#oops that was supposed to go in the queue and not get posted immediately

[thatswhatsushesaid]

it's sad xiyao hours again in this chilis tonight

[l3viat8an]

Mammon waking you up by going down on you (with prev consent ofc) or you waking Mammon up with a BJ >_<

Nsfw!

Honestly thought this posted already- cuz it was supposed to be in queue for Mams birthday jsksjsk

I feel like that would happen all the time after you start dating Mammon! I mean he just can’t get enough of you and it is a rather nice way to wake up~

And really some mornings he gets so needy and you look so sweet laying there next to him that he just can’t keep his hands or lips off of you.

At first Mammon was just planning to kiss you, a few kisses down your neck and chest wouldn’t hurt right?- then he starts going lower, moving your clothes out of the way so he can keep kissing your skin, down across your chest and tummy and somehow he ends up between your legs… oops~

You wake up slowly, your mind groggy with sleep and pleasure as your eyes open and all you can see of your boyfriend is a lump under the covers. But as soon as you wake up and start grinding your hips to meet his face a little harder Mammon grabs your hips to pin you back down. At the same time he lifts his head to look up at you, which makes the covers fall back a bit so you can see his face, (his hair is an absolute mess too but that’s not super important :D) a crooked little smirk on Mammon’s face as he sits up enough to press a few more soft and wet kiss across your tummy. Mumbling out “Mornin’ darlin’.” against your skin before he goes right back to what he was doing- making you cum on his face-

He thinks its cute how you try to prop yourself up a bit on your elbows to look down at him and enjoy the show, chuckling to himself as he sucks on your clit just right, that it has your head rolling back and you have to plop right back down onto the pillows because it felt that good.  After all he knows all your sweet spots.

Neither of you talk much but Mammon would praise you for being so good and cummin’ for him, ya should let him take care of ya more often~

Sooo of course it’s only right that you ‘repay him’ wake him up head the next morning.  

Again not hard Mammon almost always has ‘morning wood’ when you sleep in the same bed.

While you’re under the covers tease his tip a bit -trust me- before taking his cock all the way into your mouth.

As soon as you start Mammon’s awake and you can hear all his breathlessly, little moans of “Yea~” and “Oh fuck, yes darlin’, just like that” I’m telling you he can’t keep his mouth shut- “S-shit- Don’t stop fuck.” and even more, “Please- Yea, like that, faster.”

There is a special something -not quite tenderness but that’s the closest word you can think of- to Mammon in these moments. Even as you have his cock in your mouth, even as he groans under his breath and his legs tense. Even as he grabs a handful of your hair and gently pushes you down a little bit to see if you can take him even further down your throat, he’s not trying to be mean but he loves it when you gag on him. Making him moan even louder “Shit- So fuckin’ g-good treasure.” as he cums down your throat.

Maybe it’s the way he smooths over your hair as you swallow his cum. Or maybe it’s the way he starts to pull you up to lay your head on his chest and wraps his arms around you as tightly as he can immediately after. It’s all done with care, as if you’re the most precious thing in his room. And of course to him you are.

(Although if you wanna tease Mammon a little more instead- sit up before he can pull you up and let the covers pool around you as you make a show of licking the last few drops of his cum off your lips ;))

[endofjunee]

📚 Drunk in Love (last thing I remember) by @lovehoperomance He’s stumbling to the left of the street, hopeful that it’s in the direction of his flat, when he sees it. A food truck. Lit up in gold. It's as if God has taken a giant highlighter and drawn a halo around it. Okay, so it might be the streetlight shining down on it and the yellow light emanating from within...but Louis will still claim godly intervention if anyone asks.

He weaves across the pavement, shivering in what he now realises is a very brisk London evening, coated in fog.

“Hello. Hi.” Louis steps in front of the entire line, waving an aimless hand at the man in the truck who looks completely bewildered by Louis’ antics. The man is littered in tattoos and wearing a green headscarf that matches the sea foam of his eyes. “Do you have any fried chicken? Or a drink? Oh, oh, do you have chips? Oh please tell me you have chips?”

The man’s face, which Louis faintly registers is quite angular, shifts from bewilderment into a stunning, slightly crooked smile.

Or, the one where Louis wakes up, naked, in a stranger's bed and has no idea how he got there. Maybe it's foul play. Maybe it's just the kindness of a handsome stranger amused by his drunken antics. 🌹 Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy by @chloehl10 Harry whimpered as Louis pushed himself up onto his tiptoes, grazing his ear lobe with his lips. His breath tickled Harry’s ears, and Harry swallowed, already anticipating what Louis was about to say.

“I’d like to ride you, cowboy…”

Or, Harry's a barman at Flaming Saddles, a country and western themed gay bar.

Louis’ a customer who’d like to see if the tall barman is as good on the ropes as everyone says he is...

📚 And That’s The Tea by @2tiedships2​ I’d like an Earl Grey with milk and sugar, please.

Louis had the phrase memorized, even though it had disappeared off its place on his upper arm over thirteen years ago now.

At fourteen he didn’t understand. Soulmarks don’t just disappear. Not unless…

Unless one of them dies.

Or, the one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be. 🌹 I’ll Fly Away by @vintage-harry​ “Harold,” Louis spoke, but not too loud. He didn’t want to startle the cat pile. “Louis? What are you doing home?” Harry greeted him with a toothy smile. “Why are there three cats?” Louis pointed at the third one. “That’s Hail. He’s so sweet.” Louis blinked and shook his head slightly. “Why is he on the sofa, in the house, on the cats?” “He lives here now,” Harry stated as if Louis should already be aware of this. He was not aware of this news until now. “Since when?” He poked the cat in the head, his tiny black curtained head with white ears popped up. He mewed softly before blinking a few times. Louis thinks he looked offended. He looked at Harry expectantly. Harry looked fond. “For three days now.” He smiled at Louis. It reminded him of Dori smiling at Marlin in Finding Nemo.

Or, Louis and Harry live in a small town in Texas of just over 500 people and Harry seems to be growing cats in his garden. Love and fluff.  📚 Baby Honey 2.0 by @vintage-harry​ A few weeks passed by and Louis had spent a large portion of his time with incognito mode on as he Googled ways to hint at pregnancies. He came up with a few ideas but was impatient and felt uncreative at any idea. The most he read about was for online announcements. Louis decided one day while he was at Niall’s with two kittens laying on his stomach to take a photo and post it. He knew Harry would see it pretty quickly as he had Louis’ Instagram notifications on.

Louis held his phone out and took a few shots of the sleeping kittens on his stomach, thumbed through them and found the one he liked best and posted it with the caption, “Three little kittens” he hit post and waited. It didn’t take long, ten minutes later Harry left a comment asking where the third kitten was. Louis rolled his eyes and deleted the photo.

Or, Louis is pregnant this time and tries to find creative ways to hint about it to Harry. Only it doesn’t go as planned. 🌹 fuck fake friends by @artxghoul​ It’s better to just stay away. So he does. He tries his very best to. It’s just weird when you can’t be happy for someone. When you can’t encourage their achievements anymore, because they did it alone or with someone else, when it was supposed to be with you. Harry was supposed to always be with Louis.

Or, if you love someone, set them free. if they don't come back, text them when you're drunk. 📚 The Daddiest Place on Earth by @chloehl10​ dilfs_atdisneyworld: Ooh he's popular. Is it me or has it got hot in here? #dilf #hothothot #gimme

louist91: What the hell? Why the fuck am I on a DILFs page again?"

dilfs_atdisneyworld: louist91, Hello! You're on here because you're a DILF. A dad I'd like to f...😜

Louist91: dilfs_atdisneyworld Oh my god. Fuck off mate.

Or, Louis. Harry. Instagram. A whole lot of confusion and a whole lot of laughs... 🌹 Harry Poppins by @jacaranda-bloom​ When Louis’ best friends pass away he finds himself with an instant family. Maddie and Thomas are wonderful children but take an immediate dislike to every nanny that sets foot inside their house. After nanny number six is summarily dismissed Louis is at his wit’s end, that is until an unusual man arrives on their doorstep. Harry Styles is like nothing any of them have ever encountered before, and perhaps, exactly what they’ve been looking for all along.  📚 tonight’s not over (come over and stay) by @microlouis​ Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, pausing and worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he asks, “Have you heard that Cox guy is coming out with a new song?” Louis freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard where they had been typing his password.

“No, I hadn’t,” Louis says truthfully. “Where did you hear that?” “Tell anyone this and I’ll kill you, but I’d consider myself a big fan,” Zayn says. His face doesn’t change in expression, completely serious as he admits this to Louis. “Big fan? Like run a blog and everything?” Or, harry is a famous singer and louis is a student who just wants to write his novel. 🌹 Fiction Romance by @rougeandtonic​ Harry has a type.

He likes older, sophisticated, mature men. Well-educated men. Men with life experience and passion for arts and social causes. Men who are established in their careers, who've sorted their lives out.

Niall knows this.

And so Harry can't understand why he's sat here opposite Louis Tomlinson.

Or, a punk Louis/uni Harry blind date AU. 📚 Hope when the moment comes, you’ll say I did it all by SilverShadow1  Standing in front of them with an amused smile was an — there really was no other suitable word to describe him — angelic creature. Soft brown hair that was shaved on the sides and bright blue eyes that Harry had only seen in photos of the ocean; the lad was probably close in age to himself, yet seemed entirely boyish.

“Dad, put me down!” demanded Jess with no malice in her voice. Harry looked down in surprise, forgetting that she was in his right arm. “Oops,” he said, flushing. That caused the other lad to laugh. “Hi,” said the man at the door.

Or, the one where Louis is a piano teacher and Harry and his daughter are goners for him. 🌹 Graphic design is my passion by @kingsofeverything Graphic design student Louis Tomlinson has exams to study for and final art projects to complete, if it would stop raining long enough for him to walk across campus. Luckily Harry Styles has an umbrella, and he’s perfectly willing to share.

Louis doesn’t plan to get his heart broken and he doesn’t plan to make almost a hundred silicone dildos. One of these things definitely happens. 📚 i gotta get better! by @dystopianharry  Harry’s sex life has been pretty nonexistent since he broke up with his last non-soulmate boyfriend. after a chance encounter with someone online, he decides to enlist them to help him out. no strings attached, obviously.

Or, soulmates can feel each others’ pain and harry has some kinks he wants to explore. 🌹 Dreaming of You by @mizzwilde The Begrudging Starbucks AU.

The world is winter and steamed milk and creamy espresso shots. The world is a never ending queue. The world is a Starbucks logo and a pink-cheeked smile from Niall and a bored scowl from Zayn and the world is Louis watching his best mate, Liam, fall in love with their newest customer, Harry. Who may or may not be in love with Louis. The world is cruel. 📚 Through a Mirror Dimly by @londonfoginacup​ Louis Tomlinson, in his third year at university, does not expect nor want the roommate that is being assigned to his room.

Harry Styles, in his first year at university, has just been kicked out of one dorm and doesn't want to deal with yet another snobby, rich roommate.

They don't get along, and that's just how it is, until circumstances force them to reevaluate. 🌹 Raise a Glass to the Four of Us by @2tiedships2 Louis stared at his luggage.

Well. Apparently not his luggage, because the clothing he was looking at currently was a: worth more than everything he currently possessed, b: not his size at all, and c: more suited for a fancy ass lawyer than a holiday in NYC with his best mates.

“Ooh, nice loafers,” Niall said as he pulled one out of the suitcase. “I love the rainbows.”

“Okay,” Liam began. “What do you want to do first? Eat, shop for new clothes, or spend hours on the phone with the airline?”

Louis continued to stare at the luggage. 📚 His and Mine by @kissyboystyles​ Harry is adopted by a wealthy family, soon to be cleared of his connection to his soulmate without discussion on his twentieth birthday-- a gruesome rite of passage. For the past eight years, Harry has been staring at one name: Louis. But what happens now that his heart starts fluttering for a stranger, helping him remain strong at his weakest points? Harry feels he should be cautious; what kind of person goes by the name Tomlinson anyway…

Or, Harry legally isn't supposed to meet his soulmate-- he's rendered physically unable to recognize him even if he did-- but yet, of course, he does. 🌹 Drop to Hold You by @becomeawendybird After the end of the Second Wizarding War and the ensuing diplomacy between Muggles and the Wizarding world, the long-defunct Merlin College at Oxford opened it's doors again.

The ultra-competitive programs at Merlin require a rigorous application process. None more than the Auror training program. Louis finally manages to get in with his best friend Liam after a few false starts, only to be faced with the most beautiful, distracting man he could ever imagine. 📚 The Lone Hydrangea by @lightwoodsmagic “Thank you again,” he smiled at Harry as he picked up the arrangement and headed towards the door, and Harry quickly realised he didn’t know the man’s name. “I – wait! Sorry, I just...what’s your name?” At the man’s eyebrow raise, Harry stumbled over his words, “It’s just, if you’re coming back, I thought I should…know.” As the man looked at Harry, his smile only grew, and Harry’s heart thumped in his chest. “My name’s Louis. Louis Tomlinson, and it was so lovely to meet you,” he shot one final grin in Harry’s direction, “I’ll see you next week, Harry.” And then he was gone. “It was lovely to meet you too,” Harry whispered to the empty shop, putting his head on the counter, “Louis”.

Or, the post Hogwarts AU where Harry's a florist, Louis' a muggle who edits fantasy books, and they both have no say in how quickly they fall for each other. 🌹 A Little Bit Like Fate by @28shadesofpink “So,” Harry starts. “Since I heard you and your friend are not getting married, uhm... Would it be appropriate to ask you to stay for the kiss-in?” “Really?” Louis says, light and playful. “And who would I be kissing?” He looks up and offers a sweet smile, perfectly innocent. “Oh, I don’t know.” Harry is playing along, keeping his tone airy, but he takes a step forward and smirks. “With those cheekbones, I think you could kiss whoever you wanted.”

Or, Louis stumbles upon a kiss-in protest for LGBTQ rights, and he meets Harry. They click. It feels a little bit like fate. 📚 come together by @bottomlinsons Harry and Louis slept together three weeks ago, and haven’t talked.

Their coming group project is gonna change that. 🌹 Seeing Blind by @that-idiot-overthere Louis finally turns his head in Liam’s direction, knows his face is showing the longing he’s been aching with ever since it took root in his chest. “What the fuck do I do, Liam? He wouldn’t want me like that, but I want-” his voice cracks, and he turns his face back downwards. “What do you do when you’re not perfect for the person who’s perfect for you?”

Or,  the one where Harry’s an independent omega who likes to have his fun and Louis is the blind alpha that changes Harry’s priorities. 📚 Sweet as Cherry Wine by @harrieberrie Broken hearts are healed by the luck of the Irish

Or, Louis and Niall are a mess, Niall’s daughter has a hopeless crush, and Harry is hopelessly clueless 🌹 at the end of my rope by @saffona "Baby?” Harry mumbles, voice laced with sleep and a shiver goes through Louis at hearing the term. He hasn’t called him that in so long, in that voice and, clearly, even Louis’ body fucking misses it.

“Did you cheat on me?” Louis finds himself asking. If he’s being honest it’s more so he can see Harry’s reaction, than a genuine question, but what has he got to lose? Sure enough, Harry’s face changes from sleepy to the most incredulous look Louis’ ever seen on him. He actually looks terrified, all wide eyes, mouth gaping like he can’t believe Louis would even assume that and Louis would laugh at it, but he’s so done with the way Harry’s been acting, he just wants to know what the hell’s going on.

Or, the one where they go to Crete and Harry is definitely hiding something. 📚 truth, justice, and the gay way by @hattalove Liam needs a costume. Louis needs a best best friend award, a holiday, and to get a grip.

(Harry’s just in the right place at the right time.) 🌹 Hello My Name Is Harry by @a-brighter-yellow Louis’s 20-year high school reunion takes a turn when a celebrity classmate – who also happens to be Louis’s long unrequited crush – unexpectedly shows up.

A famous/not-famous AU inspired by Chris Evans.

[Previous Monthly Recs]

[itsakpopalypse]

Ziu/Park Heejun Astrology : How He Loves

“hey, I just saw the post you did for VAV’s ace and i loved it 💕💕 could you do one for Ziu too please? thanks!!!”- @1330503339

A/N hi ! I am so glad you have been enjoying my posts !! I will be happy to and thank you for being patient with me !!

as always 18+below the cut!

The cutest boy? perhaps.

Okay ! first of all !! 

we have an estimated rising Libra

which means chaarrrrrming

well liked and fun loving, the cardinal of the air signs would draw you in

complimentary 

a little flirty

like a Libra will flirt with a damn broom for hahas

but also are soft inside and a bit restless

may need constant help because like… too many things to do so pls help this bb stay on track

Gemini sun and Libra moon

an airy fun boy!

Gemini’s are quick witted, full of life, but can avoid closer relationships (but his moon is Libra and venus is Cancer so he will actually seek deeper attachment than the typical Gemini sun)

loves affection and attention and loves showering others in it too,

have you seen him he needs to give and receive kisses 24/7 

love him he needs it

in relationships this triple air placement will translate to

before you are dating he is going to FLIRT

but in a cute and fun way

he’s all “oh my god. Have you seen the world’s most beautiful person?” 

you’re like… no who? 

he shows you his phone with the front facing camera on so you are looking at yourself

and you are like 😊😊😊😊😊😊😲😲😲

how cute

and he won’t be shy about physical affection

asks you strange questions while laying with his head on your lap

you’ll fall into this very close flirtationship of affectionate touches but no real words 

it will all feel so natural and part of him will forget he never officially asked you

oops

so you’ll be at a store or something and someone will ask you for your number, and his Cancer venus will sprout horns and immediately get jealous

he’ll be holding your hand anyway so he will point to them and just say 

“She’s taken.” and if you look at him surprised because you have seen him be just as affectionate with anyone else he’ll still insist he is your boyfriend

vehemently 

how dare someone try to snatch you up????

the nerve

anyway he is really sweet after that 

“I am, right? What was that guy thinking??”

he will stare at you and wait for you to agree. 

so you do, cause you like him too

and the biggest smile will be yours

 a happy baby oh my god he will be bouncing with joy for hours

everywhere you go he will have to announce he has arrived as a boyfriend

and if he does it to the members they’re like… you weren’t already dating?

anyway    he has his mercury in Gemini also so his communication is a bit haphazard

all over the place with his thoughts but they are all so interesting to listen to so you are constantly enraptured

great sense of humor

remember I said Cancer venus?

in the actual relationship he will be jealous of your time

if you spend too much with other people he will probably whine about it

but how can you even be mad at him? 

you can’t queue puppy eyes

very faithful

very attatched

like always

both physically and emotionally 

will 10/10 glomp you whenever you are around

what’s that? going to the kitchen?

glomp

watching a movie?

glomp 

low key a little shit

but in a soft way

Mars in Virgo 

thank god , some earth where it matters

this means his motivations are important to him and he is driven to complete whatever goals he has

His north node is also Virgo

so he is unselfish, thoughtful, probably dates float back and forth from spontaneous air sign driven and really well planned romantic shit

i feel like he’d be the boyfriendiest.

you know like just “good morning beautiful” texts and like

when you are sad he showers your entire face in kisses

and then tickles you until you are laughing 

pls he just wants you to smile

the softest

aims to please 

protec him awwwwwww

spicy time 

18+ below

i know 

on average I pin Cancer venus as dom dom

but I will be honest this boys entire chart is so full of air it’s not realistic for him

I do think the jealous side of Cancer venus stands, but I think it would present itself more as a time consuming and refusal to let others touch you more than him

not that he will be controlling or anything 

he just wants you to spend your time and energy on him

a needy boy

I think he isn’t particularly dom or sub

seems like the type to just be really into really romantic sex

I’m not saying he can’t get freaky 

I’m positive with how eager to please he is that he would try anything you asked once or twice and if you REALLY liked it he would start to be into it too

because it makes you happy and that’s what gets him off, pleasing you 

 how sweet

like if you want him to be rough he can, but I think he would in general revert to really romantic touches that linger on your body

body worship for surrre

he wants you to remember no past lover

he wants your body to react to him only

so he will learn every little thing that makes you tick and he will exploit it 

sorry guess you wanted to breathe or something nope not a chance

he’s going to make your head spin in pleasure and draw every reaction he can from you

probably likes it when he makes you loud enough for others to hear

cause you’re his and he wants everyone to know it

might get a lil kinky if you’re into it 

Libras are so very into beauty and he has enough Libra in his chart in important places so I am thinking 

you guys are kissing and touching 

his hands are spanning your body in all the right places

probably slips one down the front of your pants and cups you while  he leaves open mouthed kisses hot and wet against your neck

and you are throwing your head back in pleasure 

he likes to strip you first and stare, you will see him drink in every curve and thing you think is a flaw 

breathlessly he will let the words fall out of his mouth “you are so beautiful” 

and the awe is palpable

your heart swells with love

he will make you feel like a goddess

he seems like the energetic type probably has hella stamina

so yeah it’s romantic but it is also gonna leave your head spinning

good luck i hope you have some endurance

one round? no. 

he seems like the all day type of lover

some days you won’t leave the bedroom except to grab snacks and water

and he is spending  so much time making you feel loved but also making sure you cum and cum and cum you feel me?

I see him being into dirty talk, but like the kind where it’s 

“do you like that?”

“how do you feel with me inside you ?”

“shit you’re so tight, how am I even supposed to fit?” while he’s fingering you or eating you

speaking of

he seems like an oral KING

he is so eager to make you feel good that I feel like.. 

he probably would spend an hour or more down there

accidentally overstimulating you because “You taste so good.” and “I love watching you fall apart for me.”

aftercare is probably mostly cuddles

maybe cockwarming? like not intentionally, just that after that last round you are both completely drained, and you were on top and he just let you collapse on him 

and you fell asleep like that but he didn’t have the heart to move you 

listen that is hot and soft omg

on the whole he is an exuberant and passionate  lover who wants to make you so happy that you are ruined for all other partners,

[yukheii]

we be all night

notes: this is an old drabble/reaction from one of my previous blogs that i found sitting around in my draft, i suppose i forgot to queue it or something oop

warnings: nsfw; smut

disclaimer: blanket disclaimers

KIM SEOKJIN ◦ [cr.]

“You know,” Seokjin starts, mock sympathy laced in his voice as he eyes your body shaking in his grasp, “I didn’t think you’d be this... receptive.”

You moan in lieu of responding, and attempt to lift your hips off of the mattress but a firm has keeps them pinned down. Your eyes roll back when you feel an almost painful pressure on your clit; the result, another whine that Seokjin basks in. 

With the familiar feeling of your orgasm pooling in your stomach, your eyes snap shut and your head lolls backwards, coming in brief contact with Seokjin’s collar before he tilts it forward forcefully.

“None of that,” he orders, freeing one of your wrists and using the hand to secure your jaw between his thumb and pointer finger. He angles your head downwards, and commands you to make eye contact with the man between your legs: ���You’re going to look Taehyungie right in the eye when you cum.”

MIN YOONGI ◦ [cr.]

Yoongi’s favorite part is the morning after. He likes to wake up and see the impressions his mouth left on your body, the bruises that bear his name.

He runs his pointer finger across your collarbone, grinning at the goosebumps that litter your skin at his touch. He presses harder when he reaches a purple spot, not enough to wake you, but enough for your unconscious body to respond to him. 

More goosebumps form, and your sleeping hand curls into a loose fist. Yoongi bites his lip, and contemplates his next move. He shifts on the mattress so that his head hovers above your chest, and replaces his fingers with his lips to bite a new hickey atop your bruise. 

Now, painfully conscious of what’s happening, you feebly attempt to get his mouth off of you with a slur of tired words, “M’ sensitive, Yoon.”

He laughs, retreating to using his fingers to explore the plane of your skin. Yeah, he knows.

JUNG HOSEOK ◦ [cr.]

“You doing okay, baby?” Hoseok asks, curling one hand around your waist while the other grazes the expanse of your ass. You nod, bottom lip wedged between your teeth. Hoseok hums, flashing you a sliver of a smile before squeezing your bottom, “You look so pretty, you’re taking this so well.”

With that, he spanks you again, once on either cheek, and watches your kick your legs up in retaliation. He tuts at your response, and uses two fingers to tap against you; a silent command that makes your bend your knees, lift your ass in the air, and await further instruction. 

Hoseok grins, leaning forward until his lips are in contact with your right cheek. He kisses your skin, wet and quick, before reaching a hand under your body, a mindless thumb toying with the outer lips of panty-clad pussy. 

“Good girl.”

KIM NAMJOON ◦ [cr.]

“Aw, is my baby tired?” Namjoon asks, a faux pout on his lips, that quickly curls into a sadistic smirk upon lifting his head to take in your fucked-out face.

He chuckles into your skin, leaving wet kisses down your body until he reaches your breasts. He smiles at you before wrapping his lips around your nipple; he licks and sucks, and everything feels hot and too much, but not enough.

“Fuck, Joon, please,” you sputter incoherently, the tips of your nails dragging though his hair. Every little swipe of his tongue burns of your skin, but doesn’t sooth the ache in your stomach. 

“Think you can cum like this, baby?” He asks, using his idle hand to fondle with your other breasts. You shake your head and whine, begging for him to do something, anything else, but he drowns out you pleas, “I think you can.” 

“Joonie, I need your hands, your—”

“My hands are right here,” he cuts you off, rolling his thumbs over your nipples for emphasis, “You are going to be good, and cum for me one last time.” 

PARK JIMIN ◦ [cr.]

“Somebody missed me,” Jimin all but sings while your hurried hands remove his dress shirt from his frame. You don’t reply, only kiss him in a frenzy of teeth and tongue that his him hissing and slipping a hand into your panties in retaliation.

The light contact makes you moan, and Jimin pulls back with a curious eyebrow raised. “You’re already so wet,” he notes, rubbing dull circles against your clit, “And so sensitive.”

You bite your lip, and bend your knees, leaning against the wall for support, “I just really want you, Chim.”

Jimin hums, swiftly removing his hand from your pants to cage your body between his arms. He takes a step forward, dipping his head down into the crook of your neck and biting sharply at your flesh.

“I think you’re lying to me. I think you touched yourself before I got here,” he growls, licking over the abused skin tauntingly, “And I think you deserve to be punished.” 

KIM TAEHYUNG ◦ [cr.]

“Christ, Taehyung,” you trail off, not in a sober enough state of mind to find the words to express yourself. Taehyung smirks between your legs, gauging your waning post-orgasm high. When it seems as though you’ve caught your breath, he inches forward to kitten lick your pussy. 

Your hands immediately rest atop his head, attempting to push him away, but Taehyung’s will to make you cum is much stronger than your resolve. He grins into your heat when your arms retreat, resting numbly at your sides. 

“That’s cute baby,” he licks his lips, then goes back to sucking on your clit, and you swear you can feel everything ten fold. He grins when you raise your hips, takes pleasure in your uncalculated movements because Taehyung absolutely loves to see you squirm. “You think I’m done with you.”

JEON JEONGGUK ◦ [cr.]

“Baby, wha—I just came,” Jeongguk barely get his words out, chest still heaving from literally thirty seconds ago when he swears he came harder than he has in months. 

“I know, but you’ve been gone for so long,” you drawl, slowly stroking his cock from top to bottom, using the slick of your spit from the previous blowjob as lubrication, “I wanna make up for lost time.” 

“Fuck, babe,” he groans when he feels himself growing hard at your touch, “What are you—”

You giggle, a grip the head a little tighter to cut him off. Lazily, you rim the tip of his dick with your tongue. “It’s called cockworship, Jeonggukie,” you note, when you feel him become fully hard, “And it looks like you like it a lot.”

[nautilusopus]

i cannot stand fics with children... whether it’s the characters turned kids or characters kids. every once in awhile ill give one a try if it’s interesting enough (read: almost never) but i am rarely pleasantly surprised. no one has any idea how to write children. on one side we’ve got 10 y/o’s talking like toddlers and on the other we’ve got them talking like they just got their bachelors degree in prophetic poem-esque bullshit. its just not worth it

I’ve written a few things with kids in order to stress-test some stuff for an upcoming fic that is gonna be 90% kids and HOO BOY am I not looking forward to that one. It’s high on the queue, too: was supposed to be out for Halloween. Oops.

God it’s always so fucking bad though. That joke I made (in a post that Tumblr might have eaten admittedly because it is a Good Website™) about “you’re like a fragile porcelain doll, beautiful but about to break” or whatever? I didn’t make that up. I’m quoting that (from memory admittedly) almost word-for-word from an actual thing a writer decided a 6 year-old girl would plausibly say to a grown man she found hanging around in the middle of the street, and then hit publish so other people could read it with their limited eyeball time. 

There’s a lot of shit at play with some of the more obnoxious tropes, but the biggest one is people don’t realise that kids aren’t stupid. They process stuff differently because their capacity for empathy is limited due to their brains having trouble grasping particularly large pictures, and their priorities are different so they do things that could be perceived as “just silly fun that kids do! :)” but they’re not stupid. They’re individuals with their own self-interests, meaning they’re not going to go out of their way to psychoanalyse you as soon as you meet them because they probably won’t care, and they’re going to come off as little assholes at times because kids can be cruel – unintentionally or otherwise. They’re blunt, sometimes they know very well they’re being blunt, and they don’t particularly care because they’ve made a conscious decision to be a dick to you because they still know that they’re correct, and to a degree them being objectively correct is more important than any perceived social rules that they don’t really understand anyway. 

Also while I’m off on a tangent, kids in fanfic never have any fucking personalities. I get that people change a lot as they grow older but nearly every single child no matter who they are is the same generic, “Haha I love playing! And I’m just a little bit shy around strangers, but don’t let that keep me from warming up to you immediately as soon as you squat in front of me and call me ‘little one’, which is definitely how normal people also talk to kids!” regardless of how they acted in canon. 

Can we also include “that’s not how you fucking talk to kids, what are you a grandma from the eighteenth century or what” in the list of things that people seriously need to stop doing in fics with children in them?

[fastidious-and-a-mess]

What Goes Around Comes Around pt 2

Summary/synopsis:

Author’s note: I’ve actually named it this time oops I forgot to do that when I posted part one, which is honestly a mood rn. I really wanted to get this out today, so apologies for any grammar/editing mistakes. So anyways, yeah, enjoy.

Part 1

Warnings: language

_____________________________

I woke up completely naked and with an absolutely splitting headache. The sunlight through the windows seemed way too bright, and only made the throbbing pain in my brain worse.

It took me a moment to remember that things had happened last night. It took another moment for me to remember what those things were. I remember the phone call with Peter, going to the Pub, and my first drink pretty clearly. Then after that, I think there was a band? Yeah, up on stage, I remember the hysterical yet serene euphoria from the music. Euphoric, that’s the only word I can find to describe it. The only things I really remember from them on is a vague face, blonde, syrupy voice. After that, nothing.

Though, judging by the choice of style I’m currently showing off, I think I can make some safe guesses.

Prying my eyes open, I search to my right for my bedside clock: 10:32 am. Wow, good thing it’s Saturday. Next to clock was a glass of water, which isn’t usually there.

I sit up a little and reach for it. Underneath is a little slip of paper,

“Last night was fun, call me? 135-246-7890 -Roger”

Oh my god. Roger. As in Roger Taylor? I mean, I don’t think there are any other Rogers. Holy shit, I slept with Roger Taylor. The Roger Taylor. And he actually left me his number, wow. I haven’t heard of him ever doing that with any of the other (numerous) girls. Maybe I was special? Or, more likely, he thought I’d be more vulnerable and susceptible because of my emotional state. Or, even more likely, I just hand theirs he does this with every girl because it’s not exactly something people share a whole lot. Well, if it was the second one, he’d be wrong there. It was a fluke, a one night thing, some poor coping mechanism of mine, and I didn’t plan on calling him back.

So with my thoughts still full, my heart still heavy, my head still throbbing, I pulled myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I grab some pain killers from the cabinet and down them with the water I assume Roger left for me. I have some decisions to make.

It’s 10:30 am on a Saturday and I’m more than a little hungover. Thoughts of Peter still linger in the back of my mind, despite my efforts to push them away. After weighing a few of my options and finishing my water, I decide to wait an hour for the headache to calm down, have a small something to eat, drink more water, then call up Jade to fill her in on everything over brunch.

Jade has been my best friend for about a year now. Even though it hasn’t been very long, she knows me better than anyone else, and I her. We tell each other everything. We’re always there for each other. We’re always ready to beat the shit out of anyone who does the other wrong. You know, typical best friend stuff.

Anyways, I walk to the kitchen and fix myself a small bowl cereal and another glass of water. With food in hand, I plop down on the couch and load up Netflix, turning on whatever was in my recently watched queue. So there I sat for the next hour or so, ignoring everything in my mind except for the headache. After a few more waters, though, it’s began calming down. Once it had done so enough, I pick up my phone and call Jade.

“Hey bitch, what’s up?” She answers.

“Hi. It’s um... it’s Peter,” I proceed to dump everything that had happened the night before, or at least all I could remember.

“Holy shit. Dude, that’s a lot to unpack,” she, as usual, is right.

“Yeah.”

“So, uh, which bit do you want to talk about first?”

“Peter, I think.”

“Oh, Y/N, honey, I am SO sorry that absolute dick bag of a human would do something like that to you. You don’t deserve it, at all. I never did like him to be honest,” she comforted me, in a way inyknshe could I suppose. “Really, Y/N, if I could be there and hug you right now, I would. I’m so so so so so sorry baby.”

“No. No, it’s fine. It’s been a long time coming, I guess,” and it really had been, if he’d been cheating this long.

“So, you hooked up with the infamous Roger Taylor last night, huh? How’d that go?” She seemed not to want to dwell on the unfortunate, as always.

“Ha, I’d tell you if I could remember. I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk before.”

“Yikes,” was all she said. Which is fair, what else could she say? “So he just left? Before you were even awake?” That, apparently.

“Yeah. Which is understandable, I mean, avoid the awkward right? He did leave me his number though, not sure why. Maybe to seem like less of a dick.”

“He what?! Are you gonna call him? Honey, you have to call him,” she seems way more excited about this than I am.

“No, I’m not gonna call him. It was a one night thing, that’s it,” I try explaining, even though I know she won’t listen.

“Honey. Girl. Sweetie. It’s Roger. Taylor. You can’t NOT call him back.” See?

“Jade, I’m not calling him back. Period. Anyways, would you maybe want to get some brunch or something today?”

“Oh, I’d love to. But I can’t. I have so much other stuff going on, I just don’t have the time. I’m so sorry.”

That disappoints me a little, but what can you do? “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah. Maybe next weekend?” She suggests.

“Maybe. I’ve got new classes coming soon, so who knows,” I answer.

“Oh shit, sorry Y/N, my boss is calling me. I gotta go. Love you, talk to you later babes.”

“Heh, bye Jade.” And with that, I’m once again alone.

So. What now? I just had all my finals, so no homework or anything, I can’t, and frankly don’t want to even think about, calling Peter. Jade is busy. Come to think of it, most of my friends are busy, with work mostly. So that leaves me with more food and Netflix. Not bad.

Around an hour later, nothing has changed. Still just me, food, and TV. It’s at this point my phone dings. For a moment, my heart stops. Then I check the notification, and realize I don’t really know what made me freeze. Whatever the reason, that’s not what I got. What I got was a text from a friend I haven’t heard from in quite a while.

“Hey. I know it’s been a while, but I kinda miss hanging out with you. A lot has happened since we’ve last spoken, how’d you feel about getting lunch? A few of my other friends would be there too. It’d be nice to hear from you again.”

It was from Brian. Brian May. He’s right, it has been awhile since we’ve spoke. A year, almost, when we ended up at different universities. It sounded like fun to meet up again. So I sent him a text back, “Hi. It has been a while, hasn’t it? Lunch sounds great. When/where?”

I got a response within the minute, “I was thinking the small restaurant breakfast lunch place they’ve got downtown? Around 1?”

“Sounds good, see you then :)”

“:)”

Well I have something to do now. It’s about 11:30, so I have enough to finish my episode and then get ready. Which is exactly what I do. Once my episode is over, I get up from the couch, get dressed in some casual but not too casual attire, and don some light makeup. By the time all that’s done, it’s about 12:45. So from there, I grab a jacket and head out the door.

I love pretty close to a train depot, so it doesn’t take a whole lot of time to reach that, then it’s maybe a five-ten minute ride to downtown. I arrive at the place he was talking about, he didn’t need to be specific, like I said, small town. I see the tell-tale mass of dark curls sitting at an outdoor table facing away from me, chatting with a few other people.

“Brian!” I call. He turns around upon hearing his name, sees me, and immediately smiles and waves back.

“Y/N! It’s great to see you!” I join him at the table with to other guys. “So much has happened. First of all, the band’s way different now. Our lead singer and bassist quit, the prick. Anyways, this is Freddie, our new lead vocalist,” he gestures to one of the guys, “and John, the new bassist,” and to the other. “Both are way better then the other guy. Did you even meet him?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I turn to the others, “Hi, I’m Y/N, a good friend of Brian’s from high school.”

“Well hello darling, it’s very nice to meet you,” Freddie greets.

“Hi,” John nods. One of these people seems a little more outgoing than the other.

“And uh, Roger’s inside getting drinks I believe. He’s the drummer.” My heart stops when Brian says that.

“What?”

“Brian, our drummer, he’s inside getting drinks. I don’t think you’ve ever met him either,” Brian continues.

“Oh, I think I may have.” Just as I say that, my suspicions are confirmed as I see a blond man approach the table, various waters and sodas in his hands.

We make eye contact.

Shit.

It’s Roger, alright.

_____________________________

Hhhhhhhhh part 2. I really think I need to work on endings oops. But uh yeah, there it is. Any feedback and/or ideas/suggestions would be appreciated. Thanks :p

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Candy Kane

I’ve never been a big fan of family pictures, or holiday celebrations. When I was about seven, my brother Derek and I had our picture taken with our cousin Kyle, who couldn’t have been much more than a year old. Kyle was smiling, but also pointing at something off in the distance (probably a prop the photographer was using to make him laugh). Derek and I had on clip-on ties that were recycled from a previous Easter. I wore thick, almost square-framed glasses. if I left the house with them on today, they would almost certainly impede my ability to successfully procreate. I had little choice at the time since I needed corrective lenses, and wouldn’t start wearing contacts for at least another six years. 

By the time I’d made the switch, the photo of Kyle, Derek, and me belonged to a museum exhibit—frozen in time like the Iceman—of pictures my grandparents loved, but their grandchildren wished no longer existed. By 1999, they’d moved into a house much smaller than the one in which they’d raised their six children, and the photo had been relegated to a literal wall of shame in their basement. Along the wall were senior pictures of my mother and her siblings, and various photos of the nine grandchildren, including that of a triumvirate of boys c. 1988. I can’t think of a time anyone whose picture was on the wall expressed fondness when looking at it. Each of us probably thought about what we’d tell our younger selves if we passed them on the street, or secretly wished to remain arrested in that state of childhood development, our entire lives uncertain, unfolding, before us one day at a time.

The biggest reason I’ve never been a huge fan of holidays, family pictures, and especially family holiday pictures is because the only capture one moment in time, moments that, for better or worse, are frozen on film or stored in cloud of data and never really gone. Whenever the holidays come around, I have a tendency to cram an entire year’s worth of socializing into 48 hours, or however long I get to spend with my family and friends.

In my family, those occasions are typically when we celebrate some Puritans surviving a hard winter despite wearing ridiculous hats, and the birth of a boy who somehow managed to erase his teenage debauchery from the record. You know he had to screw up those miracles dozens of times in private before nailing them (oops) in public by his early thirties. This must be why we never hear about the zombies of Arimathea he couldn’t quite bring all the way back from the dead, or the numerous weddings he crashed around Nazareth during puberty, flexing to prostitutes about how he could turn water into wine in exchange for performing a number of sins his Dad didn’t have to know about (but would later be considered deadly because Mary Magdalene couldn’t keep her mouth shut) only to deliver vinegar.

I guarantee you Jesus promised Joseph of Arimathea eternal salvation as thanks for the years of resurrection practice, and in return for the use of his tomb one Friday night. Mary Magdalene showed up at the tomb three days after the crucifixion because she finally realized how serious Jesus had been about her fucking up his chances to keep holy the Sabbath day with a bridesmaid, before he hit it big and all the lepers wanted a piece (oops again) of him.

Anyway… If family pictures remind me of who I used to be, holidays remind me of things I used to wholeheartedly believe in.

My first picture with Santa was probably taken in 1982, before I had the surgery to straighten out my leg that left me with a cool scar. My enthusiasm for the holidays faded as I grew older and began to challenge my beliefs that one man could deliver presents to all the world’s children in a single night, and the three wise men could find Jesus just by following a star.

After passing at least numerically through teenage angst, I started to realize how incredibly fortunate I’ve been instead of complaining about what other people had that I didn’t. But what really got me comfortable in my own skin was volunteering, a series of activities in which I put myself in some very uncomfortable positions by surrounding myself with people and places I didn’t know. Still, my desire for the uncomfortable hasn’t weakened my ability to attract the absurd.

I recently had a chance to volunteer at Santa’s Workshop. I put on my elf hat (which I later found out had been on backwards all night) and got to work in the arts and crafts area, but that didn’t last long. Macaroni pictures weren’t doing it for me. I needed a different challenge.

Soon enough, I found my way to where Santa was. My backwards elf hat and I had to keep the line moving so every kid would have a chance to see Santa before closing time at 6 PM. Thee were all kinds of characters around me. Rudolph was there, and so was this character that had Pinocchio’s face, but looked how I imagined the Frisch’s Big Boy would if he’d been on a liquid diet for six months. “Who’s THAT?” I asked the event coordinator. “That’s the Elf on the Shelf,” she replied. “Oh… shit… I was way off,” I said. Whenever I caught the characters waving to children and their families as they passed by, they looked like those people from 80s and 90s workout videos who got stuck doing the low-impact versions of the exercises everybody else was doing at full speed. I wondered if they were secretly asking themselves why they agreed to do this, quietly cursing themselves for not auditioning to sell shit on QVC instead.

I’m not sure if the first child whose Santa aftermath I’ll remember for a long time was just really upset, had a cognitive deficiency, or both. Either way, he or she was not happy. My first post near the man of the hour was standing outside a fence they’d set up around Santa’s chair. My job was to wave the kids and their families forward once the previous family had enjoyed their moment in the makeshift winter wonderland. As the child left Santa’s lap screaming bloody murder and passed through the fence with his/her parent or guardian, they let out a sound I can only describe as a Home Improvement-era Tim Allen grunt mixed with visceral cry for help: UHHHAAHHHOOOOO! 

Before I knew what was happening, the child headbutted themselves against the exterior glass of the Lazarus building, like Kane and the Undertaker from another spoiled childhood fantasy of so many— professional wresting. All the person accompanying the child said was, “Now honey… Don’t hit your head.” All I could think was, “Damn.” But as a man wearing a backwards elf hat, I couldn’t say shit to them.

Not long after witnessing a pediatric concussion, I found myself in the path of low-impact Rudolph herself. I slightly embarrassed myself by giving her a fist bump and talking to the person in the suit as though they were the red-nosed reindeer in the flesh. I came back to my adulthood while low-impact Rudolph was in the middle of muffled sentence about candy canes. I noticed had a bucket in her hands, which I assumed had been filled with the striped holiday icons. There were no candy canes in her bucket, but I did notice a set of Toyota car keys. In my confusion, I almost blurted out, “Shouldn’t you be guiding a sleigh instead of a fucking Camry?” Some things are best left unsaid.  

For the first two hours we were there, the line to see Santa seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, which made the next encounter I remember even more excruciating. A lady walked up and stood right next to me, thus blocking my view of the line and preventing me from doing the one volunteer task I was explicitly asked to do. To make matters worse, she started offering a running commentary on all the children she saw in Santa’s lap, like a color commentator at a sporting event who didn’t know when to just shut up and let whatever moment they were witnessing wash over them.  

It didn’t matter whether they were boys dressed in identical suits for the obligatory in-lap picture with the big man (Oh, how cute!) or babies whose faces became contorted with red hot agony upon being separated from their mothers and embraced by a strange man (Oh, he is NOT having it!) The line seemed to grow infinitely longer during her soliloquy and I found myself thinking it was a shame the crucifixion of the guy whose birthday everyone would be celebrating in few weeks didn’t draw a crowd like this. In Survivor, Chuck Palahniuk observed that on some crucifixes, Jesus looks jacked enough to be modeling Ray-Ban sunglasses and Guess jeans without a shirt on. I can’t help thinking Chuck would concur that since not everyone will reach that level of supposed piety or physical fitness in a lifetime, it’s a bigger draw to remember God’s only son immediately after he humbled himself to share in our humanity the same way we all started—as a baby.

Anyway… as her commentary droned on, found myself wishing I could be the elf in the holiday classic A Christmas Story who tells Ralphie to get a move on before Santa kicks him down the slide, “Let’s Go!!!” But it bears repeating that in my backwards hat, my powers of persuasion were limited.

Not long after the soliloquy ended, I was approached by what I assume was a mother and daughter pair who were wondering if they’d ever get to see Santa. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it,” the older one said. “Let’s just take my picture with the elf.” “Actually, my name’s Dav…” I wanted to protest, but with my powers weakened, all I could do was acquiesce to their demands. The younger woman held a smartphone at what seemed like six different angles during our impromptu photo session. By the time they were done, I felt certain I was destined for Instagram infamy.  

Eventually, the powers that be decided that I should move inside the fence and stand on the glitter-covered red carpet in an effort the speed up the queue after sunset. Before I went to the other side of the fence, someone asked me if I knew whether or not they’d be cutting people off at 6 PM. I didn’t, but I wished they would. I was growing tired of head injuries, seething, teething infants, and watching people taking selfies or recruiting the other elves to take pictures of them standing under one of the arches leading up to Santa’s chair.

I must have been distracted. The next time someone tried to get my attention, I was accused of holding up the line. The man had on a white, short-sleeved polo shirt. The woman wasn’t wearing a coat, but had on something I never thought I’d see on Santa’s red carpet: a leopard-print dress and dull pink high heels. “I used to be a Santa’s helper in this building,” she exclaimed. She said something else, about 1978, but I was too busy trying to avoid another “Damn” moment to really pay attention. “Actually, we just want our bathroom done. He’s working on our house.” “Fine.” I muttered. She proceeded to throw herself at Santa like he was Hugh Heffner, and she was Playboy Bunny. The whole scene looked ridiculous, but so did I.

After the final patrons had paid Santa a visit, the other volunteer elves and I sat for our own picture with the man himself. It was likely the first time I’d had my picture taken with him since the year the picture of Derek, Kyle, and I was taken. I wasn’t filled with regret over my evaporated childhood and its beliefs, or terribly concerned that no one said a word about my backwards elf hat the whole night. I was glad I’d put myself in another uncomfortable position and come out clean on the other side minus the glitter that will be stuck to the bottoms of the shoes I wore that night for months. I was reminded of the importance of not trying to cram everything into one season, or in Santa’s case, one night. Let the kids have their beliefs and grow up to challenge them. I didn’t have to sit in Santa’s lap to tell him that wish come true was all I wanted for Christmas. I have a funny feeling that whoever he is, was, and has been, he knew what I wanted long before I ever asked.

[oliverwvvd]

something brewing: part i

The moral of this story is that I need to not do the stupid thing and accidentally press save draft instead of queue, since this was supposed to be posted at least a week ago. Oops. Anyway, this is part I of the previously discussed barista au, because I toyed with the idea for a while and it stuck around. Yes, I recognise the title is a horrible pun, but I couldn’t resist. I hope that everyone who liked the idea of this isn’t disappointed.

Premise: Oliver is a sports science student who has to maintain his grades in order to retain his scholarship and has a good chance of playing football professionally. Despite that, he’s serious about wanting to do well. His flatmates spend more time drunk than they do sober, so he’s given up trying to work at home and finds a little coffee shop to study in. What he doesn’t expect is to develop a painful, near-instantaneous, utterly inconvenient crush on one of the baristas.

i: marcus.

It was just past 5pm, and Marcus was comfortably settled into work for the evening. There was a lazy hum of guitar as his background noise of preference, the coffee shop wasn’t too crowded and that gave him time to open his textbook underneath the counter in between making drinks while Susan handled the customers and sorted out any food orders. The page was marked with the casual ease of someone who was used to reading in what spare moments he had, and ain’t that the truth? Honestly, he had trouble absorbing it all at once, so taking information in bit by bit while he did other tasks always worked far better for him, letting him actually retain it instead of forgetting it immediately after reading.

While he turned the pages, humming softly under his breath, dark hair clustered at his temples in slight, tousled waves made worse by the steam from the coffee machine. The scent of freshly ground coffee filled his nose, underscored by the lesser hints of different types of tea, and you’d think he’d be sick of it by now, but the fact was he found it comforting. It smoothed out all the rough edges of his day and helped him to concentrate.

Leaning across, Susan stuck a receipt in front of him. “Large latte with an extra shot for the tall drink of water down at the end there.” There was a mischievous note to her voice that he’d heard before, usually when a customer was particularly easy on the eyes, and he shot her a look back as he got down to making the drink, a grudging half-smile playing about his lips. She mouthed, “Eleven out of ten,” at him, her petite frame safely hiding her behind the coffee machine, and he lifted an eyebrow, because only once in a blue moon did Susan make that sort of assessment. Working in a coffee shop this close to the university, they both got to see a lot of different people walk in and out when they were on shift. One thing he had learned, however, was that he and his fellow barista had different ideas of what was visually appealing. Maybe it’s because she’s an art student, they find the weirdest things interesting. In Susan’s case, that often extended to people, too.

The latte was done in a matter of moments, his hands moving in a familiar rhythm that was as old as time itself to him now. Flicking a quick glance to the receipt to get the name, he walked down to the end and asked, “Large latte with an extra shot for Oliver?” before sliding the drink across the counter, a slight curve of his mouth because customer service meant you were supposed to smile and be courteous. Since he’d never really mastered smiling on command because other people thought he should, this was the nearest thing that he could manage.

When he glanced up to identify the customer, though, he didn’t expect to find someone looking directly back at him, and he certainly didn’t expect to recognise the face, even dimly. Oh. It took effort not to do a double-take, because he knew he’d seen this one around somewhere and couldn’t quite place where. But everything else apart, Susan had, for once, been exactly right. High cheekbones, gloriously messy brown hair, and as he took the drink, a warm, seemingly shy smile that didn’t match with the slight cheekiness of the friendly wink he paired with it. “Thanks,” he said, and as he walked away, Marcus got a wonderfully prolonged look at exactly how long his legs were. It took actual concentration not to let his eyes wander further. Not at work. He ignored Susan, who was trying not to laugh and failing, and instead opened his textbook again.

“Well. If he meets even your impossibly high standards…” Thankfully, her voice is naturally low-pitched anyway and the boy, Oliver, had long since vacated the immediate area for a table over in the far corner, or he might actually have stepped on her foot to silence her.

“Don’t start, Susan,” Marcus warned, attention momentarily drawn from the pages in front of him, a loose scattering of diagrams and pencils notations visible. “I’ve got to get this stuff into my head before the next class if it kills me. I don’t need distractions.”

He felt rather than saw her pout. “Well, if you don’t feel like being distracted, mind if I do? Honestly, he’d make a wonderful model, I might see if I can convince him to sit for me.”

With an impatient gesture that said be my guest quite clearly, Marcus went back to his book while Susan wandered out onto the main floor of the coffee shop. Ostensibly, she’d gone to clean up, but the odds were good that she’d find an excuse to be distracted, as she put it, while she was there.

ii: oliver.

Oliver was absolutely knackered. So knackered, in fact, that the only thing stopping him from going back to his flat and murdering his flatmate in cold blood, or falling asleep in the chair he’d just sat down in was the steaming cup of coffee in his hands. When he took the first sip, his eyes actually closed for a moment because thank Christ, caffeine. On the second sip, the warmth seeped through him and took away the fact that it was freezing outside. On the third, he was recovered enough to sneak another glance up at the counter and the dark head of hair tilted downwards over what looked like a book. They’d barely exchanged words, really, but Oliver knew himself, enough to know that he definitely liked what he’d seen when the barista had handed him his coffee. Sharp jawline, faint hint of dark stubble that managed to be attractive without being scruffy, broad shoulders clad in a long-sleeved navy-blue shirt rolled back at the elbows, and that maddening hint of a smile. Another sip of the coffee, and it was enough for him to tell that it was good, definitely good enough to keep him coming back. The odds were that he was going to be spending a lot of time here, and the reason why could be summed up very succinctly. “Drunken bastards,” he muttered under his breath, opening his backpack and pulling out his notes, wincing at the state of his handwriting. Right. Best neaten these up.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Startled, Oliver looked up, not realising that his commentary had been quite so audible. However, when he realised it was the redheaded girl from behind the counter, he relaxed. “She’d wash my mouth out if she heard me,” he said, amused. “Because like every mother, she’s convinced that I’m still five and won’t believe it until I prove otherwise. That was relatively mild.”

“Aye, I figured, you being very obviously from Glasgow and all.” The impish grin that accompanied the girl’s words left him confused, until she introduced herself. “I’m Susan. Barista by whatever hours I’m designated to work, art student by trade who couldn’t help but notice you’ve been gifted with the kind of bone structure that begs to be drawn.”

The words flustered him, left him wondering how the hell to answer, so he settled on an easy smile and deflection. “Honestly, I think your counterpart might be the better candidate for that,” he said, nodding in the direction of the other barista. When he caught the playful gleam in Susan’s eyes, he kicked himself. Why do I talk? “But I’m never opposed to a new friend. I’m Oliver,” he said, offering his hand outwards. “Which you know, because I gave you my name about five minutes ago when I ordered,” he added, cringing slightly at himself. And this is why I shouldn’t try to be social when I’m tired. “Sorry, bit braindead, the coffee was necessary.”

When Susan laughed and shook his hand, he couldn’t help but be a bit relieved. Usually, he had no problem navigating new interactions, but right now he was operating on far less sleep than he actually required. When her expression took a turn for the mischievous, Oliver became sharply aware that he’d probably said something he shouldn’t have. “He’s so used to me drawing him in between taking orders at this point that he’d probably be thankful for me practicing on someone else,” she said with a theatrical sigh. “And honestly, can you blame me?”

Watching the dark-haired barista move with the kind of controlled grace that made him look almost alien when placed behind somewhere as commonplace as a coffee shop counter, Oliver couldn’t argue with her and therefore, he didn’t. Instead, he spent a few seconds mulling over the boy, wondering what his name might be and why he felt like he’d seen him before. Probably around the university or something. Fortunately, he didn’t have to answer because she switched subjects a moment later. “So what brings you to our little hole around the corner from the campus? Besides the coffee, of course. I’m guessing you weren’t cursing just now for effect.”

Oliver sighed. “I ended up with an absolute dobber for a flatmate this year. Spends more time drunk than sober, and doesn’t know when to shut it. I like a drink now and then, but not when it means I can’t get any sleep because the eejit and his mates won’t shut it at four in the morning.” He rolled his eyes, pointed at the cup. “Hence the extra shot. Eight o’clock football practice this morning, class in the afternoon and I’m done for, and still got to do some work.”

The wince of sympathy was gratifying, as were Susan’s next words. “Well, that definitely explains the swear words. Should I get our resident coffee genius to make it stronger next time?”

Oliver didn’t even pause in response. “God, yes. If he can possibly add any more caffeine without giving me the shakes or making me ill, yes.”

“He can make anything that involves coffee and tea taste palatable, it’s a gift. Do you trust me?”

“I’ve just met you.”

“I’m a barista. Trust me. Give him free rein on what he makes you next.”

Oliver was too tired to make sense of the conversation, even after the first (excellent) cup of coffee, and his notes were swimming in front of his eyes anyway. “All right. Tell him that if he can make me something that’ll keep me on my feet for the rest of the evening and tastes as good as the first one did, he’s got a guaranteed customer for life.”

iii: marcus.

Marcus was somewhat expecting the cat that’s got the cream smile on Susan’s face when she practically sashayed back behind the counter. He’d looked up only once, seen that she was talking to the attractive boy from earlier (Oliver, his brain helpfully supplied) and snorted to himself, deciding to leave her to it. If there had been a slight pang of disappointment, well, he only had himself to blame, didn’t he? And this, this was why he didn’t do distractions.

“Hey, hotshot. Pretty boy over there says he’ll drink anything you make so long as it tastes palatable and doesn’t give him the shakes. Up to the challenge?”

So much for no distractions. Of all the things he’d anticipated her saying, that hadn’t been one of them. Against his own will, Marcus found his eyes unwittingly drawn towards the boy, suddenly becoming very aware that he had dark circles beneath his eyes and actually looked outright worn out, the more so as he sifted through what looked like pages of notes spread out on the table in front of him. “Hard partier with a hangover?” he asked, rather hoping that wasn’t the case.

“Footballer with early practices, late afternoon classes and a selfish gobby prick for a housemate who thinks four in the morning is an acceptable time to be pissed as a newt,” Susan amended, only managing to further pique Marcus’ interest, while simultaneously making him wonder how exactly she managed to inveigle information out of people the way she did. “He’s had a long day. Make him something good.”

“Your wish is my command,” Marcus drawled, abandoning his textbook and turning his attention to the coffee machine. “Did you get his number already? I figured it’d take you at least ten minutes to work up to it, and that was barely five.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susan unsuccessfully attempt to hide a smile, resolved to get her back for it later. “No, I don’t think I’m his type, though he didn’t seem to have trouble acknowledging that he finds you good-looking.”

Marcus didn’t bother restraining himself; he rolled his eyes at her quite plainly, and chose not to acknowledge the remark. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her raise her hands in surrender. “Just passing it on, even if you don’t believe me.”

“Stop bothering me, woman, if you want me to make the damned drink,” he snapped, not meaning to sound quite as snippy as he did. Thankfully, Susan had known him long enough to know the difference between him wanting to focus and him actually being annoyed, and simply stuck her tongue out at him before heading out to the storeroom to go and obtain more takeaway cups. Left in peace, Marcus spent five minutes concocting something that would tick the boxes specified with the ingredients that he had to hand. The result ended up being a monstrous latte that only just fitted in the largest takeaway cup. It looked relatively ordinary, but he was confident that it would fit the bill. “Order for Oliver?” he called.

And if he wanted to watch the other boy walk towards him, well, he didn’t have to admit it to anyone but himself. Even if his rule was no distractions, he didn’t see any harm in appreciating the view, and there was a lot about the view to appreciate. When Marcus set the takeaway cup down in front of him, there was a shy smile playing about his mouth again and God, he wished he didn’t find it as attractive as he did. When the other went to reach into his pocket, obviously intending to extract his wallet, Marcus shook his head. “Try it first,” he said, leaning elbows against the counter and not quite able to help his curiosity. He didn’t often get to see the first reaction to a new drink, so this was a rare opportunity.

When the other boy inclined his head, raised the cup in his direction and took a long drink from it, Marcus watched his reaction move from neutral to enjoyment with a slight half-smile. He didn’t get the chance to ask the question, because Oliver (don’t pretend like you don’t know his name, Flint) had a much wider smile on his face now before he spoke. “I can taste the caramel, and…apple pie? And at least a double shot in there.” It was less of a guess when he had another long drink, and damn if that response didn’t make Marcus’ day in less than ten seconds. “God, that’s exactly what I needed, and I never would have ordered it on my own. How much do I owe you?”

Marcus shook his head again. “Nothing. You just helped test out a new special for the menu,” he said, wanting to outright grin, not quite comfortable enough to let himself do it. Finding the other attractive was one thing, but actually doing something about it was another. Probably has someone, anyhow. The fact that he was even considering the matter was more than he wanted to think about, shoved it away with a nod of his head as Susan emerged from the storeroom. “Get that down your neck, you’ll feel better,” he said, before disappearing into the storeroom himself, under the pretext of checking whether or not they’d received the new blend that was supposed to be arriving. They hadn’t, but he found a mess, like he always did. With a faintly exasperated sigh, he started to tidy up, ignoring the fact that he’d just bolted in the opposite direction to the first person he’d genuinely been attracted to in almost a year. Well, I always did have a knack for self-sabotage. Or maybe I just don’t want to waste my attention on a lost cause.

iv: oliver.

Oliver had been coming to the coffee shop for a few weeks at this point, for a multitude of reasons; the first being that waking up with a hot drink in his hand before his first tutorial or before practice was infinitely preferable to staying at his flat. The second being that his flatmate hadn’t proven to be any less of an idiot as time had progressed, and while the atmosphere between them wasn’t hostile as such, it might easily go in that direction if Oliver was around the flat more often. The final reason, and the one that he was all too aware of, was the fact that the coffee shop came with the added bonus of the dark-haired barista, whose name he’d discovered only four days prior. Susan had called back to what was presumably the storeroom while Oliver had been waiting for his usual morning order (a flat white). “Marcus, are you done in there yet?” For reasons he couldn’t understand, everything seemed to click into place at that point. The name was fitting, but that was also the point where he couldn’t entirely ignore the fact that not only had he liked what he saw when he first laid eyes on the other; he’d liked it enough for the interest to continue past the initial meeting.

So the combination of irritating flatmate, burgeoning caffeine addiction, and a need to work undisturbed also happened to coincide with the fact that he was developing a small, inconvenient crush on the barista, on Marcus. They hadn’t exchanged words much, nothing more than polite conversation really, but in that time, a comfortable routine had developed. In the mornings, Oliver had his flat white. In the afternoons and evenings, Marcus often had free rein on what to make for him, and he’d never yet gotten it wrong. With a glance, dark eyes seemed able to assess what kind of day he’d had and make the drink that fitted the bill. Susan hadn’t been wrong: the other had a gift for it.

It was late one evening when Oliver approached the counter with a textbook in hand, around 8pm, and was met with the half-smile that never quite made it to something more. It held mystery, that look, and he’d rapidly learned that he didn’t mind a little mystery. “Same again?” The question, ready when he reached the counter, made him smile ruefully. “Yeah, please. This thing’s making life difficult for me.” He raised his textbook, an analysis of sport psychology that was interesting enough, but not easy to translate to the project that his professor had given him. If he hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have seen the flicker of surprise, however slight, that crossed Marcus’ expression when he saw the textbook. That was nothing, however, to Oliver’s reaction when the barista responded, “Yeah, that one’s not fun. Been having a bit of a wrangle with it too.”

It took a few seconds for Oliver to click. Really? So maybe that’s where I recognised you from, even if dimly. “I didn’t realise you were in there too,” he said with a smile. “How come I’ve never seen you?”

“It’s a big lecture theatre. I sit up at the back and the lecturer’s usually turned the lights down for the projectors by the time I get there. I didn’t know you were in there either, to be fair.” That was when the usual half-smile that he’d become strangely used to widened, and oh, Oliver wasn’t prepared for that, because if the effect of the half-smile was bad, the full smile was absolutely devastating by comparison. He was sure that he was staring like a fool, and he didn’t have the will to sort it out. Pull yourself together.

“I’m aiming for physiotherapist eventually,” Marcus continued, seemingly not registering Oliver’s reaction. “But I’ve not seen you in any of my other classes, which are somewhat smaller, so I’m guessing you’re taking a slightly different direction.”

It took Oliver a few seconds to form a coherent sentence, and under other circumstances, he would have been really bloody well embarrassed about that, but Christ, he’s only human and that smile was like attacking the unarmed. “Yeah, I…I’ve been scouted for football, so most of what I’m doing is geared towards being able to coach and help other athletes if that doesn’t pan out,” he said. Though he knew that he was good at what he did, he wasn’t naturally a braggart. He felt the weight of Marcus’ scrutiny when the other looked at him more closely, and Jesus, he did the exact opposite of handling it well when the appraisal seemed to run past his face to the spread of his shoulders. Don’t blush, for the love of God.

“What position?”

The question caught Oliver off-guard, because his mind immediately went to places that it quite definitely wasn’t supposed to go while he was in public (I can think of lots of those), and the dark-haired barista (and incipient physiotherapist, apparently) could have easily chosen a better way of wording that. Was that deliberate? He couldn’t tell. Marcus’ expression was unreadable besides the smile and the tilted head. It was impossible to work out whether the other had spotted his preoccupation and decided to mess with him. If he did, game on. “Any number of positions, really, but I’m currently playing keeper,” he said, opting to accompany the words with a grin of his own, daring to put just a little flirtation behind the remark. When he heard a slight spluttering sound from further down the counter, he didn’t need to look to know that Susan had caught the gist of what he was implying, and he cringed because he’d honestly forgotten she was there at all. However, it was Marcus that sent her on the retreat with a truly impressive glare that made her disappear back into the stockroom, while Oliver wished for the ground to swallow him up as promptly as possible.

“I play striker, sometimes.” The conversation had turned back to football, and Oliver was thankful for it. Plays and strategies, he could discuss until light turned to dark, even if he was meant to be wrangling his way through the textbook still in his hands. Apparently Marcus’ attention span was much better than his, because in the time that they’d been talking, he’d still managed to make Oliver’s drink and mark the current page in his own textbook, tucked covertly beneath the counter as it generally was. To Oliver’s surprise, he smiled again, but this time there was an obvious edge of embarrassment to it. “Just realised I’m being a bit of an idiot, by the way. I’m Marcus; don’t recall ever telling you that.” When he came out from behind the counter, Oliver then got his first good look, up close, at exactly how the other dressed. A faded band t-shirt and a pair of dark, rumpled jeans that clung to all the right places. When the other offered his hand out awkwardly and Oliver closed fingers around his for the handshake, he grinned again. “Good to meet you properly. I’ll see you in our lecture, I guess. I’d better get back to work.” When he met the other’s eyes as they released grip, however, the brush of their fingers lingered and he wasn’t immune to the spark of that touch, far from it. Whoa. The other didn’t need to know that he’d already been fully aware of his name before now. “Yeah, you too. See you later.” And with that, they parted ways, Marcus back behind the counter, Oliver returning to his usual seat with coffee in one hand, textbook in the other, and quite probably a really stupid smile on his face like he’d just been hit between the eyes.

What Marcus also didn’t need to know was that his small, ridiculous crush had gone from mildly out of hand to completely insane in the span of about ten minutes, if that.

This is really not a good thing. What am I going to do about this?