#with plot lightly dusted over a bit or two

[galvanizedfriend]

Any chance for a snippet for the next chapter Yokan? Or any idea when the next chapter is is going to come out ♥️ I’m re reading the Wolf 3 right now and am nearing the end of the updated chapters lol 😭

Hii, friend! ❤️ I can't promise when the next chapter will come because this is turning out to be a monster. 🥲 I'm at about 80% now, and have been making decent progress, but editing this is going to be🙃 So I hope to have it finished soon, but I don't know when. But since you asked, I can give you a little snippet. 😁 This is a scene I had been working on earlier today, Kol and Eve having a 1x1. Don't know if that's the kind of thing you wanted from this chapter, but I was actually having some fun writing this. 😂 Bear in my mind that I have not edited anything, so this could all change. But I hope you enjoy it. 🥲

From TW4x03: "Hello," he greets her, only half her face visible from where she's hiding - quite poorly, mind you - behind the kitchen door. Eve blinks up at him, but stays remains quiet. "Cat eat your tongue?"

She abandons her cover, stepping fully into the kitchen now, all pink pajamas and pigtails.

She is... Big. Kol is definitely not used to following humans' growth spurts from up-close. It's perfectly normal, he supposes, but it still comes as a bit of an irrational shock to see how she went from a little baby to this fully formed mini-person. A mini-Niklaus, nonetheless. Though with none of the malice and aggression and the annoying hubris ingrained into every line of Niklaus' body after a thousand years of living in pure rage. That aside, the similarity is uncanny. It's easy to forget there was once a sweet boy somewhere before the moody tyrant took over.

"My mom says I shouldn't talk to strangers," she tells him as though reciting words she's heard countless times before.

"Ouch. Out for blood, are you?" he retorts flatly. Her wariness doesn't bother him as it seemed to bother Niklaus earlier. In Kol's experience, it's smart to remain watchful around this family. "I'm not a stranger, though. I'm your coolest uncle. My name is -"

"Kol," she finishes for him. "I know."

He smiles. "See? You do know who your coolest uncle is."

"I don't really remember you, though."

A frown appears on her little brow, as though she's straining to remember, sweeping through her admittedly short tapestry of memories after any moments the two of them might have shared. The fact that he knows she won't find any does cause a bit of a pang, he must admit.

Kol doubts he would've spent much time around his niece anyway, seeing as he was always trying to free himself of his family's clutches, but the reasons why he didn't are still a sore spot. Niklaus didn't even trust him enough to tell him about his daughter at first. And when he finally did, Kol ended up murdered by another one of his brothers before he could even be properly introduced to Eve.

"Yes, well. A sore shame if you ask me. I'm rather delightful," he remarks, detracting from the bitterness. "Isn't it a bit past your bed time anyway? Are you up to no good, by any chance?"

"What are you going to do if I am?"

Kol coughs up a laugh at her unexpected show of defiance. "That depends," he bargains. "Are you planning on putting a frog under your uncle Elijah's pillow?"

Eve giggles. "No."

"Filling Rebekah's pillowcase with flour?" More giggles. "Oh, I know! You're going to spread spicy pepper on your father's toothbrush."

That gets a full-out belly-laugh from her, blue eyes twinkling with delight at the thought of playing pranks on her family. Kol likes her more and more by the second.

"That's mean!" she exclaims in-between waves of laughter.

"You say that because you haven't seen his face. Then it's just hilarious. But if anyone asks, I never told you that." He punctuates it with a wink.

[frenziedfireworks]

Lost Games

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary : Gryffindor loses their match and you have to deal with the aftermath.

CW : SMUT, 18+ Characters, f!reader, breeding & degrading kink, spanking, angry!fred, slight dubcon ? (idk), panty gag, sexy time with a lil bit of plot

A/N : tumblr hates me and uploaded my shit weird so heres try 2... also angry fred is awooga

masterlist

You knew it was going to be a rough night. With Gryffindor losing their quidditch match that always meant you would have to deal with an unhappy Fred. 

You had dusted off your jeans and made your way down to wait for Fred. The moment his red hair peeked around the corner you opened your arms. He yanked you up into his hold and began walking. 

“Fred! Put me down!” You smacked against his shoulder and the boy just grunted.

“No.” Was the only response you got as you squirmed in his arms. It didn’t take long for Fred to get to where he wanted to be, finally planting you on your feet in an abandoned classroom.

“Fred I’m sorry about-“

“Shut up. I don’t want to talk about that pathetic fucking game. Just be quiet and good for me, yeah?” Fred pushed your form against one of the desks, hungry lips attacking yours at mach speed. You gasped into the kiss surprised at his ferocity. 

“Fred-“

“I thought I told you to be quiet. Or do I need to shut you up myself?” Fred delivered a harsh slap to your thigh and you squealed in surprise. You had always known him to have a temper when things didn’t go his way but you had never seen him this worked up. It was indescribably hot. His fingers trailed over your waistband, lips lapping and biting at whatever skin he could get ahold of. 

“I'm taking these off.” Fred ripped at your jean zipper and pulled the fabric down. The cold air made your skin tingle and you were suddenly aware of the wet spot on your panties. Fred’s smirk grew as he noticed, finger trailing lightly over the spot. You felt your body jolt at the touch and you gripped onto his arms.

“So wet.. How naughty.” He clicked his tongue and his finger dipped into the fabric. A moan left your lips before you could understand what was going on. His dark eyes watched you as his finger rubbed your sensitive nub, waiting for any sound you would make. 

He seemed satisfied with his work, finally pulling down your undergarments. He shuffled your panties into his pocket and went back to his brutal attack. His fingers plowed their way through your folds before he inserted two digits into you. The sensation left you speechless as you threw your head back. Wanton moans slipped through your lips as he began pumping his fingers back and forth. His pace got harsher the closer you got and then it was gone all at once. 

“What-“ You started and were met with a harsh hit to the clit. A small scream erupted from your throat and you were sure that if Fred wasn’t so good at hiding the whole school would’ve heard you.

“I fucking told you to be quiet and you just won’t stop. I really do have to do everything myself.” Fred pulled your mouth open and shoveled fabric into it. You smacked at his arms, confused and shocked at the intrusion. 

“Maybe you’ll enjoy the taste of yourself while I ruin this poor pussy of yours. Bet it gets your sick mind off.” Fred’s hands shook desperately to get his pants off, yanking at the materials confining him. Your hole pulsed around nothing, his crude words and anger making you more and more aroused.

“Fuck me..” Fred’s head threw back as his cock slapped against his stomach. Your groans were muffled through your panty-gag as he spat in his hand and gave himself a few starting pumps.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.” Is the only words you heard before he was everywhere. His cock slipped through your wet folds and bullied its way inside of you. He only waited a few seconds before beginning to pound away. His pace was cruel and his words were even more demeaning. It was aggressive and hot, only adding to the growing tension in your stomach.

“Fuck. You were built to take me. Going to fill you up and keep going. Bet you’d like that you little fucking slag.” Fred’s hand whipped at your hip and pulled you into him even harder. His grip would definitely leave bruises tomorrow but in the moment you couldn't care less. His face was filled with fury, each thrust taking out the anger from the failed game. Your body was a rag doll in his arms being used for his pleasure. 

You could feel his pace getting erratic, both of you coming close to your highs. Fred’s thumb came down to your nub rubbing small circles to push you just over the edge. Your subdued screams filled the air as you clenched around his cock, your nails digging into his back. Fred continued to fuck you through your high, chasing for his escape.

“Fuck! You’re so fucking tight. I’m gonna fill you up. Take it like the good whore you a-are.” Fred’s voice cracked as his spasms staggered and white ribbons of cum filled you. You rolled your eyes back and pulled your sopping underwear out of your mouth.

“Wow.” Is all you could breathe out as Fred’s head dropped to your shoulder. Your fingers ran soothing circles on the back of his neck as he calmed down.

“Wow is right love. Sorry if I was a little rough..” Fred shrugged awkwardly, pulling himself out of you. You couldn’t help but giggle. The same man had been degrading you not even five minutes ago and now can barely look you in the eyes?

“You’re good. I didn’t expect you to be so mad. Maybe you need to lose more often.” You winked at the boy and he grinned.

“Absolutely not. I always win. But if you want me to fuck you like that more often that can definitely be arranged.” Fred left a few pecks to your cheeks as he handed you your jeans. You smiled and returned the favor.

“I’d love nothing more Weasley.”

[strawberrymochin]

(in which you enter the demon slayer realm)

Sanemi eyed you for a while, his hands gripping tight on his sword, as blood slowly trickled down to its tip, dripping on the mud, tainting it red.

Well, the lower rank 6 demon, he was supposed to slay, laid dead on the ground, a little far from you, growling on anger as his body disintegrated into ashes, blown by the slow breezes, dispersing into thin air.

Killed by you. Barehanded.

The moon glowed big and bright, over your heads. "Who are you?" Sanemi shinazugawa said in a horrifying tone, "Or shall I rephrase my question....what are you?".

Shit.

You mentally smack yourself for acting like that infront of him, well that's totally not your fault though, you didn't knew, sanemi was going to make his appearance, moreover it's a background plot, not mentioned once in the manga. You open your mouth but close it again, not sure what to answer.

"Definately not a human."

"I am." You can't help but defend yourself, feeling triggered at his question. Having a mere charecter question your existence is quite disrespectful.

"Is it? I haven't seen a 'human' girl ripping off a demon head barehanded." He comes a bit closer, placing the tip of his sword on your neck, pressing it lightly. "Quiet a sight huh!.......you know I hate lies and surprisingly your aura doesn't resemble humans. What shall I do with that pretty girl?"

Wait. Sanemi shinazugawa called you pretty.

"Pretty....? You think I'm pretty? Oh my god, sanemi shinazugawa called me pretty...." You keep on mumbling to yourself, not being able to contain the excitement. Even though you liked the ever sadistic giyu tomioka more, sanemi was still hot. I repeat fucking hot and feral.

You didn't exactly like ending up in the demon slayer realm but didn't particularly hate it. You have, somehow, the ability to enter manga realms. And, this was your second time, accidentally entering one. The first realm you ended up entering was jujutsu kaisen's, and that was pretty messed up, considering that demon slayer was a heck more peaceful. Atleast you believe so.

Meanwhile sanemi was dumbstruck, first of all, according to his point of view, a girl looking weird creature, who claims to be human but ripped down a lower moon without a nichirin sword, was just impossible. You have to be a demon. And you should fear a sword pressed firmly on your neck, however you were there being giggling flustered mess.

"Stop trying to trick me you demon! It's time for you to join your troops in hell.....and how do you even know my name?"

"Yeah yeah whatever, but you called me pretty and I just....ahhh I love you—"

"S-shut up!" And this time, it's sanemi who's getting flustered. "How the heck you know my name? Forget it, I will just finish off you right here."

"Yeah yeah, whatever, but let's first get those kids home. It's quite traumatic for them to be here."

"Kids?"

"What you didn't know?"

The kids peeked out from the broken house, with eyes clouded in fear, tears stained cheeks, shaking. Sanemi gave a look from the side of his eye as he tilts down his swords rushing to the kids, "i won't let you harm them," shielding them from your vision.

"wouldn't it be better if you take them home rather than wasting time?" You say lazily, "you know what I take back what I said— i don't love you."

"Who wants to be in love with you anyway, filthy blood thirsty demon!" Sanemi fumed, sprinting from his position, "wind breathing: first form- dust whirling cutter."

That's it. You would be dead by now.

Sanemi turned around with a shit eating smile; which dropped in a sec. Lol. You were standing there intact. Ofcourse nothing would make you bleed after all you were a real human, unlike them.

You went to the kids, sighing, bending to their level, "hey it's fine, I know the scene over here was quite terrifying and this uncle over here is terrifying too, but it's fine. I will take you two home. Hmm? Come out."

The kids slowly came out, hesitating a bit.

By the time you took the kids home, its dawn, sanemi followed you suspiciously, grabbing the hilt of his sword tight. 'How did she even survived that? I cut right through her neck... moreover she ain't hurting the kids?' he thought.

The sun is about to rise still you show no sign of panic. What exactly is she? He thought

A demon who could walk under the sun?

"Hey sanemi, I'm hungry, can you buy me something to eat, I promise I will pay you later."

Part 2 ?

[jaiden-zhou]

(2) casual iso <3

contents: headcanons, reader is a uniqlo employee for plot purposes, self indulgent

part 2,, i couldnt help myself alright? its a little rushed but i just needed to get this out

this part is inspired, actually this whole casual iso thing is inspired by @angelltheninth 's pining! iso post

its actually really funny how i love pretty much all their posts and writing for at least six months and now just started following them thats how often i see their content in my feed i just never hit the follow button im sorry

part 1, part 3

.

.

iso who starts giving you a discount on your drinks, just as long as you give him your employee discounts in uniqlo and the exclusive early news on unreleased lines and collabs

iso who talks to you like everyday now haha

iso who then starts to pine for you, hard

iso who most to all of the time has his eyes on you not just when you speak, he actually almost tripped on a curb because he was so focused on you

iso who low-key craves your attention, after the first time you hugged him after he accompanied you home, he's started wishing he could hug you for long periods of time

iso who gets teased by yoru and phoenix for crushing on you, he's already embarrassed enough with the realization he likes you

iso who gets flustered with every physical interaction you two have, hugs? freezes up a bit before wrapping his arms lightly around you (poor baby's a little awkward), tugging his hand along? cheeks dusted pink, the occasional brush against his fingers? ears a little red <3

iso who started carrying bluetooth earbuds when he's out with you instead of headphones, it gets him to focus on you more, and maybe.. you two can listen to music together.. with his earbuds

iso who insists on giving you his jacket (the one that you found for him cough cough) when he sees you tense and shiver in the cold, he can handle it so just take the coat, man's not taking no for an answer

iso who out of habit, sub-consciously leans more towards you to hear your voice better, sometimes he stops himself and gets a little embarrassed with how close he is to you

iso who at any location, on the bus or train, at the movies, at any point if you're falling asleep, he's going to tilt your head towards his shoulder. it's fine you're too much into sleep to see his faint blush and endearing eyes on you

iso who sometimes pays for your food, you've had a rough day at work? snacks on him, some customer got on your nerves? he's got you a drink to cool you off <3

iso blushes a lot when you thank him, sometimes it's that same earnest smile you gave when you got him that jacket, sometimes it's a tired relieved smile with a small quiet thanks and your eyes are looking at him so sweetly and a little dazed from fatigue it makes his breath hitch and heart race a bit. "always.." he murmurs

iso who starts getting a little jealous when he's around you yet your attention is mainly on someone else, it gets a little much for him

iso who is a little noticeably annoyed when he sees you doubling over in laughter from gekko's stories, you two seem to be having a lot of fun

iso who doesn't know how to deal with how he's feeling, so whether he realizes it or not, he starts creating a bit of distance

iso takes his leave silently, going to the tea shop to work even on his day off to get his mind off of his envy

iso who left his phone on do-not-disturb full silence and in a locker so he doesn't look at it, meaning he doesn't see the worried texts and numerous calls to him from you asking if he's okay and where he went off to without telling you

iso who on his break in the back still without his phone and doesn't take mind of the bell that rings whenever the door opens and he just thinks it's another customer

iso who is surprised when it's you showing up through the door in a bit of disarray, heavy breaths, and chest heaving from exhaustion

------

"granny!" you barge through the door in labored pants. "granny, have you seen where zhao yu is? he hasn't picked up at all."

the elderly woman's mood is quite calm, maybe too much for your worry.

"oh yes, he's here, zhao yuuu! come out!" she beckons iso before he steps out curiously, eyes wide when they meet your own.

"what's goin' on-"

"where have you been?!" you cut him off in an approaching fury. "i've been texting and calling for hours, why didn't you tell me you left? why didn't you tell me where?"

he senses you're upset with him, pissed beyond what he's seen from you. and he panics.

"i.. granny called me in to ask me to work-"

"bullshit, yu." ah, you caught him. "if that was the case you would've at least told me, why?"

iso's hesitant, and his eyes show it the most when they lock contact with your hardened gaze before it softens into a vulnerable, pleading one.

"please.. don't lie to me." and his resolve breaks when he hears the pain and desperation in your voice. iso's head hangs low and his eyes are now everywhere else but your own. "you made me really worried."

"i know, i know." he admits quietly and he can't help but lean close to rest his forehead on your shoulder. "i'm sorry.."

he's so quiet about it, ashamed about how immaturely he handled it and causing you stress, akin to somewhat like a kicked puppy.

"i'm sorry i tried lying to you," he starts off again, your hand swinging over his shoulder and the other at the back of his head to bring him in an embrace. he spills, voice is a little muffled against your shoulder. "i'm sorry i left without telling you, worrying you and having you run to find me. i'm sorry for not picking up or responding at all, that was childish of me.."

"but why?" you begged for a reason, he's closer to you than ever, torso flushed to yours and your grip firm, it makes him feel like he's melting as he indulges himself more into your arms. still hesitant.

"i'm.. sorry, i was.." he pauses, his face heating up with having to admit this to you of all people. "i didn't like.. i.."

gosh he'll never hear the end of this from yoru and phoenix.

"i was jealous" he whispered so quietly, if he was any farther than now you wouldn't have been able to catch it and honestly, he was hoping you didn't.

"oh, yu.." his heart soars at your soft voice. you pull away with a light giggle, just enough to see him, his face flushed with a slight pout.

you lightly brush his fringe apart, caressing his face and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead in a silent confession. iso's eyes are squeezed shut, red in the cheeks as his stomach does flips before giving into his desires and burying his head into the juncture of your neck to hide away from embarrassment. <3

[wobblesthecowgirl]

I'm No O’Driscoll!

Chapter Three: Arthur's Doubts

Tags: Arthur Morgan x Femreader, enemies to lovers, O'Driscoll reader, game plot, Arthur doesn't have tuberculosis, eventual smut, age difference, 18+, mild gore

Word Count: 975

A/N: Sorry for a short chapter! Next chapter is going to be a long one...Lenny, Arthur, and Reader get drunk in Valantine! Comment how you want that to go! I've also changed the layout to see which is preferred.

Chapter One

Chapter Four

Arthur was starting to have doubts about letting both O’Driscoll’s join the gang. On the ride back to camp, he couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of them gunning down those there. Especially her. Where did she learn to shoot like that? She’s too quick.

Luckily, when he arrived, the place was calm and peaceful…or as peaceful as it could be. He scanned for the new members: Kieran was getting some soup from a not so happy Pearson, and then he finally saw her. It was clear the first thing she did as a free woman was have a wash and brush her hair.

Arthur couldn’t deny that she was definitely pretty, but her sour attitude, O’Driscoll past, and constant scowl made him hate her so much that he could look past how beautiful she was. However, when he watched from afar, he saw how she interacted with Mary-Beth: Her eyes were soft, her mouth curled up slightly at the corners, and she was even laughing lightly at times.

For some reason, this only annoyed him further. He strode over towards the two women who were sat on a blanket, looking up at him.

“You behavin’ yourself?” He asked, and there it was. Her famous scowl.

“You’re not going to give me a minute’s peace, are you?”

Now that he was closer, he could see had to look through her long lashes, and she had a small scar along her neck like Javier. Mary-Beth coughed.

“Is there something you need, Arthur?”

He shook his head, “Oh no, I was just making sure our new friend wasn’t giving you any trouble. God knows she gives it out a lot.” The woman shook her head to disagree, putting her book down.

“Not at all! She’s actually pleasant company.”

It was Y/n’s turn to talk, “I’m right here. Which, for your information, I’m a delight when I actually like the person. But, for a strange reason, I don’t like big dumb grunts who shoot me!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Give it a rest woman. You’re gonna have to get over that one day.”

The wind picked up slightly, making Y/n’s hair flow a little, and he was looking a bit too intently by accident. Mary-Beth stood up suddenly, causing the other two to turn to her. She excused herself, explaining she had chores to attend to, and scampered off. Arthur and Y/n stayed in awkward silence for a few seconds before she finally spoke up.

“Are you going to stand there or say something?”

He narrowed his eyes, staying stood because sitting next to her seemed too friendly, but the awkward pose of her sat looking up at him while he stood above her was just as bad.

“I’m just here to warn you that if you try anything- “

“Oh, give it a rest old man,” She spat as his eyes widened.

“Old man? You gotta be kidding, old man?”

Y/n laughed, tilting her head back slightly at his response. She stood up, dusting off her jeans. Despite being stood up now, she still had to look up. Tiny thing, she is. He asked, “And how old are you exactly?”

“Why? You interested?” She teased… flirted? He couldn’t tell, but he didn’t like either option.

He scowled at her, “Don’t be so cocky, girl. I’m askin’ ‘cos you’re acting like I’m as old as Hosea.”

“I’m in my early twenties, that’s all you’re getting.” She informed him, and for some reason, his stomach dropped. Arthur should’ve guessed she was young, she didn’t look older than thirty, but it still shocked him. Then she asked the same question. He chuckled lightly, looking away from her.

“I’m in my mid-thirties, old enough to be your Daddy.”

“Well, you don’t look a day over fifty.” She smiled sickly, enjoying tormenting the older man.

“Real mature of you.” He scoffed, before turning around without a goodbye. He couldn’t stand talking to her much longer; every single sentence she threw his way only jabbed him more and more, which would cause him to snap eventually. He found himself at Dutch’s tent, who was sat smoking a cigar and lost in thought. When he saw Arthur, his face lit up.

“Arthur! And to what do I owe the pleasure?” He took another puff.

“I just came to talk to you about that O’Driscoll girl.”

Dutch sat up straight, concern on his face, “Is she causing trouble?”

“Not exactly,” He rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s about her aim. When we were at Six Point, I was about to get shot, but she saved me. Put a bullet right between the man’s eyebrows. In seconds. That ain’t normal.”

The music was blaring from inside the tent like it usually did at this time, and Arthur could hear the rest of the members shouting and laughing. It almost drowned Dutch out.

“Where are you going with this, son?” The leader asked. Arthur paused, rubbing his chin.

“My point is, I don’t think she’ll cause trouble, but keep an eye on the guns around here.”

Dutch leaned back into his chair, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

“Or, we could use her to our advantage.” He was already planning something, a new chess piece for his board. Arthur rose an eyebrow and asked, “What you plannin’?”

He nodded his head, thoughts and ideas running through his head, “We are going to get Sean back, having her behind the scenes could be very helpful. Especially in a place like Blackwater.”

“Dutch…” Arthur groaned, “I can’t trust her. She may’ve saved my life, but she probably did it to save her own hide.”

“Well then, sounds like you two need to do a little bonding.” Dutch smirked, taking the final huff of his cigar, as he continued to scheme; much to Arthur’s dismay.

[thatdamnmutt-exe]

Smut about this pretty baby pls 🥺👉👈

Gn reader, switch Brhams (if not then sub Brhams is fine too)

————————————————

AN: Of course bestie. You’re currently a whore for brahms so i’ll help with ur obsession 💅

Requester: @hoefornamtits

————————————————

The Walls • Brahms

Plot: Brahms wants to please Echo but he doesn’t fully know how to, so Echo tries to take control to show him but they instead making Brahms feel good.

Pairing: Brahms x GN! Reader (Named: Echo)

Warnings: Sub!Brahms, Dom!GN Reader, Dirty Talk, Choking, Hair Pulling, Slight Dumbification, Neutral Private Areas, and Slight Switch Brahms if you squint.

Song: The Walls - Chase Atlantic

Extra: This goes out to my favorite bitch, yoonsie/eros/latte! here’s to you my asexual yet horny ass friend.

Word Count:

“Had a little, now she wanting more.

Told her I gotta make some calls.”

————————————————————————

echo made his way through the halls of the manor, cleaning off dust from all the old antiques. the day was almost over which meant echo would be seeing brahms soon.

the two have gotten close ever since echo made the decision to stay and continue taking care of brahms.

when echo felt content with the dusting, they made their way up to brahms room to tuck in his doll. “goodnight brahms.”

echo turned the light off and made their way to their room and jumped slightly upon seeing brahms standing in the middle of it, waiting for them.

“damn brahms, you scared the shit out of me.” echo breathed out while moving around him to change their night clothes.

as they moved to go to the bathroom to change, brahms stopped them by hugging from behind. echo could feel brahms arousal against their back, causing a shiver to run of his spin.

“brahms…” echo breathed out, eyes closing slightly as they thought about actions they could do together.

“i want… to make you feel good. show me how…” brahms pleaded. echo blushed slightly and took a deep breath before turning to face the incredibly tall man.

how could echo say no to him? seeing him so vulnerable and slightly submissive made a tingle go through their body.

echo moved brahms to lay on the bed before straddling him. “you want to learn how to make me feel good? huh baby? give me your hand.” echo commanded.

brahms moved his hand up to echo who took his hand and moved it down to their core. they took the opportunity to grind in his palm slowly, letting some moans leave their lips.

“fuck, just like that baby.” echo praised. brahms sat up to help remove echo’s shirt from their body.

brahms held out his other hand to echo which ended up with his fingers working magic along echo’s nipples.

echo’s back arched slightly into brahms touch as both pleasures suck in. “you’re so pretty.” brahms was the one to praise this time. echo smiled lightly in return as they sped up their pace a bit.

the two stayed in their positions until echo felt close to their climax. they stopped their movements and moved brahms to lay down again.

“hands are one of the more basic ways to please me if you want to take things slow and to tease with me. another thing you can do is with your tongue..” echo explained, removing their lower clothes.

they moved until their legs were on either side of of brahms head. they looked down and put their hands on his mask. brahms grabbed his hands, “can i move it slightly? i promise not to look if you’re not ready.” echo said in a sweet voice. brahms slowly removed his hands away and moved them to wrap around echo’s thighs.

echo moved the mask enough so brahm’s mouth was free. from there echo moved to hover above brahms to give him a moment to adjust. brahms fixed this and pulled echo to fully sit on his face before he started moving his tongue against echo’s hole.

echo moaned loudly from the sudden pleasure and gripping the headboard. brahms was able to figure out how to use his tongue quite quickly as he found the perfect spot to have the most effect.

“fuck brahms! you make me feel so good! you’re doing so good for me baby.” echo praised once more as their head became light headed from hoe good they felt.

they felt their end coming again and they wanted to stop brahms but brahms refused as he wanted to see what happened at the end.

“i’m so close, baby! god no one else could make me feel this good brahms.” they moaned out as they came hard. brahms moved his head slightly to lick it all up off echo.

“you also taste amazing. i want more.” brahms said as echo moved off his face and fixing his mask.

echo looked at him with a slight blush on their face before looking over brahms. some wetness still shown in his beard and his pants was starting to look overly tight.

“what about you brahms? let me make you feel good once…” echo said seductively as they moved to kiss brahms’ mask lightly.

“no no, no me this time. i want to please you.” brahms begged. echo sighed lightly before agreeing.

“well this last thing can have us both feel good. now just sit against the headboard this time and remove your pants, baby.” echo commanded again which of course brahms obeyed.

echo moved to straddle brahms, lining him up against their hole. “are you ready baby?” echo asked.

“please, please let me feel you around me. i need you so bad.” brahms whimpered as his hands moved to grasp on echo’s soft skin, pulling them as close as he could.

echo granted his wish and moved down until brahms completely bottomed out in echo. both figures released quick moans, one from feeling stretched out, the other feeling the walls clench around him.

“fuck.” brahms breathed out, feeling the best he’s ever felt. echo’s hands moved to grasp on brahms’ hair before they started to move themselves up and down on brahms.

“i’ve never been stretched out like this, fuck you fill me up so good, brahms.” echo kissed his mask once more as they sped up their pace and as brahms joined in to match their rhythm.

both of them never wanted this feeling to end, they never felt anything as good as this. echo was also slightly still sensitive from their first orgasm which brahms used to his advantage.

he moved his free hands up along echo’s chest and started abusing his nipples which earned breathy whimpers from echo. brahms watched as echo’s dominant side crumble slightly in his hands. he soaked up all the power he had over echo.

“i’m close again brahms, how about you?” echo’s back was arching into brahms’ touch and their nails digging into his back as they tried to hold back their orgasm.

“i think i’m close too.” brahms moaned out. echo moved their head down to kiss along brahms’ neck, leaving dark marks long along the base of it. they wanted to leave a reminder of this moment for both of them.

“cum with me, brahms.” echo’s breaths became quicker as they reached their limit and ended up spilling over the edge again. brahms reached his end a few seconds after echo, feeling the way echo squeezed around him.

the two stayed in that position for a bit, looking at each other while catching their breath. echo moved off brahms and attempted to stand up but fell to the floor as their legs gave out.

brahms quickly moved to their side and picked them up. “where are you going?” brahms asked.

“to the bathroom, we need to clean up.” echo smiled.

brahms stopped for a moment, “don’t need the bathroom to do that.” brahms put echo back on the bed again, placing his head between echo’s legs once more.

“round 3?” brahms asked, tilting his head slightly. before echo could respond, brahms moved his mask slightly again and dove in to taste echo once more.

————————————————————————

“This may be one hell of a night,

come with me we gonna go outside.”

[eleni-cherie]

a thief's end ✨ || bts • myg - chapter 1.0

"so eager to be in a headlock again?" "only if it's by you."

he thought he was done with the criminal life and ready for some peace and quiet. but his plans collapsed in the form of a strange girl who was in trouble.

© 2023 | eleni_cherie

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masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to lovers s2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

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"Seeing anything yet?" "Just a bunch of high-class, low-life fat cats, all cleaned up for prom," Taehyung mumbled, seeing a white laborghini lining up next to ferraris and porsches in the grand forecourt of the meditarranean mansion in the distance. "But no sign of anyone we care about." Yoongi sighed, grabbing another pair of binoculars and took a look himself. "Well, that will change when we get there" Jimin said, taking a look at the mansion's blueprint instead. Making sure to check every possible escape route. "Looks like the office room is in the building behind the manor.. You see it from up there?" Taehyung left his seat on the grassy rock and stood up. Focusing the binoculars on the back buildings instead, spotting a spire. "Just the very top of it.." "Wonder what they got tucked away in there," Jimin lightly chuckled, only earning a side-eye from Yoongi who simply laughed under his breath realising his friend would probably never change. 

Once a thief, always a thief.

"Let's just focus on finding Soyeon for now." "I don't know.." Jimin mumbled, glancing up at Taehyung, "You don't wanna pick up something for the wife?" Taehyung huffed a laugh, his eyes leaving the mansion to peek at him. Not actually taking his propose seriously. "That's cute.. But just keep it simple."

"Right. Simple." Jimin sighed disappointed and dusted off the work clothing he was wearing over his smoking. A precautious measure so their outfits wouldn't get dirty and raise suspicion at the party. "I'll be on my way then to sneak in with my charms. You two wait for my sign."

The two hummed, watching him walk down the path between the trees they had come from. Their gaze focusing back at the sun-colored mansion then.

The plan was for Jimin to use his skills and wits to get inside and schmooze his way right through that party, change security system up a bit, unlock the window in that office room and let them in. Solozzo would most likely be there and recognise Yoongi, so he didn't have any other option but to sneak in.

Half an hour of waiting later, the older guy lowered the binoculars, getting tired of watching luxury caey one after another driving up the serpentine road to the mansion.

"You think they caught him?" "Nah, don't think so." "Maybe he got lost then?" Taehyung eyed him with an arched brow, knowing he couldn't possiby mean it as Jimin would always memorize the whole map before entering a building.  "What if -" Yoongi's worries were cut off by Taehyung lightly hitting his chest, catching his attention. "There," he said, motioning at the side towards a balcony. Yoongi heaved his binoculars back and indeed, a light was going on and off in the room. Jimin's sign. "See?"

Yoongi rolled his eyes as he zipped Taehyung's work clothing up. "Just try to keep your tux clean." Taehyung only huffed. Unzipping the collar again as soon as Yoongi turned around. And they got off the rock and into the scrub. The setting sun bathing the building in the distance and scenery into a warm atmosphere.

They made their way through the high grass, eventually reaching the edge of the cliff the mansion was on. It was only a few meters between them and the stone fence surrounding the building that they had to climb. And they had almost reached the top when Yoongi's hand grabbed Taehyung's shoulder, preventing him from going further. "Hold up. I hear someone," he whispered.

And indeed, only a few seconds later the younger guy was also able to hear voices. Two men, probably guards, were speaking in italian further away. Taehyung hadn't heard them earlier, but Yoongi did. Listening intensely despite not understanding anything. They carefully peeked their heads out, seeing the guards holding up some big machine guns, entering a side building then. They waited a few seconds more, making sure the coast was clear. "Okay, we're good." "Damn, did you see him? That guy was carrying some serious heat," Taehyung said as they heaved themselves over the stone, not hiding how stunned he was. He patted his holster under the working attire then, making sure his magnum was still there. "Good thing we came prepared."

Yoongi nodded quietly, shifting his katana's strap on his shoulder. His gaze wandering up to the beautiful building in front of them.

They reached underneath he balcony of the office room, it not being too high as it was on ground level. Taehyung gave Yoongi a leg-up to climb up first before grabbing his reached out hand and climbing up himself. And just as planned the balcony door was unlocked, Taehyung about to enter when Yoongi stopped him once again. "What?" With a look of appeal, Yoongi unzipped his work clothes and took them off. Revealing his tuxedo. Reminding him to do the same. And Taehyung snickered, realising he'd almost entered like this. Quickly, he got rid off the blue work clothing as well, throwing it behind the bushes underneath them.

They entered the dark room then, squinting their eyes to get adjusted when recognising a figure behind the broad wooden desk. "Jimin?" The desk light got dramatically switched on, revealing Jimin sitting in a big puffy armchair with a mischievous grin. "You know what I love about parties with rich crooks? No one expects to get their pockets picked." A golden chain fell from his fingers, dangling and shimmering under the light. The two sighing almost simulataneously. "You really can't help it, huh?" "I could. But it's just too funny messing with rich people," he chuckled and got up. "Let's try to do what we're here for and get outta here instead." "Yeah, ugh about that.." Jimin's voice trailed off as he led them out, cautiously not to stumble into anyone. Yoongi swallowed, not liking his tone. "W-why? What about that?" "C'mon, lemme show you something."

They walked past long carpeted hallways with paintings and statues until reaching the railing of the upper floor balcony, mingling unnoticed with the other guest scattered up there. Looking down at the grand hall where the rest was gathered at. Drinking and laughing over the live band's music.

Jimin pointed at two men who were awkwardly standing at the hall's front, looking into their filled glasses. "Cops. I saw them when I arrived. They must be high-ranking ones from the looks of it. And then this-" His finger wandered behind them. "See that door?" They nodded. A tall guard was blocking its entry. "According to the blueprint it's a small room for stuff members, you know like a break room with no windows. But it got that goon guarding it.." He glanced at them with raised brows. "Suspicious isn't it?" Yoongi's jaw tightened, getting what Jimin was implying. "You think she's there?" He shrugged. "She might. I definitely caught our Mr. Sleezy junior coming out of there and whispering something to the guard's ear. The only way to find out is to get in there."

"You said no windows?" Taehyung questioned, taking a thinking expression. "No windows. But right behind is the wine cellar.." He eyed Yoongi with a suggestive look and it didn't take long for Yoongi to respond with a knowing one.  "But how do I get into the kitchen? The staff will get alerted if they see a random man there and we didn't bring any disguises. And I'd need to also get her out without them noticing." "Jeez, you guys act like you've never spent time in custody," Jimin sighed disappointedly, "If you want something dirty done then you wait.." The others exchanged a smirk. "..for lights out." "Exactly. "Where's the electrical panel for this place?" Descretedly, he pulled the blueprint out of his suit's pocket and showed them a spot on it. "Up here. So we gotta climb up there and kill the lights." "And get inside and past the cooks and servants in the dark." "There'll surely be an emergency generator though." They nodded at Taehyung's concern. Yoongi inhaled sharply. "That'll give us a few seconds of darkness.. It should still work." "You sure?" He nodded with detemination. "Yes. Meaning I'll have to be right next to the door when the lights go out though." "Except there's no way we can get that close without being noticed. There's no one else standing there in a four-metre-radius." A waitress came in that moment, offering them antipasti on a tablet, which only Jimin accepted. "Would you focus?" Taehyung mumbled under his breath as the waitress left to serve the guests next to them. Jimin rolled his eyes, stuffing the small snack into his mouth, nodding at the direction of the waitress. "A waiter wouldn't get noticed." Yoongi's eyes lit up. "That would work. I could sneak into the kitchen from the backdoor then."

"That will work." Jimin clapped his hands excitedly. "Alright, change of plans. Yoongi, you sneak into the wine cellar as a waiter and I'll get to the breaker room, kill the power in the kitchen right on time for you and Soyeon to get out of there." "Alright," Yoongi continued, turning to Taehyung. "And you head to the front, keep an eye on that door, okay? Let us know if anything, uh.. odd goes down." The younger guy nodded vigorously. "Before we go," Jimin said then, grabbing into his pocket. His hand opened then, revealing three in-ear-transmitters on his palm. "We still need these." Everyone picked one, shoving it into their ear before exchanging glances. "We got this."

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It wasn't hard for Yoongi to find a waiter to exchange clothes with. Waiting at the kitchen's backdoor for someone to come out for a smoke was an easy bet. And indeed, only a few minutes later a waiter came out to lighten a cigarette. Giving Yoongi the opportunity to jump off the canopy and knock him down, dragging him behind a storage room.

"You good?" Jimin's voice echoed through the in-ear. Yoongi huffed, shuffling into the dress shirt. "Yeah.. these clothes are just a bit too big for me." "Well, that's the style these days anyway.. I'm almost at the power room. Tae? You good?" "Yeah, not much movement here."

Taking a breath, he entered the busy kitchen, grabbing a silver tablet from the side and mixing with the rushing waiters as if he belonged there. And as expected, everyone was in such a hurry and stressed that no one noticed the new face in their colleague's clothes.  The kitchen was big, perhaps bigger than a restaurant's. Chefs, souschefs and simple cooks yelling among each other while preparing dishes. He dodged a waitress with a plate of soup who almost bumped into him when Taehyung spoke up from the front of the ball room. "I just came across that Solozzo guy. He was talking to some guy about being on stand-by for the boss' 'big reveal'." "Just as we expected, the necklace." Yoongi's jaw clenched until Taehyung continued with irritation in his voice, confounding Jimin's words. "I don't think he meant the necklace though.." "Huh, you sure? What else?" "Dunno. But he instructed the guy to be cautious so it wouldn't escape.. Guys, I think Soyeon's actually the big reveal. Or her and the necklace. But she's definitely involved."

Yoongi's eyes widened. Of course. Now everything made sense. "He wants to expose the thief's identity and also ridicule the cops. That's why they got invited. To show he managed getting his necklace back without the police's help." "Damn, that's twisted." "And narcissistic." "But she wouldn't be the one getting in trouble," Taehyung pointed out then, "While he actually kidnapped her. Isn't he scared of exposing his own crime?" "A rich guy like that? He'd surely pay off police and anyone else if someone found out she wasn't there on her own will." Yoongi almost collided with a cook who was hurriedly passing a saucier to a colleague. Everyone was so busy and rushing around that no one paid attention to the waiter who sneaked into the wine cellar. 

The wine cellar was bigger than expected, similar to the kitchen. Dim lights and lowered temperature for the sensitive liquids, along with stacks and stacks of dark barrels and lined up bottles in shelves, creating an eery atmosphere.

According to the blueprint, the wall to the left was the one connected to the room they wanted to get in. He got his sword out from the back of the dress shirt, the large fit having been quite practical after all, and began to cut a small hole in the wall so that he could look inside carefully, in case there was another security guard lurking behind it.

The room on the other side had a much simpler interior, contrary to the extravagantly decorated rest of the house. Probably because it was supposed to only be a staff members room. He couldn't recognise much else though, so he enlarged the hole. Hearing a quiet: "What the hell?" from the other side which made him instantly smile in relief. Jimin's intuition had been right again. "Soyeon?" "Yoongi?" 

It was silent for a moment, until a feline eye suddenly appeared in front of the hole. Looking right back at him. "How.. What are you doing here?" Soyeon whispered, beaming with joy when unexpectedly seeing him there. "What do you think I'm doing?" he scoffed playfully, an amused grin spreading on his features then. "Go aside, I'll make it bigger so you can fit through." She quickly stepped away, watching the hole crumble more and growing bigger in no time. Dust rose, clouding her vision for a moment and she coughed. Soon recognising Yoongi's silhouette when it began settling. He slid his sword back to its sheath, standing there with a lopsided smile on his face. "Hey, there." Soyeon's lips instantly tucked into a smirk and she folded her arms. "Missed me so much, had to chase me all the way to Italy, huh?" "Something like that," he said, the smile never leaving his face when noticing something sparkling around her neck then. And he frowned. "You wear the necklace?"

Her eyes widened and she looked down, having completely forgotten about it. "Y-yeah, they also gave me new clothes and even did my make-up, as you see.." She tugged at the long black dress and he had to quickly look away when feeling himself staring. Her appearance not only making his cheeks flush. "I don't know why exactly though, I didn't understand a word as they spoke Italian to me.." He hummed, his theory only varifying when he watched her taking off the piece of jewelry and tossing it back into the room. Looking at her dumbfounded to which she simply shrugged. "What? Obviously I don't want it!"

"Guys, I don't wanna interrupt the cute get-together, but something's happening," Taehyung's voice hushed on the other line of the transmitter, "Our guy got on stage and started delivering a speech. Something about wanting to be the one hosting this year for a special reason.. and Solozzo is going in the direction of the door now." "Crap," Yoongi muttered to which Soyeon looked confused. "We gotta go." He grabbed her wrist and led her to the cellar's door, opening it carefully and glancing through the crack. Trying remembering the route back. "Alright, Yoongi, I'm at the switch. You ready?" Yoongi breathed, having spotted the backdoor around the corner from the grocery boxes. "Yeah, let's ruin this jerk's party." 

In an instant, everything turned black. Voices becoming louder and panicked as Yoongi tucked Soyeon past everyone, making sure not to bump into anyone by walking near cabinets and they reached the exit right when the generator switched the lights back on. The two disappearing outside.

Breathing heavily from the adrenaline rush, she propped her hand against the wall. "Damn, that was quite risky!"  He nodded, still holding her wrist. "We're not done yet. Still have to make it out of the property. Okay?" She nodded, catching her breath again and Yoongi tapped at the in-ear. "Guys, how's it looking?" "I'm on my way to the meeting place," Jimin announced. "Well, as for me.." Taehyung whispered, "I'm quietly leaving the hall. Trying getting to the front door. Solozzo just interrupted the speech by whispering something in his ear. I think we all know what. So prepare for sht to go down real quick and them locking everything up." Yoongi hummed. "Alright, going to the meeting place then. Be quick." He turned his focus to Soyeon then. "How well can you climb?" Her eyes widened in alert. "Wh- not very. Why?" He gave her an apologetic look. "I fear we have to. It's only a few meters though." Leading her to the stone fence where he and Taehyung had previously climbed up from, he swung his legs over it. Waiting for her to follow.

Soyeon gulped, taking a look down before backing off. "I know it seems high, but we don't have much time left," he softly spoke up with an apologetic look. "You can do this, okay?" And she bit her lips, nodding. Knowing someone might catch them soon if they didn't hurry. So she gathered the dress' long fabric in her hands, making a knot to shorten it and allow her getting over the fence easier. With a deep breath, she grabbed it's edge as tightly as she could and climbed down. It was indeed only a few meters and yet it felt like a long way to go. Carefully, she set her feet on wherever they touched and followed him. Regretting not having taken off the high heels.

Suddenly they heard someone roaming the area above them. Yelling. Most likely guards looking for them. Soyeon's fingers clutched harder into the rocks as she did her best to keep herself up and not lose balance. The voices soon disappeared and Yoongi gave her a sign to continue.

They reached the end of the cliff, Yoongi being the first to touch ground again. Holding his hands out for her to grab and pulling her up with force. Causing her to collide with his chest and both stumbled, landing on the grass. For a moment they groaned in pain before bursting out laughing. And they quickly got up, brushing the dirt off the clothes when more shouts and noises came from inside the property. And they hid in the high grass, stealthing their way to the front. Tall plants covering them from the sight of the street when Yoongi took a look through the bars of the entrance gate. His eyes spotting the silver mercedes Jimin had hotwired to use for his entrance among the other high-class cars. It was still parked there but no sight of the other and he began worrying, wondering where the two were. The in-ear didn't seem to work either as he was outside and most likely out of its radius. He went closer, seeing the guards in the forecourt were also running into the building to see what was happening inside. Giving him the opportunity to draw his sword and slicing the metal bars, pushing it wide open. They entered the property once again, hurrying to the mercedes while ducking behind the parked cars.

"Stay here and get down," he instructed her then in a low voice when she slid inside the backseat. She grabbed his arm though, her eyes bewildered. "Where are you going?" He sighed, releasing her hand from its grip. "My friends are inside there. I should go check why they're taking so long." "Wait, your friends are actually here? Taehyung and.. Jimin?" He nodded, seeing her brows raising as she sank more into her seat. "Why are they.. why are you..?" She tried comprehending when gunshots were heard from inside the building, causing them both to tense up and look at the direction of the building. It wasn't hard to guess who they were aimed for. His jaw tightened and he swallowed. Brown irises falling back to her with apprehension. "Don't worry, okay?" She nodded and he gave her a small smile before tightening the grip around his sword. Jogging towards the entrance when the door suddenly flew open. Seeing none other than Taehyung and Jimin running out of it while shooting behind them.

"Run, run, run!" "Crap!"

They all ran back to the silver car, reaching it when a bunch of guards appeared at the doorframe, shooting at them like mad. Hitting not only theirs but also neighboring cars, breaking the rare window of a yellow ferrari. "There goes the insurance," Jimin chuckled as he took the driver's seat and started the engine. Taehyung following suit into the passenger seat while Yoongi went to his usual spot in the back, next to Soyeon who was crouching in fear of getting hit by a random bullet. The tires squeaked when Jimin floored the gaspedal and they dashed out of the gates and down the road. Curving every serpentine in a dangerously sharp angle, throwing them from one side to another. Soyeon's elbow accidentally hitting Yoongi's rip at one point.

"Are they behind us?"

"I can see one -" A bullet hit the trunk, cutting off Taehyung. And scowl spread over his eyes as he turned in his seat, leaning out of the window. "Not for long though. Hold the car steady!" he yelled. Jimin huffed, overtaking a truck. "That's easier said then done!" The car swayed again when another bullet almost hit the side-mirror. "Try for two seconds!" And he did. Allowing Taehyung to fire three precise shots, audibly hitting the pursuer. The car behind them swerved, spinning out and leaving it's lane before crushing into the trench on the side of the road. And he fell back to his seat with a content grin. Jimin errupting into a fit of laughs as they left the country road and entered the highway, heading north towards the city. "Damn, that was fun! I forgot how much fun this is!" "You idiot almost got us killed," Taehyung groaned, throwing him an annoyed glare. "I did not. It's not my fault this guy suddenly turned around the corner right when I got out of the vent!" "Why were you there anyway?" His friend rolled his eyes. "It was the fastest way back from the power room, duh." And Soyeon observed them bewilderedly as they joked and teased. It was a hairbreadth escape and they were just laughing it off like it was nothing. "You guys are really used to that kind of stuff, huh?" she faintly giggled. Rising from her crouched position to straighten herself again. "You could say so."

Yoongi shrugged nonchalantly, a small grin on his lips, making her laugh under her breath. She leaned forward then, peeking her head between the two in the front. "I remember you, you're the doctor's husband," she smiled and pointed at Taehyung, her head then switching to Jimin. "But we haven't met yet, I've only heard of you." Jimin gave her a brief smile before focusing back on the road. "Only good stuff I hope!" "Of course," she grinned and sat back. Dragging out a sigh then when peeking at Yoongi who was quietly staring outside. Deep in thoughts as it seemed. The airstream tousing his long dark waves. "Seriously, I can't thank y'all enough.. I don't know how to make it up to you." She didn't know why those strangers helped her. Hell, she didn't even know why Yoongi even still bothered. He was often still a mystery to her. And yet he and his friends risked so much for her. And her hand covered his which was laying on his lap. Giving him a gentle smile when he perked up at her touch and looked at her. Returning the smile.

"Food. Food is always a good way," Taehyung grinned, when eyeing Yoongi from the rare view mirror. Winking at him. "But it was nothing, seriously. Don't worry. We've been doing this kind of stuff all the time." "And besides.." Jimin slid his hand into his blaze's inner pocket. Revealing the goldchain he had taken from that rich lady. "I did get my souvenir. Bella's gonna love it."

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next chapter: 1.1 here

Don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback!♡

It motivates me to keep writing :)

[freementallyillkid]

Again E.W

Word count:1.8k

Tw: gore, blood, death (you) angst not happy ending, maybe oc Ellie idk

Context: Has some of the plot points of Tlou 2 with the Dina-Ellie stuff, Joel is fine I promise. When you first got to Jackson it was a year after Ellie, you're a year older than her. requested as male reader (platonic) but is gender neutral (I think)

You found yourself racing through Jackson as fast as you could, nearly sliding and falling as you swung around the corner, hearing the laughter of some of the other residents of the town behind you as you once again raced to get to the stables on time for patrols. You had a habit for sleeping in, despite the numerous alarm clocks Tommy had found and fixed for you, and you were sure if you were late again Ellie, your best friend, would beat your ass for setting you all back. Though you know she only cared because it meant she would have less time to hang out with Dina. Which really meant she had less time to make super awkward conversations and blush a lot. Gross.

You came to a sloppy stop right outside the stables and calmly waltzed in like you weren’t two seconds away from being late. Sliding the huge wooden stable doors open, you glance around to look for Ellie, which didn’t take long because almost as soon as you entered you heard her shout, “About time you showed up!” from a stall to your left.

Wandering over you slip into the stall next to hers to get your own horse, Spirit, ready and call back, “Hey I’m on time today!” She didn’t say anything back but you could practically hear her eye roll. The both of you saddled up your horses and took them outside to the gates where you were let out.

For the first half an hour you both rode in silence looking around and trying to wake up a bit more and after 10 minutes of Ellie slowly driving you crazy by glancing over at you like she did something wrong and opening her mouth before snapping it closed like she was gonna tell you something, you snapped. “What did you do?”

“What?”

“You're being weird, what did you do? Did you finally punch Seth in the face?” You’ll admit the last bit was more of a hope than an actual guess, if she had punched him you most definitely would have heard about it by now.

“What? Ugh no I wish,” Ellie rolled her eyes and huffed while her face got all flush and she fiddled with her reins, “I kinda…” She held you in suspense for longer than you would have wanted. “IkissedDina.”

She said it so fast you almost didn’t hear her. After almost a full minute you finally processed it. “Oh shit! Ellie! THat’s-”

She cut you off “I know I know her and Jesse just broke up, again, but it was more like she kissed me plus I already told Jesse and he was chill about it.” Ellie moaned and groaned into her hands, face as flush as a tomato. You couldn’t help but laugh at her which only made her glare at you.

Smiling, you told her, “I don't care about any of the Dina-Jesse shit and neither do they Dina’s her own woman and I’ve been telling you she likes you for almost a year now.” As you reassured her you rode up beside her and pushed her arm lightly(-ish) “Pluuuus not I can say I told you so.” That only made her roll her eyes and scoff, but you could tell she relaxed now having a small smirk and a dusting of blush. Watching her for a few more seconds with a smile you screwed up your face and said, “Ugh gross.”

Now it was her turn to look at you confused, “What?”

“Nothing, just your face, it's grossing me out with all your cute lovey shit.” You teased.

“Fuck off, you’re just sad that not one would date you.” She shot back.

“A lot of people say I’m very handsome actually.” You informed her leaning closer to her with a look of superiority on your face.

“They’re lying to you.” She mumbled plainly. You gasped, putting a hand over your heart and fake cried while she rolled her eyes. The both of you laughed and bantered some more until you got closer to the rundown, abandoned town you had to cut through to make sure the infected population wasn’t getting too big.

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As Ellie and you entered it you both quieted down and pulled out your weapons. For your years of friendship the both of you moved in sync as you guys made your way through town occasionally taking out infected as you went.

You were about a block away from the check in spot when you rounded a corner and saw a herd of infected milling around. When they heard the clop of your horse’s shoes they whipped around and bolted towards you two. “Oh shit,” Ellie and you whispered, still trying to be quiet despite the fact that you had already been spotted. As quickly as you could you turned your horses around and galloped in the opposite direction hoping to circle back around.

Rounding another dreaded corner you, in the lead, ran into a runner immediately attacking your horse biting into Spirt’s side making him whiny and buck you off. When your back and head hit the ground you wheezed the wind knocked out of you clawing at your chest and patting around for your weapon. You could faintly hear Ellie shouting and maybe some gunshot, but the ringing in your ears was too loud for anything to sound coherent.

Thinking your heard Ellie say something you turn your head to the left, immediately you knew that was wrong, You couldn’t hear great because of the ringing and muffled sounds you knew Ellie was at your right shooting at the quickly approaching infected, seeing what really was on your left you saw the runner right by your side reaching out for you. You let out a weird, strange cry weakly crawling away, but the runner was of course too fast and Ellie who wielded around when she heard your cry was too slow.

The runner jumped at you and you put your arms up to block it and push it away, but you were too late, the runner sunk its teeth into your flesh creating a searing pain that cut through the already fading muffled feeling. It pulled its mouth away from you taking with it a large chunk of your flesh. You screamed in pain just as Ellie put a bullet through the runners head taking a millisecond to sling the gun over her shoulder.

Hooking her arms under your she practically held you up. Because you couldn’t help the tears spilling down your face from the pain and the knowledge that you would soon die at the hands of your best friend because you also knew that she wouldn’t leave you to turn or make you do it on your own She practically dragged you to a safe building only a few feet away, an old hardware store, setting you down in a corner and barricading the door.

“O- okay we need to stop the bleeding first.” Ellie mumbled taking off her bag to get out her medical supplies, she turned away from you slightly as she looked for it but that did nothing to hide the glassy look forming in her eyes. You only shook your head at her as she pressed gauze onto the gushing wound, the crisp white immediately turning a deep red.

“Ellie…”

“Be quiet, you need to rest,” She told you harshly, wiping her now teary cheeks with the back of your hand, catering more cloth, pushing harder making you groan and squirm away.

“Ellie.” You repeated this time more forcefully, grabbing her wrist with your bloody hands, how did they get that way? “There's nothing you can do to stop this, you know that.” Her lower lip wobbled and her shoulders shook as she shook her head no. “Promise me Ellie-”

“No! You're gonna be fine.” She commanded, she looked like she was going to say more, but stopped when she saw your face. Pleading her to listen.

“Please I can’t end up like them…” You whispered, shivering the heat leaving your body.

“I don’t know if I can do it again.” Ellie cried no longer trying to stop the tears that spilled down her face.

“I know,” You told her because you did, she told you herself, “I’m sorry.” There was a long pause where neither of you said a word just sob already mourning each other though for different reasons. It made youlong for simpler times…

When you first got to Jackson you were scared you were only 16 and had lost your traveling partner, though the relationship went far beyond that, a few months ago. A man named Tommy had found you and brought you back telling you about the great community they had. While you definitely didn’t believe him, you were confident enough in your ability to get out of shitsituations.

You had only been there a few days when Tommy had taken you to the community eating hall to get to know more people in the community when you saw a girl with auburn hair who was probably about a year younger than you shoveling beef jerky in her pocket. You had rather loudly pointed it out to Tommy and before he could say anything about it the girls told you too, “Mind your own fuckin business.” and was promptly smacked in the back of the head by an older guy you would come to know as Joel.

“Ow, that hurt!”

Ignoring her Joel said, “Manners Ellie.” She rolled her eyes and grumbled, but later turned up at Tommy's house, where you were staying, to offer an apology which you accepted, eventually.

After that you saw each other many more times at community get-togethers, Tommy or Joel's house, begging whoever was incharge to let you go on patrols even if you were ‘too young’. When you really became friends was when you both ended up hiding from a social gathering in the same place and found out you both loved Savage Starlight.

After that night you were both inseparable, joined at the hip. Hanging out at each other's houses, goin on patrol when you were old enough, when you had breakdowns or cried over those you had lost, you even comforted her when she found out how Joel had lied to her and encouraged her to forgive him and rebuild their relationship.

She was your closest friend and you were hers. Nothing could separate you…

“I promise…” Her voice cracked at the end.

You smiled, the pain was going numb and you felt like you were in Alaska, “Thank you Els. I’m glad it’s you…”

You closed your eyes.

A gun was cocked.

“I love you.” Ellie whispered.

“I love you too.” You replied.

You take a deep breath.

There was a loud bang.

You were gone and Ellie had lost her best friend all over again.

[bobbyonboard]

Leavin’ On a Jet Plane [Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader]

Summary: did I pretty much just loosely follow the plot of Top Gun: Maverick? You bet I did. Or in other words--your new husband has just been called back to Top Gun for reasons unknown. Just a lil’ thing detailing those two weeks. 

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death (rip to the best couple of all time, goose and carol), oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, maaaaaaaaaybe if you squint a tiny bit of breeding kink, it’s lots of build up and then just smut.

Word Count: 4.7k

Author’s Note: This is extremely self-indulgent. I haven’t posted a fic in over two years, so PLEASE be kind to me. Even though I am 27, I will cry if strangers on the internet are mean to me. Is all the info in it correct? No. Did I change a few things to make it suite my heart’s needs? Yes. Requests are always open and you can check out my masterlist here, which I’ll be updating shortly! Because there are plenty more Top Gun fics sitting in my brain lol 

also big thanks to @bradshawsbaby and @callsignbob for their fics being so amazing that it kicked my ass back into writing fics

Three weeks. 

It certainly wasn’t the longest you’d ever been apart, but still–it was three weeks. Watching your husband toss his bags in the back of his Bronco had that familiar pang pulsing in your chest, and you tried not to frown as you leaned against the doorframe. 

“Hey now, you know I hate that look,” Rooster cooed as he came back up the front steps of your small, shared home. He stayed a step or two lower than you, so the two of you were pretty much the same height, and he bumped your nose with his own. 

“It’s three weeks, baby. I’ll call you every night. Text you every second I can,” he promised, his arms moving to wrap around your waist as he pulled you up against his chest, pressing soft kisses to your jutted bottom lip in quick succession. 

Truthfully, you weren’t upset about the length. Like he said, three weeks wasn’t horrible. What really had you worried was the fact that he’d been recalled to Top Gun at all. They barely gave the pilots any information, which meant that your husband could tell you even less–and you didn’t care for it in the slightest. Going back to Top Gun could only mean one thing–something was happening and they needed the best and the brightest. 

“I know you will,” you sniffled, and you tried your best to put a smile on, if only for Rooster’s sake. “Just don’t want you forgettin’ about me while you’re gone,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood in just the slightest. 

Your smile became genuine when Bradley gave a dramatic role of his eyes and clutched at his chest playfully. “You think I’d forget about you?! About this?!,” he scoffed, reaching around to grab a handful of your ass and give it a squeeze as you squealed with laughter. “You must not know me at all, Mrs. Bradshaw.” 

Six months of marriage hadn’t changed the way that made your stomach flip–hearing yourself referred to as “Mrs. Bradshaw” had your cheeks dusting a light pink, and you bit your bottom lip lightly. 

“Alright, Lieutenant Bradshaw. You better call me, then. And you–,” you stopped briefly, swallowing a little thickly at your next words. “You better come home to your wife.” 

Rooster stiffened a bit at that, placing his hands on the sides of your face and letting his thumbs brush lightly over your cheekbones. “Hey,” he whispered, pressing your foreheads together and taking a deep breath. He’d never make a promise to you he couldn’t keep–he knew that better than anyone.

 “I will do everything I can to come home to you. Okay?”

You just nodded at his words, leaning in to give him a long, passionate kiss, your fingers tangling in his loose, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt as you kept him close. The two of you continued to kiss for a few minutes, just clinging to each other before you finally pulled away, sliding his aviators on his nose for him, the sun just coming up over the horizon. 

“You’ve got a long ride, Roos,” you murmured, giving him one more kiss before smoothing his hair back against his head. Rooster was stationed at Naval Air Station Lemoore, in Lemoore, California. It was a cute, quiet little military town, and while the two of you missed the coast something terrible, you were content with the little community you’d built for yourselves. Bradley had decided he’d enjoy the five hour drive down to North Island instead of flying (something about ‘not enjoying a plane ride when he’s not the one piloting’) so here you were, staring at his Bronco and wishing you were going to be camped out in the passenger seat. 

“Yeah, I gotta get goin’,” he whispered in return, giving you one more searing kiss before he was pulling away and giving you that signature Bradshaw grin. Before you could even properly miss him, he was in the car, turning on the engine and rolling down the window as he was backing out of the driveway. Once he was parallel with the street, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “I love you, Mrs. Bradshaw!,” and laid on the horn, whooping and hollering. You couldn’t help but just laugh, knowing the neighbors were certainly awake now, if they weren’t already. You just blew him a kiss and watched him drive off into the sunrise, and quietly hoped these three weeks would go by quickly. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first day was always the hardest. Work couldn’t even take your mind off of the fact that you’d be going home to an empty house, so you just moped around the office and immediately got into the bath the second you were home. You were thankful for a quick phone call from Rooster that night, but it was mostly drowned out by noise from The Hard Deck, and you urged him to go have fun with his friends on their first night there. They rarely got nights like those anymore, and they deserved them. 

You were at lunch the next day, casually scrolling through Instagram while you ate your sandwich, when suddenly Bradley’s picture filled the screen (it was one of him in black and white, wearing his sunglasses in bed the morning after his latest birthday) and you answered the phone call quickly.

“Hiya honey,” you beamed, cradling the phone to your ear as you took another bite of your sandwich. “How’s your first day?”.

“Baby, why don’t you come down here, huh?,” Rooster practically cut you off, voice sounded just slightly strained and in a hushed tone. “God, it’s beautiful in San Diego. You love it here–it’s only three weeks. I’ll get ya a hotel room and you can make it a vacation. Whatdya say?,” he asked, and for some reason, it felt more like he was begging you to come and stay with him, versus suggesting a fun little trip. 

“Bradley, what’s wrong?,” you asked automatically, sitting up straighter in your chair. 

“Nothin’!,” he almost squeaked out, and he could tell by your silence that you didn’t believe that for a single second. 

He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only half a minute. He cleared his throat, and you thought you even heard a soft sniffle. 

“It’s Maverick,” he whispered, taking a deep breath. “He’s the instructor.”

Your heart immediately sank into your stomach, and you clung even tighter to your phone. You knew exactly what that meant. You’d never met Captain Mitchell yourself, only heard the stories from Bradley. The story of him pulling his papers. The story of how his father had been in the plane with the other pilot when he died. The only version you’d ever seen of your husband and Maverick’s relationship had been a non-existent one. The two had successfully avoided each other for years–now only to be forced to not only work together, but for Rooster to learn from him. 

“Oh, honey,” you whispered, running your hands through your hair and sighing softly. There was nothing Bradley could do. This was Top Gun, and it was the military. They didn’t just let you go somewhere else because you didn’t like your teacher. 

“I can’t do it–I can’t do it alone, Y/N,” he whispered into the phone, hands trembling slightly as he gripped it tightly in his hand, bent over in the chair he was currently sitting in. 

“It’s three weeks, baby. I can’t just take off work. They’d��”

“Please.”

Your mind was made up before he even finished the word. 

“Alright. I’ll go talk to Craig about seeing if I can work remotely the next few weeks, okay?,” you told him softly, wishing you could reach through the phone to hold him gently. “I’ll let you know when my flight lands. I love you,” you whispered. 

“Thank you,” he sobbed softly, and a beep let you know the phone call had ended. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first flight that didn’t cost you an arm and a leg left the next morning at ten-thirty, and you were looking out the window at the approaching ocean with a mixture of emotions bubbling in your chest. While it had only been two days, you were already excited to see Bradley. His goofy grin, his strong arms. But you know a lot of this trip was going to be navigating the treacherous waters of the past, and you had forgotten your life vest back on shore. The two of you never did dig too deep into the passing of Rooster’s father, and certainly not the loss of having Maverick in his life. That topped with the loss of his mother as well, you knew the next few weeks would certainly be emotional. 

But for now, you were just thankful to have an understanding boss that allowed you to work remotely for the next few weeks (you might have added in a few tears and used the ol’ military wife card). The plane jolted to a stop once it hit the runway, and you made your way out of there as quickly as possible. 

You grabbed your bags from baggage claim and walked outside, sliding on your sunglasses and trying to look at the row of cars in search of a free taxi. Bradley was due to be at Top Gun all day, so you were just going to go to your hotel and check in, check a few emails, and then hopefully get to have dinner with your loving husband that night. But right as you were turning towards the row of taxis, you spotted a familiar looking Bronco, with a familiar looking man in a jumpsuit sitting on the hood. 

“Two days, and you already don’t recognize your husband?,” Rooster shouted as he jumped down, running over and picking you up in his arms and spinning you around as you squealed. 

“What are you doing here?! Shouldn’t you be in class?!,” you asked him, adoring every kiss he placed all over your face before he finally settled on your lips with a soft hum, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts as he pulled you closer. 

“Lunch,” was all he mumbled, fingers sliding up into your hair and keeping the two of you pressed together until you were both gasping for breath. 

“Thank you,” Rooster whispered, and you didn’t need to hear those words, but appreciated them nonetheless. He never asked you for a thing–Bradley Bradshaw did everything in the world for you and never once expected anything in return. So when he asked you for something this one time? You would have dropped the world for him. 

“Of course, baby,” you murmured in return, stroking his cheek lightly and giving him one more kiss. “Now, you drop me off at the hotel and I’ll be waiting for you tonight when you’re done. Deal?,” you grinned with a wiggle of your eyebrows, wanting to see that smile again. 

It did the trick. Rooster let out a loud laugh, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist as he led you to the car. 

“Yes ma’am!”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next two weeks went by fairly quickly. You spent every moment you could with Rooster, listening to him rant about a particularly tough day, drinking at The Hard Deck with his fellow aviators, or just holding him in the wee hours of the morning while he slept with pitiful whimpers of his father and mother’s names on his lips. 

Then one night, Bradley came home with a sad smile on his lips, and you knew that they’d been given final confirmation of their mission. 

“We leave in the morning, 0500,” he murmured against your skin that night, fingertips lazily drawing circles on the small of your back. 

You attempted to not to act as petulant as you felt, just nodding and biting at your bottom lip, trying not to cry. You understood Bradley’s job the moment you met him. He was a pilot, and sometimes he went on missions, but most of his job was relatively fine. This wasn’t World War II. He wasn’t running off to a far away land knowing he’d never come home. We weren’t even at war with anyone, for Christ’s sake. At least, that’s what you had told yourself to make it all easier. 

But instead, you found yourself having to accept the fact that this might very well be the last time you ever see the love of your life, and before you could even try to keep it together, you were burying your face in Bradley’s chest and sobbing. 

“I know, darlin’. I know,” was all he whispered, hands rubbing slowly along your spine as he just hummed softly under his breath, trying his best to comfort the both of you. But his words felt like white noise in your ears, just a dull roaring that seemed to drown everything out as you found yourself staring at the alarm clock on the nightstand that was blinking red every few moments. 

You had managed to calm down, and husband and wife lay in silence for a few minutes, the heaviness that filled the air laid across the two of them like a weighted blanket. 

“I was supposed to be the one taking care of you down here,” you sniffled, a tiny smile on your lips as you turned to look up at Rooster, your chin resting on his sternum. 

His pearly whites peeked out from under his mustache, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“You always do.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four in the morning was there before you knew it, and it seemed that Rooster couldn’t sleep either. He was already up and in the process of getting dressed when the alarm went off, soft music playing from the shitty radio/alarm clock on the nightstand. You recognized the tune quickly as Leavin’ On a Jet Plane by Peter, Paul, and Mary. What a sick joke.

You sat up in bed and rubbed at your red, tired eyes, feeling smaller than you ever had. It was as if the room suddenly felt five times bigger, and the mattress was going to swallow you up. 

“When will–When will I know you’re back?,” you  whispered, voice thick with both emotion and sleep. 

Bradley sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and letting it lazily twirl around his finger. “It’s not supposed to be any longer than ninety-six hours, there and back. We’re in, we’re out,” he murmured, hating that that was the only information he could give you. You just nodded in understanding, moving to crawl into his lap, arms draping around his neck as you clung to him. 

“You come home to me, do you understand?,” you whispered, fingers clutching the material of his shirt. “Because if you don’t, Rooster, I swear to God, I’m going to go to whatever fucking country you’re in, and bring your ass back myself,” you added, and you could feel your love smiling against you neck. 

“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he whispered in return, and suddenly you felt something drip onto your shoulder, and felt Rooster’s chest tremble a bit before he pulled back. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay,” he added, leaning in to give you a loving, passionate kiss, one that reminded you of the early days of your relationship, when he’d kiss you good night like he was afraid in the morning, he would have only dreamt you. 

You finally pulled away, wiping away his tears as he wiped away your own, and you moved to sit down on the bed, arms wrapping around yourself as he got up and grabbed his bag. 

“I love you, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he said once more. You blinked, and he was gone. 

The sob that ripped through your lips was loud enough to echo into the hall, and it would stay with Bradley Bradshaw forever. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Towards the end of the fourth day, you were sitting at the bar of The Hard Deck, miserably staring out at the ocean and lazily sipping at your Diet Coke, not even bothering to take the straw out of your mouth between sips. 

“Y/N,” Penny said gently as she walked over, leaning over and letting her elbows rest on the wood. “They’ll be home soon. Believe me, if something was wrong they would have–,” she stopped herself, sometimes forgetting that being familiar with the Navy for her whole life could make her a little jaded to situations. 

“They would have already sent someone to tell me he’s dead. Yeah. I know,” you shot back, and the instant the words left your lips, you winced at your tone. You just turned and reached out your hand, taking hers and giving it a soft squeeze. “Sorry,” you whispered, a tight smile stretched across your lips. 

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for,” she assured you, squeezing your hand in return. “It’s tough. It never gets any easier.” 

The two of you managed to get your minds off of your boys for another hour or so, Penny telling you about how she was going to take Amelia out on a boat ride once she got out of school, before you decided you’d at least try and get some rest back in your hotel room. You had just parked Rooster’s Bronco in a space outside of your hotel when a Naval Alert popped up on your phone: 

USS LANGLEY ARRIVAL TIME: 1600

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking GOD,” you gasped, immediately turning the car back on and practically flying down the Coronado Bridge and making your way to North Island. There was already a small crowd of family and friends standing around, and it was moments like this you were reminded that it wasn’t just Rooster and the pilots that were gone. It was an entire ship full of people whose families were waiting for them. 

You nervously paced around for awhile, making small talk with some other wives around you, before someone started shouting they could see the ship. It was then that everyone’s voices started to get a bit louder, and there was an energy surrounding everyone that had your heart pounding in your chest. 

What felt like three hours later, there was a chorus of cheers when the first group of men and women came off of the aircraft carrier. You could barely see over the group in front of you, and you decided to climb up one of the small fences, holding on tight and straining your eyes as you searched each and every face. 

“Mrs. Bradshaw!,” a voice boomed from about thirty feet in front of you. “Get your ass down from there and come kiss your husband!”

“Bradley!,” you practically screamed, jumping down and sprinting through the throngs of people before you slammed against Rooster’s chest, lunging up and kissing him roughly. 

“You’re okay,” you whispered, kissing him over and over, tasting the salt from the ocean on his skin. 

“I missed you so fuckin’ much, baby,” he breathed out, as if he’d been holding his breath ever since the morning he left you. 

“God, I fucking missed you,” you agreed, finally opening your eyes to see his face covered in scrapes that looked as if they were beginning to scab over. 

“What–?”

“Hey,” he stopped you quickly, taking both of your hands in his and kissing your knuckles lovingly. “It’s okay. I’m fine. They’re just some scratches,” he assured you, leaning in for one more kiss before he was pulling back and looking around. 

“Wait here,” he said suddenly, taking off towards his left, and you simply just blinked. Because you just knew your husband hadn’t run off only minutes after being reunited with the love of his life–right? 

“Honey,” you heard his voice from over your shoulder, and you turned around only to be face to face with none other than Captain Pete Mitchell. 

“Mav, this is my wife, Y/N. Y/N this is Maverick–he saved my life up there,” Rooster said proudly, and you felt a wave of emotion crash over you. 

“Pete Mitchell, ma’am. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Maverick stuck out his hand, and instead of returning his hand shake, you threw your arms around him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and after a few moments, you felt his arms tighten around your middle. 

“There’s no need. In fact, don’t let him give me all the credit. Your husband saved my ass out there a couple of times. I wouldn’t have made it home without him,” he said firmly as you pulled back, and you couldn’t help but smile proudly at the wonderful man you married. 

“Of course he did. That’s Rooster,” you grinned, reaching out to take his hand, and your lover just kissed the back of your hand. You turned back to look at Maverick, and you caught the tail end of a smile he was giving Rooster, one that mirrored the image of a proud father. 

“I’ll let you kids go. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he laughed softly, clapping Rooster on the shoulder. “I’ll see you before you go, yeah?”.

“You will,” you interjected, your arm wrapped around Rooster’s waist and giving it a soft squeeze. “We’ll go out for dinner tomorrow, how’s that sound?”. 

Plans were quickly made, and you even managed to exchange numbers with Maverick before you and Bradley were in his Bronco, tearing back off towards town and your hotel. You didn’t think you’d ever run so fast into a hotel lobby, but before you could even catch your breath, Rooster was kissing your neck in the elevator, one hand sliding down the front of your shorts, and the other moving up your t-shirt and squeezing your right breast. 

“Bradley!,” you squealed, but a moan quickly left your lips when his thumb brushed over your nipple at the same time the pad of his middle finger rubbed lightly at your clit. “Someone could see.” 

“Let ‘em,” he growled, working on leaving a mark under your left earlobe as he lazily began to grind against your hip. “This whole hotel’s gonna know how much Bradley Bradshaw missed his wife.”

The automated voice in the elevator announced your floor just as the doors opened, and the two of you managed to stumble your way into the hotel room. Shirts and pants were being flung in all directions, and you think your panties might have landed somewhere in the kitchenette, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Because at that moment, the love of your life was kissing down your body, placing your thighs on his shoulders and diving straight into your slick cunt. 

“Fuck!,” you cried out, fingers tangling in his dark hair as you began to grind down against his mouth, every nerve ending in your body on fire. Rooster’s tongue was sliding expertly between your folds, licking up every bit of wetness before he would suck quickly and harshly at your clit, switching back and forth until you were a panting, gasping mess for him. 

“Bradley,” you whined, hips rolling constantly, trying to draw yourself closer and closer to the edge. 

“That’s it, baby,” he purred, biting softly at your inner thigh before he immediately slid two fingers inside of you, causing you to swear loudly. “Want you to come for me, honey. Want you to come on my fingers before I put my cock in you. Can you do that for me? Can you come for me, princess?”

He had barely finished his last sentence, fingers drilling against your sweet spot, before you were screaming his name and clamping down around his thick digits. Your body shook with each pulse of your orgasm, hips continuing to roll as you rode out your high, your free hand lazily rubbing at your breasts while you enjoyed your euphoric experience. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, peppering your hips and lower stomach with light kisses before he pulled his fingers out slowly, crawling back up your body. He kept one of your legs up by his shoulder, and he stroked himself twice before sliding his achingly hard cock into your soaked pussy, groaning once he was fully seated inside of you. 

One heel was digging into the small of Bradley’s back, the other into his shoulder as he practically split you in two, your sensitive cunt almost pulling him deeper inside of you. His hips began to piston against yours quickly, and you could tell that he wouldn’t last long. He’d been waiting for this. Waiting for you. 

“I fucking love you,” he panted, your foreheads pressed together and lips barely touching. “I love you so much. Thought about you every day. Wanted to be back with you, to be back in this pretty pussy.”

As he spoke, his hand slid down once again to start rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb, and you squirmed under his touch immediately. 

“Missed you,” you whimpered out, and at your words, Bradley was connecting your lips once more, kissing you with every ounce of love and affection he had flowing through his veins for you. 

As the minutes passed, your pleasure grew and grew, until you were teetering on the edge of another orgasm, feeling your skin practically sizzle with every bead of sweat that dropped onto your skin from your husband. 

“B-Bradley,” you gasped out, trying to hold out just a little bit longer. 

“I know, honey. I’m close, too. You gonna come again for me? Gonna let me fill you up? Give you everything I’ve got?,” he practically growled, and you just nodded your head furiously, your hands settled on the back of his neck, keeping him close. 

“Use your words for me, princess. Tell me you’re close. Tell me you’re gonna come on my cock,” he demanded, hips faltering just slightly as he neared his own orgasm. 

“M’gonna come, baby. Gonna–,” you stopped, a mewl ripped from your lips as that wave of pleasure crashed over you once again, and you were clamping around his cock like a vice. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck–,” he gasped, and within a handful of thrusts, he was spilling inside of you, leaning down to kiss you messily through your shared orgasms, his hips slowing to a stop and he just stayed inside of you for a moment, the two of you attempting to catch your breath. 

“You really did miss me,” you teased after a few minutes of the two of you just lazily kissing, and Rooster chuckled softly, nuzzling your noses together. 

Within minutes, the two of you were cleaned up and back in bed, your naked bodies tangled together under the sheets and you let your fingers dance lightly over his scrapes, pressing a feather-light kiss to each one once you inspected it. You noticed that Rooster was struggling to keep his eyes open, and so you pressed a final kiss to his lips, brushing his sweat-matted hair off of his forehead. 

“Get some rest, Lieutenant Bradshaw. You’ve earned it,” you whispered, laying down with your head on his chest, letting his heartbeat remind you he was home. He was alive. He was okay. 

“Thank you,” was all he said, and you found it funny how two little words could be worth more than an epistle about his love for you, how thankful he was for you, how he’d never be able to repay you for the past two weeks. 

“Anything for you, you big stud,” you teased, closing your eyes and feeling him giving you a gentle squeeze. 

“I’ll keep ya to that in the mornin’,” he yawned, and within seconds his familiar snores filled the small bedroom, and you fell asleep with a smile on your lips.

[karikarasuno]

I Wanna Be Alone With You

Pairing: Atsumu Miya x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Smut 18+ only, Unprotected Sex, A Quickie, Trying to Keep Quiet, Exhibitionism Adjacent

Word Count: 3.3k

a/n: ahhh, banged out this collab piece in record time, don’t even know how i did it. but it’s here and i did it. this is just porn, very little plot, but hopefully it’s realistic and fun. thank you, @spacelabrathor and @titan-fodder​, for hosting this collab and giving all of us opportunity to live out our realistic fantasies. you two are fantastic and i love you dearly. here is the masterlist for the better than fiction collab, and i hope you all enjoy what everyone comes up with because i know i will <3. another big thank you to @thegetoufather for being my beta, i love you too, you are the best. 

“What are you staring at?” You asked, removing the last pin from your hair and watching the curl fall in front of your face with a gentle bounce. Atsumu leaned against the doorframe, unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt and staring straight at you. His gaze was playful and you knew all too well where his thoughts were leading him. 

“What?” he started, hands now moving to pop open the buttons of his shirt to reveal the dusting of hair across his muscular chest. “Can’t stare at my wife?”

“I’m not your wife,” you responded, mainly to bait him, just to see the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. You removed the backing of your earrings and placed them in the jewelry box on the bathroom counter, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the mirror. 

He walked towards you, strong arms framing your waist as he rested them on the counter. He reached for your wrist, long fingers tickling your palm and finding their way to your ring finger. “Yet,” he whispered, twirling the delicate diamond around your finger before bringing it to his lips and kissing your hand. 

You smiled at him in the mirror, kissing his cheek before lightly pushing him off of you so you could continue changing. He let out a disgruntled noise of disapproval, arms circling your waist and squeezing you to his body. He buried his face into your neck, inhaling the smell of the perfume that still lingered on your skin and sighing.

“I miss ya,” he said into your skin, eyes opening to look at you through the mirror. You rolled your eyes teasingly, resting your hands on his forearms and letting your head fall to lay on his. He’d been clingy all week, the weight of his family in town, right down the hall of your room finally registering in his brain. He loved them and you knew that, but they’d been here for two weeks now. And with the wedding in one more, all of you were running around trying to finalize all the little bits of detail. Osamu offered to cater and you were thankful for the family discount since all of Atsumu’s taste tended to err on the pricier side. But the house was feeling too full. 

You had just gotten back from tasting some dinner options from the restaurant and all you wanted to do was get into bed and sleep off all the food. But you couldn’t, having promised his mom that you would meet her downstairs to work on the last few centerpieces you had left. Your days were booked and busy to say the least. So you understood Atsumu’s touchiness and by extension, yearniness. 

“One more week and I’m all yours, ‘tsumu,” you said, trying one more time to remove him from your body and get out of your dinner outfit. But he wouldn’t budge, instead strengthening his grip and nuzzling further into your neck. 

“But I want ya now, sweetheart,” he mouthed into your neck, hands moving to grip at your hips and wrinkle up the fabric of your dress. He was silently asking for permission to lift up the hem, ghosting fingertips over your thighs. 

“We can’t,” you breathed, head lolling to the side as he kissed up your neck. He dragged his hips over your ass, his hardening cock already felt between the layers of constrictive fabric. “I gotta meet your mom downstairs soon.”

You tried to reason, moreso with yourself than with him. His mind long made up when his hands felt up your torso and cupped your breasts over your clothing. It had been too long, two weeks too long, since you’ve had your way with each other. A build up of missed opportunities and interruptions, enough to drive you both to the brink of insanity when all you wanted was simple relief. 

“It’ll be quick,” he promised, hot breath against the shell of your ear, goosebumps erupting across your skin. It was hard to argue when you wanted him as much as he’s been showing you. His hand was never not on you, settled on the small of your back, circling your wrist and intertwining your fingers. Or even bolder, resting on your thigh beneath the table all night. Knowing fingers lighting tiny fires as he absentmindedly rubbed the inside of your thigh, smirking at you every time you fidgeted in your seat, thighs squishing together when he dared inch them further up. 

“You say that, but I don’t trust you enough to make it quick,” you said, hands gripping the edge of the counter, hopelessly rigid as he gathered you in his arms again. 

“Ya won’t know unless we try, hm?” He replied, lifting you from your spot in front of the mirror and out into your bedroom. He shuffled quickly to the bed, nearly tripping over the heels you left on the ground and huffing when all you could do was squeal and laugh at him. He tossed you face first into the mattress, your legs dangling from the edge in what you could only imagine was incredibly unflattering. You were about to turn and scold him, lifting your body onto your elbows when he pulled you to the edge by your hips. 

“Atsumu,” you reprimanded, swatting his hands away and narrowing your eyes at him playfully as he tried to undo the zipper of your dress. He shrugged dismissively, eyes humorous when you didn’t move to stop him. 

“Stop fighting me, we gotta be quick, remember?” He teased, helping you sit up so that your dress puddled around your waist, his urgent hands removing it the rest of the way. The desperation was beginning to cloud your senses, flipping yourself on the mattress so that you were kneeling in front of him, your fingers shaking as you unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way. His lips were on your neck again, suctioning there while you frantically moved to his belt, the cool metal soothing your heated hands. He was a mess of half on clothes, his pants settled right beneath his ass, shirt collar stuck on his broad shoulders as he continued to lick down your throat. You pushed him when he bit down, hard enough to leave a mark. 

“If you give me a hickey before our wedding day, I’ll never forgive you,” you said as you held him at arm’s length. He smiled, almost drunkenly as he finally allowed his eyes to gaze over your almost naked body. He bit into his reddened lip this time, hands gripping your waist before diving down to lift you by the fat of your ass. 

“Just let me have my way with ya,” he chuckled, dropping you on your back so he could finish removing whatever clothing he had left. He crawled over you, thick arms caging you beneath him as he took a second to stare at you. His eyes were soft – lovestruck – as he memorized the pout of your lips, bringing a hand up to drag his thumb against your bottom lip. “I always make it worth it, don’t I?”

The answer you had on the tip of your tongue was swallowed by his lips, lost to the taste of his tongue and the notes of red wine still lingering there. He was annoyingly distracting and even more persuasive when the motion of his kiss was paired with the rough calluses of his fingertips slipping beneath your underwear – the thin lace giving way to him easier than you’d want it to. 

“We don’t have all night,” you said, pathetically breathless against his lips as his skilled fingers worked you open. It wasn’t too surprising that you were so wet, his fingers making sick suction sounds with every flick of his wrist. He only laughed in return, his cheeks burning red from the rise in his body temperature. 

“How long do we realistically have?” He asked, sitting up to slide your panties down your legs. His hands massaged your thighs, his cock hard and glistening with precome already between his own legs. He bent forward, fully intent on burying his face in your cunt. Which under normal circumstances would have you writhing against the sheets, nearly begging for the feel of his tongue between your folds.

“Not enough for that,” you said instead, grabbing him by his hair, your fingers tugging him up your body. “Realistically? 15 minutes at most.”

“I can totally work with that,” he said, a smirk plastered across his lips as he lined himself up with your entrance. He thrusted forward, cock seating deep inside of you all at once. His hand immediately rose to cover your mouth, the moan he tore from you muffled into his palm. His rhythm was slower than usual, the springs in the mattress louder than either of you remembered it being. He angled his hips, searching for the spot that had you arching off the mattress. 

Every thrust was purposeful. It had the air knocking from your lungs with the force and the vague sound of the creaking bed frame had your heart rate skyrocketing from the idea of getting caught. You reached for the headboard to pull it away from the wall, Atsumu completely lost in the sight of your cunt swallowing him – his cock soaked in your slick– to notice. 

With your other hand you ripped his from covering your mouth, rushing out a desperate warning, “Tsumu, the bed.” 

“Yer close, I can feel it, just,” he propped himself up with one arm, using the other to slip between your joined bodies to find your clit. You jerked from the pressure he applied, his thumb working in sloppy circles, thrusts remaining deep and calculated. You held the headboard even further away from the wall, fear spiking, but driving you closer to your release. Your hands were getting sweaty, the rush of the situation making you lightheaded with pleasure as his movements didn’t cease. You squeezed around him hard, your breath catching in your lungs, eyes rolling back as you came. He groaned in your ear, stopping to let you come down, holding back so that the bed didn’t make any more noise. His thighs were shaking, his nails slightly digging into your hip. 

Your lip was secured between your teeth, low whimpers falling from the small space it created. “Get in the chair.”

You pointed to the armchair at the far side of the room. It was the furthest thing from the door and least likely to give you away completely. And you reasoned that the quickest way to get him to come would be you on top. But he didn’t move, just stared at you with breathless rapture, his eyes glazed over with lust– the way they did nearly every time the two of you did something risky. 

“Atsumu,” you giggled as you wiggled from beneath him, sighing with sensitivity once his dick slipped from your entrance. He gave you a lazy smile, sliding off the edge of the mattress and plopping into the chair. He patted his thigh, draping himself across the chair, head lolling to the side with feigned patience.

Your pulse quickened with adrenaline, delirious attraction for your soon to be husband warming your body in flickers of heat. “For someone so demanding, ya sure do take yer time,” he whispered, moving his hand to stroke his erection, the other arm hanging off the back of the chair. You laughed as you hurried towards him, hands firm on his chest as you straddled his hips. 

“You think you’re so funny,” you teased, replacing his hand with yours as you pumped his dick slowly, feeling it twitch in your hand. 

“I do,” he said, the last traces of amusement disappearing from his voice as you popped his head into your cunt, the last syllable teetering into a low groan. You hummed as you sat down in his lap entirely, hands squeezing his chest while you rolled your hips. His relaxed stance immediately became rigid, his lips parting and releasing puffs of air that melted on your cheeks. 

And you began to bounce in his lap, refraining from slamming all the way down to dull the sounds of skin slapping skin. His hands found your ass, kneading the fat as he bit back moans of pleasure. His eyes were half-lidded, chest heaving with the effort of staying quiet. But he needed this, his body inching towards release quicker than you’ve ever experienced. 

“Fuck, I missed ya,” he groaned, his head tossed back over the back of the chair, eyelids shutting for a mere moment before he was watching you again. His hands began to control your movements, pushing you down harder, his hips bucking up to meet you. Your head fell forward to knock against his forward, your thighs tiring from the strain of being on top. But it didn’t stop you, you didn’t once falter, his cock rubbing against your walls with delicious satisfaction. 

“Yer gonna hafta to swallow,” he mumbled, his abdomen flexing against your lower stomach. “Don’t wanna make a mess.” 

He half chuckled, barely audible over the unmistakable sound of your ass meeting his thighs. You flinched from the noise, praying that no one decided to walk past your bedroom door at that exact moment. Your nails left a streak of red down his chest, an accidental moan slipping off your tongue and smearing onto his lips. 

Everything was frenzied, the pace quickened, the smacks of skin reverberated and echoed around the room. Your ears were ringing from a weird sense of panic, but not enough to try to calm down– not enough to stop the insistent thrusts of Atsumu’s hips into your sloppy pussy. Your slick only adding to the lewd noises your bodies created. 

“Sh-shit,” he whined against your cheek, his voice humid on your skin. “Off, off,” he urged you, hands sliding across your sweaty body as he tried to remove you from straddling his hips. 

You jumped from his lap to sink onto your knees. His hand flew to squeeze the base of his cock, trying in vain to reel in his orgasm. But he spilled onto your tongue as soon as your parted lips wrapped around his head, guiding your head down to taste the bitterness at the back of your throat. He let out a choked groan, surprised at the feeling of you swallowing around his head. His torso bent over you, one of his hands placed on the crown of your head to ground himself.

But you sucked his cock to earn the last few spurts of cum, slicing through his resolve and a ragged, high pitched moan began to bubble up his throat before you stuffed three fingers in his mouth to smother it. He gripped the arm of the chair, nails scratching the fabric as he jerked away from your hot mouth, giving him one final suck before allowing him to fall from between your lips. 

You removed your fingers from his mouth, wiping his saliva on the throw blanket that fell from the side of the chair some time during it all. He collapsed onto the chair, sinking into the cushions as he began to regain lucidity. 

“Don’t appreciate the attempt on my life just then,” he said, reaching up to pinch your side as you tried to walk away to clean up. 

“Shut up,” you swatted away his hand, leaning down to kiss him. “You’re so dramatic.” 

He laughed and rose to his feet, gathering you into his arms to squish his face into your hair. “We should shower,” he suggested, hands still groping at your naked body. 

“We don’t have time for that,” you replied, wrestling away from his grasp and backing away from him and into the closet to grab some clothes. 

“Let’s just call off the wedding,” he followed you. “We can get hitched tomorrow and we’ll have all the time in the world.”

He leaned against the closet door frame, head resting on the cool wood as he sent you a sleepy grin, motioning for you to pass him his sweats from the drawer. 

“Uh, your mother would kill us,” you said, tossing the pants at his face, his post sex state too slow to catch them in time. The fabric caught around his head, his arm extended in front of his body from his failed attempt at grabbing them. “And you would be sad that you didn’t have the wedding of your dreams.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping into his pants and settling them low on his hips. “Doesn’t mean I want ya any less.”

You buried your face in one of his hoodies that you had bundled in your arms to hide your stupid, lovesick grin. He walked towards you and pulled it away from your face, tilting your chin so that you were looking straight into his eyes before he kissed you. It was sweet and soft, his sigh humming against your lips as he relaxed into you. 

“Ya should get going,” he whispered, waiting for you to shift away from him, surprised when all you did was pull him in for another. Your hand tangling in his hair and holding him with the intent of never letting him go.

You shuffled out of your bedroom, hoodie situated comfortably over your torso. Atsumu had opted for that shower, he said he would need a cold one if he was going to sit beside you for the rest of the night crafting centerpieces. It was absurdly quiet in the rest of the house, strange when you’d gotten so used to the bickering between the twins. 

But there were hushed whispers coming from the kitchen, small voices hardly rising above the sound of the air conditioning. You strode towards them, rounding the corner into the kitchen to find Osamu and his mom speaking in the corner beside a steaming tea kettle. 

“Hey,” you said, announcing your presence and subsequently making the atmosphere shift to something very awkward. Osamu jolted away from his mom, his ears pink and purposefully avoiding eye contact with you while she smiled over the edge of her very hot mug. 

“Hey,” she said, walking towards you, offering you the other mug on the counter. “You ready?” 

You grabbed the mug from her, nodding as you stepped into the dining room to find the absolute mess of twine and mason jars on the table. She had already started on a few, the pieces a mix of baby’s breath and lavender to test which flowers would look best. They really were gorgeous, her eye for floral placements making you giddily jealous. 

“These are amazing,” you said, sitting across from her at the table to start on one of your own. And you were measuring the length of each piece of twine when she asked, “you excited for the big day?” 

“Mhm, can’t believe it’s only a week away, and then the honeymoon is only a few days after,” you said, cutting each measured piece and adding them into a pile. 

“Everything seems to be moving so fast,” she started, sipping on her tea before continuing. “And it’s also nice knowing that we could be expecting a baby so soon after the honeymoon.” 

Osamu audibly groaned with discomfort from the kitchen. And she giggled into her mug. Heat quickly rose to your cheeks with realization, your hands rising to cover them as you hid with tingling embarrassment. 

“Ew, ma,” he mumbled, dragging his feet into the dining room. “That was unnecessary.”

You could hear the laughter she was failing to muffle, joining her with a fit of your own as Atsumu finally came from the bedroom. 

“What?” He asked, hands thrown up in question as the two of you laughed harder. “What’d I do?” 

“Just shut up and sit down,” Osamu said, throwing the ball of twine at Atsumu’s chest. “Yer so embarrassing.” 

He gave you an incredulous look before turning back to his brother, a new round of arguing bursting forth. You guessed this would be the rest of your life and it would be nothing if not entertaining. 

[kaiandthestrangespaghetti]

Wasteland, Baby (Part 02/?)

Part 01 is here

Pairing: Miami Man x F!Reader

Wordcount: 3.7k

Warnings: Smut, mouth stuff, bodily fluids, violence/injury, oral sex (male receiving), allusion to breeding kink, praise kink, body horror, hurt/comfort, angst, size kink and it wouldn’t be The Bad Batch without the cannibalism…

Summary: After finding you in the desert Miami Man (Cam) realizes you’re much more use to him alive. He takes you back to the Aircraft Boneyard, which is home to him and a gang of cannibalistic desert dwellers. Things have been transpiring in his absence.

A/N: This fic now with added dialogue. We start to get a bit of plot.

Later that morning you wake from the most restful sleep you’ve had in weeks. The sensations set in gradually, one after the other; first the ache in your arm, the pressure of your hip on the threadbare mattress, and then the sweet soreness between your legs. Rolling onto your belly with a smile you notice that an old blanket has been laid over you. Miami Man, Cam, is nowhere to be seen.

The realization makes you twinge with worry and you get to your feet. A sigh. He’s outside, clearing away all trace of the campfire from the night before.

Grinning, you slump back on the makeshift bed and realize how sticky your cunt is. You imagine how he must have woken up before you that morning.

Maybe he was still inside you, perhaps he lay awake for a while thinking about filling you all over again.

Your fingers slip down between your legs.

The expression on his face as he carefully rolled you off of him and saw the delicious ruin he had made of your cunt. You bet he’d been tempted to taste it.

The fingers of your right hand slide down into your wet folds. They slip easily into your tight but sopping cunt. You pull them free to look at his come, still slick.

It had been a haze of desperation last night, but you become doubly grateful that he hadn’t taken your right arm, the one with your contraceptive implant in it. Still, when you shove your fingers in your mouth to taste him you can’t help half entertaining the idea of it not being there. You aren’t sure why, but it arouses you.

He picks that moment to step back through the door. You look up at him with your fingers still in your mouth, legs spread. He can see everything. A shy blush creeps over your shoulders at having been caught. You pull your fingers from your mouth and try to close your legs but he’s there – on his knees with his broad hand on your thigh, holding you open. He has that appraising look he had when you first met him, when you were purely meat. The holster is back across his shoulders, the blade sitting heavy beneath his arm. His scarred eyebrow quirks up and two of his thick fingers drag from the bottom of your ruined cunt to the top, dipping into you for just a second before teasing the bud at the crest of your sex. You squeal and a flash of a smile appears on his face. He sucks his fingers clean voraciously, sighing as though you taste like something fine and sweet.

It’s impossible not to spread your legs. He reaches back and pulls something from his back pocket. It’s the black underwear he had torn from your body last night. It takes you a second to notice the tiny row of dark stitches, repairing the tears. he offers them, dangling from his finger.

A warm sensation fills your chest, you take them carefully. His hand smooths over your hair and he gets up.

“We need to move.”

You listen to his footsteps outside and run your fingers over the careful repair. The stitches are small and perfect. When you pull them on, they fit perfectly.

-

You’ve never been on a motorbike before, you aren’t quite sure how to sit. Awkwardly you straddle the back and lightly put your arm around Cam’s waist. He sits up a bit and corrects your grip, wrapping you tighter, so your body is flush to his back. He lifts his foot and kicks the engine into life, dust churns behind you and you’re moving – accelerating with a jolt that you’re terrified will send you flying back but you hold tight. The wind turns your hair into a streamer and you smile at the sensation. You feel so wonderfully alive.

-

It's nearly an hour you’re on the move but it passes in an instant and not far off you see what looks like a shanty town, but is actually an odd graveyard of plane fuselages, containers, trailers and mobile homes, all turned into dwellings. Piles of old electronics, plastics and other materials dot the outskirts. People are visible moving back and forth, shouting…and there’s black smoke rising into the air. The bike accelerates.

Skidding to a halt by a pile of old refrigerators Cam kicks down the side stand and vaults off, forgetting all about you. You clamber off unsteadily and watch him run between two trailers, he shouts something. Slowly, you follow. The pillar of smoke is rising from a burnt-out mobile home. There are other people here. You catch snatches of shouts, arguments. Cautiously you move around a rusted-out metal container and see Cam run through a rounded doorway into a plane fuselage. There’s a bald man outside who sounds like he’s trying to explain something, raising his hands. Others are gathering. Cam storms out of the plane and catches the man by the throat, he struggles and staggers as he falls to the ground. You watch the chaos, perplexed. Only then does your eyeline drift to the right and you notice two dead bodies, a man and a woman, lying in the sand and your mouth drops open in horror.

“Uhhh everyone! Miami brought dinner!!” A piercing yell from behind goes right through you, near your ear. You spin to see a wiry, gaunt looking man with short beard laughing at you. His fingers snatch tightly around your arm just above the bandages and you don’t quite scream at the jab of pain. When he starts to drag you the trainers that don’t fit make you trip in the sand. Everyone has stopped arguing, they’re looking.

“Looks like he already took a bite out of her though.” He slurs, giggling.

Miami Man is striding toward both of you. He’s got a look of absolute driven fury about him. He shoves the skinny man aside, yelping as an elbow slams into his chest. Cam’s hand connects with your sternum and your mouth jerks open in a silent yelp when he slams your back against the metal container. His breathing is fast and hard.

A deathly hush falls over the strange group, even the man who grabbed you says nothing as he glares from the ground. Cam doesn’t move, but that look could go right through you. All you can do is stare back at him helpless. You shake your head, not understanding what’s happened. He breathes out hard through his nose and you see his shoulders drop, his arm falls. It’s not just anger on his face. His eyes are glassy, his brow twitches. You want to say something but he turns and walks back to the bike.

“Thanks for dinner Miami!” The man on the ground yells obnoxiously, getting to his feet. Cam stops, turns, takes a few paces back toward everyone.

“You don’t touch her. No one touches her, or you know what happens.” His tone falls like a stone slab.

“What!? We’re keepin’ pets now? They took all our fuckin’ meat!”

Cam looks at the two bodies on the ground. “No, they didn’t.”

He turns again, and you watch his broad shoulders as he walks away. You can sense the finality of his words amongst them. What he says, goes. A man in a yellow shirt shields his eyes from the sun as he watches him leave. “They’re all still out there, get back before dark.” He calls.

The bike rips across the sand.

-

No one touches you. Or even talks to you. Instead, you draw a lot of stares. People mutter about you as they go about life in the makeshift settlement. The bodies are taken away, although you presume not for burial. Eventually, at a loss, you wander into the plane Cam had run into when you first arrived.

You’re in something like a bedroom. A bunk made up of folded down airline seats along one side, covered in sheets and blankets. Pillows of old foam and found bits of fabric. There’s a pet cage on the floor to one side of the room but no animal in it. Drawings dot the walls. It’s a kid’s room. You walk through to the next section of the plane. Another bedroom, simpler, the bed is bigger, but down the far end is what you can only describe as a tiny art studio; paints, pigments and brushes line homemade shelves. Carefully stored bits of fabric and leather, twine and thread.

But most prominent is a sheet of aluminum, propped up on a makeshift easel. It glows even in the low light; a painting of a girl, maybe six years old with wavy hair. She’s holding a rabbit and looking sternly toward the viewer. It’s a beautiful painting.

“That’s Miel.”

You start at the low drawl. It’s the obnoxious guy from earlier. You glare at him as he hangs in the doorway, one hand hooked around the doorframe.

“Miami’s daughter. Gang came last night. Killed four of our people, took our meat, took Miel too…And her fuckin’ rabbit.” He chews his bottom lip.

“Pity Miami wasn’t here to stop em’, they’ll be wantin’ ransom for the girl.” He gets an ugly smile.

“I’m guessing you had something to do with him not being here…” There’s that gross laugh again. You grit your teeth at him.

“Oh calm down, I’m not that stupid. And besides, when Miami gets back tonight after tryin’ to track em’ he’s gonna be pissed at you…I’m interested to see how it pans out.”

He shows yellow teeth, turns, and leaves you alone. Miel looks out of the portrait at you, and you feel it.

-

Once you’re sure you’re alone you kick off your shoes and lay on Cam’s bed. It smells like him. You coil the sheet around yourself and try to think what to do; this wasn’t your fault, but you want to do something about it. You want to help despite everything. But you aren’t sure how, and your arm hurts. You’re exhausted again.

The smell of fire and cooking wafts in from outside but this time it’s worse somehow. And besides you’ve no desire to go anywhere near the rest of them. Your stomach gnaws with hunger but you ignore it, pushing your face deeper into the pillow.

It feels like your eyes close for just a moment. But they snap open again at the familiar sound of a bike engine. You jerk upright, it’s darker outside. The engine cuts out somewhere not far off. Immediately your heart pounds in your throat. Forgetting your shoes you scrabble up and go to the door. A fire near a trailer a way off throws shadows over the sand. The last light in the sky is fading.

He appears suddenly, striding across the sandy stretch between the containers at the edge of the encampment and the plane. You can’t make out his face in the gloom. The fear you’d felt when he first saw you kicks in again, different this time. The instinct to run hits you but with all the logic of a cornered animal you just dart back into the plane and lay your back to the wall in the low light. Like he might not know you’re here.

When he ducks through the door you freeze as he glances left, away from you. But when he turns to see you hiding you’re too close, and he’s too fast; His hand flashes out and you feel his fingers lock hard in your hair, pulling tight against your scalp, holding you back against the wall of the plane. You don’t move, you don’t say anything, and his left hand hangs ready and perilous at his side. Inside the holster the back of the cleaver catches the firelight.

The way he angles your head makes it impossible to avoid his gaze. It’s a thing of absolute, desolate fury. His mouth twisted. His hand shakes where he holds you and for a second it feels like that moment last night, when you had a chain around your leg. But you’re not crying now. You don’t even reach up to grab his arm, you meet his gaze. Written there is the inconsolable grief that he couldn’t protect his daughter.

Your mouth forms a hard line and as much as you’re able you shake your head, defiant. Your hand goes to his face, gently. He doesn’t move, everything in him is trying to hold himself together. Your grip takes the nape of his own hair, damp with sweat, and it pushes an exhalation from him. Your lips part as you look up at him.

“…We’re going to find her Cam, we’re going to get her back.” Your voice is strong, you believe every word. The fear falls from you.

His eyes shimmer and you watch a tear roll down his cheek. His grip in your hair relinquishes and he leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand braces against the wall behind you, still trembling, but shattered now, exhausted, full of pent-up pain and anger. You turn your nose up to brush against the stubble on his cheek and his hand on the back of your neck smooths onto your shoulder gently.

“M'sorry…I’m sorry.” He whispers, low.

With a flat palm dead in the center of the inked words on his chest you steer him back, he sits down on the bed. His expression perplexed until you drop to your knees. Part of him wants to push away, push everything away, but he wants you. He wants you so fucking bad and it shows even in the half light. His shoulders slump and his brow lifts.

With a shrug the blade holster hits the floor, clattering, and you’re wrestling his pants down. There’s no hesitation this time, he pulls them away for you and kicks them to the side. His cock lays semi hard and leaking against his thigh and he cups your head, his eyes glimmering at the sight of your lips. You reach up and stroke the broad band of tattoo on his forearm, sliding up toward his lap, mouth watering.

“Wait.” He breathes. “Wait…” You stop. He takes a breath and gets up, pulling a board across the doorway and reaching for a switch. A small light illuminates the studio and you see him more fully. He’s so tall his head nearly touches the ceiling, his shoulders are sunburnt, the half ponytail at the back of his head secured with a pink elastic. It’s like he’s gathering himself as he pulls a bottle of water from a box and drinks half of it with his head tipped back.

He turns and offers it to you, looking down at you where you’re kneeling. You just stare up at his thick cock where he stands above you. Admonishingly, he reaches down to grip your hair and turn your gaze to his.

“Drink.” He says softly and presses the bottle into your hand, releasing you to sit back down on the bed, his knees spread wide around you. You don’t argue. You tip the bottle up and finish it, realizing your thirst. His fingers hook delicately under the straps of your dress and peel them down, unfolding to your waist. When he sees your tits for the first time he groans and his hands are on your waist, lifting you easily to his mouth.

At first he’s rough, hungry. You could yelp as he sucks your nipple into his mouth and tests you with his teeth, fingers unrelenting on your waist. His dark eyelashes lay serene against his cheeks as he devours you. You don’t know if he wants to kiss you or fuck you or eat you, maybe it’s all of it. All the same it’s too much, you let your head roll back, hair nearly touching the floor and you moan.

“Please…”

He glances up, a little surprised that you spoke. Hands snaring your hips he lowers you easily to the floor. There’s that wicked smile again, a touch of arrogance. His mouth is wet.

“Fucking greedy little thing...” He purrs and it undoes you. You gaze up at him, stricken as he takes your jaw firmly in his hand, wetting his lips.

“How ‘bout you tell me what you want?”

You unravel in his grip, sat there on the floor between his strong legs. Your eyelids flutter and your eyeline flicks from the beautiful shape of his face to his cock which is hard and leaking on his thigh. As if to taunt you he takes it in his free hand and gives it a few slow pumps. Your hunger is visible and he likes it.

He offers his sticky fingers to your mouth.

“This?”

You lunge forward and as good as swallow them, eyes rolled back. The pads of his fingers are rough. No words are necessary. He grits a smile and pushes them into your mouth, testing you. Some of his bravado falls away as his fingers slide deep and easy over your wet tongue. You open your eyes a moment to see his expression break. He’s stroking himself slowly with his other hand.

“Good…Good girl.” He rasps.

You smile and your teeth close on his fingers, just hard enough to make him pull his hand free and grip your jaw again with his wet hand. Still holding his cock he studies your face, you think he almost wants to make himself come like that. You lick your lips and open your mouth wide and he can’t stand it. He pulls your head in, shifting forward onto the edge of the bed.

You want all of it but he doesn’t let you, gripping your hair. He slides the slick, smooth head back and forth over your tongue. He tastes like salt. You see him savor every movement; tawny eyes utterly locked to you. You beg with your tongue and he gives you more. He’s so thick your lips stretch around him and your mouth feels completely stuffed with only half his length. With agonizing slowness he sinks his entire cock into your mouth, nudging into your throat. Your gag reflex jumps once then stops, you’re so soft and relaxed and ready. You’re a ragdoll in his hands and it makes you moan into him, your nose buried in the soft hair at his groin.

You feel him throb and twitch in your mouth. He drags you back, suckling and licking the length of him until only his head remains enclosed in your mouth. You pull toward him with magnetism and he lets you in his own time. A shudder goes through his thighs as he sinks deep again and again, and he gives something between a snarl and a moan.

The grip in your hair goes painfully tight and you become aware that you truly have no control; he fucks your mouth deep and hard and dizzyingly fast, speeding up until drool runs down over your chin in a sloppy string and you feel his balls hit your chin. You don’t bother trying to use your hand, you slump blissfully small in his large grip, he doesn’t even seem to care when your teeth begin to drag over his shaft, your mind going loose and blissful.

When he drags you fully off of him you blink through bleary, watering eyes and look up. Your face is a wreck, lips swollen and puffy. Sweat glints on his chest and he looks down at you through low lidded eyes, the head of his cock tapping hot against your flushed cheek.

He gives you the exact same look he had the night before – his cadence identical when he mutters;

“You hungry?”

You couldn’t form words if you wanted to. Nothing but a wanton, hungry moan comes from you but he grins, understanding perfectly and stuffs himself back in your throat with force. He’s fucking you so hard you can’t keep visual track of anything, you give in and it feels incredible. Everything is wet and your mouth makes lewd, soft noises. You blink and focus just enough to watch his face as his thrust starts to falter, his jaw dropping.

“G-good…g…” He starts to mutter but the words vanish and he’s groaning, eyes rolling back. His balls hitch up. The first load of come floods your mouth delectably and leaks over your lip, you want to devour him but he’s not done. He pulls you in hard and comes deep in your throat, trembling and gasping as his orgasm wracks him. Again you feel the world fall away, there is no pain, no hostile wasteland, just him filling you so totally. You swallow him hungrily and after a moment he pulls you away slowly, hooking his hands under your arms and lifting you limp and fucked onto his thigh, holding you steady.

He examines the ruin of your face and reaches up to skim the leaked come from your chin. You suck it clean from his thumb and he sighs with exhaustion, resting his damp forehead against yours.

“Good…girl.” He finally finishes, and you regain enough of your wits to playfully snap your teeth at him, one side of his brow quirks up. A tiny smile.

“I ate you first.” He retorts and something messed up about it turns you both on, but you’re both too spent and exhausted to do anything about it. Cam sighs and lifts you onto the bed, finding the zip on the back of your dress and easing it down to leave you spread out in your underwear. He rests a hand gently on the small of your back.

“Sleep. We leave tomorrow. Dawn.”

You can only nod and listen to him get up and dress himself through the haze. The holster fits snugly over his shoulders and you hear the board scrape out and then back into position as he goes to join the rest of them at the fire.

The taste of him lingers wonderfully in your mouth and you try to resist sleep but it’s useless. Now, in the hazy bliss it’s still quite abstract – but you know you’ll do anything to help him get Miel back.

[dabisqueen]

In The Dark

Shigaraki x Reader

⇢ rating: 18+

⇢ word count: roughly 1.4K

⇢ plot: you had a bad day at work and try to distract yourself in an arcade, not expecting that type of distraction when you meet a young gamer

⇢ warnings: 18+, sloppy kisses, fingering, some noncon vaginal sex, orgasm, cream pie, cum

⇢ NO MINORS ALLOWED!!!

personal note: woke up this morning and had this in my head, drabbled it down within half an hour

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It had been a shit day. As I was walking home I thought of a proper distraction and stopped next to an Arcade close to my apartment complex. I heard the chiming bings from a pinball game, gunfire sounds and other gaming noises seeping through the door and thought why not, would be worth a shot.

As I entered I noticed rows of machines with colorful pictures on the sides, glowing screens, ragged worn out patterned carpet and I had to squint my eyes in the dim light so I could see more against the stark contrast of the glowing screens. I felt out of place with my work blouse and skirt among hoodies and torn jeans, bright colored hair and sneakers.

I stood there, contemplating on what to play and decided on an easy arcade game. It wasn't that crowded yet so there were a few available. I slipped in a coin and started playing and as expected, failed miserably. But hey, wasn't here to win. I entered another coin for another round, and failed again. I started grinning, at least this was fun and I had lasted a little longer. Several coins later I actually managed to hold out but then had my sorry ass beaten again. That's when I heard a coarse low chuckle behind me.

Turning around I noticed I had an onlooker. He was dressed in black sweatpants, hands shoved in his pockets, the black hoodie pulled over his head and pale messy tufts of his hair obscuring his face. I could only make out his crimson eyes, glaring at me with curiosity, almost glowing in the dim light.

"Don't come here often, do you?" His voice quiet and hoarse, "Never seen you here before."

I shrugged "First time, had a shit day at work. Need some distraction."

"Is that so," he chuckled lowly.

"Can you play this?'' I asked him and pointed at my game.

He tilted his head, scoffing "I can play anything."

"Mind if you show me, I really suck at this,“ I giggled lightly.

He just stepped up beside me and, pushing me off to the side with his shoulder, took over. He slipped a coin into the slot and his hands mercilessly started working the controllers as I watched in awe, winning round after round until he finally managed to get to the top level, setting a new record score.

I leaned closer to him and he flinched a bit at first but then seemed to relax. "That was – hot. Can you do that again?" I whispered breathlessly.

He nodded looking at me. This close I could see his face, thin sensual, yet chapped lips, fine long nose, a scar across his mouth and eye. Kinda cute. He smelled of damp linen and dust, a smell somehow familiar and soothing, like laying down in the cold sheets of your bed at night.

Our eyes met and time stood still as his red orbs bore into mine. My breath hitched under his intense gaze and he tore me out of my stupor by rasping "Let's play, but not this one."

He walked off into another smaller room, gesturing me to follow him. The lights there were dim, and he stopped in front of a couple of machines in the corner, inserting a coin into one of them and started playing. It was an arcade street fighter game and he managed to whipe through each level at astonishing speed. I wondered who this guy was as he worked the machine, always having his pinkies raised. I scooted closer, almost touching him, totally mesmerized by his actions. When the game ended and he set yet another high score he turned around, his face so close our noses were almost touching. I felt my heart skip a beat as the tip of his tongue darted out and snaked across his dry lips. It sent a jolt of hot pleasure right through my core, heat building between my thighs as we both inhaled each other's breath. His hand suddenly grabbed my wrist with three fingers and, pushing his body forward against mine, made me stumble backwards through a gap between the two machines.

Behind them was a small nook, just enough space for two people. Cables and wire lay on the floor and I almost tripped over them when he shoved me against the wall. His lips suddenly crashed on mine, licking, sucking and mouthing at me, his tongue intertwining with mine. His lips were dry but I didn't mind, that roughness actually felt quite pleasant. His hands started roughly groping at my breasts, pinkie always raised. His kisses and movements were a bit sloppy but feverish and his enthusiasm more than made up for it. Heated moans started escaping my mouth and he eagerly sucked them up, a sharp, throaty chuckle rolling up his chest.

His hand trailed down, pulled my skirt up, shoved my panties aside and plunged his fingers inside. I wailed out, threw my head back as he kept kissing my neck, biting it, sucking bloody marks. His actions turned rougher, harder and I winced, trying to move, but I was impaled by him, pressed against the wall. I felt his hot bulging crotch rub against my body as he was getting himself off on me, raspy groans leaving his mouth. My breathing turned erratic as he took up the pace with his fingers and soon had me moaning shamelessly as the heat between my thighs turned into a singing burn.

Suddenly he grabbed me and yanked me around with surprising ease, shoving me against the wall. His hand held me tight around my neck, face pressed against the dark cold stone of the wall, making it impossible for me to move. I struggled and writhed as he fumbled with his sweatpants behind me, pulling out his throbbing cock. His hand was still on my neck, impaling me as his other grabbed his hard flesh and shoved my panties aside with it, aligning himself at my entrance. I protested "Need protec–" but was cut off by his cackling giggle as he sheathed himself inside me with one strong thrust. His girth was immense and I wailed out in pain, closing my eyes. My cries were suffocated by the loud noises belching through the arcade, the sounds of crashes and gunfires, kids shouting and laughing.

He started thrusting into me, not giving me any time to adjust. I bit my lower lip to suppress more sobs as silent tears ran down my cheeks and wet the wall I was pressed against. His hand found my hips and he dug his fingers into my flesh, increasing the pace. Through all the uncomfortable pain he just rubbed the right spots in my sensitive walls, sending a tingling sensation through my body that rapidly grew into full blown pleasure. A familiar pressure built up inside of me as I noticed his movements becoming faster and more erratic. He was close. Very close. Just the thought of him cumming, our lewd noises, the fact that I was being fucked by a stranger in an arcade sent me hurling over the edge and I arched my back as I came, buckling in his tight hold, loud moans falling from my lips. I gargled "Not... inside...“ but he didn't listen. His hips slammed against my ass one more time and then he came with a raspy grunt, spilling his seed deep inside of me. He worked himself in and out of me a couple of times before he stopped and pulled out, tying his pants back up. I sagged down against the wall, head still pressed against it, legs too weak to stay straight and closed my eyes.

He brushed a sweaty strand of hair from my tear stained cheek and rasped into my ear "There's your distraction," pressed his lips against my temple and left. I sank down onto the floor trying to collect myself, waiting for my body to regain its strength. As I was finally able to stand up, I pulled my skirt down with shaking hands and wiped my face dry, smudging my mascara in the process. I stumbled out from between the machines, thighs damp from his release and wound my way through the bodies. No one seemed to notice my disheveled state and I finally stepped outside, glad that it had gotten dark, welcoming the lack of light to disguise the sight of my exploited self. I staggered off into the direction of my apartment complex, unaware of the black hooded figure lurking in the dark, crimson eyes almost feverish with burning hunger as he followed me down the street.

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Masterlist

@sage-malf0y @scruffymctee @undefined--person @diamond-3 @vixxen-chan @tirzamisu @b--n--d

[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

[rextasywrites]

Homewrecker (Leon Kennedy x f!reader - smut, cheating)

But once those dark thoughts passed, Leon had an idea… Why should he suffer in the silence of his own home when he could go out and have some fun too? An eye for an eye, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Did it matter in the end? Fuck no. And he already knew who would be a good subject for his desires.

Warnings: cheating is the main topic of this fic. please do not read it if cheating themes upset you. otherwise i want to apologize to the Aeon fans out there - i needed a plot device to get the smut going. i love Aeon!

For a long time, Leon thought his marriage was a happy one. Sure, Ada had to leave for business trips every once in a while and he felt lonely during those times, but that’s what life was! His left hand could keep him company during those times while the warmth of his wife was missing from his side. It wasn’t until he fired up her old iPad (his laptop had died on him earlier this day and was in the shop, awaiting repairment) when he realized what was going on. The extended stays of her business trips? “I am sorry honey, I have to stay a few more days, some big mission came in.”? Lies. All of them. The pictures Leon saw spoke more than a thousand words, and the messages he saw made him sick to his stomach. That’s why one should always disable the connections to old devices if one doesn’t want to get caught cheating. Wipe the accounts, change the passwords. One is always smarter afterwards.

*

It took him weeks to get over what he saw that very night. Thankfully Ada was gone for another week (extended to two for ‘reasons’), and Leon had time to figure out his next step. After screenshotting every little bit and sending those pictures to his own phone, grief settled in. What was he doing wrong? Was it his fault?

But once those dark thoughts passed, Leon had an idea… Why should he suffer in the silence of his own home when he could go out and have some fun too? An eye for an eye, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Did it matter in the end? Fuck no. And he already knew who would be a good subject for his desires.

There was this cute lady in the same department as he was in. She mostly took care of the papers and legal stuff, and he had caught her catching a glimpse of him more than once. Whenever there was something funny happening in the office, whenever she laughed, she always looked at him. Attraction was clearly there, so should he act on it…?

*

“Fuck, you feel so good.”, Leon groaned as he buried his hands in her hair, pushing her closer. The office was empty, not a single soul left at nearly 10 in the evening. Yet for the two of them, it was their ‘date time’. Leon would order in some pizza, they’d go over the files of the past week (so they can show that they were doing work after all!), and once the boring stuff was done, they’d go straight to fucking. What a highlight every Thursday evening, it quickly became the favourite day of their week. Friday was date night with Ada after all, he had to keep up the facade of a dear loving husband.

Her hair was up in a ponytail, Leon’s grip on it tightening. He pushed his cock deeper down her throat, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she lightly coughed around him. Leon smirked and pulled off, her lipstick ruined by her spit and his pre cum, smeared around his cock, the base and her mouth. What a sight. If Leon wasn’t afraid of getting caught, he would have taken a picture of her a long time ago, but for now, this sight was for his eyes only.

A sting of saliva connected her lips to his cock as she swallowed, smiling up to her Lover. “You know”, she started as she got up, “I wore a skirt today for a reason. Let me ride you? Pretty please?”, and how could he deny any wish when she made such doe eyes at him?

Pushing down his suit pants, Leon freed his cock as much as he could while still sitting in his office chair. She moved herself on his lap, what a sight, what a view… Leon reached down, dragging his hands along her pussy, pushing against her folds. “Wow...you are very wet tonight.”, he commented with a grin, his bright blue eyes clouded with lust. “Of course. I have been looking forward the whole week to this.”, she admitted with a soft blush forming on her lips which fired up Leon’s lust for her to new levels. How could such a sweetheart, such an innocent looking lady be such a dirty slut?

“Here.”, Leon’s thoughts were interrupted by her words, ripped out of his cloud of pleasure. In her hands were her panties, dangling in front of his face, “I want you to keep them. Keep them in your briefcase, someplace close where you can use them when I am not here. I want them back...with your cum in them.”, and for a moment, Leon thought he had died and gone to heaven upon hearing those words. How could he ever deserve such pleasure?!

*

Another business trip for Ada. Leon had been waiting for this day for ages, could barely contain his smile while he drove her to the airport. He kisses Ada goodbye, off to work at the other side of the world. Waving goodbye while her plane took off, and once it disappeared in the clouds, Leon went to text his lover.

‘I will be back in an hour. Key is at its usual place. Don’t wear any underwear, you won’t need it.’

By the time Leon came home, he noticed that someone had entered the house - good. He entered and locked the door behind himself, and the smell of her perfume filled his nose. Following the trail of such sweet scent, Leon ended up in the living room. And there she was, laying on the sofa, wearing this black dress he loved so much on her. She was wiggling in anticipation, licking over her cherry lipstick covered lips as he appeared in front of her. “I was waiting for you.”, she smiled and sat up, reaching out for Leon. He instantly joined her on the couch, pulling her into his lap.

Hot kisses were shared, their hands all over each other. Leon couldn’t remember the last time he felt so young, as if he was a teenager all jacked up on the hormones in his body. But no, it was only her doing, her beautiful body, it was all he needed to go completely wild. And they weren’t planning on stopping anytime soon. 

*

The smoke of his cigarette filled the room, burning every breath down her lungs. Not the best way to heal her hurting throat, sore from all the moaning. From the living room to the kitchen to the bedroom, no surface was left untouched, left unfucked. Leon put out the cigarette only to light up another one, her eyes fixed on him. “I have the divorce papers ready. I’ll serve them to Ada when she’s back home.”, Leon said, the smoke curling from his lips as the words fell from them. “Got enough evidence of her cheating and according to my lawyer, it’s enough to make sure she won’t get a single cent from me.”

She sat up straight, gazing upon his body, taking in what would soon be hers. “Make sure it won’t be too dirty or long. I won’t wait for you forever, loverboy.”, taking the cigarette from his hand, taking in a drag that she needed so desperately. Soon he’d be hers, but for now she had to wait. Patience and time. With a spinning head she placed the cigarette back between Leon’s lips, then brushing the hair from his forehead. “You know where to find me. I’m yours, and soon you’ll be mine.”

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝟒. ♡ 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"Hi! I hope u have a lovely day :] I was wondering if I could request an imagine where you're online friends with Gogy and one day you send him a picture wearing his merch and he can't stop thinking about it and finally ends up telling you he has a crush on you?? Thank you in advance :] I really enjoy your writing"

pairing: georgenotfound x reader

warnings: Zoom Video Communications none :)

links: | ao3 | request | masterlist |

⋆ song recommendation: Slowly by Josh Gilligan

(streamer bf gogy brainrot brrr) hello sweet anon! thank you for much for this request :) I love love love all the geo simps and their ideas. also thank you to my dearest LB for helping me with the plot help. happy reading, everyone! ♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

You tapped your fingers on your desk, nails clattering at you waiting to be let into your third Zoom meeting of the day. Usually, you got off with only one lecture, but because of upcoming exams, you were finding yourself in and out of virtual meetings and office hours. Sure, it was better than jogging from building to building, fighting the crowds, and searching for a seat in a packed lecture hall, but it was still wearing you down beyond belief.

You rested your chin in your hand as your window went from white to dark grey, the square with your name getting wedged in beside the professor. Everyone’s cameras were off, a thankful sigh leaving your lips as your head slumped down to lay against your arm, the danger of falling asleep suddenly becoming more prominent.

You jumped slightly as your professor cleared their throat, sharing their screen and beginning to ramble off facts listed on the slideshow. You played with your keyboard, focused on removing a crumb from beneath your spacebar that was almost unreachable. You usually took notes in the class, but today was just one of those days.

“... And with that in mind, I’m going to put you all into breakout rooms…” Your professor trailed off, eyebrows furrowed as they peered at their screen and clicked frantically to assign all of you to rooms. You yawned, smacking your cheeks and sitting up. You were determined not to be a shitty partner, at least. The white box popped up, inviting you to join breakout room four. That’s always lucky, you thought to yourself as you joined.

Once again, you were cursed to look at the buffering wheel of death as your internet struggled to sustain all your opened tabs. Please, just a little longer, you groaned internally, eyes dashing towards the receiver and exhaling in relief as your computer connected to the breakout room. You turned on your camera, eliciting your partner, George, to do the same.

You flashed him a smile as you struggled to open the article from the previous night. “Hi! How’s it going?” You greeted, not yet looking at him.

“I’m good, actually. How are you?” He engaged, his voice deep and tired.

You finally managed to split your screen enough so that you could see him and the article. “Yeah, I’m good too. Thanks,” you chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes skimming some of the notes you’d etched into the margins. “So, did you have any idea what,” you paused, squinting at the author’s name, “Robert A. Schneider means when he discusses how ‘men of letters’ fear the lower class more than anything?” You asked, as your eyes trailed across your screen to finally gauge his reaction, you were taken aback by his appearance.

His soft features and dark eyes made you feel safe. As he smiled softly, running his fingers into his hair, he seemed to be racking his brain for an answer. He opened his mouth to begin, detailing what you had previously thought with better articulation.

The two of you got through the basic questions the professor had scripted for the students, then finding yourself still stuck in the breakout room. On a normal day, your professor would have pulled everyone back into the call after the first few questions.

George swiveled in his chair quietly as he listened to you briefly explain your area of study. His kind smile made your heart flutter slightly. Deep down, you hoped the two of you would be stuck in the room for a while.

Soon your topics blended into what kind of movies you both watched, a debate on where you could buy the cheapest bread on campus, and what kind of party people the two of you were. After an hour, instead of worrying whether or not your professor was dead, you were swapping numbers and planning out how the two of you would turn the Florida Keys into the headquarters of your new cult where the members would all worship a separate bitchy philosopher.

You pulled one of your legs to your chest, resting your cheek against your knee as his laughing died out. “Okay, this might be a weird question, but I need to know why your webcam is so clear. Is it like an OnlyFans thing or…”

He chuckled. “Yeah it’s definitely OnlyFans,” he joked, making you laugh. “I’m actually a ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ” he mumbled.

Your eyebrows perked playfully. “You’re a what?”

He pursed his lips to fit the grin stretching across his face. “ᵃ ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ”

You snorted slightly. “Sorry darling, you’ll have to speak up. What was that?”

He wet his lips, rolling his eyes as he bashfully groaned. “I’m a Minecraft streamer.”

You giggled, him basking in your disbelief. He smiled a bit brighter as he shrugged, leaning back in his chair as you rambled off questions. “There’s no way! Nerd!” you chaffed, making him smile as if he liked it when you playfully teased him. “Are you super popular?” You asked, catching your breath.

He bit his bottom lip swaying his head slightly as if deciding not to answer. “Mmmm. Not really.”

“Well, come on, Georgios! Give me your Twitch user and I’ll be your biggest fan, I promise.” He laughed at your response, digging out his phone to send you a link.

“I’d like to see you try,” he mumbled.

After the class had finally ended, you’d learned that your professor was on the phone with their credit card company. In the following weeks, you and George were in constant contact, even becoming part of each other’s daily routines.

As you studied for finals, you’d turn on his stream, letting his voice alleviate some of the stress of your exams. He knew you were watching and would even drop hints for you in what he was saying, or he’d blatantly just ask what you were talking about in your essay for a certain class. After the stream would end, he’d call you either on Discord or the phone, just so it felt like the two of you were studying together.

Jokingly, you badgered him to send you some of his merch, threatening to buy it from a bootleg online store if he didn’t. He had only brushed it off at the time, but shortly after, you received a hoodie in the mail with his gamer tag printed across it.

It was late at night when you’d received it, the tiredness of your eyes and George’s dulcet tones lulling you towards the idea of a dead sleep. Yet, you were drawn from your pleasant relaxation with the shrilling of your doorbell. You shrugged out of your blanket cocoon, grabbing your phone and trudging down the stairs. As you tore open the bag, your phone buzzed with a text from George asking if you’d seen something that one of his chat members. You chuckled softly and dug your hand into the material, holding it out in front of you.

You snickered to yourself, running your fingers across the red patch in the center. You slipped it over your head, letting the softness of the fabric brush against your skin. You snapped a photo of yourself and stumbled back upstairs before sending it to him.

When you returned, George was focused on something he was crafting. His eyes darted down to one corner of the screen where his phone was probably sitting. His eyes flashed back up with a smug grin on his face as if he knew exactly what you were going to say. Your “Thanks sugar daddy xx,” probably didn’t help either.

“What, chat?” His voice came out slightly uneven as he bit back a smile. You skimmed what people were asking. “It’s not a nude. A friend of mine got something I sent them,” he answered nonchalantly, finishing up what he was doing. The chat began to spam quietly. “No, it’s not a maid costume. Jesus Christ.” He leaned back in his chair, grabbing his phone and opening your message.

A grin spread across his face, alongside the light dusting of rosy pigment settling in his cheeks. He chuckled to himself, quickly replying before getting back to his game. You scoffed at his response.

George (H325) Anything for my silly little baka

You curled up again, putting away your schoolwork and devoting your attention to watching his stream as you drifted off to sleep.

Once again, you found yourself at the mercy of your internet as you attempted to join the breakout room assigned to you. You almost jumped out of your chair when it finally connected and you found George waiting for you. You smiled slightly as he scrolled through his phone. “What are the chances?” You asked, pulling his eyes to you.

He grinned, clicking off whatever he was looking at. “I was just about to raid your inbox.”

You chuckled. “I almost wore your merch to class, just to out you to whoever my partner was,” you joked, making him roll his eyes.

“I’m glad it’s me then,” he responded. You began scrounging around for your article. After a beat of hesitation, George spoke up again. “Hey, I’m glad you like the sweatshirt…” You perked an eyebrow in his direction. “I actually haven’t been able to get that picture out of my head. I know it’s stupid,” he stated lightly, chuckling nervously. You could feel your heart beating in your ears. “It’s so lame, but I think I have a crush on you.”

You sat back in your chair, stunned. “I mean, the feeling’s mutual. Even if it’s lame,” you mirrored, winking at him. “I mean, maybe it’s not lame because I know I like you.”

He smiled to himself at your answer before chuckling, “Should we Zoom date or something?”

[fics-by-caroline]

Bloodlust

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Magical!Reader

Summary: You and Loki are part of the Avengers, but the pair of you have different ideas of what justice entails than the rest of the group; i.e., more horror, more drama, an eye for an eye. And man, do you two ever look sexy covered in blood.

Category: Smut (18+ only, please!)

Warnings: Smut (blood kink, oral sex -- f receiving), rough sex, porn with some plot), language, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, smoking, alcohol consumption, mention of human trafficking.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut, so please be nice 🥺

   Taking a drag from a cigar in the corner of the dimly-lit speakeasy, your target looked you up and down. Even without tapping into his thoughts, you could tell that he liked what he saw; how the black dress you wore hugged your figure, how you had crossed your legs in a way that allowed him to catch the red bottoms of your heels, red that was reflected in your lipstick and nails. You turned to make eye contact with him, and were immediately hit with hearing him imagine you on your knees sucking him off in one of his fancy cars and afterwards kicking you out onto the street.

   Typical, You thought with disgust, finishing your martini. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Feeling him get up and walk towards you, you shot a knowing look at Loki across the bar.

   “Can I buy you a drink?” The man’s voice was dripping in disgusting salaciousness. He sat beside you, reeking of the over-application of cologne, whiskey, and cigar smoke.

   You shot him a demure smile. “A dirty martini, drier than the Sahara.”

   The man waved down the bartender before leaning closer to you. “Michael Ashbourne.”

   You suppressed an eye roll, taking instead to lighting a cigarette. “I know who you are, Mr. Ashbourne.”

   “And what is it that you know of me?” Ashbourne stroked your hair with a drunken finger.

   Uncrossing your legs, you turned to face him. “That you are one of the worst Midgardian men alive today. You cheat people out of their winnings in various casinos around the world, making yourself and your friends — no doubt the ones who surrounded you in that corner over there — some of the richest men in the world, while managing to operate under the radars of your enemy governments. You sell weapons and drugs because you always want even more money on top of the billions you already have, not caring about the damage you cause. You drink the most expensive liquors, sleep with all the women you please, and leave people eating the dust in your wake. But what brings you to the epitome of disgusting actions is your engagement in the trafficking of girls, once again, for even more money.” Even though you kept your voice low, you made sure to lace every word with biting poison.

   Ashbourne pulled back in shock, unmoving and speechless.

   You smirked at his silence. “Your cunningness is almost impressive, especially for a human. You manage to remain one step ahead of the mewling mortals who are left to crawl in your fading footprints. Bravo. Unfortunately for you, however, I am not one of them.” You waved a finger, from which a small ribbon of white magic followed.

   “Who the hell are you?” Ashbourne hissed.

   “A hero in the eyes of the people you have crossed, and the villain in yours.”

   Ashbourne scoffed condescendingly. Stupid bitch, you heard him think. “Speaking in mysterious riddles just makes you look stupid, missy. I don’t know how you know what you know, but it’s a bit too much for my liking.” He raised a hand, beckoning over the large men who had accompanied him.

   You sighed, unimpressed. Before they could so much as reach for their belt, you pulled the pistol from your garter stockings and fired silenced shots in between their eyes, before holding a dagger against Ashbourne’s throat. The speakeasy froze in horrified silence.

   With a small chuckle at the sudden shock and fear in Ashbourne’s muddy eyes, you called to Loki. “Darling, are there others?”

   “No darling, not here … but we can’t have witnesses, can we?” Loki sauntered up to you, kissing you on the head. He looked around at the few bystanders in the bar, terror keeping their feet rooted in place.

   “Loki, is that really necessary —”

   You were cut off by Loki launching towards the horrified bystanders like a cat pouncing on prey, his daggers slicing through their necks gliding ease. He finished off by throwing a knife into the bartender’s skull, silencing his terrorized mind that shrieked in your own so annoyingly. Loki looked back at you with an amused glint in his eyes, blood on every surface of the speakeasy, including Loki’s own body. Gesturing around him, he noted dryly, “They were dead in seconds, no suffering.”

   You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to Ashbourne, who sat with eyes wide and mouth agape. You smirked and applied a bit more pressure to the blade in your hand, drawing small beads of blood. You snuffed out your cigarette and stood up, toying with his bowtie as your heel dug into his foot. You could taste the fear that drenched his mind. “What’s this?” You cooed. “Feeling scared?”

   “Ah, you’re so right, my love,” Loki smiled, looking around the room at the bloody mess he created. “Not using magic is so much more fun. I missed getting my hands dirty.”

   You chuckled lowly. You couldn’t help but stare at him hungrily; there was something in the way the blood splatter stood out against his pale skin that awoke an arousal in you. Shaking your head, you turned back to the man under your knife and cocked an eyebrow. “How do you think I should do this? Stabbing is too classic, going for the neck is too neat.”

   “Unzip him, dear,” Loki hummed. He shot a bolt of green magic towards the man, binding him in glowing ropes that wrapped around his pitiful body. Noticing your dry look, he shrugged. “I want a proper view of your handiwork, and I can’t have that if I’m holding him.”

   “Fair enough,” You said. After a moment’s thought, you waved your hands, making Ashbourne’s shirt disappear in a white flash of your own magic.

   “Wait, wait, stop. What do you want? Money? I have money. What do you want?” Ashbourne pleaded.

   “I want ...” you said coldly, “to hear you scream.”

   You stepped forward and sunk your dagger into his lower abdomen, slicing upwards smoothy, careful as to not sever any major blood vessels. Ashbourne screamed in agony — music to both yours and Loki’s ears. You grinned at the blood that spurted out to meet you, and tossed the dagger onto the surface of the bar. You looked at the open mess in front of you and sunk your hand into the open cavity, making Ashbourne wail.

   Loki smacked Ashbourne’s face with a deadly glare. “Stay awake, you.”

   You reached farther into Ashbourne’s gut, quickly finding the pulsating aorta. You looked up at Ashbourne’s paling face, cheek now sporting a bloody handprint from where Loki had slapped him, and pulled on the artery, which snapped and spurted hot blood all over you. Loki released his magic binds, leaving the body of the man to collapse like a rag doll onto the floor, very much dead.

   You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears as you discarded the shred of aorta in your hands onto the lifeless body. You turned to look at Loki, who was smiling back at you with a familiar, blazing fire behind his eyes. He reached over and picked up your discarded dagger from the tabletop. He looked it over once, then swiped his tongue up one side of the blade. You groaned in arousal at the sight.

   “The taste of justice, my dear,” He said, licking his lips.

   He turned his fiery gaze back on you, holding the knife out for your taking. Without breaking eye contact, you licked up the other side, the metallic taste of Ashbourne’s blood spreading through your mouth only adding to the wet ache between your legs.

   “Fucking hell,” Loki breathed, the large bulge in his dress trousers clearly evident.

   You took the dagger, swiping away the rest of the blood that stained it on your finger and licked it clean. A deep rumble escaped from Loki’s lips before he smashed his lips onto yours, your tongues trading the tastes of blood and saliva. With a sharp tug, Loki tore your dress down and pinched your nipples between his bloodied fingers as he backed you up onto the bar. While normally, he would take his time with you, tease you at a torturously slow pace, make you plead and squirm beneath him, he now was fuelled purely by an animalistic flame, his lips and teeth marking your lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbones. You broke apart only for you to render the pair of you naked by way of a flick of the wrist and a flash of white light. You stared at each other, both of you breathless and admiring how the blood that drenched your clothing had stained your bodies in a beautiful pattern of death.

   “I love you so much,” You whispered.

   “I love you too,” Loki said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip lightly.

   In a flash, the momentary gentleness was gone as Loki pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them. You shouted out in pleasure, then gasped when you felt Loki’s tongue on your clit.

   “Fuck, Loki!” You hissed, throwing your head back and grinding deeper onto Loki’s fingers and tongue.

   The most audacious and obscene sounds filled the speakeasy as Loki twisted his fingers inside your cunt and attacked you with his mouth. You moaned unabashedly and Loki in return groaned against your body. His nips against your clit were anything but gentle, his fingers fucking your cunt so deeply, so gloriously, that your entire body sparked with invisible electricity.

   “You’re going to cum for me,” Loki growled, “you’re going to cum for me and make me drink it as you do.”

   You nodded into the air, gasping, panting, writhing under him. You clenched around his head, locking Loki into place, and came on his face, rolling and thrusting your hips against his mouth. Loki held your hips and drank your release until your orgasm finally finished washing over you.

  Before you could begin to catch your breath, Loki seized your neck in one large hand and pushed himself inside of you in one fluid motion, causing the both of you to moan loudly. He started moving his hips immediately at a quick and relentless pace, splitting you apart in pleasure. You reached up to wrap your arms and legs around him desperately. As he hit that sweet spot that no other could, you brought your nails down his back, no doubt drawing blood. All thoughts had disappeared from your minds, pure animalistic pleasure and arousal clearing everything else out. Your combined energy made the lights spark and flicker, furniture going flying as your grip on your magic became weaker. Loki slammed into you, your walls tight around him, his pelvis grinding in such a way that he moved against your clit. You were only barely registering how you clung onto him for dear life, the most indecent noises pouring from both of your mouths, bodies slick in blood and sweat sliding against one another. Your connection into each other’s minds let you both know that the other was just as close to their climax without speaking. Expletives punctuated your shared groans and screams, Loki’s grip on your body so tight that bruises were sure to follow, your teeth and nails marking his skin.

   “Loki, I — fuck — Loki!” You cried as you felt your body begin to tremble uncontrollably.

   “I know, I — ah! I know —!” Loki groaned, biting your neck.

   You exploded again with a scream and you slammed your hand onto the table, releasing a huge pulse of magic that levelled the room around you. Green explosions set off around you as Loki lost control and spilled into you with a stammering thrust and deep groan. Even though your eyes were both closed, you could see each other in your minds, totally blissful and exhausted, chests heaving. Loki’s lips found yours in a loving kiss.

   “We should ... we should clean up here before the others come by,” You said, still out of breath.

   Loki nodded wordlessly. He pulled out of you, causing you to whimper. We waved his hand, and the speakeasy righted itself in a glow of green light. Tables and chairs fixed themselves, light fixtures hung back up on the ceilings, blood and bodies disappeared, until the only remnant of your activities was the gore that still covered your naked bodies. You stood up and cricked your neck before cleaning yourself and Loki up, and dressing the pair of you in the dress and tuxedo you two were wearing. 

   “What will we say to the others when they ask about the sudden disappearance of everyone here?” You asked slowly.

   “Don’t worry, love,” Loki grinned, “we can tell them the truth. We’re both too valuable for them to kick us out of the group.”

   You laughed and took Loki’s outstretched arm, walking out into the cool night.