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veryinnovative · 4 months

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@jegulus-microfic | january 1, prompt: decent | word count: 1.366 featuring bodyguard regulus black and multi-billionaire heir james potter

“I am not here to be your friend, Mr. Potter.”

There's a crease marring Regulus' forehead, hidden just behind the curl of his sable strands, sculpted brows knitted into a censorious frown. It indicates his internal turmoil well enough, showing just how hard he's struggling to gauge the extent of reprimand he can justifiably express, given his position as the head of James Potter's security team, which still remained a subordinate one at that.

There’s the cocky cant of James’ head as he tries and ward off the smile threatening to quirk at his mouth’s corners. It had taken a decent amount of brainstorming, planning, and persuading to get Regulus to comply—have him begrudgingly acquiesce to the idea of accompanying James inside the club as a more hands-on approach to extending security, even though the former’s constant presence was painstakingly redundant in a heavily monitored club as Godric. But James had pushed his luck even then, insisting Regulus keep wearing his body and thigh holsters, convincing him the ‘streetwear chic’ would be greatly appreciated by the club’s dressing code and grant them easy entrance (as if any club would deny James Potter out of all people, a multi-billionaire heir and continent-renowned philanthropist.).

The straps of the harness glitter underneath the fluorescent strobes of vibrant purple, though nothing as piercingly brilliant as the dangerous glint catching the edges of Regulus’ withering glare.

Ah, fuck.

James traces the sugar-coated rim of his glass, biting down on his tongue, only loosened further by the nth cocktail he’s consumed as he speaks with a beguiling drawl, “But I don’t want you to be my friend, Regulus.”

Life is unfair. Let alone that he lives in a penthouse situated on London’s South Bank overlooking the River Thames or that he can afford designer wear not recognizable by most seeing how James Potter wears quiet luxury clothing brands like Gran Sasso and their perfectly manufactured cashmere sweaters or his current thousand-and-three-hundred quid shirt by Bottega Veneta that’s missing a button at the front with how much he’s been puffing his chest in attempts to draw the attention of his unfairly hot bodyguard.

Because Regulus Black is just it. Black hair meticulously combed so smoothly, inky-black ringlets curling around his face—complexion milk-white and skin undoubtedly just as soft to touch if James was given the chance. Lithe but possessing swift reflexes and at least seven black belts in seven different martial arts that don’t mandate physical strength. Just three days ago, James had seen him throw a man almost three times his size over his shoulder with effortless ease, and how badly James had wished it had been him being tossed around.

The past months have been torturous, especially when Regulus wore his white button-up, that specific white button-up that stretched around his torso, accentuated his small waist, made only smaller when the straps of his harness clung to his chest. And his legs, those fucking long legs, clad in black dressing pants that made the swell of his ass all the more prominent, like a peach. James wanted to fucking squeeze it and devour the pulp left behind, slurp it like an animal that needed to be caged.

Whether it’s the words or the uncurbed lust he’s exuding, Regulus’ features rearrange into something far more complicated. He sucks on his teeth, squints his eyes, and then casts his gaze back into the crowd—the moving masses of bodies lost to the thrum of music.

“No,” he answers from behind the curve of his drink.

James smiles. He’s got him.

“No?” he asks, scooting closer, shit-eating grin only growing wider when Regulus makes no move to increase the distance between them.

“It’s highly unprofessional and breaks every code of conduct I strictly maintain. Not to mention, you’re my employer and—”

“And you want me.” Because he hasn't missed the glances exchanged between them and will be damned if he doesn't do anything about it.

Regulus coughs, sending drops of whisky flying across because Regulus Black is the type of man to drink something so old-school in a club. “What?” he sputters

James shrugs, an act that makes the fabric around his shoulders stretch thin, and does not miss how Regulus’ gaze briefly flits to the sliver of cleavage showing behind the missing button. “Right now you’re just listing reasons that, on contract, prevent any sort of intimacy between us, but if there weren’t any there, you would want this.”

“You’re being highly presumptuous,” Regulus scoffs.

“No, I’m good at reading people.”

“I am paid to guard you,” Regulus deflects.

This, he saw coming.

“Oh, it’s a money thing then?” James asks, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. He flips it open and thumbs through the wad of bills stashed in the compartment. “That’s fine, I can pay.”

This, however, also doesn’t have its desired effect. Regulus makes a face, downright spiteful this time, and does inch away from him, glass slamming onto the counter so hard James fears it might shatter. “What— So now you treat me like a prostitute?”

“What?” James asks, brows furrowed in confusion. He looks at Regulus, his wallet, back at Regulus and—

James Potter, an Oxford graduate, top-of-his-class, can also be a massive idiot.

“Oh— Oh, no— Shit, I didn’t mean— No!” He’s fumbling for words and his wallet, almost dropping it in the act of trying to put it away, nearly releasing it when he misses tucking it back in his pocket. “I just thought— Fuck, no, I’m sorry,” Regulus doesn’t look any more convinced and now James is very much panicking, thank you. “I— You know what, fuck it. Hi, I’m James Potter.”

Regulus looks like he’s having a stroke.

But James is insistent, waving his hand like the gesture will dismiss the awkward, terribly embarrassing interaction from just seconds prior. “Can I get you a drink?”

Regulus blinks at him, then his extended hand, and drags a palm down his face, pinching his nose bridge and breathing in deep.

But James is nothing if nothing stubborn. “Must’ve had a long day, huh? Need an ear?”

“I got a boss that’s stupid as fucking rocks,” Regulus mutters, and oh, James swoons. No one ever dared call him stupid or insult him in this manner, and he might just discover something about himself tonight.

“Yeah, what else?”

Regulus down the remnants of his whisky before raising his glass. “I need a refill for that”

The refill comes quick and this time, James doesn’t feel too scared about bridging the gap between them bit by bit. “So this boss of yours…” he starts, because he’s already a little tipsy and on a streak of dauntless moves. “Is he hot?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “He’s okay.”

“Oka—” James starts, bridling, before he catches a sight of the subtlest of smirks. Then, excitement, coiling down his spine like a lick of flame kindled further by the challenging gaze Regulus looks at him with. “I think you’re selling him short.”

“He’s arrogant, I don’t think I could bear him with an ego that’s any more inflated.”

“Oh, but you wound him. He’s been trying very hard to be noticed these past couple of months. Even started waking up early to catch glimpses of a certain someone that moved in with him for work purposes.”

Regulus makes a face that reads like ‘Is that the fucking reason why you have been putting your alarm on 4:30 a.m. in a pathetic effort to catch a glimpse of me preparing for the day and trying to be an unnoticeable presence in your life because that’s expected of me as head of security?’ and James smiles like he’s trying to say ‘Yeah, I did. Seeing you drink coffee, freshly showered, is worth it even if I struggle to stay awake during meetings in the afternoon.’

Regulus quirks an eyebrow. “Why is he trying to be noticed by me?”

James links a leg around Regulus’ bar stool and yanks it closer, relishing in the little gasp that leaves his lips as a result. Their legs bump, James’ knee sliding inside Regulus’ thigh, coming to a rest against it.

“Why spoil the fun by talking? I could just show you instead.”

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #marauders #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #starchaser #sunseeker #this is for you mil my little iced oat milk latte with millionaires shortbread #MY FIRST MICROFIC FOR JEGULUS PROMPTS!#ino microfic tag!

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fullcravings · 2 months

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Lavender Matcha Latte (Iced or Hot)

#lavender #matcha latte #tea latte #green tea #tea #drink #green #flower #no bake #recipe #plantbasedjess #oat milk #dairy free #vegan

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bobastudy · 2 months

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early march. ᵔ⤙ᵔ

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nectar-cellar · 6 months

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girls and gays.... new conversions from the legend herself @sim-songs are on the way 🤤

#ts3 #the sims 3 #vlad has been spending too much time in the pacific northwest 😐 i fear he found the moonlight falls queers #hes on his way to the cafe to get a strawberry matcha oat milk latte and watch slam poetry #he smells like w**d and patchouli

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v1ntagecassette · 9 months

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HOW WE FEELING FRIENDS

#good omens #good omens season 2 #gomens 2 #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #spoiler free #violence filled #i'm vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass #neil gaiman #had better lock his windows tonight #the oat milk latte that ended it all

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youryurigoddess · 3 days

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The Small Back Room — Hour of Glory (1949)

Good Omens 2 begins with the visit to The Small Back Room not because it was meant to serve as an exposition scene for Maggie and her record shop. It’s a substantial foreshadowing of the main plot and the relationship changes between Aziraphale and Crowley.

As all the other classics referenced throughout the show, this 1949 Powell and Pressburger production is easily available online — whenever you have 100 minutes to spare, I highly encourage you to watch it.

Our story begins with the arrival of Stuart, a British military captain, who makes his way through a labyrinth of offices towards a small building — the research section led by an eccentric, queer-coded, bow tie wearing professor Mair — to ask for help with a secret Nazi weapon.

That’s when the professor calls our hero, Sammy Rice — an engineer and bomb disposal expert in the service of Her Majesty’s government and, not accidentally, the most brooding, wounded man in Powell and Pressburger’s impressive canon of dysfunctional and alienated characters.

Due to a prosthetic foot keeping him from active service and confining to work in the titular back room instead, Rice is dramatically slipping into alcoholism. Haunted by self-loathing and disappointment with the internal politics, he can’t see the point of his research anymore.

Sammy is also conducting a clandestine affair with the secretary of his research unit, Susan. They live in the same building and meet regularly, but can’t openly enjoy their company or even dance due to his injury, which makes him even more bitter and pathologically determined to wear her angelic patience down.

Susan puts up with it until the minister is forced to resign. She knows that if non-scientists take over, their section will become useless, Rice even more difficult, and the war possibly lost. She urges him to take action and when he dramatically refuses to make a difference, she leaves him.

Seemingly at his lowest now, Rice becomes a sudden chance to redeem himself. Captain Stuart calls him about two unexploded booby traps found in Wales, but left to himself, he dies during a heroic attempt to dismantle one of the thermos-like devices before our engineer arrives at the scene.

In a nerve-jangling finale, Stuart’s notes help Rice dismantle the second device. He becomes a hero, gets an officer commission as head of the new scientific unit, and discovers that Susan not only came back in the meantime, but repaired everything he drunkenly destroyed in the apartment after their breakup.

The parallels seem straightforward enough for me to add that in this context the role of Maggie through most of S2 may particularly reflect Crowley’s stagnancy in both work and love life. And if you’re unsure why the demon identifies with the heroic roles and characters, you might want to read this post on the subject.

Now, The Small Back Room was distributed in the US under another title — Hour of Glory. Which happens to be a specific Bible term referring to Christ’s “hour”, the period supposed to consummate all of his work on Earth and reveal God’s ultimate plan of salvation: the Son’s death.

John 12:20-36 Jesus replied, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. My Father will honor the one who serves me. Now my soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and will glorify it again.” The crowd that was there and heard it said it had thundered; others said an angel had spoken to him. Jesus said, “This voice was for your benefit, not mine. Now is the time for judgment on this world; now the prince of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”

Christ’s hour began in the garden — this time the garden of Gethsemane — as he prayed passionately for the cup to be passed from him, similarly to Aziraphale declining Metatron’s offers on screen, both regarding the hot drink and his reinstatement as part of the Heavenly Host:

Luke 22:42 “Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.”

All throughout the Old Testament, we see God’s wrath being described as a cup poured out on sin and those guilty of it. By accepting it, Jesus took the toll of all the sins — from Eden up until the last one to be committed right before his Second Coming — on himself, for the sake of his beloved humanity.

The passion of Christ continued as Judas betrayed him with a kiss, his disciples abandoned him, and the high priest accused him of crimes he was not guilty of. Even Pilate, the prefect of Rome, pretended to uphold the law; and remember we already expect a S3 trial based on another Archers movie.

All in all, it’s an hour of great injustice and pain, but also glory of God. We’re led to believe that the Ineffable Plan will similarly triumph over the great one (or whatever Metatron tries to implement at the moment), as it did in S1. And its ending will be a good one, back in a garden.

#bible fanfiction #actually quoting bible #cup of suffering #give me coffee or give me death #the small back room #hour of glory #good omens #good omens meta #good omens analysis #final fifteen #crowley #crowley is a superhero #aziraphale #supreme archangel aziraphale #ineffable husbands #yuri is doing her thing #drinking coffee #an oat milk latte with a dash of almond syrup

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rhiannonwrites · 1 year

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12.5.22 Oat milk coffee, blue annotating, thinking about some writing goals for 2023.

Feel free to keep up with me on tiktok 🫶🏾

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casdeans-pie · 1 year

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Welcome to my Blog Café!

Hi I'm Pie, I tag consistently ☆

My main: @izupie My AO3: FeatheredKisses

♡.... Castiel (but I love Dean and Sam too)

♡.... Angel Lore Headcanons, Angel Wings, Actor Posting (I want whatever Jensen and Misha have), Con Stuff.

♡.... Destiel, Samwena

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

➤➤➤Specialty Menu :

*Click the flavours to see them wiggle!

➤Laz Rising .. (holy water and grave dirt)

➤Trueform Chai ..... (cinnamon and static)

➤Gripped Me Tight ... (caramel and tears)

➤Angel B Gone ....... (chilli and blood)

➤Sleeby Angel ....... (honey and ozone)

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

➤➤➤Limited Edition:

*As seen on the Twitter page of @mishacollins

➤Gotham Knights ..... (salted caramel)

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silverdune · 3 months

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iced oat latte, extra shot | p.sh

"could i get an iced oat latte with an extra shot, please?"

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked.

genre: slice of life

character(s): park seonghwa (ft. you, as a barista, kim hongjoong, kang yeosang, choi san, choi jongho)

tags: guitarist!seonghwa, barista!reader, coffee shops, meet-cute energy, first meetings, fluff, sh plays guitar for an indie band and has a brow bar piercing, 5+1 things

word count: 4.5k

summary: droopy hair, an electric guitar and an iced oat latte, extra shot; add those together and you get a handsome, wonderful guy named park seonghwa - or, the five times he visits your coffee shop, and the one time you watch his band play..

a/n: for peony, aka @hyungseos-cafe, one of my closest friends in this entire world. i love you so so so much, thank you for everything that you've done, you mean so much to me. when i thought about what to write you, i went through a few ideas until it clicked: what better for the barista (😉) than a coffee shop meet-cute?☺️🫶 (wonder why i asked whether seonghwa was your bias?🤭 hehe now you know). i really hope you enjoy this, this one's for you!

The first time he steps into your coffee shop, there's a carry case for a guitar on his shoulder.

Your eyes flicker to the door as soon as it opens. It's become a sixth sense at this point; you are always in tune to when a customer enters. Most of the time it's a regular, someone whose order you've memorised from top to bottom, but sometimes you have the pleasure of a newcomer giving your café a chance.

You run a fairly quaint coffee shop on the corner of the street. Small in scale and loved for its botanical decor, you enjoy fairly steady streams of people coming and going, either for their morning espresso shots or their midday mochas. Nothing puts a smile on your face more than the way their eyes light up as you slide their beverage across the counter, and by the end of the day, the little notebook you leave out for people to write reviews has pages filled with the kindest comments. It's even got to a stage where you'll be needing a new one soon.

The morning had been relatively quiet - expected for a Wednesday. Your regular customers had already come and gone, and your coffee shop was now going through its lull period before the afternoon rush. One glance at your watch told you it was roughly 11am, and so you’d got to work wiping the counters down when the door opened almost unexpectedly.

You had never seen this guy before. He offers an amicable smile almost instantly and it makes you do the same in return. “..Hi!” you call out to him.

“Hey..!” he replies, waltzing over to the counter before setting his carry case down. You’re automatically intrigued by it, as noted by your head tilting to the side when he leans it up against the glass shielding all the baked goods. You don’t stare for too long though, and gaze back up at him with a polite grin on your face. “Could I get an iced oat latte with an extra shot, please?”

The swiftness at which he places his orders leaves you befuddled for a time until you can coax your brain back into gear enough to press buttons on the till. “U- um- Did you say oat milk..?”

“Yes, yeah- sorry-” he says, and it hits you just then that he is quite flustered.

You take a look at his face and it’s clear he’s in a rush to go somewhere. You wonder if the guitar case has anything to do with it, but you decide not to partake in small talk for the time being. This guy has got places to be. “With an extra shot, you said..”

In the midst of digging his wallet out of his jacket, he looks up. “Yeah! Yeah, sorry, I probably spoke really fast, it’s just I overslept and am nearly late for rehearsal..” A nervous laugh escapes him as he rests his elbow on the counter.

Rehearsal.. “That’s not a problem,” you assure with sincerity. Iced oat latte with an extra shot.

You tell him the price and he takes out a few notes before resting them in your hand. You count through, then place the money in the till and give him his change before directing him further along the counter so he can wait for his drink. He thanks you kindly and picks up his case then saunters over to the other side of the display case, his eyes fixated on the coffee shop itself.

In your peripheral vision, you notice that he is studying the environment like an art critic would scrutinise a painting. Everyone who has ever wandered into your café and chosen to make any kind of comment has only had the nicest things to say about it, but something about his unwavering gaze makes your nerves spike just a little.

It only takes you thirty seconds to complete the order, and by the time you’ve set it down in front of the new customer, his eyes are back on you. He smiles wide and it’s perhaps the friendliest you have ever seen on a person. “Thank you so much.” He takes the drink appreciatively. “Can I just say, I think this place looks so cute!” The second he says it your mind settles completely. “Did you do all the decorating?”

You humbly nod, “I did, yeah.. I just really like plants, so..” You vaguely gesture around at the variety of plants and flowers dotted all over the shop, and he glances around with a small chuckle. “That pretty much formed the basis of the whole theme.”

“I love it.” He looks back at you. “I’ll bring the rest of the band here soon, I think they’d really like it.”

Band.. bite your tongue, don’t ask questions, he’s in a rush. "Well, I’ll be happy to welcome them when you do decide to invite them along.”

“Thank you so much, I’ll definitely be visiting again. Have a great day!” He walks off with the case on his shoulder and the oat latte in his right hand. You forgo an embarrassing wave - it was a hard thing to unlearn from your early days - and simply return the well wish of a good day.

As you head back to the till to take the next customer’s order, the guitarist surprises you.

“This is so good, by the way, probably the best latte I’ve ever had!” You smile and thank him. “Thank you! See you later!”

The door closes and you are left to both ring the next customer’s order through the till, and dwell on just how.. wonderfully bizarre that exchange was.

The elderly woman on the other side of the counter offers you a curved smile as she pays for her cappuccino.

You think about what the rest of the band might be like as you make her order.

×-×

The second time he steps into your coffee shop, he is less flustered than before, and there’s no carry case.

He is wearing a different outfit than before, though due to the hurried nature of the first transaction you didn’t even think of his outfit.

Today it is a simple leather jacket over a white shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair is quite long and droops over his brows. There’s a hint of a brow bar tucked underneath the waves. He smiles at you as he approaches the counter. “Hi, again.”

‘Hi.. again,” you chuckle. “Same order, or something different?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Do you remember my order?”

It had been a few days since he had last come into your shop, but you could remember his order easily. “Iced oat latte with an extra shot,” you say, an almost smug grin on your lips.

His jaw drops in shock. “Wow.. I didn’t think you’d remember!”

“I’ve been running this shop for the last two years, I’ve come to memorise nearly every one of my customers orders.” A hand rests on your hip; there is a pride coursing through you that the man opposite notices straight away.

‘Well I must admit, I think that’s quite impressive.”

He seems more relaxed today. There’s less urgency, he appears to be up for a chat. You leisurely ring his order through and a lightbulb goes off in your head. “I imagine it’s similar to.. memorising guitar chords?”

His cheeks grow flushed and he eyes the floor briefly. “Ha.. Couldn’t hide the guitar case, huh?” He glances back up with a knowing look in his eyes.

The corner of your lips tilt up. “I won’t lie, it was quite the defining aspect of your entrance last week,” you joke.

He teasingly lifts his hands in defence. “Okay, okay, I admit, I play guitar for a band.. Though considering I literally mentioned my band the last time I was here, that’s not exactly a big revelation is it?” You shake your head playfully. “Damn it.”

You laugh out loud as you open the till to finalise the payment. He hands you over the exact amount this time and you pop it in before closing it.

As you both walk over to the opposite side of the counter, he picks the topic back up. “To answer your previous question, I suppose it is a bit like memorising chords. I’ve got so many up there-” he taps his temple, “and my bandmate always has me learning more. He says it’s good to flex the brain muscles but I swear I must have learned more than a hundred chords by now?”

“Holy shit- sorry..” You cover your mouth with your hand and it makes him laugh. “Shouldn’t swear in front of customers.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. How many times during rehearsals do you think I hear the frontman cuss? Answer: way too many times.”

You shake your head, a faint hint of a smile still on your lips. You finish up the latte and place it down in front of him, to which he thanks you before taking a sip. “This is seriously so good.. How do you make it so good?”

“Months of practice and good technique.”

“Typical magician, never giving away their secrets.”

You tap the side of your nose in an attempt to ignore any shyness at the comment. It’s a good thing the guitarist is walking away, otherwise he might notice that his innocuous statement is actually-

He turns to look directly at you. You hope your eyes growing three times their average size is not weird or anything.

“I never told you my name before. Might be worth knowing so you don’t just think of me as guy with the guitar for the rest of your life..”

You trample down any overt apprehension in a bid to seem cool and casual. “I don’t know, I was really betting on that nickname sticking.”

You can totally hold a normal, average conversation.

He titters at that remark. “Well, in case it doesn’t, the name’s Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa.

“Nice to meet you, Seonghwa.”

“Nice to meet you too.. N.” He draws emphasis on your name to make clear that he searched for it on your name tag. You suddenly feel its weight on your shirt. You had often wondered why you ever committed to wearing the damn thing from the start.

You look at Seonghwa. There are moments when you are reminded of the reason.

“I hope to see you again soon, Seonghwa.”

Internally, you scream. Why don’t you hide your face in the sofa while you’re at it?

Seonghwa smiles, teeth and all, and it almost sparkles against the lights in the café like a cartoonish effect. “I’ll bring the band next time, I promise.”

He leaves with that vow, and you are left to mull over exactly what you did for the universe to betray you like this.

Seonghwa’s kinda cute. And he’s a guitarist in a band. This is troubling.

You throw the cloth to one of your co-workers who had been watching this entire time and couldn’t get the grin off her face, then retire to the backroom for fifteen minutes to seriously reflect on this past week.

Had you been wondering whether he’d come back a second time? Maybe.

Did you think he would? Absolutely not.

Does he seem the type to follow through on his promises? He seems convincing enough.

Do you now have to prepare for the probability of an entire band waltzing through your door in a matter of days?

If Seonghwa is to be believed.. that's a handful more orders to remember.

×-×

The third time he steps into your coffee shop, there are four other guys with him.

You automatically assume they make up the rest of Seonghwa's band, and your thoughts are confirmed when Seonghwa steps up to the counter to greet you. “Hey, N! Told you I’d bring them along.”

When the five of them are standing directly in front of you, Seonghwa introduces his bandmates. “N, meet Hongjoong, San, Yeosang and Jongho.” He gestures to each guy as he says their names; to his left is Hongjoong, to Hongjoong's left is San, to San’s left is Yeosang, and to Yeosang’s left is Jongho.

“Hey!” You tip your head to the quartet on Seonghwa's tail and they all return the gesture in near unison. “Indeed you did; it's really nice to meet you all.”

"Pleasure's ours!" says Hongjoong. His bright blue hair was the first feature you spotted when he walked in. "We've heard you make excellent coffees."

You humbly eye the counter for a brief second before glancing back up. “Is that so?”

San pipes up, “Seonghwa told us so-” Yeosang nudges his side, and the rest of the band side eye him, most of all Seonghwa himself, who then makes eye contact with you with a nervous smile on his face.

Shyly, you drum your fingers on the side before asking, “What can I get for you all then?”

“Well, you know my order,” replies Seonghwa. His voice reaches a slightly lower octave than you’ve heard it go up to this point, and for some reason your heart skips a beat. Seonghwa clears his throat as he realises exactly how that sounded. God, does he wish the ground would swallow him whole.

You catch the way his bandmates exchange knowing looks before turning back to you..

..and you get a strong urge to hide under the counter.

Jongho speaks up to clear the awkward air, “Could I get a regular cappuccino, please?”

You tap a few buttons. “Any alternative milk?”

“No thanks,” he answers with a smile. You nod and wait for the next request.

Yeosang follows, “Regular latte for me please, do you have almond milk?”

“Almond? Yep!”

San continues, “I’ll have an.. iced americano please.”

“Iced americano..” you repeat back under your breath.

“And for me,” says Hongjoong, “just a regular iced americano as well, please.”

“So that's one cappuccino, almond latte, two iced americanos.. and one iced oat latte, extra shot.”

Seonghwa bows his head coyly at the fact you remembered. It shouldn't come as a surprise to him, and yet it makes his heart flutter a little.

This is only the third time you’ve crossed paths and already, he thinks you're incredibly kind and incredibly cute.

If only he had the courage to ask you..

“Is that everything for you?”

Your voice cuts through his thoughts and he almost fumbles over his words. “U- Uh, yeah, I think that's everything.” He confirms it with the other guys before you total up the cost. They pay for their respective drinks individually before standing to one side.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Hongjoong pulling Seonghwa away to talk to him. You don't let that distract you; their conversation is none of your business anyway.

As you get the drinks done, San steps forward and asks, “So, how long have you been running this café?”

“Oh, about two or so years.”

“Wow! Have you always wanted to open a coffee shop?” Yeosang and Jongho listen with equal interest.

Every so often, your eyes peer over their heads to the conversation between Seonghwa and Hongjoong.

You notice Seonghwa's facial expression - he seems.. exasperated?

“Um, N?” Yeosang snaps you out of your thoughts and you shake your head mildly. Damn curiosity.

“Oh, uh- ahem, well..” What was the question, what was the question.. coffee shop! “Ah! I guess it was always kind of a dream of mine? In the back of my head, I wondered what it would be like to open a cute little coffee shop. It took a lot of hard work to get here though. What about you and the band?”

Jongho answers, “That all started with those two.” He gestures to the pair behind them coming to the end of a seemingly heated discussion before arriving back at the counter. They realise everyone - including you - have turned to them and clear their throats of embarrassment.

“Is everything alright?” Hongjoong wonders.

“Oh, yeah, N just asked about us and the band,” replies San.

Seonghwa makes direct eye contact with you.

You divert your gaze and carry on making the drinks.

The air goes silent for only a few seconds and yet it feels like a few hours. Seonghwa moves to stand beside San and he can sense Hongjoong’s eyes boring into his back.

You finish making the two iced americanos and slide them across the counter. Both Hongjoong and San thank you and you move on to making the almond latte.

Hongjoong takes a sip and lets out a pleased hum, “Hm, this is really nice.” San nods in agreement. “So I guess it’s true, you do make excellent coffees.”

You chuckle under your breath, unable to ignore how Seonghwa keeps going back and forth between looking at you and staring at his hands.

It’s almost like he wants to ask you something.

Jongho brings a clenched fist to his lips and coughs into it deliberately, “Why don’t you tell them about how we started the band?”

Hongjoong and Seonghwa both lock eyes with him. Hongjoong gives Seonghwa a look then sips his americano.

Through a grit-like expression, Seonghwa turns back to you and says, “We’ve been a band for about three years. Hongjoong and I have known each other for five years, it was really his idea.”

“You were good at the guitar and I liked to write music, it felt like a no brainer,” Hongjoong explains.

You finish up the latte and pass it to Yeosang, who nods his head appreciatively. You turn back to Seonghwa and feel nerves creep up the back of your neck.

Something about the conversation they’d had left you feeling out of sorts. The way Seonghwa is looking at you now, his timid eyes and twitching lips teetering on the edge of getting something off his chest that you are most unsure of, is making you rather conscious of how slow your movements are. You make an effort to hurry through the rest of the order as you can see a queue forming across the counter.

Once the remaining two drinks are done, you hand them over and smile. Seonghwa smiles right back at you, and as the band bid you goodbye and turn to leave, you catch Hongjoong nudging Seonghwa back towards you as Seonghwa protests each gesture.

You distract yourself by tending to the next string of customers, all now rather impatient that they had to wait an extra couple of minutes while you were busy with the band. Every other second, you catch Seonghwa and Hongjoong still standing at the door, and at the very last second, they both leave.

It isn’t lost on you that Hongjoong appeared disgruntled at a display of what seemed to be stubbornness.

For the rest of your shift, you question exactly what happened between them, why Seonghwa was looking at you like that and why Hongjoong was acting the bizarre way that he was.

One thing is for certain; it wasn’t exactly the smoothest introduction to Seonghwa’s bandmates.

×-×

The fourth time he steps into your coffee shop, he stands motionless at the door for a few seconds.

You hear the bell and instantly look over, only to find Seonghwa staring out of the window with his hands on his hips.

A part of you wants to call out to him and ask if he is okay. You don’t want to tear him from his train of thought, though, so you continue wiping down the coffee machine and other such tasks that need doing during the lunch rush.

While you step out from behind the counter to clear a few tables, Seonghwa turns around to find that you have disappeared. He anxiously searches for you and spots you in the far corner of the cafe, spraying a table and cleaning it with a cloth.

He breathes in and out a few times, wondering if he should go through with what he knew he wanted to do the second time he stepped into this coffee shop.

Every day since the last time - a whole two weeks at this point - he had been thinking about how that occasion went.

Not the smoothest, he reckoned.

Hongjoong had harped on at him that if he liked you, he should just swallow his nerves and ask you.

But now, you seem preoccupied. He doesn’t want to distract you. He also doesn’t want to make a bigger fool of himself than he probably did last time.

With an exhale, he turns his back and leaves the coffee shop.

You raise your head and see the door closing behind a familiar figure, that same figure walking further and further away from your cafe.

You shrug a shoulder to yourself. Maybe you won’t get that answer.

At least you can say it was nice to meet him. He was a kind, sociable soul. You’ll think about that smile for some time.

With that in the back of your mind, you continue your shift as normal.

×-×

The fifth time he steps into your coffee shop, there’s a carry case for a guitar on his shoulder.

It had been a whole fortnight.

In truth, Seonghwa’s face had popped up in your head from time to time. You wondered if he would ever pay a visit again, just to see how you were, or maybe try one of the baked goods you’d noticed he had been eyeing each time he walked through the door.

It’s a surprise to see him again, albeit a pleasant one.

Much like the first time, he appears flustered, but for some reason this feels different.

The calm way in which he approaches the counter doesn’t invoke any urgency, and the way he casually sets his case down doesn’t impart any sense that he needs to be anywhere anytime soon.

With a deep breath, you stand behind the till and say, “Good afternoon, Seonghwa. Long time no see.”

Seonghwa grins at you. “Way too long.”

It is statements like that that suddenly make everything from a fortnight ago come flooding back.

The way he waltzed into the coffee shop then left not five minutes later.

The way it appeared that he was itching to tell you something or ask you something when he was here with the band.

The way Hongjoong was coaxing him into going back to you when they were all prepared to leave.

The way he is looking at you right now.

He is still undeniably cute. You can’t hide from that.

You also cannot hide from the fact that he is making you feel rather bashful just by gazing at you.

“Same as always?” you ask.

“As always,” he replies. You tap a few buttons. You’re about to tell him the price when he stops you in your tracks. “And a chocolate chip muffin, please.”

“One chocolate chip muffin, no problem.”

The air becomes tangible and Seonghwa wishes he could grab it and throw it out the door so he had even the slightest chance of breaking through his nerves.

“That’ll be-”

“N-”

You stare at one another.

Your eyes go wide and Seonghwa’s mouth gapes open just a little.

“Oh, sorry, um, let me..” Seonghwa takes out the cash and hands over a bit more than necessary. You take the cash and hand back the change, the words now caught in your throat as your mind goes at a million miles a minute.

Seonghwa takes a deep breath then looks up at you. “N.. You know, I really wish I had done this last time, or the time before that.. In fact even the time before that, ha..” He laughs nervously then rubs the nape of his neck. You stand completely still, unable to move or do anything when you realise that he actually does want to ask you something.

So your suspicions were right.

Seonghwa swallows the lump in his throat, gives himself a mini pep talk, then glances at you. “N. I know we’ve only crossed paths a handful of times but.. I think you’re really.. great.”

You let out the tiniest giggle and try to suppress the smile on your face.

Seonghwa grips the bridge of his nose and sighs, “God, that didn’t come out right. Basically-” He makes eye contact with you. “I wondered if you would like to come and see me and the band perform tomorrow night.”

The world stops for a second.

You stare at him, amazed.

“Oh.” It’s the only word that comes out of your mouth.

Seonghwa waits with bated breath for your response. It only takes you a couple seconds to think about it.

“I’d love to.”

That dazzling smile, teeth and all, comes running back as Seonghwa pulls a card out of his jacket pocket and gives it to you.

“That’s the venue and the time,” he says. “I’ll see you then?”

You hold the card tightly in both hands. Your heart rate has suddenly gone up; your eyes flicker up to him with a smirk.

“Absolutely.”

×-×

The first time you watch Seonghwa and his band play, you know for sure that it will not be the last.

Watching him play, you can feel the passion radiating off the stage. His voice is amazing too, serving calm backing vocals in contrast to Hongjoong’s rougher frontman energy.

You can see that he plays the rhythm guitar, while Hongjoong plays the lead, San plays the bass, Yeosang has the keyboard and Jongho has the drums. They work in perfect sync, driving rhythms and melodies straight through the floor and up to the ceiling. The atmosphere they bring is second to none, and in the back of your mind you make a note to buy an album of their music.

Every so often, Seonghwa catches your eye in the crowd. He smiles every time he sees you, and you can’t help but smile right back.

Seonghwa is so glad he finally plucked up the courage to ask you to attend.

Once the gig is done and they have said their goodbyes to the audience, you meet with the band and invite them back to the coffee shop to make them drinks.

Just like Seonghwa, you remember all of their orders.

As you hand over his iced oat latte, extra shot, he places something in your palm.

Looking down, you study the object, then immediately gaze back up at him. “Wait, is this-”

“As a thank you, for attending, and for your generosity, and for just generally being an incredibly kind person.”

You pout a little, feeling very touched, before explaining that you were planning to buy this album..

“Accept this as a gift from us to you,” he assures. You look at him again.

Seonghwa lifts his beverage to you before taking a sip of it. You chuckle and hold the album close to your chest.

You’re rather hooked on this guitarist.

Who knows? Maybe next time he steps into your coffee shop, you will have the same courage he did.

× tristeetconfus (ave). do not repost. ×

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa x reader #words.(ave)#fic: iced oat latte

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