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snackhobi · 3 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say.

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

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

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eloquent-vowel · 3 years

Note

I have had a few bucky x read fic ideas bouncing around in my head and i cant write! So here is one,

Sam find a person who stairs and doesnt talk a whole lot because they uses ✨telepathy ✨. So Sam think they would be a good fit for Bucky, but he doesn’t know they have that power he just thinks they are mute. Then there is a thing where the reader is telling Buck how it works and they if they have something to connect them together like an object *reader motions to dog tags* they can have an unbreakable mind link. Then they fall in love or something. This is dumb, thank you for coming to my TedTalk

Hey! Thank you so much for this request, it wasn't dumb at all. I really enjoyed writing this. I may have gotten a bit carried away, this may sit close to 4000 words but we vibe. I hope this is what you had in mind! Please enjoy! <3

Click here for my masterlist of other fics and check in my bio for requests if anyone wishes to ask!

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Bucky had been enjoying a moments peace, he loved working with Sam but sometimes all he wanted was to put his feet up, put on some vinyl and enjoy a good cup of coffee all while reading a brilliant book. He had been trying to get into Game of Thrones lately, on Sam’s insistence, and he had been enjoying it. With the crackles of Glenn Miller from the turntable he missed the clunky footsteps coming up the stairs.

The sight that greeted Sam needed to be photographed. Bucky was lounging back on his ‘old man armchair’ feet up, hair in a towel, in a bathrobe, coffee in hand and facemask on, this was definitely one for the family album.

At the sound of the phone shutter Bucky practically launched himself out of the chair.

“Oh, you are never gonna live this one down old boy, it’s going to haunt you.” Sam almost cackled evilly as he began to email the photo to himself- he had learnt the hard way that Bucky was very proficient at breaking phones.

“You better not upload that photo anywhere, Wilson, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Pfft, reputation, that’s funny.”

Bucky scoffed as he stood up, placing his book carefully on the side table, “Big scary super soldier, people hardly run-in fear from a guy in a bathrobe.”

“I disagree, a man in a bathrobe is definitely something you should run from. AH NOPE!” Sam jumped backwards, on top of a nearby chair, as Bucky lunged for the phone, towel turban falling off in the process. “You are not breaking this phone as well.”

“Fine. But you gotta promise not to post that anywhere.” Bucky huffed.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“As long as- “

“Oh no, I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Think of it as payment for the last phone you broke and insurance for this picture.”

There was silence for a moment as the two friends eyed each other up. Sam raised his eyebrows, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. It was an intense staring match between a guy in a bathrobe and a precariously balanced man. A clock ticked.

“Fine.” Bucky conceded. “What do you want?”

“For you to come to a meeting.”

“The families of Veterans ones?”

“Yeah.” Sam slowly started climbing down from the chair. “And before you get your old man pants in a twist, I’m not trying to force you to talk or anything, kinda.”

“Kinda?” Suspicion laced through Bucky’s voice.

“You know sign language, right?”

“Which kind?”

“American? I think?”

“Yeah, I know ASL, might be a bit rusty but I’m sure it still holds up. Why do you ask?”

Sam shifted slightly on his feet, “There’s this person, they come in every week and listen. I tried to talk to them, but they communicate through sign language, and I don’t have anyone there to talk with them.” He cast his eyes to the floor, “I feel bad. They were brave enough to come to the group only to basically be ignored ‘because we didn’t plan well enough.”

Bucky smiled, face mask crinkling around his smile lines, “You could have just asked me to Sam. You didn’t have to blackmail me into this, of course I’ll help. When’s the next meeting?”

“This evening. You gonna be ready or do you need some more ‘me’ time.”

Bucky simply chuckled at Sam’s teasing tone, patted his shoulder making sure to squeeze just a bit too hard before retreating to his room.

“I’ll be there, Wilson, and I will look so much younger than you!”

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It was frustrating to you, going along to these meetings and not being able to communicate. You could always speak into someone’s mind but all that usually accomplished was a very paranoid person. But just listening to other’s stories really helped the grief from losing someone so close to you. You related to most of the people there and even though they didn’t understand you a lot of the time, you were always made to feel welcome- with friendly pats on the back and the odd tissue thrown your way.

You bustled into the familiar building with a new sense of excitement as Sam had promised to bring a translator for you this week. It was finally time to say your thanks to some of the people there and finally let the group know about your brother, so that it wasn’t only you that remembered him.

You all but ran through the hallways until you caught sight of a familiar smiling man. Sam was facing you, talking animatedly to another man, the strangers back was to you. He was tall, broad shouldered and dressed in a vintage looking leather jacket and rather well fitted trousers. Now the debate was: does the tailoring make the ass, or does the ass make the tailoring. You were halfway through the arguments on either side when Sam shouting your name disrupted the intense debating in your mind. You blushed at being caught, then blushed some more when you caught sight of the stranger’s face. Twinkling blue eyes under a deep-set brow should have made him intimidating, but he was smiling, and his face was dazzling. There was an immediate fluttering in your stomach.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” Dear lord even his voice was nice, what made you smile even more was the fact that he signed as he spoke. Well, Sam certainly knew how to pick them well. “Sam introduced me; said you wanted an interpreter.”

You nodded as you signed back, “Nice to meet you, thank you for helping out.”

“No problem, Sam has told me a bit about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Okay I recognise my own name, you two better not be conspiring against me.” Sam piped up, to be honest you had forgotten about him for a moment.

Bucky laughed, and it sent a little thrill down you, he really was adorable.

“No worries, Wilson, just letting them know all your dirty little secrets.”

“Right, you two get in there, before you make me sleep with one eye open.”

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You and Bucky caught each other’s eye, his eyes were twinkling with mischief, and you couldn’t help the smile that overtook you. You had a feeling that the two of you would get on just fine.

The meeting passed easily. Bucky translated your signs and you finally felt like you could actually take part in these meetings. Everyone listened intently when you spoke of your brother and when you had thanked the whole group for being so open to you a couple of people shed a tear. By the end of the meeting though you were tired and very accepting of Bucky’s offer to walk you home.

It was a lot of side glances and hidden smiles and you walked side by side. Drawn to each other under the moonlit sky, it was nice to just be in the presence of someone who had such a kind aura. You spent the walk trying to work up the confidence to sign something, anything but nothing came to mind and Bucky seemed quite content to just walk in comfortable silence.

You soon reached your home, you turned to Bucky with a smile on your face and signed,

“Thanks for today, Bucky. You were really helpful.”

“No problem.” He signed back,

You hesitated slightly before signing, “Would you be happy to have a coffee with me, tomorrow?”

Bucky went a little red in the face, and chuckled, “I would love to, I know a nice place, real cosy. I’ll text you the details.”

“You know how to text?”

“Hey! I get enough stick from Sam, don’t need you getting on my case too. I’ll have you know that I am very adaptable.”

“Sure, Sure.” You smiled at his flustered tone. “I’ll wait for your text then, have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The two of you stared slightly awkwardly at each other, neither wanting to be the first to turn around. You shuffled your feet away slowing, smiling awkwardly once more at Bucky before turning. You heard his footsteps start to fade away as you walked towards your home. You were but three steps to the door when a large figure in a hoodie slammed into you, you raised your arms instinctively to block them when you noticed your shoulder was lighter. The bastard had stolen your bag.

You immediately took chase, chasing around the corner you just walked down but they were fast, faster then you at least. As you rounded the corner you caught sight of Bucky walking ahead. The thief wouldn’t stand a change against him. Without a second thought you cast your thoughts towards Bucky,

“Bucky! Thief! My Bag! Behind you!”

You saw Bucky flinch slightly then turn bewildered, his eyes widening when he saw you hurting towards him, chasing the hooded figure. He caught on and launched after the thief as well, with barely any effort he knocked the thief to the ground, grabbed your bag and whipped out his phone to call the cops.

Well, that was hot.

You took your bag back, immediately checking that you brother’s lucky coin was in the zippy pocket, to your relief it was still there. You looked up to see Bucky staring at you with a very puzzled look on his face. You sighed before casting your thoughts to his head once more,

“I’ll explain later.”

Bucky let out a strange, decompressed noise of shock, it made you giggle. The two of you waited in silence until the police came and took the thief away. The police car had barely driven away when he turned to you.

“Did you just, talk in my head? Or did my conscious just suddenly get really loud.”

“I did. Hi. Sorry about that.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “Believe it or not, not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So,” You started, resorting back to sign language, it felt less invasive, “Still down for coffee?”

Bucky smiled, “One hundred percent. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Bye Bucky. Thanks for getting my bag back.”

“No problem, see ya.”

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

The coffee shop that Bucky invited you to, was tucked away, it was the kind of place that you would stumble over on accident. With a simple door and a big window out the front, that lead soft orange light filter out onto the alley. There was the faint sound of jazz leaking out of the building, you smirked. It was such an old fashioned place, of course this was where Bucky frequented.

The bell tinkled slightly as you entered the café, where you were greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. You caught sight of Bucky’s broad shoulders sitting in the corner, and you made your way over to him, smiling at the barista as you passed.

As if sensing you, Bucky turned to smile and wave. He was dressed in casual clothes like last time, but this time his hair was loose around his shoulders. You smiled back before settling into the seat opposite him.

His hands moved hesitantly as he signed, “What would you like? I can recommend their hot chocolate, its very warming/”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

You could tell he wanted to ask you a million questions but to his credit he walked slowly to get the drinks, he even took his time carefully carrying the tray of drinks back to your table. He placed a delicious looking hot chocolate in front of you. You watched as he took a sip.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1-

“So,” Here we go, “What is it you can do, you can speak in peoples’ heads, can you,” He lowered his voice and leaned in, “Can you read people’s minds?”

You giggled slightly, his eyes were basically sparkling, he was definitely nerding out about this.

You set the hot chocolate down before casting your thoughts to his head, “I can speak in peoples heads relatively easily, it’s how I talk most of the time to people I know. I guess you could call it Telepathy.”

Bucky’s eyes were as wide as saucers, “So you can’t read thoughts, only… speak them?”

“I like to call it casting, makes me feel like a sorcerer. I can read thoughts, but it takes a lot of energy. I used to be able to talk with my brother from across the house. That usually requires some kind of connection.”

“Oh, so like a blood or family connection? Do you have to know the person very well?”

“That certainly helps but it’s not always necessary. If I have a personal object that belongs to that person, something I can hold and connect to them it isn’t hard to make a two-way connection. Especially if that person is willing to open their mind.”

Bucky seemed to be caught in thought for a second. “So, if I were to give you something of mine, we could both talk in our… heads?”

“Well yes, but Bucky we have only just met. Letting me into your head is a lot. I try not to pry but sometimes I’ve found that thoughts just burst through. Let’s get to know each other a before that happens.”

Bucky smiled at you before speaking and signing, “You’re right. Let’s get to know one another. I find you fascinating.”

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

It happened on the fifth date. Bucky was just walking you home after a lovely dinner at a small Italian that he claimed he went to back in the 40s. Just outside your door, under the glow of a lamppost he turned to you and took a deep breath before speaking.

“I know this may be a lot, but I wanted to give you these.” He reached around his neck and pulled off something silver. You gasped slightly as he held out his dog tags, immaculately preserved after all these years.

“Are you sure, Bucky? This is a lot.”

“I know and if you aren’t comfortable with it then just let me know but I want to give them to you.”

“You know what this means Bucky?”

“Yeah, I know, I just figured that you’re already in my head all the time anyways, just can’t seem to get you out of it.”

“You cheeseball.” You smirked at him before taking the dog tags and placing them around your neck. You gripped the cold metal for a moment, concentrating on the man in front of you. Taking everything, you knew about him and stretching out a connection, like a hand reaching out to clasp another.

“Testing, Testing, Testing, one two, one two, can my Telepathic partner hear me?”

You laughed, “Yes I can Bucky, you big dork.”

Bucky whooped out loud before sweeping you up in a big hug. The two of you laughing under the lamp light. His joy was infectious, and you couldn’t fight the smile off your face.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun messing with Sam.”

“You’re evil.”

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

Of course, the two of you made a pact not to tell Sam until he worked it out, which wouldn’t be anytime soon according to Bucky. It led to some very memorable moments and Sam refusing to play any form of card or board game with either of you because you always managed to win, somehow. Not to mention all the times you had spoken in eery unison around him.

“I swear, its like you two can read each other’s minds sometimes.” Sam threw his hands up in frustration at another lost game of charades.

You smirked at Bucky across the room, “Should you tell him, or shall I?”

“I think he’s been through enough, I got it.”

Bucky cleared his throat, “We can.”

Sam whipped around to face Bucky, a look of sheer disbelief on his face, “Seriously Bucky-boy, if you think I believe that after all-

“Hello Sam.” You cast your thoughts to him, in the creepiest old lady voice you could muster.

Sam yelped, before turning accusingly at you, “You better be joking around with me right now, I am not dealing with any kind of ghosts in this house.”

“Sorry! Surprise I’m telepathic!”

“You’re serious.”

You nodded.

Sam put his head in his hands and sighed, “Not the weirdest thing ever. Wait, does this mean you have been cheating this entire time.”

You both looked guiltily at one another.

“You owe me. That poker night, void.”

You both laughed, “We’ll have a fair rematch this time Sam.”

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

It had been close to a year since you had made it official with Bucky and you were now much more comfortable around one another. He no longer just dropped you off at the lamppost but cam inside with you. You had spent many lovely mornings together sharing glances over steaming cups of coffee. Fighting each other for who got to spread their legs out on the couch, there wasn’t really a loser though as it usually ended up in sofa cuddles for both of you, while watching a film.

Life was pretty great, you thought, as you smiled down at the sleeping Bucky beside you. Finally reaching over to turn off the lamp and put your book down, you were finally reading the hobbit at Bucky’s insistence. As you clicked off the light beside you and settled down you noticed the faster than usual breathing coming from beside you.

“Bucky?”

You reached out, thinking he was awake but instead as you opened up your connection you caught flashes of night terrors. You were falling indefinitely, snow all around you, and in the distance, there were cries of pain, people pleading for their lives, there was gunfire and explosions. You gasped and took off the dog tags. You only gave yourself a moment to breathe before trying to shake Bucky awake. When it became clear that he wasn’t stirring you steadied yourself and settled your hands on his temples. You didn’t care you tired this would make you, you just wanted Bucky to stop suffering. You focused, offering out that hand of connection again, this time picturing it in the shape of a fist and, although it wasn’t subtle, you tried to shake Bucky’s brain awake. You forced your way into his dreams, punching through the dark fog that clouded his thoughts and almost screamed at him.

“Bucky! Bucky wake up! You’re dreaming my dear!”

Bucky woke up with a start. Tears flowing down his face, he stared at you blue eyes shining. No one spoke as he pulled you into his arms. You just breathed together for a moment, counting the breaths and the spaces in between. When he finally pulled back, you saw his eyes flicker with concern before lifting a hand to gently wipe under your nose, it came back red with blood.

“You, okay?”

You smiled sadly, reaching out to put the dog tags back on.

“I should be asking you that.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“Occupational hazard.” You tried to subtly get rid of any of the extra blood. “That was pretty intense. Wanna talk?”

Bucky looked down to the sheets and shook his head. You smiled at him, tilting his head to yours.

“That’s fine, want me to go? Or would you like to cuddle for a bit?”

Bucky didn’t talk again, just pulled you gently down to the bed once more. Snuggling himself under your chin, resting his head on your chest. You felt his arms draw tightly against your waist. You pressed your lips into his hair.

“May I help you go to sleep? Keep the bad thoughts at bay for at least one night.”

You felt Bucky nod and let out a little sleepy hum of agreement. You closed your eyes, focused on your connection setting up a golden wall against the dark fog at the corners of his mind and settled into a deep sleep.

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

You woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the clinking of cups.

“Morning.” You opened your eyes at Bucky’s voice and took the offered cup greedily. Your mind still felt hazy from the energy you used last night.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Bucky sat and sipped at his cup as well, hair a bit of a mess from bed. He had evidently only just woken up as well.

He took a breath, “I had some pretty interesting dreams, sweetheart.”

You stiffened, “Good ones I hope.”

“Don’t worry, they were good. If a little strange.”

“Strange?”

“I was watching myself most of the time.”

You snorted into the coffee, “Sounds creepy”

There was a slight chuckle, “Nah, I was watching myself build a home, a family- “

“Oh God Bucky.” You snapped your eyes to his, you knew what had happened. “I am so sorry my dreams must have stuck in your head.”

“Those were your dreams?”

“Yeah, its only happened once before but when the connection between two people is very strong, it can happen- I call it bleeding. Perhaps we should- “

“If the next words out of your mouth are take a break, I will spill your coffee.” You clutched your cup closer to your chest, “Truthfully, those were some of the beset dreams I have every had. I really loved them.”

You looked back up at him, hesitantly “You did?”

“And I love you.”

“Huh

There was silence as you stared at him in shock. His face as nothing but adoration as the sunlight filtered over his face.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Coffee cups were cast aside as you both collided. Giggling and joking, radiating happiness as the two of you shared the sweetest kiss. Your feelings merging together, amplifying one another until they shone brighter than the sun.

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sweetkingdomstarlight-blog · 3 years

Text

they were roommates

Warnings - non consensual sex, anal sex, somnophilia, forced drug use

Pairings - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words - over 2k

A/N - READ THE WARNINGS - I can’t stress this enough. Also if you are under 18 just shoo, bugger off. I wrote this from a prompt on @darkficsyouneveraskedfor stalker writing challenge, the prompt was your roommate isn’t who you thought they were. I’m still super new to writing and this is new territory for me, as always a huge massive thankyou to my beautiful wife @buckyownsmylife she helped me a lot and continues to hype me up.

It’s been six weeks since your friend got a new job upstate and moved out,. You’ve had an advert out for a new roommate but so far everyone who’s applied has either been rude or hasn’t shown up. You’re running low on your savings and would probably accept Satan himself if he could pay his fair share. That’s when your latest applicant knocked on your door.

James was polite and charming, he offered to pay a month up front to secure the room and could move in as soon as possible. You felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders when he moved in later that week, it was a bit odd that he had no friends to help him but he didn’t seem to have a lot of stuff and had himself sorted while you worked in your home office.

The first night he offered to buy pizza and beers so you could get to know each other better, it turns out you two had a lot of things in common and he was easy to get along with. You must have had a few too many beers because your head felt fuzzy, deciding it was time to go to bed. You said goodnight to James and stood up but felt so dizzy you had to immediately sit back down. James was so sweet though, looking after you, he actually picked you up and put you to bed so you didn't have to walk the short distance to your room.

Waking up the next morning you realised you were wearing a t-shirt you didn’t recognise but you didn’t remember getting changed, your mouth felt strangely dry so you got up for a drink. That’s when the soreness hit you, in between your legs, rushing to the bathroom you were confused that you weren’t getting your period and nothing seemed to be different. You assumed you were getting sick and went for hot tea to soothe yourself.

Sitting at the kitchen counter drinking and nibbling on some dry toast, James walks in looking like he’s just been for a run. He grabs a bottle of water and walks over to you giggling “you can’t possibly be hungover you only had three drinks last night” you look up at him smirking and sarcastically respond, “yeah, well, maybe I’m just a lightweight”.

As you get up to clear away your mess he clears his throat making you turn. “Should we have a system for when we have people over in the future?” You look at him confused. “I’m sorry what do you mean? Do you want to bring someone over tonight?”

He chuckles at you, “Well no, not tonight but if you want your friend from last night to come back I can make sure you have some privacy,” he offers you, smirking at the confused look on your face.

“I’m sorry, I don't understand, I went to sleep last night. I didn’t have anyone over.” Taking a step closer, he leans on the counter separating you both. “Then who did I hear you with last night and who did I kick out this morning?” You stare at him open mouthed and scurry off to your room to check your phone for some clues, you feel your chest tighten when you see that you matched with someone last night and invited him over. How could you not remember? You were absolutely mortified, what is James going to think of you now?

Sitting in your home office talking to idiot customers on the phone all day, you try to take your mind off what happened last night. How can you have invited someone over, had sex and apparently stolen his t-shirt without even knowing? You vow there and then you aren’t drinking ever again. However, the end of the week rolls by and it's been the absolute worst, your boss is a dick, your customers are all idiots and to top it off your best friend hasn’t responded to your calls all week and you don’t know why.

You have a quick shower and decide to spend the night binge watching whatever you can find on Netflix when James sits next to you handing you a gin and tonic. “Thanks but I’m not drinking for a little while.” You go to put the drink down but he pushes it up to your mouth

“Don’t be silly, you’ve had a hard week. One drink won’t hurt” smiling at him you take a sip and he’s right, you instantly relax and get cosy on the sofa, ordering chinese and laughing at the show you both decide on. Waking up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth again, you find yourself laying on your bed but this time you have your own clothes on which is a relief. Standing up, you feel a bit weird round the back like you’ve been stretched out with one of your plugs but that’s not possible, they’re hidden in your box under the bed.

You drink a big glass of water and sit on the kitchen counter, a little uncomfortably, but quietly and relax. Something has been off the last week and you can’t put your finger on it, it's always weird when you get a new roommate and you’ve put it down to that but you just sense something isn’t quite right. You lean your head back on the wall behind you and get a surprise when James walks round the corner. “Hey doll, you feeling ok? You looked a bit sickly earlier and went to bed. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You nod at how sweet he was and drink some more water before hopping down. “I’m fine just going to sleep it off.” He takes your glass for you, offering to wash it and says goodnight, watching you walk away very closely and licking his lips as his eyes roam over your body.

It’s been a few weeks now since James moved in, he’s got to be the best roommate you’ve ever had. He pays his bills on time, keeps the place spotless and he’s such a good cook, always making food and drinks for you. It's lucky that he’s so kind because none of your friends seem to be in touch anymore, you message them and even try calling them but no one ever replies.

You sit watching your usual Friday night film with drinks and Chinese takeout, talking to James about both your weeks, tonight though he sits closer than usual and his face seems to light up when you talk to him. He’s possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in real life, you’ve never looked at him that way before because not only is he your roommate but he’s so far out of your league it's laughable. You tell one of your stupid jokes and he laughs with his whole body, his arm goes around the back of the sofa and he pulls you in close, hugging into him, you relax biting your lip when he kisses the top of your head.

That was the beginning of it for you both. You had daily movie nights, he cooked for you every day, listened when you got upset that your friends seemed to have dropped you and even encouraged you to start running with him. Everything felt perfect, you still occasionally woke up sore with a dry mouth but James told you it was just your body getting used to all the exercise you were now doing. Both of you had really found each other, loners who just needed someone to listen.

You went down to collect your mail one day and stood talking to your elderly neighbour when she told you how familiar James looked, she couldn’t work out where she knew him from but she praised you on finding such a nice young man who apparently had carried her groceries up the stairs for her when the elevator was broken. Smiling at her you told her to have a good morning and went back to your apartment looking at the thick brown envelope addressed to you, you never really got anything in the post except the occasional leaflet. James had made you a coffee and you smiled at him taking the package in your room to open while you got ready to have a shower.

In the shower you decided tonight would be the night with James, you shaved yourself from head to toe and used your best lotions. Winking at him as you walked to your room, he had a weird look on his face and couldn’t seem to look at you. In your room the envelope had been moved, it looked like it was open too. Bending down to pick it up you hear James behind you but before you can turn around you feel a pain in your neck and everything goes dark.

You wake up with a blinding headache and go to move but your body feels too heavy. “Ssshh sweetheart, don’t move, I had to tie you up for your own safety.” You look at him confused, trying to pull on your wrists but you can’t move.

“James, what’s happening?” Sitting next to you he slips some ice chips in your mouth to ease your dry throat and takes a deep breath.

“You can blame your friend, we were so happy and she had to try and take you away from me.” A tear runs down your cheek, you’ve never heard him talk like this and it’s terrifying. “I told your little friends to leave you alone or I’d take care of them all but they just didn’t listen.” He throws the envelope down and slowly shows you the newspaper clippings and articles they had sent you, apparently he was on the run and considered dangerous, something to do with what happened with the helicarriers that crashed a few months ago.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” he says with a smirk, wiping your tears away and tutting. “Don’t be scared of me, I’m doing this for you, for us!” Pulling on the restraints on your feet and arms again he shouts, “Enough!” You stop immediately, scared of what he‘ll do if you don’t. “You were so nice to me on the phone when I first got free, you helped me hire that car that brought me to New York. I hacked into your company's database and found you. Your roommate was easy to convince with a little bit of money and I hired all those people to come and see you so when I finally got my chance you’d want me as much as I’ve wanted you”

“Why didn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?” You managed to stutter out, trying not to sound too pathetic.

“You never leave the house, you stay home all day working then sit watching TV all night, I saw you through the webcam. You really should be more careful.” He smirks before running his fingers over your naked body. Feeling how smooth and soft your skin is he smiles. “Did you do all this for me? Sweetheart, I’ve already had all of you, you don’t have to do anything special for me. I love you just the way you are”.

The realisation hits you and you sob loudly. “Have you been touching me while I sleep?” He tilts his head to the side and looks at you with so much admiration.

“You’re so smart, I’ve been preparing you to be mine. I didn’t know how long it's been since you’ve been with a real man, not those silly little toys under your bed and I wanted our first time to be special. I even set up that fake dating account so you would think you had a guy over on that first night.” He strokes your cheek and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying.

“James I’m cold, can you untie me and we can talk properly, please.” He studies your face for a brief moment before leaning forward and chuckling in your ear.

“You can’t think I’m that stupid baby, oh and you can call me Bucky now. If you’re going to be mine forever we need to get better acquainted.” He drops his sweatpants and straddles your hips. “We’re going to have so much fun”.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #Winter Soldier

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esc-is-holding-me-hostage · 2 years

Text

I'm finally done with writing my opinions on this year's songs! This post took way too much time and it's not even as funny as I hoped it would be :/

Anyway, enjoy.

Albania

When the revamp was announced, I was afraid that they'll have to get rid of some of the best parts of the song (like the opening chanting and that RRRRAAAAA), but not only they kept all of them, they even added a new drop, without removing the old one. And it works! Yeah, it's still a structural mess but it works!

Wish it was left fully in Albanian though. I also wish I had thighs like those...

Armenia

Well, guess now we know the answer to "Will Armenia win ESC right after winning JESC". The answer is no, obviously.

But whatever, Snap is fine. It's pleasant and inoffensive. Which seems to be a recurring theme this year.

Australia

He's a good singer, and there are genuine emotions put into the performance but I find the song really boring.

Austria

It's alright, but I'm worried about how it'll gonna sound live, her voice sounds really processed.

Update: I originally wrote about Austria when only the studio version was available, but now the live vocals have been heard, and I was right. The girl can't keep up with the song at all.

Azerbaijan

And once again, Azerbaijan gives us a song that could be sung by literally anyone. Are Azerbaijani artists forced to sign a contract specifying that they can't show any bit of their personality or their country's culture at Eurovision?

Belgium

Belgium has decided to shake up the formula a bit for the first time since 2017. Too bad that was a formula I really loved.

I genuinely don't have anything to say about Miss You, sorry. Pleasant and inoffensive once again.

Bulgaria

A lot of people seem to genuinely dislike Intention but in my opinion it doesn't deserve any strong emotions. There is nothing to hate and nothing to love. Just some mediocre, toothless dad rock. Guitar solo is kinda cool tho.

Croatia

Booooring. I'd call it pleasant and inoffensive too, but the lyrics rub me the wrong way. So, pleasant and a tiny bit offensive?

Cyprus

Ela doesn't sound like it was written specifically for Eurovision and I mean it in a best way possible. It's still not really my thing, but at this point I'm just happy that Cyprus has given us something different from the usuual.

Czech Republic

It's fine, just Czech Republic sending their trademark modern pop stuff.

Denmark

The ballad part in the beginning does not need to take up a third of the runtime. Otherwise it's... cute?

Estonia

Who would've thought that an Armenian guy from Estonia will give us a better country song than any of a dozen country artists at ASC?

Finland

Ok, that guitar riff slaps. Then the lyrics start. Honestly, half of them sound like placeholder lyrics someone put there just to keep the rhyme and then forgot to change them. "Killer shark in heels", my god. Also that tiger roar followed by a Johnny Test whip sound never fails to make me chuckle.

France

You've heard of Slavic spring-worshiping rave in the woods.

Now get ready for Celtic devil-worshiping rave in the woods!

Fulenn slaps, I love it.

Georgia

Gotta love how Georgia just keeps doing whatever the fuck they want, qualification chances be damned. That said, I respect what they're doing more than I like it.

Germany

People weren't lying, it IS like Stressed Out but lame.

Greece

Bittersweet love songs are just *chef's kiss*. Some people find Die Together creepy, but I think that it perfectly encapsulates young love in all of its overdramatization.

However, I like the lyrics more than the song as a whole. The first half is just a bit of a drag.

Iceland

Oh, I love this one. It just feels so cosy and wintery, I can almost feel the cold wind on my face.

Ireland

Favourite "bop" of the year.

Israel

This is probably the most flamboyant song I've ever seen at Eurovision, but there isn't anything else I can say about it.

Italy

Okay, I know I've just said how much I love bittersweet love songs, but Brividi isn't really making it for me. Maybe it's because we have so many sad boy songs this year, maybe because I don't like falsettos, maybe because I had a clear favorite at Sanremo and still salty they didn't win, dunno. It's just alright for me.

Latvia

I'm convinced that people who unironically love this song only do so because they're vegetarians/surface level environmentalists.

That said, I don't hate Eat Your Salad. Yeah, the chorus is repeated waaay to many times, but the song is fun, it has a sax solo, which is always a good thing and yes, it has that goddamn gutpunch of an opening line.

I BET they came up with the pussy line first and then based the whole song around it. And the way it's pronounced, jeez. The smugness is fucking palpable, you KNOW the guy is saying it with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face without even seeing him.

Lithuania

I didn't get the hype around this one during PiN, but it grew on me.

Malta

So instead of revamping a decent-ish song they had, they just threw the whole song out and replaced it with the blandest self-empowerment song they could find in the dumpster behind Melfest's HQ, huh? Ingenious plan, what could go wrong?

Moldova

Is it the weakest out of Zdob si Zdub's entries? Yes. Does it still make me wanna dance? Yes.

Look, I'm from Eastern Europe, I'm basically genetically programmed to like this kind of music.

Montenegro

Hey, Montenegro, glad to have you back, love the outfit in the music video. Oh, the song? It's also there, I guess.

Netherlands

Okay, if I'm not gonna get my yearly fix of dark and moody™ pop from Belgium this year, I'll get it from their neighbors! I like it, but I wish they went with Dans Mij Naar Huis instead.

North Macedonia

It's very bland and mediocre, but I have to give Circles a pass, because at least it's not Superman.

Norway

It wants to be a joke song but it misses a certain je ne sais quoi, the DIY charm of the best ESC joke songs. It's basically a prep cosplaying as a nerd. It's way to polished and professionally-produced to the point that the only thing that separates it from "normal" songs is the costume gimmick.

Poland

I guess I like it slightly more that the rest of the sad boy ballads we're plagued by this year. Slightly.

Portugal

I fucking love the instrumentation on this one.

Romania

It's a song.

San Marino

Is San Marino just gonna send horny Italians from now on? I mean, I'm not complaining.

P.S. if I see one more "Achille is just a Måneskin copycat" post, I'm gonna fucking scream.

Serbia

Watching Konstrakta's performance with subtitles is an experience. But same as with Georgia. I respect it more than like it.

Slovenia

It sounds surprisingly... Japanese. To the point that having lyrics in Slovenian almost feels wrong. I wish the guy had a bit more emotion in his voice though.

Spain

I've said it before and I'll say it again. THIS is the true successor to Fuego, this is what Cyprus has been desperately trying to recreate.

Sweden

Me? Liking Sweden? It's more likely than you think.

It's not groundbreaking for Sweden or anything, it's still a well-produced, professionally made Swedish pop, but I like it way more than any of the Sweden's previous entries from the past 10 years. Probably because it is, again, a bittersweet love song, and I have a soft spot for those.

Switzerland

The pauses between words in this one really test the limits of my attention span.

Ukraine

A song in Ukrainian for the third year in a row, thank God! (Not because I'm particularly patriotic, but because our singers apparently aren't allowed to have good English pronunciation)

United Kingdom

It's better than what UK usually sends but not "Top 5 in the odds" better.

#eurovision #esc #esc quick reviews

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no-pucks-given · 3 years

Text

FREDERIK ANDERSEN | TIMES LIKE THESE

AN: At the end of January my lovely friends convinced me to start writing. I did, and it turned out to be something I really enjoy and love. I haven’t posted anything on Tumblr before, it’s always been to intimidating for me. I talked to a few writers on here, and decided to just do it. So thank you to everyone who supported me in this (scary!!) decision, hahaha. I hope you enjoy this one, it’s one of the last ones I wrote. (:

Warnings: Thighs, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, some more thighs.

Word Count: 3.5K

Requested: @freddieflower3129

Watching your boyfriend play the sport he loves so much is one of your favourite things to do, but watching your boyfriend lose, and eventually even lose his cool, is definitely one of the things you hate. You can almost feel Freddie’s frustration through the screen after yet another goal, another shot he should’ve stopped. You blame it on the defence, on luck, but you know that Freddie blames this on himself.

Another loss, you see the look of pure defeat on his face when he leaves the ice. A look that tells you he’ll be wrecked by the time he gets home. Every win, every loss is spent together, you celebrate the wins, and you support him through the losses. Tonight, maybe more than ever before, he needs your support, and you’ll make sure he gets that in the best way possible.

Freddie will never ask you for this, afraid that he would bother you, but you know he loves it when you do this for him. His muscles are sore after a game, in desperate need for some release, a way to lose the tension in his body, tonight you’ll make sure he gets the massage, and love he deserves. And boy, does he deserve a lot of love.

You put your plan into motion, making sure everything is ready when Freddie gets home. You light up a few candles, the small flames giving the room a cosy, peaceful look. Rummaging through the drawers you find his favourite oil, putting it on the bedside table. You find the softest towel you own, and finally you’re all set to give your man the peaceful night he deserves.

You’re comfortable on the couch when Freddie walks in, a sombre look on his face. “Come here, baby,” you say softly, opening your arms for him. Without a second thought he drops his bags, and makes his way over to you, his large frame engulfing your smaller one. His head buried in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around your waist, hugging you close to him. You brush your fingers through his hair, a soft sigh leaving Freddie’s mouth. “How are you feeling, baby?” you ask, even though you already know his answer.

Freddie chuckles low. “Like shit, like a loser, a failure, does that answer your question?” he counters back, annoyance, hurt lacing his voice.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re feeling like that, but it isn’t true, you know that,” you say, tugging softly on his hair. Freddie lifts his head, eyebrow raised in question. “I’ve planned a small thing for you upstairs, if you’re up for it,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips.

“You did?” he asks, your words triggering his curiosity. You nod your head, smiling at him. He helps you off the couch, and follows you upstairs.

You look at him when he crosses the threshold, his bottom lip slightly pouting. Freddie finds your eyes again, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t have to do that, y/n,” he softly says, worried he’s making you do things you don’t want to do.

You shake your head at him, fingers loosening his tie. “I know, but I want to, and you deserve this,” you say, pulling his tie off completely. “You deserve to know how much I love every single part of you, Freddie.”

Together you undress him, until he’s left in nothing but black boxers. You guide him towards the bed, where Freddie lays down on his stomach, arms above his head. For just a few seconds you simply watch him, his broad shoulders, his thick thighs, his perfect bottom. You chuckle quietly at yourself, you’re such a fangirl for your own man. You slip out of your sweats, leaving you in just your underwear and t-shirt.

You crawl on top of Freddie, your legs on either side of his waist. You lean over him to grab the oil, squeezing some on your hands. “Is that my favourite?” Freddie mumbles from below you.

You smile, pressing your oily hands onto his back. “Of course it is, love. Only the best for you,” you say, gently massaging the tight muscles on his back. Your fingers work the tight knots in his shoulders, a deep sigh leaving Freddie’s mouth every now and then. “You feel like a burden to your teammates, like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, but little do you know you actually carry their pride, their joy, their love instead,” you tell him softly, your hands moving down his back.

Freddie listens intently to everything you have to say, his brows furrowed in confusion, in realisation at times. He knows he can be too susceptible to negativity at times, taking and hearing only the negative sides of things or events, while there are enough positive sides as well. He tries so hard to change that, but it’s a lot harder than it looks. At times like these he couldn’t be happier to have you. You always know what to say, whether it’s to calm him down or to see the positive side to certain events.

You slide further down his body, settling between his legs. You smirk to yourself as you rake your nails over his sculpted ass, a low groan leaving Freddie’s mouth. “y/n...” he warns, but you just press your hands on his backside.

“You know I love your ass, I only got praise. Do you need to hear them?” you say cheekily, a blush spreading over his face.

“No, you can skip it,” Freddie mumbles, a smile on his lips.

Your oily hands slide over his thighs, his muscles flexing underneath your touch. “I could write a book about your thighs, Freddie,” you tell him, massaging his sore muscles.

Freddie chuckles, lifting his head a bit to look at you. “I swear to God, if I ever catch you writing a damn book about my thighs you’ll be in so much trouble, baby,”

You laugh at him, grabbing one of his feet. You gently massage his footbed, making sure not to tickle him. You do not want to get kicked in your face tonight, or any night for that matter. “Oh, that’s so good,” Freddie moans out, completely relaxed. You smile at him, moving on to his other foot.

After a while you crawl back towards his head, whispering in his ear that he can turn over now. Freddie rolls over, scooting back to sit against the headboard. He pats his thigh, urging you to sit down, a small smirk playing on his lips. You sit back down on top of him, knowing damn well this is going to lead to something completely else.

You softly press your lips on his, revelling in the feeling of his lips, his tongue, his taste. The kiss stays light, sweet, his eyes promising you this isn’t over yet. You squirt some more oil on your hands, while Freddie holds out his arm for you. You slide your warm hands over his skin, loving the feeling of his strong arms underneath your fingers. “Your arms,” you start, Freddie’s eyes shooting to yours, “they make me feel the safest I’ve ever felt. Wrapped around me I feel like I can conquer the whole world,” you tell him, smiling softly at the man before you.

Freddie’s free hand lands on your hip, his thumb brushing soft circles over your exposed skin. You move on to his hands, your thumbs pressing down soft circles on his palm. “Your hands, they provide me security, and trust. Whether it’s wrapped around mine when we’re out for a walk, or..” you say, looking innocently at a smirking Freddie, who already knows where you’re going with this. “wrapped around my throat while you fuck me, tangled in my hair when I take you down my throat,” you finish, feeling Freddie’s erection against your stomach.

Freddie takes you by surprise when his fingers wrap around your throat, bringing your face closer to his. His mouth claiming yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You moan into the kiss, completely forgetting about the massage for a moment. You rock your hips against his erection, earning yourself a low groan from Freddie.

Freddie breaks the kiss, looking pretty content with himself at the moment. “Now you can continue,” he says, sliding his hand from your throat, between your breasts, and back to your hip.

You shake your head at him, he’ll never stop surprising you. Your hands slide over his chest, rubbing the oil into his skin. “Your chest keeps your most precious possession; your heart. Your pure heart, full of love, happiness, and kindness. It’s the most beautiful part of you, love,” you tell him, pressing your palm onto his chest.

His hand lands on top of yours, pressing down harder. “It’s no longer in my possession, y/n. I put my heart in your hands a long time ago,” he says, slightly squeezing your hip.

Your hands cup his face, making sure he looks at you. “I know you can get in your own head too much, but I’ll always be here to help you, to support you through everything. Don’t be afraid to ask, love. I need you to understand that you don’t bother me when you ask for anything, just ask and I’ll give it to you,” you say, hoping he believes your words.

“Thank you, baby. I promise I’ll ask if I need something,” Freddie says, smiling back at you. You see the small change in his features, it almost has something.. naughty? “I do need help with something actually,” he says, giving you his most innocent look.

You raise your eyebrow at him, trying to keep the smile off your face. “And what would that be?” you say, sliding your hands down his chest.

Freddie lifts his hips, rocking his erection against your core. “That.”

You shake your head at him, of course that’s what he wants. You try to reach for the towel to clean your hands, but Freddie grabs your wrist, stopping your movements. “Don’t bother, I want to feel those hands all over my cock,” he says, smirking at your shocked expression. “It is edible, right?”

You playfully roll your eyes at him, your head inching closer to his. Your lips brush over his ear, tongue darting out to trace the shell. “Why don’t we find out, huh?” you whisper, your hand cupping him through his underwear. The sharp intake of breath only spurs you on to continue your slow, torturous ways. It isn’t often that Freddie lets you take the lead like this, but when he does you make sure to enjoy it as much as you can.

Your lips kiss his skin, softly sucking and nipping every now and then, slowly making your way down. Your hand strokes his erection through his underwear, your lips close around one of his nipples, sucking the bud into your mouth. Freddie groans, you love how sensitive he is there. You bite down on his nipple, before soothing the burn with your tongue. Freddie curses below his breath, his hand wrapping around your hair.

You lick and nip your way down over his stomach, his muscles tightening underneath your touch. When you finally reach your destination you smirk to yourself, determine to drive Freddie absolutely crazy with need. You lick the skin just above the waistband of his underwear, chills running through his body. His grip on your hair tightens, your eyes finding Freddie’s. “Stop teasing, y/n,” he says, tugging on your hair, letting you know playtime is over. You mumble your agreement against his skin, while slowly tugging down his underwear.

Freddie lifts his hips, allowing you to slide down his underwear completely, freeing his throbbing erection. You lick your lips at the sight before you, his erection standing proud against his stomach, precum leaking from the tip. Your head dips down, but Freddie yanks you back up, your eyes shooting to his again. “Hands, y/n. Remember?” he says, referring back to your earlier conversation. You nod your head, one of your hands closing around his cock, squeezing his base tightly.

Freddie relaxes his hold on your hair, allowing you to lower your head towards his cock once more. Your tongue swirls around his tip, relishing the familiar taste of his precum. Your lips close around him, softly sucking on the head of his cock.

Your mouth follows the same rhythm as your hand, your other hand braced on his muscular thigh. You lose yourself completely in him, his low moans and grunts when he pushes further into your mouth, they way the muscles on his thigh flex underneath your hand. You can feel his eyes on you, even though you can’t maintain eye contact with him, too far gone in giving him pleasure.

His words bring you out of your trance, your eyes shooting back to his. Freddie chuckles at your confused expression, clearly you haven’t heard a word he said. “Play with yourself, baby,” he repeats, smirking at the hungry look in your eyes. It’s one thing to have you in front of him, his cock down your throat, but knowing you’re playing with yourself just turns him on even more. He groans at the thought, cock twitching in your mouth as your hand actually disappears underneath your t-shirt, and into your panties.

You moan around his cock, your fingers softly circling your clit. Freddie lifts his hips, pushing further into your mouth. His lazy rhythm tells you he isn’t planning on coming, the look in his eyes tells you he does have other plans. “I want you to come, y/n. Come with my cock down your throat,” Freddie rasps out, his voice laced with desire, a need to watch you come undone.

Swift circles, slow circles, at this point you don’t even know what to do anymore, all you know is you need to come, want to come. It’s Freddie’s low praises, soft groans that push you over the edge, almost choking on his cock, nails digging into his thigh. Freddie doesn’t give you any time to recover, any time to catch your breath. He pulls your hair, releasing himself from your mouth with a pop. “Come here,” he softly says, helping you straddle his hips.

Before you can even tell him you’re still wearing your panties they’re ripped off your body. His strong hand snapping them in half, the piece of fabric landing somewhere on the floor. You look up at the large Dane before you, who wears an even larger grin on his face. “Always so impatient, huh?” you mumble, his hands reaching out to pull off your t-shirt.

“I am, I’ve waited long enough,” Freddie whispers against your neck, softly sucking on your skin, surely leaving marks behind.

You lift your hips, your hand guiding his erection towards your entrance. You slowly sink down on him, his cock deliciously stretching you to the absolute max. The moment he’s fully inside of you, you both let out the breath you’ve been holding. “Fuck, y/n,” Freddie groans, hands tightening on your hips. It’s a perfect fit, like you’re made for each other.

One of Freddie’s hands finds its way to the back of your head, pushing you closer to his face. Your lips find his in a scorching kiss, tongues twisting and twirling around each other, fighting for dominance. A battle you quickly lose to Freddie, a win you’ll happily give to him anytime. He smirks into the kiss knowing damn well that he would win. You can be on top of him, feeling like you’re the boss, but deep down? He’s still in charge here, and he’ll have you pinned underneath him in a second if he wanted to.

You rock your hips on top of him in soft, slow motions, loving the feeling of him deep inside of you. The way Freddie sits against the headboard, heels digging into the mattress, it gives this experience a whole new dimension. It’s so close, so intimate like this, chests pushed together, lips barely leaving the other’s for more than a few seconds. Your nails dig into his shoulders with every rock of your hips, every thrust Freddie gives to meet your rhythm.

You’ve never been closer, felt closer to Freddie than right now, right this moment. You can’t even begin to describe the things that this man makes you feel, every single day, every single minute. Especially when you’re like this, intertwined with each other, completely at peace.

You feel like you could burst at any moment, the euphoria creeping through your veins, inching closer, and closer to your release. Freddie, knowing your body like the back of his hand, feels you pulsing around him, your breathing turning more erethic by the second, indicating you’re close to reaching your high. “Eyes on me, beautiful,” he breathes out, fingers gripping the back of your neck tightly. Your eyes shoot to his, while you bite down on your bottom lip, unable to fight back your approaching orgasm any longer.

“Come for me. I got you, baby,” he encourages you, his thrusts hitting you in just the right spot. Trying your hardest to keep your eyes on him you let go, your orgasm crashing through your body. Your back arches, pushing your sensitive breasts even further into Freddie’s solid chest, your hips stilling on top of him, while you cry out his name. You rest your head against his shoulder, riding out your high in peace, your breathing still erethic, heart beating loud in your ears.

A few thrusts of his hips, a few groans and moans, before his orgasm hits Freddie full force. He pushes you down onto his cock hard, burying himself deep inside of you. “Oh fuck, y/n!” he groans, shooting his load deep inside of you, coating your inner walls with his release. You smile against his neck, completely exhausted. “Christ, y/n. That was...,” he trails off, completely lost for words.

“Fantastic, mind-blowing, brilliant, phenomenal, or something else in that category?” you ask, kissing his shoulder.

A breathy laugh leaves his mouth, his strong arms closing around your body, hugging you closer to him. “All of the above, definitely all of the above,”

The two of you just lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the comfortable silence, the closeness of each other. You softly kiss along his jaw, his beard tickling your nose. ��Come on, love. Let’s get cleaned up,” you whisper against his skin. Freddie tightens his arms around you, swinging his legs off the bed. In one swift move he’s upright, with you still secure in his arms.

His movements cause him to slip out of you, his release mixed with yours dripping down your legs. “Gross,” you say at the same time Freddie groans, fingers tightening around your thighs.

“It’s not, baby, it’s hot,” he says, smiling down at you.

You shake your head at him, a smile on your lips. “You’re such a caveman, Freddie,” you chuckle, while Freddie just shrugs his shoulders.

He sets you down on the bathroom counter, walking towards the shower to turn on the water. You watch him intently, a grin on your face when he catches you staring at him. Freddie chuckles low, before walking back over to you, stepping between your legs. His large hands slide over your thighs, your waist, all over your body until he cups your face with both hands. “You,” he starts, his eyes locking on yours, “are my light, y/n. In dark times, in times I’m lost and in times I doubt myself, you’re the one who guides me back onto the right path, who helps me get out of my own head, who has my back without ever expecting anything in return.”

You open your mouth to say something, but Freddie simply shakes his head at you, indicating he isn’t finished yet. “I love you with everything I have, y/n. Everything. I’m sure you’re my soulmate, and the one I’ll spend the rest of my life with. I’m absolutely sure of it,” he finishes, softly pressing his lips on yours.

Sometimes you think you can’t love him more than you already do, but times like these prove you can love him more. He looks down at you, a blush on his cheeks, an uncertain smile on his face. “I love you so much, so damn much it almost hurts. I’ll always protect you, help you, guide you, and support you, as best as I possibly can, Freddie. Even though I’m sure you can do anything you want on your own, and you know why I think that?” you ask him, knowing he needs to hear this, he needs to understand this. He shakes his head at you, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “Because you’re amazing, Freddie. And I’ll prove to you every single day that you’re exactly that; Amazing.”

He grins at you, his eyes reflecting his love for you. You kiss him once more, pouring all your love and adoration into that one kiss, before the two of you finally take that long deserved shower.

#frederik andersen #frederik andersen smut #frederik andersen imagine #frederik andersen fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #frederik andersen x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs fanfiction

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obeiii-mee · 3 years

Note

Heyo, this is my first time asking (im kinda new to tumblr, so please dont judge) if you would'nt mind, could you do some headcannons (or oneshots, it dosen't matter) with all the demon bros and a MC who is crippled/paralized in their legs, and has to use a wheelchair to get around? Thank you!!

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This is the first time I’ve written about a crippled MC, so I hope I didn’t fuck this up or anything. I found out that being paralysed in both legs is a disability called Paraplegia so that’s how I titled this post. And y’all are too sweet, you are more than welcome anon! I hope I can portray this properly because I am not crippled myself so I’ve opted to do some research before writing this! I hope you like it! Also, I feel inclined to add that none of the brothers would treat you too differently if you happen to have a disability because you’re their human nonetheless :)

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The Brothers with an MC that has Paraplegia and needs a wheelchair to get around:

Lucifer:

-Lucifer was in charge of choosing the final human, exchange student for the program so it’s guaranteed he already knew about your predicament before you even arrived

-Him and Diavolo probably had many meetings concerning your disability before the program could commence, considering that being unable to walk would double the chances of you getting killed since you are obviously more vulnerable

-Not to mention all the treatment you would require

-Lucifer is not well versed in human illnesses and disorders, but he makes sure that he is educated enough on the matter before you get brought down there

-It would not be easy, but he is determined to help you survive your year in DevilDom for the prince’s sake

-First problem of the day was, of course, your wheelchair

-Due to lack of time, Lucifer was unable to instal ramps around the House of Lamentation which meant that for the first couple of weeks, someone would’ve had to help you move around certain parts of the house

-He gave that highly prestigious job to himself because he didn’t trust his brothers and thought they would accidentally drop you and your wheelchair down the stairs

-He talks a lot to you, even at the beginning, because he needs to establish your needs and what he should do to make sure you don’t die for the following year

-You would have to tell him about physical therapy and how most commonly it uses heat, massage and exercise to stimulate your nerves and muscles, making it a great treatment for people with leg paralysis

-Once you two enter a more intimate and personal relationship, it’s more than likely he’ll help you perform those things himself (instead of kidnapping a human doctor from somewhere)

-Lucifer knows you have no problem getting around with your wheelchair by yourself but there are times where he’ll insist to push you along in order to give you a quick break

-I can totally imagine you two strolling around DevilDom and having cosy chats about RAD and your adjustments to DevilDom

-He has a softer side to him that he’s afraid to show most of the time, but he feels so at ease when you’re around, it’s hard for him to hold that part of him hidden from you

-Of course, your safety still remains his primary concern and he acts more like your guardian than Mammon does, even if he was originally supposed to look out for you

-He will accompany you almost anywhere. And if he can’t, he’ll have one or more of his brothers do it. And even then he’s probably lurking nearby, just in case

-He would always be willing to listen about your condition, if you wished to tell him whether you were born with the defect or why you ended up crippled later in life. Either way, he’s all ears

-If you would rather not speak about it, he wouldn’t pry and respect your decision because he knows it’s not his place to pressure you

-Because of your paralysis, it’s quite obvious to demons that you are even weaker (physically speaking) than most humans and that usually puts a target on your back

-Howver, never fear, because Lucifer is pretty quick to put lower rank demons in their place with just a mere stare

-Oop one of them passed out from the fear, haha

-In conclusion, he’s the most responsible when it comes your comfort and safety during your stay

-He makes sure you are always left in good hands and and provides most of the requirements you need

-Y’all should see how his wings puff up when he senses a threat approaching you, he looks like a peacock ready to go on attack lol

Mammon:

-The second born is unsurprisingly a bit of a jerk at first

-He stays really grumpy the whole day of your arrival because he’s stuck babysitting you stupid human

-“Lucifer c’mon, what’s all this workload for? The human can’t even walk by themselves, why do I have to help them out?”

-Wtf Mammon you can’t say shit like that

-Anyways, the following very few days, the only thing he’s thinking about is how much money he could sell your wheelchair for

-He’s the literal incarnation of greed, what else did you expect from him?

-After a while, he starts feeling a bit guilty every time he thinks about it though

-Mammon is gonna take this secret to the grave (laughs in immortal) but he actually really likes pushing you around

-Maybe it’s because it’s a clear indication to everyone around him that you are HIS human, under HIS protection and therefore you trust HIM the most since he was your FIRST MAN

-He will insist on helping you get out of that thing when you need to go to bed and stuff every night and he will get pouty real fast if you let any of his other brothers do it

-You wake up to him trying to roll around in your wheelchair one night at like 3am

-At some point, he stole a wheelchair from the human realm to match with his human. You can guess the consequences of his actions

-I can imagine you having to face a staircase or something at school and Mammon being like:

-“Fuck it, imma carry this fragile human instead; wheelchair and all!”

-Like you were a sack of potatoes or something smh

-Cue his brothers watching him from a distance as he heaves you and basically weight-lifts you up the stairs

-Ok but every now and again, he gets so sad thinking about you not being able to walk, like he starts crying kinda sad

-While you stand there like 😐 “Why are you crying?”

-He’s so quick to help if he senses you’re in danger too

-It’s canon that Mammon is crazy fast if he wants to be so if he has even the slightest impression that your life is threatened, his feet are already moving

-He will charge at your immediate threat at around 120 miles per hour-do not try him when he’s mad

-“The Great Mammon saved the day! C’mon MC, let’s go buy some ice cream. My treat! Ya better be grateful!”

-He says while the demon that tried to eat you lies on the floor with about a dozen broken bones

-Mammon is the second most powerful demon out of all of his brothers, even if he doesn’t resort to violence often

Levi:

-He didn’t really know how to react when you first teleported to DevilDom

-I mean, from the very beginning he considered you to be a human normie but at the same time, he felt bad you were stuck with his brothers for the rest of the year

-I think he would understand you would have an even harder time integrating yourself in their house because of your disability and he knows his siblings are really fucking annoying, always pushing you around and whatnot

-So, he kinda lets you hide in his room quite often

-You guys chill out in there all the time, much to the dismay of the other brothers who also want to spend time with you

-At some point, Levi definitely begged asked Lucifer to let you start online classes with him

-“But wouldn’t it be easier for MC to do online school from home rather than go to R.A.D since there aren’t any ramps or anything around there???”

-“The answer is no Leviathan.”

-“Ugh fine! What a fucking boomer-“

-For some reason, he gets so flustered whenever you ask him to push you around

-He blushes right to the tips of his ears and then he starts sputtering some nonsense that you can’t make out at all

-But he’s more than happy to do it, especially if you guys are going to a convention or if he’s dragging you out to buy new merch

-You two would get along in the sense that Levi realises the struggles you faced all your life were tough to overcome and he believes you are just like him

-Usually left out by other people, ignored even

-He knows you always listen to him ramble on about whatever he is currently obsessed with and how much you check up on him to make sure he never isolated himself

-He wants to do that for you too! Talk to him about your hobbies, please I’m begging you-he feels so bad whenever he’s doing all the talking

-If you ask him to help you with anything (getting something, helping you into bed—that sort of thing), he legally and physically can’t say ‘no’

-And he would get envious enough to stop talking to you for a day or two if you let his brothers do it instead (the second and third born are indeed similar lmao)

-S T A Y I N H I S R O O M, W H E R E Y O U C A N B E P R O T E C T E D !

-He will feel so much more at ease if you’re in his room because to him, that’s his haven

-If you’re in there with him, that means you’re not getting involved in his siblings’ endless and dangerous shenanigans

-Whenever you’re at school, he can’t help but worry about your well-being

-Because you’re human! You’re gonna get killed!! Do you know how much your organs sell on the black market in DevilDom??? 100x more than in the human realm, that’s for sure

-Would they have a black market or would it be a regular market lol

-For some reason, he also likes staying in your wheelchair when you’re not using it

-I think he just takes comfort in knowing it’s something that belongs to you and smells like you and-

-OK Levi, sit back down

-He wouldn’t treat you any differently if you had a disability tbh, but he’d be more concerned because you can’t even run away or anything

-So he’s so fuckin’ relieved when you guys are just vibing in his room

-He could die happy knowing he kept his best friend/ partner safe

Satan:

-Satan would be even more prepared for your arrival than Lucifer would, in a sense

-Out of all of his brothers, he’s most likely to understand and recognise paraplegia (either from studying human illnesses/birth defects/disabilities or from encountering humans with said disability)

-He’s a smart boy, alright?

-Always seems to be the first to notice if you need help or if someone’s bothering you

-Though in the very beginning, he was pretty tempted to just let you get killed to see how angry Lucifer could get

-Seeing dear Luci’s misery brings him great joy 🥰🥰🥰

-Once you two manage to build a very honest and strong relationship, he feels more and more inclined to keep you out of harm’s way

-Pls, he would feel so honoured if you let him push you around (it’s like you asked him to h*ld h*nds or something)

-If you require treatment of any kind, he would be so happy to help

-But in a subtle way...?

-Satan makes it seem so smooth too like he doesn’t mind lending a helping hand when in reality he’s all giddy inside

-*Kinda wants to rub it in his brothers’ faces but at the same no, because he’s definitely the bigger person here

-He wants to know how your wheelchair works

-It’s got all of these neat mechanisms and he wants to learn how they’re constructed because he never had the chance to inspect one before

-He’s such a sweetheart about asking you as well and never pries about your disability unless you start elaborating yourself

-Most of the time, he acts all charming and very gentleman-like

-So people have a hard time spotting and acknowledging the building rage inside of him every time he sees you are threatened by some moronic low rank demon

-Satan’s usually chill when it comes to injuries, unless he can see you’re in horrible pain

-There’s nothing a few spells can’t accomplish

-But when others purposefully try harming you?

-It’s like he loses all the self control he’s been trying to perfect over the centuries and he can’t help himself from at least breaking someone’s rib cage

-Satan’s a weird one because he’s protective of you even though he’s more on the relaxed side when compared to his siblings

-He very much acknowledges that you made it this far in life with your predicament so he doesn’t feel the need to baby you or anything

-You’re strong and he knows this

-It’s one of the many things he clearly loves about you

-That one time you rolled over Mammon’s foot with your wheelchair on purpose, he was wheezing

Asmo:

-Even now, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be stuck inside a wheelchair for the rest of his eternal life

-I mean, he’d obviously still be absolutely fabulous, have you seen him? He’s gonna be gorgeous either way

-But after the two of you meet, he definitely starts thinking about how he takes his feet for granted all the time

-It would be so difficult to complete his daily tasks without the ability to walk or run around

-That’s why he gets sad every time he remembers that’s your reality and on days like that, you’ve noticed he gives you a helluva lot more attention than usual

-He knows you don’t need pity or anything so he’s just making sure his human has all the support they can get

-Paraplegia or not, shopping trips are still a go-go

-He loves buying you clothes! And he loves helping you try them on! Asmo takes it very seriously

-Might have a go at the employees if they’re being rude to you

-You don’t even ask him to, but he subconsciously starts pushing you around himself whenever the two of you are out together

-“MC! Look at that new shop that’s just opened! Isn’t it adorable? We have to check it out!”

-He can’t help it! There’s so many places he wants to visit, he sort of just drags you with him wherever he goes

-Even at home, he always pops out of nowhere to coax you into coming to his room

-Y’all have so many skin routines to do each day

-Like he’s in your room most nights to greet you goodnight and tuck you in, with the rest of his brothers it gets so awkward at times

-Asmo just wants to see you smile, ok? He thinks you have a beautiful smile and laugh and he wants to remind you that you’re marvellous, disability or not

-And if anyone does anything to put an end to your self confidence, he will swiftly put an end to their life

-Please, he’s a pro at ruining lives, he’s been doing it for centuries

-Asmo has such a huge influence over the people in DevilDom, he just needs to make this one post on Devilgram to end said demon’s whole career

-I mean, who is he compared to him, Hmm? So don’t worry MC, scum like that don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you :)

-That one time Mammon tried lifting you up the stairs and Asmo started shrieking, like put them down! Don’t manhandle them like that, poor human :(

Beel:

-I know I sound repetitive, but he would be an overall sweetheart to you no matter the circumstances

-If Mammon is not by your side, then Beel definitely is

-His big, scary aura and figure usually scares off any threat in a 10 mile radius

-Most demons don’t fancy being eaten by the Avatar of Gluttony, ya know?

-Idk why but I feel like he’d be the type to ask for oral consent every time he wanted to push you around

-He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable :(

-Surprisingly also the type to lift you and your wheelchair whenever an obstacle gets in your way

-You basically weigh the same amount as a paper plate compared to him, so he has no problem doing so

-He doesn’t really understand your condition as well as Satan may do, but he’s trying his best

-You mean so much to him and he feels it’s only fair he learns more about your disability as a thank you for what you’ve done for him

-He has a rough time keeping up with you when it comes to stuff like physical therapy because he’s very unfamiliar with it but that doesn’t mean he’s not gonna help

-Of course, Beel believes that this is the second best way to show you how much he cares for you besides the obvious ‘I love you’

-Giving you a hand whenever you need his support the most

-That’s his way of saying “I’m not going to let you down. I want you to trust me, the same way I trust you.”

-And knowing him, he will try to do everything in his power to keep you safe and sound

-After a while, you’re bound to notice he’s the first one to pull you out of his brothers’ pranks before you have a chance to get hurt

-Beel is always the one handing you stuff from high places you can’t reach, without teasing you for it like Mammon might do

-Always the first one to remind you to get plenty of rest and to eat enough

-He wants to protect you and his brothers because he knows he failed to do so with Lilith so yeah, he’s a bit overprotective at times

-He doesn’t mean to be overbearing, but he gets so anxious knowing you’re by yourself

-After a few months of getting accommodated with him, your disability is no longer brought up in the conversation

-Because he doesn’t care that you are crippled and forced to use a wheelchair

-You are part of his family and he loves you no matter what

Belphie:

-He didn’t really care, even when you first met and his hatred for humans was at its very peak

-It didn’t matter that you had a disability

-All that mattered to him at the time was killing you to satisfy that deeply rooted need of vengeance inside of him

-Though he was sort of surprised his brothers didn’t get to you first

-In general, he’s pretty chill about you being crippled in both legs

-It takes too much effort to worry about your well-being 24/7 after all

-Surprisingly, he does keep an eye out for you if his siblings aren’t nearby

-It’s his redemption arc people, he’s trying to be nicer

-But he has such an irritating way of showing his affection for you

-Do not let him push you around

-He’s either going to a) fall asleep after 30 seconds and slump over you in the middle of RAD’s halls

-Or b) be annoying and fling your wheelchair in every direction possible just to piss you off

-He likes messing with you because you give him the best reactions and he thrives on that

-You’ve almost fallen off your wheelchair multiple times because of this asshole

-Not that he’d actually let you fall, he just wants to see how easily he can get you to yell at him

-Speaking of said wheelchair, like Mammon and Levi, he also loves using it when you’re not

-You’ve woken up to him curled up and asleep in that thing quiet often and he’s gotten in trouble over it every time with Lucifer

-But he doesn’t care

-And at this point, I don’t think even he knows whether he’s doing it to get a reaction out of you or because he somehow found a way to make himself comfortable there

-He would low key use you as a mode of transportation every time you go to RAD

-Just clings the damn wheelchair and almost topples both of you over

-“Belphie, there’s nothing stopping you from walking 😐”

-“Shh, just bring me to class and let me nap until then.”

-He doesn’t mention your legs but he still lays his head on your lap often

-Might make you hold him like a bride every time you stroll around the house

-It’s done out of love, I promise 😌😌

———————————

Al~

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me imagines #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #om #obey me headcanons #obey me hcs #paraplegia #⭐️ requests #🕯 general #☂️ demon brothers

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chuckbass-love · 3 years

Note

Any interest in writing a fic where Chris cheats on his girlfriend/ wife and how they work through it. Also his family being involved in the fic.

I rarely see fics with Chris cheating, so of course i’ll write this. I just knowwwww Lisa would give that man child hell for it. I include lyrics from the song Battle Scars by Lupe Fiasco and Guy Sebastian, they are in italics.

I really hope you love this...

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cheating, angst and sad themes pretty much.

Word Count: 5,836

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @voyevoda-thejoy go check them out 💙

Get Through This

You strut into the kitchen of the house you share with your husband Chris, ready to make dinner for the two of you. It’s valentines day and you’ve not seen him for months. He’s been filming and as much as you were aware of what his job entailed, you still get upset whenever he has to leave. But after this project, he’s all yours and Dodgers for a while. You can’t wait.

He texted you to let you know that he’d be home in just under an hour, enough time to start on dinner.

The table is set, you’re already in a sexy outfit, hidden underneath your silk dressing gown. He’s going to have the best welcome home gift ever and you just know he’s going to be all over you like a rash.

The pasta is cooking so you start on the sauce next, trying your hardest not to fuck this up. He sent god knows how many texts about how much he’s missed your cooking and you want it to perfect for him. He deserves nothing but the best.

As you’re stirring the sauce, your phone goes off, it’s Instagram and then next thing you know. You get a ton of Twitter notifications too. Way too many for your liking.

You unlock the phone and check Twitter first, seeing as you have the most notifications for that.

But once you open the messages that are all from the same account. You almost drop your phone at the images on your screen.

Of Chris.

Kissing another woman. His hands around her waist. You feel sick, numb, broken and stupid.

He’s your husband.

Why is he doing this?

I wish i never looked

I wish i never touched

I wish that i could stop loving you so much

You drop the phone on the kitchen counter and rush over to the sink to be sick. It’s not stopping, you can’t stop it. The thought of him with another woman that’s not you, the thought of him kissing or touching another makes you’re whole body turn cold. The puking continues as more questions and thoughts riddle your brain.

‘who is she?’

‘why would he do this to you?’

‘how long has it been going on?’

‘how did it start?’

‘is there more to it other than kissing?’

You stand upright, taking a paper towel and using it to wipe your mouth as you try to keep the puke at bay.

He’s going to be home soon. What the fuck do you even say to him?

You pick the phone back up to see if there was even a message attached to the pictures but there wasn’t. So you go to Instagram to check that, it’s a different account, with the same pictures.

Multiple people have these images. Multiple people know about his actions. What if they end up online? What about your family? His family? What if they see them too?

You try to calm your breathing, your heart is pounding. You can’t stop it, you grip onto the counter, one hand over your chest, as if that will somehow stop the feeling of your heart practically beating it’s way out of your chest. Like somehow it’ll make this all go away.

This robe is way too tight. You struggle to undo it, fiddling with it, your hands are shaky, your breathing turns more erratic. You turn the stove off, rushing upstairs seconds after and into the bedroom you share with your husband.

The same husband that you once trusted with your heart and life. The same husband that you never ever imagined doing this to you but then again, who ever thinks that their partner will ever do this to them? Exactly, it’s always unexpected.

This has to be a dream, right?

This isn’t like him, this isn’t Chris. Or at least not the Chris you know and love. The Chris you married.

There has to be some kind of explanation right?

No. Stop this Y/N

Cause i’m the only one that’s trying to keep us together

When all of the signs say that i should forget him

There is no explanation for this. No explanation he could possibly give you for kissing another woman and possibly sleeping with her. He looks way too cosy for this to be just a kiss.

There’s more to this.

You run into the walk in closet, ripping your clothes from their hangers in a panic. Tears fill your eyes and fall down your face. You can’t stop this, the feeling of hurt and betrayal, the pain that fills your body to the brim, drowning you. You feel on the edge of a tall building right now. Like the smallest of movements could happen and you would just fall to the ground.

You change quickly before you pack everything that you can, everything that belongs to you, your clothes, underwear, toothbrush, skin care shit, make-up. The lot. You pack two suitcases and a duffle bag and that’s only the stuff you need right now. You can always get the rest if you need to. You can’t stay here any longer than you need to though.

But first, you need to face him.

“Honey?” you hear, the familiar Bostonian accent echos through the house as the door slams shut and all of a sudden, there he is in the doorway.

“Something smells delicious, are you cooking?” he smiles, a fake smile no doubt. Bet he’d rather be with her.

I wish you weren’t the best

The best i ever had

I wish that the good outweighed the bad

You stand there, ignoring his question for a couple seconds as your gaze drops to the screen of your phone. You click on the images and slide the phone over to him. He walks closer “what’s this honey?” and he goes to talk again but soon stops when he realises what they are.

“Baby, i-i can explain”

“Don’t even bother”

He walks around the kitchen island to you and you move the bags out the way so that they are in his eye line. He glances over them “what’s all this? Are you leaving me? Please, don’t i can explain all of this?”

As hard as you try not to, you start to cry again. Through the blurred vision, you see him wipe at his face, is he seriously crying too? He’s the one that cheated.

“Don’t start acting like you’re the one upset here Chris. You did this to me, remember?”

“I didn’t mean for anything to happen, i got caught up. It’s no excuse but i really am sorry”

“How long?” you mutter through gritted teeth, not even caring how nasty you sound right now “it was only the once” lies. All lies.

“Don’t fucking lie to me”

He takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender and as soon as he does, Dodger comes running into the room, jumping up Chris and trying to get attention. He bends down, fussing the excited pup that has clearly missed his daddy.

“Dodge, boo boo” he coos, letting him lick his face. A sight that not even an hour ago would have made your heart melt, a sight that would have been filmed by you for sure and posted on your Instagram for his fans to see.

Once he calms the dog down, he stands up to look at you.

“Can we please just talk this over? Please. I want to sort this”

“What is there to sort Chris? You were with someone else. How many times did you see her? What did you do with her? Is she better than me huh? Can she give you things that i can’t? ANSWER ME DAMMIT”

He jumps at the change in your voice, the shouting. It’s not like you. You’re the most calm person he knows, the one person who he’d say if you were any more laid back then you’d probably fall over. But not this time. You really are mad, which rightly so. He’s hurt you like no one else ever has.

The man who vowed to love you until death has cheated on you.

I wish i couldn’t feel

I wish i couldn’t love

I wish that i could stop cause it hurts so much

You pick your bags up and shove past him as he tries to answer but fails.

That’s when he grabs a hold of your wrist to stop you in your tracks.

“I saw her once only, it was on a weekend when i had a break from filming. It wasn’t anymore than that. I promise, i give you my word. It was just that once” he sighs, loosening his grip and letting your wrist go as you stand back to back.

“We just kissed at first, it was a one off kiss. She made the move on me, we were drinking, near my trailer, she was working on the set of the movie. She was assisting the wardrobe department. I kissed her back the second time she made a pass and it got a bit heated but i stopped it”

You feel sick again. Like you could vomit right now just from his explanation.

“Then the third time, i let myself get carried away. We went back to her hotel room and kissed some more, she got on top of me and we got undressed” he stops the story, hearing you sob the way you are right now makes his heart ache.

“We had sex. She started kissing my neck, she was touching me down there and I’m sorry, i’m so sorry honey. I didn’t, i didn’t mean for it to happen. i didn’t mean to lie for so long. She’s not better than you, no woman could ever be better than you” he turns around and so do you, the hurt in his eyes is clear.

“She can’t offer me anything Y/N. I want you, i love you. You’re everything to me. This has eaten away at me for months. I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me”

“Chris” you turn your head, unable to look at him right now.

“Please, Y/N please” he takes your hands in his, squeezing them as if that is going to make you stay.

You just shake your head, ripping them from his grip.

“I can’t, Chris. I need to go”

This is hard enough as it is and he’s making it ten times more difficult to leave. This man in front of you, isn’t even recognisable anymore. He’s not the man you married, the man you’ve been with for 10 years. The man you were so close to starting a family with.

That man is gone.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, i didn’t mean for it to happen”

He gets down on his knees, begging for your forgiveness, for you to not walk out of that door.

“I believe that you didn’t mean for it to happen and i believe that you love me but you still let it happen Chris and i just, i can’t be here right now” you pick the bags up and walk away from him but as you get to the door, you hear him crying, not just the regular kind. No. He’s screaming crying, like his heart has just been ripped from his chest, like he knows the mistake he made.

But does that matter? Does any of that matter now? He still did it.

You open the door and slam it shut, leaving him sat there on the floor.

He knows that this is all his own doing.

He didn’t mean for it to happen, he was intoxicated and it was all a mistake. He feels empty, without you here. Without your love, your kiss, your touch. He feels completely broken.

You on the other hand are breaking down, in the car, on the way to your sisters house, trying your hardest to keep your eyes on the road. It’s probably not the best idea to drive in your state but you had to get out. You couldn’t have waited around for an Uber. No chance.

If you stayed any longer, your weak ass would have crumbled in front of him and taken him back.

And you can’t let that happen right now. You have to respect yourself and your space. Regardless of how much he regrets it, he was still with another woman and that’s not right.

You pull up outside of your sisters house, unannounced.

You knock the door with your shaky hand, trying to keep the tears back but they fall before she even answers and when she does. You sob, falling into her arms.

She squeezes you tight before breaking away to see your bags, it’s like she knows what’s happened without even needing to ask you.

She guides you inside, sitting you down before taking your bags and leaving them by the staircase.

You don’t know how you are going to explain everything to her, this is not going to be easy.

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

She rubs your arm as you finish talking, her husband strolls in with a cup of tea for you and you sit there hoping it’ll make everything suddenly become fake. Like it was a dream and you’d snap out of this daze. But you don’t.

The first sip shocks you as the hot beverage burns your tongue. You’re definitely going to need something stronger.

An hour passes, you cry some more and eventually the tea turns to wine.

One drink down and you’re rendering on angry now. You can’t control the constant switch in your behaviour because after the second glass, you’re back to the crying again.

You get to your fifth glass and you’re slurring your words.

That’s when your phone rings, you hear the muffled ring tone so you search in your duffle bag to find it, pulling it out to find that it’s Lisa. Chris’s mother.

“Answer it” your sister instructs, nodding her head towards the phone.

“Hi Lisa” you muster up the best fake happy voice you can “hi sweetie, is Chris back yet? Because we were all wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner, i’m making a cake for deserts and it’ll be nice to see him”

“Um, he’s back. He got back a couple of hours ago now”

“Are you both free to come by?”

“I’m kinda busy at the moment, you’ll have to ring Chris to see if he’s free”

Your voice cracks at the end of the sentence, you pray to god that she doesn’t notice but of course, she does.

“What’s wrong sweetie? Where are you, i thought you’d be with him?”

“I’m at my sisters, um. I-” you can’t even finish, Alex takes your phone, raising it to her ear to speak to her for you.

“Hi Lisa, it’s Alex”

“What’s going on?” you can hear her voice despite it not being on speakerphone “it’s Chris, Y/N, received images of him with another woman, he admitted to her that he slept with someone else whilst he was away”

The line goes dead, she hung up.

Alex, pulls you into her arms once again, cradling you as you let it all out.

She doesn’t know how to fix you, she wishes she could magically take your pain away. But she can’t. This can’t be fixed by anyone else other than you and Chris. But even then, it would take a lot for you to ever forgive him.

Meanwhile back at your house, Chris is still on the floor. Dodger sits next to him, wagging his tail.

Then a door knocks.

He forces himself up and back onto his feet, dragging them over to go answer it and when he sees his mother, he knows. The look on her face says it all. She pushes past him, making her way into the living room.

“Ma, i can explain”

“How could you do that to her, Chris. I raised you better than that. To even look at another woman like that is wrong let alone kissing and having sex”

“I know. Ma. It didn’t mean anything. She was nothing to me. I was drunk, i got carried away, i was missing Y/N so much”

“No excuses Chris, you’ve messed up. I can’t believe you. I’m so disappointed and confused. You’re a grown man, a married man”

“I know”

“You need to fix this, prove to her that you love her and that it won’t happen again. Because right now, she’s at her sisters house, barely able to get her words out”

He looks down, not able to even give direct eye contact to the woman who raised him, the woman who taught him right from wrong. She didn’t raise no cheater or no quitter.

She raised a boy to a man who knew how to respect everyone around him, how to treat a lady, how to carry himself. A man who wears his heart on his sleeve and loves with everything in his body. A man who is sensitive yet strong.

“She won’t forgive me ma, i’ve fucked it. I can’t lose her”

“Right now, you need to give her space, let her breathe, but once she’s had that, she’ll have calmed down and maybe she’ll hear you out. But you need to work for this son, this won’t come easily. Remember what i’ve always told you?”

“Nothing good or worth fighting for, comes easy”

She leans in, opening her arms for her broken son, soothing him with ‘sh, it’s going to be okay’s’ and ‘i got you’s’

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

“Could you ever see yourself forgiving him?”

You go to respond but you’re mind keeps on replaying all the things he said before you left, that he didn’t mean it and she meant nothing.

“I don’t know. I love him so much Al. He’s my husband. Of course i want to fight for this but i don’t know if i’m strong enough”

“If there’s one thing i’ve realised over the years, when it comes to you and Chris. There’s nothing the two of you can’t do. No obstacle that you can’t face together. He made a mistake which granted was wrong and horrible and there’s no doubt in my mind that he genuinely got caught up with drinking. But he loves you, i know he does. You just need to ask yourself if you could even try to move on”

Her words have you all in your head, wondering if you can. Could you?

He slept with her, he kissed her, saw her naked. Is that forgivable? He cheated, touched another woman, kissed another woman, undressed another woman.

You’re going to need a couple of days to think, clear your head.

Lisa makes her way over to your sisters place, not caring how fast she’s driving. You need her now more than ever. She might only be your mother in law but since you lost your own mom. She’s made sure to check on you more, spend more time with you.

You’re her third daughter and she adores you.

“Oh sweetie, come here” Alex’s husband, lets her in and she sees your tear stained face.

You grip onto her so tight, like she’s the only thing keeping you glued together.

“I went to see him”

You motion for her to continue “he’s not good. He’s in a bad way, i know he’s messed up Y/N. And believe me, he knows that too. He told me what he did, everything. He knows it was wrong and how mad i am at him, how upset i am with him. But he loves you, so much. You’re everything to him, he wants to work through it”

“I want to work through it too but i’m scared, scared that he’ll do it again”

“After how i just saw him, i’ve never seen him that distraught, he loves you. It was a drunken mistake and it didn’t mean anything to him”

“Nothing good or worth fighting for ever comes easy”

It’s her little phrase, if you will. She always says it, whenever one of us is upset or going through a hard time. Whenever we can’t find the strength, she comes around, speaking words of wisdom and easing us.

“I think what you need now is space. Think things over, he’s willing to wait until you’re ready to talk”

She spends some time with you, talking it over with you and Alex. Going over the details of what he did is her way of healing you. You need to be able to talk about it out loud before you face him because if you can’t then you’re going to struggle when it comes down to it.

“He said he missed you so much, that’s why he was drinking and got caught up” more tears brim in your eyes “i love him so much Lisa” her sympathetic smile comes out “and he loves you sweetie, more than you know”

Maybe her advice is what’s best for now. You need space.

Eventually, she leaves, giving you a hug before letting you get some rest.

You get changed after a shower and head to the guest room to sleep.

Tomorrow is just another day of thinking and crying.

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

It’s been 2 full days now and as you lay in bed, preparing to sleep before the third day starts, you check your phone to find a text from him.

‘I know i should leave you to it right now, give you space but you need to know this.

When i first met you, you came into my life at a time where i had pretty much given up all hope when it came to love, i was certain that i was doomed and bound to end up alone forever. And then i met you and everything fell into place.

I was certain from the first date, that you were the one. Sounds pretty cliche when i come to think of it, but it’s true. I just knew.

You weren’t like other women, you still aren’t. You don’t doll yourself up all of the time, you prefer to keep the natural look, which i also prefer. You don’t try too hard, you’re effortlessly funny and beautiful.

You’re sarcastic but serious.

Everything about you just made me fall deeper, i couldn’t stop myself and as scared as i was, i didn’t want to stop it. I was relishing in the feeling of how i felt around you. How happy and unstoppable i felt. Like i could achieve anything with you around.

You are the only woman i’ve ever loved that quickly. Normally love takes time but with you it didn’t. I had no trouble. It was like loving you came so naturally to me, like it was second nature.

Whilst i was away filming, i missed you so much and it had only been a couple weeks, i didn’t want to bother you too much, which is no excuse for how i acted but even so. I let myself get carried away with another woman who at a time of loneliness, gave me attention. It wasn’t right, it was wrong, so wrong and it’s forever going to remain the biggest mistake of my life.

I never wanted to hurt you, but i did. I’m supposed to be your husband, you’re supposed to be able to trust me and yet i snapped that trust into a million pieces. I let you down, i made you cry, i made you question who i was and why you even married me. I made myself unrecognisable in your eyes and that thought alone, makes me sick to my stomach, it makes me angry. Angry at who i let myself become.

Because i wasn’t raised to treat women that way.

But you know as well as i do that it was nothing but a drunken mistake, a mistake that for as long as you’ll let me, i’ll spend forever trying to make up for.

You mean too much to me for me to let it go. You’re my whole world. You make me the happiest man alive, you make every day worth living to the fullest. You make me a better person.

Y/N, i love you, it was once and it will never happen again. I want to make this work. I’m not asking for you to forgive me right this second and run back to my arms but even if it’s just a talk at first. One step at a time, i’m here and i want to make it work.

I love you with all my heart, honey. I want you back. I want to prove to you that you can trust me. I want to try. Anyway, you should get some sleep, i’ll see you whenever you’re ready. Love you x’

You wipe away the tears that fell whilst reading his message.

He’s never done anything like that before, whenever you’ve had a fight, he’s emotional and apologetic and he tries to make it right but right now. You’re seeing a different side to him.

You want nothing more than to go back home now. Slip into bed with him and have him wrap his arms around you tight, kiss your forehead and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you fall asleep but you can’t.

Maybe in a couple of days.

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

You sip at your coffee, staring into space, your mind going over everything that you want to say to him.

You’ve decided that today is the day. After 3 days apart, you’re going to talk to him.

It’s time.

You snap out of the daze, thanks to Alex clicking her fingers and asking some questions about breakfast to which you decline. You can’t even think about eating right now. It’s the last thing on your mind.

“I think i’m gonna head out”

“Are you sure you wanna do this today? There’s no time limit Y/N”

“No, i want to do this”

She hugs you goodbye, letting you know that you’re welcome to return afterwards, an offer you accept. Even if this chat goes well, you can’t just sleep there tonight, you’ll still need more space.

You get into your car and let out a deep breath that you’ve held in for days, it’s been making you tense. A feeling you still have and can’t shake, it’s weighing you down. The stress.

It doesn’t take long to get back home. You park up and let yourself in the house, you spot the mail on the floor so you bend down to pick it up and as you stand, he’s stood there, in nothing but his boxers. He’s just woken up.

“I didn’t think i’d see you for a long time” he mumbles, looking down at his bare feet “yeah well, we have a lot to talk about” he nods, gesturing for you to lead the way to the lounge.

You both sit down after he makes you a drink. Neither of you really say a word, just sitting there in silence for a couple of minutes.

But eventually he breaks it.

“I’m sorry. I know those words get tossed around a lot like they don’t mean a thing but they do to me and i’m so so sorry Y/N. I didn’t mean what i did and you didn’t deserve what i did. It was a mistake and i want to prove that it was a mistake and that i love you and only you”

“But how do you expect us to move past this Chris, to move forward?” a serious question that he looks dumbfounded by “i don’t expect anything Y/N. But to answer your question, i think that with time, talking and working together, we can do this, we can move forward”

“But how? How can that ever happen? And why should i agree to that?”

“Because i’m your husband, i’ve not acted like that lately but i am. I’m your husband and i love you and i swear to you right now that it’ll never happen again”

He glances over at you, resting his hand on yours and you hold it, letting him in a little.

“I love you too”

Your way of letting him know that his wife hasn’t left him, his wife is still here. You’re still here.

“Do you want me? Do you want to work to fix this, to let me fix this?”

“I do”

You shock yourself with your response. It’s not the route that everyone would take. Most women would leave, never look back and do better. But this is different. You’re married to this man, you’ve spent 10 years building a life with this man, preparing to start a family. You can’t give up so easily. Even if it isn’t the way everyone else would handle it.

After all though, even Alex said it. There is nothing you and Chris can’t get through.

You’ve had many ups and downs, more than a rollercoaster has but you pushed through.

Like the time that you almost broke up after a year, because long distance just wasn’t working. You were both struggling. He was away filming for Marvel and you were living in London, getting your degree.

Eventually though, you decided that you loved each other too much to throw it away.

Or the time that your mom passed and you were turning your back on everyone who cared for you. Snapping at Chris way more than usual. You said some harsh words to him one day and he didn’t speak to you for days. He was mad. Hurt.

And of course there have been more occasions where you’ve argued or had limits tested, buttons pushed. But it was always saved. This isn’t a lost cause now either, it can be fixed.

“I hope you can forgive me”

“I can’t promise anything Chris. But i can try to work it out”

He rests his forehead to yours, the pair of you sigh before he presses a kiss to your lips.

A kiss that makes your body shiver, the fireworks are still there. His love, it’s still there. It might actually all be okay. Soon.

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

* A year later*

You take a seat on the comfortable chair, for the last time. A mixture of feelings fill your body. Nerves, happiness, hope and optimism.

“I understand that today is our last session, how do you feel these sessions have gone. Chris?”

“I think that they’ve gone well. They’ve certainly helped us. I feel that i’m slowly gaining trust back”

“How about you Y/N?”

“I couldn’t agree more. It’s definitely been a hard journey but a positive one nonetheless. It’s helped with getting a more in depth look as to why he cheated. I certainly feel more at ease with him now”

If someone would have suggested marriage counselling to you just weeks after Chris cheated, you’d have laughed at them and said no way. But you don’t know why you’d have done that when it’s seemed to work wonders for the two of you.

After that talk a year ago. You went back to your sisters, took more time for yourself and eventually he asked you out, on a date. He wanted to start over, spend time with you and get to know you as if it was the first time all over again.

But once you worked your way into you moving back in, Lisa suggested marriage therapy. And now you’re on your last visit. You definitely trust him more now than what you did before. Because you’ve had time to spend more hours together, more time off work to bond all over again.

“Where are you at now, in your mindset?”

“I’m at the stage of trusting him again, slowly but surely it’s happening. I forgive him. I forgive his mistakes and i forgive myself too, for taking him back. Because i think for so long i beat myself up about it but i realise that i’m human, he’s my husband and to let him go would never have been easy. But i’m glad i didn’t, i’m glad i stuck with him and i feel like we’ve come out the other side stronger”

“I couldn’t agree more” Chris says as she turns to him, raising her brow as if to ask him the same question.

“I forgive myself too, for doing what i did and i let it go, i’ve stopped letting it weigh me down. We’re doing okay, it’s nowhere near where we want to be or how we used to be but we’re getting there, one day at a time”

The session eventually ends, leaving you feeling very weird. Like it’s the end of a chapter.

The first proper start to the rest of your lives, after everything.

And you’re feeling very positive about the future. As is he. You see a future, there are rainbows at the end of dark times and it’s possible. Anything is possible when you work together as a team.

“I love you” he says as you both get into his car, before he turns the key in the ignition.

“I love you too Chris”

“We’re going to be okay aren’t we?”

“We are”

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

General Tag List: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferouss @bradfordmyworld

Just Chris & His Characters Tag List: @onetwo3000 @persephonequeenofthedead @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rynabarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1

#chris evans #cevans #chris evans angst #chris evans fluff #chris evans x fem!reader #chris evans x female reader #cheating #fluff #angst #reader inserts #reader insert #x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #fic #request

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wolfstar-supremacy-innit · 3 years

Text

"Tell who?"- Part 2

Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Alternatively:

The Marauders are in their 6th year at Hogwarts, it's New Year's Eve and Remus writes a New Year's resolutions list. Sirius finds it the next day. The story is written from Remus' point of view. It's wolfstar and lighthearted. Kinda inspired by this fanfic.

This is part 2 of the story. I will be posting the other parts separately here and also the full fic on ao3 (I will link everything when it's done, check this post for that in some time). Warnings: underage drinking and smoking, mentions of anxiety disorder.

Part 1 Part 3

Enjoy! :)

“Moony! Get up, mate!” Like it was that easy. He couldn’t even get himself to pry his eyes open. It was James that woke him. “Come on, mate. We gotta show up at breakfast, so nobody gets suspicious.” Remus groaned and turned onto his back. A dreadful headache split his forehead.

“Ugh, fuck me.”

“Not right now, Moony. We gotta dash.” He could practically feel James’ stupid grin.

“Fine, fine. I’m getting up.” He blinked his eyes open, pushing onto his elbows, then slowly sat up. The throb in his temples was menacing. He got up gingerly. No nausea. Good. Picking out clean clothes from his neatly organised wardrobe, he headed for the bathroom. “Pete and I should probably go as soon as possible. Will you be alright to bring him down to the Great Hall,” he heard James question as he shut the door.

The shower did wonders to Remus’ hangover. It diminished his headache and helped clear his vision. It also felt nice to be in clean clothes, even though it was devastating having to take Sirius’ shirt off. But letting himself feel his emotions was no more, so he pushed down that thought. Remus walked back into the dorm, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Lifting his gaze, he noticed Sirius leaning against his bedpost with one ankle crossed over the other. His lips were pulled in a small smile. Their eyes connected.

“Tell who?”

Remus’ stare fell on the yellow paper in Sirius’ hand and the realisation hit him momentarily. His heart dropped all the way to the floor. Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no... His mouth was utterly dry. Fear and panic washed over him like a thousand giant ocean waves coming down at once. ‘I wanna tell him I love him,’ he had written. Holy fucking fuck, he thought, Sirius knows I like a boy. There was a deafening, high pitched ringing in his ears.

“M-my dad... I never tell him that.” He was grasping at straws.

“Remus, come on,” Sirius huffed out a short laugh as he pushed himself off the board. He was shooting Remus this terribly meaningful look, and Remus begged the ground to crack open and claim him.

“I...“ Then before much further thinking, Remus turned on his heel and darted out the room and down the stairs as Sirius called out his name.

Fucked. He was so fucked. Idiot. Imbecile. How could he have written that and then just left it lying around?! Idiot. He smacked his forehead as he rounded a corner, then scuttled down the hallway. He was headed for his favourite hiding spot- a cosy alcove in the wall behind a tapestry on the fourth floor. Settling on the stone ground, Remus went through his breathing exercises. It wasn’t the first time he’d had an anxiety attack, except it was usually something associated with his lycanthropy. Shit, thank Merlin I didn’t write his name. He exhaled a shaky breath. It could have been worse, at least. He’s never drinking again, he concluded. Well, Sirius knew Remus liked boys. A boy. That was that. He rested his head on the wall behind him and closed his eyes. He stayed like that for a while, just breathing.

“Moony,” a voice called behind the tapestry. It was Sirius. Remus’ heart rate spiked again. “Stop freaking out, mate.”

“I can’t,” Remus replied.

“Can I come in?”

“Okay.”

Sirius pulled back the tapestry and gracefully climbed inside. He was clutching the map. He sat opposite Remus and drew his knees to his chest so they could both fit in the alcove. Remus was looking at the ground.

“Here, I brought you a sandwich. You skipped breakfast. Can’t imagine it helped your hangover.”

Remus took it without looking up. “Thanks.”

After a moment, Sirius started: “This is because it’s a him, right?”

“Well...” Remus cleared his throat. It’s also kinda because it’s you. “Yeah.”

“And what? You think I wouldn’t be okay with that?” Silence. “I don’t care about stuff like that, you idiot.” Sirius’ voice was incredibly soft and comforting. Remus finally looked at him. He shook his head and buried his face in his knees.

“Christ. Of course you don’t. It’s just... It’s a big deal for me. Nobody knows.”

“That’s alright, Moony, I get it. It’s all good with me." He paused. "So, are you... if you don’t mind me asking...” Remus drew his head back up. Sirius was asking if he was gay.

“I have no idea what I am, honestly. This has never happened before. Then again, it hasn’t happened with a girl, either.”

“Well, that’s fine. You have your whole life to figure it out.” Sirius flashed him a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah.” Remus’ lips curved as well.

After a few beats of silence, Sirius continued: “Moony in love... Blimey, this bloke must be something else, eh?” Yup.

“Well, I don’t know about love... I was pretty pissed last night when I wrote that.”

Sirius chuckled, throwing his head back. “Right. So... Does he fancy you back, d’you reckon?”

Remus couldn’t suppress the panicked short laugh that escaped his mouth. “No.” Sirius liking him back? What a joke.

“Well, how do you know? He doesn’t even know you fancy him, it seems.”

“Nope, and I hope it stays that way until the end of time.”

“Merlin, who is this lad anyway?”

“I’m not telling you!” Remus’ cheeks were flaming. There wasn’t a force in the world that could have made him look Sirius in the eye. This was a little too close for comfort.

“Hah, fine. One step at a time.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Their ankles were touching. Remus pushed down his feelings of affection with all the mental strength he could gather.

“Um, could you not tell Wormtail and Prongs, please? I’m just not ready for people to know.”

“Of course, mate. You know you can talk to me about it, though?” His expression was soft and understanding.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Brilliant. Okay then.” Sirius pushed himself up and dusted off his trousers. “Should we get out of here? This is definitely a secret snogging spot.” He offered a hand to Remus and pulled him to stand as well.

“Please don’t taint the aura of my favourite hideout, Padfoot.”

This is why Remus liked Sirius so much. Of course, he was strikingly good-looking and cool as hell, but Remus liked his personality more. Sirius was a troublemaker and joked around with everyone, but when it came to moments like this, he was an incredible and supportive friend. Never short on advice (even if it was questionable a lot of the time). He never hesitated to go above and beyond for the people he loved. These were also the reasons why Remus reckoned he’d had a crush on his best friend for much longer than 4 months. Sirius’ looks just made it crystal clear, but Remus had been falling for him for years. Maybe love wasn’t such a strong word after all...

On the way back to their dormitory, Sirius asked: “Is it that Ravenclaw guy you study with at the library? What’s his face? Oliver?”

An obvious choice, but wrong. “Shut up,” Remus said, looking straight ahead, but the corners of his mouth lifted.

“Okay.” Sirius put his hands up, smiling. “Not Oliver, then.”

Sirius kept prodding him like that every once in a while for the following two weeks. Sometimes he would point at a random bloke in the hall and ask if that was Remus’ mystery crush. It made Remus laugh. Generally, it didn’t bother him at all and even became rather amusing. It grew into a sort of an inside joke between them.

They were sitting side by side at dinner one evening after all the students had returned from the holidays. Sirius was in his curious, mischievous mood.

“Oh! The- the muggle kid we hung out with last Christmas? When we were at James’,” he tried.

“Hah, no,” Remus answered, “I saw him like twice.” Sirius huffed.

“Is it somebody from home, then? Somebody I don’t know?”

Remus could’ve lied. He could’ve lied so easily. Still, he decided against it, given how dreadful he was at keeping life-changing secrets. He shook his head, looking at his plate. Sirius leaned so close to him, their shoulders touched. He all but started bouncing in his seat.

“So it is someone from Hogwarts!” Remus didn’t bring himself to answer. Instead, he shoved a particularly packed fork into his mouth. They were silent for a few moments, then: “Is it Snivellus?”

“Yuck, Sirius!” Remus shoved his shoulder as they both laughed.

“So, why don’t you just tell this bloke of yours, then?”

“Ha. Because he’s straight.”

“Oh, bummer. Sorry, Moony.”

Remus wanted to bang his head on the table. If only Sirius knew he was apologising for himself being straight. “It is how it is.”

Back in their dorm, a parcel was sitting on Sirius’ bed. “Padfoot, something arrived for you earlier. I paid the owl,” James explained.

“Oh, yes! They arrived! Cheers, mate.” Sirius leapt onto his bed and started tearing the paper. “What is it,” James asked, leaning closer to Sirius’ bed and peering at the package. Remus and Peter were doing the same. “My rings,” he exclaimed, sliding a silver loop onto his finger. He placed one on his ring finger, one on his thumb and two on his index finger, then stretched out his arm to examine his hand. They were all different shapes.

“Wicked,” James blurted out.

“Yeah, wicked,” Peter repeated. Remus could just sit and gawk like his mouth was sewn shut. What the fuck, Remus thought. He’s trying to kill me. It was hot. It was hot. Like his hands could get any sexier.

“Don’t worry, Moony, it’s not real silver,” Sirius said with the biggest grin on his face. Remus could just nod, swallowing thickly. Yeah, that was a good excuse for why he was baffled.

Sirius wore his rings everywhere. To class, to every meal, sneaking around the castle at night to arrange their next prank. And Remus loved it. After the initial bewilderment subsided, he adored looking at them. However, it didn’t help reduce his massive fucking crush on Sirius. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Girls would come up to Sirius at lunch to tell him ‘his rings look amazing’, and Remus would almost start growling. It was a bit of a problem. He needed to repeatedly tell his brain to shut up in these moments.

***

Sirius was running out of ideas for who Remus' infamous crush could be. Remus was a bit concerned he would actually figure it out. However, Sirius just started bringing it up less and less. It seemed like the entire thing was blowing over and Remus was getting away with it.

They were sitting on James’ bed, leaned over the map. There was nobody else in the dorm. Their bodies were close together, Remus’ right shoulder behind Sirius’ left.

“Good old Prongsy,” Sirius said. James’ dot on the map was in the hallway outside the Great Hall. Lilly’s dot was right next to it. “He’s probably making an idiot of himself again. Poor lad’s gonna get himself hexed.” Remus laughed.

“I admire him,” Remus said, “I would have died from embarrassment by now.”

“Oh, have you seen it?!” Sirius suddenly turned to look at him, their noses almost brushed. Remus’ heart skipped a beat.

“Seen what?”

“The abomination James made for Evans for Valentine’s day!”

“For Valentine’s? But it’s January,” Remus said as Sirius opened the drawer of James’ bedside table and reached inside. He pulled out a wooden cube that fit in the palm of his hand.

“It opens on my voice for now. Later he’ll change it to activate when Evans says ‘James’.” In that moment the top of the box popped open and the sides fell to reveal a petit yellow bird figurine. Just as Remus thought: Oh, this is cute, a blearing sound spread through the room. “Evans,” the bird boomed in James’ voice, “go on a date with me this Hogsmeade weekend!” Remus grimaced at the volume of the noise.

“My idea to make it loud,” Sirius said with a proud grin.

“Oh, why did you help him with it?!” Remus started laughing.

“He’s gonna transfigure it into a real bird and make it sit oh her shoulder giving her compliments the whole day. I haven’t decided whether I’m gonna let him go through with it. Reckon it might be worth it to see the look on Evans’ face.”

“This is bad.” Remus couldn’t stop sniggering. “This is so bad.”

“The lad has no shame. Maybe you could make one for your mystery man. I bet it would change his views,” Sirius joked. He was being incredibly charming. Remus couldn’t help it. When you’re not supposed to look at something, it’s all your eyes want to do. He dropped his gaze to Sirius’ flawless lips. It wasn’t discreet at all. Remus realised he was leaning towards him, smiling stupidly. Sirius’ eyes flickered between Remus’ as realisation flashed across his expression. He drew back a little. “Oh,” was all he said. Remus’ smile dropped suddenly as he pulled back as well.

“Me?”

Remus’ heart was thumping in his ears. It kind of felt like his soul was leaving his body. No, actually, he was sure his soul was leaving his body. Suddenly, he scrambled off the bed frantically, saying: “Fuck, sorry,” then crossed the room in three large, quick steps and bolted out the door. “Moony,” he heard the dim and distant shout. Deja vu. Only this time he’d had enough sense to grab the map.

Part 1 Part 3

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because-i-can-stuff · 3 years

Text

Life will always find a way

Dick Grayson x Y/N Roth

A/N: I haven’t written something like this in a long time and I just started watching Titans on Netflix (been a year since then) and been reading a bunch of fics and I kind of had this one stuck in my head. So tell me what you think and enjoy.

I forgot this even existed and was just sitting in my drafts so I guess I am posting this now

-Flashback-

It was one of those rare rainy days in San Francisco, you were just closing the small café you were working at. It was a busy day and the shop closed a little later than usual, meaning it was already beginning to get dark outside.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you pulled the hood over your head trying to protect yourself from the weather. Today was just a day that couldn’t get any worse you thought to yourself.

It started with an alarm that didn’t go off, making you late for the first lecture of the day, the day at USF seemingly lasting forever and instead of heading home, you still needed to work. Life was dull and the universe was testing you, first your best friend passed away, then essays and other projects piling up and the excessive amount of work hours, happiness just wasn’t an option at the moment.

And now this, the rain, the darkness and the constant feeling of being followed.

Picking up your speed in hopes of getting home faster you took a shortcut not really thinking of the consequences but being reminded in a second, as somebody slammed you into a wall from behind, shocking you for a moment before regaining your composure and getting ready to defend yourself.

When suddenly a figure appeared behind your nightly attacker and ripped him off of you and started beating the crap out of him.

Your nightly saviour appeared to be some kind of masked vigilante , at least that’s what you guessed from the costume adorning a cape and the mask covering his eyes. Watching the fight scene unfold before you, the vigilante overpowering your attacker with ease, resulting with the stranger running away, yelling profanities.

The vigilante focussed his attention onto you, looking you up and down and you doing the same, noticing the wet mop of brunette hair framing his face and the chocolate brown eyes peaking from behind the mask., as well as the well-toned body adorned by the costume.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” he asked sincerely.

“I’m alright, maybe a bruise or two but nothing I can’t handle. Thank you by the way”

“Robin” he interrupted

“Well, thank you, Robin. But it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I’m sure you have more pressing matters at hand so why don’t you take care of these and let me take care of myself.” You stated rather annoyed, not only annoyed by him but this whole day.

“Oh, well, okay… then I guess I will just leave you be” Robin stated quite unsure and disappeared within a moment.

Sure, you felt kind of bad about your behaviour, but you just wanted to get home, get cosy and cry yourself to sleep, the usual routine since your best friend passed away.

The next day promised to be a better one, with the alarm actually going of, the sun peaking from behind the clouds and you being on time for the lectures that day with the prospect of not having to work today and finally getting started on some essays.

Making your way to your favourite coffee shop, ordering a cappuccino and sitting down in a quiet corner, you unpacked your notebook and started typing, tuning out the world around you, therefore not noticing that somebody joined you at your table.

Only noticing your company after a small cough, looking up a young man around your age sat in front of you, with deep chocolate brown eyes, well styled brunette hair and a smile to match his handsome face.

“Can I help you?” you ask the mysterious stranger

“Hi” he answers with a charming smile “I just noticed you sitting by yourself and I don’t know… Obviously you are doing work or something, but I don’t know… there is something about that I just thought I really want to get to know the beautiful woman behind the notebook”

Normally you would turn down such advances, but today, you were feeling a little bit better about yourself than the last weeks and he wasn’t that bad looking, charming on top of that. And maybe he was just what you needed to distract you from the grieving and the stress.

“Well, thank you for the compliment, you are not so bad looking yourself.” You tried to flirt “My name’s Y/N, by the way.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady” he charmed “It’s very nice to meet you Y/N. I’m Dick Grayson”

“Finally, a name and a full face to the alias. I didn’t think I was so intriguing that a vigilante had to get to know me, but I am flattered, Robin” I whispered making sure nobody heard what I was telling him.

Dick looked shocked and started stammering, before asking “What are you talking about? You are making no sense.”

“Look, I am not going to tell anyone, but I’m quite good with remembering faces and I got a good look at yours and the only difference between yours and Robins is the fact that you are not having a black mask over your eyes. Same hair, same eyes, same smile, same face structure. Just face it, I figured it out and that pretty fast.”

Thus, began a fast forming friendship which evolved into friends with benefits really quick and after some time even into lovers pursuing a serious relationship, finding an abrupt end with no explanation, just a last night filled with love and a morning after with an empty bed and a note saying

Goodbyes are never easy, but this is one of the hardest. I knew I couldn’t tell you face to face and I know it’s cowardly to tell you this way, but I just know that you would’ve somehow changed my mind. By the time you’ve read this, I will already be on my way out of this city on the way towards a new destination. I am really sorry. I love you and I’ll miss you and hope you somehow understand.

- Dick

-Flashback end-

“And you tell me all of this now, Rachel?! I knew I should’ve just taken with me as soon as Mom died. I can’t believe I let you do all this to find your real parents just because I thought going with a detective would be a good idea. You could’ve gotten yourself killed, I could’ve somehow helped you. And I am furious that you lied to me, that everything was fine and just now you’re telling me the whole truth. I don’t know what to say Rachel…” you told your sister agitated over the phone.

“Y/N… I was fine and I am fine. I made new friends and they protected me just fine. And I didn’t tell you because I knew you would’ve been there in a second to protect me but you also have a child to think about and I rather know you and Ricky are safe…”

“And I rather know that you are safe, Rachel. I would’ve figured something out.” You interrupted your little sister

“I know, I know… but there is nothing we can do about that now. Everything is fine. Well, anyway… What I originally wanted to tell you was that we are actually on the way to San Francisco. Apparently, there is some safe house where the Titans used to stay and we get to live at. So, I finally get to see my big sister and my cute little nephew” Rachel told you excitedly

“I am so happy to finally see you again and so is Ricky. But are you sure you don’t want to move in with us?” you were still being vary of Rachel living with a bunch of guys

“Yes, I am sure, it’s safest for me and also for you two, I don’t want to get you in danger because of me. I have done that a lot these past few weeks and I really don’t want to risk it. She assured you

“Okay, I understand. Even though we both know that I could handle it.” You told her with a smile “Come visit us as soon as possible. We miss you”

After your phone call with Rachel you went into your 3-year-old sons’ room to tell him, that his aunt would come visit soon. Ricky sat contently in the middle of the room surrounded by a bunch of toys playing with his favourite car. You admired your little angel with his brunette locks and chocolate brown eyes, reminding you so much of his father. Ricky looked so much like him, but he still got your gorgeous smile and good-natured spirit.

#dc titans #titans imagine #dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #titans imagines #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n

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monstersandmaw · 3 years

Text

Male vampire x male character - Part Three (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is going to be a four-parter, folks! And here's 3866 words of Part Three for you. Angst ahoy, but you know me, ok, so trust me. Here we meet Alec's little brother, and you'll find out why Sebastien was so jumpy and weird about the Twayblade name.

Part One, Part Two

Alec’s ‘one night stand’ with Sebastien turned into a whole month of of ‘one-night-stands’, and culminated in Sebastien asking him to dinner the following weekend - a pattern which repeated itself every weekend after that.

Sure, the sex was probably the most incredible sex that Alec had ever experienced in his entire life, but what he came to enjoy even more was the time they spent over meals and cups of tea in the intervening time, talking about everything from history to politics to video games and books and everything else besides. Sebastien talked about literature a lot, and Alec sketched him and illustrated his conversations while he spoke.

“You could really make something of yourself with talent like that,” Sebastien had murmured once as Alec had doodled a quick rendition of the Victory of Samothrace on the back of a coffee shop receipt one afternoon in the park.

“Meh,” he shrugged without looking up. “I’d like to, but I’ve got a steady job now, you know? I’m not going to throw it all away just because some gallery might take my work and I might make something of a name for myself, you know?”

Sebastien sighed. “Talent is such an overused word, and great art is rarely based on raw talent alone, but with your dedication over the years, you’ve really honed what natural abilities you have into something exceptional, Alec. I think you should make a go of it at least.”

Alec had flushed, and Sebastien had been distracted by the rising colour his cheeks long enough to abandon that train of thought in favour of kissing him silly on a park bench, and Alec hadn’t much minded.

At an Iranian restaurant near Alec’s place one Friday, four weeks after Halloween, Sebastien leaned on his elbow and popped a fragrant and decadent zoolbia into his mouth, and Alec watched, oddly fixated by the way his fingers held the little fried treat. His eyes, dark and warm and inviting, blinked slowly and he offered Alec a slow-dawning smile that stole his breath.

“We should go to the museum again,” Alec he blurted, thinking back three days when they’d spent their lunchtime meandering around the Italian Renaissance gallery together.

“Mmm?” he asked, licking his fingers in a way that made Alec’s jeans tighten and his throat close.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I mean, I know you’re not sick of me waxing endlessly about quattrocento art just yet…” he said, sipping his delicious cup of tea and trying not to choke on it as Sebastien’s ankle skimmed up his leg beneath the table.

“No,” Sebastien admitted. “You’re right. I’m not.”

With the bill paid by Sebastien this time, after Alec had bought them lunch the previous day, the two of them left the cosy warmth of the restaurant and stepped out into a bitter November night. “Oh fuck it’s cold,” Alec swore immediately, drawing up the collar of his coat.

“You want to head home?” Sebastien asked, a hand on the small of his back.

Unconsciously, Alec leaned into it and smiled up at him. They’d not yet been to Alec’s apartment, and he found himself more and more reluctant to let Sebastien in now that he’d seen the stunning penthouse that he called home. “If you’re sure? I think your wardrobe has more square footage than my entire place though…”

“Alec,” he purred, taking Alec’s hand in his and squeezing his fingers. “I —”

“—You’re freezing,” he commented, interrupting whatever Sebastien had been about to say.

“I don't tend to run hot,” he conceded, “But neither do I feel the cold much. I’d like to see your home, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He leaned in close and kissed the junction of Alec’s jaw and neck for a moment, his lips lingering, tongue just lapping at his skin and sending shivers down Alec’s whole body, shorting out his brain for a heartbeat or six. Sebastien raked his teeth over Alec’s pounding pulse point and he went still, frozen in a paroxysm of pleasure and, oddly, a strange thrill of fear he couldn’t quite place. Instead of pulling away when he recovered himself, however, he tilted his head further to one side, offering himself to Sebastien’s mouth, and the other man moaned decadently, deepening his attentions.

Sebastien’s hands found Alec’s belt and he tugged him sharply closer so that their hips met. Alec tried not to grind himself against Sebastien — they were still on a public street for goodness’ sake — but desire was washing through him in pulsing waves and it was becoming harder and harder to think rationally. That wasn’t the only thing that was becoming hard either, and he let out a harsh grunt before forcing himself to step back with a sheepish grin.

When he looked up at Sebastien, he found that the slightly taller man had frozen and was breathing hard, eyes closed, lips pursed together as though restraining himself from something.

“You ok?”

“Fine,” Sebastien hissed, still not opening his eyes.

Alec frowned. Sebastien looked like he was in pain of all things. “You sure? You look —”

“I’m fine!” he snapped through a clenched jaw. “Let’s go. You’re right. It is cold.”

The short walk to Alec’s apartment passed in tense silence, with Sebastien keeping his eyes locked downwards on the pavement, though he did deign to hold Alec’s hand. He couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he’d pushed things too far in public, given how proper Sebastien tended to be, but then again, Sebastien was the one who had deepened the gesture by practically mauling at his neck for three minutes straight back then.

Alec’s apartment building wasn’t fancy at all, and it certainly didn’t have a doorman, and once they’d stumbled in through the hallway with the busted light fitting in the ceiling, Alec smashed the elevator call button only to find it dull and non-responsive. “Damn,” he cursed. “Out of order again. Stairs?”

“If needs be,” Sebastien said with a gracious smile.

“This would never happen over at Buckingham Palace,” he quipped back, and Sebastien cracked a smile at Alec’s silly nickname for his apartment block.

“Exercise will shake all that dinner down,” he conceded.

Alec twitched his eyebrows in agreement and held the door open to the stairwell for him. As he passed by in the confined space, Sebastien stopped and leaned in, taking Alec’s jaw in his cool hands and kissing him gently, reverently, on the lips.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I was rude back then.”

Alec shrugged, feeling awkward at the sheer, heartfelt tenderness in the gesture.

“I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

“I like it when you’re rougher with me,” he smirked. “You should know that after a month of fucking me senseless.”

As if Alec’s words had hit him like a sledgehammer to the nuts, Sebastien rolled his eyes and grimaced, but he did laugh. “You do seem to like a firm hand, granted,” he said. “Let’s get upstairs shall we? Before I take you right here, and I’m not sure how sanitary this situation is…”

Alec needed no more encouragement, and he didn’t even get to give Sebastien the fleeting, one-minute tour of his tiny flat before the man was on him, kissing him blind and backing him into a wall hard enough to knock the wind from him. Sebastien came alive in moments like that, when he could kiss him and lavish attention on Alec, and the latter was not about to stop him.

It wasn’t long before Sebastien’s wandering lips found Alec’s neck again, and as Alec gasped, fists balled into Sebastien’s shirt collar, he felt the sharp prick of teeth quickly followed by the generous suck of a love bite in the making. His knees went weak and he nearly staggered as a huge rush of endorphins swam through his mind, leaving him limp and wobbly all over. Well, almost everywhere.

“I want you,” he gasped, and Sebastien lost no time in locating the tiny bedroom and tossing him onto the bed, stripping them both with startlingly attractive efficiency. Alec barely managed to yank a bottle of lube and a box of condoms from his top drawer before Sebastien was spreading his legs and laving his tongue up over the curve of his balls.

“Oh fuck me,” Alec exclaimed as Sebastien’s slick finger slid into him and he hissed at the intrusion. A moment later, he was lying with his head flung back into the pillows while Sebastien slid a second inside him and began to do just that with his fingers until Alec was finally ready — and more than desperate — for Sebastien’s cock.

Sebastien had a beautiful body, all lean, corded muscle and slender lines, and as he got more and more aroused, his deep olive skin seemed to glow almost supernaturally. He was perfection incarnate. Bernini couldn’t have carved him, even if he’d been given a lifetime to try. Alec was no Bernini but he’d still love to sculpt him.

Sebastien chuckled sweetly and crooked his finger, sending a jolt of searing pleasure through Alec so hard his vision whited out for a moment and his back arched. “I’m flattered,” Sebastien murmured, placing open-mouthed, messy kisses down Alec’s leg as he spontaneously bent that knee up.

“Shit, I said that out loud…” he laughed, still vague and giddy with the sensations sparking under his skin.

“Mmm,” he smiled, lowering his face to Alec’s inner thigh and kissing fervently all up his leg to the crease of his thigh and hips before smoothing his leg back down onto the bed. His breath fanned out across Alec’s sensitive skin and he quivered and bucked, causing Sebastien’s curled finger to brush his prostate again and he yelled.

“Please…”

Moments later, Sebastien entered him at last and stilled, allowing him to adjust to the new intrusion.

When he fucked him like this, Sebastien seemed to take on a new energy, becoming something almost more primal, and Alec lived for it. The expression on his face as he closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the heat of Alec’s body closing around him, taking him, drawing him in, was something he would never get used to, no matter how many times it happened. He was certain of it.

“You’re so tight,” Sebastien grunted, easily shifting Alec’s hips up a degree or two and adjusting his own angle so that he could thrust into his prostrate with every stroke.

Alec’s words failed him as immense pleasure ripped through him, building and building. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep that up,” he barely managed to grunt as Sebastien somehow picked up the pace and began to pound into him with renewed vigour. The man seemed utterly devoted to Alec’s pleasure, as if it was the only thing driving him.

With an utterly inhuman snarl, Sebastien opened his mouth and whispered, “Come for me.”

The sheer weight of command in his voice tore through Alec and he came instantly, untouched, painting his torso with ropes of his release and wrenching Sebastien’s own orgasm from him by sheer force a second after.

Sebastien curled forwards with a hiss, hips spasming as he released, and his lips found Alec’s neck again, and then his collarbone. In the daze of his own peak, Alec thought he saw a flash of red in Sebastien’s eyes again, but he was out of sight too quickly for him to believe what he’d seen. Instead, he found Sebastien kissing his hammering pulse while he finished. Finally going still, Sebastien slumped atop him, breathing hard, his white-blond hair spilling everywhere and tickling Alec’s stubble. He was too tired to care though.

When he woke, hours later, he realised groggily that it must be the middle of the night. Sebastien was curled up beside him, obviously having found the tiny bathroom to clean up, and he was now spread out beside him on his small, lumpy mattress as if this were a palace and he a prince, not some tiny, shitty apartment in the rough bit of town.

Something about the way Sebastien slept still freaked Alec the fuck out. He didn’t seem to be breathing, and when he had laid his palm on Sebastien’s chest on their first night together, the man had gasped and jolted awake like the living dead, sucking in air like he’d been underwater for hours. This time, he refrained from touching him, and instead stared at his inhuman beauty. There wasn’t a mark or scar or freckle on him, and his darkly tanned body spread out over the white sheets like a bronze sculpture arranged in a gallery for the adoration of thousands. And yet he chose Alec to be his only supplicant. Something lurched in his chest and he smiled bashfully, blushing, although there was no one to witness it.

Awake, Sebastien looked maybe thirty, thirty five years old, but asleep, he looked far younger; closer to eighteen or nineteen perhaps, with an innocence around his white-lashed eyes and the natural downward curl of his beautiful lips.

Unable to resist touching him completely, Alec kissed him and rolled over, drawing the duvet up around his ears and sinking back into a deep, dreamless sleep. His whole body felt heavy and satiated in a way he’d never experienced before with anyone. Something clenched in his heart; this felt right somehow.

But nothing is fated to last forever, is it?

Alec stirred groggily, unwillingly, the next morning, becoming aware of a rapid-fire knocking on the apartment door. Grunting, he kicked back the covers and fished for a pair of boxers and a shirt from the floor beside the bed. Sebastien slept on, apparently not having moved at all since the previous evening. Did he have sleep apnoea or something? It was something he’d have to bring up after he’d sorted whatever this was. It wasn’t natural for a man to sleep like that.

Like the dead.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he grumbled, stumbling across the apartment and peering though the peephole in the door. Twitching back in surprise, he opened it. “Theo?”

His little brother’s bright, sunny grin beamed back at him. “Hey bro,” he chuckled jovially, stepping in as if he owned the place and shooting him a cheeky look back over his shoulder. “Brunch?”

“Brunch?” Alec frowned. “Since when do you do ‘brunch’? And since when is it brunchtime anyway?” He glanced at the clock in the kitchen and his eyebrows rose. It was well past eleven o’clock.

“Late night, I see,” Theo snickered, eyeing Sebastien’s shirt which was still on the floor outside the bedroom door, currently ajar from Alec’s hasty exit.

“Shut up.”

Theo’s grin doubled and his blue eyes glittered. Like Alec, he had the unusual combination of dark hair and blue eyes, and like Alec he could be described as ‘roguish’ at times. Now though, it bordered on downright Puckish. Looking not his actual twenty-one years but somewhere closer to sixteen, Theo shook his head.

“Brother mine, when will you —” he snorted but then stopped and his expression fell, shattering from playful to horrified in a heartbeat before he rapidly attempted to cover it by turning towards the bedroom. “Is he still here?” he whispered.

“Yeah, so keep the jokes to a minimum, would you?” Alec snarled. “What did you want anyway?”

But Theo had changed completely. Gone was the ebullient Labrador puppy and instead a tense, alert, wary young man stood before him.

“What the fuck’s wrong?” Alec hissed, heartbeat ticking faster like an over-wound clock.

And Theo spun and then froze as the door to the bedroom opened and Sebastien appeared on the threshold.

Theo’s lip curled into an ugly snarl and Sebastien regraded him steadily, apparently unfazed by the unexpected hostility.

“The younger Twayblade, I assume,” he said with such ice in his usually warm tone that it shook Alec into stunned silence. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“You’re shitting me,” Theo whispered, horror thickening his tone.

Alec blinked and looked from Sebastien to his little brother and back again. Never in all his years of dating men had he felt so uneasy around a family member. “What’s going on…?” he finally croaked.

“That’s what — who — you’re sleeping with?” Theo practically spat out.

Cold, defensive vitriol bubbled up inside him and he might actually have lunged for his brother had Sebastien not crossed the room in three rapid strides and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. “I take my leave,” he said quickly.

“Not so fast, fang-face,” Theo sneered and Sebastien froze. “Get away from my brother.”

“Or what?” Sebastien said in the quietest and steadiest of voices.

“What the fuck is going on!” Alec blurted into the tense silence that followed Sebastien’s taunt.

The other two blinked, and Sebastien sighed. He met Alec’s eye as he asked, “You really didn’t know at all, did you?”

“Know what?” Alec snapped, rage rolling through him. “Do you two know each other or something? What am I missing here?”

“I think this is a family matter that you need to work out between you,” Sebastien said, voice still tinged with frost. “Alec, you know where to reach me if you decide to continue what we’ve shared this past month.” And with that, he turned and walked from the apartment.

“Wait, stop!” Alec yelled after him, but he was gone down the stairwell and Theo was at his side, tugging him back into the apartment. “Fucking explain yourself!” he snapped, rounding on his brother.

“You’d… better sit down.”

“No. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

Theo stared him down, meeting blazing sapphire stare with blazing sapphire stare. “Sit. Down.”

The tone of his voice shocked Alec into doing exactly that, and he sank numbly down onto the saggy old couch in the living room without a word.

What followed next was like something from a movie.

“The Twayblades are an ancient family of monster hunters,” Theo said gently. “Father’s not in the military. Well, he is, but it’s not a normal unit or anything. That’s just a cover.”

“And mother?” he asked mechanically, the information-dump that Theo had just heaped upon him not sinking in, but floating like scum on the surface of his churning mind.

“She’s one too. And Ellie.”

“Ellie hunts… monsters?” he asked. “Like… what… the Boogeyman? Bigfoot?” Incredulity made his tone flippant, but something in the calm sincerity of his brother’s eyes told him it was true, no matter how stupid it sounded.

“Dracula…?” Theo added darkly.

“Dracula.” And then the penny dropped. “Wait. ‘Fang-face’. You’re saying you think my boyfriend is a vampire?”

Theo levelled him with a look from where he was leaning against the windowsill, arms folded over his chest in a manner eerily reminiscent of his big brother.

Now as Alec regarded him, he saw the harsh young man that this little kid had become. The puppy fat had melted into a steel jaw and a hard gaze, and his body seemed coiled for action at any moment. He had the body of a soldier, Alec realised with plunging horror. He knew Theo worked out — he was apparently a personal trainer and nutritional coach for celebrities in London, but even that seemed to have been a lie after what he’d just learned. Apparently the Twayblades actually hunted monsters — he and their parents and their older sister Ellie. Alec and Angie had been left out because they were apparently not ‘hunter material’ whatever that meant. Maybe it meant he was a monster fucker instead. He almost laughed.

“Theo, come on… I can’t believe any of this,” Alec said, leaning back into the sofa and pressing the heels of his palms to his aching eyeballs. All he’d wanted to do this morning was to wake up and maybe have Sebastien fuck him into the mattress a few times before breakfast until he was wrung out and softly buzzing like they had every weekend for the last month.

Now he was having some bizarre fairytale forced at him and he was supposed to believe it like it was some kind of sick joke. But he did believe it, and that was what scared him most of all. It wasn’t a joke. Theo showed him videos his father and he had captured on some of their ‘hunts’, exterminating a poltergeist here and eradicating a revenant there, and in the end Theo phoned their father on speaker, opening without preamble, “Dad, Alec’s dating a vampire.”

“Do you have proof?” was their father’s instant, chilling response. No ‘I'm sorry, what did you say, son?’ or ‘What’s all this nonsense?’. No. He went straight to the heart of it. With a stake.

“Just walked past the sucker leaving the flat.”

“Ancient?”

“No, thank goodness. Maybe just a century at most?”

“Can you eliminate him without alerting Alec?” their father asked, at which point Alec’s heart cracked.

He leapt to his feet and blurted, “Fucking what?”

After a heartbeat of silence, their father sighed. “Unfortunate. I had hoped to keep you and Angela out of this.”

“You’re telling me it’s all real?” he asked, goggling at Theo who held the phone out on speaker between them like it was a live grenade. “You’re all insane!”

“Tell me something, son,” his father said flatly. “Have his eyes ever flared red during a moment of passion? Does he seem to fixate on your neck? Do you find yourself willing to do as he wishes without question?”

Theo interjected quickly, “He’s not compelled. His eyes are clear.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” their father scoffed. “Theo, you know what you have to do. Kill it.”

“‘It’?” Alec shot, eyes bulging, and Theo did have the grace to cringe. “Kill it? You’re going to kill him? He’s a lecturer at the university, Theo. You can’t just fucking kill him?!”

“He might be under the guild rules…” Theo said. “He might be a blood bank user, not a live-feeder… I’ll look into it first.”

Alec’s knees turned to water but he kept himself upright through sheer force of will.

“Fine. But don’t hesitate. And don’t make concessions just because Alec might be compromised.”

Theo nodded and hung up without farewell. “Look, Alec,” he grimaced. “I’m… I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t come here to —”

“— to kill my boyfriend?” he growled, taking a step towards his little brother. To his credit, Theo did actually take half a step back in the face of Alec’s confused, hurt, betrayed ire, holding his hand palm-up.

“No. I came here to see if you wanted to grab lunch, but —”

“—Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out!” he roared, jabbing his index finger at the door and pulling out his phone.

Theo surprised him by nodding and leaving, shutting the door behind him with a click and leaving Alec standing in the centre of the living room, chest heaving, phone in hand, ears ringing.

As his brother’s footsteps disappeared down the stairwell, he unlocked his phone and dialled Sebastien’s number.

Three rings in, Sebastien answered.

“It it true?” Alec asked without preamble.

After a long inhale, Sebastien answered. “…Yes.”

Sorry for the cliffie!! More soon, but it’ll hit Patreon first, then Tumblr. Don’t let me forget, either!

Part Four

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I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#vampire #vampire boyfriend #exophilia #male vampire #male vampire x male human #male vampire x human #mlm #mlm exophilia

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