared bed with a variety of different colors of nail polish. "Okay, so, what color do you want, baby?" Jake asked, assessing each color individually. "I don't really know. You choose for me." You said with a cheeky smile. Jake smiled, looking up at you with eyes full of stars. "Oh, I've been waiting for this day. Okay, I will not disappoint you." He paused then gasped again, "Should I make you a design?" He asked with huge puppy eyes. You nodded, sharing the same enthusiasm. He picked up the baby pink and the pearly white nail polish and began painting your nails while talking with you about everything and nothing. After an hour or so, Jake finished with an excited clap. "Okay, I put my heart, sweat, and tears into this. I hope you like it." He said as you brought your hands up to see his masterpiece. Eyes lighting up with adoration, "omg, jake I love this! I will never take it off." You said, throwing your arms around him and peppering kisses all over his face. His and your giggles filled the room, love swirling in the dim room.

Sunghoon (성훈)

"What's that for?" That was the question Sunghoon has been asking everytime you put a different product on his face. Now you were doing face masks. "This is a hydration face mask." You said simply, standing on your tip-toes to place the sheet mask over his flawless face. His hands unconsciously finding its way to your waist, holding you gently yet protectively. "And what's the one you have on your face?" He asked, mumbling from the face mask, afraid of disturbing you while you're patting it down. "It's the same thing just a different color." You explained, pushing his soft bangs away to smooth the mask down on his forehead. He hummed as he began rubbing your waist up and down, filling your stomach with butterflies. "Now we wait 20 minutes." You said, standing back at your original height. "I have some ideas that can fill those 20 minutes." He smirked down at you as you rolled your eyes, pecking his lips slightly that eventually led to a 20 minute make out session.

Do not copy this post. Spam likes = blocked. Spaming and plagiarism are not tolerated. Respectfully follow these rules :)

[mxtantrights]

estoy rendido del amor de una mujer

a/n: he got me y'all don't look, I'm down bad. so basically this is just a one-parter. I don't know. If you ask for a part two or if I see y'all like it maybe I can whip something up. lets just see how it goes.

and for the sake of this story: Armando didn't kill the captain, and he's out on some 'good behavior' deal and helping Mike and Marcus with cases linked to the cartel.

Armando Aretas x fem!reader

SUMMER 2023, MIAMI FLORIDA

You almost got burned tonight. A rookie cop saw you, and the heat you were packing and tried to arrest you. After hastily explaining to him that you weren't packing for no reason, he let you go. But you had missed an important meeting.

It had taken you two years to get into German's inner circle. German is a big player in the Miami scene. He's not known for being a trusting person. But he does have a thing for high ranking positions of power and women. Deadly combination, which was what you used.

Although he's putting you on the back burner after tonight.

You sigh and slot your key into the lock. The lock doesn't turn. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You take out your knife, not wanting to make too much noise for your neighbors.

Slowly you ease into your apartment. You look around quickly. The four corners of the living room are clear. Then again they would be, anyone who was lurking inside could be seen from the window.

You had your knife up as you tip toe into the kitchen. And there you find them.

Mike and Marcus. And they brought company. Three other people you don't know in your house. Your undercover house. They are all looking above something on the table, too occupied with it to notice your arrival.

"Oh what fresh hell is this." you say.

They all turn around.

Mike smiles, "I was just telling the crew about you."

You hold up you hand, "Whatever the hell this is, is gonna fuck with my shit so you need to go. Now."

"Langauge! I thought I told you that last time." Marcus shouts.

You put down your knife with a sigh.

"I've been working this guy for two years, and if he sees two cops coming out of my apartment I'm done. I'll curse if I want to curse." you explain.

The tall blonde man raises his hand, like he's in school. Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you look at Mike and Marcus.

"Dorn, you don't have to-just say what you want say man." Mike says.

The man, Dorn, nods his head and then looks at you.

"We know you're after German. And we're not here to cause any trouble but we just needed to ask for any information you have on his right hand man." Dorn says.

He picks up a tablet and shows you a picture. You look at the screen and then back at Dorn.

"Do you know him?" the woman asks you.

"That's Nico, they call him Nissan. Well, called. German found out he was skimming some off the top and lets just say he's not on vacation right now." You answer.

Mike groans, "He was our only way in."

"Into what? What have the two of you old-timers got yourself into this time?" you ask.

Mike and Marcus start arguing loudly when you call them old. You snicker as you reach into your fridge and look for the last Corona you had. When you find the bottle is not inside, you close the fridge door.

Your eyes scan the counter top, to see if you maybe left it out. But you don't find it. So you look over at the table. You find it there, opened and empty. Next to the unknown male in your kitchen.

You meet his eyes.

"You drank my beer?" you ask, though it's not a question.

He smirks and tilts his head at you. "Problem?"

You roll your eyes. Then you walk over to Marcus and Mike.

"I've told you that he's dead, so he can't help you. Neither can I. Yo've gotta go now." you say.

"No no no, hold on. If Nico is burned then the only one who can help us is you. We just need some files-" he speaks but you cut him off.

Burned. Nico is burned. He was an informant? German definitely didn't know that. Or if he did, he is keeping it close to his chest. Christ.

"Do you want me dead?! German either killed Nico knowing or not knowing that he was an informant, but either way he's dead. If I go snooping around I can just drive myself over to the morgue." you argue.

"She's got a point." Dorn says.

You turn to him, "Thank you, tall International man."

"Dorn is not international, but that's not the point. The point is, you have an in. And we need you." Marcus says.

You sigh. They need an in when you're not exactly in German's good graces. Great. Not only would you have to work your way back but you'd have to work under pressure.

"He'll smell her from a mile away." the unknown man says.

Mike looks over at him, "She's very good at what she does."

"Cops tend to have a tell." The man shrugs.

"She's not a cop. She's a freelancer." Marcus answers.

"And the best one I know." Mike tags on.

No doubt buttering you up. You groan. Yes, you liked being called the best at what you do. And it wouldn't take much to get info. You have the access. You'll be under a close eye but you can pull it off.

"Tell me what you need and when you need it by." you say.

-

2 DAYS LATER, MIAMI

You pulled the straps of your dress tighter. No wonder needed them to be 'loose' for an accidental cleavage slip.

The compute chimed and altered you that the information was done copying. You ejected the thumb drive and stuffed it into the fake juul packaging. You closed all the windows on the computer and pressed restart.

Now came the hard part. You smoothed out your dress and walked over to the door. You checked between the blinds and made sure no one was coming this way.

It's not like you couldn't be in the office. If someone a bit lower than you saw you coming out you wouldn't be questioned. But if someone higher than you in ranking saw, they might be curious.

You exit the office and turn down the hallway. Taking the way with the most witnesses as possible, more people to account for you later on.

Into the blue room, where you pass the exotic dancers. Then though the 'greenery' room, where some workers are watering the plants. Finally through the purple room where the weapons are stored.

You make it all the way outside with no one stopping you.

With a sigh of relief you quick walk to your motorbike. You take out your helmet and put your bag into the storage underneath the seat. Without another thought you get on your bike and ride out of the compound.

You ride from South Miami to your apartment near Hollywood.

When you get there, you go around the back. Better to let everyone think you weren't here than you were. Who knows who could be watching you.

You come in from the window in your bedroom. And somehow it feels like you're intruding because here he is. In your room.

Mike told you about him, a little. Armando is his son. His son with the cartel woman he was seeing way back when that he didn't know he had. He's done things, bad things. But he's making up for it.

Making up for it by sitting at your computer in your room.

"Oje, get the hell out of here!" you shout.

He turns to you slowly. You hate his cocky attitude. You hate his smirk and how he keeps eye contact with you. You step fully into your room and slide the window closed behind you.

Armando gets up from the seat with his hands up, "Lo siento,"

"You're not sorry, otherwise you wouldn't have found your way in here in the first place." you speak.

He looks you up and down. Yeah it was probably the dress. It's summer time in Miami and you weren't about to put on a sweater. You'd have to blend in and a sundress was about as normal as ablue sky here.

"You know spanish?" he asks.

You start walking away from him, "This is Miami."

You take out the thumb drive and open the door to your room. When you stop walking, you hear him laugh to himself. You watch him walk through it first and then you after him.

"Mike, I got it." you say as you walk into the living room.

The shades have been drawn and the black out curtains too.

"I ever tell you you're the best?" he jokes.

"Yeah every time you need something." you reply.

You hand the drive to Dorn. He takes it and plus it into his computer. You watch as the flies pop up on his screen. He seems to be reading them a mile per minute.

"What'd you want with all that anyways?" you ask.

You watch as Marcus and Mike share a look between themselves. It unnerves you. You know they have a way of talking without sharing words. It's what happens when you work with someone for so long.

Marcus smiles and claps his hands together, "Mike thinks I should be the one to tell you. Because he has a more salp-able face."

You squint your eyes.

"Are you about to screw me?" you ask.

"Not per say, but you might not like what we have to say." Marcus ushers you to the kitchen.

The two of you walk all about two steps in before he's unloading on you. He starts off pretty strong, that you''re more than capable of handling German. And that you put in the time for it too.

But then he's telling you a different story.

German is in connection with a guy they're looking to take down. Something about a syndicate. Something about getting both of them at once. And Mike and Marcus have the backing of the PD.

You can feel the steam coming from your ears.

"Marcus you can't be trying to poach my guy right now!" you yell.

"The yelling, keep it down, you're undercover after all." He holds his hands up in defense.

You cross your arms over your chest, "You don't even know who I'm working for."

"Well, it's not someone who's paying you that's for sure." He divulges.

All at once he realizes he probably shouldn't have said that. Because if he knows you're not getting paid for this job then he's went though your bank statements. And probably a lot more.

Your eyes widen and your turn around and run into the living room. There you find Dorn, hiding behind Mike, with his computer in hand.

"You got beanstalk here to go through my stuff?!" you yell.

Mike pushes Dorn back even further.

"Look, we needed to know if we were stepping on government agency toes. And now we know we're not." Mike answers.

You leap to pounce on him but Marcus is faster and grabs you by the waist. You fight against him a little, knowing the he's probably gonna feel it tomorrow morning.

"That's an invasion of privacy. But I guess like father like son, since this one was in my room when I got here." you shout.

Mike looks at Armando, "Now, I told you to get out of there."

Armando shrugs.

"I'm sorry. But listen you can still be part of it." Mike says.

"How nice of you Mike. I'll be sure to thank you when we're done." you spit sarcastically.

Marcus lets you go and you decide to take a seat on the couch. Dorn frees himself from the corner of the room and takes a seat in the arm char that is farthest from you.

"You never take a job for free. What gives?" Mike asks.

You roll your eyes. It's not like you were money hungry. Yes you needed money to survive but you weren't broke. You could afford to not work for the next ten years if you wanted to. But you'd miss it too much.

This isn't that though. This isn't fun.

This is revenge.

"I thought you read through my stuff. You didn't put it together?"

"It's revenge." Armando answers.

You turn around from your seat on the couch and look at him. He's looking right back at you. He probably didn't read your file, probably was too boring for him. But how'd he figure it out?

It's not like you left the reason on your computer. You wouldn't make such a rookie mistake.

"How'd you figure that out? Did you find her moodboard?" Marcus jokes.

You pass him a look. He takes a step back.

"Alright, alright, no more jokes about the mood board. Got it." Marcus says to himself.

"What other reason could she be doing this for?" Armando asks.

"It's been twelve years. I spent ten years tracking him down and two years infiltrating his circle. He has no clue who I am. None." you start to explain.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't in your file. Who are you?" Dorn asks.

"Well she was leader of the dirty dozen in New York. Highly effective tactile group, skin ranging from murder, assassinations, weapon making, and a whole lot more." Mike says.

"And when the group cut ties, she ran the underground for a bit. Nothing happened without her knowing it." Marcus adds on.

"Not a cop." Armando says.

"I'm the daughter of German's former right hand man." you answer.

Which is why it stung a lot that Mike and Marcus wanted to take this case from you. Knowing who you are and knowing what it means. You worked for this. And you're gonna see it through come hell or high water.

-

THE NEXT NIGHT, MIAMI

Mike and Marcus were all set with their crew. German would never allow them to step foot into his compound but lucky for them they don't have to.

You snuck in last night and triggered the sprinkler system. Everything got flooded. So while German is getting everything cleaned up and possibly looking for a new base of operations, he's hanging out with a buddy.

Zio. Money hungry drug mover. Only thing he loves more than money and drugs is his expensive shoe collection. Which he's putting on display tonight.

A rich man's party is the best place to re-con. You told Mike and Marcus how many men German has on him at all times, but that doesn't give them much for when the time comes to take him down.

What's their tactical response like? What weapons do they bring on the move? How many cars? Things like that. Which was smart thinking and not at all on your mind when you first started this.

Armando leans back in the van's chair, man spreading. You roll your eyes but you say nothing. You weren't really trying to talk to him. Lest he find out more about you.

He seems to be tapped in to you. Which is weird. You've never had someone checking for you before.

"I can hear you rolling your eyes from here. What's up? he asks.

He spins around in his chair and faces you. Smug look on his face as he leans back.

"Nothing. Just want to get this over with." you say.

He nods once, then he creeps closer to you with his chair. He's about a foot away from you.

"You wanted to be the one to kill him." he muses.

You look at him, "Well yes. It was my mission. I found him. I infiltrated. I lost someone to him."

"It won't make the pain go away." he says.

"Oh please don't give me the 'revenge will just turn into guilt' talk. I got it from Mike and Marcus." you sigh.

Before you can blink or think of anything else to say, you feel your chair being pulled to the left. You grab onto the only thing in view and that happens to be Armando's leg.

"If I get him in my crosshairs, I'll hand the shot to you." he says.

You look him in the eyes, "Do you want a thank you or something?"

He smiles, "No te preocopes, no quiero nada."

"It doesn't seem like you don't want anything." you reply.

The back door of the van opens and he lets go of your chair. You slide back a bit to put some space between you two. He turns back to the screen in front of him.

-

THE NEXT MORNING, MIAMI

The steam from the shower wafts out the bathroom. You wrap your towel around your body a little tighter as you walk into the kitchen. The tea you were making is beyond ready, the kettle at this point screaming at a frequency only dogs can hear.

You turn it off and set it aside.

As your reaching for your favorite mug, you hear faint noises from the front door. You run over to the dinning room table and reach underneath the wooden chair. Your fingers wrap around the gun and you pull it close.

One swift check and the safety is off. You crab walk to the other side of the kitchen counter, away from the door. The noise becomes louder until you hear the door open.

"Shit, where'd she go." a voice says.

A voice, you know it. You get up from your position on the floor and look around the wall. Armando.

"What the hell are you-" you're about to ask.

"We need to go. now. No time to pack. Put some clothes on." He directs you.

He almost gives you no say when he grabs you by the elbow and maneuvers you into your room. He closes the door behind him and takes out his gun.

"Am I just supposed to undress in front of you?" you question, with your eyebrow raised.

He lets his arms fall to his sides. Then he walks over to the window, allowing you to walk over to the closet. You pull the door open and grab the first pair of jeans and shirt you can find.

Making sure he's actually turned first, you then put on your underwear and bra. Then you pull the shirt over your body, lastly your pants.

You walk to your dresser and reach into the cabinet. The noise must alert him that you're dressed because he turns around.

"We don't have time. You got made." Armando says.

"What the fuck do you mean I got made?" you ask.

"What I said. You're not safe here." he answers.

You grab your go-bag and move over to the window. Chest to Chest with Armando you look up at him.

"Where the hell am I gonna be safe then?"

He doesn't answer you. Maybe because he didn't have an answer. Or because the bullets started raining into your apartment right on time. Then he was nudging you out of the window and down the fire escape.

-

A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, UNAMED MOTEL, ORLANDO

You put your bag down on the floor. The bed looked horrible. But horrible would have to do for now. You can't really make requests on the run.

Armando shuts the door behind him.

"Since you paid you can take the bed." you say.

He scoffs, "I'm not that kind of man."

You look over your shoulder, "Just one that snoops through my personal stuff and ignores personal space."

He says nothing. He walks silently into the bathroom and closes that door behind him too. You sigh and plop down onto the bed. You didn't understand.

Before Mike and Marcus showed up you were on track to get revenge within the next two weeks. Everything was set. There were backup plans. They were contingencies.

Now it was all shot to hell.

You hear the shower start up and lean back into the bed. And without meaning to you end up falling asleep. Right there on your back.

Armando comes out of the shower about five minutes after that. The soap sucked and the water had no pressure but at least he didn't feel like the sweat was clinging to him anymore.

He walks out of the bathroom and finds you laying on the corner of the bed. He looks you over once and crosses the room to cut off the lamps.

When the room is dark, he takes one of the pillows from the bed and sets himself up by the door. His gun tucked to his hip. This way he can keep an eye on the door and you.

You were interesting to say the least.

Usually people don't affect him this much. He can get on with his day and do what he has to do. Nothing comes in between him and a mission.

Especially now when his only mission was his freedom.

But there was something about you. Or, that's not really true. There were multiple things about you. He could see the lust for revenge in your eyes, he recognizes it well. He could tell you weren't being forthcoming either.

And he liked how you spoke your mind.

Liked? Why is he saying liked?

He doesn't really know you. He knows a little bit. He knows you only like tea, there is no coffee in your apartment. And you live in sweatpants when you don't have to be undercover. You also seem to have an aversion to the color blue.

He doesn't really know you. He can't like you.

He looks over at your sleeping form. How your lips part just a little bit and you snore. And your head leans to the right, your dominant side. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable and move you. But he knows you'll wake up sore from sleeping this way.

So he gets up. He gets up because he needs to stretch his legs. Not because of any other reason.

He walks to the bathroom and turns on the light and the vent. Hoping the sound will rouse you and you'll move on your own. He steps into the bathroom and closes the door with a bit more force than needed.

He looks into the mirror. He looks himself in the eyes.

This is bad. This is bad because you're the type of girl he would take a bullet for.

-

THE NEXT MORNING, ORLANDO

"Mike-"

"I fucked up. I know you wanted this, and I took it from you when I should have let you handle it."

"Mike-"

"And now you're on the run. You've never been burned before, and it's because of me."

"Mike!"

"What?"

"Shut up for a second and let me think."

You sigh.

German caught on to the eyes on him when he was at the shoe party. While anyone else would have packed up and fled to a non extradition country, he's staying here.

A sign.

Whoever it is that wanted to get him, should come see him face to face. No way in hell were you going to do that. Not only did you have the smarts to wait him out, you didn't want Mike and Marcus to put themselves on the line. They would no doubt follow you into the fire.

"I think I should make my peace with this before anyone gets hurt." you say.

There's silence on the other end of the line. With Mike not talking , you turn around to find Armando. He's standing there, two feet away from you on the hood of the stolen pick-up truck from the motel parking lot.

"That's big of you." Mike jokes.

"Very. But I mean if I see him about to get ran over, I'm not goin to save his ass." you quip.

Mike laughs, "He doesn't deserve it. Your forgiveness."

"I know," you say and Armando looks at you then. "I should probably return him to you, since he's on parole."

"Yeah well he did some things that might kick that back a few years." Mike answers.

You shake your head, "You can say it was all me. Make sure Dorn gets rid of any incriminating footage."

"I didn't tell him to go get you, you know that?"

You don't know why but hearing that makes your heart kind of thump weird. Not thump weird. Your heart is already thumping, but it feels different.

Different as you look him in the eyes.

The first time you interacted with him you hoped it would be the last. And now here he is sticking his neck out for you when you haven't been all that kind.

"I didn't know that. I'll get him back to you in one piece." you speak.

"Thanks. And keep me updated wherever you land."

"Will do. Thanks Mike."

You hang up the phone. Armando takes a step closer and you hold out the phone for him. When he does you feel the quickest static brush against your fingertips.

"You good from here?" he asks.

You nod your head, "I'm a big girl, first time for everything."

He nods once with a small smirk on his lips. He looks away, somewhere off behind your shoulder. It's not like you didn't notice he's good looking. But you just never thought about it for too long.

"Let me drop you off at the station." he says.

You don't want to smile. You shouldn't smile. "Okay."

Armando waits for you to start walking. Once your in front of him he walks over to the driver's side. You climb into the truck and shut the door.

You could've walked. The station is only ten minutes from here. You smile a bit to yourself when he puts the car in drive.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 10 - Rain

@jegulus-microfic November 10, Word count 473

Previous part First part

“Ouch, Sirius, that’s my groin!” James groaned as Sirius tried to shove Remus off of them and kneed him between the legs.

“Oops, sorry, Prongs,” Sirius apologised. James tugged his out from under Remus and reached around the pair, rolling until he was on the top. 

“What the?!” Sirius complained as James stood up. James ignored him and looked at the sofa where Sirius had thrown Regulus. He wasn’t there. The thunk of the fridge door shutting alerted him to where Regulus now was, in the kitchen making the tea he’d abandoned. 

He followed the sound of a teaspoon clinking against a mug and found Regulus artfully arranging macarons on a plate. 

“You’re too good for us, you know,” James said, popping one of the delicate treats into his mouth. Regulus blushed again, and James couldn’t resist pressing his lips to the warm, soft skin on Regulus’s cheek. 

If it was possible, Regulus blushed even harder. He busied himself adding milk and sugar to the cups of tea he was making and piled everything onto a tray, keeping his eyes on what he was doing and trying his hardest not to meet James’s eyes. “Let me take that for you,” James said, sidling up behind Regulus as he reached out to pick up the tray. He slid his hands under Regulus’s and picked the tray up with Regulus still between him and the counter. 

“James!” A little bark of a laugh escaped Regulus’s lips, and James nearly dropped the tray. He loved Regulus’s laugh almost as much as he loved the blushing. 

Regulus ducked under his arm, and they returned to the living room where Sirius and Remus were arguing about what they were going to do that day.

“I still think the chocolate museum is an ideal excursion for the whole family,” Remus protested. 

“No, we went there last week. I am sick of chocolate,” Sirius huffed. 

“You take that back,” Remus said, outraged. 

“Shan’t,” Sirius folded his arms across his chest and stuck his nose in the air. “Besides, the park has trampolines,” 

“I hate to break it to you, Padfoot,” James said, grabbing hold of the curtains, opening them fully and revealing the heavy rain thundering down outside. “But I don't think the trampolines will be open today,” 

“Erm, I might have an idea,” Regulus piped up, his words only heard because Sirius hadn’t started talking again. They all spun to look at him, and he visibly shrunk. James felt very protective of him all of a sudden and wanted to comfort him. 

“What’s your idea, love?” He asked gently. 

“We’ll, erm, there’s an art exhibit, and they’re exhibiting some of my work.” Regulus squirmed uncomfortably at all the attention. 

“Sounds perfect, love,” James grinned broadly at him. “Art exhibit it is,” And for once, Sirius and Remus didn’t argue.     

Next part

[pomegranatecrab]

Rhodey/Tony/Steve, anyone?

Steve buys an apartment with his back pay.

It’s small, but it has two bedrooms. He converts one into a studio, and he should be comforted by the peeling paint and faded colour, covered in thousands of little fallacies, so very akin to the room he shared with his mother, where he would count each mark and stain while he was in bed, struggling to breath. Instead, the memories that the walls incite are sour.

There’s nothing stopping him from moving the minimal furniture out into the hallway, and sanding back the walls by hand. The man at the store had suggested an electric one, a round device that he had politely turned down. When he strips down the walls, Steve is still at a loss. No colour feels right for the room. There’s two windows where Steve is considering putting a house plant between, yet, no inspiration strikes. A spattering of dust floats in the air, a thick smell permeating the room. Steve opens a window, and frowns when someone knocks on the door.

He’s never met the man on the other side before. Tall, dark skin and carrying himself strongly. A wry smile paints his lips.

“Steve Rogers?” He offers a hand, the other hooked in the tag of a six pack of beers. “I’m James Rhodes. Tony’s talked a lot about you.”

Steve blinks.

“Tony Stark?”

James nods, peering shamelessly past Steve and into the living room. “Still moving in?”

Steve steps aside, nodding stiffly. The beers are from a brand he doesn’t recognise, and James is dressed casually, but his rigid posture gives him away.

“Army?”

“Airforce,” James says, peeling off his shoes and leaving them neatly by the door. “No work talk, I’m off duty.” He eyes the lack of TV critically.

“Do you have any board games?”

Steve would have felt like a killjoy, if not for the gleam in James’ eye, casual and easy-going. Like a wave could crash in and he’d simply ride it to shore.

“I have a pair of dice,” Steve says.

It’s one of the only things, along with his shield, that they let him take from his own belongings. A nice wooden pair that Bucky had carved for him, right down to the uneven dots adorning each side.

“Perfect,” James says.

He steps into the connecting kitchen, running an admiring hand over the arched doorway, a coil of rich timber that reminds Steve of the sprawling houses that he’d seen in movies at the theatre.

“Have you considered removing this cupboard? It’d make good space for a breakfast nook.” He peers around the back of it, considering. “Built in, but it wouldn’t take too much rewiring. Tony and I can help you out.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve replies, eyeing the unit critically. It would be nice to have the place feel less crowded, unique, even. It’s probably the last thing he needs, but a construction project might keep his mind occupied, at least. There were only so many times that he could think about drawing instead of picking up a pencil, and only so many laps he could take around the park.

James nods, and swipes a cup from the dish rack, rinsing it once beneath the tap before placing it in the middle of the counter. Steve watches as he takes a beer, expertly popping it open with a spoon.

“How’d you do that?”

“My sister taught me,” James says, sliding a beer over to Steve, “it’s simple physics. You just hold your hand slightly over the cap, and voilà.”

Steve tips his head, impressed.

“Now, you roll the dice,” James demonstrates, “and whatever number I get, in this case six, I have to get this cap in the glass six times in a row. If I don’t, I drink. If I do, you drink.”

“You know I can’t get drunk, right?” Steve asks.

He’s also certain he won’t miss, no matter how high he rolls.

“Yeah, but it’s friday and I can,” James replies, almost cheekily, though his face is deceptively grave.

“You can laugh,” James says after a beat, composure finally cracking.

“At funny things,” Steve retorts, relaxing, the tension held in his shoulders eased by the friendliness, the firm hold of comradely, on offer to him.

“Call me Jim, or Rhodey.”

They spend a good couple of hours playing, until Steve swallows the last of his beer, and Rhodey checks his watch.

Steve’s heart sinks. His day no longer felt droll and empty with Rhodey’s visit. It had been nice, at least, while it lasted.

“What’s your phone number?” Rhodey asks, pulling out a sleek little rectangle with a smooth surface. It alights at his touch, and Steve spots a vaguely familiar face, belatedly realising that it was Tony Stark, beaming up at the ceiling.

“I don’t have a phone.”

He had been given one when he woke up, but left it on a park bench when it hadn’t stopped incessantly ringing.

And he had no idea what a data plan was, or why he was supposed to get one.

Rhodey smiles.

“I’m sure Tony will help you out there. Here’s my address. You should stop by on Sunday. We’re having a barbecue.”

He’s out the door with another kind smile and firm handshake, leaving the faint smell of expensive cologne behind him.

—-

By the time Sunday rolls around, he still hasn’t decided on a colour for his studio, or if he really does want a breakfast nook in his kitchen.

What he has decided, after a great deal of going back and forth with himself, is that he will attend the barbecue that Rhodey invited him to. Steve refuses to think about Bucky, or his mother; dead for decades while he experiences the future. He doesn’t think of quiet dinners with his mother, or sitting in dense forests with Bucky, his small fingers expertly carving the skin from a rabbit, roasting it over the fire, a fond suspire caught in Steve’s throat as Bucky complained about boredom, wishing for Nazi’s to gut or superior officers to prank. Mostly, he remembers the smell of bodies. The nauseating amount of blood had been like drowning in a sea of pennies, a thick, overwhelming metallic smell, a horrible collision with urine and excrement.

He thinks of Bucky, who didn’t even make it to sixteen.

He pulls on his shoes, and thinks of how he had to warn Bucky about keeping his feet as dry as possible in his boots, to never assume that it was mud, or something wet in his socks. He had heard too many stories from the first war about flesh peeling off, rotting and grotesque.

Steve ignores the military uniform hanging neatly in his closet and opts for jeans and a white t-shirt, pulls the punnet of strawberries from the fridge that he was sure were going to be laughed at, before beginning the long walk to Rhodey’s residence.

Rhodey lives in an incredibly beautiful two-story house, with a sprawling property that Steve figured would cost more than he would ever see in his lifetime. There’s a small porch at the front, adorned with plants hanging from the ceiling, a mat at the door and a small, ornate table with a package of bird feed on it.

He knocks on the door, and is surprised when it’s opened almost instantly.

Rhodey grins at him, wiping his hands on a yellow apron.

“Steve! Glad you could make it. Are those for the barbecue? Perfect, they’ll go perfectly with the charcuterie board.”

Relieved, Steve hands off the strawberries, peeling off his shoes and placing them in the neat little shelf by the door, already filled with a variety of joggers, leather shoes and a strange pair with holes throughout them.

The air smells like steak, sausages and something spicy.

Rhodey leads him briskly through a wide hallway with gleaming wooden floors into a large kitchen, where Tony Stark stands, arms akimbo.

“I thought flambéing would be easier than it looked,” Tony says, with a winning smile.

It’s not the wet, dormant smile of a greedy businessman; his blue eyes are warm, and he’s rolled his sleeves to his elbows, a faint flush working his way up to his neck. He looks very normal.

“Just do us all a favour and stick to chopping, a severed finger would be better than cleaning the gunk in that pan,” Rhodey replies.

Tony shrugs, and turns to face Steve properly.

“Hi, Steve. Nice to properly meet you,” Tony says, offering a hand.

His palm is calloused and warm, with long, bony fingers that his mother would say are perfect for the piano.

“I hear you’re in the midst of a construction project.” Tony opens the punnet of strawberries, and opens a cupboard beneath the bench, pulling out a beautiful wooden board, covered in rich oils that paint the surface into a bubbling ocean. Rhodey passes him a package of brie and a small knife, which all get neatly organised on the board.

“Maybe,” Steve says, scratching at the back of his neck.

There’s a cool breeze trailing in from the deck, the huge doors thrown open, curtains flapping gently.

A British voice, possibly belonging to the pale set of legs lounging half out of sight on a chaise longue, rings out.

“Master Anthony! I’m sure somewhere along the way I drilled some manners into that head of yours.”

“Are you sure?” Tony says, whisking the small platter out the door. “I don’t recall.”

Steve follows, assured by Rhodey’s benign smile as he inches around the barbeque. Rhodey lifts the lid, smoke escaping the confines and filling the air, and pokes at the sausages sizzling away alongside a row of vegetables.

“I enjoy my days off, but I don’t enjoy watching your abysmal attempt at cooking,” the older gentleman says, arranging his feet on a small table.

“Jarvis,” Rhodey replies, “stop flirting.”

Jarvis sniffs.

“Anthony, I wasn’t joking about your manners.”

Tony claps a hand over his shoulder, grinning. “Jarvis, this is Steve. Steve, this is Jarvis. He’s known me since I was in diapers.”

“You were just as stubborn about those as you are about bread,” Jarvis demurred.

“I’m not a snob for not eating white bread,” Tony defends immediately, handing a cracker piled with olives, tomatoes and cheese over to Steve.

The cheese had an interesting layer of crust, a creamy, white texture underneath.

“Are too,” Rhodey says, “you couldn’t see the looks of disgust sent my way when I dared to grill cheese on white bread.”

“There’s a perfect way to make grilled cheese, Rhodey,” Tony says, “it’s a sacred art.”

Steve’s lips twitch, and Tony grins widely at him, nodding towards the cracker.

“That’s brie. It’s okay if you don’t like it, it can be a bit rich.”

He eats it in one bite, the rich flavours exploding across his tongue immediately. Steve had been used to stale, thin waifs for crackers, and in the army, hardtack, eaten in the dark to remain ignorant about the presence of weevils. These crackers were crumbly, with hints of thyme and garlic, and complimented the tangy tomato and olives, the interesting taste of the brie eluding his palate until the last minute.

“I don’t mind it,” Steve says.

“Have you had a chance to try any other new food, Steve?” Rhodey asks, smiling charmingly, one hand pressing warmly against the small of Tony’s back as he shuffles past, offering another loaded cracker to Jarvis, before holding the other to Rhodey’s lips.

“Not really.” Steve scratches his head, darting his eyes between the three of them, no judgement in their eyes, merely curiosity. “I don’t really know where to start.”

Tony clicks his fingers. “We can remedy that, Steve. Can’t have you going to any old Cantonese restaurant. I know a place. Tiny, no signage, just a window filled with roasted duck. Best you’ll get in the city.”

Rhodey wipes his hands on his apron, a dab of oil on his lip from the olives, wiped daintily off by Tony’s gentle finger. He sucks the remnants off, and turns to gaze at Steve inquiringly.

“It’s a date, right?”

Rhodey nods, before Steve can even open his mouth.

“We’ll pick you up Wednesday night. That work for you?”

Steve, who so far had a grand total of zero friends in the future, nods reluctantly. It sounded better than sitting alone, firmly telling himself he doesn’t need company, or someone to write letters to, or listen to music with, or go to a baseball game with.

“I’ll be there,” Steve says, forcing what he hopes is a personable smile on his face.

Tony and Rhodey angle identical grins at him, exchanging a silent, pleased glance.

Steve blames the blazing sun for the prick of heat that spreads rapidly down his neck.

[badger-tales]

Mystery man// G.W x Reader

a/n: UGH I LOVE COFFEE SHOP STORIES

request: Hi badger💛💛💛 i have a fluff request for a George Weasley kinda coffee shop au vibe?? like the reader is a Muggle and works at a small local coffee shop and has a really sweet cheerful customer service energy but is actually really laidback and sarcastic and silly normally. shes vaguely alternative with eyeliner and lots of jewelry and dyed bright red short hair. idk i just see George being one of the regulars during his breaks from the joke shop and developing a crush on her.

word count: 11.1k

George Weasley pushed open the door to the small coffee shop, the bell above the entrance giving a soft jingle as he stepped inside. The warm scent of freshly ground coffee beans and the faint murmur of chatter hit him, immediately making the cozy atmosphere a welcome refuge from the chilly wind outside. He glanced around, his eyes searching for an empty spot before they landed on the burst of red hair behind the counter.

Bright red, almost glowing under the shop lights, the barista's hair caught George's attention immediately. She stood out in the quaint little shop—a beacon of color amidst muted browns and soft yellows. George couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. She was wearing thick eyeliner that seemed almost like war paint, her eyes accentuated by the wings that flicked upward. A variety of rings adorned her fingers, each one different—some intricate, others simple—along with a layered assortment of necklaces resting against her chest.

As George approached the counter, she looked up and gave him an enthusiastic smile. It was the kind of smile that made him feel as though she genuinely enjoyed being there.

"What’ll it be, love?" she asked, her voice bright and warm. The phrase seemed effortless for her, an endearment tossed to any customer who came by. But there was something in the way she looked at him, her eyes slightly crinkled at the corners, that made George's heart do a little flip.

He hesitated for a moment, her energy catching him a bit off guard. George wasn't used to this kind of cheerfulness—certainly not from a barista. He had half-expected a half-hearted greeting and an impatient stare. Instead, he was met with a genuine warmth that had him fumbling for words.

"Uh," he stammered, trying to make his brain function properly, "Whatever you recommend, I guess?"

She tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching upward in an almost mischievous grin as she considered him.

"One mystery latte, coming right up," she said, giving him a wink before she turned around to work on the drink. George blinked, unsure of what exactly he had gotten himself into.

As he stood there, watching her expertly work the espresso machine, he couldn’t help but notice her demeanor. She was relaxed, almost nonchalant, but there was an underlying playfulness to her movements. She poured the steamed milk into the cup with an exaggerated flourish, her eyes darting back to him to see if he was paying attention. When she caught him watching, she gave a little chuckle, as if amused by his interest.

"So, what's your name, mystery man?" she asked as she placed the cup in front of him, a heart-shaped foam design adorning the top of the latte.

George blinked, caught off guard once more. He glanced down at the heart and felt his cheeks warm up. He hadn’t been expecting that.

"Uh, George," he said, clearing his throat and trying to sound casual.

"Nice to meet you, George," she replied, her smile widening as she slid the cup towards him. "I'm Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue. It suited her, he thought. Different, bold, and a bit mysterious. He picked up the cup, holding it in his hands as if it were something precious.

"Enjoy your mystery latte, George," Y/N said, her tone teasing. "Hope you like surprises."

George chuckled, his smile widening. He didn’t know what he’d expected when he walked into the shop, but he was fairly certain this was already the highlight of his day.

---

George found an empty table by the window and settled into the cushioned seat, glancing back at the counter where Y/N was now serving another customer. There was something captivating about her—the contrast between her cheerful customer service energy and her quirky alternative style. She didn’t seem like someone who followed the typical rules, and George liked that. He took a sip of the latte, the warmth spreading through him, and he smiled to himself.

The drink was delicious—sweet, with a hint of something he couldn’t quite place. He wondered if she had made it specifically for him or if it was just a random concoction she came up with on the spot. Either way, it tasted like comfort, and George found himself relaxing into his seat, the tension from his busy day slowly melting away.

As he watched the rain drizzle down the window, George’s mind wandered. He thought about the joke shop and the new products he and Fred had been working on. The business had been growing steadily, and while that was exciting, it also meant long hours and little rest. This coffee shop, with its warm ambiance and friendly barista, felt like a small haven—a place where he could take a moment to breathe.

His gaze drifted back to Y/N, who was now chatting animatedly with a customer, her hands moving expressively as she spoke. She seemed to have this effortless way of making people smile, and George wondered if she knew just how much of an impact her energy had on those around her. He found himself wanting to know more about her—what kind of music she listened to, what she did when she wasn’t working at the coffee shop, and whether her cheerfulness was as genuine as it seemed or just a front for her job.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Y/N caught his eye from across the room, giving him a playful wave. George raised his cup in response, a smile tugging at his lips. He felt a flutter in his chest, an unexpected excitement building inside him. He hadn’t expected to meet someone like her today—someone who could make him feel so at ease after just a few minutes of conversation.

As he finished his drink, George stood up and made his way to the counter, the empty cup in his hand. Y/N looked up from the register, her eyes lighting up as he approached.

"How was it?" she asked, her voice still carrying that cheerful lilt.

George placed the cup on the counter, nodding appreciatively. "It was brilliant. Not sure what you put in it, but it definitely did the trick."

Y/N smiled, leaning on the counter slightly. "That’s the magic of the mystery latte, George. You never quite know what you’re gonna get." She paused, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I’m glad you liked it."

George hesitated for a moment, feeling a sudden urge to keep the conversation going. He didn’t want to leave just yet—not when he felt so comfortable here, talking to her.

"So," he began, scratching the back of his neck, "Do you come up with these mystery drinks often, or was I just a lucky test subject today?"

Y/N laughed, the sound light and infectious. "Oh, I make them up all the time. Keeps things interesting, you know? Besides," she added, giving him a conspiratorial look, "It’s fun seeing people’s reactions when they don’t know what they’re getting."

George grinned, shaking his head. "Well, you’ve definitely got me curious. I’ll have to come back and see what else you come up with."

Y/N’s smile widened, and she gave him a nod. "You do that, mystery man. I’ll make sure to have something special ready for you."

George felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of coming back—of seeing her again. He nodded, trying to keep his cool. "I’ll hold you to that, Y/N." With one last smile, he turned and made his way to the door, the bell above it giving another soft jingle as he stepped outside into the crisp air.

As he walked away, George couldn’t help but glance back at the shop, his eyes catching the bright red of Y/N’s hair through the window. He knew he’d be back—and not just for the coffee. Something about her had drawn him in, and he was eager to see where it might lead.

George found himself standing outside the small coffee shop once again, only a few days after his first visit. He wasn't quite sure what had pulled him back here so soon. Maybe it was the warmth that seemed to pour out of the little shop, or perhaps it was the promise of another comforting cup of coffee. But if he were being completely honest with himself, it was probably the barista with the bright red hair and mischievous smile. He’d been thinking about her more than he cared to admit.

He pushed open the door, the familiar bell giving its cheerful jingle, and immediately, the cozy aroma of coffee and baked goods enveloped him. His eyes scanned the room until they found her—Y/N, with her thick eyeliner, her hands busy making a drink while she chatted with a customer. Her hair was tied up today, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and her jewelry sparkled under the lights as she moved.

As George stepped further into the shop, Y/N glanced up and her eyes locked on his. A broad smile spread across her face, her entire expression lighting up at the sight of him.

"Oi, mystery man, you're back!" she called out, her voice carrying over the gentle hum of conversation in the shop. "Care for another surprise?"

George grinned, walking up to the counter. He didn’t think he’d ever met someone who could make him feel this at ease after just one meeting. There was something so genuine about her energy, a brightness that seemed to cut through everything else.

"Wouldn't miss it," George said, leaning slightly against the counter. "I'm beginning to think I have a taste for the mysterious."

Y/N chuckled, her eyes narrowing playfully as she reached for a clean cup. "Oh, you have, have you? Lucky for you, I’ve got a new concoction in mind." She set to work on his drink, moving with a practiced ease, the soft clinks of metal and ceramic punctuating her movements.

George watched her work, the way she concentrated as she steamed the milk, her brow furrowing slightly, her tongue peeking out between her lips in focus. It was almost mesmerizing, the care she put into making something as simple as a cup of coffee. He found himself smiling without even realizing it.

"So," Y/N said after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence, "What brings you back so soon, George? Didn't think you'd be in for another mystery so quickly." She glanced up at him, a smirk playing on her lips as she added, "Couldn't stay away, could you?"

George's cheeks flushed slightly at her teasing, and he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. "Well, I figured I might as well see if the first one was just beginner’s luck," he replied, giving her a lopsided grin. "Besides, who could resist such expert barista skills?"

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and George felt that same flutter in his chest that he had the first time. "Flattery will get you everywhere, mystery man," she said, pouring the milk into the cup with an elegant swirl, creating a leaf pattern on the surface. She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I suppose I’ll allow it."

George watched as she set the drink in front of him, the warmth of the cup seeping into his hands as he picked it up. He glanced down at the leaf design, admiring the delicate detail before looking back up at Y/N. "You really are good at this, you know," he said, his voice more sincere this time.

Y/N paused, her teasing demeanor softening for a moment as she looked at him. "Thanks, George," she said, her smile a little more genuine, a little less playful. "It’s always nice to hear that."

George felt his heart skip a beat, and he quickly took a sip of his drink to cover it up. The warmth spread through him, the flavor rich and comforting, and he found himself relaxing into the moment. He hadn't realized just how much he needed this—a break from the chaos of the joke shop, a moment of calm in the middle of everything.

"So," Y/N said, leaning on the counter as she looked at him, her eyes curious, "What do you do when you're not wandering into random coffee shops for mysterious lattes?"

George chuckled, setting his cup down. "Oh, you know, just a bit of this and that," he said, trying to keep it vague. "Actually, my brother and I run a shop. We sell joke products."

Y/N raised her eyebrows, clearly intrigued. "A joke shop, huh? That sounds... well, frankly, it sounds amazing." She grinned, her eyes lighting up. "You’re telling me you make a living by making people laugh?"

George nodded, his own smile widening. "Pretty much. It's a lot of work, but it’s worth it. There’s nothing better than seeing someone’s face light up when they walk into the shop and see all the ridiculous things we’ve come up with."

Y/N nodded thoughtfully, her fingers tapping lightly against the counter. "I can see that," she said, her voice softer now. "I bet you’re really good at it. Making people happy, I mean."

George felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words, and for a moment, he was at a loss for what to say. He wasn’t used to this kind of earnestness—at least, not from someone he barely knew. But there was something about Y/N that made him feel like they’d known each other for much longer than just a couple of visits to a coffee shop.

"I try," he finally said, his voice a little rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, giving her a smile. "I guess that’s why I like this place so much. You’ve got a way of making people feel welcome, you know?"

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she gave him a small smile. "Well, it helps when the customers are nice," she said, her tone light but sincere. "And you, George, are definitely one of the good ones."

George felt his cheeks warm again, and he ducked his head slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. He took another sip of his drink, letting the warmth fill the comfortable silence that had settled between them. He realized then that he wanted more of this—more conversations, more laughter, more moments that made him forget about everything else for a while.

"Well," Y/N said, straightening up and giving him a wink, "You’d better get used to surprises, George. I’ve got plenty more where that came from."

George grinned, his heart light as he looked at her. "I think I could get used to that," he said, his voice soft.

As he made his way to a table by the window, George couldn't help but glance back at the counter, watching as Y/N moved on to the next customer, her smile just as bright as before. He knew he’d be back—again and again. Not just for the coffee, but for her. For the warmth she brought to the room, the way she made him feel like maybe, just maybe, this little coffee shop was exactly where he was meant to be.

It was a dreary Tuesday morning, and George Weasley found himself shuffling through the doors of the little coffee shop once again. The bell above the door gave its familiar jingle, and George sighed as he ran a hand through his untamed red hair. It had been an early start at the joke shop, with inventory problems and a few product mishaps that had left him feeling more than a little drained. All he wanted now was a hot drink to wake him up.

Y/N was behind the counter, as usual, her bright red hair tied into a messy bun and her rings catching the light as she rearranged some cups. As soon as George stepped inside, her eyes landed on him, and she gave him a broad, knowing smile.

"Oi, mystery man!" she called, her voice cutting through the hum of the shop. George glanced up, blinking sleepily, and managed a tired smile.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her gaze taking in his slouched posture, the dark circles under his eyes, and the overall look of exhaustion that seemed to cling to him. Without missing a beat, she put on her brightest voice and said, "You look like you fought a dragon. Rough day already?"

George let out a tired laugh, shaking his head. "You have no idea," he muttered, leaning on the counter for support. He looked at her, trying to muster up some humor of his own. "Think you can make me something that'll magically give me my energy back?"

Y/N grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I’ve got just the thing." She turned to start making his drink, her hands moving with their usual practiced ease. As she worked, she glanced back at him, her expression turning mock-serious.

"Good thing I’m here to rescue you with caffeine," she said, her voice full of exaggerated concern. She leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing. "Or maybe just take you to the emergency room if this doesn’t help."

George snorted, his smile widening despite his exhaustion. There was something about her sarcasm, the way she could turn a simple comment into something that made him laugh, that made even the most tiring days feel a little lighter.

"You’re a lifesaver," he said, watching as she poured the steamed milk into the cup, her movements almost hypnotic. "I swear, I don’t know what I’d do without this place."

Y/N looked up, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Probably collapse somewhere in Piccadilly," she said, handing him the cup. "And then I’d have to explain to everyone that I knew you needed caffeine but you didn’t make it in time. Not a good look, George." She shook her head as if disappointed in him, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

George took the cup from her, warmth spreading through his fingers. He glanced down at the foam—this time, she’d drawn a little lightning bolt, which made him chuckle.

"Nice touch," he said, nodding toward the design.

Y/N shrugged, her grin widening. "If it’ll wake you up, I’ll do whatever it takes," she replied. "Besides, you’re already a hero in my book for dealing with whatever it is you do all day."

George chuckled, shaking his head. He took a sip of the drink, the warmth and sweetness hitting just right, and he let out a sigh of contentment. "You really do have magic hands," he said, his tone teasing.

Y/N gave an exaggerated bow, her jewelry clinking as she did so. "Thank you, thank you. I aim to please." She straightened, crossing her arms as she looked at him, her expression softening slightly. "You doing alright though, really? You look like you’ve been run ragged."

George hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, just a long morning at the shop," he admitted. "You know, prank products gone wrong, customers who think they know better than you… the usual."

Y/N nodded sympathetically. "Retail, huh? It’s a nightmare sometimes," she said, her voice taking on a more genuine tone. "But, hey, at least you get to sell fun stuff, right? Could be worse—you could be selling toilet scrubbers or something equally boring."

George laughed, the sound brightening his tired features. "True, true. I suppose I can’t complain too much. At least we get to make people laugh."

Y/N smiled at that, her eyes meeting his. "Exactly. And if it makes you feel any better, you’ve got me laughing half the time just from watching you try to function before your morning coffee." She gave him a wink, her teasing tone returning.

George placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. "I’ll have you know I am very functional in the mornings," he said, his voice dripping with mock indignation.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Sure, sure, mystery man. Keep telling yourself that."

George shook his head, unable to stop smiling. He looked down at his drink, the warmth spreading through him, not just from the coffee but from the conversation, the lightness that seemed to come whenever he was talking to her. He didn’t know how she did it—how she always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better, to make him laugh, even on the roughest of days.

He took another sip, savoring the flavor, before glancing back up at her. "You know," he said, his tone more sincere now, "I really appreciate this. You always seem to know how to make everything a little better."

Y/N paused, her teasing smile softening into something more genuine. She shrugged, a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. "Just doing my job," she said, her voice a little quieter. "But... I’m glad I can help."

George smiled at her, feeling that familiar flutter in his chest. He nodded, taking a step back. "Alright, I’ll let you get back to saving the world one coffee at a time," he said, giving her a playful salute.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile was warm. "You do that, George. And try not to collapse before your next visit, alright? I’m not responsible for any caffeine-related accidents."

George laughed, turning toward the door. "No promises," he called over his shoulder, the bell above the door jingling as he stepped back out into the street. The wind hit him, but the warmth from the coffee—and from her words—stayed with him, making everything seem just a little bit brighter.

It was another busy morning at the little coffee shop, and George Weasley found himself at the counter, waiting for his usual mystery latte. Y/N was bustling behind the counter, taking orders, steaming milk, and keeping up her usual cheerful banter with the customers. George loved watching her work—there was something almost magical about the way she moved, as if she were conducting an orchestra of coffee and smiles.

George had just received his drink and turned toward the sugar station when, in his sleepy state, he accidentally tipped over the sugar jar. A cascade of tiny white crystals spilled across the counter, and he quickly tried to stop the avalanche with his hand, but it was too late. Sugar was everywhere.

Y/N glanced up from the espresso machine, her eyes widening in mock horror at the sight of the mess. She gasped dramatically, her voice carrying across the shop. “Oi, you're trying to make a mess of my shop, are you?” she called out, shaking her head in exaggerated disapproval.

George froze for a moment, his hand still hovering over the spilled sugar, and then he burst out laughing. He turned to face her, holding his hands up in surrender, a sheepish grin on his face. “I promise it was an accident,” he said, his tone playful. “Honest mistake, I swear.”

Y/N put her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him. “Sure it was,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She stepped out from behind the counter, grabbing a cloth to clean up the mess. “You know, if you keep this up, I’m gonna have to start charging you a clean-up fee,” she added, her lips twitching into a smile.

George chuckled, stepping back to give her room. “I’d pay it,” he said, his grin widening. “Though, I think it’d be easier if you just banned me from the sugar station altogether.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head as she wiped up the sugar. “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy,” she said, her tone teasing. “If I banned every clumsy customer, I’d be out of business in a week. Besides,” she added, glancing up at him with a twinkle in her eye, “where would be the fun in that?”

George couldn’t help but smile at that. There was something about the way she handled everything—even a simple accident like this—that made him feel at ease. She never took anything too seriously, always finding a way to turn even the smallest mishap into something they could laugh about.

As she finished cleaning up the sugar, Y/N straightened and gave him a mock glare. “Alright, mystery man, I’ll let it slide this time,” she said, her lips curling into a grin. “But only because you make such good conversation.”

George placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be relieved. “Thank Merlin for that,” he said, his tone dramatic. “I’d hate to be banned from my favorite coffee shop.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth in her gaze as she looked at him. “Just try not to destroy the place next time, yeah?” she said, her voice softening slightly.

George nodded, giving her a sincere smile. “I’ll do my best,” he promised, taking a sip of his coffee. The warmth of the drink spread through him, but it wasn’t just the coffee that made him feel that way—it was her, the way she laughed with him, the way she never seemed to mind his clumsiness.

As he moved to find a seat, George glanced back at Y/N, who had already returned to her place behind the counter, her attention now on the next customer. She caught his eye for a moment and gave him a quick wink before turning back to her work.

George couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he sat down, the warmth in his chest lingering. He knew he’d be back, sugar accidents and all. There was something about this place—about her—that made every little mishap worth it. And as he took another sip of his latte, he found himself already looking forward to his next visit, wondering what other chaos he might accidentally cause, and knowing that Y/N would be there, ready to laugh it off with him.

George Weasley pushed open the door to the little coffee shop, the bell above the door giving its familiar jingle. It was another chilly morning, and George was eager to warm up with his favorite mystery latte. But more than that, he was eager to see her—the barista with the bright red hair, layered jewelry, and that mischievous smile that always managed to make his day just a little bit better.

Y/N was behind the counter, as usual, her fingers tapping idly against the cash register as she chatted with a customer. Today, her hair was loose, falling around her shoulders in a fiery cascade, and George noticed the different pieces of jewelry she was wearing—a mixture of rings, necklaces, and bracelets, each one more unique than the last. One ring in particular caught his eye—a silver snake coiled around her finger, its eyes tiny emerald stones that seemed to glint in the shop's soft lighting.

He approached the counter, waiting for her to finish with the customer in front of him. Y/N glanced over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up as she caught sight of him. She finished ringing up the order, handing over the customer’s change before turning her full attention to George.

"Morning, mystery man," she greeted, her voice cheerful as ever. "Back for another surprise, I see."

George grinned, leaning against the counter. "You know me too well, Y/N," he said, his eyes flicking down to her hand for a moment before he added, "And, uh, I really like your ring—the snake one."

Y/N blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she looked down at her hand. She twisted the ring around her finger, a smile slowly spreading across her lips. "Oh, this old thing?" she said, her tone teasing. "Thanks, mystery man. I didn’t think anyone actually noticed my style."

George felt his cheeks warm slightly, and he gave a small shrug. "Well, I notice," he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "I mean, it’s hard not to. You’ve always got something interesting on—whether it’s the rings or the necklaces. It’s cool."

Y/N’s smile widened, a hint of genuine appreciation in her eyes. "You know, most people just ask for their coffee and move on," she said, her voice softer now. "But you… you actually notice stuff." She paused, then added, her teasing grin returning, "Makes me think you might actually have a personality under all that tiredness."

George let out a laugh, shaking his head. "I do my best," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "But I think you’re the real star here. You pull off all that jewelry and still make the best coffee in town."

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. "Flattery will get you everywhere, George," she said, grabbing a cup and beginning to make his drink. Her movements were as fluid as ever, the rings on her fingers catching the light as she worked. George watched her, the way she poured the milk, the concentration on her face as she drew a little heart in the foam. It was the kind of care and attention that he’d come to admire about her.

"You know," Y/N said, glancing up at him as she finished the drink, "I think I might just have to make you an honorary jewelry critic. Seems like you’ve got an eye for it."

George chuckled, leaning a little closer to the counter. "I’ll take that as a compliment," he said, his tone playful. "But I think I’ll stick to taste-testing your coffee. Less pressure that way."

Y/N laughed, handing him the cup. "Fair enough," she said, her eyes meeting his. "But I’ll have you know, mystery man, I’ve got a whole collection of rings you haven’t even seen yet. You keep coming back, and maybe I’ll show you some of the good ones."

George’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. "Well, I guess I’ve got a reason to keep coming back then," he said, his voice softening.

Y/N’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and she gave him a nod. "I guess you do," she replied, her smile warm. "Now, go enjoy your mystery latte before it gets cold. And try not to spill sugar everywhere this time, yeah?"

George laughed, shaking his head. "No promises," he said, giving her a playful salute before turning to find a seat by the window. As he settled in, he glanced back at the counter, watching as Y/N moved on to the next customer, her smile still bright, her rings catching the light.

He took a sip of his latte, savoring the warmth that spread through him. It wasn't just the coffee that had him feeling so at ease, so comfortable. It was her—Y/N, with her bright hair, her unique style, her teasing words that always seemed to make everything just a little bit better. And as he sat there, watching the world go by outside the window, George found himself already looking forward to the next visit—to the next conversation, the next smile, the next glimpse of her quirky jewelry.

Maybe he was just another customer to her, but to George, these moments felt like something more—something he wanted to keep coming back for. And that was enough for now.

It had been a few weeks since George had started frequenting the cozy coffee shop. Every visit felt a little more familiar, a little more comfortable. He looked forward to it—the warmth of the place, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and most of all, the lively barista with bright red hair who always seemed to have a witty remark ready for him.

Today, the shop was quieter than usual. There weren’t many customers, just a couple of people scattered around the small tables, reading newspapers or working on their laptops. George walked up to the counter, smiling as he saw Y/N adjusting the sleeves of her oversized sweater. She looked up and immediately brightened when she saw him.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite mystery man," she said, her voice laced with its usual cheerfulness. "What’s it going to be today? Another surprise?"

George chuckled, leaning on the counter. "Of course. You know me, Y/N. I like living on the edge."

Y/N gave him a mock serious nod, grabbing a cup and starting to work on his drink. "Living dangerously with a coffee order. How rebellious of you," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. George couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head at her antics.

As she worked, George watched her, noticing the assortment of rings on her fingers and the way they clinked softly against the ceramic cup. He hadn’t realized how much he looked forward to these little moments until now—the back-and-forth banter, the warmth of her smile, the way she always seemed to make him feel just a bit lighter.

Y/N finished making his drink, placing it on the counter between them with a flourish. "There you go, mystery latte. I think I might have outdone myself this time. Pleasure doing business with you, George," she said, giving his hand one final shake before letting go. She leaned against the counter, her eyes meeting his.

George smiled, appreciating the chance to have a real conversation. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to share more of himself with her—how much he wanted to know more about her, too.

“How did you end up here, making magic lattes and rescuing tired customers from their terrible mornings?"

Y/N laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Well, I wish I could say it was some grand plan, but really, I just sort of ended up here," she said, shrugging. "I moved to the area a while back, needed a job, and I guess I just kind of stayed. I like it, though. I like meeting new people, and I get to mess around with different drinks and make people smile. It’s simple, but it’s nice."

George nodded, understanding what she meant. There was something comforting about the simplicity of it—the warmth of the shop, the smell of coffee, the easy conversations. He looked at her, his smile softening. "Well, I’m glad you ended up here," he said, his voice sincere. "It definitely makes my mornings better."

Y/N blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly at his words. She smiled, her eyes meeting his. "Thanks, George. That means a lot," she said, her voice soft.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the noise of the coffee shop fading into the background. There was something unspoken between them—something that made George’s heart flutter in his chest. He cleared his throat, breaking the moment, and gave her a grin. "Alright, I’d better let you get back to work before your boss starts wondering why you’re spending so much time talking to me."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Oh please, like I’m scared of my boss," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Besides, you’re my favorite customer. I think I can make an exception."

George’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. "Favorite customer, huh? I’ll take it," he said, lifting his cup in a mock toast. "Here’s to many more mystery lattes, then."

Y/N laughed, nodding. "Many more," she agreed, her smile warm as she watched him walk away.

George found a seat by the window, the warmth of the drink spreading through him as he took a sip. He glanced back at Y/N, watching as she moved on to the next customer, her bright smile never faltering. He knew he’d be back—again and again. Not just for the coffee, but for her. For the warmth she brought to his mornings, the way she made everything feel a little bit lighter. And as he sat there, watching the world go by outside the window, George found himself already looking forward to their next conversation.

George walked into the coffee shop, his heart doing the now-familiar little skip as his eyes scanned the room for Y/N. He found her at the counter, her bright hair tied up in a messy bun today, her fingers tapping idly on the register as she spoke to a customer. As he approached, she glanced up and her eyes caught on the t-shirt he was wearing.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she pointed at his shirt. "Nice shirt. Didn’t know you were into Fleetwood Mac," she said, her voice carrying a hint of playful skepticism.

George glanced down at his t-shirt, the band logo printed across the front, and smiled. "Yeah, they’re one of my favorites. You like them too?"

Y/N snorted, rolling her eyes. "Are you kidding? I live for this stuff," she said, her tone both amused and sincere. She shook her head slightly, a grin on her face as she continued, "I practically grew up on Fleetwood Mac . My older sister had their posters all over her bedroom walls when I was a kid."

George's eyes widened, genuinely impressed. "No way! You’ve got good taste then," he said, his grin widening. "I remember the first time I saw them live. Best concert I’ve ever been to."

Y/N’s eyes lit up, her excitement showing in the way her face brightened. "Oh, absolutely! I went to one of their last concerts together a few years ago. It was mad. The crowd was insane. I almost lost my voice from singing along so much," she said, her eyes meeting his as she leaned on the counter, her energy pulling George in.

They launched into a conversation about their favorite Fleetwood Mac songs, their voices growing more animated as they shared their experiences. George found himself smiling, feeling a connection he hadn’t expected. He’d always loved the band, but he’d never found someone who shared that same enthusiasm—someone who could laugh and joke about the lyrics or the wild concerts the way Y/N did.

"Alright, what’s your favorite song, then?" George asked, his eyes glinting with curiosity. He was genuinely eager to know—the way she spoke about the band, he could tell that her love for their music was just as deep as his own.

Y/N paused for a moment, tapping her chin as if in thought. "Hmm, that’s a tough one," she said, her lips twisting into a thoughtful pout. "But if I had to pick, I think I’d go with ‘silver spring .' Such a classic. What about you?"

George grinned, nodding in agreement. "That’s a good choice. I think mine has to be 'landslide,' though. That one just gets me every time."

Y/N’s eyes widened in excitement, and she slapped her hand on the counter. "Yes! That one’s so good! I swear, every time it comes on, I just lose it." She trailed off, mimicking the deep, rhythmic sound of the bass with a grin, her fingers tapping on the counter in time.

George laughed, nodding enthusiastically. "Exactly!" He leaned a little closer, his eyes shining with excitement.

Y/N nodded, her smile widening. For a moment, they were lost in the conversation, the rest of the coffee shop fading into the background. It was just the two of them, sharing something they both loved, and George felt a warmth in his chest—a feeling of being understood in a way that didn’t happen often.

Eventually, Y/N shook her head, letting out a small laugh. "Alright, enough band talk. You’re going to make me want to close up early just to go listen to their album," she said, her tone light but genuine.

George grinned, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. "To Fleetwood Mac , then. And to finding someone else who appreciates good music."

Y/N picked up a cloth and started wiping down the counter, but her eyes met his, her smile softening. "To good music," she agreed, her voice a little quieter. "And to good company."

George's heart did another little flip, and he knew right then and there that he wanted more moments like this—more conversations, more shared interests, more of her. He didn’t know exactly where this was going, but he liked the direction it was headed. He liked it a lot.

The bell above the door gave a soft jingle as George Weasley pushed it open, stepping into the warmth of the coffee shop. Rain dripped from his coat, and his hair was plastered to his forehead, still damp from the downpour outside. He glanced around, his eyes immediately finding Y/N at the counter, busy restocking cups. She looked up at the sound of the door and burst out laughing at the sight of him.

"Alright, Rain Man," she called, her voice filled with amusement, "let’s get you a towel or something." She grabbed a handful of napkins from the counter and made her way over to him, her grin widening as she took in his bedraggled state.

George shook his head, a sheepish smile on his face as he accepted the napkins. "Thanks, but I think I might need a whole roll," he said, dabbing at his hair in an attempt to dry off. The napkins, of course, did little to help, and Y/N just shook her head, her laughter still bubbling.

"I’m not sure that’s gonna do much good," she teased, leaning on the counter. "You look like you swam here, not walked."

George chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, it’s pouring buckets out there. I’d say I deserve some kind of reward for braving the weather just to get a coffee, don’t you think?"

Y/N gave him a mock serious nod, her expression thoughtful. "You make a fair point," she said, tapping her chin as if considering. "Alright, how about this—I’ll make your usual, but I'll make it extra warm to thaw you out. Deal?"

George’s smile widened, and he gave her a grateful nod. "Deal," he said, feeling a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the temperature of the shop. He watched as she moved behind the counter, her hands deftly working the espresso machine, and he couldn’t help but admire how at ease she seemed. Despite the rain, despite the quiet of the shop, she always seemed to carry that same bright energy.

As she worked, Y/N glanced up at him, her eyes twinkling. "So, what brings you out in weather like this, anyway? Most sane people would’ve stayed home, you know."

George shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. "Maybe I’m not sane," he said, his tone teasing. "Or maybe I just really needed some of your famous mystery coffee to get me through the day."

Y/N shook her head, her smile softening. "Flattery will get you everywhere, George," she said, pouring steamed milk into his cup with an exaggerated flourish. "But I appreciate the dedication. You’re definitely braver than most of my customers."

George chuckled, leaning on the counter as he watched her work. "I’d like to think so," he said, his voice a little quieter now. "Besides, I couldn’t let a bit of rain keep me away. This place is sort of becoming my go-to, you know?"

Y/N paused for a moment, her eyes flicking up to meet his. There was something in her gaze—a softness, a warmth—that made George’s heart skip a beat. She smiled, her voice gentler now. "I’m glad," she said, sliding the cup across the counter to him. "It’s always nice seeing you come in. Makes the day a little brighter."

George felt his cheeks warm, and he took the cup, his fingers brushing against hers for just a moment. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest. "Thanks, Y/N," he said, his voice sincere. "That means a lot."

She nodded, her smile still lingering as she leaned back against the counter. "Anytime, mystery man," she said, her tone lightening again. "Now go grab a seat before you freeze to death."

George laughed, giving her a mock salute before making his way to a table by the window. He settled in, the warmth of the cup seeping through his hands, and he watched the rain streak down the glass. The shop was quiet, just a few other customers scattered around, and George found himself relaxing, the tension of the day slowly melting away.

He glanced back toward the counter, catching sight of Y/N as she chatted with another customer, her bright hair catching the light, her laughter carrying across the room. He couldn’t help but smile. There was something about her—the way she could make even the dreariest day feel a little bit better, the way her energy seemed to fill the entire room—that made him want to keep coming back, rain or shine.

As he took a sip of his latte, the warmth spreading through him, George found himself already looking forward to the next visit—to the next rainy day, the next laugh, the next shared smile with Y/N. And for now, that was more than enough.

It was a bright, sunny morning when George walked into the coffee shop, his heart doing its now-familiar flutter as he spotted Y/N behind the counter. Today, her bright red hair was styled in loose waves, and George noticed she was wearing a new pair of earrings—dangling silver moons that caught the light whenever she moved. Her style was always a mix of something bold and unique, and George found himself admiring how effortlessly she pulled it off.

He approached the counter, Y/N greeting him with her usual bright smile. "Morning, mystery man," she said, her voice warm and teasing. "Back for another mystery latte, or are you branching out today?"

George grinned, leaning on the counter. "Oh, I think I’ll stick to the usual," he said, his eyes flicking up to her hair. He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. "I’ve got to say, that shade of red is brilliant. Matches my family vibe."

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then she smirked, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Oh yeah? A lot of redheads in your family then?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of skepticism.

George nodded, his grin widening. "Oh, you bet. Big family of redheads, actually. It’s kind of our thing."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, crossing her arms as she leaned closer. "Well, I knew you were trouble. All you gingers are," she said, her tone filled with mock exasperation. "I should’ve known from the moment you walked in here with that grin."

George laughed, the sound genuine and full. There was something about her—something that made every moment feel light, like they were sharing a secret joke. He loved how she wasn’t afraid to tease him back, how she always seemed to match his energy with her own brand of wit and sarcasm.

"Guilty as charged," George said, placing his hand over his heart in mock sincerity. "But I promise, I’m the good kind of trouble. The kind that buys coffee and compliments your amazing taste in hair dye."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. "Flattery will get you everywhere, mystery man," she said, reaching for a cup and starting to make his drink. "But you know, you’ve got a lot of nerve complimenting my hair when you haven’t even noticed my new earrings."

George blinked, taken aback for a moment, before his eyes dropped to her ears. He felt a little jolt of embarrassment, but he quickly covered it with a grin. "Oh, I noticed," he said, nodding toward the dangling silver moons. "I was just saving the best compliment for last. Those are pretty great."

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she gave him a genuine smile. "Nice save," she said, her tone gentler now. "Thanks, George. I like them too. Thought they’d bring a bit of magic to the day."

George watched her as she worked, admiring the ease with which she moved, the way she seemed so comfortable in her own skin. He found himself wanting to know more about her—why she chose the jewelry she did, what made her decide to dye her hair that particular shade of red, what her life was like outside of this cozy little coffee shop.

"So," he began, his voice a little softer, "Do you always pick such bold styles? Or is this just your way of keeping all of us on our toes?"

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She shrugged, her fingers still moving as she poured the steamed milk into his cup. "I guess it’s just who I am," she said, her voice thoughtful. "I like standing out. I’ve never been one to blend in, you know? It’s more fun this way. Besides, life’s too short to wear boring clothes and have boring hair."

George nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "I like that," he said, his tone sincere. "I think it suits you."

Y/N paused for a moment, her eyes meeting his, and for just a second, George felt like there was something unspoken between them—something warm and real. She smiled, her voice softer now. "Thanks, George. That means a lot."

She handed him his drink, their fingers brushing for a moment, and George felt that familiar flutter in his chest. He took the cup, his grin widening. "Alright, I’ll let you get back to work before I distract you too much," he said, giving her a playful wink.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Oh, please. Like you could ever be a distraction," she teased. "Now go enjoy your mystery latte before it gets cold."

George chuckled, turning to find a seat by the window. He glanced back at her as he sat down, watching as she moved on to the next customer, her bright hair and shining earrings catching the light. He took a sip of his drink, the warmth spreading through him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

There was something about her—something about her style, her confidence, the way she seemed so unapologetically herself—that made George want to keep coming back, day after day. He didn’t know where this was going, but he knew one thing for sure: he wanted more of it. More of her. And that thought made everything else seem just a little bit brighter.

George walked into the coffee shop, immediately noticing something different about the atmosphere. It wasn't busy, but there was a quiet calm that filled the room. He looked towards the counter and found Y/N leaning against it, her eyes drifting out the window, her usual bright demeanor seemingly dialed down. Today, her red hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she wasn't wearing her usual bold jewelry—just a simple pair of small silver hoops.

George hesitated for a moment, then approached the counter. Y/N noticed him as he got closer, her lips curling into a soft smile, but there was something more subdued about it today. She straightened, giving him a nod. "Morning, mystery man," she said, her voice still warm, but lacking its usual teasing lilt. "The usual?"

George studied her for a second, noticing the subtle difference. He gave her a smile, nodding. "Yeah, the usual," he replied, then added, "But you seem a little different today. Everything alright?"

Y/N blinked, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. She let out a small chuckle, shaking her head. "Wow, nothing gets past you, does it, George?" she said, her tone more playful now. She shrugged, reaching for a cup. "I guess I’m just being normal for once," she said, her lips curving into a wry smile. "No bright hair accessories, no overly cheerful customer service energy. Just me."

George leaned on the counter, his gaze softening. "I like it," he said, his voice gentle. "Not that I don’t like the usual Y/N, of course. But this... this feels real."

Y/N paused, her fingers stilling on the espresso machine as she looked at him. There was something in her eyes—something vulnerable that George hadn't seen before. She smiled, a little more genuine this time. "Thanks, George," she said, her voice quieter. "Sometimes it's exhausting to keep up the cheerful act, you know? Not that I don’t love my job. But everyone has those days."

George nodded, his heart warming at her honesty. "I get that," he said. "Believe me, I know all about needing to put on a show. Sometimes, it’s nice to just... be." He hesitated, then added, his voice even softer, "You don’t always have to be 'on' around me, you know. I’m perfectly happy with just Y/N."

Y/N looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching his, and then she gave a small nod. "You’re alright, mystery man," she said, her voice touched with warmth. She turned back to the machine, finishing his drink, her movements a little slower, a little more relaxed.

George watched her, feeling a connection between them that went beyond their usual playful banter. There was something real here—something deeper. And he found himself wanting to be that safe space for her, the person she could be herself around without worrying about putting on a facade.

Y/N handed him his drink, their fingers brushing for a moment. "Here you go," she said, her smile still gentle. "Sorry if I'm not my usual entertaining self today."

George shook his head, giving her a sincere smile. "No need to apologize. I like every version of you," he said, his tone earnest.

Y/N's eyes softened, and she looked at him, her expression open. "Thanks, George. That... that actually means a lot," she said quietly.

He nodded, lifting his cup slightly. "To being real, then," he said, giving her a small grin.

Y/N chuckled, nodding in return. "To being real," she echoed, her smile widening just a bit.

George turned to find his usual spot by the window, his heart feeling lighter than it had when he walked in. He glanced back at her, watching as she leaned against the counter, her gaze drifting back to the window, a peaceful expression on her face. He took a sip of his drink, warmth spreading through him, and he knew, more than ever, that this was what he wanted—these real moments, these genuine connections.

With Y/N, everything felt right, whether she was bright and bold or quietly herself. And as George sat there, watching the world go by outside, he found himself already looking forward to whatever version of Y/N he’d get to see next.

Fred Weasley was in a rare mood—one of those teasing, slightly obnoxious moods that meant trouble for George. And today, it was George's turn to endure his brother's relentless teasing. George had brought Fred along to the coffee shop during his break, hoping to grab his usual and maybe share a few laughs with Y/N. But the second they walked in, George knew Fred wasn’t going to let this visit go by quietly.

"So, this is the famous coffee shop you keep sneaking off to, huh?" Fred said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. He looked around, nodding as if inspecting the place for quality. "Looks cozy enough. Now, where’s this barista you’ve been going on about?"

George shot his twin a warning look, his cheeks already tinged pink. "I don’t sneak off anywhere," he muttered, trying to sound casual. "And I haven’t been 'going on about' anyone. I just like the coffee here."

Fred raised an eyebrow, a sly grin forming. "Right. The coffee." Before George could say anything else, Y/N appeared from behind the counter, her bright red hair immediately catching Fred’s eye. She glanced at George, her smile widening when she saw him.

"Oi, mystery man! You brought a friend," Y/N called out, her voice cheerful. She gave Fred a curious once-over, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "So, what’ll it be? Two coffees for the ginger twins? Or does the other one prefer tea?"

Fred snorted, elbowing George in the ribs. "Two coffees, please," he said, leaning closer to Y/N as if sharing a secret. "My brother here just can’t get enough of this place. Or maybe it’s just you."

George’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he groaned inwardly, shooting Fred a glare. "Shut it, Fred," he muttered, though the blush across his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment.

Y/N, to her credit, seemed to enjoy every bit of the exchange. She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Must be the caffeine, right, George?" she said, her eyes twinkling. She winked at him, and George felt his heart skip a beat, his flustered state only growing.

"Y-Yeah, definitely the caffeine," George stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. He tried to avoid Fred’s knowing smirk, but it was impossible. Fred was having far too much fun at his expense.

Y/N busied herself with making the two coffees, glancing at George every now and then, clearly amused by the situation. Fred, meanwhile, continued his teasing. "You know, George talks about this place all the time," Fred said, leaning on the counter. "I swear, it’s like he can’t go a day without mentioning it. And now I see why." He gave Y/N an exaggerated wink, making George want to disappear on the spot.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "Is that so? Well, I’m glad to know I’ve got at least one regular hooked," she said, her tone playful. She handed over the first cup to Fred, then turned her attention back to George, her smile softening just a little. "And what about you, George? Think you’ll keep coming back?"

George met her gaze, his embarrassment fading just slightly as he saw the warmth in her eyes. He smiled, feeling his heart swell. "Yeah," he said, his voice quieter, more sincere. "I think I will."

Y/N held his gaze for a moment longer before handing him his coffee, her fingers brushing his briefly. George felt the warmth of the touch all the way to his toes, and he couldn’t help but smile, the blush still lingering on his cheeks.

Fred watched the exchange, a knowing grin on his face as he grabbed his coffee. "Come on, lover boy," he said, nudging George. "Let’s get out of here before you start reciting poetry."

George rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his lips as he turned to leave. He gave Y/N a small wave, and she returned it, her eyes still sparkling with amusement.

As they stepped out of the shop, Fred slung an arm around George’s shoulders, his grin widening. "Well, well, well. I knew you had a crush, but seeing it in action is even better. You’re absolutely smitten, mate."

George sighed, shaking his head but unable to stop smiling. "Alright, alright, maybe I am," he admitted, his voice soft. "But she’s... different, Fred. She makes everything feel lighter."

Fred’s teasing expression softened just a little, and he nodded. "I get it, Georgie," he said, giving his brother a pat on the back. "Just don’t let this one slip away, yeah?"

George looked back at the coffee shop, the warmth of Y/N’s smile still fresh in his mind. He nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. "I won’t."

The next time George walked into the coffee shop, he felt a mix of nerves and determination swirling in his chest. He had made up his mind—he was going to ask Y/N out. Fred's teasing had stuck with him, and George realized that he couldn't keep coming here day after day, hoping for something to happen without taking a chance himself. It was time to be bold.

The bell above the door gave a soft jingle as he stepped inside, and George's eyes immediately found Y/N behind the counter. She was chatting with another customer, her smile bright and genuine as always, and George felt his heart skip a beat. He waited patiently, his fingers fidgeting slightly as he rehearsed what he wanted to say in his head.

When it was finally his turn, Y/N looked up and her face lit up when she saw him. "Oi, mystery man! Back again?" she called, her voice filled with warmth. "What’s it going to be today—another mystery latte?"

George chuckled, stepping up to the counter. "Yeah, I think I'll stick with the usual," he said, his voice a little steadier than he felt. He watched as she grabbed a cup and began preparing his drink, her hands moving with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times.

As she worked, George cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. "Uh, Y/N," he began, his voice a little awkward, "I was wondering if—if you’d maybe want to grab dinner sometime? You know, outside of here."

Y/N paused, her eyes flicking up to meet his, a look of surprise flashing across her face. For a second, George felt his heart stop, the silence stretching on for what felt like an eternity. But then, slowly, her lips curled into a grin, and she set the milk steamer down, leaning slightly across the counter.

"You mean," she said, her tone teasing, "you’d actually want to see me without the coffee counter between us? Bold move, George."

George felt his cheeks flush, but he managed a smile, shrugging slightly. "Yeah, well, I thought it was about time I made a bold move," he said, his voice softer now. "What do you think?"

Y/N studied him for a moment, her eyes searching his face, and then she nodded. "Sure," she said, her grin widening. "I’d like that."

George’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt a rush of relief and excitement wash over him. He couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread across his face. "Great," he said, his voice a little breathless. "Uh, when are you free?"

Y/N grabbed a napkin, scribbling something down on it before handing it to him. "Here, that’s my number," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Call me, and we’ll figure it out."

George took the napkin, his fingers brushing hers for a moment, and he looked down at the number, his heart swelling with happiness. He glanced back up at her, his grin still firmly in place. "I will," he promised.

Y/N handed him his coffee, her smile softening. "Looking forward to it, mystery man," she said, her voice warm.

George nodded, feeling like he was floating as he took his coffee and turned to find a seat. He couldn’t help but glance back at her, watching as she moved on to the next customer, her smile never faltering. He sat down by the window, the warmth of the drink in his hands, and he felt a sense of accomplishment, like he’d just taken a big step forward.

For weeks, he had come here, hoping for something more, and now he had it—an actual date with Y/N. And as he looked at the napkin in his hand, George couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something wonderful.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent imageys

[alexiroflife]

"first day"

fluff, happy fushiguro family, slice of life, megs' first day of school send-off

Synopsis: you've been dating toji for a while now and megumi subconsciously calls you mom for the first time on his way out the door

to sum it up: you adore the little family you've come to be a part of

WC: 1,701

Warning(s): none

"Megs!" you call out, standing by the front door awaiting the dark-haired boy's arrival. He soon shuffles around the corner from his room, throwing a bag over his shoulder with a tired expression on his face.

His father turns to watch him walk in, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. "The hell were you doing in there that took you so long?"

"Nothing," Megumi grumbles, moving to brush past the two of you to rush to the door. "I just wanted to look presentable, that's all."

"So you took thirty minutes to get ready?" Toji quirks a brow.

"Believe it or not, dad, some would say that's not enough time to get ready in the morning."

"Not at all, actually," you agree.

Toji tugs the corner of his mouth in judgment. " Well, you should know," he says to you. "You spend at least ten years in the bathroom when we have somewhere to go."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "That's such an overreaction. I never take any longer than an hour." Megumi and his father exchange knowing looks and you place your hand on your hip. "What?"

"Don't worry baby," Toji assures you. "It's okay to be in denial."

"We've timed it before. The last time we all went out to dinner as a family, you took two and a half hours to get dressed," Megumi adds.

"That's only because I had to shower and pick out an outfit then do my hair and makeup," you defend.

"Isn't that a little overkill? It takes me half that time to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and get some homework done."

"Whatever. Your sister would understand," you sigh.

"Unfortunately, she may be worse than you."

"Women," Toji tsks. You slap his bicep and he pretends to flinch, smirking down at you playfully. "Ouch."

"Alright, well, I'm ready now. I don't wanna be late," the sixteen year old says, turning back to reach for the door handle.

"Ah ah ah, wait!" you stop him. "You're not going anywhere without me getting a good look at you. Turn around, I wanna see how the uniform fits."

Megumi lowers his head and complies, turning back around stiffly for you to admire him. You press your hand to your lips to conceal your smile, eyes gleaming with pride as you look over the sharp navy jacket and pants he adorns.

"Awwww," you coo. "It fits perfectly! How does it feel?"

"Pretty good," Megumi nods, moving his arm around slightly to show his mobility in the fabric. "It's comfortable too. It shouldn't be a problem during missions."

"I still can't believe how quickly time has gone by," you muse. "You're already going into your first year at Jujutsu High! Are you excited?"

"You better be," Toji grunts. "Your uncle Gojo hasn't gotten off my ass about your enrollment for years. At least now, he'll finally shut up."

"I still don't understand why I have to have him as a teacher. He's such a moron, I doubt he'll teach us anything useful," Megumi mumbles.

"Moron or not, he's the strongest sorcerer of the modern age and he's helped out so much. I'm sure he'll be able to give you a good experience," you say positively.

"We talkin' about the same Gojo here? The one who trashed my house playing tag with Megumi and the dogs in the living room?" Toji points out and his son grits his teeth at the memory.

"Oh come on, Satoru was like twenty one back then. I can only imagine the crazy shit you've with the kids when you were raising them," you tease.

"You don't even want to know," Megumi exhales.

"Please, you came out just fine, didn’t ya?” Toji says, reaching out his hand to ruffle at Megumi's spiky hair. The teen recoils, craning his head away and shielding himself with his arm.

"Quit it. I'm not five anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're all grown up now, I know. Gonna be a first-grade sorcerer before I can even blink an eye."

"Who said that I would be first grade? I'm only a first year."

"Yeah, and look at who your pops is," Toji grins. "Plus, you got an advantage that I never had. You'll do just fine."

Megumi hums indifferently, doubting himself momentarily but accepting the words nonetheless. "Alright, are we ready?"

"No, not yet!" you pull out your phone quickly and open the camera. "I need to get pictures."

The blue-eyed boy slumps. "(Y/n), I gotta go."

"I know, I know, just a few," you promise, holding your camera up to capture his awkward figure in the frame. "Okay, smile."

Megumi doesn't, and of course you don't actually expect him to. Instead, he calmly stares at the camera with his arms at his sides, unsure of what to do with themselves. Toji moves to stand behind you, leaning down to take a peak at the million pictures you're snapping.

"Toji, go stand with him so I can get one with the both of you."

The two groan simultaneously. "Doll, can we just focus on gettin' the kid to school?"

"It's fine. His stuff is already moved into his dorm. We have time."

"But-"

"Shut up and go stand with your son, now," you glare firmly up at the green-eyed man and he huffs.

"Yes, ma'am."

Toji raises a hand to his hip and tilts his head boredly as he stands beside Megumi, the two of them sharing the exact same blank stare as they look into the camera. You squeal happily. "You two are so cuteee!"

"We done, now?"

"No, I wanna get one more with Megs, and then I'm good." The boys give you a look, but you wave them off. "I mean it! Gosh, here Toji. Take our picture."

Toji obliges, grabbing your phone from your hand as you rush over to the tall boy. His expression melts into serenity as you place your hands on his shoulders and lean your head against his arm, smiling widely at the camera as a hint of a smile touches Megumi's lips.

Toji's heart warms at the sight, watching the way his son grows comfortable in your presence. The picture of the two of you looks so natural t to him like you are meant to be a part of his family, which he knows you are.

He snaps the photo and nods. "Got it."

You exhale, turning to face Megumi. You brush your hands over his shoulders to straighten his jacket, ridding it of any lint and wrinkles. "Okay, Megumi, please remember to be safe."

"I know. I will," he nods.

"And don't be too reckless when it comes to training."

"I won't."

"And try to make friends. I know how easy it is for you to push others away."

"I'll try."

You press your lips together with a final sigh, looking over Megumi's face warmly. You wrap your arms safely around him into a hug, your emotions getting the best of you. You have spent the past year caring for Megumi like your own, and watching him head off to achieve his goals makes your heart swell with joy and fear all the same.

"Text me or your father or Tsumiki if you need anything. Anything at all," you tell him. He returns your hug gently.

"Okay," he chuckles lightly and you pull away. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"...I know you will..." you pout. "Okay, I'll let you go. Good luck. I hope you have an amazing first day. I'll see you at the end of the week, yeah?"

"Mhm. I'll call you to let you know how the day went later."

"Please do."

Toji hands you back your phone and walks toward the door with Megumi. "Let's get a move on," he says. He leans over quickly to peck your lips farewell. "I'll be back in a few."

"Don't speed, Toji."

"Speeding gets you places quicker," he winks and you suck your teeth disapprovingly. Megumi opens the door, his dad gripping the frame.

"Bye, boys. Stay out of trouble," you wave, eyes glassy as you watch Megumi walk out.

"See ya, doll."

"Bye, mum."

The three of you freeze the second the words hit the air, everyone stilling in their tracks.

You feel your heart burst as overwhelming happiness consumes you. Megumi keeps his face forward, hiding his reddening cheeks as he processes what he has just said. Toji stares at the back of his son's head, eyes wide, before he turns to look at you to find your shocked, giddy face.

You don't have any time to reply when Megumi clears his throat suddenly, sweat dotting his forehead, and he walks rigidly out of the house and swiftly down the hall without looking back.

Toji stays behind, keeping an eye on you when you look up at him, stunned. "Did he just...?" you murmur.

"Yep."

Your eyes immediately well with tears and your lips wobble, your hands flying over your mouth. "He sees me as his mom?" you whisper.

Toji chuckles, ducking down to you with his hand still gripping the door. "Of course he does. He's always adored you. Him and Tsumiki."

"I'm gonna cry."

The assassin chuckles softly, pressing his thumb to the corner of your eye gently. "You're already cryin.'"

"Shut up," you sniff. "God, I love those kids so much. I just wanna give him all the hugs in the world."

"And you'll be able to. There isn't a better woman on this planet to be there for the kids," he kisses your cheek. "That's why I plan t'marry you someday."

"Fuck you, Toj. You're gonna make me cry even more."

"Sorry, baby. Can't help talkin' about it," he leans back to the doorway. "Let me get the kid squared away and make sure he's not dyin' of embarrassment, then I'll be back to talk to ya about makin' this official."

"You're being for real?"

"Of course I am."

You lower your hands and beam. "Tell Megumi I love him and get back here soon."

"I will," he hums. "But I thought you said no speeding?"

"Just- make sure the two of you at least get to the school in one peace."

He smirks. "Will do, doll."

[wonderthor]

your neighbor sukuna who lives in one of the apartments upstairs may be a rough and dangerous man, but he’s funny and nice to you, so you become friends anyway. you even develop a little crush on him, and when he calls you little pet names like sweetheart and doll, you start to think he might like you too. one night you decide to go out for drinks, and as he drinks more he lets out more about his past and you learn he is a little more dangerous than you thought. he talks about how he broke into people’s houses at night all the time to steal their things and when he finally did get caught and locked up, he had probably broke into over 200 people’s houses by then.

“that’s crazy, but you wouldn’t get that lucky with me though”

he sets his beer down, raising his eyebrow at you in question.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean that im a very light sleeper, always have been. and there’s no way you couldn’t break into my apartment without me knowing it.”

he picks his beer back up and takes a swig before looking back at you with a smirk.

“you sure about that?”

you confidentially smirk back at him.

“oh absolutely. i get woken up if the wind blows a little too hard against the window. i even woke up that one time i had a mouse in my apartment and i could hear it scurrying across the floor. i would definitely hear you open my door and walk around.”

sukuna taps his fingers against the bar counter with his head in his hands and his eyes still on you, thinking.

“how about we make a bet.”

“a bet? on what?”

“if i can get into your locked apartment and into your bedroom without waking you up, i win. if i do, you win.”

“and what do i get when i win?”

sukuna chuckles at that, almost like a villain’s laugh.

“i wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

you roll your eyes at him.

“oh please, you sound way to confident in your impossible chance at winning.”

he laughs at you again.

“i am. there’s a reason i was able to break in so many people’s houses while they were still in there without getting caught. it’s kind of my specialty.”

you take another sip of your drink and lean back.

“your specialty, huh? and you still haven’t mentioned what we get if we win.”

“what do you want?”

his tone caught you off guard for a second, getting deeper and more serious without you expecting it.

“u-um, i don’t know. you can pick.”

he smiles at you again, a devious smile this time as he leans in closer to you.

“if i win, i get to do whatever i want to you. if you win, you get to do whatever you want to me.”

time stops for a minute and you don’t realize that you’re just staring at him until after several seconds.

“what do you m-mean by that?”

he leans back to hold his beer and his playful demeanor is back.

“well according to you, you won’t have to worry about that, right?”

a couple of days went by and you were still on edge. you mentally slept with your eyes open and even kept your bedroom door cracked, just in case you really couldn’t hear him come in. even though you knew it was just a bet and a silly little game, you couldn’t stop your heart from pounding against your chest. maybe because you still didn’t really know what he said meant. and there was also the eerie feeling that you were essentially waiting for him to break into your apartment, like a real robber. like the robber he used to be. and even though you knew he wasn’t dangerous to you and wouldn’t hurt you, you were still admittedly a little scared. you truly didn’t know what to expect.

it had been a couple of weeks now and you were sure sukuna was fucking with you. whenever you saw him in passing, he was his normal playful and flirty self, and mentioning nothing of the bet. you were starting to think he was kidding, just making that up to scare you and mess with you. or you also thought he could have just forgotten, since he was drinking a little and couldn’t have forgotten all about it.

but little did you know that you were playing right into his hands. he was waiting on you to lose your edge, to slowly get comfortable enough again to slip into deep and dream-filled sleeps. that’s why you didn’t expect it, why you didn’t expect to lose.

when you woke up one night, you felt your heart fall out of your body and your eyes almost jump from their sockets. there he was, in your apartment, in your bedroom, on your bed, leaning over you on his hands and knees. when he saw that you were awake and too stunned to speak, he smirked and leaned in closer to you until his face was just inches from yours.

“guess i win, sweetheart.”

[slttygeto]

༉‧₊˚. "Shut up, mom!" prank with JJK men.

➜ featuring: nanami kento, gojo satoru, geto suguru.

➜synopsis: your child(ren) has a death wish for sure.

➜note: wasn't able to pick a name for nanami's child. also sorry to the anon who sent this, i had a hard time understanding the request at first. anyway, part 2?

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

༉‧₊˚. NANAMI KENTO

“You need to start learning how to fold your clothes,” you mention casually to your daughter as you carry a basket of warm laundry to the couch.

“Why would I do that?” Nanami’s eyes look up from his book, but he doesn’t budge.

“When you move out, you will only have yourself to rely on,” you continue with the advice and your daughter rolls her eyes as she makes her way to the kitchen.

“Ugh moving out this, moving out that. Just say you want to get rid of me.”

“What–I would never, I’m just reminding you that one day you will become an adult and–”

“Oh just shut up, mom!” 

You truly gave birth to a mini you, a prankster. When you first saw the tiktok trend, you and your daughter had giggled to yourselves at the thought of getting a reaction out of her father. Though, you did warn her of the repercussions. Your husband did not play when it came to showing respect to you.

“I beg your pardon?” Nanami sits up from the couch so fast, it almost makes you jump out of your skin. You don’t have time to react, or hold him back before he is storming towards the kitchen where your teenage daughter was hiding. “What did you just say to your mother?”

“I said shut up, because she was bothering me.”

“And you think that’s one way to speak to my wife?” You see his eyebrows furrow, he even slams the book he was reading down on the kitchen counter so hard that his arm veins are about to pop out.

“Kento,” you walk up behind him, calling out his name softly.

“No, let me take this.”

“No baby listen–”

“I said I will take this.” It’s only when he repeats himself in a stern manner, that your daughter starts to giggle nervously.

“Daddy, it was a prank.”

“Yeah, baby it’s a prank.” You rub his shoulders and biceps reassuringly. Your daughter quickly wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face in his chest.

“I’d never be disrespectful like that.”

“Yeah well, it almost gave me a heart attack,” his voice is now much softer and warmer as he exhales, running his fingers through his daughter’s hair. He pulls you towards him and kisses your forehead before patting his daughter’s head.

“Now, whose idea was it?”

“Mommy’s.”

“Hey!” 

༉‧₊˚. GOJO SATORU

“Hey Ryuu, could you take out the trash please?” 

“No, I’m busy.” Satoru’s ears perk up at the sound of his son’s tone. But he doesn’t budge from where he’s standing in the kitchen.

“Baby, it’s been sitting there all day and it’s full. Could you please–”

“Shut up, mom. I said I’m busy.”

Normally, Satoru wasn’t easy to rile up. His relationship with his son was hilarious, one where he doted on his child whilst the latter pretended as though he couldn’t stand all the love and affection he received from his dad. But despite all the love that Satoru had for his son, you were number one. You come first, you are his wife and the mother of his child. When his son will leave, you will be the one he gets to spend the rest of his time with–and when he decided to marry you, a child wasn’t even in the picture.

So he will be damned if he was just going to stand there and let his son talk to you like that.

You freeze when you feel a sudden surge of cursed energy–you knew your husband when he got angry, it clouded over the rational part of his brain. So when you see him start to walk upstairs where his son is, you have to physically grab his arm to stop him. Thank god the infinity was off.

“Satoru– toru! Baby!”

“Who the fuck does he think he is, huh?” His eyes are glowing. You really shouldn’t have played this prank on him.

“It’s a prank baby.” 

“A prank?” It’s fascinating how this man can go from 0 to 100 back to 0 so quickly. He calms down so fast, glancing at the top of the stairs where he sees his son standing with his hands in his pockets.

“I told her it would be a bad idea.”

“I–hey! I didn’t think it was gonna be this bad,”

“I did,” Ryuu starts to walk down the stairs and past you two. “He’s said it before. He doesn’t play when it comes to people showing you respect, even if it’s his own son.” 

Satoru can only sigh at his son’s words before staring at you. “Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t…But I won’t lie, seeing you riled up like that–”

“I’m too old to have a sibling!”

༉‧₊˚. GETO SUGURU

Your girls were a giggly mess. You shush them before saying very loudly.

“In what world is this acceptable?” 

“Mom,” your daughter, Tsukimi, feigns an annoyed tone, refusing to look up from her phone. “I really don’t care.”

“But I do.” You stand over her bed, motioning for her twin sister to get into the role as well.

“Does it matter?” Asahi uses the same annoyed, bored tone. One that quickly catches Suguru’s attention. He walks into the main area from the garage before hearing the argument upstairs. 

Quickly wiping his hands with the dirty rag attached to his pants, he starts to make his way up to your twin daughters’ room to see what it was about. 

“Of course it does, I’m your mother.”

“You’re really just pushing it.”

“You sneaked out last night! Do you know how disappointed your father will be?” Suguru freezes up at the revelation. But he doesn’t let his disappointment or anger get the best of him, maybe the four of you can work this out–your girls were at a rebellious age, this was bound to happen and all he needs to do is figure out a way for all of you to get along without–

“Aren’t you supposed to be our best friend or something?” Tsukimi sits up on the bed, furrowing her eyebrows in a way that reminds you how similar her and her father’s features are. 

“Right now I’m your mother.” 

“Oh would you just shut up?”

A loud slam makes the three of you flinch, and you turn to find Suguru standing by the door looking as angry as a raging bull.

“Who said it.”

“Wha–”

“Who said it. Who was it?” He is so furious you could see steam coming out from the top of his head. “Have you lost your fucking minds to be talking to your mother like that? Did I fail at educating you or what?”

“Suguru–”

“No,” he puts a hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you out of the room. “I need to talk to them.”

“No wait, listen–”

“I don’t want to hear it.” When you see that he had a stern look on his face, you realize that you need to save your daughters from the prank.

“It was a prank. I promise you.” 

“It really was a prank,” your twin daughters are sitting on the same bed, looking as sheepish and as guilty as ever. 

“And it was my idea,” Tsukimi adds. 

“And I didn’t stop her.” Your thumbs trace his cheeks, smiling apologetically at him. “Sorry,” 

Suguru sighs, resting his hands on his hips as he shakes his head.

“Fucking prankters. That almost gave me a heart attack.”

“But admit it, we’re good actresses, right?” Asahi asks with a grin and Suguru chuckles before ruffling her hair.

“Yeah, you sure are.”

➜ ┊: COMMISSIONS | KOFI

2024 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Busted

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Rogue has a date, and you and Logan decide to follow. You're just making sure she's safe. But sometimes it's in moments like that, that you find out your 'husband' is the love of your life.

Disclaimer: Mostly chaos, fluffiness, fake dating, mentions of being a soldier, the claws come out briefly, a nosy book club and its members. Some swearing, steam and a little angst. I wrote this over two days so apologies if it becomes spotty. This is a long one. Not Proof Read.

Rogue had a date. 

Both yourself, Logan and…practically most of the teachers in the school knew about Rogue having a date. 

Yet, despite knowing all of this. And somewhat knowing the guy’s intentions…Logan had decided to follow them. 

And you had found yourself tagging along. 

“And what did you think you were gonna do when they figured out you were following them?” You asked him. “At least this way it just looks like we decided to pick up dinner in town.”

“At the same restaurant?”

“You ask that as if this wasn’t your idea.”

“Oh please,” Logan practically rolled his eyes at you. “I saw what you were actually looking at early. You were caseing the place.”

“I was looking at their opening times.” You countered, if a little harshly. 

“You were casing the joint and you know it. If I wasn’t coming down here, you would have already come.”

You gave a short, heavy sigh. “Fine. I wanted to make sure this wasn’t some kind of set up. I just want her to be safe and have fun.”

“And I want to make sure the guy isn’t a creep.” Logan finalised before opening up the door for you allowing you to step inside. 

“Hello, madam! Ah, good sir! Table for two?” The waiter looked at his list. 

Logan looked and felt a little out of place. He was hoping you could both enter quietly, not have an announcement made to the entire restaurant. 

“Uh, yea. Yes, please.”

The waiter smiled, picking up two menus. “Please, this way.”

“Logan.”

Logan followed your line of sight to see where Rogue and her date were sitting, smiling and laughing with one another as they looked over the menus. 

“Uh, actually, bub?”

The waiter turned around. “Yes, sir?”

“If you don’t mind we’d like to sit…” Logan looked around and found an empty table. “There.”

You saw where he pointed and realised why. Too far back into the restaurant, you’d pass right by the happy couple. 

Sitting where Logan was currently looking, gave you direct sight of the happy couple and with a chance, more coverage from the rest of the guests. 

“There?” The waiter asked, a little offended. “Oh, no, Sir. Please. We have a lovely booth for a couple such as yourself back here. Romantic candle light, a lot more privacy, no?”

You felt yourself blush at what the waiter was trying to subtly say. 

And it seemed that Logan caught on, too. And looked at you, unsure of what to do. 

You gave a small laugh and moved closer to Logan, “I’m sure, but you see, the thing is, my…”

You hesitated a little on your next words. “Husband.”

Christ, you felt that lie weigh on your chest. 

“He was in the army. Not a big fan of not being able to see the door. Just a habit, I suppose.”

The waiter gave a softer smile. “Ah, no worries.” 

Swiftly, he began leading you both towards the table Logan had pointed out. “My sister is serving overseas right now. We are all very proud. Thank you for your service, Sir.”

Logan gave an awkward smile and thanked the waiter before you both sat down with your menus. 

“I thought we were busted then,” Logan shifted in his seat. 

“So did I,” you replied. “So long as they don’t draw any-”

“So, what will it be?” 

Both yourself and Logan jumped at the waiter's sudden reappearance. However, he didn’t seem to notice as he began rattling off the specials. And then the wines. And then came the crash. 

Everyone’s heads turned inside the restaurant. 

Including Rogue’s. 

Quickly, you scooted your chair around so the waiter blocked you from view. By the time he turned back around, muttering about incompetencies about the newer staff members, he excused himself and headed in the direction of the crash. 

You saw Rogue settle her back to talking with her date and you breathed again, pulling your chair back to its original position. 

The waiter returned. 

“So, what will you be having?”

This time he blocked your view from Rogue’s table, giving Logan a clearer view of her date. You could see something flare up in Logan. 

“Uh, we’re gonna need another minute.” You said hurriedly, willing the waiter to walk away. 

And he did. 

For a moment. 

“Logan.”

He turned back to you. “What?”

“Have you decided yet?” The waiter was back. 

Logan took your menu from you and placed it with his before handing it over to the waiter, who seemed shocked for a moment since it took him just as long to realise what Logan was doing. 

“Two cheeseburgers, a side of fries and two sodas. Please.”

The waiter seemed to force his smile a little. “Of course, sir. Anything else?”

“No, thank you.” You replied and the waiter bowed his head before walking away.

For a split second as you looked at Logan, you felt a comfort in your gut. And apparently the look was still clear on your face when he looked back at you. 

“What?”

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of it. “Nothing, just…well, the last time a guy ordered my food for me he ordered me a salad, with a side of vinegar and sparkling water.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Fuck no.” You answered honestly. You didn’t want it then, and you sure as hell didn’t want it now. 

Especially the sparkling water. 

Logan looked at you for a moment in a silence you hadn’t known from him before. Then he turned back to watch Rogue’s date. 

And there was that look again. 

“Logan. You can’t kill him from here.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

You nodded. “I know that. And so does everyone else in this restaurant. At least now I know why Scott doesn’t send you undercover.”

Logan turned back to you. 

“You might be the ‘mysterious, silent’ type but if someone took one look at your face, they’d find their answers.”

“Are you saying I’m easy to read?”

Someone came and placed your drinks down on the table. You shrugged. 

“To the people who know you, yes.”

“Okay, then. Fine.” Logan turned his full attention onto you. “What am I thinking?”

“That I’m wrong. And that you wished you had the powers of invisibility so you could be closer to the table without being seen and mess with her date whilst he can’t see you.”

Logan remained still for a second before shifting in his seat. “Okay, fine. Maybe I am easy to read.”

You smiled and took a sip of your soda. “See.”

For the next twenty five minutes, things ran smoother than expected. You both enjoyed your meals, yourself and Logan talked a little however spent most of your time watching Rogue and her date enjoy their time. 

“What would you do?” 

Logan hummed a questioned response. 

“If you took someone out on a date? What would you do?”

Logan scrunched up his paper napkin and placed it beside his plate. “Why do you want to know?”

You shrugged, looking away from Rogue’s date. “Curiosity? I’ve had that many crappy dates in my time, maybe you can rescue my last sliver of hope.”

Logan felt a smile on his face for a moment, hearing your plea for hope. 

“Oh, come on. They’re talking. If we look at them any longer they might sense someone staring.”

Logan sighed. “Fine.”

“So, what would you do?”

Logan shrugged. “I don’t know. Go for a drink, maybe some food. Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve dated.”

“Seriously?”

Logan nodded. “Seriously. What about you?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Well, the last date I went on the guy ordered my food for me.”

“Sparkling water guy?” Logan asked. 

You nodded. “One in the same. He spent two hours talking about his businesses, and didn't notice I hadn’t touched my food. Or my drink, for that matter. Then at the end, said that if we ever got married, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than what I was going to make him for his dinner each night.”

“Fucking asshole. Why did you stay?”

You decided to answer honestly. “Didn’t have anything else to do. And my friends had been on my case about my dating life. They were all either married or getting married or starting a family, and when they said they knew this “really great guy, you’ll just adore him” I decided to give it a shot.”

“What did they do when they found out he was an asshole?”

“Couple apologised, others asked me to give him a second chance. They haven’t tried setting me up with anyone since.”

Logan watched you for a moment as you pulled your soda to your lips. He wanted to punch the Sparkling Water Guy. He didn’t realise how lucky he was to be on a date with someone like you. And, in all honesty, he wasn’t too happy with your friends either. 

“You deserve better.”

Your eyes widened and for a moment Logan thought he had fucked up, saying that to you out loud. 

“Logan. Logan, quick. Shit.”

Then he noticed where you were looking. Rogue was standing up, as was her date. 

“Shit.”

You looked around you, trying to find the best place to hide yourself. Only Logan found a solution. 

From under the table, he grabbed the bottom of your chair and pulled you closer towards him. 

“Just keep looking at me, hopefully we’ll just blur in with the rest of the crowd.”

And you did. You kept your eyes on Logan. 

In his peripheral vision, he saw Rogue slipping her coat on with her date’s help, who just so happened to rake his eyes up and down her body from the back whilst she wasn’t looking. 

Then he felt your hand on his. 

“Logan,” you whispered to him, getting his attention. 

With your hand on his, you were covering the tips of his claws that started peeking out from between his knuckles. 

“He’s just helping her put her coat on.”

Logan felt the tips of his claws retract, however three small holes were left in the cloth on the table beside his plate. 

“Sorry.”

You just smiled. “It’s okay.”

Then the waiter came back. “Ah, so lovely to see a couple so in love.”

You felt your cheeks go red and hid your face against Logan’s shoulder as he curled his arm around your back and smiled at the waiter. “Can we have the check?”

The waiter nodded. “Of course, just one moment.”

Within seconds, the waiter was back just as Rogue and her date walked out of the door. 

“Have a lovely evening!” The waiter called out to both of you as Logan took your hand and headed for the door. 

Rogue and her date were already half way down the street. 

“Where are they going?”

“Maybe he’s walking her to the cab station?” You offered. 

Logan, with his eyes still fixed on the dates, nodded his head in the opposite direction. “Taxis’ that way.”

Looking back at you, you both made a simultaneous decision and were back to following them. 

“Where the hell could they be going?”

“Maybe they’re just going for a walk. It is still early and they looked like they were having fun. Some couples like to take a walk together after a date.”

“They’re not a couple yet. And this is their first date.” 

You caught up beside Logan and pulled him to a slower pace so neither of you looked like frantic maniacs going down Main Street. 

“If we get any closer, they’re gonna see us.”

“You’re right.”

Yourself and Logan tailed them down the street and around the park before deciding to head back home. “If they’re coming round on the top of the street, they’re gonna see your car.”

Logan looked around him before taking hold of your hand and nearly pulling your arm out of its socket. “This way.”

“Logan, slow down.” You told him. “We aren’t all ten feet tall.”

Thankfully, he did slow down, however didn’t let go of your hand. 

“Do you think we did the right thing? Following them?”

You nodded. “I was questioning it at first but…at least this way we know the guy actually meant what he said when he asked her out. Oh, shit

“What?”

You just managed to push Logan into the doorway of a closed bookstore, pushing his back against the glass. 

“What are you doing?”

“Uhhh,” you panicked. “Nothing. Just a…puddle. Big puddle.”

“It hasn’t rained in three days. What are you-”

Logan stopped when he saw what you had seen. Rogue’s date was about to lean in to kiss her. 

You pushed him back, trying your best to keep him pinned to the wall. “Okay, I get we tailed them most of the night but we have to give them some privacy.”

“Did he even ask?”

“I don’t know, but just keep your voice down. The car is three spaces away. Hopefully they’ll be distracted long enough to-”

You peered back round the corner. “Oh, thank god.”

“What? What’s going on? Has hell opened up and sucked him in?”

You looked back at Logan, a little less than amused. “They’re going into the ice cream shop. Come on, before they see us.”

However, just as you both stepped out of the doorway, you found your path blocked by an elderly woman and her dog. 

She chuckled to herself. “Don’t mind me kids, just taking Frankie on a walk. And don’t worry, honey. I remember when I first met my Harry. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

You let out a nervous laugh as Logan looked like he was about to burst from embarrassment as he ran a hand through his hair, his shirt coming untucked and showing off a small hint of his torso. 

Mrs Keller watched where your eyes landed and gave you a knowing albeit loving smirk as she watched you move closer to Logan, tugging his shirt down a little and pressing close into his side. 

“We should get going. It was nice seeing you Mrs Keller.”

Mrs Keller waved you both off towards Logan’s car. “I’ll see you for next week's book club?”

You nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Feel free to bring your husband along,” she called back. “It’ll drive Little Miss Prissy up the wall that you’ve been keeping that Handsome Fella a secret.”

You laughed nervously once again, as Logan gave you a slight smirk despite his initial embarrassment at what the old lady thought you were both doing.  

“Good night, Mrs Keller.” You called out before Logan repeated it. 

She waved you both goodbye before continuing down the street with Frankie walking by her side. 

Closing the passenger door, you covered your face with your hands already feeling Logan’s eyes and teasing smile on you. 

“She was nice.”

“Shut up and drive.”

Logan chuckled, placing his key into the ignition and pulling out of his spot, his hand behind your headrest as he did so when looking over his shoulder. 

Barely five minutes into the drive, Logan started asking you questions. 

“You’re a part of a book club?”

“We all meet every fortnight and talk about books.”

“And Mrs Keller…?”

You sighed. 

“Is one of the founding members. I met her at the library one day when taking some books back. She was at the desk asking if they had the newest Danielle Steel. They didn’t, but I had seen it in the shop window in a bookstore on the other side of town. We walked together and she invited me to join.”

“How was the book?” Logan asked. 

“I cried.” You answered honestly. “First book I actually cried at.”

Logan let out a small laugh and you hit his arm whilst trying to hold in one of your own. “Don’t laugh.”

“I-I’m not laughing. Okay, maybe I am. I mean, it is funny. Is this where you’ve been disappearing every other Saturday?”

You nodded. “Pretty much. They’re a fun group. Well, most of them are.”

“Let me guess?” Logan asked. “Little Miss Prissy?”

You groaned. “She lives two doors down from Eva. Eva can be nice, but Prissy? God, she’s a nightmare. Every time it’s her turn to talk, she somehow manages to turn it back to her and her “ever doting husband” and their “precious baby niece and nephew” and “oh, look at how cute he is with them.” You know, we read American Psycho once. She still managed to turn it back to her husband.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you continued. “If she wanted to know about anyone else’s love life. Like…” you sighed, thinking of an example. “Mrs Keller? Her and Harry have been together since they were seventeen. They met when they were twelve, lived across the street from each other their entire lives. Mrs Keller had been stood up for one of the local dances by Harry’s friend. So, the minute he found out, he ran over to her house, still covered in motor oil and asked her to the dance. Mrs Keller deserves to write her own romance book for everything that her and Harry have done together. But can she get a word in edgewise? Nope.”

“Sounds like a love for the ages.” Logan said with a soft smile on his lips, looking at you before turning his gaze back to the road in front of him. “And by the sounds of it, Mrs Keller is going to give her something else to talk about.”

You covered your face again. “Oh, god.”

“Hey, come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“How do I tell Mrs Keller I’m not married? She’s gonna think that I’m-”

“What if you didn’t?” 

You turned and looked at Logan. “What?”

“What if you didn’t? Tell them you’re not married? I mean, it’s not like they’re gonna meet me.” Logan explained. “Just…keep up with the lie.”

“And what do I do when they ask me questions?”

Logan shrugged. “Just…bend the truth.”

“Okay,” you sat up in your seat, deciding to test him. “How did we meet?”

“At work. We’re both teachers.”

“When was our first date?”

Logan thought about it. “Six months after we met. We decided to stay up late and ate leftover Chinese food.”

You furrowed your brows. How the hell did he manage to answer these so quickly? Sure, most of it was true. You were both teachers, and the first night you spent alone in the same room together was eating the leftovers in the fridge. Of course, what wasn’t being said was that you both actually met when Logan nearly bulldozed you when he ran into the Professor’s office just after he’d woken up in Jean’s lab. Or how neither of you had properly spoken to one another until that night six months later. 

Or how afterwards, it took a long time for you to make a genuine friendship with him that wasn’t just talking about the team or what the students had to learn in that semester. 

“And then what?” You asked him. “We kissed and lived happily ever after?”

Logan shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

You groaned again. “I hate lying to Mrs Keller.”

“You just lied to her like ten minutes ago. We both did.”

Eventually, Logan pulled up outside of the school and left the car back where he had found it. 

“Like we never left.”

You smiled. “Come on, before she gets back and figures out what we’ve been doing.”

Walking through the school ground and up the front steps, both you and Logan chatted away, laughing a little here and there about anecdotes you were telling him. 

Then you were alone in the middle of the empty hallway, cast in darkness and hints of moonlight. 

“We should get to bed before they get back.”

“I think I might stay up and wait for her to get back. Make sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t have done.”

You stepped a little closer to him. “Be nice, Logan.”

“I’m always nice.”

You just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Okay, fine.” Logan sighed a laugh. “I’ll be nice.”

“Thank you. Tell me how it goes?”

Logan nodded. “Course.”

However, as you both stood together in the hallway, soaking in the vision of the other, you both heard footsteps. 

“Shit.”

Logan looked around. “Here.”

Taking your hand, Logan pulled you into the small space besides the bookshelf and the window. 

Being pressed between the wall and him, you felt his scent and body heat swirl around you and mix with your own. Your own heartbeat was drumming so loud in your eardrums you could hardly hear what Rogue was saying when she was talking to her date. 

From above you, Logan leaned down, his eyes roaming across your face, whilst you found your own gaze doing the same. 

Your heartbeat seemed to drum harder and faster against your chest, your lungs trying to find an even pace to breathe at. 

But you weren’t the only one struggling with that. 

Because Logan’s breathing had become laboured as he looked at you, wanting the space between you both to be further so he could think clearer and not do something you both could regret, but at the same time, for you to be closer to him so he could cross that line. 

You swallowed thickly, trying your best to keep your gaze from his lips. 

You were failing. 

“Logan…”

“Y/n…”

The hand you had pressed against his chest slid up his chest before you took a wad of the loose fabric by his collar in your hands, holding him closer, begging for that line to be crossed. Just as you did so, his own hand pushed the hair from beside your face, his hand gripping onto the space between your neck and your shoulder. Maybe if he forced himself, he wouldn’t move his hand and he wouldn’t cross that line. 

“Alright, where are you two?”

You and Logan stilled. “Maybe if we’re quiet…”

Rogue started walking around. “You wouldn’t have gone to bed yet. Where are you? Oh, come on. I saw you both in the restaurant.”

You and Logan sighed and he closed his eyes, leaning a little further into you. You didn’t want him to leave. 

“Busted.”

Slowly, you and Logan came out from your hiding spot and Rogue spun around her heels. “There you both are.”

“Look, before you yell, you need to know something.”

Rogue crossed her arms, waiting. 

“It was Y/n’s idea.”

“Logan.”

But rather than yell, Rogue laughed a little. “Why does something tell me that’s a lie?”

Logan shrugged. “It might be part of a lie.”

You gave a sigh. He was hopeless. 

“We just wanted to make sure you were safe. And, if you want to know, we’ve already learnt our lesson.”

“Really?”

Logan nodded in agreement with you. “Just take our word for it.”

“So, how did your date go?”

Rogue smiled. “If you must know, we’re going out again next Saturday. He’s going to take me to the movies and then we’re gonna go bowling.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“It will be,” Rogue said. “So long as you two promise to not follow us this time?”

You crossed a sign over your heart. “I swear.”

Rogue waited for Logan to do the same, and only when you nudged him did he do so. “But I’m dropping you off.”

“Just agree,” you told Rogue. “It’ll be easier on all of us.”

Rogue agreed. “Fine. You can drop me off.”

Not long after that, both yourself and Logan went to bed whilst Rogue walked towards the kitchen to grab a bottle of water before doing the same. 

“Are we being overprotective?”

“She’s just a kid, Y/n. We’re allowed to be.”

Logan walked you to your door, both of you calling goodnight to each other. However, you didn’t fall asleep. 

At least for the first couple of hours. 

Mrs Keller thought you were married. 

Married to the same man you were friends with.

The same friend you had almost kissed. 

The same friend who had almost kissed you. 

By the time you woke up the next morning, you seemed to be the only one awake. It was no surprise though, considering you were still three hours off the clock having a one at the beginning of it. 

“Morning.”

You jumped a little when you heard a voice before you opened your eyes to confirm it was Rogue’s voice who had spoken to you. 

“What are you doing up? It’s 7 am. And a Sunday.”

Rogue gave a smile. “Could ask you the same thing.” Rogue told you. “Figured you’d be wrapped in Logan’s arms right now.”

Your back was to her as you opened up one of the doors to the fridge, however became completely still and forgot why you’d opened the damn thing in the first place. 

“What?”

Turning around, you saw Rogue and her smirk, sip at her coffee. 

“I saw you and Logan last night.”

Beside the bookcase? 

“At the restaurant?” Rogue was confused by the more than panicked look on your face. She had said she saw you both, when she got home last night, didn’t she. “You and Logan were sat at the table by the window?”

“Oh…” You felt your heart leave the vice you’d just locked it in. “Oh, yeah.”

Rogue smiled again. “Looked pretty cosy if you ask me.”

“Good job no one’s asking you.”

Milk. That’s why you opened the fridge. 

Taking the carton out, you closed it behind you and reached for a bowl and some cereal. 

“All snuggled up together, his arm around you. I was pretty sure he would have kissed you if the waiter didn’t interrupt. Though, if he didn’t, maybe you would have done more than kiss at that table.”

“Rogue!”

She laughed. “What? Oh, come on. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Seen the way he looks at you.”

She mumbled that last sentence into her coffee cup leaving you questioned just exactly what she meant by it. 

“It’s too early in the morning for this,” you grumbled to yourself, replacing the cereal box in the cabinet. 

“You could always go back to bed.” Rogue offered. “Or go and see if Logan wants some company.”

You turned around a slightly shocked, slightly disgusted look on your face. “Oh my god.”

“I’m kidding.” Rogue laughed out. “Kinda.”

“When did you grow up?” You asked out loud, coming to the daily realisation that Rogue wasn’t the little kid you had first met when she arrived at the school but was, in fact, very quickly on her way to becoming a full grown woman. After all, she had started taking on a small time tutoring job and she was still a couple months away from graduation. 

The rest of the day went smoothly. Well…as smooth as it could go when you were having a constant internal flashback to the night before. Mrs Keller and what she thought you and Logan were doing, it almost happening beside the bookcase, and then you walked in on him in his bathroom. 

He had said it was safe for you to come inside, and you had happened to see him shirtless a couple of times. Though never in sync with a time when at least two people on the planet thought you were married, another one was trying to convince you she saw, at the very least, something similar to what the others had and the two minutes spent beside the bookcase which you had thought about over and over. 

“Hank is asking if you want corn or peas.” You told Logan as you walked inside, trying your best not to yell or scream out loud and retreat away. 

“Either is fine. You okay?”

You snapped your eyes back to Logan’s face. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Fine. Have you talked to Rogue?”

“Not today,” he replied. “Why? Should I have done?”

You couldn’t help but shudder. “No. That kid is scary.”

You heard Logan laugh as you closed the door a little as you headed back out. 

“Hey, wait.”

You opened the door again, holding onto the frame for dear life. “Yeah?”

“About last night…”

“What about last night?” You tried your best to remain as casual as possible, though it didn’t help when you remembered Logan was practically a walking lie detector. 

He could hear your heartbeat. 

And it was only getting faster. 

You told yourself to calm down. 

It was only a question. 

A big question. 

That he hadn’t finished. 

Was he going to tell you to forget about it? Was he going to pretend it didn’t happen? Did it happen? Had you made the entire thing up? Was the line that you thought had blurred for a second been completely in bold this entire time and hadn’t shifted?

“Thanks…for coming with me…I know you would have gone anyway. But, I’m glad you didn’t try to stop me.”

You smirked a little. “Logan, you’re made of metal. The only practical way I could have is if I owned an industrial magnet.”

Logan chuckled a little. “Still. I’m glad you came. It’s nice to know the kid’s not alone, you know?”

You nodded. “I know. Anyway, I should probably…”

“Yeah, yeah. I, uh, I’ll meet you down there.”

You nodded, letting your eyes take a mental picture of Logan before you shut the door again and headed downstairs and back into the kitchen. 

“He said either.”

Hank nodded and turned back to the stove. 

“You were up there for a while,” Rogue appeared by your side. “And you look a little flushed.”

You turned your head to look at her and glared. “I do not.”

“You do look a little red in the cheeks, Y/n.” Hank added from where he was standing, busying himself by the stove. 

“Maybe I’m coming down with something.” You pressed your hands to your cheeks to hide them. 

Rogue stood in front of you and pressed the back of her hand to your head. “You don’t feel hot, maybe- Oh, hey Logan!”

Rogue broke out into a wide grin.

Logan was a little shocked by Rogue’s enthusiasm. “Hey, kid.”

“Come here, does Y/n feel hot to you? She’s looking a little flushed.”

“Rogue.” You warned under your breath. But she just smiled and pulled Logan over where her hand was replaced by Logan’s. 

And there it was again. 

That same…difference. 

Just like when you stood in front of him when you both got back, before you hid beside the bookcase. 

“N-no. She feels…she feels okay.”

Rogue looked back at Hank who was trying his best to hide his smile. “Why, Logan, you’re looking a little flushed yourself.”

Logan quickly stepped back, as did you. Only, you fell into the counter and gripped onto it for dear life. 

You looked down at the floor. 

“Maybe you’re coming down with something, too. I hope it’s not catching.”

Logan shook his head. “I can’t get sick.”

Hank hummed. “Must be something else then.”

“Must be.” Logan’s voice was quiet as he looked at you and found you looking back. 

Though you couldn’t look for too long, feeling your cheeks heat up again. 

“I better-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna-”

Both yourself and Logan headed in opposite directions. Yourself out of the kitchen the way you came in, and Logan out through the back door and into the gardens. 

Eventually, you made it to your room and locked your door before moving over to the mirror. You did look flushed. Even more so when your brain projected the feeling of Logan’s hands on you from the night before, as well as the look on his face from thirty seconds ago. 

By the time dinner rolled around, yourself and Logan tried to keep your distance until you both suddenly found yourself seated beside each other, taking one look at each other and then taking a large gulp of your drink. 

Your main suspect for the forced seating arrangement was Rogue. She had been the one to lay out the cards. Three days previous, you were sure you had been sat beside her and Storm. 

And when you looked over to her and found her smiling in your direction, you had your confirmed culprit. 

For most of the night, you were kept distracted by the stories being told by everyone as you all caught up with one another from the past couple of months or so. 

It was a few days until things felt normal between you and Logan. At least to the extent where you didn’t feel yourself visibly flush at the sight of him. 

And everything seemed normal. 

Until Saturday. 

You had already left - Logan being the only one to know where you actually were heading off to. 

“Okay, but Logan, you’re not allowed to get out of the car.” Rogue told him. “You’re just dropping me off. And you’re not allowed to come into the movie theatre, either.”

“What if I want to see a movie?”

“Not tonight, you’re not.” Rogue told him. “I like this guy, okay. And I think having The Wolverine sat behind us both isn’t going to make things easier.”

Logan sighed. “Okay, fine. I won’t come into the movie theatre.”

“Promise?” 

Logan nodded, and crossed his heart. “Promise.”

“And you can’t send Y/n in, either.”

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. She’s busy.”

“Let me guess, on a date at the movie theatre?”

Logan held back his smirk. “No, smartass. She’s at a book club. But you can’t tell the others. She doesn’t want them to know.”

“Y/n’s part of a book club?”

Logan nodded and stifled a laugh as he flicked on his indicator and turned down a side street. “Yeah, it shocked me too.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be the mysterious husband they’re all talking about?”

As a red light came on, Logan slammed on his breaks a little too hard. “What? How would you know about-”

“Y/n took me to the library. There were a load of women looking at her. She was outside but when I asked her about it she said it was nothing. But I definitely heard them talking about her being married.”

Logan looked back to the road. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah.”

“It's green.”

A car behind him honked and Logan quickly got moving, all the while feeling Rogue’s eyes on him. 

“Oh, my god.” Rogue smiled and turned back to the road in disbelief. 

“What?” 

Logan was beginning to feel a little panicked. Though he didn’t quite know why. 

“You are him.” Rogue stated. “Oh, my god. Is this what you meant by ‘learning your lesson’? Did something finally happen?”

Logan was confused. “Finally? What do you mean finally?”

“I mean finally.” Rogue repeated. “Jesus, Logan. Have you not seen the way you look at her? How she looks at you?”

“How she looks at me?” Logan questioned. 

Since when did driving Rogue to her second date become a time for confessions?

“Hank was right, you both really are as bad as each other.”

Logan had to shake his head. “Wait, Hank? Beast Hank?”

Rogue could help but laugh. 

For months Rogue had watched Logan and yourself get close to each other. She had to watch as the looks Logan gave you went from untrusted, to familiar, to friendly to…everything after the fact of trust. Not only could you see it in his eyes that he trusted you, but you could also see what he was too scared to admit to himself. 

He was in love with you. 

And had been for quite some time. 

Of course, Rogue had only noticed this in the last couple of months. 

Except, when talking with Hank as he cooked and she mostly watched and snacked on the parts he wasn’t using for the main meals, she realised it had been going on for years. 

How you had looked at Logan. Intrigue, civil, uncharted, familiar, friendly, safe and,,,love. 

And apparently Hank hadn’t been the only one in agony watching both of you. According to him, so were the rest of the team. 

They were all just surprised nothing had actually happened yet. 

“W-why are you laughing?” Logan’s gaze kept flicking from the passenger seat beside him to the road ahead until he finally pulled up outside the movie theatre. 

“Because you’re both idiots.”

Logan didn’t look entirely amused. “Thanks, kid.”

“Look, I could tell you but…you need to work this one out for yourself. Thanks for dropping me off.”

As Rogue stepped out of the car, she closed the door and walked away. However, a few paces from the car she stopped and turned back around. 

“Fuck it, I’m just gonna tell you.” 

Leaning back inside the car, Logan looked back at her. 

“You love her. And she loves you.” Rogue told him. “You’ve both loved each other for a long time and it’s about time you both do something about it before time passes and you’re both too chicken shit to do something about it. There is a reason everyone already thinks you're a couple, and that’s because when neither of you are thinking, you both act like it anyway. You should really see the way you look at each other, Lo. I hope I can find that some day, too. It’s rare. Don’t let it slip past you. Either of you.”

Rogue watched as Logan soaked in all of her words and then settled back behind the steering wheel. 

Reaching into her bag, Rogue pulled out a book. “This was on the counter when I came downstairs.”

Logan took it from her. It was a new book. The new book you would be discussing about. Tonight. 

“Figured she might need that. Maybe you can drop it off with her?”

Logan looked at Rogue and gave a smile. “Thanks, kid.”

Rogue shrugged. “Just mention me during your wedding speech.”

Shutting the car door, Rogue watched as Logan pulled out of his parking spot and drove down the street, turning the corner to head towards the address you had given him earlier that week. 

“Just in case you or Rogue needs me.” You had told him. 

Pulling up outside the house, KELLER written on the mailbox, Logan turned off the engine, took the book from the passenger seat and headed up the porch steps and knocked on the screen door. 

From inside he heard laughing before a familiar face opened up the door. 

“Oh, my. Logan, isn’t it?”

Logan nodded, trying his best to hide the flush on his cheeks. “Mrs Keller. I’m hoping Y/n is here. She left her book and I thought-”

Mrs Keller gave a wide smile and pushed open the screen door for him to come in. “Of course. The more the merrier. Your wife will be happy to see you, I’m sure. Follow me.”

As he did so, Logan soon found himself entering a second living room where around a dozen people were sitting in somewhat of a circle, either on the sofas or on the floor. 

“Look who’s come for a surprise visit!” Mrs Keller announced. 

Everyone turned with welcoming smiles and slightly shocked expressions. 

“Logan.” You weren’t expecting to see him. 

“Hey,” Logan breathed with a smile at seeing you. “Rogue. She picked up your book and I thought you might need it.”

You stood and took it from him softly. “Thanks.”

“Well, honey? Aren’t you going to give him a proper hello?”

Suddenly you and Logan felt a dozen pairs of eyes on you both and with a slight awkwardness, you leant up and kissed his cheek. 

“Oh, come on. Girls, I tell you. Last week they were like two teenagers.”

You felt your cheeks go bright red and you hid your face with the cover of your book. The only comfort was Logan’s hand that hadn’t left your hip since you stepped into him to kiss his cheek. 

“Oh, Logan, please. Will you stay?”

Logan looked around the room. It was the first time he understood the expression “Feeling like you were going to be eaten alive.”

“No, no. This is…your thing. I don’t want to intrude-”

“Nonsense! Besides, we’ve been dying to know more about our little mystery.” Mrs Keller said with nothing but affection. 

“Who knew mystery could have so much romance?” 

Logan turned to where the voice came from and by your reaction, he gauged the voice belonged to Prissy. Who’s name he would soon learn was Pricilla. 

“I’d love to.” Logan replied, looking back to Mrs Keller. 

“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands together and got comfortable in her chair. “Oh, Darwin, honey, come and sit by me so the lovebirds can sit together.”

The sofa in which Darwin had been sitting was as big as a seat and a half. So, when Logan did finally sit down, you were practically sitting on his lap, the only comfortable position you could find yourself in was tucked in by his side, your legs over his whilst his hand held your knees on his thighs. 

Thankfully, your back was supported by the arm of the chair, but either way you felt yourself melt into Logan’s side, his body heat warming you. The fire Mrs Keller had on in the hearth was enough to heat the room but there was just something about Logan’s warmth that made it…different. 

“Oh, you two just make the most adorable couple.” Mrs Keller smiled, watching the pair of you, noticing the smiles you gave each other as you both finally got comfortable in being so close to one another. “Like no one else is in the room.” 

Logan heard Rogue’s words echo inside of his head. 

She was right. 

“Oh, you have to tell us how you met? Please.” Daisy asked from the floor beside the coffee table. 

Prissy coughed. “Aren’t we more interested in discussing this week’s book?”

A chorus of “No” sounded out. 

With a shlump, Prissy sat back with a noise stuck at the back of her throat. 

“Oh, tell us how you met!” Darwin called out. “Start at the very beginning.”

“You know it’s gonna be a good story when they look at each other like that.” Daisy added on. 

Prissy leaned forward. “You know, if you want a good love story, I can always tell you about how me and my darling husband met.”

Dawin groaned. Loudly. “We already know your story, Pricilla.”

“God knows we’ve heard it enough,” Mrs Keller mumbled. 

“We want a new story and we want to hear about Y/n and Logan.”

You looked at Logan and Logan looked back. Something seemed different about him. It was almost like something was gleaming inside of him. You just couldn’t figure out what. Or why. 

But you loved seeing a new side of him. 

There was just something that made your stomach flip and your heart grow when Logan showed you another side of him. A side he didn’t let people see that often. Sometimes a side he wouldn’t let himself see. 

“We met at work.” Logan told them. 

“Yeah, he nearly bulldozed me in the Professor’s office.”

“I did not.”

“You did.” You countered. “I almost got a concussion from how hard you opened up that door.”

“You weren’t even near the door.”

“No, because I jumped out of the way when you did.”

Mrs Keller smiled. “Let me guess, you didn’t get off on the right foot?”

You shrugged. “Not particularly.”

“It took time…about six months before we had a real conversation. And even then it took time.”

Mrs Keller smiled with a knowing look. “The best ones always do.”

Over the next two hours, you and Logan were asked question after question. Most of them scolding you for not mentioning or bringing Logan to the book meetings sooner so they could all meet him. 

Eventually, you did get onto the book you had all read. Prissy spent most of the time talking about the book and Logan got to witness first how she took the descriptions of a bird and placed the conversation back on her husband and what they had done during the week. 

The first time, Logan could see it almost as sweet. After that it just got tedious. 

But he couldn’t care. Not when he felt you fall into his side, allowing for his arm to come around your back, his hand fanned out across the exposed skin from your hip where your t-shirt had come untucked from your jeans. 

As the fire in the hearth settled into a constant warmth, people started to get more relaxed and cosier, pulling up blankets, putting on Mrs Keller’s complimentary cosy socks. 

Apparently she had a pair for everyone. 

“Let me go and get some more snacks and then we can talk about chapter fifteen.” Mrs Keller gave a small gasp. “I didn’t see it coming.”

But you shot to your feet. “No, you sit down. Let me.”

“Oh, thank you, dear.”

Sitting back down, Logan stood with you and walked into the kitchen with you. 

For a moment, you both talked about the book club and everything that had just happened before a comfortable lul came and you both realised you had to talk about the elephant in the room. 

“We need to talk.” Logan told you. 

“Do we?”

“Rogue told me something and it’s been on my mind ever since. And I can’t stop thinking how much she might be right.”

You poured some pretzels from the jar into a section of the dish. “Really? It must be bad if you’re agreeing with her.”

“Can you just…look at me for a second?”

You stopped pouring the snacks and looked at Logan, only for him to grab your hands and hold them in his. Running his thumbs over your knuckles, you forced yourself out of your thoughts and back to focusing on the real Logan in front of you. 

“I think I’ve known it for a while, I just don’t think I’ve been able to let myself know it because, if I do…look, I’ve lost a lot of people.”

He was scaring you now. 

“Logan, what’s going on?”

“I’ve lost a lot of people,” he finally looked you in the eye. “But I’ve come to realise you are not someone I can lose, Y/n. I don’t want to lose you. But if I don’t tell you something now, there might be a day when I could still lose you anyway.”

“Logan, you’re scaring me. Has something happened? What did Rogue say to you? I told you not to talk to her. That kid can be scary.”

Logan chuckled at that. It was true. Especially more recently. Very recently, in fact. 

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

You felt yourself falter and stiffen at his words. 

“You are the person I trust the most in this world, and I don’t say that lightly. I trust you and I love you. But I can’t lose you. So…” Logan took a breath. “Please tell me if I’m going to lose you because of this, because I don’t want to. I don’t want to ever lose you. Especially over something that I’ve done.”

“You…you love me?” You questioned. “Logan…how…when…Logan, you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you…you just can’t.” 

You were in shock and disbelief. “I’m not someone you fall in love with.”

“Little late for that.”

“I’m being serious.” Pulling your hands from his, you walked away for a second. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You needed…you needed…

“So am I.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Logan…I…you…we…we don’t…”

“We don’t…what?” Logan asked you. 

“We don’t fit, Logan. We…we spent years building…us. Don’t you think that couples tend to know- if not instantly, a little sooner than us?”

“Y/n. I love you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I love you.”

Logan started walking closer to you, repeating his words with every step. 

“Logan, you don’t.”

Taking you by the shoulders, he looked you in the eyes. “Yes, I do. And…I’d wager to say you feel the same, too.”

“Logan…”

“Just listen to me.” Logan begged. “Please.”

And so you did. 

“Coming in here to tell you this? I didn’t expect you to tell me the same. I still don’t. I get you’re scared. Hell, I’m terrified. But the only thing that is keeping me from running out of that door is you. I know you, Y/n. And you know me, so when I stand here telling you that I love you, you know I’m not lying. You know that you are the only person I cannot lie to. I respect you too much to do that.” 

Logan continued. 

“But just now…you said ‘us’. And after what almost happened the other night and what happened in the kitchen with Hank…hell, even back there with the Town Gossip Board…”

Logan studied your face for a moment. You were fighting back tears, white knuckling the countertop beside you both.

“I can’t lose you, Y/n. So, please, tell me now. Just answer me this and if you want me to walk away I will. Do you love me?”

“Logan…”

Logan’s grip on you tightened for a moment as he bit his lip saying your name. He was desperate for an answer, wishing for you to say yes. For you to tell him not to walk away. 

He couldn’t lose you…but maybe he already had. 

“Please…” His voice broke. “Please.”

And then you broke. 

“Of course I love you.”

Pulling him in by his collar, you held your other hand against his face before kissing him. It wasn’t soft or gentle. It was full of desperate and an outburst of emotion that you couldn’t put into words. You could only hope he knew what you meant by your kiss. 

Almost instantly you felt his hands come to your waist before he pushed against you, kissing you back, allowing his arms to snake up and around your back, holding you flush against his chest. All the while, his lips caught yours once more after half a breath. 

Your tears dried up and your hand fell to Logan’s side as he turned you, your ass bumping against the lower counter in the kitchen. A low groan came from the back of Logan’s throat as your hand dipped under his t-shirt and your fingers raked across his skin and up the side of his torso. 

However, just as Logan was about to lift you onto the counter, you both heard a voice call out from the living room. 

“Did you manage to find the pretzels? They’re in the cabinet above the stove!”

You and Logan pulled away, breathless. With his hands tangled in your hair and your forehead pressed against his, Logan forced a swallow, his cheeks heating as he smiled, still feeling your hand on his skin. 

“Yeah, we’ve got em’!” Logan called out. “We’ll be there in a second.”

You let out a small laugh, as did Logan. 

“How long have you got left here?”

You turned your head to look at the rustic clock above the kitchen dresser. “About an hour.”

“Make it 45?”

“50.” You gave it as an offer. “I still want to find out what they thought about Chapter twenty two.”

Almost out of arm's reach, Logan pulled you back. “Hey.”

“What?” You asked, allowing yourself to fall back into him. 

Looking at you, Logan smiled before brushing the hair from your face and leaving you with a kiss that left you a little stunned and dizzy in the best way imaginable. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Wait.” Logan said once more, before pulling you back. You laughed a little. 

“If we spend any more time in here, Mrs Keller is going to think we’re about to defile her kitchen.”

“We almost did,” Logan smirked watching your face heat before he started fixing your hair and your top. 

And you did the same with him. 

Finally walking back into the living room with the snacks, you and Logan sat back down together, your legs draped over his lap all the while your fingers subtly played with the ends of his hair, allowing your nails to run up and down the back of his neck every once in a while that had him shifting in his seat. 

You were out of there within forty minutes. 

But not before Mrs Keller gave Logan his own pair of cosy socks. 

“Yellow and blue,” she told him. “For some reason, they speak to me. They’re yours. You’re an honorary member. Feel free to drop in any session. We’d love to hear more about you two.”

Both yourself and Logan smiled before walking back to the car where he opened up the door for you before walking around and getting into the driver's seat. 

It took all of a month before everyone found out you and Logan had finally come together. Rogue and Hank seemed the most relieved that something had finally snapped between you two.

You both spent most mornings and nights tangled in each other’s arms, finally free to admit the truth to each other. 

You had loved Logan for a long time. And he had loved you just as long. 

Neither of you planned on stopping that any time soon. 

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you leave megumi with your husband so you can make them breakfast. you quickly realise that that might have backfired.

wc. around 1.3k

tags. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘mama’ by both toji & megumi. half beta read.

“ow, careful there, brat.”

your husband’s deep voice echoes from within the bathroom. you’ve left megumi in his care this morning so you’d be able to make breakfast in peace. toji was all grumpy about it, since he had to wake up early when he had no work, but eventually agreed to your proposal.

you hum your favorite song while frying eggs. the sizzling in the pan did help avert your attention from toji’s grunts of annoyance somewhere in the distance, though only for a couple seconds. your hear your child’s laughter slip between the noises of aggravation. it piques your interest.

“one more time and i’m putting y’r ass in time out,” toji’s deep voice sounds muffled. he sounds rather serious about whatever is bothering him.

you turn the stove off and walk towards the hallway, standing at the doorframe as you look in the direction of the bathroom. you tilt your head and try your best to pick up on snippets of the conversation between your husband and son.

the sound of bottles dropping on the floor is the first thing that allows you to guess that megumi’s acting up. you know how mischievous your little toddler can get, especially at his age. toji isn’t one to gentle parent his kid—he tries to, of course, but sometimes he can’t help but be a bit rough.

“megumi fushiguro.”

you raise your eyebrows as toji uses your child’s full name. he rarely does, only when he’s really upset or about to lose his marbles. you decide to see what was going on for yourself. you walk towards the bathroom, cleaning your hands against the material of your apron. you knock once before pushing the door open.

you stick your head through the little gap, ready to identify the cause of the commotion. the first thing you notice is the chaos on the floor; bottles, tubes, toothbrushes, and all other kinds of products lay cluttered on the bathroom tiles.

your eyes then land on your husband’s broad and scarred back, “hey, honey. did something hap—”

your voice trails off once toji turns around, revealing the jaw dropping scene. nearly his entire face is covered in loads of shaving cream and even his black hair hasn’t escaped the soft foam.

the bathroom counter is completely wet, and the water runs down the edges in small drops. the culprit of this entire scene is sitting right on that same counter, clapping his dirty hands together that were smeared with toji’s shaving cream.

you blink and walk towards the two. you can’t possibly be mad at the sight, finding toji’s situation more funny than worrisome. You try to act serious and clear your throat, “uh, yeah. so what’s happened here?”

your husband rolls his eyes and nods his head at the little boy in front of him, who’s giggling and kicking his legs. toji tries to wipe the shaving cream from his nose, attempting to get it out of his hair as well, “i tried to be a good dad and include him in my morning routine, that’s what.”

the man clicks his tongue as he now realises how dumb of a mistake that was, “gave him the opportunity to put some shaving foam on my jaw ‘n the brat totally blew it. started attackin’ me with the stuff.”

toji grumbles. he wipes away the foam that got on the mirror afterwards. it’s nearly gotten everywhere. he lightly nudges megumi’s forehead with a scoff, “never again, y’hear? the little shit can’t sit still for even one second.”

that explains the stuff on the floor. you know that megumi could grow bored easily if he isn’t the centre of attention. he’d start doing anything to be the focus of his parents. toji probably didn’t pay him much mind, wanting to get his morning routine over with.

“language, honey.” you sigh and look down at megumi who’s still reaching his messy hands up to his dad.

toji huffs and leans back, not giving the little boy a chance to put more shaving cream on his face. he’s learnt his lesson; kids do not understand it when you tell them to ‘only put a little bit’.

megumi whines and threatens to throw a tantrum. you notice that immediately and try to keep his mind off things by picking him up. you turn on the faucet and try to wash his little hands, “c’mon. give mama your hands.”

the little boy shakes his head furiously, squirming in your embrace in attempt to get away. you sigh and grab his little wrists gently. you lower him to the sink, trying your best to wash away the shaving cream as the first step of solving this grande mess.

“no, mama!” megumi is stubborn as he voices his complains. toji watches from a distance whilst he struggles to clean the overload of shaving cream from his face.

you make the mistake of letting go of your child’s wrists to grab a washcloth. megumi takes his chance and pats his messy hands against your face, leaving you no space to process what he’s doing.

your mind takes a second before you realise what’s happening, “hey! quit it, ‘gumi.”

you try to grab ahold of megumi’s tiny hands again, but they move too fast for you. plus, he’s pretty skilled at avoiding yours. you can feel the foam slowly cover your entire face; from your jaw and cheeks, to your nose and forehead.

it was inevitable at this point.

“toji, do something,” you grunt and struggle to contain the energetic toddler in your arms. you take a peek at your husband and find him grinning at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in.

toji simply shrugs and enjoys the fact that you’re experiencing exactly what he had experienced just moments ago. seeing you struggle to contain your disobedient child only proves that his parenting skills are not the problem in this situation, your toddler is.

“ye did that to y’rself, mama.” toji hums in amusement. he leans against the wall, the blue towel now loosely hanging off head after he’s given up on getting the foam out of his hair, “now y’know what i’m talkin’ about. he’s a lil’ monster.”

megumi squeals in victory after he’s gotten both his parents covered in shaving cream. you want to say something to your child, but you’re at a loss for words. even now, you cannot bring yourself to be mad at him. he’s just a kid who’s having fun with his parents.

“i made mama pretty! hehe.” megumi grins and encourages you to look in the mirror. he points at your reflection and awaits the words of confirmation. his blue eyes look up at you, nearly sparkling with joy, admiring how pretty he’s made you look with that white foam all over your face.

toji joins in on the fun. he comes to stand behind you, looking at you through the mirror. he snickers, already forgotten about his irritations that occurred in the first place. he nods in approval at megumi’s words, “gotta agree, son. y’r mama looks much prettier like this.”

your husband’s teasing comment adds fuel to the fire. though again, you cannot bring yourself to be upset at the situation.

you look at the reflection in the dirty mirror. you all may appear disheveled due to the foamy mess on your bodies—and yet even at that moment—the only thing you actually manage to see is a happy family of three.