#but on a serious note that little cafe conversation was so layered to me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poursomesunaonme · 2 years

Note

HIIII FIRST OFF CONGRATS ON 50!!! Well deserved!!!

I’m so glad I came across your page a bit ago, and I have loved all your content so far! Sorry I’m not in your ask box, I got a lil confused on how to message you from there about your ‘cuffing season’ event. But I was hoping I could request for one?

My favorite characters: Jean or Nanami

Fav color: purple & brown

Fav drink: don’t really have one🥴

Ideal fall date: either like going to a pottery place kind of thing, or going to like a fall festival or horror night

Fall habits: I tend to get more inspiration for my sketching and drawing in the fall. I usually hit a block and around this time I just start filling up my sketch book pages every day. I love baking in the fall, it just feels more homey? What I wear in the fall is a lot of like long sleeves under shirts, crop tops with cargos and like a open button up over with converse or my doc martens. Basically:

With jewelry and changing up earrings all the time with my piercings. The thing I love about the fall is that I feel a lot more relaxed and calm? The weather is colder and the nights are longer, more stars seem to be out. In the fall I tend to get more serious in school though, I make sure to go to like cafes to do hw to prevent me getting distracted etc.

And I’d prefer if this could be sfw.

Sorry if this was too much😭 thank you am if you even took the time to read this<3

thank you sooooo much for participating babe! ugh i literally love this so much!! this was literally so fun to write pls send in whatever anytime u want bbygirl😫😫

word count: 2.6k

content/warnings: jean fluff, it’s literally so soft i can’t, sfw, artist!jean

author’s note: yalll i finished my last school related thing of the week today so now all my time will be dedicated to working on these!! stay tuned and submit if u wanna<3

cuffing season nav page

you hunch over your sketchbook, revealing more of your back to the warmth of the sun. a sigh escapes your lips as the heat already starts to seep through your layers of clothes; so much so that it nearly threatens to make you take off one of them. you shake your head to yourself, sneaking a look at the table to make sure that everything is in its right place. your baked goods were spread before you, on display for the passersby to buy when they craved a treat. jean scoots his chair closer to you, peeking at your drawing through the curtain of your hair.

“watch the table, babe!” you swat him away, covering your unfinished work with a splayed hand. he merely laughs at your meekness, but he obeys you, pulling away to give you space. with an elbow resting on the table, he cradles his head on his hand, watching you through lidded eyes.

“no fair, why do you get to draw?” he pouts at your inattentiveness to him, nudging your boot with his. you shoot a glance up at him, heart skipping a beat at the warm caramel of his eyes studying you. eyes ducking down to your paper once again, you feel a blush rise to your cheeks, a welcome contrast against the nippy autumn air.

“because i bake all the goods, you sell them. that’s how this business works.”

“i helped bake!” the indignance in his voice draws a giggle out of you. his face was clear as day in your mind even though you weren’t looking at him. the way he would grit his teeth, his eyes wide and alight with passion over something so trivial. your eyes roll as you remember the sight that he was that morning as he basically destroyed your kitchen.

“eating batter and spilling a whole sack of flour is not helping,” you point out, nudging your elbow against him. he throws up his hands, giving you an opportunity to lean into him. he stiffens, surprised at how easily your mock anger dissipates, but he relents, wrapping his arms around you and giving a kiss to your temple.

“fine, fine, you win,” he cedes into your hair. you straighten up at the sight of a little boy and his mother coming to buy your goods. jean assumes his role as a salesman, releasing your frame to attend to the customers. his smile flashes bright as a summer day as he easily pursues banter with the family, complimenting the woman and chatting with her son. your mind flies back to that morning as you idly doodle in your sketchbook.

both of you had gotten up early to prepare for the festival. jean was more than happy to assist you, but his talents, when it came to the kitchen, were for cooking only. put a baking sheet in his hand, and there’s no telling what he would do with it - anything but baking.

you had made your perch on the countertop, taking a break from scurrying around the kitchen with your last batch in the oven. jean was clutching his stomach, complaining about a stomach ache. you teased him relentlessly, knowing it was the amount of batter he had ingested whenever you weren’t looking.

he had attempted to help you clean up, the first thing being to help you put away the old ingredients that you didn’t need anymore. he went for the flour, and then somehow, it slipped out of his hands. the bag blew up in a cloud of white dust on the floor. you could only imagine the image of your face at the sight of jean standing there, hands still open, now covered head to toe in the substance.

but still, you tousled his hair and planted kisses on his lips, grimacing at the gritty sensation of the flour. not wanting to get too carried away, you gave him a great mock scolding and told him to clean up and shower. you ignored the fact that he argued that a man covered in flour would make the goods easier to sell, because “it looks like genuine effort.”

jean finishes his sale, somehow managing to seal the deal on the family taking almost half of your goods. after they leave with a whole box of pumpkin-decorated cupcakes, he turns to you with a cocky smile. you merely roll your eyes at him, then get back to the work at your fingertips.

he gives you a few minutes of peace and quiet, enthralled by your focus and the way your pencil flits gracefully across the paper, guided by the hand of the most beautiful visionary. the festival was nearing its least popular time, with not many people milling around as they had earlier. jean takes the time to memorize every inch of your face, every mannerism you execute.

you still hadn’t looked up at him after five minutes, which he obviously took offense to. he invades your personal space again, so you jab the eraser end of your pencil into his chest to ward him off, drawing a winded exhale from his lungs.

“ow, y/n!” he whines, giving you the saddest puppy look you’d ever seen displayed on his face. it obviously didn’t hurt him, but he was exceptional at being dramatic.

“just let me draw, dummy,” you tease, batting your eyelashes at him before you turn back to your work. his fingers lace underneath your chin to turn your head towards him. he lifts it in different directions as his eyes study the beauty he beholds.

“but it’s really slow right now,” he breathes, fingers ghosting across the side of your face as his hand withdraws from the contact. “how about i draw you?”

your lips press into a hard line. in all the time that you and jean had been together, not once had he revealed to you any of the work he had made of you (if any of it actually existed). but, curious to see how it would turn out, you humor him.

“okay, fine,” you huff with a bright smile, “i’ll draw you too.”

you hadn’t noticed that his sketchbook was sitting on the corner of the table until he retrieves it, flipping through the pages to find a blank one. you abandon the page of doodles you’d been idly working on in favor of a clean sheet. the two of you situate your bodies to face each other, and the magic begins.

your idea is to draw jean with his arms crossed behind his head, laying on the leaf covered ground. you don’t need to look up at him, as you have his features well-memorized, but you do it just for fun. it seems that your brains are connected; everytime you steal a glance, so does he.

every so often, you look up to find him in a trance as he relishes in your features. your heart threatens to give out at the amount of times it skips a beat at his loving gaze. no one else disturbs your focus, with the festival being pretty empty at the time.

you bask in the intimacy of it all, at the fleeting glances and lengthy stares. how jean’s determination was etched into the space between his eyebrows and his laughter lines. how his tongue sticks out in focus at the particularly difficult points of his sketch.

the pencils tell stories of features that had long been burned into your memories. you could draw jean without needing to look at him. the sharp curve of his jaw, his strong nose, deep, soft eyes; but you like to be reminded of his beauty in those short glances you steal.

your two dimensional jean stares back at you with a playful air as you dust off the eraser shavings, revealing the whole picture. you set your sketchbook on the table, far enough away to prevent him from stealing a glance. he notices your movements and finishes off his drawing quickly, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he scribbles furiously. you wonder what his drawing will look like with those violent flicks of his pencil.

he straightens up with a triumphant smile, patting the sheet gently. his eyes rise to meet your gaze as he grins and grips the sketchbook with excitement. a laugh flows through your nose while a gentle smile blesses your lips at his adorable mannerisms. he takes in a big breath, then shoves the sketchbook towards you with an exuberant flashiness.

“okay, here it is!”

the smile on your face is quickly replaced with a grimace at the sight of what jean had drawn. it’s a childish sketch, at best. you lean forward to study it, completely missing how jean covers his mouth to contain a loud guffaw. the drawing doesn’t get any better close up.

you assume that it’s you, since it’s a barely developed stick figure, sitting in a chair. you can make out the table on your right, decorated with poorly drawn cupcakes. the expression on your face can only be described as devilish - because he had drawn devil horns on your head… mature. your mouth is open and bearing sharp teeth as your eyebrows turn down into a malicious v.

the speech bubbles that flutter around your head are littered with censored expletives, expressing some kind of rage that you didn’t understand yourself. jean loses his control over himself, doubling over, snorting with laughter. you pull back, still utterly confused at what he had done. your eyes flit back to your sketch, heart sinking slightly at the unrequited effort.

“jean, what the hell is that?” you can’t help the anger that laces your voice, with undertones of disappointment. he straightens up, wiping a tear from his eye. tossing the sketchbook on the table, he crosses one leg over the other.

“it’s you twenty minutes ago,” he shrugs nonchalantly. you feel like such a baby at the sensation of tears prickling in your nose, but you grab your sketchbook anyway, flipping through the pages of idle doodles to find your work of jean.

“well, i hope this guilt trips you,” you shoot at him, turning the pad around to reveal your art. his eyes widen; he takes the piece to study it up close. you sit back and cross your arms over your chest, still wildly indignant at the lack of effort he put into drawing you. after he had practically begged you to let him.

“y/n…” jean’s voice had softened as he looks back up at you. your heart skips a beat at the admiration on his face at the wonderful portrayal you had made of him. he gently hands the sketchbook back to you, your fingers brushing together. your cheeks warm as your heart relents in your feelings towards him - making him happy makes you happy.

jean flashes a devilish grin at you, grabbing his notebook once again. he flips manically through the pages before finding what he wanted. taking a dramatic deep breath and closing his eyes, he rests the book face book on his lap before making an obnoxiously loud announcement.

“i hope you dont have socks on!” he declares, eyes still squeezed shut. a smile rises to your face as you interrupt him before he can speak again.

“of course i have socks on, babe,” you counter, stifling a giggle with your palm, “it’s cold.”

he slouches, defeated by your impeccable logic. “okay well, you see,” he begins, eyes opening to gaze into yours. “i already had this done before we started. i was just messing with you with the other one.”

your heart flutters in your chest as he picks up the notebook, about to turn it around to show you what he had seriously done. a ball of excitement bursts in your chest; you attempt to stifle it, not wanting to get disappointed like the last time, but something tells you that this will be different.

“go on, let’s see it.” you try to put on a strong face, but you crumble as soon as you see the first inch of the page as he slowly turns it around.

“ta-da,” he cheers quietly, face softening at the sight of you beholding what he had drawn. you scoot in to get a closer look, resting a hand on his thigh. his hand comes to clasp yours, gently rubbing his thumb in circles across your cold skin.

you’re still in disbelief as you pore over his drawing. it was of you, sitting cross legged in your chair, your sketchbook in your lap. overall, the sketch was done so gracefully, so softly, and that translated to a portrayal of yourself that you had never seen before. you’re enthralled by it all, the cascade of your hair into your face, the gentle curve of your smile as you sheepishly grinned at the beholder.

you look absolutely radiant, like an angel fallen straight from the heavens. jean’s admiration of you is painfully apparent in the drawing. he surrounded your frame with stars, the shading around you appearing to be as if you were physically beaming with the rays of the sun. you run your fingers over the page, heart expanding to fill your whole chest cavity.

when you finally bring yourself to tear your eyes away from the drawing, jean is gazing at you with an immeasurable amount of love in his eyes. tears gather along your waterline, threatening to spill out as he swoops down to press a gentle kiss on your lips.

“wow, jean… it’s…” you can’t even finish a sentence before you choke up, a baby tear escaping your eye. you brush it away quickly as jean plants a kiss on your forehead. he gives you time to process the drawing, gathering a piece of your hair and twirling it around his finger.

“it’s the most beautiful i’ve ever seen myself.” it was the only way you could describe it. you didn’t think you ever looked that gentle, that radiant, that alluring. he portrayed you with such an angelic aura that you could barely believe that he had actually drawn you. a soft sigh escapes his mouth as he cups your chin, bringing you to face him.

“it’s how i see you all the time.”

you think that your heart must have exploded in your chest at that very moment.

you throw yourself onto him with such a force that you knock over his chair; and soon the two of you are rolling around in the crunchy leaves, laughing. the joy you felt was nothing compared to anything else you had ever experienced, being the dazzling vision in the life of someone you loved with your whole heart.

after the sappy scene of affection, the two of you go back to manning the table, occasionally picking leaves out of the others’ hair as the customers begin to trickle through the grounds for the end of the festival. jean’s hand rests on your thigh, squeezing the muscle every once in a while, hearkening you back to his love for you, begging you to be reminded of the adoration he beheld you with every moment of every day.

and at the end of the day, after you had packed up your things - or lack thereof, since jean had managed to sell every last treat - the two of you head home. your heart beats fast in your chest as you imagine what else jean had drawn of you. a soft smile makes its home on your face, basking in the simple show of love he had showered you with. finally, as the two of you settle into bed, jean wraps his arms around you, surrounding you with a protective barrier of adoration and whispering praises into your ear, even long after you had fallen asleep.

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milliethekitty27-writing · 4 years

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Dampfnudel

Gilbert never understood why he baked. Ludwig had gotten loads of comments about how soldiers didn’t cook like that, it was a very Austrian thing to do, bla bla bla. At the time it had bothered Ludwig a little, but now he ignored the snide comments.

He’d had a hard time making friends when he was younger. He’d been quiet and serious and Gilbert was a handful, but he’d had to move around a lot. He had never been a people-person and despite his many skills and talents, emotions weren’t one of them. He had them, sure, but sometimes he didn’t know how to fix things.

He’d learned to bake very early on, sitting in Roderich’s kitchen. He’d watched Roderich doing something after a particularly stressful meeting. “Baking is good for the soul.” Roderich had said, kneading dough. “It’s soothing. Every nation should be able to cook. And everyone makes food and needs it. It’s a language everyone speaks. Pass me the flour to your left.” Ludwig had tried it the next day, standing on a step stool next to the older man, and slowly learned to make rolls.

Ludwig could spend hours in the kitchen. He’d look for the perfect recipe for his mood (a tart? A cake? Or maybe something savory?) before going through his meticulously well stocked kitchen. He’d spend hours getting everything tasting just right and decorating it.

It was one thing that he and Roderich could do together, honestly. They both worked well (even if Ludwig was much neater) and they could listen to music without a problem. They often did the Christmas baking while Gilbert did the decorating with whoever decided to show up.

Over the years, Ludwig had learned many recipes. He’d done it out of curiosity (new regions meant new cuisines, and while he wasn’t the worst chef his heart lay in baking with the precise measurements and timing) and for fun, but he’d discovered what his friends and allies liked the most.

When he’d first met Alfred, many years ago when Alfred was a fresh new nation, Alfred had enthusiastically told him about apple pie. They’d spent a few hours making a mess in the kitchen but the end result had been deliciously flaky. He and Alfred hadn’t made it again, but Ludwig still made it every once in a while. He’d added some to it, and he was planning on making it for Alfred at some point just to see what he thought. More recently, though, Alfred had fallen in love with cheesecake. Ludwig sometimes couldn’t get it to set, but they were going to have a contest for flavors at some point. The apple pie would be the grand test.

He’d learned to make dobos torta when he’d lived with Roderich and Erzsébet years ago. He’d sat in the kitchens and listened to Hungary talk, and she’d shown him how to layer a cake and fill it with buttercream. She had a secret way to prepare walnuts (which she still refused to tell him) and in turn he messed with the flavors. She laughed at him when he did it. Her recipe was still better, but one day he’d be able to beat her.

Roderich’s lindertorte was a masterpiece. Ludwig didn’t try to make it, because it was Roderich’s thing, but he’d watch Roderich make it so many times that he knew how to do it. He had fond memories at Christmas, during the Cold War when everything else was so far and few people would speak to him, of Roderich showing up carrying half a lindertorte. They’d sat down in his recently rebuilt house, the candles lining the windows, and enjoyed each others company.

He had learned many French recipes in his travels to France, but Francis was a cook, not a baker. He liked to bake well enough but Francis preferred to cook a mouthwatering, fall off the bone beef with a gorgeous side. Ludwig liked to visit Paris and wander through the cafes. He had taken a cooking class, just for fun, and they’d made eclairs. He enjoyed the rhythmic filling up and the shiny chocolate glaze. He’d sent a box to Francis after soundly kicking his ass in football one year (Gilbert had kindly filmed it). While the outside was decorated in French colors, the inside creams had been meticulously colored as the German flag. Francis had screeched.

For Belle he made chocolates. They’d spent a few days in a chocolate shop, when they were trying to be a bit more civil following the two wars. Tim had appeared out of nowhere and ended up with a splattering of chocolate on his face, and that had somehow led to all three being covered in chocolate. Belle had laughed so hard that she’d fallen on the ground at the sight of the two serious nations covered in sweets.

With Arthur he’d learned to do tea time, because Arthur could be a snob, but tiny beautiful cakes with fine details were time consuming and satisfying to finish on the days when the world went crazy. Arthur sent him boxes of teas and recipes when he found interesting ones, and some days they’d sit together and read while eating cakes.

The Italian brothers, ironically enough, both liked cannolis. He’d learned that when he and Feliciano first became allies. Lovino hadn’t been very impressed, declaring it a shitty first attempt, but he’d still cleaned his plate. He’d sent a box of it to Feliciano, after the war, with an apology note, and it had been a first step in talking to him again. Feliciano would spend hours helping him make the recipes, and they’d experiment with all kinds of Italian desserts.

He and Kiku wandered the streets when he visited, finding interesting restaurants, and they’d bonded over a love of food in the first years of allianceship. Kiku understood his interest and often entertained it (cook books were a common gift, and he spent ages letting Ludwig putter around the kitchen to practice new skills) Kiku’s favorite sweet was okoshi. After the dust of World War II started to clear, Ludwig had gone to visit. He’d brought a pack of okoshi with him, that he’d tried to make himself. Kiku had looked up from where he was sitting at the desk, actually laughed, then told him it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever eaten (so it was terrible) and they’d maybe try to make it later. They had. Ludwig was planning on visiting later this year. They were going to try to make daifuku again. The first time they’d done it, Ludwig had ended up with more covering his hands and he’d gotten Kiku to laugh.

Ludwig was no master baker, that was true, but he knew his way around a kitchen and the tools. He liked to do it. He had sent personal peace offerings to his fellows through food, gotten lost after an in depth conversation with a baker. He went to local bakeries for breakfast and any other meal and he loved few things more than the smell of something in the oven. He’d found a recipe for some type of baked good for nearly every nation, even the ones he didn’t know well.

Gilbert was the enigma, though.

Gilbert had claimed he didn’t have a sweet tooth, and it was true. For all of Gilbert’s habits, he rarely ate sweets. He drank more than anyone Ludwig knew (except maybe Arthur) and ate pretty much anything, but he often had another plate of mashed potatoes and wurst before a German chocolate cake. (which was Ludwig’s personal favorite, for the record)

It had taken a bit of work, but eventually Erzsébet had told him that Gilbert hadn’t been able to have many sweets growing up (like many of the nations hadn’t) and that he’d simply never developed the taste for them. He was used to long marches and cold winters - he preferred to eat something good and hearty to get him through the night rather than the “prissy little cakes that Glasses eats.”

There had been one thing, though, that Ludwig had found his brother liked. He’d discovered it by accident. They’d been at a Christmas market, just exploring, and there had been a few food trucks. Ludwig had bought a dampfnudel just because he could (and it was covered in cherry and vanilla sauce) but his brother was pitching a bit of a fit because they were somehow out of sausages. (they weren’t - there were more being cooked, but hungry Gilbert equals bitchy Gilbert) Ludwig had lost his patience and simple shoved the dampfnudel into Gilbert’s mouth. Gilbert had sputtered a bit, but ended up stealing the rest of it to eat himself.

Ludwig learned to make dampfnudel from there. He mastered a gorgeous cherry sauce and a heavenly vanilla sauce. He’d tried hundreds of dampfnudel recipes and tried different timings and spices. His recipe was unique and delicious. He didn’t make it often, but on the days when Gilbert looked most down, most quiet, on the days when Gilbert spent hours looking out the window? Ludwig went into the kitchen and made dampfnudel. He’d put the plate next to his brother and sit down next to him. They didn’t need to speak, but Gilbert would finish the plate, nudge him, and things would go back to normal within the hour.

Ludwig loved to bake for many reasons, but connecting with people through food? That was a language everyone spoke.

----

Thank you for reading!

This piece can be found on AO3 here

My friends and I are doing a Friendsgiving (I’ve never done it before) and it’s going to be a very interesting affair. They’re making Indian food but I wanted to make Dampfnudel for the first time. (I know I like it, just never made it) I was talking about it on the phone and just saying the word made me feel incredibly German. I like the idea that all the nations have their little quirks for settling down, and a baking Germany sounds like a great time.

I’ll be posting a little less frequently this month - I’ve been slammed with some school work and am in a bit of a panic, and my motivation is all over the place. I’ll try to make up for it in November! Have a great week.

#writing #fanfiction #hetalia #axis powers hetalia #aph germany #ludwig beilschmidt #look if you can bake/cook #everyone wants to be your friend #and it's great when people like your food!#but also terrifying because if it is bad #your reputation is RUINED

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stxn-the-mxn · 4 years

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The Gift Of You || College!Steddie

IT Secret Santa Gift for @maxine-gayfield

IT Secret Santa Organized by @itfandomprompts

***

November 11th, 1994

“I just don’t understand why they need to do… this?” Stan furrowed his eyebrows, watching as a boy he recognized from his history class and a girl he had never seen before hung up another garland across the hallway. He acknowledged that the garland was a nice shade of green, and it was pretty to look at, but that didn’t change his opinion on it.

Eddie, who could barely see through his layers upon layers of beanies and scarves, turned to Stan, seeing the contempt in his eyes. He followed Stan’s eyes to the winter garland that draped across the wall, just brushing the top of a doorframe.

“People get excited for Christmas, Stan. It’s bigger than Hannukah, especially here. But that doesn’t mean we can’t cele-”

“No, no, I don’t care about that. It’s fucking November.”

“Oh.” Eddie blinked in surprise, as Stan’s hands curled into fists. He was almost shocked at how frustrated Stan was getting. Sure, he knew that Stan often felt left out at Christm- December,

(Eddie had sworn to Stan that he would be inclusive around the holiday season. Stan had told him he didn’t have to do that, but Eddie had smiled sweetly and crossed his fingers over his heart)

but he hadn’t expected Stan to get so annoyed at people hanging up decorations early. Maybe, a thought occurred to him, Stan would be less annoyed if it weren’t just typical Christmas decorations being hung up everywhere. But then again, maybe Stan meant what he said and he was just frustrated that it was only November.

Let’s hope that Stan avoided any and all shopping malls until December.

“-vember is way too early for holiday decorations. It’s barely been two weeks since Halloween, yknow?” Eddie glanced up at Stan again, his neck hurting a little, due to their difference in height.

Eddie used to complain about his small, 5’5 height in comparison to Stan’s 5’8 height, or anyone else’s height quite regularly, so much so that Stan had once made a comment that their heights were not that different, and Eddie was simply being dramatic. Eddie hadn’t said anything about his height since.

“Stanny, I think you’re being a bit dramatic.” Eddie hummed, a small smirk on his face as he remembered the height conversation, his voice muffled through a scarf that he’d moved to warm up his face more. Stan huffed, but shifted his thoughts away from the decorations, and instead listened to Eddie talk about whatever his mom had sent a letter about this time.

As Eddie spoke, fumbling over his own words as he complained about his overbearing mother, Stan took one last look at the decorations that plagued the college hallway and made a mental note of the date.

November 11th. 44 days until Christmas.

***

November 20th, 1994

“So, you want to celebrate Christmas for the first time, because of Wheezy?” Richie Tozier snorted, eyeing his curly-haired dormmate over the top of his comic book. Richie had not stopped laughing since Stan had slammed open the door and collapsed on his bed, muttering unrecognizable sentences under his breath.

These sentences, as one might come to wonder about them, were very much related to the day Stanley had spent with Eddie. These comments were in no way negative. Stan would never dream of saying anything even remotely harsh to the smaller boy. No, these comments, as anyone who heard them could tell you, were simply muffled confessions of a newly burning adoration.

“Yes, I do. And his name is Eddie, thank you very much.” Stan rolled his eyes at Richie, a common occurrence in their dorm.

Richie, however, was well aware that his name was Wheezy. Not only did he share some classes with the boy, but he slept in close proximity of Stan, and that reminded him of the brunette boy’s name enough. Stanley Uris had a terrible habit of talking in his sleep.

“Okay, so, you - a Jew - want to celebrate Christmas - a not Jewish holiday - because of some boy that you like?”

“Yes. Wai- No, I don’t like him!” Stan glared at Richie, who simply shrugged his shoulders in response, the smirk across his face kept hidden behind his comic. Stan, in a moment of defeat, slumped back onto his bed, unaware of the conversation happening across the hallway.

***

“Ben, it’s just not fair! He’s too pretty to be real.” Eddie groaned, his pale skin flustered so much that his freckles were practically hidden. Ben Hanscom, who had been trying his hardest to finish his architectural sketch and not giggle at Eddie’s predicament, gave up and put his pencil down.

“Deal with it, Eddie. Some people are just too pretty.” He mused, eyes drifting to the set of four photobooth pictures pinned to the wall, flaming red hair drawing in his focus.

“But I don’t wanna deal with it!” Eddie whined, shoving his face into his pillow, leaving Ben on the verge of a giggling mess. “Why can’t- why can’t he deal with it, and be- be less pretty?”

“Well, I don’t think you’d like that, would you?”

“No… I suppose not. Fuck, I hate when you’re right.” Eddie, upon hearing Ben’s triumphant laughter, stuck out his middle finger, frustrated grumbles spilling from his lips. Eddie’s fist met his mattress repeatedly, each impact paired with a sweet, but angrily spoken, comment on Stan.

Ben, figuring he wasn’t going to be having another conversation with Eddie for a while, stood up and walked over to there calendar. It had been a gift from Sonia Kaspbrak, who had no clue how to give suitable presents to her son and had presented him with a calendar with a different health fact each day.

Ben ripped off that day and its fact (blood makes up about 8% of your total body weight) revealing the new fact for the 21st of November.

November 21st, 34 days until Christmas.

***

November 30th, 1994

“Benjamin Peter Hanscom, I am 100%, without a doubt, completely and utterly in love with Stanley Reuben Uris.”

Ben, who had not been expecting Eddie so early, almost knocked poor Beverly off the bed in shock. Bev, who had simply wanted to spend time with her boyfriend, gaped at Eddie, his words coming as a surprise to her.

“Ben, why aren’t you saying anyt- oh, hi, Bev.” Eddie collapsed on his bed, which had become a regular occurrence since Eddie had realised he had any semblance of feelings for Stan.

Oh, he definitely had feelings for Stan. Stan, who would barely speak up in class, but always had so much to say. Stan, who would always wait for Eddie outside the classes they didn’t share. Stan, who knew Eddie’s order at every nearby restaurant and cafe. Stan, who was a straight-A student, yet would sometimes arrive late to class due to being distracted by a bird.

Stan, who Eddie could talk about for hours.

Yeah, he absolutely had feelings for Stan.

Looking up, Eddie saw the awkward expressions on Beverly and Ben’s faces and rolled over to face the wall and not them.

“Continue. I’m not watching.”

***

“You’re in love with Wheezy! You’re in love with Wheezy! You’re in love wi-”

“Yes, Richie! We get it, okay? Stan’s in love with Eddie.” Mike placed his hand over Richie’s mouth, only to receive the sensation of Richie’s tongue across his skin. “You, Richie, are disgusting.”

“S-so, Stan, when did you r-realise you liked, or love, him?” He watched as Stan’s cheeks lit up red, a smirk now adorning Bill’s face. “I’m sorry, S-Stan, is love too strong a word f-for you?”

“You guys need to shut up!” Stan cried out, leaving the other three boys in fits of laughter. “Oh, fuck you guys!”

“Cmon, Stan, you know we’re just messing with you, right?” Mike sat beside Stan, patting his back comfortingly, while Bill and Richie continued to laugh. Now, as cruel as it may seem for Bill and Richie to find such humour in Stan’s feelings, they were actually quite happy and proud of their best friend.

“Hey, Rich?” The glasses-clad boy looked over at Stan. “What would- I can’t fucking believe I’m asking you this- What would you do if you thought you’d found your soulmate?”

“Whoa, Stan the Man! You saying that Kaspbrak’s your soulmate?” Mike exclaimed, springing to his feet. Bill and Richie’s eyes widened as Stan fiddled with his fingers.

“Well… yeah. Do I sound insane, or ridiculous or obsessive or-”

“You and Eddie are absolutely soulmates. Just ask him out. If he doesn’t say yes, you can just go out with me.” Richie smiled and tried to pull Stan into an affectionate embrace, trying to keep up a serious facade, Stan slapping his arms away and laughing loudly.

“How do you ask someone out?” Stan asked, earning eye rolls from his three friends.

“W-well, it’s got to be special. And important. Especially to Eddie.”

Stan wracked his mind for something special and important to Eddie. And of course, things that might actually make Eddie say yes. That, to Stan, meant no disease, no illness, nothing that reminded Eddie of his mother.

“Wait! Stan, Stan, Stan, Stan, Stan!” Richie shook the curly-haired boy by his shoulders, Stan simply rolling his eyes in response.

“Yes, Richard?”

“Didn’t you tell me you wanted to celebrate Christmas because of Eddie?”

Stan, in a moment of realisation and possible brilliance, bolted to the calendar.

“It’s the 30th of November. I have 25 days to give Eddie the best Christmas of his life.”

***

24 Days Until Christmas

“G’morning Stan!” Eddie’s cheerful voice called down the hall, causing Stan to choke on his peppermint latte and almost spill the gingerbread hot chocolate in his hand. As Eddie practically bounded over to Stan, the taller boy took in his appearance. Eddie’s cheeks were flushed red, and the white flakes of snow on his head stood out among his chestnut curls.

He looked utterly adorable and Stan could only just keep himself composed.

“How are you, Eddie?” Stan smiled, not unaware of Richie standing not too far behind Eddie, gesturing crudely at the pair of boys.

“Well, it’s December 1st, and Ben got up early to decorate for Christmas, so I’m in quite a festive mood.” Eddie smiled, remembering the string of red, yellow and green lights that had woken him up.

Stan blushed at the sight of Eddie’s wide smile, and the way his hair bounced as he shook out the snow. The burning sensation tingling through Stan’s hand reminded him of the drink he was still holding.

“Oh! Eddie, I brought you a drink. I remembered you texting me at, like, 2am about how excited you were for a gingerbread hot chocolate, so I thought I’d get you one.” Stan breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t stammered or messed up his words.

“Fuck, Stanley, I love you. I can’t believe you remembered!”

Stan froze at Eddie’s words, the dorkiest smile imaginable breaking out across his face. He handed Eddie the cup, laughing softly as he aggressively started drinking it. It was almost gone in a minute, Eddie giggling awkwardly as he realised he’d downed the whole thing.

Stan was yet to tear his eyes away from the small brunette, eyes open wide in pure shock and admiration. His next words barely matched a whisper.

“How could I forget.”

***

18 Days Until Christmas

“Eddie? Really?” Beverly sighed as she watched Eddie shove a bobby pin into the lock. Sure, he could’ve just asked Richie for the key, but as if that dickweed would just hand them over. Especially if he knew why.

Beverly and Ben had boxes stacked to the skies that Eddie had filled with decorations and other surprises he’d bought the past week. He could only hope that Stan would like the surprises too.

Click!

“Fuck yeah!” Eddie swung the door open, only to be met with Richie, Mike and Bill’s scared faces as they huddled together.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Tozier screeched, pushing up his glasses that were slipping off.

“No point in lying now,” Eddie groaned. “I- We were planning on decorating Stan’s dorm. I’ve spent the past week shopping for Hannukah items and simple decorations in Stan’s favourite colours. That’s what we’re doing here.”

Bill and Mike shared a knowing look with Ben and Bev, while Richie let squeaky laughs to escape through his smiling face.

“That’s kinda gay, Kaspbrak!”

“Oh, go suck your boyfriend’s dick, Tozier.”

The two continued to bicker, as Bill and Mike moved to help Ben and Bev unload the boxes. In the time it took for Richie and Eddie to calm themselves down and move on, the other four had already hung up all of the blue and silver decorations, and were in the process of stringing up the little bird-shaped fairy lights Eddie had hunted down for three days.

“Hey! I was meant to hang this all up!” Eddie gasped, genuinely upset.

“Don’t worry, Spaghetti, they left the most important part for you,” Richie said, handing the extremely expensive menorah (which had cost Eddie all his savings. But it was for Stan, so he didn’t care.) over to Eddie, being careful not to drop it.

Eddie placed it carefully on Stan’s desk, making sure it didn’t disrupt the perfect order that Stan kept everything in. Once that was done, Eddie left the room, Bev and Ben not too far behind.

10 minutes later, Stan unlocked the door and gasped in surprise. There was barely an empty area of wall, and usually, this would have upset Stan, but when he took a moment to actually examine the festive explosion, it brought a smile to his face.

Blue, silver and birds.

Three out of four of his favourite things. His fourth favourite thing was Eddie. And there, on his desk, was the most gorgeous menorah he’d ever seen. He was so enchanted by the new item on his desk, he hadn’t noticed Richie reading another comic.

“It’s gorgeous,” Stan spoke, seemingly to himself.

“Yeah, Wheezy did quite a good job,” Richie muttered, almost causing Stan to scream in shock.

“Wh- Eddie did this?”

“Yeah, who else? Me? Nah, I’ll leave this kind of sappy shit to your tiny boyfriend.”

“He’s not my bo- I don’t care. He did all this for me?”

“Jesus, Stanley, get it through your head. Yes, he did it for you. Now go run to his dorm, sweep him off his feet and fuck for god sake.” Richie sighed, more serious than he’d ever sounded.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

***

10 Days Until Christmas

“No. I’m not hanging Mistletoe in the doorway, Benny. That’s a stupid plan.” Eddie sighed, tossing the leaves behind him. Ben sighed, reaching down to pick up the discarded decoration.

“But wasn’t that your plan?”

“It was. But that’s so basic. And there’s no consent because of “tradition”, which is stupid and dumb. And it’s a Christmas tradition and I want it to be more… Stan, y’know?”

Ben sighed again, burying his head in his hands. Eddie was truly one of the most frustrating people he’d ever had to deal with, but he loved the boy nonetheless, and all he wanted to do was help his friend get together with the boy he was so clearly in love with.

“Fine, we’re scrapping Mistletoe. What else you got?” Ben queried, staring at Eddie with an inquisitive look. He was quite intrigued to see what Eddie could come up with.

“What if- and I know this sounds stupid- but what if I gave Stan a Hannukah present, but the present was me and I kiss him? Is that stupid?”

Ben stared in shock. Never did he imagine that Eddie Kaspbrak, the resident germaphobe, who sometimes screamed at the slightest breath on him and ran miles away from any cough or sneeze, was thinking of kissing Stan Uris.

Ben couldn’t assume that Eddie hadn’t thought of kissing Stan before, because there was no way he hadn’t. But Eddie was ready to put his thoughts into action. Ben couldn’t help but be proud of him.

“Fuck. Ben, I’m going out. December 25th is too far away.”

Eddie sped out of the room, not giving time for Ben to process his words. When the realisation dawned on him, the smile on his face swelled, and he rushed after Eddie, excited to see what he did.

***

“Stan The Man! You’re gonna kiss Wheezy as a Christmas-Hannukah present? Now that’s a move!” Richie nudged Stan in the shoulder, only receiving a light shove back. Stan was an alarming shade of red, which only made Richie happier.

“Shut the fuck up, Tozier. I’m only doing it cause Mike told me to.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hanlon. I’m not in the mood.” Stan laughed softly, as did Mike and Richie. When the laughter fell to silence, Stan began to mull over his tumbling thoughts. Fuck, was he really going to kiss Eddie? Yes. Yes, he fucking was.

“Hey, guys?” The two boys hummed in response, gazing up at their friend. “What if I… didn’t wait until Christmas?”

Their eyes widened, and so did Richie’s smile.

“Stan my man! That’s what I’m talking about! Sweep the little fucker off his feet and kiss him until he has an asthma attack! Go, you fucknut, and get your man!” Richie headlocked Stan, ruffling his already messy curls.

“I believe in you, Stanley. As Richie said; go get your man!” Mike cheered, clapping him on the back.

“I also said fucknut.” Richie stated through laughs, to which Stan simply rolled his eyes, a smile evident on his face. Stan stood up from his bed and headed for the door, ignoring the cheers and wolf-whistles from his friends.

He swung open the door, only to be met with Eddie’s closed fist, as if he were about to know on the door.

“Eddie!” Stan exclaimed, his voice breaking in surprise.

“Stan! Sorry for almost punching you…” Eddie sighed, dropping his arm to his side, letting it swing awkwardly. “Oh! You’re probably wondering why I’m at… your door and very clearly trying to get in, since I was about to knock… I really am sorry for almost punching you. So uh, basically, I was going to wait until Christmas- sorry, Hannukah- but I couldn’t wait so now I’m here and I’m so sorry for just showing up but I ju-”

Their lips moved perfectly together, their bodies moulding as if they were clay being sculpted into each other. Time seemed to slow as Eddie grabbed Stan’s waist and Stan grabbed Eddie’s face, both pulling each other closer.

“You need to stop apologising,” Stan murmured, drawing Eddie nearer. “Just keep kissing me.”

Mike stood from his viewing position, shutting the door, much to Richie’s frustration. Ben coughed awkwardly and scurried off to his dorm, leaving Eddie and Stan in the empty hallway, their lips still brushing against each other.

“Happy Hannukah, Stan.”

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

#stan uris x eddie kaspbrak #steddie #stan x eddie #stanley uris x eddie kaspbrak #it #it 2019 #college eddie #college stan #college steddie #the losers club #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #stanley uris #college losers club

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svtmatokis · 4 years

Text

Matchmaker P3

Hello fam~ I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far!!! A snake is about to be revealed...but I’m sure you guys know who that is already~

Plot: You’re a small name model who is close friends with Joshua and Taehyung and just moved to Korea after signing with an agency. You’ve been a fan of BTS for as long as you could remember and biased Yoongi. Little did you know, despite not being well known, you had caught Yoongi’s eye a long time ago and now you guys get to meet. Even though the two of you become friends, Yoongi’s apparently too shy and you’re just apparently oblivious to his feelings. Will it take a push from Taehyung and the rest of his members for you two to finally get together or will Yoongi be able to do it on his own?

Words: 4285

Pairing: Reader x Idol! Yoongi

Parts: 1 - 2

Genre: Fluff/ abit of Angst

Warnings: May contain swearing, slightly intimate touches and Im not sure….

Genre: flufff/ slight angst

“Soo...how are you and Yoongi doing?” Joshua asked you one day as you were out having lunch.

You had officially started work with your agency and your schedule had picked up quite a bit but was still fairly manageable with the help of your sister who on top of being your manager was also teaching dance classes at a local studio.

You kept in contact with the members of BTS almost everyday and talked to Yoongi over the phone at least once a night when you guys had your alone time. It was easy for you since you lived alone but not so much for him since the other members would be around and most of the time trying to see what the phone conversations were about.

The two of you decided to go with the flow of things and keep your friends out of the loop. Though Taehyung and Joshua had a tendency to push for things, it was easy to dodge their questions and playing dumb was one of your many talents.

So far, the two of you had hung out together alone without anybody once. As promised, the two of you had gone for coffee during one of your breaks and it was safe to say that things were going in a positive direction. You weren’t sure if it was anything serious as of yet and none of you had exactly told the other that you liked them but the vibe was there. He made you laugh with his stupid jokes and you made him smile with your out going energy. BTS was currently preparing for a comeback and you had gone to a few of the practices but since your schedule started getting packed, you found less and less time.

You looked at Joshua as you stirred your drink and shrugged your shoulders.

“We’re friends I guess? Why?” you asked before taking a sip.

“Just friends? Taehyung said he saw the two of you having coffee a few weeks back at the cafe near Big Hit.” Joshua explained.

“Can friends not go out for coffee? We’ve literally only known each other for a few weeks Hong. Things like this take time.” you giggled at his frustrated look.

“Y/N, you have biased Yoongi for the last three years. You finally got to meet him and amazingly, the two of you get along. I’ve literally had to HEAR you fan girl at almost every concert I’ve taken you to” Joshua started throwing his hands in the air, “And surprise! He’s also your fan from your small agency modeling days when you were barely known! Don’t you think its fate?”

“Since when were you one to talk about fate?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Since I Minyoung and I remet at the cafe all those years back and then we got reconnected. I think fate had a huge role in that” he answered leaning back and crossing his arms, “Like who would’ve thought that you would sign with a Korean agency after your former contract expired?”

“You” you said pointing at him, “My sister told you my contract expired and you put in a word with the recruiters did you not?”

“I did but it was your looks alone that they signed you. Trust me. All I did was ask Minyoung for your old portfolio and handed it to management. They literally took care of the rest and didn’t even tell me that they sent you an offer. It wasn’t until I saw you walking out of the building that I put the puzzle pieces together.” Joshua explained, “But Minyoung told me that you had a few other offers before you took Pledis’”

“I had a few...but nothing was as good a Pledis’, the benefit was that Minyoung was already a guest choreographer here and of course you.” you then decided to change the topic, “What do you know about Hara?”

Joshua looked up, “Hara? As in the trainee at Bit Hit?”

You nodded your and Joshua started thinking.

“Not much...she was in their last music video and I think she’s set to debut with a few other girls...she’s about Vernon’s age I think...why?” he asked and noticed your furrowed brows. “Did she do anything?”

“She said something to me the last time I went to see the guys a few weeks back. I was just leaving after bringing them snacks and she stopped me in the hallway…” you started and bit your lip while crossing your arms. Joshua noted that this was what you normally did when you were stressed out.

“What did she say?” he pushed and you tilted your head to the side.

“I’m not too sure...but she may have threatened me but I can’t tell exactly.” you said thinking back to the brief conversation you had. “She said that I should stay away from the BTS members and that I was distracting them from their comeback prep.”

“You aren’t. If you were, the guys or their managers would’ve said something I know for a fact that they like having you there cheering them on” Joshua said automatically, “But I don’t see the threat in that.”

“It’s what she said after...she said rumors don’t take much to start and she knows why I didn’t renew my contract with my old agency back in the States…You know the shit that happened there, Minyoung knows the shit that happened there but it’s not public knowledge.” you explained, “It’s not like it could ruin me or anything but I admit that it’s one of the reasons why I chose to go with Pledis over the other agencies...it’s really hard to trust those around me right now.”

“You wouldn’t be effected if word got out anyways and the whole situations still being reviewed.” Joshua reached over to take your hand, “You were the victim and even if word got out, Pledis would support you one hundred percent. Don’t worry about that. Have you told Tae at all?”

“I didn’t think I’d have a reason to.” you said, “I was hoping to leave those skeletons behind but after what Hara said…” You looked down at your hands. ‘It's hard you know...to be betrayed like that, especially by your best friend and manager.”

“Obviously they weren’t good people in your life.” Joshua said, “But you’ve moved on and you’re here now...let me deal with the Hara situation. You have a photoshoot coming up in a few days right?”

You nodded your head, “Then you and I have that shoot in two weeks for that fall line.” you said and Joshua nodded. “Apparently it’s a ‘Best Friend’ concept.”

“Hey, it means that we fit the bill.” He said with a smile, “Focus on your schedule, it’s only going to get busier. I can help deal with everything else, you know how sick you get when you’re stressed.”

You gave Joshua a small smile, you were glad that you had a friend like him to stick by you. Sure, Minyoung was always around to talk too but there was something that Joshua understood about you that she just didn’t and for that, you were grateful.

Eventually, you had to go for a fitting for your next photoshoot and Joshua headed back to the agency to take care business and that meant sending a message to Taehyung.

[5:25pm] Josh - So I just had lunch with Y/N...I told you something was bothering her this week

[5:30pm] Tae - Is it Yoongi? He’s been secretive about their phone conversations as of late

[5:31pm] Josh - According to her, they’re friends but she won’t say anything more...It’s actually about Hara…

[5:31pm] Tae - ?? Hara? I just finished practice, lets meet up.

After explaining what you had told him earlier, Joshua was surprised to see disbelief written on Taehyungs face.

“She actually said that to Y/N?” Taehyun asked and Joshua nodded.

“You know Y/N wouldn’t lie and you can see the stress on her face...I could tell that she had been keeping it to herself for a while now…” Joshua said and Taehyung could see the concern on his friends face. “She doesn’t do well when she’s stressed out but also keeps a lot of things to herself. She’s strong that way but it can also be her weakness. Her sister’s the same way.”

“Now it makes sense as to why she didn’t want to come back to the agency after we hung out the other day..” Taehyung said, “I’ll keep an ear out and let you know if anything happens…”

“Keep this between us though...I told Y/N i would take care of it but didn’t specify how.” Joshua said and Taehyung nodded,

“Got it.”

A few weeks later, Taehyung invited you to the agency once again. They were having one of their final practices for their comeback and because you and Joshua would be away for the photoshoot during their comeback stage, they wanted you to come see the perfected dance before hand.

Unfortunately, because of the last photo shoot you had where you spent a lot of time in freezing cold water and that resulted you in getting the sniffles.

“You look like shit.” Taehyung said as you walked through the building towards BTS’s practice room. “Are you sure you aren’t too hot in all those layers?”

“Thanks” you said sniffling, “And no I’m just find.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, “Once we’re done, you are going home got it?”

“You’re the one who made me come today!” you exclaimed as Taehyung opened the door and was greeted by Jin and Yoongi.

“Hey guys.” you said waving at them, “Don’t get too close...I’m not feeling that great.”

“Then why are you here?” Jimin asked and you pointed at Taehyung.

“She won’t be here for our comeback broadcast and you all said to bring her back if we ever hung out to see the final dance.” he stated, “But I don’t want her staying long so lets start and then she’s gonna go home.”

“Wait you aren’t going to be here for the comeback broadcast?” Yoongi asked once you had seen their performance. Which was perfect as you expected.

“Josh and I are headed to one of the islands for a shoot the same day you guys have your broadcast.” you explained, “Don’t get too close. I told you, not feeling that great.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to make that shoot Y/N?” Namjoon asked coming over to feel your forehead, “You should really rest instead.”

“No way! I’ve been waiting forever to do a shoot with Joshua.” you said with a frown, “I just need to take some vitamins and I’ll be good as new”

“Whatever you say Y/N...then go home. You need to rest.” Jin said pushing you out the door, “We probably won’t be able to see each other till you get back but have fun okay?”

“Good luck guys. I’ll be rooting for you” you grinned tiredly and took the mask that Jungkook offered you.

“I’ll check in on you later okay?” Yoongi said as he was the one who walked you to the buildings exit.

“You don’t have to... “ you said with a shake of your head, “Focus on your comeback. That’s more important right now.”

“Y/N…” Yoongi started but you held up your hand.

“Focus on your comeback. I’ll be fine.” you said and saw Hara coming down the hallway, “I’ll see you when I get back.” you said quickly and literally ran out the door. You had no intentions on having a confrontation with her when you were feeling like crap since it was bound to make you feel worse.

Yoongi stood at the entrance and watched you run down the street. “I would’ve walked her if she asked…” he muttered and looked to his left to see Hara standing behind him with a weird expression on her face.

Ignoring her, he proceeded to make his way back to the practice room but not before catching the tail end of Hara’s thought that she said out loud.

“ Huh, I guess she really does have issues listening..”

When he got back into the practice room, Taehyung cornered him.

“Nothing happened.” Yoongi said automatically.

“It’s not that.” Taehyung said as the rest of the boys came to join them, “I just think there’s something you need to know…”

Later that evening, you woke up to the ring of your cellphone. You had gotten home earlier and literally went to crash in bed after taking the medication Minyoung had brought you knowing that you were getting sick just by the way you talked over the phone.

“Hello?” you said into the receiver without checking the caller ID.”

“Hey” Yoongi’s deep voice came over the line, “How are you feeling?”

“I think I feel worse than I did when I got home.” you admitted, “Are you done practice already?”

“We ended about forty-five minutes ago.. I went back to the dorm while everyone else went out to eat.” he said, “So you’re leaving in two days huh.”

“Yea, tomorrow Josh and I have a fitting and then we leave bright and early the next day.” you said, “Sorry we can’t make the broadcast...I know you guys will be great.”

“Can I...say that I’ll miss you?” Yoongi asked and you could feel a blush creep up your cheeks.

“I’ll miss you too..” you said softly before letting out a large cough. “Take care of yourself okay?”

“I should be the one telling you that. Make sure you stay hydrated and take meds and listen to your body.” he said, “I should let you go so you can rest...I’ll touch base with you tomorrow…” As much as he wanted to ask you about the Hara situation now, it really wasn’t the time and he more so wanted you to rest and not worry. He still didn’t know how you’d react if he found out so decided to keep it mum for now.

“Yes dad” you said and Yoongi could practically hear the roll of your eyes, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow…Good night.”

“Good night.” he said and the two of you hung up the phone.

Yoongi laid down on his bed with his hands behind his head and let out a sigh, he had really wanted you there at his comeback performance but knew that work came first. He just hoped that you’d be well enough to actually complete the shoot. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel if anything happened to you.

A few days passed and you were on your way to the shooting location with Joshua and your sister along with one of Seventeen’s managers.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Joshua asked with concern and you nodded.

“I’m fine” you said, “Just a small cough.”

“Didn’t sound like that earlier” Minyoung said handing you some medicine. “Here take this, hopefully it pulls you through for the shoot and then we’ll head home tomorrow so you can rest.”

“Got it.” you said with a nod before taking the medicine before letting out a big cough.

During the shoot, Joshua could tell that something was off with you. You had lost your footing a few times and had to hold him for support though every location was flat ground.

One of the last shots was on top of a rocky area. By then you were feeling the effects of your sickness more so than not and was about to say something to Joshua but suddenly your world went black and all you heard were screams around you.

Meanwhile, BTS was at the broadcast station preparing for the live show which was in a few minutes when Taehyungs phone went off.

“I’ll be really quick.” he said to Namjoon once he saw Joshua’s phone on caller ID.

“Hey Josh whats up? How’s the shoot?” he asked but froze in his place when Joshua started talking.

“It’s fine. We’re done thankfully, I’m just at the hospital with Y/N right now.” he said casually and Taehyungs eyes almost bugged out of his head.

“Excuse me?” he asked, “Hospital? Is she okay?” He was so happy he had stepped out of the room in order to avoid an audience. This would have definitely stirred the pot.

“She’s fine. She collapsed on set today. Don’t panic, me and her sister are here with her. I just wanted to let you know that we might not be able to make the broadcast tomorrow. Depending on what the tests come back as. They suspect that the cold turned into something worse but can’t be sure. She’s awake but has a mask for oxygen on since she can’t breath properly and I know that she has nightly calls with Yoongi” Joshua explained quickly, “Y/N just wanted me to tell you to tell Yoongi AFTER the broadcast. She knows how important this is to him and she doesn’t want anyone worrying right now.”

“Well I’m worried. Doesn’t that count?” Taehyung asked and he could hear Joshua chuckle,

“She said that paybacks a bitch for the last time you made her worry when you wiped out.” Joshua said, “Shit, I gotta go, she’s coughing up a storm again. Good luck telling Yoongi!”

At the click of the line, Taehyung stared at his phone, hospital, and a broken wrist. What the heck?

“Yo, Taehyung let’s go” Namjoon called and noticed that his member was slightly pale. “Is everything okay?”

Taehyung shook himself out of this thoughts and looked around to see if Yoongi was present and thanked the heavens that he was not.

“This stays between us for now until we’re done the show okay? We can’t have anyone worrying right now...and by anyone, I mean Yoongi” he said looking at the leader and Namjoon paled but nodded his head so he continued.

“Y/N’s in the hospital right now. She collapsed on set earlier today. Josh and Minyoung are with her along with some Pledis staff but they’re waiting for test results to come back right now. Depending on the results, they might not be able to make the broadcast tomorrow.”

Namjoon gulped, he agreed that this was something that Yoongi should not know about before the broadcast was over. He knew that the rapper would lose his shit once he found out and thought of a brilliant idea.

“We’ll let Jin tell him later. Lets go.” he said patting Taehyungs back and lead him towards the group that was waiting.

“Took you guys long enough.” Yoongi commented and Taehyung along with Namjoon shared a look. “Let’s go. We’re already running late.”

As the group walked off the stage, Namjoon pulled Jin back in order to tell him what Taehyung had told him before.

“Seriously? How!?” Jin asked shocked and Namjoon shrugged his shoulders, he only knew so much.

“Can you tell Yoongi? If you tell him, he should be able to keep his cool…” Namjoon requested and Jin nodded his head.

“If I must…” he said with a sigh and soon the news had spread quickly about your condition and the only member not to know was Yoongi.

As everyone was getting ready to leave, Jin noticed Yoongi looking down at his phone with a frown. It wasn’t a secret that the two of you had nightly conversations after practice and he guessed that Yoongi was expecting something about the broadcast.

Putting his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, the rapper turned around to look at the oldest member of the group.

“What’s up?” he asked as Jin sighed.

“Just know that I was nominated to tell you this and if you freak out, I will shove my dirty socks in your mouth got it?” he asked and Yoongi only looked at Jin with confusion.

“Y/N’s collapsed on set today...from what we know, she managed to hold out till the end of the shoot but blacked out not too long after.”

“What the F-“ Yoongi started as his eyes widened. “Why am I only hearing about this now?! Is she okay?!”

“She’s fine...just the flu.” Taehyung said looking at the latest text message from Josh. Your test results came back normal and had barely eaten that day which added to your weak immune system.

“Do you think you would’ve been able to focus today if you knew her condition?” Jin asked and Yoongi stayed silent knowing the oldest member was right. Had he found out earlier on about your condition, he would’ve wanted to come see you right away regardless of where you were.

“She’s the one who asked us not to tell you. She wanted you to focus on the comeback stage.” Taehyung explained, “It’s how Y/N is. Are you sure you two aren’t more than friends” he asked with a raised eyebrow. He had never seen Yoongi so worried over someone like this before outside of family.

“She’s just a friend like she is to you guys.” Yoongi said, “How could I be with someone I barely know?”

“You talk every single day though. What more do you need to know about her?” Taehyung asked and Yoongi gave him a fed up look. “Plus, you’ve been crushing on her way longer than the two of you have known each other and I know she feels the same way about you.”

“What are you even trying to do Tae?” Yoongi asked and Taehyung shrugged his shoulders with a small smile.

“I’m trying to give my two good friends a push in the right direction and hoping they see in each other what I see in them.” he responded as he got into the van and looked at Yoongi. “Are you coming?”

Yoongi shook his head, “I’m going to head back to the studio and do some work.” he was pretty sure that it’d be almost impossible to fall asleep when he was worried about you.

“Okay then, we’ll see you later.” Taehyung said closing the door.

It was just after midnight and Yoongi was working on a piece when his phone rang and he answered it without looking at the caller ID. What he didn’t expect was to hear your voice on the other side.

“Are you okay?” he asked as you gave him the affirmative. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“The medication wore off and I can’t go back to sleep. Hospitals and I don’t really get along.” you answered and paused when you heard music in the background. “Are you working on something right now? I could let you go…”

“Don’t think about hanging up Y/N. I’m in the studio right now doing some work.” he said cutting you off. “I just didn’t expect to hear from you tonight after hearing what happened.”

“You should be back at the dorms resting though. You just had your first comeback performance.” you said and Yoongi chuckled, “I didn’t know who to call..” you said in a small voice.

Yoongi froze at the tone of your voice and his face softened. “I’m happy you called me and I’m glad that you’re okay.” he said getting up and going to lie on his couch, the work forgotten on his computer. “So Taehyung asked if we were more than friends today.”

“Why am I not surprised? I doubt our nightly phone calls have gone unnoticed” you stated with a slight giggle though your voice came off scratchy, “You do make it pretty obvious.”

“You try living with six other people.” he shot, “I don’t know how many times Jin’s walked into my room without knocking for no reason other than to say hi just to see what I’m up to.”

“He does it cause he can.” you said giggling as you heard Yoongi groan.

“I know.” his voice was muffled and you figured he had his hand on his face.

“How are comeback promotions coming along?” you asked curiously.

“We’re lined up for shows all week and then we’re taking a small break after promotions.” he answered,”I was thinking...Do you maybe want to hang out after promotions are done?”

“Is...this your way of asking me out on a date?” you asked with slightly wide eyes, was this seriously happening?

“Would you say yes if it was?” Yoongi asked hesitantly and then smiled when he heard your small squeal that you had tried to conceal.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.” you whispered and Yoongi let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“That’s awesome...I’ll set everything up and let you know when and where.” he said before looking at the clock, “You should get some rest, you’re sick and you still have to come home tomorrow.”

“Will you go to sleep?” you quietly asked knowing that he would probably end up spending the night at the studio. “Or take a small nap? You still have to perform tomorrow and we don’t need another person in the hospital.”

“We’ll see, I was working on something earlier that I want to finish up.” he said and he heard you let out a sigh.

“Just try to get some rest...please?” you asked.

“I’ll try…” Yoongi said, ‘only for you though’

“Good” you said let out a yawn, “Good night Yoongi, I’m looking forward to our date.”

“Good night Y/N. Feel better kay?”

“Kay” you said just as the line went dead and Yoongi put his phone down and looked up at the ceiling, “I could use a nap…” he thought to himself as his eyes drifted close.

Next update: Friday 3pm

#bts fiction #yoongi fiction #suga fiction #bts imagine #bts #bangtan boys #suga #yoongi #min yoongi #kpop fiction #kpop #kpop imagine

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quirk-registration-office · 6 years

Text

Take a Flying Leap

Despite being used to rising early, Fuyumi was not what anyone could refer to as a morning person. She was no more than a zombie, trudging down the hall Saturday morning with glasses askew, hair unbrushed, and swaddled in a too big sweatshirt and yoga pants long enough to keep tripping her.

She walked past the sitting room on her way to the kitchen and stopped. Taking a few steps back, Fuyumi stared silently, rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn’t trapped in a nightmare.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, exasperated. Grinning from his spot on the couch, Hawks set down her favorite coaster, his autographed picture spotted with multiple coffee stains, and stood.

“I’m here for our date.” For a moment, Fuyumi blinked her bleary eyes and stared blankly with no idea what he was talking about. Slowly memories of a certain class earlier in the week floated through her mind, including a specific conversation she had with him. She blanched.

“You were serious about that?”

“Go get dressed,” he told her. “I only have one day to win your heart.” For several moments, Fuyumi didn’t move, honestly contemplating whether or not she would go through with it. Ultimately, she turned around and lumbered back to her room, all the while muttering that she had agreed to a single date, not to have her entire day snatched away by a giant pigeon.

Fighting back a yawn, Fuyumi tried to figure out what to wear. She didn’t want to get too dressy and give the wrong impression, but she wasn’t rude enough to dress like a slob. Regretful or not, she had said yes when she didn’t have to.

In the end, Fuyumi went with a flowy, knee-length gray skirt and a light pink cardigan. She even put on a little eyeliner before pulling her hair into a high ponytail. If she didn’t put in some effort, she decided, then Hawks might say this date didn’t count and demand another one.

Returning to the living room, she found him poking around at the very few family photos and books she kept around. Her sleep addled brain hadn’t cared enough to notice before, but this was the first time she’d ever seen him out of his hero costume. It was almost surreal seeing the winged hero in plain jeans and a black button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

He quickly herded her outside once he saw her, leading her down the block and refusing to tell her where they were going. This early in the morning, Fuyumi had no inclination to speak, fighting a yawn instead, leaving Hawks to ramble on about his week had gone.

She politely listened to his recent heroics until they walked up to the cafe he had met her at earlier in the week. It was smart of him to pick a place he already knew she frequented. Determined to put his best foot forward, Hawks went so far as the pull out her chair for her. Fuyumi wanted to laugh, but his earnest expression made her smile and humor his chivalry.

Okay, so maybe the gentlemanly gesture made her blush the tiniest bit. He sat across from her, and once she got her espresso and turned into an actual human being, she was a little more receptive to his attempts at conversation.

Thankfully, Hawks was quick to realize that Fuyumi had no interest in his hero work, a refreshing change if one that left him bumbling. Instead they talked about coffee and pastries. A rather homely topic, but one that seemed to please Fuyumi and put her in a pleasant mood, a blessing considering he hadn’t known what she was like on early mornings.

“Are you usually up so early?” she asked when they stood to leave the cafe. Hawks fluttered his wings.

“The early bird gets the worm,” he joked, slipping his hands into his pockets. He felt a pit in his stomach when he heard her snort, but it quickly disappeared when he saw her fighting a smile.

“You’re such an idiot,” she said, but there was no heat behind her words. They both started chuckling until she asked, “Well it seems you have me for the day, so where to?”

Hawks grinned and just kept walking. He led her to a building she quickly recognized as the natural science museum. There was a special exhibit only in town for a couple weeks, and the gleam in Fuyumi’s eyes when he showed her the tickets made the following hours worth it. Not that he didn’t enjoy museums, but Hawks could walk through an exhibit giving everything a brief look and be in-and-out in half an hour and feel satisfied.

Unsurprisingly, Fuyumi was the sort to walk slowly, reading every word on every display, leaving him to wander about behind her trying not to succumb to boredom. Spending too much time inside had always made him feel fidgety and claustrophobic, and the silence between them wasn’t helping.

It wasn’t until halfway through that she asked him his opinion on a particular display, and from then on the two actively engaged, Hawks made jokes that she actually laughed at as well as impressed her with surprisingly thoughtful observations. By the time they left the museum, Fuyumi couldn’t stop talking about the exhibit, and Hawks had never seen her so expressive before.

He happily listened to her on the way to a nearby park where they got a simple lunch from a food truck and enjoyed the scenery. Even if it made her think he was showing off, Hawks stretched out his wings now that he wasn’t stuck inside. Casting a cautious look at his date, his eyes widened when he saw hers were trailing along the rows of feathers.

Suddenly their eyes met, and Fuyumi quickly looked away. It may have been wishful thinking, but Hawks thought he saw a blush bloom in her cheeks. Their conversation slowly turned from the exhibit to her students, as she was now considering taking them on a field trip to the museum.

Once their food was eaten and they had enjoyed the park for a while, Hawks whisked her to the next phase of the date – bowling. After renting their shoes and getting an alleyway near the end, so that the hero would be better hidden from the public, Fuyumi signed in their names. Hawks frowned when he saw “Pigeon Boy” underneath “Fuyumi” and rolled his eyes at her choked back laughter.

When she got ready for her first throw, Hawks curled a wing along her back, noting her barely noticeable shiver.

“You know, I’ve got a pretty great technique, if you’d like me to show you,” he offered, smirking as he purposefully trailed his feathers softly down her skin.

Fuyumi humphed and rolled her shoulder before rolling the bowling ball. It clashed against the pins as she got a perfect strike. She turned and gave him her own smirk. “Or I could show you mine.”

Accepting her challenge, he picked out a ball and rolled his own first strike, raising a cocky eyebrow at her narrowed eyes. Their first game went in Hawks favor, however Fuyumi smacked his shoulder and laughed, arguing that she saw his feathers throwing her rolls off course.

Naturally he denied such blasphemous accusations.

By the time they left, Fuyumi dominating the next game, it was nearing dinnertime. Hawks pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text. They walked around aimlessly until his phone vibrated.

“I’ve got a surprise ready. Close your eyes.” As a rule, Fuyumi didn’t enjoy surprises, but Hawk’s excited smile wore her down and she nodded and closed her eyes. A small gasp escaped her when he lifted her into his arms. Her chest tightened in fear as she guessed his next move, but before she could stop him, they left the ground all together.

Fuyumi threw her arms around him and buried her face against his neck. Her whimper was lost to the wind rushing past them. She was shaking when she felt his feet finally touch ground, but when she opened her eyes and saw nothing but the skyline, she tightened her grip on his shirt, fingers clawing the material.

“What do you think?” asked Hawks. Whatever it was, he sounded very proud, so Fuyumi forced herself to look, keeping her gaze locked to the rooftop at her feet and slowly moving it until she saw the picnic blanket kept down by the weight of a basket and several candles.

A breeze swept by, and she shoved her face back into Hawks’ chest. Her quirk reacted to her fear, and frost began creeping along her shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Fuyumi shrunk in on herself, not wanting to admit her problem, but Hawks could feel her shaking and saw the thin layering of ice on her cardigan. “You’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?” Briefly hesitating, she nodded. His arms wrapped around her. Warm breath tickled her ear when he said, “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Fuyumi.”

“Tell me about the picnic. When did you do this?” she mumbled, silently begging him to switch topics. She swore she could feel the building sway beneath them.

“I got my favorite intern to do it,” he answered then laughed. “You’d love Tokoyami. We’re two halves of a whole bird.” He felt her giggle and breathed a sigh of relief. Hawks warned Fuyumi that he was going to move them over, waiting for a nod before slowly walking them over to the blanket, and he kept distracting her by rambling about how awesomely weird Tokoyami was.

Hawks held her closer when she yelped as he was lowering them down. Once they were sitting, Fuyumi pressed herself up to his side, biting her lip and fighting back embarrassed tears. She felt something move around her and flinched.

“Fuyumi. Open your eyes,” he whispered, but she frantically shook her head. “Trust me.” She audibly gulped but slowly cracked open her eyes and first realized it was darker than before, gasping when she realized why.

Large feathered wings surrounded the both of them, blocking out the sight of the skyline so that she couldn’t see how high up they were. Her fingers slowly untangled from Hawks’ shirt. Keeping his wings up made maneuvering a little difficult, so Hawks used a few feathers to move the basket closer.

With her view shrouded, Fuyumi calmed down enough to pull out the food. They ate and chatted, and she had to admit that it was nice. Embraced by his warmth, the frost on her skin slowly started to melt. When it was time to get down, Hawks placed her arms around his shoulders before lifting her into his arms. She still shut her eyes and pressed her face against his throat, but he flew so smoothly that if not for the wind, she might not have believed they were even moving.

Normally, Hawks would’ve flown her straight home, but figured the sooner they landed the better. Fuyumi finally fully relaxed when her feet touched the ground but did her best not to react too strongly. She threaded her arm with his for the walk home. Afraid she’d change her mind, Hawks refused to comment.

“So?”

“So what?” Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Have I earned a second date?” His tone was light, but he was obviously worried about the answer. Fuyumi hummed thoughtfully.

“Well you did try to kill me,” she teased, though she felt the tiniest bit guilty when he winced. Before he could try to apologize again, she added, “So I guess you’ll have to make it up to me next time.”

His wings flared out involuntarily while his face flushed, but before he could say anything, they arrived at her front door.

“By the way, I need a new picture.”

“Want something to keep you company during lonely nights?” he cooed slyly.

“Nah,” she said, holding back a matching smirk. “I need a new coaster.” At his mock petulant expression, Fuyumi grinned and shot him a wink before going inside.

Wings fluttering, Hawks was walking on air, literally since flying home was the fastest way. He’d make sure the next autograph was laminated.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

#quirkregistrationoffice #drabble #todoroki fuyumi #hawks #huwumi #take a flying leap #first date #I hc Fuyumi's quirk as Frost #mha #bnha

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imhereforbvcky · 7 years

Text

Pick Her Poison

Summary: Coffee shop meet cute: Bucky tries to convince you to have coffee with him.

Prompt(s): “I can fix this” for @just-some-drabbles’ RomCom challenge!

Warnings: I think I swore once?

Word Count: 2557

It was a gloomy fall day all around. The grey and drizzle outside had persisted at least since you’d woke well before dawn that morning and trudged to your bus stop and into work. Even in your waterproof hooded jacket, the humidity clung to your skin and filled your lungs like a smooth heavy smoke.

Once you unlocked the door and shrugged out of your dripping coat, you rubbed your hands together and got to the first order of business: making yourself some coffee. With the lights to the shop still dim and the world outside not quite waking, you started up the massive ovens and pulled out the racks of small pastries the night shift had prepared before closing yesterday. The morning continued as always, you buzzed through the small shop, swapping fresh baked pastries from the oven to the display case, sometimes adding a drizzle of sweet, sticky icing, sometimes a bit of orange zest, sometimes a thick, warm chocolate sauce that would firm up just enough to stick as it cooled.

You still had about half an hour before you opened, when you finally turned off the ovens and put a shiny, sweet, clear glaze over a set of blueberry-peach tarts. There was no rush; it was the last batch for the morning so you painted the sticky gloss onto the fruit carefully, enjoying the familiar routine and humming along to the quiet acoustic covers playlist you’d put on. Your focus was interrupted by a rattling at the door.

A tall, broad figure in a dark hoodie and deep green cotton jacket tugged on the door, and finding it locked, dropped his head back in what you guessed to be a groan. How many times had you been there, rattling the security cage of the dry cleaner’s or begging the pharmacist behind the closed wall of metal to please, for the love of god, just hand you the already filled prescription sitting right fucking there. With a warm smile and a near laugh, you walked to the door and held it open for him.

As you reached for the light switch, finally illuminating the rest of the cafe beyond your oven and display area, he pushed back the hood and pushed his hands into his hair shaking out the dark, dripping locks. A few thick pieces fell forward near his eyes and when you turned back to him, prepared to make some mindless customer service small talk the words disappeared in your mouth. God he was so… his grey-blue eyes were piercing, especially against the dark shine of his slick hair. A drop of rainwater made a path down the slope of his nose as you took in the thick layer of scruff covering his jaw and those soft looking pink lips that you realized were moving. Shit. He was talking to you.

“...just pouring out. Thanks for opening up for me.”

“Oh uh, yeah, no problem,” you managed to recover. You smiled at him before quickly turning back toward the counter, praying he didn’t see the way you chewed your lip nervously. “Looks like it’s really coming down now, I think you need a better rain jacket.”

He chuckled softly and waited until you’d made it around the counter to face him before answering. “I guess it’s not really carrying its weight in this weather,” he agreed, running his fingers over the edge of the sopping dark green cotton. “But I’m sentimental.”

“Hmm sentimental and impractical,” you teased, shaking your head, “A dangerous combination. Sounds like you might be a romantic.”

The warm wave of his laughter hit your ears but it felt like it’d slammed into your gut. It was so rich and yet somehow gritty at the same time. And it sent little flutters through you as you grinned back at him and stepped into place behind the register. God, he had to see how hopelessly you were mesmerized by him.

“I’ve been called a lot of things before, sweetheart, but that is definitely not one of them.”

For some reason the little nickname that would normally make your blood boil, only sent another flutter through your stomach. This sopping stranger impeding on your quiet morning had somehow captured your full attention in the most pleasant way. He couldn’t have been more cryptic if he tried, you knew absolutely nothing about him apart from his sentimental love for that jacket and that he was an early riser.

“Alright then, stranger, what can I get for you?” you asked.

He pulled out a neatly folded, now soggy, piece of paper and tried to make out his own smeared scribbles as you copied them down, making sure to catch the names next to each order.

As you got to work on the drinks, you asked which was his, offering to make it first while he waited and sliding him a chocolate croissant. You took note of his name from the list of orders. “Bucky.” It certainly wasn’t the name you were expecting. When you asked about it he explained and the pair of you fell into casual conversation while you worked. It was light and easy. He was somehow both charming and a little reserved all at once and it drew you in like a magnet.

“There you go,” you smiled warmly, drinking in the cool blue-grey that stared back at you with a bright smile.

He thanked you and turned to go but stopped short. For a second, you panicked, making sure you hadn’t forgotten any of his order.

He quickly turned back to you, like he was forcing the words out as fast as he could before he lost his nerve. “Hey, when does your shift end?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, your mouth gaping open and closed, searching for the right answer. You liked him - a lot - but even you knew not to tell a complete stranger the ins and outs of your schedule. “Later today,” you finally managed, taking a rag and cleaning the espresso machine.

“I… sorry,” he stumbled, “I just… can I buy you a coffee?”

You glanced, purposefully at the large espresso machine in front of you and the bags and bags of coffee beans lined up behind you and offering only a playful smile.

“Right,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, how about tea? Hot chocolate? It seems a little early in the day for a hot toddy but…”

You laughed, leaning forward on the counter. Not wanting to let this go, but also unsure how to proceed. “I’ll tell you what, if you ever make it back here and you figure out my drink, I’ll come drink it with you.”

“I’ll take that offer,” he called to you with a wink as he backed out the door.

Bucky did make it back. He came early again a few days later and made the same long order plus one. The last drink he hadn’t written down for you. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, giving you a quick once over before asking for a mocha with caramel.

You smiled and began making the drinks. “Someone’s got a sweet tooth,” you observed, writing the order on the side of the cup and waiting for a name to write on it.

“Hopefully you,” he smirked, leaning forward with his elbow propped on the tall bar top.

“Is this for me?” you asked, incredulous that he’d been bold enough to just order the thing. He didn’t even know if you’d like it.

“It is if it’s your drink,” his smile grew into this playful arrogant thing that you somehow wanted to both savor and wipe off his face at the same time.

“Afraid not,” you grinned, sliding it over to him.

This continued for weeks. He’d come in every couple of days and order what he thought you might like. Sometimes he came early and ordered a handful of other coffees and left with a glance at you of apparent serious concentration, like he would decipher some code to your favorite coffee just by looking at you. Other times he just ordered his usual and something new for you and he’d sit by the window working on some paperwork, always glancing at you as if he expected you to change your mind and take the seat opposite him. But a deal’s a deal and you wouldn’t be stuck with the sugar coma drinks he always guessed at.

Rather quickly, you found yourself eager to come into work, hoping he’d come in and try again, that he’d smile at you and set your day off on a high. Honestly, there was no reason for you to keep tugging him along like this other than that it was the game now and you loved his attention. You loved how it felt to see him walk in and lean on his elbows on the bar top and explain exactly why he thought you had to be a pumpkin spice girl. If he’d just asked you out, you would’ve said yes. But this game made you feel special and important to someone and that just felt too damn good.

On one of these days he sat in his usual seat, bent over some paperwork. He’d already finished his own coffee and had started in on the failed drink he’d ordered for you. In truth, you wanted to laugh. The menu wasn’t that big, how could he take so damn long to figure it out?

“Well don’t you look dreamy today,” Natasha, one of your regulars, observed as she hovered by the register, taking in your far off stare. You honestly hadn’t even seen her. She definitely had a way of slipping in unnoticed and scaring the shit out of you if you were preoccupied with something else. She was like a cat. A very pretty cat. But you’d gotten used to it; she was a regular and a very fun one. The two of you had become friendly acquaintances, and you sometimes shared the odd things that happened in your day or gushed over common interests while she waited for her cinnamon macchiato, extra shot.

“I do not,” you dodged, shaking it off.

“Yes, yes you definitely do,” she insisted. You ignored her and turned to start making her drink, but she wouldn’t let it go. “Oh! Is the guy here?” She spun quickly, surveying the room for anyone watching you more closely than the others.

Finally relenting, you nodded behind her, “Yeah, your eight o’clock. Green jacket by the window.”

She casually turned to her left, leaning on the bar as if she were just coolly waiting. As her eyes landed on him, a sly smile crept across her face.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, rolling her eyes before turning back to you.

“I know, he’s cute right?” you laughed, “Like, really cute. Oh my god, Tash, you should have seen him that first day! Just a sopping cute puppy. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing waiting around here buying all these stupid drinks for me.”

She nearly snorted out a laugh. She and Sam had been teasing him relentlessly about his sudden taste for expensive coffee shop beverages and his recent eagerness to make the coffee runs.

“I think that’s pretty obvious,” she grinned, taking her drink and winking before she headed for the door.

You stuck your tongue out at her and laughed before getting back to work cleaning up after the morning rush. Letting your attention drift to your work, you didn’t notice as Natasha stopped in front of the window where Bucky was working. She tapped on the glass sharply, drawing his attention immediately. She pointed to him and then curled her finger back, beckoning for him to follow her.

She didn’t wait for him but he caught up anyway.

“So that’s why you keep making the coffee runs,” she smirked, only glancing at him as he stared at her, amazed at how she always seemed to know everything.

“What? What are you--?”

“Y/N. The coffee girl,” she deadpanned, taking a sip of her drink as they walked. “When are you going to stop this stalker thing and just ask her out?”

“I’m not…” he thought for a minute and then groaned, “Shit is this creepy? Does she think I’m stalking her?!” He was genuinely worried, suddenly shoving his hand into his hair, a nervous habit.

Natasha laughed. “No! I mean, it would be creepy if she weren’t into you. But she clearly is, so why haven’t you just asked her out yet?”

“I don’t know, it was kind of this thing where I’m trying to figure out what she likes to drink… Shit. It’s weird isn’t it?” Bucky had worried himself into never wanting to go back again.

“Okay, relax, I can fix this.”

“You are a cheater,” Bucky called clearly, arching his eyebrow as he approached your counter, daring you to disagree.

“I beg your pardon?” you laughed.

“You don’t even have a favorite drink!” he slammed both hands on the counter, like he was exasperated, but the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away.

“I don’t?” you asked, drawing out the words as you turned to start his usual.

“Nope. It depends on the day, doesn’t it?” he followed you down the bar to watch you closely. “In the fall you like cider with lots of cinnamon and nutmeg. When it’s extra cold you like a mocha, but with an extra shot so it’s not too sweet. When it’s warm and breezy you like iced chai with a little honey. But at night, when you can’t sleep, I bet you go for good old fashioned hot chocolate.”

“Wow!” You were genuinely surprised and he could read it all over your face. “And how do you know all this?” you asked, sliding his drink to him and lifting your steaming hot cider, extra cinnamon and nutmeg to your lips.

“I did my research this time,” he grinned. You continued to stare at him, more than a little confused. “Natasha told me. She knows everything about everyone. But that’s not the big question.”

Now you really were confused. You set down your mug of cider and grabbed a chocolate croissant out of the display case for him.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s the big question?” you asked.

“The big question is: does your little trick mean that you really, really don’t want to have coffee with me and I should find a new coffee shop because I’ve harassed you for weeks without even realizing and should be too embarrassed to ever come back now? Or does it mean you wanted me to keep coming back and I should up the ante and ask you to come have dinner with me?”

You couldn’t help laughing, suddenly realizing your own mistake and relieved that Bucky had persisted. You wound your way around the counter with your cider in hand and sat at his usual table. “Definitely the latter.” With a nod to the seat across from you where he always sat, you smiled, warm and excited, finally, finally making good on your deal.

“Oh thank god,” Bucky sighed, taking a seat and picking up the croissant. “Because I’m addicted to these now. I don’t know if I could give them up.”

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#jsdchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader fluff #bucky imagine #marvel imagine #bucky barnes x reader #coffee shop au #bucky coffee shop au

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seitjun · 7 years

Text

ambiguity

title: Ambiguity

pairing: N/A

ratings/warning: ???

summary: N/A

notes: this is more of a personal writing to help me vent subtly; i haven’t been in the best state lately. this isn’t edited at all or even read through twice; it’s just a messy, kind of streamline thing.

When Kuroko comes stumbling into Seirin’s practice right after class, everyone is worried. After all, it’s not like the phantom to be so clumsy or graceless; that’s Kagami’s job, and they can’t have their ace duo both be messes.

But because Kuroko is Kuroko, he only apologizes for being so unkempt and makes his way into the locker room to change. He doesn’t even bat an eyelid at their expressions on his teammates’ face or at the fact that he almost falls flat onto his face on the court.

That’s when Furihata recalls the memory of Kuroko falling in his first ever match Teikou, and he says it’s probably because of the important project they have in maths. Seirin erupts into a quiet ‘ohh’ before they’re loud again, Riko berating Kagami after freaking out for forgetting about that project.

Kuroko is forgotten until he slips back into the gym, scaring everyone and reminding them to start their practice, but even as they start on their stretches, Kuroko can feel their worry. He reassures them all that it’s a normal thing for him to do when he’s deep in thought, and Kagami is there to hit him upside the head for worrying them all; it’s enough of a distraction to stop anyone from asking what he’s thinking about.

Kise notices that something is off when Kuroko doesn’t dodge his normal hug; it’s even more apparent when the smaller teen doesn’t send a painful jab towards his stomach to escape him. He’s just standing there, still with the impassive expression and mysterious aura that’s so Kuroko, but at the same time, that’s not Kuroko.

And for as dumb as Kise seems, he’s actually perceptive towards every little thing regarding his friends – Kuroko is the best example of that.

He peels off of his closest friend, hands moving to grip his shoulders lightly as Kise scrutinizes every part of Kuroko’s face; and it’s there that he finds the underlying cause of the oddness. It’s just a simple case of tiredness, evident from the light bags that had started to form on Kuroko’s face.

Kise almost shrieks about it, the model that he is. He holds onto the blue-haired male’s face, thumb running underneath his eye where the dark shadows had made its home, talking about the importance of sleep and a good skin routine. He even starts dragging Kuroko to the nearest beauty store he knows, loosening his hold on Kuroko’s face to hold his hand instead.

And while Kise just keeps rambling, silently cheering at the fact that he’s holding Kuroko’s hand, subconsciously forgetting Kuroko’s odd behaviour; he’s good at perception, but not with memory.

It’s forgotten completely by the time they arrive to the store, Kuroko becoming alive enough to send his usual jabs and painfully blunt comments; he gets tired of explaining to Kise that it’s just from a lack of sleep and that he doesn’t need a skincare routine.

Aomine asks him to hang out next weekend, and because that’s how it always been, Momoi is there too.

She latches onto Kuroko the moment they see each other, and like the gentleman he always is towards her, he pats her head and lets her stay close to him when he walks over to meet Aomine. It’s only when he’s close enough to the tallest of their group that Momoi lets go, and only because Aomine practically pries him off of her.

Kuroko says a plain greeting, Aomine wraps an arm around him with Momoi standing in between them, and that’s that; they don’t talk until they reach the basketball court, and even then, it’s just playful trash talk.

They play like the basketball addicted idiots they are, going against each other with all of their abilities as if they’re in a real match instead of a casual one. But it really doesn’t matter either way when it’ll always end because of Kuroko’s abysmal stamina.

He pants loudly, grabbing the towel he packed for that very reason, while Aomine just has a light sheen of sweat covering him; Kuroko has always been envious of his former light’s endurance.

As he dries off and rests on the park bench nearby, Aomine starts to talk. He ends up telling the smaller male about how he didn’t seem to change since middle school, about how he’s still all about his misdirection, about how he’s still the same old Tetsu. He could go on for longer, but Momoi stops him, scolding him for sounding as if he’s criticizing Kuroko without any of the helpful commentary.

That’s how the night ends when they part ways: Momoi grumbling about her dumb childhood friend and Aomine grumbling about his nagging childhood friend as they walk the same path home.

Kuroko doesn’t receive an apology for Aomine’s unintentionally rude comments, but that’s alright. He just listens to the fading voices of the his middle school friends as he walks back home.

With how infamously lazy Murasakibara is, it’s a surprise to see him all the way in Tokyo; but another glance around reveals the smaller figure of Himuro by his side, and it’s not so surprising all of a sudden.

It turns out that Himuro has plans with Kagami, and because Himuro is the unofficial babysitter of the giant, Murasakibara had come with him. When Himuro asks Kuroko to look after said giant, the smallest male sees the pleading look he gives him, and accepts because he’s a kind soul who understands that Himuro needs some time away.

Murasakibara is still blissfully unaware when Himuro leaves him in Kuroko’s care, and he doesn’t seem too bothered even when he eventually comes back to their world – he had run out of snacks after all.

And because Kuroko knows the consequences of a snack-free Murasakibara, he immediately suggests going to the newly opened cafe that’s nearby; it’s one meant more for eating desserts than drinking coffee, and that’s enough of a reason for the taller male to agree.

Then like usual, Murasakibara orders as much as he can without ordering the whole menu, and Kuroko watches the poor waitress stumble towards the counter and kitchens in horror. He feels guilty for subjecting them to this, but at least they’re getting money, and he doesn’t end up in the warpath of a hungry Murasakibara.

He spends the entire afternoon with a docile giant, sharing quiet conversations without any of the dissonance from their conflicting basketball views. It’s nice, and Kuroko appreciates how the giant doesn’t bother to pester him even more after he rejects a bite of the treats – yes, even vanilla.

Murasakibara gives him an odd look, but Kuroko had prepared for that. He makes up an excuse about his coach forbidding him from eating anymore sweets, and that just like their former captain, she’ll know if he does; just the thought of it gives vanilla a bad taste, he fakes.

The taller male winces at the part regarding their former captain, understanding immediately what it would mean for Kuroko if he does disobey her. And like the meaningful child he is, he moves all the dishes closer towards himself, saying how he has to stop the blue-haired male from being tempted.

Kuroko just gives a soft look towards the giant, nodding at his thoughtfulness; he doesn’t mention how vanilla is a bad taste on its own recently.

What is a surprise in every way is Midorima knocking on his door at early morning, only a couple hours past sunrise. He’s there by himself too, meaning Takao hadn’t carted him all the way to Kuroko’s home, and that’s another surprise.

Kuroko invites the green-haired male in, trying his best to fix the awful bedhead he’s been cursed with since forever. He gives up on it about two minutes later when Midorima clears his throat to get his attention, and Kuroko acquiesces, but not until he makes them both a cup of tea.

He seats Midorima in his living room, truly intending to wait until they’re both drinking tea to start the conversation; Midorima isn’t so patient this time, instead immediately talking about why he came to Kuroko’s home so early. And fortunately, Kuroko muses, Midorima is only there because of Aquarius’ recent rankings according to Oha-Asa; that one isn’t much of a surprise.

Midorima is worried for him, even underneath all of the layers of denial and cold words,even bringing in that day’s item to compensate for Kuroko’s bad luck; he’s placed in tenth that day, so he’ll be needing the lucky item. Midorima doesn’t mention how it’s a previous lucky item of Cancer’s, and how, in the past, he absolutely refuses to give them away just in case he’ll need it again.

Kuroko doesn’t bring it up either, instead choosing to hug the lucky frog, thanking the taller male for being so thoughtful and kind. He watches in fond amusement at the red that adorns on his cheeks, and the moment that passes by them in silence as Midorima composes himself.

Midorima gets serious then, the frown that mars his face much more prominent than the blush. He talks about how he’s kept track of Aquarius’ rankings for the last two weeks, worry evident in his eyes as he recalls every numbered position of that zodiac; it’s always been in the bottom four apparently.

Kuroko smiles softly at his friend, a bit smaller than usual, and Midorima notices. Just like how he noticed the smaller male’s eye bags when he first opened the door or the sagging shoulders when he had turned around to move to the kitchen to make tea or the true blankness that enveloped Kuroko when Midorima talked about bad luck; Kuroko might not believe in Oha-Asa, but he’s always listened to the green-haired male talk about in genuine kindness.

He ends up leaving only a few minutes later after he’s reached a conclusion, and they share their usual, quiet goodbyes. Midorima thanks Kuroko for the tea, but confesses that he drank none of it; Kuroko thanks Midorima for the lucky item, but confesses that good luck has never been in his cards.

Soon after the impromptu visit from the shooting guard, Kuroko finds himself inviting Akashi into his home. He not caught off-guard this time, mostly because he knows that Midorima is far too perceptive and is close friends with the redhead; he’s just a little annoyed considering he’s carrying a few bags of groceries from the nearby supermarket.

But Akashi is a gentleman, and takes the bags from him without a single word, leaving Kuroko completely free to open the door to his home. Akashi even helps out with putting the groceries away, so much so that Kuroko is left to watch instead of actually putting some away; he doesn’t question how the redhead seems to know where everything goes.

Kuroko thanks him again with the usual small smile on his face. He’s about to offer his former captain some tea, knowing that he’d at least take a sip of it unlike someone else, but the words die in his throat when Akashi’s hands move to grip tightly onto his face.

His thumb grazes the space underneath Kuroko’s eyes, his own red pair scanning him just like how the copycat had done weeks ago; then his hands move down to his shoulders, watching slide downwards instead of horizontal, just like what the shooting guard had told him over the phone; and he doesn’t miss the blank look that Kuroko sends him when he asks if he bought the same vanilla snacks he always ate during Teikou.

Kuroko isn’t dumb enough to pin no meaning to Akashi’s actions – there’s always something behind every move of his, his shogi habits bleeding into his reality.

But he ignores the elephant in his room and goes off to make the tea. If not for Akashi, then for himself, he reasons. It’s definitely not because he refuses to stay in the same room as the redhead who can read him a little too well.

He can only manage a step before he’s being pulled back, wrist held so gently and lightly that it sends shockwaves into his nerves.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

#knb #kuroko no basuke #seiju writes #kuroko tetsuya #seirin #kise ryouta #aomine daiki #momoi satsuki #murasakibara atsushi #midorima shintarou #akashi seijuro #generation of miracles #kiseki no sedai #gom

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nightlight9 · 7 years

Text

Getting to Know You

Theme: Coffeeshop Rating: G Quick Note: I wanted a piece that would explore Derek’s dynamic with his friends (most specifically Isaac), and this was the result. Isaac is overly protective, but in his head it’s his way of looking out for someone he cares a lot about. The depths behind his reasoning for it isn’t explored much in this piece, but hopefully you get the idea of it. http://archiveofourown.org/works/11036775

———

“Isaac,” Stiles whines. “Why do you hate me so much.”

The man in question doesn’t turn to look at where Stiles is perched at the counter. He replies, “You’re being stupid,” without turning around, and Stiles is offended by the response.

“I just want to know his name! Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

Finally, the barista looks over his shoulder with a scowl. “It’s not hard for me to understand. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give in to your whining. He’s a paying customer, and I’m going to respect his privacy by ignoring you.”

His arms flail up. “Dude, I’m not asking for his credit card number!”

The blond passes him his vanilla hot chocolate in an aggressive manner that would impress Stiles if it wasn’t happening to him. “Drop it, Stiles. I know you’ve decided that you’re in love with him or something, but you’re not getting any information out of me. And I’ll make sure to let Erica know not to tell you anything either, so don’t think you can go behind my back to find out.”

Finally, he slouches back into his seat with a defeated sigh. Stiles first saw the guy three weeks ago. He had been spread out at his usual table in the corner, trying to study for his sociology midterm, when the door’s chiming bell distracted him. And there he was, wearing a leather jacket and a scowl that immediately caught Stiles’ attention. There was something sharp about him that made him interesting, and the longer Stiles watched the guy, the more fascinated he was. Because, despite the overall appeared the man had going on (which suggested he was a tough biker with a rough reputation, or something of the kind), the guy was actually a multi-layered, precious softy. Over the weeks that Stiles had been casually watching him (and no Isaac, it isn’t creepy stalking no matter what you say), Stiles has witnessed him help a crying child, ask for the sweetest drinks that the cafe offers, indulge in several cake pops, and get so focused on the book that he was reading that he missed two separate women trying to ask him out.

And Stiles was hooked. How could he not be. He wants to know everything about the man. But Isaac won’t even give up his name.

“I’ll figure it out one way or another,” Stiles mutters into his drink as he walks back to his table. Already several ideas are running through his head.

———-

Over the next several weeks, Stiles tries multiple ways to figure out the man’s name. These plans range from as simple as bumping into him while he passes Isaac his credit card in hopes that he’ll drop it, to paying someone to pickpocket and steal his wallet (which doesn’t work at all when it turns out that Derek definitely knows how to defend himself).

After his last failed attempt to figure out the guy’s name, Stiles rests his head against the table and groans in utter defeat. He doesn’t want to give up because he has seriously fallen for this stranger, but at this point he feels out of options. The only thing he hasn’t tried is marching up to him and asking, but after everything else that just feels too easy.

A warm hand curls around his neck. When he looks up, Isaac is grinning down at him. “Wow, you really do like this guy, don’t you?” Stiles flips him off, ignoring his laughter even as the other man passes him a piece of paper. When he sees what’s on it, Stiles makes a questioning sound. “His name is Derek Hale. That’s his phone number.”

“What happened to customer confidentiality?” His heart is racing with the possibility of what the paper implies. He tucks it between the pages of his textbook so Isaac can’t take it back.

The other man laughs again and settles into the seat across from him. “Obviously that matters, but I’m not giving you this information as a barista handing over customer information. I’m giving it to you as Derek’s friend.”

The pieces aren’t coming together in Stiles’ head. “You’re his friend?”

“Obviously. He’s my roommate. Why else would I have the guy’s number?” Leave it to Isaac to be sassy even when he’s trying to be nice. Stiles narrows his eyes at him, and in response Isaac tugs gently at his scarf, a nervous habit, and starts to explain. “I’ve known Derek for years. His family helped me out of a really tough situation with my biological father, and then practically adopted me. He means a lot to me, and when you asked me about him I thought you were just one of the many people that wanted him for his looks. He’s been hurt in the past by relationships, so I was just trying to look out for him. I mean, I’m not saying that you’re a bad person or anything, but-.”

Stiles finally understands. He raises his hand to cut off his friend’s rambling. “Dude, I get it. He’s family.”

Isaac shrugs. “I just wanted someone to like him for who he is, not because of what he looks like. And, no offense, but it was hard to believe you were serious about him since you frantically asked me who he was not even five minutes after you saw him for the first time.”

Sheepishly, Stiles rubs his neck. “Yeah. I’ve never had much chill when it comes to stuff like that. And for the record, I didn’t ever explain to you how serious I was.”

The tension is finally broken as Isaac laughs again. “Yeah. What finally clued me in was how you brought your whole criminology lecture into the cafe, hoping that I would call out everyone’s names as I made their drinks.”

Stiles laughs too. “I was pretty desperate at that point, honestly.”

Isaac smiles softer and reaches out to tap one finger against the book. “Derek will be at home right now, if you want to give him a call.” He glances at the clock on the wall. “It’s about dinner time, and I know that he won’t have eaten yet, so if you want our address so you can drop by with dinner or something, I’ll give it to you. He’s working on his Masters now, so he forgets to eat sometimes. And I could call ahead and let him know you’re on your way.”

Stiles bites his lip and shakes his head. “I think that’s a little creepy, don’t you?”

Isaac shrugs, standing up to go back to the counter. “Not really. Derek already knows who you are, and he’s already kind of expecting you. But I can have him come down here if you’d prefer that.”

“Overlooking the fact that you’ve somehow forgot to mention that he knows who I am, I think having him come down here might be better.” Something occurs to him. “On the other hand, he’s already been here today, so he probably doesn’t want to come back.” Something else occurs to him. “And if he’s working on his Masters, he probably won’t like the interruption.”

Isaac rolls his eyes. “You overthink everything, don’t you? If it bothers you so much, just wait until he comes in tomorrow. It seems like you have his schedule memorized, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Or give him a call later and see what he’s up to.”

He wants to go now, meet the man he’s been dreaming about for so long, but he doesn’t want to push into Derek’s space. “I guess I’ll wait.”

The barista shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

———-

Stiles gets to the cafe an hour before his normal time. Erica is the one behind the counter. Not seeing Isaac there makes him nervous. But then Erica gives him a knowing grin and gestures for him to take a seat, and he feels a little better. When the line disperses, she comes by his table with his favorite vanilla hazelnut hot chocolate. They talk for a while (she gives him random information about Derek whom she also, apparently, is good friends with), which helps ease some of his nerves, before she has to get back to work, and then Stiles pulls out some homework hoping to distract himself. He’s almost through with his second assignment when the door chimes again.

And there Derek is, wearing his leather jacket over a soft red sweater, eyebrows pulled down in the familiar scowl. Stiles watches him work his way through the line to the counter, wondering how he can casually start a conversation.

Before he can figure it out, Erica leans over the counter to tell him something, gesturing in Stiles’ direction. When Derek looks over, there’s a soft smile on his face. It makes Stiles’ heart clench, then race. The other man doesn’t look away while Erica makes his drink, and then he’s crossing the floor and settling into the seat across from him.

“Hello,” Derek greets in a soft voice, eyes alight with mirth.

His voice cracks when he replies, “Hey. Um, how are you?”

“I’m good, Stiles.” There is laughter in his voice, but it isn’t mocking. Instead it sounds pleased. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Really good, actually. Super great.” He winces, wishes that he had planned out what he was going to say to Derek before he showed up, because now he doesn’t know how to start any sort of conversation. Before he can start rambling, a hand connects with the back of his head. He makes an indignant sound and meets Isaac’s narrowed gaze. “What was that for?”

The blond crosses his arms. “You’re an idiot. After weeks of rhapsodizing about how great Derek is and pestering me for his information, you can’t even start a decent conversation?”

Stiles can feel his face heat up. He pushes at Isaac’s chest. “What are you even doing here?”

Isaac bats his hands. “I thought I would come in to watch you make a fool out of yourself before my shift, but this is just sad.”

“Isaac, I swear to all of the Gods, I will strangle you with your scarf right here and-.”

Laughter cuts off his impassioned threat. Derek grins up at Isaac. “Go help Erica with the rush. Stiles and I are just fine.”

Both Isaac and Stiles raise their eyebrows in disbelief, because nothing about their interaction before felt ‘fine’ but then Isaac rolls his eyes and walks away.

“He likes giving me a hard time,” Stiles explains after Isaac’s behind the counter with Erica, obviously still eavesdropping.

Derek laughs again, softer, and says, “Isaac likes giving everyone a bad time. That’s his way of saying he likes you. Besides, he kind of helped, didn’t he? You don’t seem as nervous anymore.”

Stiles leans closer conspiringly and shushes him. “That might be true,” he admits. “But keep your voice down. He can never know.”

“If you’re worried about him bragging about that, just imagine how he’s going to be if this goes well.”

The thought makes Stiles want to shudder, but as their conversation flows into easy connection and with the promise of an actual date in the near future, Stiles thinks that Isaac’s boasting might be worth it.

And when it’s finally time to go and Derek holds Stiles’ hand to walk him to the car, ignoring Isaac’s bright laughter, Stiles knows that the boasting will definitely be worth it. He might even send Isaac a gift basket in thanks.

When they’ve stopped beside the jeep, Derek starts playing with Stiles’ fingers and avoiding eye contact. “I’m glad that Isaac finally caved in and gave me your information,” Stiles says softly. He’s pleased when the tips of Derek’s ears color with a blush.

“It probably seems weird to you that he was being so protective and that I was letting him be.” Honestly, it had never occurred to Stiles that Derek would have known about everything. “When I saw you for the first time, you caught my attention right away. I thought that you were beautiful. But when I asked Isaac about who you were, he waved me off. He said that you weren’t the most committed when it came to relationships, and I’m not good at anything casual. So I let it go, especially after he told me that you asked about me as soon as you saw me; I’m used to people chasing me because of how I look so it was easier to write you off.

“But then everyday he would come home and tell me about how you kept pestering him to figure out who I was, and I was kind of flattered. Not a lot of people have ever gone through that much trouble for me. And then he would tell me about each scheme you used to try and figure out my name. Just my name. I was charmed. But I didn’t say anything to him about it until he stated that he thought you actually wanted something more than a casual hook-up with me. I don’t really know why I didn’t insist he stop being so protective, or why I didn’t just approach you on my own, and-. Well, it might seem crazy how much he was looking out for me, especially considering I was interested in you too, but-. I’ve had some really bad relationships in the past, and they messed me up for a long time. My friends and I, we all look out for each other, admittedly more than we should, but that’s how it’s always been.”

Stiles uses the grip Derek has on his hands to twine their fingers together, smiling gently when the other man meets his gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with protecting each other. I’m a lot to handle sometimes, so I totally get why Isaac would be worried about me. But I’m definitely in this for more than just something casual.” He feels himself blush. “I think you’re pretty amazing, and even if it was your appearance that immediately caught my eye, it was watching the way you interacted with the world that made me like you.”

Derek’s smile is blinding. “I like you too, if you haven’t noticed.” His cheeks are still red, but he uses their clasped hands to pull Stiles closer. His voice is softer when he asks, “Do you think it’s too soon to want to kiss you?” There’s a nervousness in his voice that makes Stiles smile softly.

He runs his free hand over the curve of Derek’s jaw as an answer, watching as Derek moves closer, leans down, and presses their lips together.

It’s a gentle touch, chaste and warm. And it’s the best kiss that Stiles can remember having. His head is cloudy when Derek pulls back. “Isaac is going to gloat so much,” he breathes against Derek’s mouth. The resounding laughter makes their next kiss taste like the beginning of something great.

#sterek bingo #sterek #sbworks'#sbcoffeeshop #my writing

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