#I’ve been contemplating if I should make it longer or not and tested it in this

[xeymol]

Wewo barbecue time, sorry I haven’t posted in awhile I have a annoying infection rn lol

Oh also I’m planning something so expect that eventually lol, I won’t spoil but I think you might like it✨

#rain world #rw gourmand #rw artificer #rw shipping #rw barbecue #rw gourficer #ignore artis tail lol #I’ve been contemplating if I should make it longer or not and tested it in this #actually I’d like opinions on it if anyone has any #i wanna know if it looks good or is so ugly its burning eyes and rotting skin💀

[despicablebisexual]

Out of Touch by Hall & Oates

part 1, part 2, part 3

Jotaro Kujo x Ex-wife!Reader

You and Jotaro meet for the first time in six years. When you try to dodge the encounter, he convinces you to sit and drink, and have a nice talk.

warnings: alcoholic consumption

Spring of 2003, Tampa, Florida

“Mom~”

You turned on your side, hoping for another five minutes of sleep.

“Mom~”

You ignored Jolyne for another second or two. The girl quieted down for a second and you thought your prayers had been answered and she had retreated from your room. Just as you approached the edge of unconsciousness, a heavy form jumped onto your stomach and woke you.

“There you are mom!” Jolyne, your strong willed eleven-year-old said.

“Hi, Jojo,” you smiled weakly, a bit winded from her jumping on top of you.

“I’m hungry,” she declared. 

You looked over at your bedside table where the clock laid. 7:14 am. So much for sleeping in on a Sunday. 

“Okay,” you took a second to rub the sleep out of your eyes. “I’m up, I’m up.”

You shooed her off you so you could climb out of bed and make your way to the kitchen, her quickly running past you.

“Can we have pancakes? Ooo what about waffles though! Can we have both?!”

You laughed at her indecisiveness. “How about something a little healthier?”

“But mom,” she groaned.

“Hey! We gotta keep those muscles strong! You can’t do your best if you don’t eat well,” you reminded her.

When she was eight, Jolyne had come home from elementary school whining about how all the other girls in her class played softball and she wanted to too. You were hesitant at first, telling her that just because everyone else is doing something, doesn’t mean she has to do it. After a few weeks insisting she should be allowed to play, you finally agreed. Jolyne had always been a rambunctious and active kid, so you reasoned that sports would be a good outlet for her to let out that energy. After she had a few recurring disciplinary incidents, softball was sounding even better. 

To your satisfaction though, after most of the girls quit, Jolyne kept going. After one season, you became a full fledged softball mom, wanting to constantly show up to support Jolyne. She was currently in her third season on her travel team.

The only gripe you had about softball was that it never dwindled her energy, in fact, she seemed more lively. Considering she was up this early the day after she had an all day tournament, you could only sigh. At least she wasn’t getting into as much trouble.

A knock pulled you from your thoughts. “Jojo, can you go get the door?”

“On it mom!” she yelled over her shoulder. A few seconds later and you heard the familiar squeal Jolyne let out whenever your current boyfriend, Anthony, arrived. He liked to stop by in the mornings often.

“Oh shit,” you muttered, hurrying to grab the leftover wine bottle and glass you left out from last night. You did a quick breath test and attempted to fix your flyaways as Anthony came into the kitchen.

“Hey pretty lady,” he said, swooping in to steal a kiss.

“Gross!”

You laughed at Jolyne’s antics. “I was just getting ready to start breakfast, you hungry?”

“I would love to but I’ve got to get to the firehouse, lots of paperwork to do. I just wanted to stop by and say hi.”

You hummed as Anthony turned around to start play fighting with Jolyne. You turned back to contemplate what to cook. The longer you looked at the contents of the fridge and pantry, the better pancakes sounded. Looking over at Jolyne’s bright smile, you gave in and reached for the pancake mix. While you prepared the batter, you sent Jolyne and Anthony to run outside and retrieve yesterday’s mail. Anthony carried her outside on his back.

Alone, your thoughts wandered over your two year relationship. Anthony was a very attractive man: tall, dark, and extremely handsome. He worked as a fireman, which matched his heart of gold he seemed to have. You two had met when you and Jolyne moved from northern Florida to Tampa, him introducing himself at the bar your new neighbors had offered to take you to. After just sitting around and getting to know the local gossip, you had gotten up to order a drink from the bar. When some asshole bumped into you and spilled your drink all over the counter, Anthony, who had been friends with the culprit, offered to buy you a new one. 

Although back then it had been four years since you and Jolyne’s father, Jotaro, divorced, you were hesitant to accept Anthony’s invite to go out for coffee. After your close neighbor had incessantly annoyed you about it, she eventually convinced you to go out with him and the rest was history. Completely ignorant to the world of stands and evil, he was a nice place to take sanctuary in.

“Mom! You got an important letter from your job!”

“Hm?”

You turned back from pouring the batter into the pan to see Jolyne handing you a letter while still hanging from Anthony’s back. The letter was addressed to Y/n L/n from the Speedwagon Foundation. Worried about the contents, you tore it open and began reading.

“Well, what does it say?” Anthony asked.

You sighed a breath of relief. “They’re giving me an award for my recent research publication.”

“Woah, no way! Congrats babe!”

Anthony kissed your temple while you let the growing anxiety fade away. You honestly had been expecting it to be a letter detailing a new stand user issue. While you did work in the Speedwagon Foundation’s research sector, they also had you hunt down concerning stand users. Having been doing so since you were seventeen and went on the 50 day journey to Egypt.

“When are they giving it to you?”

“This Saturday, 7pm.”

“It’s a date then!”

**********

“Thank you so much for watching her. It’s not often I get invited to 21+ venues.”

“It’s no problem, y/n, really! We love Jolyne like one of our own.”

Your neighbors, the Williams’, bless their hearts, were about the only family that you had ever trusted to watch Jolyne. Being a stand user as well as working in a dangerous research field, you had a penchant for attracting all sorts of evil. When you gave birth to Jolyne, there had been complications with the delivery and you ended up having to be rushed to a nearby emergency room instead of going to the Speedwagon Foundation like you planned. Everything was going well until Jotaro ended up facing off with a stand user impersonating a night shift nurse. He ended up nearly beating the woman to death, and ever since that day, you had been living life constantly looking over your shoulder for Jolyne’s sake.

After divorcing and moving to a new area, you were hesitant to let then five year old Jolyne play with other children or go to their houses. After thoroughly observing and testing your neighbors by running background checks and consistently bringing out your stand at random intervals to see who would look, you concluded that the Williams’ were not stand users and that their daughter did just want to be friends with Jolyne. It worked out in your case because you soon had friends to rely on, and could find a babysitter with ease.

Now getting ready for the banquet tonight, you stood in front of the mirror doing your makeup just how you liked it. While adding finishing touches, your cell started ringing and Anthony’s contact ID popped up.

“Hey babe.”

“Hey, y/n! How are you beautiful?”

“I’m good, just getting ready for the ceremony.”

“That’s great… Hey listen babe, I don’t have much time to talk but I can’t come tonight. I’m sorry for the late notice but one of the guys’ wife is having their kid and he needed someone to take his shift. It’s gonna be overnight so I won’t get off until about 8am.”

You frowned as you looked down at your nails. You already didn’t want to be heading out anyway for a silly award, but now that Anthony wasn’t coming, the desire to stay home was sounding really appealing.

“Y/n?”

“Hey sorry, spaced out.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, no. Don’t even worry about it. I’m just gonna go, get the award, and come home. I’m not feeling staying out tonight.”

“Alright, well stay safe. Have fun and call a cab if you drink anything.”

“Okay, dad,” you teased him.

He laughed. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” 

The phone beeped when you hung up.

**********

“Right here is fine, thank you.”

You handed the cab driver some money before shouldering your purse. The foundation had rented a banquet hall for the ceremony. Along with you and your research team, a few other people were also receiving awards tonight. Consequently, the crowd was extremely large as people from all over the company (lots non-affiliated with the stand research division) were gathered for the big event. Dinner would be served at commencement, then some words from the current CEO, awards next, and finally happy hour. You planned to slink away immediately after you got your award.

“Y/n!”

You turned to look for the source of the voice and found a few of your colleagues from your research team standing around a table right up front and center waving at you. It seems like you all were the big honorees of the evening. 

“Hello, congratulations everyone.”

Lucas, a fellow from the team, came up with a waiter following him with a tray of champagne flutes. The drinks were quickly dished out. 

“Congratulations to you, our fearless leader, who without you, we would have never got the funding.”

You snorted. “Well it’s easy to bust balls when I know all the higher ups. That’s one thanks I can give to my ex-husband.”

A few chuckles could be heard before the emcee asked people to take their seats. You turned around to quickly down the champagne before sending a silent plea to the waiter for another. The drinks could at least help with your nervousness. 

**********

“Wow, no one told me I’d have to speak!” you nervously chuckled.

“Um, I’d like to thank my team. Everyone here did so much investigation, tests, wrote up reports. They seriously put in the overtime.”

Your eyes scanned over the large crowd watching you. Your team was the last to be awarded, so everyone was patiently waiting for you to wrap up so cocktail hour could start.

“I’d also like to thank my daughter, Jolyne. I can’t tell you how many times she made me coffee in the dead of night while I stayed up working.” That remark earned you a chuckle from the audience. You felt a little looser knowing you made them laugh. As you looked around, your eyes landed on a familiar pair of blue ones way in the back of the hall leaned against the wall, staring you down intently. You swallowed thickly, not believing it to be the last person you’d ever see here.

“Uh, thank you for the award.”

You briskly walked off stage and back to your table, already grabbing your purse and other belongings. The emcee got back up to announce the bar was once again open, and cocktail hour had begun.

“Y/n, wait!”

Lucas reached out a hand to stop you from rushing off. With a small amount of shame, you turned back to see your team staring at you rather quizzically. 

“Why don’t you enjoy a couple drinks with us?”

You silently prayed for whatever entity resides above to strike you down right there. While you really wanted a drink right now, you’d rather do it alone in your house where you could wallow in the silence between sips.

“I really need to-”

“Come on, one won’t hurt!”

Lucas and the rest of the team flagged down the waiter for a round of a stronger drink this time. By some sick and twisted fate, your evening was just beginning.

**********

“You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re not even drunk yet?”

You smiled at Melina, another girl from the team, as you nursed your beer. A few rounds of shots had been dealt and the rest of the team was pretty drunk. You on the other hand, better at pacing yourself than them, were just beginning to feel the buzz. The alcohol had done well to soothe your anxiety, but the nagging feeling of being watched remained.

“I’m going to grab another drink,” you announced.

Making your way through the throngs of people, you arrived at the bar and flagged the bartender down.

“I’ll take a shot of tequila, thanks.”

“Wanna start a tab?”

“I’m paying for her,” a booming voice said as a debit card was slapped down.

The bartender quickly disappeared to run the card, and you contemplated running when you realized who was standing beside you. 

Swallowing your anxiety, you refused to make eye contact with him. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Call it a gift for your award.”

“The only gift I want from you is to leave me alone.”

Jotaro sighed next to you, leaning on the bar so he could stare down at you. You still refused to look at him.

“Don’t make this difficult, y/n.”

You snorted. “Where have I heard that line before?”

Distantly, you recalled the night he placed the divorce papers on the table and announced he would be staying at a hotel while things finalized. He had told you the exact same phrase while you ugly cried and interrogated him. The whole night was underscored by Jolyne sobbing away in her room.

The bartender arrived with the shot and set it down. You quickly picked it up and slammed it, setting the glass back down.

“Thanks. See you around.”

You set off to leave, but a strong arm pulled you back. 

“Jotaro,” you warned.

Jotaro dropped your arm before sighing. He took off his signature hat to run his hand through his hair. “Can we just talk?”

You stared at him in surprise. On the outside, he looked like the exact same Jotaro you once knew. Donned in his signature flashy style with a face that could kill. But his eyes held an emotion that wasn’t the normal fire in his soul. For a second, when he asked you to talk, he almost looked mournful, like he was trying to save something. In all the years you had known Jotaro, he was never once concerned with matters of the heart. If anything, he would rather get pummeled over and over again than admit he had feelings. You glared at him before sitting down on the barstool. 

“One drink. You have the time it takes me to drink one drink.”

**********

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“Tch. Don’t play dumb y/n.”

You looked down at the small black box Jotaro had placed in your hands. Never one for lots of words, Jotaro had just explained he had a gift for you before putting the case in your hands, a small engagement ring looking back at you.

“I’m asking you to marry me?” he said, his hands shoved in his pockets and eyes casted to the side.

“Why?” you blurted out.

Jotaro sighed and took his hat off. In a rare moment of vulnerability, he kneeled down in front of you while you sat on the bench in the park you two were at.

“Because you’re the only person in this fucked up world I could ever love; I could ever trust. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Jojo…” you started as you teared up.

He caught you as you practically fell into his arms while repeating yes. 

**********

What was supposed to be one drink, quickly turned into one drink and a shot. Then Jotaro ordered another shot for the two of you, then one more for good measure. You weren’t stupid, it was easy to tell when someone was building up liquid courage.

The conversation first began with him asking how you and Jolyne had been. You rolled your eyes and told him ‘fine,’ stating that she was making friends and a star on her softball team. Jotaro remained amicable in spite of your passive-aggressiveness. The more he got you talking about your daughter, the more you began to open up to him. It was nice to know he still wanted to know about her, even if it was the bare minimum. As the night went on, he somehow convinced you to show him a few pictures of her from your phone and you two quickly began reminiscing on the days when she was just a toddler and barely walking around. Eventually the conversation shifted to his life and search for the stand arrows. He told you about his uncle he discovered and you gasped at the revelation that Mr. Joestar had cheated on Suzi Q, the woman who became like another grandmother to you when you and Jotaro were married. When you two came home from your first semester away at college and announced you had gotten eloped, Suzi Q and Jotaro’s mother were the only people to support you initially. It hurt to know she had been emotionally backstabbed.

“He’s lucky he’s an old man now, or else I’d seriously kick his ass for doing that to her.”

For the first time in a long time, most definitely due to the fact that he had been drinking all night with you, Jotaro laughed. And when he laughed, the whole room shook with him. It was the first time you had heard it in years and it put a loopy smile on your face while you laughed with him. When he realized how loud he was, catching the eyes of a few others, he quickly quieted down, a twinge of embarrassment and anger easily seen on his face. Upset he stopped laughing and worried he might cause an uproar (being the hothead he is), you reached over and placed a hand on his. He looked at you with surprise, before turning up his hand and offering you his palm. He smiled as you giggled at the action. 

As the conversation progressed, it was clear that you were both exuberantly drunk, but it didn’t stop you from ordering one last drink.

“You sure can put them away now. You used to puke after two shots back in college.”

You snorted. “I’m well practiced now.”

You looked down at the time on your phone, not realizing it was soon approaching 11:45pm. Looking up and around, you noticed how the hall had seriously cleared out, most of the initial crowd gone.

“Shit, it’s late.”

You stood up and looked at him, a bit sad this night was coming to an end. The alcohol had opened up all the scars on your heart and reminded you of how much you missed him, but the small-voiced rational part of your brain was reminding you that things couldn’t stay like this.

“I’ve got to go. It was nice catching up, Jojo.”

Wanting to leave on a positive note, the drunken devil on your shoulder convinced you to lean in and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. Completely normal, right? 

“Y/n, wait.” 

Jotaro grabbed your waist and pulled you further into him, your chests colliding. He was still sat on the barstool, so you were somewhat even in height for once, meaning your breaths mixed in the air. It was a familiar position that had both of your hearts pounding rapidly.

“I’ve missed you calling me that.”

His hand was heavy on your waist. Not wanting to lose balance in your stupor, your arm landed on his shoulder. 

“You used to tell me you hated being called Jojo,” you whispered teasingly.

He huffed and looked down. “I was lying.”

He looked back up to you with eyes as deep as oceans. “I don’t want to be anything except your Jojo.”

You softly gasped and he took it as his chance to pull you in for a soft kiss. Your lips barely moved against each other, just savoring the fact that they were once again reunited. 

Once upon a time, Jotaro would have handed you the world on a silver platter. It wasn’t by coincidence that you got married so young. You two were passionate, devoted, in love, but seasons change and people do as well, and Jotaro could no longer fill the superman-esque job he had been born into. At this point, it had been six years since you two divorced. Both twenty-six then and thirty-two now, he felt more like a stranger than someone you used to love. After having had so long to contemplate your relationship, you wondered how much of it would have happened if you two had never went on that journey. Seeing so much horror at seventeen scarred you two, and you definitely had a relationship built upon a trauma bond. You questioned often if it was ever love, or just comfort in shared pain. 

Now though, so many years later, with your lips pressed together, there was no mistaking the spark between you two. All the misery you’d experienced in the world of stand users was flushed away at his hot touch. Even if it was just momentary, you knew he could love you the same way again.

“Let me take you home,” he breathed over your lips.

One look into his pleading blue eyes and you knew without a doubt there was no coming back from this.

#jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro x reader #angst

[heartstopper-tword]

48. "Stop cheating!"

Charlie and Nick are playing a game (I don't mind which one, if you're stuck for ideas maybe twister) and one of them keeps tickling the other as a distraction.

Eventually they cave and wreck the cheater as punishment ?

Up to you ☺️

Hope your day is absolutely amazing

- 🐦‍⬛

A/N: ty for the prompt anon! hope your day is going amazing as well! <3

Prompt #48 - “Stop cheating!”

Prompt from here if you’re interested!

I’ve updated what prompt list I’ll be using! Check it out here!

Cheater, Cheater

“Agh! Charlie, quit it!”

Charlie giggled, withdrawing his hand from Nick’s side. The two boys were currently in the Spring family’s living room, having been sprawled out on the floor with their text books in front of them. This was their near-daily routine; coming back to one of their houses and trying to knock out some of their homework from their day at school, and then spending the rest of their time together watching movies, playing games, and most importantly, making out. Though most times, that plan didn’t go the way it was intended. Nick was easily distracted, and very quickly lost interest in whatever worksheet he was doing. So in order to entertain himself, he’d try to distract Charlie, whether it be laying across his boyfriend’s lap, or whining, or throwing his pens at his head.

Charlie had to bite back a grin when he heard Nick let out a groan, slamming his maths textbook closed. “Charlieeee,” he’d whimpered, pushing his book to the side, “I’m bored.”

“That’s a shocker,” Charlie had replied, chuckling and keeping his eyes trained on his own assignment.

“Come on,” Nick moaned, “let’s take a break. We’ve been working on maths for like an hour now. You especially don’t need to study maths longer than that.”

“Nick, I have a test at the end of the week.” Charlie reminded him, finally glancing up at the older boy.

“And you’re going to ace it! You always have the highest grade out of anyone, and you don’t even need to try!” Nick retorted, moving closer to his boyfriend. When Charlie ignored him, he pouted and rested his head on his shoulder.

“Please, Char? Just for a little bit?”

Charlie contemplated this for a moment, before finally letting out a long yet playful sigh. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

Nick raised his head, smiling brightly. “We should play a game.”

“What game? Mario Kart? Haven’t you learned by now that there’s no way you’ll ever beat me at that?” The younger boy teased, laughing at the incredulous expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“Excuse you, but I happen to remember winning three races last weekend when I was over!”

“Only because I let you win.”

The ginger’s eyes narrowed. “You’re so gonna pay for that later. And anyways, no, not that. I had another game in mind.”

Charlie tilted his head at him, confusion washing over his features. “What game?”

Nick smirked. “Only a game I can finally be the best at. Twister.”

“Twister?” Charlie repeated, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Why do you wanna play that?”

“Why don’t you want to play?” Nick questioned playfully, “Afraid of losing?”

“No,” Charlie responded, “I’m great at it. You’ve just never brought it up before.”

Charlie was lying. He wasn’t good at Twister. Not only did he lack flexibility, but he had always been the first one to fall during the game when he’d played with his sister or his friends during their annual sleepovers. It wasn’t like he cared that much about the game itself; Charlie was competitive. He didn’t like to lose. That’s why his go-to game had always been Mario Kart. After years of mastering every course, hardly anyone could beat him, except occasionally Tori. But even then, the two siblings were always neck and neck.

“Okay.” Charlie nodded, setting his assignment and books aside. “Let’s play.”

And that’s were the pair were now, having pushed the coffee table to the side of the room in order to have the desired amount of space for the dotted mat. They’d spun a few times already, their positions starting out pretty easy to achieve, until Charlie suddenly had an arm underneath Nick’s body and Nick had under the younger boy’s. By each turn, they were intertwining themselves with each other even more, and Charlie’s balance was getting rather rocky. Nick, however, seemed to be completely stable, hardly ever having to readjust his footing or the placement of his hands to make things easier for himself.

With every spin of the plastic wheel, Charlie seemed to be getting more difficult adjustments to his position, while Nick barely had to move. It just wasn’t fair. Charlie knew his boyfriend was going to win.

“Doing alright, love?” Nick asked periodically, a teasing hint to his tone. “Not feeling too shaky?”

“Perfectly fine,” Charlie answered him through his teeth, choosing to ignore the chuckle that came from the boy above him.

After a few more minutes, Charlie decided he needed to do something to try and get an advantage over his smug boyfriend. And that’s when he reached up with one hand and jabbed him in the stomach.

Nick had flinched, drawing in a small breath, but remaining in the same position as before.

“Charlie,” He said, his voice low, “don’t.”

Charlie snickered, dropping his hand.

After another moment, he reached up again, now squeezing his hip.

Nick yelped, nearly losing his balance, but quickly regaining his composure. “Shit!”

Charlie grinned up at him innocently, trying not to laugh at the glare Nick sent him in return. This was working well for him.

“Charlie, I am warning you,” Nick tried again to be serious, his eyes locked on the boys hands. “Stop cheating!”

“Okay.” Charlie shrugged and reached for the spinner, feeling Nick’s eyes watching his every move.

Nick let out a breath, urging his muscles to relax as much as possible. Hopefully Charlie finally got the message.

He was wrong.

About three minutes later, Charlie was prodding at his side, causing the older boy to let out a shriek in surprise. And to Charlie’s delight, this caused Nick to topple over onto his back.

“Ha!” Charlie pumped his fists into the air victoriously, “I win!”

Nick stared up at his boyfriend, his eyes going wide. “You did not win.”

“Uh, yeah I did,” Charlie said smugly, “The rules are the first person who falls loses. You fell first, loser.”

Nick sat up quickly. “You were cheating!”

“Really? Was I?”

“Yes you were, you were tickling me!”

“Oh boo-hoo,” Charlie playfully rolled his eyes. “You’re just mad cuz you’re a sore loser.”

Nick didn’t answer, his eyes narrowing. Charlie’s smug attitude faltered, his smile fading, and immediately he began to feel as though his boyfriend was angry at him. “Nick, are you okay? I’m sorry, I was just joking… you’re not mad, are you?”

“Mad? No.” Something changed in Nick’s expression, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Vengeful? Very.”

Charlie didn’t even have time to respond, because Nick was launching himself at the boy with inhuman speed, tackling him and sending them rolling on the ground together. Charlie’s immediate instinct was to try and curl in on himself, knowing very well what was about to happen, but Nick was stronger, and easily pinned Charlie underneath him.

“Nick, wait a second,” Charlie tried to plead, attempting to squirm around underneath the rugby lad, but Nick’s hold on him was solid. Completely unmovable.

“Wait a second? Oh no. We’re not even going to think about waiting. I’m gonna tickle the absolute shit out of you, and I’m not gonna stop until I feel like it. I think that’s a proper punishment for someone who thinks cheating is the way to beat another person at a game, right?” Nick’s grin was pure evil as he watched Charlie blush bright red underneath him. “Not that you’d mind.”

“Niiiiick,” Charlie whined, bringing his hands up to cover his blazing cheeks, squealing suddenly at the sensation of Nick squeezing his sides.

“Ah ah! And you can’t hide your face from me, either! I wanna see your adorable smile.” Nick let his fingers slowly spider up and down the boy’s sides, relishing in the frantic giggles escaping his lips. God, he loved that sound.

“Nohoho! Thahat’s nohohot fahahair!” Charlie squeaked out, his giggles growing the higher Nick aimed. “Ihihi cahan’t help ihit!”

Nick chuckled. “Okay. Let me help you then.”

With that, he shot hands up under Charlie’s exposed armpits, drilling torturously into the hallows.

“NO NICK!” Charlie’s arms came flying down and clamped tightly to his sides, his head thrown back with hysteric laughter. “STOHOHOHOP!”

“Stop? Char, I’m only just getting started!” Nick laughed with the younger boy, his heart filled with endearment. “Besides, you deserve this, you dick!”

“I JUHUHUST WAHAHANTED TO WIHIN!”

“Well, cheaters don’t make winners, sweetheart.”

“I CAHAHAN SEHEHEHEE THAHAHAT!”

Nick rolled his eyes playfully. “How about this, Charlie? Just shut up and laugh.”

He pulled his hands out from under the boy’s arms, giving him only a few moments of relief before diving his fingers into his sensitive neck.

“NoO!” Charlie squealed, trying to duck his head, but Nick just laughed. “Charlie, my fingers are stuck now.”

“I dohohon’t cahahahare!” The younger giggled, yelping when he felt Nick beginning to press ticklish kisses along his ears. “Nihihick plehehease!”

“Man, your ears are sensitive as hell, Char.” Nick commented casually, “They seem so neglected. Why don’t you ever let me play with them and love them?”

“Stohohop ihihit!” Charlie whined, trying to move his head away from him, shrieking at the sensation of Nick nibbling on the shell of his ears. “OHOHOH MYHYHYHY GOHOHOD! NOHOHOT THAHAHAT!”

Mixed with the fluttering fingers in his neck and Nick’s merciless attack on his ears, Charlie was in hell (or heaven, though he’d never admit it). The two sensations combined were driving him nuts, and he was sure that Nick knew that. Of course he was.

Charlie’s head jerked to the side, lifting his chin just enough for Nick to remove his hands and let them jump to his ribs, his lips quickly beginning to press kisses along the entirety of Charlie’s neck.

“NOHOHO NIHIHICK! LEHEHEAVE MYHYHY NEHEHECK ALOHOHONE!”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands here,” Nick muttered into the skin, making his laughter rise in pitch.

Charlie was quickly running out of oxygen by the second, and he wasn’t sure if Nick would actually give him a chance to breathe. Normally he was more gentle with him, but as he had said, he was out for revenge. Still, if Charlie wanted to see the sun rise the next morning, he needed to do something.

“NIHIHICK IHI CAHAN’T BREHEHEATHE! PLEHEHEASE!”

Nick drew his head back, his fingers slowing to a stop on the poor boy’s ribs. He looked guilty. “Oh god, okay. Here, just take a minute.”

Charlie was sucking in air like his life depended on it. Nick’s smirk vanished, “Sorry, was I taking it too far? I didn’t mean to-“

“Nick,” His boyfriend interrupted, breathing heavily, “it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Nick didn’t sound convinced, taking in Charlie’s current state with concern.

“I’m sure,” Charlie told him, then slightly propped himself up on his elbows, “You’re just way too good at getting what you want.”

That finally got a small chuckle out of the older boy, who leaned down and pressed his lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“You are so incredible,” Nick whispered, pressing his forehead to Charlie’s. Charlie hummed, his body finally beginning to calm down. They stayed like that for a moment, before Nick suddenly pushed him back down onto his back. “But there’s one more spot I want to get to before I let you go.”

Charlie’s eyes were nearly popping out of their sockets in realization. “No, Nihihick I thohohought youhou wehehere dohohone!”

Nick just smiled innocently at the boy as he let his fingers walk all the way down to his kneecaps, “I love you.”

And let it be known, Charlie definitely learned a valuable lesson on cheating that day, especially when getting caught by an evil, rugby loving golden retriever.

#heartstopper #netflix #heartstopper tickle #heartstopper tickle fic #nick and charlie #anon ask #fic prompt #tickle prompts #tickle fic #nick nelson #charlie spring #ticklish charlie #ticklish nick #ler!nick #lee!charlie

[violetmina]

Chokehold - Ch. 4

Chokehold Masterlist

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Taglist: @roundroald​ @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night​ @sexytholland​ @scraftsku35​ @avastrasposts​ @missihart23 @ladyvillainous​ @elementress44​  If I missed you or you would like to be added, let me know.

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6,252

Warning: Swearing, referenced SA, choking, hints of sexual content. Butcher is a living, breathing warning label.

A/N: Once again, it's probably longer than it should be. But I've fought with this chapter for too long, and I want to get this moving. When I decided to make this a series it was only going to be about three chapters. Now it's looking closer to...seven? Ten? Fifteen? I honestly don't know how deep I'm going to go. But there's lots more coming. As before, there is slight inference to SA, so please be aware of that. Enjoy.

With all of the bouncing back and forth you do between the FBSA and the Boys, it's not often you find a whole day off. So when one finally arrives, you've already committed to doing practically nothing. Maybe a little tidying up around your place but otherwise you're ready for a day of rest.

It's late morning when you drag yourself out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen for coffee. After starting the machine to brew, you head back to your bathroom for a quick shower. As the water begins to reach your ideal temperature, you muse over ways to pass the day. Part of you contemplates messaging Butcher and setting up a rolling session later that evening. Maybe it's the whole exercise-induced endorphin rush thing, but you think you might be getting addicted to the lessons.

Or maybe you're getting addicted to alone time with Butcher. As you strip down and step into the spray, it's something you seriously consider. Yes, jiu jitsu is fun in its own exhausting, bruising fashion. But you know how dangerous it would be to ignore how much you look forward to just being around him. Kimiko, Frenchie, MM, they all are endeared to you in their own way. And maybe it's that whole trauma-bonding in this line of work as well. But as demanding of a teacher Butcher is, there's an odd comfort in the mellow after hours with just the two of you in the office. You each know how to grate on the others nerves but it's often turned into playful banter. If you could put “Butcher" and “playful” in the same sentence. 

There's also that slight shift in your dynamic that you've noticed lately. Those little moments when you grasp a move, a concept, when you test the murky waters of his patience to ask him to expand on a technique for you. Or when for the first time you sink a counter and not even think about it, and he gets that look on his face. That look where his eyes crinkle at the corners and there's just that subtle hint of a smile, and if you're lucky he'll acknowledge that you've actually made progress. It looks uncannily like pride, and you'd be damned if it doesn't get to you.

Then of course, you couldn't forget that Butcher's been getting to your whispering sexual frustration. The dreams had remained consistent in their frequency, but at this point you quit being wary of them. To be honest, you've kind of come to like seeing what tantalizing scenarios lie in store for you when you drift off at night. As long as you don't linger too long on it during the day, and you damn sure don't dwell on it when you're around Butcher that is. It's almost…fun, if you don't wish too hard for the phantom whisker burn on your inner thighs to be real…

You shake your head and refocus on the shower. No, probably best not to set up a lesson. It's best to let him take the lead on that. You don't know what's on his plate anyway. It's not until you've dried and start shrugging into some shorts and an oversized t-shirt, forcing yourself to muse over your breakfast options, that you hear your phone buzz in the bedroom.

You snatch it off the bed and pad back into the kitchen. Feeling particularly lazy you settle for some frozen waffles and toss them into the toaster. When you finally check your cell the screen glares back three missed texts and two missed calls. All from Hughie.

Ignoring the slight pit in your stomach, you quickly fetch yourself a cup of coffee and read the first text.

Something came up. Need to talk in person. Are you home?

The toaster dings and you spare only the time needed to put them on a plate. You return to the second message. Please, Y/N. I know it's your day off but it's urgent.

You don't get the chance to read the third before there's knocking at your door. The pit in your stomach gets a little heavier and you creep to the peephole. Recognizing the lanky figure in your doorway, you undo all the locks with a slight sigh of relief and swing it open.

"Sorry, Hughie, I just started reading your-. Annie?" You're slightly startled to see her just a step behind him in street clothes. They share the same air of tension about them that their smiles don't quite brush away. You glance from her to him and ask, "What's going on?"

"Hey, Y/N. You remember those files you told me about a few days ago?"

You nod, remembering that you had finally confessed to him of the paperwork about a week after you realized they were gone. He had ribbed you about it then and you had shrugged it off with him. Now he stands in your doorway and you finally notice two files tucked under his arm. But only two. "I'm about to kiss my day off goodbye, aren't I?"

He responds with a nervous chuckle. Then, "Can we come in?"

 ^^^

"You're shitting me, right?" 

You stare at Hughie and Annie who sit on the loveseat opposite of you, the manilla folders gutted across your coffee table in front of you. Each of you have a cup of morning brew, coasters like islands in the sea of papers, but they've been abandoned in the last twenty minutes or so. You lean forward in your seat, tapping on the table. "You're telling me that Vought has made a temporary compound V?"

"If we read this right…Yeah. Yeah, they did," Hughie nods, rubbing the back of his neck.

You turn to Annie. "Is this verifiable? How many in the company know about this? Did you?"

She shakes her head adamantly. "Not me, not any in the Seven, I'm pretty sure of that. I can't swear anything on the stuff we have here, it's deliberately vague. But Stillwell was pulling all the stops to get us in the military. It would make sense that when that failed, the company would shift gears. If they can't take supes to the armed forces…"

"...Turn the armed forces into supes," you finish. "And if it's only temporary, there's no permanent competition with the Seven or anyone else on their roster."

"And don't forget the money," Hughie interjects with a scoff. "I mean, how much do you think they could fuck up Uncle Sam's budget? I mean if they charge per squad? Per soldier, per fucking dose?"

Your gaze skims back over the papers again. You shouldn't be surprised. It's Vought. But it still makes the twinge of a headache form in one of your temples. How the hell are you guys going to combat this? What if the FBSA and the Boys have to turn their aim from glorified celebrities to soldiers?

"Wait, Hughie," you blink. "How did this shit end up on my desk in the first place? How did they disappear and where did you even find them?"

"Ok, slow down, slow down. I've been thinking about that. I don't think these were supposed to end up on your desk. Somebody messed up. My guess is these were supposed to go to Neuman. Which is why I called Annie and I didn't dare talk about it over the phone."

"What do you mean?"

Hughie glanced at Annie before taking a deep breath. "Uh, well…I told Neuman about the files disappearing on you earlier this morning. She told me that she would keep an eye out and send them back to you as soon as they were found. And you said there were three files, right?" You nodded.

"Right after, I was gonna meet with Annie for lunch. The vending machine was outta almond joy's, you've already caught me in your stash. But Neuman sometimes has some at her desk for her kid. I just wanted to sneak a damn candy bar," he laughs. But his face quickly returns to a confused frown. "I found these in her desk. Just these. I didn't see another."

You hold up a hand. "Wait. Are you…are you saying Neuman is covering this up? Covering for Vought? Why?"

"We don't know for sure," Annie quickly answers. "But it doesn't make sense why she would lie about them still being missing, or why it's just these two. Y/N, do you know what is in that last file?"

"God no!," you scoff. "I didn't get a chance to look at any of them! I was swamped that day, they were supposed to be in my catch-up stack for later. If I had seen this…!"

"Which is why I think we need to keep this out of the FBSA," Hughie presses. "This information is too big to be hiding and not acting on. I don't know what Victoria's doing but…I don't trust her right now. I just don't."

A realization flits in your mind and you grab his arm. "Shit, Hughie! You gotta get these back to her desk! Before she finds out-!"

"I know, way ahead of you," he reassures you. "Annie and I thought of that. Neuman is busy this afternoon at another rally. We got at least another hour before she even starts back to the bureau. But we gotta use what we can from these files and find out more about this temporary crap, or whatever else Vought is cooking."

"We should take pictures," Annie suggests, digging out her phone. "I have a feeling we're not going to see these again after this."

"Wait!" You shoot out of your seat and head to one of the drawers in your kitchen. "Not with your phones. You've still got Vought breathing down your neck, and Hughie and I's personal phones could be put under surveillance by the FBSA at any time. Especially if Neuman gets suspicious."

You dig a plain jane cell out and wave it at them before dashing back. "Frenchie and Butcher told me to always keep a burner on hand. The camera's not great but it'll work."

After a few minutes of rifling through the files again, taking quick but precise shots, you turn to Hughie. "Alright. I've just sent those to your burner phone. Where do we start?"

"Annie, you mentioned that Vought probably has some undisclosed labs around the area, right? Maybe we can get some from the source, like we did with the original V? Only more discreet, if we're lucky."

Annie runs her fingers across the files with a look of concentration. "They can't keep everything at the tower… Ah ha! Here!" She stabs at a line of text. "It doesn't give an address per se. But! There's a couple names that keep popping up. One is a Frank Lazzell, one of Vought's senior biochemists. That other sheet looks like a list of prototypes he signed off, maybe? And I bet you the reason he's been stationed upstate for the last fourteen months -"

"There's a V lab there," Hughie finishes.

"The other," she continues, "is a James Walsh. I'm not sure why he's in this file though. He's one of our PR reps. But he is waaay down on the totem pole. Like a blip on the radar. I barely recognize the name."

"Something tells me Vought isn't running a PR charity on this one," you mutter. "Okay. So that's two leads. Point the way, Hughie. Where do you want me to go?"

Hughie stares blankly at you. "What…? What do you mean?"

"What do you mean 'what do I mean'? We got two leads. Do you want me to try to find Frank or -"

"Woah, wait, wait. Let's not get hasty," Hughie insists, holding up a hand.

"Oh c'mon," you huff, feeling another twinge in your temple. "You said you'd give me a chance to ease back into the field when you felt it would be less messy. This couldn't be more perfect!"

"Is that true?" Annie cocks an eyebrow at him. "You told me Y/N was still feeling skittish."

Now it's your brows that shoot up, but only for a second before turning a glare on him. "Yes, Hughie," you say in a voice as stiff and sweet as hardened honey. "I'd like to know that, too. Which one is it? Am I nervous or you?"

"I may have, uh, misspoke a little," he said, glancing nervously between the two of you. He finally settles on you and continues, "Look, let me just get some intel first. You know, be thorough. And then I'll talk to the others, maybe have MM check it out. Then I'll let you know if we can send you after one of these assholes. Okay?"

"If?" You narrow your eyes at him. Then sink back into the couch. The twinge becomes a dull throbbing. "You can't do that. You come over and drop this bombshell, dangle the proverbial carrot in front of me - and then tell me not to go for it? Hughie, the Boys are good but they can't guarantee anything on any operation. No one can. And how are you gonna get your thorough intel when we can't use any FBSA resources on this? We might as well -!"

"No!" You and Annie both jump at his outburst. He sighs before leaning across the table, quickly slipping the papers back into the folders. "I'm not doing it, Y/N. Not till I can be sure."

Annie gives him a reproachful look. "Hughie, if you promised her-"

"I did. And I'll keep it." He barely gives her a glance, his shoulders tensing under her withering look, the tight line of her mouth. He's up and off the couch, files back under his arm in a blink. "But I need you to sit this one out. Until I can be sure it's safe."

Then he's giving you a guilty look and heading for the door. Annie shakes her head, laying a hand on your shoulder. "I'll talk to him. See what's gotten into him. I'm really sorry, Y/N. Hang tight."

She flashes you an apologetic smile. And then she's hot on his heels and they leave you in abrupt silence in your apartment. After securing the door again, you grab the forgotten mugs from the table, shuffling to the kitchen where you dump and rinse theirs in the sink. You place yours in the microwave to reheat, finally taking a snapping bite of your untouched waffles.

The dull throbbing has quickly evolved into a headache, an annoying band across your forehead. Frustration makes your mind stew, boiling and scalding your thoughts. You glance at your phone, your personal one perched on the counter. It stares back at you as your coffee whirls round behind you. When the microwave beeps, you've snatched your phone and already begun typing a message.

"Sorry, Hughie," you whisper to the silence.

The day goes by coated in a layer of mild vexation. You do very little tidying up and instead spend the idle hours trying to distract yourself from your disappointment with your old friend. A little reading, a little mind-numbing scrolling on your phone but it doesn't squash the feeling completely. You've resorted to practicing mobility drills in your living room as you wait for dinner to finish in your oven, when there's a firm knock on your door.

You're up and bounding across the floor in a snap. You barely glance through the peephole before swinging open the door. Butcher leans against the frame, giving a salutary nod before sliding past you. "Evening, love. You making me dinner? Smells good in-"

"I know he talked to you." You say it calm but quickly as you close the door. You are in no mood to entertain idle prattle. You press on as he turns back to you in the entryway. "Probably MM, too. I don't know who else in the crew."

"Who? Hughie? Said there might be another job." He briefly glances you over and for a split second you feel you might flush, feeling just a little underdressed in your shorts. But ignore it as he drawls, "Funny thing that he'd call me on a burner. Just a little dodgy detail. And I'm betting you know why."

"There's a job that we need to keep under the bureau table. We got two leads so far. And if I know Hughie, he's probably going to give you the one furthest from Vought HQ as possible. He wants you to go upstate, doesn't he?"

Butcher tilts his head in a way that you know he's studying you. "He might have mentioned a little recon up north. But he didn't tell me about no second lead. And not about being under the table neither. Having troubles at the bureau, are we?"

"I'll tell you all about it," you nodded. "But…only if you take me with you on the operation."

Butcher gives a mischievous smirk. "I'm getting the distinct impression Hughie don't know I'm here, and what you're asking."

His smirk grows wider when you respond, "Hughie has his own secrets. I don't see why I can't have mine."

^^^

Perhaps it's the fact that Hughie is withholding information from him, or trying to work Butcher's own team under his nose. Either way, he doesn't argue too hard about you tagging along. In fact he's more than happy to direct you the next morning when you call in sick with "a real nasty stomach bug". You're sure Hughie will see through it for the lie that it is, and just as sure that he'll think you're upset and avoiding him. Which, as long as it gives you an alibi for the next couple of days, is just fine by you.

"What about the others?," you ask Butcher as he navigates the old Cadillac out of the city limits. "Should we worry about them?"

"Hughie told you he needed intel. MM and Frenchie -and you know Kimiko's stuck on his ass - are probably going through Walsh's dirty laundry as we speak," he answers as he switches lanes. "Finding out his schedule, his background, his contacts, how he likes his goddamn coffee. Which means they're most likely dealing with Vought sensitive information. And those two won't risk raising suspicions. They're gonna take their time."

"So they'll be busy," you nod. "What if they call though?"

"If Hughie didn't tell me about Walsh, you can bet your ass he's told them to keep me outta the loop. Strictly confidential," Butcher sneers. "And even if you weren't playing sick, he's probably told them to keep you in the same fucking loop." He gives you a conspiratorial smile. "Sticking us two stubborn asses on the outs. Didn't think that through very well, now did he?"

You can't help mirroring his smile and shake your head. "No, he did not."

Butcher returns his gaze to the road and waves his hand in your direction. "We got a couple hours or so, let's go over it again."

You pull out your burner and scroll through your pictures of the files. "Okay, so we know Frank is a scientist working for Vought. We don't have a location of the lab he's working in, but the company has a lease for him just outside of Saratoga Springs."

"Any addresses for a little house call?"

"No, unfortunately. Just an area code. Not even a property manager listed."

"That's alright," Butcher shrugs. "I did a little digging this morning before swinging by your place. Lazzell ain't exactly a common name. And there just so happens to be a few outstanding debts in the area under said name."

"Debts? How did you find that?"

"Saratoga Springs is known for horse racing, casinos and spas. And it tends to bring certain types, including the wealthy aaaand…"

"And gamblers," you finished. "I'm guessing Frank has a streak of bad luck."

"And it's about to get worse. Some of the places he owes have banned him till he pays up. Which means he's gonna find other places to scratch his itch. There's an area on the southern end he seems to be favoring. I've narrowed it down to three locations he hasn't pissed off yet."

"That's a start. But I've only got two days before Hughie and Neuman get suspicious. We can't just wait out at random, can we? Do we even know what he looks like?"

Butcher waves a finger with a smile. "That's where his luck gets worse." He pulls a folded piece of paper out of his coat and hands it to you. You open it to find a grainy but decent copy of a driver's license. The face staring back in bored fashion bears a resemblance to a gaunt pug, and you can't help a little snort.

Butcher tucks the paper back in his pocket with a snort himself before continuing. "He has only one place out of the three that he hasn't nearly maxed out his credit just yet. A little sports bar called Danny-Boy's. And if I were a betting man, I'd say he's gonna try all his luck there before moving to another part of town."

"I like those odds a lot better," you admit. "So, as of right now, the plan is to stake out Danny Boy's and find Frank. Then what?"

"One step at a time, love," Butcher quips. "Let's get up there first and we can iron out the rest."

He turns up the volume on the radio and fiddles with the knobs until he finds a station he seems to tolerate. You take the hint and settle into your seat, turning your attention to the scenery outside. As the minutes tick by, you become increasingly aware that you're fighting your mind from drifting to the previous night's dream. Before you can catch yourself, your eyes land on his hands on the steering wheel, and there's the image of those long, thick fingers making quick work of the button on your jeans, slipping deftly past your pantyline and -

You suck in a deep breath as you shut your eyes, quickly turning it into a yawn before Butcher can notice. When you open your eyes you plant them firmly out the passenger window. Two days alone with Butcher. And nobody knew… 

Maybe you hadn't thought this through as well as you should have.

^^^

The drive up wasn't as uncomfortable once you were able to let your mind wander over more mundane things. Not an easy task with the man right there next to you, almost always in your vision. But with a little effort and a couple pit stops to break the monotony, you had managed. By the time you were rolling up on the outskirts of Saratoga Springs, the ride actually felt a bit pleasant, dare you say normal.

Butcher soon steers the car off the highway, and in a few moments you're pulling into the parking lot of a dated, little motel. It's not the Ritz by any means but it's not nearly as sketchy as some places this job has led you to. The exterior at least looks like it's intact, and the forest green trim appears to have recently been given a fresh coat.

Butcher checks in with efficiency and finally lets the car rest at the far end of the lot. "Here," he says, handing you a key card. You tuck it away into your pocket and he moves to exit the vehicle. "Let's go get settled in."

You grab your bag from the trunk as Butcher props open the door of your room on the ground floor. You manage to toss him his duffel bag - which is suspiciously heavy - before slamming the trunk shut. When you step over the threshold and shut the door, you're slammed by realization hard enough to make your feet skid to a halt on the carpet. You're not sure why you thought there would be two rooms, but you're clearly sharing this one with Butcher.

Of course you're sharing a room!, you chastise yourself as he tosses his bag onto the bed closest to the door. He's gonna have to report to Hughie at some point, and if he saw Butcher paid for two rooms…Then again why would Hughie know that? Butcher isn't going to be putting any of this trip on the bureau budget. Then you remember Hughie's teasing not too long ago in the office. Christ, if Hughie finds out about this, he'll never let me live it -.

Another realization hits you, only seconds after the first. You're sharing a room with Butcher. You're sleeping in the same room. And you've been dreaming. You don't know if you talk in your sleep. But would it matter much since you still often wake up panting and flushed and…?

No, it's ok. If push comes to shove, I can just not sleep. Lots of coffee, maybe catnap during the day...For two days? Like he won’t notice. And what if I dream during those naps, too?

Oh. Oh fuck!

"It's no five star. A tad overpriced if you ask me," he startles you out of your head, perhaps mistaking your look as disapproval of the place. "But it's clean, I suppose. And the location was just too good to say no."

"The location?," you ask, relieved that it doesn't come out as dry as your mouth feels.

Butcher motions for you to join him by the window as he starts to pull the blinds and curtains. You move next to him and he points out to the parking lot. At first, you just see the motel property and the T-shaped intersection it crowns. But when you shift your gaze a little further out, you spot a white and red sign about a block and a half down the road; Danny-Boy's.

"Saves us from having to change the plates on the car," he says as he closes the curtains completely, dipping the room in shadow. He shuffles around you to the touch lamp on the nightstand between the beds and it flutters on under his touch. "And makes it easier to bail if we need to."

"That's definitely convenient," you mutter. You force yourself to the present as you put your own bag on the far bed and start unpacking necessities for the night. "Okay. So let's iron out those details. What are we doing?"

Butcher sits at the foot of his bed and pauses in his own unpacking to raise a brow at you. "We?"

"Yeah, 'we'. What are…?" You pause as well and groan. "Oh c'mon. Not you, too."

"Hey, I agreed to let you tag along. I didn't say nothing about you doing the fucking recon."

"Damn it, Butcher, I did not come up here for this and you know it." You turn from your stuff to face him directly. "You told me that if I proved to you that I could use my training in sticky situations, that you would vouch for me. Now I can't do that if I don't get out there, can I?"

"If you gotta use that during recon, somebody or something is fucking up," he snaps.

"That's not the point! I am not sitting in this motel room like a kid for two days, and waiting for you while you do this whole thing by yourself!"

"Oh, I think you will," he smirks.

"Butcher," you begin in a low voice, crossing your arms against your chest. "You said it yourself this morning. I'm stubborn like you. I've got just about as much information as you, and you already showed me our target, remember? You really think I won't try to do this on my own if you do?"

His smirk falls into a scowl. The way his shoulders tense, and the look in his eyes as he glares back, tells you that he knows the answer. Yes, you would, and he's given you more than enough rope to hang you both. "You're going to be a constant pain in my ass about this, aren't ya?," he grits out.

"Am I really supposed to answer that?," you smile oh so sweetly.

He runs an agitated hand over his face. "Fuck me. Fine! You want me to throw your ass in the deep end? You fucking got it, princess."

You give a little nod, trying not to look too smug as you both turn back to unpacking. He's done before you and rips his phone out to order takeout. Apparently he's not going to discuss strategy on an empty stomach. By the time he finishes the call you've started to pull an unexpected item from the bottom of your bag. You laugh, realizing it's your long-forgotten gi.

"Hey Butcher?," you prod carefully. "Why don't you ever have me train in gi? Why only No-Gi?"

"Because they don't train in gi in the forces for one," he says, shifting on the bed to face you. "And for two, how likely are you or your attacker gonna be wearing a fucking gi? You think you gonna sink a nice little cross-collar choke on a supe with a handful of bloody spandex?"

"I've only done a choke once, and that was at the gym," you shrug. You tilt your head at him. "As a matter of fact, you've only shown me one offensive move, the snow angel thing. And I don't know if that even counts as offense. Why haven't you shown me any chokes or submissions yet?"

His brows furrow as he sets his phone next to him on the piling bedspread. "Haven't I?" He blinks for a second after you shake your head. "Shit. Guess I haven't." He gets that pensive look on his face, and you're reminded of the moment he had pinned you down in the office and you'd nearly broken his nose. You just start to wonder if you should have left well enough alone when he sits up straight. He makes a come hither motion with his fingers. "C'mere."

"N-now?"

"Come here." 

It's not loud but his tone is more than firm enough that you know he's not going to argue this. You leave the gi in the bag and walk cautiously to stand in front of him. He motions again with his fingers. When you hesitate, he rolls his eyes and pulls you by the wrist until you're nearly between his knees. "What'd I tell you about running from me? It's the same with a choke."

"A standing choke?"

He nods. "This is more effective from mount but you can do this pretty much however. And I want to see if they taught you right the first time. It was a cross-collar, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, think so."

"Well go on then." He points his chin at you with an unexpected grin. "Put me in a choke."

You can't help your jaw dropping for a second. You just as quickly shut it and narrow your eyes at him. He just grins with a glinting gaze. "...I don't trust this."

He barks a laugh. "Good! 'Cause normally you shouldn't. C'mon, sweetheart. Pretty sure the crew and a dozen others would kill to be in your shoes right now."

A giggle slips out before you can catch it. He grabs your wrists in response and holds them up so your hands are even with his jaw. "Cross-collar is easy but it doesn't work for every problem. You could rip a t-shirt before you choke someone out. But a good jacket?" He pops his collar for emphasis. "This, a suit, a winter coat. They'll do just fine. You need a refresher?"

"I'm afraid so," you admit. "Like I said, it was once."

"Pay attention then. Your chokes fall under two types; blood or air. You're either cutting off blood to the brain or their air supply. This is a blood choke. You need to remember that blood chokes will cause the bastard to pass out. You could kill 'em but you'd have to hold the choke for over three minutes. Do you want to hold on for three fucking minutes?"

"No. Incapacitate, get the fuck out."

"Exactly! Alright. Take your right hand and grab my collar on my right side. Your thumb should be pointed up." You grab the leathery material in a fist and he shakes his head immediately. "Nah, nah, that won't work. You hold the end like that and you're just pulling me in for a snog."

You roll your eyes and try to ignore his remark. "I grabbed it, didn't I?"

"Let go. Start over. Put the back of your hand right against my neck." You follow his instruction, trying to ignore how warm he is against your fingers. "Now slide as far back as you can and grab my collar, right at me scruff. Just like that, that gives you a good deep choke."

You're not sure what you were expecting but it wasn't how soft the hair at his nape would be against your thumb. The itch to see if the rest of his unruly locks are the same ticks in your hand. Your fist tightens on his collar. "What's next?"

"Take your other hand and do the same thing. But make sure it's under and not over your right. Whichever hand you start with always ends on top or you won't be able to cinch it."

You repeat with your left, your reach shortened just a little by your right arm. Despite the fact your arms are snug about his throat, Butcher looks as if he couldn't be bothered. You on the other hand are trying not to swallow as if you're the one on the receiving end.

"Hold. You see how your arms are right on my carotids?" You nod, your skin prickling slightly at the sensation of his voice vibrating against it. "That's what makes it a blood choke. When I tell you, you're gonna rotate your wrists like you'd touch your thumbs together if my head weren't in the way.  Pull me in, keep your elbows tight until your torso makes them separate. Do it slow. Don't stop till I say so. And…go."

After a second of hesitation you start applying the pressure, slow and controlled, watching him for any sign that you should stop. It doesn't take long for his face to begin to flush and you almost wince when you hear the collar creak in your grip. The seconds tick by, your nerves beginning to ramp up. Finally you feel a quick double tap on your thigh and you instantly let go. You step back far enough for the back of your legs to hit your bed.

"You okay, Butcher?"

"M'fine," he grunts.

Butcher blinks a couple times, his color going back to normal before he nods. "That was good. Solid, tight. But don't be getting ideas," he says, wagging a finger in your direction. "I don't tap for nobody. You best just be grateful for these one time passes you get."

He rolls his head on his neck before his phone buzzes, and he glances at it. "It's a bloody motel, how hard is it for a delivery driver to find these days? Really?"

He stands up from the bed and heads for the door. "Gimme a minute to get this fool over here. When I come back, I'll let you borrow my jacket and you can get a real good feel of that cross-collar." He winks at your look of dismay before closing the door behind him.

You stride back to your bed, gathering your toiletries before heading to the too-small sink area by the bathroom. You're fitting everything together like puzzle pieces in the limited space, reviewing the new technique in your mind when a sudden thought crosses it; I wonder if he ever taught Becca some of this?

You jolt as you reach to place your toothbrush by the sink, and it slips, clatters loudly against the porcelain. Your stomach suddenly rolls as the floodgates of epiphany swing wide.

If he hadn't, how many times has he wished he had, in almost a decade? And even if he had…what good would it have done her? What's a simple choke to flesh that won't yield to the likes of armor-piercing rounds?

You place your hands on the counter and lean heavy on it as the thoughts continue to surge. How many times has Butcher wished he could have been there to fight for her? Try to protect his wife, even if it meant he died in that godforsaken tower? How many times has he brooded over what he could have possibly done to arm Becca in moments of his absence? How many times has he wondered over and over those two awful words; what if?

Another epiphany washes over you. The memory of the beginning of your arrangement flashes through your mind, the dark look that had clouded his face, how stern he'd been about taking over your lessons, deadset even. Even if he can't be there…he's trying to protect me.

It's the weirdest feeling. You would have thought it might have put butterflies in your stomach, perhaps made you feel warm, gooey. You feel touched but not expectedly. Butcher's protection in that moment does not feel like a shield before you. You have seen and heard how high, how bloody the price for it can be. Especially for him.

In that moment…it feels like a weight around your neck.

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys fanfic

[mell-eight]

The Past Month Has Been Crazy

6/12/23 I have been doing so much better lately with posting regularly to keep everyone in the loop, and then I went and vanished for an entire month!  Sigh.  I admit I've been very busy, and spring has definitely kept me on my toes.  My sister is getting married this summer (soooo excited!!!), so the last few weeks were the bridal shower and bachelorette party.  Plus, I had a business trip for my 9 to 5 and I went to the beach for Memorial Day.  And this entire last week has been sniffles and coughing.  Covid test was negative, but I still felt nasty.  After about ten hours of sleeping three nights in a row I'm starting to feel better, so I appear to be on the back end of this spring cold.  Blah.  Here's everything else I've accomplished over the last month: The Chef is complete!  I've dotted my Ts and crossed my Is and set it aside to rest for a while.  I was right that it wasn't going to beat Magnified as my longest story, but it came really close!  To all my readers who have mentioned they "love my stories but wish they were longer", The Chef is for you!  It taps out at a whomping 59k words, which is easily double the length of most of the rest of my stories.  My plan is to pull The Chef out of hibernation sometime in August or September, give it a last read through, and submit it to NSP for their consideration.  That is a lot longer than I normally give my stories for their resting phase, but The Chef is part of a series whose overall plot will continue between the books.  Right now, the second book, The Prince, is entirely dependent on events that occurred in The Chef.  If something in The Prince isn't flowing correctly, I need to be able to go back into The Chef and make changes, which means The Chef is going to be delayed.  I expect by August to have gotten far enough into The Prince where that won't be an issue any longer. Another problem is I haven't come up with a series name yet.  I might go simple and call it Kingdom of Toval, which is one of the locations in the book, but I'm not sure yet.  Also, I have some vague ideas for a third book in the series, but I don't really see how it can fit into the current plot.   I'm contemplating making it a short story set in the world, but that would depend on how The Prince ends up. I have seen the first draft for the cover of Witch, the third and final book in my Witch's Circle series, and it is glorious!  I can't wait to share it with you.  I don't have an official release date yet to share, but it is with the proof reader at the moment (the final step before ARCs), so I should hear more very soon. Aside from that, the only fun thing is my garden is starting to sprout.  It looks like I will have beans, peas, green peppers, and lettuce fresh on demand all summer!  I can't wait! 

[snackhobi]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.  

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say. 

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove

#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

[reidgraygubler]

carolina (spencer reid/reader

Title: Carolina

Request: no, but it was written for @spencerreidbingo​

Couple: spencer reid/fem!reader

Category: smut/angst, with a tiny bit of fluff

Content Warning: SEXUAL CONTENT (praise kink, mild-innocence kink, daddy kink, fingering, oral (male & female), penetrative sex, unprotected sex/cream pie, grinding/petting, hairpulling, breathplay, multiple orgasms, possessive kink, orgasm denial), partying, drinking, swearing, large age gap (between two consenting adults), professor/student, post prison!reid, quick mentions of drinks being drugged (but not actually happening) (if I missed anything, please let me know)

Word Count: 9,064

Summary: Spencer thinks his peer is innocent. But little does he not, she’s not as innocent as he thinks.

A/N: it’s based on carolina by harry styles, bc im a sucker for a good harry song. This was written for @spencerreidbingo​ (i’ll have a separate post with more about that). this takes up the breathplay square on my card (pictured below). This is also the first time im writing a blowjob scene, so im really sorry if it’s not good. i also didn’t have a beta for this, so im kinda blindly posting this. and, lastly, this is a lot longer than i intended. i didn’t mean for it to get this long… it’s just a bunch of words my brain wouldn’t stop saying until i wrote it... i seriously hope you all enjoy this. thank you all for the love and support! check out my masterlist!

~*~* THIS DOES CONTAIN 18+ CONTENT!! *~*~

{***}{***}{***}

I kept my eyes low as I stepped into the lecture hall 5 minutes before anyone else. The professor was writing something on the chalkboard, so his back was facing the room. 

“Uh, hello,” I spoked, stepping closer to his desk. He jumped slightly and dropped his chalk at the sound of my voice. I would have expected him to know students would be showing up earlier, considering it was the start of a new semester. And, I honestly would have assumed he was told a new student was coming. That’s not my job. 

“Oh, sorry,” he turned around to face me. I smiled softly, watching

as he bent down to pick up the chalk. I cocked my head to the side, watching his backside as he stood back up. He pushed his hair away from his face. “You must be the new transfer,” he asked, resting the chalk on his desk, beside a pile of pens.

“Yep. That’s me…” I smiled, looking up at his face, keeping myself from further checking him out. I quickly offered my hand and gave him my name. “I know I’m early. I figured I’d get the syllabus from you now instead of after class,” I nodded as I adjusted my grip on my bag. He stared at me for a moment, his eyes lingering on my face and then down my body, and that moment felt like an eternity. I shouldn’t be mad or frustrated with him. I basically did the same thing to him moments ago.

 I cleared my throat to get his attention once again. “The, uh… The syllabus?” I asked as my smile faltered slightly. He looked at me before looking at the pile of papers on his desk before quickly moving.

“Right, right, sorry,” he muttered as he began shuffling through the piles of paper on his desk. “Um, here you are,” he looked back up at me as he handed me a small packet. I looked at it for a moment before looking back up at the teacher.

“Perfect, thank you,” I spoke, my words kind of lingering because he never actually gave me his name. 

“Right, sorry, Spencer. Spencer Reid. I won’t be a drill sergeant about the whole Mr., Dr., Professor. You can call me whatever you want,” he smiled as he placed his hands on the back of his chair. I held back my laughter and the wildly inappropriate joke that I wanted to make.

“Well, Professor Reid,” I smiled as I looked down at my watch, “I better go find a seat before your class starts. I can’t wait to be in your class,” I looked up at him before turning to find a spot. When I sat down, Spencer looked at me with a smile, before going back to writing on the chalkboard. 

I quickly and quietly pulled out my books and pens as the other people in the class filed in and took their seats. Spencer quickly finished writing on the board before turning around to greet the class. And, even as he spoke to the class, and looked around at each of the other students, his eyes always landed on me, lingering for a moment before going elsewhere.

{***}{***}{***}

Five months. Five months into being in Spencer Reid’s class, and I have been suffering. I’m not a new student anymore. But the only friendship I’ve made is with my fucking professor, and there’s a certain level of tension between us. That tension was probably thanks to him staring at me during lectures, and me teasing him while he taught. It wasn’t too bothersome, but I definitely wanted something to happen. Unfortunately for me, I don’t think anything will happen. 

So, can someone please tell me why I invited Spencer over to help me study for a test? It’s a stupid question too, that I already figured out the answer to… I even finished studying for the day, and I’m going to a stupid party. Maybe I could get him to go with… And maybe, just maybe, something could happen.

I nearly jumped when there was a knock on the door. It’s not that I forgot he was coming over. It’s that I was so wrapped up in doing my makeup and forgot what time it was. My mascara almost smudged when I jumped back. Thank God it didn’t smudge too terribly. 

I grabbed my shirt off the counter and threw it on (not bothering to zip it), before running to the front door. I smoothed out my skirt before pulling the door open. And, there stood Spencer. 

“Hope I’m not too late,” he looked down at me and smiled. Although, his smile didn’t stay for too long when he saw what I was wearing. He wasn’t disappointed though, no. He was… He clearly liked what he saw, I’ll just put it that way.

“Oh! Thanks for coming over, but I actually figured it out. I should’ve called you,” I looked up at Spencer as he stepped into my apartment. I struggled to zip the back of my blouse as I walked towards my room. I looked back over my shoulder and noted that Spencer was, indeed, still following me. “Can you zip me up,” I stopped in my tracks before giving up on zipping my blouse. It was a black crop top that paired well with the pale pink tennis skirt. 

“Where… Where exactly are you going tonight? It’s a, uh, it’s a school night,” he asked as he lifted his hands. The cool metal of the zipper pressed against my back, causing a shiver to go through my spine.

“Uh, there’s this party,” I answered, stepping away from him and towards the bathroom, “Thought I’d go,” I looked at him in the mirror. Spencer looked around the bathroom, at the messy mess I had made on my counter. Different pallets of makeup and tools were strewn about, a varying amount of hair care products tossed here and there. It honestly looked like a bathroom of a pageant queen, and not a 20-something-year-old. In my defense, I had to dress to impress someone here in this stupid university. 

“Is that, uh… Is that smart?” Spencer asked, leaning against the door jamb. I looked up at him as I put on some luxurious red lipstick. I smiled as I looked at him.

“I think it is,” I laughed as I picked up something else and turned to look at him, “You wanna come? I wasn’t invited,” I smiled wickedly as I looked at him. His face paled two shades as he looked at me. “Oh, c’mon, Professor, no one will know us there, and I can assure you, no one will even see us,” I looked up at him as I readjusted his tie. He looked down at me before swallowing roughly. 

“I don-”

“I do need a designated driver,” I spoke before cutting him off. I walked past him and towards my room. Part of me wondered what he was thinking as I so rudely rushed past him, or cut him off, or whatever I was doing. I wished I could hear his thoughts. I wondered if they consisted of “The mouth on that girl,” or, “I should punish her for the way she’s acting,” or, my personal favorite, “I should put that mouth to good use,” 

“How old are you again?” Spencer asked once I sat down on my bed. I looked up at him as I slipped my shoes on.

“22,” I smiled and stood up, “Why, is that important?” I smiled as I grabbed my coat and purse.

“Couldn’t remember,” he lied. We both knew he was lying. He even knew that too. Freaking walking computer is what he is. There's no way he conveniently forgot how old I was. “Are you going to be out late?”

“Why? It’s not like you’re my dad or anything?” I laughed, leading him back to the front door of the house. “I don’t plan on being out too late. I know there’s class tomorrow,” I shrugged as I walked towards his car. 

We both stayed silent as he drove with the directions I was quietly giving him. I was pleasantly happy that we were both quiet, but what I hated was the sudden awkward sexual tension that was between us. If he didn’t have this… domineering personality over me there probably wouldn’t be this tension between us.

“Are you going to come with me?” I looked up at him as I unbuckled. He glanced over at me with slight disappointment in his eye. I felt a little bad, but I really wanted to go to this party, I wasn’t going to let my professor’s disappointment stop me. “Please,” I whispered. He sighed before unbuckling himself. I had to force myself to not verbally giggle with excitement before slipping out of the car. Spencer looked down at me as I twisted my hips to swish my skirt. I smiled as I entertained myself. I'm sure if I wasn't watching my skirt, I would have been staring at him, giving myself away. 

“Steps,” Spencer muttered as we got closer to the porch. I looked up at him before looking towards the small staircase. I looked up at Spencer with a smile. He glanced back down at me, a worried crease in his brow. I looked down at my skirt and smoothed it out. I looked at the door as we stood close to it, I contemplated knocking.

  “So, you weren’t invited to this party?” Spencer asked, looking down at me. His voice stopped me from knocking. Instead, I looked up at him and smiled back up at him. He raised an eyebrow as he waited for an answer from me. My smile grew playful as I looked back at the door, raising my fist to knock on it. “No answer?” he asked, still waiting for my answer.

“Oh, please, Professor Reid, I can get into the hottest parties in LA without an invitation,” I smiled at him. That was a little bit of an over-exaggeration. Most college parties I could get into. But not LA parties. Someday though… 

The door swung open, and we were instantly met with loud music blaring through a speaker somewhere in the house. People’s voices and chatter carried all throughout the house, coming through the various rooms and clusters around. “Are you coming in to babysit me? Or, are you going to go back to your car to read the science of the mathematical phenomenon,” I looked up at him, offering my hand to him. I wasn’t exactly sure if that was a real book or not, but I wouldn’t put it past Spencer to read. 

“I’m not babysitting you,” he corrected as he looked down at me with a disappointed look in his eye. I smiled and rolled my eyes. 

“Are you going to come in and watch me drink and party and have fun, Professor… Or, are you going to go back to your car and read your silly little book,” I looked down at my hand, silently telling him to take my hand and come in with me. 

“I, uh, I don’t think it’s exactly in the rules for a professor to party, let alone drink, with their students,” Spencer spoke before looking down at my hand. I dropped my shoulders and looked up at him.

“Fine then… Suit yourself,” I turned around and basically skipped into the house, leaving the door open for him. I made my way towards the loud kitchen and grabbed for a cup and bottle of whatever booze was nearby. I blindly grabbed for a bottle of Grey Goose and dumped it into the cup, no mixer, no chaser. 

“First off,” Spencer’s voice came from beside me. I looked up at him and took a long sip of vodka. “You shouldn’t be taking drinks from people at a party,” he spoke, taking the cup from me. I looked up at him, then the bottle and a new cup. I was only a little annoyed that he took my drink. 

“I… I’m young. I’m not dumb,” I grabbed a new cup and poured more vodka. I looked up at him and offered him a sip. “I know not to drink something given to me by someone I don’t know.” I scoffed before taking another long sip. I cringed a bit at how strong it was.

“Even then someone could slip something into a drink! Even if you did know them!” Spencer exclaimed, causing the surrounding people to turn and look at us. I dropped my shoulders as I looked up at him. 

“If you look around, Spencer, you’re the only person that I know. So unless you’re the one slipping something into my drink… And, as an FBI agent… I don’t think you would,” I cocked my head to my shoulder. Spencer looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You have more to say,” I added before taking a sip of my drink.

"And, secondly, you're not as innocent as I had originally thought you were," he watched as I brought the cup of straight vodka to my lips. He looked rather unamused with my talent for drinking straight vodka.

"You thought I was innocent?" I asked, nearly sputtering the liquid with my laughter. "Please! I've never been innocent in my entire life!" I shouted over the music. He raised an eyebrow at my statement, and suddenly I had the greatest idea in the world. "But maybe, just for you, I'll be a good girl," I smiled before drinking the rest of my drink in one go. Spencer looked down at me, his lips pressed into a fine as he stared down at me. Ohh, that definitely awoken something in him. I bit back my smile with my offer. Innocent… He thinks I’m innocent. Ha! I honestly don’t remember the last time I was innocent. And, honestly, just for him… I’d be an innocent, good, little girl for Spencer Reid any day, every day even. “I can be your good, innocent little girl,” I smiled at him and cocked my head.

"I don't… I don't think that'd be… appropriate," he spoke, his words very quiet. We both knew that even though it was inappropriate, we both wanted it. We both knew what we wanted to. 

I glanced at him before pouring more drink for myself. "You should learn to pace yourself," he stated and changed the subject. He nervously looked at the bottle of vodka and then around the room at all the other people drinking. Or, he was just looking for a drink that wasn’t booze. Did he actually want to keep me safe, or was I just overreading him?     

"It's a college party, Professor! I'm not going to pace myself!" I shouted just to get his attention back to me. His head shot back down to me. The level of concern on his face only made me feel a little bad, mostly because he was concerned for me. But, he should know… This is a college party.  “Do you want some?” I asked, offering my drink to him again. I held it up to him, close to his lips. His face twisted up as soon as the scent of pure vodka hit his nose.

“No, no thanks,” he held up at hand to block the cup from his face. I pouted before bringing it to my lips. “Do you usually come to parties,” he asked, his eyes darting around the room. Part of me wondered if he wanted to continue that question with “Like this?” But,  I was too busy keeping my eyes on his face, rather than looking around the room like he was. Although, I’m sure he was used to keeping an eye on his surroundings. I’ve never been too worried about it, I probably should… But hey, you only live once. Going to college parties with your 38-year-old professor, and drinking straight vodka, and not really caring about your surroundings proves my point of YOLO.

“If I don’t have class or anything to study for… Yep,” I looked up at him with a sneaky smile. The joke with that was his particular class had a test coming up soon, and I should be studying for it. He knew that too because he just announced the test this morning. Although, he did come to my home, to help me with said test. “But, I wouldn't show up to his class hungover. It’d disappoint him too much. And, he’d care too much about me to even focus on the rest of the class,” I spoke, answering the questions he was thinking. It’s not like I’ve shown up to classes hungover before. Granted, I’ve never shown up to his class drunk or hungover. Mostly because I didn’t want to disappoint him, and only him. Anyone and everyone else can go blow themselves.

“How do you know that?” Spencer asked, looking back at me with furrowed eyebrows. I smiled and stepped closer to him.  

“How do I know what?” I cocked my head to my shoulder. I already knew what he meant by his question, but… I think teasing him and messing with him is fun. And, he knew that too.

“How do you know that you’d disappoint him?” he looked down at me, pressing his chin to his chest to get a better look at me. His hands were away from me, even though I really wanted his hands anywhere on me. I looked over at my hand and the cup I held before bringing it to my lips. I took a long sip, trying to finish the contents in one go. I tossed the cup over my shoulder and looked up at him with a lazy smile.

“Because being hungover, with the slight possibility of still being drunk, would totally disappoint him… And I would hate to disappoint him.” I whispered and shook my head. Spencer looked down at me with something in his eyes, and I loved the way he looked at me. “I told you, Professor, I’d be a good girl for you,” I cocked my head to my shoulder and smiled, “And only for you,”

“You’re drunk,” he pointed out an obvious fake statement. So, I cackled and shook my head.

“I had one drink,” I scoffed and waved off my in the air, “Most definitely not enough to get me drunk,” I flattened his tie out before gripping it tightly, “Like I said, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” I smiled before dropping my hand from his tie, “So, why would I show up to your class… Hungover…? I know you’d care… And I know it’d disappoint you. That’s the last thing I want to do to you,”  

Spencer’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed roughly. He quickly looked between me and the room, then back at me, then around the room. I faked a yawn before looking away from him.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, okay, Professor?” I smoothed out his jacket before turning and leaving him alone in the kitchen. I smiled as I skipped away from him, my skirt swishing with my movement. I secretly hoped he’d follow me. But, a quick glance over my shoulder told me he was still in the kitchen.

However, when I finished my business and left the bathroom, Spencer was leaning against the wall right beside the door. I looked up at him and smiled. 

“Follow me,” he muttered, grasping my wrist and pulling me down the various halls and past multiple groups of people. I giggled the harder his grasp grew on me and the faster he moved. I’m happy people were too busy with themselves to notice a 30-something-year-old man was dragging a 20-something-year-old girl down the hall, to which I can assume was one of the only open bedrooms. Fuck… I hope it's a bedroom. 

He was a man on a mission. Not letting anyone get in his way. The smile that grew on my lips was pure excitement. I couldn’t help it. I’m sure we’re both getting what we wanted… I hope.

I let out an excited yelp when he shoved me into, exactly what I thought, an empty bedroom. I’m surprised he knew that there’d be an empty room. Most of them are occupied, with couples (or more) doing exactly what I hope we’re about to do. Which was fuck each other.

Spencer slammed the door shut, and quickly locked it before pushing me against it. I looked up at him and giggled like a fucking kid in a candy store. Again, I couldn’t help it. 

Spencer was quiet, which led me to be quiet. The air in between us quickly grew hot and tense and thick. I really wanted this to move faster, but I wanted him to be the one in charge. I was willing to let this be slow and let him be in charge. So, when he grabbed both my wrists and held them above my head, I smiled so hard my cheeks began to hurt.

“Tell me what you want,” Spencer’s voice was low and deep as he moved close to me. There was little to no space between us. Which left little to the imagination, for me anyway. 

I looked up at him, with the biggest doe eyes I could muster, silently telling him that I wanted the most, in the entire world, was to be on my knees, with his hand tangled in my hair, and his cock down my throat, or to be fucked so hard that I won’t be able to sit properly for several days. But, I couldn’t be that blunt. You gotta play up to that moment before you get it. I’m sure in the end though, I’ll get both things.

I swallowed roughly, trying to think of what to say, because, like I said, I can’t just be blunt yet. So, when I opened my mouth and words just came out, I was pleasantly surprised with what was said. “You’re old enough to be my father, Professor,” I smiled at him as he pinned me against the door. He pressed his hips against mine to keep me against the surface. I could feel a large bulge against my inner thigh, causing me to shiver. “Does that mean I get to call you daddy,” I whispered as I looked up at him through my eyelashes. He is the one who said I could call him whatever I wanted… And he did just ask me what I wanted, and I guess I wanted to call him ‘Daddy’. There was no guessing about him.

Okay, he wasn't exactly old enough to be my father. But he was a lot older than me. Most 20-something-year-olds aren't sleeping with men 15 years older than them… and most 20-something-year-olds aren't sleeping with their professor… I just wanted an excuse to call him 'Daddy'. And he knew that too. So, if we gave each other an excuse for that to happen, then that was all I needed.

I dropped my head to my shoulder to allow him to attack the space on my neck. He dragged his nose across my jawbone before stilling. His lips were just over my neck. As his breathing got heavier, it tickled across my skin. 

“That does have a nice ring to it,” Spencer hummed as he dropped my hands and stepped away from me. I swallowed roughly as I stared at him. I missed having his body pressed against mine, and he knew that. 

I looked at him as I brought my hands to his belt. "I thought you said this wasn't appropriate, Daddy," I whispered as I quickly undid the belt buckle, without looking. I almost couldn’t move fast enough to unbutton and zip his pants. If he wanted me to stop, he would have stopped me by now. “Can I?” I looked up at him, a plea in my eyes.

"You've changed my mind," he muttered, watching me with such close intent, “God, please keep going,” he spoke like if I did stop now he’d probably die. I looked up at him as I slipped my hand into the waistband of his boxers. He hissed as my fingers brushed against his cock. A small smile grew on my lips. 

“Didn’t take much convincing,” I smiled as my fingers wrapped around him. A small groan fell from his lips as I looked up at him. When I pulled my hand away from him not even a moment later, he looked down at me with an alarmed expression on his face. I quickly spat on my palm before sticking my hand down his pants. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” I whispered as I slowly stroked up and down his length. I couldn’t believe it was actually happening. 

“I’ve wanted this since you stepped foot in my classroom,” his voice was low and gravely as he spoke. My breathing picked up a little bit as I looked up at him. 

Okay… Maybe he did know how long I’ve wanted this. Because I also wanted this the second I stepped into his lecture hall. I wanted his cock in my hands and his hand around my throat. It only took-what, five months for this? I’ll make it worth the wait. 

“Does that feel good,” I whispered, carefully picking up speed and adding the slightest bit of pressure in my grip. Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut as he swallowed roughly and nodded. I smiled before pulling my hand away from him, again. I slowly lowered to my knees and kept my eyes on his face. 

Spencer looked down at him as he gently pushed his fingers through my hair. His fingers gripping hard on my roots before pulling hard. I smiled before very slowly pulling down his slacks and boxers in one go. I was only a little bit intimidated by his size, but the excitement I felt went straight to my core. 

I took a deep breath and swallowed roughly before looking up at him. My mouth fell open, and my tongue stuck out, silently telling him that it was okay. Although I don’t really know why I was telling him that it was okay, we both knew what we wanted, and it was only going to take me doing one thing.

I made eye contact with him as I ran my tongue on the side of his cock. Our eye contact didn’t last long, mostly because he let out a moan and dropped his head back. I smiled as I licked across his tip. A sweet and salty taste was on my tongue. 

My jaw fell slack as I carefully took his length into my mouth. I closed my lips around him before slowly bobbing my head, with my tongue swirling around the underside of his cock. I wrapped a hand around what wouldn’t fit into my mouth. And wrapped my free arm around his leg for support.

The sounds of his moans and grunts filled the mostly quiet room. Music, although muffled through the walls and door, could still be heard from outside of our own world behind the door and four walls.

“You were right,” he struggled to speak through groans, “You aren’t as innocent as I thought,” Spencer's hand had a rough hold in my hair as he held me against him. His cock was penetrating my throat, and breathing was beginning to get difficult. My eyes grew wet and tears grew in the corners of my eyes. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he looked down at me as the tears started to roll down my cheeks. I wouldn’t be surprised if my makeup started smudging and I looked like an adolescent raccoon. “You look so pretty with my cock down your throat,” he struggled to let out a coo, before moving his hips closer to my face. 

Everything about this moment, his hand in my hair, the sounds he was making, the way he smelled, being here… Was intoxicating. I’d give anything to be in this moment again. And I’d give anything to get this moment sooner.

 My knees would hate me in the morning, I just know it. I could already sense the dreaded carpet burn before he even started. But, in all honesty, it’d be worth it. Walking into class tomorrow morning, with bruises and day-old wounds on my knees, just to see his expression.

As I began to pick up pace, the sounds Spencer was making started to become more urgent, easily telling me he was close. But, before he could finish, I pulled away from him, crashing into the wall to get away from his grasp. He looked down at me with a mild frustration on his face. I smiled before wiping my chin clean of spit. 

“I guess chivalry is dead. Whatever happened to ladies first?” I asked, my voice a rasp from how raw my throat was. I looked up at him, feeling a certain level of sass grow in my smile. Spencer quickly tucked himself back into his pants before grabbing my hand. 

“Come on, on your feet,” he muttered as he pulled me back up to a standing position. I nearly toppled over into him if he didn’t hold me upright. I looked up at him and smiled. 

“Bed… Now?” I whispered, my tone showing how urgent I was. It’s not that I wanted this over with, it's that I wanted everything to happen to me all at once, and I wanted it to last for a long time. 

Spencer nodded before cupping my face in his hands. He was harsh when he pressed his lips to mine, like his life depended on it, if he did kiss me now the world would end. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he started guiding me towards the bed. And when the edge of the bed hit the back of my legs, he pushed me back onto it. I quickly moved so my head was resting on the pillows. Spencer was quick to take his cardigan off and be over me. 

“You’re not going to fail me, are you,” I joked as he quickly started leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on my neck. He lifted his head and looked down at me with confusion on his face. “If I’m a bad fuck,”

“If you ask that again, or bring up class while we’re doing this… Then yes,” he muttered as he looked at me. I laughed as I pushed my fingers through his hair. 

“Oh, shut up,” I laughed as I pulled him down to kiss him, again. One of his hands landed on top of my breast, carefully kneading it, causing me to moan into his mouth. 

His hand slowly drifted away from my chest. I pressed my head into the pillow and looked up at him with a smirk. He carefully dragged his fingers up from my chest to the base of my neck, causing me to let out a shaky gasp. I wanted fingers and a hand around my neck, carefully cutting off my airway just right. Suddenly, I never wanted something so badly in my life. Something dark flashed in his eyes as he looked down at me like he knew what I was about to say. 

“Do it… I fucking dare you,” I muttered, placing both my hands around his wrist. My nose twitched as I stared at him. “I said fucking do it,” I spat, pushing his hand down more onto my neck. My words slowly got cut off as the pressure in his hand and fingers tightened around my neck. A moan struggled to escape me, but did eventually fall from my lips. He seemed pretty happy with that.

“Is that good,” his voice was a growl. I looked at him and moaned.

“Harder,” I begged, my voice growing raspier the more I spoke. He smirked before allowing his grip to tighten. His other hand was still sitting on top of my hips, and I could tell where he wanted to put it. I’d be a dirty, rotten liar if I didn’t want his hand up my skirt. In fact, I’d love it if he did more than just his hand. 

Spencer swallowed roughly before finally sneaking a hand up my skirt and resting it on my underwear. My grip around his wrist got tighter as he pushed past my underwear and past my folds. My eyes fluttered closed as another moan was strangled in my throat. 

“You’re so wet,” he purred as he slowly moved a finger around my clit. I looked up at him, as I struggled to swallow roughly. A dark smirk grew on his lips as he watched me struggle for a moment. “Does that feel good,” he asked, mildly mocking me from earlier. His movements picked up speed just a little bit, and my body reacted, well tried to react. 

“Oh, you’re such a good girl,” he looked down at me. His pupils were so blown I could nearly see my reflection in them. “Another thing you were right about,” he whispered as he slipped a finger into my entrance, and curled it just right. My vision slowly blurred before my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Another moan struggled to escape my throat as Spencer added a second finger. 

My body was on autopilot as I lifted my hand and hit his wrist a few times, telling him that I desperately needed to breathe. When I reopened my eyes, I looked up at him a moment before he removed his hand from my neck. Worry and concern flashed in his eyes as I breathed. Air burned like fire in my lungs as I took a deep breath. As I exhaled a loud moan followed behind, easily telling Spencer and I that I had reached my first orgasm of the night. I just hope there will be more... 

“You did such a good job, Princess,” Spencer whispered as he looked down at me. With his free hand, he brushed the tears away from my cheeks. He carefully withdrew his hand from between my legs and held them up to his face. He looked at them for a moment before placing them in his mouth, sucking and licking them clean. I took a shaky breath and nodded. 

He very sloppily pressed his lips to mine, then on the corner of my lips, and down my jaw, and neck. With one quick movement, a loud rip filled the room, as he tore my shirt off my body. I looked up at him with shock in my eyes. To be fair, that shirt was flimsy, to begin with. I was more worried about leaving my chest so exposed as we left the party. 

“Oh, I’ll give you my sweater,” Spencer muttered before attacking my neck and then down to my collarbones, and over my breasts. I gasped as he wrapped his lips around a nipple.

“Mmm, Daddy,” I whimpered as I shifted under him. I brought my hands back up to his hair, tangling my fingers in the hairs on his neck. When he sensed that I was growing restless (even though he just started), he quickly left wet kisses down the rest of my body

“I like the way that sounds coming from your mouth,” he whispered once he was in between my legs. I looked down at him just as he looked up at me. “Good on your end for wearing such a short skirt,” he smiled before pressing his lips to my inner thigh. A shaky breath tumbled from my lips as I looked at him. “Makes for easier access,” he added before going higher up on my leg.

“You’re not going fast enough,” I whined as he just kept kissing, or licking, or rubbing my inner thighs. It was honestly getting annoying. I kind of felt bad for him. Considering I’ve already cum once, and I got him close but didn’t let him finish. 

“I’m not going fast enough?” Spencer looked up at me. I shot him a scowl as I shifted slightly on the bed. Spencer looked back down the apex of my legs before looping two fingers around the band of my underwear. As soon as I lifted my hips, he pulled my underwear off my body and chucked them to the ground beside the bed. “How’s this for fast enough,” he muttered, mostly to himself, before licking between my folds. A breath of air got caught in my lungs as my hands found their way to his hair, my fingers getting knotted up in his roots. 

“Mhm, Spencer,” I gasped, rolling my hips up at him. He hummed, sending vibrations straight to my core. My legs wrapped around him, my heels digging into his back as my own back arched. 

“Ohh, Daddy, please don’t stop,” I cried, pressing my head into the pillow beneath my head. My fingers pulled hard on his hair, pulling him closer to me. He hummed again as he pushed two fingers back into my entrance. My grip in his hair tightened, and I could feel my grip wanting to loosen. 

My breathing picked up as a familiar feeling grew in my stomach. And all I could say was his name, and the suddenly loved nickname I had for him. He seemed to appreciate my reaction too, because he worked faster. Messy and wet sounds, mixed with my breathy moans and calls of his name filled the room, and my end was near. 

“Fuck,” I shouted as I finally came undone. I could sense if I didn’t pull him away, he’d keep going, and going till I couldn’t take it anymore. And, honestly, that sounds great, but I think that’s for next time. I wanted him in me now. “Spencer, Spencer,” I cried as I tried to pull his head away, but failed so hard.

“Nuh huh,” he hummed, looking up at me. I took a deep breath and pressed my head into the pillow beneath me and threw an arm over my face. “Please, Spencer,” I cried as I bucked my hips at him, “Fuck me, please, fuck me, Daddy,” I moaned. He was going faster than before and was clearly trying to work me to the end faster too. It was hard to breathe, and speak because my words would just get stuck in my throat.  

Although, when I did cum, again, for the third time tonight, Spencer did move away from my legs. He knelt between them, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. My body was shaking lightly as I tried to come down from my high.

“Please,” I whispered, lifting a hand up, trying to reach for his tie. He looked down at me with a smile and raised an eyebrow.

“Please what?”

“Please, Daddy,” I furrowed my eyebrows as I spoke. I could feel my voice becoming a little whiney. Spencer moved so he was hovering over me, his fingers gently brushing hair away from my face.

“Tell me what you want, Princess,” he whispered cupping my face in his hand. I looked up at his face, admiring his lips, and eyes, and nose, and the way his lips had a sheen from when he licked them clean and whatever was leftover from when he was eating me out. 

“Please fuck me, Daddy,” I begged, begged. Spencer smiled before pressing his lips to mine for a moment. He sat up away from me to remove his sweater and shirt. My head was spinning from excitement, I didn’t even notice that he was totally undressed.

Spencer was back between my legs, looking down at me like I truly belonged right here. Or, like I was his to fuck with. Either way it was a good feeling. 

“Ready?” He asked, his voice so low that I could hardly hear it over the bass of the loud music. I rapidly nodded my head, worried my answer was the wrong one. But it wasn’t. I desperately wanted this. Needed. I needed this. 

Spencer hovered over me before putting an opened mouth kiss on my lips. I could hardly breathe as he rubbed the tip of his cock against my clit and entrance. I could feel a moan getting caught in the middle of my throat, my body not being about to handle anymore teasing. Until, he very slowly pushed into me.

“Oh, good girl,” he repeated. Those two words, constantly coming off his tongue. Making me feel good. The praise that I hadn’t heard in such a long time, that I longed for. Part of me wondered if he knew I wanted it. “Has someone not been taking care of you?” he asked, looking down at me. I stared at him, not trusting my own voice. My mind was too distracted with the way I felt, light and airy but at the same time full. So I shook my head.

“No, Daddy,” I whimpered and kept shaking my head. Spencer smiled before pressing his lips to mine. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you now. I’ll take care of you,” he mumbled before moving his hips. It took him a moment to get a perfect rhythm. He lips attached to different spots on my neck, leaving hickies in his wake.

“Spencer,” I whispered as I moved my head closer to my shoulder to let him have more space.

“You feel so good,” he grunted as he moved his hips so he was deeper in me, “You feel so good, and you’re all mine,” he pressed his forehead to mine as he wrapped his arms around my lower back, pulling me closer up to him. My breathing got deep, my chest heaving with each breath I took. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down, closer to my face. 

“Oh, be quiet,” I whispered before putting my lips on his. He smiled before passing his tongue between my lips. A moan fell from my lips, which he seemed to enjoy… Considering it was probably just music to his ears. 

“I’ll only be quiet if you keep making those little noises,” he muttered against my lips. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He smiled again as I knotted my fingers in the hair on the back of his head. 

“Faster,” I breathed out, keeping my eyes on him. Spencer laughed lightly as he picked up the speed. My hips bucked with his, meeting at the right points. “Please,” I whimpered as I threw my head back more into the pillow. He pulled his arm away from my back and brought his hand between our legs, where we met. 

“It’s okay, Little Girl,” Spencer whispered before pressing his lips to the side of my face. I let out a shaky breah and arched my body into his. I couldn’t believe how good I felt. I almost wasn’t sure if it was fair that my professor was better in bed than other men my age. He was more experienced, to be fair. “You can finish, it’s okay,” he kept his voice low. It almost sounded like he was giving me permission.

I nodded my head, breathing heavily through my nose. “Mmm, Spencer,” I moaned, loudy, as my walls fluttered around him and my release came. And a few moments later, Spencer thrusted deep into me with a grunt, filling me with his essence. His body collapsed on top of me whence he finished.

“Fuck,” I muttered, my fingers still tangled in his hair. My limbs were sore and shaking slightly from the rough movements. Spencer laughed lightly, agreeing with my statement. “We can’t sleep here,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on the ceiling above us. I wished we could just sleep here, mostly because I was exhausted after everything we did.

“I know,” Spencer replied as he slowly moved off and away from me. I looked up at him with wide eyes. “You’re messy now,” he muttered as he basically tumbled off the bed. I quickly sat up, just to make sure he was okay. Although I was happy he was okay, I quickly regretted moving as fast as I did. 

“Your sweater,” I mumbled, reaching out towards where his sweater was lying. He looked down at it before picking it up to hand to me. He also grabbed a fistful of tissues and moved to between my legs, again. “Just give me your boxers,” I looked at him as he wiped the insides of my thighs clean. He looked back up at me, still cleaning my legs. 

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he spoke as he tossed the dirty tissues to the trash. He grabbed his slacks and boxers, tossing me his boxers. I slipped them on under my skirt, and then slipped his sweater on. 

“I’d hope so,” I whispered as I stood up. My body wobbled for a second, nearly falling over, before I caught my balance. Spencer looked back at me, looking at how fucked I looked. I mean, I probably looked about the same as him. 

“I’d given you a ride home either way,” he said as he redressed. I looked at him with confusion on my face. Either way? So even if we hadn’t had sex, he would have given me a ride. I asked him and he said yes. So I would hope he’d given me a ride, even if we didn’t fuck.

Once we were both ready to leave this stupid party, that I didn’t even enjoy (well, I did, I was just in a different world), or was even invited to, we walked out. It was as easy as pie. And, since no one really knew either of us were here, I won’t be known as the girl who fucked the professor.

The drive home was quiet. Like, even quieter than the drive here. He didn’t even have the music playing. I wondered if it was my fault, if he was regretting what we had done. If I had known he’d be so regretful, I wouldn’t have wanted to fuck him. But, I guess its too late now. 

When I looked out the window, I realized we were parked outside my apartment building. I looked down at my attire and looked back at Spencer.

“Thanks… Thanks for the ride… And thanks for the sweater. I’ll be sure to give it back to you… Eventually,” I looked up at Spencer as I pulled the door open to leave.

“See you Thursday,” he nodded at me. I looked at him before slamming the door shut. I scoffed before turning to walk up to my home. I couldn’t want to sleep.

{***}{***}{***}

Two weeks. Two weeks since Spencer and I fucked. Okay, not too bad. I don’t regret it, and I’m not afraid to say that. However, I think he might be regretting it. Considering he’d been nothing but ignoring me since the night of the par-Well, I wouldn’t say ignoring me since then. He did fuck me in his office the following Thursday. But, it’s still been two weeks since he last said anything to me. Fuck, I’ve never been so mad.

“Good morning, Professor Reid,” I looked at him as I skipped into his lecture hall. I heard his words begin to greet me back, but fail when he saw what I was wearing. “Best get to my seat. Excited for today’s lesson,” I readjusted the cardigan that hung off my shoulders before turning to go to my seat. 

I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull as I walked away from him. Or, was he staring at my ass. Most likely my ass. It was my ass he was staring at. I was wearing a fairly short skirt, so that’s on me. But, I’d do anything to get his attention today. And it would appear I have gotten it. 

His lesson wasn’t actually anything important. It was just revision for the test coming up soon. But, it was obvious he had other things on his mind, and I was very clearly one of them. It was honestly a little distracting if I’m going to be honest.

So, I was happy when he called the end of class 5 minutes early. Although that excitement was gone the second he called my name to the front to talk. I looked at the ground as I stood by his desk, waiting for the very last person to leave so Spencer and I could have our moment alone.

“What are you doing wearing that?” Spencer asked as soon as it was just us. I tried to ignore the fact that he was trying to take the sweater off me, and made my shoulders drop.

“What? This old thing?” I asked, pulling the cardigan that he let me wear around my body. I looked back at him and smiled. He was not smiling. “You gave it to me,” I scoffed, letting him take it off me without a fight. I watched as he folded it over the back of the chair before turning to face me. 

“I gave it to you so your,” his words began to get jumbled up as he gestured to my boobs, “So you weren’t exposed in front of any-”

“So no one would see what belonged to you?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest. Spencer looked down at me, a flabbergasted look on his face. I smiled and cocked my head to my shoulder.

“I… I never said that,” Spencer shook his head.

“Yeah, but you thought it,” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Spencer looked down at me. I could tell that he was trying to be the one in charge, kinda like how he was the other night. But it was so, so clear that he couldn’t be in charge. That he wouldn’t be in charge now. That this was just embarrassing to him. Maybe that’s just how our dynamic would work. Out in public, I was the loud one, the one who made everyone think that I was in charge in the bedroom. And, Spencer, in public, was the quiet, shy, nervous one, who was clearly submissive in bed. But in actuality, he was telling me what to do, when and when I can’t cum.

 “Why were you wearing that?” he asked again, his voice pulling me from my very dirty thoughts. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Because you were ignoring me! I needed to get your attention somehow! And then I remembered I still had that,” I smiled at him. I wished I still had his sweater on, because it was actually quite cozy and warm. The look he gave me made me drop my shoulders, suddenly feeling ashamed about the current situation. So, I stared at him, feeling annoyed. More annoyed than I have over the last two weeks. “Do you regret it?” I finally asked, not really knowing if he’d be mad with my question. 

“Pardon me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at me. I shook my head and looked down at the ground. “It’s not that I regret it-”

“So you do,” I looked back up at him and dropped my shoulders again. Before Spencer got the chance to say anything, I cut him off, “Oh please, you loved shoving your tongue, and cock, down my throat,” I scoffed before looking at him. The expression on his face flinched slightly as he looked back at me from behind the desk. “I get to… I get to be your good, little girl, your princess for, what, a week? A day? 12 hours? Whenever the fuck you want... And I’m supposed to go back to normal life the next day? And… And pretend that nothing happened!” I stared at him and shook my head. Spencer looked over at the door and back at me. “Thinking it’ll never happen again!” I shouted. I didn’t mean to shout, honest. But I was starting to get angry. He made me feel something like I belonged to someone. And now I don’t feel like that. 

“Will you stop talking for a second,” he muttered before stepping away from me and his desk. He walked over to the door and shut it. I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as he walked back over to me. “I never said you had to pretend as if nothing happened. And I never said that I regret it,” he spoke in a harsh whisper. I looked at him with mild irritation on my face.

“It sure fucking felt like it,” I spat at him. 

“You’re all I think about… Christ, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that. I never said you had to forget everything… Because I’ve been having a hard time forgetting it myself.” He looked up at me. I almost refused to look at him, but his voice was so soft that I had to look at him. “I never expected you to forget,” he added. 

“Then why are you acting like it didn’t happen,” I stared at him before swallowing roughly, “You made me feel like I was wanted, that I belonged somewhere, with someone,” I spoke as I stepped closer to him. It was only a little bit closer to him, not as much as I wanted. But he stepped closer to me, making it so we were the closest we had been all day, in one large step. "You remind me of home," I added in a whisper. Spencer smiled and cocked his head to his shoulder.

“You do belong somewhere,” he whispered, resting his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him, feeling my heart pick up speed, and butterflies appear in my tummy. “And that somewhere is with me,” he brought at hand to my cheek, allowing his thumb to rest on my lower lip. I looked up at him before he pressed his lips to mine. 

I was honestly expecting him to say something else. I don’t know what. But I liked what he said, it made me feel really good. Like, I belonged with him, and nothing could change that.

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[sorryjustafangirl]

seattle worries

a/n: it was about time i wrote for the toothless love of our lives mr erik johnson. im still mad at him for waiving his nmc even though people saw it coming so i wrote this while at work and because im in a slump. enjoy. gender neutral reader

pairing: erik johnson x reader

word count: 1.5k+

warnings: mentions of pandemic, a few swears, expansion draft

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and real person fiction if you don’t like that, please don’t read! this lovely gif is not mine! credit to the wonderful gif-maker

You and Erik had been dating for about 2 years now and things could not have been better. The two of you had been set up by a mutual friend after the Avalanche were eliminated from playoff contention. EJ was a natural charmer and swept you off your feet, despite any nerves he felt that night.

Then a pandemic hit and Erik decided that you should move in. In case we have to repopulate the Earth, you know, he joked, but he was serious about his proposition. Your friends all gave you skepticism when you accepted; after all, you were moving in with a man, a professional athlete at that, after less than a year of dating. But you knew it was the right decision. Even when Erik went to the Edmonton bubble, you never felt lonely because you were in the space you shared with him, the space you knew he’d come back to.

Now, a year later and your relationship had been through injuries, an infectious disease, and hectic NHL life. You honestly thought nothing could break you.

Until now.

You were seething. How couldn’t he have told you? Sure, he could be a dumbass sometimes but he’d have to be a whole ‘nother kind of stupid to think you wouldn’t find out.

The thud of his hockey bag and the clang of his keys hitting the trinket dish on the hall table shook you from your thoughts. He walked into the kitchen, where you stood with your hands gripping the counter, with a smile on his face that quickly disappeared when he saw the scowl on your face.

“Hey baby…” His voice was hesitant, obviously testing the waters.

“How could you not tell me?” Your eyes were set, your jaw hard, and you could feel the tension in your shoulders. He sighed but didn’t say anything. “How could you not tell me you waived your no movement clause Erik? I found out from fucking SportsNet!”

“Look, I was going to tell you-”

“When?! You couldn’t find a good time to talk about how you might throw away your life here in the past two months?!”

“That’s not fair! No one ever said anything about throwing my life here away.” His voice raised but you didn’t back down, not with the way your cheeks were hot with anger.

“Oh, so you just expect me to drop my life here to go live in Seattle? Because your career is more important than mine?”

“I never said that! God, I hate it when you put words in my mouth!”

“Well, I hate it when my boyfriend doesn’t consult me on something that affects us both!”

“Why are you so angry about this? Nothing’s happened yet, they might not even take me!”

You scoffed at him, but it came out breathy because of the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m upset because it feels like you aren’t even considering us in your career. Like you don’t care how this affects me too. Like you don’t even notice you’re throwing us away.” Your voice cracked at the end, tears falling from your eyes. You turned away from Erik in an attempt to hide your emotions but he knew. He knew from the way you hunched your shoulders and the way you shut your eyes, you were crying.

Slowly, he came towards you, his step gentle. His arms around you were like glass until you clung to his shirt; then they became like a warm blanket- all encompassing and familiar. Sobs racked through your body and he traced his hand up and down your back. He placed a kiss on the top of your head lightly before smoothing your hair, trying to soothe you. When you finally calmed down, with only hiccups left, he took your face in his hands, wiping away the tear stains off your cheeks.

“Who said anything about me throwing us away? Hmm?” He spoke softly as if he was trying not to frighten a calf. When you didn’t answer him or meet his eyes, he bent down to your level, meeting your weary eyes and repeated his question. When you stayed silent, he kissed your forehead before placing his own against yours.

“I’m not throwing us away, okay? I’m not. Even if you think I am, I promise you I’m not. You’re stuck with me, okay? You got it? I’m not leaving you,”

“But what if Seattle-”

“If. If, baby. It’s not set in stone, it’s an if. A possibility. Joe doesn’t even think they’ll take me. Waiving my contract meant they could protect another D. I haven’t played in practically a season, Seattle probably won’t want me.”

“Probably. Meaning there’s a chance they do want you,”

“There’s also a chance I get hit with a car tomorrow, or that it starts snowing in July.” When that didn’t crack a smile from you, he sighed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen and I wish I did and I wish I could guarantee I stay here but I can’t. But I can guarantee that I’m not giving up on us, even if I go somewhere else,” He ended with a soft smile but furrowed his eyebrows when he saw your eyes go hard again.

“So you’d still expect me to go with you then?” You broke away from his embrace. “To pack up everything I’ve ever known just because you waived your contract?” You shook your head and started off towards your bedroom.

“What, no! No! Baby, c’mon,” He grabbed your hand and turned you to face him. “I don’t expect you to change your whole life for me. I know your job and your friends and your life here is important to you. But I do expect you to have a little bit more faith in me, in us, that we’d figure it out.” He sighed again and dropped your hand to run his hands through his hair.

“Look, hypothetically, hypothetically, if Seattle took me, I only have a year left on my contract. After that, I can decide where I want to go. So it’d be one year, not even, just one season where we’d have to do long distance if you don’t want to move. We could do that. I know we could. And… I’m not as young as I used to be. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to play. And so when that day comes, I can be wherever you are. I don’t care if it’s Milwaukee, Hawaii, Seattle, or here. I want to be wherever you are, even if it means we do 8 months apart. I’ll do 8 months apart if it means the rest of our lives together.”

The two of you stood there in the hallway, silent, contemplating what was said. Even though you had lived together for a year now, this was your first major fight. And your first real glimpse into your future. Sure, you’d mentioned in passing getting a dog or a house with an acreage for his horses, but it was all in passing. EJ was a joker and although he makes you laugh like no other, he isn’t the kind of guy to get serious too often.

“You want forever with me?”

“Fuck yeah, baby. You’re it for me. And you have for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you were waiving your clause?” You were pleading with him at this point, your eyes searching his for any sort of answer.

“I didn’t want you to freak out, which based on tonight, was fair enough on my end. And seriously, Joe doesn’t think they’ll take me. I’m old and injury prone. But Sammy isn’t. And we need Sammy. It was for the good of the team. And if I told you, you would’ve tried to talk me out of it.” He shrugged. “But I’d already made up my mind.” He reached out to take your hands again, his thumbs rubbing your thumb knuckles. “It wasn’t against you. I didn’t tell anyone I was waiving it until it was done,” You were silent as he continued to caress your hands.

“I want forever with you too, you know?”

His eyes sifted and his signature goofy grin made its way into his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You looked up at him and squeezed his hands. “Even when you’re being stupid and leave me in the dark,”

“Well then I’m a very lucky man,” He pressed his lips to your cheek in a sloppy kiss which pulled a smile from you. His smile grew wider in triumph. “There’s the smile I know and love. C’mon, let’s go to bed, yeah?” You nodded and kept your hands intertwined as he led you to the bedroom. The two of you slowly got ready for bed, EJ slipping under the covers first. He opened the blanket for you, and you turned off the light before finding you spot cuddled into his side, your head resting on his chest. His hand ran over your hair, whether to soothe you or him, you weren’t sure.

“I love you. And nothing, not even Seattle, will ever change that.” He whispered into the dark room.

“I know.” You pressed a light kiss to his chest and laid your head back down. “I love you too.”

“Whatever happens, it’s me and you babe. I promise.” He kissed the top of your head and slowly you both fell asleep, his promise of the future lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

let me know what you think! thanks for reading!

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[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

 ---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

 ---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

 ---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;) 

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier being an idiot #geralt apologizes #mutual pining #miscommunication #cursed jaskier #jaskier whump #reverse trope #lying spell

[elocinnicole]

Gym Rats

Chapter 4 – Little Orange Dress

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x OFC Black!Reader (Tierra Wright)

Word Count: 3.9K

Series Rating: M for language, sexual situations, masturbation, alcohol, and drug use. 18+ MINORS DNI

Chapter Rating: M for language and Mentions of Death.

Chapter Summary: Daveed and Tierra do a series of interviews promoting their roles on black-ish. Tierra and Shaun become closer to one another.

AN: Not beta read too lazy to do it.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Previous Chapter Chapter Four Series Masterlist

“Tierra, Shaun, do you have the song?” Russ eagerly asked, Tierra, Shaun, Ross, and Julie were meeting with execs from both of their labels to test their song. She didn’t know how, but Tierra and Shaun were able to come together and get the song done. He actually wasn’t that bad to be around even though this fake dating thing seemed to be a bit much, it was nice to finally have someone to talk to that’s also n the industry like her.

“Yeah, Shaun and I came up with a song, we’re calling it Private Dancer.” Tierra played the song for execs in the room and she nervously glanced around the room to gauge everyone’s reaction. When the song was over the execs whispered to Julie and Russ respectively, Tierra nervously glanced at Shaun who sent her a wink, she blushed slightly before turning away. When the execs left the room Julie and Russ turned to Tierra and Shaun excitedly

“They love the song!” Julie announced making Tierra let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in

“They want to drop the song soon so it’s eligible for the Grammys. I think we should drop the single on Monday.” Russ went on to explain the next steps and Tierra could feel her anxiety rising slightly, everything was happening so fast and it was taking a little bit longer to comprehend everything. She tried to calm herself down before it became a full-on thing but she wasn’t doing very well.

Julie noticed Tierra’s change in breathing she signaled Russ to stop, she reached out and touched Tiera’s hand.

“Hey, you okay?” Tierra nodded her head not being able to speak right now. She swallowed dryly before abruptly standing up

“I need some air, I’ll be back.” Without as much as a second glance, Tierra left the board room and went outside to get some air. She pulled out her phone and called the first person she could think of.

“Tierra?”

“Hey Dad,”

“What’s going on sweetie, everything okay?” Tierra contemplated telling him what was going on, but she didn’t want to worry her Dad.

“Uh, yeah. I um just wanted to hear your voice. You know catch up,”

“How’s the show going?”

“It’s good, I’ve shot two episodes this season and then I have two more.”

“Tierra I am so proud of you, I always knew you were going to be somebody. If your mom were here today…” Greg drifted off

“I know Dad, I miss her too.” She heard him sniffle and clear his throat

“Um, what’s this I hear about you having a boyfriend?” Tierra rolled her eyes, her notifications have been going off the entire weekend after Shaun posted a picture of Tierra in the studio.

“He’s just a friend, Dad. I promise,”

“Mhmm, if someone gonna be dating my daughter I need to meet this young man,”

“If it goes any further I promise you’ll meet him.” She reassured

“Tierra!” She looked up and saw Shaun waiting for her.

“Dad, I gotta go. I’ll come by the house this weekend?”

“Alright, sounds good. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Tierra ended the call as soon as Shaun walked over

“What else is on your plate today?”

“I have to do some press for black-ish. I’m about to head over to my stylist to get dressed. You wanna come?”

“Yeah, I’ll drive.”

“Try on this De La Renta. I’m not feeling the way the Gucci one bunches on your chest.” Tiffany said blindly handing Tierra an orange strapless fit and flare mini dress.

“I gotta get your shoes and my sewing kit I think the top part of the dress may be a little big,” Tiffany said leaving the hotel room.

Tierra had some difficulty getting the zipper down, she looked behind her to Shaun.

“Can you help me?” Shaun got up and carefully unzipped the dress. Tierra could hear the wheels in his head turning and quickly turned to face him.

“Marvin,” Tierra warned playfully

“Damn, you gonna pull out my government?”

“I know what you’re thinking and we don’t have time for that. Plus my whole glam squad is here, what they’ll hear.”

“So? What if I want them to hear us?”

“I don’t have time.”

“We had time this morning.” He was right, before they met with their labels, Shaun came by Tierra’s place for breakfast. What was supposed to be a quick breakfast turned into Tierra being bent over the sofa and them being fifteen minutes late to their meeting.

“Okay, but after you done Imma be all up in your guts,” Shaun whispered in her ear just as Tiffany returned to the room.

“I like that one better, it fits the interview. It’s saying youthful and young and flirty.” Tiffany handed her some jewelry and gold heels.

“If they ask you, it’s Oscar De La Renta dress, the jewelry is Roberto Coin, the shoes are Giuseppe.” Tiffany listed off quickly as she sewed the top half of the dress so it wouldn’t fall down.

“Alright, I like it, what time do you have to go to the interview?” Tiffany said pleased

“I have ten minutes until I have to be down there to get mic’d up.”

“Alright, let me put some lotion on your legs, can’t have ashy knees.”

When Tierra walked out of the hotel room with Tiffany and her makeup and hairstylist in tow, they ran into Daveed who was already waiting at the elevator.

He was wearing a black Versace dress shirt with matching pants. He had on a gold chain and his hair was pulled out of his into a ponytail. If he wasn’t so infuriating Tierra would give a compliment.

As they were finishing the last touches on her hair and makeup, Tierra noticed from the corner of her eye that was Daveed was openly staring at her and didn’t care that she noticed him staring. Growing up where she did, staring meant that you had a problem and Tierra always had a solution.

They finally reached the floor and Tierra’s team stayed on while she and Daveed walked off. Tierra could still feel Daveed looking at her frustrated she whipped her body around to face him.

“What is your problem? Why do you keep staring at me?!”

“You got some lettuce in your teeth,” David said dryly as he brushed past her

Daveed would be lying if he said Tierra didn’t look good. She looked the fuck good in that dress. Her hair was pulled back out of her face, showing off those damn dimples, her make-up wasn’t too overdone, the dress showed off her toned legs and they ways heels—wait what was he thinking. This is the same woman who purposely plays her music late at night. Besides, isn’t she with that rapper guy, Shaun the whatever? Daveed couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, she reached over to press a button on the elevator and he got a whiff of her perfume, she smelled good. Daveed shook the thoughts away when she turned her body around asking what his problem was and there it goes, a reminder. Daveed grinned internally before he cleared his throat

“You got some lettuce in your teeth.” Daveed walked past her and couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face.

“Hello everyone, it’s Joy Dixon here from Essence. So, we have Tony Award-winning actor, Daveed Diggs and singer Tierra Wright joining us today. Hello Daveed, Tierra.”

“Hey, Joy!”

“What’s good?”

“I’m so excited to have you guys joining us today. So you two are guest starring on black-ish this season can you tell us a little bit about who you’re playing?” Daveed motioned for you to go first

“Well, I’m playing a new hire at Andre’s job, Melody. She’s a breath of fresh air to the Stevens & Lido, so hopefully, I get to stick around for next season. I had a great time with everyone on set.”

“I’m playing Bow’s brother Johan, I’m crashing at their house and of course, Andre is not a fan. I absolutely love this shows, after I finished Hamilton, I was determined to get on this show.”

“Tierra, how does it feel being a new artist, you haven’t even dropped your first album yet and you’re guest-starring on one of the Top TV Shows in the country. I can’t imagine how this feels.”

“It feels so surreal, I’m sure Daveed can relate but not even a year ago I was living paycheck to paycheck now I was able to my own studio in my condo. I mean it’s not massive but things like that were only a dream.”

“Daveed do you have any advice for Tierra as someone who’s just getting into the industry?”

“I mean I’m kinda new myself, no one knew who I was until last year. Uh, Staying true to how you are. It’s a little difficult when you’re first starting out because you’re so pressured to say yes to everything. We’re celebrities but we still got bills and rent. Stay true to who you are and what type of art you want to spread.”

“Speaking of art, I heard that Lionsgate green-lit a movie that you wrote. Congratulations!”

“Thank you, uh, yeah my best friend, Rafael Casal and I wrote a movie years ago and it’s finally getting made. It’s a very exciting process.”

“That’s really exciting I can’t wait until it comes out. I’m a huge movie buff and Tierra you have your first official album coming out soon.”

“Yes, it comes out in two weeks.”

“What’s the name of the album or have you been sworn to secrecy?”

“No, I can share it it’s called Tee Time,”

“Is Speculate going to be on the album?”

“You’ll find out in two weeks.”

“I’ve been a fan for a long time since your Soundcloud days.”

“Oh gosh, not the closet EPs,” Tierra joked

“Okay before we get to the game, I heard from a little birdie that you are dating someone.” Tierra blushed at the thought of Shaun, even though at first she was totally against it she was starting to grow feelings for him. Tierra crossed her legs, causing her dress to ride up slightly showing off more of her thigh which didn’t go unsolicited by Daveed. Daveed kept looking at her dress and the way it was hugging her body, the warm color complimenting her skin perfectly like the dress was made for her.

“Daveed?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you if you were dating someone?”

“No, yeah not right now.” He answered quickly, adjusting himself in his seat.

“Tierra, any chance the person you’re ‘dating’ is Shaun Da God? We’ve been seeing some pictures on the gram.”

“I can’t confirm or deny that.” Tierra giggled

“Alright, so before we wrap up we’re going to play a game. We’re going to see how well you guys know each other.” Tierra and Daveed both blanched upon hearing that. They don’t know shit about each other, they barely talk to one another on set and when they do talk to each other, they’re arguing. They both simultaneously looked at their managers who were standing off to the side and they looked just as worried as them.

“Alright, let’s get started. What is Daveed’s favorite color?” Fuck, Tierra wished that they were made aware of the game before the interview, so maybe they would’ve had time to share their answers. Tierra guessed his favorite color it was probably red or some shit like most guys say.

“Time, show your boards.” Tierra flipped her board what’d to palm her forehead of course Daveed’s favorite color would be something she would never think of.

“Yellow?” Tierra questioned

“It’s alright we have three more rounds. You guys will be fine, alright, Daveed it’s your turn. What is Tierra’s favorite onset snack?” Damnit. Did this game just go from hard to impossible? They weren’t even on set together that much for him to notice what she ate and if they were on set they definitely didn’t eat together.

“Okay, so your answer. Daveed said trail mix. Tierra is he right?” When Tierra flipped her board she wondered if she wished hard enough would the floor swallow her to save her from this embarrassment.

“Oh. Okay...Tierra said Tea or fruit.” Joy said half-heartedly

“I um, can’t eat trail mix. I have allergies.”

It was now the end of the game and Tierra and Daveed have not gotten one question right. To say they were embarrassed was an understatement. Tierra has lost all of her confidence and wanted nothing more than to run out of the room. Joy cleared her throat.

“Do you guys want to do the last question?” Daveed looked over at Tierra and saw that was on the verge of tears. He didn’t like the girl but he doesn’t want her to have a breakdown on camera.

“Uh, we don’t have to. Can we wrap it up?” Daveed spoke up

“Sure, no problem." Joy turned to the main camera and flashed her best reporter smile, "Take 17! Alright, that is all we have for today, once again I'm Joy Dixon. Thank you so much Daveed and Tierra!”

“Thanks for having us!” Daveed spoke up again

“And CUT!” Tierra quickly stood up and tried to take her mic off. Julie was quick to her side and helped her. As soon as Tierra felt that the mic was off, she left the room.

Shaun was sitting in the hotel room watching TV when Tierra stormed in.

“Hey, Tierra—what’s wrong?” He asked taking in her appearance. Tierra looked up as if she just realized he was in the room she rushed over to him ad hugged him and finally let her tears fall down her face.

“What happened?”

“It was a bad interview,” Shaun hugged Tierra a bit tighter, trying to console her.

“Did they say something to you?”

“We had to play a game and we didn’t know anything about each other, it was embarrassing.” Tierra sniffled

“Do you have another interview today?” Tierra nodded her head

“At three,” Shaun pulled away from the hug and grabbed Tierra by the hands.

“Come here,”

“Where we going?”

“We just gonna lie down,” Tierra gave him a look and Shaun laughed

“What?”

“Because that’s what you said this morning and you made me late.”

“TeeTee, we just gonna lie down with our clothes on.”

“Okay,” Tierra let Shaun lead her to the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed and Shaun took her shoes off. Tierra scooted back on the bed and Shaun joined her a few moments later.

“I’ll wake you up when you have to get ready.” Tierra nodded her head and quickly drifted off to sleep drained from the interview.

Tiffany walked into the room along with Tierra’s glam squad to get her ready for her next interview.

“TeeTee!” She called out “She’s probably taking a nap,” She walked into the bedroom and smiled softly, both Shaun and Tierra had fallen asleep

“This is some cute ass couple shit,” Tiffany said to herself. She whipped out her phone and snapped a few pictures before walking over to Shaun’s Sid of the bed.

“Shaun,” Tiffany whispered stirring him awake

“Hmm?”

“I’m here a little early, for the next interview. Tierra gotta be up in like five minutes.”

“Aight, bet.” Tiffany left the bedroom camping sure to close the door behind her. Shaun, stretched his body being careful to not wake Tierra. He leaned gently started to shake her,

“Tierra, you gotta wake up.” She whined in protest

“I don’t want to.”

“You got one more interview.” Tierra groaned as she slowly sat up.

“Damn, bout time, you put your big ass head on my arm.” Shaun teased Tierra playfully hit his shoulder

“Shut up, is Tiffany here?”

“Yeah, she’s out there.” Shaun cradled her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead

“You feel better?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“You know I got you.”

“I know.” Shaun kissed her again

“Go on and get ready. I have to go run some errands.”

“Okay, see you later?”

“Yeah,” Tierra got out of bed and walked out to the living room to start getting ready.

Tierra and Daveed had another interview but a radio station not far from the hotel. This interview was for a Sirius XM show so they don’t have to censor everything they say.

“Hello, hello! This is your girl Krissy from Krissy’s Korner Sirius XM station 96. We also have Tazz and Rah in the station this afternoon. We have a treat for you guys today, we have rapper Mr. Daveed Diggs joining us today and the ever so lovely singer Tierra joining us in the Korner today. Thank you for coming to our show!”

“Thanks for having us!” Tierra greeted

“Alright, before we get into anything can we get into this dress!” Tazz gushed

“She came in like she was trying to get a man,” Rah joked

“Maybe she wore that dress for a certain costar,” Krissy suggested making both Daveed and Tierra blush

“Daveed you like the dress she’s wearing?” Tazz pushed Daveed nervously scratched the back of his neck and chuckled

“Yeah, it looks good on her,” Daveed said avoiding eye contact

“Okay, let’s get into it, Tierra, I’m such a super fan. I’m not sure if you remember this but I met you at one of your concerts, like them underground concerts. You had just dropped your second EP and before you left you did a cover of that Minnie Ripperton song, girl! When I say I wanted to throw my shoe on stage that’s not an easy song to sing.”

“One, RIP the great Minnie Ripperton, gone way too soon, and ‘Lovin' You’ is my favorite song to sing. My mom would sing it to me when I was younger.”

“Did your mom teach you how to sing?”

“Yes, before she got really sick she taught me everything I know. My mom was a classically trained opera singer, she never really hit it big so she ended up teaching choir in the public schools, everything I know I got from my mom. I do everything for her,”

“Okay now that I got that out, Daveed I ain’t forget about you. I went to one of your concerts last year with clippng. and it was the most fun I’ve ever had. You were so engaging with the crowd. How does it feel going back and forth to acting and performing on stage?”

“Uhhhh, the difference is that you know at a concert the crowd is rapping with you you vibe off each other's energy. Even in Hamilton, by the time the songs were available on a CD, Apple Music, and all that shit, it became a rock concert. The audience knew the lyrics better than us most nights. Then, you know being in front of a camera for a movie or a show it’s just a sound stage with hella people who are secretly judging your performance. That’s why it’s great to really vibe with your cast because once you have that comradery.”

“So you guys are going to be on black-ish this upcoming season, Daveed you’re recurring and Tierra you’ll be guest starring. How was that?”

“It was absolutely amazing, black-ish is one of my favorite shows. I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news that they wanted me on the show. I had a great time,”

“I always said that after I finished my run on Hamilton I would want to be on black-ish and I leaped at the chance to be on there. I love Tracee Ellis Ross we really kicked it off when she came backstage at Hamilton.”

“Okay, so we have a little tradition here,” the other co-host said, “we have a game called ‘I Hope,’ where you gotta give a really bad scenario or situation but it has to start with ‘I hope’ y’all got it?”

“Yeah,”

“I’m cool.” Tierra and Daveed said simultaneously

“Aight, Daveed go first.”

“Okay ummm, I hope that—wait what am I allowed to say on here?” Daveed laughed

“You can say whatever you want.”

“Okay, okay, okay, umm I hope every time you start your car that bitch on E.” Krissy, Tazz, and Rah laughed and then looked at Tierra expectantly

“I hope every time you go to sleep your pillow’s hot. Hot ass pillow.”

“Damn! It’s like that? Aight, I hope every time you want some cereal your milk is sour.”

“I hope every time you bring someone to your place you ain’t got no damn condoms.”

“I hope you step in a wet spot after putting a fresh pair of socks on.” That one actually made Tierra laugh

“Aight, I hope every time you wash your dishes you touch a wet piece of food.”

“I hope every time you go to the store you’re card never goes through.”

“I hope that every time you wake up in the morning you find out your phone wasn’t charging overnight.”

“Alright, last one Daveed.”

“I hope every time you go to the pool you step on a bandaid.” After that the interview went extremely well, both Tierra and Daveed talked about their upcoming music and Daveed talked a little bit about Blindspotting. They even had an impromptu cypher between Daveed and the other co-host, Rah. This interview was going better than their previous so hopefully, the good press from this one outweighs their first one.

Daveed and Tierra left the radio station with smiles on their faces feeling good about at least one of the interviews today.

“So, that was a good interview.” Daveed started

“It was, way better than the other one.”

“Yeah, do you wanna um—”

“TeeTee!” She shot her head up and saw Shaun waiting outside for her, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“What’s all this?” Tierra asked walking over to him, Shaun kisses her gently

“I wanted to do something nice for you after your interviews. I know you’re tired and you deserve a treat.” Shaun said while caressing her bare arms

“And we gotta show off that dress because damn!” Shaun spun Tierra around making her laugh. Tierra could feel someone looking at her and turned her head around she didn’t see anyone and shrugged her shoulders turning her attention back to Shaun and getting in the car with him.

#TSRRelationships

@theshaderoom Rapper #ShaunDaGod and singer #TierraWright were seen together at Nobu having a very intimate dinner. This comes a few days after Shaun posted a picture of Tierra in the recording booth. Tierra also posted this picture today of the two of them napping in a hotel room with the caption "Cuddle Buddies". Roomies, how do we feel about this relationship? Do you think it'll last?

Tagging: @nikole-witha-k @iknowthekoolaidflavor @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @ramp-it-up @azxulaa @blackpinup22 @cocobutterbaby @chrisevanswife0405 @mellie-teh-goblin-queen @endless-romantic-stories @luckyfriesss @pinkbonnetandglasses @daveeds-wife @gothic-slasherfan-weeb @emilia-i @aliyahsutherland

#Gym Rats #Daveed Diggs Imagine #Daveed Diggs #Daveed Diggs x Black!Reader #Daveed Diggs x Reader #elocinnicole #Daveed Diggs x OFC Black!Reader #Daveed Diggs x Tierra Wright

[drxwsyni]

doubts and desires︱albedo x f!reader

summary: letting go of the past is hard, but losing what you have now would be harder. leaving albedo is neither something you can do, or something you really want, it’s simply taken you a while to understand that. word count: 2k warnings: implied dubcon, stockholm syndrome, past kidnapping

Even with how Albedo had bundled you up in a hat, scarf, gloves, and coat―it still failed to ward off the chill that seemingly sucked the warmth right from your body. Yet you said nothing about it, the unwanted attention it would draw from him inevitable if you made your discomfort known. And, you were almost certain he would drag you back to the cabin if he knew how the cold was treating you.

You didn’t enjoy the biting temperatures, but you didn’t want leave. Not when it’s been so long since you descended the mountain, that you barely even remember the feeling of snowfall against your skin.

The whole situation he’s placed you in is really quite foreign―confusing.

In how he’s letting you accompany him in his research, not far from his―your home. A safe distance, so to speak. Or that’s what he said, at least.

You realized that the way he spoke of this outing, how it’d just be the two of you, and that you wouldn’t venture very far; they were words of comfort. Not said to reassure himself that things would go smoothly, but to calm the look of trepidation in your eyes from the mere suggestion of going outside.

Now, seeing Albedo’s nonchalant demeanour while he studies the petrification of a fallen tree, it puts your mind at ease. Sure, if you look closely you’ll be able to see the way his eyes flicker to your form every few seconds or so, making sure you were right where he left you, but generally the alchemist is calm.

It makes you calm, for a moment it feels like you’re able to settle down and appreciate the intricate beauty of the snow swept mountain you stand upon. Best to do so now, knowing it wouldn’t be long until he would lead you home, sheltered safely away from the danger of the mountain’s climate.

“Oh―I didn’t know you were to be researching today, Albedo sir.”

With your back turned to the newly appeared stranger behind you, the cold that had seeped into your bones no longer posed as the only thing holding you in place―it was also now an icy fear.

You watched unmoving from your spot as Albedo gave pause, a hint of contemplation flashing across his face before standing.

“Timaeus. I thought you were studying back in the city.”

The man, who you had yet to properly address, responded with a somewhat nervous laugh.

“Yes, well I was, but it led me to do my own research out in the field…”

Always in a strangely graceful manner, Albedo dusted off his pants and straightened his jacket. A look of unashamed disinterest painted his expression as Timaeus rambled on about his findings.

Truly, you don’t recall Albedo ever showing such emotions with you―a detail not necessarily heartwarming, but still reassuring in an indescribable way.

Perhaps it was due to you being so sure that he’d rid himself of you when you no longer proved useful. Which made the swirling of affection and enamour in his eyes when he gazed upon you settle your nerves, even in just the slightest.

“...which I unfortunately have yet to procure. But―ah, I’ve gotten ahead of myself again. My apologies, how is your research coming along. And...who might you be?”  

If Albedo recognized the look of severe anxiety flashing across your face, he paid no mind. Instead giving you a small, somewhat warm smile. As if to say, “Go ahead.”

The few seconds that passed were done in silence, you desperately trying to read Albedo’s face for ulterior motives, and the man behind you shuffling awkwardly in place while he waited for a response.

By some miracle, your body moved on autopilot, turning around to finally acknowledge the cause of your newfound distress. Only, you couldn’t even look him in the face.

Your mouth was dry, mind foggy and unable to think of a response that was anywhere near being coherent.

“...I―uh…”

“This is my new assistant. Please do forgive her, she’s quite shy.”

A shaky breath escaped your rigid body at the sound of Albedo’s voice, and the feeling of his hand resting gently upon the small of your back.

The blatant lie that only you and him recognized echoed inside your head.

Timaeus had no clue who you were, or what you meant to Albedo. But if he did know, you wondered what he would do.

“...Ah, it’s strange we’ve never met before.”

You could tell without looking that Timaeus was studying your form. With the way his tone shifted to something a little more unsettled, a pit grew in your stomach knowing how he had picked up on your questionable nervousness.

The hand resting on your back felt a little more heavy.

Albedo showed no signs of botherment, “That’s likely because she’s not from here.”

For some ungodly reason, the less experienced alchemist took this as an opportunity. “Oh, if that’s the case then we should show her around. Sucrose could use someone like herself to―”

“Actually, we were just leaving. I’m afraid I’ve kept her out in the cold too long, and descending the mountain any further is quite a reckless task in this weather―” His head turned to look at you, no longer addressing his student, “―right?”

If Timaeus was told of what his teacher had done to you, would he help? Even if he looks up to Albedo, even if everyone does, surely they would step in.

Only, the issue remained that first you’d have to prove to them you were in danger.

...And really, you weren’t. Not anymore.

The tender bruises around your wrists and ankles had healed long ago. Your health was in near perfect condition, what with how Albedo saw to it that you never did anything to put it at risk. A single and quick glance would show that you were so pristinely taken care of, complexion shining now that you no longer spent nights sleepless from fear.

What were you to even say?

Moreso, it remained true that you didn’t quite want to say anything.

Timaeus wouldn’t believe your truth, and Albedo would likely spin the scenario so that your words weren’t reliable anyways.

It dawned on you that Albedo knew this fact well, why else would he bring you with him if he wouldn’t still be entirely in control of the situation?

A simple movement, his hand drifted to your hip and gripped it firmly, urging.

Your voice, barely a whisper met his ears.

“...Of course…”

That was all he needed, sending an impatient, yet still neutral glance towards Timaeus, the smallest hint of self-satisfaction lingering in it.

His student took the hint.

_____

“I have to say, bringing you with me was quite...productive.”

After dinner, Albedo has you keep him company in his study. You, occupied with a book in a chair across from his desk, while he goes over his findings from the day’s outing.

“Research wise, I was able to study you in a foreign situation.” He continued, conversation one-sided, “The results were to my liking…”

Although construed in his ever sophisticated manner, his words told you that you did something right. He was proud, and that notion made the swell of a strange warmth in your heart grow.

The alchemist’s gaze remained downcasted at the papers strewn about in front of him while he spoke. “...I suppose you should be rewarded for such good behaviour.”

Your eyes flitted up, the story on your lap abandoned completely.

Albedo has never spoken of such a thing, not once entertaining the idea of rewards when he saw no reason to ever extend such gratitude. Even after all this time.

He must be especially pleased, you thought.

Perhaps, enough to grant you back even a small semblance of independence...that would most certainly be your wish.

You’d long grown used to his suffocating personality, the intense interest he paid you often resulting in little to no alone time. Albedo made sure you stayed in eyeshot, and in those inevitable times he needed to leave, he made them quick, and you were to be safely tucked away in the bedroom, door locked from the outside. There wasn’t a single detail he missed, no stone left unturned when trying to improve your security.

Unfortunately for you, it left little autonomy.

Just the smallest taste of self-reliance would be fine. You’d love to cook a nice meal, like the ones you used to make. Or perhaps to pick your own outfit one morning, something more your style than the things he put together for you. Any break from his constant guidance, no matter what shape or form, you’d gladly take―

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up then, I’ll meet you upstairs soon.”

Albedo neglected to look up as he spoke, and so he missed how the glimmer of anticipation in your eyes faded away. The way your shoulders dropped slightly, the look of disappointment flashing across your features in understanding of his words.

What he had planned, it was a reward...of sorts.

An excuse, as far as you saw it.

Albedo was known for testing the limits of living beings after all, and in certain ways, such studies extended to how he treats you. It’s a win win for him―he thinks it’s a reward, since he knows he can make you feel good, and doing so just shows him all those little things he can’t learn through idle observation. What makes you squirm or shy away with innocent embarrassment―information just as important as everything else he knows about you.

It doesn’t dissuade Albedo when he finally glances up to see what his offer has done, though the sight does make him feel as though he’s deceived you.

Still, he remains unapologetic. “While you gave me some good insight on how far you’ve...adjusted, I still can’t completely trust you. This merely turned out to be a good opportunity for satisfying your other needs―nothing more.”

Flipping open a nearby textbook, Albedo conveys wordlessly, a difficult habit of his, that the conversation has ended.

You, however, have yet to heed his words. Still seated, the once flickering of hope subsiding with each passing second. Call it grief, but you were sincerely expecting a different outcome. Though, knowing Albedo, and his constant need to grow more knowledgeable, you should’ve seen this coming.

“...I’d rather not have to force your compliance tonight. So, please―” He gestured towards the door with a wave of his hand, focus trained and brows barely knitted while he skims over his readings on the desk.

Honestly speaking, you once thought Albedo was a deeply confusing man. So too was the life he’d meticulously prepared, and swiftly forced you into. Yet, looking back, things may have been more simple than you once perceived.

Your only real job is to exist and comply. And you both know you’re not going anywhere, not going to say no. Especially now, given how effortless it feels to fall into routine, going through the motions of his request and carrying yourself upstairs.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s too late for you, what feels like an eternity spent at Albedo’s side having just about rendered your fighting spirit useless. It’s been long since replaced with what you’re coming to know as a certain fondness. You want to see the compassion in his eyes that’s sparked by your willing compliance.

It was a single, tangible goal. Not complex and unobtainable like those tasks of your past life. Attempts at obtaining those desires are futile, when today's events proved you genuinely no longer want them anymore.

It’s much easier to make Albedo proud. You don’t realize that you do it everyday, and that he’s just poor at conveying his own emotions...

Drawing yourself a bath, you wash away past doubts, settling with what your life has turned into.

Distantly, you hear Albedo make his way up the stairs and towards your bedroom. You like knowing what’s to come, which is always something you’ll have with him. You can’t say the same if you leave, and so you finally resolve that you never will.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere albedo #yandere albedo x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere x you #albedo x you #tw dubcon

[neopuppy]

Preview-

Hot Sauce (M): Deeply Dip That

Hot Sauce: Intro—>

Hot Sauce: Part 1–>

Hot Sauce: Part 2–>

Hot Sauce: Part 3–>

Hot Sauce: Part 4–>

a/n: To thank you for 2000 followers(little under 100 away atm), this happened so fast and I never expected more than a few 100 followers. I’m very appreciative for all your messages and support! I’ve decided on one last Hot Sauce installment to celebrate🥳 The fivesome that was requested more than a few times, hopefully will wrap this up nicely for you all😮‍💨(not that I do requests but..)

This will be a lengthy one shot- and filthy. Reader be mindful, always read to your level of comfort💙

please do not ask when I will post- if you would like to be tagged just lmk!☺️

There is also this.

“Why’s he always gotta be such a dick? What does he want? He won’t fuck any of the girls we bring back. Now he’s pissed we got his sister here..” Haechan scoffs. Hands busy behind the little bar set up by the pool mixing a drink. Renjun sighs, leaning in on his elbow.

“Step sister, when you just say sister it’s kind of weird. After what we all had to watch..” he rubs his sweaty nape with a smirk. Other hand snapping at Haechan for a beer.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. You came faster than all of us.” Haechan lets out an appeased laugh. Pouring golden bubbly liquid into a red cup. Under his breath, he whispers quietly “wonder why.”

“Fuck you dude, talk about Jeno being a dick.” Renjun snatches the cup out of Haechan’s hands, sniffing the contents cautiously. All too familiar with his stupid pranks by now.

“Renjun.. hear me out.. if he’s not gonna fuck her..” Haechan’s brows lift suggestively. Eyes darting back and forth between where you stand. Tension evident in your body language as irritation overcomes you the longer Jeno ignores your presence. “Been awhile since me and you shared right?..”

“Haechan, he almost killed us once already. You really want to risk that chance again for some pussy?” Renjun leans back, contemplation passing his eyes none the less.

“You know it wasn’t just some pussy. Love me a good freaky bitch.” Haechan’s grin grows. Sipping alcohol through a straw, having started early today. Slight buzz reaching his head already. Maybe with a clearer state of mind he wouldn’t dare test Jeno again- yea right.

“We’ve been 6 feet deep in ass since we got here. You just love to piss him off dude.” Renjun stands up from the bar stool, hands smoothing down his t-shirt. “I’m not completely opposed to the idea though..”

“You act like Jeno doesn’t deserve it. Look at him seething away over there like some big baby. He needs to learn his lesson already, just cause he’s hot and has chiseled abs doesn’t mean he should always get what he wants.” Haechan says shooting a lazy glare Jeno’s way.

“You have to stop watching those enemies to lovers movies. You’re one more hour of Jeno walking around shirtless away from proclaiming your undying love.” Renjun responds with a disgusted tone. Tossing back the rest of his drink. Combination of summer heat and alcohol causing sweat to pool in the crevices of his body.

“Whatever..” Haechan laughs to himself, finishing the rest of his drink off. With a spin, he grabs two cans of beer making his way out from behind the bar. “You in or what?”

Renjun sports a hesitant smile, eyes bouncing between you and Jeno. He should know better by now than to let Haechan talk him into these messes. Against his moral judgment, he nods, smile spreading wider into his cheeks. “If we get caught, I’m blaming it all on you.”

“We’re not gonna get caught. Jeno’s too busy pretending she doesn’t exists.” With a roll of his shoulders, and an elbow nudged into Renjun’s side they make their way over to you. “Act cool. Don’t make it obvious.”

Renjun scoffs, stepping ahead of Haechan. If anyone knew how to be inconspicuous out of the four of them, it’s him.

“Why are you standing here all alone? Are we not friends now?” He steps into your space under the roofs ledge where you’re trying to catch shade. Pulling a can of beer from Haechan’s clutches, earning a scoff. “We got that sugar free kind, girly spritzer stuff? You thirsty?”

“First off- ew, we are not friends. Second off- why would you idiots invite me to this party?” You spit out, snatching the can from his hands. Haechan’s expression turning amused over Renjun’s shoulder muttering- “Should have let me handle this one.”

“God she’s just like Jeno..” Renjun tucks his chin into his shoulder whispering to Haechan. Face turning back to you quickly with a kind smile. “Let’s be friend then? You’re here right? We all know each other well.”

“You know fucking doesn’t equate to friendship right?” Your tone laced in annoyance. Hand swatting at mosquitos circling around you. Haechan’s eyes light up, the bulb in his mind sparking to life.

“Bug spray!” He shouts out, a little too enthusiastically. “We have bug spray inside.. come on let’s get you some before you turn into a mosquito feast.”

Renjun looks at him with confusion. Haechan motioning for you both to step inside the house. Majority of the party goers outside by the pool- a pool party after all. He throws Renjun a look indicating ‘I got this’, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Jeno doesn’t spot the three of you. You make your way inside, Haechan placing a hand on your lower back.

“Still can’t believe Jeno ruined your summer plans over something so petty..” Haechan mumbles, throwing another knowing look at Renjun behind your back. You take in the gorgeous beach house, anger building up inside of you the more you think about it. Unable to stop yourself from picturing all the surfaces Jeno could have been fucking you into mindlessness on.

“He’s so immature.” You sigh, slumping against Haechan’s hand. Renjun nods in return, wrapping himself around your arm.

“You have no idea. He’s just lucky we all agreed to help him pay this off.” Renjun bites back his smile. Leading you down the hall toward their bedrooms.

“I know you guys are like besties, but Jeno’s just..” your hands shoot up, groaning in frustration. “Why would he even bother to rent this place out for us. It’s not like I wanted to go out with that Mark guy!”

“Oh I know..” Haechan pauses, turning you to face him. “He told us all about it.” He tsks, head shaking.

“He can be such an asshole right?” Renjun strokes your arm up and down, free hand brushing hair off your shoulder. You slump into his pets, soft warm hands sweeping up and down your bare skin.

“You need to get back at him, give him a taste of his own medicine.” Haechan’s tone deepens. Hands finding their way to your hips. “Let us help you.”

“Help me?” Your eyes widen, Haechan’s lust filled gaze pulling you in. This can’t happen again, or can it..

“Jeno abandoned you for weeks to come fuck around out here with us. He doesn’t deserve anything from you.” Renjun leans into your ear with a hushed tone. Fingers finding the tie on your bikini bottom, toying with the strings.

“I think it’s only the right thing to do..” Haechan slides a hand down your fluttering bare stomach. Fingers reaching for strings on the other side of you. His mouth falls open comically, pulling the tied knot free.

“Wait..” you look around the hallway with slight panic. Thighs squeezing together, clenching the fabric of your bottoms between you. “Here? Isn’t this..”

“What? You’re shy all of a sudden?” Renjun bites your earlobe, tugging free the other knot. Bikini bottoms betraying you as they fall to your feet. Eyes drifting down, toes kicking the cloth aside. Stomach heating up, fiery heat coiling around inside of you.

“I’m not.. I just.. what if he..” Swallowing, head tilting as Renjun’s tongue slides down your neck. Soft lips leaving hot pecks on your burning skin.

“What if he what?” Haechan clasps your chin, eyes blazing with intent. “Jeno deserves this..” fingers drag down your neck, between your chest. Lips pulling back, sucking air through teeth. “You deserve this.”

A whimper passes between your lips, legs trembling holding you up. Haechan’s head tilted down, hand slowly stroking between your abdomen. Eyes look up, half lidded and menacing. Fingers sliding in-between your squeezed thighs, tapping at your clit.

“Don’t you?” The questions dangerous, almost threatening. Biting down on your lip as Renjun’s teeth dig into your neck, humming in agreement. His fingers running along the dip in your back. Giving in you nod rapidly, cocky smirk on Haechan’s lips spreading.

“That’s right. Nasty little whores like you love getting fucked where anyone can watch.” Haechan’s grin grows. Fingers gliding between your folds. “As expected, dripping wet.”

“Let me” Renjun steps in front of you, lips pouted with a sheen of spit. Lust hazy filled eyes racking across your body. He swiftly falls to his knees, arms wrapping around your thighs.

“I got you” Haechan steps behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. “He loves to eat.”

Renjun’s face dips down, nose shoving between your shaking thighs. One of Haechan’s hands squeezes your hip, landing a smack loud enough to echo against the walls.

“Stop acting shy, that pussy’s hotter than my ps4” lips drag across your nape. Teeth skimming down skin, tongue lapping at your shoulder. Hips jolting forward Renjun’s nose pressing against the hood of your clit.

Sandwiched between their bodies has your temperature rising quickly. Haechan pressing flat against your backside. Licking the top of your back, tongue languidly dragging up and down your spine. Renjun pulls your thigh forward onto his shoulder, you tense up reluctant to relax your body weight against him.

Haechan slaps your hip again, firm hand landing on your ass after. “Stop acting innocent, where’s that whore that begged for cock in front of all of us huh?” He hisses against your ear, hips thrusting forward against your lower half with emphasis.

Pathetic whimpers fall from your lips, body slumping as you release control, giving in. Renjun’s eyes shine bright below you, cheeks bunched up with eagerness. His jaw stretching open, mouth enveloping your mound. Hot tongue forcing between your wet folds. Loud sounds of wetness burning at the tips of your ears.

“That’s more like it, dirty slut” Haechan lets out a laugh, teeth digging into the crevice of your neck. “You gonna let me fuck this ass?” Fingers reach between you, tips circling around your clenching up hole. Gasping in surprise, instinctively rolling forward against Renjun’s mouth.

“Fuck..” your eyes squeeze shut, biting down a moan. Tongue finding it’s way to your entrance, moans shivering up your core.

“Ride his tongue baby, he loves that shit” Haechan slaps your ass again. Finger prodding at your backside. Mouth marking up your neck with endless licks, sucking and biting over every expanse of flesh. Haechan thrusts forward, Renjun’s tongue gliding inside with a firm wiggle. He doesn’t stop thrusting, finger running up and down between your cheeks. Face growing hotter as you speed up, neck dropping back against Haechan’s shoulder.

“Feel good? Come on, tell him how it feels.” He hisses meanly into the back of your ear, teeth nibbling.

“Yes! Oh fuck, yes yes” eyes dropping open, the ceiling spinning above succumbing to the pleasure. Renjun knows what he’s doing, hands squeezing around your thighs. Tongue relentlessly working away inside of you. The combination from Haechan’s torment and Renjun’s stimulation too much. Haechans fingers not giving your ass a break, hole fluttering against him with each pass.

“Dirty slut..” he mutters, reaching around you. Hand sliding down your stomach. Your eyes follow the motions, head dropping forward. Eyes locked on Renjun’s squinted crazed look. Practically fucking down on his mouth. His head moving up and down with each thrust of his tongue inside.

“I’m..o-oh..oh fuck…stop stop!” You squeal out. Still too aware of your surroundings trying to control your vocals. Haechan smirks behind you, hand swiping down. Thumb teasing at your clit.

“Gonna cum?” He presses down on your clit harshly. Roughly circling it, working you from both ends. Your head shakes, waist curling forward in his hold.

“No! I’m… I’m gonna..oh f-fuckk” your face contorting tightly. You grind down on Renjun’s tongue, legs shaking around him. Body jumping forward, squirting out past his tongue. He groans beneath you, eyes falling shut in ecstasy. Continuing to work away, licking all over your drenched folds. Heavy sounds of slurping mixing in with your panted drawn out moans.

Foot steps sound around as they reach closer, stepping into the hallway. Bottoms of feet pattering down on the wooden floor approaching. Moans and a tongue swirling in your ear much louder. Distracting you from hearing any warning. A displeased huff of shock paired with a deep voice breaking your thoughts— “Are you two fucking serious right now?”

ps- they are so going to get caught🤓

pps- 💙love you all💙

#neopuppy fics #nct dream smut #nct dream fanfic #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #haechan #renjun #lee donghyuck #huang renjun #nct dream #nct dream scenarios #haechan smut #renjun smut #haechan fanfic #renjun fanfic #haechan drabbles #renjun drabbles #haechan imagines #renjun imagines #haechan scenarios #renjun scenarios #haechan x reader #renjun x reader #nct #nct smut #nct fanfic #00 line smut #00 line imagines #00 line #nct dream 00 line

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Yandere halloween ask yandere mad scientist! Bruno uses mind control chip to get darling to be the perfect spouse?

This ask right here made my mouth froth, I love Stepford wives so this ask just rolled along perfectly. Anyway enjoy!

This love

(Yandere mad scientist Bruno X female reader)

You had always thought so highly of Dr Buccirati, you were his apprentice after all but there were times that you thought he just went a little too far with his work and this was one of them.

As he explained to you about how he made a chip that could modify an animal's behaviour. How the chip was planted in the rat's brain that you were holding.

"See (Y/n), look at how tame she is now" he said as he petted the poor creature's head.

"What do you intend to do with what you have learnt?" You asked with anger in your words.

"I intend to have the chip used to help with the conservation of the many animals that are close to being extinct. The animals will have the procedure and be put into captivity, they'll have no more issues with stress or aggressive behaviours which allows for them to be safely cared for and less risk during the reproduction cycle" he explained.

"So what you are saying is that you're going to be suppressing their natural survival instincts so they become domesticated?" You asked with a bitter taste on your tongue.

"That's exactly it, they'll have a safe place to repopulate and have nothing to worry about" he answered as he expressed his delight but it only made you grit your teeth in anger.

"I'm disgusted by what you are doing! You're essentially performing a lobotomy on these poor animals! You're playing god and taking away the emotions of a living creature!" You yelled at him.

"I've helped you work on some crazy things before… but I cross the line here!" You continued as you put the rat down in her cage before folding your arms at Bruno.

"Come on (y/n), you're overreacting… what I'm, no what we are working on is going to change history. So many species will be saved from becoming extinct. we will be two of the greatest scientific minds the world has ever know" he held your shoulder and lightly massaged it as he tried to convince you that there was no wrong in it.

"I don't know why you insist that this is a joint effort but I don't want anything to do with it, if people figure out how it works then it won't be long before this is used on humans… how many corrupt governments do you think would love to have this kind of technology used on their own people?" You rebuttal.

you glared at Bruno as you could see his usually calm demeanor wearing thin. He had his hands gripping his short black locks.

"(Y/n) the truth is that I love you, more than I could love anyone else. I want you to be by my side and I want you to be my equal…" he as his grip on you grew tighter.

"You are so intelligent and so beautiful… I just want you to do your best" he continued.

You pulled away the male with a shocked expression plastered on your face.

"Bruno… I didn't know you felt that way about me but I'm afraid I don't share the same feelings, I just don't think the chemistry is there between us" you told him before you headed to your bedroom.

🧪🧪🧪

You had decided you needed to cut ties from Bruno and finally begin your own work. You don't think anything could keep you working with him now. You began to pack your clothes back into your suitcase.

"(Y/n) are you planning on leaving now?" He asked as he rested himself against the door frame, he seemed to have recollected himself but to you something was off about his almost carefree tone.

"I intend to leave tomorrow" you said as you sat on your bed and folded your clothing.

"Don't you think you're blowing this out of proportion, can't we put the breaks on just talk about this over some tea..." he said as he slowly drew closer to you.

"I understand that you're upset and I didn't make things much better" he continued calmly before violently grabbing your hand causing you to fall back onto the bed before you heard a metallic click. You screamed as you tried to pull your hand back to find it was handcuffed to the head of the bed.

"What the hell?!" You screamed at Bruno who was now on top of you.

"I'm sorry that it had to come to this but I can't let you leave" he said.

"I love you too much to let you go… you're too good for this world" he continued.

You felt your stomach twist horribly and your vocal cords seize up. Your eyes were wide with horror.

"I dealt with my unrequited love for so long, I tried to just to put my feelings aside for you but I feel like if I keep it up any longer I'll explode" he rambled you tried to push him with your free hand but he was quick to hold it down.

🧪🧪🧪

It had been a month since he'd locked you up. You were curled up with your knees to your chest, you could see every little mark he'd ever left on your body, you still felt the sting that each love bite left on your skin. Today was cold and the chain and cuff around your ankle made it worse as you shivered in a silk nightgown.

You flinched as you heard the front door open. You had hoped that maybe that was anyone but Bruno, someone that could free you from this place. You heard a pair of footsteps draw closer, your hope dying as the same pattern tore into your brain… you knew he was home.

"(Y/n) I'm home" his voice was cheerful as he opened the door.

"I'm sorry I was later than usual… I found so many things I thought you'd like" he explained as he walked in with a large bag in his hand before placing it on the bed. You were hesitant to look but his sapphire eyes stared at you in anticipation, making your skin crawl.

You grabbed the bag and the first thing you pulled out was a 50s style white and black polka dotted dress. You looked at Bruno with a forced smile on your face.

"Bruno this is really nice but I've never really been a fan of dresses" you told him. He didn't respond. You pulled out another similar dress before picking out various boxes with golden jewelry till there was one more box inside, however it was rectangular in shape unlike the others. You pulled it out only to gasp in horror as you gazed upon the packaging of a pregnancy test. You looked back at him.

At this point you knew something was wrong, your stomach was telling you.

"What's going on?" You asked him with shakey words.

"I just need you to take it" he responded.

"Why?" 

"I need to know whether or not you're pregnant, it's urgent"

"Urgent, what's urgent?!" You yelled at him.

"You're being extremely vague, it's scaring me" you replied, unsure of what was so urgant. You really hoped you weren't, having to live knowing your child was of his blood.

"Just take it please, wouldn't you like to know as well?" He begged.

You had a bad feeling about this but if you knew now then you could try to do something about it if it did come back positive. You let out a defeated sigh as you unboxed the test.

"See you didn't need to make such a big deal about it dear" he said in a light hearted tone as he walked towards the bed and unlocked the shackle on your leg and allowed you to go to the bathroom.

You felt the relief wash over you as you saw the results. It was negative, perhaps you were getting yourself all worked up.

"(Y/n) dearest, what's the results?" Bruno asked from outside the bathroom door. You opened it and showed him, his eyes lit up with joy as he hugged you which was very odd indeed, you assumed he'd had baby fever… if that was the case shouldn't he be disappointed.

You recoiled as you felt a sharp jab on the inner side of your elbow. You saw the now empty syringe in his hand.

"What are you doing?!" You screamed as you stumbled back from his grasp. He looked at the syringe and let out a content hum before his eyes returned to you.

He contemplated on whether he should tell you or not but at this point you couldn't do anything to stop him so there was no point in hiding it.

"I remember back on the night you tried to leave fondly, in hindsight you gave me the most brilliant idea" he explained.

"That whole talk on how my chip could work on humans was really inspiring, so I'm going to do just that… if you won't love me like this, then I can just make you love me" he continued as a smile grew on his lips.

The shock hit you as he explained it all, it horrified you to imagine it. It shook you to the very core. Everything else seemed like a luxury in comparison to losing everything.

"Bruno, please don't do this! I love you so much!" You screamed as you draped your body over him.

"My dear I love you so much… I'll stay with you forever… I'll give you as many children as you want, please oh please don't do this!" You were practically sobbing as you tried to pull on his strings.

"I'll do anything for you, anything at all!" You continued as you felt everything becoming numb, he had you in his hands and he could do anything he wanted to you.

"Please Bruno, we can put this all behind us and start over… you never imprisoned me, you never did those things to me… we can be the happiest couple!" You pleaded to him as your eyelids grow heavy.

"Please… please… I won't be the same person you feel in love with if you do this…" your screams turned into a mutter and as you tried to fight off the deep abyss of unconsciousness you swore you could see a glimpse of your whole life with every slow blink.

🧪🧪🧪

"What you've made is amazing Bruno, you should be proud of your work" the man in front of Bruno complimented his work.

"Thank you sir, to be honest I wouldn't be here showing you this if it wasn't for my wonderful wife" he said as he beamed with joy.

"Oh, your wife must be an amazing woman to help you" the man replied.

"Yes she is. She always gave me the right idea when I was unsure, she'd be here with us right now if it weren't for the upcoming baby. She's just been so ecstatic about it since we found out" he stated as he had his head in his hand. He was over the moon with joy, he couldn't talk to someone without bringing up the fact that he was going to be a father soon.

"Oh congratulations, how long till it's due?" The male congratulated him.

"Oh it's close, we're expecting around October… It's hard to imagine that I'll be a father in two months"

"And how's the lucky lady feeling about this? My wife was pretty worried before our first" he asked.

"Oh she's been great, she's been taking it all in stride. I haven't seen her sick or having any mood swings like what most of us tend to expect" Bruno chuckled as he slumped back into his chair.

"We should probably get back on topic… I should probably explain how these chips work in detail"

#yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere x reader #yandere bruno #bruno x reader #halloween au

[docholligay]

The Green Knight: A Ramble Through the Field of Honor

So I talked in an earlier post very glancingly about the line “Why greatness? Is goodness not enough?” and how it fits into the idea that Gawain has no idea what true greatness looks like, and I think, dovetailing into that, we kind of have to talk about how Gawain is...not a great guy. 

And I’m not even talking about the way we begin the movie with him in a brothel, though I am going to use that to spring off here and talk about his conduct toward Essel. Knightly stories are full of these ideas of chivalry particularly around women, and I think Lowery is using Essel to make the point that Gawain is not doing that, not even remotely. Essel is a working girl, sure, but she’s also, as its shown throughout the movie, devoted to him, and cares for him far beyond his ability to provide for her. She even tells him that she has his gold, when she asks to be his lady, but she wants very simple things--to sit by his side at the fire, and have his ear, and be his lady. In full fairness to Gawain, I suppose, he never pretends even for a moment that he has any intention of doing that. Gawain is not interested in whatever he might owe her, because in seeking his greatness he utterly passes by this goodness. 

We see this again in “A Kindness” where he repeatedly tells the scavenger that he is “Just passing through” when asked if he is a knight, not dodging the question, exactly, but allowing the scavenger to think this untrue thing. The scavenger talks about how he has brothers out there, the wide field of bodies like the fallen trees, showing us the lumber that Camelot is built upon, but Gawain does not have a moment for sympathy or pause. He fails to see this kid as a human being, and the narrative allows us to glance over it too, fixated in the same way Gawain is on the destination and not the journey. 

Even when he is given instructions about how to get to the Green Chapel, when it’s been shown he has only the roughest sketched ideas of the way--and we can argue that the instructions may be false, but I’m not sure I think it matters--all he offers this scavenger, this BOY, is his thanks, despite being told he’s lost his family, was almost lost himself. He has to be shamed into offering a single coin, when Excalibur itself was offered to him when he needed the help. 

This goes back to the idea of a test, and of Gawain’s repeated failures to have honor, to be great. He can’t see that mercy and generosity are a part of what it means to be a knight, to bear that mantle of goodness that I would argue underlies the knightly ideal. 

This is why, when he’s captured and his things taken from him, he asks for the GReen Chapel and is told, “You’re in it.” This is a test as surely as kneeling before the Knight himself, and he’s failed, not only the test of generosity, but of courage, as he pleads with them that he’s not a knight, and he never said he was, and it’s true, that he isn’t, and so he’s stripped of all the trappings that make him a knight--his horse, his arms, his shield--because if he will not behave a knight, if he will not meet the world with the courage and honor he’s meant to have, then he may as well have none of it at all. 

Gawain is pretty much a world-class fuckboy until the Tale of St. Winifred, until he truly connects with the natural impulse within him in the form of the fox (More on this in a much longer later post) 

The tale of St. Winifred is his chance to begin his redemption, really the first time that he’s been willing to take any real instruction on the nature of becoming a knight--he sure as shit could not be bothered to listen to Arthur--and so this is where he earns back the axe. He earns back the right to even have this quest in the first place. 

I don’t know how much the audience knows about the tale of St. Winifred, but the details are changed from the usual telling of the story in order to support the themes of the film.  St. Winifred is also, in one sense, a tale of beheading and of virtue. That in upholding her ‘purity,’ she lost her life and her head. This is why I think it’s not actually a foregone conclusion that Gawain is spared at the end--I think Lowery makes the point that sometimes our values must be paid for in blood. 

The flexible nature of honor is addressed directly in Winifred’s story. From the beginning, when she tells him not to touch her, that “a knight should know better,” there’s a sort of restarting the clock on his ability to be that knight. He just failed the last test, but as people, we are not who we are in one moment, whether that is terribly virtuous, or terribly cowardly, but the accumulation of who we are in all the moments. Each story is the chance to start again, and that’s why you’ll see so much menton of his being a knight at the start of each ‘section.’ It’s his chance to begin this anew. 

In that way of, just tell the audience what’s going on, when Winifred is telling her story, of a man who came and desired to lay with her, and says, ‘Perhaps he was thee,’ that’s not just speaking to the sense of circles and repetition of nature in the movie--though not unrelated--but the idea that Gawain could be that man, could still, in a sense, choose to be that man. That he can always fail this test, too. 

“If I go and get it, what will be my reward?”

It takes you aback, just for a moment, when he asks her that, until we realize that we were all asking ourselves that too. Reading into the traditions behind knights and saints, I think we’re used to the idea that a boon will be received for dong the right thing, and Lowery asks us to evaluate all that in Winifred’s reply:

 “Why would you ask me that? Why would you ever ask me that?” 

Harkening back to when he didn’t give the kid more than just a single coin, and telling him, “my thanks”--does he really have the right to ask for such a thing when he couldn’t manage to reward kindness himself-- but also the idea that honorable tasks should be taken up for their own sake, and not in order to have a reward. Can you truly be said to be acting with chivalry and honor if you’re doing it for a reward, or even notoriety? 

Going back to my larger theory that Lowery is trying to bring forth the idea in all of this that there is no such thing as being a “knightly” sort of person at rest, while still holding that the decisions of a moment can cement the sort of person we continue to be, it makes sense that he would ask if we can say Gawain passes this test, if Winifred regards him. 

“Now I can see thee,” she says, because this is a baptism of sorts, and being a saint, she can only see a soul in clarity. This is the direct opposite to the moment that Arthur tells him he has mud on his face, this is in direct opposite to his behavior with Essel, this is him doing the right and kind thing for a woman, without a thought to reward, and in that, he is cleaned, and Winifred can see what’s underneath, the sort of man he can be under what he’s accumulated. 

ANd this is why he gets back the axe. It gives him leave to continue his quest, even though just a bit earlier, when asked where he was going, he simply said, “home.” But the show of the axe let him know that honor was not yet lost to him, that there was still a chance to be the sort of person he might have been. 

WHich, by the way, does not makes things clear to him still. Life is not that simple, and I am very very resolute on my idea that a lot of what this movie is about is about the journey of our own lives to meet death and live with honor inasmuch as we can overcome our own cowardice and shitty behavior to do so, and even at the end of it all, about to meet the Green Knight, asked why he’s doing it, expressing that honor is why a knight does what he does, and then, pressed, says:

“Honor is a part of the life I want.” 

This is Lowery pretty firmly taking aim at the old Arthurian texts, wherein honor very often good be a sole raison d’etre, saying that for most of us--and I would argue the whole reason Gawain is a fuck up is that he’s meant to represent most of us--that isn’t enough. There needs to be something more. 

I also don’t think, for all I’ve talked about tests, that Gawain’s cowardice with the Green Knight had to be the end of the story. I think Essel’s pregnancy, and his cruelty, was a test. I think lying about what happened in the Green Chapel and accepting a knighthood was a test. I think there are multiple tests in that little interlude, but you see, the problem is, the more you do something, the more you’ll do it. As he makes these choices, this more and more becomes the man he is, as these choices stack up like stones, it gets harder and harder to knock down that wall. This is why his green sash--his cowardice--has become a physical part of him by the end of that interlude, bleeding as he draws it out. 

Honor isn’t set, and it isn’t enough. Life is a confusing journey, rife with difficulty to do the right thing with consistency not because of outside influence so much as ourselves. Gawain’s great antagonist in al of this is not the Green Knight, but himself. Such as it is for all of us, as we TRY to be good people, and risk sometimes redefining honor, or greatness, what it means to be “a knight” in order to convince ourselves that it might be true. 

“Is this all there is?” Gawain asks, before the axe is laid down, and I want to give Dev Patel a lot of credit here, though I’ve mostly been focusing on imagery and story. I’m not sure this would work as well if he hadn’t made it feel quite as human as it does, when he says it. It’s the question I think all of us ask, as we contemplate our own deaths, our own struggles to even up with what was right. Is there no way of knowing what comes next? 

Life is a series of tests. A measure of honor. And what else ought there be?

On Doc and The Green Knight

#Green Knight shit #hi please enjoy two thousand words where I'm still not sure I said all I wanted to

[writing-in-april]

Training wheels

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Years later after Spencer teaches Reader to drive even though he hates driving, Reader becomes good enough to ride a motorcycle they get him to come along on a ride.

A/N: hey heyyyy- this is my seventeenth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! This fic is based on this request- which I decided to make smutty instead of full on smut so I could make it a bit more fluffy. Disclaimer- I know nothing about motorcycles and I can’t even drive lol so sorry for the lack of terminology. This ended up being gender neutral- I checked it over for the correct pronouns a few time but I could have missed something- please let me know if so! Feel free to give me your response by sending something to my inbox here. Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy.

Warnings: 18+- (if you are found to be violating this I will tell writers who you are), no full on smut- in the smutty/spicy category, a bit of grinding, implications about having sex in the future, In public sexual teasing (who’s fucking surprised), hints at Sub!Spencer, A few swear words

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.0k

Spencer hated driving. He always shook whenever he couldn’t stop the racing thoughts about the dangers of moving vehicles. He knew he was a good driver, but it was easier for him to trust the metro which stayed on its tracks (most of the time). A car with no rigid path and with so many variables just made Spencer’s mind race too much.

You were the only person that could get him to get into a car, without any sort of coercion. At his job he had accepted it as a reality of his situation; there was no way that he could get around it. He agreed to teach you how to drive to your job, which happened to be where you had met him. You ran a small thrift store just walking distance from your apartment. There had been no need to drive anywhere, until you opened up another branch on the other side of town.

You had met Spencer there, he had come in at night, just before close. He shopped around for a few sweater vests and cardigans until you had told him that you needed to close. His mumbled apology had been so cute you remember it to this day.

When he noticed that you walked home in the same direction as his, he offered to keep you company. At first you thought he had done it out of guilt since he made you stay late, until you realized he liked your presence. It was not a romantic relationship (not yet at least), you both didn’t kiss or anything, but you did love to tease him.

He cared about you, and you about him, which is why he eagerly offered to teach you to drive when you mentioned that you were scared to learn with an instructor. You preferred to be taught by someone who you knew and knew was a good driver. Spencer was just that, even with jittery fingers and tapping feet.

Since then you had become a great driver, good enough that you felt confident indulging in one of your dreams. You had always wanted a motorcycle, the wind blowing in your face and the freeing quality it had, had always made you desire one. Despite Spencer’s protests about the potential for even more safety hazards than a car you still indulged your dream, confident in your skills that Spencer had laid the foundation with his excellent teaching skills even while slightly fearful.

You had taken to it like a fish to water, it had been even easier than when you had Spencer teach you. Now it was the time to show the master how the apprentice approved, though you highly doubted Spencer liked to be called a master at driving. More like a teacher, a nervous one.

It did take some convincing for him to agree to ride on your motorcycle with you.Somehow, through gentle persuasion throughout the last few months, you had done it. He had prefaced it saying that it would be the only time it would ever happen, and you made it your goal to change his opinion. You highly doubted he’d ever want to drive it, which was fair considering he couldn’t stop the thoughts of statistics about safety in his head. You hoped though, that maybe he’d like riding with you.

“Is it safe?” Was his first question as soon as he arrived at your small thrift store you owned, jittery with nerves.

“Well- hello to you too.” You sassed cocking your hip to the side while holding your helmet in the small of your waist. He blushed bashfully, then finally said hello before you assured him, “I wouldn’t be bringing you if it wasn’t safe- I wouldn’t be driving it if it wasn’t safe.”

“Ok- I trust you.” He relaxed a little, though he was obviously still nervous.

To cheer him up a little you pivoted the conversation onto a more jovial topic, “Will you wear a leather jacket?”

“Maybe next time- if you convince me to get on the death trap again.” It was rare to see Spencer tease you back, but you thoroughly enjoyed it.

Quipping back you said, “Maybe I could get you to drive it too”

“I think I’d need training wheels for that.” A snort came out of you at that; it was funny imagining Spencer riding a motorcycle with bicycle training wheels.

“That would be a sight to see.” You swung your leg on to mount the vehicle, ready to take him on a spin. You then prompted him while getting your helmet on, “Come on pretty boy, let’s do this- and get that helmet on.”

He was a little nervous just going by the shaking in his palms, but he still put the helmet on and climbed on- albeit a bit awkwardly.

He wrapped his hands around your waist snugly when you roared the motorcycle to life. Whenever you had to break he clenched tighter, maybe not enough to leave bruises, but enough that it would be implanted in your memory for a good long while. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him.

You could tell he had slowly relaxed a little bit more even while keeping a strong grip on you as you made your looped path charted out in your head. Starting at your store and ending at your store, it was longer than maybe it should have been, considering Spencer’s grip on you had made your arousal spark to life.

You soon realized you weren’t the only one enjoying this, feeling something slightly stiff as Spencer shifted slightly at a red light. Oh, he was enjoying it. His cock confined in his pants was growing harder as the journey progressed.

“Did you have fun?” You questioned just as you pulled back into where you started, even though you already knew he did.

He squeaked out a measly, “Yeah!”

You smirked again, out of sight from his face. Biting your inner cheek in thought, you contemplated whether or not to act on it. It would be so easy to just swivel your hips and begin to grind down on his erection that had been pressing into you during the whole ride.

Fuck it, this might be one of your only chances to make a move. You tilted your hips just a smidge, leaning back just a little into him. You heard a hitch in his breath, his hands he had around you tightening back around you, pulling you in closer.

He whimpered when you sat back a little more, testing the waters just a little further. When he himself rolled his own hips once you had to ask, “Do you want me to keep going, Spencer? Do you want this?”

His helmeted head dropped into the crook of your neck, nodding into it as he began to rock into you a little. You gripped around the handles that you were still holding, all you had done was break so far. You were both in broad daylight perched on top of the vehicle. Turning your head as much as you could when you realized he hadn’t verbally responded you prompted sharply, “I need you to speak up, pretty boy. Do you want this?”

“Yes!” He gasped quickly at your prompt.

You then ground yourself back onto his bulge, rotating yourself slowly to feel the torturous friction. The fact that your bottom halves were still clothed only made it even more devastating. No one was around as it was the weekend, when you weren’t open and no one was really around. You still tried to stifle any noises you were tempted to make as his own hips started to undulate into your own.

A person could round the corner and immediately see two people grinding like teenagers onto each other. You both may have been completely closed, but it was quite obvious what you were both doing.

The extra friction you were getting was building a burning orgasm in you, the noises you had been trying to hold back were too hard to stifle. A moan came out of your mouth when Spencer moved down his hands from your waist to the outside of your hips, pulling you down on him with even more ferocity.

When his phone then began to ring you both let out a groan, your hips stopping any movement you had been making over his hard bulge. He reluctantly pulled out his ringing and buzzing ancient phone. Which you would normally find endearing that he carried around somewhat arcane technology, but your weaning arousal was wanting you to smash it on the ground.

“Hello? Hotch?” You groaned, knowing exactly what this meant. There was no way this was going to go further tonight, Hotch wasn’t calling him on the weekend just for paperwork. He was about to leave for a case.

You ripped your helmet off of your head out of frustration while he continued to talk. Grumbling while wiping the sweat that had started to accumulate, Spencer chattering away quickly at Hotch telling him he’ll be there in about ten minutes.

When he got off the phone he began to stammer in apology, this was the only time I’d ever want to cut him off, “There’s no need to apologize- go catch a bad guy.”

“Thank you- and thanks for-r the ride and- um the other thing… I’ve got to go now, I’ll uh- talk to you later.” He then awkwardly shuffled off, trying to conceal his obvious bulge even though you were the only one around to see it.

When he got into his car, you were happy he had brought it for once. You wouldn’t have let him walk all the way to his office from here, and you would have had to drive him with his bulge pressing into your ass again.

“I’m gonna need a cold shower.” You added, mumbled underneath your back as you put your helmet back on, ready to drive back to your apartment to hopefully freeze your frustration away.

—-

The next time you saw him- about a week later, a little blush immediately graced his cheeks, probably thinking about what happened last time. You kissed his cheek and felt how hot they had gotten just by being in his presence. He was here again, early this time, ready for you to open up your shop for the day.

“You’ve got to wait 30 minutes until you can buy something, I don’t open till then,” You then flashed a smirk towards him, he might die from being overheated if you kept teasing him. Still, you continued to do it, “Can’t be seen to show you any favors, pretty boy. Then everyone would want one.” As soon as the keys turned to unlock you didn’t open the door right away, instead turning back to face him. He fidgeted even more underneath your direct gaze, also averting his eyes. You let go of your hold on the keys, bit your lip and added, “Though, I think you’d be the only one I’d want to be my favorite.

He stuttered a bit at that, before changing the subject, “Um- I came here to actually thank you for last week… I had a lot of fun.”

You then cocked your head to the side in question, “Didn’t you already thank me last time?”

“Yeah.” He responded meekly, clearing his throat a few times while he collected his thoughts. “Can we finish what we started?”

You beamed, as it had been exactly what you were hoping for. You made your way back over to him, this time to pull him by the front of his shirt to press a steaming kiss to his lips. He moaned, letting your tongue run over his teeth a few times before you deepened it further. You were panting by the time you released him, but worked through the gasping breaths to answer verbally now, “Of course- come inside with me. If you won’t go on another ride with me after this while wearing a leather jacket, I’ve got a leather jacket you can wear while I ride you.”

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (fill out this form to join):

All Works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @spenxerslut @boxofsparklingmuses @katexrichardson@takeyourleap-of-faith

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Sub Spencer: @thatsonezesty13 @pastathighs @virtualpeanutartisanjudge @calm-and-doctor @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #30 fics in 30 days

[xiaq]

Ok I might be in dire need of ur calm academic vibes...

My whole life I’ve been good at school and even got the best result for my A-Levels test in my whole country (small country but still)

Objectively I know I’m not stupid. I also know that i’m not a genius and i don’t expect that of myself. But since i started college (2yrs ago) it seems like everybody got soo much smarter and I am not only stuck but deteriorating.

I do well enough on exams and smaller assignments, but I just can’t deal with longer writing assignments. My current seminar paper (not sure if that’s the right translation) only needs to be 10 pages long, but i am not only late but also unable to finish it and already had a little breakdown (always lovely)

My questions: hooowww do you write academic papers? How do you not get overwhelmed by the amount of tabs open for reaearch? How do you not cry when you can’t find one (1) goddamn good source on the history and basics of machine translation? How do you not cry when having to write smthg academic in general?? I love learning and learning about really specific concepts and things and I also love writing and reading, so in theory academia should work for me, but I’m honestly contemplating dropping out rn bc I can’t see myself writing a whole bachelor/master thesis

(It‘s a bit long and i do have an amazing support system, so please don‘t feel like you need to answer this if you don’t have the time/energy!)

Ok. Take a deep breath. Drink some water. Maybe take a hot shower or set aside ten minutes to do a cooling face mask. You are in what I like to call a “death spiral” and it’s not going to help you at all to continue down this path!!  I can give you 2 pieces of advice that have helped me over the years. 1. Simplify. Clean up your workspace. Pick 1 or possibly 2 of the most potentially useful tabs and save the links to all the others, but CLOSE THEM. Work with something that you know will be beneficial. If you don’t already have an outline, make an outline. Ok. Stop looking at the whole paper. Work on ONE PIECE of that online. Grab some quotes, write some paraphrases. Flesh out the framework of that part of your outline. Focus on one point at a time that you’re trying to make. Once you’ve made that point, move on to the next piece. If you need to bring in additional sources at that point, cool. But for longer papers, always break them up into smaller pieces and then, once you have those pieces completed, go back and make sure they’re all cohesive during revision. 3. Write a shitty draft. Just commit yourself to it. It will be shitty. Write it anyway. Write it fast and messy. You can’t fix something that doesn’t exist. You will be shocked at the amount of good (if in need of revision) thought you’ll get down on paper when you just give yourself permission to be imperfect. One of my favorite quotes: “And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good”--Steinbeck. Ok. Once you have a shitty draft: revise! If you’re running out of time, revise a little and know that it’s not perfect but at least it’s complete. If you have a little more time revise it heavily. Rewrite sections that need it. Adjust your argument if needed. The important thing right now is that you get your thoughts down on the page, even if they’re not as pretty as they could be.  Finally, academia (and the structures inherent to grading within academia) is a shit show. I say that lovingly but honestly. In NO WAY does your ability to perform well in a collegiate environment demonstrate your intellectual ability. Please remember that. You’re awesome. Hang in there.

#also hit up your schools writing center if you have one #they can be quite helpful #answered asks #college life #college advice #paper writing #professor things