#only it’s the local barista that they were just tipping extra well

[chimaerakitten]

Temeraire!Universe Dragon Facebook (fangbook?) has lost and found human groups that are in every way identical to lost and found pet groups in our universe right down to the annoying member who comments the exact same guilt trippy message about it being the fault of an irresponsible owner dragon if a cat human got lost no matter what the circumstances were.

[the-guilty-writer]

Pick Your Poison

Request: from @doctorsteeb OH YOU SAY YOU NEED MORE ROSSI!DAUGHTER REQUEST?? I AM HERE I HAVE ARRIVED

Rossi!daughter being a barista and unknowingly serving BAU their coffee all the time? Then eventually learning she’s rossi’s daughter?

(Tell me if this is Too Specific I can be more vague)

David Rossi x daughter!reader, Criminal minds x platonic!reader

Summary: You've been serving coffee to the BAU team for months... imagine their shock when they learn that you're David Rossi's daughter.

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! I love writing rossi daughter. The sass, the italian nicknames, the banter- it's so much fun! I hope you enjoy this! (this does include the request of reader having studied abroad but I'm doing a seprate fic for that one as well)

CW: an absurd amount of talk about types of coffee, if you look up the meaning of rossi's nickname for reader you might cry

---

It was 4:00 AM when your shift at the coffee shop began. It didn’t open until 5:00, but you were in charge of opening the place yourself. You didn’t mind, though; it gave you time to think about how you might mess with your dad’s co-workers that day.

Rossi went back to work at the BAU just before you entered high school. With his busy work schedule, you both agreed that a boarding school close to home would be best. When it came time for college, you applied to a few schools in the States, but you had an itch to see the world. It was an incredible, well-earned surprise when you were accepted into the University of Bologna in Italy. Your dad had been incredibly supportive, and even though your extended family was dysfunctional at best, he was happy you’d be going somewhere there were relatives nearby.

You loved Italy, but after graduation you had wanted to move home and take a gap year. A friend from high school had opened a coffee shop not far from the Quantico office, and having been a barista at a local shop through college to help pay for your student costs (not that you needed it when your dad could easily afford your tuition) it was the perfect situation.

The fact that your dad’s co-workers were your most frequent customers didn’t hurt either. Not that they knew you were David Rossi’s daughter - your tag only displayed your given name - but it was interesting to have such casual interactions with the people your father spent most of his time with. And having been raised by a profiler, you had a little too much fun knowing something that the best minds in the nation didn’t.

---

It was 4:56 AM when Aaron Hotchner pushed open the door to the shop. Had it been any other customer, you would have told them that it didn’t actually open for another four minutes, but the man was there frequently enough that you really didn’t care. Plus, his order was about as simple as possible to make: a robusta medium roast from Columbia with a single shot of espresso. After only a few weeks, you noticed that he ordered an extra shot in his morning coffee about three days after a case, when the paperwork was the most heavy. This happened to be one of those days.

“Good morning, Mr. Hotchner,” you greeted him. “I’m already working on your usual this morning, unless of course you would like to try something new.” You knew he wouldn’t.

“Thank you,” he said, looking down at his watch. “Could I get an extra shot of espresso?”

You put a lid on the cup and handed it to him, moving to the register to ring him up. “Already done,” you told him.

He chuckled a bit- the smallest smile escaping his lips. “Do I really look that bad?” He handed you cash as he always did so he could leave the change in the tip jar. This morning he was either so tired he hadn’t thought about the bill he pulled out of his wallet, or he was feeling generous. By what you had heard about him from your dad, it was probably the latter.

“Not at all,” you handed him his change. “We all need the extra boost some days.”

“Thank you,” he said, putting all his change in the jar before leaving the shop.

He hurried out so quickly he didn’t even notice that you had written out his order on the board of specials for the day, calling it “The Unit Chief”.

---

As always, Spencer Reid was the first customer you served once the shop had officially opened. The doctor, unlike his boss, enjoyed exploring the different brews - always asking what region the beans had come from and giving you facts or statistics about his drink choice for that day. You listened to him ramble as you prepared him an arabica light roast grown in Asia; a bean the shop had just received.

“About a third of the world's coffee comes from Asia, but when asked the average American usually assumes that their coffee has been grown in Latin America or Africa,” he explained. “It’s also widely agreed upon by coffee enthusiasts that Asia produces the sweetest coffee.”

“Well then you won’t be needing as much sweetener as normal, Doctor,” you said as you handed him his order. “But I refilled the jar of sugar just for you.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said, grabbing three packs of sugar- two less than normal- and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. “Have a nice day!” He smiled awkwardly before turning and leaving out the door.

As soon as he left you wrote down his order on the specials board, deeming it “The Genius”. He wouldn’t notice you wrote the same words on his cup until he sat down at Quantico.

---

You weren’t quite sure who would be in to get their coffee next, but you smiled when it was Agent Jerau. There was something about the petite blonde and how easily she made conversation that brought a sense of serenity to your day. The rest of the team were very distinct- the kind of people you could look at and simply believe that they worked for the BAU- but other than being absurdly pretty, Jennifer was normal.

Even her arabica “bean of the day” cappuccino was the most common order out of all of them, with the exception that she always bought a single iced cookie to go with it.

“In all the time I’ve worked here I haven’t actually tried these cookies,” you told her as you pulled one out of the pastry display and put it in a bag.

“Neither have I,” she said. “But my son loves them.”

You thought of the little blonde boy that sometimes accompanied her and her fiance to the shop on the weekends. He always got a cup of steamed milk to look like his parents, but he always ended up dunking his cookie in it when they sat down at a table.

“I’ll have to try one then.”

The agent left before she could notice the board, which had her order paired with an iced cookie named “The Mother” written among the rest.

---

Per usual, Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia came into the shop together. You knew their flirtatious behavior was actually a demonstration of a platonic friendship, but that was only because Rossi had told you so.

“Baby Girl,” Morgan said to Garcia as you handed him his normal robusta medium roast red eye with just enough hazelnut creamer that the coffee wasn’t ridiculously bitter, “I’ve got the payment for today.”

“Derek, you know very well that I can and will hack into the system and change the credit card number to mine,” she told him, quickly glancing at you to say. “I promise I’m not stealing money from the shop. I love local businesses. If anything I would give you more money so this place stays open.”

You smiled, preparing her extremely complex order that changed slightly from day-to-day but always stayed as sweet as possible. Today it was an arabica medium roast from Ethiopia with all the fixings to complete the order into a chocolate caramel mocha.

“I’m sure my boss would appreciate that,” you told her. The idea of your father having to deal with a woman as sweet and eccentric as Penelope never failed to make you laugh.

She dug a handful of coins out of her purse to put in the tip jar before her and Morgan bid you a good day and left to go to work. You adjusted the order labeled “The Techie” to fit her drink for that day, but left Derek’s alone - “The Door Destroyer.”

---

Emily Prentiss was the last of the team to grab her coffee that morning. You were aware that she was the most observant in everyday situations, but that morning she was behind schedule by around ten minutes. Her boots clicked against the floor of the shop - lower pitched than the sound of heels but higher than those of men’s shoes. She moved fast towards the counter.

“I have your order ready,” you told her. “Robusta african dark roast latte with a double shot of espresso.”

“Thank you so much.” She paid quickly, leaving a handsome tip.

In all her rush her observation skills had faltered. Not only had she missed that she had a milk mustache, but she also didn’t see that her order on the board was labeled “The Modern Femme Fatale”.

---

“So,” Rossi said casually. “The best coffee near Quantico?”

With all the extra paperwork, the team had decided they needed extra caffeine, a short break, and some fresh air. Even Hotch thought it was a good idea, which is how David Rossi ended up walking towards the Pick Your Poison coffee shop with the rest of the BAU.

“It’s great,” Reid started. “They let you pick everything from the location, the bean type, the roast. There was this one time they got in a robusta from Brazil that-”

“Or you can just pick from their menu,” JJ told Rossi, interrupting Reid before he could go on any further. “It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“If you say so,” Rossi replied nonchalantly.

The team filed into the cafe and he saw you working behind the counter, your hair pulled away from your face as you checked the machinery. You looked up at them as they entered, all still oblivious to the small daily specials board that had their orders on it.

They greeted you and ordered one at a time, the same thing each of them had gotten that morning, leaving Rossi for last. He smiled when he stepped up to the counter and pulled you into a hug. “Mio passerotta.”

You returned his hug, a wide smile spreading across your face. “Ciao, Papa.”

“Wait-” Emily, being the only other person in the room who spoke Italian, picked up on it first. “You’re Rossi’s daughter?”

You laughed. “Have been all my life.”

The team looked around at one another, all slightly confused.

“How did you not know that we work with your dad?” JJ asked.

You shook your head. “Oh, no. I knew. I just wanted to see how long it would take you all to figure it out.”

Morgan looked stunned, Garcia’s jaw couldn’t drop any further, and Reid was tilting his head, probably trying to pick out the similarities between you and your dad.

Hotch turned to Rossi. “Dave, care to explain?”

“It was her idea, not mine.” He held up his hands defensively.

"You've been working here for five months, three weeks, and six days," Reid said.

"That is an excellent observation, doctor," you replied. "In my dad's defense, he said I had to confess before the six month mark."

"I'm suprised it took a confession in the first place," Rossi, then turned to you. “Now, I’ll speak in English so the nerds can understand. What specials do you have today?”

“Well,” You glanced at the special’s board, “If you’re going for the most caffeine I would choose “The Unit Chief” or “The Modern Femme Fatale”. “The Door Destroyer” has the strongest flavor on the bitter side and both “The Genius” and “The Techie” lean towards sweet. I’d recommend “The Mother”, but it’s past 11 AM and we all know how la mia bisnonna feels about cappuccinos past the morning.”

The team looked around at one another in complete shock over the specials order board you had put together. A smirk crossed your face as they gawked at you ever so slightly.

Your dad chuckled. “I’ll just go with a good old fashioned un caffe, then.”

“Presto in arrivo,” you said, and got to work on everyone’s order’s, but not before adding a single shot of espresso to the board called “Mia Papa.”

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Gibbous Chapter 11: Never Meant to Make You Bleed

Chapter Title: Never Meant to Make You Bleed

Chapter Summary: Above anything else in life, Remy was a free spirit. He was a “Live-laugh-love” kinda guy, an embodiment of “Fuck it, You Only Live Once.”

Which was why he walked into his favorite local coffee shop, looked the barista directly in the eye and said, “I’ll take a 32 ounce blended Caramel Macchiato with three extra pumps of caramel, a half-pump of chocolate and eight extra espresso shots please.”

Pairings: background platonic sleepxiety (it’s discussed but Virgil is not actually in this chapter)

Chapter Word-Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Discussions of Mind Suggestions/Hypnosis (Enthrallment), Vomit Mention, Brief Descriptions of Violence, Arguing, Depression, Disassociation, Morally Grey Remy

Previous | Present | Next   AO3 Link 

A Gibbous update?? Within three months of the last one?? Christmas miracles DO happen!

This chapter is a bit of interlude between last chapter and the next upcoming few chapters--think of it as a surprise tool that will help us later ;)

Above anything else in life, Remy was a free spirit. He was a “Live-laugh-love” kinda guy, an embodiment of “Fuck it, You Only Live Once.”

Which was why he walked into his favorite local coffee shop, looked the barista directly in the eye and said, “I’ll take a 32 ounce blended Caramel Macchiato with three extra pumps of caramel, a half-pump of chocolate and eight extra espresso shots please.”

Willow, the barista, quirked a slitted eyebrow, “Are you sure you don’t want the eleventh espresso shot today?”

“Nah, I only order it with eleven shots if I’m in need of a creative pick-me-up,” Remy winked, “Ten shots is my usual usual.”

“Alright, one moment,” The barista turned to the side and barked, “Cade! It’s ten today, not eleven!” before facing Remy with a blank gaze, “That’ll be $10.49.”

“How are we feeling about pennies today?”

“How are you feeling like being stabbed?”

Remy considered this for a moment. He stuffed the bag of pennies away. The barista shook their head, the corner of their mouth twitching just the slightest bit. Remy knew from his frequent patron visits that it was their closest thing to a laugh while in customer service mode.

“Here you are, as always please know we are not held liable for any subsequent heart attacks you might endure from drinking this thing!” Cade announced, presenting the drink with a flourish.

“Mmhhmmm,” Remy took a long sip, “it’ll take more than some espresso to fuck me up. I’m unfuckable.”

“Don’t you mean unkillable?” Willow asked.

“I said what I said.”

“Riiiight, okay, well please try not to die on store premises!” Cade said in his sing-songy customer service voice, “I do not want to deal with your decaying corpse driving away business.”

“Excuse me, my corpse would make a fantastic Halloween decoration and you know it,” Remy said, dropping a $20 into the Jack O’Lantern themed tip jar, “anyways, peace out babes, I’m gonna go haunt a corner table to read my shitty biology textbook.”

Cade and Willow called out a passing farewell as he walked away to do that. He stared down at the horrendously inaccurate depiction of a selkie’s anatomy and definitely did not think about anything else but his homework.

Okay, well, that was a tiiiiiny lie. Just a bit. He couldn’t help it—was ten espresso shots really that lethal to humans? Or was it a case of humans being way too overly dramatic? See, Remy could consume human food and beverages, but most of them were really bland unless they contained a strong taste to them.

It couldn’t be that deadly, though, because Remy has never heard of a human dying of a caffeine dose. Oh well, it wasn’t like it truly mattered, though—it would take much more than some caffeine to kill him. He would know this after the numerous attempts on his life over the centuries.

In Remy’s completely honest opinion, the whole indefinite “not-being dead” thing? Overrated.

It was why for all his nonchalant candor he refrained from openly discussing it. There were assumptions people made when they found out you’re like a bazillion years old.

Like the idea you’re some wizened, wise being for one. Which don’t get him wrong, when you live for a long, long, long time, you do learn a lot of invaluable life lessons. Like, maybe, don’t invest everything you own into stocks because even if you are an undead being, you will still be hurting losing it all in a stock market crash a century later.

However, it was stupid to think that wisdom came from being centuries old. There were four-year-olds Remy met with more wisdom than any particularly old wizards named Merlin could give.

Being centuries old just meant that you perpetually relearned the same damn life lessons over and over again because you kept forgetting the stinging pain of learning them the first time around.

So, nah, Remy didn’t think of himself being wise—especially when there were a lot more stupid mistakes to his name than the collective living human population. Which led into the second assumption—that Remy held the blueprints on the meaning of life, the universe and everything. Or in other words, he had any idea what he was doing in life.

…Gurl. Gurl, he decided to go to art school on a whim, he barely knew what day it was, did it look like he had his shit together? In fact, that was the secret of being old—the knowledge that nobody, including centuries-old vampires, ever had their shit together and despite the dictations of society there was no “proper way” to live. A secret that took Remy a dumbass long time to learn.

The third most common assumption was that if you’re centuries-old, you had to be obscenely rich. Like swimming in a vault full of golden coins like Scrooge McfuckingDuck rich. And sure, that was a point in Remy’s life where he had that. Centuries ago, where he thought power, fame, and fortune was all that mattered in life. Now, he was completely apathetic to any of that (And no, it absolutely wasn’t because he lost all of that in a stock market crash).

“So, then, what’s immortality really like then?” They’d demand.

Remy would smile, taking a long sip of his drink as he said something innocuous as “Well, for one, vampires are not immune to back pain.”

He didn’t talk about the indescribable gut-punching feeling of waking up one day and realizing you couldn’t remember the names of long-deceased loved ones. He didn’t talk about working yourself into a panic attack trying to grasp whether or not you were the same person today as you were a hundred years ago, nevertheless five-hundred or a thousand years ago. He didn’t talk about how hard it was to cling to good memories and how tough it was to rid your mind of the bad ones.

None of that was never what they wanted to hear and never what he wanted to reveal.

It was why he enjoyed “playing” human as it were. He found humans and their petty, meaningless drama entertaining. Like, hell yeah let’s start drinking coffee as an act of rebellion against a tax placed on our favorite beverage. Or hell yeah let’s make up new paint colors and ban a certain asshole artist from using them after he trademarked exclusive rights to a specific paint color.

Wealth and power had nothing in comparison to having a front row seat to Ellen’s revenge quest against the HOA through malicious compliance.

It also came with the added bonus of being able to piss off the High Elders by choosing to live among humans rather than mingle with vampiric society. The best part? He’d quantifiably done nothing the past few centuries or so. At least nothing they found to their liking. He knew those bastards had to be seething that they couldn’t do anything about it. He mostly didn’t care about it though.

Frankly in Remy’s opinion very little in his life mattered outside of two things:

   Knowing about the Drama

   Being the Drama

Those were the two things that kept him present in life—anything else? Well, to use a human expression, it simply bored him to sleep. Oh yeah, that was the fourth most common assumption—that it’d be impossible to ever get bored as a quasi-immortal being.

Which trust him, it was waaaay easier than you’d think. There was only so much knowledge one could glean before it all became cluttered up and samey in your brain. Mixing together all the colors imaginable didn’t make one super special cool color—it just made a color of muddish, muted ugly sludge.

Being bored was dangerous. If he was a better person, perhaps he’d put his efforts towards world peace. He thought about it, at times. Then his mind would drift towards how death was an inevitable, all-consuming force. All things die, even “immortal” ones.

So spontaneously becoming a broke college student for the hell of it? It somehow kept him un-bored for a short while.

Maybe it was because the way humans openly taught and shared their art intrigued him. Creative expressions like art were always something private among vampires, shared within covens and rarely to outsider eyes.

(Humans, however, generally encouraged all to enjoy art. Especially that Bob Ross dude. He explained painting in such an unpretentious, calming way that was easy to follow.)

Maybe it was because Remy liked the tactile feeling of charcoal on his fingers. He liked the way a painting could portray a thousand words. He liked how the heaviness was expunged from his soul and onto the paper with dark, broad strokes of color. He liked how art had no inherent meaning. He like how it could be anything and yet nothing all at once.

Maybe it was because it was an excuse to enroll in a university for the party scene. He enjoyed the loud music that drowned out his thoughts, his senses. Alcohol did little to fuddle his mind yet its acidic aftertaste made him feel alive. Humans also always spilled the juiciest gossip after a few drinks.

Even so, the broke college student life wasn’t enough on its own. When he found it bringing a yawn to his throat—he thought he’d kick it up a notch.

That was when he strolled up to a shift manager at Kirby’s Burgers and said, “Hi there, I’m the new hire that’s supposed to start today.” Words that while absolutely not true, scored himself a job regardless.

Truthfully, Remy didn’t need the job. He didn’t have the same worries a human in his position would have. But, fuck it, why not? Being forced in the same building of people you may or may not hate made for better drama than any reality tv had to offer. Pure entertainment values were the only reasons why he did anything in life.

It was also where he met Virgil, who was his work bestie, the person he discussed weird indie music with. Their friendship was as shallow and trivial as any of Remy’s “friends” at the university. Or at least, that was supposed to be the extent of their friendship.

Y’see, Remy wasn’t exactly a “Friendship is Magic” person. Sure, he had friends in the loose, shallow kinda way. Most of it was out of necessity, some of it was for the laughs. He learned like forever ago that there was no point in taking them seriously. It was too predictable, all too booooring when they always ended in heartbreak or betrayal. There were instances where he couldn’t help himself in spite of knowing this.

Such an instance was Virgil. The reason he’d sought out Virgil was not out of necessity or amusement; it began from a spite-driven impulse of “Why the fuck do you secretly hate me?”

Well, not initially. At first, he’d just wanted to be served piping hot tea. In his experience it was always the quiet, withdrawn people that had the best gossip. Because A. Everyone forgets about them and B. They generally kept it to themselves.

Except, except, Virgil was annoyingly immune to the Remy charms. Not his enthrallment charms—because ew, icky, questionable morality issues aside, it took all the fun outta everything.

He preferred to operate life on his genuine charm and charisma. It made things much more interesting. It also came along with the bonus effect of pissing off the High Elders, who watched his every move. They viewed it as harmful to ignore a vampire’s natural inclinations.

Regardless, Virgil refused to engage in any conversation starters Remy threw his way. Even softballs like “What’s your favorite animal?” was met with “Dogs.” without any further explanation. Or Virgil would scurry away, claiming he needed to restock something.

Remy practically gave up when he approached Virgil with “Hey, would you be open to covering my shift this coming Thursday night? There’s, like, this band Starry Starry Sky in town and—"

“Starry Starry Sky?” Virgil interrupted, his eyes alit with excitement, “they’re in town, really?”

Remy knew he’d asked for Virgil’s music tastes before. It was one of the most basic coworker small talks out there. Virgil clammed up at the comment, muttering that he didn’t really listen to music (liar). It turned out, he did listen to music and he had similar tastes as Remy. Which were small weird eccentric bands with fan bases consisting of three people and a corn chip.

Virgil never actually hated him either. There was a similarity between the two although they went separate ways of handling it. Both of them held a distrust of others, preferring to keep to superficial relationships. The difference was that Remy cavorted around with a feigned airs of being an affable busybody while Virgil stood staunchly standoffish with his hackles raised to any and all that approached him.

Remy discovered that Virgil did know how to smile and he could talk for more than a few sentences at a time. His words possessed a biting, sardonic edge to them that only flourished under Remy’s encouragement. They mainly stuck to discussing their music tastes, but there was comfort to be found in trading lighthearted jabs at one another in the midst of frenzied rushes and sluggish down times.

When the fryer incident happened, Remy acted as any concerned person would act. He found a better paying job with a reasonable employer and stole important documents to forge a job application in Virgil’s name. A completely normal human being thing to do (except he wasn’t human, and he definitely cared more than he should for Virgil’s happiness).

Because look, while Remy wasn’t wise—he wasn’t stupid. He could tell Virgil deserved better than the shit that the oh-so-mighty gods threw at him. If no one else was willing to help the human out then for just this once, Remy would.

Even if his “helping” inadvertently reunited Virgil with a member of a werewolf pack who held him captive for a week. It was okay though! Because Remy had gone to Logan and ensured he fully understood the repercussions if any further incident occurred involving Virgil.

He intended at that point to slip away until he was barely a passing memory in Virgil’s existence. It was safer this way, for the sake of himself and for Virgil. He’d linger enough to ensure the human would be okay.

Except, Remy couldn’t stop lingering. He’d grown too dependent on their friendship, too accustomed to rambles about obscure ‘00s bands and debates about the morality of pineapple pizza. It also helped that Virgil was the first human in a long, long while who’d known the truth—and didn’t freak.

Or at least, not until Remy irrevocably fucked things up in the way he’d done.

He didn’t mean to—he’d been trying for weeks to keep himself restrained. Ever since Virgil sought him out that one night in a full-blown panic, barely cognizant of Remy’s presence, Remy had been furious. Not at Virgil, but at the person who hurt Virgil so badly that he’d reinstated his walls again and shut Remy out.

A younger Remy would be already tasting blood. The much-older and weary Remy didn’t want that. Not yet—not when he was certain that would further scare Virgil away from him.

He’d been doing so so good, waiting for Virgil to reach out when he was ready. He hadn’t thought he’d run into Virgil at the nightclub last night. Because he knew Virgil hated loud social environments—he only came to the calmer events held at the college at Remy’s behest. He wasn’t thinking when he insisted Virgil leave with him. It was an urge, an instinct to get Virgil safely away at all costs.

Now, he wasn’t certain if Virgil would ever trust him again.

Remy let out a hum, taking a long sip of his drink. He wasn’t here to think about his many, many screw-ups. Because if he was, he wouldn’t even get through half of them before Cade and Willow shooed him out to close the store.

He needed to focus and slog through this week’s homework and hope Logan kept his promise because otherwise he would hunt the werewolf down and—

“Hey Rem! Long time no see.”

Remy nearly choked on his coffee. He covered it with a loud clearing of his throat, leaning back in his chair. Standing in front of him was a person he wasn’t too surprised to see. It was just bitchy of them to show up right now of all times in his life. Or like, any time ever really.

“Andy.” Remy said, with a smile that was more of a snarl than anything else. Andy raised his eyebrow at the thinly veiled threat display.

“Man, how have you’ve been?” Andy continued, slouching his way uninvited into the chair opposite of Remy’s own, “last I heard you were still six feet under and dead to the world—”

“I’m busy,” Remy interrupted, “can we think about rescheduling this little chit-chat? Like rescheduling it to next Tuesday? Or like never?”

“Gods, what is your problem?” Andy asked as he kicked his feet up against the edge of the table, “can’t I be worried about how an old friend is doing?”

“Mhmm yeah, I don’t think you can with you being a little messenger boy for the High Bastards.” Remy said, lowering his voice to avoid any human eavesdroppers.

Andy chuckled, shaking his head as he responded at a similar octave, “C’mon, I’m more than a messenger boy. I’m a member of the Inner Circle.”

“Like I said, messenger boy,” Remy said, “Now gimme the TLDR of why you’ve broken the rules of engagement. It must be oh so important if you’re out here in broad daylight.”

“We’ve been over this before. Unlike you, I have permission to walk in the Sacred Light to fulfill the will of the High Elders,” Andy said, “You know why I’m here. We don’t hate you, Rem, all we want is to help. Y’know—”

“’—we only wish to see you be blessed with the Sacred Blood once more, so that your strength may return in full and that your eyes are reopened to the truth.’” Remy said in unison with Andy before rolling his eyes, “Bitch, I could literally care less. Like there is not a single ounce of my body that cares, at all.”

Andy recoiled at that, an unidentifiable emotion rippling across his features. There was once a time that Remy would’ve done anything to avoid seeing that emotion again on Andy’s face.

Such a time existed no more, having long since gone and passed into oblivion.

“You’re a moron, you know that? They said you’d deny it again, but I thought, well,” Andy paused for a moment, breathing haggardly, “that you’d finally see how stupid it is to keep deluding yourself with the humans. Especially with that new pathetic one—”

“Don’t,” Remy warned, his eyes gleaming crimson behind his shades, “You don’t get to speak about him. If anything happens to him, I will desecrate those responsible for it, understood?”

Andy sat up, clenching his jaw as he glared down at him.  

“Understood?” Remy repeated himself, “Capiche?”

“Understood, but you can’t ignore the High Elders’ graces forever,” Andy said, slowly, “sooner or later, you will be punished accordingly.”

“Oh, is that so?” Remy said, “Go ahead and punish me now, then. Do it, Andy. Try to eviscerate me.”

Andy winced, his body taunt. “Not now, the day hasn’t yet arrived—”

“No, go ahead.” Remy jeered. He shouldn’t taunt him. He was better than this. He should be better than this. He shouldn’t be taking pleasure in Andy's body responding to his command; it propelled in his direction, a hand curling into a fist as it pummeled towards him.

Distantly, he remembered that they were in a coffee shop, a not-so inconspicuous place. At the same time, it was the furthest thing from his mind. He didn’t care—he could always enthrall all the humans and tidy things up nice and neat. So, he allowed the fist to make contact with his face. His head whiplashed from the motion, but he steadied himself by holding onto the table.

“Huh, tickles.” Remy remarked, grinning.

In a smoldering rage, Andy leapt over the table and knocked him to the ground. Then he punched Remy, again and again. It’d been awhile since Remy had been punched in a way that actually stung. He almost relished in it. Perhaps he should just let Andy keep going until he ran out of energy.

As he was mulling this over, a wooden broom clobbered Andy over the head, knocking him away from Remy.

“Sir, I am going to ask you to leave our store premises,” Willow said, holding the wooden broom out like a saber.

“Yeah, or we will be forced to call the cops!” Cade enthusiastically called out.

Cade and Willow stood there, shielding him from Andy. Who in turn stared at Remy, shaking. No, his limbs convulsed with their own desire towards Remy. The shaking was the result of fighting against this impulse.

Remy tried to speak; all that left his mouth was a wheeze. Instead, he gave a small nod towards the other vampire. It was enough confirmation for Andy to turn and sprint towards the front entrance of the coffeeshop. He didn’t look back once as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Cade and Willow did not move. They stood guard, presumably watching Andy’s disappearing figure. It was quiet in the ensuing moment. The only noise in the coffeeshop was the echoing ring of the front door’s bell. So faint that Remy was sure he was the only one of the three to hear it.

The cold floor beneath Remy burned. Or maybe it had something to do with the rolling sickness in his stomach. Contact with the High Elders always brought out the worst side of him.

He shouldn’t have commanded Andy in that way, just as he shouldn’t have enthralled that bartender in front of Virgil last night. For all his talk, he was as twisted and fucked up as the High Elders. Only he was a different flavor of delusional hypocrite than they were. He laughed, burrowing his face into the grimy checkered tiles of the coffeeshop.

“Yo. You okay?” Willow bopped him with the broomstick. Remy didn’t move.

“Um, no, I don’t think anyone would be.” Cade remarked, in the most even-keeled tone that Remy ever heard from him. He crouched close to Remy, “Hey, listen. I don’t know what that was about, and I won’t pry but just so you know that guy is banned forever from our store.”

“Forever?” Remy croaked, the thought almost amusing to him, a quasi-immortal being.

“Well, we aren’t Waffle House,” Willow drawled, “we aren’t going to let people have the freedom to start violently punching people to death.”

“Besides, we gotta protect our favorite regular.” Cade added in.

“Really? Babes, will I still be your favorite regular after I throw up on your floor?”

“Yes of course! Wait, are you serious—”

“He was serious.”

“Y’know,” Remy mused, half-digested coffee dripping from his mouth, “maybe I should’ve went with the eleventh shot today. Think I could’ve used it.”

Fucking fantastic. Perfectly good coffee wasted due to his one millionth mental break down. It was $10.49 he was never getting back. He was almost tempted to try and sip it back up again from the floor.

“—here.”

“Huh?” Remy said, blinking back to reality. A paper napkin held out by Willow obscured most of his vision. Cade was nowhere to be seen.

“A napkin, to wipe off your face.” Willow said, upon sensing his confusion they elaborated, “Cade is a…sympathetic puker.”

“Oh.” Remy grimaced, before taking the napkin and hastily wiping the corners of his mouth. He then stared at the napkin. A small trash can appeared at his side.

“Here. Throw away.” Remy did as instructed. Willow’s hand then pointed towards a comfy sofa in the back corner of the shop, “Go, sit.”

“I can help—”

“Not necessary. I’ll handle it.” Willow insisted.

Remy complied and sat down on the couch. He tapped his fingers against the armrest, staring into nothingness. His skin was too tight, stretched thinly around his figure. Remy was tired, which was ironic because vampires did not exhaust as easily as other beings.

In fact, they didn’t sleep. The closest they came to it was stasis, a trance-like state with lowered conscious processing. They did not ever dream.

He chuffed quietly to himself—sometimes, despite forgetting what it was like to sleep, Remy really yearned for it.

If sleep was an ocean, stasis was a pond. They were both bodies of water, but a pond was a weak replication in comparison to an ocean’s seemingly never-ending vastness. In sleep, beings laid unaware of their surroundings. In stasis, the world always remained on the edges of his consciousness. His senses remained sharp, as if he was still fully conscious.

The purpose of stasis was not rest—it was for memory retention and healing acceleration.  Vampires always remained mentally alert and present; if their body lacked energy, it was replenished through feeding. Assuming it wasn’t needed to heal significant injuries, vampires typically drifted into stasis only a few times a year.

So Remy was not tired—he was physically incapable of being tired in the sense the humans and other beings became tired. Yet his body sagged against the cushions as if it were so. His shades dug into the side of his temple, no doubt leaving a red angry impression.

Remy thought he could make good on his promise of being a Halloween decoy for the coffee shop and remain there for the rest of October. After all, his true nature was something that humans feared as much as any other Halloween monster.

It didn’t seem that Cade would let up on his opposition to that promise, however. He came quietly up to Remy—or rather, as quietly as a human could disguise their movement. Remy pretended not to hear him.

“Remy?” Cade asked, all semblance of forced customer service politeness gone.

He turned to look at the human. “Yeah?”

“Is there someone you can call to pick you up?”

“Someone…to call?” Remy repeated, processing his words out loud. He straightened himself, “I’m not drunk, Cade. Trust me, I’m Gucci.”

“You just had someone beat the shit of you,” Willow deadpanned, off to the side, “You possibly have a concussion. You’re in shock.”

Well, shit. From their perspective, it did look that way.

Remy hummed, clasping his hands together, “I’ve experienced way worse, like back in—back during my freshman year of college, like gurl. You would not believe the stories I could tell you!”

“That doesn’t change the severity of it, although that only makes me more worried about what you view as being worse!” Cade said, rocking back on his feet. Willow said nothing as they squinted their eyes at Remy, glossy purple lips pressed to a thin line.

Okay, his theoretical roll for persuasion was a critical failure apparently. Remy breathed in, as he rose to his feet. Cade hovered a few feet away, arms stretched out as if to catch him if he fell. Remy pretended to dust off his leather jacket, buying himself some seconds of thinking time.

See, the thing was: while Remy had his college besties, they just weren’t the type to rely on in an “emergency” situation such as this. Logan would probably be an option, but with the Virgil thing—well, he’d prefer avoiding adding more stress onto the werewolf’s plate.

The obvious solution was enthrallment, even though his mind couldn’t stop plaguing him with the image fresh from last night; Virgil’s eyes glazed over in pure unadulterated panic, as he backed away from Remy, hyperventilating. All because Remy fucked up in his own panic of getting Virgil safely away from the assaulting visage of the night club.

There was no way they could’ve cut their way through the crowd to the front entrance. Not with how Virgil froze up at the barrage of noise and people within the nightclub. So, Remy dragged them to the outskirts, where there had to be a side entrance for employees to dump trash.

When that bartender appeared, Remy didn’t think. He acted impulsively because that was who he was—if he thought too long, it’d be the end of the world. Most of the time, it worked out. There was always some of the time where it didn’t work out.

It was mostly a harmless mental suggestion. You know me—you’ve seen me in passing, even if you can’t place when. Humans hated admitting when they didn’t recognize a person, it made them feel insecure. It was a lie most of them were eager to latch onto. Then similarly, forget you saw us—you have more important things to do. Because there was no reason for her to remember them, not when her mind needed to focus on her job. She most likely would have forgotten on her own regardless. Humans never remembered as much as they claimed they did.

Perhaps he could’ve resolved the issue without enthrallment. Virgil wouldn’t have been the first person to get overstimulated at a nightclub.

Even so, despite all his grand bravado, Remy was a vampire. Some creatures had fight-or-flight. Vampires had fight-flight-or-enthrall. There were instances it was so instinctual, that it occurred without his conscious awareness. Whether he acknowledged it or not, Remy was always projecting something to the impact of “Sup, bitches, I’m a perfectly normal human being” to lessen the chances of avoiding the end of a sharp pointy silver blade.

It wasn’t mind control in the way humans imagined it to be—vampires couldn’t completely rewrite a person’s personality and reshape them to be whatever they desired. There were ways, of course, to make the enthrallment more effective. A much younger, more ambitious Remy gladly made use of those methods.

But the core principle remained true: enthrallments are only as powerful as the human’s belief in them. The less likely they were to believe a suggestion, the less likely for it to be effective.

It unnerved humans, even the ones that were tolerant of supernatural beings. They always asked how much of their friendship was genuine or if Remy simply hypnotized them into liking him.

(Remy hated this question because it was something that also afflicted him late at night, when there was nothing to do other than drown in ones’ incessant thoughts)

It was why Remy hadn’t told Virgil what he was. Selfishly, he refused to answer, making it a game between the two. Then Virgil found out and it’d been okay. He didn’t ask that question and instead asked other questions Remy could answer. He assumed it hadn’t mattered given what set Virgil apart from other humans.

Really, after all these centuries, Remy should’ve known it mattered.

He blinked, bringing up a hand to slide his shades further up the bridge of his nose. See, this was why he disliked thinking. Because when he thought for too long, it was like his mind detached from his body and then was forcibly jammed back into it once he regained awareness. Except it was like a few wires weren’t properly reconnected and it left him feeling wrong. Like every movement, sensation and feeling did not belong to him.

“Remy?” Cade asked, still remaining a few feet away from him. Which was probably for the best—Remy might’ve tried to bite his face off if he approached during his thinking time.

Remy held up a hand—the universal sign for “One moment” and walked with clear, concise steps to the overturned table where all his stuff was sprawled out. Wordlessly, he shoved everything into his messenger bag before turning to face Willow and Cade once more.

“Listen, babes, I get that my throwing up doesn’t help my case—but really I’m fine! I mean yeah, it hurt getting punched, ten outta ten do not recommend but!” Remy cracked his neck, “Like I’ve said, I’ve experienced way worse kinds of crazy shit so this is like nothing. Anyways, sorry about the mess, I’m gonna leave, so ciao!”

This was the essence of “Faking it until you’re making it”; act like everything was normal, act like you were in control, act like the situation was not what it seemed and people will believe you. In most cases. If Remy walked a bit faster than what was humanly possible, it was definitely not because he feared his words wouldn’t have the desired effect.

An arm stuck out in front of his face before he could reach the front door. Remy staggered a bit back to avoid colliding with the person—who was apparently Willow.

“Listen, it’s like incredibly stupid to let you leave considering you could be in shock from bleeding internally,” They began.

“Yes, it’s suuuper unsafe! We could probably get sued!” Cade chimed in.

“But if you insist on leaving,” Willow continued as they fished out a phone from their pocket, “would you at least text us to know you got to your place safe?”

Remy looked down at their phone, opened up to a new contact. He didn’t know what to make of this, other than he had done enough thinking for today. As long as this appeased their concerns enough into letting him leave, he’d do it.

“Yeah, sure,” Remy managed, reaching for the phone, “no probs.”

He rapidly typed out his phone number, saved his contact under “Remy 🧀 🐀”, gave the phone back to Willow, and then left before there could any further objections from the humans.

The sidewalks of the city bustled at its hurried pace, a sense of normalcy that was smoothening. Remy could almost pretend that the past few days hadn’t occurred. Which, N-G-L, Remy was fucking done with the past few days.

He was going to return to his dorm room and scroll through Tiktok for the rest of his life (or until his phone battery died because he forgot to charge it). Or maybe, he’d finally take care of that project for his oil painting class he’d been putting off. Anything was fine as long as it allowed him to not think for too long.

The sun was setting as he reached the dorms, bringing a blissed relief to his eyes. As much as the shades aided in being able to withstand light, it was’ bothersome to be constrained in such a way. When he entered his dorm room, he was going to leave the lights off and allow himself to be delightfully swaddled up within the darkness. His body almost ached at the thought of it.

So, one could probably understand how pissed off he was that a scent stopped him short from entering the dorm building. It was a faint yet familiar scent of another supernatural being, one he couldn’t quite place.

It couldn’t be Andy. He was certain he’d frighten Andy off enough that he wouldn’t see signs of him for months. If it was the other vampire, then their shared past was going to mean very little in the face of Remy’s ire. Regardless of whoever it was, he knew without a doubt the scent belonged to someone that shouldn’t be near his dwelling. It was fresh, meaning the person was nearby, no doubt watching him.

“Okaaaay!” Remy said, loud enough for anyone with exceptional ears to hear, “whoever you are, you and I are going to go to the back of the building, near the dumpsters, and you have five seconds to tell me what you want before I tear your throat to pieces.”

Remy didn’t look, but as he made his way behind the dorm building, he could hear a second set of footsteps accompany his every movement.

[lcrk]

Dorothea is an excellent tipper. she worked as a waitress and barista before she got her big break in LA, and she also had lots of friends who were servers/baristas/etc in high school (she would have gotten a job at the local cafe, too, with Inez, but her mom wouldn't let her) and she knows how hard the job can be, and how thankless it can be. so now that she has the money to tip well, she does. every time. and if she's ever given her coffee for free because she's recognized, she not only leaves a tip in the jar but makes sure to also leave enough to cover the price of whatever was comped for her. when she gets recognized by someone serving her, she tries to tip extra for them, and she tries to keep a pack of sticky notes in her bag so she can leave a signature that isn't on her receipt for them. (she doesn't just assume everyone wants her autograph, she only leaves one if she was asked, or if she could tell that they really wanted to ask but didn't because they were trying to be professional and respectful.)

[myherowritings]

PART 1. A VERY WELL-DESERVED TIP

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.0k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. my brief work as a barista is finally paying off. i suffered at sbux all to write this fic ✌︎('ω'✌︎ ) LMAOOO i frl had so much fun writing this and i’m very excited to share the next parts ;) i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i do!! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

You were not looking forward to your new work schedule for the next month. 

The employee who usually came in for opening shifts at four in the morning gave her two weeks notice...two weeks ago. And since you had your availability open (you knew you should’ve blocked it off and said you had morning class), your manager asked you to fill her place. 

The night before your first—of many—morning shifts, you tried tricking yourself into thinking it was a good idea. And it almost worked! Sort of. 

You told yourself waking up early when the sun rose worked with your body’s natural circadian rhythm and this experience may adjust your sleep schedule for a healthier one in the long run. Better health and wellbeing and lower risks of cardiovascular disease. Or something. You weren’t too sure exactly; you never paid much attention in biology but it sounded like something you’d find in a textbook, right?

When you arrived on your first day, the morning shift was just as hectic and chaotic as you expected. People in business suits with name brand bluetooth earphones in their ears and the latest new smartphone in their hand filled the shop and waited for their online order. It was as if they wanted the least amount of social interaction possible, which would be fine if being able to make connections with customers wasn’t the most interesting part about being a barista. 

Although the cafe you worked at was a small business who actually (tried) to pay their employees fairly and wasn’t a purely money hungry franchise like the certain green siren, it surprisingly had gained enough traction in the area to rival one of those cheap, chain stores. 

Good for the business, bad for sleepy workers who could barely function in the mornings.

But you enjoyed working here and the owners were kind, so you did your best to shove away the tiredness and put a bright and cheery smile on your face. The customers were grumpier than you were used to, but who wouldn’t be a little ill-mannered having to go to work at 5 a.m. and probably not leaving until 6 p.m. or later because of bosses who overworked them? Trying to get them their morning coffee with an amiable attitude to start off their day right was something you were more than happy to do. 

It was too bad barely any of them gave you the time of day. They just wanted to get their caffeine and leave with as little human interaction as possible. It was understandable, of course, but it wasn’t the lively cafe environment you were used to during later shifts. You sighed, hoping the atmosphere would be friendlier when it wasn’t a major rush hour. 

“Hi! I can help the next person in line,” you called for the twentieth time this hour. When they moved forward towards the cash register, you gave them a smile. “Good morning. I hope your day has been going well!”

“It’s been okay, thank you. And yours?”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you almost sputtered over thin air. Someone who actually replied back to what you said and asked about you in return? Even if the intent was a courtesy conversation that was meant to be quick and brief, the sentiment was there—the upholding of the values of common courtesy and human decency. Something too many people seemed to lack. 

“I’m good as well! A little tired but what’s to be expected a quarter ‘til 6 a.m.?” you said with a laugh. “Thank you for asking.”

The customer gave a small smile in return and you internally celebrated for finally seeing your first pleasant expression this morning. “Must be even more tiring dealing with all these people. Doesn’t seem easy. I have to commend you for it.”

He was a tall, handsome man with a pretty face, soft-looking hair, and genuinely nice? There was no way this was real; you had to be dreaming. 

You twiddled with the pen in your hands, taken aback and mildly embarrassed by the praise. “Just doing my job,” you said with a bashful look. “Thank you, though.” You cleared your throat, not wanting to hold the line up for too long, even if the customer was one you would rather keep talking to than the others. “Now, what can I get started for you today?”

“Right. Can I get a flat white in the medium size?” 

“Of course.” You typed in his order into the register before asking, “And is there anything else I can get for you? Like a pastry? Today we have some freshly baked cheese danishes that are really yummy if you’d like to try!” 

He thought for a while before shrugging. You weren’t sure if it was your eyes playing tricks on you or he actually had an amused look on his face. “Sure, I’ll take a couple dozen of those as well.” 

“A couple dozen—?” your voice faltered. The suggestion of a fresh pastry was one you made to almost every customer, though most turned it down on the spot. 

The cafe had a little weekly competition between workers to see who could sell the most pastries in the week and the one who sold most got...well, a free pastry and bragging rights. Admittedly, it wasn’t much, but nothing revved up sales like friendly rivalries. An order of a couple dozen was sure to land you in the top spot this week! Still, you had to make sure he meant it. You’d feel bad if he was just spending all his hard-earned office work money because he was trying to be courteous. (Or at least, you assumed he was some office employee.) 

You cautiously asked, “Are you sure?”

Either your eyes were playing tricks on you yet again, or the look of amusement on his face grew even more than before as he said, “I’m sure. One medium flat white and, say, three dozen boxes of cheese danishes, please.” 

“C-Coming right up!” you said, quickly entering his order and celebrating your free end-of-the-week pastry in advance. “That will be $42.81. Would that be card or cash?” 

“Card.” He pulled out a sleek, black card with gold detailings on it and you never knew you could be sexually attracted to a credit card until now. 

“Perfect! Go ahead and swipe, insert, or scan your card now. In the meantime, can I get a name for your order please?” 

He scanned his card over the machine before looking back up at you. “It’s To— Ah, Shouto.” 

“Shouto?” you asked in confirmation. You assumed it wasn’t ‘Toahshouto’. That sounded too much like the abbreviation used to remember how to find sine, cosine, and tangent.

“Yeah. Shouto.” 

You smiled. “Well, Shouto, your order will be ready in a few minutes. Please wait over to your right to pick it up!”

He nodded. 

“It was nice meeting you!” you called, waving goodbye. “I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

“Thank you,” he glanced at your nametag, “Y/N.” 

Oh, how nice it felt to be treated like a human by a customer and have them actually address your name— And not to say it in a condescending way either. 

“Do individual baristas get to keep the tips here?”

You blinked, feeling your face warm up slightly. “We do, actually.” One of your favorite parts of the job, you had to admit. 

“Glad to hear.” Shouto pulled out some crisp-looking bills from his wallet and placed one in your hand that said ‘100’ to you. “Thank you for your kind service, Y/N.” 

“Wha—” Your eyes widened. You were expecting something along the line of three dollars. Maybe five at most. But a hundred? By the time you had processed what had happened he was walking away from the cash register. “Wait— Shouto...sir! I think you accidentally gave me the wrong amount.” 

He shook his head, only briefly turning back to face you. “Nope. It’s for you,” he said simply. “I’m looking forward to the cheese danishes.” 

His words left you stunned, but the next customer in line tapped their foot impatiently, signaling it was now time for you to take their order. You hoped the line died down before Shouto left the cafe so you could return the tip, but seeing as how the queue almost extended out the door, you had the sinking feeling that wouldn’t be a possibility. 

“Hello, I can take the next customer in line!” you recited cheerfully, mind still occupied by thoughts of your last encounter. 

The next few orders went along uneventfully (though you did manage to sell two more cheese danishes) and by the time Shouto got his coffee and pastry boxes, you still had a handful more customers to get through. 

“Pardon me real quick,” you said apologetically to the woman in front of you. “Please give me one moment?” 

She graced you with a nod and you thanked the stars above for an understanding patron. 

“Wait— Excuse me, sir!” You waved in Shouto’s direction before he could exit the cafe. He glanced at you curiously but walked over. In a hushed voice, you said, “I really appreciate the tip, but there’s no way I could accept this much money from you!” 

For the first time today, you say the hints of a frown on his face. “You cannot?” 

���No! $100 is a lot! You already bought $40 worth of cheese danish pastries— Are you sure you meant to give that big of a tip?”

“Of course.” He took a sip of his coffee with a satisfied hum. “You getting up at such an early hour to take people’s orders with a kind attitude isn’t easy. Plus, trying to build rapport with each of them all while keeping the interacting swift is a difficult task itself. And it’s probably worth more than your current pay, the $100 tip, and then some.” 

You blinked, stunned by his words. This man kept surprising you so many times in just one morning. 

“I find it ridiculous how certain occupations are paid an ungodly amount more than others, especially when a lot of it comes from privileges you were born into.” Shouto seemed to mumble the last bit to himself, but you were still able to understand what he said. “It’s bullshit.” Before you could respond, he recollected himself. “Eat the rich, right? All that to say, please accept the tip. You deserve it. And I promise it’s of no detriment to me, so please don’t feel bad.”

Seeing the determined look on his face, you couldn’t help but stare at him before nodding. He didn’t say anything you didn’t already believe yourself, and if someone really wanted to give you $100, you weren’t going to fight them on it. Think of all the dumplings you could buy, you told yourself.

“T-Thank you then.” You gingerly placed the folded bill back into your pants pocket. “I think that was really insightful of you and I’m very grateful.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled before glancing towards the exit. “I’m running a bit late for work now, so I should be going. Have a good day, Y/N.”

“You too, Shouto. And… Thank you again!”

With a glowing expression on your face, you walked back to the cash register ready to face the day and talk to more lovely customers!

“Hey, little barista!” a gruff voice called from the line, snapping you out of your stupor. “Hurry it up already before you force me to complain to your manager.” 

You internally sighed. You understood they were in a rush, but they still had no right to be that rude. 

“Can you even hear me? Or are you too incompetent?”

Cue another internal sigh. 

Yeah, okay. Maybe you did deserve this $100 tip.

Regardless of the rude customers that may have come in, at least you had your thoughts of a cute, kind businessman who went by the name of Shouto to get you through your shift. And you could only hope you’d be able to see him again.

a/n: the end of part one folks!! oh what i’d give to have gotten a tip like this when i worked as a barista BAHAHA only in my dreams. i hope you enjoyed this little intro part and are excited for what’s to come !! :3

what to expect in the next part:

~maybe~ y/n will see shouto again and,,perhaps,,get more tips from him idk who knows 

old lady imparts some...helpful(?) advice 

we briefly get to see shouto’s pov! ;D

[moonctzeny]

The Bet

au+trope+prompt game: coffee shop!au Mark + enemies to lovers + is that the best you can do?

pairing: mark lee + fem!reader

other members as background characters: lucas

genre: fluff (only some suggestive stuff)

word count: 3,796

warnings: slight objectification of reader, suggestive stuff, heavy making out, a boner, i guess a stockings kink

summary: “When you took that part time job as a barista at your local café, you only cared about grabbing your check while doing the least work possible. But when your supervisor, Mark Lee, keeps getting praised and winning ‘Employee Of The Month’, you offer a bet, to prove him that he’s no better than you. The outcome? Your relationship changing forever.”

a/n: hbd baby <3

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It started off as just a little part time job.

College life was not easy to cope with financially, and eating instant noodles for a week straight could only save you so much money. So when you saw the ‘Barista Wanted’ sign at the cafe that was just a block away from your house, you didn’t miss your chance for a few extra bucks. And that’s all that job would be for you. Doing the least work possible for the minimum wage you were given, if it wasn’t for him. Mark Lee.

Mark was sweet, honestly. He greeted you with a smile when you first came in and showed you around. He was a bit shy when he awkwardly stated that he was kind of like a supervisor there. But the way that the boss would go on and on about how great he was, every Monday morning, was starting to get annoying. So was his ability to always save your ass whenever you made a mess in front of your boss. So was his picture hanging in the “Employee Of The Month” frame right from across the bar. That kid won that title every.single.month. And no overtimes, sweeping or mopping from your part seemed to change your boss’s mind.

It all began when you and Lucas, another part-time worker whose shift started right after yours, were talking about whether you would make rent this month. Mark was sitting next to you, occupied with organizing some cups by size, but decided to chip in.

“Well”, he sighed “guess we’re just gonna have to eat the rich. Or take that pole dancing class you mentioned, Lucas.”

The taller boy found it funny, letting out his signature giggle and you would too, if Mark’s damn “Employee of the Month” picture wasn’t staring right into your soul, mocking you.

You rolled your eyes. “Not all of us are lucky enough to get that sweet I-love-kissing-the-boss’s-ass bonus every month, Lee”. Lucas whistled at your comment, used to your bickering but still very entertained.

“Careful how you speak to your supervisor, y/n or you’ll never get to be employee of the month”.

“Oh please”, you scoff “having extra keys to the back exit and cleaning the coffee machine twice a week? That’s wayyy too much responsibility”.

Sarcasm was dripping from your voice, but you were only half lying. You didn’t give a flying fuck for the position. You just wanted it because he had it. And that certain “he” was starting to get a little tired from your constant degradation. Mark smirked at you, but anger was evident on his expression.

“You should be thanking me, you know. At least you get to mooch off of my tips”.

Lucas yelled a drawn out “ooohhh” but you could barely hear him. Your eyes were piercing Mark’s, too busy keeping yourself from blurting out every profanity that came to your head in that moment. Instead, you took a deep breath.

“You think you make more tips than me?”, you asked calmly. Cockier than ever, the boy instantly replies with a “I know I do”, never breaking eye contact. This was your chance, you thought. The chance to prove yourself and shut him up for good.

“How about we make a little bet?”

Mark raised his bow-shaped brows, focusing his attention solely on you.

“Let’s put separate tip jars next to the cashing machine for the rest of the week. If I make more, you’ll convince the boss to remove that horrible frame for good”. He followed your eyes to his picture on the wall, and nodded.

“And when I win?”, he asked curiously and you chose to ignore his little play on words. You furrowed your brows, trying to think of a good motivation for him, as if his competitive nature wasn’t enough.

“OH! OH!” Lucas interrupted, “she can go on a date with that creepy friend of yours that always comes to the cafe to see her!”

Mark’s eyes instantly lit up at the idea. He handed out his pinky, looking to seal the deal with you.

“Bet’s on”, he said, with a seriousness that looked foreign on his cute features, and motioned to his pinky with his eyes, urging you to intertwine it with yours.

You sighed and walked away, muttering a “God, you are so lame”, but the next morning you came to work with a jar with your name written all pretty on it.

You didn’t really have a strategy per se. In fact, you had completely forgotten about the bet, too busy preparing orders and running around. You were cleaning up for Lucas to take your place in the shift, when you felt Mark looking down at you from the other side of the counter that usually separated you from the costumers. “May I be of help, sir?”, you asked him mockingly, not bothering to spare him a glance.

“You should wear those white thigh highs. You look cute in them.”

“Huh? What?”, you ask in confusion, still cleaning the surface carefully.

“In your date with Jason”, he explained with a teasing tone in his voice, Jason being his ‘creepy friend’ as Lucas calls him. Why did he have to piss you off right when you were ready to go home?

You continued to ignore him, only muttering a “I’m not going on that date”, when you hear a clinging sound and finally look up at Mark.

“You sure?”

He was holding the two tip jars, swinging them around. To your horror, Mark’s had more than twice the money than yours.

“WHAT??” you let out and immediately regretted it when some costumers looked at you like you were crazy. You continued with a whispered yell, “How the fuck did that happen??”

Mark grinned at you and lifted his shoulders innocently, before walking away. He must have cheated by slipping in coins when you weren’t looking, that sly motherfucker.

That’s it, you decided, on Wednesday you were going to spy on his every move.

After watching him intently for the whole morning, you came to the conclusion that Mark had a way of making everybody like him. Whether it was him memorizing the regulars and their orders, or asking them if they knew some random Will Smith song about Miami, he was always the textbook example of an eager, smiley and pleasant barista. Even you smiled at the sight of him fumbling with the pen when two pretty girls gave him their names to write on the coffee cups. He flashed them a smile and mumbled an apology, and you watched as they cooed at him and left a very generous tip. You were almost convinced by his adorable act, when he turned around and winked your way.

Ugh, you hated Mark Lee.

You decided that making a better connection with the customers was the way to go. You weren’t the type to start a conversation about the weather out of the blue, nor did you know any Will Smith songs, so you decided on drawing a little doodle on the cup next to their names with every order. The younger ones thought it was a nice addition to their snapchat story, the older ones found you cute. And as they came back for a coffee refill, your jar started filling up as well. It wasn’t much but you were getting closer to reaching the 3/4 of Mark’s tips, so you were pretty happy with yourself.

You were drawing a little heart for a latte when you smelled his cologne. You felt his breath pushing away at the hairs that were sticking out from your ponytail at the nape of your neck. You hated how it sent a shiver to your spine, how it made your hands a little shaky and how the heart drawing turned out a little wonky.

Mark was your “enemy” and your supervisor and Mr. Annoyingly Perfect but Mark was also hot. You would never admit it, but you even had a little crush on him when you started working there. You might pull a disgusted face every time Lucas tells you that the solution to your constant bickering was to “just fuck already”, but you wondered whether it was his oblivion to your crush that made your little hatred towards him grow. And you’d be lying if you said that you never stared at his cute ass sticking out of his apron a second too long, or that it didn’t turn you on when he got pissed at the ice getting stuck in the blender.

So now that he was almost pressing against you from behind, closer than ever, you wouldn’t mind at all. That is if he didn’t open his god damn mouth.

“Really?”, he scoffed “Is that the best you can do?”

His tone was so condescending that it made you furious, pressing your nails in the paper cup, and you were surprised that the liquid didn’t spill everywhere. He gave you a victorious smirk from getting that reaction out of you, and you wanted to punch it right off of his face.

Oh, that meant war.

On Thursday morning, you walked in looking the best you’ve ever looked for a morning shift. You had your hair in pigtails, hair bands matching the color of your lowcut dress. Your lengthened the straps of your apron, your cleavage not leaving much to the imagination.

It was ridiculous, you thought, how many tips a push up bra can get you. It only took a couple customers for the word to spread and the horny men to line up at the cafe. You batted your eyelashes at them, the “Good morning, I’m here to serve you, how can I help you sir?”driving them nuts. You had to say it every time, shop’s policy, but now it sounded more suggestive than ever. You were disgusted by their gawking eyes and terrible attempts at flirting, but you had a goal.

And hell were you winning. You weren’t sure if it was your jar that was filling up at an amazing rate or your outfit, but that was the first time you ever saw Mark make a mistake in his orders. You swore you felt his gaze following you around all day, murmuring something to himself every time a customer asked him if the pretty girl could serve them instead.

It was the end of the shift, and you were happily chatting with Lucas as you were cleaning up the counter. He was doing a terrible job at keeping his eyes away from your chest, but when it came to someone as good looking as him, you really didn’t mind the attention. You took your apron off and started folding it neatly when Mark took your wrist and dragged you into the storage room.

He held a bunch of wrinkly paper towels in his hands. You noticed something was written with a pen messily on each of them.

“This is the seventh phone number that a dude has given me today”, he told you as he stared into your eyes, careful not to move his gaze any more south. It was your turn to mess with him.

“Well good for you”, you said with a smile, “Didn’t know you were so popular with men, Mark”

He closed his eyes, trying to control his temper, and shoved the towels towards you.

“They’re for you. They asked me to pass them to you. After the third guy I forgot what their names were but you can figure them out yourself”. You took them from him with a quiet “oh, thanks” and he sighed.

“You can’t come in here looking like that. This is a workplace.”

You looked at him with wide eyes and fake innocence. “Like what? What’s wrong with my outfit?”. His patience was running short.

“Why don’t you ask Lucas” he replied, with a tone that started to piss you off.

“If you can’t control your hormones like you’re some teenage boys, that’s not my prob-“ you start but he cuts you off. You had never seen him act so stern.

“We have a dress code. Maybe the boss can remind you, if you want”.

It was the first time Mark had actually pulled the supervisor card on you and you felt a little hurt by the coldness of his voice. You swear you saw a bit of instant regret in his eyes but you decided to leave the matter alone, and left the storage room after ostentatiously throwing the phone numbers in the bin next to the door.

Friday was the last day of the bet. You didn’t show up with a flashy outfit, because 1) you didn’t want to risk losing your job for a stupid bet and 2) because straight men were annoying and so were their pickup lines that you didn’t want to deal with. You did wear the white thigh highs Mark mentioned though, with a skirt whose length followed the dress code, just to tease him a little bit. You had never worn them in work before, but when you ran across Mark one day on your way home from a girls’ night out, both a little drunk and disoriented, he didn’t hide his admiration towards them.

He noticed right away when you walked in the café this afternoon. Fridays were the only days when you took the later shift instead of the morning one. You hated it because that meant having to work with Mark until closing, and due to his perfectionism you’d always be staying with him overtime, cleaning every inch of the place, and never participating in any Friday parties that your friends hosted.

You were a little worried that things would be awkward between you after your little argument yesterday, but when he pointed at your stockings and asked if you were “dressed up for the date already”, you knew he didn’t keep any hard feelings and neither did you. What you didn’t expect was his jar to be as full as yours, if not more.

You panicked, and took Lucas to the side, making him promise that he would tell you if he had cheated while you were gone or not. He shrugged.

“Sorry, pretty, no cheating. A high school visited the park across the street as a field trip. The girls went crazy over him. Pretty sure they spent all their allowance here”.

At that you dropped your shoulders in defeat and worked your shift with a pout on your face. You wouldn’t take the humiliation of losing the bet, especially after the little stunt you pulled on Thursday. The hours went by agonizingly slow, and the moment you were dreading finally came.

You turned the “Sorry, we’re closed” sign at the glass entrance door, as you were mopping the floor. All the costumers were gone, and your boss had left the keys to you and Mark, asking you to lock up instead as he had ‘an errand to run’. You wished that your coworker would somehow forget about your bet and spare you the embarrassment, but instead, he gave you a devilish side smirk and motioned you to come closer.

He emptied his jar first, and started counting out loud in front of you, insisting that you do it out together so as not to pull any “funny business”.

40 bucks. It wasn’t bad, it was good actually, and you groaned, now feeling more nervous than ever.

Mark on the other hand, relaxed his shoulders and happily started counting your tips this time. His smile started to wear off, though, as you did much better that he thought. You were neck-to-neck, figuratively and almost literally, as your heads nearly bumped together in deep concentration.

“37,38,39,40…41,42,43” he whispered out and you couldn’t believe your eyes.

You won. You actually won. You never had to see that stupid “Employee Of The Month” frame ever again and most importantly, you were finally better than Mark at something.

You let out a high-pitched squeal, jumping up and down excitedly on your spot, strikingly different that the boy next to you, who was frozen in place.

“I woooon” you teased him with a sing-song voice “and you looooost, loserrr”

It was an understatement to say that Mark was fuming.

“It’s not fair!” he yelled and pointed an accusing finger towards you. You rolled your eyes and walked further back, next to the counter with the coffee machines, happily swinging your hips.

“Don’t be a sore loser Mark, I won fair and square”

“I’m not a sore loser!”, he whines, “I was at a disadvantage!”

You raise an eyebrow and turn towards him, to see that he had taken a few steps at your direction. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“You’re hot!”, he groans and rubs his hands over his face. “Hell, I would die from a caffeine overdose if it meant seeing you with your little pigtails and that top and that smile, ready to ‘serve me, sir’”

You could feel your ears and cheeks turning on fire and you’d blame it on the flattery, but his horrible high-pitched impression of your voice was what made you too angry to fully process what he said.

You grabbed a syrup bottle from the counter behind you and pointed it towards his face.

“Ugh, Mark! You’re so annoying! Why do you always need to be the best at everything!”

You barged into him, squeezing the bottle over his face. With his quick reflexes he swiftly grabbed your hand, successfully immobilizing you, but you had already managed to get a big, fat line of syrup right across his lips.

In a moment of clarity, you stopped resisting and became aware of the position you and Mark were in. You had moved backwards as a result of your fight, the countertop digging in your lower back. His one hand was grabbing at your lifted arm by the wrist, the other resting on the marbled surface behind you in an effort to detain you. To top it all off, you stared at the mess you made on his lips, coupled by the unreadable look on his eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you thought. This is your supervisory/n! You know, the guy in charge when the boss is gone? The guy that you basically jumped because of a stupid bet? That you actually won? But will still get you fired?

You were getting ready to move away and profusely apologize to Mark, your eyes frantically moving from his eyes, to his lips, to his “Employee Of The Month” picture from across the room. He, however, stayed still, only releasing your wrist to now place his hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Clean this mess”, he demanded, in a tone you would have never expected from Mark, “immediately”

In the seconds that followed his demand, the tension between you two was thicker than the drizzle that still decorated his mouth. He came even closer, your noses only a centimeter apart, his fingers pressing on your face lightly.

You were worried whether you read the room wrong or not, because if you did, your next move would most certainly get you fired.

He could barely hear your whispered “here to serve you” before you finally closed the distance between you.

You pulled his bottom lip between your lips, your tongue shyly sweeping across it, collecting the syrup that was starting to dry into a sugary paste. He was soft like a cloud and tasted like caramel. You repeated the motion for his top lip when you felt him melt into your kiss. The moment was sweet like the taste in your mouth, but it changed as soon as you felt him grab the back of your thighs, lifting you on the top of the counter.

You matched his hunger by sucking on his bottom lip this time, determined to clean him up as best as you could. He moaned your name into the kiss, his fingertips digging in the inside of his favorite thigh highs. Your skirt had well ridden up, allowing him to pinch the fabric of one of them.

“These” he started, his lips now sucking on your neck, “almost cost me my supervisor’s position with all the messing up they made me do”

He let the elastic snap against your thigh, earning a small gasp from you and you decided to tease him a little.

“Is that so huh? Because I’m so hot? With my boobs and my pigtails and my willingness to serve?” you ask with a laugh, and you feel him smile against his deep kiss over your pulse, grabbing your legs to scoot your ass and pull you closer.

“Because you’ve been driving me crazy ever since you got this job. And because you look so fucking sexy when you’re mad”

His boldness made you desperate as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled him back up into a passionate kiss. It was sticky and hot and full of tongue, and you felt something poking on the inside of your thigh before a loud noise made you snap and pull away from each other in shock.

You looked at the floor to see a, thankfully not broken, but dismantled blender, that you must have pushed off the counter in the heat of the moment. You stare down at Mark as you both laugh at the situation, his hair messy and lips swollen and you know you definitely mirrored his look.

He cleared his throat. “Uhh, not that I don’t enjoy this, cause I really do, but if we keep at it Lucas is going to be the next Employee Of The Month, and not only is that ridiculous, but we would both basically lose our little bet”

You laughed at his comment and let your feet dangle awkwardly, your cheeks heating at the thought of what might have happened if you two had kept going.

“I’m sorry for being such a bitch about your framed picture” you said with a small voice, avoiding his gaze “you don’t have to take it down”

He smiled at your attempt at peace as he picked up the blender pieces and skillfully riveted them in place. Your eyes suddenly widened before adding, “I will NOT go on a date with your creepy friend though”

Mark giggled at that and shook his head before returning his eyes back at you. His cheeks were flushed a crimson red, deep in thought.

“How about me?” he blurted, “I mean, how about going on a date with me instead?”

You nodded your head, reaching a hand out to fix the messy locks out of his eyes.

“Yes. I think I’d love that”

[agentsoftie]

Sleepless Nights ( S.R )

summary: Reid and Y/N aren’t the most fond of each other. So what happens when they can’t sleep, have to share a bed, and be married.

pairing: Spencer Reid and female reader

a/n: AHH okay so here it is! It’s my first au so it’s probably not the best. But big thanks to @anepiphany! Ani baby none of this would be happening without you! Thank you for you tips and making me not go insane! Also pls tell me if I slept something wrong cuz like, your girl not the best when it comes to it. Also there will def be a loophole somewhere in my case and if you find one, just let it slide because life is filled with loopholes ❤️ also this is gonna be a two parter!

warnings: mentions of a case, little angst (like the smallest amount), fluff really though

remember to like and reblog!!

You were always the type of person that got along with everyone. And by everyone you meant everyone. You were a people pleaser, always changing your personality for someone. To the security guard, you were a sports junkie, always catching the latest games. To the guy who worked at the bookshop, you were the classical girl. And to the barista, you were the girl who was always late but always paid 3 dollars extra tip. But Dr. Spencer Reid was the only exception. 6’1 and standing tall. Mr. Eidetic Memory and 187 IQ but oh God how you cared for him. You loved him, you loved him more than all the moons in the galaxy. But him? He hated you, so naturally, you hated him too. As the saying goes, if you can't beat them, join them.

“Guys we got a new case,” Garcia says.

You walked into the room and sat to the seat closest to the front where Garcia would be since she was your best friend. Ironically that was the seat farthest from Reid.

“Okay, so this is Mira Normen and her husband John Normen. They had gotten married 2 months prior to their deaths. Mira was 25 years old and she was a teacher at the local middle school. John was 26 and he ran a local pet grooming business. As you can see, but not me for obvious reasons, they were both stabbed once in their chest and then once in their thigh. Mira was shot once in the heart and once in the head and John was shot twice in the heart and twice in the throat. The M.E. found a ring stuffed into both of their throats. And not the cheap kind, I mean a year's worth of salary for one of us.”

“Okay, so this guy’s rich,” You said.

“Yeah, no shit sherlock,” Reid said.

“Guys,” Hotch said in a stern voice “Garcia do we know anything else?”

“Yes actually. They were both last spotted at an event for rich people. So like something Rossi would go to.” She said, chuckling at the last part.

“You and I both know very well that I do not go to those kinds of events. I stay at home for god sakes.” Rossi says causing you and a couple of other people to chuckle.

“Why does this case sound so familiar?” JJ asks, breaking the chuckles.

“Well there was a case exactly like this a couple of years back if my memory is correct, which it always is. We tried to solve it but we just couldn't so it ended up as a cold case.” Reid said.

“And everythings the same?” JJ asked.

“Yep, everything. Well except the city.” Reid said.

“Great, well i think we got everything. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch says while getting up.

-------

You sat alone, like always. At first everyone was concerned, like they had done something, but they then soon realized that you just liked to be alone and this was really the only time.

“Okay, so I checked if anyone had moved in the years and I have 5 names. Thomas Maddison, Stephanie June, Eliza Honeycutt, Devi Paradise, and Klaus Hiller. And only one moved to our little town and that would be Miss Eliza Honeycutt.” Garcia said.

“Can you ch-” Morgan was saying but got cut off when she said

“Already did ‘Hot Chocolate’. Miss Eliza moved a total of 3 months after the case. Looks like it was due to a messy divorce. Her and Mr. Maddison had not been going strong for the last couple of months and it looks like they decided to call quits just before you guys came to town.”

“Can you-” Morgan started to say but then was again cut off by Garcia.

“Already got you babes. The address should be sent to your tablets.” Everyone was still looking at her, “that means look at your tablets.” She says while gesturing her hands making them look down.

“We got it babygirl,” Morgan said without being interrupted.

“Great! Now, this is the time I leave and let you amazing little people do your jobs!” And with that, she was out and so were you.

-------

It was 10 pm when you got to the hotel. You weren't exhausted but you definitely were not in the mood to solve a murder or multiple in this case. You all had checked in now was your favorite time of all choosing rooms. You never bunked with anyone unless Garcia, but that's if she ever came on a case. Emily and JJ were already gone, same with Hotch and Rossi. You were about to grab the key for the single room but Morgan got it before you.

“Sorry hot stuff, I need room alone this time.”

“What!? Why!?”

“I don't need to explain myself to you Y/N,” Moran says, and just like that he was gone.

You and Reid grabbed the keys without looking at each other and walked in the elevator. You both did not make any eye contact until you got into the room. There was only one bed. You immediately called room service but they said that there were no more rooms available so you two were stuck with that one.

“Okay, which one of us is gonna sleep on the floor?” you heard Reid say.

“Excuse me,?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh stop being such a baby Reid. We both know that if you don't sleep on a bed or something remotely similar you get all grumpy and get headaches all day. And if I don't sleep on a bed or something similar I get high on caffeine and get paranoid. So for the sake of the team, we are gonna sleep on the goddamn bed together!”

He didn't know you paid attention to him like that. Sure everyone knew that he would get grumpy, but headaches? No one, not even JJ. He didn't like to tell people about them fearing of being babied around even more than he already is. Although he did know that whenever you don't get enough sleep not only do you high on caffeine, but you have nightmares. You never told anyone except Garcia of course. He’d realized that you had nightmares after a group holiday to Rossi’s beach house, he heard you talking in your sleep and there were not good things being said.

“Okay geez fine whatever. Are you gonna go shower first, or am I”

“Me obviously,” you say while getting your clothes.

The water was hot when you got in, just how you like it. You started to soak your hair in the water needing to cool down a little and prepare yourself for the days ahead of you. All you could think about was sharing the same bed with him. With the guy, you're in love with but doesn’t know. And will never know.

After 30 minutes you got out of the shower and changed. You wore a pair of shorts and a loose flowy t-shirt which you had knotted after putting it on because it was too big. After you brushed your teeth, did your skincare, and brushed your hair.

“Finally, how long does it take?” You heard Reid say while you were walking out of the bathroom. He didn't look up until you sat on the bed turning the tv on.

“It takes 40 minutes Reid, it always takes 40 minutes. But you would never know because you've never had a girl stay over,”

“Oh, you're so funny aren't you,” he says in an annoyed way.

“Yeah, I am.” You said smirking while looking up expecting to see him annoyed but instead greeted with a small smile which was then washed away quickly by the sound of his voice.

“Okay, I'm gonna go take a shower now. Don't wait up.”

“ I won't, don't worry.” You say while he goes into the bathroom. You swear you saw him smile. It may have been small but it was there.

-------

“You waited for me.” You hear while turning off the tv. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a white t-shirt. His hair was an absolute mess, and you could tell that he had to take a shower in not the hottest water.

“Ha, yeah no. You took like 10 minutes, did you think I was gonna fall asleep in 10 minutes.”

“Yeah well, that's what happens when you take up most of the hot water.”

“I'm sorry, you should have gone in the shower first.”

“You wanted to go into the shower first!”

“Okay and? Look, can we just go to bed or something? We have a long ass day ahead of us.”

You felt the bed dip and got chills all over. He didn't seem to notice, thankfully. You were cold, but not cold enough to want to layer up. You looked over and the time and it read 11:15. You tried to sleep, but you just couldn't. So again you looked over and read 11:39, and then it was 12:06. You felt like you were going insane.

“Why are you still up?” Reid said in a raspy voice while turning over to face you.

“Huh? Oh, um, I couldn't, can't sleep.”

“Ugh, fine come here.”

“What?” Before you could say anything he had wrapped his arm around you and forced you to nuzzle up against his chest. It actually felt pretty nice. You felt like you were on top of the world and that everything was going to be okay. You put your arm on him after processing what was happening. He then pulled you in closer and when you looked up at him you realized that he was knocked out, gone like a light in one of those horror movies. And before you realized it you were out too.

-------

“Y/L/N wake up,” is all you hear. The sun was barely out yet, so naturally, you just wanted to go back asleep.

“5 more minutes”

“Fine.” Although he didn't want to say anything or admit in this case. This was the best sleep that he’d gotten in a while. At first, he thought it was because of the way he slept but he then quickly realized that it was because of you. With your legs intertwined with his, one of your arms on his chest and the other in his hand. Your hair, so messy, yet so perfect at the same time and he would give anything to fall back asleep with you. He was in love. He was in love and was falling, falling harder than ever.

“Y/N, come on it's been 10 minutes. We need to go, get up.”

“What? Oh. Wait, fuck, what time is it?” You say in your very raspy yet airy morning voice.

“6:13, now we have to get ready or we will be late.”

You didn't want to get up, you really didn't. You wanted this moment to never end, but sadly time was not on your side for this one. “We never speak of last night, got it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Its agent.”

-------

“Miss Honeycutt, hi I’m Agent Y/L/N,” You say while sitting down for the interrogation.

“Hi yeah, why am I here?”

“Oh, no one’s told you yet?’

“Well yes the people who rudely (italicize) came into my home said something but I wasn’t really listening.”

“Oh okay then. You're here as a suspect for multiple murders.” Her face was in total and utter shock. “There has been a murder recently that connects to a murder that took place back a couple of years ago. You lived there when it had happened and then you moved. And now you’re here because a murder played out exactly that same way as the one that took place in the past.”

“Look, I have a valid reason for moving-”

“Divorce I know.”

“Yes, well you don’t know the reason.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“I was cheating on him, Thomas. He found out and then immediately filed for divorce.”

“Huh, is that so. Well, you kno-” You were cut off by the sound of the one and the only doctor himself.

“Y/L/N can I please speak to you.”

“Um yeah.” You walk outside of the interrogation room to face him. “What is it?”

“I don't think she did it. The way she’s reacting to all of this is way too natural to fake and she still hasn't called for a lawyer to be present. Normally in these types of situations the un-sub mostly always calls for a lawyer or anyone in that case.”

“I know, I know, I know. But she mentioned an ex-husband that could help us with this case.”

“So what you're just gonna “interrogate” her until she starts to talk about her former husband, or just talk about that and only that as a whole?”

“Yes, precisely.”

“You amaze me Y/N,” this was the first time he said your name in conversation naturally and not because he was forced to for an undercover assignment and shit. Well except for this morning but you can't decide if that was a small little fever dream or actual life so it doesn't count.

“And I you Spencer.” He noticed, oh he noticed and his heart practically burst from his chest because of the serotonin he got when you said his name. It was like every time you said his name an angel got its wings.

-------

“Hey Garcia, could you dig a little deeper on our little Thomas Maddison?” You ask her.

“Of course pumpkin. Okay so here's what I got. Thomas Maddison born May 30th leaving him to be a Gemini and you know how I feel about those. He moved from our fun little town too, well, um,-” was what she said before being cut off by Emily.

“What do you mean by ‘um’ Garcia?” She said with a puzzled expression.

“Well, ‘um’ means he disappeared from the face of Earth. Completely gone. No new dental records, no new home, I mean, not even a simple receipt. It’s like he just clicked ‘erase all’ after the divorce.”

“Is that even possible?” I ask.

“Well yes, but you have to literally become a new person for that to happen.”

“Garcia look into anything in his life that could possibly lead him to have hundreds of thousands of dollars,” Reid said.

“Okay, so it says here in one article that he owned a local jewelry store that got burned down around that time of the divorce. The local paper wrote it off as an accident but everyone thought he wanted to skip town after the divorce so he would just take all of the insurance money. Which I guess is kind of true. Um but anyway, yeah that’s really the only explanation. His parents didn't leave him that much money in the will, and he wasn't a drug dealer.”

“Okay, thanks hun! You've been of more help then you know. Call Hotch and everyone else in. I think we got the profile.” You said before ending the call.

* literally 5 or 6 minutes later *

“Okay, so the guy we’re looking for is very popular with the people. He always tries to make everything about himself. Your classic narcissist.” Hotch starts off with.

“This guy hates love though. He never brings up the topic and hates it when people bring it up. And although he hates love, he looks like the guy who could pick anyone he wanted, although he relatively picks on younger women.” JJ adds.

“Yes, and this guy is going to be a white caucasian male. Most likely in his late 20 or early 30s. And he is going to have wealth and will show it off as often as he can.” Emily says.

“Any questions” you heard Hotch ask.

“There’s an event tomorrow just like the one that Mira and John attended. Will he be there? And if so, do you think he will attack again? And if yes then what will do?” You see an officer asking.

“Well yes, we heard of that and already planned everything out. Tomorrow night Agent Y/L/N and DR.Reid will be attending the event.” Rossi said.

You were in complete shock, and frankly so was Reid. You guys never agreed to this, and as much as I love black tie events, they aren't really my cup of tea when there can possibly be a serial killer there. Not to mention the guy I fucking love more than anyone in the world would be there, with me (italicize). Like now I have to look badass and sexy (italicize) at the same time, although that wouldn't be that hard you thought to yourself.

“Guys, can Reid and I please talk to you all in private.” You give Rossi and Hotch very unobvious yet obvious death stares.

“Yeah, now please.” He says.

* again like 2 or 3 minutes later *

“Um hello, last time I never agreed to this and by the look on Reid’s face, neither did he.”

“Y/N you heard, our unsub likes younger women,” Derek says,

“Okay well then just send in Emily, or JJ, or both in that case.” You say in an angry tone.

“Oh baby, you think we're young? Were flattered but no. Sadly out of all of us, you look the youngest, and are the youngest.” JJ says while laughing along with Emily.

“And for you Reid, you out of most people should know that the murders happened between young lovers who got married. And Derek doesn’t call you pretty boy for nothing. Rossi says following JJs statement.

“We really aren't getting out of this one huh?” He asks.

“No. Now it's late so I want you all to get a good night's rest and be ready tomorrow. Reid and Y/L/N you guys can sleep in a little but you'll have to be ready by 4:30.” Hotch says. And with that, everyone goes back to their rooms.

“I fell in love the way you fall asleep; slowly, then all at once” – John Green, The Fault in our Stars

Part two coming tomorrow!

[angelictaehyun]

PAIRING: guardian angel!taehyun x fem!reader

GENRE: guardian angel au, soulmate au, fluff, angst

WC. 3,000+

WARNINGS: minor alcohol usage, mild language, feeling of loneliness

SYNOPSIS: Kang Taehyun, a sassy, young guardian angel, didn’t think anyone could be more of an absolute mess… boy, was he mistaken.

PART ONE || PART TWO || INTERLUDE || PART THREE

.

As you sobbed into your pillow while simultaneously inhaling ice cream, Taehyun was a world away, absentmindedly picking a piece of lint from his left wing. Not long after, he was standing in front of Soobin, an elder, receiving yet another assignment to none other than you, Little Miss Crying Mess, who’d already gone through an entire box of Kleenex in an hour. 

His job was easy (and he’d be lying if he didn’t think himself a pro): silently look after you, keep you from harm, and do his absolute best to make you happy. But you would make that extremely difficult for him. When he glanced through your extensive profile, he didn’t think anyone could be more of an… in nicer terms...

Absolute fucking mess.

Like good God, yes, your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend, now) cheated on you, but that was a month and a half ago, and you weren’t even with him that long. So why could you not shut up and stop crying?

Taehyun wasn’t supposed to think this, guardian angel and all, but what was he supposed to do? You had raccoon eyes from your dried mascara and a pending noise complaint from your neighbor across the hall. 

Funnily, the first time he ever saw you, he felt his jaw drop. Although you were possibly the ugliest crier he’d ever seen (and he’d been alive for a millennium and a half), he saw past that. He awed over your piercing eyes which held so much life in them; your adorably round face that was puffy from all your crying; your silky hair which he wanted to run a hand through. 

He felt his heart yearn for you, like you were a magnet pulling him in. 

In his first week on the job, he felt nothing but pity and sadness for you. The way you seemed so lifeless and drained had him motivated to mend your aching heart. Of course, you didn’t see or feel his presence; he worked tirelessly and quietly, doing small stuff to make you smile. For example, he’d slip a $20 in your pocket every once in a while for you to find when doing laundry (you never found them, and he was out $80 by the end of the week). He also gradually refilled your bare fridge with your favorite food, hoping you’d eat them and feel a semblance of joy, but you never touched it. Instead, each meal was a piece of toast (and occasionally a handful of Goldfish) and an entire bottle of wine. 

He prayed for your liver. 

His second week, he felt even more determined to see your beautiful smile. However, without his help, you had finally decided to take a shower and mosey your way back into society, a decision he was grateful for since you were beginning to resemble a dying gerbil. He accompanied you to your local coffee shop, following closely behind as you weaved between people on the sidewalk, oblivious to you, of course. The day was going well for you; the barista accidentally sized up your order, the jazz band in the park played your favorite song, and you felt the warm sun on your face for the first time in a long while. That is, until you ran into an old friend and found out she recently became engaged. 

He practically saw your flip switch as you plastered on a fake smile and acted as if you were fine. When you finally left, you couldn’t even make it halfway to your apartment before you were breaking down once more. 

His third week was when he decided to take on a more drastic measure. When he re-read your profile to find a list of your core memories, he realized you had a lot of love for snow and snowfall. So he made it snow. 

In the middle of June. 

Nonetheless, he completely ignored the fact that it was a logistical nightmare, thinking it was a perfect idea, sure to bring a smile to your gorgeous face. When you woke up the next morning, feeling extra chilly, Taehyun felt giddy, especially as you moped over to your window and watched the crystalline snow fall from Heaven. He felt proud, especially when he noticed a single tear cascade down your cheek; he believed he overwhelmed you with such happiness, you cried. But when he heard you mumble something like a ‘Yeonjun loved snow,’ and crawl back into bed, he widened his eyes, plopped himself on your desk, and gave up. Not only did he have to deal with a crying you (again), he also had the entire city population wondering why the hell it was snowing in the middle of summer. 

Most of his fourth week was spent on your floor, playing with your dog, devising a new plan to cheer you up, and waiting for you to wake, as you spent most of your day sleeping… though he preferred you asleep since it meant you weren’t crying. Rather than feeling that pity and empathy from his first day on the job, each time you shed a tear, he found himself growing more and more irritated, so when you cried again for the eighth time that week, he had enough. He undid his glamour which kept him hidden and made himself visible to you. He fixed himself a sandwich, sat on your desk, and waited patiently for you to notice his presence. 

Much like any sane person, when you saw a random, unknown boy aggressively eating a sandwich and watching you from less than six feet away, you screamed bloody murder (which was the reason behind the second noise complaint from your neighbor). You scrambled to the opposite side of your bed and balled your hand into a fist while the other reached for a firm, weighty object, as if that was going to protect you from what you believed was about to be certain death. 

“STAY BACK!”

“Y/N, Y/N, it’s okay, it’s okay. Let me explain myself,” he tried reasoning as he slowly approached you as one would approach a flighty deer. You reached for every pillow you could and hurled them his way. As he busied himself dodging them, you sprinted from your bedroom to the front door, but just as you reached for the doorknob, he appeared from literal thin air in front of you, making you scream even louder.

He grabbed your shoulder in an attempt to calm you but that just heightened your fear. You thrashed around in an attempt to escape, ignoring how his grip on you was outrageously strong. 

Almost inhuman. 

When you finally took in his massive, iridescent wings, a small part of your brain put it all together. The other part of your brain, however, was on fire and assumed he was a nutjob hellbent on killing you. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, letting go of your shoulder. 

You made another failed attempt at reaching for your doorknob. This time, he grabbed your hand. 

“I’m not here to kill you.”

Your eyes narrowed and your body relaxed (barely).

“My name is Taehyun and I’m an angel. Your angel, actually.” He spun around, showcasing his golden wings. 

You let out an inappropriate snort, which was quickly replaced by a choke as he began moving closer toward you. Your body stilled and you screwed your eyes shut. 

You felt nothing but the cool tip of his wing brush against your arm as he moved by you. After a long minute of silence, you took a deep breath to calm yourself and hesitantly opened one eye, just to be met with the sight of him comfortably spread across your couch. He mindlessly picked at the fabric of your favorite throw pillow and threw a leg across your coffee table. He seemed all too familiar with your apartment, which was a frightening realization. You watched him with bated breath as he merely glanced over your trembling figure, tilting an eyebrow. He seemed disinterested… almost bored. 

You shuffled behind your kitchen counter, making sure to put plenty of distance between you both, and once you were sure there was enough space, you took him in. He was breathtaking, to say the least. His perfectly pink lips, razor-sharp jaw, defined nose, bright eyes, and high cheekbones, it was like he was sculpted by God himself. You must’ve stared too long because you saw his lips lift into a smirk. You shifted your eyes away and folded your arms across your chest defensively, “Fine, I’ll play along. Why should I believe you’re an angel?” 

He tipped his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, “Are you blind? I literally have wings.”

“Which could be fake for all I know.”

He scoffed in disbelief, “I’ll have you know, these are most certainly real. Excuse me.”

You silently leaned back against the counter with a look of disinterest and pursed lips. He sighed before turning around, allowing you to see his wings begin to glow and suddenly disappear in a flash of bright light. You were left gaping as your mind ran wild, though only a single thought consumed you, “Why do I need a guardian angel? What could I possibly need one for?”

“Well, your life… um, it’s kind of ass,” he replied as if it were obvious. 

Now it was your turn to be offended, “Excuse me? Who the hell are you to tell me that?”

“Your guardian angel?! A-are you deaf? Why else would I be here? You think I’ve enjoyed watching you mope around your apartment for the past month? You shower, like, once a week, and honestly, you look like a soggy rat. All you do is cry and never shut up, I can’t believe you’re even still capable of forming a tear! Actually, aside from when you’re asleep, this is the longest I’ve seen you go without breaking down sobbing!” he scolded as you stood in your kitchen, insulted by his harsh rant. 

“They why stay? Go find someone else to bother, it’s not like I want you here anyway!”

You picked at a hangnail and anxiously nibbled on your bottom lip. You didn’t even know why you were so offended; he was a complete stranger. As if he knew, he shuffled over to you, close enough to reach for your hand, and surprising you both, you didn’t pull away. 

“Look, I’m sorry, but like I said, your life has been hard. When your mother passed away, you had to live on your own as soon as you graduated high school, and now you can barely afford college because all of your money goes to rent. Then your boyfriend does what he did? Not to bring up old scars, but you need all the support you can get. That’s what I’m here for.”

You yanked your hand away and scoffed. ‘Not to bring up old scars,’ he says, bringing up every single scar. 

“I’ve been doing perfectly fine on my own. I don’t need your help and I especially don’t need you lurking around. Please leave.” You pointed at your door before sulking back into your room. 

“You’re getting my help whether you like it or not!”

That was the last thing you heard before you slammed your door. 

· ──────────────────── ·

The following week was unpleasant, to say the least. Each and every morning, you woke to his annoyingly handsome yet smug face as he sat with his feet kicked up on your desk… and this morning was no different. 

“Good morning, Sunshine! You know, you’re quite the deep sleeper, your heinously loud snoring couldn’t even wake you… but it definitely woke the dead,” he cheerfully remarked, plastering on a self-satisfied smirk. You ignored him and pushed your way by his tall frame on your way to your bathroom sink. Much like the week before, he appeared from thin air and perched himself on your counter. Despite your lack of response, he continued, “We should do something fun today, maybe go get some sun? You’re looking a little… lifeless.”

He examined your body from head to toe. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he seemed concerned, but he masked it well with his smugness. 

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” you mumbled hoarsely. 

“Then don’t go with me! Call a friend or go out by yourself, I really don’t care. Just please get out,” he whiny begged. He hated seeing you cooped up in your small, dinky apartment. He wished for you to experience life again, and he especially wished to see the light return to your eyes and the bright smile he knew you kept hidden. 

“No.”

Once you finished brushing your teeth, you climbed back into your warm bed and scrolled on your old phone. He clenched his jaw at your stubbornness, trying his best to stay calm. It was only 9:32 AM and you had already managed to piss him off. He knew you were headstrong, he didn’t need to read a profile on you to know that; just one day around you and he already picked up on your obstinance. He jumped off the countertop and climbed onto your bed to hover over your body. His breath fanned your nose as he trapped your body between him, wings draping over you both like a blanket. You were shocked and once again, left breathless just by being in his proximity, and you could feel your pulse rapidly increasing as he glanced down to your lips. 

He leaned closer and closer, and you nearly closed your eyes, until he snatched your phone from your hand. 

“You’re not getting this back until you go outside and do something. Anything. For the love of God,” he pleaded, pulling back quickly. The sudden lack of warmth snapped you out of your haze.

“Oh my God! Gimme!” you helplessly whined.

“Are you five? You know what you have to do to get your phone back.” He slapped your hand away as you tried to steal it back. 

You refrained from punching him, instead narrowing your eyes as he did the same. You both had an unspoken contest until you broke first. His harsh gaze pierced you; he was too intimidating. 

“Fine,” you snapped, making your way from bed to get ready for the day. 

· ──────────────────── ·

There was a small, quiet beach near your childhood home you loved visiting every once in a while. The tranquility of the ocean lapping at the shore always provided you with a feeling of peace. 

Until now.

You had chosen to go out by yourself, much like Taehyun had suggested, but your plan quickly faltered when he reminded you that he would be with you regardless, either glamoured or visible. Seeing as you didn’t necessarily like the idea of him invisibly lurking around, you opted to have him visibly by your side. You’d rather see his judgment rather than feel it from afar. 

So there you were, watching him smother an obnoxious amount of your expensive sunscreen onto his face as if he were a human and not a supernatural being that’s completely unaffected by UV. It’d been a week since he came into your life, or at least made his presence known, and he was already a pain in your ass. 

“I have to maintain my cover somehow.”

“What?” You didn’t know what cover he was trying to maintain, his pesky wings were hidden, and overlooking his outright godly features, he looked perfectly human. 

He did a poor job of rubbing the sunscreen into his skin and for the first time since meeting him, you felt a smile creep on your face. He looked like an idiot. You almost let him be since you were so amused, but you helped him out anyway. Standing on the balls of your feet and cupping his face, you began smoothing the sunscreen on. He held your waist, holding you steady, and you felt nervous from the proximity but you did your best to conceal it. He silently studied you, thinking you looked incredibly adorable as you focused on your small task, your eyes narrowing in concentration and your teeth biting into your soft lips. 

He couldn’t help the way his mouth tugged into a small smile. 

“All done! Now you don’t look like a ghost,” you mused. 

“Thank you,” he snorted, releasing his firm grip. Instinctually, he kept himself hovered around you, though, never really creating a noticeable distance. 

You were thankful he pushed you to leave your apartment, but you knew you could never tell him that. You just knew he was the type to constantly bombard you with ‘I told you so’, and you’d never hear the end of it. 

The rest of the day, he watched as you laid on your blanket and basked in the sunlight, eventually getting up to walk the shoreline. You kept yourself occupied as you searched the sand for pretty shells and dainty rocks, and Taehyun forced himself to keep his distance, not wanting to disturb your peace. This was the calmest he had seen you since he was first assigned and he felt so grateful; he didn’t show it but he couldn’t bear seeing you in pain. Yes, your crying was growing extremely irritating, and yes, the pile of used Kleenex beside your bed was beginning to disgust him, nonetheless, he wanted to see you happy. 

When you stopped to blankly stare at the vast ocean, he could’ve sworn he could feel your pain, the way your heart ached, the way your mind was heavy with despair. The pain he felt wasn’t one of heartbreak though, rather… loneliness. 

In fact, all of your pain stemmed from feeling completely alone. 

He quickly made his way over to your side and grabbed your much smaller hand in his—he wanted you to know you weren’t alone anymore. You didn’t turn to him, rather you kept your eyes trained on the sun beginning to set on the horizon. You leaned your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes, relishing in his warmth and the crisp tide washing over your feet. 

For reasons he still had yet to decipher, he yearned to always be by you, protecting you, making no harm ever came your way again. He tried shaking off the feeling as doing his job properly, but something in the back of his mind told him this was different. 

Something about you was different. 

And he could quite literally feel it in his heart.                                                  

Chapter Two >>                                                                         

[kiwikyuu]

━━━━━━━ the perfect blend ; tendō satori

summary — barista!tendō can't stop thinking about you

word count — 808

genre — headcanon ; coffee shop au, fluff

warning(s) — cursing, not edited

a/n — ahaha okay but can y'all imagine tendo and ushijima as baristas/cashiers at a coffee shop? like ushijima's 6'0 clueless intimidating ass trying to take coffee orders during rush hour? i'm crying real tears right now

so let's say tendo is in college, working at a local coffee shop by campus to make some extra money for his tuition

he usually works the espresso machine but per order of grumpy ushiwaka whose dad owns the coffee company rip, he ends up taking the register for just one day

little did he know though that the first person he'd end up having to serve is someone that he finds absolutely breathtaking that's you boo uwu

you were a classmate in one of his general classes, and after a small group project and being paired with you for a presentation, he had fallen head over heels for you and your little cute quirks

"you're as whipped as the cream we serve," came tsukishima's quiet remark in passing as you came up to the register to place your order

secretly he's happy though

"h - hey y/n"

you were going through your bag searching for your wallet when you heard your name being called, and lo and behold when you saw tendo. you couldn't have gotten more flustered

because spoiler alert: you like him aka the bold red headed guy who shows up to class with treats he's made himself to share too

"i didn't know you worked here," you said, hoping your cheeks were only warm and not noticeably so

he shrugged, hands shaking trying to act nonchalant "yeah, ushijima and me both haha"

*semi awkward silence ensues before manager kuroo sends tendo a text message that reads "get the fuck to work. yer holding up the line with all that bad flirting"*

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

and so began a little ritual between the two of you where tendo takes the register every week according to your schedule so he has the opportunity to talk to you that much longer

if anyone noticed the flush in both of your cheeks every week which even baker lev of all people had noticed they didn't say anything

kuroo even had a bet going with one of the other managers akaashi for how long it would take for y'all to get together kuroo put 20$ on within a month and akaashi scoffed before putting 30$ on within two weeks

honestly you two are so cute

tendo always manages to write something on your paper cup sleeve before handing you your order

literally you're so confused because when did he find the time between taking orders on register and helping tsukishima and rookie barista goshiki with different drinks

little do you know tendo actually has a stash of sleeves he snatched from work that first time he saw you so he can write you messages at home i'm SCREAMING isn't that so cute??

"you mocha me crazy (from ur fav redhead)"

"i cannot espresso how wonderful you are -10do"

"hope u bean well. good luck on ur exams haha -tendoremifasolatido"

without a doubt each one puts a smile on your face because hello??? this is tendo??? he's everything and more

BUT ANYWAY back to your regularly scheduled program the good stuff...

barista tendo plans a whole thing to ask you out which includes roping in stoic ushijima who is surprisingly happy to help "when you're happy, you do well at work and good work means good business according to my father" and baker osamu "what do i get if i help?" "half my tips for the day"

so the day finally comes and kuroo's grumbling because he now owes akaashi 50$

you end up coming in during a slower time for the coffee shop courtesy of tsukishima suggesting that you come in then since it's less busy because tsukishima couldn't resist tendo's bugging is a nice person

"hello y/n. nice to see you today," came ushijima's quiet voice

you smiled. "hey, i didn't know you were working register today."

"ah... yes, i am." silence. "y/n you should try a latte today. they're... very good."

"oh." you nodded as ushijima seemed very motivated today. "okay. i'll take any latte then."

and so tendo started scheming working on your drink while having osamu prepare his part

before long, tendo serves you your order himself in person coming out from behind the counter to where you had sat at a table

a vanilla latte (that ushijima had decided would be good) decorated with a pattern of hearts from the milk foam, a specially baked bread formed in the shape of a heart, but no note

instead, tendo sheepishly looked at you as he set it down and before you could say you hadn't ordered anything besides the coffee

"i like you a latte y/n... do you want to go out with me?"

of course you say yes and maybe after his shift you two go on a small date for some food or something uwu

[curious-menace]

Rogues Starbucks orders

We were meant to grab coffee to go yesterday, but we spent so long in the hospital we didn't have time :(

I wanted to write this while I was sipping my latte but 🤷🏻‍♀️

Anyway here's what the rogues would order from starbucks.

Heads up, I live in the UK so we might have a few region specific drinks that idk if y'all have in America.

Penguin

Wouldn't be caught dead in Starbucks.he hates chain coffee stores with a passion. Their coffee is OK. Just ok. But their tea is swill water to him and that's usually what he drinks. He likes local tea shops that do regional varieties of tea like Belfast brew here or Suki tea across the UK. If he absolutely MUST go to to Starbucks then he likes something simple that's hard to get wrong like English breakfast or earl grey. None of the fancy herbal blends. Usually sends other people to get his drink for him but never gives them enough information to get it right

Twoface

Two face is pretty straightforward with his Starbucks orders. He likes that no matter where in the world he goes, if there's a Starbucks, he can pop in for a cuppa and he knows what he'll be getting and how it tastes. Cutesie one off stores are nice and all but why have you put a perfectly good coffee in the skin of an avocado? Harvey usually just takes a large pikeplace fresh brew but Harv likes things things so full of sugar they can't technically call them coffee like a chocolate marshmallow s'mores frappuccino. Harvey usually orders ahead, in his da days he'd pick his order up on the way to work. Harv however likes to shoot the breeze with the cashier, relax , read the paper and actually take his time to enjoy the drink.

Ivy

Dislikes Starbucks on principal but is still a sucker for their drinks from her PhD days. She's in there all the time but she's not happy about it. Vividly remembers stumbling in to the Otisburg Starbucks in Gotham at 4am the day before her dissertation was due and ordering "as much espresso as you (the barista) can legally give me". Nowadays she usually sticks to the herbal teas and iced teavana blends. She still has an occasional espresso for old times sake.shes always in early so she likes to lounge on the sofas and chat while they open up and brew her a fresh pot of tea

Scarecrow

Spends a lot of time here. Probably passing by ivy as they look at eachother with the kind of dead eyes unique to PhD students/postgrads. for his fabled love of psl he really only likes them when he's in a certain mood. He broke into the Bowery Starbucks and stole a bottle of the syrup so he can make them at home. Jon doesn't have a sweet tooth, he takes his coffee with milk no sugar. Doesn't like espresso but will drink it to keep himself going. His everyday order is a tall blond roast with a splash of full-fat milk and occasionally some extra vanilla flavouring .Hes pretty friendly, all things considered. The Starbucks closest to his hideout has never been robbed, the bariatas save him a table near the back so he can work uninterrupted. Sometimes hell even help the college age bariatas with their work, give them feedback from a professor and so on.

Riddler

COCO! 99% of the time he's in there it's for some sort of hot chocolate: white, peppermint, salted caramel, truffle even a good ol'fashion hazelnut flavoured Coco is good by him. He's not a big coffee drinker, he'd prefer to just be well rested ( yea wouldn't we all, Eddie) but if he is in buying a little pick-me-up he gets a mocha or orders a hot chocolate and espresso separately so he can mix them himself at his leisure. He's got plenty of cash, the bariatas love it when he's in BC he tips well and often buys for the whole line behind him.

Harley

The rumors are true, Harley is the worst person for ordering stuff. Thankfully she's not like the joker, she won't get mad if they don't have what she wants, but she will ask if they can order it in "just for lil old me?" She likes ordering frappuccinos from other countries like the jelly mango, the triple coffee and the pop'zel coffee. she often orders secret menu stuff but every now and then she'll just say "surprise me" and the bariatas can go hog wild. The Gotham Starbucks now offer the "dark night"- an all black coconut milk drink with layers of pinapple and lemon zest on top. The last laugh- an ube drink with strawberry sauce topped with green whipped cream and the madlove- a pink lemonade and blue tea mixed drink .The staff don't mind because she's always boasting about them on Instagram and let's people pet her hyenas.

Woo! That was a long one. It's inspiring me to make some actual batman themed drinks 🤔

Or at the very least, draw them.

Got any questions for me? Send me an ask our HMU with a DM!

[uwu-shinsou]

Stakeout

Summary: After an unexpected breakup, pro hero Ground Zero is the last person you expect to be comforting you. And also conducting a stakeout in your living room.

Warning(s): Language, themes of breakups

Pairing: Pro Hero!Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Genre: Hurt/comfort, I guess slight angst?, light fluff, Bakugo tries to be comforting

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Okay first off idk about the whole legality of a hero secretly having a stakeout in your home but let’s just IGNORE that pls and thnx LOL. I was scrolling through AUs and saw one that was like “im an assassin conducting a stakeout in your house and you weren’t supposed to be home until next week” and I said okay but what if it was pro hero Bakugo and BAM HERE WE ARE!! So pls enjoy my first baku fic, I tried to make him just as fiery but also slightly more mature since he be a PRO in this 😌

You gotta be honest, the last thing you were expecting to come home to was a famous pro hero conducting a stakeout in your living room.

You hadn’t even planned to be home at all this long weekend. You and your boyfriend had planned a weekend trip together, driven all the way to the hotel, only for him to promptly break up with you and confess that he’d been seeing another girl for almost the entirety of your relationship. You’d dumped him, kicked his butt out of the car, and promptly driven two hours back home, trying your best not to cry over it.

You’d lugged your suitcase up five flights of stairs to your door, fumbling with your house key before sliding it into the lock. You tiredly stepped into the dark apartment, closing your door behind you with a sense of finality.

While locking the door, you began to mumble out the stream of consciousness that had been running through your mind since the moment you left the hotel.“If I ever see his face again I’m seriously gonna break his nose. How dare he even-” 

You walked a few steps forward into the living room, only to freeze up and let out a screech as the dark outline of a person moved from your couch. Your hand shot out behind you, and the metal baseball bat that you kept near the door flew through the air and into your hand. You took a prepared stance, ready to bash the intruder’s head in with your weapon.

“You have three seconds to tell me who you are before I start swinging!” You hiss, readying the bat.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” The darkened figure said, taking a step towards.

“No! No, do not come any closer to me. I’ve had a very bad day and I will take my anger out on you!” You threaten, pointing that bat at the intruder to act as a barrier.

“Hey! Don’t do anything fucking rash! I’m just turning on the light, okay?” In a moment you were blinking into the soft light of the room, gaping at the man who you’d almost just clobbered with a bat.

Your arms slowly lowered, the tip of the bat resting on the floor as you blinked in disbelief. “...Ground Zero?” You asked dumbly.

“Yeah, that’s me,” He answered curtly. “Now what the hell are you doing here?”

You looked at light haired hero in disbelief before glancing around the room. “Uhhh, this is my apartment? We’re standing in my living room, and you were sitting on my couch. I think I’m the one who should be asking what you’re doing here.” You slung the bat over your shoulder and glared at him, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach from the fact that one of Japan’s top pro heroes was standing in your living room. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” He grumbled, walking back to the couch and grabbing his phone. “WHAT THE HELL?” Ground Zero yelled as his phone flew out of his hand and into yours. His eyes closed and he huffed out an angry sigh. “Fucking telekisnesis. I forgot that was your quirk.”

Your mouth opened in surprise and you clutched his phone to your chest. “How do you know what my quirk is?”

Ground Zero opened his eyes and glared harshly at you. Questioning and antagonizing the most temperamental pro hero was probably not my smartest move you thought as he began stalking towards you.

“F/n L/n, early 20s, telekisnesis quirk, barista and occasional babysitter, lives alone, has been dating her boyfriend for five months, and, most importantly, isn’t supposed to be home for four days because she was on a trip with her shitty ass boyfriend!” He finished his statement with a growl, and his red eyes felt as if they were burning a hole in your face.

You averted your gaze, shuffling your feet as you mumbled, “Well you’re right that he is a shitty ass boyfriend.”

“Listen, I don’t have tme for your drama. According to our intel, you shouldn’t be here until Monday night,” He said accusingly.

“Well I didn’t want me to be back this early either!” You said, letting go of the bat and sending it back to it’s spot by the door. Your hands tightened into fists in frustration and you pushed past the intimidating hero, making your way into the kitchen.

“Hey- don’t you fucking walk away from me!” Ground Zero stomped behind you, staring in disbelief as you started rummaging through your pantry. “I asked you a question!”

You turned around to face him, holding a full package of cookies. “Guess what, Ground Zero? I don’t care!” You exclaimed, opening the package. “Honestly? I don’t even care why you’re in my apartment! Go ahead, make yourself at home! Sit on my couch, eat my food, watch my TV, it doesn’t even matter! The past five months of my life have been a fucking lie, so please just leave me alone to cry in my room and eat my feelings away.” You shoved a cookie into your mouth and tried to step past him. The hero side stepped into your path, and no matter which way you tried to go, he was in front of you. You were just about ready to take a swing at him when he started talking.

“Y/n,” He said. Hearing him use your name startled you enough to stop you in place. He huffed out a quick sigh before speaking. “We’ve been tracking down a rising villainous organization for half a year now. Eveytime that we get close to making the bust, they pick up and move operations. This time, we’re one step ahead of them.” He gently took your arm and guided you back into the living room and over to the window. “We have to take extra precautions when dealing with them, since any sign that the police are on to them causes them to run.” He points out the window to the building next door. It was a squat, rectangular warehouse of four stories. With you apartment being on the fifth floor, it had the perfect view in through a poorly covered sky light. 

The pro hero switched out the lights in the room, allowing you to see clearly out and into the other building. You crouched down to get an even better look, and Ground Zero lowered himself down next to you. He handed you a pair of binoculars and pointed to the left side of the skylight, where you could see a group of people working at a long table. Looking through the binoculars brought the figures into clearer view.

“Ground Zero, are they-”

“Bakugo,” He said, interrupting you. “Just- Bakugo is fine, okay?”

You glanced at him in surprise before looking back into the adjacent building. “Alright then, Bakugo. Are they making-” You squinted and focused harder on the objects lying on the table. “Support items?”

“Yeah that’s right,” He responded. “A black market organization for support items to supply to villains. We’ve been through hell trying to track the weapons back to them, but we had a breakthrough a few weeks ago.”

You hummed in thought, shoving a cookie in your mouth before offering one to the pro hero. Bakugo’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but he accepted it nonetheless.

“So you needed my apartment to finish getting your dirt on them, and then you planned on doing your big bust?”

“More or less, yeah. And being here,” He gestured vaguely to your apartment. “Was critical because that skylight was in the perfect place to capture incriminating photos of them doing deals earlier tonight. We’re fucking finally ready to finish this.”

“And how many heroes are on this job, exactly?”

Bakugo held up a hand, counting on his fingers as he thought through it. You hid a smile behind your hand at the gesture. “I guess a dozen or so, plus the local police force. There’s a good number of those shitty criminals in there, but we’ve faced a lot worse.”

You sighed, eating another cookie. “Well, sorry that my breakup got in the way of your important hero plans. I could leave I guess, maybe stay with a friend for the weekend-”

“Shut the hell up, I’m not gonna kick you out of your own damn apartment,” He said, rising from his spot on the floor beside you and going back to his supplies laid out on the couch. “I’m not exactly a very patient person so the bust is happening within an hour anyways. There are heroes and police stationed all around in the other buildings and streets, so I won’t be in your hair for that much longer.”

“Oh,” Was all you said, slowly putting a cookie in your mouth. 

The hero stopped fiddling with his supplies and plopped onto the couch, his furrowed eyes meeting your gaze. You raised an eyebrow in question, holding out the cookie package in a silent offering.

“No that’s not- did you say ‘breakup’?”

You huffed out a humorless laugh. “Uh huh. Bastard was cheating on me for basically our entire relationship. I guess I just wasn’t good enough or something.” You bit the inside of your lip and looked down at your lap, furiously trying not to cry. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough, I definitely do not need him to see me crying right now.

“But don’t worry about me, I should just leave you to get ready to, er- arrest some criminals and- do your hero stuff.” You quickly stood up, clutching the cookie package to your chest, and tried to make your way past him while hiding you face. “I’ll just- go sit in my room so I don’t bother you.”

You’d almost made it to the hallway when you suddenly bumped into something that was definitely not your furniture.

You let out an “oof” as you collided with Bakugo’s chest, his hands landing on your shoulders to steady you. You glanced up at him, and his face showed he was just as surprised as you were. He then realized he was still touching you, and took his hands off your shoulders like it had burned him.

“Listen- it’s shitty that he did that to you, and there’s no way you deserved it,” Bakugo said, and the absolute sincerity of it made you burst into tears.

Bakugo started to panic then. “Oh shit, what’s wrong? Did I say it wrong or-” He cut himself off as you vehemently started shaking your head, trying to rub the tears away.

“No no no no,” You said, assuring him. You sniffled, desperately trying to stop your crying. “I guess that I just-” A fresh wave of tears hit you and started rolling down your face, making Bakugo hover his hands in front of him, unsure of what to do. 

“I know that I’m not very good at this, but if you want I can go and beat the shit out of him or something,” He said, making you laugh as you wiped your face.

“I was trying to say that it just- meant a lot to me, that you said that,” you said as you started to calm down. “I didn’t really believe it before, that I didn’t deserve that to happen to me, but when your favorite pro hero says it to you…” You shrugged, giving him a wobbly smile. “Maybe it is true.”

He gave you an assuring smile that you could almost call a smirk. “Well you better believe it, honey, because it’s the truth.” He paused, smugly crossing his arms. “So, your favorite hero, huh?”

“Ahaha,” you felt your face go warm, and you gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorta kinda yeah.” The admission seemed to surprise him, like he didn’t know how to respond.

The beeping of Bakugo’s phone in the living room drew the two of you out of the moment. He bumped his shoulder playfully into yours as he passed. “Glad to hear that I’m your favorite.”

You scrambled to the kitchen to put away your cookies and splash a bit of water on your face as he answered the phone. You could just make out his conversation over the running water.

“What’s up, nerd?... Yeah, I know. I got all the pictures we needed... Good. Everything’s still quiet in there… Got it, I’ll see you in a few.” 

He hung up his phone just as you edged into the living room, watching him glance out the window into the criminal’s headquarters. He let out a huff of a sigh as he started packing up his things. 

You wandered in a little bit further. “So it’s time, then?” You asked. He looked up at you as he finished his packing.

“Yeah, time to beat some villain asses,” He said, shouldering his bag. “You gonna be alright?”

You gave him a soft smile. “I will be. I already feel a lot lighter, like the weight of a whole ass grown man has been released from my body.” Bakugo let out a snort of laughter before falling quiet. “Really, I will be.” You reassured him.

“Of course. But I was serious, if you ever need me to go and knock him around-”

You snickered at him. “Very hero-like.”

“Hell yeah it is,” He responded as you walked him towards the door, opening it for him. “Also maybe don’t go around telling people this happened, ‘cause I’ll probably get my ass kicked for sharing classified information.”

“My lips are sealed, pinky promise,” You said, holding your pinky out towards him. He scoffed but linked his pinky with yours nonetheless. “Good luck, Bakugo.” You started pulling your hand back before he grabbed it and pressed something into it.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” He said with a wink before making his way downstairs and out into the night. You slowly closed the door, leaning back against it and taking a deep breath before opening your hand.

Inside was a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled across it, and the words “your fav hero” written below.

You may have looked out your window a little more than usual during the rest of the night.

[jaa1682-27]

The Incident

(GIF NOT MINE.) 

Author’s Note: The title is the working title until I come up with something else. Welcome to my Tumblr and welcome all!!! This is a Frankie Morales x Female Reader fic inspired by one of my favorite movies, While You Were Sleeping. This is my first Reader fic, but if your interested, check out the other fics on my Tumblr!!

Chapter 1-The Accident

“Baby, All I want for Christmas is You…”

Mariah Carey blared from the speakers above. While it was a great song, if you worked in the small, local bookstore/coffee shop as you did, every time you heard this song, you wanted to poke your eyes out and drown your ears in hot coffee as you had heard it for the 5th time that morning.

It was 3 weeks until Christmas, and while everyone was nicer and jollier than usual, you were dreading each day as Christmas got closer. You loved Christmas…until 2 years ago.

xxx

You were celebrating Christmas with your Grandma, your only living relative and the kind, sweet woman who raised you, until she collapsed in the kitchen as she pulled out the Special Holiday Roast that she made. You found out that night that she had stage 4 breast cancer and the cancer had already spread to other parts of her body.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t even afford the chemo and other therapies as you had been laid off from your publishing job when the company went bankrupt and you still had $40,000 worth of student debt to pay off. Luckily, your Grandmother’s longtime friend, Pam Greenburg, owned a local bookstore and had just opened up a coffeeshop inside of the store. You were one of her first hires and she happily gave you as many extra shifts and overtime once the store started doing well.

However, it wasn’t enough. Despite you, Pam, her husband, and even your best friend, Cassie’s efforts to hold fundraisers, bake sales, yard sales, etc., it was just too late and your grandmother was too far gone. Plus, she’d rather use the money to help you financially as well as plan her funeral arrangements.

Then that July of the following year, she passed. Pam and Cassie were with you every step of the way and you were grateful for their friendship. The following Christmas was bittersweet for you. You had your wonderful friends who made sure to get you out of the house so that you wouldn’t be alone, but you felt like an outsider around Pam’s husband, kids, and grandkids as well as Cassie’s boyfriend and her family.

You even attempted hooking up with Cassie’s boyfriend’s cousin, but you quickly realized once he finished and asked you to leave his apartment immediately afterwards that feeling alone was better than feeling used.

Xxx

So, here you were, back again a year later, dreading Christmas to come. You were dreading it even more this year because Cassie was going to Hawaii with her boyfriend’s family and Pam was flying out the day before Christmas Eve to be there for the birth of her youngest son’s firstborn.

So it was just going to be you, your cat, Leroy, a tv dinner, and Netflix. Granted, that was how most of your evenings, days off, and weekends went anyways. You were in a rut but you didn’t know how to get out of it.

None of the publishing jobs you applied to were hiring, and you couldn’t afford to move out of the rental property Pam’s husband leased to you at a heavily discounted rate, not with your paycheck, at least.

Day in, day out, Get up, feed cat, feed self, work, feed self/talk to Cassie on her lunch break, back to work, pick up possible second shift, go home, order takeout/warm up tv dinner/maybe cook something, feed cat, watch Netflix, go to bed.

Rinse and repeat. Your life for the past year and a half.

The only bright spot in your day walked in about three and a half months ago (not that you were counting). He looked about a good decade or more older than you, but you were almost 30 so age wasn’t really a factor.

He had the kindest, warmest brown eyes you had ever seen, sweet, kissable lips, a jawline that set his face just right, a sharp, hook nose that would look horrible on anyone else but only added to his appeal, and a 70’s porn stashe with just the right amount of scruff around his mouth and jaw that gave him a rugged sexiness. Dark, unruly hair constantly stuck out from different angles underneath the green baseball cap he wore as if it was permanently glued to his head, but you smiled on the day you noticed that it seemed to curl a bit at the nape of his neck.

You two had only exchanged pleasantries, but in your mind, you had planned your first date, kiss, sloppily making out with him on your couch after the third date, and eventually your wedding. You didn’t know why; you were just drawn to him.

He also seemed like a kind man as he always held the door for whomever walked through, he would let others skip ahead of him in line, and constantly over tipped you. Realistically, you only knew two things about him-his name was Frankie and he liked his coffee black, with 2 creams and 1 sugar. Still, it didn’t stop you from daydreaming about him during the day and fantasizing about him at night.

Xxx

2 weeks and 4 days until Christmas, everything changed. The day started off routine, you got up, fed the cat, fed yourself, went to work.

Today, though you were here for the early morning shift around 7 AM, and to your surprise, Frankie was here too.

Hmm, that’s odd, he’s never this early, you thought, as he usually made his way in around 9-9:30. You shrugged it off and went about your usual business, taking orders and collecting the money.

Frankie finally came up the counter, slight bags under his eyes as if he has been up all night. You noticed the slight slump in his shoulders and he barely made eye contact with you, keeping his head down.  

Very off from his usual, shy but friendly demeanor that he had always had with you. Nonetheless, you took his drink order, and wrote his name on the cup. Except this time you bit your lip as you debated writing your number on his cup.

That would be stupid, he might be married-or have a girlfriend!!! Or a boyfriend…or both!!!

But…you hadn’t seen a ring on his finger, but that didn’t really mean much these days.

“Don’t let the fear of striking out, keep you from playing the game,” your grandmother’s voice whispered in your mind.

And, so, while nervous butterflies floated around in your stomach, you took the leap, and wrote your name and number under his name on the cup before sending it off to the barista.

You turned back to Frankie, who was looking down at his phone with a frown, and told him the total. He nodded and gave you a 50 dollar bill.

When you tried to give him the change, he said quietly, “Keep the change,” before heading over to the pickup line. Immediately afterwards, another girl came to relive you so that you could tend to the dining room.

You decided that today you would try to give him his change back as it was way more than what he usually gave. You quickly realized that he was not in the store a few minutes too late and chased after him, but he was already outside, crossing the clear intersection.

“Hey, wait!” You called out, and then it seemed as if time slowed down and sped up at the same time.

In the middle of the street, Frankie finally turned to you, an annoyed, yet puzzled look on his face, as a delivery truck ran the light, turning on the corner quickly, only to skid on a small slick of ice.

The truck side swiped him, and he fell to the ground, his body and head hitting the street with a loud smack, his coffee cup rolling around as hot coffee spilled around him.

The truck screeched to a stop as you and another bystander ran to Frankie’s aide. The bystander, a tall man in a fresh grey suit, pulled out his phone to call the paramedics as you rolled him over on his side to check him.

You were no nurse or EMT, but you wanted to make sure that he was okay. You gently patted his cheek, but he didn’t stir. You let out a breath of relief as his chest rose and fell.

A short while later, it seemed as if you were now on autopilot, a mere bystander to the next few hours of your life. When the ambulance and police arrived, you answered the questions numbly, they even tried to give you a blanket, but you weren’t the one that had been side-swiped by a truck. Pam gave her statement, and as you watched Frankie be loaded into the ambulance, you couldn’t help but worry about him.

“Maybe you should go with him. Make sure that he’s okay? I’ll cover for you,” Pam told you as she patted your arm gently.

You nodded silently, and the paramedics allowed you to ride in the ambulance with him. However, when you arrived at the hospital, he was whisked away to the emergency room. You tried to join them, but a doctor stopped you and said, “Sorry, but unless you’re family or a legal representative for the patient, you can’t come back here.”

He walked back behind the doors, both of them swinging shut in your face as they whisked Frankie away. You sighed, defeated, and decided to wait in the lobby and try again in a bit. As you walked, head down, your mind replaying the day’s events, you mumbled under your breath, “I was gonna marry that man.”

Little did you know, a nearby nurse with sweet eyes and bright orange hair had overhead you. She sighed in pity and said quietly, “Oh, sweetie.”

[sandersstudies]

Espressoly for You - Chapter One

Coffeeshop AU, you all wanted it, and I delivered. Hope there’s more coming but you guys know I’m historically unreliable with regular updates so here’s hoping! No trigger warnings for the chapter, just good clean coffee. 

***

Virgil was halfway inside the fridge when he heard the bell on the front entrance ring. He scooped a jug of milk under each arm, slammed the fridge door with his foot, and shuffled awkwardly back into the cafe. 

Logan was at the register, making small-talk with Wendy as she ordered her two usual black coffees. He glanced up with a split-second smirk as Virgil emerged from the storeroom. 

“Will that be all for you, today?” Logan asked.

“Yes, thank you, dear,” Wendy said, fumbling in her change purse. “Oh, wait, I’m so sorry, do you have the blueberry muffins today?”

“We do,” Logan said. “They only came out of the oven an hour ago.”

“I’ll take two,” Wendy said. “My grandkids love your muffins.” 

Logan turned around to wrap the muffins and stole another stare at Virgil, who ducked to hide his face in the mini-fridge as he put away the milk. He made a show of rearranging every jug inside so the labels faced out, and Wendy was toddling out of the cafe by the time he stood back up.

“You sure were in a rush to put away the milk,” Logan said.

“Just trying to get stocking out of the way,” Virgil said. 

“I don’t think so.”

“Think what you want.”

“You’re waiting for your boyfriend to come back.”

Virgil felt his face flush hot, and ducked back down to rearrange the milk all over again. “He is not my boyfriend, and if you ever suggest anything like that…” He hoped his glare, flashed over the top of the fridge door, finished the sentence for him. 

“Okay, okay,” Logan said, turning to stare out the front windows. “Oh, there he is now!” 

Virgil winced as he thumped the back of his head against the inside of the fridge. He rubbed his scalp as he stood up more slowly and saw that there was no-one in front of the store at all. Logan had a self-satisfied grin on his face that Virgil would have liked to wipe off. 

“It’s perfectly alright to like someone,” Logan said. “Have you finished sorting the fridge by the Dewey decimal system?

“I’ve never said one thing about that guy,” Virgil retorted, ignoring the sarcasm of the question. 

“And that’s exactly why I know you like him,” Logan said. “You love to gossip about customers but every time he’s in here you get awfully quiet. And you can’t ring in his order without stuttering.”

Virgil was guilty of that. Of course, it didn’t matter. That was one order he had memorized by heart. Large cinnamon oat milk latte with extra cinnamon-sugar on top. 

Logan strolled to the espresso machine and started steaming the milk for his usual café au lait. 

“I’m going on my break,” he said. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

Virgil couldn’t think of a retort as Logan finished his drink and vanished into the storeroom. The door swung shut behind him. Virgil took a cloth and began to wipe down the counters, and kept one eye on the windows. He’d finished half the cafe when Terry, a regular, appeared in the door of his office building across the street. Virgil was already pulling the espresso for Terry’s usual americano by the time the bell at the front of the cafe chimed. It felt good knowing the regulars and being confident with the espresso machine. It had taken weeks before Logan trusted him in the cafe alone, and months before Virgil trusted himself. Now, everything was second-nature. Virgil handed Terry his drink and, when Terry swiped his card, Virgil reminded him that with only three more visits he’d have another free drink.

“And that should be about this time tomorrow,” Terry joked. Virgil mustered an authentic smile as Terry chuckled himself out the door, americano in hand. Terry could be counted on to visit two, sometimes three times a day, morning and lunchtime, and often as he left work just before the cafe closed. 

Virgil’s cinnamon-latte visitor was, unfortunately, not so reliable. Virgil didn’t work on Mondays or Tuesdays, and Cinnamon Boy

Oh no, I can’t start calling him that.

Cinnamon Guy never came in on weekends. He and his posse dropped by after afternoon class during the week before taking the bus back home, or at least Virgil had picked up that much from “accidentally” overheard conversations while sweeping. At least one of the group was almost always wearing the local university’s swag, so he knew which college they attended too. Sometimes they propped up study sessions on one of the cafe tables, notebooks sprawling. At least one of them was studying science, judging from the textbooks, but Virgil wasn’t sure which one. 

Over the past year of working in the cafe, he’d gotten better at starting small-talk at the register and over the espresso machine, but he always seemed to clam up when that group was around, only managing to stutter out a greeting and a total, if that. The three boys were almost always wrapped up in their own conversation, though, so it didn’t matter much. 

It was Wednesday now. Logan said he’d seen them on Monday, but there was no sign of them yet. A pair of girls, one of them wearing a university sweatshirt, appeared outside the window and came inside. The bell jingled and Virgil found himself spacing out as he rang up and made their lattes.  One of the girls tipped a dollar, and they both left. 

The lull between the lunch rush and after-school rush was dragging on, and Virgil realized he couldn’t wait for the unpredictability of spring break. Next Friday, university classes took a week off, and students in town with no class filled coffee shops during the day, and house parties at night. Virgil poured himself a black coffee. This job was giving him caffeine tolerance the likes of which he’d never imagined. The largest cup the cafe offered, filled to the brim with strong french-pressed coffee, barely lifted his eyelids anymore. During lulls, he and Logan had been known to take shots of espresso like liquor as a daily ritual. 

Virgil sipped his coffee absentmindedly, and hunched behind the register to begin a doodle on the side of an empty coffee cup. The curvature made clean lines impossible, but he managed a rough sketch of the building across the street, and was just beginning to outline windows when the cafe bell chimed. Virgil straightened.

“I told him I don’t care anyway, spring break starts next week.” 

“You’ll care when finals week creeps up on you.” 

“Well, it’s not finals week now, is it?”

Virgil fumbled for something to do so he wouldn’t seem to be spying on the conversation, and turned to the coffee pot immediately behind the register to press buttons that did nothing. 

“It’s a difficult class, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I took it last semester, it wasn’t that hard.”

When the three boys approached the register Virgil pretended to have just noticed them.

“Oh, hello, what can I get started for you guys?”

The first boy, clad in a leather jacket despite the growing spring warmth, didn’t even have to look at the menu. 

“Large iced coffee with light caramel, light cream, please.” He was already sliding his card into the reader, having heard his total many times before.

“Great, and looks like you only need one more visit before you’ll have a free coffee reward!” Interacting with customers using canned lines sure had gotten easier with time. It was only difficult when a customer tripped him up… Virgil made direct eye contact with the second boy to avoid looking at the first one.

“These two will both be on one ticket,” the boy said. He was dressed more practically in a university t-shirt of white and red, with clashing oversized athletic shorts in black and green, and the logo of a local high school. “I’ll have a black coffee with five sugars.” He extended his fist and dropped a wadded-up five and what seemed like a pound of coins into Virgil’s outstretched hand. “And whatever he’s having. Keep the change, bro,” he said, slapping the other boy on the shoulder before he strode away. He took a sugar packet from the condiment station. 

“Large cinnamon oat milk latte with extra cinnamon-sugar on top,” the other boy said as Virgil kept his gaze affixed to the register screen.

“Eight-fifty,” Virgil muttered, unfolding the five and beginning to count out the coins. He felt the customer’s eyes on him, tried to count faster, lost his place, and started over. He tried to muster a haphazard comment about the nice weather, failed, and swallowed.

Thankfully, most of the coins were quarters, and there were still almost two dollars left over afterward, what seemed like an hour later, though it was really less than a minute. Virgil extended them and tried to drop them into the other boy’s hand neatly, but two quarters clanged onto the counter, and one went rolling in a dramatic run for escape.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” Virgil said, trying to slap the quarters under his hands. The other boy moved at the same time, and Virgil felt their hands brush together on the counter.

“No, no, it’s cool,” he said. “I was just going to make it a tip, anyway.” He let the coins clink into the jar.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s my brother’s money anyway. Thanks!” He raised his hand in a friendly salute before hoisting his backpack higher onto his shoulder and striding toward the table with the other two boys.

“Gosh, Roman, embarrassing the barista by dropping shit everywhere,” the brother said  before emptying his sugar packet directly onto his tongue. Roman. Virgil would file that away. He started steaming the milk and pulling the espresso shots for Roman’s latte. It was a strange name, but better than thinking of “Cinnamon Guy.” Waiting for the shots, he poured coffee for the other two boys and set them on the counter, where they retrieved them. 

He constructed the latte a little slower than usual, and noticed when he set the cup on the counter that Roman was facing away from him. Virgil mustered his voice and said, “Hey, I’ve got that latte here for you.”

Roman turned around. “Hey, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Roman turned away again, and as Virgil began searching for something to do with his hands, Logan emerged from the door to the back room.

“Busy?” he asked with a knowing grin. “Anything interesting while I was gone?”

“I’m going to brew fresh coffee.”

Logan smiled knowingly.

[writingismyhappytime]

Coffee Shop Crush

Warnings: None! :)

Intro: You own a small coffee shop in the city, known for its warm atmosphere and excellent coffee. Your favorite customer is Ricky, a musician and aspiring horror novelist, who likes to bounce his ideas off of you while you cater to his caffeine addiction. 

It's the slowest time of day in the little coffee shop you run on the corner, and you're grateful for the break in customers. You appreciate their business, and the ad that the local paper did for you that really brought the influx of business, but it's also been a little overwhelming and tiring too.

It's a small cafe, but your coffee is to die for and you make sure there's a warm, friendly atmosphere for everyone who enters. A lot of people like to find a nice booth or table and enjoy the free internet, which is fine so long as they order from the menu or request something to drink.

You're especially fond of the musician that's also an aspiring horror novelist. You know he has a book of short stories out, and you enjoy taking his order when he's in the mood to bounce his ideas off of you. You find him interesting, and he always orders large coffees that are mostly cream and sugar.

You've gotten into the habit of writing little optimistic notes on the side of his to-go cups, which at first you thought was cute but when you really thought about it, might be embarassing.

Still, you've kept it up, and he's never commented on it, so you don't think he minds. Maybe it's a nice pick up when he's getting stressed, you just hope it makes his day a little better.

Your eyes flick to the glass door as the bell tings, brightening as the familiar dark haired man steps inside. He has his bag at his side where you know his laptop is, and his black hair frames his face as he heads towards the counter where you stand, returning your welcoming smile.

"Hey, Waverly," he greets you easily, coming to a stop in front of the brown bar, his eyes flicking to the menu highlighted above you as if he doesn't already know what he wants. "How's business today?"

"Busy as usual." You reply, your painted nails poised above the cash register keys, prepared to type in his normal order. He comes in just about every other day, ordering the same pot of coffee or sometimes he'll surprise you by getting an espresso, although you think it's just to keep you on your toes.

"I'll have the usual," he says after a moment, already sliding you his card.

"A pot or cup?"

"A pot."

"Intend on doing a little writing then?" You ask lightly as you swipe his card on the register before handing it back, noticing the coldness of his fingers as they brush yours; you know it's chilly outside, but he's bundled up in a black hoodie and matching beanie pulled almost so low you can't see his blue eyes.

"A little." he tucks his card in his wallet. "I've hit a bit of a block, so I'm hoping the caffeine will help."

"Well, I'll have it right up for you," you smile at him, a genuine one that he always appreciates. Ricky found this little cafe by accident, but he adored it the moment he stepped inside.

You're an independent woman, who opened her own shop and is no doubt doing well. You're nice, and the smile you give everyone seems sincere, like you're actually happy to see them and want them to feel at ease; it's why it's his favorite place to visit when he wants to write, he always feels like he can focus and you have a wonderful habit of refilling his pot of coffee when it's getting low without his even asking.

You're so attentive.

You're always working, so he's not sure if you're married or seeing anyone, you don't wear a wedding ring --- not that he's looked or anything. He likes talking to you when you have time, when you visit his table to make sure all is well or just to chat. Your input is appreciated when he bounces his morbid ideas off of you, and you don't seem phased by them either. He's been tempted to bring you his book as just a gift, so you can read it and give him some feedback.

He likes writing, about dark and dangerous, morbid and chilling, something to really give someone a shiver down their spine. His newest short story is set in a cafe much like this one, with a mysterious barista that has enchanting coffee that's so good no one can help but keep coming back.

That's all he has so far, he's not quite sure how to spin it to make it darker, but that's what he's determined to work on today.

He makes his way to his favorite round table near the back, out of the way of typical traffic and normally unnoticed. He sits down easily in his chair, pulling out his laptop, settling down and searching for his earbuds. You don't play horrible music, but he just has his own preferences; plus, people don't normally approach if you're listening to music, or at least they think you are.

Half the time he doesn't turn them on.

He glances up from the table, watching as you make his coffee. He's never tasted anything so good, so perfectly balanced that it's not bitter or weak, but perfect. Once he gets a taste of the brew, he knows he's in for a good day, and he misses it when he's on tour or not in town.

It's a few minutes before you bring his pot over, and he notices a little heavier stream of customers compared to usual. You've hired another barista too, and you let them take the orders as you make your way to his table.

"Here you go," you say brightly, sitting the pot on an electric warmer as you place a white cup beside it.

"Thanks. You seem busier than usual," he gestures at the line growing at the counter as you pour his cup full, adding a few cubes of sugar and half the cup full of cream, just like how he likes it; he didn't realize you knew him that well, or he was that predictable.

"Oh, yes. The newspaper did an article on the cafe, so we've been getting some good business. I've had to hire a few more people to help out." You say, glancing over your shoulder, strands of your soft hair falling from the messy bun at your nape. "Do you have anything nice planned for the day?"

"Not really, just to try to work on this some." Ricky shrugs his black clad shoulders, propping his pale chin on his hand. You know your other customers steer clear of him most times, considering he's also covered in tattoos from neck to fingertips. You don't mind, it works well for him, and being in a band you suppose they also have an aesthetic to keep as well.

You yourself only have one tattoo, and it's of the planets running up your forearm. You love astrology, anything to do with the planets and the stars --- your dad even bought you a telescope as a child and you two would always look up every night, trying to find a shooting star or a new constellation.

He's gone now, but it was his love of coffee that made you want to open your own shop, and so far it's been working out.

"Hey, let me ask you something." Ricky says, getting your attention. You look at him, seeing his focus is on his computer screen. "If you were to put a secret ingredient in your drinks, what would it be? I mean, that makes the customers keep coming back?"

You blink at him, not quite sure how to answer. "Oh, I don't know. Extra pumps of vanilla chai maybe?"

Ricky chuckles. "Let's say you were a witch, and you have to do something to make your coffee taste so good. What would it be?"

You purse your lips thoughtfully, crossing your arms across your plain blue shirt, a black apron tied around your waist.

"Well, I imagine I would brew the coffee in the back in a big cauldron and chant over it," you say jokingly, shrugging your shoulders. "Maybe with a pointy hat and everything."

Interesting.

He can make that work.

He just nods his head, his fingers suddenly moving swiftly across his keyboard, so you take that as a sign to leave. You shake your head as you make your way back to the counter, seeing your new girl starting to look a little panicked.

You take over, quickly ringing up orders and giving smiles. An hour passes and your favorite customer is still furiously typing away at his work, not even noticing when you bring him a new pot of coffee and a bagel on the house; you figure he has to be getting snacky at this point.

It's another thirty minutes before he decides he's done as much work as he can, ordering a to go cup for the rest of his drink. You slip the lid off of the plastic cup, writing your favorite quote on the rim in black pen before heading to his table, hoping he leaves before he even notices the note you leave him.

"Here you go," you pour what's left of his coffee into the cup, making sure to top it off and add the cream and sugar how he likes. "I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow?"

You don't mean to end it on a question, but you like seeing him come in. Your heart sort of jitters, and it's not due to the fact you're around caffeine all day, either. You have a silly little coffee shop crush on him, your favorite regular, and it's not just because he's good looking in a sort of dark and exhausted type of way, either.

He seems nice, and he's friendly to you and your staff, leaves them good tips. You've never seen him be ill towards anyone, and though he has a more serious demeanor, it's nice to not be around someone silly and draining all the time.

"You know it." Ricky closes his laptop, stifling a yawn behind his tattooed hand. "I'll be here. I have tour coming up in a few weeks, so I'm going to be missing this place."

"Oh really? Where are you going now?"

"Europe, I think. We'll be there for a month or more, I can't remember."

"Do you want me to airmail you some coffee care packages?" You tease him lightly as he stands, your hands going to your hips. "I'm sure my coffee will still be warm when it makes it's way to you."

"I would drink it cold, it's that good. It's like you pour magic in it."

"Just a lot of love and sleepless nights," you reply with utmost honesty, reminded of how hard it was opening up a coffee shop in a city with so much competition. You were just determined to do well, and your positivety kept you moving forward until you were successful before you knew it. Words have power, and if you'd been negative, you're sure you wouldn't have done well --- people don't realize the heaviness of their own words, so you always try to be careful in what you say, despite when you might be feeling down.

"Oh I understand that. Artists never sleep." Ricky shuffles his things together, his hands closing around the warm cup as he turns to face you. "I'll see you tomorrow, Waverly. Save my table for me?"

"Only if you're here early enough." You give him a smile as he leaves, lacing your fingers together in front of you as you lean back on your heels. You wonder if he's noticed the little notes you leave him, if he pays them any attention before tossing the cup away.

He does.

At first, Ricky was a little confused at the black ink staining his fingers, but he quickly found the little notes you were leaving him and loved them. He's a little curious if you do that for all your customers, but you can't possibly have the time for that.

It warms him a little you'd do it for him, though.

Stay faithful to the stories in your head, he reads, and his lips twist into a halfsmile as he walks down the crowded city street. He looks forward to finding out what you're going to write him next, and his eyes flick back to your little coffee shop.

Waverly's Cafe glows above the doors in bright red letters, a coffee cup with steam wafting upwards decorating the wall. It's quaint, kind of small, but that's what he likes about it. It has an intimate atmosphere, but it's not dark, and you even have a free book section in the corner for the customers to browse through if they like.

You understand the important part of life is when you can just be comfortable, just relax with a good book and something warm in your hand.

He's going to miss the coffee on his trip, but he's kind of going to miss seeing your smiling face every day too. He's been coming here for a few months now, on a regular basis, and he's been debating on seeing if you'd want to go out sometime --- maybe not to get coffee, but to a movie or dinner or... just something.

He knows you like cats, you live above the shop in the brick apartments above, and you talk about the feline sometimes. He knows your dad inspired you to open your own place, and that you're allergic to bee stings --- mainly because a bee got in once and you wouldn't go near it.

Your favorite color is pastel blue, you could care less about politics and sports, and you're not interested in fame and fortune; you're happy where you are, serving smiles and hot drinks to people who need them.

He's even seen you give out paper bags to the homeless people meandering by, their grateful looks as you give them something warm to eat and drink for the night. You're a caring person, sweet, kind, pretty to look at, and he wouldn't mind dating someone who smells like a coffee shop.

You're a dream, really.

~~~~~~~~~

You so tired, but you're determined to get the coffee shop opened on time today, despite being short staffed. You're a bit miffed two people called out this morning, but you suppose it'll just be like old times, you and one other barista doing your best.

It's still early, you've only been open for a few minutes and half the chairs aren't off the tables just yet. The warm scent of espresso is wafting throughout the small store, soft music playing over the speakers you find yourself humming too.

You hear the door open, and you greet the customer without turning around, trying to take care of the chairs. You glance over in surprise as someone lifts one down for you, and you smile at Ricky automatically.

He's come in quite frequently lately, more so since you know he's about to leave for tour; you're not quite sure when, but you suppose when he doesn't show up, you'll know.

"Good morning! You're here early," you comment, watching as he starts helping you with the chairs. "You don't have to do that, that's alright."

"Oh, it's fine, you've got your hands full." Ricky doesn't mind helping. You notice he doesn't have his bag with him today, and he's dressed a little more together, not in a slouchy hoodie and jeans.

"Do you want your usual?"

"Times six, actually."

Six?

"In need of that much of a pick up?" You ask lightly as you head for the counter, seeing your employee busy making an older couple some macha tea. Ricky joins you after another minute, already holding his card out.

"I'm leaving for tour today, thought I'd bring the guys some of your coffee." He replies as he hands the plastic card over, seeing you hesitate for just a moment before swiping it.

"Oh, well, I hope they enjoy them." You say, a little put out he's leaving today. You expected it, but you'll miss seeing him and bantering back and forth. "You're not gone too long, are you?"

"No. Worried your business won't survive without me?"

"You do drink a lot of coffee," you chuckle, starting on his drinks.

"Just a month or so is as long as I'll be gone." He offers, crossing his arms as he leans on the counter; it's early enough there's not a lot of people, so he's not holding up anyone. He watches patiently as you swiftly start making his order, impressed. "Didn't you mention one time you'd send me care packages?"

"I'm not sure I could get one to you quick enough."

"I'll pay for express mail."

You send him a look, your hair loose and framing your face today. You look tired this morning, but it's early, so maybe you just haven't caught your wind just yet. He hopes you leave him a little note on his cup like you usually do.

"Are you excited about tour?" You ask, trying to make a little conversation as you work. You've never heard any of his music, you think it's probably a little more hardcore than what your taste is. Still, he must do well.

"Not really. I'd rather stay at home with my cats." Ricky says honestly with a shrug. "It's tiring. When I was younger, I enjoyed it more."

"You say that like you're ninety."

"Might as well be. I'll still be coming here for my addiction, though." He adds, earning a smile from you.

"Oh really? You sure you won't find somewhere else in all that time?"

"Nothing beats coming here to see you." He shakes his head, and you blink, glancing at him under your lashes as you start putting lids on the coffees.

Coming to see you?

Didn't he mean for your drinks?

"Keep my table reserved for me while I'm gone. Don't give it away to some other poor sap with a coffee addiction." He says as you start putting the coffees in a carrying tray. "I've staked claim."

"You can have your table back when you come back in." You tell him, disappearing behind some of the espresso machines, where he could only see your pretty eyes as you look down. "So I expect to see you the moment you're off tour."

"You can count on it." He slowly walks down the counter, keeping pace with you until you reach the curve where you normally set the to go drinks. He waits there, watching you work. "Are you guys staying pretty busy now?"

"Only when my employees don't show up."

He thought there was some missing. "I'm sure they'll show up."

Ricky lingers at the counter, trying to figure out how he can ask you out. At least if you tell him no, he'll be gone for a month and maybe you'll forget about him --- but what if you say yes, too? Will being gone a month make you change your mind?

He supposes he just has to ask and find out.

"So, I'm back in town next month," he hedges as you turn around to face him, sliding his coffee across the smooth counter in his direction, "would you want to, uh, grab dinner or something?"

You blink at him.

"Dinner?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd want to grab coffee."

Your cheeks grown pink, and you look down a moment, twisting the lid of one cup between your nervous fingers. Is he asking you out? to dinner? Oh, you should say something!

"I --- well, I don't see why we couldn't." You decide, biting your lower lip. "If you want too, that is. I mean, I'm pretty busy with the shop until six or seven most days, and ---."

"I don't mind." He says hastily, instantly pleased; you do want to get dinner! He likes how you blush, your eyes suddenly focused on the drinks in front of you. "It can be a late dinner. Or not even dinner, if you just want to grab something quick, or maybe a movie --- just anything. We can really make up our minds when I'm back."

"Okay." You hate that he's leaving now! Not only because you like his business, but --- oh, should you really agree to this with a customer? None of them have ever asked you out before though, and you do like him... "We can do that, there's no rush."

"Exactly." Ricky replies, glancing over his shoulder as he hears the door ding, noticing your other regulars are starting to line up. He turns his head just as you cap your black sharpie, tucking it back into your apron pocket. "You're busy, I'll let you get back to it. I'll see you later."

"Have a safe trip!" You tell him, lacing your fingers together as the black haired man starts to leave. You wait until he's gone, the door closing behind him before you exhale heavily, unaware you'd been holding your breath.

Ricky walks down the sidewalk, holding the drink tray in his hands, pleased with himself. You said yes! He has an entire month to figure out where to take you on your first date together, and he's going to make sure it's good.

He wonders what your favorite food is, maybe he should have asked. He could just text you and --- oh man. He didn't even get your number, he just sort of grabbed his drinks and left.

Maaaan.

He sighs, but it's not like he doesn't know where you work. When he gets back, he can just immediately drop by and correct that mistake.

He glances down at the cups, finagling one of them out of the carrier, starting to take a sip before he notices the black ink against the lid.

He hesitates, his lips curving.

Clever girl.

Your number, he assumes, is written neatly across the rim of his cup.

You really do think of everything, don't you?

You're smart, pretty, you own a coffee shop --- you're perfect.

Tags:  @svintsandghosts  @ nokomihorror @ryansitkowskiswifey, @theoneandonlykymberlee,  maelloute,  musicsexandpizza69,  jojomiwbvb6  ballet-royale  graveyard-baby-kittenx 

@imaginemiw   @bigdaddyfairywinkle @riegan @lucifersnudes    @horrorshow365    @imjustareject99    @nikkihorrorxx   @miss-evil-one   @itstrashleydude.  @kapowski-sitkowski.    @the-angriest-angel

@sumbitxoxo    @batgirl09151997 

[myherowritings]

PART 7. WHAT’S BETTER THAN EATING THE RICH? THE RICH EATING YOU OUT

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 4.7k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. the filthiest thing i’ve ever written, fem!reader for this part and shouto uses “princess” an excessive amount of times, sir kink i’m sorry, cunnilingus, unprotected sex (just bc i totally forgot abt condoms ok my bad), too much foreplay?, shouto’s a soft dom i think?, very much so 18+!!! and the title is exactly what it sounds like

A/N. here we are !! the final part !! my first shouto series i didn’t put on hiatus LMAO,, the moment you’ve all been waiting for HFSJKG ;) this was very fun to write i hope it’s not too bad BHFBDSHS i’m so in love with ceo!shouto and this series was my fav to write in a while!! now without further ado pls enjoy some smut with feelings :3 xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

You almost didn’t make it into the elevator to Shouto’s penthouse before you wanted to pounce on him, but to your complete frustration, he was showing such restraint that the only contact he let you make was holding his hand. 

For someone who was so eager to kiss you earlier, he was showing a lot of patience now, you thought with a huff. 

You tapped your foot against the tile flooring as Shouto took his sweet time unlocking his suite. Even when he entered, instead of taking you straight to the bedroom like you anticipated, he pulled out two glasses and filled them with water. 

Handing you one, he asked, “Did you want something to eat?” 

“No. ‘M not hungry right now,” you mumbled, trying not to appear too pouty. 

Apparently, it didn’t work very well since he stifled an amused chuckle. “How about some water?” 

Your eyes narrowed but you begrudgingly accepted the glass. “Hmph.” 

“Someone seems a little tired right now, hmm?” he placed his glass down and led you towards his bedroom. “Maybe we should go straight to sleep—”

You couldn’t help yourself any longer. “Shouto,” you whined, drawing out the ‘o’ sounds, your lower lip jutting outwards in a frown.

“Yes, Y/N?” His tone was too innocent for the events he had in mind for the night. 

“If you don’t take me to bed and fuck me right now, I’ll…”

“You’ll…?” Shouto teased, but the darkened gaze in his eyes told you his own restraint was wearing thin. 

You turned away with a huff. “I’ll be upset!” 

“Well, we don’t want that.” He laced his fingers through yours, bringing your hands up to his lips to give them a kiss. You were slightly placated, but that was still nowhere near the amount of contact you desired. “But I think you’d find it more comfortable if we continue this with your dress off first. Come.” 

Your stomach clenched at the simple command and you willfully followed behind him into the second door to the right. You hardly had time to admire the design of his room and size of his bed before Shouto moved from his spot next to you to one behind you. He placed one hand on where your waist met your hip and the other on the small of your back, making your spine straighten at the touch. 

“Did you need help taking your dress off?” he asked, knowing full well what the answer would be. 

“Yes, please, sir,” was your airy reply. 

His breath caught in his throat and his grip on you tightened. When he spoke, his voice was hoarser than normal. “Since you asked so nicely.”

So, he liked when you called him sir? You made a mental note of that with a smirk. 

But your cocky expression didn’t last very long when Shouto skillfully unfastened the top few buttons of your dress, softly placing his lips on your now exposed skin and gently planting kisses all the way down your back. He didn’t stop until he reached the curve of your ass, unbuttoning the final button and nipping a kiss right at the base of your spine. You jolted, hugging the fabric of the dress to your chest so you wouldn’t be completely exposed. 

“Finished unbuttoning your dress for you, princess,” he said, placing one final kiss on your spine before gently twirling you around to face him. At your flustered gaze, he smiled. “Now what would you like for me to do to you?” 

You lifted your chin despite your slight embarrassment at having to voice your desires. “I want you to kiss me.”

“Hm. Have I not been kissing you this whole time?” 

“On the lips,” you emphasized, tugging at his tie as you tried to pull him closer to you. You batted your lashes at him. “Could you please kiss me on the lips, sir?” 

A small chuckle escaped him, but he was happy to oblige. “You know, you’d be good in business. You certainly know what to say to get what you want, hmm?”

You answered with a smile as he finally—fucking finally, after a whole week of waiting—pressed his lips against yours. They were soft and warm and tasted like strawberries and ice cream, his favorite flavor of the candies the two of you stole from the gala. 

Delicious. 

Shouto must’ve thought the same thing since, not long after the start of the kiss, he coaxed your mouth open with his tongue, deepening the movements, one hand softly cupping the area where your head met your neck while the other was hot against your exposed lower back. He applied the slightest bit of pressure at the right time—just enough to make you sigh in pleasure. 

Your own hands found a way to tangle themselves in Shouto’s hair, completely abandoning their job clutching your dress to your body. Now, you were so tightly pressed up against him, the only thing that could possibly keep the fabric up was his chest against your own. One sudden movement and it might just…  

He nipped at your lower lip with his teeth and you jumped, gasping at how good the light stinging sensation felt. You felt your dress slip down your body to expose the swell of your breasts, but before it could fall any further, Shouto gingerly picked you up and laid you down on his bed. 

“Oh—” you managed to say as your head landed on a pillow and your back on the plush, silk sheets that covered the mattress.

His left arm rested on the pillow beside your head as he hovered over you. “Have something to say, princess?”

“Y-You may continue,” you sniffed, lifting your chin up. Your heart skipped a beat at the teasing pet name and then another beat when Shouto leaned down to give you a kiss. But instead of landing on your mouth again, he chose to leave an open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive part of your neck, gently biting and sucking at the skin. 

His feathery light touches tickled you, your nerves working on overdrive and every stroke feeling like it was amplified. You couldn’t help but giggle at his soft nibble and he paused to look at you questioningly. 

“Tickles,” you replied, laughing at his confused expression. “But it feels nice.”

Shouto hummed, the vibrations buzzing against your neck. “That’s good to hear.”

Returning to your lips, he kissed you with a smile creeping on his face and you returned it. His forehead rested against yours as you toyed with the fabric on the front of his suit. You unknotted his tie as your lips clashed against each other, the motion no longer soft and gentle but instead more fervent and intense. 

Finally getting his tie to come undone, you flung it off the bed and worked to unbutton his shirt collar, not caring if it got wrinkled in the process. Shouto reciprocated the eagerness by sucking the tip of your tongue with his mouth before pulling away from you completely. 

A whimper left your lips at the sudden loss of warmth and you couldn’t help but pout, grabbing at his shirt again to pull him back.

“Be a good girl and be patient, okay?” he said, running the tip of his index finger against your jawline. 

You huffed. “I’ve been plenty patient. I want you to do something now!” 

In other times, you’d probably be embarrassed about how whiny you sounded, but at this moment all you wanted was for Shouto to finally touch you more. 

He nipped at your collarbone before looking down at you. “Hm. Are you a princess or a brat?”

“I can be both. I’m very multifaceted,” you said haughtily, sticking your tongue out to let him know you were only joking. 

“You are,” he agreed. 

It seemed Shouto decided to finally listen to your pleas since his attention swiftly returned to that of your neck, dragging his lips down until he reached the swell of your breast. Over the fabric of your dress that was barely clinging onto you, he placed wet, open-mouthed kisses over your chest, his teeth accidentally grazing against your nipple. 

You cried out quietly and he felt encouraged by the sound, this time taking your peak into his mouth with purpose. He formed his mouth into the shape of an ‘o’ and softly sucked your nipple, the tip of his tongue making circles around the bud. His saliva wet the fabric of your dress, leaving you to shiver at the cold against your wet breast when he pulled away from you. 

“S-Shouto,” you whimpered, squeezing your legs together to relieve some of the tension. “More.”

“More? What exactly do you mean by that?” 

“I want you to…” You gestured towards your body. 

“To what? Take your dress off and fuck you? Or just continue playing with your breasts?” he asked, listing off suggestions in a low rasp. He kissed below your chest and down your stomach all the way to your navel. “Or maybe you want me to go lower until I reach that pretty pussy of yours.”

You nodded fervidly, not trusting your voice. “A-All of the above?”

He chuckled in amusement but was ready to dutifully continue his work.

“But…” you murmured, running your hands down his half-unbuttoned shirt. “I want to see you too.” You looked down at his crotch area then back at his face, biting your lip nervously. “And I want to make sure you’re also having a good time.” 

A guttural noise sounded from the back of his throat as he ran his hands down your body, giving you an appreciative look. “I’m having the best time.” He kissed you chastely. “Are you?”

You looked like a mess sprawled out on his bed, dress half hanging onto your chest and the fabric of the skirt only covering one of your legs. You didn’t know for sure the state of your hair and makeup, but you were sure it was thoroughly roughed up as well. “I think it’s quite obvious I am, sir.” 

Shouto smirked, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. “Good.” 

Instead of answering him, you brought your fingers to the lower-half of his shirt, unfastening the final buttons and untucking it from his suit pants. His shirt hung open, exposing his lean yet muscular torso. You ran your hands up and down his chest and abdomen, absentmindedly brushing against his nipples which caused him to shiver. When you reached his collar, you threw the fabric behind his shoulders and he got the message to take his shirt off. 

“So pretty,” you whispered breathlessly.

“Your turn.” Slowly, Shouto slid down the silky fabric that was just barely covering your breasts all the way to your navel. He tapped your thigh and said, “Up,” and you immediately obliged, lifting your lower body up so he could remove the dress completely. 

Taking his sweet time—much to your frustration—he folded the dress and placed it on a dresser near his bed. When he turned his gaze back to you, you were holding your arms over your chest, feeling bare in nothing but your panties with sheer detailings. 

His stare burned holes into you. You felt like his gaze was leaving a trail of fire against your skin. Shouto’s expression looked sensual but soft as he admired you, giving you enough confidence to lay your arms down by your sides instead of over your chest. He zeroed in on your breasts as he gave them a kiss. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered and your cheeks burst into flames. Your whole body felt hot as you folded one leg over the other so he couldn’t see the arousal gathering at your thin undergarments.

Noticing the movement, he raised a brow at you and uncrossed your legs with his large but slender hand, his grip firm on your thigh to prevent you from covering yourself like that again. Shouto pressed one of your thighs into the bed with his palm, and your other thigh with the gentle weight of his knee, holding your legs open for him. 

The cool air from his room hit your wetness seeping through your underwear and you felt yourself clench around nothing. 

You shifted under his weight, desperate for some release. “Shouto, please.”

It seemed he no longer had the restraint to tease you further since he nodded, moving lower down the bed so his face was hovering above your clothed pussy. “May I?” 

“Fuck— Yes,” you moaned, core heating up in anticipation. 

Shouto landed his lips on your fabric-covered cunt, licking a stripe across your slit. Your growing arousal mixed with his spit through your panties, a lewd noise sounding when he pried the fabric away from your pussy. He slid them off your legs, holding it up to examine the arousal slick on the garments. As if he had no shame, he politely folded it and placed it on top of your dress with a smile. 

“T-That’s not what a gentleman would do,” you managed as he returned to his position in bed in front of your now-bare cunt. 

“And what is it that a gentleman would do, princess?” he whispered dangerously close to your most intimate parts. “This?”

Without warning, he tenderly kissed the bud between your legs. You moaned, legs attempting to kick out in surprise and pleasure, but they remained immobile since Shouto held them down in place. 

“Or perhaps this?” Shouto ran his tongue down your folds and back up to your clit, rubbing small and steady figure eights against the sensitive nub. 

“Yes!” you cried out, canting your hips towards his mouth in pleasure. “Oh, god— Yes to all of it. Please… Don’t stop.” 

“I won’t.” He hummed as he continued his ministrations on your pussy, the vibrations shooting right up your core and causing more wetness to seep out onto his face, but he didn’t let that bother him. In fact, it only seemed to encourage him further. 

Not removing his mouth from your clit for even a second, Shouto hooked one of your legs over his shoulder while leaving the other flat against the silky sheets of his mattress. He dragged his opened mouth down to your dripping pussy lips and entered into your slit with his tongue. The new position sent ever more waves of euphoria through you and Shouto licked and sucked at your folds. 

You lifted your hips higher and he nuzzled his head deeper, his tongue reaching places you had only ever imagined. The lewd noises of Shouto’s mouth smacking against your slick cunt filled the quiet room. As you moaned, your hands threaded themselves into the base of his hair, lightly tugging him even closer than either of you thought possible. 

With his hand that wasn’t holding your thigh down, Shouto found his way to your chest, reaching up to palm at your breast all while still sucking your pussy. He flicked your nipple and gently rubbed it with his thumb and forefinger. Your breathing hitched at the mix of sensations, your core tightening and heating up as Shouto continued to eat you out. “Fuck— Oh— Shouto!” you cried, unable to hold back the volume of your voice. 

As if he knew what was coming, he removed his hand from your breast and briefly paused, though his face was still resting against your thigh and pussy. “Not yet, princess. Do you think you can hold on for me?” 

You whimpered at the thought of postponing your release, but you trusted that he would make up for the wait. “Okay, sir. For you.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Shouto continued his attack on your cunt with his lips, this time bringing his hand down to rub lazy circles around your clit. His tongue was deep in you, his nose teasingly bumping against your sensitive bud as his fingers flicked against it harsher. Rougher. He nuzzled his head from side to side to hit places far within you as you whimpered and moaned. 

The stimulation of both his fingers and his mouth on your pussy was almost too much to handle as your thighs quivered and your cunt clenched uncontrollably. 

“S-Shouto, please I—” Your voice broke off as a moan of pleasure ripped through you. 

“You can come now, princess,” he murmured into your folds, the vibrations only pleasuring you even further. 

And so you did. 

You felt yourself orgasm as Shouto continued to suck at your cunt and brush against your clit, moving slower and more gently as you came down from your high. 

When he finally looked up from your pussy, the lower half of his face glistened with your fluids, sending you into another state of desire. There was something about the way he looked at you that made you want more of him. 

Shouto smiled as he wiped the fluids of your arousal and ecstacy on his chin with his index finger. Instead of taking it into his mouth, however, he held it in front of your lips. “Look at the mess you made for me, princess. See how good you taste.” 

After only a moment’s hesitation, you brought his finger that was coated in your arousal into your mouth, swirling your tongue around and sucking him, giving him an idea of what you would do if that were his cock. You released his finger with a soft ‘pop’ and smiled innocently at him. 

“Are you going to fuck me now or should I suck you off first, sir?” you asked, tone of voice all too pleasant. 

His bulge strained against the snug fit of his pants and you wanted nothing more than to relieve some of his pressure. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to take my cock into your mouth, but right now I just want to feel you around me. Is that okay?” 

“That’s fine with me!” You nodded eagerly, the thought of being filled up with Shouto now taking over your mind completely. 

He chuckled at your excitement, though he was feeling the same thing himself. Swiftly, he removed his belt and took off his suit pants. You helped by tugging his black boxer briefs down and watching gently stroking his erect shaft in awe. 

Was every part of Shouto pretty? He was just a gift that kept on giving. 

Your mouth almost watered in anticipation, biting your lip as he lowered you back against the mattress, your head falling onto the plush pillows. He positioned his member against your slit that was still dripping wet from his spit and your first orgasm. 

Shouto rubbed his tip against your already sensitive clit and your slightly parted folds, not yet entering deep enough to satisfy you. He moved his cock back and forth against your pussy as you both watched, the fluids of your arousal and his mixing for further lubrication. Your eyes were fixated on the sight, the thick head of his member disappearing into your sopping pussy lips before coming back out, slowly getting you prepared for his full length. 

It was sweet of him to be so patient, but you were on the verge of tears at the frustration you felt. “Please, Shouto! More.” 

“What should you call me again, princess?” he drawled, continuing the leisure movements of rubbing his head against your lips. The fluids smeared all over your pussy and dribbled down onto your thighs and his bedsheets. If you weren’t so aroused, you might’ve been a bit embarrassed. But there was no time for that when all you wanted at this very moment was for Shouto to fuck you silly. 

“Sir—!” you corrected yourself in a whimper. “Please, sir, I want your fat cock to fill me up.” 

He groaned at your words, pulling out of your folds until only the very tip of his dick was touching you and then thrusting forward into your wet depths as you let out a loud cry of pleasure. You felt a stretch inside you as you adjusted to his length, Shouto taking note of how you stiffened and giving you time to get more comfortable. 

He began to nibble at your breast, sucking and biting your perk nipples as your arousal built. He nipped you, causing you to gasp in surprise (a very pleasant surprise) before soothing the bite with his tongue. As you arched your back, he swirled the tip of his tongue around your nipple and you hooked your leg around his hips, pushing into his lower back with your calf to signal for more.

“Ready now?” 

You nodded fervently. 

“Words, princess.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you managed, voice shaky from your gratification being filled by Shouto. “Use my pussy to make you feel good. Please.”

“You always make me feel good, Y/N,” he said sincerely, removing his mouth from your breast to kiss you on the lips. Your tongues intertwined and you tasted yourself on him. “You’re amazing, you know?” 

You smiled into the kiss. “Show me how amazing you think I am with your cock then.”

“Anything for my princess.”

With that, he pounded into you, holding you at the waist to steady your squirming. You hitched your leg higher and higher around his back, canting your hips to let him thrust into you at deeper angles until he hit the spot. 

“Oh—! Oh, god,” you mewled in satisfaction, his cock making you feel so good you were certain your eyes almost rolled back into your head. “Fuck, right there, Shouto— Yes!” 

At your vocal encouragement, Shouto pushed into you even deeper, his swollen tip rubbing into you at the perfect angle. Your head lolled to the side and your cheek pressed against the soft pillow as you salivated at the intense feeling of his cock thrusting in and out of your weeping pussy. 

“Mn,” he made a noise, softly tapping your cheek. “Keep your eyes on me, princess. Don’t look away.” 

You struggled to blink away how dazed you felt, feeling so good it was almost unbearable. Somehow, you managed to turn your head back to face him, trying to hold eye contact. “‘M sorry. You feel so good,” you sighed contentedly. “Like your cock was made for me.” 

He held your leg higher and you just about screamed from pleasure. “You feel so good too,” he said, one hand stretching your leg up and the other reaching down to toy with your clit. “Never want this to end.” 

With his fingers and thumb rubbing against your clit and his member hitting your g-spot, you were certain your throat was going to grow hoarse by the end of the night from all your screaming. You swore you saw stars.

“Want to,” you panted, thrusting your hips up to match his movements, “do this...with you...every...day.” 

“Please.”

When his lips found your breast again to tug at your nipple, you couldn’t help yourself any longer. 

“S-Shouto, I— I’m going to come,” you told him, voice pleading. You really hoped he let you come. 

He hummed in agreement. “Me too. Come with me, princess.” 

You lifted his head from your breasts to meet your mouth, kissing into him as you both felt the sweet release of pleasure coursing through your bodies, all the way from the top of your head to the curl of your toes. 

His pace slowed as he carried the two of you through your highs. Shouto removed his finger from its position of making circles onto your clit to let you cool down with him. In a state of euphoria, you kissed him, both of you riding your orgasms until you felt nothing but completely happy and thoroughly satiated. 

Still not taking his lips off of yours, he moved from being on top of you to lying beside you. Your eyes fluttered shut even as you kissed, nuzzling into his hot, sticky body and ready to pass out. 

“‘M sleepy,” you mumbled onto his lips. You just wanted to stay like this. Forever if you could. 

Shouto smoothed down your brow, his thumb moving in gentle strokes. “Let’s get you cleaned up first, princess. Then you can sleep.”

The rational part of you knew it would be best to clean up. But your overwhelming desire was simply to never let go of him. “Wait! I still want you.” Lazily, you murmured, “Let’s do it again.”

“You’re about to fall asleep but you want to have another round?”

You nodded. “I...might fall asleep during it, but yes. Want to do it with you again and again.”

Shouto smiled, shaking his head in amusement. But you pouted. It wasn’t a joke, you meant it. You just wanted to stay by his side. 

“We can,” he said and you instantly brightened up, “another day.” You huffed. “When you can stand on your own two feet without falling over.”

Your lower lip jutted out in a frown. 

“Don’t look so down, princess.” He kissed the top of your head. “It can be tomorrow or the next day.”

Slowly, you perked up again. “Or the day after that? And the next day after that?”

With a laugh, he nodded. “Anytime you want me. I’m yours.”

“I’ll always want you, Shouto,” you told him sincerely, gazing into his eyes.

His face was colored a light pink, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his lips were swollen and bright red. He looked beautiful. It was a sight you’d never tire of.

“I’ll always want you too, Y/N. More than anything. I...love you.”

And in that moment, there was nothing else in the world you would rather hear. No one else you’d rather be with. You were happy to have Shouto and that was better than all the money in the world.

“I love you too.”

— ✩ —

A few days have passed since the fateful night you exchanged ‘I love you’s with Shouto and now you were back at work. 

As usual, you were working the morning shift with some cranky customers, trying your best to make the start of their day go as smoothly as possible. And, as per usual, Shouto walked into the cafe a few minutes after rush hour to spend a part of his morning with you.

“Good morning, sir. How can I help you today?” you said teasingly, giving him a brief kiss over the counter, chaste enough that no one else would notice but you two. 

“Morning, princess.” He smiled. “I’ll have a medium flat white, please.” 

“Of course. And could I interest you in some of our fresh pastries?” you laughed. “Oddly enough, we have your favorite today.”

He perked up at your words. “Cheese danishes?” 

“Yup!”

“I’ll have five boxes of a dozen, please.”

Humming to yourself, you entered his order into the register and told him the price. “Your order will be to your left when it’s completed,” you recited, knowing he’s heard this plenty of times before. After he paid and got ready to walk away from the counter, you playfully called out, “So, no tip this time?”

Shouto smirked, glancing back at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Maybe I can pick you up tonight and give you a tip then.”

“A...tip?” you asked, stifling a giggle behind your hands. “Was that an innuendo?”

“Innuendo—?” A look of realization crossed his face and his cheeks colored. 

You grinned to yourself. As confident and well put together Shouto could be (which you very much enjoyed and found incredibly attractive), you also got extreme pleasure in seeing him blush and grow flustered. 

“No… I didn’t intend it like that.” He paused, thinking on it. “Well, I guess I did. But I didn’t mean to make a pun of it…”

Your laughter rang out across the whole store, smile spreading bigger and bigger. “You’re cute, Shouto. Thanks for the laugh.” 

He looked sheepish but nodded. “Thanks for letting me hear your laugh. It’s radiant.”

“Smooth talker.” You stuck your tongue out. 

“Just the truth.”

“Hmm,” you sighed happily, a feeling of contentment and euphoria settling within you. “But about your tip…”

Shouto blushed. 

“I’d love to come over tonight,” you told him. “Any excuse to see my lovely boyfriend.”

“You never need an excuse to see me. Because I always want to be with you too.” 

The two of you kissed again, unable to help yourselves. Though it was brief and light, it still sent tingles down your spine. 

Shouto was sweeter than any cheese danish or chocolate croissant you could ever make, better than any tip you could ever receive, and you couldn’t wait to continue your life with him. 

a/n: omg...this is the end ╥﹏╥ thank you to every who read and commented and sent asks and just supported this series in general ! it was very fun to write and i have a toothache from all of shouto’s sweetness and fluff hfjhggg tysm for reading ily !! xx sof 

[kisskissbanggang]

Young Wings

[6.8K Words/20min. Read -- Pilot!Bang Chan x Female Reader -- Fluff, Smut, Developing Relationship, Nervous Situations, Pantyhose, Grounded Flights]

Masterlist | Feedback

For all intents and purposes, you were having a pretty great morning, considering it was starting at 9:00 p.m. local time. Sea-Tac was a nice airport; not quite as nice as PDX with its straightforward layout and proximity to the city, but infinitely nicer than anything south of there on this coast. The new spinner luggage your parents had sent you for Christmas was still working like a dream, gliding over pavement and not getting stuck in escalator platforms. It also expanded, would come in handy on the off-chance you used a voucher to Miami and got to peruse the duty-free and discount shops not far from the airport (or from the beach.) You wouldn’t have many more mornings like this. This was your last month in the skies. Next month, you were starting a sparkling new desk job in administration. The idea sort of scared you, but the idea of leaving behind 9:00 p.m. mornings did sound nice. Nevertheless, you couldn't shake this prematurely homesick feeling, that leaving the skies would weigh on you like you were literally grounded. 

You grabbed a latte in your reusable mug from the only business still open for the night near your gate, a lonely and frazzled barista smiling gratefully at your tip as she wished you a good flight. There was no reason to doubt her -- it was going to be a good flight. You relished your opportunities to lead your cabin crew, especially on smaller flights where it was more like being with three friends for six hours. Even adding two more flight attendants made it feel more like being a club president, and always added an extra percentage of pressure. A nice, easy-going red-eye, a low pressure nonstop from Sea-Tac to Newark: a perfect start to your week. 

The gate was easy to spot, not only from having been through this airport multiple times, but from being the only gate overflowing with sleepy yuppies and bored college students. You held a quick huddle on the jet bridge, your small crew bright-eyed and as awake as they could manage. Veronica from San Francisco and Brian from Virginia had flown with you before, but Tia from D.C. was a new face and apparently only on her third month in the skies. You did a quick run-down of tasks before leaving Ronnie and Brian to make announcements and take tickets, before leading Tia down the jet bridge to help you set up before seating began. 

You wheeled your bags all the way back to the galley, stowing your luggage in the crew’s storage and getting a lay of the land on your way back up the aisle. Obviously, you'd been on plenty of airplanes, and an A320 was your bread and butter but, regardless, eyeing the bathrooms and emergency exits as your hands brushed the seat backs on your walk up the single aisle felt good. Plenty of people had their rituals, and yours just helped reinforce that even though this was work and work was hard, that people depended on you to do your job well. Really, the little ritual helped you love your job more with each flight. All in all, you would miss every part of it, the great with the awful. 

The intense musk of Aqua Velva hit the top of your sinuses like you inhaled water at the pool when you entered the cockpit, but it was the edge of menthol cigarettes that let you know who your pilot was before he even turned around. 

“Hey, Jay,” you greeted. 

“Hiya, kid,” he grinned back. 

Jay was nice, almost too nice for New Jersey, and you should've guessed he’d be here for a medium-haul back to Newark. The co-pilot, however, was new. Incredibly new. The young pilot slipped his cap off as he settled in and shrugged his jacket off, brushing his fingers back through soft waves of bleached blonde. His half-smile more resembled a smirk, with a small dimple in his cheek to boot. You knew the type. He probably started telling girls he was a pilot the moment he got out of high school. Probably bought all his flight time and didn’t have to waste time teaching to get more. 

“First Officer,” you nodded cordially, and he gave a friendly wave. That was a good sign. Some of these guys liked to imagine that they were a celebrity, even sitting on the right side. 

“Chan here is a baby,” Jay heartily laughed and slapped him on the back, “he might as well  just got his hours in. Lucky this isn’t his first day.”

“Right?” Chan chuckled lightly. 

“No, I mean for us,” Jay erupted into laughter, his head leaned back as he slapped the poor guy on the back again, “Nah, kid, I'm just kidding. It’s gonna be a good flight.”

“You’re in really good hands,” you nodded reassuringly. It was true. Jay was from a dying breed, a veteran that got his wings flying in the Air Force -- only, when his breed was first introduced, they’d flown props in Germany, not jets in Vietnam like he did. Regardless of how you felt about his role in it, you had to admit it gave the older man some grit, and a cool head under pressure probably since he first started. 

“Let the kid greet the passengers with you,” Jay suggested, “we're looking at a fifteen minute delay while we finish de-icing, and we'll get the pre-flight done with plenty of time. I never get to greet passengers pre-flight. And can I please get a coffee before take-off? Last I tried getting it myself Ronnie damn near bit my head off. ”

You couldn't say no, right? Not without looking like an absolute jerk. Chan stood tall next to you, his cap back on because the couple of kids on the flight would love it. A few regulars greeted you by name, already half-asleep. More reasons to love red-eyes: almost the whole cabin is out cold, even more so in the winter, it seemed. Almost no one to demand colder soda with less ice or not-so-secretly pinch you as you passed by in the aisle. You looked back over at the First Officer. He really couldn't be much younger than you -- he could really even be older than you -- but Jay was right. He was a kid as far as career time went. 

Your crew was batty as you finished the safety spiel and joined them in the rear of the plane. 

“Who's the new guy?” Brian asked as he buckled himself into the jumpseat. 

“An actual fetus,” Ronnie rolled her eyes, “did he hit on you?”

“Is he nice?” Tia asked curiously. 

“First Officer Chan is nice,” you assured everyone, “and Jay is up there handling everything, anyhow.”

“The Captain called me Kid,” Tia raised an eyebrow as she quietly grabbed some snacks out of her bag. 

“He calls everyone Kid,” Ronnie waved her off, “he only stopped calling himself Papa Bear a couple years ago.”

“Weird call sign, right?” Brian asked as he carefully sipped from his coffee during taxi. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, “but I've heard worse. He swears he got the name after saving some kids.”

“Really?” Brian laughed, “he told me it was from keeping a grunt with a broken leg safe in the jungle for three days until help arrived.”

You all shared a hushed giggle fit during take-off. Once you hit altitude, you unbuckled, grabbing Tia and leading her with you to First Class to take drink orders while Ronnie and Brian handled Economy. You made a big show out of taking a vote on whether or not to turn the cabin lights off, and wished everyone a goodnight when a unanimous amount of hands shot up. You rounded up drink orders from the few passengers still awake and reconvened in the rear of the plane to grab everything. Drink service now, then snacks halfway through, then cleanup at the end. Tia was thankfully adept with the beverage cart, careful not to knock any ankles on her way up and down the aisle. Everything went by breezily, satisfying you to no end as you locked up the carts in the galley and buckled back in. Thankfully, you might even be able to catch a brief nap before snack service. You slipped off your low heels, stretching your toes as you closed your eyes and let the pitch and roll of the plane carry you to sleep. 

The sensation that awoke you was something you’d only been familiar with in bed -- the distinct feeling of surprising yourself awake. The plane was rumbling through some turbulence. You sighed as you checked your watch and nestled back into your seat, grumbling about being woken up as the plane rocked hard again. More grumbles sounded down the aisle as some other passengers were awakened. You quickly unbuckled, getting up to press the seatbelt sign and get a look around before you sat back down. The cabin jostled and shook, making it difficult to fall back asleep. This would be hard to miss, you decided. The moment you were finally able to close your eyes, you were rudely awakened once again by another distinct sensation -- this time of falling in a dream, the sheer drop in your stomach feeling eerily familiar. Only problem was, you were falling. 

You couldn’t be sure how exactly how long the plane dropped. It could've been three seconds, five seconds. It couldn’t have been ten seconds, but it still felt like an astonishing amount of time. Clear air turbulence, you’d heard in passing. Plenty of people told you that if you flew long enough, you’d get to experience it. Even Jay mentioned it to you once or twice, you were sure. Your ass thunked hard into the jumpseat, the skeleton of the plane groaning around you as it regained momentum. The moment had passed but was still incredibly present. Masks had dropped, overhead bins had popped open, luggage strewn all over passengers and the aisle. A few passengers who had slept through everything without buckling their lapbelts -- you could see one, halfway laying in the aisle and groggily cursing after having been bounced into the short ceiling. Of course this only happened a month before you were leaving. Thankfully, Jay seemed to have gotten the plane back on track, and you could focus on getting this sorted. 

Jay. 

You’d still gotten no word from the cockpit. The least Jay would’ve done by now is beep the telephone headset in the galley to ask if everyone was alright. He’d done it in lighter conditions. Now you carefully unbuckled, rallying your crew to get to work. Everyone followed you down the aisle, stopping to get the lights on and tend to passengers as you made your way into the cockpit. Thankfully the most damage for the moment appeared to be spilled coffee, but to your curiosity, balance still seemed off in the cabin. You pushed open the cockpit door and gasped, finding Jay slumped in his seat, a concerning drip of blood congealing under a deep bruise on his forehead. In the right-hand seat, First Officer Chan was attempting to hold it together. He shot you a concerned and crazed look. 

“What happened?!” You asked, suddenly distressed as you kicked the door closed behind you and tended to Jay. 

“Turbulence, then clear air turbulence, and the Captain cracked his head on the steering console. I’m thinking it was the air coming off the Rockies as we passed.”

“Are you alright?”

“Fine enough, despite how fubar this whole thing is. How is it out there?” He asked. 

“Fine enough,” you agreed, “what about the plane? We need to get Jay to a doctor and I promise he’s not the only one.”

“I agree. I’m just trying to figure this out. We can ask for a gate at Great Falls.”

“Awesome, let’s do that.”

“But my monitors are telling me a turbofan is beginning to fail from the fall.”

“What’s closer?”

“Helena, I think? I've heard of it but never flown into it.”

“It’s worth a try. Ask ATC for a gate and I'm sure they’ll get you in there.” You turned to leave, to scramble your team and get everyone prepared for landing before Chan desperately reached back and grabbed for you, only managing to get ahold of the hem of your skirt.

“Please don’t leave,” he sighed, “I’m a mess and landing still makes me anxious for some stupid reason.”

“Not stupid,” you reassured him with a hand on his shoulder, “that’s why you put in all this time as First Officer first before anyone expects you to.”

“Here,” he looked over his shoulder and handed you a headset and a flight manual, “can you page ATC for me while I do this? I'm on the brink of losing it if I'm being honest.”

“Of course.” You patted his shoulder again, now feeling bad for being so judgemental before. You didn't know this guy, and he was turning out to be perfectly capable and reasonable. The headset crackled to life, getting ATC and explaining your situation before asking for a gate at the smaller airport. Once you got clearance, you weren’t far off. You paged back to the rear of the plane, finally getting Ronnie to pick up and catching her up to speed. It was reassuring to hear her voice behind you out in the cabin, beginning to prep and organize everyone for landing. 

“I wasn't listening,” Chan sheepishly admitted, “how bad is it out there?”

“Of 198 souls on board, all are still alive,” you paused with a smile at the relieved sigh spilling out of Chan’s chest, “there’s three apparent injuries, a couple broken pairs of eyeglasses… And the Captain.”

Chan grit his teeth for a moment. “Fine,” he said, “If the Captain is the worst then that’s the best I could hope for right now.” 

You pulled down the jumpseat behind Chan and stayed during landing and taxi, keeping a soft but firm hand on his shoulder, but you couldn't help but wonder why: were you comforting him or yourself? Thankfully, your landing kept you from dwelling on it. Despite his trepidation, his landing was excellent. Outside, the blinking white and red lights of ambulances could be seen on the tarmac. Most of your regulars grumbled as they exited the plane, already hurrying to find new flights. You gave Chan one more comforting squeeze on the shoulder. 

“Good landing, First Officer,” you smiled. His returned smile was small as you opened the cockpit door and were instantly pulled into a hug by your crew. You all deplaned, luggage in hand and watching solemnly as Jay was carted off by EMT’s. An older man with a badge approached you. Thankfully, not NTSB. Just higher-ups from the airline. It wouldn’t be a huge deal, just a quick interview with each of you. You looked back to see Chan emerge from the cockpit, backpack slung over one shoulder and cap in his hands when he got intercepted by an investigator of his own. 

The interview was simple. You were sleeping, you woke up to turbulence, the plane fell, you went to check the cockpit and found the Captain out cold, you helped the First Officer decide on the smaller airport based on the factors at hand. Before too long you and your crew were all assembled at the front of the airport, huddled against the frigid winter air and climbing into your comped rental car to your comped motel. The city was still quiet, and none of you were ready to sleep. Thankfully, a small bar down the street from the motel was still open, its red sign a beacon in the still of the night. 

Ronnie carefully nudged Tia in your booth. “You alright?”

Tia nodded. “Sure. Just a little shaken up still. Dumb, right?”

“Not at all,” Brian shook his head as he sipped his beer, “that was fucking terrifying. Never dealt with that before.”

“Dealt with it once,” Ronnie shrugged, “hated it even more this time. You’re not being dumb.”

“How bad was it out there?” You asked. 

“The woman in 14 was having a fit,” Brian laughed, “She couldn’t understand, could not comprehend why we had to divert, and the dude next to her is, like, unconscious. He’s literally just out, he passed out from during the fall and she’s leaning over him and getting snippy with me.”

“Oh my god,” Tia laughed into her vodka cranberry, “what did you do?”

“What you always do,” Ronnie butted in, “Remember this sentence, Tia: I’m sorry you feel that way; if you’d like you can explain your issue to the ticket agent once we land.”

“That works?”

“They either drop it by then or the ticket agent has no patience for it. Just get it out of the damn cabin, you know? We’re already in a tuna can, the least you can do is be civil.”

The night went on like this, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to drink. It didn’t feel like you had anything to celebrate, like you didn’t do anything to warrant a reward. 

“Anyone want to head back to the room?” Ronnie finally relented. 

“Me!” Tia piped up. “I’m bushed and I would love to lie down.”

“Alright, alright,” Ronnie smiled. 

You gathered up your bag to join when you spied someone at the bar. 

Chan. 

How long had he been there? He just sat on the barstool, pensively nursing a hardly-touched beer and staring at his cap on the bar top. You let out a heavy sigh. 

“You guys go ahead,” you offered, “I’ll catch up.”

Brian raised an eyebrow as he closed the tab, his eyes catching the reason for your delay. “Are you sure about that?” Nonetheless, the three burst into laughter and still left, bundled up in their coats against the harsh cold outside. 

You casually approached the bar, taking the seat that Chan’s backpack resided in. You gently picked up the bag, making sure he was seeing you out of the corner of his eye as you set it on the bar top to sit down. A bright red fabric tag caught your eye, REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT emblazoned across it in bright white with CHAN embroidered on the end. Cute. When you flipped the tag over, more casual script was stitched on the back. Good on ya, Chris. 

“Chris?” You asked out loud, audibly puzzled. 

“Yeah?” Chan finally turned to fully look at you. He raised an eyebrow at your confused face. 

“Wait,” you laughed, “what’s your name?”

“Oh my god,” he smirked, “you thought Chan’s my real name?”

“Of course I did!” You smiled and buried your embarrassed face in your hands, “Jay introduced you that way!”

“Jay was razzing me for the worst call sign on the planet when you came in.”

“It’s your call sign?!” You idiot, you silently admonished. He didn’t buy his flight time. He traded service for half the hours. 

“Horrible, right?”

“I’ve heard worse,” you smiled gently. 

“You didn’t see my name on the itinerary?”

“It said FO C. Bang,” you shrugged helplessly. Chan -- or Chris, rather -- watched curiously as you pulled out your wallet and placed a bill on the bar. “You don’t need a beer,” you shook your head, “you need to talk. Did you get a room at the motel, too?”

Chris nodded, watching as you picked his cap up from the bar and taking it hostage as you turned to leave. He quickly grabbed his bag and followed you as you marched out the door and onto the sidewalk back to the motel. 

“So that explains your name, but I still don’t get the accent. Australia? How did that work with the military?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, almost impressed, “moved here when I was younger. Immigration wasn’t the worst thing in the world for me, but it took forever. Ever since I was a kid I wanted to fly planes, and I knew military service got you half your hours. Got out, went to school, and started teaching businessmen for their private licenses.”

“The real grind,” you smirked. 

“Yup. They always get these planes that look better than they fly.” He stopped you for a moment on the sidewalk, grabbing his cap from your hand and placing it on your head. He grinned with satisfaction, the little dimple it caused looking cuter than it did earlier. “What?” He asked. Your look must’ve given you away. 

“Nothing, I--” you floundered, “I feel bad. I had you pegged wrong. When I met you earlier I had you figured for a rich kid who bought his hours.”

“Oh yeah?” Chris laughed. “Can't say I would've passed an opportunity to. But is that what made you a little… Cold?”

“Yes,” you winced at your admission, “if anyone has ever tried to pinch my ass or pull on my pantyhose or grab my skirt, it's businessmen or young pilots who think they’re hot shit.”

“Your pantyhose?!” Chris stared, visibly disgusted for you when you nodded. “I get it,” he shrugged reassuringly, “better to keep your guard up. How long have you been flying? Any tips you can give me?”

“I’m done next month, to be honest. It’s only been a few years but I think I’m ready.”

“No! You’re kidding. You think we’ll fly together again?”

“Well,” you blushed, “where are you based?”

“New York. I was going to deadhead to LaGuardia after Newark.”

“Makes sense. I'm based out of Sea-Tac. That’s where I'm starting my new job.”

“No!” Chris exaggeratedly sighed, “I can't believe it. You’re not flying anymore?”

“Nope,” you smiled, “grounded as of next month.”

“Bummer,” he shook his head, “you’re a champ. By the way, were you just walking me back to my room?”

You were caught entirely off-guard as you noticed you had accompanied Chris right up to his door, just a few doors down from where you were staying with everyone else. “What? No. I wanted to talk. You looked so out of it back there.”

“Well, we can keep talking in here, then.” Chris smiled, digging his room key out of his pocket and opening the door. You truly considered this for a second. This was a pilot, you were a flight attendant. However, he somehow seemed so helpless in this moment, so at the mercy of this dumb day. Or were you seeing things? No, his voice asking you to stay in the cockpit was still fresh in your ears, his panic as clear in your mind as he was now. You followed him inside and he set his backpack on the floor as he flipped on the lights, apparently not even having been inside the room until now. You followed suit, setting down your purse as well. 

“Was the interview alright?” You asked, pulling up a chair from the small table in the corner as Chris sat himself on the edge of the bed. 

He nodded nonchalantly, stretching and massaging the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Pretty standard stuff. ‘What happened’, ‘what did you do according to procedure,’ all the fun stuff. I was just worried about the Captain the whole time.”

“I don’t blame you,” you offered with a small smile, “But I wouldn’t worry. Jay’s pretty tough.”

“Of course, but… I dunno,” Chris paused, his eyes downcast as he chewed on his lip in thought. “Everything happened so fast. Alarms are going off, the Captain’s out, and all I could think of was how I didn't feel ready. I wasn’t ready for this to happen.”

“When would you ever be? What surprised you the most?”

“I guess… All the people on board. The pressure of almost 200 people depending on you. This wasn’t even a giant disaster but I was on the brink of not being able to handle it that whole time and I just felt like such a failure.”

“But you landed safely,” you sat forward in your chair. You were tempted to place a comforting hand on his knee, but was that too much? “Everyone’s alive. Why would you be a failure?”

“Flying planes was supposed to be it. The thing I'm going to do forever and be happy doing and be great at, but the first real test comes and I almost crumble. What do I do with that?”

“This is it? This is the ‘thing’?” You asked. This time you did rest a hand on his knee, but just for a moment. He regarded it thoughtfully before he nodded. “Then try again,” you continued, “The terrifying thing no one told us growing up was that finding your ‘thing’ isn’t a finish line. It’s not like you find it and that’s it. A lot of times it’s more like goalposts. You have to keep passing them and sometimes there's never a finish line, but you love it and that’s what matters.”

Chris smirked, his shoulders softening. He shrugged his coat and jacket off, laying them next to him on the bed. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m glad,” you grinned, “I'm sort of making it up as I go along. I thought being a flight attendant was it, too, but one day I woke up and I didn't feel at home in the skies anymore. I wouldn't worry too much, by the way. You’re a good pilot.”

“And you're a really good flight attendant,” he smiled. “Was today worse than any businessman trying to pull on your pantyhose?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but it would've been even worse if that happened, too. Besides, nobody flirts with you? That’s discrimination.”

“Of course they do! Last week a very friendly old man in Reno squeezed my arm for way too long when we were deplaning.” 

“What, like this?” You asked, playfully leaning forward and grabbing his bicep. 

“Not quite,” he wheezed out a laugh, “you’re not massaging it and leering at me.”

“This feels gross,” you wrinkled your nose as you tried it, “I feel like a perv.”

“Good, you’re really in the mindset then. It’s weird how old people think this is effective.” You both shared a laugh but you couldn't help but notice the restless look in his eye. 

“You’re still out of it?”

He shook his head. “Stupid, yeah?”

“Not stupid. Here,” you offered with a proactive clap, “an actual tip. Grab the pillow and bring it down here.” Chris eyed you curiously as he grabbed the pillow from behind him. Quickly, you got up and turned on the bedside lamp before flipping the ceiling light off. You took the pillow from him and shooed him off the bed for a second as you pulled aside the covers, laying the pillow on the foot of the bed. “I’m going to sound crazy, but just try it. Lay down now.”

“This way?”

You nodded seriously. Chris silently challenged you, only for a second as he rolled up his uniform sleeves before climbing into bed, his feet up where his head would've been. You took it upon yourself to sit beside him and untie the laces of his masterfully shined shoes. He stiffly looked down his nose, regarding his wiggling feet as you set the shoes together on the floor next to his bag. You reached over and pulled the covers over him, lightly tucking him in for full effect. 

“This feels weird.” He observed. 

“Right?”

“Absolutely bizarre.”

“But it feels new, right?”

“It does. But it’s just a bed,” Chris marveled. 

“Of course it’s just a bed, but 99% of the time you sleep in it one way. I sort of use this as a manual reset, like after a week of back-to-back nonstops and I'm in a different time zone and I don’t even feel like a person. Now how do you feel?”

Chris paused, considering it. “Weirdly enough… A little clarified. Almost a little reorganized. I think you’re right about the reset thing.”

“Glad you think so,” you clapped again as you arose, dusting yourself off. “And I'm glad I could help.”

You turned to gather your purse. Would asking for a phone number be too much? After all, what if you wanted to check on him? A tug pulled you out of your consideration -- literally -- Chris finding the first thing he could reach: the hem of your skirt once again. 

“Wait! You're leaving?”

You smiled down at his hand as he sheepishly let go. “Sure. You feel better now, right? We need some sleep. Want one more tip?”

“Please?”

You took the shabby comforter of the bed and tucked him back in, momentarily musing that you were restraining him from keeping you here longer. “Okay,” you smirked quietly at his careful attention, “one last tip: you actually can get your own coffee, but I would prefer if your pilot friends would ask before just taking over the galley.”

“No!” Chris let out with a surprised laugh, “That doesn’t count!” 

“Sure it does. You'll learn plenty more on your own. Sweet dreams, First Officer Chan.” You tucked him in just a little more, placing a playfully chaste kiss to his brow as a final touch, a final word and a closed door on the feelings you were telling yourself weren't there as you turned to grab your purse. 

Until yet another tug caught your attention. Only this time, it was a gentle pinch at the fabric of your pantyhose. You turned halfway around, the silence in the room crushing you as you locked eyes. Wordlessly, curiously, obviously, you sat back down on the bed and let Chris sit up to kiss you. You admired how his lips didn't waver on yours, even as they lingered. He meant it. 

“What's that for?” You whispered against him. 

“I didn’t want you to go yet,” he whispered back with a small smile, “And you're still wearing my hat.” 

You eyed him carefully despite your blushing face, weighing these heavy possibilities, all while tamping down the wild urge to ignore everything and kiss him again. However, maybe this was just a case of accepting everything… And kissing him again. 

So you did. First, you slipped off his cap from atop your head and set it on the bedside. Then, placing a hand on his shoulder, you attempted to match his confidence as you pushed him back onto the bed, following him down as you kissed him, your lips tight against his before you ultimately softened. Thoughts swam in your head as he slid your coat free from your arms, letting it fall off the side of the bed and onto the floor. 

“Is this alright? Chris asked softly against you, his hands already ahead of the curve and wrapping around your waist. He gently hauled you over to lay on his chest. The way he handled you made you feel weightless, only adding to the floating feeling in your stomach. You gave a short nod. Your fingers lightly brushed his fringe from his eyes, trailing down his cheek as if you were still confirming for yourself that this was real, and you were really making this decision that you had  never made in this situation before. There had been other pilots, other flight attendants, and even the occasional customer, but nothing had ever passed this barrier before. So you crossed it again with another kiss. 

Chris appeared satisfied with your affirmation as he rolled you both over in bed, his knee almost cautious as it parted your legs. The old mattress creaked beneath you, cradling your shoulders as Chris placed a tentative kiss to the nape of your neck. You reached down, lifting the hem of your skirt a little so his hips could settle between your thighs. On their way back up, your fingertips stopped at his belt, unbuckling him and sliding the leather free from the loops. Chris’ lips on your neck paused as he picked himself up from your chest. He watched intently as you pulled at his shirt, untucking it before he intervened. You waited a moment, catching your breath as he loosened his tie and pulled it away from the pressed collar of his shirt. This joined the belt you had dropped off the side of the bed. Both your hands reached for the top buttons of each other's shirts, making your ways down. You weren't sure if Chris was aware of how cutely and obviously he was staring at the slope of your breasts still concealed by your bra, until you took his hand and laid it on your chest. He got the hint quickly, his warm fingers firmly caressing and gently groping you. He seemed almost easily distracted, finding new things to be fixated on as you intermittently kissed and gasped. This time, it was him watching intently as you lifted your hips to reach behind you, unzipping your skirt and pushing it down. He eagerly took over, pulling your skirt off for you, also dropping it off the side of the bed. He sat back, taking a moment to slide off your low heels. A pang of affection thumped in your chest as he almost absent-mindedly massaged each foot before setting your shoes on the floor beside his. Next came your pantyhose. He leaned forward, softly kissing your bent knee as he nuzzled his way up your legs. Finally, his fingers dipped beneath the taut waistband and he watched, almost transfixed as he pulled the meager layer off of you. The sensation was so exposing that the panties that followed almost felt inconsequential. 

You sat up, wondering and watching as Chris kissed his way back up your legs once again, the light tickle of his lips making you smirk as you slipped off the remaining layers of your blouse and bra. He was almost caught off guard, the pause in his Adam’s apple giving away the deep breath he took at the sight of you before shedding his opened shirt as well. He swiftly shucked off his slacks and socks, barely giving you an equal opportunity to admire him before he leaned down to place a gentle introductory kiss just below your navel. Your breathless nod was all he needed to finally taste you. You gasped at the feel of him moaning against you, his tongue making you shiver as you grasped at the bedsheets. 

Too eager to wait, any amount of time he took savoring you between your legs seemed to fly by before he came up for air, running the back of his hand across his chin as he crawled up between your thighs. His hips rested heavy on yours once more, only this time the clear sensation of his erection against your damp entrance was only made more apparent by the thin layer of his briefs separating you both. He waited again for your approval before making another move, his hand poised at his hip until you nodded. The feel of the head of his rigid length was smooth against you, prodding shallowly into your soaked heat. The simultaneous moan that erupted from both of you was fuel on the fire. Your open legs wrapped around his hips, your fingers curled into his hair as you pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Chris slowly rocked his hips, working his way deeper into you until he bottomed out. His groan against your neck was so satisfied, almost as endearing as he was himself. 

You almost felt impatient as he gently fucked you. You wanted more -- more control, more pleasure, more of him. He was surprised as you pushed at his shoulder, feeling empty as he slid out of you and onto his back beside you. You sat up and brazenly pulled his underwear the rest of the way off, taking charge in straddling his hips. This time, however, it was your turn to wait for him. He gave a small, almost timid nod as he watched you. You humored the thought that maybe this was just as different of an experience for him as it was for you. Chris threw his head back on the pillow at the foot of the bed as you eased the walls of your pussy back down onto him, his hand clutching onto your hip and the other grabbing onto your thigh as you slowly began to ride him. Your hips firmly rocked on top of his, drawing more groans and soft curses made under his breath. It didn’t take long for him to get accustomed to you enough that his hands could wander. Now, one groped at your breast and the other traveled up your thigh to between your legs, allowing himself full access to caressing your clit with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lit up at your response, moaning louder than you meant to as your depths clenched around him. Soon enough, the set in his clenched jaw matched his furrowing brow and it was a sight to be enamored with. The stir between your legs started to build heat up your chest like a chimney, your head getting light the further along he pushed you. Chris’s hips bucked up against yours and bounced you harder onto his length. 

He took it upon himself to nod first this time, breathlessly warning you of how close he was and you shook your head, begging him to hold off as your nails lightly raked down his chest. The way he smirked, biting at his lip as he thrust even harder against you, his thumb rubbing faster circles on your clit -- no one had so playfully pushed you to cum before. And it was working. You could feel your toes curling at the unstoppable force at which you were approaching this orgasm, and the way Chris insistently watched only made it all the more intense as you finally locked up, hitting your peak and nearly going limp in the process. The way it hit you, the sound almost dropped out as if you were submerged underwater. He quickly took over, clutching onto your hips now as he fucked into your dripping pussy. You were practically a useless doll with how easily he handled you on top of him, but at the same time he was still so gently firm with you that it was as if you were precious to him. Maybe you were, with the eyes he made at you, at least for now. He watched your blissful face desperately until the moment he couldn't anymore, wrenching his eyes shut and letting his head fall back into the pillow with the force of his own orgasm. 

As his hands released your hips, you exhaustedly curled into yourself on his lap, leaning your head down to wrap around him. Chris held onto you, his trembling matching yours in the wake of your climaxes. His arms hugged strong around your waist nonetheless, embracing you closely as his length gradually softened inside of your sensitive walls. You stayed like that, listening to each other breathe in the quiet of the dimly lit room. As you rolled over to lay at his side, Chris followed you, nuzzling into your chest. You tipped a fingertip under his chin and he looked up at you, his sleepy eyes wrapped up in you and almost reminding you of a puppy. 

He closed his eyes as you kissed his forehead, your fingers lazily stroking his hair as you kissed his nose, his chin, and finally his lips again. 

“What was that for?” He quietly laughed. 

“Congratulations,” you chuckled, “I've never done this before.”

Chris pouted cutely, his eyes still closed, “You're not regretting this already, are you?”

“Of course not,” you soothed, “I'm just surprised it happened. But I'm not surprised it was you.”

He smiled warmly, even in his half-awake state. “What happens tomorrow?”

“You mean today.”

“Tomorrow is tomorrow until I fall asleep,” he laughed, “so what happens then?”

“I'm going to visit Jay if I can,” you decided thoughtfully, “and I'll buy you breakfast at a greasy diner before I put you on a plane to LaGuardia and never see you again.”

“You'll never see me again?” His pout renewed in spades, only with a touch more sincerity to it this time. 

“Sure,” you kissed him with a smile again, “it's hard to keep you pilots on the ground long enough.”

Chris hummed in thought, his grin returning as he caught you challenging him. “Hmm, no.”

“No?”

“No. I'll see you again,” he decided, “You have more tips to show me. I'll be useless without you.”

“Fine,” you laughed. You grabbed the shabby comforter of the bed, bundling up with him where you still laid the wrong way in bed. “I won't say no to that.”

Chris smiled contentedly as you kissed his forehead once more. Your eyes joined his in closing now, softly falling asleep in each other's arms even as a new day was forming outside. The hectic night you'd had finally hit you, gracefully knocking you out as you considered the way you weren't as nervous about being grounded next month. Maybe you wouldn't truly be leaving the skies if he was still up there.