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snackhobi · 3 years

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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

#btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #magicshopnet #houseofddaeng #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts #yoongi au #bts au #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #PLEASE feel free to message me with any typos or whatever and I'll get on those when I have a chance

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thelittlewriter · 3 years

Text

Perfect Date

Pairing : Kazutora x Reader

Since he started going on dates with you, Kazutora's nightmares came back. He couldn't stop thinking about how well the dates went and wrong it would all go once you learn the truth about him.

His longtime therapist told him that everybody had highs and lows and, in order to stay healthy, he needed to learn how to deal with those lows. He managed to do it for years but with you, it was like life out of control. He didn't know how to deal with this low. So he didn't tell you.

You first met him at the pet shop, you were holding a cat and asked :

- What do I need to buy for this cat to be happy in my house ?

And he loved your eyes. They were full of love. Sure, this love was meant for the cat but it still did something to his heart. Since that day, you came back often and talked to him a lot. Chifuyu always seemed to be busy when you were here. One day, you asked him on a date. It felt surreal. For the first time in a while, not only somebody was finally seeing him and liking him, but that somebody was you. Someone he liked back.

Even though you two weren't official yet, he knew it was heading toward there. That was what you both wanted. The fifth date ended as perfectly as it started. It was like you two were meant to be.

- I really like you, Kazutora. I... I was wondering if we... er...

You were stuttering and you couldn't even look at him in his eyes. He had never seen someone so cute. You cleared your throat, looked up to him and asked :

- Be my boyfriend ?

He couldn't stop thinking about what Chifuyu told him.

"Do you really think it's good to base your relationship on a lie ?"

But it wasn't a lie. He just didn't want to tell you. He didn't want you to leave, he couldn't handle you leaving him, not when he started to like you this much, not for who he used to be.

- I don't think we should see each other again, Y/N.

You looked surprised but you quickly smiled at him.

- Oh... yeah... I understand.

He couldn't handle you leaving so he was going to leave first.

- I'll just... go, then.

You didn't have the strength to hold back your tears so you just left him in the middle of the street.

He missed you. It had been a month since he last saw you. You were usually coming back every couple of weeks to buy food or something your cat needed. But you weren't here. Maybe you just found somewhere else to buy your supplies, he thought. He had lost a client. He had lost you. He had wanted to text you every day since that night but he knew his silence was the best for you.

But then, you came back. You weren't smiling like usual. You took the products you needed without glancing at him.

- Hi, he said to you.

You looked at him trying to look cold, but he could see how much he hurt you.

- I'm sorry. I lied to you.

You didn't want to look at him.

- Thirteen years ago, something really bad happened.

You didn't move an inch. You didn't want to scare him away.

- I went to jail for 10 years and ended up being who I am today.

He chuckled.

- I figured it wasn't something I should tell on the first date or the second and after that, it felt like it was too late. Like I was lying to you.

He took a deep breath and carried on.

- I was scared you'd leave me if I told you. And I like you a lot, I didn't want it to be the reason why we wouldn't be together.

You folded you arms, eyebrows furrowed.

- Is that everything you wanna say to me ?

- I'm sorry for lying to you, Y/N. If you want me back, I'll make sure I'll never do something like that again.

When he stayed silent, you sighed loudly.

- I thought I did something wrong during the date.

You seemed... reassured.

- I get it. You were scared. But I didn't mind, I don't mind. I like you too. A lot.

You took his hand and smiled at him. He pulled you into a tight hug, he didn't want to let you go ever again.

Hey ! I'm sorry I've been away ! I had this in my drafts and I haven't got time to write a lot yet so I'm posting it now ! I hope you liked it ! To be honest, I'm still a bit scared to post... anyway, have a great day !

#tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #kazutora angst #kazutora x reader #kazutora x y/n #kazutora x you #kazutora fluff #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev fanfic #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo rev angst #tokyo rev fluff

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write-orflight · 3 years

Text

Settle Down: Chapter 11

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev - Next

Pairings: SpencerXReader (kinda enemies to lovers)

Rating: M

Words: 1.9K

Warnings: Child birth, language, tooth aching fluff

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N and Spencer don’t get along but turn to each other for the one thing you need someone else for… A baby. You can plantonically start a family, right?

AN: Two updates in a row! (Unedited) Now the taglist is officially closed now that we only have the Epilogue left. Thank you to everyone who took this journey with me, let me know what you think! much love, Cia

Chapter 11: A PowerPoint, really?

Morgan called outside the door for more nurses as soon as he heard what you said. Soon 3 women are rushing into the room, one of them clad with a wheelchair. You look at Morgan as they begin to load you in the chair.

“Derek, call Garcia and tell her to come with my emergency birth bag, then call Dr. Lizzie and tell her the baby is coming-AHHHHH!” You screamed as you were being wheeled out. Contractions, as they turn out, are the worst feeling ever.

Garcia is barging into your hospital room not long after that baby bag in tow. You kept an extra one at her place just in case you went into labor when the team was out on a case. “I drove just about 90 mph to get here. How are you feeling, mama bear?”

“Like Satan himself is putting me on a spit roast.” You grunt through clenched teeth.

“Think of the bright side you’re about to give birth to the cutest, most intelligent baby.” Garcia says. “Plus Dr. Liz told me I need to keep you calm so let’s do your breathing exercises.” Garcia starts huffing in syncopated time in order to get you to follow. You scream in her face. “Ok, so maybe not.”

“Who’s ready to have a baby?” Dr. Liz says, in a joyous tone as she sweeps into the room. “Let’s take a look at you.”

“Thank god! Lizzie, I need epidural. Shoot me up, Doc.” You groan from the pain.

“So someone is a little more eager to meet the world than we thought. It’s too late to safely administer epidural. You’re going to have to go natural, kid.”

You look at her wide eyed. “WHAT?!” You shake your head. “I-I can’t.”

“You can, Y/N.” Penelope says. “You can squeeze me as hard as you can.”

Tears start to fall from your eyes from the combination of pain and loneliness you felt. “I can’t do this, I need-I need Spencer.”

You hear the door opening. Spencer walked in pushing an IV still attached to his arm, other one draped around Derek’s shoulder as he helped him walk in. Once Spencer was next to you and leaned against the wall, Derek and Penelope stepped back to give you and Spencer privacy in your moment.

“Alright, you’re crowning. It’s time to push so next time you have a contraction, I need you to push as hard as you can.” Dr. Liz says, you nod. Spencer is pushing some of your sweat matted hair out of your forehead.

“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“I told you I’d be here for you, for this.” He says, grabbing your hand letting you squeeze around his palm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Spencer, I--AHHHHH!” You say, pushing. Your hand tightly squeezes around Spencer’s who despite how rough you must look right now is looking at you with the utmost awe and admiration. Dr. Liz gives you some words of encouragement as you breathe waiting for the next contraction.

“You don’t have to say it, I know, Y/N. I know.” He says, hand running through your hair.

“No, I need to say it. Spencer, I’m so in love with you. I love you so much, I’m sorry I kept hurting you but I need you. I love you--AHHHH!! I take it back, I hate you! I fucking hate you for doing this to me!”

Spencer kisses the hand you’re squeezing. “I love you too, Y/N/N. And I know you don’t mean that. It’s actually fairly common for all mammals giving birth to feel disdain towards their partne--”

“SHUT UP!” You yell as you push. “I usually love your facts but right now, shut the fuck up!”

“You’re doing great, mom. Just one more.” You hear Dr. Liz shout over your screams.

They don’t tell you this in any book, Doctor’s appointment, or mommy and me class but for a moment even though it is a fleeting moment. There is a stillness in the air where everything is silent and you are only snapped out of it at the sound of your baby’s first cry. Everything else from the cheers to Spencer cutting the cord is drowned by the sound of your baby loudly entering the word.

Your baby.

They place her on your bare chest and your arms instinctively wrap around your most precious being. You coo as the baby continues to cry the fluid out of her lungs. She’s covered in blood and goop but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Suddenly the thing you’ve wanted for so long was finally here and she was everything and more than what you thought, the perfect manifestation of you and Spencer’s love for each other.

Genevieve Rosalind Reid was born early November 10th. Given the name Genevieve after the song, Lady Genevieve, you and Spencer loved so much and Rosalind after famous female scientist Rosalind Franklin.

Not more than a couple of hours after the rest of the team is slinking into the room to get a peak at the baby, bearing gifts and congratulations to you both. Spencer managed to negotiate with the doctor to at least have a bed moved into your room so if they were going to make him lay and rest at least he could be near you and the baby. Soon, one by one the team starts leaving the last being Penelope who Derek had to haul away with him. You turn to Spencer once they’re gone.

“I love you, Spencer. I’m sorry I didn’t say it. I was scared.”

“I know, Y/N. I love you, why were you scared?”

“I didn’t want to lose you with my selfishness. Genevieve needs you more than I do, I didn’t want to sacrifice her having both parents because I couldn’t control myself.”

He reaches across the aisle between your beds for your hand which you stretch to him as well. “I’m not going anywhere.” He says looking you in your eyes. “I would never abandon either of you. I love you, but no matter what happens between us, we’ll make it work. For Genevieve.”

“For Genevieve.” You repeat back.

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

It’s been about 9 months since you had Genevieve and you and Spencer we’re still going strong. Though the first couple of months were difficult with Spencer being injured and having an actual newborn to care for. You were still better than before, Spencer made things better. Genevieve was perfect and looking more and more like Spencer with each passing day. In fact, it seemed the only trait she did take from you was a wild stubbornness and love for Disney movies.

You were out walking Genevieve in her stroller when you got a call.

“Hey Spence. What’s up?”

“Hey, where are you?” You hear over the line.

“I’m walking with Gen in the park.” You say.

“Do you want to meet at the coffee shop on the corner?”

You shrug even though he can’t see it. “Sure, get me a cold brew.”

You push the stroller into the coffee shop ten minutes later and walk over to the corner table you and Spencer have deemed yours. Your daughter is already fussy and making grabby hands for Spencer, who smiles and scoops her out the stoller.

“Hey, Bug.” He says, sweetly as your daughter smiles brightly at him.

“God, she’s such a traitor. Instantly forgets I exist as soon as she sees you.” You say, as he hands her back so you can put in the high chair for lunch. You’re opening her banana and pears baby food when you notice it. “Why do you have my laptop?” You ask.

“Well, open it.”

You give Spencer a weird look before handing him the food to feed Genevieve so you can open the laptop. Your heart stops for a second as you read what’s on the screen.

“A PowerPoint, really?” You chuckle. “Spencer, what is this?”

“This is Reasons Why You Should Marry Me.” He says, looking up to look you in the eyes.

“Yea, I got that from the title, Spence.” You chuckle, wetly. “And you thought a PowerPoint was the best way to ask?”

“Well, I felt you’d be more inclined to consider it if you knew I spent time on a presentation.”

“That’s true.” You say, chuckling at the memory of your first friendly encounter. You take the food back from him. “Well, show me what you got.”

“Okay, Reason #1, You love me.” You laugh, nodding as he goes to the next slide. “And I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Spencer…” You said, swooning slightly.

“#2, I’d be a great husband.”

“That’s a debatable fact.” You say, chuckling.

“Have I given you any indication that I wouldn’t be?”

You smile and shake your head no.

“#3, I have a ring, a very pretty one that Garcia helped me pick out and it’s yours if you say yes.” Spencer says, that makes you laugh loudly because of course she did, no wonder she’d been acting weird at work for the past couple of weeks. “In all seriousness… Y/N, I love you and I feel like I’ve loved since you brought me to this coffee shop more than a year ago and asked me to make the best decision of my life. You are my best friend, the mother of my child… I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to share my life with. So..” Spencer takes that moment to stand to kneel down on one knee. “Will you marry me, Please.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall since he started were coming in full swing now. You nodded fast. “Yes! 1000% yes!” You exclaim. Spencer takes that moment to slide the ring on to your finger as you hear the faint applause from the bored baristas in the empty coffee shop who have gotten to know you both over the years. Spencer sweeps you into a deep kiss, that you can barely stop smiling for. You pull apart when you hear Genevieve start to babble in her highchair, reaching for the two of you.

“Oh, come here, Bug.” You say, going to pick her up, kissing the top of her head. “Can’t stand not being the center of attention, huh?”

“Well, she is her mother’s daughter.” Spencer chuckles when you level a bored expression at him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He says, starting to pack Genevieve’s stuff back into her stroller. “What movie are we watching tonight?” He asks.

You think for a second. “How’s Wall-E sound?”

Spencer smiles when he hears you say the first movie you watched together. That was the night he knew for sure that he was going to marry you someday. You didn’t know it yet, but Spencer did, and he was rarely wrong.

“Sounds wonderful, baby.” He smiles, as the three of you walk out of the coffee shop, a newly cemented family.

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#criminal minds #bau x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid x you #spencer x reader smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #bau x y/n #bau #spencer x y/n #spencer reid

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jawabear · 3 years

Text

1 of 10 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Not my GIF (look at this man...)

A/N: so here’s that Bucky fic I’ve been talking about. This took me too long to write but I like it? I’m absolutely loving Falcon and The Winter Soldier! I’ve mentioned this before but Bucky Barnes is my all time favourite fictional character. This is set before the events of episode one but maybe like a week or so before. I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: fem!reader, tfatws spoilers, Bucky being awkward, nightmares, therapy, Bucky isn’t as smooth as he was in the 40s but he’s still cute

Summary: Bucky has ten contacts in his phone. One of which belongs the the girl he feels he has been searching for for 106 long years.

The times in which he found himself now were more than confusing. But that was the best way Bucky could think to describe them. For him though it seemed a lot worse than for others. For others, they had a gap of five years missing. For Bucky, he had far more than that.

From 1943 to 2023 there was a lot missing. He remembered it however. He remembered everything. The good, the bad, and the horrifying. What was meant by missing was that it wasn’t him who was living. He had missed out on living between those years. He had missed out on everything. And he knew, like the billions of others, he would never get those years back.

But now he was a civilian. Working to make amends from his past after being given a pardon. However, settling into his new easy life was proving far from that. It had been a few months now since the whole ordeal with saving the blipped half of humanity, Bucky included, and it had been a few months now since Steve went back in time and started a new life leaving him and Sam behind.

Sam. Right.

Sam was an avenger. More so than Bucky could ever be. So he was off doing his avenging work while Steve’s shield gathered dust in a wardrobe somewhere he was sure. Sam didn’t have it in him to take up the mantle of Captain America. He felt the shield belonged to someone else. It was Steve’s. It only ever could be.

More often than perhaps Bucky would like, he would get texts from Sam. Asking him how he was and telling him about missions he was going on. Bucky never replied. He didn’t know how to half the time and he didn’t want to.

He didn’t know how he was. He didn’t know if he was okay. He was forced to go see a therapist but all he did was lie to her.

“Have you had any nightmares recently?” She would ask him.

Bucky would think back to the night before their meeting and all the others as well. Each night he’d have to be faced with the horrors of his past. Every mission he carried out. Every person he carelessly killed.

“No” he would answer. And it wasn’t like he was wrong in his answer. The things he saw in his sleep were not nightmares they were memories. The nightmarish horrors he was were his reality, so when he said no in response to her question, he found it difficult to be accused of lying.

There were few things he could agree with her about. But the one thing he could see eye to eye with her about was the fact he was alone.

Sure, he had Sam. But only when Bucky wanted to acknowledge him which had not been often as of recently. And as his therapist so kindly pointed out he only had ten contacts on his phone. But in his defence, he still wasn’t used to the whole world of mobile communications and internet. So his phone was basically redundant to him. His mind was still in the 1940s where you’d find a date, what would now be classed as, the old fashioned way. By looking in person and talking. Not just texting or swiping left or right on an app.

Granted, Bucky did try his hand in online dating but it was far too much for him. It wasn’t only hard for him to figure out but also he saw too much of people he didn’t even know. The openness of the internet was something that was mind boggling to him. So that was thrown out of the window pretty quickly.

But what his therapist had failed to note was one name in his contacts. The name of his neighbour and quite possibly the one he wanted to end his loneliness with.

Back in his time, when he didn’t just have the looks of someone in their 20s, Bucky was in fact quite popular and good with the ladies. But the ladies, he found, of this new age were completely different to the ones of his time. Not that there was a problem, he just knew that he couldn’t used the same moves now as what he could back then.

He met (Y/N), his neighbour, as he was first moving in. After coming back, loosing Steve and getting a pardon, Bucky thought it be best to try and start a new. He did that by moving back to his old home of Brooklyn. His old apartment was obviously gone and with little money to his name he couldn’t afford the one that replaced it. It was far to big for him anyway. But he managed to find a smaller more affordable one and he much preferred it. If not only for the quieter location then the others in the building too.

(Y/N) was the first person he spoke too when back in Brooklyn. She was sweet and kind when introducing herself. She offered to help him move in but he really didn’t have that much stuff to use in making his new apartment more homely. And he had no food either. So (Y/N) did the neighbourly thing and invited him in for some food. A meal of sorts although she didn’t have much food either at the time. Even so, it was nice for him to be in company for once. And it was such warm company. They didn’t speak about much but he learnt a few things about her.

And now, on most Thursday evenings, he’ll find himself with her in her apartment eating a meal, sometimes she’ll cook, sometimes they’ll order take out, but he enjoys it regardless.

It was clear from the offset that she knew who he was. He frantically explained to her that he wasn’t what he used to be anymore and explained the terms of his pardon and how he’s making amends. But he needn’t have waste his breath on it. She didn’t seem to care about it. About who he used to be. She told him that she doesn’t live in peoples pasts and that she wanted to get to know him for who he is, not who he was. Those words meant a great deal to him. And from that moment on he had fallen for her.

Bucky sighed as he dragged himself up the stairs to his floor. He desperately wished there was some way of getting out of these therapy sessions. But he was tied to them. He couldn’t stop going to them even though he wanted too. But there, it wasn’t really like he had anything better to do. Nothing but either sitting at home in silence or walking around busy streets constantly looking over his shoulder. Those were his only other options.

As he walked to his apparent at the end of the hallway (Y/N)’s door opened and she walked out dressed for the outdoors, it was getting cold so it was smart of her to be wearing a warm coat. “(Y/N)” he called gently to her. She lifted her head after locking her door and gave him a warm smile.

“Hi James” She said, she always called him James rather than Bucky. He didn’t know why but he didn’t exactly mind. “How was your session today?” She had memorised the times at which he went to his therapy sessions. She probably knew he schedule better than he did.

Bucky shrugged “the usual” he told her making her laugh a little.

“That bad huh?”

“I guess” he said scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m heading to the store to get some food if you wanted to talk on the way? Don’t feel you have to”

“No, that sounds good” he tried to smile but it was a little awkward, but she didn’t seem to say anything and just motioned her head for him to follow.

The shop wasn’t too far away so it was a quick walk. Bucky wasn’t the talkative type, not really anyway. Especially not to someone he didn’t like. And Dr Raynor was someone who he didn’t like. He was sure that deep down she was a lovely person but he didn’t like the fact she was insistent in getting him to admit his feelings. Although that was her job.

It wasn’t long until they arrived at the store “so what happened?” (Y/N) asked as she picked up a basket.

“Just the usual...she asked me if I had a nightmare-“

“Did you?” Bucky didn’t answer and just looked away from her. “James, you know that it’s her job to help you. And it’s in your best interest to let her”

“I know...but at the same time...I don’t see the point. These things are mandatory. So if I don’t want to go then I don’t see it being helpful”

“I can understand that” her eyes flicking between two boxes of cereal as she inwardly decried in which one to get, but her indecisive nature got the better of her so she opted to get both. Her indecisiveness, Bucky thought, was incredibly cute. It linked in with her kindness, on their Thursday evening meals together it takes ages just to decide what to have. “But still,” she continued, Bucky following her like a lost puppy “like you said, it’s mandatory. And there are people who would love to be in your position. Getting therapy I mean. So you should at least make the most of it while you can”

“I mean...yeah. I guess. But...I don’t know I just...well it’s easier to talk to someone like you then it is to talk to her” (Y/N) smiled at little at this as she finished putting on the last few items before making her way to the till.

Neither of them said much else. Expect for (Y/N) making light conversation with the cashier as she paid although both (Y/N) and Bucky knew that the cashier really didn’t want to be there. Luckily it didn’t take long for (Y/N) to bag her items and pay for them before they were both leaving the store.

It had gotten colder outside then when they left originally. (Y/N) shivered and pulled her coat around her a little more before they both began walking back to their apartment building.

“So what is it about me that makes you find it easier to talk?” She asked, she brushed her hair from her face as a sudden gust of wind blew it out of place when she turned to look at him.

“Well...” he muttered shoving his hands into his pockets “for one, you don’t sit there with a passive aggressive notebook ready to write shit about me” this made her laugh a little, she always found it funny when he’d talk about this notebook Dr Raynor had. She didn’t really know why he hated it so much, and she knew she shouldn’t have found it funny but he never stopped her from laughing about it, in fact often times he would join in thereby encouraging her.

“Yes, that is something better I guess. Although, I’m sure I could find a notebook if you wanted” she teased.

“Oh god. Please don’t” He said holding back a smile.

“Anything else?” She asked him.

Bucky thought for a moment. There were many things about her that made it easier for him to talk to her, but he couldn’t list them all. For one, that would be embarrassing, and two he didn’t think he’d have the breath to do it. “Well-“

He was cut off when he saw (Y/N)’s smile fall and her pace began to slow right down to a stop. Bucky stopped and looked at her “everything okay?” He asked her, his voice full of concern.

She turned sharply to the side so she was facing the road “y-yeah..” she stuttered nervously “just...my ex is walking this way and I really don’t want him to see me”

Bucky felt a strange feeling inside him. He didn’t even know she had been in a relationship. It must’ve been a recent thing right? Unless it was a really bad break up in the past, or this guy had done something to her to prompt her being so on edge. Bucky turned to try and scope out this guy but he didn’t have a clue what he was looking for. So he reached over to her and pulled up her hood on her hoodie that she wore under her coat and pulled her into his side so that her face was hidden from view.

“Tell me when he’s gone” Bucky muttered to her. She nodded her head and let him walk her along the path, she kept her eye on the path ahead as best she could while still covering her face. But she was now more focused on two things, his arm around her and his wonderful smell. Never did she think she’d ever get this close to him. She never thought he’d let her, but here she was attached to his side with his arm wrapped around her, holding her protectively against him.

And his smell. It was just as comforting as she dreamed it would be. A mix of his cologne and what she could only describe as Him. All she wanted to do now was to just melt into his strong and warm embrace and just stay there forever.

In all her daydreaming she didn’t notice that her ex had long since walked by and they had reached the entrance to their apartment building and she didn’t tell him he could let go or that it was safe for her to walk properly.

Bucky came to a stop and slowly slipped his arm from her “I mean...I take it he’s gone now right?” He said a little nervously. (Y/N) stood up straight and pushed the hood from her head and nodded quickly, her cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“Yeah. Yes, right. Sorry. Yes. He’s gone. I um...I just wanted to make sure he didn’t suddenly turn around you know? That’s all” she said in an unconvincing tone. But Bucky himself was too flustered to actually care that she was flustered as well.

“Of course, that’s smart. Well we made it back” he said stepping up to the door and pushing it open for her. She nodded and thank you and quickly hopped inside the building, Bucky following after her.

The walk up the stairs was an awkward silence. They felt like teenagers after their first ever date. Who says something first? What do they even say? Luckily for them, this wasn’t a first date, and they weren’t teenagers. They were fully grown, mature adults. But that doesn’t mean adults can’t get flustered in the presence of their crush...right?

After what felt like hours, but was more like five painstaking minuets, they finally got to their floor and walked down the hall, both briefly forgetting that they lived right next to each other.

(Y/N) stopped at her door and placed her bag of food on the floor to fish out her keys from her pocket. “Uh...you want to come in?” She asked whilst fiddling around in her pocket to find the keys. “I know it’s not Thursday but we didn’t really talk as much as usual...” her voice seemed to trail off as she finally found her keys and put them in the key hole before unlocking the door. “You don’t have too..”

“I’d...like to...” he said in a soft voice with a gentle smile to try and put her at ease even though he too was freaking out inside. She smiled back and picked up her bag before walking inside her apartment, he did too.

They both made their way into her small kitchen and he made himself at home by sitting in his usual seat at her white kitchen table and she began to unpack the shopping “Do you want me to help?” He asked her as he went to stand up but she waved off his offer.

“No no, it’s fine. There’s only a few bits anyway” she told him as she began to pack each item away in its rightful place.

“So uh...” Bucky began quietly as he scraped his metal finger again the wood table. “This ex of yours...what’s the story there?”

Bucky was a little cautious of his words. He didn’t want to say anything to hurt or offend her but at the same time he wanted to know what about the guy made her so on edge earlier.

“Oh uh...” she muttered as she pulled two cups from her cupboard.

“You don’t need to tell me if you want want to. Sorry..”

“It’s fine” she assured him “nothing really happened I guess. It was just a bad break up. He didn’t really take it well and for a few weeks after that he just kept texting me and trying to call me. He came round to my place too to try and get me back. He never did know how to take no for an answer. But about a month ago he finally got the message and stopped all contact with me. Seeing him today...I was just worried that he’d try it all again”

“He sounds like a real asshole” Bucky said flatly making her laugh a little as she went about making some tea for the both of them. “But in his defence, if I lost a girl like you, I’d struggle with taking no for an answer as well”

(Y/N) let out a nervous laugh and almost dropped his tea cup from the shock of his comment but she was a little more used to his flirtatious nature that would sometimes make an appearance when they were in her apartment. After he told her about his boyish charms back in the 40s she noticed how he would often slip back into that era. It was cute to say the least.

She set down his tea in front of him and he flashed her a “thank you” smile before wrapping his fingers around it.

There was a brief silence in the room. She was greatly over thinking is earlier comment. But so was he. Maybe he shouldn’t have said it. He meant it though. But what if he had pushed the limit a little too far?

“What was the other reason?” She asked him, her finger nail scratching again the tea cup trying to avoid eye contact with him at all costs.

“Huh?” He questioned looking over the table to her.

“Earlier. You were going to give me another reason why I’m easier to talk to. What was it?”

Bucky’s muscles tensed as his fingers gripped the tea cup handle as he stared into the black tea she had made for him. “If I’m being honest...” he began slowly “I think...there are too many reasons why I find talking to you easier. But I guess one is that you don’t do it because you have to or it’s your job to. You do it out of kindness. And it’s...easier to talk to someone who’s listening because they want to. And yes, I get that Dr Raynor probably does want to help me but I also know that at the end of the day, it’s all for a pay check. But with you...you do it because you want to. Or at least...I think you want to”

“I do want to, James. I’ll always be around to ask if you’re okay. And to make you okay when you’re not. I care about you...”

“And...I care about you. Another reason I prefer talking to you is because...I like you...a lot. I just think you’re the most beautiful woman, and you have such a sweet and caring nature and a good heart that is wasted on me. But I can’t help but like you...” he couldn’t really believe he just said what he did. He wasn’t mean to tell her that. It was meant to stay a secret within him into the end of time. But there was a shift in atmosphere that just made it all slip out.

“You...you like me?” She asked, still not looking at him.

“Yeah...” he said. There was a little more confidence in his voice as he admitted his feelings towards her.

“I like you too..” she too held a little more confidence in her voice as she admitted her returned feelings. It felt...good. Especially since she knew he returned the feelings she had harboured for him since they met.

She stood abruptly and held her hand out to him. He looked at it and looked up at her again before taking her hand. She pulled him to his feet and a little close to her.

He smirked a little as he looked down at her “you want me to kiss you or something?” He said almost proudly.

“Yes..” she said “but first...I want to know something”

“What do you want to know?” He asked her. She squeezed his hand and dragged him out of her kitchen.

She lead him to her bedroom and noticed the worried expression on his face when he looked at her bed. This was what she wanted to know.

“You don’t have a bed in your apartment...” She told him quietly. (Y/N) turned her body so she was facing him completely, he cautiously lifted his hands to settle on her waist.

“I know...” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Bucky paused but he felt safe enough to give her an honest answer “I...I’m...scared. Of them”

“What is it about a bed that scares you?” She whispered, her fingers gently trailing down his cheeks. Bucky didn’t answer right away, for one he was to busy focusing of the beautiful touch of her hands, and for another, he didn’t really know the answer to her question. But he could take a guess.

“Because I...I don’t think I’ve slept in one since 1943. And I...after everything I’ve done...I don’t deserve to lie in such luxury...” his voice was quiet and barely audible, had it not been for the close proximity they were in, she probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“James...” she laid her forehead against his and he instinctively griped her waist a little tighter. The comfort and warmth she was bringing him was something he didn’t want to loose. She was someone he didn’t want to loose. He felt safer with no one but her. For once he actually felt...okay. But he felt he was holding her too tightly, but if he was she was wasn’t willing to tell him that.

“You know that you have no reason to be afraid. You are changing. You are becoming a good man. You do deserve to live in luxury, even if that starts with sleeping in a proper bed. Maybe it is scary for you...but...if you’ll allow me, I’ll help you face it”

“Please...” he whispered with a nod before pressing his lips to hers.

05/04/21

Taglist: @lunaserenade @phoenixhalliwell @slytherin4ever

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Sebastian Stan #tfatws #marvel #fluff #angst #fanfic

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sokka-simp · 3 years

Text

Christmas Headcanons

Bakugo, Deku, Todoroki S. x reader

A/N: so I’m randomly making this because I think my blog needs some Christmas Headcanons and I myself love Bakugo so he’s a given but I know there are some Deku and Todoroki fans that may like my fics somewhere so I added them on for ✨v a r i e t y✨

Fluff

Bakugo

Bakugo was never one that was super big on Christmas, like don’t get me wrong, he didn’t dislike Christmas he just didn’t really care

The only thing he liked about it was getting presents and bragging about them to his friends

He only ever got presents from his parents and Deku because he never EVER bought people gifts

That was until he went to UA and he met you and the rest of the Bakusquad

Who all LOVE Christmas

His first year there he still refused to buy any of them Christmas gifts but no ho ho the others didn’t think the same

You got him an All Might figure

Kiri got him new gloves cause he kept burning through his

Mina got him a mini Christmas tree, which he acted particularly upset about because ‘I don’t even give a fuck about Christmas Pinky!’ He liked it though which was obvious to everyone else

Denki got him a bra for his ‘bakutitties’, Sero had to tape him to the wall to make sure Denki wasn’t gruesomely murdered

Sero got him a cool black and orange hoodie Bakugo was taped to the wall again just for fun and as an extra gift from Sero

He felt bad, so he went and got everyone something for New Years ‘since it’s a tradition in his family. Tch.’ and not because he didn’t get them anything for Christmas

After that first year, he liked Christmas a lot more

You watch Die Hard multiple times every year because Bakugo thinks it’s the only “Christmas” movie worth watching

You agree but force him to watch other movies too

He only does it so you guys can cuddle, he denies that though

“You pulled me into your side before the intro was finished and you’re gonna say you don’t like cuddles?” “No I didn’t dumbass, shut the fuck up! ....and play another one.” “YOU DONT EVEN LIKE CHRSITMAS MOVIES! YOU JUST LIKE CUDDLES! ADMIT IT.” “NO I FUCKING DONT, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND TURN ON THE GRINCH OR SOME SHIT!” “YOU ARE THE GRINCH! Wait don’t leave 🥺” “tch. Come here.”

You guys cuddle a lot in general because you’re both touch starved, but Christmas time makes it more normal so you guys cuddle a lot more

Like a lot

Not in public though, bakubaby isn’t a fan of PDA except hand holding ‘cause it’s cold’

But if you’re alone or in the 1-A building you guys cuddle all the time. You’re in the common room on a couch, boom cuddling. You’re doing homework together, boom sitting in his lap. You’re watching a movie in his bed, boom spooning.

He makes you special homemade hot chocolate

And regular chocolate

And literally anything you want

You buy him special spicy chocolate cause you can’t cook for shit, or at least not good enough for Bakugo

You tried once and burned chocolate at 3 in the morning, setting off the fire alarm, and causing everyone to have to evacuate. He made fun of you for a good month or 2 after that. He honestly still does

You buy and force him to wear ugly Christmas sweaters every year

You buy some for the bakusquad too

You have epic snow battles, like, I almost broke your nose and had a flu half of break after spending hours in freezing weather snow battles

You’re both competitive though, so you both end up either never winning or having the same amount of wins and it pisses you both off sooooooo much

You both spend days looking for the perfect gift for each other after getting together

Like you have a straight up list for everytime he even slightly hints at liking something because he sure as hell won’t tell you what he wants

You got him new mountain climbing equipment, an All Might poster, and a shirt that said ‘I’m stupid’ so you could wear the ‘im with stupid’ one

You spend Christmas Eve at one of your houses and Christmas Day at the other

You’re parents buy you and Bakugo matching Pajamas for Christmas Day, whether it’s at your house or his

When he opens your gift he’s vibing until the shirt. He glares at you so hard, that if you didn’t know he was whipped for you, you probably would have pissed yourself.

You laughed instead which caused a long string of curses

After opening gifts you guys spend the day cuddling and having snowball fights then going out with the Bakusquad for Christmas desserts

Deku

Deku looooooooves Christmas

He’s one of those people who claim to like buying people gifts more than getting gifts

Like he buys gifts for everyone in the class. And the teachers. And principal Nezu. And all his favorite pro-heros. And his mom. And that random homeless dude on the street. And his favorite food place’s employees. And just everyone.

He goes broke every year

He’s a liar though, he loves opening gifts. Sometimes he feels bad, but if it has something to do with All Might, he’ll let himself forget the price

The first year at UA, you suggested secret Santa for the Dekusquad and everyone loved it, especially Deku

Deku got Uraraka

Uraraka got You

You got Todoroki

Todoroki got Iida

Iida got Tsuyu

and Tsuyu got Deku

Deku, Iida and you went alllllll out

Urakaka tried to get something good but she didn’t have a lot to spend

~Baby’s broke 👊🏼😔

Todoroki didn’t really care and just asked Deku what Iida would want

Tsuyu got Deku the first All Might thing she saw above 10 dollars

You and Deku mega bonded while being stressed over gifts and started having gift shopping dates hangouts

You went out on your first date together a few days after Christmas, when Deku realized he couldn’t keep using Christmas shopping as an excuse to hang out

The next year, during Christmas, you did everything together

Decorate your dorms, decorate the common room, go gift shopping, ambush Iida with snowballs, cuddle, watch Christmas movies and so on

You and Deku 100% recreate Hallmark Christmas movies with the Dekusquad. They all vibe, except Todoroki because he thinks it is so stupid

Deku’s mom knits everyone from the Dekusquad ugly Christmas sweaters with their initials on it every year

Your family invites Deku and his mom over to have Christmas dinner with them

You buy him the most limited edition All Might stuff you can find

You stay up all night just so you can order it as soon as you can, you will literally camp outside of stores in snow so you can get it for him

He does the same for your interest though so it’s worth it

And it’s especially worth it when you get to see his eyes light up when he sees what you got him

You both open presents separately with your family in the morning, but you meet up a few hours before dinner to exchange your gifts to each other and get hot chocolate from your favorite cafe

Bonus story: One time you and Deku decided to go to a cat cafe on a whim and saw Aizawa sensei laying on his back in the middle of the cafe with cats all over him. You all stared at each other until you and Deku slowly backed out of the cafe. You 3 never brought it up. But you and Deku laughed about the 32 customer of the month pictures of Aizawa that were on the wall.

Deku has straight up cried opening your gifts before

You love him so much 🥺💕😩

And when you open your gift and get the goofy smile full of love on your face, Deku can’t help but think he’s the luckiest guy on Earth.

It’s just both your favorite time of the year

Todoroki

Todoroki never celebrated Christmas with his family unless it was for plublicity or something

His mom would buy him and his siblings all small gifts but she didn’t have much freedom to go and get anything big or really wanted by the kids

They all appreciated it nonetheless

So when the Dekusquad forced asked him to join the secret santa, he didn’t know what to do at all

So he went to you and to get you to help him find a perfect gift for his secret santa person, which was Uraraka

You agreed to help, being the amazing significant other that you are

You were no help, at all. You could not stop laughing when he pulled up dumb gifts

And when you found out what you were going to get him for Christmas you teased him and gave him hints every 5 minutes just to annoy him

So he ended up going to Deku and Iida because one was serious all the time and the other was so obsessed with Christmas, he changed his comforter to be All Might in a Christmas hat

They helped a lot more

He still enjoyed hanging out with you though

You and todoroki have weekly ‘Make fun of Hallmark Movies’ nights each week, starting at the beginning of December obviously and going until January.

You stay up til like 4 in the morning cuddling and having fights about who’s the most annoying character

You always buy Todoroki candy canes because ‘look sho, they look just like you, and they’re sweet like you too’

Cue the mass amount of blushing everytime you say anything remotely nice to him ever

For Christmas you got him a few things but the best is an Endeavor dart board. You saw it and got it with no hesitation.

Your gift for him consists of his dart board, mini candy canes, a soba place gift card, and a coupon book, hand-made, full of coupons that just say ‘cuddle with Y/N’

One of his gifts for you is an ‘I hate endeavor shirt’ because if he’s the president of the ‘I Hate Endeavor’ club, you’re Vice President.

The amount of times Todoroki has had to stop you from attacking his dad on sight is higher than the amount of people All Might has saved

But the other gifts really depend on what you like, because baby doesn’t wanna disappoint you, not after he has been disappointed every Christmas until you

Todoroki 100% always comes over for Christmas. Your parents would drag Todoroki from his house if they had too

He comes over Christmas Eve and spends the night, then stays for everything. Opening gifts, stockings, Christmas dinner, etc.

He even has his own stocking with his name embroidered on it

When he opened your gift the evil smile he had on his face made you know it was perfect

And the soba place card made him just as happy, he’s so lucky to have you

He loves the giddy face you have as you open the shirt first and put it right on over your pajamas

Wow he loves you

Wow you love him

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fanfics-for-the-hockey-fan · 3 years

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A Lie to Love - Nathan MacKinnon

This is for @antoineroussel Summer Fic Exchange. I had the wonderful @broadstbroskis!

I had so much fun writing this fic and reading everyone else's work, I love getting to see so many great writers sharing their work on this site. This is also one of the longest pieces I have written in a very long time, as I was writing this I had a million other fic ideas pop in my head so many those will get written some time soon.

***

I just sat down on my couch, just getting home from work when someone started knocking on my apartment door. I was hoping to ignore it and it would go away, unfortunately they kept knocking. I groaned as I got up, decided how much I was going to curse this person out. “What-” Right behind the door was Nate, giving me a nervous smile.

I had met Nate through his teammate Gabe, I babysat for Gabe and Melissa on a regular basis. Nate showed up one night that I was watching their daughter looking for advice from Melissa. I was able to help him then he hung out with me until Gabe and Melissa came home. Since then I could expect him to show up at my apartment at least once a week for dinner, and we were close friends after I had to save him from a laundry emergency that first night I met him.

“I’m so glad you’re home. I need a huge favor.” Leaving the door open I headed back towards my couch, I knew Nate would follow me and close the door behind him. Once I was sitting on the couch again Nate pulled my legs onto his lap.

“Last time you asked for a favor I ended up with the flu.” Which was true, he had asked me to help out at a learn to skate event that was outside in December. It had been a cold and foggy day, and two days later I was down for the count.

“I brought you soup! And tissues for we left for that road trip.”

“You brought me one box of tissues and two cans of tomato soup.” Nate raised an eyebrow like I had proven his point. I threw a pillow at his head before speaking again. “I’m allergic to tomatoes!”

“Oh, I’m an idiot. Sorry. But I still need a favor.” I really wanted to just say no, ask Nate to leave and go to sleep until I had to go into the office tomorrow. But I knew I was going to say yes before I even found out what he needed. “Please Ruth.”

“What is this favor?”

“I need you to be my fake girlfriend.”

“That was not what I was expecting you to say.” That got a small chuckle out of Nate but he also looked nervous. “Why do you need a fake girlfriend?” Nate was in a ‘single and loving it’ stage of life, he just wanted to play hockey and hang out with his teammates.

“An executive on the team has been talking up his daughter for like the last two years. I’ve been able to brush off the hints he has been throwing at me, luckily she doesn’t live here. Today he came up to me when I was heading out for the day, talking about how his daughter is coming into town and how we should get dinner together so I can get to know her. I thought I could brush it off as a one off dinner, say we there was no connection and then she would be gone. Easy, ya know?”

“Not really. But continue.”

“Apparently this isn’t just a visit for her, she is moving here. And going to work for the team on the social media team.”

“That must have ruined your plan.” Nate nodded and I knew I was going to agree to his crazy plan. “So how did all this lead to me needing to be your fake girlfriend?”

“I panicked and said I had a girlfriend.”

“And I’m the only girl you hang out with that isn’t related to you or in a relationship with a teammate.”

“You are also one of my best friends and the one person I trust every part of my life with. I know this is a lot to ask, I know this is bigger than asking you to help with a skating event. This is a change to every part of your life, and lying to a lot of people.”

“I’ll do it.” Nate’s jaw actually dropped like he couldn’t believe I was agreeing to do it. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“Thank you, thank you so much. I know this is a huge ask, I really do.”

“Before we talk about details, I need food and wine. Not necessarily in that order.” I ordered food and pulled out the biggest wine glass I had. As we waited for the food, we came up with a plan and story to tell everyone. We decided to stick with the cliche story of best friends who decided to fall for each other.

“Um, what about kissing? And other PDA?” Nate’s cheeks flushed as he asked the question and I knew it wasn’t from the wine. “I don’t want to do anything you are uncomfortable with.”

“Let’s just start with hand holding and that kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds good.” Our food was delivered then, Nate going to the door and coming back with the bags of food.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it, you can think about it like this is our first date.” I nod and start eating once we decided on something to watch. This felt normal for us, eating take out and watching whatever hockey game Nate was able to find. After we finished eating Nate helped me clean everything up before he got ready to leave. I walked him to the door, hugging him tightly as he let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I will ever be able to repay you for doing this. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t worry about it Nate, I’ll always be there when you need me.” I closed the door behind him, hoping that I wouldn’t regret agreeing to fake date my best friend.

Nate’s pov

I had been ignoring my phone since I pulled into the parking lot at Ruth’s apartment building, knowing that asking Ruth to do this would make or break our friendship. When I left her apartment I was hopeful that this wouldn’t be the end of our friendship. But I also knew it was only going to make my feelings for her grow. I realized within a month of knowing Ruth that I had feelings for her, and I had almost told her a dozen times a year since then.

I checked my phone when I got home, I had four missed phone calls from my captain and nearly a dozen texts. I skipped over looking at all the messages and just called him. “Nate, why did I hear you say that you are dating someone? Mel has been questioning me since this afternoon because she heard you say to someone that you are in a relationship. She is pissed that I didn’t tell her about it. Which is hard to do considering I had no clue.”

Before I could answer I heard Mel’s voice. “MacKinnon, you better tell me who you are dating.”

“Uh, Ruth-” There was a loud squeal on the other end of the call and then I heard Landy trying to shush his wife.

“When were you going to tell us this?” Gabe asked after it got quiet. I wanted to tell them the truth, we had talked about it. We eventually decided that we wouldn’t tell them the truth because Gabe was the worst gossiper on the team.

“It’s only been about a month, we wanted to make sure this was going to work before we shared it with anyone. We wanted to wait even longer but one of the executives was trying to set me up with his daughter.”

“Alright. I guess that is enough information from now. We can always ask more questions at that fundraiser on Friday night.”

“Oh shit.” That caused Gabe to laugh at me.

“You didn’t tell her about that yet?”

“No, we weren’t going public yet so I figured that I would just go by myself. But I guess I need to tell her about that now and see if she is willing to come with me.”

“That is a big first outing, good luck with that buddy.” Gabe hung up and I knew that I needed to tell Ruth about Friday but when I left she had mentioned she was going to crash as soon as I left. I figured I should go to bed now and deal with everything tomorrow.

***

I was getting ready to knock on Ruth’s door when it flew open and Ruth was standing there looking shocked. “Nate! What are you doing here?” Her eyes then looked at the coffee cup I was holding, one that I had brought for her. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You only ever bring me my favorite coffee order when you have bad news.”

“I-Landy reminded me last night that we have a black tie fundraiser on Friday night.”

“And now that our supposed relationship is public, you are expected to bring your girlfriend with you.”

“Yeah. I am sorry, I never meant to make your life this complicated.” Ruth took the coffee from me, taking a sip before locking her door.

“I know what I signed up for Nate. I need to get to work, walk with me to my car.” I followed her through the hall of her apartment, waiting for her to yell at me. “What is this fundraiser for? And what kind of dress do I need?”

“It’s for the children’s hospital. We do it every year, they book a huge ballroom and it’s a lot of rich people. The Avs don’t run this fundraiser but all the sports teams in town donate a bunch of stuff to them to auction off and the team likes us to go so the people are more willing to open their wallets.”

“And yet that doesn’t tell me what kind of dress I need, or what time this thing is. Or any of the other million things I need to know to get ready for this thing.”

“I’m not sure about any of this, every year I go by myself. I can have Mel call you?”

“That sounds good. I have to go now, I have a project that was assigned to me yesterday that is way behind schedule. So thank you for the coffee and I’ll see you later.” I watched as she got into her car and drove away.

Ruth’s pov

By the time lunch came around I was buried under a pile of work, I hoped that if I could work through lunch and stay a little late every day this week that I would be caught up by the end of the week so I could focus on the lie at this fundraiser. So when I saw that Melissa was calling me I knew my plan was about to be derailed. “Hey Melissa.”

“I am going to ignore the fact that you didn’t tell me about you and Nate. And I am also going to save all of my questions for later, Nate told me that you need a dress for Friday. I can be at your office in 10 minutes, we can go shopping during your lunch hour.”

“I am so behind on a project that was just given to me this morning and it was already so far behind because the guy who was incharge of it before me was an idiot. I don’t have time to take a lunch break this week.”

“But Nate gave me his card to buy your dress with.” I knew I would regret what I was about to say but I didn’t have another option.

“If I tell you what size I wear, can you just get me something?”

“Absolutely!”

“Thank you. As much fun as I think shopping with you would be, I just can’t leave right now.”

“I get it. Send me a text with your sizes and I’ll find you the perfect dress.”

“Because my brain is a mess right now, I wasn’t supposed to babysit on Friday right?”

“No, my parents are in town this week. They are watching the kids. There is no way you are getting out of this event.” A part of me was hoping that I would have that as an excuse to not go but with that option gone I started to mentally prepare myself for Friday night.

***

“Thank you for letting me get ready here.” I said to Nate as he let me into his house. “And thank you for letting me crash here tonight.”

“Of course, it makes more sense this way. I also have your dress, Mel wouldn’t let me look at it when she dropped it off on Tuesday. I figured you can use my room to get ready, it has more counter space for whatever you need.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your bedroom and bathroom.”

“It’s not kicking me out when I volunteer to use the guest room. C’mon, let me carry your bag.”

“How long until we need to leave?”

“I have an Uber scheduled for 75 minutes from now.” I nod, knowing that I could make that work without having to rush too much. Once Nate headed into the guest room I started to unpack what I would need for now. Grabbing a towel before going to figure out the shower, which was far more high tech than anything I had ever seen in a shower before. I wrapped the towel around myself and went to find Nate. “Nate?! How do I work your futuristic shower?” I only stuck my head out in the hall to yell and luckily he heard me from the guest room he was in. A few seconds later he came out in only a loose pair of shorts, laughing at me. “Don’t laugh at me, your shower has a computer screen!” I opened the bedroom door so he could come in, watching his eyes widen when I saw I was only wearing a towel. As he came in to turn the shower on for me I took the time to look over him. When he turned to show me how to change the temperature and turn it off I knew he caught me checking him out. Nate was such a beautiful person, inside and out. I knew that fake dating Nate had the potential for my true feelings to come out and I was trying to convince myself that this wouldn’t end with the death of our friendship.

“Need anything else?”

“Nope.”

Nate’s pov

It took every ounce of willpower to not kiss Ruth when I saw her standing in my bedroom in just a towel, and then when I caught her checking me out I was really tempted to tell her the truth. I knew that this fake dating would just cause more pain for me but there was nothing I could do about that now. I took a colder shower than I had originally been planning to take but after that was done I got my suit on, just a dark grey suit so that hopefully I wouldn’t clash with whatever Ruth was wearing.

Just as I finished getting my shoes on there was a knock on my door. I opened it and was immediately speechless. The deep green dress looked amazing on her and I am pretty sure that my jaw was on the floor. As she moved in the dress I saw the large slit on the one side that showed a lot of her leg. “Can you zip my dress?”

“Y-yeah.” Ruth turned so her back was to me, pulling her hair to the side so I could tug up the zipper before whispering. “Perfect.”

“I should be ready in just a few minutes.”

“Yeah, I just need to come grab a tie. I wanted to wait until I saw what color your dress was.” Ruth nodded as we both heard into my bedroom, I headed straight for my closet and by the time I came out with my tie on Ruth was standing at the end of my bed smiling. “You look amazing.”

“You do too.” I walked over to Ruth, both of us looking at our reflection in the mirror. “We make a good looking couple.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” I froze after those words came out of my mouth, Ruth looking at me with wide eyes.

“O-okay, um, I’ll go grab my stuff and get out of your hair.” Ruth went to turn and walk away from me, but I gently turned her around so I could tell her the truth.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” I cupped Ruth’s cheek, locking eyes with her. “I have had feelings for you for so long. Probably since a month after I met you but I was scared to tell you. And then we became friends and I didn’t want to make things weird, so I kept it a secret. But I also fell for you more as we became closer friends. So I think a part of me decided to say I was dating someone because I want to be dating you. For real.” Ruth didn’t say anything, just took a step closer and pressed her lips to mine. “I, what just happened?”

“Everything you just told me, I feel the same way.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Now kiss me for real.” That I could do, I kissed Ruth like I had wanted to do for years. We only stopped kissing when a car horn sounded in my driveway. “I think I need to fix my lipstick.”

“I would say sorry but I’m not. I’ll go to the car if you want to fix your lipstick.” Ruth nodded, stepping back while smiling at me. “Just so you know, this isn’t our first date. I will be planning that for next week and it is going to knock your socks off.”

“As long as you are there, I can’t wait.” I kissed Ruth one more time before healing downstairs to tell the driver we were almost ready. I also couldn’t keep the smile off of my face, I couldn’t believe what started out as a panicked lie turned into a chance to date my best friend for real.

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jlalafics · 3 years

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"The Long Weekend"-Part One

Happy belated birthday @keelaree!

Hope you enjoy this first part. Thank you for being such a wonderful part of my writing life, and an even better friend. Can't wait till we can reunite in SF, so we can tea time together and eat soup dumplings.

Love you!

Summary: Two assistants who barely tolerate each other. One snowy cabin. One very long weekend.

Oh, and one bed.

-----

“I’m making the turn now, Haymitch,” Peeta told his boss as he navigated the icy road. “Should have everything prepped and ready by the time you and Effie arrive.”

“Thanks,” Haymitch replied over the speakerphone. “I should tell you that I did ask for someone to help you out. Someone who knows Effie better than I do sometimes—”

Peeta slowed his car as he spotted the cozy cabin in front of him. However, he grimaced seeing the red Jeep already parked on its side.

“You didn’t.”

“Peeta, Katniss knows Effie very well,” his boss said calmly. “Just like you know me. I know that you two don’t get along—”

“Understatement of the year,” Peeta replied as he parked roughly.

“This is important. I’m proposing to Effie and I want it to be perfect,” Haymitch explained. “Katniss knows all the foods she likes to eat, and how to decorate the place to make it comfortable yet romantic. Effie and I are finishing up our meeting with Mr. Snow then we’ll be making our way up to the cabin for the holiday weekend. I’ll call you when we’re on our way so you and Katniss can take off—that is if you haven’t murdered one another by then.”

“I’m only doing this because I’m your assistant,” he called out.

“You could at least like me!” Haymitch joked. “I pay you an obscene amount for an assistant.”

“Katniss probably gets paid more.”

“Well, she picks up tampons for Effie without being asked so probably.”

“Everything will be ready by the time you get here,” Peeta promised. “And I’m doing this because I like and respect you.”

“Thank you, Peeta. Call you soon.”

++++++

Peeta Mellark sighed as he stepped out of his car, bags in hand. The snowy wind picked up and he wrapped his parka tighter around himself before rushing up to the porch. It was getting worse up here, and he hoped that the soon-to-be engaged couple would make it safely.

Getting out the key that Haymitch lent him, Peeta unlocked the door and quickly stepped in to keep the cold air from entering with him.

“Oh, you’re finally here.” Katniss Everdeen sailed into the room, placing a charcuterie board on the coffee table in the center of the sitting room. “I thought you died or something.”

Peeta gave her a wry smile, placing the bags on the floor before shaking off his parka and hanging it on the hook by the door.

“Thought or hoped?” He searched his bag before pulling out the champagne that Haymitch asked along with the two glasses. Going to the table, Peeta placed them on the table before going back to the bag for the champagne bucket. “Is there ice?”

“The fridge has an ice machine,” Katniss informed him tersely, nodding her head towards the left. “I’ve already gotten their dinner started.”

“Not surprised.” Peeta walked into the kitchen, heading to the stainless-steel fridge. “You’re so anal that you’ve probably carved those little radish flowers for garnish.”

“They’re in the fridge so they’ll be fresh.”

Peeta wasn’t sure why they didn’t get along.

For one, Katniss was admittedly attractive with her long dark, and almond-shaped grey eyes. The first time he saw his stomach had definitely done a little flip. She had been walking alongside Effie, notebook in hand, wearing a fitted black dress with a peter pan collar and paying scant attention to anything else around her.

She literally knocked him to the ground.

Katniss had apologized, holding out her hand to help him up.

And Peeta had fucking tingled at her touch.

Over the next few days as he learned the ropes of being Haymitch Abernathy’s assistant, Peeta noticed her across the hall. Effie Trinket’s office was directly adjacent to his boss’ and Katniss’ desk was in the same spot as his.

She kept her head down, never acknowledging him, so wrapped up in her work or answering her phone.

So, Peeta asked around.

“She’s an ice queen,” Cato, who was in Marketing, informed him. “Never wants to hang out with anyone or even join in during happy hour. It’s important here to form relationships with everyone. Panem Industries is all about workplace harmony and Katniss embodies none of that.”

“Yeah, she’s snooty, too,” Clove from IT added. “I once asked her something about her family and she replied that it was none of my business. Like I was just trying to get to know her!”

“Wow. I guess if Katniss is that much of a head case, then I shouldn’t bother to ask her for help,” he told the two.

After that, during any interaction, she treated him indifferently…cold even. Peeta couldn’t help but be disappointed that Cato and Clove’s words were true.

And that was the end of his fascination with Katniss Everdeen.

“You want to get out here and help me or was the ice machine too hard for you to maneuver?” Katniss suddenly called out.

Peeta quickly filled the bucket and stepped out.

Katniss was bent over the couch, arranging the pillows, and he felt a heat rush through his skin.

There was also the slight twinge in his crotch at seeing a firm apple-bottom in tight ski pants.

It seemed that Katniss Everdeen had a bigger effect on him than he realized.

++++++

Peeta Mellark had a huge effect on her.

Katniss struggled to keep the heat off her cheeks as she fixed the pillows that she bought for the cabin. Effie loved those cheesy sayings, so she went on Etsy and ordered custom-made pillows with her favorite quotes.

No one should spend so much time arranging pillows, but Katniss could feel his stare on her. It made her nervous…and tingly.

However, these feelings didn’t belong—especially in a work situation and she needed this job.

Taking a breath, Katniss turned…to find Peeta right behind her.

He jumped back, startled by her abrupt movements.

Whoa—was he checking her out?

“Why were you so close?” she blurted out.

“Sorry. It looked like you were confused about how pillows worked,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You were there for a millennium.”

“Funny.” She sighed at the amusement in his gorgeous blue eyes—stop it!—and steeled her expression. “Do you think you could help me set up this romantic dinner for our bosses instead of standing there like an ass-licker?”

“You mean asshole.”

“I stand by my words,” Katniss replied and was surprised when he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he did. She couldn’t help but let her mouth rise. “The table is in that closet next to the door. I got some table linens from a vintage shop that Effie likes last week.”

“Wow, you’re really on top of it,” Peeta remarked, going to the closet. “How do you have time for a life?”

She didn’t.

As in, Katniss didn’t have a life.

She had work, she had a home, but a social life was non-existent. Katniss knew what everyone said about her; that she was cold and distant, never wanting to be part of the team. It never bothered her because she did have her reasons.

So, she was surprised at how hurt she was when she heard Peeta call her a headcase.

Katniss hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, only passing the breakroom to get to the copy machine. However, she stopped at the mention of her name.

Cato’s words were no surprise, though he failed to mention that her iciness was due to him inappropriately putting his arm around her and telling her that they should get to know each other on a personal level. Katniss also didn’t trust Clove for shit; she was the office gossip.

It hit hard to know that the one person who had made her tingle was so easily influenced by two douchebags.

Katniss had decided, then and there, that if Peeta didn’t see past her exterior, then he must be like the rest of them.

“I’m very organized,” she replied. It came out harder than she intended. “I have to be.”

Peeta had already set up the table in front of the fireplace.

“Well, it’s in your favor,” he told her. “You’re a good assistant.”

Katniss looked up in surprise. “You think I’m a good assistant?”

Peeta snorted. “Like you didn’t know it—where are the tablecloths?”

She handed him a beautiful fuchsia tablecloth followed by a cream lace one.

“Fuchsia first then layer it with the lace,” she told him. “I always hope I am. Effie is a great boss and she’s so supportive about work-and-homelife balance. I want to make sure this is all perfect for her.”

Katniss helped Peeta straighten the cloth, smoothing it down and making sure that there were no wrinkles. They settled into a light conversation about working with their respective bosses while setting the rest of the table. While Peeta worked on the place settings, he told her about how he admired Haymitch’s down-to-earth attitude despite being one of the most successful people in the company.

She arranged the florals in the center of the table while telling him how she had worked two jobs prior to getting this one.

“I was a waitress and housekeeper before this,” she revealed. “I was working a crazy lunch rush when I met Effie. We got to talking because she noticed how I met her coffee exactly the way she liked it despite my ragged expression—her words not mine. Effie kept on coming in, and a month after we met, she offered me the assistant job. Said she like my gumption.”

“That’s really cool,” Peeta said. He set down one of the forks he was cleaning and met her eyes. “You know, this is the first time we’ve really talked. I kind of believed you thought of me as your enemy.”

“I thought the same thing.” Katniss placed a folded napkin on the plate in front of her. “You called me a head case.”

His blue eyes widened, shocked at her words. Slowly, she could see in his eyes, the memory of his words.

“I didn’t know you heard that,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine!” Katniss stood up abruptly. The pain of his words churned in her stomach. “I know that everyone talks about me. In my defense, Cato was completely inappropriate when we first met. I thought acting like a bitch would stave him off. Clove has no filter—”

Peeta’s brows furrowed at her sudden coldness.

“I realize that now—one year later…is that why you completely ignore me? Why you act like the sight of me makes you sick?”

“I do not!” Katniss cried out into the room. “You avoid me at all costs!”

“Because the one time that I attempted to ask you a question—you brushed me aside!” he shouted. “If you had bothered to talk to me, I wouldn’t have believed what people said in the first place—” Peeta’s phone rang, and he quickly picked up, seeing his boss’ face on his screen. “Haymitch? You on your way? What? No, I haven’t looked outside—”

Katniss rushed to one of the front windows, pulling back the curtain.

White everywhere.

She couldn’t even see her car and it was bright fucking red!

“They’re not coming.”

Turning, Katniss found Peeta putting his phone in his pocket as he approached.

“The snowstorm came unexpectedly, and the roads are blocked. They’re staying at Effie’s to wait it out while we…are stuck here until it passes.”

++++++

The good thing was that the house was fully equipped. Food was stocked in the fridge since the couple had planned to stay for the long weekend. Both he and Katniss had even brought Haymitch and Effie’s luggage so there had clothing.

“Well, dinner must be ready,” Katniss informed him with a sigh. “If you want to get more comfortable, you can probably change to something of Haymitch’s. I have a call to make before my phone dies and then I’ll pull the food out of the oven.”

Peeta nodded numbly, grabbing Haymitch's duffle and going to the opposite open door where the bedroom was. He tossed the bag on the bed—

The one bed.

Turning, he rushed out of the room to look for his female counterpart. “Katniss!” He found the sitting room empty and headed into the kitchen.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she spoke quietly into the phone. “Just be nice to Johanna, okay? I’ll be home soon.” Her voice sounded completely different, light and happy—even affectionate. “I love you, too. Good night.”

He knocked on the archway and she turned to him.

“We have a problem,” he told her. “There’s only one bed.”

“And the couch is really just a loveseat,” Katniss mused as she pulled the food—steak with roasted asparagus and potatoes. Her expression was pained, and she blew out a breath. “I don’t really want to think about this right now. Why don’t we just eat?”

Peeta quickly nodded in agreement, rushing to the sitting room, and grabbing their plates.

“Why don’t you let me set this up?” he told her, seeing how frazzled she seemed. “Have a seat. Open the champagne—”

Katniss laughed and the sound of her lightened the load on his chest.

“You trying to get me drunk, Mellark?”

Peeta smirked. “If it makes you like me, then yes.”

“Fine, fine…” Katniss sauntered off towards the doorway. She stopped at the archway and their eyes met. Her gaze was nervous, but he could see the warmth in her greys. “You’re not my enemy, Peeta. And…I like you more than you think.”

Katniss disappeared, but not before he spied the blush on her cheeks.

Peeta felt another twinge. This time—in his chest.

++++++

Instead of sitting at the table, Katniss grabbed Effie’s luggage, a classic Louis Vuitton that cost more than her old Jeep, and brought it to the bedroom.

The one bedroom. With the one bed.

A sudden image of herself spooned contentedly against Peeta in that very bed rose in her mind—

“Stop tripping off him!” she chided herself.

Distractedly, Katniss opened the bag, sorting for something remotely comfortable in her boss’ luggage. However, it looked like Effie was expecting some sort of kinky weekend. The only sleepwear she had was a tiny red number that Katniss would probably bust out of; Effie was a tiny but fierce woman.

Maybe she could borrow something from Haymitch’s pile—

“Katniss?”

“I’m coming!” she called out before stuffing Effie’s lingerie back into the back.

Walking back into the room, Katniss saw that Peeta had already placed the plates on the table. He stood waiting for her, looking obnoxiously handsome as he had the day they met.

That first time, she had knocked him to the ground so caught up in following with Effie’s rapid pace. When Katniss held out her hand to him, she was caught up in the open smile he gave her. Then it was the gold waves along his forehead, which Katniss desperately wanted to brush back and the blue of his eyes—they had a tinge of grey in them.

For a moment, she was just a girl, and he was just a boy. Peeta didn’t know anything about the rumors of her iciness or how someone like her, with no college degree, managed to get a position like hers.

In that moment, Katniss was pure.

“You alright?” Peeta asked, interrupting her moment down memory lane.

“Yes.” She let him help her into her seat. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Was it the one bed thing?” he joked. “I’m fine with sleeping on the floor—”

Katniss held her hand up. “Let’s be grownups. It’s a big bed and we can put a pillow between us.”

“Very to the point,” Peeta replied, holding up his champagne glass. “To being grown-ups.”

“To being grown-ups.” She clinked her glass to his and took a full gulp. The liquid bubbled through her, making her laugh. “Wow, that’s some good shit.”

Peeta guffawed. “We’re going to have some fun.”

END OF PART ONE

#Happy birthday keelaree!#The Long Weekend #Everlark #everlark fanfiction #there was only one bed

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batsandbugs · 4 years

Text

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 3: Food Court Shenanigans

AN: Well, it’s two months later, but I’m finally back! Enjoy!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Cautiously they snuck around from display to display - hiding their cloth robins in increasingly creative places, on a corkboard, with a dining set, on a fake bird. It became somewhat of a competition to find the best place within the display room.

They remained serious in their mission at first, but soon conversation flowed. Snide comments about passing customers, little anecdotes - Damian’s humor was hilarious once you understood his sarcasm and pointed edges were just a defense mechanism (it reminded her of Chloe)- and joking around. Well, as much as they could be, being on the lookout for his older brothers.

Over an hour they hid over thirty birds, changed outfits twice, spotted Jason another time, which resulted in Damian diving behind some fake curtains while Marinette tried not to drool over a butcher-block table perfect for a sewing room (but which was way too expensive).

“Coast is clear,” Marinette called, once Jason once again disappeared. Damian slid out from behind the curtain and joined her by the table.

“This is nice,” he said. “But I like the dark oak better.” He pointed to the options available, and Marinette had to agree.

“Yeah, but my cabinets are light brown. Not that I need this or can afford it for that matter. I didn’t have a proper workstation even when I was in Paris.”

“Why not?”

“No room. My parents had the bakery downstairs, then they lived on the second floor. I lived in a converted attic, which was great - I even had a balcony, but my computer desk took up a lot of room.” She shrugged a little self-consciously. “Besides, my projects always ended up splayed all over the floor, anyway.”

“That’s fair,” he said with a small nod. He pulled out a map of the store, although Marinette couldn’t ever remember seeing ones to pick up. “We've neared the end of the showrooms - or at least the ones we placed calling cards in - once we enter the warehouse we’ll be out in the open. I’m sure one of my brothers are stationed there.”

“Question is do we want to leave calling cards on the shelves of the warehouse, or do we need to avoid them more?” Marinette asked.

Damian considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “We’ve still got several hours to go - open and bold moves now are an unnecessary risk. I would propose avoiding it altogether, but…” he trailed off.

“What?” she prompted. A loud rumbling sound erupted from her stomach, and Marinette instantly wanted to die. Damian bit his lip, holding off a small smile.

“Oh, laugh it up.” Marinette rolled her eyes, studiously ignoring the burning in her cheeks. “All I had to eat today was a pack of crackers.”

“I thought you might be hungry - you could go grab something to eat from the food court and take a break if you wanted?”

Marinette frowned. “But what about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

Damian waved her off. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’ve gone longer than a few hours without food before.” His eyes were hard and cold, opposite of the teasing glint that had been there a moment before. It sent a small shiver down Marinette’s spine. It was obvious to anyone - or maybe it was just her - that Damian had been through things.

But it didn’t sit right with her to head off to the safety of the food court and leave him alone and without food. While he had seemed perfectly capable of handling himself before she came along Marinette was very invested in how this turned out.

“How about I go grab both of us something to eat, come back here, and then we work on our next move from there?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Fine, if it makes you feel better.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black wallet.

Marinette shook her head. “No, no, I can-”

He shoved a black metallic card into her hands; it weighed more than she thought it should.

“I insist.”

“I have money.”

“So do I.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not–it’s… payment.”

“I’m doing this for fun.”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” He crossed his arms and glared. It might have worked. If Marinette had been someone else. But she had been subjected to both Chole and Kagami’s overprotective and stubborn glares for years. This was nothing in comparison.

“I can pay, it’s nothing.”

He rolled his eyes again. “You’re a college student, it’s not nothing. Take. The. Card.”

Marinette threw her hands in the air. “Fine, you stubborn man.” A brief smile overtook Damian’s features, and then he dove out of sight. She turned to leave.

“I’m a vegetarian," he called. "Nothing with meat. And the pin is 1914.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in fifteen.” Walking away with the card in hand, she felt a little guilty for not fighting more. She was the one who was hungry, and who had offered to get him food. He didn’t need to give her his card.

Sighing in fond exasperation, she left the end of the display rooms. The warehouse section was large with rows upon rows of metallic shelving covered in boxes, but the food court sat off to the side; easy to find. It was mildly busy for a weekend afternoon, so she quickly stood in line and figured out what to order.

As she placed her order, she thought for a moment about just buying everything with her card, and then returning it to Damian as if she used it. She had a sneaking suspicion he would see right through that. Even after years of being a superhero, she still sucked at lying directly to someone’s face.

She scrolled through her phone, enjoying the slight break off her feet when she heard a familiar-sounding voice.

“Damn it, I don’t see the demon spawn,” growled an irritated voice.

Jason.

It was only years of practiced eavesdropping that stilled Mariette’s head from turning toward voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Damian’s older brother running a hand through his two-toned hair. A slightly smaller, but no less attractive man stood next to him, frowning at his phone.

“His credit card just pinged; he can’t have left that quickly.”

Marinette felt herself grow completely still at the mention of the credit card.

‘I am so going to tell him, I told you so,’ she thought furiously in her mind. How the hell would she leave without looking suspicious?

A third man jogged up to the two. A little older than them, but still just as attractive.

'This entire family looks like they could be on the cover of a freaking magazine,’ grumbled the part of her mind that was not overtaken with panic.

“I just checked the perimeter. No sign of him. Are you sure the charge was for the food court, Timmy?”

The man with the phone rolled his eyes. “Yeah–It comes out as $8.32, IKEA Food Court, order number 177.”

“Order 177. Order 177. Your food is ready,” called out a server. They placed the food on the counter, and Marinette saw the men all turn in sync to where the order laid innocently on the counter.

Marinette felt her stomach rumble again but knew the food was out of her reach now. Sacrifices had to be made to win.

‘Damn, I was looking forward to those meatballs and fries.’ No. She had to get out of here without Damian’s brothers noticing anything suspicious. They walked over to the counter, probably to ask the server who had ordered the food and which way they had gone.

Shit. She didn’t have any time.

Tapping on her locked screen, she placed it up to her ear as if taking a call.

“Hey Chole, yeah, no good to hear from you…” She rose from the plastic picnic bench. Only a few minutes before had seemed like such a nice place to rest, now it mocked her. She strolled away from the food court calmly, knowing one wrong move and she would be found out.

She reached into her bag, still walking normally, and grabbed a small metallic ball. It had a green paw print on the front.

Now, this was an experiment she and the kwamis had worked on over the summer. With a little help from Max–not that he knew what it was for–they had siphoned off a bit of pure energy from the Kwami’s and placed it into a small metallic ball that could be activated in a time of need. Mostly when it wasn’t safe to transform. It wasn’t super powerful and, so far, they’d only managed it with Plagg and Tikki, but it was something.

‘A bit of bad luck to distract them,’ Marinette thought.

Now, strictly speaking, this wasn’t exactly what they had in mind when creating the little devices, but desperate times called for desperate measures and all that.

She pressed the small paw print–using a bit of her own energy to activate the device–and threw it on the ground, letting it roll. She continued to walk calmly, and by the time she reached the entrance back to the showrooms, a clatter of noise erupted behind her. She only let herself glance back for a second, watching as a mostly empty display shelf collapsed onto an empty forklift.

Marinette winced. Hopefully, nothing was too damaged.

Off to the side she saw multiple people had gotten into a traffic jam with their shopping carts, and… oh, everything had spilled out of one, and another looked like it had lost two wheels.

… okay, maybe the balls were a bit powerful.

Seeing she wasn’t being followed, she picked up her pace and made her way back to the showroom she’d left Damian at. Along the way, she saw multiple employees rushing toward the warehouse section. She felt a little bad for them, it would be a mess cleaning all this up, but it was her best shot at a clean escape.

After what felt like forever, but was just five minutes, she made it back to Damian’s hiding spot. Taking a moment to check her surroundings, she glanced around, not seeing any of Damian’s brothers. She breathed a small sigh of relief. She entered the showroom and ducked behind the counter.

“We need to go,” she whispered.

“Where’s the food?”

She shook her head. “Who cares about the food, we have bigger problems. Your brothers were waiting in ambush.” She shoved his credit card back at them. “They tracked your card.”

“Damn it,” Damian muttered.

She paused, thinking over the absurdity of the situation. “Who tracks their brother’s credit card?”

“People who want to win. What about you, Miss Disguises-in-your-purse?”

“They’ve come in handy multiple times.”

“Attention all IKEA customers be warned that aisles seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty are now closed because of potentially unsafe shelving units. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”

Damian looked at her with a questioning glance, “Did you…?”

“I needed a distraction.”

“How… you know what… no, never mind.” He shook his head, but a small smile told Marinette it amused him.

“They’ll know you’re working with a partner if they get anything out of the server at the register. We need a better hiding spot.”

“Well, while you caused chaos, I figured out our next move.” He motioned her to follow him, and they crept along the floor to the back of the showroom. He moved aside a curtain to reveal an air conditioning grate big enough for both of them to crawl into. “The ventilation layout shows this running straight back to the loading docks, which have rooftop access. We can access another shaft which will take us back to the front of the store. I figured the long route would be safer than going the ground route.”

“Genius.” Said Marinette in amazement, although slightly wondering how on earth he got access to something like ventilation layouts.

“I am aware.”

“But how will we get it off the wall? I have a sewing kit, not a tool belt.”

Damian reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

“That’s a pen,” Marinette deadpanned.

“It’s a specially designed pen.” He grasped the top. “Avert your eyes.” Marinette glanced away, but then heard the sizzle of metal, and felt the warm rush of heat.

She looked. In Damian’s hand was a small laser, shaped like a pen, easily cutting through the metallic grate blocking off the air shaft.

“It’s a LASER?” Marinette whispered in a shriek. “You… just have a laser in your pocket.”

“Well, you apparently disabled four industrial shelving units with your mind.” He grabbed hold of the grate as it came loose and placed it behind the curtain.

“I didn’t disable four shelving units. Just one,” she paused, “and a forklift… and some shopping carts. Just enough to cause a distraction.”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes, but she could see the glee lurking beneath the surface. She couldn’t help the smile spreading across her own face. Something about Damian was infectiously fun and absurd. Marinette was reminded of her earlier days as a hero before the weight of the city fully settled on her shoulders. Back when fights were simple, and midnight patrols were racing across the Parisian rooftops–making the blood in her veins pound with the rhythm of her steps.

She missed it.

“Ladies, first,” Damian said, gesturing to the vent.

“Thanks.” She crawled in, beyond grateful she decided to wear pants that day. Damian crawled in right behind her and readjusted the curtain over the uncovered air shaft.

She grabbed her phone from her bag and turned on the light. Holding it and crawling was difficult, but it was better than crawling around in total darkness. It was times like this where she questioned the absolute insanity of her life.

She wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Tag List: (Closed, sorry!! I’m so glad you all like it though.)

@multplelifes @bluesimani @justhugefangirl @nik-nak-3@redscarlet95 @purplesundaze @incredulous-reader @k-poplunardreams @our-preciousss @blackmagicforever @vgirl-10123 @lozzybowe @wannajointhecrabcult @dast218 @chaotic-mess-of-a-life @fidget-eep @kawaiigiantjudgefish @queenmj10@tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @crazylittlemunchkin @fandom-writer642 @nach0ava @ladybug-182 @sam-i-am-0222@spyofthenightcourt @how-to-fuction-properly@emotionalsupportginger @dreamykitty25 @tomanyfandomsonmy-mind @mystery-5-5 @theatreandcomicfreak @weird-pale-blonde-person @whatthechickenfriedfuck @myazael@pawsitivelymiraculous @urbanpineapplefarmer @karategirl119@consumeconstantly @hauntedstudent99 @ertyzeta @thornalchemist23 @iloveitwhen @animegirlweeb@byronsacademics @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @moonlitjiminie@iglowinggemma28 @constancetruggle @catgirlkittypryde @waffelyunsure @maskedpainter @lilkymilky @unhappyraspberry @avengerthewarrior @quotesandanime @tbehartoo @clumsy-owl-4178 @g-arya @chocolateherringtacofan @jalaluvsu @crazyrandomrebel @fatimaabbasrizvi @thenillabean @goblinwhoships @bluefyoto94 @nerinalith @loopingtangent @demonicbusiness @hecate-hallow @themcclan @tropestropestropes @paintedhope7

#damimari #damianette #daminette #maribat #maridami #damian x marinette #mlb crossover #marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne #fanfic

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rheawritessometimes · 3 years

Text

Lines Get Blurred

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Sometimes we don't understand our feelings, and that's okay. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Swearing, Undefined Relationship, Physical Intimacy, Mild Anxiety.

{ Notes } Written for @sailormakoto. Usually, I'd wait longer to start another part to make sure people were interested, but they said they'd like it, so... Now you have to like it even though it's a dumpster fire rolling downhill fast. Reader isn't good with their emotions and it very obviously shows. It's really just messy and bad but I don't know what else to do or how to make a cohesive, logical plot. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,783

Childe’s guard nearly jumped out of his skin, letting out a yelp of fright as you swept out of the apartment in a hurry. But in your rush, you hardly noticed him at all, the entirety of your focus was currently on your goal of escaping the embarrassment that was on the verge of consuming you whole. With your body moving on autopilot through the busy streets of Liyue, you retreated into your mind to wrangle your thoughts and gain some sense of control.

Why was it exactly that you felt such an overwhelming urge to run away? It wasn't that you didn’t like or want the kiss, it had been rather enjoyable for you. It had happened so easily between you, and that was the part that you found weird. You couldn’t understand why it felt so easy with him, things weren’t normally like this. It was certainly safe to say you had never wanted to kiss your other friends, and that’s what you and Childe were. Friends.

It’s not like you were in love with him, you were pretty sure you felt the same about him as you always had. Sure, it had been a few months and you’d gotten to know him better and found spending time with him more enjoyable, but ultimately he was still the same person he was when you first met. You got along with him, you laughed together and now sometimes you casually made out with each other. That was fine, friends could do that, right?

Perhaps you were blowing things out of proportion. A few kisses didn't change anything, really. It's not like Childe had confessed to having feelings for you or anything drastic. You two were just friends and everything was fine, things would eventually sort themselves out.

You hadn't even realized you had been mildly hyperventilating by the time you regulated your breathing back to normal and managed to get out of your head. With your focus now on your surroundings, you found yourself in Liyue's bustling market among the fresh produce. You decided it would be best to pick up some groceries while you were here, as you said you would. Picking out what looked best and haggling with the merchants over prices seemed like a good way to pretend your problems didn’t exist clear your head.

As it turns out, grocery shopping became infinitely more difficult when you didn’t know what was needed. It was clear Childe liked to cook but you didn’t know what it was he liked to prepare. Going back to get a list from him now would be incredibly awkward, so you decided to play it safe and buy a large quantity wide variety of ingredients. You decided you had enough when the bags in your arms felt like they were getting too heavy to carry. Fitting this much food into Childe’s kitchen was going to be quite the struggle. Well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of your actions.

Dragging all your purchases back to the apartment was going to be quite the workout. You wondered if next time it would be possible to get one of the low-ranking Fatui to help you carry things. A few pedestrians gave you some odd looks as they saw your mountain of purchases, but no one offered you any help. Things only got worse once you remembered you had said you were going to buy some things from Bubu Pharmacy, too. You were going to be strong as fuck after going up all those goddamn steps.

The man at the counter wore a worried expression as he noticed the amount of bags you were dragging along with you. You brushed off his concern with something about how you were an adventurer and stronger than the average person, trying not to let it show that you were indeed struggling to carry everything. Even with superhuman strength, you had your limits. Unfortunately, the man accepted your words and busied himself with finding the ice packs you requested, along with an herbal tea you asked for because it had a divine aroma you noticed upon walking in. It's not like he was likely able to help you with the groceries, so you supposed it didn't matter.

By the time you returned to Childe’s apartment, your arms were ready to fall off and the scowl on your face must have been quite intimidating because the guard stationed at the door immediately did as he was told when you ordered him to open the door for you. He didn't say a word, not even giving you a nasty look for the first time. Despite the non-hostile treatment by the guard, you promptly kicked the door closed on him after entering the apartment, heading straight to the kitchen and letting out a sigh of relief after dropping all of the bags in the middle of the floor.

You hadn’t seen Childe on your way in and you couldn’t hear him moving around the apartment but you assumed he was home, the guard probably wouldn’t have been quite so willing to let you in otherwise. Even if you wore a scary expression. Not to mention, surely the Harbinger wouldn’t appoint a guard foolish enough to allow you in unsupervised, there were likely sensitive documents somewhere inside. You assumed it had been Fatui reports he was reading earlier.

Finding room for all the groceries you had purchased took your mind away from wondering about the location of your temporary host. Putting everything away proved to be a time-consuming task, but by the end of it Childe had yet to make an appearance, or even any noise indicating he was in the apartment. This was worrying, if he had left and gotten himself hurt you’d have to go out in search of him. After purchasing, carrying, and putting away all the food you had bought you weren’t sure you were up for tracking him down.

Taking one of the newly purchased ice packs to use as an excuse, you wrapped it in a towel before making your way to his bedroom. It seemed like the most likely place to find him if he was indeed still in the apartment. It was hard to imagine he'd have spent so much time silent in the bathroom. You felt strangely on edge as you stopped in front of the door, knocking softly three times.

No reply came but you weren't convinced he was truly not home, so you slowly pushed the door open, holding your breath. It didn’t make sense for you to feel so nervous about this, it wasn’t the end of the world if he wasn’t home. Maybe you were more worried about seeing him than not.

The sight of Childe sprawled out in the middle of his bed peacefully napping greeted you as you quietly entered. His blanket appeared to have been thrown off him in his sleep and his shirt rode up just a little bit. His room was tidy, but you were too busy appreciating the revealed section of his abdomen to take a proper look around. You were only granted a few moments to stare before he opened one eye, peering at you for just long enough to register that it was you in his room.

It was unsurprising that the Harbinger was a light sleeper enough sleeper to be woken by you entering his room, considering his line of work. Vastly more surprising was when, after determining it was you who had woken him, he closed his eye again and went back to dozing. You couldn’t help but smile fondly at this, a pleasant warmth filling you at the show of trust. Or maybe he was too tired to care.

Of course he trusted you, you were friends after all. The thought had your smile fading, but you weren’t sure why that displeased you. Pushing the thought from your head, you silently made your way to the bedside and placed the icepack at his side.

The sudden cold had ocean eyes fluttering open before focusing on you. You smiled playfully at his slightly disgruntled expression. That was much easier on your emotions than his prior vulnerability.

“Sorry, but it needs to be done.”

“Mm, whatever. Hey, did I make you uncomfortable earlier?” the Harbinger asked, causing your heart to pause. He certainly was good at getting straight to the point. You had to take a deep breath before answering him.

“No, not at all. I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I ran away like that,” you told him, the words rushing out of your mouth. Your heart was racing faster than you thought it should have been in this situation. It’s not like any of this was that big of a deal, certainly not the end of the world.

“Well if you’re not uncomfortable then how ‘bout you nap with me?” the Snezhnayan offered, and you were pretty sure it was almost entirely because he wanted to get back to sleep himself, “You look exhausted, you probably need it.”

High flags of color appeared on your cheeks at his words, you must not be looking your best for him to offer such a thing. It couldn't be that he was actually worried for you, but you couldn't reason out why he would offer such a thing. However, the prospect of rest was tempting, but you couldn’t help but think it would be easier on your heart if you just went to your room for it. Then again, if you rejected him it might seem like you had been lying about being comfortable with him.

“Stop thinking so loudly and just come here,” Childe said finally, opening his arms to you. You clenched your jaw, feeling even more embarrassed, but began climbing into bed with him.

“Fine,” you mumbled, letting him pull you close before covering the both of you with a blanket. He gently tucked your head against his chest before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, luckily for you, it wasn’t possible for you to get any redder at this point. Not that he would see considering he had closed his eyes and was already nodding off again, but maybe he was able to feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

“You worry too much. Relax and go to sleep.”

Despite your internal anxieties, you found yourself complying with his suggestion thanks to the fatigue already weighing you down and how comfortable it felt to be in his arms. All of it felt a little too intimate for being just friends, but you didn’t get much time to worry about it as you drifted off into unconsciousness.

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vs-redemption · 3 years

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From Cindy: This bad boy got away from me and ended up being 3,674 words. I’m really happy with it though and I hope you think so too. It was written for a writing collaboration on Discord ( @konoblog-simps )

Gray - Soulmate AU (Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader)

Read a similar soulmate AU for Levi here

You hated winter.

You supposed people found something magical about the view of fluffy white flakes catching the light as they drifted down from the sky and created a thick white blanket across the ground and trees. However, the fairy tale description was only true when observed from the other side of a window where the protection of four walls and a fireplace could block out the harsh reality.

“Don’t forget the shopping on your way back.” Your grandmother’s raspy voice cuts through the morning silence as you go through the tedious process of bundling up against the frigid weather you knew you’d be facing as soon as you stepped outside. The elderly woman was sitting in her favorite spot on the sofa, lap covered by one of the many blankets she’d made over the years. You grandfather shuffled into the room as if on cue with two piping hot mugs of tea. He hands one to his wife before settling happily into the place next to her.

“I never do.” Your words come out harsher than you’d intended, but your grandparents pay you no mind. They were either used to your attitude or too wrapped up in their own happily ever after. You finish off your ridiculously bulky outfit by shoving a knit cap over your head and then heading out into the cold.

You hated your job

You knew you should be grateful that you had the luxury of owning an apothecary. It was the type of establishment that would never want for business. There was also a certain pride in being able to provide people with medicines to relieve them of their aches and pains, allergies, and illnesses. The difficulty was in being surrounded by the memories of your parents and the perfect life they’d lived, as well as the constant reminder that you’d been robbed of the chance to experience that type of fantasy.

Trudging through the deep wet snow had made you a few minutes late, and there were already a few customers waiting outside the tiny shop you’d inherited by the time you arrived. You apologize politely as you unlock the door and let them inside, shedding the layers of your winter clothes as quickly as you can so that you can get to work. It was always a little busier in the winter months, but finding the right remedy for each person was something you’d gotten good at over time. Most customers came and went without much trouble, but assisting the regulars who’d known you since childhood was always a bit awkward. You did your best not to notice the pity and judgement on their faces as you prepared their orders with the same forced pleasantness as you did for everyone else.

You hated shopping

Having a job that earned enough wages to properly provide for yourself and your family was a blessing most people in your city could not enjoy. Your parents had always made sure to remind you of that fact whenever they came home with baskets full of fresh fruits and vegetables, cheese, bread, and sometimes even meat. As an adult, you still appreciated the fact that you did not have to know hunger, but it was always such a hassle to deal with the crowded market after getting off work.

When your parents had been alive, they had loved going out to run these types of errands together. It had always surprised you how they would choose to spend more time together even after living and working with each other every single day. They never seemed to get tired of each other, and you could remember vividly the way they’d smiled at each other with pure happiness and love in their gaze. It was hard to forget when you saw the same blissful look on every couple you happened to encounter as you went about your day. It made you feel so incredibly alone sometimes, but you did your best to bury those emotions deep down out of fear that they would consume you completely.

“How much is the bread today?” You ask the baker once you make it to the counter through the throngs of people. He tells you the price and begins to wrap up your order when you agree to it.

“You’re lucky,” he tells you conversationally. “This is the last loaf of the day.”

“Tch!” A frustrated sound comes from behind you and you turn around instinctively to make sure nothing was wrong. Standing next to you was a grouchy looking man with silky black hair, styled in an undercut. The long, soft looking strands on the top of his head came down to frame his face, drawing attention to the most important feature; his eyes. You notice right away they are both the identical shade of gray, which told you a lot about him already.

“Were you waiting in line?” You ask curiously even though meeting his sharp gaze directly was a bit intimidating. He regards you critically for a moment before sighing and looking away, probably forming his own judgments based on the incorrect story told by your own eyes.

“It’s fine,” his tone of voice is flat and a little dismissive. “I should’ve gotten here earlier.” He turns to walk away but something makes you call out to stop him.

“Wait,” you give him the friendliest smile you can muster before looking to the baker. “Please, wrap this up for him instead. I insist.” The baker shrugs, not really bothered by the change as long as he got his payment. The scowl on the man’s face gave way to surprise, and you thought the softer look suited him much better. You could see that he was preparing to reject your kindness, so you mutter a quick goodbye before turning away and blending in with the crowd.

You hated your eyes

In the world you lived in, everything revolved around a person’s eyes. They were more than just a mere window into the soul, they were also a glimpse into the future. As a child, you could recall the excitement of your friends as they studied the mismatched colors of each other’s irises, speculating wildly about which shade truly belonged to them and which was borrowed from a stranger that they were destined to meet sometime in the future. Their enthusiasm had been contagious in the beginning, and you’d enjoyed listening to people discuss their predictions about the background, appearance, and personality of their future partner.

“Did you get everything on the list?” Your grandfather asks as he takes the basket of food from you once you finally return home. The walk back from the market had been miserable. Your feet were cold and wet from sloshing through the snow, but the rest of you was warm and sweaty from the exertion of hauling the purchases all the way back while wearing so many thick layers.

“They were out of bread,” You inform him while shrugging out of your coat. A look of displeasure passed over his face but vanished just as quickly when your grandmother called to him from the kitchen. You were relieved that she was volunteering to make dinner this time, because the exhaustion from your day was starting to catch up with you.

You head into the bathroom, ready to warm up with a hot shower and put on a fresh pair of clothes while the meal was prepared. As you wait for the water from the tap to heat up, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Usually you avoided looking at your face for too long, but every now and then you decided to stare back at yourself for a moment. You frown as you meet the gaze of the two identical eyes that you’d be born with. They looked mockingly back at you from the glass, their dull gray hue like a running joke that you’d never found remotely funny.

Washing away the grime of the day helped clear your head of negative thoughts, and soon your mind drifted back to the man you’d helped at the market. The memory of his eyes reminded you that you had made the right decision. He was the one who had someone important waiting for him back at home, possibly even children that needed to be fed and taken care of. You and your grandparents would be just fine as you always had, even if there was a spark of jealousy in you that the man got to have the type of wholesome future that you could never enjoy.

You hated soulmates

The idea of having the comfort of knowing there was someone out there born specifically to fill your life with joy, support, and love was an overwhelming one. It was hard for you to really imagine what it must be like for people to be filled with that nervous anticipation every time they got the opportunity to meet someone new. You’d had secondhand experiences as you watched friends and acquaintances around you find their destinies in one another, but while those meetings spelled out the beginning of something wonderful for them, it only served to make you feel the bleakness of your situation more profoundly.

It was extremely rare for someone to be born without a soulmate, and although your parents tried to have a positive outlook, you had still felt the stigma associated with your condition every single day of your life. It had been impossible to escape the stares and gasps of astonishment from both adults and children alike during you school-age years. Most of them had never seen a child your age with two of the same colored eyes, so it was inevitable that you’d garnered quite a bit of unwanted attention. The people you met were merely curious at first, but as you got older the intrigue turned to pity.

As hard as it was to deal with the people around you who knew the truth, meeting strangers was almost worse. Those who still walked around with duel colored eyes held little interest in someone who had seemingly already found their partner, and everyone else was too preoccupied with their own established lives to pay attention to you at all. In the world you lived in, everything revolved around a person’s eyes. Unfortunately, your eyes had landed you into one of the loneliest roles imaginable.

You hated your luck

It should not have surprised you as much as it did when the man from the market walked into your apothecary a few days later, but considering the fact he’d been popping up in your thoughts sporadically ever since the first meeting, it certainly caught you off guard to see his face again. By the way his familiar gray eyes widened upon seeing you standing behind counter, you guessed he hadn’t been expecting to see you again either.

“Hello again,” you smile awkwardly to try and clear the air. You weren’t sure if it would be weird to mention the bread incident or not.

“Hello,” the man nods, his facial features relaxing into a neutral expression. You were glad he didn’t seem to be as agitated as he’d been in the market. “I’m looking for something that might help my mother. She’s recently fallen ill and nothing I do seems to be helping.”

“What are her symptoms?” The question falls naturally from your lips. As the man describes his mother’s condition, you find yourself taking in his appearance in more detail. His black hair looked as soft as you remembered, but now you were noticing other things like the shape of his nose and sharp angle of his jawline. The clothes he wore were on the nicer side, and it made you wonder what he did for a living. His stature was a bit on the shorter side, and although his build was lean, you got the impression that he was healthy and strong.

“Well, it seems like she may have caught a flu,” you explain once the man finishes speaking. You turn to grab a few items from the shelf behind you and place them on the counter. “These should work to control the symptoms and reduce her fever until her body is able to fight off the infection.”

“Thank you,” he sounds genuine as he pulls out some money to pay for the medicine. You accept the payment, taking note of his long, elegant hands and fingers.

“Not at all,” you assure him with an easy smile. “I hope your mother recovers quickly.”

The man nods in gratitude while scooping up the goods he’d purchased in his hands. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before looking back up to catch your gray eyes with his own.

“My name’s Levi, by the way.” The confidence in his voice did not match the anxious set of his features. “We didn’t get to have a proper introduction the other day.”

“O-oh,” there was no way to conceal the shock you felt in that moment. It was out of the ordinary for anyone to give you their name, especially a man who had obviously had his encounter with fate already. You manage to stutter out your own name, wondering if you were having some sort of intensely realistic dream as you watch the man’s lips twitch into the smallest, briefest of smiles.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he repeats your name to himself thoughtfully. “Have a nice day.” With all his business with you completed, he nods his head and exits your shop, leaving you to try and tame the wild racing of your thoughts and heart.

You hated false hope

It was embarrassing how often you had to remind yourself over the next few days that a person simply introducing themselves to you should not be taken as anything more than polite kindness. You had seemingly lost all control of your mind and feelings though, since scarcely a moment went by now without thoughts of Levi sending butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. It didn’t seem fair that you knew so little about him, but you understood that you’d have to be content with the memory of his ghost of a smile and the echo of the way your name had sounded as it escaped his lips. Part of you hoped you’d never see the man again so that you could get over your delusions as quickly and easily as possible, but another part of you longed to bump into him again.

“What are you doing in here?” Your grandmother walked into the bathroom to find you leaning over the sink, eyes wide open and focused so intensely on your reflection in the mirror that you hadn’t even heard her approach.

“Huh?” you whirl around to face her, finally blinking once you realized how tired your eyes were from the thorough examination you’d just given them. “What did it feel like after you met Grandpa?”

Your stomach sank immediately at the pitying look that grew on the old woman’s face. She reaches out to rub your arm sympathetically with a sad smile. “I’m so sorry sweetie,” is all she tells you before changing the subject completely. “Excuse me now, I need to use the restroom.”

“Right, sorry.” You offer a dry laugh as you move out of her way, reality rushing back like a harsh slap to the face. You’d known all along that you’d never really have a soulmate, but it was hard not to have grasped on to the small shred of a possibility. It hadn’t slipped your attention that Levi also had gray eyes, but plenty of people had the same or similar shade. Besides, the likeliness of soulmates having the same exact eye color was even rarer than someone being born without a soulmate at all. You vowed to keep these cold hard truths at the forefront of your mind from now on, and resigned yourself completely to the fate you’d been dealt.

You loved Levi

It had been a whole week since you’d given up the last loaf of bread that had sent your life into a strange whirlwind of new, unexplored emotions. The days between then and the present had been interesting indeed, but now you were determined to go back to life as normal. The weather wasn’t so terrible today, but you still bundled up to prepare yourself for the cold morning walk to the Apothecary. You arrived at the shop with plenty of time to remove the layers of winter clothes and do a quick inventory of items you’d soon need to restock.

It was around lunchtime when you really started to relax back into your routine. The steady flow of customers had helped to keep your mind occupied, and once things slowed down around midday, you picked up a rag and began to wipe down the counters and windows absentmindedly. The sound of the bell above the door alerted you to someone’s arrival and you quickly tossed down the rag and turned to greet them. Once again, you find yourself startled to be standing in the presence of the man from the market.

“Levi,” you mutter his name before shaking out of your daze. “Excuse me,” you look down and apologize in embarrassment. “Um, can I help you with something? Is your mother feeling better?”

“She’s much better, yes. Thank you.” Levi clears his throat awkwardly and you can’t help but think his posture is stiffer than you remember. You wonder again what he did for a living because he seemed to be a bit overdressed for a simple trip to the apothecary. He looked incredibly handsome in any case, and it was doing nothing to help quiet your wandering imagination.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you weren’t sure what else to say. You walk over to the small faucet behind the counter to wash your hands since you’d just been cleaning. The silence between you both grew more and more uncomfortable until Levi’s face suddenly contorts with frustration. You open your mouth to apologize for whatever you’d done but he cuts you off by coming forward suddenly and placing both hands on the counter.

“Your eyes,” he forces out the words before averting his own gaze. Any hope of keeping yourself grounded in reality seemed to go up in smoke as your heart rate kicked into overdrive.

“Yes?” you say breathlessly and the fact that you weren’t kicking him out for being incredibly inappropriate was enough to spur him on with whatever point he was trying to get to.

“How long?” he swallows thickly and takes a deep breath, “How long since they’ve changed?”

“They’ve always been this way,” it should’ve been harder to admit, but the way Levi was acting was distracting you from the shame you’d normally be feeling. A soft sound, like an intrigued sigh, escapes his lips and he covers his mouth with those beautiful long fingers you’d been trying not to think about. All you can do is stare at him as he comes to terms with the information you’d just revealed. You wondered why he’d even want to know and what he would do now that the truth was out in the open. Finally, after an unbearable stretch of time, Levi lowers his hand back onto the counter, revealing a faint but amused looking smile.

“Well,” his confidence began to return. “They look much better on you than they do on me.”

“What?” Every cell in your body seemed to be buzzing with anticipation. You wanted to believe that this was all leading up to something good, but a nagging fear in the back of your mind warned you against giving in to the false hope that you’d vowed to ignore.

“I was born with these eyes as well,” Levi confesses calmly while gesturing to his face. “Both of them.”

It was your turn to cover your mouth, wondering desperately if it was all right yet to dare to dream that there was meaning behind what was happening after all.

“I have no idea if this is all a coincidence or not,” Levi shrugs as his mouth pulls into a frown. “To be honest, I gave up on the idea of soulmates a long time ago, but I cannot ignore the fact that you’ve consumed my thoughts from the moment I saw you in the market.”

Tears unwittingly begin to blur your vision as all the tension inside you finally reaches a tipping point.

“I…” You aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Levi’s hand appears in front of your face, offering a handkerchief. You accept it gratefully and wipe the wetness from your eyes and cheeks. “I didn’t think it was possible, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you either.”

Levi folds his arms over his chest as if contemplating the matter seriously, but the pause only lasts a few seconds this time. Before you have time to worry about what he’ll say, he’s offering you his hand.

“Would you like to be my soulmate then?” he asks, a hint of teasing in his voice despite the nervous energy surrounding you both. You don’t hesitate to place your hand into his. You weren’t sure if your matching eyes was a sign that you were meant to be together, but it wouldn’t be fair to either of you to throw away the shot of having the kind of life you’d watched other people enjoy your entire lives. If you were able to bring each other happiness, you could care less if it was what fate had planned.

“Yes,” Your voice shook with the overwhelming emotions coursing through you, “I think I’d like that.”

“As would I,” Levi replies as a real smile takes over his face at last. The hope you see in the depths of his beautiful gray eyes makes you appreciate the matching color of your own for the very first time, and the idea of a happy future finally seems within your grasp.

#Levi Ackerman x Reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #Levi Ackerman #snk #aot #soulmate au #Cindy's Writing

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excitedlysuffering · 4 years

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When You Make Up

AHA! YES FINALLY! I’ve been such a procrastinator lmao🤣💀 it’s finally out, the Part 2 to How He Hurts Your Feelings.

Naruto~

It had been a few days since you had last seen the Uzumaki and from the way you were coping, one would have assumed it had been months. Naruto was always there to make you laugh and be happy, but without him, everything had seemed a bit bleaker.

You stayed holed up in your room, trying to keep yourself from going to him, but it was an uphill battle. It was well past afternoon, but you were still in bed feeling slightly less miserable than before, but still not great.

That’s when you heard it, a knocking so loud and persistent that it couldn’t be ignored. Grumbling all the way, you dragged yourself to your door. You were ready to scream when no one was there. Until you looked down and saw a takeout bag, with ‘Korean Grill’ spelled out on the front. The very same place you wanted to take Naruto…

Suspicious, you quickly went inside and set down the delicious smelling food. You tiptoed up to your room, not knowing what you expected to find, but you knew something was up.

In your room, or rather all over your room, were Naruto and some of his clones. Eight of them stood in a line, each one holding a small sign. In order, it read ‘I’m so sorry will you please forgive me?’

“Naru…” Even though he had hurt you deeply, you couldn’t help but acknowledge the thoughtfulness of his apology. The real one walked over to you, nervousness written all over his face. “I was a huge idiot and I hurt you… I regret every word I said and how selfish I’ve been.” You couldn’t help but throw your arms around his neck.

He was sorry and he had gone out of his way to do this. You felt your anger melting away as he hugged you back, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Of course, I forgive you, baka… I really missed you.” He sighed in relief. “I missed you too. Now, let’s go eat before your food gets cold.”

Sasuke~

Much to your relief, Ino had invited you to her flower shop to hang out. You had gotten tired of sulking around for the last three days and there was no better way to have your spirits lifted than to hang out with the optimistic blonde.

You stepped into her shop, confused as to why it was so dark and quiet. It was the middle of the day…

“Ino? What’s going on? Where are you?” Suddenly the lights turned on, revealing a bouquet of purple hyacinths, white tulips, and daffodils, all of which were flowers used commonly in apologies. But why were they here? You picked up the flowers, confused. Ino hadn’t done anything wrong? A note peeked up at you. Relieved to finally have some kind of explanation.

‘(Y/N),’ it read, ‘you’re probably wondering why you’re here. I didn’t think you would meet up with me if I asked you point-blank, so I asked Ino to help me. I was an idiot the other day, being rude and speaking before thinking… I let my pride get in the way and I hurt you. The truth is, after a lot of thinking while I was recovering, is that I need you more than I could’ve imagined. I’m so sorry for everything I put you through.’ -S.U.

Your hands trembled at the unexpected apology. Sasuke had a hard time saying small ‘sorry’ for small things, but for him to have given you this big of an apology? He really did mean what he said.

“(Y/N)? You’re probably still mad, and you have every right to be, but… I’m going to make it up to you. I’m going to better, for you.” The Uchiha appeared behind you, looking determined, but also a little nervous. Your gaze softened as you approached him.

“I believe you. I’m just glad to have you back.” His shoulders sagged with relief. He didn’t say anything, instead, pulling you into his chest in an uncharacteristic display of affection. You hugged him back without hesitation as you felt whole once again. “I am too… I never want to feel so lonely again. Forgive me?” You nodded against his chest, your answer was imminent. “Of course.”

Neji~

You were lost. You and Neji had never had a fight quite like this. When he left did he mean for it to be a final thing, or not? It had only been a day since he had blown up at you, but these questions had kept you up all night.

Your manuscript laid on your desk, untouched after Neji had thoroughly insulted it. You figured if even Neji hated it, why would anyone else buy it? Instead, you occupied your time stress cleaning. Everything in your home sparkled like the top of the Chrysler building (A/N: Kudos if you get the reference) by the time you were finished, but didn’t feel any better.

It wasn’t until you heard a quiet knocking on your front door that you realized just how much of a mess you had become in such a short time. You were only dressed in sweat pants and a tank top, but you couldn’t care less. No one worth dressing up for would be waiting on your doorstep.

It wasn’t until your eyes met familiar pearlescent ones that you realized just how much his absence had affected you. Even though you were still angry and hurt, you couldn’t but sag in relief that he wasn’t planning on ending things with you.

“Neji… um, come in…” Never had you felt so awkward around him, and he clearly picked up on that. “I was out of line yesterday… I know that. I didn’t mean what I said, I was just…” He paused as if unsure of himself, “I was jealous. You were spending so much time writing, I assumed that I had lost importance.”

You felt your eyes water at how nervous and hurt he sounded. Yes, what he had said the day before was disrespectful, but it had stemmed from you taking him for granted.

“I’m sorry too, Neji, I wasn’t thinking about how this was affecting you. I just wanted to… it doesn’t matter, I’m just glad you’re here.” He sighed in relief, hesitantly embracing you. “I am too, (Y/N).” You had no words to describe how right everything felt, so you said nothing, opting to instead to just cling to him.

Shikamaru~

You had successfully managed to avoid the lying Nara for a week’s time and you weren’t planning on changing that any time soon. If he didn’t want to see you, you would make sure he didn’t. That did not mean you were going to lock yourself inside your house and sulk. You, (F/N) (L/N) did not sulk.

In hindsight, though, you thought, maybe I should’ve stayed inside… Shikamaru had seen you walking you through the park and now you found yourself backed up into a tree, the furious boy in front of you.

“What is your problem, woman?! You’ve been avoiding me all week!” You scoffed, looking away. “I was trying not to bother you, don’t get so worked up.” He stared incredulously. “Bother? Since when is seeing my girlfriend a bother?” You stomped your foot, you knew it was childish, but you were angry. This had been bottled up for days and you could no longer hold it in.

“Since my boyfriend sent out a clone to see me after he’d been on a month-long mission! Come to think of it, that probably wasn’t even the first time!” His jaw dropped a little before his expression shifted to shame.

“It was the first time… I was still exhausted from the mission, but I didn’t want you to be disappointed.” Your glare softened a little.

“You could’ve just told me, Shika... we could’ve taken a nap, hell I would’ve waited to see you until you were up to it!” You sighed, draping your arms around his middle. “I thought it would work, I didn’t want to upset you or neglect you. Forgive me?”

You giggled a little. “For a genius, you can be quite slow Shika. Of course, I forgive you, just don’t do it again.” He breathed out a soft laugh as he hugged you tighter.

“I won’t. And I’ll have you know, I’m the genius. I don’t even know what slow means.” You laughed as the two of you walked through the park, hand in hand. And this time, you had the real Shikamaru all to yourself.

Kiba~

You held tighter onto your stomach, trying to quell the neverending pain. You had changed into dry clothes and you were now cuddled into your bed, pillows surrounding you. You knew you should probably be happy that Kiba had finally left but instead, a nagging feeling in your chest tormented you worse than your cramps.

You screamed into your pillow in frustration. If you didn’t distract yourself, and soon, your thoughts of Kiba would torture you. You rolled out of bed and stumbled out of the room to go search for something to eat. If there was anything that could help you, it was food.

After almost crying that there was no ice cream, you settled on a bowl of the sugariest cereal you could find. It wasn’t ice cream, by any means, but it was still unhealthy enough to do its job. Suddenly, you heard your doorknob click and then turn. Your eyes narrowed as Kiba and Akamaru scrambled in, Kiba with two bags in his hands.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed lowly. The Inuzuka’s face was pale with fear as he met your hard gaze. “Listen, I’m really sorry, I was really immature and bratty, and then after you closed your door, I smelled blood and realized you were on your period and I’ve been nothing but a huge jerk so I brought you stuff!” He rushed out in one breath, holding out the bags towards you like a peace offering.

Your mouth fell open momentarily as you processed everything that had just come out of his mouth. Cautiously you peered into the bag, still a smidge wary of him after all the pranks. Your heart melted a little as you saw the contents. Inside was (f/f) ice cream, a comfy blanket, chocolates, your favorite sweatshirt of his to steal, and some snacks.

You felt your eyes well up with tears as you looked up at your nervous boyfriend. “W-wait! Don’t cry, I can lea-” You pounced on him, cutting off his sentence. Your arms were around his neck and your legs were around his waist.

“You’re so amazing, Kiba! T-thank you!” You knew there was no reason to cry, but your out of wack emotions didn’t care. “So you forgive me then?!” You giggled through your tears at his hopeful voice. “Yeah… but I’m warning you, Kiba, I’m getting my revenge! After we cuddle…” you grinned.

Gaara~

You were beyond pissed off as you laid in your bed, being forced to listen to Gaara as he moved about the kitchen. After he’d all but blown you off hours before, you had come home and decided on an early bedtime. As much as you wanted to avoid him, it was near impossible since you two shared a flat.

You had assumed he’d come home after you were asleep and just get into bed quietly. But, unfortunately, luck was still not on your side. He’d come home far earlier than you’d imagined and was making a huge ruckus, and it only fueled your anger and hurt.

After an hour of the disrespect, you’d decided you’d had enough and you stomped into the kitchen, practically radiating murderous intent. “What in the hell are you doing?” You questioned, dangerously. The redhead turned around, shame clouding his eyes. “Oh, hello, I was just making dinner… I assume you never got to eat?”

Just then your eyes drifted to the table, which was beautifully set with (favorite meal) in the middle of the table. “Why are you doing this?” You whispered. Gaara moved to stand in front of you so you could see the seriousness in his expression.

“I know one meal can’t make up for the way I’ve been neglecting you, and for my behavior earlier, but I’m going to try, starting now. I was a fool and I could’ve lost you… please forgive me, (Y/N).” You looked away from his intense gaze, your stare once again landing on the delicious-looking meal.

Yes, he’d clearly put effort into this, but you were really hurt by his recent distance towards you. But, he was trying to spend more time with you and it would be counterproductive to deny that, and plus you had dearly missed your boyfriend.

“Okay, Gaara, I believe you,” You stated, looking back into his eyes. Your breath caught at the smile on his face as he sat you in your seat. “I swear, I’m going to make this up to you, (Y/N).” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Kakashi~

If it wasn’t the constricting wrapping around your stomach and shoulder, you would’ve forgotten about the wounds altogether. The dull aching was nothing in comparison to the stabbing sensation in your chest.

Kakashi had left the day before and there was still no sign of him. You couldn’t help but be antsy. Had he meant everything he said and did he plan on coming back? You were on the couch, struggling to rewrap your wounds with your bad shoulder as you pondered these things.

You hardly flinched as your door opened, choosing to ignore the silverette intruding into your home. It was silent even as he gently took the supplies from your hands and started doing the work himself.

You watched him with a blank expression as he worked, waiting for him to say something. After a few long minutes, he began to speak. “I was horrible last night. There’s no excuse, I know, but… I don’t want you to end up like them and I overreacted. Big time.”

You knew he was talking about all the friends and family he had lost to the shinobi world, and even though you weren’t anywhere near happy, you understood. By now he had finished dressing your wounds and was looking you in the eye. The eye you could see was red and puffy as if he’d been crying.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/N). I won’t ask you to forgive me because frankly, I don’t deserve that right now.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. He eagerly returned it, relieved you were willing to touch him. “You were a real jerk you know.” You stated. He nodded, “I was.” “And I worked really hard to get here, and I’m proud of my abilities,” You continued. He pressed a small kiss to your shoulder.

“As you should be. I really am proud of you too.” You cracked a small smile. “But, I love you, Kakashi, and as long as this doesn’t happen again, I forgive you.” He hugged you tighter, his hair tickling your cheek a little. “It won’t, I swear it to you.” You hummed in response, feeling much lighter than you had minutes before.

~Akatsuki~

Pein~

“To be clear, I think you’re both overreacting. Pein blew a tiny problem out of the water, but you also know how he gets when he’s stressed. He didn’t mean any of that.” You scowled at Itachi’s words, knowing he was probably correct.

“I hate it when you’re right, Itachi. Seriously.” He chuckled at your pout, patting your head. “You should go talk to hi-” You stopped him, with a wave of your hand. “Nope, nope, nope. He was in the wrong, so if he wants to talk, he can come to me and apologize.”

The ravenette looked up before standing up to leave. “Alright, good luck then, (Y/N).” You grabbed his wrist, desperate. “Wait, don’t leave me! I don’t know what to do!”

He raised an eyebrow. “But I just told you to go talk to him?” You let go, groaning. “But I don’t want to!” He sighed, leaving. “You’re whining, (Y/N).”

You stammered, shocked that he was just up and walking away. “So, I guess this is good timing then?” You shrieked, startled as you turned to face the very topic of your last conversation.

“Um...hi?” He sat down next to you, his frown deepening. “I was… wrong, earlier. I apologize for what I said. I wasn’t being fair.” Your jaw dropped in utter astonishment. Never had you ever heard Pein say anything about him being wrong.

“I found out what Hidan said and I’m surprised cut off his head was all you did.” You giggled a little. How could you stay mad when he was humbling himself like this? “He does know the right buttons to push. And I forgive you, I know you’ve been stressed lately, I didn’t mean to add to that.” You leaned your head on his shoulder as you spoke.

“You could never do that, (Y/N). Now, how about we go show Hidan what true pain is?” You just smirked and cracked your knuckles in response.

Deidara~

You had arrived in your room immediately after leaving Deidara and Sasori, but unfortunately, your room was just on the other side of the wall so it wasn’t like you had gone far. It was quiet for a little while, and you occupied yourself with a book you had found lying around the base.

“Sasori no Danna!” You rolled your eyes at Deidara’s frantic shout. Hopefully, nothing was going to explode. “What, brat? I’m working.” “We have to apologize to (Y/N), yeah!” Your attention was peaked now, and you sat against the wall as to not miss anything.

“I will do no such thing. I merely stated an opinion.” You shrugged, you hadn’t expected anything else from Sasori. “But we hurt her feelings, un! Her art is great, yeah!” “You hurt her feelings. You’re her boyfriend.” You heard the redhead click his tongue, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

“Fine! But will you at least help me, un?!” “Absolutely not. I don’t like abstract and I won’t apologize for it.” You laughed lightly at the puppet’s stubbornness. “Please, Danna, un! I don’t even know why I said those things!” “I don’t know or care. Now go apologize, brat, I can’t take any more of your whining.”

You heard scrambling and then his door opened and closed. You all but jumped back on your bed so you wouldn’t be caught eavesdropping.

The door opened and the nervous blonde stepped in. The second he saw your flushed face, he groaned. “You heard everything didn’t you, hmm?” You sheepishly rubbed your neck. “Thin walls?”

He walked closer, his cheeks tinted red. “I was wrong, (Y/N), un. I’ve never seen you have an off day…” You smiled taking his outstretched hand. “Even though your paintings don’t explode, they are art, yeah. Will you forgive me, hmm?”

Before you could respond, you felt something lick your hand. Deidara snickered. “I think my hand mouths want you to forgive me too, un.”

Giggling, you kissed his cheek. “Well, they should be happy to hear that I do forgive you, Dei. Sasori, on the other hand...” You both smirked, sharing a look that promised trouble.

Masterlist

#naruto scenarios #naruto shippuden #naruto x reader #sasuke x reader #neji x reader #shikamaru x reader #kiba x reader #gaara x reader #kakashi x reader #pein x reader #deidara x reader #akatsuki #reader insert #part 2

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