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witchbinchstories · 3 years ago

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Home is wherever you are tonight

Pairing: Damien x Freelancer x Gavin x Huxley x Lasko (Redacted ASMR), Damien x Reader x Gavin x Huxley x Lasko

Summary: After finishing finals, the Freelancer goes to Damien's apartment and is surprised with a cuddle session from all of their boyfriends.

Words: ~3.3k

Contains: Light angst, lots of fluff, my 4 am brain

A/N: @sealriously-sealrious made a post about DAMN boys cuddle pile, so... I had to write a cuddle fic. I hope you guys like it :)

The title is a lyric from the song Apple Pie by Lizzy McAlpine

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Finals are done. They’re finally over and now the Freelancer can relax. Or they should be able to relax. It’s winter break, campus is less crowded because students and teachers are going home for the next month, but the Freelancer doesn’t have a family to go home to. They don’t have a familiar, cozy home with freshly baked cookies and generational recipes in another town to return to. They’re exhausted and they’re sad about the fact that for the rest of break, they’re probably going to sit alone in their apartment in sweatpants and eat junk food while they watch terrible Hallmark movies. Who knows, maybe they’ll manage to pull Lasko away from whatever TA scheduling he has to do over break and spend a little time with him and Gavin. Maybe Caelum will visit too. But they know that they’re most likely going to be spending the holiday season alone because Damien and Hux are going home to family, Lasko and Caelum will probably both be busy (for different reasons), and because any time a big holiday is coming up they usually have an emotionally rough time, so they can’t expect Gavin to want to be around them with their emotions all out of whack, even though they’re dating. They try to push the thought away, knowing it’s just their mind trying to make things harder for them.

The Freelancer feels their phone vibrate once in their back pocket and quickly grabs it to check whatever notification it is. They’re surprised when they see that it’s a notification from Damien— it reads: “You just got out of your healing final, right?”

The Freelancer stops in the middle of the sidewalk to respond— “Jesus, I got out like one minute ago, what are you, a telepathy expert?” —then continues walking to their favorite coffee shop in all of Dahlia, “Inchoate”. Almost all of the drinks and foods that they make there have some sort of magic imbued into them, mostly mood-enhancing magic of all sorts, repping the name well since inchoate demons can feed on all emotions. It’s also run by an inchoate demon, so that’s part of the reason for the name too. But the magic food is the biggest reason.

They reach the cafe and are dismayed to find that the line is, of course, out the door. With students finishing up finals, there are lots of people looking for something to uplift them more, and the Freelancer doesn’t blame them, since that’s exactly what they’re here for. They get another text from Damien while in line, so at least they’ll have something to do while waiting. They’ll just have to keep their fiery boyfriend engaged in the conversation and make sure he doesn’t abandon them in their time of need.

“It’s your only final today, and your last one at that. It’s not that hard to remember,” the text reads.

“Ok, whatever. I’m still not convinced that you didn’t just make in depth copies of each one of our schedules when we all started dating so you could know what we’re doing at all times,” the Freelancer sends back.

“Do you want to come over? Since we’re finally both free and done with the semester.” The fire elemental opts to ignore his partner’s accusation.

“Shouldn’t you be packing?”

“I can do it later. Just answer the question.”

“Woooow. Mr. ‘I have a strict schedule for everything I do’ is putting off packing? Finals must’ve really gotten to you this semester,” the Freelancer teases, then gives an actual answer: “Sure. But I’m stopping at Inchoate first. Do you want anything?”

“Shut up, I don’t have a schedule for packing.”

“I don’t believe that for one second.”

“Just get two of the Joy To The World lattes. One of them iced, please. And the hot one with two shots of espresso and extra foam. I’ll pay you back.”

The Freelancer instantly recognizes the one with espresso and extra foam as being the order of their air-inclined boyfriend.

“Is Lasko with you?” they send.

“Yeah, he’s here.”

“Ah. Does he really need that much espresso this late in the day?”

“Probably not. But it has been a rough couple of weeks. And it’s what he always gets from there.”

“True. Ok. I’ll be over as soon as I get the orders.”

----------

The Freelancer knocks on the door to Damien’s apartment with their hand that isn’t holding disappointment-in-a-cup, aka the cafe was (not surprisingly) out of anything with joy essence in it, so the Freelancer had to order something else. They reluctantly went with some relaxation lattes.

Expecting Damien or Lasko to answer the door, they’re slightly surprised when Huxley answers the door.

“Hey, babe. C’mon in, the water’s fine. Well, there’s not actually… water… it’s just Damien’s apartment, but— you know that already,” Hux chuckles at his own words. “Here, lemme grab those coffees from you.”

The Freelancer gladly hands the coffees to their boyfriend so that they can take off their backpack and set it next to the door, along with their coat and shoes as soon as they get them off. “Hux, I didn’t know you were here or else I would’ve gotten you something too.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I was here when you were texting Damien and he asked. I didn’t need anything, I’ve already got one of my classic protein shakes.”

“Well, good, I’m glad he didn’t leave you out or anything,” they joke before gently making Hux lean down so that they can kiss him on the cheek.

Together, the two of them walk into Damien’s living room, drinks in hand, to join Damien and Lasko.

“Whaaat is going on here?” the Freelancer asks at the sight of a bunch of blankets and pillows gathered on a large mattress topper all laid out on the floor, with the coffee tables and other furniture pushed aside to the edges of the room.

“We thought that you, and— well, all of us, really, could use some comfort and relaxation after this week. But, um, it was Damien’s idea to surprise you,” Lasko informs them.

“You always do so much for us, I just… thought that we should return the favor,” Damien says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flush a darker shade.

“That’s— I don’t deserve this, you— this is so sweet of you guys,” the Freelancer laughs to themself.

“Dude, you deserve this and so much more,” Huxley sits down onto the comfy nest and grabs the Freelancer’s hand to carefully pull them down with him. Once seated, he hands them their latte before handing Damien and Lasko their respectives lattes as well. The Freelancer gladly sips from their drink.

“Especially with how much you bake for us. I-I swear, every time I finish some batch of cookies or loaf of bread you’ve made me, I suddenly have a new treat to replace it as soon as it’s gone,” Lasko adds.

“Well I enjoy baking a lot, so I feel like that shouldn’t really count—”

“Freelancer,” Damien gently scolds, “it counts.”

The Freelancer rolls their eyes but a small smile grows on their face at the thought of having people that care about them like this. An old part of them still wants to say that their boyfriends are just with them to get something out of them later, or that they’re just using them. Wants to pull away from them to protect themself from an inevitable future disappointment and heartbreak. But they know that’s not true. Damien, Lasko, Huxley, and Gavin aren’t like that. They’re kind, and loving, and caring, and they would never do something like that. But old habits die hard, right?

“Is Gavin going to be here too? Or is it just us today?” The Freelancer, asking both out of genuine curiosity and caring, and to change the subject. They take a sip from their drink.

As if he was somehow listening in, Gavin rifts into the living room, comfy attire already donned rather than his usual clothing or just being completely naked.

“Am I on time?” the incubus asks, dramatically falling into the empty space between Lasko and the Freelancer and stretching out.

“No, not at all, actually. It’s been years. We’re all dead and you’re talking to our ghosts,” Damien says deadpan.

“A little strong with the sarcasm today, don’t you think, Firecracker?” Gavin takes the Freelancer’s hand from beside him and presses a kiss to the top of their hand, all while maintaining eye contact with Damien to continue the banter, of course.

Damien playfully rolls his eyes in response. “Shut up…” he says, taking Gavin’s lead and also laying down to get more comfortable, setting his iced coffee to the side but still within reach. The three still sitting up take the hint that it’s now time for that “comfort and relaxation” Lasko previously mentioned and lay down as well.

“Well, how was this week for everyone? You all seem pretty tired,” Gavin asks, genuinely concerned for how the others fared in their classes. He turns on his side to face Lasko, snaking his arms around the air elemental and earning a deep blush from him.

“I-it was okay for me. My, uh— my classes weren’t too bad. It’s honestly these next couple of weeks of planning that are going to be hard for me,” Lasko answers. On the other side of him, Damien scooches closer to him and wraps his arms around from behind.

“I wish I could say the same for my classes this semester,” Damien starts. As he continues answering Gavin, Freelancer cranes their head around to look at Hux.

“Spoon?” they whisper to him.

“Spoon,” Hux answers, grinning. The Freelancer gently takes his arm and wraps it around themself as the both of them press closer to each other and to Gavin.

“—it sucks that they make you use break time for planning, though.” The Freelancer manages to catch onto the end of what Damien was saying.

“Maybe that’s another change for the better you can make once you’re the one in charge here, Damien,” Hux points out. The Freelancer can practically hear and feel him grinning from behind them. It’s adorable.

“Yeah, I… I guess,” Damien flusters once again at someone else having the genuine belief that he’ll bring good changes to D.A.M.N. someday.

“What about you two, how were your finals?” Gavin asks, referring to his two partners behind him. Hux answers first, so the Freelancer takes the chance to grab another sip from their latte. They’re finally starting to feel the effects of the mood magic and are feeling a bit more relaxed than when they had just finished their last final.

“Mine were good. I mean, I’m pretty much only doing earth focused classes this year, so it’s already stuff I’m pretty confident in. Don’t get me wrong, though. I was still way nervous for every one of my finals.”

The others hum in agreement. It’s the Freelancer’s turn.

“I think mine went okay… I kind of want to get my mind off of classes, though,” they say, lazily pressing a kiss to the back of Gavin’s neck before nuzzling closer into it.

“That sounds like a good idea to me,” Hux laughs. “Does anyone need any blankets? I think we have most of ‘em over here.”

There’s a chorus of affirmative answers from all but Damien, who is perfectly warm just as he is and being pressed close to another person. Hux pulls away from the Freelancer, who is disappointed by even the briefest lack of contact, and unfolds some blankets to lay overtop himself and his three significant others that requested them. Once Hux finally returns to being wrapped around the Freelancer, they are able to take a deep, content breath in, and finally relax.

The group falls into a comfortable silence as the five of them cherish the feeling of being near one another. It’s quite rare that all five of them get to relax together at the same time. Usually at least one of them has something going on that steals them away from the others, so they can’t take any moment all together for granted.

The Freelancer closes their eyes, listening to the slow breathing of all of their boyfriends, feeling the ends of Gavin’s hair tickle their face, the softness of Huxley’s lips resting against their shoulder, the rise and fall of bodies they’re sandwiched between. It’s all incredibly comforting, and the Freelancer never wants it to end. They hear the sound of Gavin pressing a quick kiss to somewhere on Lasko’s face as they feel him lean the slightest bit forward to do so. Then there’s a sound of another kiss, this one farther away, most likely of Damien kissing Lasko’s neck or cheek.

“Guys, stop,” Lasko laughs happily. More kissing. More laughter from Lasko. The Freelancer feels Huxley smile against their skin and feels the small blow of air from his nose as he huffs out a small laugh as well. They feel his arms tighten the slightest bit around them, and then feel a kiss on their shoulder, then Hux’s nose lightly dragging up the side of their neck as he moves to be able to sweetly kiss their neck a couple of times. The Freelancer feels laughter bubble up in their chest and throat, and soon the five of them are all a giggling mess.

“We’re supposed to be relaxing!” Lasko points out.

“Fine, I suppose I just won’t kiss you then,” Gavin jokes. The Freelancer opens their eyes to see Gavin sitting up and pulling Damien towards him by the hand, leaning over Lasko, from where their hands were previously laced with one another’s and resting atop Lasko’s waist. “I’ll just have to kiss everyone but you.”

Gavin and Damien lean in, meeting in the middle for a kiss while looking like they might fall over on top of Lasko, but surprisingly they don’t. When they pull away, they smile at each other for a moment before Gavin moves to face the Freelancer and Damien returns to laying behind Lasko, but props himself up on an elbow to watch the sight of Gavin struggling to kiss everyone.

Gavin leans down to kiss the Freelancer. His lips are soft against theirs, and provide a familiar warmth that leaves the Freelancer even more comfortable and blissful than before. After he pulls away, the incubus doesn’t move away just yet and instead gives his partner’s forehead a kiss before moving on to Huxley.

Gavin cups the side of Hux’s face with a delicacy that many others do not show Hux because all they see is his tough exterior, and expect him to either not be interested in the softness they could offer, or just be used to rougher things. Not these four, though. They treat Hux with all the softness and sweetness he shows them, and all the tenderness he deserves and could ever want. As Gavin leans in to kiss the earth elemental, the Freelancer gets a full face of Gavin’s shirt and chest, earning back some of the laughter from before.

“Gav, I, uh, don’t know that I appreciate your chest in my face right at this moment,” the Freelancer jokes.

Gavin hums in response, still kissing Huxley. “Oh, you love it,” he says as he finally pulls away. The Freelancer doesn’t deny the claim.

The five of them return to their previous cuddling positions, all holding each other just the slightest bit tighter than before. All giddy with the perfect reward of being with one another to end a rough couple of weeks. However, they somehow manage to return to the quiet stillness from before despite the giddiness. After a few moments of silence, Damien speaks up.

“Hey, Freelancer…” he starts, “Hux and I… want to tell you something.”

That causes them to furrow their eyebrows. What could the two of them want to tell them?

“Are you sure about doing it right now, Damien?” Hux asks.

That scares them.

“Yeah, I think so,” Damien replies.

“What… do you guys have to tell me?” the Freelancer asks hesitantly, mumbling the words against the back of Gavin’s neck.

“Well, the four of us were all talking…” Damien states vaguely.

“And we wanna spend the holidays together. All of us,” Hux finishes.

“Yeah…? But… you both have families to go home to. If you’re implying we all come along to one, then one of you won’t be able to see your family,” they say, guessing as to what Damien and Hux could be implying.

The Freelancer doesn’t see a look exchanged between Gavin and Lasko. A look that wonders how the Freelancer is going to react to what comes next.

“Well, we decided that we’re not going to go home for the holidays. We’re going to stay here so we can spend them together,” Damien says. So that’s why Damien wasn’t concerned about packing. The Freelancer tries to sit up to be able to look him in the eyes and tell him that that’s a sweet yet stupid idea, but Hux’s hold on them doesn’t allow them to do so, and he speaks up before they can.

“Yeah, I think my moms are gonna take the chance to have a relaxing holiday instead of hosting for our whole family, and I’ll go see them for New Year’s so… I’ll get to spend time here with my favorite people, and then… I’ll still get to go spend time with my other favorite people. It’s wins all around!” Hux explains, lightly squeezing his arms tighter around his partner.

“And my family celebrates Hanukkah, which has already passed, so I really don’t have anything I’m missing by not going home until New Year’s,” Damien adds.

“But… you both should still spend time with your families, that’s what break is for, and besides, Lasko and I have each other here over break and Gavin can join any of us anytime he pleases, so you really don’t have to stay—”

“Freelancer, they wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t want to,” Lasko cuts them off.

“He’s right,” Gavin nods at his boyfriend’s words, who smiles back.

“Damien and I just have two families now. One right here, and one not in Dahlia,” Huxley’s voice is soft when he speaks. “And we want to spend break with the family that’s here.”

“We want to be here, all together,” Damien finishes.

And then the Freelancer finally understood. Home isn’t back with their own family. Home is here, with the four people that care about them most. With the people they care for the most. The Freelancer tries to suppress a smile, but then they decide to let themself smile. They decide to let themself be happy. They know they’ll be happy for the holidays this year. And if that means that they’re now living in a crappy Hallmark movie rather than watching one… then that’s more than okay with them. Even if it’s cliche.

“Alright… thank you both, for doing this for us,” they say, their voice barely above a whisper.

The two of them say their versions of “it’s really nothing” and with the effects of the magic lattes completely taking over, the group begins to drift off to sleep, guided by the warmth of their partners, the comfort of the blankets, and the safety of being all together in Damien’s apartment. The Freelancer sighs contently at the feeling of being safely sandwiched between two of their boyfriends, and the thoughts that they now have something to look forward to for the rest of winter break. They finally drift off to have the best sleep they’ve had in a while, the happy thoughts and feelings bringing them much more comfort than any stupid sold-out latte.

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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 5 years ago

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The Execution

Summary: You execute your revenge plan and seize an unexpected opportunity. (Sequel to The Salted Coffee Hit List.)

Word Count: 2,769

Ryan went down fast once he had erroneously decided he could trust you, and after two more face-to-face operations plus a lot of in-character communications over the phone, he gave you some damning evidence which you relayed to Peter to build your case. While you couldn’t enter the broker’s office without thinking of the time you’d had Neal and Peter both interrupting every few minutes, you hadn’t had the time to get back at them for it because the case had to come first.

By the time you were back in your routine, that had been nine days ago and you weren’t even sure Peter would remember what had happened without some prompting. Hell, he could barely even remember to get his own clothes from the dry cleaner’s without a reminder. You caught yourself wondering if it was even worth it anymore.

Then you realized that you had the element of surprise over them both. After plotting – um, pondering on it for a while over a TV dinner, you decided you couldn’t let them get away with it. It would set a bad precedent.

Despite what most cop shows might have led you to expect, being a senior agent didn’t give Peter the excuse – or the guts – to order his agents to always bring him coffee. All members of his team alternated with who got all the coffees, and you bided your time until it was your turn.

“Y/N,” the barista called loudly, barely looking up from the coffee cups as he put several down in a cluster.

You grabbed a couple of white salt packets off of the utensils counter as well as two thin red stirrers, then started checking the names on the coffees as you were putting them into a cardboard drink carrier. You left yours, Diana’s, and Clinton’s free of tampering. Neal’s, with added cream, and Peter’s, straight, were left out of the carrier for just a moment. Trying not to look suspicious to the baristas or any other customers, you quickly but calmly opened both men’s drinks, dumped a salt packet in each, and stirred the salt into dissolving faster before trashing the stirrers and putting the tops back on.

No one suspected anything when you carried all the drinks back up to the twenty-first floor, across the bullpen, up the mezzanine, and into the preferred conference room. Keeping a straight face was a bit of a challenge, but you had been under higher stakes than this before, and you were not about to let your amusement ruin this for you.

“About time,” Neal commented, his dull eyes lighting up as soon as he realized there was coffee in the room. Peter looked like he had been halfway through chastising his informant when you came in, which probably explained said informant’s boredom.

You put the carrier down on the table while keeping your own cup in hand. Jones looked at his watch briefly before standing up to reach for his coffee. “I thought it would take longer. Lunch rush.”

“They’re starting to learn our order by heart,” you remarked, grimacing slightly. How much money did that branch make from tired FBI agents? Probably as astronomical amount.

Peter let everyone else get their drinks before he got his, but he was also the first to try drinking it while the steam was still rising from the slot in the lid. Sitting down normally, you kept an eye on him as he took a sip, made a face, forced himself to swallow, and then stuck his tongue out at either the heat, the saltiness, or both.

“Something wrong?” You asked, keeping your face even and tilting your head.

“I think I just tasted my tongue burning off,” your boss said, disgruntled. You were silently delighted. It was so hot that he couldn’t even pick up on the salt. He was going to drink the salted coffee again.

“The steam was supposed to clue you in,” Diana quipped.

“What have we got since I left?” At your question, the team got back on track. Diana and Peter filled you in with a quick review.

The five of you continued looking at your case for several minutes before the steam had quit venting out of the coffee lids. Neal took a taste of his while listening to Jones report on accounting figures and the face of disgust he made was worth every second of anticipation. As soon as he knew his coffee was tampered with, his eyes shot up to you.

“That was low,” he said, interrupting Jones.

“What did I do?” You asked earnestly, blinking. Neal didn’t buy it for a second. Diana looked at you suspiciously and drank some of her own coffee. Since she hadn’t been deserving of sabotaged beverages, she didn’t find anything wrong with hers and shrugged at Jones.

“It was almost two weeks ago.” Neal frowned.

“Congratulations, you can count.” You smiled sweetly at him.

Peter rolled his eyes and looked up to the ceiling. To brace himself for dealing with conflict, he drank some more coffee. It had cooled down enough by now for him to realize that the taste was god-awful and he turned around so quickly his tie flew, like he was going to spit it out in the trash can. He didn’t end up doing that, which disappointed you a little. It would’ve been more interesting if he had since you really hadn’t put in that much salt.

“For God’s sake,” he grumbled, turning back around after forcing it down. “What the hell was that for?”

“Huh,” you said thoughtfully, locking eyes. “I guess I must have accidentally mixed up the salt and sugar.” You kept up a polite smile.

Peter looked at Neal as if to say it was his fault. Neal made an innocent face at him and gestured to his own, almost untouched, coffee to emphasize that he was a victim, too. Peter just strengthened his glare and continued to blame Neal.

“I haven’t touched yours,” he objected, “I barely even touched mine!”

“Because there’s so much salt in it you could melt the ice off the road!”

Diana snorted and leaned back in her chair. “There’s free coffee in the kitchenette.”

Neal gave her an apprehensive look. “That’s not real coffee.”

“Ick.” Peter picked his cup up for a third time, but this time he dropped it into the trash bin. Neal pushed his along the table so that when the boss turned back around, he repeated the process with Neal’s cup.

“How long were you planning that?” The thief asked you, crossing his arms.

“I’ve had the idea since you wouldn’t shut up in the van.”

“It took you two weeks to do that?” He shook his head. “Wow, Y/N. Wow.”

So what if it was unsophisticated? It was unpleasant for them, and that was all you had wanted. “You weren’t expecting it and I ruined your afternoon because now you don’t have coffee.” Although you wanted to stick your tongue out at him, you decided against it. Instead, you sipped on your perfectly tasty latte with smug pride.

~~~ The Execution ~~~

Although you couldn’t accept coffee from Neal or Peter for a couple of weeks, the salted coffee hit list had been successfully carried out and was absolutely worth the inconvenience of having to get your own drinks for a while. The boys appeared to have taken it with some salt (pun intended), but there were no reprisals – they must have realized that they had it coming. Both of them had worked undercover before, and both knew how freaking aggravating it was when the utility of the earpiece was abused.

Work carried on as uneventfully as it ever did when your colleagues included a contemporarily-renowned con artist. When you joined the bureau, you had thought it would be exciting. It was, but you had confused the movies for real life. When you all caught wind of a case which involved a stolen identity, a missing persons profile, and long-term embezzlement, you all jumped to seize the investigative leads.

You almost forgot how boring it could be to sit in the van while someone else was doing the tough work. For a moment, you understood why Neal had been so insufferable. You worried about him, too, of course you did. This sympathy only lasted for a few minutes as Neal charmed it up with the receptionist inside while he waited for his appointment with the in-house accountant. If he could so freely wing it and expect you to stay quiet, then he should have been able to keep his mouth shut when you were watching your words and policing your body language.

“How did you do that?” The soprano voice asked with laughter. You rolled your eyes at the flirting while listening with a headset over your ears. Neal responded with the French word for sleight of hand, trying to appear cultured and suave.

“If this goes on for much longer, my lunch is going to make a reprise,” Peter shared, looking at you and pretending to have to settle his stomach.

You picked up your phone to check the time. “I thought the appointment was at one?”

“It’s supposed to be,” the senior agent grumbled. “This should be time theft.”

If Neal could hear you now, he would be offended. Your eyes darted to the recording equipment, just to see. The light was off on the equipment – the line was only open one-way. But that could change…

Peter wouldn’t go along with it because work was serious and had to be prioritized. You were glad he knew that, but Neal apparently didn’t, and sometimes that man only learned lessons when they were beaten into his skull. Though you’d been content with your petty revenge, this teaching opportunity was too good to pass on.

“Hey, boss, he’s just going to be hitting on that poor girl for a while,” you said craftily, giving a yawn into the crook of your elbow. “There was a Starbucks just a couple streets back, I’d love a pick-me-up.”

Peter yawned after you and blinked, apparently just then realizing how tired he actually was. “Me, too. I could use a stretch.” He got up and patted his pockets to check he had his wallet, phone, and badge. “Your usual?”

“Yes, please.”

You waited for him to shrug on his coat, jump out, and close the back of the van before you pressed the two-way communication button on the recorder. The light turned green and you smirked.

Neal kept flirting with the receptionist, and you kept yourself quiet. Though it was tempting to suddenly start chatting in his ear and distract him from the pretty woman’s attention, your point would have a lot more heft behind it if you waited until he was mentally invested in the task. He enjoyed flirting, but he himself said that it was more of a game than a serious endeavor.

Almost ten minutes after Peter left the van, the sound changed and someone faintly called Neal’s name on the other end. He quit talking with the receptionist and a few seconds later, he was introducing himself as Nick Halden and the other man’s voice was much closer than it had been before. The accountant introduced himself by his nickname, Walt, and Neal very subtly snuck in a comment on how the accountant’s office looked so that you and Peter would know where to go if things went sideways.

A couple of minutes into the meeting, a thumping on the doors had you stand up and open them for Peter with your headset still on. You took both coffees from your boss and let him climb back in and close the doors. He had graciously gotten your favorite latte. You smelled it first, and then took a tiny, slow sip.

“Don’t worry,” Peter said dryly as he sat down. “I thought about it, but exercised some self-control.”

“Ouch,” you remarked back at a normal volume, knowing Neal was hearing every word while he was also trying to concentrate. “That stings.”

“So does too much salt.”

Neal didn’t let on that he was hearing voices. You knew he wouldn’t or you wouldn’t have risked it. You had always admired his composure. Before long, he had become, for the most part, a behavioral mirror of Walt. Neal did it so skillfully that if you didn’t know exactly what he was doing, you wouldn’t have known he was manipulating his behavior at all.

A few minutes passed by, and Neal’s careful questions and inconspicuous prods started to show a little more about what the bad guy was thinking. It was time to interrupt again, you noted, and had a legitimate reason to do so. “What do you think?” You asked Peter, swiveling in your chair. “Is he the one pulling the strings?”

“I have a hard time believing someone else is doing it,” Peter said thoughtfully. “Accounting is very precise, and it’s not all about crunching numbers and filing taxes.”

“I know what this kind of job’s like,” Neal was saying, sounding earnest and a little… patronizing, maybe? It wasn’t a straightforward inflection – you would have had to see his expression to know for sure. “You spend all your time up here, crunching numbers, filing taxes, and no one even knows your name. Guys like us deserve a thank you once in a while, is that so much to ask?”

You thought quickly and acted to catch Peter’s attention before he realized that the uncanny repetition was Neal hinting that he could hear you. “He could just be the brains behind someone else’s greed,” you pointed out.

“He could, but I don’t think so. Not enough money’s gone missing to make up two cuts.”

“Maybe not yet,” you countered. “But if he thought this could go on long enough, they could rake in plenty for two people, or even three.”

Peter leaned forward, thinking about it carefully. You couldn’t wait for him to reply. Although Neal’s tone wasn’t cluing you in to any irritation or stress, you knew it had to be there. And in the meantime, the accountant was agreeing vehemently, getting braver because of Neal’s expressed sympathy.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “But the way they’re talking, there’s not room for another person.”

“Let’s hope he’s the only one, then. Less paperwork.”

Neal kept continuing in the direction that his conversational partner was leading. It was becoming excessively clear that Walt felt the company owed him more than he was being given. There wasn’t anything concrete enough to use as evidence, but it was obvious that if you were persistent enough, you could get something out of him.

“I gotta spend my whole life cleaning up their messes and making their lives easier. And what do I get? Barely 80K.”

You rolled your eyes as the suspect whined at Neal. “Oh, is that all?” You sarcastically asked, then snapped, “Jackass.”

Peter was shaking his head. “The city’s not a cheap place to live, but that’s a lot more than most people get. I think he’s doing fine.”

“Greed like that should be illegal,” you commented. Thinking that a perfectly respectable salary was too low and feeling entitled to embezzle as a result was just inexcusable. No one was entitled to rip off other people. No one.

“In his case, it already is.” Peter mumbled, his low tone letting you know he was having similar thoughts.

The appointment continued on, but didn’t last very long. Most of that time you were respectfully quiet, not wanting to push too hard and actually jeopardize the case. Every few minutes, you would pipe up with something that sparked a short exchange between yourself and your boss. You had counted up to six interruptions before Neal was politely but firmly dismissed, and “Nick” gracefully made an exit while persuasively cajoling Walt to keep in touch.

There were a couple minutes of silence, and then the sounds of an elevator door closing and beeping with every floor as it descended. Presumably isolated, Neal let himself sound annoyed as he spoke again. “Seriously, Y/N?”

Peter was confused for a second before it dawned on him to check the equipment. The light on the box was still green. Peter slapped the button to turn it back into a one-way receiver and then turned an accusatory look on you. Now you understood how Neal felt right before one of those famed Burke lectures.

Putting your hand up quickly for a chance to speak first, you managed to hold him off long enough to say plainly, “Worth it.”

~~~

A/N: Woohoo! Thanks to @whizzer-fashion for my first commissioned story! Also, yay for my first posted series!

My requests are closed, but if you’d like to get around that little issue, please drop me a line or ask about my commission options or go straight to my Ko-Fi page. A oneshot of this length is $4 (pricing formula: cost = $1/500 words, + 500 words free). Imagines are $1 each, and you can also get a 2-for-$1 would include package.

#white collar #white collar x reader #neal caffrey #neal caffrey x reader #reader insert #peter burke #diana #jones #humor #commission #request #fic #sequel #the salted coffee hit list #the execution #series #revenge #lawmen-and-conmen #white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen

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the-amazing-spider-bi · 6 years ago

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the coffeeshop au no one asked for (now with a part 2)

“So, May, what do you want?” Madison asks the customer.

“That’s not even close to my name,” the other girl says, but she grins anyway. Weirdo. “One Iced Coffee for Zoe, with a little caramel twirl thingie, please.”

“Sure, Zack,” Madison says, and grabs her cup with a little more strength than necessary. Zoe snorts. She probably has some sort of insult kink. She and Kyle are going to have the worst sex ever.

(In which Madison does not have a crush on the cute hipster girl who keeps coming to the coffee shop, she and Kyle are definitely not competing for the girl’s attention, Cordelia thinks they are all model employees, and all of the above is a lie.)

Read on ao3 I Following prompts by origami-teacup

october.

“He fucking folded her napkin as a rose, and then gave her to her and said, I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to buy you flowers,” Madison groans before she kicks an unfortunate plastic cup which has absolutely nothing to do with this.

“Wow, the guy has got so much more game than you,” Queenie says, and Madison snarls at her, the bitch.

They’re sitting in the back alley behind the coffee shop, Madison being on trash duty again. (At Coven Café, waitresses get to throw the trash out every time they’re uncivil to a customer. Obviously, that means Madison gets stuck with it every night.)

(She should have stayed at fucking Starbucks.)

Anyway, they’re sitting on the bench in the smelly, gross back alley. Like every bit of having a service job when you hate pretty much everyone you meet, it sucks, but at least here no one is bothering them. It’s not even six p.m. yet, and already the sun is setting behind the city buildings and lamp posts are lighting out all over town. Queenie tightens up her coat while texting whoever she’s dating this week. Madison is smoking through a pack of cigarettes she only got yesterday to keep warm, because she wore her sluttiest skirt to work today, for reasons totally unrelated to the cute quiet girl who keeps coming back to the coffee shop every afternoon, of course. (According to Queenie, if Madison quit smoking, she could probably leave C.C. altogether and survive on her acting gigs, but what do you want, a girl loves her bad decisions.)

“He’s so fucking lame. How long do you think he spent last night watching Youtube napkin-folding tutorials? Like, god, Kyle, way to show her how gay you are.”

“Yeah sure, Madison. Hey, by the way, I like your new outfit, how much money did you spend on that?” Queenie asks.

“Shut up, it’s completely different,” Madison says. She did not buy these clothes to impress the cute girl, because that would be ridiculous and pathetic, just like she does not think about how the girl’s hair looks like liquid honey when the sun shines on it through the window, or how pretty her dimples are when she laughs open-mouthed at one of Kyle’s bad lines, or how much better her lips look when she smirks at Madison’s snide comments.

“Of course.”

Madison keeps up the sullen silence though, before Queenie sighs, finally pockets her phone and says, “You know what would help your situation?”

“Hum, hello, did I ask for your dumb advice?”

“If you actually showed her how gay you are,” Queenie says. “Also maybe - maybe - stop insulting her.”

“Hard pass,” Madisons says, and she throws her cigarette butt to the ground, crushes it under her heel, and leaves with a brisk pace.

“Bitch, just because you’re Los Angeles trash doesn’t mean the street is too!” Queenie yells at her retreating back. Madison doesn’t even turn around when she gives her the finger.

Queenie sighs.

november.

When she clocks in today, Kyle is already here, leaning on his elbows pressed against the wooden counter, flirting with her. Her, who leans on her elbows too, close to him, chuckles and blushes and hides her face behind chestnut brown hair.

Madison rolls her eyes and hip checks him as she goes by. “Go away, you’re not even paid for these extra hours.”

“Maybe I just really love making coffee,” he says. “Model employee, three months running, yay.”

When the girl smiles up at him, she crinkles her eyes. Madison pretends to gag.

“What a nerd,” she complains when his back is turned to fiddle with the coffee machine or whatever. “I swear to god, it’s like working with an overexcited puppy. He’s that close to pissing all over our hardwoods.”

“I think he’s nice,” the cute girl says. “I mean, isn’t that the whole point of independent coffee shops? Having friendly waiters, not being rushed by twenty people who want their Venti Caramel Macchiato?”

“Nah, the whole point is attracting all of you lame hipsters who want the Starbucks experience but not, like, to support capitalism or whatever,” Madison replies. “By the way, the homeless guy up front called, he wants his twenty layers of jackets back.”

The girl looks at her like she shot her puppy. Madison shrugs. “What? I’m just being honest!”

“Madison, stop bullying our best customer,” Kyle jokes, trying to come back to the counter. (She sneers at him. He is wise enough to be afraid of her and stay back. So he is not completely stupid then.)

“So, May, what do you want?” she asks the other girl.

“That’s not even close to my name,” she says, but she grins anyway. Weirdo. “One Iced Coffee for Zoe, with a little caramel twirl thingie, please.”

“Sure, Zack,” Madison says, and grabs her cup with a little more strength than necessary. Zoe snorts. She probably has some sort of insult kink. She and Kyle are going to have the worst sex ever.

She’s already onto the next customer when Zoe sees the shape of the caramel twirl on her order, laughs, and shouts thanks, Madison! from the other end of the room. Madison rolls her eyes at her and totally doesn’t blush.

(Kyle pesters her for an entire hour the next time their shift coincide for her to tell him what she drew on that poor girl’s cup because something you’ve probably never seen in your entire, pathetic life was not clear enough for him. It’s only when Zoe comes up to her and says her thanks for the capussyno that he gets it, and no, Madison does not laugh at that terrible, terrible pun.)

december.

“Hi Madison, did you have a nice Christmas?” Zoe asks as Madison is crouched under the counter looking for vanilla extract to serve that twink who only drinks decaf half-soy half-low fat milk extra whip cream double shot vanilla lattes.

She stands up so fast she hits her head against the cabinet and lets out a slew of swear words that would make her mother ashamed. (Or proud. Madison’s family isn’t exactly filled with role models. She’s a chainsmoking wannabe actress who works at the only coffee shop whose owner pities her enough to accept her constantly insulting customers. Of course she’s got mommy issues.) Her head hurts, and her dignity too.

“Madison, are you hurt?” the other girl asks, with real worry in her voice, because she’s a saint. Kyle and her sure deserve each other.

“No, everything is fine, I’m peachy,” Madison bites back with as much venom as she can muster.

It takes a few seconds for her vision to work again, once the blurriness of tears passes. When that happens, Madison discovers that sometimes in the last minute or so, Zoe bent over the counter to look at her closer. She puts her hand on top of Madison’s head, fingers ghosting over the spot where she hit herself, digging into her hair slightly. Her face is so close now, brown eyes blown wide open, pink lips slightly parted, thin eyebrows raised, and this is usually the point at which Madison finds something disparaging to say about her, like how measly her face looks, but her brain shortcuts again, thanks for that, and the only sound to get past her is a shrill whine.

“Shit, do you have a concussion or something?” she says, and steps back, wriggling her hand. As Zoe moves away, Madison’s big sapphic meltdown stops. Mostly. “I don’t know anything about medicine, I’m a History major, I should look for a doctor-”

She suddenly remembers that she’s Madison Montgomery and doesn’t get tongue-tied around anyone, ever. “Stop, you weirdo! I’m fine, god, you’re not my mom.”

“Oh,” Zoe says.

“Yeah,” Madison says. There’s a very awkward pause before she speaks up again. “So, I’m gonna serve this guy his stupid drink.”

“Yeah, sure.”

She gives her one last look as she walks away, and Zoe is tugging her sleeves above her pale hands, looking down in a way that makes silky hair cover most of her face. Madison finally makes that decaf half-soy half-low fat milk - something, calls for Behold, what kind of a name is that, ugh, who looks at her like he’s deeply unimpressed.

“Oh honey,” he says. “That was physically painful.”

“Excuse me, I don’t take advice from people who wear cardigans,” Madison snarks. “So shoo, Doctor Love.”

He scoffs at her and rolls his eyes but leaves anyway. When she gets back to the front, Zoe is gone already, taken care of by Queenie, who’s very unapologetic about it all. Madison bangs her head against the wooden counter.

january.

This time, Madison doesn’t even try to intercede when Kyle rushes to serve Zoe the instant she appears with a friendly expression, a gush of cold wind and a few snowflakes. She is done with this whole crush affair. Done. She is not going to embarrass herself striving to get Zoe’s attention anymore. New year, new her. She got the number of this very hot guy during a New Year’s Eve party, with long blonde hair and a smile like a shark’s, so she has no reason to pine anymore when she’s got herself a regular booty call. Queenie told her she was an idiot, but what does Queenie know about anything, really?

She watches as Kyle scribbles down a pick-up line on her to-go cup in a way he thinks is subtle and passes it to Zoe. She fully expects her to chuckle, again, as she always does when he uses one of his dork moves. It would make for a perfect picture: seven a.m., the sun rising, the snow falling softly out their window, your classic boy-meets-girl story.

Instead, Zoe says, “Oh, Kyle, that’s very flattering, but uh, you know,” and bites her lip.

Kyle looks at her blankly. “Uh, what do I know? I don’t know anything.”

“It’s true,” Madison calls from where she’s sitting at one of their booths. “He knows nothing.”

(So, yes, she was supposed to stay silent and let it be. How can she let opportunities like that pass her by though? She has a reputation. A reputation as a queen bitch.)

Zoe jolts at the sound of her voice, and Kyle glares, which, kudos to him, Madison didn’t think he was capable of that. The other girl moves a bit closer to him and speaks softly like that doesn’t make Madison lean closer to listen, which once again is not a desperate move, alright, she might have given up on Zoe, but she still feeds on drama.

“I’m gay, Kyle,” Zoe says. She gives him a small, pitying smile.

Kyle’s mouth falls apart on a silent oooh. Madison’s brain goes blank. Again.

She probably did get a concussion from that hitting-the-counter thing after all.

“Oooh,” Kyle finally lets out. “I see.” To his credit, he is back to his normal, cheerful persona already. “Do you want Madison’s number then?”

Madison chokes on her coffee and starts coughing desperately. Zoe turns back to look at her like a deer caught in the headlights, then at Kyle, then at her again. They both start to shake their heads no, but Kyle grins at them like he’s the Chester cat and he caught a canary and that canary happens to be Madison and she doesn’t know where the fuck she is going with that metaphor but he jots her number down on a napkin anyway.

When Zoe runs away with her to-go cup and Madison can process words again, she stomps towards Kyle, intent on saying something scathing to destroy his ego, but instead asks, “How did you even get my number?”

february.

“Madison Montgomery, are you the one drawing dicks on the chalkboard? The chalkboard outside the shop? The chalkboard outside the shop that we installed yesterday to promote our seasonal drinks?” Cordelia asks.

“What? No,” Madisons scoffs. “Why are you asking me this? Is this some kind of profiling issue? This is clearly biphobia. We’re not sex-obsessed skanks, you know.”

Misty snorts, because she’s a terrible manager.

“Madison,” Cordelia warns and does that thing when she looks at you and you feel like she sees all the dark, terrible secrets you’re hiding.

“What? It’s not me! Do you even have proof? Are you going around asking people-”

“Hi guys,” Zoe says as she comes in, her face almost entirely covered with scarf and beanie and hair except for her reddish nose. Cordelia smiles at her more warmly than she ever smiled at Madison, which is bullshit, since she’s been Madison’s boss for months and she’s known Zoe all of three weeks. (Although, maybe being Madison’s boss for months is reason enough to look disapproving all the time.)

She steps up to the counter and the other waitress on duty starts making her usual order without any prompting. It's still an Iced Coffee, despite it being freezing cold outside, and Madison doesn’t know how she didn’t figure out the whole lesbian thing sooner.

Then again, maybe she’s not the brightest bulb around her. Yesterday, when Zoe smiled at her as she carried a tray full of empty cups to the counter (seriously, it’s so easy to bring them when you’re done drinking, why are people like this), she tripped and almost broke it all. Queenie is still giving her shit about that.

“Hey, that’s a nice dress, Zoe!” Misty says and smiles her special Misty Day smile that is like staring directly into the sun.

“Oh, thanks! I got it on sale at a…” Zoe hesitates and glances at Madison worriedly. “A thrift shop.”

Madison cackles at that because Zoe is making it all too easy for her to mock her (the others waiters call it flirting, which is why they are all single and desperate). Misty speaks up before she has an opportunity to talk though. “It looks good on you! Doesn’t it, Madison?”

Her mouth opens and closes without a sound. She lets out: “It doesn’t come from the Gap, so, it’s always an improvement.”

“Aw, thanks, Madison, that’s very big of you,” Zoe says with fake cheer. “Really liked your penmanship from this morning out here too. Obviously the proportions were kind of wrong, but self-portraits are tough, aren’t they?”

Cordelia twirls around to face Madison with an I knew it expression on her face, Misty cracks up, and Zoe slips away from the shop with a winning smile. Well played, Benson.

(Later, the waitress will harass her about sexual tension and nonsense, and Madison will stomp and say why are you obsessed with me, and the staff will find something else to yammer on about.)

march.

Zoe is back in the corner booth at C.C., reading some boring History book with a ridiculously long title about witches, whose name Madison would usually never remember since she’s not a nerd, yet somehow knows because Zoe is really passionate about it and keeps calling it Six Women of Salem: The Untold Story of the Accused and Their Accusers in the Salem Witch Trials instead of That Nerdy Salem Book Thing like a normal person, and unfortunately, Madison listens to her. It takes three hours before Madison can clock out, and feels like three years. This is not unusual, as she always hated service jobs. What is unusual is how, even though it is only two p.m., she doesn’t hurry out of the shop to go literally anywhere else and instead slides next to the other girl and peers over her shoulder.

“Ooh, gory shit,” she says, and Zoe doesn’t even turn around, which is ungrateful since Madison looks fucking stunning today, just leans backward on Madison and hums.

Madison finds herself with a shoulder full of chestnut hair and mango shampoo smell. Her heart starts beating like a drill. It’s really annoying. She can’t even be angry properly, though. The other day Queenie told her she got almost tolerable now that she’s in lesbians with someone, which, no.

She sighs dramatically until Zoe is done with her chapter and lays down her book to pay full attention to her. By which she means roll her eyes at her and makeout. When Queenie hurls napkins at them so that they stop being so fucking disgusting, ugh, Zoe traps Madison’s hand between her thigh so she doesn’t give her coworkers the finger.

When her boss Cordelia comes in to kick them out, they have sex at Zoe’s place (twice) and talk about her next audition around Thaï takeout afterward. They even agree to watch The Tudors so Zoe can complain about historical inaccuracies and Madison can get turned on by the hot people and shut Zoe up accordingly.

All in all, it’s not so bad.

Now with a part 2!

#zadison #ahs #american horror story #american horror story coven #american horror story apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #ahs coven #madison montgomery #zoe benson #kyle spencer #my fics #my stuff #my edits #sapphic #zadison fic #ahs fic

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kakooshi · 7 years ago

Text

Would You Like Some Tea In Your Cauldron?

Read on Ao3

Warning: Implied/Referenced Drug Use

Levi hated losing bets. He rarely ever lost courtesy of his dear uncle, but this year, all it took was his misplaced faith in a racehorse named “Jean” during the Qatar Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe for him to end up being at the mercy of the scheming, shitty, four-eyed freak known as Hange Zoe.

There had been a raffle draw, and Levi’s dare was to decorate his house for the Halloween season and give out some sweets to the trick-or-treaters.

It was better than what Erwin had done on Valentine’s a few years back, when he had to sniff the armpit of every man in the pub just because he revealed his hand too early (It was a historical event) to Mike. Hange still had photos of the event saved in their so-called “family album.”

The problem was that Levi wasn’t too keen on giving out the only sweets he had. Candy didn’t exactly come at a cheap price, and he definitely wasn’t going to spend his entire salary buying new ones to cater to some brats’ sugar rush.

There were tea-flavored candies sent to him as gifts from his Grandfather Ackerman, who had worked as an employee in a candy factory and had later run several teahouses in the country during his younger days.

While Levi was fond of tea, he wasn’t a fan of it being used as a candy flavour. Its taste was very faint and unusual to begin with; sweet but not exactly the ideal type of treat that the little ones would gobble down wholeheartedly and come back for greedily in the next spooky years to come.

The night of Halloween was relatively uneventful for the man as per usual. Even as a kid, he never experienced the thrill of egging some poor hag’s house, or screaming his throat raw in one of those badly decorated third-rate horror booths, or even carving pumpkins and snatching wet apples with his mouth just for the hell of it.

Most importantly, he never had the luxury of preparing a costume…even until now. Hange encouragingly told him that he didn’t have to; he was already scary-looking enough.

“Ow!” Hange held their stomped foot, jumping up and down while Levi scoffed and took the basket of candy from them to place it on the breakfast nook.

The first few trick-or-treaters that came to Levi’s house were tame considering that they were under adult supervision. On the other hand, Levi secretly found it annoying how some parents, teachers, nannies, and even older siblings would apologize to him for the children they accompanied thinking that he looked like a serial killer from a textbook slasher. Was his appearance really that unsettling?

When he opened the door, basket in hand, a little girl in a pink, fairy costume quailed in fright and went down the porch steps to hide behind her mother.

Guess there was no need for a well-thought out prank; his “pinch-me-and-I’ll-punch-you” expression already came in handy.

It was almost 9:00 pm, and the hoots of the owls could be heard in the distance. Levi was ready to remove all the decorations much to his chagrin, but just when he was about to store the remaining candy back in the cellar, something caught his ear.

“Eren, it’s almost late,” said a little girl’s voice. “Mom’s going to get really worried, you know.”

“Just one more house left!” someone replied doggedly. Yep. It was definitely a brat.

“If I recall, your father said not to trick-or-treat at 10 or more houses. You still have an appointment with him after all,” Not bratty. Also, the kid sounded smart for his age.

“One more bag of candy won’t hurt, Armin.” The footsteps got louder.

With a sigh, Levi turned away from the cellar with the candy still in his arms to meet his last trick-or-treaters for the night outside. Upon opening the door, the first thing he saw was a boy who looked to be about 7 or 8 years old. He was dressed as a dog…no, a werewolf, what with the puffy ears, fangs, and paws he wore for feet. The ruffled fur of his top matched the color of his hair.

On either side of him were a raven-haired girl and a blonde boy. The girl was dressed as a huntsman, a plastic axe by her side, and the boy a warlock. Together, they seemed to be quite the fairly strong bunch.

As if a flip had been switched, the wolf boy immediately perked up at Levi and flashed a wide grin, “Trick-or-treat!”

He was the first kid not to show signs of fear in front of him. How interesting.

The other two weren’t as enthusiastic. The girl stayed silent, though Levi could tell she was a little wary of him. Meanwhile, the blonde muttered the greeting with a nervous stutter, twiddling with the pouch he held while huddling up to the girl. Levi couldn’t blame him; his sunken eyes spoke for themselves.

“You brats better be thankful I still haven’t cleared the Jack-o-Lanterns off my lawn,” Levi said tonelessly, stepping down the stairs while grabbing for a pack of candy.

“Our apologies, sir!” the blonde stammered. “If you’d like, we can leav—”

“Eren just wants some more candy, that’s all.” the girl interrupted.

“Guys!” shouted the wolf boy. Shaking his head in embarrassment, he looked back up to Levi again, holding up his cauldron treat bucket in a silent plea. “I just need one more for my secret stash, sir.”

“Your secret stash?”

“Yes,” The boy blushed before continuing, “My father’s a dentist so it’s not often that I get to eat lots of candy.”

The sourness from Levi’s expression dissolved and was replaced by sympathy.

“Well, I wouldn’t want your long journey to go to waste, would I? Here…”

Levi poured several pieces of candy into Eren’s bucket. He felt something twitch in his chest at the sight of the boy’s wide, green eyes gleaming in happiness. If he had a tail, Levi was sure it would be wagging by now.

“These are from Teas’ Time, aren’t they?” the wolf boy, Eren, asked excitedly.

He didn’t bother to wait for his answer and picked out a piece, tearing at the wrapper with his teeth with an alarming vigor. Levi raised a brow and made a confused face at the other two kids waiting patiently for their sugar-deprived friend.

“He always eats the candy after receiving it. That way, he’ll know which ones will become his favorites,” the blonde explained, as if reporting a scientific experiment.

“Tch,” Levi kneeled down to Eren’s level, “So, how does it taste?”

To his slight amazement, Eren seemed to be enjoying the candy judging from the pleased expression he wore; he hummed in answer: ‘It’s good!’

No, it’s not, really. Levi tried the candy for himself; it was certainly healthier than most sweets but it didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Kitkats, Snickers, or Twix candy bars. Hell, even that candy corn crap tasted better than the hard, circular disks currently making Eren’s eyes glaze over.

Then again, it was better than not having any at all.

“Huh,” Levi regarded him in kind, “The ones in your possession are Citrus green tea, by the way. You still have more flavors to try.”

Eren’s face fell, “Thank you, sir, but my Dad won’t let me have any more. They’ll ruin my teeth,” he pulled off his fangs to show Levi a crooked but clean set of them; no cavities in sight.

Well, that’s understandable. Levi stood up to bid the boy and his friends goodbye but the former stopped him with an exasperated “Wait!” before he could.

“Are you going to give out some more next Halloween?”

Levi weighed his choices. No, he didn’t want to do this again. God forbid his house get wrecked; he was already lucky not to have done much cleaning the first time save for the removal of decorations.

But one look at Eren’s puppy dog eyes compelled him to think differently. Yes, there was absolutely nothing unusual about inviting a child to trick-or-treat at his place when he was opposed to the very idea hours ago. Not at all.

“Shit’s expensive so one flavor for every year. Be sure to collect them all before you don’t have the balls to go trick-or-treating anymore,” He offered, ignoring the surprised gasps from the other two.

Eren looked about ready to bounce off the floorboards, fangs bared, “Thank you, Sir! I can’t wait!”

In a flash, the boy was down the front steps joining his friends, both relieved that the night was over. They all waved at Levi, departing into the streets with the autumn breeze ruffling their clothes. Eren in particular gave one last smile at him before digging in his pack to wolf down—excuse the pun—more of the sweets from his grabby little fingers.

For the first time that night, Levi’s lips quirked up a centimeter. Perhaps he ought to treat Hange out to see that science fiction horror film they were so crazy about.

For the next three years, Levi would leave some candy waiting in a mini black cauldron by the porch for little Eren to find. Since they were of premium quality (or so his grandfather claimed), each year promised a different flavor, and with every bite, Eren’s adoration for the maddeningly expensive stuff only grew.

Citrus green tea, green tea latte, classic iced tea, black tea…Levi could only go for so long until hearing his tea-obsessed relative sob happily from the other side of the phone at the news of someone genuinely enjoying his brand of candy.

His friends were just as happy at the news.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a faithful follower, Levi.” Erwin said one night over brandy.

“He’s just happy because he finally figured out a way to clear out his pantry,” Hange cackled. This earned them another well-placed stomp on the foot.

Levi had learned quite a lot about Eren too—like how his ears would turn red every time Levi asked him about his intake of sweets, or how passionate he was in his ramblings about anything other than the different candies he collected from the other houses. Levi’s favorite was the one where he and his two friends from before, Mikasa and Armin, reported some guys shoving their dicks inside carved pumpkins as part of some sick, twisted dare to the police and were given ten times the candy they had that day because of it.

“Levi, why have you never gone trick-or-treating?” a 12-year old Eren asked. He was perched on top of the red loveseat in his living room, Hogwarts robe pooling over the edges and glasses falling askew from the upside-down position he was in.

“My uncle never made me go. Juvenile delinquents used to put weed in candy bars back in the day, so he didn’t want to be responsible for my getting wasted,” Levi said as if commenting about the weather.

Eren’s flipped over in shock, “You can put drugs in candy?!”

“Yes, which is why you should be extra careful when receiving treats from strangers; even the most benign things can become the most dangerous when placed in the wrong hands.”

Levi found what he was looking for in the fridge—Chai tea. Eren’s favorite.

The boy in question nodded slowly in understanding, “No wonder Dad only let me trick-or-treat at my relatives’ place.”

“Hm.”

Eren’s eyes were fixated on Levi for quite a while. He propped his elbows on the sofa, chin resting above them as he sent the man a soft smile, his glasses sliding a little onto his nose to reveal bright green, mirthful and genuine.

“I trust you, though.”

Levi returned one of his own; he threw the candy at Eren, “Up until now, I’m still baffled by the fact that you didn’t piss yourself seeing my face for the first time.”

Eren laughed while unwrapping the foil. Popping the candy into his mouth, he gave a pleased hum, chewing slowly to savor the taste.

“Oh, I was pretty scared alright,” he spoke while he ate, “I thought you were going to whip out a scythe or whatever; complements the murderous look on your face and everything.”

“This coming from the kid who said he trusts me.”

Eren simply flicked his wand as if to ward him off, sticking his tongue out.

Eren didn’t come to Levi’s house the following year.

At first, Levi supposed it was because Eren had indeed grown up and was definitely too old to ever trick-or-treat again. Surely, his friends and family found it pretty strange for someone as adventurous and fun as him to spend the last few minutes of Halloween with an almost broke college student, and a grumpy one nonetheless.

But Levi knew Eren wasn’t the type to ditch friendships like that, although to be quite honest, Levi wasn’t exactly sure when he started considering Eren as his friend. Maybe the boy was just that likeable despite his tendency to be a little shit.

Eren had messaged him online 7 hours after Halloween Night ended. Suffice to say, Levi didn’t know whether to congratulate or pity the boy with the news he’d been given:

Brat: I got braces :/

Levi pondered a bit before typing out his message and pressing the send button.

Levi: Mashed potatoes and gravy, then?

The notification came faster than he could blink:

Brat: :D

Halloween couldn’t possibly be more hectic this time around. Levi’s dorm mates had invited him to participate in the new “Zombie Run” sponsored by his very own university; his fingers were still sore from when he punched the Walking Dead who had tried to cop a feel chasing him.

He was just about to nurse his knuckles with some ice packs when he heard the clicking of boots on his porch steps.

Levi was at the door in an instant; ice packs forgotten on the floor; he pulled it open to see tousled brown hair and vibrant green eyes.

It was Eren, now a teen, who had come to trick-or-treat at his doorstep for the first time in three years. And oh—

The boy’s getup was certainly….riveting. He wore a red button-up underneath a black military jacket with side seams that went below the waist, matching gloves and high-knee combat boots, and white pants accentuating his shapely legs…

Levi mentally smacked himself before taking in all of Eren’s costume. Speaking of legs, they were fitted with belt straps…no…Eren was actually wearing a harness, its unique pattern contrasting nicely with the red shirt and white pants. There was even a small leather skirt that Levi didn’t notice until later.

And shit, Levi now had to look up at his face because of how tall he’d gotten. It was kind of annoying.

Gone was the scruffy, werewolf boy from 7 years ago. Before him stood a sharply dressed cadet, an air of confidence and integrity about him. Tonight, Eren was a soldier…ready to fight on the frontlines; it was the best costume Levi had ever seen him in.

“Trick-or-treat,” Eren greeted. His voice was lower now, and his braces were gone too; there was only a set of perfectly straight and white teeth.

Eren whirled around, the long end of the jacket flowing behind him. Levi caught a glimpse of the insignia on his back, a white wing overlapping a blue one, “Do you like it?” he asked in a way more akin to a princess flaunting her ball gown.

Levi did a mock bow, “Why yes, Your Highness.”

The boy smirked before quickly pulling out dual blades from his sides (Where the fuck did they come from?). They looked pretty fucking sharp.

The older male raised his arms, whistling lowly, “At ease, soldier.”

Eren put the swords back in their hilts, “They’re ultrahard steel. Good for cutting flesh.”

The look Levi gave him was nothing short of incredulous.

Eren laughed, “Just kidding, these aren’t really made of metal, but they do make a good slashing sound!” He emphasized this with a wave, as if to cut Levi in half.

He didn’t want to know the rest of the details, “Aren’t you a little too old for trick-or-treating?”

“Levi, it’s 2017. If you’ve noticed, there are a lot of teenagers going from house to house for treats and no tricks, hopefully. All my friends are wearing the same costume I’m in.”

Levi wondered how many there were. He held back a snort at the idea of a bunch of High-School students in weird military attire (He still didn’t know the significance of the harness), marching along the streets and chanting roll-calls begging for Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Laffy Taffys.

Not wanting to waste the evening out in the windy cold, Levi turned to fetch what Eren had arrived for in the first place, “Citrus green or…”

Eren’s gloved hand on his shoulder stopped him in place.

“This is the last time I’m ever going trick-or-treating,” he paused, tightening his grip, “and I want you to come along this time.”

Levi looked over his shoulder, admittedly shocked despite his cool gaze.

“I don’t have a scythe and robe with me,” he still found within himself to joke.

There it was again, that life-expanding laugh. There was a glint in Eren’s eyes that Levi couldn’t place, and he felt a prickling sensation spread through his body from where Eren touched him.

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s still a kid after all, but you know you’re willing to buy him all the treats he could ever want in the world,’ said the nagging voice in his head.

“I’m also too old,” he added.

“Pshh, you don’t look that old to me,” Eren gestured to Levi’s height. Levi scowled and punched him in the arm, making him release a pained chuckle.

“Oh, and another thing…” Eren reached inside his jacket and pulled out a parcel; unwrapping it.

Inside was a jumbo pack of Matcha-Green Tea Kitkats.

“I bought them myself,” Eren said proudly, holding it up for Levi to see, “earned cash and all. I can guarantee that you won’t find any suspicious substances in them.”

Levi snickered. On the other hand, he couldn’t recall ever feeling such a strong surge of admiration.

“Thanks, kid.” He offered Eren one of his rare smiles.

Eren wasn’t finished with his surprises just yet. “Say, if I offer you this….” he flaunted the Kitkats in Levi’s face with one hand while the other went into his jacket again (God, how many stuff was he hiding in there?), bringing out a larger parcel. It was slightly open, but Levi’s eyes widened upon seeing the belt straps inside.

Levi reached out with careful fingers to pull the folds apart, revealing the costume—the same one Eren was wearing.

“…will you be our Captain for Halloween, Levi?”

Levi didn’t even realize he had nodded until he felt a pair of strong arms around him. This close, he could make out the faint smell of citrus; just like years ago. His cheeks were beginning to warm up so he gave a few awkward pats to Eren’s back and eventually pulled away from him.

“There’s only one problem to deal with, I guess.”

Eren’s body went stiff, “What is it?”

Levi grabbed the harness and the rest of the belt straps, holding them up in distaste.

“How the fuck do you put these on?”

#ereriween #snk #eren jaeger #levi ackerman #ereri #rivaere #fic #i cant believe i did this lol #posting two weeks after an event is pretty embarrassing xd #snk modern au #halloween au

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thevagabondvantage · 4 years ago

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8.31.2018

“Large Iced Americano!” The clear plastic cup gives off a cold-sweat, anxious to meet its new friend. I hand off the middle-class man’s chalice and continue to the next order. Please, God, let these people tip more than their spare change. My left shoulder is probably out of socket and my feet are sore, but what else is new?

“Vanilla Latte - skim milk, half the ‘sweet stuff’!” Some bitch with an aggressive bob sweeps up to the bar for her barely-coffee. She looks at me in angst, as if saying, “I know your kind - a sorry fuck who jerks off just to fall asleep at night.” And she’s right, isn’t she? She grabs her collared cup, and bitch-walks her way out. Joke’s on her, though; I used whole milk.

I wish someone would have warned me that a Master’s degree in Philosophy qualified me for only one career: disgruntled barista. I’ve worked at Saint Espressõ since I graduated. Has it really been three and a half years already? It’s not that I’m not happy, but I’m not happy with not being sure if I’m happy or not. It’s not hard to understand! Or is it? I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m lonely. God, I’m lonely. The only lady friend I’ve made this year was a damn sexy cappuccino, and even she grew cold after about five sips. It’s a sad existence, but I’m getting over it.

“What can we brew for you today?” We’re required to say it, and I hate it more and more every time. Ninety-nine out of a hundred customers don’t understand the pun and continue on with their dumbass lives. I wish I could continue on with mine, but I have to waste a second of every transaction using that shitty line. My therapist says I should try to be more positive, but he doesn’t work for tips.

“Oh, I need just another minute, please.” She can have all the time she wants.

9:45 AM. I started work at 5:00 this morning... I was fine with the morning shift for a while, but it dawned on me recently exactly how strangely time moves. I can be at work for five hours, and it’ll still only be 10:00 AM. 10:00 in the morning! I clock out at noon-thirty and still have an entire day to fill. I should go to bed earlier, but there are just so many episodes of Frasier I haven’t seen and so little time to binge them, so I’m just in a perpetual state of exhaustion, RBF, and witty sitcom-style comebacks.

Life as a sitcom would be so much easier; you can afford a lavish apartment, all your problems are solved in twenty-two minutes or less, and - most importantly - people have to laugh at your employer-mandated puns. I look back at the clock on the register; 9:46 AM - joy.

“I’ll take a spiced chai latte!” Finally.

“Anything else for you?”

“That’s all!”

“$5.45.” She pulls out exact change - at least someone’s making my job easier.

“We’ll have that for you in just a moment.” She grabs her receipt and finds a chair near the window. The woman and her wallet look so content - the lucky bitches. Luke, returning from his break, nudges me aside to clock back in.

I quite like Luke. He’s only worked with me for about six months now, but we’ve grown fond of one another, I think. He’s a pretty chill dude; I like him because he minds his own business. Our other regular barista, Danielle, is a squirrel of a girl; her hair scatters upward into a loose bun - making her look somewhat like an acorn... She scurries in for the second shift, just as mine is ending. This leaves just enough time to exchange pleasantries and go our similar but separate ways. She just started a Bachelor’s in Communication at Cal State, which only encourages her nosy demeanor. We’d gone on a few dates a couple years ago, but we prefer to never speak of it.

“When you finish the chai, can you start a French press of the Italian dark roast?” I give a simple nod in response. When we work together, Luke usually mans the register while I tango with the espresso machine. It’s an unspoken rule, and I’m really grateful for it. He’s a lot better with the general public - his “bro” mentality definitely comes in handy. We joke around and like to grab a beer when we don’t have the early shift the next morning.

I’d never tell him, but I consider him a close friend. He’s one of the few people who can hold a conversation on any topic without bullshitting the bejesus out of it. My only other regular friends are Will, who I’ve known since middle school, and Trish, who dated my college roommate for a time. He dumped the poor girl like a bucket. I tried to grab the rebound, but she shot into the friendzone. She’s bitchy and hilarious, so I’ve claimed her as my own. I’d consider my roommate, Tristan, a good friend, but he’s just so…so Tristan...

“Spiced chai latte!” Exact-change Bernice says a quick word of thanks and prances away. I get the French press going and sit down for a minute. There are only two other people here: Bill, who sets up his office in the corner booth, and a teenage girl who’s most definitely skipping school. Since we’re pretty slow mid-morning, Luke leans onto the counter while I claim the stool. I take a sip of water - my first since before the morning rush; Luke stares at his green tea, grinning like a fool. I’ve had some damn good teas in my twenty-six years, but none have ever made me smile like that…

“You’ve got the worst poker face in existence,” I jeer at him. He chuckles.

“Like yours is any better,” he mocks in response. It is, but that’s beside the point. He takes another sip and sighs in contentment. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Always.”

“You can’t tell anyone. Like, anyone!”

“Just get to the point!”

“Alright!” He takes an expected breath. “I’m proposing to Rose tonight.”

“Shit, man!” This isn’t what I expected to hear. “Congrats and all, but you’ve only dated for a couple months - pretty quick...”

“No, I know, but I know. You know?” I hate when people say shit like that. “Rose got a job in Houston and we’ll never last the long distance stuff. I can’t be the one to hold her back, so the only way we can make this work is if I go with her, and the only way she’ll allow that is if I give her the ring. We’ve talked about it a lot, and I think it’s the right thing.”

“Wow. Uh, wow. When do you move? You know, if she says yes…” Thankfully, he laughs at my awkwardness.

“Oh, she’ll say yes! She practically planned the whole thing. End of the month. We’re excited to take it to the next level! I think I’m finally ready to start settling down.”

“Dude,” I sort of sigh. I’m disappointed as hell. The one guy I thought I could count on, leaving. I’m not upset with him - that’d be dumb. I’m just… You know? I swallow the news, take a breath, and move on. “I’m happy for you - honestly!” He smiles in relief.

“I’m glad you say that, because I have a favor to ask.” No, Luke, I will not cover your shifts while you play house. “I want you to be in the wedding!”

“Me… For real?”

“For real! You’ve been a great coworker and an even better bro, and I can’t think of many other people I’d like standing by my side for this. What do you say?”

“Well I’d be one massive dick if I didn’t say yes…” We chuckle. “Of course, man. It’d be, as they say, an honor.” I pull out a distasteful British accent, accompanied by a royal curtsey. He punches me in the shoulder.

“You’re the best, Walker - really.”

“Someone needs to tell the ladies that, too…” I’m dead serious. We seal the deal with a quick slap-hug, like grown-ass men.

“Just wait, you’re gonna see major changes in your life. You could meet your girl any minute!” He grabs the French press from the counter and goes to deliver it to the rightful customer.

That bastard; he better be right… I check the time - 9:55. I’m the most impatient person I know; this day might actually kill me.

The door opens - in walks another customer. I normally don’t notice or care, but Luke’s words play on a loop in my head. You could meet you girl any minute… I keep my head down to keep my composure. I want the first time I see this girl to be perfect. I want to be confident and cool and collected. She scurries to the register and stops. I’m so nervous, I could die.

“What can we brew for you today?” I recite, still looking down. A sitcom laugh track would have been great right about now... Okay, here we go….

“I asked for skim milk.” A cup is shoved into my face. I’m practically breathing non-biodegradable drinkware through my left nostril.

“Excuse me?” I look up to meet the scowl of the aggressive-bob bitch.

“I asked for skim milk.”

Well, shit.

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taekookbook · 8 years ago

Text

BTS as Flirty Starbucks Guys - Taehyung

Request by@belikelasagna: Annyeonggg Request: Them as flirty Starbucks guyss Hope you don’t mind me requesting reeeally often!! :))

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Please remember I’m going to be posting 1 a day for the next 7 days (a member a day) and it’s going to be in the order in which the ideas came to me and I wrote them😋

They all vary in length but I’ll give a word count before each one💁

I thoroughly enjoyed writing Taehyung’s one and actually sat and wrote it all in one go!😅🙌

I can’t believe in the last 3 days you guys have gotten me to over 800 followers!😭😘I really can’t thank you enough for all the love and support💖

Let me know what you think and, as always, feel free to make requests (HERE)

I will update my Masterlist soon and I promise another update for Heartbreak Girl is coming, but I was busy working on this😅

Enjoy!✌

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Member: Taehyung

Length: 1735 words

“Why is he singing?”

“Why is who singing?” You reply to your friend, not even looking up from the crossword you had in front of you.

“The guy we ordered our drinks from, who got your name wrong.” She mumbled back around the straw in her drink, taking a long sip before gesturing with her head to said singing guy.

“Oh him, that’s Taehyung, he always sings when he cleans. You kind of get used to it after a while, it’s quite endearing.” You smiled, “Also, we have this running thing going. If he can guess my name, then I said I’d give him my number.”

Your friend scoffed in disbelief, raising her eyebrows but you only nodded, smiling.

“Okay, then what are the rules to this so called game thing you’re playing?” She finally asked and you smirked.

“Glad you asked. Basically he knows the first letter of my name, I had to give him somewhere to start. And then it’s kind of like hangman I guess, but with names.” She looked at you confused, “Okay, I know that sounds really weird but what I mean is that I told him the first letter at first to help him out and said he had 5 guesses to use whenever. The catch was though that if he couldn’t get it in those 5, I got a discounted drink. He used the 5 guesses straightaway and got it wrong, I paid less for my drink. I thought that was that but it turns out he is quite competitive.” You laughed.

“The next time I came in, he guessed again and again it was wrong. So I decided to give him the next letter of my name and 4 guesses this time. He didn’t use them all at once, but eventually they ran out and I got slightly more discount on my next drink. He now knows the first 3 letters of my name and has 2 guesses left after today.” You were smiling as you finished your explanation and your friend just shook her head and laughed.

“Only you would get into a guessing game like this with someone.”

You just shrugged and reached for your smoothie, taking a sip and humming in approval before looking back down at your crossword.

“Is he allowed help?”

You didn’t need to look up to know it was your friend who’d spoken and shook your head ‘no’, tapping your pen on the page in front of you because what the hell was an 8 letter pick-line related to coffee and why the hell was that one of the questions?

“Well as exciting as this is, I have to go to an even more exciting lunch with my family who has decided we are also going to try tandem cycling afterwards.” Your friend sighed and you giggled, looking up at her and the pouting look she was currently giving you.

“No, no puppy dog eyes. I’m not bailing you out again with a fake emergency. Do you know how long after the last time your mom kept reassuring me that ‘it’s okay, a lot of people trip up the stairs, it doesn’t matter that there were only three’.” She shook her head, “Well to answer that question, she still does it. I had to fake a sprained ankle for almost 2 weeks whenever I saw her which was always, thanks to you saying you needed to make sure I was okay.” You gave her a pointed look and she looked slightly guilty before breaking into a laugh.

“Okay, I’m sorry, but I had to think on the spot. You can’t honestly say you would have left me stranded to me sit through a family choir sing-a-long competition thing.” She raised an eyebrow and you caved and laughed.

“No, I would never let you be put through that.” You sighed, “But not today please? I’m really not in the mood to talk about my ‘poor coordination skills’ with your mother again.”

“Fine, I won’t fake emergency you today. But if my parents take photographic evidence of me ever going tandem cycling with them, you owe me 2 emergency bail outs.” Your friend held out her hand and you grabbed it, shaking on it.

“Deal.”

It was quiet for approximately 3 minutes after your friend left when a slight cough to your left startled you and you all but jumped in your seat.

“What the actual –?”

“Bean Mine.”

“Excuse me?” You choked out, hand still held to your chest as if would slow down your rapid beating heart (not likely, but the illusion helped) and raised your eyebrows at the person who was at fault for you almost having heart failure.

“Bean Mine.”

“Taehyung, I’m flattered, really. But number one: that is super cheesy, number two: you still haven’t guessed my name and, number three: didn’t that one guy Yoongi put up a ‘no pun pick-up line’ sign?” You were smiling now because Taehyung was smiling at you and it was nearly impossible not to smile back as he looked down at you.

“Glad you’re flattered but, number one: that was the answer to the question you’re stuck on in your crossword, number two: I still have 2 guesses left and, number three: Yoongi-hyung did put up that sign but he’s off today so we’re all safe.” He grinned, flashing you a peace sign, “Also, I wouldn’t use a line that terrible if I was going to use one on you.”

“Thank you,” You flushed (mostly because you were embarrassed that you guessed and failed that he was trying to pick you up but also because wow, his smile was… wow), pointing to your crossword, filling in the answer. “So are you going to use your other 2 guesses now or save them?” You asked, before continuing, “And if that was such a terrible line, I don’t suppose you know any better ones? Seeing as its safe and all.” You gestured towards the Yoongi-less Starbucks and – somehow – Taehyung’s grin got brighter.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” He referred to the guessing game you guys were playing, “But I do happen to know a few lines I think aren’t so bad.” Taehyung wiggled his eyebrows and you laughed, waving a hand to say ‘proceed’.

“There’s always the oldie but goodie, are you from Starbucks? Because I like you a latte.”

You laughed some more and groaned at the terrible pun. “Next!”

“My coffee hasn’t kicked in yet, so I can’t think of a charming pickup line.” Taehyung shook his head as if he were just waking up and you grinned.

“A little better, but I think you can top that.”

“Hey, was your daddy a barista because you are ALMOST what I ordered.” He laughed at this one, slapping his hand on his knee, “Get it? Because you don’t always get the right thing.” He managed to calm himself down but as soon as he saw the amused look on your face, he started laughing again.

“Okay, that was a giant step back.” You groaned playfully again, “Thank God Yoongi isn’t here or you’d be dead.”

Taehyung snorted at that and rolled his eyes, “Please, he loves me. The worst he’d probably do is ban me from his apartment for a while and even then Hoseok-hyung would let me in because he loves me too.” He grinned again and then rolled his shoulders like a Boxer before a fight. “Ready for the next one?”

You just shook your head and giggled, “I don’t know, am I?”

“Oh you’re such a TEA-se (insert wrong name guess here)!”

“Maybe,” You poked your tongue out playfully, “but at least I’m one step closer to another discounted drink because that, Dear Taehyung, was wrong.”

“Damnit, I really thought I had it this time.” He pouted, “Time for the big guns though.” He took a deep breath and suddenly there was a shy look on his face and your heart started melting and wait, what the heck? “I like you about 1/18 as much as I like a Pumpkin Spice Latte, which is to say I like you a lot, go on a date with me please Y/N?“

You felt your whole body flush and had to look away from the sweet, hopeful look on his face because holy hell were you not expecting that at all.

“What, did I get it wrong again? Must I get you your discounted drink now? Was that really that bad? I kind of made it up on the spot.” Taehyung was rambling and it was so endearing, just like the way he sings when he cleans, how he pulls funny faces at you whenever you walk in, how he gets so excited about guessing, how his hair falls in his eyes if he doesn’t tie it back with a bandana because he told you he’s too lazy to go for a haircut, and how he’s always just so freaking nice to everyone, and so when you suddenly turned to face him again – he stopped.

You looked down once, taking a deep breath before meeting his eyes again, “No, you didn’t get it wrong actually. No, I don’t want my discounted drink now. And no, the line definitely wasn’t bad at all. In fact,” You ripped off a piece of paper from the bottom of your crossword and scribbled your number down, holding it out to him, “I owe you this, for winning the game of course. But how about instead of another discounted drink, I pay for us to get drinks sometime, somewhere not here.” You blushed, looking down again and bit your bottom lip because Taehyung was now holding your hand that was holding your number out to him and even though his cheeks were tinted pink, he looked a whole lot more composed than you and how is that fair?

“How about another discounted drink here, together, on my break today. And I take you out for dinner,” He was grinning his bright, boxy smile and swinging the hand of yours that he was still holding, back and forth, “so I can try guess your favourite colour.”

You laughed loudly at that and already decided – whether you knew it or not – that your new favourite colour was the pink of Taehyung’s lips after he’d bitten them to fight off the even bigger grin from when you agreed.

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