#on things like making all three wood panels in the last gif white instead of 2/3 red welp

[seoksoonwoo]

DANDELION by Seungkwan for @hongtonie 🤍

[yourfriendslimey]

Clouds of Cream

Pt. 1

Summary- While taking a day to run weekly errands, you take the time to stop at your local cafe where a certain handsome barista happens to work...

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader

Genre: Fluff

author’s note: This part is mostly to establish base story, also later parts will contain sexual themes; however, i COULD also produce watered down versions for those of you who enjoy the story but don’t care for those kinds of things. lemme know. Anyways, enjoy <3

WC: 2342

Part. 1- I Never Got Your Name…

Your eyes pried themselves open as the morning sun snuck into your studio apartment. With a heavy arm, you reached over to the tiny bedside table and grabbed your phone. 8:00 a.m…. You groaned, tossed your phone onto the table and pulled the blanket over your face. It was Saturday, your day off work, so you could in theory sleep in. However, you knew if you didn’t get up now then the To-Do list tacked to the cork board above your desk would go unattended. Plus… You thought, sitting up haggardly…I could stop at the café while I’m out…

You had gone to Downtown Brews for the first time a few months ago with a close friend who swore up and down it had THE best coffee. He was right. Now you were all but addicted. The roasts were divine, and the pastries were nothing to scoff at. And often by chance, you were helped by the same barista who, if you dared to say so, was not too hard on the eyes. The barista…You felt guilty not knowing his name by now. Even though you saw him every time you walked through those doors, you never managed to read his nametag. You were always too…distracted.

You let your feet hang off the bed for a few moments while your mind began to wander. As you stood and made your way to your tiny bathroom, you wondered if he even really noticed you. Of course, he recognized your face. You were there all the time. At the counter, he would give a casual smile and in his cool tone say “Hey, y/n, nice to see you again? The usual?” They took names for orders, so yeah, he knew that too. He knew your regular order because it was well... your regular order. But that didn’t mean he really saw you. The café had a lot of regulars, he probably knew a few orders and names by heart. While brushing your teeth you became even more lost in thought… You leaned close the bathroom mirror, analyzing your face. It was still puffy, showing the aftermath of a late night’s sleep. You frowned a little. Maybe he has a girlfriend. Maybe you just weren’t his type. You fed into your dismay while taking a longer than usual shower.

With fresh breath and a newly showered body, you walked to your closet and pulled out a pair of black skinny jeans, an oversized t-shirt with your college mascot on the front, and a grey dad-hat. You might as well be comfortable while running around all day. You grabbed your backpack and tossed in your phone charger, wallet, and keys. You quickly snatched the list from the board and hurried out the front door before the demon that was procrastination could set in.

You groaned as you walked to the end of the hall, anticipating the journey you had to make down the stairs. The elevator was down and had been for months now. The landlord kept telling you someone would be in to fix it next month, but it seemed like next month never came. Instead, you frustratedly stomped down the stairs, each time cursing past you for wanting to live on the third floor.

The building you lived in was nowhere near fancy. But it was home at least. Unlike the buildings uptown, the lobby wasn’t big and beautiful with potted plants and delicate light fixtures. It was more of an extra wide hallway. The walls presented a sickly grey-green on the upper half, the bottom being slowly warping wood paneling. A large portion of the space was dedicated to old metal mailboxes and contained ceiling lights hanging on their last legs; more than half of them flickering or entirely dead. You decided to check your mail later. You never really got anything anyway.

Outside, you were met with a clear sky and smiling summer sun. A warm breeze danced through the branches and the sweet smell of mature flowers blessed your nose. You felt more energized by the perfection of the day and with newfound eagerness, began your walk to the café. You breathed easily, taking in your surroundings. It was around 9:00 a.m. now and most of the city was already awake. Busy men and women walked as fast as their legs could carry them. Some to their respective jobs and others you presumed, to use the day the same as you; going off to clear a long list of errands. The start of summer vacation also meant children with time to kill. Kids ran up and down the sidewalk, getting what you deemed an early start to their day’s mischief. A couple walked hand in hand, giggling and smiling. You could overhear them mention something about grabbing lunch later and maybe seeing a movie. Seeming them happy together sent you into a vivid daydream.

You saw the barista’s warm smile and kind eyes. You confidently sauntered up to the counter, cool as ice. You flashed a cheeky smile that caught him off-guard. “Hey there, what’ll it be?” he said with a fully flushed face. You leaned in real close and looked him in the eyes. With a stolen velvet tongue, you said “A tall, dark, and handsome…”

The cheesiness of the line snapped you out of your trance with a quiet laugh. Before you knew it, you found yourself standing in front of Downtown Brews. It sat gingerly on the corner, beckoning you inside. The coffee cup logo printed on the glass door a sight for sore eyes Through the large window you noticed that almost every seat was full. No big deal since you just wanted to grab something to eat while you walked. You pulled open the door, a small bell jingling overhead. You placed yourself at the end of the line, grateful that it wasn’t too long. The early morning rush had pretty much passed already. You scanned the peaceful scene. Even though it was full, the loudest noises were the clinking of mugs and forks. It was always like this no matter the time of day.

Downtown Brews had that affect on people. The café created a sanctuary away from the loudness of the city. It had a minimalistic look. Plain golden-brown wooden floors, beautifully simple wooden tables and chairs, and small hanging lights that seemed to float in the room. On each table was a centerpiece containing small purple wildflowers in cute white vases that looked like fine china. The walls were mostly windows, save for the left wall that made contact with that of the bookstore next door and the gray brick wall behind the counter. It was decorated with shelves lined with mugs, glasses, and more white vases with various plants and flowers scattered about. You noticed that every week, there was at least one new one. The owner of the place must have had a real love for flora.

You stood for what felt like ages, listening to some poor young intern order complicated coffees and various treats for what seemed to be an entire office. You anxiously switched your weight from one foot to the other, wondering if maybe today you would order something new. And then you saw him. The man who made your face hot and your head cloudy. He was always here when you were, not that you were going to complain about it. He looked so suave in his uniform. The white shirt, black slacks, and black apron on his waist seemed custom made for his slender frame. How could such simple clothes look so good on someone? Your hands felt clammy and your chest went tight. You hated and adored this feeling all at the same time. Taking a few quiet deep breaths, you set your sights back on the menu, busying your mind with deciding about what to order for breakfast.

You studied him as he switched places with another staff member and prepared his customer’s order. The café had a lovely practice. Whoever took your order would also prepare it. This allowed for a more personal experience that resulted in fewer messed up orders. The baristas took turns instinctually; based off who was the least busy.

You gawked at him, transfixed on his form. You watched as he grabbed a few pastries from the glass case in front of him, slid them into a small toaster oven and began fixing the drinks. Every movement was smooth and graceful. He was like an angel. His face was lit up with a precious smile as he handed over the massive order and with a nod chirped “Here you are! You coworkers better say thank you for this. Hope you have a good day.” The intern gave a rushed “Yes, thank you, you too,” and fixed her gaze on the cardboard trays of drinks stacked onto boxes of patisserie. She shuffled away with a sense of urgency you’d never seen.

The barista’s skin was almost glowing. It looked soft and flawless, almost like it had been airbrushed. But it was all too real. You heart began to race as the last person between you and the counter wandered off. You shook your head lightly, trying to snap yourself back to the now.

“Can I help who’s next, please?” the honey voice flooded your ears.

You nearly stumbled up to the register, eyes barely leaving the chalkboard menu hanging above. Even though you weren’t really looking, you could still feel the warmth of his smile. You met his eyes. “Hey y/n. How’s it going? Medium iced coffee with vanilla creamer, three sugars, and cocoa powder on top, right?” You felt the heat rising in your face.

“Hey, uh yeah. I mean, no.” Your voice was almost imprisoned in your throat, impulse taking over.

“Oh, did I get I get it wrong?” he let out a small chuckle and ran a hand through his beautiful hazelnut curls, “Sorry about that, guess I must be a bit tired if I’m forgetting-“

You didn’t mean to, but you cut him off “Not at all. I just wanna switch it up a bit. Today I think I’ll have a medium iced cold brew with sweet cream and caramel this time. And could I also have a cranberry muffin, please?” you smiled shyly, embarrassed knowing that you were obviously flustered.

He smiled wide and clasped his hands together. “Well I see we’re mixingg things up now,” he giggled quietly while punching your order into the automated screen, “Gotta keep me on my toes somehow.” Damn that smile- you took off your backpack and quickly pulled out your wallet. “Is that for here or to go?” He peered up at you, eyes doe-like. “To go, please.” You choked a little and could have sworn you saw a bit of disappointment in his eyes but passed it off. He told you the total and you handed him the cash. “Alrighty, I’ll have everything ready in about ten minutes.” You nodded and gave a small hum as he gave you your change.

You stepped off to the side and let your eyes follow him as he skillfully crafted your drink. His smile was replaced with a stern look as he focused on his task. You wondered if your mouth was watering from the aroma of coffee and hot muffin awaiting you or something else. Suddenly, it hit you that once again you avoided looking at his name tag. You instinctively avoided looking at one part of him too long. As a child mom had taught you it was rude to stare, and that sentiment stuck with you even now. You chastised yourself. It felt as though after you missed it the first time, it felt impolite to check now. But it was ruder to just not know. You always wanted to ask, but avoided it, thinking he would think you were a moron since he clearly has a nametag on. You silently huffed in frustration and made attempts to get a better look. However, you couldn’t get a clear view. If it wasn’t a machine in your way, it was one of the other baristas, or he was simply moving too much or he was turned away from you. Though you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed looking at his back almost as much as his front.

“Y/n, your order’s ready.” His smile had returned as he stepped up to the pickup area.

He held out a small brown paper bag and your drink. “Here you go. Have a good day, and I’ll see you soon.” His face was warm, his smile genuine. You beamed at him and gently took your things Your heart fluttered. Without even thinking, the words flew from your lips. “I’m sorry, I know I come here all the time, but um…” he leaned forward, placing his hands on the counter, “well I don’ actually know your name and i keep forgetting to ask…And it feels rude to not know since you’re such a good server.” He chuckled, raised an eyebrow and smirked. He shook his head lightly and let it drop to the side. “Tsk tsk tsk. And I thought we were friends.” His smile melted your heart. He stood tall and folded is arms.

You apologized again, telling him you knew he had a nametag on but you always forgot to look and began to ramble about feeling nervous to ask and the whole thing. He gently cut you off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s Mark. And now that you know, you better not forget.” He pointed a playfully stern finger at you. The name rang in your head. This man who occupied so much headspace finally had a name. A beautiful one. At least to you. You grinned, “I won’t, I promise. I’ll see you later, Mark.” You turned to leave and as you did, you were certain his smile had grown bigger and his cheeks pinker.

Mark....

[impossible-ancient]

Autumn Hunt (Title name is subject to change)

A Far Cry 5 fan fiction with Staci Pratt getting used to living in Jacob’s house.  The images are what I see a real life Pratt looking like.

{2239} words

-----Chapter One-----

“Don’t Lose”

Read Chapter 2

     The morning bugle blares over the intercoms in the corridors of Jacob’s Veteran Center. It’s the “Drill Call” muffled behind the wooden door.   A sleepy and cranky Deputy Pratt sits up in his full-sized bed covered in with a puffy green and white comforter.  He looks around with a hunched back and closed eyes.  A member of Eden’s Gate opens the door with a loud clicking of the handle, and then pushes it open.  

“Hey,” the man with dark curly hair says, “when you hear that horn, it’s time to get up!”

     The young deputy slowly rises to his feet and lets out a yawn.  His bare feet patter across the cold tiled floors, which only have a few rugs covering them.  He walks over to the blinding sunlight coming from the giant window next to his bed.  He leans against its frame and notices a delivery truck parked outside.  The sunlight has a nice heat to it in that cool room, resting on his face and chest.

     Pratt takes a shower, even though he didn’t quite like that super organic mountain pine soap that Jacob purchased for every resident.  The faucets were brand new, and so were the room’s furniture.  Everything in the building looks so brand new, for a home that looks so raggedy and beat up on the outside.  Pratt wraps a towel around his waist, wipes the fog from the mirror, and looks at his face. He leans in analyzing the bruised cut on his nose.  He searches around for a medic kit but finds nothing but tissues and toothpaste.  The sound of the bugle goes off again faintly though the washroom wall.  Pratt opens the washroom door, leaving the steamed fog from the hot shower, and comes back into the cold room.  He dresses himself in his Hope Country Police uniform as he fastens his pants and buckle. But, he begins to hear a low voice talking to someone else behind the door.  Pratt rushes to pull his shirt over his head, but that old green thing oddly smells like fresh washing detergent.  He actually begins to repeatedly smell the shirt.  But there is a sudden clacking at the doorknob, and it opens.

“Hey,” Jacob shouts before lowering his voice, “be ready to go in five minutes.”

“Don’t you people knock,” the deputy shouts with a face of anger, and quickly pulls his shirt down over his torso, “Geez!”

     Jacob mocks his need for privacy, and closes the door, with his heavy boots beginning to walk away.  Pratt decides to wear the baggy plaid red shirt that Jacob gave him, instead, as to avoid unwanted attention from any of Eden’s Gate’s members.  He had already brushed his teeth in the shower, so he quickly combs his medium-length dark hair and heads downstairs in a haste.  He jogs loudly down wooden steps and greets a few of the guards, with one of them returning a short smile.  The deputy sees Jacob standing outside just before the gateway of the property.  He walks up to the big red-headed man and stands next to him and says “Good morning…sir!” He can smell the heavy mixture of aftershave with that little bit of the first day’s cigar on his breath and clothes.   Jacob looks down at him by the corner of his eye and tells him, “get out there with the rest of em’!”  Pratt joins a small group of ten, mostly men and a few women.  He’s confused as to what to expect but recognizes the should-to-shoulder lineup as a sort of morning exercise drill.  And, Jacobs comes walking toward the group that stands a little ways past the gateway.

“Ten-hut!  Alright troops, listen up,” he shouts with his hands folded behind his back, “you are to run down this driveway until you get to the road.  You will pick up an orange flag with a number on it.  Then, you’re gonna run back to the gate over here, and show me your flag.”

     Pratt understands and doesn’t think too much about the rules.

“There are ten of you…there are nine flags,” Jacob continues, and Pratt widens his eyes in fear, “whoever doesn’t return with a flag gets shot.  Whoever gets here last gets shot.  If ya cheat…ya get shot.”

     Pratt looks around and is already the last to the starting line.  Jacob begins counting and the others take their running positions.  

“One,” Jacob shouts.  The popping sound of a pistol goes off.

     Pratt quickly looks back but then begins to run.  Apparently, Jacob doesn’t count to three.  He always gives his troops the element of surprise.  A running Pratt picks up speed in thumping black heavy shoes, but he just can’t catch up to all of the others.  Even the man a little ways down left a trail of dust behind him, and he appeared to be pushing 60.  Pratt runs his fastest and pushes himself into a sprint.  But he sees that a few of the troopers had grabbed a flag and are already headed back towards the Veteran Center.  He begins to pant and still can’t catch up to any of them.  Finally, the post in the ground holding the flags becomes more visible.  A short bald woman is the last back, and she rushes past him, smirks, and says, “better hurry up,” as she huffs and puffs nearing exhaustion.  Pratt stops at the post and squats down, catching his breath, sweat dripping from his soaked hair.  Something clicks in his mind as he turns around; he’s the last one left. He looks back at the post…it has no more flags.

“Oh crap,” he says and he begins to pick up speed again, running back towards the house.

     The bald woman can be seen turning back to look at Pratt, and she waves as a signal for him to hurry. Pratt rushes as fast as he can. He’s this close to passing out flat on the gravel.  She reaches the finish line by Jacob, Pratt pushes himself even more as he wipes the sweat from burning his eyes.

“Oh my God I’m gonna die,” he thinks to himself.

     The others are all staring at him.  Jacob comes forward holding a shotgun and stares at the young deputy.  Pratt’s heart drops.

“Oh God!  Oh God,” Pratt shouts and pleads, “wait! Wait! Wait!”

     He begins to back away until he pins himself to the gate.  The troops all stand to the side, some hiding their snickers.  Jacob cocks the shotgun with a loud clank, and he aims it two feet away from Pratt’s chest.  The deputy looks away and begins wheezing, shouting, and falling into a panic attack. But then Pratt closes his eyes and begins counting upwards in a whisper.  Jacob lowers the weapon and it takes twenty seconds for Pratt to realize that the big man is just standing there with a grin on his face.

“Didn’t I tell you that the last one back gets shot,” Jacob reminds him.

“Yes Sir!”

“Ya ain’t got a flag either!”

“I’m sorry Sir.  I tried my best.  Please don’t kill me!”

Jacob looks the young deputy in the eyes and can see the fear in them.  

“Get inside.  Breakfast is ready,” Jacob tells him.  The troopers walk back into the Center.

     A few minutes have passed since the most terrifying and unexpected foot race had occurred.  Pratt walks down a hallway and into a dining area similar to a school cafeteria.  He’s met with gazing eyes and chuckles.  He feels like the school nerd being ready to get picked on.  He walks past the tables and gets into a long line for the buffet. The eggs, bacon, cheese omelets, and wheat cereal didn’t look half bad.

“Get over here Peaches!”

     Pratt turns around and sees the back of Jacob’s head walking back down the hall.  The deputy begins to follow him.  He follows Jacob distantly and hears him begin talking about ignoring the “immature knuckleheads” making fun.  Pratt asks why he didn’t get killed after the race that took place earlier. It obviously wasn’t the wisest decision to remind the veteran, but Pratt sometimes blurts out his thoughts.  

“Eh, I was just playin’ around with ya,” Jacob replies with a worrisome sense of humor.

     A guard opens a heavy thick, wooden door for Jacob, who turns around to welcome Pratt into the room.

“I want you to sit with us,” Jacob tells Pratt, still shaking with fear of even being in the building.

     The sweet scent of roasted duck, steak sirloin, and mashed potatoes and gravy, rush right to Pratt’s little nose. He sees it sitting on ceramic plates, on top of a black table runner and an engraved Mahogany wooden dining table. That food smelled so good that Pratt had to close his eyes and inhale.  It began reminding him of his cousin’s Thanksgiving feasts.  He finally awakens from his trance and slowly approaches the table.  

“What can I do for you, Sir,” Pratt asks subserviently, avoiding long eye contact with any of the other few people seated at the same table.  Jacob walks over to the table and sees the shy deputy staring at the food on the table.

“Have a seat,” Jacob says.

     Pratt looks around in confusion and the room grows quiet.  Everyone stares at him including Jacob.  He finally inches his way over to a seat on the other side of the table, far from the unmasked Chosen troops.  He begins to seat himself in one of the large chairs.

“Eh, nope!”

     Pratt hops back up and sits where Jacob points his finger.  

“I’m so, so sorry, Sir! I…I…uh,” Pratt begins to say in a panic.

“Relax Peaches, I ain’t gonna kill ya.  Just relax!”

     Moments later, Pratt sees that everyone at the large dining hall table is chowing down on delicious food. He looks around a room he’s never seen before, even though it’s only his second morning here: A very rugged hunting trophy room with the floor and walls covered in dark oak wood paneling, and small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, encrusted with bronze Edison bulbs. Pratt looks up from an empty plate in front of him and hesitates to speak to Jacob.  A man reaches over Pratt’s shoulder and sets down a large plate covered in roasted duck, a few thick slices of medium-well cooked steak sirloin, and a side of mashed potatoes and gravy.  It’s even decorated with oregano around the trimming.  Pratt assumed that Jacob brought him here either to be killed, or to sit and watch the others eat, while he starved in torment.  He was wrong.  And, his stomach began to growl at the sight of the scrumptious plate, and the sweet scent of the gravy.  Pratt picks up a fork and digs into the plate, but still feeling very on-edge.  He always expects something awful is going to happen sooner or later.

“Ya ever had steak for breakfast,” Jacob jokes in question to everyone, “but, I mean why not though.”

     Pratt looks back up at Jacob’s face and sees that he’s talking with someone at the table.  This man he’s talking to looks a little more well-kept than the others.  His beard is well-trimmed and he wears a dark blue shirt under a faded dark vest.  He jokes around with Jacob and the others at the table converse quietly too.  Pratt raises his hand as if he has a question in class for his grade school teacher.  Both bearded men divert their attention to him. Jacob nods his head.

“Can I get one of those pieces of bread,” Pratt asks.

     Jacob calls out for their server to get more bread, as well as coffee for everyone at the table.

“Ya like Bold Brew or Regular,” Jacob asks.  

      The deputy has no idea what that even means, so he just chooses Bold Brew, to try something new.

“Who the hell is he,” the bearded man asks Jacob in a soft voice, peering over at Pratt.

     The deputy eats more of the food on his plate.  He wishes that it wouldn’t taste so good, because now he has an excuse to not want to leave anymore.  Whoever made this recipe knew exactly what they were doing. The chef was definitely one of the best.  The food’s texture, the rich flavor, the savory smell; everything was just right.

“Nice shirt,” the bearded man tells Pratt.  The bearded man’s cell phone rings and after he glances at it, he says a few more words to Jacob and gets up from the table.  He pushes in the chair and smiles as he looks around.  It was such a silly grin made to make you want to laugh.  Everyone smiled back at him.  Pratt noticed that even Jacob was about to smile, but it was just a little one.

“I’m out fellas,” the bearded man says as he shoved his flailing arms into his long coat and pulls the sunglasses over his eyes, walking out of the door.  And, as soon as Jacob begins speaking again, that man hastens back in and grabs the keys he left, as well as shoving one last piece of bread down his throat, before heading out the doorway.

“Finish your plate, Peaches,” Jacob says, “we’re all going on a little field trip today.”

     As long as it didn’t involve running or getting killed, he was okay with that.

Read Chapter 2