#after one particular conversation where at some point he straight up told her that he wasnt up for talking she took it personally and left | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hwajin · 2 years

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𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 — !# : lyb

genre: fluff, smut, slow burn/ mutual pining

pairing: nerd!felix x popular!fem!reader

wc: 7.5k

warnings: unprotected sex/ piv/ cumming inside, otherwise the smut is hella soft <3

note: in case you want to skip forward to the smut part OR want to read only till then: smut follows under the third ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── !!

He’d always see her pass by his locker in the hallway, when he happened to look up from his phone for a mere second, as the little screen happened to occupy the majority of his time in school. Felix had one mutual class with her, where she sat right before him, whispers and giggles always heard from where she was seated. He knew the approximate hour in which she’d make her way to her next class after lunch break, chatting with friends and throwing her head back whenever she laughed. He also knew that on Tuesdays, her day ended after the 8th hour, and he sometimes saw her catching the bus just on time, besides running towards it every week anew because she just couldn’t seem to stop the conversations she was part of. It wasn’t like he was obsessed with her, though it might sound like it from an outside point of view. But she was endearing, and oh so lovely, with the way she moved and carried herself, so how could he possibly not find interest in her?

His friends have told him that she’s out of his league, that she’d never go for a homebody who’s most interesting weekly activity is going out for some junk food with classmates, before his ears would be covered with his headset again, eyes fixed on whatever new game he’s installed onto his PC at home. And he knew – obviously he knew – that he didn’t even stand a chance. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder otherwise, whenever she turned around in class, facing him, looking him straight in the eyes before asking for notes or a pencil or anything else that would be of use for her. She’d shoot him a smile, one that looked so genuine and heartfelt that he couldn’t help but wonder, that maybe he did stand a chance, after all.

“Hey, Felix, right?”

Her voice caused his head to snap up, gaze laced with confusion as they’re eyes locked in a quite awkward manner. She knew his name?

“Uh- yeah.. do you need anything?”

Did he sound cold, rude maybe? He most likely did, figuring how socializing wasn’t one of his strengths – especially when it came to her. He felt his face heat up in something he’d call embarrassment, or maybe he was simply flustered, nervous. Arisu heard her let out a chuckle, not one that came off as condescending, but rather amused with a hint of curiosity, he thought. Curiosity in him, maybe? Was that possible? Or maybe he was getting ahead of himself again.

“No, I don’t need anything. Just wanted to chat a bit.”

Chat a bit. About what, he thought. He could barely hold a conversation that consisted of mere small talk, and he doubted that the two shared any common interests. And God, was he awkward, with the way he only stared at her, nothing but a hum leaving his lips, followed by the corners of his mouth grimacing into something that hopefully looked like an acceptable smile, though he wasn’t too sure. And there it was, another one of her chuckles, and again, it was everything but to make fun of him. It was sweet, sounded through the room like the chirping of birds and he knew his ears were of a bright red by now.

“I just noticed I don’t really know you besides you sitting behind me all year already, thought it’d be nice to get to know each other, no?”

Yes, it would be nice to get to know each other. But how did she possibly want the same thing? Yet her eyes sparked at Felix while she waited for his answer, or anything, really, a reaction to her words. Was she as nervous as him, maybe? Or did she simply sense what he was onto, did she know that he had a crush on her – if that what the right word for the turmoil of feelings and thoughts he had?

He’d sometimes catch himself zoning off in the middle of class, not looking anywhere in particular, yet having his gaze most often than not fixed on the back of her head. Again, not in a way anyone would get creeped out, she simply happened to sit right in his viewpoint. And in times like this he couldn’t help but notice her love for detail. How it seemed like every and each of her strands of hair was laid down to perfection, the bounce of them keeping Felix in awe. How there would be hair pins and ties and accessories adorning her, never unmatched with the rest of her outfit. Outfits that looked like she planned them purposefully, but not as if she was trying too hard, in a way they looked nothing but fitted on her. Today, he couldn’t help but notice her choice of clothes, too, subtle colors grazing her skin so softly it damn near knocked his breath out.

And then there was him, an old shirt and pants thrown over his body, not even bothered enough to get his hair done in any way. He was only going to classes after all, not seeing the need to dress up – but maybe he should learn from her. After all, he wanted to stand a chance somehow.

“Uh.. yeah, no, it’d be nice to know each other. Like- to get to know each other, I mean, yeah.”

Felix heard giggles and laughter from different parts of the classroom, friends and couples, some merely talking, others visibly flirting with each other. And it all looked so easy for them, so why did he seem to be the only one who couldn’t get a grip of himself?

But then again, she didn’t seem to mind at all. She cocked her head at him and gave him a tooth flashing smile, and he thought he’ll never see anything prettier.

It took Felix a while into the conversation to warm up around her, and he was surprised how easy it was to talk, all of a sudden, about not particular interesting things either, and yet he saw the reason, knew why he would laugh out loud and get past his initial hesitation – she was insanely charismatic, was able to carry a conversation where he long would have let it die, would have buried his head into his phone again, scrolling away aimlessly without paying much attention to his surroundings. She didn’t let that happen, though, always a new question at the tip of her tongue, ones even that Arisu never expected her to ask, to show interest in any way. She wanted to hear about his hobbies, egging him on to tell her about the recent games he’s been playing, stuff he’s been watching, music he’s been into. He though – on multiple points during the convo – that she must have been bored already, but that moment never occurred, surprisingly. It wasn’t until the professor interrupted whatever topic any student was rambling on about that she eventually took her eyes off his, not without giving him a last smile before concentrating on the lesson up front, as though there never was any conversation between the two.

And while he expected to leave the room all by himself as per usual, making his way home after long hours he simply couldn’t wait to get done with, she was there again, her steps matching his, though hers were laced with more graze and elegance, almost.

“Are you catching the same bus as me?”, her voice sounded through Felix’s ears, causing his eyes to head her direction, locking eyes with her what felt like the millionth time this morning. That was more eye contact than he’s ever shared with you before, and he wasn’t sure himself how his nerves haven’t been the end of him yet, how he was still – if only barely – holding up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”

If Felix were on her place, he thought, he’d long get the feeling that he didn’t have any interest in her whatsoever. Why did his responses happen to be so short, sounding so lifeless? He had no problems showing his emotions – laughter, cracking jokes and teasing, getting angry – with his friends, yet with her he’s felt like a robot, as if someone turned off his bodily functions with just a click. So, he forced himself to a smile, to hopefully save yet another painfully awkward try to converse, he again couldn’t tell if the smile looked rather frightening, though. Yet the corners of her lips danced upwards, and Felix thought that he must have done something right, that perhaps he was warming up to her, when she’s still not given up on him.

And maybe Felix was right. In regard to warming up to her, and whenever he thought that she might maybe, just maybe, like him back, if only half as much as he did. Because the way home was nothing but enjoyable, the normally stuffy and uncomfortably crowded bus ride bearable for Felix this time around, when he got to talk and joke around with her for the time being, when they’ve exchanged looks he thought might mean something more, and when they stood talking in front of her doorstep for that much longer. The conversation never seemed to quiet down, always something new she was curious about, always something more Felix wanted to know about her. Before, after a while and suddenly, he asked the question which answer might nest in his brain now forever from the very moment she’s told him, from the very moment the subject of your chatting turned more serious that it was before.

“I guess I just grew sick of my friends.”, she said when Felix asked her sudden change in behavior to him.

“They feel so superficial, it just gets on my nerves lately. And you’ve always given me good vibes, to be honest, I’ve always thought of maybe talking to you more.”

The smile she gave him convinced Felix that she must be honest, that she meant the words she said, that her interest in him wasn’t based on pity or some joke she and her friends thought of. Because that’s what Felix friends would say, surely, when he’d tell them about today, when he’d open up about all the things they’ve talked about and how nice she was to him. How she didn’t accept his shyness and kept on talking until he was finally comfortable, how both of them shared laughs and giggles together when talking about silly things – his friends wouldn’t believe him.

So, when Felix started to make his own way home, not after exchanging last looks before he waited for her figure to disappear behind the door to her house, he knew he simply wouldn’t tell his friends about today, about how well you’ve hit it off, how he thought he might actually stand a chance, maybe. And he knew how stupid it was, that he wasn’t 16 anymore, but up until he found himself inside the safety of his own four walls, he couldn’t possibly stop the damned grin that was glued to his face, couldn’t get the smile to disappear, even after getting ready for bed and laying down in the dark, ready for sleep to overcome his body. But her face danced before his eyes, the way she’d laugh at him when he’s told an embarrassing story, how she’d get so passionate, suddenly, about certain subjects you touched upon, or how her face distorted into one of anger when you’ve chatted about uni and homework and professors and other students. But her last words, the ones she’s told him before saying goodbye, when she admitted of having wanted to talk to him for a while – Felix wouldn’t be able to explain the feeling in words even at gunpoint. And it almost scared him, how excited he was to finally fall into deep slumber, how he wanted to wake up to a next day for the one and only purpose to hopefully spending it with you again, to be talking and chatting with you again, about anything and nothing.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

It's taken Felix and her a week, a week of waiting for each other to catch busses, a week of chatting whenever passing by in hallways, a week of exchanging smiles and laughter, before they’d call each other a friend. For Felix, there was no doubt anymore, if she wasn’t crushing on him, she surely was interested enough to keep the boy as a friend, and he loved that simple idea so much that it was hard to believe that he’d possibly react decently, in case she ever revealed to like him after all. And there was a mix of feelings about that, for Felix, because while he all but wanted to get his hopes up for nothing, he couldn’t look past your antics, your behavior in certain moments. Moments that he sometimes wished held on for longer than they did, moments that gave him that bit of hope he feared to get caught up in. It was moments of subtle touching, or eye contact that felt too intense, too deep, for it to be purely platonic. Or moments when she’d ask questions he shied away to answer, questions that seemed almost too personal to be talked about in places like busses. Questions about his past relationships, about his type – his experience. And in moments like those – how could Felix possibly not read more into it, not get caught up in a tad of bitter hope?

He was nothing but adorable. She’d never expected to have found interest in the boy as he wasn’t the usual type she was aiming for – after they’ve first talked she noticed barely anything common, and yet, surprisingly, it didn’t throw her off. Whenever she’s wasted her time on dates that ended up wanting to solely get into her pants, she’d often tell her friends to call her mid dinner, to make up and excuse, to get her out of whatever meaningless conversation she was dying to trying to save. On those dates, meet ups, one-night stands, she couldn’t bear hearing strangers talk about something she herself didn’t necessarily enjoy. Not that she considered herself a closed off person, there was always a possibly common ground in her opinion, always to option to learn about one significant others interests and likes. Yet she simply never saw the worth in it, never felt to make that step and get involved.

Before she’s got to know Felix, that is. He was oh so different, in every way imaginable, from her, her friends, her usual and typical dating circle. He was a homebody, seemingly loving his game controllers more than most things, and she envied the few friends Felix had, which was something she wasn’t particularly used to but wished herself to have. She’s had childhood friends, similar to how Felix told her about his own ones, yet she long isn’t contact with any of them anymore. Her group of friends change every other class, no consistency of people in her life whatsoever, different to him, who’s kindergarten friendships were still going strong after years and years on end. Oh, how she envied him for it. But no matter the differences between the two; there wasn’t a blink of a moment where she felt possibly bored. He was interesting, in his own, different way, and she loved hearing about his persona, who he is, what he does. She wanted to know, simply for the sake of knowing, of getting closer, of bonding. It was unusual for her, and she wondered if Felix maybe felt the same, or if he ended up bored whenever talking to her. That’s how she felt, more often than not, and yet, she thought, it wasn’t like he’d distance himself from here – which meant there must be some interest after all.

And he was nice. She was surprised about how genuine the boy was, in his words and stories he told, in the way he smiled at her. Yes, he surely was awkward, clumsy even, but in a way, she thought, it’d only make him more endearing, more… loveable. And no, she wouldn’t go as far as mentioning love that early on, yet she knew she liked him, more than she’d like a casual friend, more even than the occasional crush she’d have. She truly found interest in him, wanted to get closer to him – on more levels than one. It didn’t need much brainpower for her to notice he must reciprocate those feelings, figuring he must have locked his eyes on her as well. That’s what she knew, hoped at last. She surely – by now – knew Felix well enough, though, to not raise expectations. Even if he liked her, she doubted he’d make any move, not even subtle. She wasn’t one to carry her heart on her sleeve, and she knew herself that confessing without being sure of one’s other feelings was nothing but hell on earth – so she didn’t blame him. Instead, she’d sit in class, talking and chatting with Felix, trying to get behind his interests, preferences, be it in food or activities or simple hobbies he had. Her intentions nothing more than to find a perfect place to hang out together, one that was far off from uni and people she knew, one that he’d hopefully like – to maybe, hopefully, be able to call it something like a first date.

“Hey, you have plans this weekend?”

The question wasn’t necessarily out of the norm, Felix thought, yet his mind seemed to stumble over with thoughts when the words left her lips, while the two made their way to class. He’s never met her outside of school, and her being the one to propose it first, to throw that idea out, just like that, as if Felix wouldn’t go crazy at the shear thought of it had his head feeling dizzy by any means. Was she aware of the effect she had on him? Or was that possibility so far off, the fact that he could even like her, because she purely saw him as a good friend after all? Or maybe it was both, maybe she knew very well what went on in his head at all times when he thought of her, but proceeded to pay no mind to it, because he was simply a classmate, nothing more to her. Felix oh so badly wanted to shove those thoughts to the back of his brain whenever they invaded him, yet he couldn’t possibly, not with how much more he grew to like her in the last couple of days, weeks now, almost, they’ve spent nearly every day together.

“Uh, no, I’m free this weekend. No plans. …why?”

He was unsure, insecure in the question he’s asked, almost as if scared. And maybe he was. Would meeting her outside of school turn him yet more awkward, would make him seem weird, more nervous? If she was to invite him over to her house – though, let’s be honest, she wouldn’t possibly do that – he’d surely everything but stay calm.

“Oh, I just thought we could meet up? Like, not in school for a change, I’m sick of seeing you only here.”, and she gave him a smile, one that Felix could only return with confused blinking. For him, seeing her in school felt secure, somewhat safe; in case the conversation went dry there was something to come back to, mutual classes, homework, professors. But Felix knew what she meant nonetheless, and he’d not turn down something that could possibly bring him closer to her.

“You said you liked the cinema, right? We could check out what movies they’re playing lately. If you… want to, that is.”, and another smile, though this time around it didn’t seem as confident, as collected as it usually did. And Felix was sure he heard her stumble over her words, hesitate, even if slightly – he sensed nervousness in her tone. Sure, emotional intelligence wasn’t his strength, and knowing what other people felt and thought was nothing but a myth to him at all times, even with friends and family, but he knew her enough by now that simply overlooking that feeling he had wasn’t quite possible. Or maybe he simply wanted to believe it, and hallucinated things that weren’t there.

“Uh, yeah…! Yeah, I do like movies, we could... yeah, we could go see one. On the weekend. If you want to.”

It was true, he liked movies. Loved them actually, especially when it came to watching them in the cinema. And while Felix remembered of telling her that fact, he was surprised that she didn’t forget. She still knew, proof that she listened, whenever he talked about things he thought didn’t sound exciting enough. And yet she knew, still, didn’t forget such a simple and vain detail about him. God, she’d drive him crazy, and she didn’t even do much, didn’t even know of it.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

The rest of the week – her and Felix made plans to meet up on Monday – felt excruciatingly long, like it’d last on for decades. Felix would wake up every day anew, wishing for it to be Saturday already, wishing to finally go and sit in that cinema with her, watch that movie with her, chat and laugh about it afterwards, maybe in a café, if she’d be up for it. And every day anew he felt like the sun simply didn’t want to set, didn’t want to end another day of waiting. Until Saturday came around, and Felix excitement suddenly left him right that day. Though, that wasn’t entirely true. Of course, he didn’t change his mind, quite surely still wanted to get to see her, to bond with her outside of the everyday, usual school talk. But it was hard for him to simply turn off his nerves, to look past the anxiety he’s felt simply thinking about sitting next to you for about two hours. Wouldn’t it be awkward? On the other hand, he’d sit behind you in class for hours as well, this really wasn’t any different. Or was it? After all, as he’d already noticed, uni was a secure place; he’d always have something to lead the conversation onto in moments of danger. But a cinema, filled with strangers, a movie playing while he sat with her in the dark – there wouldn’t be much talking in the first place, but it was the time before and after the movie that Felix feared. Which was mindless because you were friends after all. Only that he wanted to be more than that, and looking past this simple feeling wasn’t as easy as he’d like it to be.

So yes, when Felix saw her making her way towards him, with excited steps, her frame coming closer to the entrance Felix was waiting at, he knew his ears turned red that moment already. And for a good reason, too. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, better even than he was used to in school. She clearly took time to make herself look the way she did, surely made an effort on her appearance, but as ever so often, she pulled it off with a naturality that fascinated him in every way possible. And though Felix thought he too made an effort in looking nice, for once, which was so different to his character in the first place – seeing her took all that away. Looking at her now made him realize that the button up he decided to wear wasn’t ironed, had creases in it. Or that his skin probably looked too dry, as it often did, and he’s forgotten to do anything about it for tonight. Or that his lack of accessories surely made him look boring, that he’d could have thrown on a necklace at least, seeing how much jewellery was adorning her body. He felt so utterly stupid, so unprepared for something he’s had on his mind for days, and his only wish was to disappear right there and then, on the spot, before she could step any closer.

But he didn’t, obviously. He stood there while she walked up to him, hands in his pockets, swaying back and forth on his feet, looking frightened surely. Waiting for her to come closer, to smell the lack of perfume on him – he’s taken a shower beforehand, he wasn’t that careless, but he surely didn’t think of having to smell particularly nice – before she’d look him up and down with eyes of judgement. But she went in for a hug instead, after speaking a quick ‘hi’, and Felix didn’t see an ounce of discern in her face, a smile and warm eyes meeting his.

“I’m sorry, did you wait long? I have a habit of running late.”

The chuckle she left out made Felix heart flutter in the subtlest way possibly, and it was contagious, making him let out a fist of giggled laughter as well.

“No, I didn’t, I just reached too, don’t worry.”

There was a silence none of them seemed to be able to fill. Maybe the different scenery – the couples around them kissing and chatting, the nightly view of the city, the movie Felix was about to watch with her – maybe it ended up marking your moods with a certain shyness after all, flustered you. Though, he thought, with him it was clear. Of course he’d be a mess, of course he wouldn’t quite know how to keep the conversation going in case it died out – how could he, he barely managed this very thing in school. But; why was she quiet? Why did she, once again, similar to when she asked Felix out to the movies, show hints of nervousness? The way she stepped from one foot to the other, seemed to fiddle with her outfit, looking everywhere but him. Was she, perhaps, as out of it as him? Was that possible?

“You- you look really nice, by the way--“

An ice breaker. One that sounded embarrassing, but Felix managed to get it past his lips, managed to speak out his mind, for the first time not waiting for her to take the initiative. And it paid off; her face changed into one of pleasured surprise, her bright, tooth showing smile appearing against the softness of her features, and if Felix wasn’t already deep into the fascination of her, he surely was now.

She smiled, cocked her head at him. She looked like she was about to head towards the cinema without a comment, heels on the run already, before her mouth opened after all to return something

“Thanks. You don’t look bad yourself.”

And she looked mischievous, head still to the side as he held a glance in her eyes Arisu has never seen before. Yet it locked him in, in a way everything about her locked her in, at all times. Yet it made him feel different, another sort of nervous he was normally used from feeling around her. But before he could figure it out, could get behind what it was that rushed through his body, her eyes weren’t on him altogether anymore, pointed towards the cinema, urging him to get going, to finally go and see the movie, and just like that he’s lost her gaze, lost that feeling that overpowered him only mere seconds ago.

The movie was going fine. Felix would have been worried if not, after all his only job was to sit there and concentrate on the pictures and voices that played before him on the screen. He couldn’t though. Her presence right beside him took all his attention away, off the movie, and he hated it. Because what if she wanted to talk about it later on, what if she’d ask questions about it he wouldn’t be able to answer? She’d think he’s an idiot, would lose interest in meeting him outside of school, and they’d stay classmates. Though, that was likely all in his head after all. It somewhat killed Felix to not be able to talk to her, ironically, as scared as he was of screwing up chit chatting with her. And he couldn’t explain the reason if someone asked him, wasn’t quite sure what exactly made him this giddy in his seat, in the darkness of the room. He felt tense, for whatever reason, his body stiff without an explanation.

Until suddenly, his arm fell into a shudder. It was laying on the armrest Felix shared with her, the one that separated their seats. And he could feel her sudden touch on him, could feel her warm hand creeping up against his skin. Every inch she’s touched ignited into hot goosebumps, and Felix sat up in his seat even before their fingers soon intertwined when they reached each other. He didn’t back off, wouldn’t dare to, but it felt wrong, off, to not react; so he glanced at her. From the side, looked her face up and down – and she wasn’t giving into him. Her eyes were fixated on the movie, though Felix saw her nose painted red, even in the darkness of the room. He saw the film of sweat on her forehead, one that could only mean she was as nervous as him. After all – she was trying to hold hands, wasn’t she? It’d fit, the movie reached a part that Felix would call romantic. But he couldn’t possibly find an explanation for her antics; except, that he maybe was right after all, that his friends have been teasing him only to end up in the wrong – maybe she did like him, did want to get closer to him, in more ways than just a friendly one, one that was typical for classmates.

He looked at her, she knew. She felt his eyes on her face, knew he wanted to ask what this was, if she was alright, if she needed something. And yet, she thought, there wasn’t a moment he backed off. He’s had that chance, she’s made her way to lock her fingers with his longer ones slowly, excruciatingly so, and he not once as much as flinched, even. So, she must have been right in her predictions, must have observed him correctly. But God, what came into her? She wasn’t known to lose her cool, really, has never been one to shy off from anything or anyone. So why was it all so different with him, why did her brain keep short circuiting?

She wanted to give him a look, too. Wanted to see what sort of emotion laid there in his eyes, if fear and nervousness overplayed a sort of excitement she so badly wanted to see. They couldn’t really talk, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked him, as straight forward as possible, to not make things more secretive and embarrassing as they were in situations like those; when it came to the very first moves with crushes, the first days of a new relationship, the first everything with a new person. But, both her and Felix were supposed to stay quiet – so she gave his hand a squeeze, followed by her head turning into his direction, finally enough courage in her to follow through. His side profile was nothing but breath taking, and she saw his nose painted in red, even in the darkness of the room. And how adorable it was, she couldn’t help the smile that crept up on her. It was him, this time, who’s eyes simply wouldn’t find hers, though she was much braver in her actions, much more determined to not make this painfully weird the moment the movie was over, the moment they’d walk out that cinema, regretting to not have talked about whatever the hand holding thing was. So it took her another squeeze before Felix finally, after what felt like ages of simply and only hand holding, locked his eyes with hers. And for a second, as cheesy as they both know it was, time seemed to have stopped for just a singular moment, hearts skipping just a singular before going back to normal, though fastened now.

Both, Felix and her, would later on blame it on the mood of the cinema, of how the music rang in their ears, how the colors on screen made their faces appear in a light so pretty they’ve forgotten about the movie altogether, without paying much attention to it in the first place. None of them would say they fell for each other in that moment, maybe, but then again, none of them would be able to explain what lead them to lean in, similarly, at the same time, and oh so slowly both thought they’re lips would never meet. And though it took a while, though their nerves got the best of them and set them in a trance that nothing but slowed the process, their mouths connected, eventually, in a kiss Felix has never felt like this before. No, it wasn’t movie like, necessarily. Felix was surely clumsy in his movements, definitely revealed his lack of experience, but none of them paid mind. They’d only separate from each other to catch their breath, chests heaving in a chaos of nerves, while both were too shy to keep eye contact yet wanted nothing but see the other, see how they reacted to this moment, to what happened, to the first kiss they shared.

And against the noise of the movie that was rolling its never-ending story, it felt like, Felix could make out her voice, her breath hitting his skin in hot waves while she talked.

“You- you wanna get out of here?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

Clothes were scattered on the floor, the wooden tiles hidden beneath shorts and skirts and panties. And there were sounds echoing, off the walls, one that would hopefully not wake any neighbours. And no, Felix has never, ever, done anything like this. He’d never even imagine hooking up with a girl right after kissing her for the first time, let alone when he was the one being a flushed and stuttering mess beside her, nervous to even look at her. So, what were the odds that he – sober, he might add – went for it, followed her through her apartment door, one that she rented by herself, and didn’t pull back when she kissed him, down his jaw and neck, when her hands started roaming across his body? When the first clothes fell, Felix nearly backed out. He was oh so nervous, scared to screw things up, scared to ruin it with his lack of experience. Sure, he’s had girlfriends, but only so much to say he definitely wasn’t confident in his skills. But she really didn’t seem to mind; not when she sighed softly against his lips, when his fingers danced on her skin, somewhat unsurely but with so much want that he made up for it. And definitely not with how her hips, slowly, so slowly he barely felt it, rolled against his, with the position they found themselves in, on the edge of the bed, Felix caught defeated as she nothing but straddled him, kept him in place. And he liked it, enjoyed how she didn’t mind leading whatever this would develop into.

“This okay?”

She was out of breath, clearly, and her eyes told him that she wanted this as much as him, though he found it hard to believe; after all his kisses were sloppy, breath hitching too often for his liking, and he sweated an unnormal amount. But her hands stayed at the metal of his belt, waiting for him to say the word, impatient to get both fully naked. It would be embarrassing when she’d slip the pants off him, he thought; seeing her in nothing but her underwear, matched in black which grazed her body so perfectly, caused Felix to nearly moan out at simply that – the little control he had left over his body surely disappeared at that sight. But he nodded nevertheless, sighed a small ‘yes’, in which he got a hum from her in return and his pants were gone in mere seconds. To his very own surprise he wasn’t scared, barely even nervous. The look she gave him and his body, the glance that played in her eyes when she caught the tent in his boxers, was nothing but addicting to the man, and he wanted her to look at him like this for all times coming.

Neck kisses. Another thing Felix couldn’t claim to having experienced, could never relate to when his friends desperately tried to cover hickeys, be it in school or because of parents, Felix simply never had to. Thinking about it now, his only game in the past years was never really intimate, there was never a lot of kissing or making out, as it was the case with her. he figured it was the lack of attraction and emotion to previous girls, and feeling the full thing right now – how her lips danced across the softness of his skin, skin so untouched and pure almost, that she couldn’t possibly not wanting to ruin the man. And how her hips never stopped grinding against his, subtly, though more urgent now that his pants were off, more impatient, he felt. And though Felix never thought he was the vocal kind in bed, he surely was whining and sighing away enough for him to grow embarrassed right this moment. Yes, feeling the full thing right now, with her, melting weak already without having came to the best part yet would always mark Felix in one way or another, this moment bound to be buried in his mind forever.

She was fully on top of him now. She was straddling him before already, yes, but this felt different. It felt overwhelming, as though someone cut off Felix airways, right in the middle, he thought. It was hard for him to breathe, hard for him to keep his eyes anywhere but her. She was topless now, completely, and Felix felt nothing but bad for staring – yet he couldn’t help it. Especially not when she looked like she wanted him to stare. She’s laid him down before she’s attacked his neck with more kisses, kisses that already went places which made Felix eyes roll back, places he never even imagined to feel as good as they did when in contact with fiery breath. And it all intensified when she took off his boxers, her panties, leaving them bare to the bone. Then she’s sat up, fully, looking down at him, arms reaching behind her to unclasp the restrains of her chest, and she’s looked at him so smugly, so knowingly that it took him all his willpower to not buck his hips up accidently from the sheer lust he felt. Was it embarrassing, how much he wanted her, how painfully hard he was beneath her?

She’s unclasped her bra eventually, letting it fall to the side of the bed almost comedically, just like you see it in movies, and while she giggled at her attempt to lighten the mood, Felix was nothing but a goner. And she realized, both the hungry look in his eyes as he stared at her like a premature teenage boy and the way his body tensed up, his dick twitching in his pants. And god was it adorable, how he couldn’t tear his eyes off, how his pupils widened when she – experimentally – let her hands wander around her own body, enjoying every bit of attention she was getting from him. She passed the mould of her chest, let her fingers dance around the shapes of her ribs and waist until she caressed hips and thighs, finally coming to the point where their bodies were connected. Not fully yet, not in the way they both wanted it so desperately. But it was too early for that, she wanted to make the boy struggle just slightly longer, make him a bit more of a mess than he was anyway already. So, her fingers crept up, ever so slowly, between her inner thighs, playfully squeezing and groping the flesh before her fingertips came in contact with her heat. And she watched as Felix inspected her every movement, how his face turned to one of pleasure without her touching him whatsoever. She kept going further, a bit, let her body move back, propping herself on Felix leg, to give him just that much of a better view. And her fingers deepened, disappeared inside her entirely, before she let out a sound so beautiful Felix never thought was possible. She was so addicting, so endearing in every way that he swore he’d be able to cum right on the spot, untouched. He kept watching her prop herself on top of him for what felt like hours, beautiful torture getting Felix impatient, his hands a mind of their own now as they started touching up on her. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, even, his hands only sort of grabbing at her body, squeezing her every curve, but she seemed to enjoy it as much as he did, didn’t tell him off even when his hands snuck up her sides, soon caressing her breasts in a clumsy way that she’d almost chuckle out loud. But the feeling was too nice, his warm hands, ones that were bigger than her own and felt so different against her chest than she was used to it from herself, got her mind clouded, so much so that she couldn’t seem to care about the noises that slipped past her tongue, sounding so in sync with his own ones. She could only imagine how loud he be the moment he’d feel her around him, and a smirk danced around her lips at the simple thought of it.

Until she decided that it was enough, until her wetness started to slowly smear the insides of her thighs and his abdomen, until he’s felt so unbearably hard beneath her that her sympathy got the best of her.

“You ready.”, moaning the words, and Felix’d almost overhear them, so focused he was on her fingers plumping in and out of her, the lewd noises her pussy made making his chest tighten up. He looked up at her, and gave her a nod, maybe too quick, to enthusiastic, but he couldn’t get himself to care; he wanted her, in every sense of the word, in every way possible. So when she propped herself up a bit, hovering above him to allow him to slip inside – he felt like he’s entered heaven, the feeling so warm around him, so tight and deep he found himself lost. And it was embarrassing, surely, as so much about him tonight. After all he knew what it felt like to fuck someone, wasn’t unfamiliar with the feeling, so the extent to which his eyes rolled back and his back arched and his whimpers grew louder was everything but put together, his figure a pathetic mess, only worsening when her hips started moving, grinding against him like she did before, with the only difference now that he’s felt her as close as never before, felt her everywhere around him. And it felt so good, so unbelievably that he both had the urge to just finally cum, especially after all the teasing and touching she’s played off for him, yet he simply and solely never wanted this feeling to end, ever. She varied between the movements of her hips, seeing how Felix reacted to certain things, where he liked to be touched, how he liked to be kissed. She had him figured out quickly so that when she lightly started bouncing against him with her hands steadied on his chest, she relished in the desperate moans and pleads he didn’t try to hide. And she loved how his hands were so constantly on her, without a break, how he somehow didn’t forget to caress her too, her skin, her boobs she noticed he had a thing for, even grazing at her clit with unsure fingers; yet he knew, and tried. And that attentiveness he showed, that subtle care and understanding was enough for her to soon join in on his sounds, sounds so lewd the neighbours surely knew now, and she felt herself so much closer to the edge, so much closer to where she wanted to end up all the way she first kissed him, seemingly hours back. And he wasn’t too far back, either, admittedly, it became a struggle for him already to hold off his orgasm, not wanting to ruin the night too early. So, when she whispered a quiet ‘I’m close’, eyes shut, her sweaty hands on his sweatier chest, bouncing always continuing; he almost let go, almost gave up and let the wave of pleasure wash him over. But he didn’t waited out this much longer, felt his dick twitching inside of her this much more desperate before suddenly her walls clenched around furiously and different than before, and he couldn’t possibly control himself, nor keep his composure. He felt himself relax, felt himself cum inside her while her eyes fell to the back of her head, thrusting one last time against him, riding out their highs until both whined out in overstimulation. Later on, both would keep that night as a fond memory, scenes of cuddles and showers and second and third and fourth rounds playing in their head, smiling and giggling when thinking back about that day.

tagging: @etherealeeknow @linoskitty @unexceptional-h @rseanne @diue @es-kay-zee @urcracksisx @jeyelleohe @yunkiwii @meloohmel @nyrasneedy @seochhj @spidercomics @chans-starlight @angelwonie @lix-ables @hyvndee

#lee felix smut #lee felix imagines #lee felix scenarios #lee felix x reader #skz scenarios #skz smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids smut

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thedelusionreaderbitch · 1 year

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Parental! Kanej x gn! Reader - Plain sight

A/n: More angst for the Ghafa-Brekker family

Summary: Y/n can't help but feel like an outsider as they see their family interact

Warnings: allusions to murder(s), swearing, it's dark, I think that's it? You have been warned!

The three P's:

[Pronoun used: you/your] [Pov: second person] [Pairings: (Parental) Kanej x reader, (sibling) Allea oc x reader, (sibling) Jordie oc x reader]

The barrel was a place where no one found solace, only the monsters hiding in plain sight did.

Monsters that don't creep into your bed but focus more on your mind, they'll stalk you and know everything about you. Your strengths, weaknesses, the particular way you blink your eyes.

You were sure that monsters existed, because you knew there were people who found solace in the barrel, even if your parents who are retired gang members had told you they're aren't. No one truly loves the barrel, in your dad's words; "It's impossible or their fucking insane."

You spot the kid across the street that delivers the papers to your house everyday, you're sure that he lives on the street over in the brown house that leaves the lights on all the time.

"Y/n, I got you some coffee!" Allea cheers as her and Jordie had just come back from a café run. Jordie, you, and Kaz were the only ones who drank coffee usually, but Allea and Inej despise the drink. Recently they had convinced the two of them by some miracle to take a coffee break. Though there was no convincing you.

You watch your little family like an outsider as your mom and Allea talk about their sea adventures and your dad and Jordie rant on and on about the Crow Club. At this point you basically were a stranger in your own home.

Perhaps this wasn't even your home anymore.

You couldn't help but analyze the way they were talking to each other, the quirk of Allea's mouth when she was about to burst out with laughter, or the way Jordie would place his hands on in the table before expressing disbelief.

"Did you hear about what happened to the paper boy's family?" Jordie suddenly interjected and something about their conversations finally grabbed your attention as it was not about the sea or a legal club.

"The one that goes to our house?" Inej questions and Kaz's hands twitch the slightest bit indicating that he already knew what happened.

"Ya, his mom was murdered and because she was a single mother he doesn't have anyone to take care of him."

"Oh, that's terrible!" Allea gasps and places a hand over her heart, she had always been more susceptible to emotions then the rest of you.

You roll your eyes and you glance over to the window again to see the paper boy right on your door step. A dark smirk is etched upon your face as you see the boy before it's gone in a flash and a horrifying emotionless expression comes over you as you stare straight at the boy.

His eyes widen in fear and he freezes like a deer in headlights.

"I'm going to go to go for a quick stroll." You call over to your family who barely even lift their heads to acknowledge you.

It didn't matter though, they didn't need to know what you were really doing.

Maybe after you'd dealt with the boy you would actually go home and stir up some more trouble, the thought sent elated shivers down your spine.

Monsters, who'd ever thought you'd be one of them?

Words 532

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

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oddree13 · 10 months

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Restless Year - Chapter 8

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

(Prior Chapter) (Next Chapter)

(Read on AO3)

Chapter 8 - Dreams

December 1989

Chicago is cold. It’s not like this is a revelation to Eddie, but the difference in the way Indiana feels in December and the way the Windy City is pummeling him is stark. He reluctantly traded his combat boots for what Steve calls ‘bean boots’ and if it wasn’t for his feet being so damn warm he’d be cursing Steve for giving him prep clothes.

He’s been anticipating the shop being a bit nightmarish in the run-up to the holidays, but the stream of customers is almost never-ending and the stock is running low. It got to the point that Eddie started calling other managers in the area to see how they were faring, and whether or not they could make tentative agreements to send customers hunting for particular finds to each other.

Walking past the counter where Ezra is explaining to a mother why getting her thirteen-year-old a Frank Zappa album is a bad idea, he’s stopped by Jamie who is holding the phone up for him. “Eddie, someone named Max is calling? I asked for a last name and she audibly rolled her eyes.”

“Right, put her on hold and I’ll take it in the back. S’one of my kids,” he explains. The amount of adopted kids Eddie has is a running joke in the shop. All the staff know Dustin, but over the months, different calls have come in from the rest of the party, some of them asking for Eddie by name while others have straight up asked for Dad. It led to the staff comparing notes and swapping names until Eddie just put a group photo on his desk.

“Red I assume the world is burning because you’re calling me instead of Steve. What’s up?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re dramatic? Like, have a normal phone conversation. Not everything is a campaign,” she quips and Eddie knows that she’s probably about to start a conversation she’d been avoiding for a bit.

“Fine, fine. Let me start over. Smash Records, Eddie Munson, manager speaking! Hello, Maxine, to what do I owe the pleasure!”

“I hope that causes you to get a rash. That sounded so plastic, ugh.” Max’s distaste is obvious and Eddie can picture her screwed-up face perfectly. “Look I’m calling because I’m coming to stay with you and Steve the day after Christmas until school starts up again. I already bought my bus ticket.”

It’s moments like this Eddie semi-regrets Steve’s open invitation to the kids. Steve probably thought they’d ask ahead of time, whereas Eddie knew better. Eddie knows Max must be telling not asking for a reason, so he lets it go. A quick glance at his calendar shows that Wayne will be gone by then, so they’ll have space.

“Sounds like a good time. I could use a hand at the shop. Any particular reason you’re coming to crash with us instead of staying with Lucas or El? Or do you just miss us that much?”

“I’ve never been to Chicago and I’ve got the time off, so I figured why not?”

Why Eddie expected a straight answer, he’ll never know. He assumes it has something to do with not wanting to be around her mother for longer than she needs to and escaping the looks of concern she’ll get if she lingers around Hawkins. But those are assumptions Steve will have to suss out when she arrives.

“I’ll let Steve know tonight and one of us will get you from the station on the 26th. And if you play your cards right I’ll let you have a recommendation space on the staff shelf.”

“Your shop would be lucky to display my choices, so really I’m doing you a favor,” she counters and Eddie can’t help but chuckle in amusement.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to work but can’t wait to see you Red.”

“Thanks, Eddie...and tell Steve thanks too.”

Before Eddie can say bye the line cuts and he likes to think his own children won’t be so ill-mannered. “Ugh, that sounded like Steve...”

Over dinner that night Eddie lets Steve know about Max’s plan and her delivery of it.

“Of course, she just up and bought a ticket. Do you actually think she’d ask and chance us saying no? That’s not how Max operates.”

“I dunno, that seems more like a Mike move than a Max one, is all,” Eddie thinks, twirling his spaghetti around his fork.

“Ah, see, there is the difference. Mike would just up and buy a ticket to come stay with us because he feels entitled to do it. He wouldn’t actually come to see both of us, just you and the city. But Max? Max bought a ticket and just told us to lessen the chance of rejection. Because for all the bravado Mayfield has, she’s still the kid who’d rather sit on your steps listening to you play guitar than go home. I’m just happy we can still be that for her.”

Eddie stopped eating midway through Steve’s analysis and just looks at his mate with fondness. For all of Steve’s complaints about how much the kids of their pack irritate him, it’s times like this that demonstrate his love. It really shows just how much effort Steve has put in over the years to make himself a safe haven for the kids.

“You know, I really ought to make a mom out of you already with how well you do with them.” Eddie enjoys the blush that creeps up Steve’s neck at the suggestion and glances over to the bedroom.

“I’m not stopping you Eds.”

There are too many yentas in this deli. Sure he got a few stares at his old place in South Bend, but these stares are making Eddie think it's time to suck it up and learn how to cook his own brisket. Steve put in the order a few weeks ago but is currently in bed wiped out from finals swallowing tums, so Eddie offered to make the trek out with Wayne.

He’s leaning against the back wall waiting for his order to come out while Wayne mutters about having braved the L. “I still don’t know why we couldn’t have just taken your car,” he grumbles, looking a little worse for wear.

“Wayne, you served in Vietnam, but public transit is where you draw the line?” The resounding silence gives him all the answers he needs.

“So how's married life treatin’ ya?” Wayne asks after some time, and Eddie can’t help but smile.

“It’s good. Not a lot has changed, which I think is for the better. Had a bit of a rough patch a few months ago but turns out we just needed to get our heads out of our asses.”

Wayne nods. “It’s good that you can admit you were wrong. I remember you had trouble doing that growing up.”

“Who says I was in the wrong?” The quirked brow from Wayne makes Eddie tsk. “I really don’t appreciate that he’s become your favorite nephew you know? Stevie can do no wrong in your eyes now that you know he’s nothing like his father.”

“Oh no, I’m sure your boy can do plenty wrong. But it takes a particular kind of person to light a fire under your ass and get you moving. Now, look at you. Living on your own, running a fine store. Next thing you know you’ll be calling me to tell me you’re going to be a dad.” Wayne chuckles a bit at the last part, and Eddie scuffs the floor with his boot.

“I mean would that be so far-fetched?”

“You got something to tell me?”

Eddie shakes his head and feels Wayne’s gaze on him. Their heart-to-hearts are infrequent. Their relationship is built between the lines of their words and usually, that’s fine with Eddie. It’s just, right now he needs a little bit more.

“I don’t think it’d be that far-fetched. You’re not your old man Eddie, if that’s what you need to hear. My brother only made two good decisions in his life. Marrying your mom and having you. You might have his name but you ain’t him at all.” Wayne claps his shoulder and pulls Eddie to his side for a hug.

“Harrington! Order for Harrington!”

Eddie moves from Wayne’s embrace and goes to grab their order when he sees Wayne head towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a cab. I’m not chancing that brisket to the train.”

They had one day between visits. It was the twenty-fifth and the shop was closed like most other places in Chicago, which lent itself to a lazy morning.

A year ago getting Eddie out of bed was like pulling teeth, but now the alpha finds himself up first most mornings for work. The upside to his new sleep schedule is on days like this he can just stay in bed and admire Steve. His mate is still sleeping, hugging a pillow to his chest. The t-shirt he wore to bed is one of Eddie’s older Anthrax shirts, threadbare with a few holes, but Steve refuses to let Eddie toss it. For as much as his mate doesn’t nest, he hoards Eddie’s old band shirts like a dragon with a treasure.

Rolling over, Eddie presses against Steve’s back, burying his nose in his hair. Ever since their bonding, Steve’s scent has morphed. It’s richer, almost spiced, and Eddie can’t get enough. He wonders if he also smells like this but he can’t tell. It’s a question for awake Steve. Right now he’s enjoying the sleepy Steve who is turning over to press into Eddie’s chest on instinct. After the night Steve flinched away from him, Eddie appreciates everytime Steve seeks him out. Today is no exception.

Eddie plays with Steve’s hair and traces his hand down his back, just basking in the morning light until he notices flurries falling outside the window. Watching the snowflakes dance in the wind, Eddie wonders if Hawkins is getting snow. El runs around outside every time it does and he hopes that she’s waking up to that Christmas morning. ‘They deserve the chance to be kids’ he thinks and it sounds an awful lot like Steve.

He watches the snowfall until Steve’s lips start to kiss his neck, nipping gently at Eddie’s faux-mark. The moment the tattoo finished healing, Steve found any excuse he could to touch it, be it with his fingers, lips, teeth, or what have you. The bond has brought out Steve’s possessive side and Eddie can’t help but indulge it like right now.

“Making sure it’s still there baby?” he whispers, scratching at the nape of Steve’s neck. His question just earns him a nod as Steve’s affection trails up his jaw until they’re kissing. Eddie turns into Steve’s embrace and trades lazy kisses with him. The softness of the morning makes Eddie want to go back in time and slap his past self for thinking he would never have this. That his own self-doubt almost kept him from having Steve Harrington in his bed every morning and every night. Because waking up to this feeling beats any high Eddie has ever had.

When the sunlight becomes too bright for them to ignore the morning, Eddie makes the first move to roll out of bed. “Breakfast? I’ll make it.”

“That means I’m getting pancakes because that is the only thing you can somehow make.” Steve’s face is fond as he looks over at Eddie, and he’ll take the teasing.

“Yes, I am offering flour pancakes because we have enough potato ones in the freezer to last the rest of winter.”

“Will you ever let that go,” Steve groans, and Eddie dives back onto the bed to tackle Steve, pulling his reddening face away from the pillow he’s trying to bury it in.

“Absolutely not. I’ve never seen someone so determined to get latkes right. They’re potatoes, Steve. Hash browns.”

“I see how it is. You don’t appreciate my trial and error process. And to think next year I was going to start attempting to braise brisket. I should just stick to my waspy recipes.”

That threat makes Eddie start kissing Steve’s face all over as he begs for forgiveness. “I never said anything. In fact, thank you for taking this so seriously and I look forward to you perfecting your brisket recipe. Now let me cook for you. Do you want coffee?”

Steve’s face scrunches at the offer. “No, I don’t think I could stomach it this morning. Besides, I’ll -”

Steve stops mid-sentence and Eddie follows his gaze to see Steve looking out the window. “It’s snowing.” The statement is so simple but Eddie sort of likes proof that Steve’s been so wrapped up in their world that he hadn’t noticed the one going on outside.

“I wonder if it’s snowing in Hawkins. El would love it,” Steve voices, and Eddie can’t help but laugh in agreement.

“She really would.”

#myfics #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fics #steve harrington #eddie munson #omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #six kids and a winnebago

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sunsetofdoom · 1 year

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SUNSET!!! ❤️🎨👑

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

Favorite line always feels like a daunting question- so many of my favorite bits are conversations or paragraphs. But lemme look.

Oh! I really like this bit in the second chapter of all my life:

When they’d finally made it up to the Solarium during the Liberation, journeying through secret passages that Avad had had memorized since childhood, Ersa took one look at the throne wrapped in bronze bars and told him, it looks like a cage. One of those fancy ones, to keep a songbird in.

Ever since, the image blazed in his mind whenever he sat down. He felt like a bird now, battering against the bars.

... this has nothing to do with my love of boys in cages. No further questions.

Or some of the descriptions from one safe place, just one safe place, like this one:

He closed his eyes, and the thick golden light of the ranch house appeared, the smell of his mama’s kitchen and the swish of her skirts. “I remember that I ran home crying, once, ‘cause… We argued, and he hit me? Must’ve been it.” He could feel the miserable memory in his face and hands: six years old and full of more sadness than a body could hold, burying his face in his mama’s lap as he cried.

I remember @miss-spooky-eyes in particular pointed this line out as Making Her Feel Things, a capitol crime. I looove writing Corso's intertwined grief and nostalgia, it's so juicy.

Or my new Owl House WIP, in which Willow gets her glasses broken in a fight right before she meets Hunter for the first time-

Willow turned and shut the enormous doors of the school she was never going to see again, not really caring if the Golden Guard got in after her or not. A few hours ago, she’d have been full of awe for the famous warrior who’d stood at the Emperor’s right hand for decades; right now, he was just a big shiny blob, which kind of killed the reverence.

I just think this is funny for some reason.

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Fic that exists: I've always kind of wanted art for all my life I've been running towards the fight, that beginning section where Aloy and Ersa are awkwardly talking in Dervahl's workshop and Aloy very much doesn't know how to look or not look at a freshly-tortured woman with her tits out. (Doubly funny if one headcanons Aloy as a lesbian.) And one safe place, just one safe place is one of my favorite fics I've ever written, but I've never gotten much art of Teo and Corso, mostly because I hate commissioning people; I can take screenshots of the game, but it's not the same. I also had ambitions of paying @sleepswithvillains to draw a tasteful (if thirsty) nude of Nan, to get her body type straight in my head, because Sleeps is the only one who Really Gets It.

Fic I have in my head: later in all my life, Ersa was supposed to get hybrid Carja-Oseram tattoos over the scars on her chest; my gf designed them, but I've always wanted to commission art of them actually on her. Ended up booted out of the HZD fandom before I could get around to it, lmao.

And I'm working on a piece about my OC Yehlise and @pineaberry's Rend, both of which I'd love to get art of. Yehlise in particular is pretty un-make-able in the SWTOR engine, lmao.

👑 Do you like writing short fics or long fics?

I enjoy writing short fics. I aspire to write long ones, and unfortunately at the moment that's all my brain wants to give me.

(fanfic ask post here)

#i want so much art in fact that it would be way more convenient #if i either got over my fear of commissions or learned to draw #unfortunately im incapable #i tried to focus on Horizon stuff for foibles' sake lmao #i miss it a little

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keigolover · 1 year

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Hitomina thoughts.

Mostly headcanons that i have typed somewhere else and brand new headcanons of their relationship , if there is any spelling mistake , don't mind it . It will be fixed tomorrow or something like that .

———

Hitoshi struggles to fall asleep , unlike Mina .

And so , when they sleep together Hitoshi is always the one awake late at night as he has their girlfriend right in his arms . He often looks at his girlfriend's sleeping face , so peaceful & gorgeous . The faint & soft shine of her unnatural freckles allowing him to make out what her face looks like in that moment .

His finger brushing hairs off of her face & admiring their partner before falling asleep .

When Mina is the one to stay awake though , she is always gently kissing his face . It's something Hitoshi told him makes him feel nice & sleepy . So , whenever they let her .. she gently kisses his cheeks , forehead , nose , on the lips . Showering Hitoshi with affection even a few minutes after Mina notices he fell asleep .

She loved to see how peaceful he is when sleeping , and how flustered Hitoshi looked as she left pecks all over his face , red cheeks and a half smile on him until he passes out .

———

In school , the first year where they got to know eachother , they always looked for eachother with their eyes to atleast wave at one another if they couldn't hang out that day .

Hitoshi also , at some point , started walking her to class before they had to leave to his own classroom . Mina was always greatful of that & made sure to let him know .

She thought she annoyed him , but after Hitoshi told Mina that he likes hearing her talk .. Mina did not stop unless Hitoshi looked like he had something to add to the conversation.

———

Mina has never once been afraid of Hitoshi's quirk , in fact , she thinks it's amazing . But him , out of fear , refuses to use it near or on her at all even with all the reassuring . Which Mina has always respected & never pushed further .

Mina always compliments him when she is capable of seeing him train with aizawa when he is invited to practices , though .

———

Coffee addict x Tea addict . It's basically them .

They know eachother's favourite drink by heart and sometimes bring a cup of it to the other .

A little gesture that they both greatly appreciated .

———

Hitoshi can sing , Mina can too , however .. she chooses to listen to him sing . She adores their voice way too much , so whenever it's Hitoshi who is speaking or singing her full attention is on him .

Leaning her head in his shoulder whenever he starts singing he always ends up wrapping an arm around her .

———

Hitoshi gets flustered whenever Mina gets a little possessive and sits in his lap to assert dominance . She's not often jealous , or angry about someone trying to steal him away .. since she has confidence and trusts Hitoshi up to a 100% .

Hitoshi .. he is more of a " hug her from behind & rest your head on her head or shoulder " guy . There is a particular time where he straight up bit her shoulder , completely flustering mina as soon as she feels it .

———

Mina's and Hitoshi's study sessions during UA were , Fun to say the least . Though , there was a particular time where .. they ended up making out .

It happened after she leaned on Hitoshi when he was explaining something to her , an innocent look interchanging before they got closer and closer .. and linking their lips together , they stayed like that for a while , enjoying the moment . Until they both ran out of breath .

That is where they stared at eachother , but .. they silently & without a word agreed to pretend it didn't happen .

They were too stubborn to actually admit that they were crushing on eachother , deciding to pretend instead of talking about it .

Something that , now that they are together , think back on and giggle about it . They make fun on how shy they were to confess .

——

They match anything . Clothes , Halloween costumes , phone cases , nail polish , at some point they had matching cups until one of their friends accidentally pushed the cup on to the floor & broke it .

But they love to share things , to match & have fun with it .

Specially when it's about Halloween , they often dress up in elaborate costumes , except when they're feeling lazy and do these shitty couple costumes they find online .

As long as they have fun .. they'll do it .

#writing about hitomina before i sleep #hitomina #Shinmina #hitoshi shinso x mina ashido #mina ashido x hitoshi shinso #rarepair #mha #bnha #mina ashido #hitoshi shinso #hitoshi #boku no hero academia #headcanons #boku no hero acedamia

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johannstutt413 · 2 years

Text

(setup for a fic based on this I’ll write at some point)

It was lonely at the top. While Saria wouldn’t necessarily say she’d reached the highest echelons of Rhine Labs before departing, she’d gotten high enough that after falling out with her former employer, she didn’t have much in the way of friends to turn to. So, rather than looking outward, she kept to herself, resolving to protect those she cared about (ie, Ifrit) from a distance and keep her feelings close to her chest. For a while, it seemed she could live that way without major issues.

Someone was adamant about changing that, however, and they were quite persistent.

“Hey, Saria. Are you free tonight?” The Vouivre had just arrived at his office for a shift as his assistant.

“‘Free’ as in I haven’t made other plans for the evening?” She tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Wondered if I could take you out to dinner.”

“Is there a particular occasion?” The Defender sat at her desk, clicking a coffee pod into her personal machine.

“I want to go on a date with you,” the Doctor replied completely straight-faced. “If you’re not free tonight, I would at least like for you to consider it for the future.”

Saria gave him a once-over; his hood and loose-fitting jacket made him nearly impossible to read. “While I don’t find your company unpleasant, I’ll have to decline.”

“Worried about opening your heart again after the last time?”

“Yes.” She’d said as much to him before during one of his previous attempts. “It would be better for both of us to remain co-workers and nothing more.”

For the first time since he’d started asking her out, however, he challenged that. “You don’t feel as though we’re already closer than merely co-workers?“

“Not particularly.” Ding! There was her coffee.

“Interesting.” He smiled into his computer screen. “So you have conversations about your emotions with other people frequently?”

The Vouivre managed to finish her sip before reacting to the question. “No, not particularly.”

“You’ve cried into someone else’s shoulder since coming to Rhodes Island?” The Doctor gently pushed his chair away from his desk to face her.

“No,” she replied, “but neither did I intend to do that.”

He shrugged. “Even if you hadn’t planned on it, you felt safe enough around me to do so. Is that not enough to say we’re at least on friendly terms?”

“...Before I answer that, can I ask you a question?”

“Feel free.” He leaned back a bit. “Whatever you want to know.”

The Defender was certain he didn’t fully mean that, but it was worth a shot regardless. “Did Silence reject you already?”

“I’m not interested in her, and my interest in you has nothing to do with Ifrit, although I think she would appreciate having you back in her life when you’re ready. Honestly, I just think you’re a wonderful woman, and the thought of you having no support system makes me sick to my stomach.” That and he found her incomparably attractive - those soul-piercing eyes did a number on him every time they looked in his direction.

“Right.” Saria didn’t know what answer she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t that. “Hmm.”

The Doctor turned back to his desk. “Let me know if you change your mind; I’ll drop it for now.”

“Meaning you’ll ask again later,” the Vouivre observed.

“Guilty as charged,” he openly admitted. “Until you finally tell me to stop asking or take me up on it.”

She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “If I told you I would never go on a date with you, you’d stop asking out?”

“Of course. You haven’t yet, so I’ve persisted.”

“I haven’t.” As much a realization for her as a statement of fact. “Why haven’t I?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s kept me hopeful, for sure.”

“Hmm…Alright. Where are we meeting and when?” The Defender pulled out her phone to make a note for herself.

“Fully negotiable - I recommend the bistro after we have a chance to change into nicer clothes.” The Doctor took a moment to collect himself before remarking, “You changed your mind.”

Saria nodded. “I’ve been turning down a free meal on unspecified doubts. If nothing else, it’s been a while since I’ve had a steak dinner.”

“Right.” Well, that didn’t feel terribly good-

“And,” she continued, “I’m curious how you look in a suit.”

…The Doctor had some errands to run during lunch, then.

#arknights #arknights fic #saria (arknights)#hello fellow mortals #i am not immune to fantasies of being a father #as you may already know #BEHOLD A PRECIOUS THING is too good a line to go unused #so i will make the conditions to use it damnit

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themthereluisthoughts · 4 months

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Empathy

Oftentimes I overhear conversations that have me wondering: How can someone be so tone-deaf and not aware of how harmful ones words can be? Sitting in classes and overhearing classmates use conditions like ADHD, autism, down-syndrome and others as insults (all of these are very different, but what they do have in common is that they shouldn't be used as terms to toss around and call one another when someone does something "dumb" or "goofy"). That is ignoring all the other remarks deemed "jokes", which I'll get to. It's become so common to hear in the hallways, classrooms, & the aula. Though, one particular instance sticks with me more than the others.

It was last period on a friday, chemistry. All were packing up. Class was almost over. A classmate (Just a little backround: He's the only other person in my class that recieves accommodations for dyslexia, or an accommodation. We both recieve extra time on exams. I will be calling him G so it's easier to keep track of who's who) was chatting to one of his friends (A) about how he had a sort of therapy that day after school and how it was benifitting him in improving writing through weekly sessions. I wasn't paying much attention initially. The friend of his whom he was speaking to sits next to me in that particular class, so it was hard not to catch some of the conversation. At some point a third joined the conversation (H). My memory is somewhat out of order because this was last week or even 2 weeks ago, I can't recall. Anyway, somehow ADHD came up. Now I was paying attention (for once in my life lol). A and G were mentioning how H bounces his leg, cracking jokes and such. Not uncommon for that group of friends, they constantly joke like that. At one point G randomly asked his pals if ADHD were genetic (the reason I'm not putting quotes is because, one, I don't remember the exact dialogue, and two, their conversation was in german). A replied saying no. First of all, that is not true. I know for a fact A hasn't done any of the research, he doesn't care to. It's not as if he should, but if he's going to answer a question about something he knows nothing about he might aswell know what the condition even is all about. I mean, during my first trip to the Praxis one of the first things I learned is that oftentimes it is infact genetic. That knowledge is a mere google-search away. A went on to say: "ADHS ist ein Mythos (ADHD is a myth)," he was mostly serious as he spoke. A has been someone who doesn't think before he speaks as long as I've known him, so 3 years maybe? Longer? Craziest thing I've heard him say is when he joked that it was my friends fault her father died. He wasn't being serious, but it genuinly hurt her, she straight told him not to say that, but he clearly wasn't actually apologetic as he said sorry. Classmate sitting next to G interrupted (M) and she argued that a girl in our grade and her mother both have ADHD. A & G chuckle that she's weird anyway, it doesn't count. G jokingly asks if it's contagious. If it's a virus. After he said those things I tried to tune them all out. It hurts to hear. I go home and I have my dad in my ear telling me that it doesn't exist. I go to school and hear the same thing. I open the Whatsapp classchat and see even awfuller words. Now I think of a brief conversation I had with a teacher of mine. He chatted to me about how there's less stigma now (context: Near beginning of the year I wrote a french test where I forgot to mention to the teacher that I get a few minutes extra. I don't remember how, but he & I ended up talking about ADHD after one history period, I think I may have brought it up after he asked me how I was doing or smth, idk. For the sake of not oversharing too much I wont go into detail about what else he said.) and I know. I have it good. Real good. I'm so very greatful for the fact too.

Despite that my somehow it hurts everytime I hear something like that. Whether online or in-person. My mother's boss. My father. My classmates. I really don't mean to be dramatic or sensative or nothing, but as I mentioned earlier, I can't help but ask myself: How do some not realize how their words can directly or indirectly hurt or harm groups of people or individuals. I ask myself that same question when I overhear racist or homophobic remarks from those same people. I wonder how it is possible to not at all empathize with people and instead make jokes about them, laugh at their expense.

At the same time I don't have much against that group of 6-or-so students. I geuss kids are gonna be kids and say disagreeable stuff. What I'm going to briefly say as a send off... You can tell when someone didn't grow up being teased or nothing, but rather been the jokesters since day 1. It's harder to empathize or simply try and understand when you haven't been there. I get that. I can't be too upset.

Right then, that's that.

#adhd #school #high school #thoughts #diagnosed adhd

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sunananaa · 6 months

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✧ - AVOIDANCE

summary: you ignore satoru after being convinced he’d never return your feelings, what happens when he does?

pairing: teen!satoru gojo x fem!reader

genre: fluff (angst if you’re sensitive??)

word count: around 3.5k

warnings: swearing (i think-), there's like one kiss as well

notes: wtf is this, not proofread so there's bound to be mistakes. shoko kept autocorrecting to shook while suguru kept autocorrecting to sugar 💀

"suguruuuu! she's still avoiding me!" the white-haired boy complained as he dropped onto the bed next to his best friend.

"you mean (y/n)?" suguru asked without sparing him a glance, eyes glued to his phone as he payed no mind to his friend as he carried on scrolling.

"obviously, who else?! i haven't had a proper conversation with her in ages and it's starting to piss me off!" satoru crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows in frustration which suguru rolled his eyes at.

"stop overreacting, it's only been a couple of days. i'm sure she just needs more time" he said which was true, it had only been 4 days.

“it feels like it’s been months - years even!” the six-eyes user continued to whine while suguru’s eyes twitched out of annoyance, he was close to kicking him out his room.

this behaviour had been going on for the past few days, satoru would come barging into suguru’s room uninvited and complain about the same thing every single time. you.

at this point, suguru wasn’t sure how many more days he would be able to last.

“well think about it, are you sure you haven’t done anything for her to start acting like this out of nowhere?” suguru tried to get satoru to stop complaining and maybe think about the situation for once.

suguru knew satoru hadn't actually done anything. in fact, he knew the reason as to why he was being avoided by her. in all honesty, he just wanted him to be quiet.

satoru’s protests died down a bit upon hearing his friend’s words. he sat up straight on the bed and placed a hand on his chin as his face scrunched up in thought.

"i don’t think so..." he mumbled. he shut his eyes and tried to jog his memory back to your past interactions incase he had made a mistake anywhere.

———

"hey (y/n)! wanna grab something to eat after class? this new bakery opened and we just have to try it!" satoru came up next to you, disabling his infinity and slinging his arm round your shoulder like he usually does.

for some reason however, he felt you tense up.

"um... i don't actually have any money with me. sorry." you uttered out not looking at him but instead trying to get out his grasp.

satoru straight away found this odd, normally you’d be just as excited as him to visit new stores, on top of that you always forced him to pay regardless. so why were you acting so strange?

"that's fine i'll pay!" he reassured keeping up his joyous aura, perhaps you were feeling sad and needed cheering up?

"oh uh... actually i have to go and clean my dorm, it’s kinda messy." you said and this time before he could respond you freed yourself from his grasp and rushed out the classroom towards your dorm leaving a confused satoru behind.

he stood still staring longingly at the door where you had exited ignoring the snickers that rose from shoko and suguru. were you okay? he could obviously tell you were lying, but maybe you had your reasons?

'she's probably just tired.'

is what he told himself, but he still couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

———

satoru wandered round the campus looking for you, it was yesterday when you oddly avoided him but today was now saturday. there was formally no class on saturdays but you guys were still set missions.

he soon stumbled upon an empty classroom and found you sitting there alone doing nothing in particular. unconsciously, he smiled to himself as he entered the room.

"(y/n)! i got assigned a mission but i don’t have anyone to go with, wanna come?” he asked. in reality, it was supposed a solo mission but his automatic response was to immediately come find you. the two of you were both well aware that he most likely didn’t need your help, truth be told he just wanted to spend more time with you.

you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat and played with your fingers as your eyes looked left and right, trying to avoid eye contact with him.

"i don't know i’m not feeling well... maybe next time gojo."

the male visibly froze at your words. gojo? what was with the last name? what the hell happened to calling him satoru and ‘toru and all those other silly nicknames?

was this some sort of prank? were you just joking about like you’d usually do? at least that’s what he hoped was the case.

he never got the chance to ask as you scurried off leaving him wondering again, were you okay?

———

satoru had ran back home as fast as he could after realising he had forgotten his lunch. he was planning on stealing from his three friends but suguru immediately shut off the idea forcing him to leave to fetch his lunch.

he returned at record speed and dramatically entered the classroom where you, suguru and shoko were already eating.

usually you’d sit next to him with shoko opposite you and suguru opposite him, but ever since friday you had swapped seats with shoko so you were next to him or opposite.

of course he noticed this but felt too embarrassed to say anything about it, the avoidance was still evident and he didn’t want to pressure you.

but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel annoyed

especially in this moment when he came in to see you laughing along with the other two, more so at suguru as you held onto his shoulder leaning into him trying to stabilise yourself from the amount of laughter.

the sight was an eyesore for him.

it wasn’t the fact that you were touching suguru so casually that annoyed him, no, you were all good friends and suguru knew of satoru’s crush on you.

the problem was the fact that he had not once seen you that comfortable with him ever since a few days ago. you never laughed him with like that nor even gave him a mere high-five. heck, you wouldn’t even look him in the eye anymore

an ugly feeling brewed inside his chest as he looked at sight, it was the first time he had felt something so - so horrid. never would he have thought he would ever actually feel jealous.

and he knew it was wrong. suguru was his best friend and he trusted him enough to know he didn’t have any intentions. but that didn’t help the feeling feel any less worse.

his dramatic entrance clearly wasn’t dramatic enough as none of you noticed his arrival, he quietly went to take his seat next to shoko and placed his lunch down on the table not uttering a word.

the laughter from the three of you died down upon satoru’s arrival. suguru and shoko quickly picked up on his behavior and asked him if he was alright knowing he was the type to be loud and make a scene.

you kept quiet but looked at him silently, painfully wishing you could say something. you cared about him, a little too much than you wanted but it hurt seeing him like this. he held his head low not saying anything at first until he looked up, straight at you.

his eyes met yours and you could’ve sworn you shivered. his eyes were always something that you weak, his sunglasses lay low of on the bridge of his nose revealing those endless cerulean eyes.

you quickly averted your to avoid his gaze, any longer looking his eyes and you were sure you would’ve melted right there. it wasn’t fair that he could make you feel so vulnerable with just a simple look.

sighing slightly you got up from your chair and picked up your lunchbox, you were more or less done anyway and didn’t want to sit around any longer. you definitely did not want satoru figuring out anything either.

but just as you were about to leave and head back to your dorm, your felt a hand grasp onto your wrist stopping you from leaving, you dreaded to look back as instead you looked down on the ground.

“are you okay (y/n)?” satoru asked his soft gaze on you, his voice barely above a whisper.

you looked up and past him at suguru and shoko giving them a distressed look in case they would come and help you but they both simply ignored you which you know they did on purpose.

satoru was still waiting for your response, he saw your eyes shift over back to the table but kept his eyes on you. you were forced to look back at him.

“i’m… fine goj-”

“gojo? what, are we on last name basis now (y/n)?” he cut you off before he could hear you finish off his last name. he hated it. if you acting distant wasn’t enough to show the distance between the two of you, calling him by his last name definitely was.

you probably called suguru by his first name.

feeling the grip on his hand suddenly tighten around your wrist made you wince slightly, but you shook him off and walked away.

“just leave me alone…”

———

satoru let out a sigh. none of it made sense, he was sure he hadn't done anything to trigger this behaviour, nothing that he could remember at least. it must of been someone else's doing...

he slowly turned his head towards his friend who seemed to be enjoying the silence now satoru had shut up.

would he..?

he was sure he wouldn’t, suguru wasn’t that type of person. but still he had to check.

"hey suguru..." the black haired boy noticed satoru from the corner of his eyes, he raised a brow and let out a small ‘hm’ to indicate that he was listening.

"did you maybe... tell (y/n) anything?" satoru asked quietly and they both kept quiet before suguru couldn’t help but laugh which satoru started to visibly panic.

"what, about what your massive crush on her? i wouldn’t be surprised if she already knew." he replied which only made the white-haired boy freak out even more.

"h-huh? but how?” satoru asked still in disbelief.

“are you serious? you’re so fucking obvious it hurts.” suguru said as he started laughing to himself.

to say satoru was at lost for words would be an understatement. realisation washed over him as he figured that probably why you were avoiding him.

"then, i have to go see her." he stated with his newfound confidence.

suguru immediately stopped laughing after hearing this and sat up as well. he faced satoru properly before speaking.

"satoru, i was only joki-"

"I need to go see her." he said standing up and off suguru's bed.

suguru frowned at this, you had told him and shoko the real reason for avoiding satoru and they agreed to keep quiet. but neither of them thought you were taking the right approach.

suguru wasn't sure why you didn't want to admit your feelings to satoru but he wanted to respect your decision regardless. of course, even though he was tempted to, he never told you that satoru returned your feelings. he was a loyal friend.

but him coming over to your dorm and forcing his feelings upon you? it was bound to go wrong somewhere, suguru could feel it, this was satoru we were talking about here. so he opened his mouth ready to stop him but closed it once he realised...

satoru had left.

~~~

"cmon (y/n), why won't you just tell him already?" shoko was in your dorm sat next to you on the floor for the nth time this week ushering you. at this point you were sick of hearing the same thing over and over again.

"shut up. it's not as easy you think..." you replied crossing your and looking down at the floorboards.

"but he likes you and you like him! why can't you two just be fucking normal for once and get together?" she groaned.

"he doesn't like me, stop making stuff up!" you shot back, you hated when she'd try and give you false hope.

she looked at you dumbfounded.

"please tell me your joking. that dork is always looking at you during class with the most lovestruck look ever, he always buys stuff for you, he always takes you out, every time you're gone on a mission that he can't tag along he looks so worried as if he's about to wet his pants-"

"he's just being a nice friend! if i start thinking about in that way then it'll be humiliating for me..." you said.

"a nice friend!? when do you see him doing all those things for me and suguru huh? just admit it (y/n) he's in love with you!"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

you both slowly turn your heads towards the door of your dorm where the sound came from and heard a familiar voice from the other side.

"hey (y/n), you in there?" the voice called and you froze.

"shit it's him!" you panicked as shoko merely smirked.

"come on (y/n)! you can't avoid him forever. i'll go get the door" she said getting up and walking towards it.

"no!" you whisper-shouted but she made no hesitations in her movement.

you jumped onto your bed so you weren't within sight of satoru when the door opened as shoko made her way to go and open it.

"(y/n)- oh shoko what are you doing here?" gojo said trying to mask the look of disappointment on his face.

"hey satoru! me and (y/n) were just talking about you." she said grinning widely confusing satoru.

"ok... well, is she still here? i kinda wanted to speak to her." he said rubbing the back of his neck.

shoko turned around to be face you, you formed your arms in an 'x' position and shook your head vigorously indicating that she should say no.

it was either she must've misunderstood or she ignored it (probably the latter). either way she turned around to satoru and said:

"yep she's still here!"

you were definitely going to kill shoko later.

———

the silence in the room was deafening.

shoko had left leaving just the two of you there alone together. you sat on your bed as satoru sat on the floor.

this was most likely the awkwardest interaction you had had with him. even when the two of you first met as first years last year it wasn't awkward. you two hit off straight away and had been best friends ever since.

was it your fault for wanting something more?

you tried to look anywhere but at him, which was hard when he was staring at you intently with his sharp blue eyes.

when one time your eyes happened to lock with his, you gulped nervously as you both stared at each other, no words being said.

you noticed the look on satoru's face had changed, turning into one of worry and guilt. the sight of this made you frown but you were still too scared to say anything.

is he mad at me?

of course he's mad at you, he has every right to be. you've been giving him the cold shoulder for the last few days with no explanation of course he's mad-

"(y/n), did I do something wrong?" his voice cracked a little at the end breaking you out of your train of thoughts.

it pained you greatly to see him so fragile. this was satoru gojo we were talking about. one of the, if not the strongest sorcerers around. the power to probably destroy the school if he wanted.

yet there he was, sitting cross-legged in front of you and on the verge of tears. the sight almost made you too tear up, you had never felt so guilty before.

"no! you haven't done anything..." you quickly said looking at him before looking away once again.

"then why? why won't you look at me? why won't you talk to me? why are you avoiding me?" he said raising his voice a little but it still had a weak undertone to it.

you didn't know how to respond. you most definitely weren't going to explain the truth and spill your unrequited feelings for him just for this whole situation to get worse.

instead you hung your head low and fiddled with your fingers nervously. struggling to find any words at all. it was pathetic really.

but then, out of nowhere, your crush came straight up to you and clasped your hands in his.

you looked up at him at loss for words and mouth agape. he was looking back at you, his azure eyes showing signs of hurt, desperation and... love?

"please (y/n)," he started "you mean so much to me, i can't just let this- us, go." he pleaded looking you straight in the eye, not backing down for a second.

"i- uh i-" you stammered as your face flushed with embarrassment. you never thought he would care so much, that was until he next statement came.

"i like you (y/n). i mean it, i really do. i know you might've figured it out already but i just wanted to say tell you myself." he said going over your hands with his thumb, a soft smile on his face as he caressed them.

the way he called your name, the way he looked at you, the small blush on his face that was hard to miss. all these small details you suddenly started noticing you got you thinking the thing you wouldn't dare to hope.

he likes me back..?

you were so shocked that you didn't realise that you hadn't given him a response yet. satoru took this silence as a bad sign and let go of your hands, backing up a bit. his face morphing into one of regret.

'of course she doesn't feel the same, she's been ignoring me this whole time.'

"look, just forget i said anything." he let out a sigh "sorry what was I thinking-"

"i like you too, satoru." you cut him off giving him a smile. the one thing he longed for that he hadn't received from you in a long time.

a smile also tugged at his lips when his name left your lips and fell upon his ears, another thing he had longed for.

he quickly embraced you in a tight hug pushing you onto your back as you both lay on top of your bed, his head hidden in the crook of your neck.

the two of you stayed there holding each other for a while, taking in each other's presence. both silently glad that things weren't just back to normal, they were better.

he suddenly broke the hug for a second, pulled away and just simply looked at your face. you watched to see his eyes slowly wander down to your lips and then back up to your eyes, leaning in closer ever so slightly so that the two of you were face to face. he gave you a loving look as he place his palm on your cheek.

"can i...?" he murmured bringing his head closer so your noses were practically touching, you could feel his warm breath on your lips as he asked the question.

smiling nervously, you gave him a small nod. after receiving permission then wasted no time capturing your lips in a kiss.

both of your eyes flutter shut as his lips moved slowly against yours, his hands trailed to hold your waist as you put your own arms around his neck.

he pressed slightly harder into you as the kiss goes deeper, it was as if all the pent up desperation and seclusion from the past few days was all being poured out.

he kissed you with emotion, to show you that he really meant it.

and you felt like he meant it as well.

after a while when you had both ran out of breath, you pulled apart, you panted slightly as he let out a few shaky breaths but you both continued to stare deep into each other's eyes. as if being lost in each other's gaze was all you ever wanted to do.

he gave you a stupid grin before hugging you once more.

"i love you, (y/n)" he said in gentle voice slightly gripping harder onto your back as if he was afraid to let you go.

you hugged him back just as tight smiling to yourself. you never would've thought things to end up this way...

"i love you too, 'toru" you whispered back.

...but you definitely aren't complaining.

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pa1nkill3r · 3 years

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"Now How Come I've Only Found Out About This Now?" [G.W]

[Pairing:] George Weasley x Fem!Artist!Reader

[Summary:] So far, George Weasley knows three things about his new potions partner; So why not make it four? Or five?

[Warnings:] use of mudblood, a bit of angst, a bit of swearing, a pov change at some point in the end, idk-- fluff?? (is that a warning??)

[Word Count:] ≈2.7k

[A/N:] i used @buckystrenchcoat 's fluff plots for george weasley: 2. George finding out you can draw (kind of got carried away but oh well :D--) (ps just imagine that classes in hogwarts includes all of the houses together, thanks <3) Y/H = your house. (dk the timeline or what year george and the reader are in but i'd say between 3rd-5th year)

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

The Weasley twins were becoming reckless and apparently, Professor Snape has had enough. The constant explosions on the other side of the dungeon and the numerous attempts at drowning his hair with shampoo has eventually led him to the decision of assigning the entire class their partners.

Thus halfway into the semester, the Weasley twins are never to be seen together again... that is until the end of 2nd period where they will go back and cause mischief elsewhere.

Fred was assigned to a Slytherin girl who George couldn't figure out if she's madly in love with his brother or wants to rip out his guts. While he on the other hand was assigned with Y/N. Truthfully, he never gave much thought to her, but after their first double potions lesson as partners, he began to wonder why he never gave much thought to her.

She was smart but never overbearing, made jokes here and there, sniggered when he made even the cheesiest of puns, and is wicked attractive. Their first task was to brew a calming draught and whilst adding in a smidge more of lavender, she proposed that they should make more while the majority of the class was still struggling.

"Why in Merlin's beard are we going to make more? We can just pass this and leave class early?" He asked, bringing a smile to her lips. "Yeah, yeah, that's what you want, don't you Weasley?" She quipped, looking back up to the red-headed boy who's now readying their vials.

"Just thought that we could make some for people, like, your brother. Poor guy, reckon he's going to rip his hair out getting partnered with Tuttle." And with that, George let out a laugh, a laugh that cost Gryffindor 5 points. Though, all was well when they were the first to finish and send their little vial of calming draught into the hands of Severus Snape, garnering 5 points each and an opportunity to leave class 10 minutes early.

And that was it, that was their relationship; potions partners.

George Weasley learned 2 things that day. One, his potions partner was someone he wanted to know more, to be with more, and two, one should never put a liberal amount of peppermint in a calming draught. (Fred learned that the hard way.)

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She was the epitome of beauty and brains. So far, that's what he knew about his potions partner. But a little incident in the corridor made two into three.

It wasn't unusual for Fred and George Weasley to skip class, especially if the class was History of Magic. And it also wasn't unusual for them to hide behind a tapestry whilst a stinky dungbomb was set in the first-floor corridor.

What was unusual though, was George not wanting to move from their hiding place, forcing Fred to also not move. "George, mate, wha-?" "SHH!"

Whatever Fred's question was supposed to be, it quickly got answered by the presence of a certain someone whose walking to the Muggle Studies classroom, his brother's potions partner perhaps? Fred grinned mischievously, nudging his brother in the abdomen, and earning a wince.

"Oi mudblood! Was that you?" They heard from a distance, heavy footsteps following the girl he's teasing his brother with. From their point of view, they could tell that the girl stopped in her tracks, sighing heavily as though this was a regular thing.

"Was that me, what?" She asked, clearly annoyed. "Was that you who did it? Or d'you just shat yourself? It smells horrid. Would make sense, as you're a filthy little mudblood."

George's blood was beginning to boil, fingers formed into a fist, knuckles white. Especially when they got to see the silhouette of the two arguing. Perfect, Winnifred Tuttle, his brother's potions partner bullying his Y/N Y/L/N. He had an urge to protect her. To avenge her. To show her how much he cared for someone who's supposed to be his potions partner.

"Was that supposed to be an insult, Tutts?" Y/N spat back, pulling George out of his trance and making Fred shut his mouth. Now he's the one staring intently. "It's honestly just sad. A 'pureblood' like you should know the difference between a dungbomb and a piece of shit. Or perhaps you're probably just that daft?"

The boys were fixated on their conversation now. A hand on their mouths, hopefully covering up their shock even if they're hiding behind a tapestry. George's heart was beating faster now.

"Me? Daft? Well, if I'm daft then why are you taking muggle studies?" Tuttle sneered, an ugly grin splattered across her face.

"Bit hypocritical, isn't it, Winnie? Bye-bye!" She turned her back away from the Slytherin now, walking into the Muggle Studies classroom, holding a few books in one hand and her middle finger in the other.

He knows three things about her now; She's bewitching, she's a whizz, and she's a muggle-born who doesn't take shit.

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A few more lessons in and one could say that Y/N and George are starting to become friendlier to each other. Acquaintances, sure, but, friendly nonetheless. But the Gryffindor wanted to live up to its name, to its values. He might've just gotten to know a bit about her but he was completely and utterly entranced.

Nothing's going to stop him now.

His right hand held his wand as he stirred the concoction in the cauldron. She, on the other hand, was cutting up the stewed mandrake. The easy silence between them was broken by none other than the lion himself.

"Hey," he called, lifting his gaze from the potion to the girl right next to him. "Hi." She said back.

"So... Today's a Friday, right?"

She looked at him, confused, recounting a particular time in which she looked at a calendar today. "Yeah, I think so."

"And we can go to Hogsmeade after classes?"

"Pretty sure you can, why?"

"Want to go on a date?"

She looked stunned which kind of hurt George's ego but as soon as the slightly parted mouth of hers became a cheerful grin, he felt a whole lot better.

"As long as you stop staring at me and not over mix our potion, then sure, I'll go out with you." She smiled, making George give a shy little grin back before attempting to put all his concentration on the brew. Mind boggled on the way she said 'our potion.'

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Going to Muggle Studies felt utterly useless now that Y/N's been promised to go on a date right after. But having George by her side, walking her to the class just seemed to be the best part of the day.

He recounted the time when he and Fred hid behind a tapestry and told Y/N all about it, giving a hot feeling to her cheeks. They stopped by the door frame of the classroom, Professor Burbage was waiting inside, pacing around her study as George's hand slyly held Y/N's.

"I'll pick you up later?" He asked with the same shy smirk plastered on his face, cheeks pink and ears flushed. "Yeah. Thanks for walking me here. You shouldn't have." She uttered, heels rising and falling as she bounced on her toes.

"Just making sure that Tuttsy's not going to ruin your day, love." Y/N felt heat rising to her cheeks and ears, as well as an uncontrollable grin. Her heel turned to make her face the concrete walls of the castle, hands covering their face and body slightly swaying from side to side. It was ridiculous, really. Dumb. Very.

"You're adorable when you're flustered."

"Shut up, Weasley." And with that, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, leaving him slightly startled, stunned, and very red in the face. "You're adorable when you're flustered." She quipped, walking into the Muggle Studies classroom and taking her seat.

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Muggle Studies felt oddly slow that day. Usually, it lasted an hour but today it felt like a century. Professor Burbage's talk about electricity and muggle technology went in one ear and out the other.

If you'd ask why Y/N chose a subject she already knew plenty about, her answer would be that she wanted to see things from a different perspective. But truthfully, she just knew that she'd be good at it and it'd be an easy O.

So there she was; A scrap piece of parchment laid on the wooden desk and a pen since Professor Burbage discouraged the use of quills.

Her mind wandered off the moment she sat down on her chair. Feet either bouncing up and down or stuck straight onto the floor, she wouldn't know. What she did remember was her non-dominant hand posing itself as the other one scribbled on the piece parchment.

Her fingers played with the hazy light and the ink added depth. Soon she started sketching other things; The student in front of her, a study of Professor Burbage, a head with a moderately strong jaw and beautiful, short, messy hair. A male side profile with a big nose that has a slight bump on its bridge matching a cheeky grin with dimples. Her hand posed itself once more but this time she wasn't making it look like hers, she was making it look like his. Something she's seen many times before, and guiltily stared at once, twice, more than she could recount.

She was adding in the cluster of freckles when the worst happened; "Miss Y/L/N, still with us?" Professor Burbage stood at the front of the class, standing straight, clearly thinking about her posture. "Miss Y/L/N?"

She felt an elbow nudge her arm, and that was the thing that brought her back into reality. Her head whipped itself to face her seatmate then to her Professor, giving her a funny-looking nervous grin.

"Charm would get you nowhere, Miss Y/L/N. When was the first electricity generator introduced in Britain? And where was it installed?" She has to have something in that brain of hers. It must've been taught sometime when she was in muggle school. "Err-- 1900s something, Surrey--?"

Professor Burbage meekly chuckled, "Nice try. 1881. Godalming, Surrey. A point from Y/H then, I'm sorry."

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George was faithful and stuck to his word. Even being 5 minutes early after asking Professor Grubbly-Plank if he could go to the bathroom and have a wee, saying that the unicorns would definitely mind if he pissed on their trees.

He did not go to the bathroom but instead went straight to the Muggle Studies classroom. Leaning the side of his body onto the wall by the door. Trying his best to peer into the room and find his potions partner and soon to be his date and maybe even his. But he was getting ahead of himself.

The bell rang and he heard a loud shuffling sound of chairs being pulled back. The door was opened as students from all of the houses started pouring out and there she was. Looking beautiful as ever with her bag slung on her shoulder.

"Glad to see you're alright there, dove." He cooed, earning once again another shy smile. "Anything happened there?" He asked, pointing to the now open classroom.

"Felt way longer than usual, and I lost a house point." She said matter of factly. George chuckled, his heart filled with pride as he turned his head towards her.

"And what have you done to lose said house point?"

She smiled before reaching her hand into a pocket of her robes, pulling out a folded piece of aged parchment before handing it to the curious redhead.

"What's this? A love letter?" He bantered. "Just open it." And so he did. His nimble fingers unfolding the parchment, then he was stunned. Seeing his face drawn in ink with lines crossing over more lines was the last thing he expected. It looked like him. And it didn't look like Fred. It is him.

"I was just drawing in class but then I sort of blanked out and got a dumb question wrong." She paused, looking back up to see if the redhead was still listening. "Hello? Earth to George?"

"You drew me?" He was on a fine line of disbelief and awe. It truly looked amazing. She drew her hand at least three times before he recognized his was also there. She even got the little freckle he had on the middle of his wrist. The full body of ol' Professor Burbage brought so much of her energy and even the way her scarf wrapped around her neck was perfect.

Her cheeks were heating up again, realizing what she just did. "It's not that good. Just-- drew what I saw and, err-- whatever came to mind, I guess." Bad execution, sloppy excuse. "Okay, you've been looking at that for way too long now--"

"This looks bloody brilliant! Now how come I've only found out about this now?"

"Flattery would get you nowhere, Weasley." She joked, but he was serious.

"S'not 'flattery' if I'm stating what's true! It's amazing, you're amazing." She felt her heartbeat increase by a mile.

"Well then, I'm flattered." She said, adjusting the strap of her bag to hopefully let out some adrenaline. "And to answer your question, it'd be terrifying if I just started drawing in Snape's class. I swear that man has eyes at the back of his head. That's why this is a new discovery for you."

"Fuck, this is amazing!" He uttered.

"It's really not that good--"

"'S'really not that good' Some shit standards you have there. I'd put this in a museum!" He said loudly, extending both his arms and imagining that the piece of parchment was displayed on the Hogwarts walls. "If you don't like it then I'll keep it." George joked, expecting disapproval, which, to his shock, never came.

"Are you actually giving this to me?"

She shrugged, "I mean if you'd like a photo of you drawn by a teenage girl then be my guest." He smiled, genuinely smiled. He looked so pretty at that moment and there shouldn't be any holding back now.

"...But," She started, his gaze looked intently at her, ready to listen to whatever comes next. "There's a price."

"Between Freddie and I, we have 26 galleons and a few sickles." He said, earning a hearty laugh and a shake of her head. "Don't really think he'd like me to give all of it to you, I'm sorry. If you want I'd pay a bit then I--"

"No, George." She said, tugging lightly on his tie to gain his attention. "How about... a kiss? Perhaps?"

He grinned. His hand hovered itself across her face before landing on her cheek, thumb gracing itself on its apples, slightly squishing the skin whilst his eyes looked for any signs of discomfort; there was none.

They slowly leaned in, eyes locked on lips before their lips locked onto each other. His lips were slightly chapped but it felt like the softest thing on Earth. He smelled of cinnamon, firewood, gunpowder, and other indescribable scents, but it was nice. It was short but meaningful, gentle, even. His other hand was wrapped around her waist and once again, his thumbs were running up and down whatever part of her body it's laid on.

He learned two more things about the girl that day; she's artistic, and she felt like home.

He never thought there'd be a time in his life where he'd be thankful for Severus Snape. But life goes in unexpected ways.

"If you'd like to tip me then I'm just going to say that I love cauldron cakes." She grinned up at him as they pulled away before settling her face in his chest. George chuckled to himself before wrapping his arms completely on her waist, placing a sweet kiss on the top of her head.

"Yeah, yeah, come on." He said, pulling away to let her shake herself up as he held onto the piece of folded parchment which graced his face, giving it a small peck before putting it in his pocket, patting it three times.

"Better sign that drawing for me, Y/N. How much does an autograph cost?"

"Double the original price—?"

"And the tip?"

"And the tip."

#george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fluff #george weasley x reader #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x ravenclaw!reader #george weasley x hufflepuff!reader #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley x gryffindor!reader #george weasley fic #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #oml this is long

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snackhobi · 3 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say.

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

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