#this is probably the loveliest ask I ever received

[harringtonswriting]

Omg Bree that list!! I would love to read 25. goodnight kisses with Bradley?🥺

ahhhh thank you so much Nova!! <3 i am SO sorry it took me so long to get this finished, but i hope you enjoy it!! god this was so adorable to write and i really, REALLY appreciate you picking this one bc it was such a cute idea <3

...

This was the best first date you’d had in a long time. Probably the best first date you’ve ever been on, if you’re being honest, but that’s not something you’re going to admit to your date. You didn’t want to give his ego that big of a boost this early, and also didn’t want him to think about your dating history being any sadder than he might already think it is.

Bradley Bradshaw had asked you out the night you met him at the Hard Deck, where he was drinking with his friends and you’d been convinced by yours to come out for some drinks and the promise of some very pretty Naval officers to look at. Which, you were happy to find, there were plenty of. Bradley included.

You’d thought he was just another good-looking flyboy when he’d walked up to you at the bar top, though his endearing smile and his outrageous taste in fashion had you intrigued enough to say yes; you had no idea how he still managed to look attractive wearing bright blue and magenta, but that coupled with his 70s-esque mustache and very pretty, big brown eyes ended up winning you over. You’d put your number in his phone, let him buy you a drink, and your friends teased you for the better part of an hour about giving your number to the first pilot who talked to you. But there was something special about Bradley, something genuine and funny and maybe you were a little tipsy, but you didn’t regret giving him your number.

Bradley messaged you the following afternoon to ask you to dinner this coming Friday night, and after the initial awkwardness (he’d responded to you with just a thumbs up emoji and you’d used maybe a few too many exclamation points), the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of texting back and forth. You find yourself enjoying talking with him, and looking forward to seeing his name pop up on your phone.

All too quickly, though, Friday night arrives and he picks you up in what is obviously a very old, but very well loved, truck. He’s got sunglasses on, big mirrored aviators, but no Hawaiian shirt tonight (he’d later tell you that he’d received advice that he should wear something a little more toned down for the first date, and you couldn’t say that a black t-shirt and jeans didn’t suit him just as well as what he’d been wearing the night you met him). He’d lifted his sunglasses off his face, clipping them on the front of his shirt as he got out of his truck, and a wide grin split across his face as he caught sight of you coming out of your house.

“You look amazing,” he says, and the words come out loud and earnest–it’s a genuine compliment, and his smile is infectious to boot. You smile as you return the sentiment.

“Not so bad yourself. I like this look,” you tell him, and you see him puff his chest out just a bit. As you walk towards him, he reaches into his truck and comes back out with a bouquet of sunflowers tied with a yellow ribbon. He holds them out to you, and you take them from his hands.

“These are for you,” he says, and you look down at the flowers. They’re beautiful, the loveliest shade of yellow from soaking up the warmth and love of the sun. “I didn’t know what you liked, but they reminded me of your smile, so I hope these are okay.” Bradley’s just a little bashful, and you rest one hand on his forearm.

“They’re beautiful,” you tell him, and it’s the truth. They are, and the fact that they reminded him of you? You don’t know how he can say that with a straight face, and if it came from anyone else you might be embarrassed. You still are, a little, but you’re just a little pleased, too, that he’s been thinking about you. You take the flowers inside, quickly putting them in a tall glass of water before heading back out to where Bradley and the Bronco are waiting. You head around to the passenger side door to pull it open… but it won’t budge. You try again, but still no dice. Oh, god, did you break his car? This is a classic, right? That’s what a lot of older cars are. He gets you beautiful flowers and you break his car. Wonderful. You look at Bradley, and he grimaces. Oh no.

“The, uh, the door sticks sometimes. Lemme get it for you,” he says, coming around to fiddle with the handle before the door pops open. You feel some relief, then, knowing that you didn’t just bust his car, and you climb in and he shuts it behind you. Then he’s getting in on his side, and the two of you head out to the restaurant he’d told you about for dinner.

It was a place that Hangman had recommended, Bradley told you, but he only decided to take that recommendation seriously when Phoenix, Payback, and Fanboy had all confirmed it was good. And you’d have to remember to thank Bradley’s friends the next time you see them, because they were right. It was a small place, not too far from the Hard Deck, with the best food you’d had in a while. The atmosphere was friendly and it was busy enough that you and Bradley had plenty of time to talk between your server’s check ups, but not too busy that you felt rushed or couldn’t get a table.

The two of you got through the basic first date talk pretty quickly; he’s a much better listener than the last few guys you’d gone out with, and actually asked you some questions when you were telling him about some work drama you’d been dealing with. You enjoy the way his big, beautiful brown eyes crinkle at the corners with crows feet when he smiles, and how he scrunches his nose when he laughs. He also talks with his hands, you’ve come to realize, and he nearly knocks his glass of water off the table no less than four times as he’s telling you a story about what had happened at work earlier today.

“Anyway, so the radio was totally shot, right? So I’m inverted above Coyote, Phoenix and Bob are freaking out, there’s no way to communicate and we still have half a training exercise to complete. Can you believe that?” Bradley has his hands in an awkward position, trying to give you a visual as to what things had looked like. You can tell by the way he talks that he absolutely loves what he does, and he loves being able to fly. And there are very few things more attractive than seeing a man get so excited to tell you all about how he managed to get his plane upside down and scare the shit out of his friends and co-workers when no one was able to talk to each other in the air.

Dinner is over all too quickly after that, though, but thankfully nothing gets spilled during the rest of Bradley’s animated descriptions of his completely serious job duties. After you’d left the restaurant, since it was still light out, Bradley suggested that the two of you take a walk together along the beach behind the Hard Deck. He swore up and down that watching the sunsets from there were phenomenal, and, not wanting the date to end just yet, you agreed to go with him. He drove you there, and the two of you left your shoes in the back of his truck while you walked along the sand, continuing your conversation from dinner.

Bradley was absolutely right about the sunset, too; it was gorgeous, seeing all the blues and pinks and oranges, and every colour in-between, painting the sky in front of you and the water softly splashing against the shore. The two of you stop walking and talking as the sun hits the horizon, the cool water gently lapping against your feet and washing the sand all around. You swear you feel the back of Bradley’s hand ghost against the back of yours as the two of you stand there, side by side.

There’s a soft breeze blowing, putting a little chill in the air, and you find yourself shuffling a little closer to Bradley. Warmth radiates off of him, and as you look at him out of the corner of your eye and see him bathed in the burnished glow of the setting sun and how it gleams in his eyes, you think all the warmth and light of that sun must have been soaked up into him. And the more time you spend here with him on the beach, the happier you are that you didn’t let the date end after dinner–and that you gave him your number in the first place.

Once the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, the two of you make your way back to Bradley’s truck as the night sky faded from dusky twilight to a deep blue. You do keep a few steps behind him, though, to admire the way he fills out his t-shirt and jeans from the back. He’d once again popped the passenger door open for you, and closed it for you before he made his way back over to the driver’s side. Then, once he’s situated in the driver’s seat, he’s peeling out of the parking lot and heading back to your place.

The windows are rolled down as Bradley’s truck speeds along the road, and the cool breeze from earlier is back and blowing through the cab of the truck. The drive passes by all too quickly, with you needing to give Bradley directions the closer you get, and before you know it he’s pulling into your driveway. He parks the truck and turns the engine off. A beat of silence passes between the two of you before you turn to him and smile.

“Thank you for tonight,” you tell him, and you catch a flash of his teeth as he smiles.

“I should be thanking you. I’m glad you let me take you out.” He’s so earnest, maybe just a bit too earnest, but you have a feeling that he’s not quite as slick as some of his friends had been at the bar when you’d met. Which wasn’t entirely a bad thing; as pretty as the green eyed blond who’d been chatting up your best friend had been, he seemed just a little too full of himself. Bradley was much more your type (though you’d probably wait to admit that, that’s more of a post-third date kind of thing, if you got a third date, that is. You hope you do).

Though you don’t really want to date to end, judging by the time glowing on the dashboard of the truck (which Bradley had insisted was only thirteen minutes behind and it had been since his father owned it, and was lovingly referred to as running on ‘Goose time’, which you hoped he’d explain in the future), it was getting pretty late and you weren’t sure if he had to work in the morning. If he did, then he probably should have been at home a while ago.

“I should probably let you get going.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your bag, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you almost saw a pout cross Bradley’s face. But he nods, unbuckling his own seatbelt.

“At least let me walk you to your door,” he says, and before you can protest he’s popping open his door and you watch him jog around the front of his truck to your side. He fiddles with the door handle for a minute before he gets it open, and when he does he offers you his other hand to help you out of the Bronco. You take it, and once you’re clear he closes the truck door–and doesn’t let go of your hand as he walks all the way down the driveway, up your front steps, and stops in front of your door.

The two of you stand on the porch, his calloused hand still clasped around your own as the dim, yellow light shining above your door illuminates the space around you. A few moths are bobbing and weaving around said light, a few of them getting a bit too close and dropping down before flying back up again in an endless cycle.

“Is it alright if I kiss you goodnight?” he asks, voice a little huskier than it had been all night as he breaks the silence, and you feel cool relief flood through you when you nod because yes, absolutely, you definitely want this man to kiss you, and it feels good to know he wants to kiss you, too.

You hadn’t been quite sure what to expect, though; would he be eager? Pushy? Sloppy?

Thankfully he’s none of those things–sure, Bradley’s lips are more than a little chapped, but that’s not surprising given what he does for work. But they’re also warm, and the gentle pressure behind the kiss has you closing your eyes and leaning into him. His mustache tickles against your skin, brushing against it as his mouth works against yours.

When you pull back due to the rather unfortunate need that your body has for oxygen, you take a moment to scan his face in the dim porch light. He’s got scars on his cheek, chin, and neck, you realize, and they gleam almost silver as you take them in. There’s a tiny smattering of barely there freckles that dot his nose, and one of his deep brown curls is hanging loose and slightly over his forehead. You wonder what it would be like to reach up and brush it away, but decide that the first date maybe isn’t the right time for that. His eyes are crinkled at the corner, crow’s feet softening his deep brown eyes as he looks down at you.

“That was… wow,” he tells you, which is probably pretty close to what you’d have said, because he’s not wrong. “I mean, better than just wow, but this is probably where I should get going before I make a total fool of myself. Thanks again for tonight.” He squeezes your hand one more time before he’s turning and stepping back off your porch to head towards his truck. You dig your keys out of your bag and unlock your door.

“Get home safe,” you call after him, and he waves back at you over his shoulder with a loud laugh. You step inside after you watch him get into the driver’s side, and close and lock your door as you hear the Bronco speed off into the night.

And about half an hour later, while you’re laying in bed, your phone screen lights up with a notification from Bradley–he’s home safe, he just wanted to let you know so that you don’t worry about him, and he’d love to take you out again, if that’s something you want. You look over at the sunflowers on your dresser, yellow ribbon still tied around them, and you can’t help the smile on your face as you tell him a second date is more than alright with you.

[zhongrin]

homecoming

◇ a/n ◇ A VERY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY CUTEST COUSIN SLASH SAMOYED PUPPY LIA @seelestia!!!! 💐🎊🎉

i am wishing you all the best in life and in this joyous day i would like to congratulate you by the bestest present of all-

a n g s t  :)

that's right it's your favorite harbinger of tears &lt;3

◇ characters ◇ ayato

◇ tags ◇ angst (but it doesn't hurt that bad i promise i'm no monster <3), fem pronouns used for reader

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

every thirteenth of the tenth month, lord kamisato ayato always purchases a large number of flowers.

every flower vendor in inazuma city knows of this. it has become somewhat of a tradition for them to set up their freshest, loveliest flowers in front of their shops the day before, when the yashiro commisioner himself will personally visit and choose one shop that catches his eye, to place a ginormous order of a collection of flowers for the next day. the cost of such a bountiful and lavishly decorated bouquet, spruced up with only the best silk ribbons and the most intricate wrapping papers, could probably feed a normal peasant family for a whole two weeks.

though none has truly witnessed him giving you the gift directly, they are quite convinced that the gift is merely one of the many presents that kamisato ayato purchased for you - his beloved lover.

and so this year, it was a shock for them to see the lord of the clan unyieldingly following the tradition.

as usual, ayato surveys the selection of flowers in front of the various stalls. and if the selection of beautiful blooms were less than the year before, he does not show any sign of disappointment. with a neutral expression on his handsome face, he ever so gracefully walks towards the one shop that catches his fancy - one with camellias and [flower]s displayed outside - and places an order for an extravagant bouquet to be sent to the kamisato residence, at eight am sharp tomorrow. the shopkeeper nods and gives him a wry smile, but dares not ask further.

when the florist brings the assembled order the next day, you do not open the door to welcome them, unlike the previous few years back when the same shop was selected to undergo the same task. instead of your cheerful smile which turns into a bashful giggle upon seeing the large present, the esteemed younger lady of the clan is the one who accepts the delivery with a solemn smile.

ayaka thanks them politely and scurries back inside. her steps are hurried but her arms carefully try to balance the enormous item, making sure she doesn't accidentally damage any of the beautiful plants.

she arrives at your office soon after and manages to somehow knock after maneuvering the bouquet in her arms. after a short wait, she slides the door open and meets her brother's eyes.

you're nowhere in sight.

with a heavy exhale, the shorter sibling steps into the room and closes the door behind her. ayato accepts the outlandishly large bunch of flowers with a smile, although his eyes stay darkened and cold as the ice that spawns from his sister's cryo vision.

there is no exchange of words. ayaka watches silently as her brother turns to face your desk, which is still a tad messy, as if you've just worked on there and had just left for a bathroom break. no one had dared to clean it up, for the master of the house himself had sternly commanded for it to stay untouched. and she understands.

for it is one of the last few traces that's left of you in the estate.

ayato's eyes are affixed on the photo frame on your desk. one that displays you and him on your first anniversary, with you laughing at the kamera and himself sporting the same smile, only that instead of looking into the lens of the contraption, he was looking at you. there's clear adoration and love in his eyes, both within the picture and within his eyes that are reflecting the print itself.

"brother...," ayaka starts, pauses, and continues when she receives no interruptions, "forgive my presumptuousness... however, i still think you should join the search for-"

"and leave my responsibilities like an irresponsible adult?" ayato gives his sister a bitter smile, "you know i cannot do such a thing, given my position."

the young lady bows her head in shame and apology, but the soft pat of her older sibling's hand on top of her head tells her that he wasn't mad at all.

"besides, she would have hit me for doing so. don't you think?"

"ah...," a small smile blooms on shirasagi himegimi's lips, as a voice replays at the back of her head - a familiar voice chastising her brother for deliberately skipping a small fraction of work in favor of spending time with her, just after their engagement was finalized.

"... she will always find her way back to us," the soft blue-haired man says, both to convince himself and reassure his only family left, "we just have to keep trying and believing."

"y-yes. yes, you are right."

"...."

ayato places the bouquet of flowers on your desk and grazes his fingers tenderly across the polished frame of your picture together, before exiting the room with ayaka in tow.

— happy birthday, my love. i know you are alive out there, somewhere. please hold on for me. let us celebrate this occasion next year in each other's arms.

a petal of your favorite flower falls onto the floor.

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @paintingsofdragonspine | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @niverine | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303

ps. if you want to be removed/added from the taglist, just send an ask!

[justhere4thevibez]

annual writing self-evaluation

thank you @pipergirl17 and @erythromanc3r for tagging me!

1. List of works published this year (in no particular order):

oh gosh, I've been busy-busy this year with fanfic, so here goes!

Complete works:

... And a Hellcheer New Year 

Galentines and Valentines

Hold Onto Me

Devil in the Woods

Every Time I Run, I Run to You

Eddie and Chrissy Go to a Wedding 

Knocking Me Out With Those American Thighs

Cooking Up Something Sweet

Please Don't Say You Love Me

Let Me Start Over Again

You Got Me Good

Be My Breath (Through the Deep, Deep Water)

This Old Man

Do You Wanna Touch Me

My Words Will Be Your Light

She'll See I'm Not So Tough 

She Knows What She Wants

Give Me a Taste

The Right Kind of Sinner

Release My Inner Fantasy

Hooked on a Feeling

Whiskey & Wine

The Graveyard Smash

Long Is the Road Out of Hell 

In a Sentimental Mood

Set My Soul On Fire

Burnin' Out of Control

WIPs:

Looking For Something Dumb To Do

I Can't Get Rid of You 

If You Fall, I Will Catch You 

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

hmmmmm, that's a tough one! I love them all for different reasons, but I will say I'm very proud of Long Is the Road Out of Hell because it's my longest fanfic to date (almost 60k!) and at one point I really wasn't sure if I'd be able to finish it. but I did!

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

tbh if I'm not proud of something, I won't publish it. but I think the work that frustrated me the most was Whiskey & Wine, my kinktober fic. I pushed myself too hard with too big of a goal and burnt myself out halfway through. but I did learn the importance of setting boundaries for myself (and why I need to be careful committing to challenges 😅)

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

not gonna lie, once I publish something, the words tend to leave my brain, so I don't always remember what I write lol. I should probably keep a doc of good lines from my fics so I have something to present when people ask me 😂 but here are two excerpts that I'm pretty proud of.

Devil in the Woods: He had loved her since the first time he opened his eyes to find her snuggled up on his chest. He had loved her longer, since the moment he’d held her in his arms on that endlessly rainy night. And longer still, he’d loved the little girl who played jacks with him on May Day and laughed at his wild antics.

Hooked on a Feeling: He knew he could be… a lot, as kinder people said. A goddamn nuisance, according to everyone else. He didn’t mean to be, he just tended to… latch on to things. Kind of like a bulldog (but in a nice and lovable way, thank you, Jeff). And right now he had ChrissyChrissyChrissy clamped tight between his jaws, and he hoped to god she didn’t ask him to let go.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

I have a few regular commenters who give me the longest, loveliest comments where they literally analyze each chapter section by section 😭 it makes me feel so loved. but as for one individual comment, I distinctly remember a commenter from one of my early fics commenting on a really tough scene I did re: chrissy's eating disorder. they said that they also had an eating disorder, and that chapter was very healing for them. I don't think I'll ever get another comment as powerful as that.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

I go in and out of mild anxious/depressive episodes, mostly due to outside stressors, and that makes it really hard to write. writing is the one constant joy in my life, and when I don't even feel like doing that, I know something is very, very wrong. but luckily, they don't usually last too long!

7. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you:

mike's redemption arc in Long Is the Road! that one was a total curveball to me, and it only came about because it was the closest place I could think of to have Chrissy walk to after her mom kicked her out. total accident, but it spawned on of my favorite sibling-ships for chrissy that I've ever written!

also writing wayne's pov! i never intended to do that, but once I started, his voice just kind of stuck in my head 😂

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I wrote a lot. like over 300k of fanfic. and i even got back into writing some original fiction, which I'm so excited about!

I also started writing smut for the first time in 2023, which was something I never anticipated doing, let alone enjoying! but it's been super fun

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I'd like to work more on my original fiction, maybe get a short story published. I'd also like to get better at world-building! I tend to get so focused on the characters that I forget they exist in a place I should spend some time creating lol

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

@slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction all the way! she's been such a wonderful beta reader, cheerleader, and overall positive influence on my writing. I Can't Get Rid of You wouldn't ever have happened without her support and feedback!

11. Anything in your real life show up in your writing this year:

ooh, buddy! pieces of myself get sprinkled all over the damn place 😂 but as for specifics...

Galentines and Valentines opening scene was reminiscent of the girls' nights me and my college friends used to have (and still have sometimes)

Hooked on a Feeling had elements of my own past experiences of being laid up in a hospital (and being very annoyed about it)

This Old Man was absolutely inspired by my love of Columbo

You Got Me Good definitely included some of my own thoughts and feelings about when I get a little too high 😂

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

give your writing time.

it's so tempting when you have a new idea to jump on it and then get frustrated when it doesn't immediately turn out the way you want, but I've found that if I give myself time to think over a piece before I write it, and let it sit for a little while after I write it, I'm much happier with the end results!

13. Any new projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

finishing my three WIPs! and hopefully a little christmas fic 😂 I don't have anything else immediately in the works, thank god!

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read:

@1lostsoul0fishbowl @pearlypairings @rose-n-gunses and anybody else!!!

[dalkyeom]

— Chia! Chia! Chia’s Follow Forever

First of all, thank you so much for following me on my art journey! I wanted to do this when I hit 250 but suddenly there are nearly 300 of you and I need to do this before I hit 350 ;;; hehe don’t worry I’ll be doing another drawing/art related event soon

Believe it or not this is my first follow forever I’ve ever done and I’ve been here since my seedling years pls laugh at my joke /jk but I’m hoping it won’t be my last. I’m really happy with how this blog turned out bc I’ve met a lot of wonderful people on here since its creation (even if it was originally just to escape this hellsite’s basement for the lovely crime of constantly talking about Bang Chan)

Thank you so much again!! If this post is kinda long, I mayhaps went overboard with the blog recs (+ some messages to my friends/moots) but I would really love for them to receive love too so go go check them out!

a special section for my loveliest friends bc you make my stay on this site worthwhile. Also you’re a bunch of sweet people who make the most banger creations!! My social battery isn’t always the highest but I appreciate every interaction we have

@chanluster — Fia queen you’re probably gonna see this when you come back but I’ll never ever forget you as my first Stayblr friend. You’re crazy talented and you’re also so much fun to talk to and I love our conversations to no ends. Wherever you are I hope you’re having the best time and definitely we need to start writing our anti-hero skz fic soon!

@decembermoonskz , @sulfurcosmos — two of the sweetest stayblr writers whose works also blew me away 🥺 will never ever forget how your writings transported me to a world away from this one and live different lives each time. I find it cute how you both are also my assigned moon and star friends (izzy moon and starry ti) and you always leave the sweetest messages in the tags and asks :(( ty always for warming my heart

@chanstopher — my Chris loving era would never be the same without you! Even if it has quieted down to a mellow humm, I always go to you if I need anything skz related (Chan bubble updates and gifs of Chan’s Room especially) also somehow you really embody a compass! You’re always so kind and helpful to those around you, you make everyone feel so welcomed and I’m glad that I’m one of them (also idk if I ever told you but I was the anon asking where you buy pcs from lol) also I’m glad that being able to know you led me to another ult of mine; our beloved 13 shining diamonds bc if it was not for your beautiful Cheol gifs I probably wouldn’t have associated him with you = I won’t be as interested to check them out. Love you lots, Dreamy!! sending you all the twinkling night stars in the sky 🥰

@dokyeomblr and @aceofvernons — my precious elv and xanthe, i’m so glad to have the honor to call you my caratblr friends. You’ve both been nothing but welcoming and kind to me (and reblog the cutest games haha!) also tysm for gracing my dash always with treasures you find off caratblr. Always holding you both in the kyeom kyeom and bonon loving hours circle

@otlwoozi — oliveeer! Naur was so shocked to learn you were also @badhapple ‘s bc I adore your svt art when I see it make rounds on twt. I’m glad to see you around here too and I hope we get to interact lots more as well bc it’s been super fun when I read your tags hahaha and sharing svt - related dreams as well (manifesting you get more aside from the concert ones)

@ravixen @thepixelelf @leejungchans and @97-liners — another set of my favorite writers on this site and aaa— amg I find you all so cool, I’m glad to call you my caratblr friends as well <33 you writings always make me fall for ot13 deeper (amg especially for DOKYEOM AND SHUA MY BRAINROT NOW KNOWS NO BOUNDS! I am kissing your beautiful minds!) it’s always a pleasure drawing for you. If I had extra unlimited energy I would draw more and more bc your fics always serve as an inspiration

@lawleighette and @scoups-ofsuga — my cottage/outskirts friends oms it’s fun how we became a trio just recently but being your friend has been so much fun. Even if our convos are all over the place I’m glad that we’re strengthened by the bonon memes! And also some of the coolest artists ever like ??? sometimes I question why you were following me in the first place? I adore you lots though like you’re both my younger siblings <33 sending all the mwah mwahs and vernon memes later!

@shinstars @fenori and @zzzbookwormzzz — the og team! THE OG TEAM! It’s a wonder how we managed to stay connected for 5+ years like you’ve really seen it all. We still need to meet up at a cafe and draw together and that will be my lifelong wish granted! (you too Fenbro, tho we did went to a museum-cafe date already and it’s the most priceless memory I have this year) I love you three so much!!

@bedtimetelevision @mitchievousness and carloo (pls send help I forgot her tumblr) — my best friends in the entire world :(( I miss you guys everyday I hope we can see each other soon. I love you the most in the world even if our social batteries are the most whack! Lmao I live for our life updates every birthday. I hope we can do more adventures together when I get back there!! Love you love you love you more than 3000

to my anonies, I still think about you every day :(( especially Ash anon and 💝 anon (amg it’s been awhile since I went on my mocimori blog so I’m no longer sure if it was 💖 or 💝) and special mention @that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick tysm for sending me kind messages when I’m feeling down or simply to tell me you appreciate my art! They really make my days brighter <33 pspsps’ing my other nonnies without a siggy as well. I appreciate you guys sm!

My wonderful moots and friends from twitter! I hope to see you around here too:

@burabin @ilyarawan @remimilktea @wrenkkai @brwlvs @meiseos @kitsuunemi @silyue @champourado @goyangiprince @b3lchii @theooo-saurus @noisyspiritart @heartboiled-egg @shiohh

Special mention to these cc’s whose posts also never fail to brighten up my dash with svt-related content:

@shuatonin // @woozi // @97chwe // @injunnies // @caratonce // @scoups

[alphabetboyluvr]

hii holly <33 hope you're well 💗🌟

okay so I'll try to make this as sensible as possible lol

but ! I just think you see jungkook in such a way that nobody else does and it's just sooo beautiful to me !!

mostly in your writing (I'll take bd specifically) the way you write him in byeols pov is just magical and sooo jungkook ! and it's even better when you associate him with the stars or like how he looks and appreciates things

I once said how you remind me alot about b (still do hehe x) and I feel like when you write him in bd, it's the way you like sort of see him in real life? you get me, idkkkjqkaka and you said you're more like annie in cv? I haven't read it yettt :,( but I feel like it's even more beautiful !!

it's probably so dumb but after reading bd I literally see and understand your words and I'm like, oh.my.god. this is so jungkook and I'll never see him the same ever again. (bd has so much impact plss we love uuu 💖) like he's exactly what you see him as, in my eyes too. so starry eyed and such a lovely boy. makes me feel like a little girl aghh I'm just soo in love <33

but yeah just wanted to say thank you because you have corrupted my brain (in a very good way) and bless your heart and mind because it's so lovely and I genuinely think they're covered in glitter plsjajja love uu holly mwah mwah !!!!

100% I describe jk in the way that I see him!! he's arguably the most beautiful muse, and so I try my best convey him a way that feels worthy of him 🥹

hahaha some people really don't like b (someone literally commented earlier that they've always found her annoying 😭) but I love her a lot, so I will take that as a compliment!! <33

he *is* the loveliest boy 🥹

i saw fic writers getting a lot of heat on twt a couple of days ago, and to an extent I get it, but so many of us just utterly adore the boys and use writing to express that. I always hope that how much I truly care for the tannies comes across in my writing, and so this is a lovely ask to receive 🥹 thank you!!!

i wasn't the first person to associate him with stars and I wont be that last, because its truly what he is 🥹✨️

thank you so much for such a kind ask <33

[dil-ibaadat]

Hellooo! This is the anon who sent you the West Wing youtube clip.

I was shy and hence posted anonymously but you’re so sweet that I couldn’t help revealing myself! 🙈

Full disclaimer that I’ve never watched the West Wing but have always kinda wanted to because I love that sort of old timey witty American drama, even if it’s politics I don’t fully understand and it is a full testament to your talent and writing prowess that I now really feel like watching the show to get all the references from your fic 🙈Alas, it’ll have to wait since I have an exam but I shall get to it right after hopefully!

I’ve read this first chapter about 5 times ( I am not joking), I can’t even explain why I love it so much! You’ve combined two series’ with such finesse! There’s so much depth and character even within this fanfictiony world and I can’t even begin to grasp how sexy it is? The whole premise and how it’s so befitting for Kanthony and the rest of the Bridgerton clan too!

I love how you’ve not made it just a love story but like an actual world with seemingly real people trying to actually make a difference - that whole bit with Tom saying ‘this is going to be the greatest thing they’ll do’ is just so epic.

I can’t wait to see how the election unfolds now that Kate is almost winning! I wish this was an actual show, that’s how amazingly you’ve pulled me in 😬

I now get your references for the characters and it’s funny how initially before reading, I just assumed Anthony and Kate would be modelled on Josh and Donna (since they were the only two characters I sort of knew from the West Wing) but your interpretation of them contesting for President is way cooler and makes for so much more angst and drama.

Sorry for such a long ask, I’m genuinely so happy and eager to read your wonderful fic and I really hope you write many many more stories because your talent is just astonishing. 😍 Dowry is one of my favourites in the fandom. Shoutout to @folklauerate too as I realise this is both of your time and effort! (My favourite fic of hers is Hold Onto You and the Heist Society one!)

I’d like to end with getting the Chris Traeger reference too! I now know who Sam Seaborn is. 🙈

oh, wow. this is one of the loveliest messages i have ever received. <3 thank you so much for taking the time to send it!!!!! i'm so pleased you like the writing and the general vibe :)))

as for watching the west wing, we're doing our best to make sure it's not necessary to have watched the show in order to get the fic. if you have, you probably recognize some scenes (directly ripped off from scenes and dialogue in the show), and some character sketches, but beyond a few elements of plot, background, and surface-level characterization, this fic universe will feel a bit different from the show. we're borrowing the universe, the idealism, and the feel-good, hard-but-worth-it political reality constructed in the show. it's a wild, escapist political AU, all in good fun. we hope you'll like it! :)

i find it interesting you say you thought the dynamic between kanthony would be a josh/donna type deal, because i did consider that when i began writing it. it was sort of my go-to, but then i realized i've seen the boss/secretary dynamic many times in shows and it's gotten a bit stale for me. i've also noticed that oftentimes, the female love interest is put in the assistant-position, which to me feels a bit antiquated. at the same time, it's hard for me to imagine anthony in donna's position because the power dynamic between anthony and kate was very different in canon, so i ended up nixing that thought because i wanted them to start off as equals.

that said, there are other bridgerton ships that could fit the dynamic really well! josh and donna are interesting because they're introduced as this enmeshed, basically-married duo that are on a slowburn, friends-to-lovers arc. i think polin could work really well with that storyline, with maybe penelope as josh to shake things up (i think colin as her assistant who switched a lot of lanes in college and career-wise could be really, really interesting, and maybe one of pen's sisters could be dead, to give that additional edge of angst to the already complicated featherington dynamics aaaaaand i better stop before i end up writing this too!).

moreover, i originally began writing this fic because i was interested in exploring a kate-tom friendship a la jed and leo. and in order to do that, i had to make kate president. and then the idea grew legs, because i actually adore the idea of kate as a thirty-something, obama-type figure who's pulled in the opposite directions of radical liberal idealism and centrist pragmatism and anthony as a jaded, conflicted, entrenched dynastic political figure who's caught in this quagmire of expectations. in a way, anthony's still conflicted about his relationship with kate in this AU because it directly conflicts with his personal ambitions and his desire to make his dad proud, so that's canon-accurate but also repackaged in a fun, fresh way.

i don't know. i think it's neat. it's a neat AU. and @folklauerate has so many great ideas and juicy bits of characterization and plot and pitch-perfect writing -- it's gonna be so good, i'm gonna scrreeeeaaaammmm.

finally, thank you so much for being here in my inbox and sending this ask. i've been having days on and off for the past few months where i seriously question my writing and purpose and it's comments and messages like this that stop me from giving it all up and moving to kazakhstan and taking up, i don't know, goat-farming (or is it kyrgyzstan ;D, you tell me). i really appreciate it.

[redflannelsheets]

Now I’m just reblogging other things I want to show you here, too, haha. Give me enough time and I’ll probably be reblogging the ridiculous things too, though I still do that on my first tumblr. I remember way back in the day when you started following it and I didn’t know why you were so interested, but at that time I was still in this place where I thought you couldn’t possibly like me, not for real, but that was low self-esteem talking. Do you know how much you made me believe in myself simply by liking me? I asked you like three years ago if you liked me, and you wrote me the loveliest response, ending with that you liked me the most, and I cried. I also laughed because of course your grandmother gets top billing, I love that she’s your favorite person. I would hope I come in second to such a remarkable woman.

Time works strangely for me. Every yesterday is the fresh imprint of some fond memory or another of you, of us. I still feel so close to you. I wake up and there you are on my mind. I don’t know how other people get emotional distance from things. All time exists at once for me. I’m actually afraid I might start processing things like “normal” people and forget all of the warmth and joy I had with you. Little conversations and those silly cartoon us-es in the chat and walls of text and cute selfies of you and laying in my bed bathed in the glow of my phone screen reading the sweetest words I’ve ever been told. I cried once when you said I eased your anxiety. I didn’t know how to respond to it properly and I’m afraid you thought I was being dismissive, but even now it’s one of the most precious compliments I’ve ever received.

I miss all those speech-to-text rambles you used to send when you were still on the other coast. You said once you just liked telling me things and I wish I’d told you how much I loved you telling me things, except I was still in that place where I thought I should cover my feelings with some kind of veil, lest I scare you off with the intensity of me.

I had a nightmare last night and you were in it somewhere around the edges and I woke up wondering if I would ever tell you about any of my dreams again. I’m afraid that you hate me. I’m afraid that you hate yourself. I’m afraid of all of the things I don’t know. I know, I said in a previous letter-to-nowhere here that I can’t be afraid of what I don’t know but fuck it, I’m a human being, and we’re all wavy-gravy-loosey-goosey creatures. There is consistency—that I like you, that i love you, that I miss you above all else I have ever lost, including my mother—but in your silence I waver on other things sometimes. I’m not giving up the self-esteem, though. You can’t blame me for believing in how rad I am after your constant reinforcement! I know I’m pretty great, not just because you believe in me, but because that belief allowed me to consider that maybe other people don’t think I’m so bad either. I don’t say “I’m pretty great” lightly—it took me a long time to get here and it definitely flickered off and on when you left. But I embrace it now. I am pretty great, though not better than anyone else. I’m not sitting on a high horse looking down on others. But I’m not awful, either. I’m not a bad no-good person. I’ve made dodgy decisions due to my own cowardice, but I’m determined not to make those mistakes again. I learn by committing errors, whether it’s with Duolingo or my heart. I will never accept a place in the shadows again. I will never enable anyone to skirt the truth again. Unfortunately with you it probably means I’ll never get another chance to prove myself, but at least I know I learned a lesson, no matter how sad it makes me.

Where was I going with any of this? I don’t know. I hope you’re having a good day. I hope the inspiration flows and the words come to you as you need them. I hope that your favorite podcasts are keeping you good company. I hope that you are having nice dinners and enjoying the laughter of your friends.

I love you. So much.

Still.

[mobiusstripper]

For the deep fic writer asks: 6, 9, 12 and 17

6. what’s the hardest part of the writing process for you? Oh, that's easy. Getting started. 100%. I have a very, very hard time with motivation, procrastination, and starting on things.

9. what’s your writing process like?

Pulling teeth. Except for the (very rare) occasions when the spirit decides to move me, and then it's magical.

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write?

When it's warm outside: Nighttime. 10 PM-3AM. In my back yard with my plants. Cricket sounds. No bugs biting me. Maybe in my hammock with my laptop. A little tipsy.

When it's cold outside: Nighttime. 10 PM-3AM. At my desk. Wearing a sweater and socks. Hot choccy. Cat on my lap. Ideally raining/thundering, but that never happens anymore because of stupid climate change. Or snowing, but I don't live in the right place for that anymore.

Also in both cases, having a writing buddy on chat to hold me accountable and/or do sprints with me helps a lot.

What’s the best engagement/interaction/feedback you’ve received from someone who’s read your work?

Let me start by saying I appreciate EVERY bit of engagement and feedback I get. The knowledge that someone enjoyed my work or, even better, got something out of it is precious to me. Every single time.

One comment that really made me glow: "beautifully written, wonderfully thoughtful, and very emotional. probably one of the loveliest works i've ever read, not just for this fandom but in general. thank you."

Also gotta give a shoutout to the person who left a nine-paragraph analysis comment on one of my oneshots (and also left substantial comments on every other piece in the same series).

[crispy-chan]

amg I’ve been following Maze of Memories since you’ve posted the first 5 chapters and have been anticipating each new edition because of how well you write it! 😳💖 And chapter 7 is one I’ve been anticipating bc I’m so curious to how the story will progress and Felix’s fate and YOU DELIVERED! Absolutely delivered and served 🥺💕

I had to prepare my heart bc while I know Lix’s destined for tragedy, I was hoping that he’ll make it out alright 😭 I love how you developed their relationship and I felt it deep in my heart (despite being Chan biased like HNNG DBDBD TBH IF CHAN WASNT MY BIAS IT WOULD BE FELIX SO DBDN AAA I LOVE IT SO MUCH) and I almost cried at how heartbreaking it was for y/n to find him in that state ;; LIKE AAAHHH NOOOOOOO FELIX BEBDDB I wanted to save him 😭

I felt so bad for y/n and felt how scared she was now that she’s alone and the loneliness and crushing weight it has on her because she lost the only person she can trust in this hell without a hellevator ! And the details too about what happens after the games like what happens to the fallen tributes ;; idk if it was in the book bc it’s been a while since I read the Hunger Games but I love how you added more and explored that too. I was really shocked that they won’t be returned to their families and are treated like they’re just something not worthy of rest like it was so inhumane 😭 bc they only saw them as piles of flesh and not a person :(( they’re just their for entertainment as it is ever since the beginning.

It’s so interesting to see the shift of povs too. It gave so much insight on what Felix and Chan were experiencing and feeling it made Felix’s downfall 10x more agonizing while it made me more intrigued with Chan as a character bc that budding growth and internal change 😭 also pls give yourself a pat on the back bc those fight scenes! 🥺👌🏻💕💕💕 I think you said you’re not that confident(?) with/used to writing them but I enjoyed them a lot! I think it was well written enough and was able to add depth to what happened in between and was able to keep the suspense bc ngl I was holding my breath the entire time when Felix had to go against the tributes 😭😭😭 I think you’re doing a really good job writing this series!

I’m not one for action/dystopian genres of fics but this series is one of my favorites! I’m always anticipating and excitedly waiting for each new chapter and how it plays out 😭💖💖 I’m in awe at how you did the world building and setting up the characters and how you flesh them out. Nothing feels too slow or too fast; it’s the perfect balance and the emotions THE EMOTIONSSS 😭😭😭 oh my gosh your Lix will forever live in my heart! my precious bby boy! also this is super long 😭😭😭 aaa I’m just really happy chapter 7 is posted and I had so much fun reading I’m patiently waiting for the next one and see how our main stars will develop from there 💖

Thank you so much for sharing your hard work!! //and aa might make fanart bc ooof HMNG THAT VICTORY SONG MAMA VER CHAN AND THIS AU LIVING IN MY MIND RENT FREE👌🏻👌🏻 😭😭😭 waah my gosh im(not)ok 😂

Hello💓 so first of all, I thank you very much for this juicy long ask💓💓ngl, it warmed my heart and I was in a bad mood before reading it and now I’m smiling so thank you for that💕💕

I really wanted felix’s and yn’s friendship to be something that slowly built up, despite the circumstances. I wanted people to feel sad about his departure, I wanted him to be someone you got attached to so I’m glad it worked🥺although I admit it’s a bit weird without him now...

I honestly don’t remember if they returned the fallen tributes to their districts or not, but I decided to just roll with what my brain wanted. And yeah, Felix definitely made the games 10x more bearable for yn, I thought of her to be just a simple girl with no fighting skills (let’s just say like most people) and I think it would definitely be absolutely terrifying for a normal person to be thrown like that into the games. The fact that it’s an underground maze definitely doesn’t help lol.

I definitely tried with the POV shifts, writing yn and lix was not super hard, but writing chan was a bit more demanding. Like, I had to be in this mindset of a trained killer, that actually didn’t kill before the games so he didn’t know how terrifying it is. The only people he killed so far are 4 and 1, both of which either tried to kill yn and/or caused her immense pain by brutaly murdering her friend. I think that he was actually sad too when he saw that Felix was dead...

As for the world building, I’m actually surprised there’s any 😅 I don’t think I payed it enough attention while writing, but I’m glad you enjoyed it💕💕 honestly feedback like this helps a lot. I’ve realized that I am incapable of objectively judging my own works, I always see some flaws and I’m like: not enough dialogue! Too fast pacing! Way too slow! Etc etc.

But in all seriousness, I’m really glad you enjoy the series enough to send feedback like this💓 this is probably the most amazing ask I’ve ever received and I’m honored that you enjoy the series💓

Please stay safe and anticipate the next chapters🤪💓🥺😚💓💓

Ps: if you ever decide to do fan art, I think I’d bust a lung but no pressure💓💓 if you ever do it, it would be really cool if you tagged me, I’d love to see it🥺🥺💓

[yanderechuu]

[2.9K]

Bakugo Katsuki with a younger sibling he’s so platonically head over heels with. Wants you to depend on him so much, and hates it when you rely on others. Typical platonic yandere sibling but the catch is that he has something to assist him in letting you solely depend on him only. That something? Your neurodevelopmental condition.

warning: micromanagement, minor domestic violence, ADHD; did research but again it might as well be inaccurate

│

Katsuki was five when you were born, the loveliest thing that he had ever encountered in his life, aligning tiers with the memory when he had first received his quirk. You had bright, scarlet eyes, and your hair was a pretty shade of (h/c), of which father had explained you had inherited from your grandmother, his mom. You were a stark carbon copy of her.

But you were someone else in Katsuki’s eyes. He had cherished you so much the first time you stepped into the house you would come in terms to call home, but he wouldn’t admit it. He didn’t need to, anyway; Mitsuki already had countless photos to bind with time of Katsuki simply adoring everything you did as a baby. He happily fed you, was in charge of your baby backpack which consisted of your favorite toys and milk bottle, and overall took great care of you and acted like the responsible brother he was and would be in the following years to come - only a bit more of a despot.

Upon reaching toddler age, you showed signs of inheriting Masaru’s personality - timid, soft-spoken, and kind-hearted. You were the breather the Bakugou family needed, quite honestly. Whenever a yelling competition would start between your mother and older brother, you would get cranky and upset, and they didn’t want that. So the screaming would only ever happen during moments when you weren’t awake, because you were one hell of a deep sleeper, with your dad helping to drown out their obnoxious voices by playing classical music - something he liked.

While Katsuki adored you, you idolized him very much, doing various attempts to copy his attitude and tendencies though your kind heart and lack of quirk wouldn’t allow you to. Why wouldn’t you want to be like him? He was smart, awesome, and he got homework done right on time, too. In elementary, you’d often find yourself forgetting to do schoolwork, which resulted your grades to plummet down. If you did remember, you would avoid it for reasons unexplainable, even when you knew it was very important.

First signs of your condition.

He’d watch as Mitsuki would reprimand you for every mistake that could have been avoided, and you’d sit there, wondering to yourself why you’d done those mistakes even when they did indeed could have been avoided. In that way, you wouldn’t have been receiving verbal slaps from your hotheaded mother. After every reproach, she’d calm down and tell you that she was doing this (the yelling, the screeching, the disappointed staring) for your own good, so that you’d learn from your mistakes. You never did.

Katsuki would resent his mother for it, but also wondered the same: why were you so unreasonably irresponsible with yourself? He was around fourteen - you, nine - when he bothered to search the net of your possible condition; and there they were, all the telltales that you may actually have a little something called ADHD. He knew it wasn’t right to diagnose you with it yet it was so painfully obvious he probably didn’t even need a doctor to tell him there was something wrong with your pretty little head.

Despite that, he never made advances to suggest that you might be having some sort of mental condition, because then Mitsuki would consider psychiatry and you wouldn’t get to be so dependent on him as you were right now.

It’s less of a boost of his ego and more of the fuel of desire to want you to be entirely dependent on him. He loved it when you ask for his assistance regardless of how small the favor was; it made him feel aware of what you were doing and be in control of you. He liked it that way so he wouldn’t be so paranoid of you every single time.

It wasn’t like he was being unreasonable with fretting over you. You were kind and dumb - two traits that made you selfless to a fault. You’d do anything for the comfort of others it made you borderline suicidal - and due to that, due to not wanting to be of burden to others, you began forcing yourself to become independent, away from your brother’s constant watch. He didn’t like that. He wanted you to lean on him; he’d do anything for it.

Almost like he wanted you to be incapacitated just to get you to rely on him.

But it wasn’t like he’d actually act on the thought, right? It was just a thought. A stagnant one that he soon came to reconsider during his dorm life, when he only ever got to see you every few months. You’d call him every other day whenever you needed assistance with your homework. He’d call you every other day whenever he missed you - which was actually every other hour of the day.

Even far apart, you would still ask your brother for help.

“Alright, do the next number by yourself.” He stated one time in a phone call, when 11-year-old you had asked him to teach you improper fractions.

There was a timid ‘okay’ from your end, and then shuffling of pages, like you were referring to your notes to guide you with the equation. He answered three questions of his own homework whilst you solved. Five minutes in and he was starting to get impatient.

“Well?” He demanded.

“I-I um,” you staggered, “I don’t get it...”

“Which part?”

“Uh... everything...”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He rhetorically asked, tone rough and aggravated. “Everything?”

He always cursed (and had inculcated into you that you were strictly prohibited from doing so), but this time particularly, it hurt. You knew you weren’t the smartest but he didn’t have to reprimand you for it. You couldn’t help yourself.

He reminded you of mom.

“I’m gonna teach you again, and you better get it right this time. Got it?” His tone was sharp, like the one Mitsuki had used on you back then. You held back a whimper. “So, first thing you gotta do is cross-multiply the-”

“Hey, I think I get it.” You hastily said, failing to cover the crack on your voice. “Thanks, oniichan.”

“Really?” He raised a brow. “Tell me the answer then.”

“You probably got a lot on your plate, huh? I bet hero studies is a lot.” You rambled. “I’m gonna go now. Thanks for tutoring me. Bye!”

“Hey wait-” but you ended the call before he could finish.

Shit. Right then he knew his words took a toll on you. He should have taken to account how sensitive you were. To be fair, you’d never acted that way whenever he would berate you for being so dumb. You’d just laugh it off and shrug with a timid smile. Wait, maybe you were just putting up a front and were actually ashamed of how you had to ask your brother for help every single time.

He called you several times after that but you didn’t pick up the phone. He called mom and demanded to give the phone to you but you told mom to tell him that you were busy studying.

Next day, homework was checked and you got a failing grade. Somehow, you weren’t disappointed. It was the first time you answered and finished schoolwork without the help of Katsuki.

Shiiit. He fucked up, he really did, and it was showing by how you weren’t so dependent on him anymore. Most times he was the one instigating the call and you now seldom did. It’d been weeks since you last asked him for help, but he still remembered, because he knew he had made you cry that time.

He returned home for the weekend, both excited and nervous to see you again because he thought you might have still harbored heavy feelings from that one phone call. Instead, you enthusiastically ran out the door and to your brother’s arms, eager to spend time with him after being far apart for his security as a hero student.

Good; you were ecstatic to see him as you were emotional the time he left for dormitory life. That meant he didn’t have to worry about your straying away from him anytime soon.

The both of you planned to finish a series in the duration of his time in the house. At one point, you said you were going to the restroom, but insisted he didn’t pause the episode for your sake. As you were out, his eyes scanned your room.

There was a thin stack of papers on the corner. Averting from the T.V., he took the papers and scanned them, soon coming to realize that they were your school works. All of which had barely passing grades.

When you returned, he ambled to you with an alarming look. He held out the papers to you. “What the fuck is this?”

You stammered, unpleasantly surprised. “W-what?”

“This!” He exclaimed, shoving them to you. “I don’t remember teaching you this shit. You did this all by yourself, huh? And you passed it without telling me?”

“W-well I-”

His pointer finger tapped harshly on your temple. “Why won’t you instill it into your goddamn brain?” He nearly growled. “Or is it that pea-sized you can’t even remember what I always tell you to do? You come to me when you find something difficult. You tell me when you don’t understand shit.” 

There were tears in your eyes now, but this time he ignored them. He was focused on engraining into you what you should always do. Depend on him. “I just wanna do things without you for once...”

“So you’re gonna risk your grades for the sake of being independent?” He scoffed. “I’ll say this if it keeps you grounded, (y/n). There’s something fucking wrong with your brain. You’ll never be able to make it without me.”

god was it so tempting to actually... incapacitate you. Perhaps then you’d keep your hands to yourself and never again attempt to do something as dumb as that. Your feet might be worth the sacrifice; he’d carry you everywhere, know your location because all you’d have to do was sit and look pretty. Or maybe your hands. He’d feed you, get things for you, write for you and therefore know all your thoughts that you input in that journal of yours. Not that he’d never known of its content.

But it was just an idea. It wasn’t like he planned to do it. No; that would be too cruel.

Now he micromanages you. He knew of your schedule, your meals, hours spent on your phone and contact list. Being barely a teen, you weren’t too aware of his apparent possessiveness over you; all you thought was that you were only suffering the consequences of your own actions. Your own attempts of being independent. 

Soon he was twenty when you were fifteen, still the loveliest thing he had ever encountered in his life - but not so lovely compared to when you were still submissive and knew no better. This time, you weren’t too timid to deviate against your brother’s wishes. His overprotectiveness you then thought was necessary and understandable was now irritating, superfluous, and a waste of both your time.

You were in your first year of high school and he was debuting as a rookie hero already rising in the ranks - still he was somehow able to find time to deal with you like you were some trite part of his routine. It irked you to the core. Who was he to micromanage your time like that? Did he really think you were incapable of fending for yourself that he just had to fit you into one of his chores? You felt insulted and, quite frankly, objectified.

And so you began deviating from his standards of you. Your curfew outside was 4:30PM but now you’d go home around 5. You weren’t allowed to touch your phone past 8:30PM but now you’d stay up until 11. He used to dictate your dress code, getting you dolled up in something way more conservative - so you’d wear [tank tops/spaghetti straps] just to piss him off. He wanted you to eat healthy? You spent your allowance on fast food for a week. Spend more time with him? You became busy in ‘group studies’ with your friends.

He’d let these not-so-little things slide at first, thinking that you were just in your phase of puberty. These come and go. But then he somehow knew that you had online friends and then your liberty was stripped off of you all of a sudden.

He had only ever wished to speak with you civilly about it, and you had hoped to return the same level of temperament, but then he proposed to confiscate your phone and from then on things got very heated.

What remaining good [boy/girl] exterior you had was forcibly ripped off your countenance as you yelled, voice cracking, “You never let me do the things I want! Leave me the fuck alone!”

His expression hardened upon hearing you cuss. “Don’t you fucking curse at me!”

“You’re a hypocrite!”

“And you’re a goddamn idiot! So fucking selfish!” He slammed his hand on the dining table, muscles from hero training prominent and terrifying. You flinched visibly. “So fucking selfish. Who are you to talk to me like that, ah? I’ve been watching you all my life I know what makes you happy, what makes you mad, what makes you cry! I made sure you were safe! Made sure you got your shit together with academics!”

“I never asked for that.” You replied, quivering.

“You never asked for that?” He reiterated, chuckling derisively. “I’m the reason you’re in UA’s general course right now. You wouldn’t have passed without me.”

You were so, so tired of arguing with your brother who’d done nothing but use insults for points in this argument. You were tearing up in frustration. “Why can’t you just let me be? What is wrong with you?”

“The reason why I’m like this,” he sneered, “is to accommodate with that tiny fucking rock in your skull you call a brain. You can barely survive on your own. god, no wonder mom gets mad at you a lot back then. Can’t use your brain for shit, fucking quirkless.”

It was like your world halted in motion. Regardless of anything, he never made an insult out of your lack of quirk. He knew it was a sensitive matter to you.

What made him stoop so low?

You glowered at him. “I hate you.”

“You might as well be dead without me.”

“Well I’d rather be dead than with you!” In the heat of the moment, you screeched. “My life would have been a lot better without you, anyway! I didn’t need some arrogant, egoistic bastard of a brother who gets off to micromanaging!”

You blinked and suddenly you were on the ground, white pressure on your cheek that you couldn’t distinguish until you looked at Katsuki’s outstretched hand and suddenly it was painful; you knew he slapped you so hard, and he knew what he’d just done. 

He dragged you by the hair before you could scream, and you were forced on your legs to follow him as he went up the stairs and to a door. You were shoved into his room, locked, bruising on the face. 

“Hey! What the hell?!” You shrieked, abruptly scrambling up and banging on the door. “Let me go!”

He didn’t answer. You heard footsteps getting farther and farther away, and then the shut of the front door echoed loudly across the house, which meant he went out for a breather.

You were hyperventilating. Vision blurry, breath heaving, head throbbing. There was something wet and warm trickling down the surface of your upper lip. Lifting your hand towards it, you came to realize that it wasn’t snot. You were bleeding from your nose.

You fell unconscious before you hit the ground.

===

There was something cold pressed against your cheek the moment you woke up, eyes squinted from the ceiling light above you. It felt soft and fabric-like, this something against your cheek, and then it was replaced with a hand so warm.

You looked to your side where Katsuki was, staring at you with a now collected countenance. You gasped, jolting from lying down on the bed and moving farther to the opposite of him.

“Hey, shh, it’s just me.” He consoled, voice completely mellow - quite the contrast to his usual self.

Your lips quivered, and tears surfaced on your bottom lids. The whimper on your throat came out when he made a move to join you on his bed (where you now rested) and shuffle near to your person. You shut your eyes when his hand - the dominant one that had hit you - came closer to you, only to hold your head and bring you onto him in an embrace.

You didn’t know what to do, when to move, so you just stilled in his hold, afraid and alert of every motion his body made.

He let go of you and looked at you in the eye. “Mom and dad are home.”

You struggled to remain the visual contact, blinking rapidly.

“When they ask you about your cheek, tell them that you got hit by a door, alright?”

Shitty excuse, but considering your tendencies, they’d most likely believe it.

When you took too long to answer, the hand behind your head squeezed tight. “Alright?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, alright.” You nodded urgently.

He may have not incapacitated you physically, but judging from your current disposition, Katsuki had a feeling that wouldn’t be needed. Not as long as you remain dependent and reliant on him.

[snackhobi]

this is my part of the rockin’ around the christmas tropes collab with @yeojaa, @underthejoon @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna, @untaemedqueen, @xjoonchildx ✨ MERRY (early) CHRISTMAS Y’ALL

summary: yoongi is your favourite regular. he’s patient, polite, and predictable, a-large-black-coffee-to-go-please, no cream, no sugar, thank you. rinse and repeat. the seasons might change, but yoongi’s order stays the same.

and then one fateful day in winter, yoongi asks about the weekly specials, orders a cup of christmas and sugary sweetness, and everything starts changing.

pairing: yoongi x barista f!reader / word count: 14.8k / genre: coffeeshop!au, fluff, dash of smut (NSFW)

warnings: slow burn, terrible drink concoctions, pining, miscommunication (kind of/reader comes to incorrect conclusions based on literally nothing), the tiniest bit of swearing, heated makeouts, oral (m receiving), I think that’s it

a/n: I have a lot of people to thank: thank you to my loveliest most beautiful wife @yeojaa for the beautiful banner 🥺💖 thank you to @morndas for helping me name this fic and suggesting some of the awful weekly specials featured within 🥰 thank you to @yeoldontknow for letting me have multiple meltdowns at her and for letting me pick her brain about working in the music industry, and for helping me with plot points I wasn’t sure about!! 💕

also thank you to @hobi-gif for helping me brainstorm the original fic idea with her; she hasn’t beta’ed this fic because I am TERRIBLE and literally finished this like an hour before posting. that’s on me and not her. I am a shambles without her indomitable proof reading skills; any mistakes are down to me, and I apologise for that. I’ve only read this through like once, sorry in advance, I’m literally formatting this while I should be getting ready for work

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

Like, okay, you’re on your feet for hours at a time, the pay isn’t exactly the highest in the world, and coffee beans have a tendency to end up in the weirdest places (how did you get the light roast in your bra?)—but it’s not entirely terrible.

Here’s a (totally not comprehensive) list of good things about working at the Paradise coffee shop:

The free drinks (y’know, for taste testing purposes)

The free food (you probably eat more than you’re actually allowed, but who’s telling?)

Your coworkers (like Taehyung, who is—yep—currently shoving a whole mini panettone in his mouth)

Most of the customers are pretty nice, too (you have some lovely regulars)

(If you had to be more specific, there’s one regular in particular that you really, really like—)

(Yoongi appears like clockwork every week. Just after the Tuesday lunch rush, the bell above the door will sing out its greeting as he steps inside, ordering the same drink each and every time he’s here—a large Americano, to go, plain and simple and unadorned, no room for cream or milk, no added sugar or sweetener.)

(Yoongi really is the perfect customer. He has been from the very beginning, a point of quiet in a churning sea of hot, sweaty people all begging for frappés and milkshakes, the hottest point at the very peak of summer. The queue had been growing longer and longer, out of the doors as the blenders whirred their way through a neverending cascade of sugary, iced blends; the counters were a mess and all the baristas were running around and everything was chaos and in had walked this guy, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes, even in the height of summer—you were ready for death at this point, hands sticky with syrup and apron streaked with flecks from almost every drink from the summer menu, and you’d braced yourself for some terse words, impatience and passive aggressive comments on the long wait—)

(—and this intimidating man had just patiently asked for an iced Americano, calm and quiet and polite.)

(You’d fallen a little in love, then and there. Fallen in love with that simple order, quick and easy to make, and fallen a little in love with the dichotomy of the man who looked like nothing but sharp edges being the softest customer you’d had all day. There was nothing rushed about his motions, no desperate need to get his drink and get away, no anger at having waited for so long.)

(He’d been ready to pay, too, no fumbling with his wallet or money; he’d tapped his card, easy and breezy and all lemon squeezy, but he’d left a tip in change, dropped almost thoughtlessly into the jar. He’d collected his cup with the smallest upturn to his lips, a tilt of his head, and then he’d left, other customers parting before him like the Red Sea.)

(The only thing that’s changed over the months is that the iced coffees of summer have changed into hot Americanos for the cooler months, autumn and now almost-winter, warding off the chill in the air. Everything else is the same; his dark eyes and low voice and patient smile, small but ever present, pressed lightly into the surprisingly soft line of his mouth.)

(So, yeah. Yoongi is your favourite customer. Even if you’ve barely spoken, really, the two of you dancing through the same short script each time he comes in—the longest conversation you’ve had so far is the one where you’d tentatively asked if he’d like a rewards card, and after a moment of contemplation, he’d quietly agreed.)

(You like to think that you’re Yoongi’s favourite server, too. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but—)

(Taehyung had been stunned into speechlessness, because, to quote his words exactly: “I tried getting him to sign up for a card last time and I swear he just pretended he couldn’t hear me? He just straight up didn’t respond? What?”)

(—you know Yoongi likes you at least a little bit.)

Anyway. You’re getting off the point. Paradise is a decent place to work, the people are nice, and the building is pretty and airy and welcoming and warm, toasty and cosy in the upcoming cold of winter. It’s one of the things that keeps people coming back, that lovely atmosphere.

Another thing that people apparently love about Paradise is the constantly changing menu. It’s not enough to have seasonal menus, no—you need to have weekly specials, apparently, to keep people interested.  It’s like a gachapon, but instead of cute little capsule toys, it’s a random mix of concoctions that are hit or miss.

“Well, I liked the Peachy Keen Jelly Bean,” Taehyung says, around a mouthful of sweet bread, still chewing his way through the panettone.

“You’d be the only one,” you reply, swiping a cloth over the counters and crinkling your nose  at the pile of coffee grounds you gather. “Iced peach tea with blackberry and vanilla and cherry and watermelon syrup has got to be one of the worst things we’ve ever served.”

That had definitely been one of the misses. This week’s special, though, is far more palatable, if incredibly sweet—Crystal Snow, a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and a crystallised sugar stick to stir in. Sugar on sugar on sugar, basically. (Your teeth ache just thinking about it.) 

But there’s always something so fun about making the winter specials, no matter how sugary they are; the smell of the sticky syrups, the swirl of cream to top off the cup, the dusting of cocoa or cinnamon, everything mulled in the sweet warmth of winter. Even if the drink you’re making is questionable, you get so excited about it, genuinely enthusiastic when you recommend them to customers, carrying everyone into the spirit of the upcoming holidays. You’d hardly describe making coffee a billion times a day fun—it’s pretty exhausting, actually—but you’ve always had a weird affection for the winter menu and the weekly specials alongside it.

You don’t upsell the drinks because you have to. You do it because you want to.

(You’re pretty good at it too. Not a flex: just a fact. Your customer service is on point.)

The only person you’ve never tried to persuade into trying something new is Yoongi. He might not be rude or short tempered, but he clearly knows what he wants, and you hate the idea of ruining the easy flow of his visits. You’re not about to embarrass yourself by asking Mr No-Cream-Or-Sugar if he’d like a drink that's nothing but cream and sugar. Asking about the rewards card had been nerve-wracking enough, even if it had been worth it for the genuinely-unintentional-but-definitely-not-unpleasant brushing of your fingers when you’d handed the card over to him.

(Okay. Look. Yoongi is patient and pleasant and polite and cute. You never thought that you’d crush on a customer, but here you are. He just… oozes masculinity in an understated, self-assured way that has you internally swooning. He looks intimidating and serious but when he smiles his eyes go soft-soft-soft, his voice a low rumble as he gives you his gentle thank you, and everything about him is just so… attractive. Even the way he holds his coffee is hot, fingers loose around the lid as he makes his way out of the café, your eyes tracing every motion as he goes. Like. Come on. Of course you’re crushing on him.)

(Just a little bit, though. Just a little bit. It’s just an itty bitty crush. A teeny weeny crush.) 

The bell above the door chimes. Your kneejerk reaction is to snap your head over to see who it is—but you hold it together, instead letting your head turn at a normal, natural pace. It’s just an unfamiliar woman, rearranging the tassels of her long scarf with one hand and holding her phone with the other as the door swings shut, and you deflate.

(... It’s a small crush, you swear. It’s not like this is around the normal time Yoongi appears and you’d thought it was going to be him. Nope. Definitely not that.)

As the woman lingers near the counter, eyes flicking between her phone and the chalkboard menu on the wall above your head, Taehyung finishes licking the panettone crumbs off his fingers.

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

“It’s just past two o’clock,” he continues.

“I know,” you repeat, glancing at him quizzically. “You told me what the time was less than five minutes ago.”

“I did.”

The bell chimes again. This time, a gaggle of giggling girls come bubbling into the café, cutting you off before you can ask what Taehyung is trying to say. You go to flick your cloth at him before thinking better of it, not wanting to rain dark roast everywhere.

“Go wash your hands,” you say, just as the scarfed woman approaches the counter, ready to order. A bright smile splits your face, voice rising into its usual peppy Customer Service tone. “Hi, welcome to Paradise! How can I help you today?”

She barely glances up from her phone as she orders, asking for a latte macchiato and croissant, a distracted ‘no thanks’ when you ask if she’s interested in this week’s special. Oh well. The girls behind her, though, all seem incredibly excited when they catch wind of it; they all eagerly listen as you describe what a Crystal Snow is, your eyes lighting up as you mime piping the cream and dusting the sugar on top, laughing when they ask if they can buy extra sugar sticks to take home, because of course they can, you’d be happy to do that for them, would they like those in to-go bags? Yes, the bags are cute, aren’t they, the snowflakes are lovely, you agree.

Taehyung’s just finished wiping the steam wand when you give him the next order. You see the way his face crumples before his brows lift and his lips purse, pleading as he looks at you with big eyes, and you just roll your own eyes affectionately.

“Yes, yes, I’ll make them even though you’re meant to be on the bar, it’s fine,” you say, and Taehyung’s whole face lights up.

You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough by now to know that it takes him until at least Wednesday to memorise how to make whatever that week’s special is. And there’s not a queue, so you don’t mind taking over, pulling espresso shots and steaming milk and pouring everything together, puffing air in Taehyung’s face when he peers at your cream swirling technique. (No matter how many times you’ve tried to teach him, he’s never been able to get it right, usually just farting a mess of cream out of the nozzle and hoping for the best. Results are… mixed.) Maybe the flourish you put into dusting the sugar on top is unnecessary, but, hey. It’s fun. You smile to yourself as you give a small flick of the wrist over each drink, powdered sugar floating down like snow, and, done.

You don’t like to toot your own horn but the drinks come out Instagram perfect, each latte glass set on a tiny napkin on a saucer, sugar stick on one side, and you take a moment to admire your work.

“They’re so pretty,” Taehyung says, and your smile grows wider.

The girls all agree, cooing over the drinks in a way that only makes your smile grow even more, wide on your face. You watch as they squirrel themselves away in a corner, talking and laughing and nibbling their food and sipping at their drinks, pleased at the way their eyes widen at the first taste.

Yeah, it’s the small things that makes your time here good. Being a barista is a thankless job most of the time, as relaxed as Paradise usually is, so you try to appreciate the small things. Like having fun when you make a drink, for example. Making nice customers happy. (Having cute regulars that you can quietly ogle.)

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

You tear your attention away from the table of girls at the sound of Taehyung’s voice. “My what—?”

There’s someone in front of the glass display, hunched as they slowly and quietly peruse the selection of pastries and food inside—and you realise with a jolt that it’s Yoongi. You have no idea how long he’s been there, so distracted with patting yourself on the back for making a few nice drinks; oh, God, what if Yoongi had seen your pleased expression? Do you look smug? You probably look smug. Great, now he probably thinks that you’re a self-obsessed clown, honking your nose like some sort of narcissist. 

“You’re spiralling,” Taehyung points out mildly, voice low enough that Yoongi doesn't hear.

His surprisingly perceptive comment snaps you out of aforementioned spiralling, and after shaking yourself off, you glance over at him. “Why didn’t you serve him?”

He shrugs. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to be served so I just left him to it.”

To be fair to Taehyung, he’s not wrong. Yoongi is staring intently at a slice of carrot cake—even if he’s never ordered any before—and it’s not until you move to your usual spot behind the till that his attention finally rises, meeting your gaze with his deep, dark eyes.

Your inner schoolgirl feels like she needs to sit down. Your entire stomach and chest is a looping mess of frantic butterflies after making eye contact with the cute boy who you’re crushing on, but you’ve got a great poker face; you’ve worked as a barista long enough that you’re good at shoving your real feelings down, none of your internal turmoil playing across your face as you smile. Customer service mode activate.

“Hi, and welcome back to Paradise. What can I get for you today? The usual? Large Americano, to go, for Yoongi?”

You’re a little softer than you would be with other customers, a little more subdued, dialing down how upbeat you normally are to match Yoongi’s level. His lips lift almost imperceptibly, the faintest smile playing across his mouth, and it takes all your strength for your knees to not immediately buckle. 

“Hi,” he says. His voice is soft and low, faintest drawl at the end of his words, and yep, just your weekly reminder that you’re enamoured with him. Cool. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

He already has his card ready, you know he does. He always does; card to pay, loyalty card to swipe, tip to drop in the jar, quick and smooth and easy. This is normally where you’d rattle off the price—as if he doesn’t already know what it is—but you pause, thinking about how intent he’d been on the pastry display, as uncharacteristic as that is.

“Did you… want something to eat, too? I couldn’t, um, help noticing that you were eyeing up the carrot cake?”

Yoongi blinks, wispy lashes fluttering. You can see the muted surprise that flashes across his face, and you wonder if you’ve misstepped, thrown off the usual rhythm of his visit. It’s an unusual step away from your regular script, an ad-lib that he wasn’t expecting.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he says. “Maybe… next time.”

He’s polite as ever, thankfully. You’re not surprised at his answer but you do have to wonder why he was looking at the cake so closely if he hadn’t planned on getting anything; you know he likes getting served by you the most, if the evidence over the months means anything at all, but you don’t think he’d stare at cake just so he would avoid Taehyung. You’re making assumptions based on the fact he just drinks black coffee and literally nothing else, but you’ve guessed he doesn’t have a sweet tooth. (The only time he’s ever ordered food had been two months prior when he’d asked for a single croissant, and nothing since. Taehyung still talks about the croissant sometimes.) 

Well, it doesn't really matter. If he doesn't want cake, you're not going to force it on him, and the rest of the transaction goes as normal. Yoongi hands over his rewards card, fingers long and knuckles knobbly and altogether lovely, pays for his Americano—made by Taehyung, cup wrapped in the sleeve that you’ve written Yoongi’s name on, black sharpie bleeding into the cardboard—and smiles at you both when Taehyung hands it to him across the smooth wood of the counter.

“Thanks.” He gives you that slight tilt of his head that he always does, and you smile helplessly back. 

He’s a gentleman, through and through, even if he looks as distant as ever; dressed in all black, his ripped jeans the only splash of lightness in his dark outfit. Maybe you’re biased, but no matter what he wears, he looks stylish, somehow. It’s something in his aura. All cool understated elegance and power. 

And here you are, in your cream jumper under the dark mulberry apron of your uniform, a flower blooming next to the name on your badge. All chirpy customer service, smiling broad and wide as you go through the same motions over and over with each new person that comes in. Sometimes you wonder what Yoongi thinks of you, as different as you are to him, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter—because he keeps coming back, doesn’t he?

“Have a nice day,” you say as he turns to go, and when he glances over his shoulder and says you too, smile soft and eyes softer, you know he really means it. 

(And if your eyes always trail after him once his back has turned, who’s telling?)

“You’re staring.” Taehyung’s telling, apparently.

You tear your eyes away from Yoongi, bell tinkling as the door swings shut behind him. “He’s my favourite customer,” you say. As if that explains why you were staring.

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

“He’s my favourite customer,” you say again, emphatically. “He comes in, he gets the world’s simplest drink to make, is always polite, always leaves a tip, and he goes. Literally the perfect customer.”

 “Alright, true,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered that before now. “Cute, too.”

You sigh. A little wistful. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, he is.”

Taehyung opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else when someone spills their drink on their floor with an unholy clattering sound, even if nothing breaks; without saying anything, both you and Taehyung raise your hands, eyes narrowing at each other.

"Rock, paper, scissors," you chant. Taehyung promptly loses, and the pout that forms on his lips doesn't disappear until he's finished mopping everything up.

(“Why do I always end up having to clean spillages?”

“Because you never win rock-paper-scissors. You always choose scissors, Taehyung. You literally always choose scissors.”)

The tradition of the weekly specials at Paradise is a weird one, truth be told. Each Monday whoever’s on the opening shift will enter the coffee shop and find that the board on the wall has been updated, the recipe typed up and laminated, waiting on the counter for the baristas. You all assume it’s the mysterious owner, who no one has ever seen, and no one even knows the name of, apparently.

“Someone has to know their name,” you’d said, once, back when you’d first started, only to receive a shrugs from everyone.

“I heard one of the old baristas say the owner’s name was Jackson,” Taehyung had said, and you’d just blinked at him.

“Huh?” you’d said, but Jimin had rolled his eyes and told you to ignore him, so you had.

This week’s drink is the Marshmallow World. As always, when you and Taehyung start your shift together, you read the recipe and follow it step by step to learn how to make it. Warmed milk, vanilla syrup, topped off with marshmallow fluff instead of whipped cream—not bad in theory, if you like sweet things, although it does pose one significant problem.

“It’s clogged my hole,” Taehyung says sadly.

You sputter on your own drink, desperately hacking your lungs out as you try to stop milk from going down your windpipe. “I’m-sorry-it’s-what,” you wheeze all at once, struggling for air.

Taehyung tilts his takeaway cup at you, gesturing at the lid. (All the mugs are still out back or on a rinse cycle so laziness had forced you to make do.) “My drink hole. It’s blocked,” he explains. “The fluff is getting in the way.”

So, yeah. It clogs people’s holes, apparently. But other than that, you have to admit it’s pretty nice, and if you drink it in the café (and thus out of a mug) then you’re fine. You just get into the habit of warning the customers if they order it to go and laugh about it with them and it’s all fine and dandy and everyone is happy.

It’s starting to get busier, now. The nights are getting longer and the days are getting colder and everyone’s starting to think about Christmas, which feels both close and far away, all at once. Close, because you still have presents to buy and there’s never enough time for it; and far, because the lights have yet to go up and Christmas songs aren’t dominating the radio yet and you have yet to experience the real winter rush. Students home for the holidays and families out to see Father Christmas and workers grabbing Secret Santa gifts, everyone desperate for something warm and soothing, hot and comforting in the face of the snow which has yet to fall. 

But there’s something in the air, that cool hush that lets you know it’s nearly here—the changing of the seasons, the burnt sunset colours of autumn melting into the iced blues and greys of winter. No matter if you prefer hot or cold weather, there’s something about the beauty of wintertime that’s undeniable.

And it’s a lot easier to sell something like the Marshmallow World on a day like this, the nip in the air almost solid, biting cold into the apples of your cheeks, nibbling at fingers that are so cold they feel frost-bitten. Once again, your genuine enthusiasm shines through, persuading people to give the drink a go, happy to add a shot of espresso for whoever needs it, desperate for caffeine to buoy them up through the day.

You’ve just finished laughing with a lovely old couple, wearing matching scarves and hats—awwww—waving them goodbye as they go to sit down, when you come face to face with Yoongi, blindsided by his sudden appearance. You’d been so caught up, once again, too busy giggling your way through the conversation with your other customers, able to persuade them to try one special to share alongside everything else they’ve ordered. 

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” you say. Your hand is still by your face after you’d given the couple a cute wave, and when you realise, you freeze. Flustered. Behind you, Taehyung is struggling to spoon the marshmallow fluff neatly on the vanilla steamer, making small noises of distress, but you’re too caught up in your own distress to really notice.

Once again, you have no idea how long Yoongi’s been there. You’re slipping. You’re normally aware of him as soon as he steps into the coffee shop. (You know, because you’re always aware of when a new customer steps in. Like any good barista would be.) Had he witnessed you enthusiastically waving your hands and talking about marshmallows and s'mores? Seen the way you'd grinned and laughed as you'd gotten excited over the weekly special, yet again?

Well, if he had, he doesn't seem perturbed at all. His usual smile is on his face, though you would swear it seems a little softer around the edges, almost fond. 

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it. 

There’s no addition of his usual that would be great, and that’s when you realise you haven’t asked about his coffee. In fact, your fingers are still curled near your chin, almost like a claw. You clear your throat and let your arm fall to your side, fiddling with the tie of your apron. 

“Hi,” you repeat. Flounder for a second. Try to remember your usual line. “Large Americano?”

“Y/n.” Taehyung whines your name from the bar, loud enough that it catches your attention. “The marshmallow isn’t staying. Why do you keep recommending Marshmallow World? Why must I suffer through this torture? Every day I wake up and I make coffee—”

“Sorry, sir, one second,” you say, face scrunching in apology at Yoongi. 

“It's just Yoongi,” he replies, gentle, and your heart thuds in your chest. "You don't have to call me sir."

Your face feels warm. "Um, okay, Yoongi." You've said his name before, of course, said it dozens of times to confirm his order, but never like this—by invitation from the man himself, an acknowledgement of familiarity.

Taehyung makes another noise. Yoongi's expression turns into one of faint amusement, eyes drifting over your shoulder to your friend; when you turn around, you can see why.

The other barista’s managed to get marshmallow fluff all over the edge of the glass, on the handle of the cup, all the way up the spoon, on his fingers—everywhere except on the drink itself. It’s funny, in a sad sort of way.

“Wow.” You have no idea how he managed it, but you’re here to help. “Alright, go wash your hands, Tae. I’ve got this.”

The cup is a goner.  There’s no way you’ll be able to wipe off the sticky marshmallow. You’re acutely aware of Yoongi at the counter, able to watch your every move, but then you get distracted as you salvage Taehyung's attempt at a Marshmallow World. You just feel grateful that it’s a steamer so you can pour it into a new glass, not having to worry about layers of coffee and milk and foam; it’s a pretty easy fix. Good. (You don’t want to keep Yoongi waiting, as patient as he may be.)

It doesn’t take long to spoon the marshmallow on, whipped peaks in the sticky white, and by the time Taehyung returns you’re ready to present him with the picture perfect drink, not a single lick of fluff anywhere it shouldn’t be. You've got your hands on your hips as you survey your work proudly, and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you.

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

“You’re welcome,” you say. “Alright, shoo, go take this over to the table before they start wondering where it is.”

When you turn back, Yoongi’s watching you. Contemplative. You tamp down the flush that threatens to spill onto your cheeks, face burning, but before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Was that the weekly special?”

You blink. Blindsided. Yoongi’s never asked about the special before, never commented on the A-frame outside, the sign on the wall that sits next to the regular menu. No surprise there—why would someone who only drinks Americanos want to drink ninety-nine percent of the weekly specials you offer? “Um, yeah,” you say. “We’ve got the Marshmallow World this week.”

“Would you recommend it?”

You can’t help it. You light up. You love when customers ask for recommendations, and the fact that it’s Yoongi—whose blood must be made of coffee at this point—who’s asking about it? Americano Yoongi, asking about something without caffeine? Black coffee Yoongi, asking about a weekly special that’s nothing but sugar and sweetness? Something inside you switches on, a Christmas tree, all flashing lights and shimmering tinsel and excitement.

“Oh, if you like sweeter drinks, absolutely! It’s great for a cold day like today,” you gush. Maybe you should reel it in, far more exuberant than you usually are with Yoongi, but. You can’t stop. “It’s warm milk and vanilla, so it’s a lovely comfort drink, and we can add a shot of espresso too if you were wanting a little pick-me-up. And then you’ve got marshmallow fluff on top for some extra self-indulgence. We were meant to, uh, toast the top, actually, but we don’t have the necessary health and safety clearance for blowtorches. I guess you could do that at home if you really wanted to. Everyone likes toasted marshmallows, right?”

Yoongi hums, and you wonder if you’ve maybe gotten ahead of yourself. Oversold it. Maybe he was asking out of curiosity. Just because he’s asking about it doesn’t mean that he wants one—

“Can I get a Marshmallow World, please? Large, to go?”

—or maybe Yoongi is an official convert to the world of sweet drinks, changing after a lifetime of drinking unadorned, unadulterated black coffee. Holy shit. Holy shit? Holy—

“And a large Americano to go, too, please.”

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.  

Yoongi of-the-black-coffee is ordering his usual drink, and another. Both large. Too much for one person to reasonably drink before one of them got cold. He’s not ordering for one person; he’s ordering for two people. Of course Yoongi wouldn’t order something as heart-stopping as the Marshmallow World—not for himself, anyway. 

Mental maths. Two plus two is four, four plus four is eight; one large Americano and one Marshmallow World is two people. Yoongi and one other person is two people, a couple of people, a couple—

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? It’s sort of like that, but rather than remembering your life, you immediately recall every moment over the months where you’ve looked at him or thought about him with even the smallest iota of longing and you want to crawl under the counter and never come out. 

You feel weirdly guilty. Like… like you’re some sort of unintentional homewrecker. Even though, you know, you thought Yoongi was single and you haven’t made a single move on him and nor had you had any plans to. The guilt bubbles up inside you anyway.

All at once, you feel immensely, incredibly embarrassed. Of course he’s taken. There’s no way he wouldn’t be, as attractive and nice as he is, and you’ve just been sat here crushing on him like a big dumb idiot. 

You are the worst.)

You manage to squeeze this internal breakdown into the span of a few seconds. You’re grateful that you have your customer service face locked on, giving nothing away—from the outside the smile looks just like that, a smile, rather than the rictus of deathly mortification it actually is, burning through you like a wildfire. 

Yoongi seems none the wiser, just patiently waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his order. Most of your brain power is still taken up with the mish-mash of humiliation and guilt that’s roiling through you. Luckily, though, the part of your brain that’s still in the moment (trying to drag you back to the real world, shame-faced as you are) forces you to move before things get weird.

“One large Americano, one large Marshmallow World, both to go.” You tap the drinks into the till on auto-pilot, dimly noting that Taehyung’s been pulled into conversation with the old couple at their table, having delivered their drinks and food to them. It’s just you behind the counter, no one else to man the coffee machines. “Let me get those started for you.”

Luckily, making the drinks means you can turn your back to Yoongi, oscillating through the five stages of grief as you fiddle with hot milk and coffee grounds and paper cups. You always take pride in your work—especially when it comes to Yoongi—and you take even more pride now, determined to make these drinks as lovely as they can be. His Americano is fairly simple, but the Marshmallow World requires a bit more finesse, and you lavish attention on the fluff, swirling it beautifully, even though you know it’ll stick to the lid anyway. 

(Okay, listen. Whoever this person Yoongi is seeing must be as nice as he is. They both deserve nice drinks.)

There’s something sweet about it, actually. Before the lids go on, you spent a second staring down at the drinks and the juxtaposition between them; black coffee and white marshmallow, bitter and sweet, night and day. It’s lovely, really, these two opposing things coming together. You wonder what Yoongi’s partner is like. Exuberant and bright, rather than his subdued warmth? A balance, yin and yang, opposite but complementary. 

(Isn’t that a nice thing to think about? Finding someone who’s different to you but matches you so well?)

You firmly press the lids into place, making sure they’re secure. The protective cardboard sleeve of Yoongi’s Americano has his name—the name you’ve memorised, written out countless times—while the Marshmallow World has a scrawled happy face, and an enjoy! on it, for this mysterious person who likes sweet drinks. You do sincerely hope they enjoy it. You really do.

“The fluff blocks the hole,” you warn, sliding the cardboard tray for both drinks carefully across the counter. “It’s probably a better idea to just take the lid off.”

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, too fast for you to identify. But then he nods, lifting the tray up with equally careful hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 

He’s always polite to everyone, Taehyung and the other baristas, but he seems to smile at you the most. He’s smiling at you now, curling at the corners of his lips, and you smile back, fighting through ten layers of embarrassment and self-inflicted shame to do so. Just because he smiles at you the most doesn’t mean anything. You can smile at people and not have it be weird; it doesn’t mean you return their ill-fated attraction.

Why, oh why, oh why.

By the time Taehyung returns to the counter, having escaped the chatty, kind clutches of the elderly couple, Yoongi is long gone. Your fellow barista finds you crouched down in front one of the cupboards with your head in your hands.

“Y/n?” He sounds incredibly concerned. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Are you sick?”

You let out a quiet noise, a mix between a whale dying and a hippo trying to swallow porridge, muffled into your palms. “I’m such a doughnut,” you say. “Just an absolute doughnut.”

Taehyung crouches beside you. “A glazed doughnut or a jam doughnut?”

Your hands drop away from your face as you think. “Plain,” you say, eventually. “Unglazed. No toppings or fillings.” A little sad and disappointing. It seems fitting. 

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder, warm and comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You feel embarrassed all over again, thinking about admitting your (now-squashed) crush to your friend. It was stupid in the first place, crushing on a customer, especially as you’d barely spoken to him; Yoongi might be cute, and nice, but your crush was silly and dumb and you’d been silly and dumb not to think that he was already in a relationship.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just going through it. And by ‘it’ I mean life generally, you know?”

Taehyung makes a noise of understanding, patting your shoulder. “Big mood,” he says sombrely. He always knows what to say, empathetic to a fault.

“Uh,” a customer says, craning over the counter to see the two of you. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I get a refill on my coffee, please?”

That effectively kills the conversation, which is good. Keep yourself busy and distracted. By the time you see Yoongi next week, this crush will be dead and gone and you’ll be fine. Just fine. Absolutely fine.

He’s dyed his hair.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the café is full of people, and Yoongi has dyed his hair.

You’d spent all of last Tuesday alternating between all-consuming guilt and embarrassment, Taehyung catching you with your head in your hands in one moment and furiously cleaning the steam wand the next, channeling your tumult of emotions into anything that will distract you. 

It had worked. Mostly. You’ve had a week’s worth of time since, to get over this month’s long crush, your brain consistently reminding you that Yoongi is in a relationship, with someone who’s probably lovely and attractive and all around just wonderful (just like him). You remind yourself about this every time you find coffee grounds under your nails, or notice milk flecked on your apron, soured and off-white after a day of work; your life isn’t a meet-cute, and you’re not the cute barista who falls in love with the cute regular. You’re the tired barista who makes more cups of coffee in a day than most people probably drink in a year, and Yoongi is the cute regular who’s already in a long term relationship and comes to Paradise just because he likes the dark roast you use. That’s as far as it will go, because this is real life, and not a romance film or novel. (Even if you wished that it was.)

You’ve come to terms with it. Really, you have. But then he has to step into the coffee shop looking like that, his hair bleached so blond it almost looks white, silver hoops in his ears, and he’s still dressed in dark clothes but he’s wearing glasses, no, this isn’t a drill, Yoongi’s dyed his hair, he’s all light and dark, soft and sharp, and you want to crouch behind the counter again. Because he looks so good and of course he’s in a relationship because he’s hot, and you feel dumb for not having realised it sooner.

You can’t hide behind the counter, though. There’s a queue of people, all waiting for your attention and your time, and it’s still just you and Taehyung; none of your usual Christmas temps are back yet, still away at uni, hence the we’re hiring! posters that are up for all the customers to see (and mostly ignore). The seasons are changing and the weeks are passing and the really eager people are starting to think about Christmas shopping; you swear you don’t even need a calendar, able to trace how close you are to Christmas just based on the amount of foot traffic the coffee shop gets. You’re definitely hitting peak.

But it’s fine. You have this down to a fine art. You and Taehyung are both good on the till and scarily efficient at making drinks and plating food, dancing past each other with an ease that only comes with time spent working together and friendship alongside.

People aren’t ordering the weekly special as much, either, not today. You can’t blame them. Candy Cane Dreams is a white hot chocolate, flavoured with mint and coloured green, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles of candy cane bark and red and green drizzle too; it’s… pretty overwhelming. So it means you don’t have to take over for Taehyung from the bar, focusing on smiling at customers and soothing them after their wait, taking their orders and shuffling them along as quickly as you can. You keep a smile plastered on your face as Taehyung pulls espresso shots and grabs tea bags and heats milk, routine and familiar.

When Yoongi steps up to the counter, you’ve barely had time to mentally prepare yourself, so focused on serving everyone else in the queue; it feels like a slap to the face, a kick to the knees, but then you take one deep breath and exhale. Long, deep, slow, forcing air out of your lungs and thoughts out of your mind, and you smile.

You’ve been so careful up until this point, wanting to keep Yoongi happy, wary of misstepping—but he’s just a regular customer. You feel more confident, now, less worried about breaking this tenuous thing you thought you’d had; less worried about what you’re doing being construed as some weird, roundabout way of flirting, because. You know. He’s in a relationship, so it doesn’t matter either way. He’s definitely not interested. You can talk to him like you would anyone else. 

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

And, just like you suspected, Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered that you’ve broken your usual script. “Oh, yeah.” He reaches up, touches his head, as if he’d forgotten. “I did.”

“It looks nice,” you continue, because it does.

He’s smiling back at you. He looks pleased; maybe a little bashful, even, as surprising as that is. “Thanks,” he says, warm and genuine. (The tiny gremlin of a crush that’s still lurking in your soul lets out a wistful sigh.) “Can I get a large Americano and a—” he squints at the board— “large Candy Cane Dream, please?”

(One plus one is two, Yoongi and his other half, the sugar to his coffee.)

“Sure!” Your voice is bright. “I’m guessing the Marshmallow World went over well?”

There’s a brief beat of silence, but you don’t notice, too focused on typing Yoongi’s order into the till.

“Yeah, it was great,” he says after that moment of quiet, and you smile. Good. You’re glad they enjoyed it. 

“I’m really happy to hear that,” you say, genuine and bright. 

“What’s actually in the, ah, Candy Cane Dreams?” Yoongi asks, and you laugh, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“It’s horrendous,” you say in a low voice, as if you’re sharing a secret. “Have you ever seen green hot chocolate before?”

You’ve never spoken to Yoongi like this, easy and light, and it’s… nice. He gives no indication of surprise at your sudden friendliness after months of barely talking. If anything he looks pleased, and at one point he even gives you a smile you’ve never seen before, wide and wonderful, flashing his teeth and gums. (The crush gremlin rattles at your ribcage like prison bars, trying desperately to escape, but you don’t give it a chance.)

“Alright, let me just swap with the other barista, he’s still not gotten the Candy Cane Dreams recipe down.”

You hear a suspicious crunch as you make your way over to Taehyung. He turns to you with a guilty smile, edged with sugar, munching on shards of candy cane while his back is to the customers.

“You’re terrible,” you say affectionately. “Go take over on the till, I have a special to make.”

Taehyung glances over, sees Yoongi making his way down to the collection point. “Huh. Alright.”

The Candy Cane Dreams recipe might be a questionable one, but it’s definitely fun to make (watching the white hot chocolate turn green makes you feel like a kid all over again, mixing shampoos together in your bathroom and calling them potions), and maybe you’re overly generous with the candy cane bark, giving Yoongi’s beau more to nibble on and enjoy. It’s not Christmas yet but you’re already in a giving mood, so sue you. 

“Here you go.” You slide the drinks towards him, the man busy reading one of the vacancy fliers, eyes flicking away from the poster when you appear. Your lips quirk up. “Looking for a job?”

You’re expecting a huff of a laugh, a small shake of the head, but he answers you seriously. “Not me, but I have a friend who is,” he says, reaching to take the tray.

You realise your hands are still curled around the cardboard; you quickly pull away so that there’s no chance your hands will brush. (You might have shoved your crush down as far as it will go, but you have to be careful with your weak, gooey heart.) 

“We could do with any help, honestly. Your friend is more than welcome to apply.” You glance over at the queue, which is small but ever present, and you know it’ll only get worse as time goes on. “And, hey, if you ever decide for a change of pace from whatever it is you do, we’d be glad to have you, too.”

This gets a laugh from him, a warm burst of sound. (The gremlin points out that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh, really laugh, a little raspy and a little quiet and altogether lovely; you beat the gremlin back with a stick.) “I’m better at drinking coffee than I am at making it,” Yoongi says, eyes soft with lingering amusement. “I’ll leave that to the experts.”

You might have gone off script, but the nod he gives you is his usual one, that familiar tilt of the head. “See you next week?” His eyes are dark, dark and deep, and it’s so hard not to fall into them, to fall all over again.

“See you next week,” you echo, hoping the smile you plaster on your face doesn’t look as forced as it feels, as you struggle once more. Yoongi is just nice, okay? He's just being nice, but still. He needs to let a girl breathe.

(He needs to let the gremlin of her crush wither away, instead of making it threaten to come back as strong as before, fuelled by his smile and his eyes and his everything.)

(... maybe you’re not as over this crush as you thought you were.)

It seems like the we’re hiring! posters actually worked.

“I’m Jungkook,” says the new starter, all crooked smiles and warm eyes and thighs so thick they threaten to split the trousers of the café’s uniform, ties of his apron emphasising his small waist.

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

It’s the last week of November and even though Jungkook is still learning the ropes, he’s a massive help, and you know he’ll be a lifesaver over Christmas. He’s eager, learns quickly, and gets stuck right in, material of his shirt straining across his shoulder blades when he rips a bag of coffee beans open with his bare hands, rather than having to use scissors like you or Taehyung. 

Taehyung watches with stars in his eyes as Jungkook pours the beans into the grinder. You cover your smile by sipping at one of the espresso shots Jungkook has pulled—full-bodied and dark, rich in your mouth. 

“This is really good, Jungkook,” you say. He looks over, eyes squeezing into a smile.

“Thought it would be,” he says, and you can’t help but huff a laugh into the tiny espresso cup. He’s cocky and competitive, telling you that he’d never made coffee before but he was going to do a better job than any of the other baristas here. He’s too endearing to come across as arrogant, though, and you have to admit that the coffee is good. (Not as good as yours or Taehyung’s, of course, but still. Pretty good.)

Taehyung coos at him and reaches out to shamelessly squeeze his bicep. “Jungkookie is a natural barista.”

Jungkook’s cocky smile turns equal parts pleased and flustered. You continue to sip at the espresso as Taehyung moons over him, then the bell above the door rings, and the mooning temporarily is put on hold. (Temporarily, because Taehyung continues to moon over him for the rest of the shift, insisting on doing the bulk of his training, which is fine by you.)

It’s the 1st of December tomorrow, so not only do you have to clean after the café is locked up, you have to put out all the Christmas decorations, too. But it’s more fun that it is work, the three of you dragging the tree out of the storage room and decorating it with a menagerie of tinsel and baubles; Jungkook lifts Taehyung so he can get the star on the tree, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist and hoisting him up effortlessly, leaving your friend with a pleased smile on his face.

Jungkook is new, only on his second shift, but he’s slotted in so easily. He laughs at Taehyung when he wiggles his butt along to the Christmas songs you've put on to play, and he helps steady the stepladder as you string garlands of snowflakes on the ceiling, even if he doesn’t really need to. 

He absently readjusts the reindeer headband Taehyung had unearthed from the storage room and proudly placed on his head. “Yoongi-hyung talks a lot about this place,” Jungkook comments, offhand.

If you’d heard this a few weeks ago, you probably would have fallen off the stepladder, inner gremlin grabbing your heart with both hands and squeezing tight-tight-tight. As it is you only pause for a moment, one of the larger snowflakes cradled in your palm, before you go back to your job of hanging them up. 

“So you’re the friend he mentioned that needed a job,” you say. 

“That’s me.” Jungkook grins, boyish and bright, and you laugh. “He really, really likes this café. Wouldn’t shut up about it, even before he told me that you were hiring.”

You can’t imagine Yoongi gushing about a café to his friends, but then again, he clearly is passionate about his coffee. Jungkook will know him better than you, having a real friendship rather than this patron-and-customer back-and-forth that you’ve had, so who are you to imagine what’s normal for Yoongi and what isn’t? You didn’t even know he was in a relationship, after all. You don’t know anything about the guy, really. 

“Well, we appreciate his custom,” you say. “I know Yoongi is the one who actually comes in, but you can thank his other half, too, and I hope they enjoy their drinks as well.”

You’re too busy hanging the garland to see the way Jungkook’s face twists. 

“Huh?”

“You know. Yoongi always comes in for his Americano and the weekly special for his partner,” you say.

You’re focused on stepping down the ladder without falling to see the expression on Jungkook’s face, nose scrunched and lips pursed, like there’s something he’s smelled that he really doesn’t like.

“Did he say that to you? That it was for someone else?”

“Hm?” You pause in grabbing another string of snowflakes, glancing up. “Oh, no, I just worked it out, you know? Yoongi is a religious coffee drinker, why else would he order something that’s basically hot sugar water? I think it’s cute,” you add, belatedly. “That he always comes in to grab something for them, too.” 

(You wish you had someone to do that for you.)

There’s a beat of silence. Jungkook’s holding the stepladder, ready to move it, staring at you in a way that’s weirdly intense. “I see,” he says, like that isn’t weird or mysterious at all.

Then he drags the stepladder’s rubber feet across the floor with such a loud noise that Taehyung startles, bauble falling out of his hand and shattering. Jungkook, of course, profusely apologises and insists on cleaning it up—but not before making sure Taehyung is okay, of course, grabbing his hands and looking over them, as if the bauble had broken in his palms and not the floor. 

Taehyung looks immensely pleased. You just smile quietly to yourself, roll your eyes lightly, and go back to hanging snowflakes as Jungkook speaks to Taehyung, soft and low.

You think your favourite thing about training a new starter is witnessing their reaction to the weekly special.

“So,” Jungkook says, slowly. “You put in the whole gingerbread man—gumdrops and icing and all—and just blend it?

“Yep.” Taehyung’s reply is cheery. “Straight in and whizz it all up.”

This week, it’s You Can’t Catch Me, I’m the Gingerbread Frappé which is a) probably the longest name known to mankind and b) probably the most questionable name known to mankind and c) who orders a frappé in December?

These thoughts are clearly playing across Jungkook’s face as Taehyung coaxes him to drop the gingerbread man into the blender, and you’re too busy enjoying the consternation on Jungkook’s face to notice someone stepping up to the counter—until they clear their throat, that is, and you all turn. 

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

It’s chaos. Frappé ends up everywhere, splattered over the counter and the floor, splashed across the wine-red aprons of both of your fellow baristas, as close to the blender as they were—saving you from any of the sugary fallout, unwitting human shields.

There’s a beat of silence, where you all stare at each other—

And then Yoongi laughs.

You’ve never seen Yoongi laugh this loudly, eyes squeezed so hard you wonder if he can even see, almost cackling as he laughs at Jungkook’s expression, joyful and loud and free. It’s another dimension to him, another new part you witness as Jungkook wipes gingerbread and ice off his face and Taehyung stares at the mess spattered across his hands and arms.

It makes you think of a paper crane. Yoongi is this unfinished thing in your mind, each new thing you learn about him another fold that you add, a flat sheet of paper turned into something entirely and wholly new. You wish that it weren’t so alluring, watching it come together, finding out more and more about this man you’ve technically known for months, but only recently started to get to know.

(You wish that it wasn’t so easy to keep falling for him.)

Once the counter is cleaned, both Jungkook and Taehyung retreat to replace their aprons, leaving you—once again—alone with Yoongi. He’d stopped laughing to tease Jungkook, to gently rib him, but you can see the smile that’s etched on his face, the echoes of mirth written across all his features.

“We usually train the baristas to keep the lid on, I swear,” you say, and Yoongi’s face splits into another smile.

“I was going to say that it’s an unorthodox blending technique,” and you can’t help but smile back at this, even if you’ve been trying not to laugh. Professionalism barely wins out, your lips trembling as you try to hold your giggling back, but Yoongi spots it anyway, looking pleased, like he’s accomplished something by getting you to (nearly) laugh.

You’re not laughing when you have to make one of the special frappés, though. You stare at the gingerbread man as you hold him above the blender, at his cheery iced face and his cute little buttons (not the gumdrop buttons), and brace yourself to drop him.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and let him go, before quickly slamming the lid on top and turning the blender on so you don’t have to look at the betrayal you’ve just committed. 

When you turn, Yoongi has an expression of sympathy on his face; for you or the gingerbread man, you can’t tell, but his face smooths the second he notices you looking at him, blinking innocently, as if there’s nothing unusual going on. It’s disarming, seeing that expression on his face, when you’d gotten used to seeing him act more reserved, but it’s cute.

(It is cute, whether you’re crushing on him or not. It’s just a statement of fact, okay? It’s nothing more than that. Even if that tiny gremlin of a crush still lives in your chest, scuffing its feet against your heart, reminding you of its presence when you least need it.)

(It digs its heels in when you put the frappé and Americano side by side, nestled snug in their cardboard tray. You slide it towards Yoongi and you’re a little too slow, fingers brushing his when he reaches for them; you’re surprised by how quickly he moves, how eager he seems to be reaching for his order, fingertips dragging across the back of your knuckles, and the gremlin kicks your heart, pulse rising just at that glancing touch. Even if you know it’s fruitless, useless, you can’t help but like Yoongi anyway.)

(“See you next week,” he says, and you can’t do anything but smile helplessly back.)

You normally love snow. You love waking up to the sight of it, pure and pristine white, adding another dimension to your familiar world—you love snowball fights and snowmen and snow angels, even if it all leaves you feeling cold, chilled right to the bone, nose running and hands freezing. The best part about winter is getting warm again, the season of throw blankets and hot water bottles, knitwear and scarves, tea and hot cocoa, all cosy and lovely and wonderful.

It’s a bit different when you have to work all day, though. You watch as the snow on the streets outside is threatened by the spray of salt and a thousand spinning car wheels and busy feet, ice turned to slush water; for now the snow is winning, though, and judging from the weather forecast, you think that’ll be the case for the rest of the day. You hope it lasts through to tomorrow, too; by the time you get home you’ll be too tired and it’ll be too dark to play in the snow, and it leaves you feeling disappointed and sad. 

(Winter is lovely but it can be a hollow season, too, something about the leafless trees and fogged windows making everything feel like an empty dream.)

At least Paradise is warm, even if you’re cooped up inside, safe from the still-falling snow that keeps trying to turn the world into an untouched, frozen wonderland. It’s quiet in the coffee shop today. Only the bravest of people have ventured out into the not-a-blizzard-but-basically-a-blizzard, plastered against radiators and putting drinks to their faces, letting hot steam heat their cold cheeks.

It’s why you’re both surprised and unsurprised when Yoongi appears, bell chiming above his head as the door swings shut and he stamps his feet on the front mat, knocking snow off his boots. He somehow looks disgruntled and soft all at the same time, a royal blue beanie on his head forcing his fringe down to sit messily over his eyes, bundled up warm even if his face is scrunched up and his cheeks are red from the cold.

“I hate cold weather,” he tells you once he reaches the counter, gloves peeled off his fingers so he can reach for his wallet, his nose tinged pink as he sniffs.

You proffer him a box of tissues. “You look like you need it,” you say gently, and he smiles at you, a warm hearth in the cold winter.

“Thank you.” His voice is equally as gentle as yours, and something aches in your chest.

It’s just you behind the counter right now, so you take Yoongi’s order and make the drinks too—one large Americano and one large Latteggnog (a basic latte made with eggnog instead of milk, rich and thick and creamy), this week’s special: everyone’s favourite Christmas drink, but with a twist of coffee. 

The quiet gives you time to think. Jungkook and Taehyung are out back, the older barista coming up with the most ridiculous excuses to take them away from the counter; you don’t mind that they’re taking the time ‘counting the coffee beans’, as deserted as the café is. 

The café is practically empty and Yoongi hates the cold but here he is, venturing into the ice and snow to get this person he cares about the drink they want, because they’re that special to him. (You hope they realise how lucky they are.)

You’re normally okay being single. Don’t really think about it. But there’s something about today, this moment, that has you reflecting; Taehyung has this budding thing with Jungkook, Yoongi has this steady thing with his love, and here you are, by yourself, alone. It’s hard to summon up your usual energy, going through the motions as you make the drinks. You tilt your head forward, dusting nutmeg on the eggnog latte, watching the way the sprinkle of spice settles delicately and softly in the foam. No flourish, no flick of the wrist, not today.

(There’s two cups in front of you now, but later, when you’re home, there’s just going to be one. Yours. Yours, and no one else’s.)

(When you get home, you’re going to do what any self-respecting single person would do: order too much takeaway, rewatch The Good Place, get emotional over Eleanor and Chidi’s relationship—they’re so different but they’re so perfect for each other, why can’t you have that?—mope for a bit, rewatch The Princess Bride, get emotional over Westley and Buttercup—where’s your cute farmboy who saves you from an evil prince?—mope a bit more, before finally climbing into bed and hugging a pillow to your chest in the space of having someone else there. You know. Perfectly normal single person things.)

When you turn to Yoongi, drinks ready and raring to go, you’ve forced a Customer Service Smile onto your face. They say that just the act of smiling makes you happier, right? Maybe if you smile hard enough, you’ll cheer up, chasing away this sudden sadness that lingers in the back of your throat, scratching at your lungs like black ice.

“Here you go!” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet hush of the café, but you roll with it anyway. “Enjoy your drinks!”

Yoongi takes them from you, hands carefully cupped around the tray, but his eyes don’t leave your face. He doesn’t return your smile, as convincing as it should be (even Taehyung struggles to tell between your real smile and your work smile, sometimes); he stands for a moment, looking at you.

You think he’s about to say something when he clearly thinks better of it. He tilts his head, like he always does, but you’d swear his expression is tinged with concern. “Thanks,” he says. Pauses. “The roads are really icy. Get home safe, okay Y/n?”

Blink, blink. Your eyelashes flutter. You suddenly realise that he’s never said your name out loud, never had a need to, even if he must have known it all along from the badge on your chest. It sounds so good in his mouth, soft and safe.

 “Oh,” you say, slow with surprise. “Thank you. I will. You, too.”

Yoongi nods again, as if to himself, before he turns to go.

He stops one more time before he goes. He stands at the open door, glances over his shoulder before he steps out, dark eyes meeting yours, as if checking that you’re still there, still tethered to the ground. Seems satisfied when he finds that you are. He gives you one last smile, all soft around the edges—that’s something you know intimately about Yoongi, that he’s soft through and through, even if he can look sharp, as cold as the ice outside—and then he goes, back into the falling snow to deliver a steaming sip of warmth into the hands of the person he loves.

(Your heart aches.)

It’s the week before Christmas. The whole world has that feeling it always does at this time of year—excited and bright, if a little frantic, the hanging lights in the city a backdrop to people’s last minute shopping, their breaths pluming out into the air as they rush around in the cold. The whole world feels full of life, that final push towards the end of the year; the hearth fire of Christmas before that weird in between before the new year, that held breath of potential, before the clock ticks over and the world is thrown into the next year.

Paradise has been busy. It’s like summer, only instead of sundresses and shorts, everyone is in knitwear and scarves, shivering as they wait to be served, desperate for a drink to warm them up, something to eat to fill their bellies. You spend more time in the coffee shop than you do at home, pulling overtime shifts to help your fellow baristas out—everyone thinks Christmas is a time of relaxation and coming together, but it doesn’t feel like that when you work in a customer facing job, oh no. It’s just non-stop busyness and being rushed off your feet.

(You’d barely had a chance to speak to Yoongi, café full when he’d stepped in, your pace frenetic as you’d danced around behind the counter with Taehyung and Jungkook; you’d slid his drinks towards him, his Americano and the special, and maybe your smile had looked more harrowed than you thought because he’d caught your hand and squeezed it.

“I hope you get a chance to rest over Christmas,” he’d said, concerned and sincere, as you’d stood in stunned silence, not expecting that almost-intimate touch, gentle against your skin.

“I will,” you’d said eventually. Yoongi had seemed to suddenly realise he was still touching you, fingers clasped around yours, and he’d withdrawn quickly, giving you a smile that felt like a whispered secret, before leaving you to deal with the ever-growing queue.)

Suffice to say, it’s been a long week, and you’re tired, and your feet hurt after all the running around you’ve been doing, and you just want to go home. You just need to finish the close, need to finish setting everything up for the open tomorrow, need to finish cleaning everything, and then you can get some sleep.

At least, that’s what you thought. Instead, you’re standing across from Jungkook and staring at him incredulously. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Wait.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What do you mean, we need to deliver some coffee?”

You don’t know if Jungkook is being deliberately obtuse, but he just stares at you as if you’re the one talking nonsense right now, and not him. “We have a customer order to deliver,” he says.

“Yes, I gathered that,” you say. “I just mean, why did no one tell me sooner?”

Paradise doesn’t do deliveries, as such. You cater for events, and you technically do deliveries then, but it’s less ‘one coffee to go’ and more ‘enough sandwiches and pastries and bagels and coffee to feed an entire office’. It’s not that you can’t bring someone their order directly, it’s more that you just… don’t.

“Taehyung took the order,” Jungkook says, as if that explains everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose again. You can’t ask Tae about it, the other man having had to leave just as you’d been about to flip the sign to closed (‘Jimin says Tannie peed in his shoes again! I have to go clean it up! I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll cover a close for each of you next time!’), so it’s just you, and Jungkook, and the slip of paper on the counter between you. You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough to trust his judgement and his decisions, as inexplicable as they might seem sometimes, but you do think it’s weird that he’s taken this delivery on board.

“It’s not too far from here,” Jungkook adds, peering at the address on the paper. “It won’t take long.”

“We have to finish closing, Jungkook,” you say. 

He shrugs casually, carelessly. “I’ll do it, I don’t mind. You can just do the delivery and then go home straight after, it’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” you mumble. “Why can’t you deliver it?”

“You’re the senior barista, you’re a better representative of the brand,” he says, and you have no idea where he pulled that from. (You blame Jimin. You know they’ve had shifts together, and Jimin is too smooth-talking for his own good.)

As much as you want to argue, you can’t help but cave, because the prospect of getting home early is one that you’re not about to sniff at. (You’d worry that Jungkook would get home late, what with the amount of prep he still needs to do for tomorrow, but you half suspect that Taehyung will reappear at some point, anyway.) You’re too tired to want to argue. “I just want to say this is a one off, and normally we cater for events, we’re not really a delivery service, okay?”

“Duly noted.”

It’s a simple enough order, anyway—it’s just two drinks. The first is a large quad shot latte with caramel and toffee syrup, extra whipped cream and cinnamon on top (something you’d definitely order, you think, indulgent and milky and with enough caffeine to kick you up the ass). Jungkook dutifully cleans as you start the second drink. The special this week is far, far less sweet than normal; a Rudolph the Red-eyed Reindeer: a simple red eye with a pinch of holiday spice, coffee with an extra espresso shot and topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. You take in a deep breath, swallowing down the warm smell and letting it flow through you before you double check the details on the note.

It takes you a second as you squint at the address, wondering why it looks familiar—and then you pause. This is Yoongi’s office, you think to yourself, and it feels a little like there’s an apricot pit sitting heavy in your stomach, heavy and hard. Paradise had catered a breakfast for them last week, and it hadn’t been on your shift and so you hadn’t gone, but—you’d heard enough about it from Jimin, the type who gets to know everyone and everything the second he walks in the door. You’d heard about the team that Yoongi manages, found out that Yoongi works in music, in artist and repertoire, and when you’d had the chance to Google exactly what that meant, you’d been bowled over. He has such a complex, high skilled job, and here you are, struggling to get a job with your degree, hence the barista thing. (Thanks, economy.)

You hastily shuffle past the address, trying to ward off your sudden sense of inadequacy, focusing on the name instead. What sort of name is Suga? you think to yourself, and then shrug. Probably one of the workers had enjoyed the breakfast the other week and was still hanging around before going on holiday for Christmas, or something.

“Alright, I’m off.” You’re ready to advance into the cold outside: coat on, scarf looped around your neck and hat secure on your head, cardboard tray of drinks clutched in your hands. “If you need help closing, just call me and I’ll come back, okay?”

“I won’t, but, thanks,” Jungkook says, equal parts self-assured and reassuring. “Don’t fall on your ass!”

It is icy outside, the entire world a winter wonderland, beautiful but cold and daylight long gone; snow drifts slowly from the sky above, dusting your shoulders and the top of your hat, flakes caught so softly by the weave of your clothes. It’s the kind of day that’s perfect spent indoors, curled up with the people you love, warmed through and through—and here you are, picking your way across the pavement slush to deliver a coffee to someone. (You’re not even getting paid for this.)

At least it’s not too far, really, just a few blocks away. The building is small, which is a plus, because it means you won’t have multitudes of rooms and offices to trawl past to get to your destination. The receptionist is more than helpful, too, when you say that you have a delivery for Suga; she gives you exactly directions and then she smiles at you, pleasant and pretty and lovely, and that gremlin that’s still clinging desperately onto your feelings for Yoongi whispers: what if this is Yoongi’s girlfriend? She’s beautiful.

Shut up, you think, before smiling back and thanking her, and heading on your way.

This close to Christmas you’d think that the building would be almost empty, but you’d be wrong. It’s not a buzzing hive of activity but there are still people walking around, speaking behind closed doors or laughing through open ones, decorations and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. Up ahead you see a someone come out of a room, shutting the door behind them before they walk in your direction. It’s a man who looks like he’s just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and as you pass in the corridor he pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. Not suspicious, just surprised.

“Uh, I have a coffee for Suga,” you say without prompting, as if he was about to accuse you of some sort of nefarious scheme and your coffee delivery is the only thing saving you from that.

“Oh,” mister-model-handsome says, suddenly smiling widely, like this is all perfectly normal and not weird at all. He’s got some of the poutiest lips you’ve ever seen. “You’re nearly there, he’s just down the corridor and on the right. Have fun!”

“Uh, you too?” you reply. (Is he Yoongi’s boyfriend? He’s tall and broad shouldered and incredibly attractive, with the type of smile that makes people’s hearts race, and Yoongi definitely deserves someone like that.)

Your destination seems to be the office the (probably) model just came out of. You look around the corridor, which seems to be deserted now, the hubbub of people elsewhere in the building. You knock quietly, not wanting to disturb the hush that’s filled the air around you.

A beat. Then: “Come in,” someone says, voice muffled through the door.

It swings open easily at your touch. You stand on the threshold, mouth open around the announcement of your delivery when the words die on your lips.

Yoongi’s there, sitting behind a desk and his head bowed as he scribbles something in a notebook. He doesn’t look up. “Shut the door,” he says. Dumbstruck, you do just that, and it’s not until the door’s quietly clicked shut that he starts to raise his head. “Hyung, I already said that I don’t need to eat—”

And then he spots you standing there.

He stops mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes widening. He looks as shocked as you feel, utterly taken aback and agog, and even now you can’t help but notice how good he looks. He’s in a black button up, sleeves rolled to the elbow and top button undone, revealing the pale skin of his collarbones. It’s another juxtaposition, the Yoongi that you’re familiar with (an aura of effortless authority and attractiveness) in a place you don’t know at all, completely professional, his desk neat and the entire space put together. There’s a tastefully decorated tree in the corner but it doesn’t throw off the balance of the room at all. 

“Uh.” You cough lightly. “I have… a delivery… for Suga?”

Yoongi stares at you.

“Is this… not the right room? I can go,” you mumble, gesturing over your shoulder with a thumb.

This seems to snap Yoongi out of whatever thoughts he was having as he shakes his head. “No, this is… Suga’s office,” he says. “I just didn’t order any coffee.”

You open your mouth. Shut your mouth. You don’t have an Americano on the tray, but he’d probably like the red eye, coffee with extra coffee, no sugar or cream. Just a little pinch of spice. 

“Maybe it was a surprise, or something? Couples get each other gifts all the time.”

Yoongi’s lips quirk up. “I’m not really the type that gets surprised with gifts.”

Something about this strikes a discordant note in you. He’s always delivering gifts of coffee—he deserves those expressions of love returned to him. You can’t help but say as such.

“You’re always giving gifts, though,” you say. “Those weekly specials. I wouldn’t be surprised if your other half is returning the favour.”

Blink, blink. He looks perplexed. “I don’t have an other half?”

Your mouth opens again. “Uh,” you say eloquently. “What?”

“I… don’t have an other half? I’m… single?”

“You’re…” Your face scrunches up, wrinkled in confusion. What? He’s… what? “But you always buy two drinks?”

Silence. Then: “I… the Americano is for me,” he says. “I usually just pour the special away. I only started ordering them because you got so excited talking about them and making them. I never planned on drinking them.”

Your mouth falls open, soft around a quiet breath, a soft oh. “You—wait. You ordered them because I got excited about them?”

Yoongi’s eyes are so dark, so gentle; melted chocolate, warm. “You started to talk to me more, after the first time I did,” he says, and you know you had. Because you thought it was safer to talk to him, though you were secure in the knowledge he wasn’t single—but he is single. “So I kept doing it, because I wanted to talk more to you. I thought you knew? And that’s why you started having real conversations with me.”

You’re frozen in place, eyes as big as dinner plates. Min Yoongi, your futile crush, who looks as sharp as a knife but is as sweet as spun candyfloss, has been coming back week after week—for you. He’s not in a relationship, and he’s been flirting with you.

Or at least he thought he had been. You, however, hadn’t even realised.

“I was going to ask you on a date after Christmas,” he continues, calm and steady, as if your brain isn’t melting. He’s still sitting behind his desk, and there’s something about his tousled hair and bared lower arms—watch on one wrist and a few bracelets on the other—that has your heart pounding, that casual air somehow not at odds at the weight of the surroundings. Because the world is a backdrop to Yoongi, and he makes it work.

“What the fuck,” you say. You realise you’ve never sworn in front of him when something flickers in his eyes; not a bad flicker, no. Definitely not. “I thought you were taken.”

“I’m very single,” he says lightly, belying the weight behind the words. And then his eyes drop to your hands. “You said you have a coffee for me?”

Which leads to this: Yoongi, in his chair, you, leaning against his desk. He’s taken the red eye (of course) while you sip at the latte, relishing the punch of espresso, the flavour of the syrups.

You’re both staring at each other as you drink, air in the room growing thicker by the moment, when Yoongi breaks the silence. “This is probably the only weekly special I’d actually want to drink.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Black coffee with more espresso? That’s you all over,” you say. “The other specials aren’t so bad, though. I think you just need to give sweet drinks a chance.”

You’re speaking without thinking, but the second those words leave your mouth, the air turns electric. Yoongi’s still staring at you, unwavering and intent, and everything inside you is melting, leaving you flushed and hot. The smile hasn’t left his face, which had been warm but it’s changed, evolved, edged with something sharper.

“If you say so,” he says. His eyes are on your lips. “Let me try?”

His fingers are so gentle on your face, hands cupping your jaw as he tilts your head down. All your thoughts leave you. There’s nothing in your mind but Yoongi, his warm hands and dark eyes, the heat of his body so close to yours, his mouth; you can’t help but look down, tracing the shape of his lips with your gaze, a small soft pout that’s so at odds with the weight of his intensity. 

When he kisses you, it’s featherlight. Barely the softest of pressures, the potential of something more—and then he pulls you in deeper, and there it is, that heat flickering in your stomach jumping into a full fire. The kiss turns hot and wet as he licks the flavour of caramel and toffee syrup out of your mouth, and he tastes like coffee, dark and bitter; you make a noise against his lips and he swallows it down, pulls you closer.

You’re straddling his knees, a little awkward and cramped in his office chair, but you don’t care. You’ve been wanting to kiss Yoongi for so long, even when you felt like you shouldn’t, thought about his dark eyes and pink mouth, the curve of his lips, the paleness of his hands; a steadying presence around your waist, holding you in place.

When you pull apart, Yoongi’s lips are flushed, kiss swollen. It looks good on him. Really good on him.

“I’ve thought about that more than I’d like to admit,” he says, and you can’t help but feel warmed by it, the realisation that you’ve wanted to kiss him but he’s wanted to kiss you, too.

“This really isn’t comfortable,” you say, wriggling a little—your ass is starting to go numb, sat on Yoongi’s knees—and Yoongi sucks in a quick breath at the way you’re all but squirming in his lap, even if he doesn’t say anything.

Oh, you think. 

When you move away, he lets you go without protest, hands sliding off your waist. It’s not until you fall to your knees that Yoongi realises what you’re doing, his eyes widening.

“Y/n,” he breathes. “You don’t have to—”

“Please, Yoongi, I’ve wanted to do this for months,” you say. Maybe it was a little crass to start with, wanting to get on your knees for a man you barely knew just because he was hot and polite to you, but now you know he wants you back. You’re not about to let this opportunity pass you by, staring up at him between his knees, hands braced on his thighs. “But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

He looks torn, just for a second, eyes darting away from your face and to the door. It’s shut, but it’s not locked, and though the building is quiet there’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk in at any second.

Without thinking, you lick your lips. Yoongi’s eyes flicker back at the motion, watching how your tongue moves, and you can see how he crumbles.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, and you dig your nails into his trousers, electricity shooting through you.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down,” you warn, and reach for his zipper.

It’s a struggle for him, you can tell. He’s already biting his lip by the time you’ve tugged his trousers and boxers down, hardening under your grasp, and you knew his dick would be as pretty as the rest of him. You don’t have the luxury of worshipping him the way you want to, acutely aware of the fact you’re in his office, but it doesn’t mean you’re not going to make Yoongi feel good. It’s dirty and messy, the way you suck his cock into your mouth lewd and wet, lavishing attention on the most sensitive parts; his hips jump as you circle the head with your tongue and jerk the rest of his length with a hand. 

Everything’s sloppy with spit and precum and Yoongi’s biting off curses, hand tightening in your hair as you take in as much of him as you can, relaxing your throat and swallowing him down, down, down. When you look up at him through your lashes he looks wrecked, the paleness of his skin flushed pink, and you can’t wait to see that all over. Can’t wait to see Yoongi entirely bare in front of you, when you have the luxury of time and pleasure.

But there’s something about this, too, that has your heart racing, cunt throbbing. You’re running your spit slick lips down the side of his shaft, tonguing the throb of the vein there, when you hear footsteps nearby, muffled through the door. It doesn’t sound like they’re coming in this direction and Yoongi seems almost entirely lost to the feeling of your mouth on him, but you flick your tongue across the spot where the head of his cock meets the shaft and he bows forward, swallowing down the noise that threatened to spill from his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this, falling apart under your hands and mouth, and you know he’ll give as good as he gets.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. You smile up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, jerking him off hard and fast as you lick and suck—and when he cums it’s with a noisy exhale of breath, a muffled groan, and even as you’re swallowing down his cum and mouthing at him until he winces with oversensitivity, you’re imagining what he sounds like when he doesn’t have to be quiet.

He’s not shy, either. You’ve barely tucked him back in when he’s reaching for you, kissing you. There’s no taste of coffee any more and you shiver, molten and boneless at the way his tongue presses into your mouth.

“Still want to take me on a date?” 

You’re being cheeky, voice light as you joke, but Yoongi’s responding look is equal parts serious and affectionate. He sweeps a thumb over your cheekbone and you relax into his hands, feeling like a cat that got the cream. Here you are, on your knees in his office, the glittering lights of his Christmas tree thrown across your hair and skin, warmed by the touch of a man you’ve wanted for months but never thought you would get.

“Of course,” he murmurs, gentle-gentle-gentle, as if you hadn’t just sucked his soul through his dick—and you love that about him, love his inherent soft core, his big heart. You might not know him as well as you’d like—not yet—but you already know that much about him. “I owe you a present, too.”

Your face scrunches. “What, because I gave you a blowjob?”

At this he laughs, mouth split wide and gums on show as his whole body shakes with the intensity of it. “No, because you brought me a coffee,” he says. He still has your cheek cupped in his hand, palm warm against your skin. “But if you want to say it’s because of the blowjob as well, then sure.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” You smile at him, gentle expression at odds with the meaning behind the words and your position—still on your knees.

You don’t know if they ache when you stand, because Yoongi is kissing you again, distracting you. And it’s easy, this back and forth you have, comfortable as you finish the (now lukewarm) coffees and get ready to go, because Yoongi insists on walking you home. Because he’s a gentleman, your gentleman, and he even holds the door open for you.

You’re not sure if you can reach for his hand, if that would be too forward in his place of work, if he doesn’t want to when this thing between you is so tentative and new. But you’re barely halfway down the corridor when he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm; when you look over, he’s smiling at you, and then tilts his chin up.

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say. 

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove

[bustrkeaton]

after coming back to this site maybe a year and a half ago now, it’s crazy to see my followers grow, and to get to share all my creations with my wonderful, supportive, and crazy-talented mutuals!! I genuinely want to give love to all the ppl willing to follow my blog that hosts waaayyy too many hyperfixations. y’all are loyal. or just really really generous to put up with all the content you didn’t sign up for. so!! to say a great big THANK YOU for my first ever 1k followers, I’m gonna do a bit of a giveaway type thing because I wanna give y’all things. & finally a HUGE LOVE to all my mutuals that make this site worth visiting every day!! you leave the loveliest comments on gifs that make creating fun, and you're all so talented and inspiring and honestly just seem like the coolest ppl! I wish I could take you all shopping and buy you pretty things! (tagging just a handful of these lovelies under the cut at the bottom) rules:

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[prettywordsyouleft]

Fated To Hear You [Soulmate September]

Pairing: Bang Yongguk x female reader

Genre: soulmate au / romance / fluff

Warnings: suggestive moments, non-detailed phone sex, mentioning of sex but again not detailed, and light cursing. Mature relationship, Y/N is at least 30.

Word count: 3665

You barely got to answer the call before a deep and desperate voice sounded down the receiver. “Hey, so it’s Mum’s birthday tomorrow, and I thought I’d be away for it and have time to pick her up a present to bring home with me after my business trip. Now that a travel ban is in place again, it looks like I will be attending the party, and I need to think of something fast.”

You blinked, wondering who the hell was asking you about a birthday party you knew nothing about. Pulling your phone away from your ear, you realised the number wasn’t recognised in your contacts list.

The caller paused. “Yongnam?”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve called the wrong number,” you admitted and was met with the loveliest of husky laughs. He sounded embarrassed, but his deep baritone of a chuckle stunned you into not hastily ending the call.

And you hated being on the phone the best of times.

“Oh, shoot. I’m sorry about that. I don’t know how that happened when I pressed on my brother’s number instead of dialling it.”

“Weird. But uh, I might be able to help you.”

“Really? How so?”

“I run a gift shop where I live and help people in the same predicament as you are all the time,” you confessed, unsure why you were extending the phone call or why your heart was beating as fast as it was.

It had to be about his voice. It was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard in your life.

“Where do you live? Are you open still?”

You inhaled dejectedly. “No, it’s Sunday. My shop isn’t open on the weekends, but I could open it if you were nearby.”

“Where are you located? I’m happy to travel if you’re happy to help out. It’s my Mum’s forty-fifth, and for some reason this year she’s making a big deal about it. Even having a party. On a Monday evening of all days.”

You laughed and let the caller know of the town you were located in. He didn’t answer right away. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“I mean, country wise, yes. But I’m at the opposite end.”

“Darn. Still, I could do some brainstorming with you,” you offered quickly.

“Why are you helping me?”

You hesitated. You couldn’t exactly tell him his voice was something you wanted to keep listening to. “You sounded desperate when you first spoke to me. It makes sense, given my passion for making people smile after receiving the perfect gift that I could lend you some time to figure it out.”

“Well, I’m grateful for your help, Miss…?”

“Y/N,” you answered, your breath hitched in your throat when you listened to the way he inhaled.

“Y/N. Thank you.”

“And you are?” you wondered, his chuckle now shy.

“Forever in your debt if you can help me with this,” he replied before inhaling again. “Yongguk.”

“Yongguk,” you echoed, realising you had said it out loud and cringed, thankful he wasn’t before you.

Though you were admittedly wishing you could see this man with the handsome voice. You were certain his looks would match too.

Clearing your throat noisily, you snapped out of delirium. “So, tell me about your mother. What does she like to do?”

Over the next twenty minutes, Yongguk explained about his mother, and you easily managed to think of five different gifts he could purchase for her, all in different price ranges to suit what he wanted to spend.

Yongguk exhaled deeply. “Honestly, I’m so relieved I misdialled my brother’s number somehow.”

“Really?”

“Of course. He probably would be as clueless of what to get as I am,” he admitted with a laugh, and you closed your eyes, allowing the sound to soak into your mind, your soul.

You were a lost cause over this man for some reason.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re a lifesaver, Y/N.”

“It’s my pleasure. Anything to help your mother smile tomorrow night.”

“I’ll head out and buy one of these ideas now. Thank you again for your time. And I’m sorry for intruding on your Sunday afternoon.”

“It was no intrusion at all. It’s been fun.”

“It has, hasn’t it.”

Both of you fell silent then, and you wondered if Yongguk was waiting for you to end the call first.

Except you kind of didn’t want it to end.

“Y/N?”

“I’m still here.”

“Thank you.”

You giggled. “You said that already.”

“I did. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Well, the shops will close soon,” you pointed out, groaning inwardly at sounding so stupid. Saying that might come across as you wanted to end the call.

Which you so didn’t.

“Of course. And I have to get this for her today.”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

“Right, well—”

“Can I let you know what she thinks of the gift?” he blurted out, and you sank into your couch, delighted by the concept of a second phone call.

“Absolutely.”

“Great, then I’ll call you tomorrow. Or maybe Tuesday? Since the party will be in the evening and I don’t want to contact you too late.”

“Whenever you want to. Just ring me.”

Yongguk chuckled at your eagerness, and you tapped your palm to your forehead several times for being so obvious.

“It’s been really nice chatting to you too.”

“You need to end the call, Yongguk,” you mentioned and listened to him drag out another exhale.

“Me? But you’re capable of doing it too.”

“I know,” you started, trying to think of something to say. “But you called me first.”

“And that means I have to end it?”

“I’m not good at talking on the phone,” you confessed, and Yongguk paused.

“Has this been uncomfortable—”

“No. No! Nothing like that,” you cut in hastily, kicking your legs out in protest of your stupid mouth. “Absolutely not. I’ve… I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“That’s why you don’t want to hang up?” he surmised, and you sighed.

“Pretty much.”

“Can I be honest?” You motioned for him to continue with a positive hum. “I’m not good at this either. I’m actually pretty shy towards strangers.”

“You had me fooled, Yongguk.”

“Well, you had me captivated, Y/N,” he answered immediately, and then cleared his throat noisily. “Oh, uh, um… shoot.”

“I’ll hang up, just to help you out. How does that sound?” you suggested with a giggle, and you were certain Yongguk swore softly.

“Would you? I feel like I’ve put my foot in it now.”

“You haven’t. No more than I have. And if you want to still tell me about your mother, I’d be really happy to hear from you again.”

“Good. Because I want to hear you again too.”

“Should I say goodbye or just hang up?” you wondered awkwardly.

“Goodbye Y/N. And uh, thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. Bye.”

Hanging up the call, you stared at the phone you held in your hand in a daze. You had totally flirted with him – albeit very awkwardly – and Yongguk… well, he had flirted back.

Throwing yourself down onto your couch, you spasmed with an outburst of happiness before reaching for your phone and saving Yongguk’s number.

God. He had a beautiful voice.

As promised, Yongguk called you first thing Tuesday morning to let you know that not only had his mother loved the gift he’d gotten her, his was her favourite. You had been delighted, of course, beaming proudly across your gift store at the praise for your efforts.

And probably because his voice in the morning was even huskier than it had been the first time. Could you fall for just a voice? You were certainly stumbling down the path to find out.

As you walked around preparing for the day before you opened your store, you chatted with each other mindlessly. He asked what the weather was like where you were, and you asked if he was making coffee when you heard a machine in the background. You weren’t sure if you had the right to ask for more personal information. Especially since this would probably be your last call together.

The less you knew, the easier it would be to let go of Yongguk.

You hoped, anyway.

“So, you have ten minutes until the shop opens?” he asked after taking a sip of the beverage he had made himself.

“Uh-huh.”

“I have just ten more minutes?”

“Well, I doubt there will be customers walking in here right on nine,” you replied, and Yongguk chuckled. “What do you want to talk about for the next ten minutes?”

“Everything. Anything. You.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just really like talking to you,” he admitted, and you felt giddy.

“If it’s not at all obvious, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Is it? I had no idea.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, so long as I can call you later on and get to ask you all I want to know.”

“You’ll call me?”

“Can I?” you wondered, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip nervously.

“Please do. Call me every day.”

“Every day?” you echoed with a giggle. “Why, someone might consider you infatuated with a stranger, Yongguk.”

“Your voice is… I can’t get enough of it,” he said softly, and you inhaled sharply. “Was that wrong to say?”

“Goodness, no. I uh, have quite the thing for your voice too.”

“The thing?” he teased, and you groaned loudly.

“I’ve never heard such a deep and husky voice before.”

“Well, I’ve never been entranced by a tone quite like yours either.”

“I’m ready for those questions,” you pointed out shakily, hoping that if you could talk about yourself, you would stop swooning.

Except you didn’t.

Not after you ended that phone call. Nor after ringing him back as soon as you were home that night. And it continued, both the head over heels feeling and the phone calls, every day for a month.

You were certain, without even meeting Yongguk, that you knew everything about him from how much you chatted. Hours would go by in the blink of an eye each night, and there were times where you had fallen asleep and then woken up together, still connected on the phone that neither of you had the desire to hang up in between. Your entire life was encased with this man.

A man you hadn’t seen a single thing about yet.

It was intentional, that part. For some reason early into your phone calls, you both agreed that you didn’t want to complicate things by sharing social media accounts. Yongguk worked as a music producer in one of the big cities up north, and you knew just how busy his schedule was for the next few months.

It was easier to just chat, even if you ached to know what he looked like.

“Describe yourself to me,” he asked late into one night, your eyes lazily travelling to the red digits on the clock on your bedside table. It was almost two in the morning, and you didn’t care if you needed to meet up with your mother for brunch tomorrow. You’d sleep later.

You’d give up sleep entirely just to keep talking.

“What do you mean?”

“Start from the top of your head. What does your hair look like?” he wondered in a voice barely louder than a whisper. You felt the question to be strangely intimate, and you grew wired, languidly telling him what you looked like, your hand trailing along your body as you talked.

His breathing was uneven as you did so, which only caused you to fall deeper into desire. After you were done, Yongguk repeated the process, his words hitting you like foreplay. You closed your eyes as you imagined his dark locks, the loose curls long enough to brush into his dark brown eyes, wide nose, thick lips. You saw his long neck, the way he pointed out little beauty spots and tattoos he had over his body as he inched further down, filling you with such a heated atmosphere you were certain you might explode.

“You should go to sleep,” he whispered when he finished. “It’s late, Y/N.”

“I should.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, swallowing roughly. “Though, I don’t know how I’m going to sleep with this image of you in my head just yet.”

It was dangerous. His tone, his breathlessness, the image he had built in your head. All of it had you trying to swim up current. He was washing over you, lust pooling within. You bit your lip, trying to stop a shaky exhale.

“How am I meant to sleep when all I can think of is you?”

“Do you need me to help you?” he groaned out, and that did it. You threw away all inhibitions. His heated instructions, your travelling hand, his moans, you unravelled with all of these sensations.

Over his voice.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you commented once your heart rate dropped enough to stop strumming loudly in your head. The stars you had seen cleared, and you stared up at your ceiling in wonder. “I’ve… never done something like that.”

“Neither. Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Good. I don’t want it to be the last time.”

Rolling onto your side, you drew little circles into the bedding beside you as you pulled your phone up off the pillow to your ear. “What happened to the guy I met by chance over the phone who was shy towards strangers?”

“For one, you’re definitely not a stranger to me anymore, Y/N,” he confirmed with a needy tone, and you smiled warmly. “That guy met someone over the phone who changed how shy he was towards just a voice. And there’s no way this was something left down to chance. Not in my opinion, anyway.”

“So, we’re like fated souls?” you questioned, half-humouring the concept.

“I like that idea, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, realising you wanted to be fated to Yongguk.

You wanted to be his.

“I want to meet you,” he admitted after a few minutes of thoughtful silence, and you sat up with a start, blinking several times over. “I need to meet you.”

“But we live so far apart.”

“And?”

“As much as I want to meet you too, I thought you—”

“Let me meet you,” he pleaded, your heart rate going up several notches again.

“You name the date and time, and I’ll be there, Yongguk.”

It took five weeks to plan the right time to meet. If you both had it your way, it would have been the very next morning. But your mother had dropped the news on your shoulders that your Aunt was coming up for a couple of weeks and needed to crash at your place. And then Yongguk had to fly out for work for another week.

Finally, the day arrived where Yongguk would meet you.

You had offered to go to the city, but Yongguk decided coming down to your township felt better, and so you were waiting inside a coffee shop, fiddling with your hair as you watched the front door avidly. You had told your best friend about Yongguk after agreeing to meet in person, not that you had any concerns over him being someone dangerous. He had insisted on you letting someone know too, which only made you feel more at ease about meeting him for the first time.

Well, as much as you could be at ease. You were certain that your heart was going to go into cardiac arrest with how hard it thumped with anticipation.

You were going to meet the man you had started falling for over the phone. It was a laughable concept if you took your feelings out of the equation. All you had with Yongguk was daily conversations. He could be completely different in person. You could be unattracted to him, even with the in-depth description of the first night he had drawn your mind and soul out of your body into Nirvana. Heck, he could be unattracted to you personally too.

Yet, you knew deep in your heart that it wouldn’t be the case. You would find him more irresistible. It wasn’t just talking. It was a connection like no other you both harboured. You had never felt this way about anyone before. Not over the last thirty years of existence. No man made you feel this cherished, this desirable. No one knew every little thought you possessed like Yongguk did.

No one had entrusted you with themselves like this either.

So, when the door opened and a tall man entered, you knew it was him. Your lips instantly spread into a warm smile as he shook his curls out of his warm brown eyes, scanning the room for you.

And God, he had forgotten to tell you he had dimples. His smile was so deep that you didn’t even realise it had caused you to stand up with a start, watching as he strode purposely towards you, taking you into his arms without any hesitance.

You held on, burying into him, inhaling his spicy cologne and feeling his muscled back under your hands that had slipped up to rest there. There wasn’t anyone else in this room but the two of you, holding one another for an immeasurable time, falling deeper for one another without even a single word.

You’d spoken so much now that words weren’t needed. You knew all that he was expressing to you through this embrace, and you were sure you didn’t ever want to step out of it.

But eventually, Yongguk pulled back just enough to shoot you another gummy smile, shifting hair away from your face tenderly. “Hi.”

“Hey,” you shot back just as giddily, watching his dimples deepen.

“Shit. You exceeded all my thoughts about you,” he murmured, and you allowed your hands to fall to his arms still around you.

“Right back at you.”

“And your voice in person is even more amazing. I need to sit down before I get too dizzy,” he admitted, and you grinned, unashamed by anything he was saying. He sat, and you took the seat you had been in before, but your hands remained linked, eyes firmly attached to one another.

“This is… so surreal,” you told him, and Yongguk nodded. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“Me too.”

“This is our first real meeting, but it’s not either,” you continued, sighing when his thumb ran over the top of the hand he held.

“It’s confirmed a lot for me,” he stated. “The feelings I have from our conversations just got amplified.”

“Same.”

“Should we order something?”

“Can I order you?” you breathed out, and Yongguk’s deep laughter ruptured out of him. You watched him dreamily as you grinned. “What? I’m wondering if you’re on the menu.”

“Only if you are too.”

“Maybe later?”

His eyes grew heated. “Definitely later.”

And what you both wanted physically did come later, more than once, and it felt even more perfect than it had over the phone. The whole day had, and as his weeklong stay drew to a close, you found yourself nestled over his heart, trailing your fingers over his tattooed chest.

“Have I told you that I’ve never been with someone who has tattoos?” you murmured into his bare skin, shuddering in delight with how Yongguk’s hand travelled up and down your spine mindlessly.

“Am I too much of a bad boy for you, Y/N?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You don’t fit the bad boy persona. Definitely not when you smile, that’s for sure. I didn’t realise how much I would like to trail my fingers over them all.”

“I didn’t know how much I would like it either,” he confirmed, pressing a kiss into the crown of your head. “Or you. How much I like you is… indescribable.”

“More people should meet over the phone. Maybe we should start a company for singles where they have to talk over the phone instead of meet face to face first.”

“Whilst it’s worked for us, I’m sure there’s a lot of flaws and safety issues in such a situation.”

“That’s true,” you agreed softly, glancing up at him. You couldn’t resist kissing along his neck and jawline before talking again. “We’re working, though.”

“We’re going to keep working even when I go back tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how we’ll work apart now,” you cautiously told him. “I’m far too greedy for all of this.”

“I’ll be back in the weekend. Every weekend, I’ll come to you,” Yongguk promised, and your lips spread out happily.

“I’ll come to you too. Until we both can decide on where we want to live in the future together.”

“I don’t care where it is. Anywhere will be perfect as long as you’re there.”

You hummed in delight, kissing Yongguk several times before resting back against his chest. “Hey, I know it doesn’t really matter, but do you remember when you first rang me? You said that you pressed call on your brother’s name. How would that connect to my number if you had his saved there? You didn’t recently save it, did you?”

“No. My twin’s number has always been the same. I checked several times over, and I even rang Yongnam afterwards the same way and it connected to him. How it happened is still a mystery after all this time.”

“That’s crazy. I wonder how it happened?”

“Fate is the only answer,” Yongguk told you, and you looked up at him, his lips curling up into a devastating smile as he brushed his hand over your face tenderly. “We were meant for one another from the first time I heard you speak.”

You decided then that you were fated. There was no other answer. And you were already well on your way towards loving this man.

His sexy voice and all the rest of him too.

_________________

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[aminiatureworld]

Frustration

Characters: Childe, Diluc, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,068 words

Premise: Commissions don’t always go as planned, much to your frustration. Luckily there’s someone there to make you feel better.

Author’s Note: So I’ve been thinking of writing Genshin stuff for months now but haven’t, for various reasons mainly that being how much this blog is already a bit of a disarrayed mess. But after awhile I decided another fandom won’t hurt. Besides I think it’s better to write something than nothing, even if the fandom keeps changing. So… yeah?

This particular scenario was basically my day today. The characters have been chosen out of my own personal will. I was going to do Zhongli as well but I’m exhausted so if this is well received perhaps I’ll do that another day.

Also I’m so tired I’m halfway to a headache and feel a bit floaty so sorry if there are grammar mistakes and such. Anyways, hope you like!

Character Banners in progress

Ao3 link in reblog

Childe

“I’m gonna kill someone.” You muttered, slamming your weapon down on the table, causing the ginger next to you to start.

“As long as that person’s not me I’ll be glad to help you.” You weren’t sure whether you found the comment worrying, insulting, or charming, and decided not to reply, instead throwing yourself in the chair across from Childe, usually reserved for customers or some member of the Fatui higherups, though today you could care less.

“Hey, am I not good enough?” Childe half whined half joked. You only grunted before getting up and walking over to his chair, plopping yourself on his lap and promptly picking at a stray thread on his coat which had caught your eye and was now becoming an increasing source of irritation.

Taking this as a sign Childe gently pried your nails away from the offending thread. Placing your palms in his gloved hands he smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Want to tell me about it?”

“It’s this stupid ley line! You know, the one in the stone forest? I was commissioned to keep an eye on it, normal stuff, but this one seems absolutely crawling with all sorts of slimes and the like, hilichurls too and a stray bandit here or there. They keeping breaking the damn thing and the minute I fix it they’re back again. At this rate I’m not going to finish it!” You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking of the hours you’d spent fighting with the thing. You’d even let out a few tears of frustration in the process, and having nothing to show for it was intensely irritating, to say the least.

“Poor darling.” Childe’s smirk was timeless, but there was a softness to it that you took as confirmation that he understood. I mean if anyone was going to understand it was going to be a member of the Fatui. As much as you disliked the group on principle, you did have to admit that Childe was certainly a hard worker, and running around at the whims of the far off Tsaritsa certainly had its trials.

Slumping against his chest you allowed yourself to relax a bit, some tension brought out simply by the act of telling someone about the frustrations that were building up, like someone shaking a corked bottle. Childe kissed your hands, a welcome distraction, before giving you a peck on the nose. You smiled at that, squeezing his hands. It felt good to have someone to complain to, to have someone who understood. But that was Childe, surprisingly understanding. And always looking for a fight.

“So…” as if on cue Childe spoke up, tone becoming truer, his smile becoming more foxlike. “You have something you need help fighting I hear.”

“Don’t let this get you any ideas.” You smirked right back. “I can still whip you when it comes to sparring at you know it. Besides, won’t I get in trouble if you’re there.”

“Give me half the commission rate and we’ll call it square.”

“Such a steep rate!” You gasped in fake horror, nevertheless lifting yourself off the chair. Childe was up no sooner, giving you a mischievous grin.

“Well of course! I can’t have you fleecing me out of my money. Not when I’ve already given you my heart, which is quite expensive by the way.” Giving you a quick forehead kiss he took your hand then, giving some half assed excuse to the poor desk clerk when they asked where he was going. “I have to save someone some trouble.”

You scoffed at that, but it was true. Childe was saving you a lot of trouble, and keeping your pride in some sort of piece. That was Childe. Wild, passionate, aching for a fight, perhaps not a great person – no in fact decidedly not so. But he was also surprisingly caring, reliable, and steadfast. And that was all you could ask for in the moment.

 Diluc

“Do you know where in Monstadt someone is supposed to find 50 Windwheel Asters?”

Diluc whipped his head up at that one; out of all the things he expected you to say that was certainly not one of them. It was almost closing time at the Winery, and this was normally the time when you came up to see him, chatting about this and that, waiting for him to close the ledger so you two could have some time together. In the entire history of your relationship there’d never been an evening that began such as this.

“There should be some around here, and Windrise if you’re in for a bit of a hike. But 50 is an awful lot, and I’m not sure the florists would be happy if you carted off with all their flowers.”

“I know.” You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall, picking at your fingernails. “I know that finding 50 of anything in a day is a hard task. But I was given a short noticed commission by some wealthy tradesman who’s passing by and wanted some flowers for a gala or some such thing. It’s important for the Guild that I complete these you know, and I’m not looking forward to telling Katheryne about it tomorrow.”

You sighed, glancing out the window of the Winery. You thought of all the places in Monstadt the view was perhaps loveliest here, cozy, with a view of all that made Monstadt, the planes, the forest, even a glimpse of the waterways that ran through it. But right now all you could think about was how in such a vast swath of land you’d still failed to meet the goal, you’d still turned up empty handed.

“Would you sit next to me?” Diluc’s voice broke you out of your depressing reverie and you sat down in the chair adjacent to his – a recent addition to his office – laying your head somewhat awkwardly on his shoulder, running your hands through his soft hair. You two sat in silence like that for a bit, the steady flow of Diluc’s pen keeping your eyes occupied while your hands braided and twisted at random, gentle and absentminded.

Finally the ledger was closed and Diluc turned to you. Smiling he massaged your left shoulder slightly, eliciting a sigh from you.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things like this.” He began, his tone soft and low. “No reasonable person on Earth would ask you to gather so many flowers in a day. Even Flora doesn’t sell that many to a single customer without an order, and her whole job consists of selling flora. You’ve watched me work long enough, do you think I’d sell 50 kegs of wine to a tradesman on site?”

“No, of course not.” You mumbled. “But it’s my job to do the unconventional requests, how can I pick and choose at random? I can’t very well complete only half of my commissions.”

“Of course not, but nobody expects you to simultaneously catch 50 flowers out of thin air either. The Guild has its own regulations and rules you know, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a violation of one. No one doubts your prowess my dear. You’ve slain Eyes of Storms and have scaled mountains taller than most people in Monstadt might ever imagine. You done what might be considered impossible to some many times. So you should trust in the Guild and in the people of Monstadt. They aren’t well likely to turn their back on you over such a ridiculous request.”

You hummed a reply, resting your hands on Diluc’s. All he said was probably right of course, Katheryne could very well tell you how ridiculous such a request was, and no harm would come to your reputation. But your relationship with Diluc was still young, there was still so much to learn about the other, and so hearing such confident praise from him felt like a sort of gift, recompense for such a frustrating ordeal. Humming once more you leaned your head on his shoulder again. Tomorrow you would go and tell the Guild about the debacle, and let the man know the ridiculousness of his request. But tonight you just wanted to rest with the person you cherished the most. That was all you wished for.

 Xiao

“Something’s wrong.” Xiao’s voice was purposefully flat, and you wondered not for the first time how the adeptus in front of you had become so good at reading your mood, especially considering the fact that he admitted himself that his grasp on human emotions was a tricky one. He always seemed to know when you were upset at least, and your initial urge to attempt to hide your frustration immediately blew away.

“It’s been a rough day.” You admitted, standing next to him on the Wangshu Inn’s railing, letting the cool evening breeze cool you down. It’d been an obnoxiously hot day, and you were glad for any bit of fresh air. Xiao said nothing, but you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for your decision as to whether or not you’d let him know the reason you were upset. Not that it was really a question, at this point you couldn’t imagine a time when you didn’t tell Xiao practically everything, from the most mundane to those things that loomed largest in your life. You’d never met someone you trusted so much in your life before, and it felt rather freeing, knowing that he didn’t mind a bit, something that had scared you when you first began opening up to him.

“It’s just a commission, nothing ground shaking. Thankfully.” You added on, thinking of when Liyue had almost been swallowed whole; the moment when it seemed all would fail, before the miraculous traveler had bound the adept and the citizens of Liyue together. It was something you weren’t likely to forget, and something you never wished to relive. “That being said.” You added on. “It’s something that, well, is distressing me a lot.”

Xiao stood patiently as you explained to him that your deceptively simple commission of delivering food to someone had managed to go horribly awry after a group of Cryo slimes had left the food frozen solid, with the angry customer unwilling to pay or wait for a replacement.

“It wasn’t too expensive thankfully.” You remarked. “I mean it was just food. But it feels silly, and a bit embarrassing. I mean of course I should’ve paid, I don’t begrudge that. I just don’t understand how I managed to screw up something so fundamentally simple. It seems… somehow a bit of a slap in the fact. I mean, aren’t I any good?”

“Of course you are.” Xiao’s answer was firm, but not unkind. Instead it held in it the certainty of one who’d lived thousands of years, and whose trust in you was absolute. Drawing closer, the adeptus glanced around, making sure there was no one around, before slinging an arm around your own, drawing you close and running soft circles around your shoulder.

“You’re a great adventurer.” He remarked, voice filled with as much serious as there was fondness. “I’ve seen many warriors, many adventurers come and go in my time. Those whose feats will fill the pages of books and the staves of songs long after they themselves have been reduced to ashes. Those who will be called great heroes. All of them fell sometimes. And, if you must fall, I’d rather it be over something so simple as a botched food delivery.”

You glanced up into Xiao’s eyes. Normally he was reticent with words, even moreso with gestures. Every word let you deeper into someone’s life, into their past, their personality, their soul. No word was careless with Xiao. And as you stared at eyes filled with pride and love and worry, suddenly you felt as if what had just passed was small, oh so very small. There would be another commission, just as there would be another tomorrow. There’d be another failure most likely too. Many of them even. But they were small stones in a great big pond, quickly sinking out of sight and out of mind.

“I love you.” You breathed, and Xiao’s face seemed to open all of a sudden, shedding a thousand cares and a thousand worries. He pressed his forehead to your own.

“I love you too.”

[butdidmarlenacomebackhome]

✨hcs for the courtiers reacting to their s/o wearing their trademark outfits✨

i think i did a pretty decent job at keeping this gender-neutral, let me know if there is any mistake/room for improvement. i'd love to hear your feedback 👉🏻👈🏻

🍷consul valerius

• blushes hard

• "what a presumptious lack of decorum" said while still blushing, therfore only half-hearted

• desperately tries to hide how much he likes it but his eyes permanently glued on you kind of betray him

• the only thing he loves more than himself & his status is you, so imagine how utterly smug would he be about seeing you in his attire (not that he'd ever openly show it!!! it wouldn't be proper of him 👀👀👀)

• if you follow him around/he catches sight of you while going about his day, any hope to get things done is thrown out the window

• he's definitely not staring at you during the courtiers' meeting, his eyes just happened to focus on the general area where you're standing/sitting

• at the end of the day will literally leave you a note on your bed saying you can keep the clothes, you're welcome ("my wardrobe can afford to lose a spare, while yours could definitely use something fashionable for a change")

• spoiler it's just a roundabout way to say he wants to see you wearing his clothes again & more often 👀

• from that day on, will go out of his way to gift you jewelry, clothes, accessories matching to his own and fully expects you to always wear them

🍖procurator volta

• blushes like crazy & her eyes literally fill with stars & sparkles,, almost cries bc of what she perceives to be a clear display of affection

• "mc!!! you look!!! absolutely!!! gorgeous!!!" in modern!au would definitely tell you you look like a snackkk but to be fair she thinks you're gorgeous on any normal day

• follows you around the whole day & shily holds your hand, she loves the idea of the two of you making your way through the palace in matching outfits

• normally she'd be pretty quaint but with you by her side reassuring her of your love so openly,,, she's just over the moon my friends 🚀🚀🚀

• thinks her clothes suit you better than they'd ever do on her, but on a side note she also probably thinks anything would look good on you (the precious baby ಥ_ಥ)

• she's also pretty honored to have you dress like her, it's like a public love declaration & it makes her all fuzzy to know you're not embarrassed of her

• she'll literally convince you to stop for snacks every 15 minutes tho & no matter what you're doing or what business you're attending to, you just can't resist her puss in boots eyes & decide to join her every single time

• at the end of the day, she hugs you (I hc her loving pda but rarely initiating it bc she's too shy, so it's a bit of a shock to suddenly receive a hug from her in the middle of the castle hallway) & thanks you for the wonderful day. snuggle with her in bed. do it.

tw. for slight nsfw-ish in next one but it's literally just an allusion that's barely even there + like 1 swear word

🐞pontifex vulgora

• does a double take, like they probably were just storming the hallways going off on a tangent about how tHERE'S NOT BEEN A SINGLE FIGHT IN DECADES AND THEY'RE SO WILLING TO START ONE WITH THE FIRST ONE THEIR EYES LAND ON- and then their eyes land on you and they have to check again to see if they'd actually seen what they think they've seen

• and holy shit do you look hot

• the gauntlets on you? the armor attire? yes ma'am please and thank you

• 100% will tease you at first

• "WHAT IS THIS? HAVE YOU FINALLY FALLEN OFF THE COUNTESS' GRACES NOT TO BE ABLE TO AFFORD YOUR OWN CLOTHES ANYMORE, MAGICIAN?"

• when you scoff & tell them you'd go get changed, they phisically S T O P you

• "I DIDN'T SAY YOU COULD GO, MAGICIAN. ARE YOU BACKING OUT OF YOUR OWN DECISION? IF YOU'RE NOT A COWARD YOU HAVE TO STICK TO IT, PET"

• proceeds to drag you wherever they go to show you off & always finds a way to keep their hands on you (they prolly also start carrying you on their shoulder at some point)

• will probably try to convince you to fight because you "have to look the part", your call if you want to humor the smol anger issues gremlin or not

• at the end of the day, they'd unabashedly ask you to keep the gauntlets on for later 👀

💉quaestor valdemar

• “oh what do we have here?”

• dr uwu is already more or less accustomed to seeing you in medical gear given the amount time you spend together in the dungeons (loveliest place for play dates mind you) but seeing you in their clothes is indeed something new

• a little confused at first but they got the spirit

• might tilt their head when they see you at first, then circle around you with that little cute smug smirk on their face to inspect you throughly and take you in from all angles [ I'm looking: respectfully 😌 ] just like a cat

• MOST IMPORTANTLY!! you know how they got those two cute bandaged silly cones on their head right??? there's no way you could get those to stand upright so you just kinda bandaged your head & gave up on trying to replicate the exact look but,, dr uwu notices & they're like ay no capt'n this ain't gonna fly here

• “now, now little magician we simply can't have that. a job half done is only half the fun after all” and they actually!!! make you sit down!!! reach out behind you!!! and start working on the bandages!!! braiding your hair!!! tucking them in!!! giving you their trademark cape!!!! yes i'm melting as i write this

• they too would appreciate having you around just to observe everyone's reactions to you both casually walking through the palace (shockingly) or in the dungeons while wearing matching clothes

• power couple tbh you'd have fun intimidating & unsettling every poor soul unlucky enough to encounter you on their path

• “are you having fun, my little magician? you seem to amuse yourself quite easily”

• at the end of the day if you ask nicely they may accept to lend them to you some other time you can tell they actually had quite a bit of fun too even if they don't say so out loud

🐛praetor vlastomil

• “s/o! what a lovely sight for sore eyes!”

• one word: e c s t a t i c

• def appreciates the gesture and gets quite vocal about it,, this worm baby will shower you with compliments and attention all day

• prepare yourself to be paraded around all day while vlastomil stops random servants just to say things along the lines of “look at my gorgeous s/o, aren't they just lovely?” cue love struck gaze towards you

• he ignores whatever response random servant #143 comes up with & quickly moves on

• you know what time is it??? time to visit your babies!!! the wormies would be so happy to see you!! I hope you're not squeamish he will prompt them to show you some love too

• probably urges you to keep your head high and be confident as you walk arm in arm to remind the peasants where they stand (beneath the soles of your shoes) together <3

• probably takes you for a carriage ride to show you off some more & stare flippantly at peasants

• will fix any slight imperfection every 2 seconds, like tilting your cape so that it doesn't hang too low nor too on the side & if he's close enough he'll give you a smooch or two too istg this man has no chill

• at the end of the day he whines sm because he doesn't want you to take off his clothes,, if you manage to convince him you actually have to get changed be prepared to be BOMBARDED with requests for you to do it again for the rest of your life

[deans-baby-momma]

Once In A Lifetime

A/N: Well guys. I guess you can say I fell down a rabbit hole....DEEP down a rabbit hole. And I’m going to blame Walker. LOL I’ve always been a Jensen/Dean girl with Jared/Sam curiosity and after a dream I had a few nights ago, THIS happened.  Now the dream was only the first part of this story, meeting them in a restaurant but them, while writing it took on a life of it’s own and I am not sorry in the least. 

Summary: During your shift as a waitress as a restaurant in Austin, you are surprised to find two of your favorite celebrities in your section. How will that encounter cause you to have a once in a lifetime experience? 

W/C: 11,138 words ( I’m not the least bit sorry)

Y/N: Your Name; Y/E/E: Your employment establishment

Warnings: ogling, fantasies, smut, p in v, fingering, v on v, oral (both giving and receiving), fisting, anal play, cum play, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, squirting, daddy kink, mama kink

"Holy shit," I exclaim before clapping my palm over my mouth as there were three adorable children in the vicinity. "Sorry. My name is Y/N and I'll be your server today," I say as I try to calm down. Jared and Genevieve Padalecki were seated in my zone at Y/E/E. "Can I interest you in some appetizers or some coloring pages and crayons for the kids?"

I can't help but glance around at the five of them. They two boys sporting the longer locks like their dad and the little girl, all dolled up with her light brown hair flowing down over her shoulders. They were three of the six most adorable kids in the world; the other three being the Ackles kids but I had yet to see them in person, only on the computer.  

“We will take some buffalo cauliflower bites and some mozzarella cheese sticks with marinara,” the loveliest voice I’d ever heard spoke. I look toward Genevieve to see her smiling at me, her brown eyes sparkling. 

“And-” I pause to swallow. “-for drinks?”

“Whatever is on tap for Jared, I’ll take a sweet tea with lemon and the kids will have Sprite,” she tells me, the smile on her face unmoving. ‘God she’s gorgeous,’ I think to myself as I write down the orders. ‘Jared is one lucky son of a bitch.’

I grin as I tell them I will be right back with their drinks and head toward the server area. I throw my pad down on the counter and lean against it, my palms flat against the granite. How the fuck am I going to get through serving them? I have had a crush on Genevieve since I watched Wildfire a few years ago. And then when I caught an episode of Supernatural and got a glimpse of Jared, I was in lust, for both of them. 

And now I had to cater to and serve them while being professional and less of a crazy fan. Yea that isn’t going to happen. I know myself too well. I’m going to do or say something that will absolutely humiliate myself in front of the two celebrities I have adored for years. 

Thanks to some tactical breathing exercises while waiting on their food and an internal pep talk, I got through serving the Padalecki family and when they asked for the bill I was a bit saddened that their visit was coming to an end. I knew I’d probably never see them again.

As I printed out their receipt I lamented the fact that the one time I met anyone famous it was at work and I couldn’t ask for an autograph or photo with them. I smiled as I gave them the sales slip and walked away. 

From my post behind the server’s desk I watched as the five of them got up and walked toward the door. Genevieve looked my way and smiled and waved as they left. I returned the gesture and giggled. 

After making sure the coast was clear, I approached their table to collect the payment and take it to the register. What I wasn’t expecting with the cash, was a handwritten note with a phone number on it. 

‘Y/N your service was magnificent. Here’s a little tip for you and a bigger one awaits, if you are interested. (xxx)xxx-xxxx. ~Gen’

Did she really expect me to call her? Was this even her real number? What kind of tip is she referring to anyway? I look at the money in my hand to see that they have paid almost $50 more than their bill! What bigger tip than that could it be?!

I waited until my shift was over and I was in the comfort of my own vehicle before I pulled the piece of paper with the number out of my apron.

Opening the text app with shaky fingers, I typed out the response I had thought of all evening.

Hey. Is this Genevieve Padalecki? It's Y/N from Y/E/E. I was your waitress earlier. 

Almost immediately my phone pings and I see that whomever I texted had responded.

Hey Y/N. Yes, it's me. Glad to see you found my note.

Yea, I did. What I can't figure out is why you left it. Did I do something wrong?

Oh sweetie no! You were the perfect hostess. Sweet, friendly, easy on the eyes ;)

Whoa, was this married woman flirting with me? This famous married woman who had an attractive, sexy, famous as well husband. 

Uh, thanks. 

You caught not only my eye but Jare's as well. We'd like to get to know you better.  Have you already gotten off? From work, I mean. Ha!

Ok, if that isn't flirting then I don't know what is. That was definitely an innuendo, right?

Yes. I'm sitting in my car.

Wanna come over? The kids are in bed. Us adults can talk without interruptions. 

Uh, okay. I'm gonna kinda need your address. I might be a fan but I'm not that kind of fan.

Gen sends me her address, along with the code to get into the gate. I realize they live in the gated community about 45 minutes away. 

I look in the rearview and notice my hair is frizzy and half of it has fallen out of the ponytail it was in. I really didn't want to show up on their doorstep looking like a charity case but then again was I going to pass up the opportunity to get to know two of my favorite celebrities?

If you aren't interested we completely understand.

Gen's message breaks me out of my reverie and I look at it, deciding what the hell.

On my way now. 

We can't wait to see you again Y/N!

I place my phone in the cupholder and start the car up, still in shock that I'm headed to the personal home of Jared and Genevieve Padalecki. 

What universe am I in?!

I get to their house and Genevieve meets me at the door.

"Hey Y/N," she greets me with a smile. "Did you have any trouble getting in the gate?"

"No, it opened right up as soon as I punched in the code." 

Gen is dressed down for the evening. Well, as dressed down as I'm sure famous rich people can  be. She is wearing velour sweat shorts, probably some name brand designer and her t-shirt has the Family Business Brewery logo and name printed on it. 

And here I look like a slob who can't care for herself. I so do not belong here.

"Come on in," Genevieve continues as she opens the door wide. "Jared is in the kitchen making us ladies some drinks."

"Uh, I don't know. I mean, I still have to drive home later."

"Or you could stay," she says as she takes my hand and stands right in front of me. Genevieve is just a couple inches taller than I am so we are practically face to face. 

"Oh."

That's all I can say. It is glaringly obvious now what this visit is. And if I said I wasn't down for it I'd be lying!

Gen smiles as she takes her free hand and reaches behind me, pulling the tie from my hair. I feel the weight of it fall to my shoulders. 

"That's better," she says then turns and pulls me further into the house.

We get to the kitchen and Jared is standing there, dressed down also in a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt. I can't stop myself as my eyes run down the length of his body.

The t-shirt doesn't do much to hide the breath of his shoulders or the bulk of his pecs,  the arms of the fabric stretched tight over his biceps. As my eyes wander lower, I realize that all the rumors I'd heard about the heft and length of his 'conda were not exaggerated as I can definitely see the outline of it behind the silky material of his shorts.  But what really draws my attention is the definition of his calf muscles; even relaxed they distend from his legs, the skin taut over them.

"Hey. You made it," his voice brings my attention back to his face. "I'm Jared."

"I know," I say sincerely, internally wincing at how nervous I sound. I smile to hide the uneasiness.

"Yea, I kinda figured that out at Y/E/E by your reaction," he chuckles as he hands a glass to his wife.  "Gen wanted a margarita but we have some craft beer in the fridge if that is more your taste. It's really good. Our friends, Jensen and Dee, own a brewery."

"Family Business," I state with a nod. "I've wanted to go check it out but haven't had a chance,  yet."

"Well, maybe we can get you a private tour sometime," he tells me with a wink. "Now, name your poison."

I settle for a Cosmic Cowboy, Jared grabs a Grackle for himself and the three of us make our way to the living room.

Their house is magnificent. There are logs, de-barked, as beams across the ceiling and even the staircase is made of the same type of wood. I'd seen it in a family picture on the internet but never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I'd be inside this home to appreciate the beauty of it.

The Padalecki's and I talk for what seems like hours. We all seem to have so much in common. Eventually I had traded the beer for one of Jared's famous margaritas,  thanks to Gen's suggestion and before I knew it I was on my third one and not feeling any pain.

A smile was glued to my face and I couldn't stop giggling. I was drinking with Jared and Genevieve Padalecki! Who would have ever thought that.

Jared takes the almost empty glass from my hand and laughs at the pout I give him.

"Ok lush," he says with his own deep giggle. "If you get too drunk we can't talk about what we invited you here for."

In my inebriated state, I say words I never in a million years thought I would ever utter. "You want to fuck me."

Jared looks surprised and glances at Genevieve, which causes me to look at her as I realize what I just said.

Can you go from intoxicated to sober in less than 5 seconds? Because I just did!

"Oh my god!" I exclaim. "I'm so sorry. I have no filter when I've been drinking."

I start to fidget and prepare to be thrown out of their house. I am taken aback when Gen smiles and says, "Yes we do."

There is a trail of clothing from the top of the staircase down the hall to where we are now. My body is being held up against the wall as Jared devours my mouth, Gen's lips on my neck and shoulder.

"You are so fucking sexy," she whispers and I whimper into her husband's mouth. "You caught my eye as soon as we walked into Y/E/E this evening. I knew I wanted you and Jared agreed."

"Let's take this into the bedroom," Jared murmurs against my lips and hoists me up by the back of my thighs, urging me to wrap my legs around his waist.

He carries me into the room with Genevieve following closely behind. He lays me back on the bed and hovers over me, his body pressed tightly to mine. I can feel his erection digging into my lower stomach.

"Jared," Gen calls in a sultry, seductive voice. "Share."

Jared pushes up off of me and Gen steps between my open knees. "Let's get these panties off of you," she says and I notice that she has already removed hers plus her bra and is standing at the edge of the bed in all her naked glory.

To say Genevieve Padalecki was beautiful would be an understatement but her nude? Well it just amped up the sexiness by a bajillion. She has no hair on her pussy, shaved (or waxed) clean. Her tits are perfect handfuls with pretty little rosy pink nipples that are erect and hardened. 

She has pulled her soft brown hair up into a makeshift bun and I watch as she reaches forward, her dainty fingers curling into the hem of my plain panties. Thank god I took the time before work to landscape!

She gasps as my equally shaven cunt is exposed as she pulls the garment down my legs and off my feet. 

"Such a pretty little pussy huh Jared?"

Jared comes back into my line of vision and he smiles at me before his eyes trail down to look at my bare body.

"So pretty," he says breathlessly as his hands come up and around his wife, his big hands covering her tits. "Bet it tastes so good. You gonna let Gen eat you out Y/N? Let her taste that sweet box."

I nod and he tsks. "Words Y/N. Use your words little kitten."

I swallow audibly and speak. "Yes. I want Gen to eat my pussy."

Gen smiles as she turns her head and kisses Jared passionately. After a few seconds though he pulls away, and pushes her closer to me. "Get to licking, baby while I open you up."

Gen bends down and I feel her hands on the inside of my thighs close to my center. The first touch of her tongue against my folds has me moaning like a porn star. She doesn't even breach my slit, just licks up the middle and then sucks on my outer lips.  

She moans and I look to see Jared has disappeared, on his knees behind her eating her out as she does the same to me. I can already feel the coil deep inside constricting. This is the most erotic sexual experience I have ever or will ever have!

When Gen does finally lick me open,  she immediately wraps her lips around my clit suckling and flicking the tip with her soft tongue. I feel a finger stroking around my entrance before it enters me. 

"Mmmmm," Gen moans and I open my eyes that I didn't even realize were closed. Jared is back in my line of sight, looking down as he notches his cock at her entrance.

He then places his hands on her hips and drives himself forward, burying inside his wife. Gen moans against my skin and I feel that coil tightening. I don't want to cum just yet so I brace against it, holding my release back.

With Jared's deep hard thrusts Gen's body bounces forward pushing her face closer into my pussy. She trades her finger inside me with her tongue and her thumb is rubbing circles around my clit as she licks my fluttering walls. 

My orgasm is bearing down and I'm beginning to fear I won't be able to hold it back.  

Jared is grunting and groaning behind her,  his eyes fixate on his wife's task of fingering me and licking my clit and labia. 

There is so much pressure between my legs I have to bite my lip to contain the scream that is begging to be released.

"Holy fuck!" Gen exclaims, pulling my attention to her. "Look babe. I have my whole hand inside her."

Jared's eyes travel to the spot and they widen as they take in the view. "Fuck! That is so goddamned hot."

Gen begins a soft thrust with her arm, twisting her wrist and letting her fingers hit my sweet spot. I see stars as I yell out. "I'm gonna cum!"

"Go on Y/N. Cum all over Gen. She wants it."

I let go and the pressure lessens as I feel my walls constrict and liquid squirts out around Gen's hand.

"God that was hot!" They both exclaim simultaneously and laugh.  Gen bends down and begins licking and suckling at my cunt as Jared continues his hard pace.

He slaps her ass twice and then stills,  groaning as I'm sure he is shooting his load inside her. Gen places her forehead on my inner thigh, catching her breath as Jared pulls out and looks down with a smile. 

"Baby you are leaking so much cum it's dripping on the floor."

When Gen moves out of the way, I get my first look at Jared's massive dick. And when I say massive,  I mean massive.  Not only is it ginormous in length but the girth is unbelievable.  How does he keep something that size hidden so well?

His hand is around the still-hard member and he looks at me as he fists up and down. "You ready?"

"Yes," I tell him confidently although inside I am not.

Gen has left the room, gone into their ensuite to clean up I'm sure. "Should we wait?" I ask hesitantly. 

"Nah, she knows I plan to fuck your brains out. She'll rejoin shortly."

“Okay,” I say with a nod and watch as Jared climbs onto the bed, walking on his knees to place himself between my legs. He is still fisting his cock, the mixture of his and his wife’s release lubricating the movement. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks tentatively and I look up at him. He has one palm on the mattress beside my head and is hovering over me, but not touching.

I nod and then with a quirk of his eyebrow I remember his request, to use words. “Yes. Please kiss me Jared.”

Jared leans down and brushes his lips against mine softly but firmly. When his tongue touches the seam of my mouth, I open for him allowing him to lick into me. The kiss quickly becomes deeper, more passionate. My hands automatically reach up and my fingers entwine in the long locks on his head, pulling him closer.

Losing his balance, Jared falls on top of me, his hand that was holding him up, cupping the side of my face as we both get lost in the kiss. I can feel his moist, damp dick on my stomach and it causes me to writhe. God, I so desperately want that monster inside me!

The bed dips with Gen’s return and her hands run over the part of my skin that is visible under Jared’s large form. 

“You two look so fucking hot together,” she whispers as she kisses along my neck. “Y/N, you going to let Jared fuck you? Feel that big dick of his filling up that perfect little pussy?”

I can’t answer her because Jared is still kissing me senseless so I whimper and dig my fingers into his scalp. Her words are music to my ears, the assurance and suggestion  of what all he is planning to do to me all the encouragement I need. She is okay with me fucking Jared; she is actually urging it. I pull away, opening my eyes to see his hazel ones, lidded and filled with lust. 

“Fuck me Jared,” I say and he smiles as he lifts himself and grabs his dick, notching it at my entrance. 

“Ready baby?”

I nod and smile before saying, “More than ready.”

The stretch of my walls around his dick is a pleasured pain. It feels so good as he keeps sliding deeper in until it feels as if his tip is going to puncture through my cervix. I look down between us to see that he is to the root inside me and it makes me wetter, if that’s even possible. 

Gen pinches my chin between her thumb and fingers and turns my head to look at her. “Y/N, Jared is going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I answer breathlessly. 

Gen claims my lips with her own as Jared slowly and torturously pulls out until just the head of his dick is inside me. I feel his hands grip my hips and then he plunges into me in one swift movement. I can’t help but cry into her mouth as he sits the same fast hard pace as he had with her, his dick stretching my pussy and digging in deep.

I pull away from Gen’s mouth to yell. “HOLY SHIT! OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!”

“Yea, you like that don’t ya?” Jared pants as he keeps thrusting into my willing body. “You like being impaled on my big dick huh?”

“Yes! Yes! YES!”

Gen reaches between us and uses her fingertip to rub circles on my clit, making that coil deep inside me tighten. I am going to be cumming any minute now, I know it. I can’t hold it back even if I tried.

“You going to let Jared fill you up. Pump you full of his cum until you’re leaking like I was? Yea, you are, aren’t you? You want to feel him throbbing and shooting his load into your womb.”

Her words make my eyes roll into the back of my head and I scream as I feel my climax bearing down. Without any more prompting from either of them, I once again feel that pressure from earlier and before I know it I am squirting out around Jared’s dick, my release splashing against his thighs.

“Fuck!” he exclaims as he ramps up his efforts and suddenly I feel the warmth of his cum and the throb of his length as he empties inside me, his grunts and groans barely heard over the blood pumping through my ears. 

Jared claims my mouth again, his cock still buried deep in my pussy as it softens. 

I just fucked this man while his wife watched, after having her way with me. Whose life is this?!

My eyes slowly open as I come to consciousness. I am hot, sweaty and uncomfortable and the need to pee is overwhelming. I go to roll over but am met with resistance, from both behind and in front of me.  What the hell?

I fully open my eyes and take in the view. That is not my ceiling and this is not my bed. My mattress has never been this soft, even when it was new.  I look down and see the ivory sheets and the maroon comforter and it all comes back to me. 

I fucked Jared AND Genevieve Padalecki! I am in their bed, in their house snuggled up between them.  I had sex with a married couple; not once, not twice but three times they fucked the daylights out of me. And I enjoyed every second of it.

I squirm as I feel something moving inside me, slowly making its way out of my body and sigh when I feel a clump of Jared’s cum slide out and down my ass, landing on the sheet under me. God, he cummed so hard and so much last night, filling both me and Gen up. 

And as good as it felt, it tasted even better. Especially out of Gen’s pussy. I had licked it right up as it poured out of her hole and onto my lips and tongue and she reciprocated before we teamed up and took turns swallowing him down, his palms cupping the back of our heads as we knelt in front of him, licking and sucking his cock.

My bladder takes me out of my reminiscence as the urge to piss becomes palpable and I wiggle and shift until I am out from under Jared’s arm and go to crawl over Gen’s sleeping form, unintentionally waking her.

“Hey sweetie. Where are you going?” she asks sleepily and the torpor in her voice is sexy and sensuous. 

“I gotta pee,” I tell her and she smiles before lifting her head to kiss me. 

“Ok baby. Hurry back.”

I walk into the ensuite and quickly sit on the toilet to do my business, still reeling from the events of last night. How the hell did I end up here? And how am I going to recover from having my dreams come true? How am I supposed to go back to my normal, boring existence after such an experience?

As I finish up and wash my hands, I decide that I’m going to leave while the leaving is good. What if they regret it? What if it wasn’t what they expected? What if I was just a first choice when they decided to have a threesome? Too many what if’s and not enough answers for my taste.

I tiptoe back into their room and grab my panties from the floor, pulling them on when I realize the rest of my clothing is thrown throughout the hallway. Shit! If the kids were up and strolling around the house they would see the waitress from the restaurant in their house half naked. 

“Y/N?” Gen’s voice causes me to turn my head to see her up on one elbow looking at me confused. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Y-yea. I think that would be best, don’t you?”

“Hell no. Get your perky little ass back in the bed,” she said authoritatively. “And take off those panties. I want to be able to touch you and caress you.”

I do as she says and she scoots closer to her husband as she pats the mattress in front of her. I climb in beside her and she promptly pulls me to her, her hand cupping my sex as she kisses along my ear. She whispers, “I’m never going to get tired of this pretty little pussy,” as she begins drawing circles on my clit and running her fingers down my folds. "Could eat it everyday and never get enough.”

I whimper at her words and she smiles against my skin. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me eating you out everyday, fucking you with my tongue, my fingers, my fist. Shit, I’m getting wet just thinking about it.” 

Her fingers tease my opening before two of them slide inside, curling up to hit that sweet spot. My back arches off the bed as I moan. “Yea, you like that don’t you. You like me fingering you.” She scissors her digits open and closed as we both groan at the slick that has accumulated. 

“Cum baby,” she urges. “Come on Mama’s hand.”

My climax comes out of nowhere as Gen sits up, propping her body with her free hand as he other works me furiously through my release. I watch her with bated breath as she removes her hand and licks her fingers clean. “Mmm, tasty.”

When she is done, she leans down and kisses me, her tongue prodding into my open lips, letting me taste the sweetness of my tang on it. I run my fingers through her hair, fisting them. 

“Jesus, what a sight to wake up to,” we hear Jared’s groggy voice and pull apart, looking at him. His hazel eyes are sparkling and there is a smug grin on his lips. “I could get used to this.”  Gen turns and kisses him just as passionately as we had just kissed and I hear Jared groan, knowing he is tasting the remnants of my release. 

Ok, so maybe this wasn’t something they regretted. This was what they both wanted and still want and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it too. Maybe I had been the first opportunity they’d come across when they decided to have a threesome but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I would gladly take whatever they wanted to give. 

And from the sounds and sights coming from the bed beside me, I was about to have another out of this world sexual escapade with two of the hottest people on the planet. 

I’m sitting in the kitchen at the bar in my panties and a t-shirt Gen gave me drinking a cup of coffee and watching Jared move about the kitchen, cooking eggs and making toast.

A pair of slender arms wrap around me from behind, startling me. “Morning baby,” Gen purrs as she kisses my shoulder.

I tense up afraid of getting caught if one of their kids walk in. “Uh, where’re the kids?”

“It’s Wednesday. They always have a playdate with the Ackles kids on Wednesday,” Gen says as she comes around and sits beside me. “We’re good. Francine took them over and will bring them back this afternoon.”

“Oh. Okay,” I say hesitantly. I’m relieved that I don’t have to worry about being found out but I’m also nervous because the three of us are alone in the house. What exactly did they have planned? 

“It’s okay sweetheart,” Jared says as he sits two plates of eggs, toast and jam in front of his wife and myself. “We all need to talk anyway. And the kids do not need to hear what we have to discuss.”

Well, there goes my good feeling down the drain. Now is when they are going to drop the bomb; tell me that it was all fun and games but they’ve satisfied their curiosity and I’m on my own. God, how can I be so dumb. What made me think that two celebrities would want me to stick around?

I push the food around on my plate as I try to come up with a way to take the blow and leave with my head held high.

“Jared Tristan,” Gen admonishes. “Look what you’ve done. You went and made her feel bad. Honey,” she says as she places a hand on mine. “It’s not bad; what we want to talk about. I promise.” She leans over and places a chaste kiss to my lips. “Now eat up so we can get to it. I think you might need your energy if I’m reading this situation correctly.”

I try my best to eat as much of the food as I can with my stomach still in knots and my anxiety level through the roof. Gen clears her plate and then looks at me, silently asking if I’m finished. I nod and clear my throat. “Yes, thank you.”  

Jared grabs my hand and pulls me off the stool, dragging me toward the living room once again. Last night, this is the same exact place that they propositioned me and invited me into their bed. Now, here we are again, apparently discussing something new.

I wait with bated breath as Gen makes her way into the room, carrying her and my coffee cups, sitting mine on the table in front of me.

“First off,” she begins as she turns to look at me, one leg under her bottom. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Wh-what?” I ask in shock. Was she actually asking if I enjoyed having sex with them?

“Did you have a good time? With us?”

“Duh,” I answer cringing at my snarkiness. “Yes, I enjoyed it and I had an amazing time. And I understand if this was a one-off; something you wanted out of your systems. I get it. And I promise not to speak a word of it to anyone.”

Jared chuckles and Gen throws her head back, laughing. “Oh honey. I don’t care about that. Hell, scream it from the rooftops for all I care. We want to know if you’d like to continue.”

To say I am floored is an understatement. They are actually asking if I want to keep having sex with them? Have I died and gone to Heaven?

“Really?” I gasp. I never in a million years would have ever thought this was what we needed to discuss.

“Yes, really,” Jared tells me from the armchair. “We understand if it is too much. We, uh-” he pauses to rub the back of his neck and chuckle. “-got a little enthusiastic last night. It’s usually not that acrobatic. But yea, we want to know if you want to keep this going.”

I nod as my brows furrow and I look down at my hands, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of Gen’s shirt. How can I answer without sounding too enthusiastic or overly eager?

“Sweetie?” Gen asks, leaning down to look into my eyes. “Are you okay? Is it too much?” 

The worry in her voice is what gets me. Is she actually afraid I am going to turn them down? But I have to know something first.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why me? I mean, was I just the first girl you came across once you decided to have a threesome?”

Gen and Jared both chuckle. “No baby,” Gen assures me. “This isn’t our first time doing this. We’ve had threesomes before. We, uh- should we tell her Jare?”

“She’ll find out eventually,” he answers his wife. “Go on.”

“We had a relationship with Jared’s co-star Jensen for a few months. It went really well but then we decided to end it, amicably before we all got married. He was dating Danneel but she was living in LA while he was up in Vancouver with us. And well, we fucked. Not Jare and Jen, they just uh, shared me. Although they did get close to kissing once in a competition to see who could get me off first by eating me out simultaneously.” She ends with a laugh and I look over to see Jared blushing.

“Now, that...that cannot and should not be repeated,” he says, clearing his throat. “We just got too close and our tongues touched that’s all.” He explained my unanswered inquiry.

“So, this isn’t your first time having a threesome with another guy?” I ask. “But is it a first with another girl?”

“Yes,” they both answer resolutely. “You are our first female conquest.” Gen finishes before she laces her fingers with mine. “When I saw you yesterday at Y/E/E, I liked you immediately. Even though I could tell you knew who we were you kept it professional and when I asked Jared what he thought about you, I could tell by the way he looked at you he wanted you. We both did. That’s why I left my number. Figured it’d be safer to leave mine than his in case someone else found the note.”

“It’s in my car,” I smiled at her. “I wasn’t about to throw it away.”

“See, you knew. You might have not realized you knew, but you knew me leaving you my number was a big risk.”

“So?” Jared asks as both Gen and I turn to look at him. “Is this something you can see continuing?”

“Absolutely!” I answer confidently and certain. “I will be the third wheel for you guys.”

“Oh honey, in this relationship, we are all equals,” Gen says as she smoothes her hand over my hair. “Now, let’s talk about the rules.”

The 'rules' as I soon discover aren't really rules at all. Mostly we discuss what kind of things are turn-ons and what are turn-offs. 

I find out that Gen loves oral, receiving and giving,  whether it be male or female. She requests to be called Mama in the bedroom and is unopposed to anal play.

Jared's turn-ons include oral as well, he loves to maintain dominance over his lovers and inquired as to whether I am opposed to that aspect. I tell him an unwaveringly no. I will submit and comply with his control. 

When asked what I prefer, I shrug my shoulders. I'd never given it much thought. Sure, I'd had partners before; I wasn't a virgin by any means but to actually sit and think and come up with stuff I liked and didn't like was new to me. 

"Okay," Gen says, aware of my discomfort. "Well, we know you like oral, both giving and receiving it. And you like fucking, we are very well aware of that." She continues with a smile. "Are there any positions you're more fond of than others?"

"Uh, I like doggy style," I say, feeling my cheeks heat up. Good god, I've had sex with these people and I'm getting embarrassed!

"Hey now. None of that," Gen coos. "This is a judgment free zone."

I nod, feeling more confident. "I like it when, uh...when you pulled my hair while I was eating you out. And," I turn to look at Jared. "I liked when you spanked her while fucking into her. That was hot, but not like you know,  hard or a lot of smacks but...yea."

He smiles at me and nods. "Good to know kitten."

"Anything else?" Gen presses.

"Uh, nothing I can think of right now. No, but permission to revisit this if I do think of something?"

"Of course sweetie."

"One last thing," Jared announces and I turn to look at him. "Move in with us?"

When the kids come in later with their nanny, they stop in their tracks when they see me sitting on the couch with their parents, platonically of course.

The two older ones, Tom and Shep,  recognize me and ask their mom why the lady from the restaurant is here while the little girl, Odette, climbs onto Jared's lap and burrows into his chest, peeking out and glancing at me.

"This is our friend. Her name is Y/N and she's going to be staying with us," Gen eases the information to the boys. 

The middle child, Shep, is the first one to speak. "Does she like dinosaurs?"

Gen looks at me with joy and laughter in her eyes. I smile and tell Shep, "Dinosaurs are magnificent! My favorite is the pterodactyl.  What's yours?"

The discussion between the boys and I quickly turns to which dinosaur would win if they were all in a battle to which dinosaur could survive if they were to come back alive and be in the world as it is today.

Odette finally warms up and makes her way to my side,  telling me that Mommy dinosaurs have to wear makeup while Daddy dinosaurs go to work.

I had been terrified of how the kids would accept the fact that I was going to be living with them but I had nothing to worry about. 

Kids are resilient though. They can adapt and adjust to just about anything. The three Padalecki kids have no problem knowing there is a new person living in their home but I also know the real talk is going to come after dinner and after Francine leaves for the evening.

Gen and I work together that night, getting the dinner dishes cleaned off and stacked in the dishwasher. Every so often, Gen would glance around and then pull me into a kiss, keeping it mostly innocent and chaste. The only thing not innocent is when her hands would roam and grab a boob or my ass or one time she ran her hand down my crotch, pressing on my clit. 

Once the kitchen is cleared, the two of us join Jared and the kids in their playroom where we decide to tell them what is actually going on.

Tom and Shep were sitting on the floor playing with toy cars, making engine noises while Odette sat on her dad's lap, coloring. 

"Guys," Gen speaks, getting the boys' attention. "Can you come over here for a moment. Family meeting."

Tom and Shep get up and walk to the table and stand, looking between the three adults in the room.

"Okay, you know how we have taught you all that honesty is always best? And that lying will only get you into more trouble?"

"Yes ma'am," they say in unison.

"Okay. Well your dad and I are going to be honest with you. Y/N is not only our friend, she is our girlfriend. We like her like we like each other; like Unkie Jensen likes Auntie D. And she likes us.

"You will see us-both of us- hug Y/N and kiss her just like we do each other. If you have a bad dream at night and come to our room she is going to be in bed with us. But we will always, always make room for you.  You three are our littlest loves and there isn't anything in this world we wouldn't do for you.

"Also, Y/N is the boss as much as your dad and I are so whatever she says goes. If she tells you it's time for bed you don't try to haggle your way out of it. If she tells you you've had enough candy, you listen. She is the adult, you are not. You understand?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Okay. Do you have any questions?"

They shake their heads no and Gen smiles as she reaches out to ruffle Shep's hair and then Tom's.

"You can go play for another hour and then it's time for baths and bed."

The boys go back to their spots and continue their game.

"Well that went better than I was expecting," I say with a laugh.

"Our boys are smart," Jared says with an air of pride. 

Odette looks up at him with a scoff, which causes both Gen and I to laugh.

"You're smart too lil O," he tells her before placing a kiss on her temple. 

When it's time for baths, Tom asks that I help him so I follow him to his room where he picks out a set of pajamas and underwear. We walk down the hall to the bath and he undresses as I begin filling the tub.

"Y/N?" Tom says as he washes his hair. 

"Yea?"

"Do you love us?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even. This was not a question I was expecting from a 7 year old.

"Mommy said that you like them like they like each other. And I know mommy and daddy love each other and they love us just like Unkie Jen loves Auntie D and JJ and Arry and Zeppy. So do you love us too?"

I'm not sure how to answer his inquiry. Do I love him and his siblings? Sure, what's not to love about three of the best behaved kids I have ever encountered. 

They took their Mom's news in stride, like it was no big deal that both their parents had a girlfriend, like it was normal.

"Yes, Tom. I love you and Shep and lil O. How could I not? You three are awesome," I laugh trying to break the tension. "Plus we can talk about dinosaurs without people giving us weird looks."

"Do you love Mommy and Daddy too?"

Well, there it is. The one question I was hoping to avoid because I didn't have an answer.  I don't know the answer.

Do I love Jared and Genevieve? I know I've lusted after them both for years and the three of us have had the most remarkable, memorable sex of my existence, but love? Wasn't it too soon?

"I think it is time to finish your bath before you turn wrinkly like a raisin," I tell him instead. 

It is only a few weeks later that those three words are shared between us. 

As we are readying for bed, Gen and I doing a skincare routine in front of the bathroom mirror Jared waltz in and lifts the toilet seat, not caring to relieve himself while we are in the room.

After he finishes and he rights himself, he wiggles between us to wash his hands. We both laugh at his antics and while drying his hands he kisses Gen,  telling her he loves her  and then turns to kiss me.

"I love you too," he whispers against my lips and my eyes widen at his proclamation.

The whole world stills, the Earth quits spinning and the air stops flowing as he presses his lips to mine again.

"Y/N?" Gen calls to me and everything begins moving again. "Are you okay sweetie?"

"Uh." That's the only thing I can utter. Jared just told me he loves me.  He just dropped those three precious words like it was nothing. 

"Do you not love me? Us?" Jared asks as he pulls away and looks down at me. 

My eyes well up with tears and I can't stop my body shaking if I wanted to. 

"Yes," I answer with a laugh. "I love you so much!"

Jared wraps me up in a kiss again, deepening it as he bends me backwards.  We pull away with smiles.  

"I love you. I love you. I love you," I say repeatedly.

"I love you Y/N," Gen proclaims as she pulls me into a hug before kissing me senseless.

That night we don't fuck. The three of us make love to one another, proclaiming our love and devotion to one another over and over until we each find our climaxes together, as one. 

On Friday we decide it is time to visit the Family Business Brewery to stock up on some more beer since the supply at home is getting low.

I'm nervous as hell as today I get to meet Jared and Gen's best friends and former lover. Jensen and Daneel and the kids have been away, up in the north visiting family and now they are back and the plan is to hang out at FBB to let the kids play on their playground. 

The Ackles know that Jared and Gen have someone they want them to meet but as I find out on the way there,  they have no idea just what I am to the Padalecki's. They just think it's a new friend.

As we pull up, the parking lot is half-full with vehicles and people milling about ready to go inside and sample some the craft beer that is brewed onsite.

I look toward the building and immediately can make out Jensen's silhouette. Probably because of the crowd that has amassed around him. Being one of the main characters on the country's hit sci-fi show and part owner of this place drew a bigger crowd to the brewery than the alcohol did apparently. 

I notice that over half of the guests have some type of Supernatural paraphernalia,  be it a t-shirt, a purse, or just a photo or something they hoped to get autographed.

The crowd finally disperses and Jensen finally makes his way to us, a smile on his face and a beer glass in his hand. 

"Hey guys. Glad you could make it. Dee is inside helping Gino run the bar since we are down a person," he explains and then his eyes narrow in on me. "Hello. I'm Jensen."

"Y/N," I say with a nod.

"Jay, this is our girlfriend." Gen tells him and I watch for his reaction. He is one hell of an actor because other than a quick widening of his green eyes, he fixes his face into one of nonchalance. 

"So, you're still…..doing that?" he asks lowly before taking a drink of his beer.

"We hadn't for a while," Jared speaks up. "Since you but yea, we now share a girlfriend."

"Nice," Jensen smiles but I can tell it's not a happy-for-you one; it's more forced, more strained.

Daneel finally comes out to join us and Gen introduces me much the same way she announced me to Jensen. 

"Oh wow!" Daneel exclaims.  "I, uh, didn't know you two were into that sort of thing."

So apparently she had no idea that a few years ago, Jensen had been in my position.  Good to know as now I can be  more aware of what to say and what to keep to myself.

The day is nice in the grove where the brewery is located. The heat from the sun is abated by the gentle breeze that flows through the trees. 

Jared and Jensen, and sometimes Gen get pulled away a few times by excited fans asking for pictures of just to chat, leaving Daneel and I watching the kids.

I can tell she is dying to ask questions so once there is no one close by, I turn to her and tell her. "You can ask."

"Oh thank god! It's been killing me. How does it work? Do you all sleep together? Have sex together?"

I smile at her questions. And with living with the Padalecki's I have come to also believe the truth is better than lying philosophy.

"We love one another and we work together raising the three most amazing kids I've ever met. Well, until now; the Ackles kids are pretty fantastic." I pause to smile at her. "Yes, we share a bed each night. Sometimes I'm in the middle, sometimes Gen. It just depends on who needs the assurance and safety net the most. 

"And yes we have sex together. As with the sleeping arrangement, we take turns on who is between the other two. Sometimes Jared fucks Gen while she eats me out and sometimes I eat her out while being whaled on by the big moose."

Daneel throws her hands up and shakes her head. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry I asked. That was a visual I did not need. And now it's stuck in my head."

She storms off and I can't help but laugh at her reaction. I mean, she asked after all. I just hope I didn't ruin her friendship with my lovers. 

Later that night, when I tell Jared and Gen about it they laugh and assure me that it's nothing Daneel won't get over; that she just probably will never ask me anything ever again. 

Over the next few months, I learn just how close the Padalecki's and the Ackles' are as we tend to spend every holiday together and attend each other's kid's birthday parties.

Daneel continues to be cordial to me but doesn't inquire any further into my relationship with Gen and Jared. 

That may also be because after paparazzi got a photo of Gen and I at the store holding hands and ran with the story that Gen and Jared were obviously on the splits, the three of us sat down to an interview with People magazine and told the world that the Padalecki's marriage and relationship was still going strong and made it known that they were also in a relationship with me.

After that, the buzz of it all settled down and everything went back to semi-normal. There would be some gossip on the internet about us or we'd received unmarked mail containing threats of damnation but, with the help of my girlfriend and boyfriend, I learned to let it all slide.

People would always have their opinions. I just had to get used to them being different than my own. The world wasn't going to stop turning just because I was in a relationship with a married couple. 

A year to the day that Jared and Gen had entered my life when they visited Y/E/E found us all in the kitchen; Jared and Gen sitting at the counter while I cooked us an anniversary dinner.

"Can you believe it's been a year?" Gen says as I pull the roasted chicken from the oven. "One year since we decided to go out to eat and run into the most beautiful human we've ever seen."

"A year since you left your number on a piece of paper before we left and waited patiently for her to call," Jared continues. "One whole year of the most magnificent mind-blowing sex of my life!"

"A year since I thought you leaving your number was a prank or a mistake but texted it anyway. A year of….hell, the best year of my existence, " I tell them as I plate up the chicken, pasta and asparagus before turning and placing their plates in front of them.

"I love you both so much."

"We love you equally," Gen says before we set about eating the dinner I cooked. 

The kids were staying over at the Ackles' so we had the house to ourselves.

Jared cleared the kitchen after dinner and dessert while Gen and I went up to the bedroom to get ready in our matching lingerie that we purchased special for the occasion. 

"Jared is going to flip when he sees us," Gen says as she comes up behind me in the mirror. "Fuck, are we lucky. Sweetie you are absolutely gorgeous.  I can't wait to pull this off of you," she says kisses my shoulder, grazing her teeth across my skin. "With my teeth."

I shudder at the thought and reach back tangling my hand in her hair, kissing her passionately. 

"Same goes for you darling," I tell her as we hear Jared coming up the stairs.

Gen and I rush to get on the bed, laying back in nothing but lace and silk waiting for Jared to enter the bedroom.

"Fuck. Me!" he exclaims as he walks in and sees us. "God damn, baby girls, you're going to give this ole man a heart attack," he says, removing his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans. 

As we both promised, we put a show on for Jared; disrobing one another with nothing but our teeth and lips. 

Gen finally squirts after I bury my face in her sweet cunt, licking all around with my fingers knuckle deep inside her. Her breathing is labored as I pull away, leaving my fingers wiggling inside and turn my head to kiss Jared.

He groans as the tang of her juices mixed with my taste floods his mouth and I begin fingering Gen again, feeling her walls fluttering and quivering around them. 

"You like that Mama?" I ask as I pull away from my boyfriend. "You want more? I can recreate our first night."

"Fuck yes!" Gen screams. "Fist me baby."

I curl my fingers down and work my closed fist into her sopping wet pussy easily, twisting my wrist as she writhes above me. I lean down and suck her clit between my lips, flicking the nub with my tongue. 

"Shit! I'm going to cum again," she pants and I take my fingers and press against her sweet spot. Her thighs clamp around my head as she climaxes. 

Jared walks around behind me and I feel the swath of his tongue lick from my clit to my entrance and up to my ass. It isn't the first time he's ate me like that and it is erotic and obscene and I love it.

When Jared's tip notches at my opening, I wiggle my hips and he slaps his palm down on my asscheek. I moan as I lay my forehead against Gen's leg. Jared spanks me once more before he slams into me, burying his whole length in one thrust. 

"Oh fuck! Yes!" I yell out as he begins a pounding pace. His hands gripping my hips tight enough to leave bruises.

Gen finally recuperates enough to join in, kissing me senseless and whispering not-so-sweet nothings in my ear.

"Jared is fucking you real good ain't he? You're taking all that cock. You gonna let him put a baby in you? Yea you are, aren't ya? Get all big and round with a Padalecki growing in you. You want that? You want Jared to cum deep inside and impregnate you?"

"Uh huh," is all I can muster as Jared keeps pounding into me from behind, his balls bouncing up to slap my clit.

"Jared, put a baby in our baby girl. Fill her little pussy up."

"Yes Daddy. Please," I say, finally getting my voice.  "Please daddy put your baby in me."

"Oh god. Yea, I can do that. I can definitely do that."

"Mama?" I call out to Gen who lays down to meet my eyes.  "Are you sure? This is what you want?"

"Yes baby. I want to watch you grow our baby inside you. I love you sweet girl. And I know you'll be the best mom, you already are to Tom, Shep and O."

She smiles before capturing my lips with hers, wrapping her hand in my hair and tugging, making me whimper and whine.

Jared stills behind me as I feel his dick throbbing and spurting, filling me with his cum and hopefully getting me pregnant. It seems to go on and on before he finally slumps and pulls out of me, only to prod his softened dick back inside and thrusts, making sure the release goes where it needs.

If we made a baby together tonight or not,  I know these two beautiful people, my lovers, will be here with me through the celebration or if need be, the act of trying until we succeed. 

Six weeks later, I find myself peeing on a stick. I haven't told anyone but my period is about 8 days late and I've always been regular. 

I wait for the timer to go off on my phone, staring at the test laying facedown on the sink. Am I pregnant? Am I just late? But then if that's the case, why am I late? 

The device dings and I hesitantly reach for the test, turning it over to find out the result.

As I walk down the stairs, I hear my family in the front room laughing and just being goofy, none of them aware of what I hold in my hand. The small thin piece of plastic that is going to change everything. 

I stand at the doorway and just watch the five of them. I love them all so much and am grateful that they are now a part of my life. The kids accepted me and made me feel welcomed and loved from the very beginning and now they sometimes call me Mommy Y/N. It warms my soul when they utter those words. 

Jared and Genevieve. I never thought I could find a love like I have with them. It is an all-consuming love. They are so kind, caring and generous. The three of us are in love and we are about to bring another life into the mix. 

“Hey guys,” I call out getting their attention. Shep runs and wraps his arms around my waist and lays his head on my stomach, like he knows his new little brother or sister is growing inside me. But that can’t be, I haven’t said a word to anyone much less the kids.

I ruffle his hair and he looks up at me with a smile. “Why don’t you go sit on the sofa with your parents?” I request. “I have something to tell you all.”

“We’re having a baby,” I announce, not wanting to drag this out. I am happy, ecstatic even and I am hoping, ok I’m pretty sure this news will be accepted with joy. 

“What?” Gen exclaims, a smile blossoming on her face. “Really?”

“Yea,” I answer as I hold up the pregnancy test with the two bold blue lines. “I’m pregnant.”

Gen gently lifts O off her lap and jumps up, rushing to hug me and pulling me into a kiss. We’ve never hidden our relationship from the kids so to see their Mom and I kissing is no big deal to them.

When she pulls away, Gen looks at me with tears in her eyes. "We're having a baby?"

"Yea we are," I tell her, my own tears making themselves known. 

Suddenly Jared is pulling us both into his chest, his long strong arms holding us close.

"Where's the baby?" O asks as she looks around and in the floor. "I wann' see it."

We laugh as we break apart, going to join them on the sofa. 

I pull O onto my lap while Gen holds Shep and Tom is propped on his Dad's knee.

"The baby isn't born yet," I explain to my daughter. "He or she has to get big enough before it can come live with us. Right now, it's just a tiny little bean."

"I wann' see it," she repeats and I chuckle as I maneuver her around to straddle my thighs. I lift my shirt, exposing my stomach and take her hand to place under my belly button. "The baby is in here,  nice and warm and growing.”

Lil O’s eyebrows fuse together as she stares at the place her hand is and then she says, “Can I play with her when she gets here?”

I laugh and hear Gen and Jared chuckle.

“Of course you can sweetie,” I tell her. “But maybe not when she first gets here, she’ll be itty bitty.”

“She?” Jared says and I look at him. He practically has stars in his eyes with glee. 

“Well O called it a she so I just ran with it. Who knows, it could be a boy,” I say with a shrug. 

“I want a tyrannasaurus,” Shep declares. 

“Geez buddy,” I laugh as I look down at him. “You want me to explode? The baby is in my belly and you want it to be a dinosaur?”

“No, I wasn’t thinking about that,” Shep says, his voice remorseful.

“Hey Sheppy? It’s okay. I was just joking with you.”

“Okay,” he says as he reaches over and puts his hand on my stomach beside his sister’s. 

Before I know it I have three little palms against my skin, along with a slightly bigger one and a huge one over top of all of them; my family silently welcoming and loving on the new addition.

By the time Tom’s birthday comes around, I am huge! Gen had warned me that Padalecki’s were big babies but this is outrageous. I can't see my feet at all and need help to get out of bed every morning. This little one is making my life miserable but I know in the end, it will all be worth it.

We had decided against finding out the gender, mainly because I was still leery about how correct those results could be. So the five of us have begun referring to the bump as Baby P. And right now Baby P was kicking my kidneys and punching my liver. 

I still have almost a month before my due date of April 11 and it seems as if time is slowing down. Every day is a hurdle to get through, with being 8 months pregnant and still trying to help out around the house and do my chores, though both Gen and Jared have fussed at me for doing too much. But I’m pregnant, not disabled.

We’ve planned a barbeque party for Tom’s birthday and invited most of his friends from school, plus the Ackles and the Morgan’s and a few others from Jared’s time on the show. Both sets of grandparents are going to be here also, so it would definitely be a full house.

I am upstairs in the bedroom, trying to slide my sandals on but having trouble since I can’t see anything. Jared walks in while I huff and try again, only to push the shoe farther away.

“Hey baby,” he says gently. “Let me help you.”

“This is ridiculous,” I whine as he lifts my leg and slides the leather onto my foot. “I can’t do anything but waddle around, running into things and just getting in the way. I’m an annoyance to everyone. Maybe I should just stay up here.”

“You hush that right now,” he admonishes me, standing up to tower over me.  “You do not annoy anyone. You do not get in the way at all. You are pregnant, carrying my baby. You’re beautiful, baby girl. I love watching you, knowing that’s my child inside you; a life we created out of our love.” He tugs a stray hair behind my ear and tilts my chin up. “I love you. Gen loves you. Tom, Shep and O love you. We all love you and we love this baby. So get over yourself and get that cute little ass downstairs to celebrate our son’s birthday.”

“Cute and little is not how I would refer to my ass,” I retort with a smile. “I look like a Kardashian.”

“Mmhmm,” Jared mumbles as he leans down to kiss me. “More to spank.”

I chuckle as I tiptoe to kiss him and then turn to head downstairs to join my family and greet our guests.

The party is in full swing as most of the adults sit in lounge chairs, talking and catching up while Jared and Jensen man the grill and the ladies are in the kitchen gathering up the condiments and sides.

I have been commanded to stay in my seat and ask for anything I need. Jared went as far as to tell me if he saw me on my feet, he would spank me in front of everyone. And as much as I love him spanking me, that was something that no one else needed to see so I kept my promise, only asking that he give me a bottle of water for my stay.

Everyone seems to be having a good time; the kids are enjoying the gigantic bounce house that we rented and sat up in the backyard, the adults congregate on the patio talking and laughing and waiting for food.

I look around with a blissful heart at the family and friends I have acquired since becoming Jared and Gen’s lover. No one seems to bat an eye anymore about our relationship and took it at face value and that made me very happy. Sure, there were a few things still being said on the internet but those people don’t matter to me. What matters to me is the ones here today, celebrating our son’s birthday. 

A pain shoots through my body but as soon as it appears, it disappears so I think nothing of it and go back to watching Tom, Shep, JJ, and a few of their friends from school run around the yard playing tag. It’s a good day.

That good day turns when later that evening while the ones of us that are still lounging around, mostly family, my water breaks. Gerald and Sherri, Jared’s parents, stay at the house with the kids as Gen, Jared and I rush to the hospital.

In the early morning hours of March 18, we welcome Delaney Grace Padalecki, a whopping 9 pound 12 ounce baby girl. 

I thought I knew what love was, what love is but until I looked into my daughter’s eyes, I had had no idea. 

Love is infinite. Love is encompassing. Love is the glue that cements us all together. And I have found that with Gen and Jared and their-our-kids and now with Delaney. There is no way my life could be any richer. A once in a lifetime encounter gave me love and a family. 

THE END

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