#like if starbucks baristas are on strike and you go get a coffee made by a scab you're crossing the picket line but not scabbing

[maliciouslove]

ℍ𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕪 𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕡

✧ pairing: fuckboy smileball barista!denki x reader  ✧ summary: having a slimebucks apron is equal to having unlimited rizz (source: me) and denki proves it by bedding his brand new colleague on her very first day of work.  ✧ word count: 5.5k ✧ tags: dubcon(?), manipulation(?), weed and alcohol use, oral (f!receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation, forced orgasm, pussyjob, unprotected sex, pulling out, size difference (denki is Tall and Lanky TM), unappropriate work relationship, scummy denki, no feelings.

✧ my submission for the @bastardblvd Slimeball collab ✧

✧ AN: happy birthday to my little slimy fuckboy denks <3 this was so fun to work on, genuinely love being a grimetown resident now. the fanart is made by me but i'm no pro so.. be kind please. :D it was written in a daze so if you see discrepancies.. look away. based on my own tiny starbucks where i work (i am slimebucks denki incarnate). you may expect of me to make this a slimebucks series.. katsuki or touya next? ;)

Denki doesn’t like morning shifts — he doesn’t like how grumpy people are first thing in the morning because it makes scoring dates much harder for him. No matter how bubbly and pleasant he is, Monday mornings are just a bad time to flirt with clients. Most customers don’t even spare a glance at him, too busy figuring out their schedule for the day and burying their noses in their phones. He does, however, enjoy the morning business attire — stockings, pencil skirts, white shirts that allow him to see the outline of a bra underneath… and those heels. Something about office fashion always getshim riled up. 

Typically, if he couldn’t strike up a conversation with the morning customers he would settle for watching them, eyes trailing down their crossed legs when they sit down to enjoy their coffee. He would follow their elegant movements and the curves of their bodies — from the corners of their painted lips turning upward in delight after a sip of hot coffee, to their dainty ankles decorated by the ankle strap of their heels swinging to the rhythm of the music playing softly on the speakers.

That is how his Mondays usually go, yet today he couldn't even enjoy that, all because of a new recruit.

His manager Katsuki (that angry bastard) had not even mentioned to them that he was hiring; he announced only yesterday that there would be a new trainee, pushing the responsibility of showing them around the store and kicking off their barista training onto him. Of course he wouldn’t ask Touya to train them — he would end up with his cock in his hand less than ten minutes into the start of his shift due to his “side hustle” schedule conflict, which in turn would scare off any new hire… and then the hiring process would have to start all over again. Katsuki himself is not much better off as barista trainer, his constant irritation and habit of screaming at everyone and everything has made many employees quit (and cry) early on, but the reason he was shoving the responsibility onto Denki was simply that he wouldn’t be in the store due to a manager’s meeting in Tokyo.

Bummer. 

According to the clock on the wall, the new hire should be coming in any time now, so Denki settles for focusing his attention and efforts on that instead of his grumpy morning customers. And then, there you were in your yellow raincoat, all sunshine and smiles from the moment you step inside the store. Denki gives you a once over and decides maybe this Monday morning wouldn’t be so awful after all — you were cute and far too innocent and optimistic looking for him not to take advantage and have a little… fun. 

His plan begins to form before you’ve even laid eyes on him.

“Hi! You must be the new addition to our team, pleasure to meet you!” The blonde extends a hand to greet you, his most charming smile plastered on his face. “Our team is a bit of a sausage party right now, so I hope you can bear with us and not get discouraged. We desperately need someone like you on our team.” 

“Oh I can tell, your merch cabinets look very… dry. You fellas are not big on decorating, are you?” Your heartfelt laugh nearly disarms the blonde man as he scratches the back of his head awkwardly, admitting that the three men working there did not have the best sesne of aesthetics and beauty. 

Oh, you were just his type — confident, energetic, and just a bit too kind and trusting. 

“Well, you’re here to save us, right? How about we get started on your training, get the boring part over with so we can get to know each other better.” 

There was not a single pure intention behind his words, but his face remains the picture of innocence and kindness. He’s had time to practice this look after all — can’t let people find out what’s behind the sunshine facade now, can he?

“Oh well training shouldn’t take long, I worked at a different Slimebuckslocation before moving to this part of town, hence why I’m being transferred here. I can get around drink making just fine, so you can just show me around the store I guess?” You bat your eyelashes at him and Denki thinks of you as a pure miracle. This expedites the timeline he had in mind.

With a pep in his step, he shows you around the store and back of house, informing you where they keep extra syrups and toppings at the front and the storage in the back. He hands you a new apron and name tag while informing you of the usual cleaning routine and covering all the basics that you need to get around the new store on your own. Not that he follows these cleaning routines that closely anyhow, but hey, you were here to pick up the slack now.

“So, think you got everything? Any questions?” Denki leans back against the bar on his elbows, long black painted fingers interlocking in front of his torso. He’s laid back and so pretty it’s almost distracting. A regular person has to exert effort not to stare too long at his honey colored eyes that crinkle when he smiles.

However, you cannot get too distracted — you must remain focused and make a good impression today. 

“Yes, can I please rearrange and restock your merchandise cabinets? They do not spark joy and desire to buy in their current state. No offense.” 

“Have at it.” Denki does not break eye contact, not once — feline eyes following your every move, gears turning in his head and schemes hatching in his pretty little head. 

He doesn’t want to seem too overbearing, but he also doesn’t want you to think he isn’t interested. So, as it is pretty quiet in the store right now, he decides to give you a hand with the merchandise, chatting with you — learning about you. After all, the only times he actually puts effort into his minimum wage job arewhen there is a prospect of a cute girl removing her panties for him. 

“So, you live nearby?” he begins to prod at you with innocent questions.

“Ah, not quite. I have to take a bus to get here since I don’t have a car anymore. I live on the east side of town, close to that big mall they built recently.” 

Denki is easy to talk to, a nice balance budding between the two of you as he takes boxes out and hands you colorful cups and tumblers to put on the shelves. 

“Hey, I live around those parts, too, I can give you a lift after work, save you some bus fare. Unless you have some super jealous boyfriend or something?” Despite flunking out of college, Kaminari isnot stupid — he isplaying his cards just right, creating an opportunity to learn if you’re single and give you an option to spend more time with him, which isn’t really an option. Unless you do have a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have a reason to say no, not after the deliberate way he phrased it. 

“Haha, no, no boyfriend — kind of the reason I don’t currently have a car and why I had to move.” There’s an edge to your voice, maybe even a trace of anger, but to him they appear as feelings that seem to have simmered down. “I got out of a long relationship recently. We used to live together and share a car, but I had to get my own place after the breakup, and he took the car. And the dog.”

“That bastard!” Denki chimes, a bit too exaggerated, but he figures making a small joke won’t actually hurt. “Really though, that sucks. I’m sorry it happened.” 

The way he switches from being a clown to being a gentleman can give a person whiplash. 

“Don’t be, I’m not sorry it happened.” You shrug your shoulders and give him a wide, genuine smile. “Now I get to hook up and have flings whever I want.” 

You keep the tone light, and you mean what you said — you’re not looking for anything serious right now, and the satisfaction from your answer was well written on the blonde’s face. He was cute, so maybe you’ll play along, have fun for once. 

“So this means you’ll let me give you a ride?” 

“If you really don’t mind?” You put the final tumbler on the shelf and examine your work in delight. Meanwhile Denki examines your body in delight. 

“Oh, I’d be honored to.” A devious grin adorns his face as he follows you behind bar to help serve customers. 

The day goes on, the playful banter between you and the blonde continuing — turns out you have similar hobbies: you like the same movies and games, you even have similar music taste, and Denki relinquished the store music rights to you for the day. 

Your shoulders would brush as you work side by side at the coffee machines, and he would laugh shyly, complimenting your pace and how well you’re adjusting to the new store. The exchanges between the two of you were flawless, seamlessly passing each other lids and pitchers without so much as saying a word. 

Kaminari gave the perfect performance of a man who enjoys his work; he didn’t even obnoxiusly flirt with every beautiful girl that placed an order. 

“Hey, can you grab some more caramel drizzle from the back?” Denki asks after a huge line of people finally dissipates and gives room for some tidying up and restocking. 

“Yea, absolutely. Need anything else?” 

“Also grab some extra bags of coffee beans and vanilla syrup if you can?” 

You nod and head to the back of house energetically.

Denki’s been working here for over two years now, so he knows that after this rush there won’t be anyone in the store for another half an hour at least, so sending you to the back of house away from customers was a calculated move. As soon as you disappear behind the doors he follows — after all, you wouldn’t be able to carry all that back to the front on your own.He should give you a hand. 

Smiling to himself, he enters the storage area to see you standing on your tip toes trying to reach the bags of coffee on the top shelf. Quietly he walks up behind you, one hand on your waist to pull you back a bit, the other hand reaching above you for the coffee beans. 

“Be careful. If you can’t reach somewhere, just call for me. Don’t want you getting hurt back here.” He can feel you melt into him and rest your back against his chest as he takes the four-pound bag down for you. 

“Oh, sorry… I thought I was gonna be able to reach.” You smile at him, realizing how he was surrounding you in that moment, and something about itmade your skin tingle. “Thank you.” 

“Of course! I figured you wouldn’t be able to carry everything at once so I came along to give you a hand.” The two of you stood very close to one another in the cramped storage, but you didn’t mind, as it was far too cold back here, and Kaminari was pleasantly warm to the touch. “The caramel drizzle is all the way down on that same self, if you want to grab that?” 

Eager to complete the task, you turn around and bend over to open the box labled “caramel drizzle,” giving Denki a perfect view of you round ass, making him gulp hard. If he just reached forward he would be able to trace the curve of your ass with his hand, squeeze one cheek as his other hand trails down your side. 

He shakes the thoughts out of his head as you stand back up, several bags of caramel sauce in your hands. You were squishing them playfully which was not helping Denki in keeping unholy thoughts at bay. 

“I always loved the texture of these bags; it’s so stress relieving to play with them.” Grinning up at him, you were the picture of innocence. 

“Yea, they remind me of tiddies.” Denki blurts out without even thinking, too enthralled by his imagination showing him images of you wrapping your pretty lips around his cock and playing with his balls. Once he realizes what he said he waves his hands around in defence. “No, no, not what I mea–” 

“You haven’t touched boobs recently, have you?” You deadpan, and he can feel his heart sink. “Boobs are much more firm. I get where you’re coming from, but a bag of caramel sauce can not compare to a tit.” You say matter of factly while squishing a bag with your hand. “Can’t do that to a boob, can you?” 

Denki snorts out a laugh. 

“Yea, you’re right — tiddies do feel better. And it has indeed been a while since I got to touch one.” He dramatically wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye, a big pout on his lips as he turns to exist the storage. 

“Aww, poor Denki… Wanna cop a feel?” You can see him physically freeze up at these words, turning to give you a bewildered look. “I’m joking! Obviously. You that desperate, pretty boy?” 

You walk past him with a gleeful look on your face. 

The look in Kaminari’s eyes changes as soon as you’re out of sight, and he cannot wait to get his greedy hands on you. In fact, he was going to challenge himself and get between those plush thighs of yours by tonight. 

When the two of you are behind bar again, he continues to orbit close to you, watching videos on your phone over your shoulder, brushing his fingers against your skin when he passes you a milk carton, caging you between his body and the bar while he reaches for something behind you. 

And every time you accidentally touched, you could feel electicity run down your spine and butterflies flutter in your stomach. His light amber eyes trailing down your body lit a fire in your lower belly. The day went on just like that — standing a bit too close to one another, making inappropriate jokes, flirting. And so came time to close and go home, riding in his car. 

“You done with the trash?” you ask as he takes his apron off. 

“Yeah, if you’re done with the floor we can head on out.” You head to the back of house together to grab your stuff from your lockers and lock up. 

“So, got any plans for tonight?” he asks, leaning on his locker while waiting for you to put your jacket on. 

Now that you’re officially off the clock, you take the time to pay attention to small details about the man — how long his eyelashes are, how he cockily half smiles at you, how veiny his forearms are. 

“No plans, no — I’m probably gonna end up watching Desperate Housewives with a glass of wine by myself.” 

And there you go — giving him another opportunity. 

“Oh you watch that too?” He’s excited, presenting this as an interest that not many share with him. “That’s basically my plan for the evening, except I was gonna get high instead of drinking.” Sharing with you that he smokes weed is also tactical; it indicates trust that you won’t misuse that information, and it also opens a gate for you to bond with him over weed if you smoke. 

“Oh, well...” And there you go, taking the bait. “If it’s not too forward of me to offer, I’ve got alcohol and pizza on speed dial, you have weed and good company. Maybe we can merge resources, watch tonight’s episode together?” 

Score.

“Sounds perfect.”

He places his hand at the small of your back as he leads you towards his car, being very caring and gentle — making you feel comfortable and safe, letting you open up to him. It was going to be a fun night for Denki. 

Your apartment is exactly what he envisioned: small but cozy, full of plants, color and art. The small space reflected your personality, a variety of interests on display, different styles clashing in every corner of the room. It was cute. And your chouch seemed very comfortable for eating pussy.

“Cute place.” 

“Thanks. I finally got the chance to decorate my own space however I want, so I went a bit crazy with it.” 

Kaminari doesn’t miss the emphasis in your voice; you lived for a long time with no control over small and insignificant things such as decor. You were frustrated. At the same time, he notes that now you seem to cling to control. He noticed it at work, too — you rarely gave yourself time off. Things are really looking up for the blonde man, and he can barely contain his wolfish smile as the gears in his head turn. You’d love to give up control, wouldn’t you? 

“Make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll grab us some drinks and we can order pizza.” 

As you make way to the small kitchen, Denki takes two pre-rolled joints from a cigarette tin and places them on the table. Wine and weed should make you nice and pliable for him. You return with a glass of white wine and a cold beer. 

“I figured you’s prefer a beer over wine.” You offer with a smile, and he accepts. 

“How observant of you. I just wanna check first:Are you sure you want to mix alcohol and weed? Might hit you hard.” He shows concern, but it’s fake — the more crossfaded you are, the easier it would be for him to get you naked. 

“Yea I’m uh.. More practiced than I care to admit.” You give him a coy smile and sit next to him on the couch, phone in hand ready to order food. Once that is out of the way, you both finally lean back and relax on the couch, the episode of Desperate Housewives starting with a recap. 

“So, do you invite people you just met to your apartment to get stoned often, or..?” He offers jokingly as he lights one of the joints up. 

“No, just the pretty and charming ones.” You’re no longer being coy about it like you were at work; you like him, and you aregoing to make it known. 

“Oh, you think I’m pretty? So you only want me for my face?” He retorts with faux disappointment, eyes focused on yours intently, curious and full of desire. 

“Not just your face. You have pretty hands too.” You answer with a straight face, reaching for his hand that was holding the joint and pulling it towards yourself, taking a drag from the joint between his slender fingers. 

Denki swallows, the lust thick in his throat. The way your lips wrap around the joint is sinister, the eyecontact you maintain while doing it — electrifying. 

His body responds before his brain can process, leaning in towards you to capture the smoke from your lips with his own, inhaling it and placing his free hand at the back of your neck, keeping your lips close to his. 

Honey-colored eyes stare down at you as your cheeks begin to heat, mind and heart racing as your tongue darts to wet your lips and taste him. Screw your plan to just tease him, wind him up for a week or two, make him eager — you don’t have the patience for all that. You set your glass on the coffee table and close the gap between the two of you, pushing him back, straddling him. 

“Feeling bold tonight, sweetness?” He smiles up at you, letting you get your dose of control, let you simmer in the illusion that you initiated this, you took the lead. His free hand rests on your thigh, thumb drawing circles over your jeans, gently squeezing you. 

You don’t dignify him with a response as your lips crash onto his in a searing kiss, fingers carding through his blonde locks. He can tell how needy you are by the way your body moves — pulling his hair a bit harder than you should, nipping at his lower lip, canting your hips over his. You’re leaning into his every touch, almost aggressively taking what you want from him, claiming control. 

He smiles into the kiss and in one swift move shifts you to lay flat on your back on the couch, his larger frame towering over yours. 

“Don’t move.” He sounds almost like a different person as he yanks the control from you, and you obey. You lay still and watch him intently as he lights the joint again, taking a long drag and putting the joint back on the ashtray. 

Leaning down, he places his hand under your chin, parting your lips and blowing the smoke into your mouth. You inhale and hold your breath as he traces kisses down your jaw and collarbone, warm hands sneaking under your shirt. He only speaks after you slowly exhale the smoke.

“You’ve brightened my day, you know. Let me thank you properly.” 

His fingers trail down your body and unbutton your jeans, feather light kisses pressed against your tummy just above the hem of your pants. You don’t protest, so he continues his ministrations, pulling your shirt up above your head and leaving you in your pink lacy bra. He pushes one of the bra straps to the side and—

Ding dong!

The pizza has arrived. 

“Fuck–” He scrambles to his feet to go answer the door while you qucikly throw your shirt back on and head to the kitchen. Denki follows with pizzas in hand that he quickly discards on the table. 

“Are the pizzas cut? Do you need any sauce or—” You’re scooped up in his hands and pressed against the kitchen counter. His lips are on your again, insistent and needy. “Denk— The food?” 

“I was hoping for a different meal.” 

His breath is hot against the shell of your ear as he lifts you up to sit you on the marble counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he makes desire bubble inside you once more. 

Discarding your pesky shirt again, he wastes no time in removing your bra and cupping your breasts, lips enclosing around your pert nipple. 

“You’re right — much better than a bag of caramel sauce.” His words are barely above a whisper as he tweaks your nipple between thumb and index finger, leaving wet kisses across your sternum and stomach. His hands grip at the hem of your still unbuttoned jeans, and you follow his wordless instruction, lifting your hips and letting him slip the jeans off. 

There you were, practically naked on your kitchen counter while he, still fully dressed, devoured you with predatory eyes. Large hands rest on your bare thighs, and he gently spreads your legs and drags you closer to the edge of the countertop.

You’re pretty and soft, and you smell nice. Denki can’t help but wonder if you’ll taste sweet as well. A single digit traces the outline of your lacy thong, marveling at the wet spot forming on the material. Hooking his finger behind the material, he roughly pulls it upwards — the feeling isn’t exactly pleasant, but it doesn't hurt either; it’s simply not enough friction. You need more. Your nose and eyebrows scrunch, and you wrap your hand around his wrist, a pleading whine leaving your parted lips.

“Aw, I’m sorry pretty girl… I won’t tease you too much, promise.” 

Another quick peck to your lips and he sinks to his knees in front of you, eye level with your needy wet cunt. Pushing the pink fabric to the side, he inspects your pretty cunt, glistening with arousal. Kissing from the inside of your thigh and making his way to your core, all you can do is tug on his hair and hold on while he devours you whole. 

Kaminari finally delves his tongue into your heat, leaving a long stripe from your needy hole to your sensitive clit and then focusing on the latter. His tongue is gentle, teasing — like he has all the time in the world to enjoy this tasty treat, working you up until your body starts moving on its own against his tongue. Your head is so far up in the clouds that you probably aren’t even aware of how tightly you’re gripping his hair and how you’re moving your hips rhythmically against his mouth. 

You sound cute: breathless and whiny, softly begging under your breath, head tilted back in pleasure as the muscles in your thighs stiffen and your legs shake. Yet, Denki does not speed up, maintaining his languid pace and dangling true bliss right in front of your eyes. 

“F-fuuck… Denki, please...” 

Your heart is in your throat, and your body aches from the tension, you need release. You can feel the smirk on his lips as you beg him. 

At the peak of your high, delirious from the need to cum but not being given enough friction to tumble over the edge, Denki lifts two long, slender fingers to your wet cunt and slowly pushes them inside you, the feeling of being filled up driving the air out of your lungs. 

Quickly, Denki finds that spongy spot inside you and presses against it, moving his fingers right against it while his lips and tongue focus on your clit. 

It takes seconds for you to ascend, body going rigid as your muscles contract around his fingers and your orgasm is forced out of you with a strangled moan. He does not slow down. 

One strong arm wraps around your thigh, keeping you still while his mouth continues to ravage you, fingers slipping in and out with precision. He was intending to force another orgasm out of you without giving you time to recover from the first. 

Your arms and legs feeltingly and limp, and Denki has to support your weight all while eating you out like a man starved. His cock is painfully hard in his tight jeans, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make you cum one more time on his face. 

You taste like wild honey, and your whiny pleas fuel him to keep going, marveling in the feeling of you becoming tighter and tighter for him, chest heaving erraticly and shaky fingers scratching at his arms and shoulders. You are about to come undone for him. 

Before your mind can respond to your body, the coil in your belly snaps, and you gush onto his fingers with a scream, squirting in his earger mouth as he licks up every clear droplet. He removes his fingers and helps you come down from your high with gentle kisses over your swollen clit and soft thighs. 

Your mind is spinning, but your ears register the sound of a belt unbuckling. Groggily opening your eyes, you are met with the image of him keeping his t-shirt tucked between his teeth as he fists his cock to the sight of you. His pupils are blown — only a thin ring of gold remaining. He closes the gap between you again, his warm length resting on your sticky cunt, slowly gliding between your folds. 

You open your mouth to ask if he has condoms, but he seems to have already read your mind. 

“Don’t have any on me, but I’m clean, and I won’t put it in.” His words are rushed, and he is far too entranced by the feel and sound of wetness to even look you in the eyes. 

You can’t even bother to argue, too tired and blissed out with a new sesnse of hunger growing in the pit of your stomach. Your hips instinctively move to meet his thrusts, the mushroom tip of his cockhead grinding into your sensitive clit, and you just want more. Tired hands reach out to him, thumb rubbing over his cheek as he leans into your touch, kissing your palm with his eyes shut as his hips thrust faster against your sloppy wet cunt. 

“Fuck, gorgeous, you have no idea how bad I wanna be inside ya.” He nips at your hand still resting on his cheek and growls lowly, frustrated by his own imagination of how snug you would feel around his cock. 

Drunk on his words and the previous two orgasms he forced out of you, you want him just as bad. Throwing all logic and reasoning out the window you use the last of your strenght to lift your hips and line him up to your entrance, slamming your hips down and taking his cock all at once with a yelp. 

“P-Please, please…” You mumble in a chant as your velvety walls spasm around his girth, mouth loosly hanging open and a bit of drool trickling down your chin. You were so beautifully fucked out, heavy eyelids giving you the most seductive look. 

Finally overcoming his shock and managing to stifle his impending orgasm, Denki moves his hips and curses under his breath at the feeling of your gummy walls sucking him in. Grinning wolfishly at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, small hands gripping his sleeve for dear life, he angles his hips to thrust his cock right into your sweet spot making you scream his name in pleasure. 

God, if he hadn’t edged himself half to insanity, he’d want to stay buried in your warm cunt for the whole evening, but you felt so good, he knew he wouldn’t last. Hooking his arms under your knees and then linking his finger behind your neck he rams his cock fervently inside you. The angle change of this position made you feel him all the way in your stomach, your clit slapping against his pelvis with each thrust. Snaking a hand between your bodies you circle a finger over your clit to help yourself while he uses you as a fleshlight.

“That’s right sweetness, keep doing that, you need to cum one more time f’me. One more.” 

Folding you even more and slamming you on his cock he could feel your insides trying to push him out as a third orgasm washes over you, more clear liquid splashing against his abdomen as you cry out his name.

Letting you out of the headlock, he pulls out quickly, pumping his fist over his cock as his balls thighten, and he empties his seed all over your wet cunt, smearing his cum over your clit and folds with a relieved sigh.  

Still caging you in with his arms at your sides, he leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“You good?” You answer with a weak nod, and he can’t help but chuckle at how exhausted you are reaching over for the kitchen paper. “Sorry, it’s the closest thing I can clean you up with.” 

After catching your breath and no longer being covered in sticky cum, post-nut clarity finally settles in, and you chew on your lower lip, anxiously pondering the consequences of your actions. 

“Don’t freak out, pretty girl.” He’s his usual charming self now, feline eyes crinkling in a smile. “You don’t want anything serious, nor do I, and if word gets out at work we’d be both in trouble. So, how about we keep this between us?” 

Offering you a perfect escape — the final part of his plan. You smile widely glad to know you’re both on the same page, the anxiety dying down. 

“Also, sorry to bust a load and hit the road, but my landlord has left me like 12 messages about some emergency at the flat so I think I should really go check it out, might be a flood.” He awkwardly scratches his neck, showing that he feels bad about this. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it! Go, I hope it isn’t flooded.” You turn to grab one of the abandoned pizzas on the table. “Why don’t you take this with you? You never got to eat it anyway. Won’t be as good as fresh pizza, but it’s something…” 

He grins widely, accepting the pizza and giving you a chaste kiss on the cheek. 

“Thank you. I’ll see you at work then, newbie?” 

“See you then.” 

Escorting him to the door you lock it behind him and rest your back to the door taking a deep breath. 

Walking outside of your apartment complex, Denki pulls his phone out of his back pocket and dials a number under the name “Landlord Toshi”. 

“Hey man, thanks for always having my back with the apartment ‘emergencies.’” The blonde laughs into the phone. “Yea, I told you she was gonna be easy — fresh out of a relationship, wants to let loose and make up for lost time, constantly feels like she has to be in control so naturally gives the reins away when it comes to fucking. It was a fun little challenge.” 

“You dog.” The man on the other line chuckles and a bong can be heard in the background. “You gonna tap that again?” 

“Nah, she seems the type to catch feels.” Denki lights up the other joint in his cigarette tin and gets in his car, revving the engine. “Plus, the only reason I did this was to even the bet scores at work while Touya is still on vacation.”

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.

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[greghatecrimes]

hi hello i very much enjoy your house + starbucks posts and with a few recent mentions of them i feel okay asking: what would you say about masters, park, and adams regarding hypothetical starbucks

ooh thank you!! i’m always excited when people enjoy my starbucks posts, I really enjoyed being a barista even though it paid horribly 🤣 And I love thinking of coffee orders for characters so thank you for requesting these three!! <33

Adams: caramel macchiatos for sure, almost always hot, but occasionally an iced one in the summer when it’s just too hot for hot coffee! in the fall I think she’d really enjoy the new seasonal apple crisp macchiato (she gets tired of PSLs). In the winter she’d love any of the gingerbread drinks for sure!

Park: Park gives me the vibes of a person who can and would drink almost anything at Starbucks and enjoy it. She just wants the caffeine and likes all the flavors, she’s not super picky and likes to mix it up and try new ones a lot! She strikes me as someone who likes to ask the barista what their favorite is and then order one of those. I think if she told me to make whatever fits I’d go with a dirty chai (a chai latte with espresso, two shots for her since she needs the caffeine) made with either oat milk or almond milk, and some cinnamon powder on top.

Masters: This one was the hardest to nail down, and then it came to me like a vision of the holy grail. Masters is a medicine ball girl. The real name for it is “honey citrus mint tea” and that’s what she’d call it because she’s lovely and polite and she’d always double check that we had honey in the back to use before ordering one. The recipe for it that I always use is one bag of citron green tea, one bag of peppermint herbal tea, two packets of raw honey, half hot water, and half steamed lemonade. Usually it’s a hassle to make these but Masters is so lovely and would always be so nice to chat with that I’d make one for her anytime, no problem <3

#ask #anon #headcanons #ppth starbucks run #jessica adams #chi park #martha m masters

[bluemusickid]

Total Devastation

Pairing: Devin Peters x Fem!Assistant Reader

Warnings: intense language, slightly degrading language, smut (p in v), fingering, slightly dub-con (powerplay), hate sex/hate fucking, slight choking mention/breathplay mention, pretty much shameless PWP at this point, 18+, minors DNI.

A/N: Ok so I saw the cameo and honestly, sans beanie, Cevans looks hot. Like hot. I dunno how well this'll be perceived but I saw the gifs and my eyes went straight to the ring clad hands and I was like 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 (this is more of me lusting over his hands than being a fangirl of like 60 seconds of screentime. Cameo Evans strikes again ig🙄) Anywayyyy, I hope you enjoy! (You'll probably not lolol) This is just me being extra horny on main, so yep. Have fun!!!!

I no longer do taglists, if you wish to be notified of my newest updates, pleeeease follow @lexiscyberlibrary ​, and switch on the notifications! Check out my masterlist for more stories!

My blog is 18+, MINORS DNI. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Please read the warnings before you start reading. I publish my work only on AO3, Tumblr, Wattpad, and nowhere else. I do not give permission to translate or reproduce my work anywhere else. Not beta'ed, any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise are entirely my own.

(Gif creds: the wickedly talented @luvinchris )

You humphed in irritation, as you stood in the Starbucks line for the umpteenth time. Your boss/pain-in-the-ass dictator changed his coffee order for the HUNDREDTH time this week, and he expected you to keep a track of all these changes. The barista looked at you, surprise registering in her eyes as she saw you again.

"I've never seen anyone love coffee as much as you." She said with a slight smile.

You gave her a wry grin. "It's for my boss. He has...varying tastes." You muttered, trying and failing to keep the distaste out of your voice.

She gave a knowing smile, noting down your order. "I guess we all have one to deal with in our life.", As she cast a glance towards a man, seemingly her manager, who was barking orders at a teenager who looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him up. You'll get used to it, kid. You thought to yourself, your mind briefly going to your own boss. Well, not technically your boss, just a part of your work. But a very significant and annoying part. Ugh. Better suck it up and get on with it.

————————

"I asked you to get a coffee from Starbucks, not grow coffee and grind it yourself." You heard him drawl from behind you. Cringing, you turn to him to hand him his weird beverage.

"There was a long queue at the coffee shop, I tried to hurry but-"

"I didn't ask for an explanation, sweetheart. Be better prepared next time."

You bristled, biting back your retort. You'd learnt a hard lesson that one time you sassed him and he made you stand outside the vanity van, in the freezing cold, with just a thin jacket as protection. You shuddered, remembering that terrible time, acting as a retardant to your ire.

"Will do. Is there anything else you want?" You asked through clenched teeth.

"Nothing for now sweets, but stick around cuz i'm sure to need something or the other in this shitty place."

You exited the trailer, heaving a huge sigh of release as you walked to catering. Just a few more weeks. A few more weeks, and you could quit this job brought to you straight from hell.

————————

You were on set the next day, watching him act his scene with his co-star. It was a romantic scene, with the leads getting hot and heavy before being interrupted by the girl's mother.

You saw him get into character, professing his live and affection for his love with an impassioned speech. You snorted. Fancy Devin believing in love. The word 'manwhore' in the dictionary probably had his face next to it.

As you watched the scene unfold, you couldn't help but admire his skills. Begrudgingly, you had to admit that he was a good actor. You watched on as he moved closer to the actress, pulling her to him by her waist. You didn't even realise when your thighs clenched, watching the erotic scene unfold. He kissed her like there was no tomorrow, lips moving over hers softly, yet with a ferocity that had your breath hitching. His lips moved to the column of her neck, his hands grazing her breasts gently. Briefly, you wondered how sex with him would be like. It would be explosive, you were sure. Those hands of his, rings adorning his fingers...you would be lying if you said they weren't a bit of a turn on. If only he weren't such a Grade A asshole. You might've even asked him out.

"Cut! Great shot!" The director boomed, the set buzzing with activity after the shot was finished.

You jumped at the sudden interruption, thankful for it to break you out of your wayward thoughts. Your eyes met Devin's, his mouth slowly quirking up in a salacious grin. You gulped, hoping he hadn't gotten the impression that you were blatantly daydreaming about him. The last thing you needed was him being even more inappropriate around you.

—————————

Clearing out his trailer, you were thankful that he wasn't in there, especially after that weird moment. You prayed that he would stay out till you finished, because working with him would be unnerving, to say the least. Irritating, more like it, you smiled wryly. Two weeks, two weeks. And then you would be free.

"You certainly seem happy for someone who's been slacking off during work hours."

Fuck your luck. It really wasn't on your side. You couldn't take it anymore.

"I've done everything you've asked me to do, even clean your trailer. I don't see how that's called slacking off." Not that you would know what hard work is, you muttered under your breath, hoping he wouldn't hear, what with his nose buried in his phone.

You looked up to see his blue eyes flashing, not leaving yours. Taking a few steps towards you, he stood in front of you, close enough to hear your shallowest of breaths. He was too close.

"I heard that, sweetheart. I think you seem to be under the misconception that you can talk to me like that. I'm your boss, and talk like that? I can make sure that you don't fucking get hired in a 7/11, let alone a fucking movie set. Got that?"

You bristled, his high-handedness causing your temper to flare. Enough was enough. This wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth it.

"I would rather work for the Devil than work for you any more. Not that there's much of a difference; the Devil would probably treat me better than you, with more benefits and a bit of respect!" You snarled, your voice raising with each moment passing.

His eyes flashed dangerously as he walked towards you, you backing away from him till you felt the wall hit your back. You tried moving away, but his hands caged you, his face an inch away from yours.

"Let. Me. Go." You muttered, gritting your teeth.

"Why'd you take up this job if you hate me this much, hmm?" He held your chin with his thumb and forefinger, bringing your eyes to his. They were darker, not flashing with anger but rather something else; something stronger.

"I don't have a rich dad; I actually have to work to pay my bills!" You seethed, as you jerked your head away, out of his grip, trying to move away. It was of no use, he stayed in the same position as before. No amount of money would make you stay with an narcissistic asshole like him.

"All that struggling, sweetheart; when we all know that a few hours ago, you were making eyes at me, practically begging me to fuck you."

Your eyes widened, whipping your head to his. Oh shit. He figured it out.

Gulping, you retorted, "You really need to get your head out of your ass. Not every woman wants to sleep with you. I was observing the scene, doing my job."

"Didn't know your job entailed ogling me, sweets." Moving closer, he touched his nose to yours, thumb grazing your lips.

Your lidded eyes and shallow breaths were not doing a very good job of masking your dislike for him. "In your dreams, Devin. I hate you."

You felt before you saw his right hand on your throat, the cool rings on his fingers a stark contrast to your heated skin. His touch was electric as he slightly increased his pressure, causing you to shudder against him. He saw the reaction and smirked, his lips mere centimeters from yours.

"Right back at ya, sweets." He muttered before his lips crashed on yours, a squeak escaping from your mouth as you tried to push away. You tried to avoid him, but your body won over. You wanted him. But you hated him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss till there was no space left. You went feral, trying to pour your anger and hatred into that one kiss, biting his lower lip till you were sure you left a mark. He pulled back, grinning wolfishly. "Savage, little minx." He kissed you again, your tongues meeting and intertwining, as he pushed his thigh between your legs, your core brushing up against his jean clad leg ever so slightly.

His hands trailed down your body, squeezing your breasts along the way. You gasped as his fingers molded your puckered nub as he bit down softly through the thin cotton. You groaned, your hands moving to hold onto his head. You were falling under his spell quicker than you anticipated. You wanted to stop this before it became real, but couldn't bring yourself to rid yourself of the delicious feelings he was currently evoking.

Those goddamned hands, the ones you'd found yourself staring at on more than one occasion, wondering how they would feel against your skin; were now making their way into your pants.

The rings he wore felt cool; cool enough to calm the burn you felt at your core. A fire that only he could douse. He pushed aside your panties, his fingers making their way to your core. You moaned as you felt him make his way through your folds, the cool metal stroking your engorged nub. He groaned as he felt you wet and wanting, mirroring how he was feeling, his pants getting tighter and tighter by the minute.

"So ready for me, sweetheart, so. fucking. wet. All that hate, all that fight is all for show, isn't it? You need my cock, don't you?" He asked, his voice scratchy with arousal. You pursed your lips, not willing to admit it. If the bulge in his pants was any indication, he needed you as much as you needed him at that moment. Probably even more. Reaching forward, you grasped his bulge through his pants, stroking him. He growled, pushing his erection into your hand. You stroked him more, increasing your tempo as he pushed himself further into your hold. You could feel him nearing his peak, which is when you pulled away your hand; leaving him hanging.

"Remind me again, who needs who?" You replied saucily, running a thumb over his gorgeous, plump bottom lip.

He growled, pulling your pants down in one sudden move as he buried himself to the hilt inside your wet heat. You gasped, grabbing his biceps as you both relished the feeling of being one.

He waited a moment before pulling out, only to thrust back in again, his cock hitting spots which you'd only read about before. You panted as he thrust into you, his rhythm unfaltering and punishing. Your leg hitched onto his hip, he pulled you down on his cock with a force that knocked the breath out of you, his lips mashing against yours with an intensity which matched his thrusts. Grabbing onto his hair, you tried to match his pace as you felt yourself getting closer to your peak; which he must've picked up on.

Pulling out, he spun you around and bent you over the desk in the vanity, pulling your pants off in one move. Leaving a smack on each exposed cheek, he ran his fingers over your puffy lips, swirling the wetness around as he dipped his fingers inside your intrepid heat. You moaned gutturally, the rings feeling heavenly against your walls. Pulling out his fingers, you heard him taste you as he smacked his lips.

"God, this pussy is fuckin' delicious, minx."

You heard him drop his pants, his thighs snug against yours as he ran his cock over your lips, before pushing inside again. This time, he didn't give you time to adjust; rather began where he left off. His hands gripped your hips tightly, as he dropped his weight on you, pinning you to the table. You couldn't escape the pleasure; it was weaving and bobbing through every crevice of your body. It was almost too intense, your feet on tiptoes as you tried wiggling away from him before the sensations got too intense. But it was of no use; it only served as an impetus for him to go harder and deeper.

"All this show of hate and pride, minx; when we coulda' fucked like this for the whole of the shoot."

"This pretty pussy, was made for me." He growled through clenched teeth.

Your wails were increasing in volume with each thrust, to the point where people could probably hear: but you didn't care. All you cared about was how you were hurtling towards your peak, your legs nearly losing sensation with how you were clenching. His hand moved from your hip to your shoulder, changing his angle so that he was now hitting your front wall square on. You screamed as you reached your peak, rather explosively, the burn and tingle moving through your veins and your body potent. Your walls clenched around him, grasping him tightly as he groaned, nearing his climax too. With a shout, he came inside you, his hot spend filling you up. He stayed inside as he dropped his head between your shoulders, you both trying to catch your breath.

You suddenly remembered where you where, mildly panicking about the situation. It was pretty stupid of you to do something like this on set, especially when anyone could just walk in.

Pushing yourself up, you pushed him off as you pulled on your underwear and pants, cringing at how wet you were. You could feel his spend drip onto your panties, a reminder of exactly how much you'd fucked up. You were about to walk out of the vanity when you felt his hand grab your wrist.

You turned around and faced him, bemused. The last thing you needed was him gloating about this, let alone facing him or making eye contact.

"Leaving so soon, minx? I thought you would've been jumping with joy, now that you've finally gotten what you wanted."

You raised your eyebrow at that, your irritation setting in at his cocky tone.

"Oh enough with that good girl act. You've been trying to fuck me since you took this job. Well, congratulations. You got what you wanted, you lucky minx." He grinned, with ill concealed mirth.

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. "Like I said, get your head out of your ass. You wanted this more than I did, evidently, what with you jumping me. Face it, this is the first time someone's actually refused your advances, and the great Devin and his ego couldn't handle that. So you did the next best thing- rather, the only thing you could do. Whore yourself out."

He pursed his lips, clearly trying to rein in his anger as he watched you leave the vanity, banging the door on the way out. He couldn't let you get away with talking to him like this, thinking that you had the upper hand. As he allowed himself to cool down, a plan formed in his head.

He would make you pay.

————————————

You reached home after an exhausting and quite frankly, emotionally draining day. But you thanked your lucky stars that in two weeks, you would be free. Free from the clutches of the Devil. To celebrate your freedom and your victory, you opened a good bottle of wine, planning to order Chinese, unwind a bit.

Your phone rang, it was Dinah, your department head.

"Hey, sorry to disturb you, it was kinda important."

"Sure, what's up?"

"Well as you know, we have our night-shoots coming up. I know you said that you weren't too keen on night shifts but it's kind of an emergency. Derek has a family emergency and can't report to work on time, and I need all hands on deck."

You sighed. Night shifts were the worst, but they picked up more money, sometimes double. And you could really use the extra money.

"What do I need to do?"

"Well, for starters, we have night shoots and also some re-shoots now, so your contract will be extended for another two weeks."

You nearly dropped your wine bottle. Another two weeks?!

"Umm...can't we-"

"Oh and also, Devin has asked you to be his PA for the time being. Apparently he was really impressed with your efficiency, and has personally requested for you."

The other shoe dropped as you realised: this was his doing. You bet all the money in your account that Derek had no family emergency.

"Isn't there someone else who can take my place with Devin? I mean, the costume department really needs a lot of help and-"

"I talked to Steph and she says that she can get someone to replace you, no biggie. So I'll see you next week, at 7PM. Byee!"

You made your way to the couch wearily, inwardly screaming at your bad luck. Deep down, you knew it was punishment. And that your victory was shortlived. Because apparently, Devin Peters always won.

Fucking jackass. Well, you would have to find a way to repay him for his generosity. And you hoped it would teach him a lesson. Smirking, you took a swig of your wine.

This should be fun.

——————————————

Lmaooo the ending was not my best, but oh well. It is what it is, ig. Hope y'all liked it, happy holidays!!

#chris evans #steve rogers #andy barber #devin peters #don't look up #chris evans characters #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x original female character #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans x plus size reader #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x woc #chris evans x f!reader #chris evans drabble #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fic #chris evans filth #chris evans fan fic #chris evans x fem!reader #chris evans and reader #chris evans reader insert #chris evans request #chris evans rpf #devin peters x reader

[fairyoftbz]

rêveur | b. jacob

☕ pairing: (shy) pastry chef! jacob x fem! reader (with barista!kevin) ☕ word count: 4.2k (。_。) (oops i got carried away) ☕ genre: fluff, sort of slow-burn (more like jacob and the reader rejecting their feelings) ☕ tw: maybe some occasional swear words and one (1) mention of the reader’s ex but nothing too crazy.  ☕ synopsis: you find yourself always coming back to the café down the street where you absolutely loved the pastries and befriended the barista, but you’ll soon discover the culprit of your sweet tooth. ☕ a/n: gosh it’s long but i couldn’t stop myself writing for him 🥺 i’m just too soft for him. ☕ requested: yes! i hope it’s not too bad!

╰☆☆☆☆╮

No matter how hard you tried, the efforts you put to prevent you from coming back, you always found yourself going at the local café every single week. You didn’t understand if it was the atmosphere or the warmth of the place, but you always found yourself there. The fact that it was located just down the road gave you the excuse of hanging around there more often than you should.

You could be busy, studying for finals or hang out with friends, the café was always hidden in the corner of your mind. As soon as the street works ended, your neighbourhood became the most tranquil place you’ve ever lived in. All your neighbours were friendly and polite, sticking a little note in the lift to warn the other neighbours of a potential party or loud reunion, helping each other at any occasion. Some residents, including you, owned a pet, and you were grateful that none of them was a pain in the butt for the rest of the building. When you told your friends how quiet and different it was from your former apartment, they never believed you.

While some of them would have killed to study or sleep at a place like your current one, you always found yourself going back to this local café. This little, Japanese-like coffee shop became your new obsession over the months, randomly finding it once while you wanted to go to a flower shop at the end of this street. The employees were welcoming and caring, completely catching you off guard as you were used to going to Starbucks, where some baristas and waiters could use a good lecture about politeness and respect. In the small coffee shop, their goal wasn’t to make the most money possible, it was more to please people and make them discover new coffee or pastries flavours. Everything was homemade, and that’s what encouraged you to become their number one fan. The workers, especially one, started recognising you by dint of your regular appearances at the shop, remembering one of your visits.

“Morning Y/N! Caramel macchiato, as usual? Nothing else?” Kevin, the barista, greeted you with a smile, which you returned alongside with a nod.

This barista was a social butterfly, always striking up a conversation with everyone. And he didn’t care, he just kept going, even if the customers were rude or remained quiet. You were admiring because you were among the people that stayed reserved yet polite when he started talking to you, but his ease made you comfortable enough to joke and laugh with him, striking a conversation with him whenever you had the chance, quickly becoming friends over your many visits.

“Yes, please! I need a lot of caffeine today,” you murmured, and he sadly chuckled, understanding your great need for energy. “Rough night?” he asked, and you agreed again, chuckling as you realised how lame it was. “I assisted my dog being in pain while giving birth,” you explained, and the barista’s eyes widened, his mouth falling agape in excitement. “But that’s amazing! How many did she have?” he seized your credit card without even telling you the price of your purchase - in his defence, you were so used to coming here that you knew the price of your order by heart by now - and typed on his screen, closing the cash register in a slam as it randomly opened.   “She gave birth to four healthy puppies, they’re so adorable,” you replied, and the man in front of you smiled as brightly as you were.

“Those are great news! Oh, by the way, would you like to have a taste of the discovery of our pastry chef? You should have seen how happy he looked when he finished the batch this morning,” he explained, and you followed him to the window display, indicating with his finger what resembled a mille-feuille. “That looks nice, I’ll have one, then,” you stated as you were to hand him your credit card again, which he hesitantly took before looking at the back office. You asked him if something was wrong, but he shook his head with a smile and gave you a tray with your drink and the pastry. “Have a great day Kevin!” you thanked him while he washed his hands, head turning to you before shooting you a friendly wink. “You too, Y/N! And you can always tell me if you need someone to take one of the puppies, I’ll gladly adopt one. I only have to talk with my girlfriend first,” your eyes turned into crescent moons filled with joy at his words, and you lifted your thumb excitedly. He quickly waved before serving the next customer, his signature undying smile plastered on his face.

Comfortably sitting down at an empty table, you took off your coat and gulped a sip of your drink, your mouth salivating at the sight of the food. Grabbing the fork, you slid it against the pastry and brought it to your mouth, the sugary taste melting against your tongue. You ate more and more until you finished, almost tempted to go back to Kevin and ask him for another one. But you ignored your love of good food and started getting to work, getting a book and your computer out of your bag, touching up your project that you had spent a lot of time working on. It was one of the last things you had to do for university, and you were delighted to get it done to finally move on.

“Is everything okay?” You recognised the voice of your favourite barista, smiling as you watched him clearing your tray. “Yeah, thanks! Actually, can you tell the chef that it was amazing? I loved how incredible it tasted,” you explained, and Kevin smiled brightly, nodding. “I promise I’ll do it. Jacob gets so happy when he receives recognition, I’m sure it’s going to brighten his day,” nodding at you, he took your empty tray back to the counter.

Quickly saving your paper on your computer, you turned your head to the side to stare at the barista, smiling as you noticed him disappearing in the back as he called his friend’s name.

“Jacob!” Kevin spoke as he wiped his wet hands on his apron, his friend slightly flinching as the voice filled the silence he was used to working in. “Are we out of something?” the baker worriedly asked, and Kevin shook his head, a chuckle escaping from his mouth. “No, no, I’m just doing my job, being a messenger,” Jacob slightly frowned and stopped spreading yolk on the biscuits. “One of my friends, Y/N, came and ate the mille-feuille you made this morning. She said that it was excellent, and she wanted me to tell you,” Kevin explained, and the baker blinked a few times, the tip of his ears getting progressively red as he processed his friend’s words. “Thank you, I appreciate it,” the baker replied with a smile, peeking out of the back office to try and get a look at the customers. “Is she still there?” he asked, and Kevin peered closer, shaking his head as your seat was now found empty.

Jacob nodded and went back to work, a bit disappointed to not have been able to see you, hence the pout forming onto his face, but he was touched that someone complimented him on his skills. Of course, it was his job after all, but it always felt nice to receive compliments and validation that what you do is fantastic. Jacob wasn’t the most confident person in the world, so your words only brought him the daily dose of happiness and the credits he deserved.

You came back the next week, the atmosphere of the café had changed into something quite hectic, almost stressing you out when you came here to relax and chill out from your day at uni. Now that your project was done and submitted, you had some hours to kill before meeting up with some friends. Without even noticing, you arrived in the middle of rush hour, people jostling one another to get some pastries or a quick coffee before going back to work. You had to put back into place a businessman that tried to overtake you to place his order, feeling your heart hammering in your chest while doing so. The excuse of being in a rush didn’t persuade you, riposting that you also had to go somewhere so he went back behind you, breathing out of frustration to make you feel guilty, but it didn’t work. You only rolled your eyes and waited, smirking to yourself as the man behind you gave up and left, cussing.

A hand settled the pastries in the window display in a rush, people massing together to decide on their order. Kevin was all over the place but still an angel, a tired yet bright smile adorning his face. Once it was your turn, a man walked behind your friend and recognised the thin hands that placed the pastries in front of you a few minutes earlier. “Jacob? We ran out of chocolate chip cookies, we need a new batch asap, bro. We’re selling them like hot cakes.Y/N, hi, the usual?” Kevin said, and you looked up at the name, the baker stopping in his tracks and nodded, a tired look on his face. Kevin seized the opportunity to grab a chocolate croissant from the tray his friend was holding, wrapping it in a napkin.

Your eyes connected with Jacob’s for a second, his light brown pupils holding something warm and gentle towards you. He wiped the flour off his apron before quickly looking back at you, pushing the strands of hair away from his eyes before replacing his baker cap. He looked in great need of sleep, the bags under his eyes enhancing the empathy you had for him. He was handsome and adorable at the same time, your heart not being able to choose what side to fall for. The baker tiredly nodded at his friend’s request and disappeared, hearing him hastily get back to work.

“Oh uhm, yes, please,” you stammered, and Kevin smirked, humming in agreement, and typed on his screen. You shyly cleared your throat as your friend probably understood your train of thoughts since you weren’t so discrete in observing the baker, but thankfully, he didn’t raise it.

Once the rush hour had calmed down, and the coffee shop quieted down again, just like it was when you came last time, Kevin took his break with Jacob. The manager took over, leaving the two employees time to take a much-needed break and breathe for a while, gathering enough energy to make it to the end of the afternoon.

“It was her that complimented your mille-feuille,” Kevin revealed as he motioned to your table with a nod, where you were happily calling a friend and munching on the pastry the barista had placed on your tray.

Jacob followed his friend’s finger, and an honest, tired smile emerged on his face when he noticed how bright and sunny you looked. You looked so soft and nice to have around, making the baker wonder how it was to have a conversation with you. Eyes turning into crescent moons as you laughed at one of your friend’s joke, you failed to notice the employee looking in your direction, his colleague observing him out of the corner of his eye while sipping his iced americano.  

“She’s pretty, right?” Kevin mumbled, but Jacob didn’t hear him. “What did you say?” The pastry chef mindlessly asked, gaze trailing on your figure. “Y/N. She’s pretty, don’t you think?” Jacob’s eyes widened and stared back at his friend, who was giggling. “It’s okay, I’ll keep it a secret,” the barista nudged his tired friend in the ribs, finishing his drink. “You better,” his colleague finished his coffee, throwing the paper cup in a bin before going back to work, leaving a chuckling Kevin behind. “Why do I feel like cupid out of a sudden?” the barista mumbled to himself, a smirk appearing on his face as he stood up and went back inside.

The next week, as you hung around, you felt the same way of tension as soon as you stepped into the café as last time. Jacob was surprisingly serving customers, juggling between the coffees and the pastries baking in the back office. “H-hi!” you greeted Jacob, and he slightly froze at your word, greeting you with a bright smile. You were surprised when he didn’t even ask for your order, getting straight to work and wishing him a nice day as you walked to your usual seat. However, as you took your first sip, you felt your stomach churn and a disgusting taste landing on your throat. Shivers travelled down your spine as you swallowed the bitter liquid you recognised that belonged to the iced americano. A wave of memories invaded your mind as you remembered how terrible it tasted once you took a sip from your ex’s drink, who was addicted to this type of beverage.

Jacob got your order wrong, and you swallowed thickly several times, pondering if it were a good idea to add more stress to the poor baker’s shoulders by pointing at his mistake, but you couldn’t bring yourself to drink this no matter how hard you tried. You stood up and walked to the side of the counter, waiting for the people to get served before you caught the baker’s attention. You started to calmly explain the uncomfortable situation you were in to the barista, his ears became bright red as another customer came and seemed to have your drink in your hand. The customer got extremely mad as he was apparently in a rush, yelling and cursing at the baker.

“You are paid for doing this, how could you make an order wrong? It’s not that difficult!” the man exclaimed, and you noticed Jacob’s eyes darkening. You knew that he wanted to talk back to the customer, but he didn’t plan on getting fired, so he just listened and nodded. “Jacob, don’t worry I can wait, serve him first,” you said before walking back to the table after offering him a smile, noticing him nodding again and take the two drinks that you and the other man laid on the counter.

The baker cleared his throat as he arrived a few minutes later with your correct order and a slice of chocolate cake.

“I’m sorry for giving you the wrong order. I am the only one here because Kevin is on holiday and my manager was supposed to come, but he left me in the lurch. So… I’m a bit stressed out,” Jacob explained quickly, earning a reassuring smile from him. He swallowed thickly but felt a wave of relief crash onto him as you didn’t look mad at all.  “It’s okay, Jacob, it’s human to make mistakes. If it were another drink, I wouldn’t have said anything but I really can’t drink strong coffee. Thank you for the pastry, and uhm… good luck for today?” you said as he stood up, his tired eyes shining with thankfulness as he got back behind the counter. You quickly enjoyed your food and left after trying to wave at him timidly, but sadly, he didn’t notice you.

When you visited the café on the other days, he disappeared again in the back office, Kevin taking back the lead. There, with your caramel macchiato in hand, you started daydreaming about the pastry chef, his dreamy hands and beauteous face. You imagined romantic dates and activities you could do together, such as baking you new pastries before offering them at the coffee shop or even spending a day at the park together, a lost yet gentle smile on your face.

Everything about him made you dream. He exuded comfort, fondness, and warmth, his eyes always pearly with delight. Even a blind man would not have missed how amazing and passionate he is when it came to baking. You once overheard a conversation between him and Kevin, talking about a new receipt he found on the internet and how excited he was to try it out. His soft voice never failed to make you smile, his fluffy hair making you wonder how soft it was and how good it’d feel if you carded your fingers through his locks as you hugged him.

It was undeniable and inevitable, you had tried to deny those feelings during the past few weeks, but you couldn’t reject the fact that you had a massive crush on Jacob. Kevin gently teased you about this when his friend appeared, making sure to say his name aloud to catch your attention when you sat at a table, only to watch him quickly find a hiding place. You also wished you would see him more often, feeling quite defeated to see him escape your gaze as soon as he saw you. With the number of times you came to the coffee shop and saw your friend, your crush’s brief appearances weren’t enough to fulfil your little heart’s happiness. You wanted more of him, but, much to your dismay – and secretly Jacob’s – you didn’t know what to do.

“Ah Y/N! I talked with my girlfriend today, and I was wondering if I could adopt one of the puppies? I showed her the pictures you sent me, and she is all over the moon for this one,” Kevin said as he placed your order on the tray, quickly getting his phone out after checking whether some customers were waiting or not. “Yeah, no problem!” you smiled as you recognised the crazy, adventurous one. “I asked the vet, and he told me that they are old enough to be adopted. Is it okay if you come with your girlfriend within the next few days? I can’t wait for you to have one, they are precious!” you exclaimed but calmed instantly, heart hammering in your chest as your lovely baker appeared from the back office, visibly in a bad mood. He didn’t even glance at you, his attitude sent a pang in your heart, but Kevin just shook his head, winking at you. “Can we come tonight to your place? I’m excited to meet my future baby boy!” Kevin made sure that his friend heard, noticing that he was listening carefully yet discreetly, hence his movements coming suddenly to a halt. The barista gave you a knowing smile and kept on chatting with you as if nothing happened.

That night, someone knocked at your door, and you excitedly walked to the main entrance, happily greeting the couple, and welcoming them in, eyes widening as Jacob had tagged along.

“What a great surprise!” you awkwardly mumbled, and he nodded, his smile outshining the sun as you let them all inside. Kevin and his girlfriend were quick to follow the yaps of your dogs to her newborns, leaving you with Jacob, who was quick to grab your wrist gently to make you stay with him. You mindlessly smiled, but deep down, you were sure that Kevin did this on purpose.

“I couldn’t help but hear your conversation with Kevin, and I’ve always loved dogs, and since yours gave birth, I wanted to see them,” he explained, and you smiled, heart hammering in your chest. “Yeah no worries, you are welcome here! Let’s go see them before they steal all the puppies.” 

With Jacob on your heels, you went to the spare room that became your dog’s nursery, the couple already cooing at the black puppy as you slowly opened the door.

“Look how proud she is,” his girlfriend said, looking at you with twinkling eyes. Your dog walked up to you, tail wagging as she got all the attention on her and the puppies. Since your dog only allowed you to reach inside the box, you were quick to lift the only black puppy out of the four and placed it in your friend’s arms. “I named him Squishy, I had no inspiration for the names,” you giggled as Kevin pet its belly, the puppy trying to lick his finger.

You brought everyone to the living room, where you offered your guests some drinks and started talking together. Your friend’s girlfriend was adorable, over the moon with the dog, just like Kevin had predicted it. Jacob was more on the reserved side, just like at the café, your dog climbing up the couch to rest her head on his thigh, asking for caresses. You felt a sense of betrayal rushing through your veins as she preferred a perfect stranger over you, retrieving her head every time you tried to pet her. Your dog looked at you almost with a mocking look, as if she wanted to show you that she dared to go up to him, unlike you.

It was getting late, but you were having fun, the couple confirming that they adopted the puppy. You helped packing everything necessary for the puppy and got ready to leave, thanking you for your kindness and hospitality. You were happy but felt a bit sad that someone already adopted one of the puppies. It was hard not to get attached to those cute little creatures, but you were reassured that he’d be treated like a king by living with your friends.

Jacob, on the other hand, was stuck on the couch as your dog prevented him from doing the slightest movement.

“She is quite stubborn,” Jacob shyly giggled as he tried to move his leg, only to have the dog whining and yapping. “Luna, stop! Let Jacob go, now!” you walked up to the couch, and she fled, strolling away from you each time you tried to get closer to her.

After many unsuccessful attempts, you managed to lure her into the nursery, shutting the door shut and she barked, but the apartment was quick to fall in silence.

“Finally,” you said as you went back to the living room, where Jacob was quietly admiring the photos on the wall. He gave you a quick smile and went back to his observations, you standing next to him with a slightly embarrassed smile. “It was nice to come here, but I’ll still reconsider my choices. I don’t want to decide on a whim, I wanna make sure that I’m settled and ready to welcome a puppy.” You nodded at his words, throwing him a reassuring gaze. “I completely understand, Jacob. You can take all the time you need. I’m planning on keeping one anyway, so if you change your mind, you can always come and visit,” you said, and an awkward silence installed around you two, Jacob scratching his neck as he avoided your gaze.

“Y-you know. I enjoy… what you bake, really, and I can’t wait for your next pastries,” you shyly mumbled to the man in front of you, who looked up with red adorning his cheeks. “I’m touched by what you’re telling me, thank you so much,” he said and quickly looked outside before inhaling and turning back to you.

“I’m going to go, but… I was wondering Y/N… y-you know, you’ve been friends with Kevin for a while and come around the café regularly, so I was wondering if we could also hang out, but you know… only the two of us? Maybe without Kevin?” Jacob was finding his words, thickly swallowing as he tried his best to tell you what he wanted. You giggled at the way he said things, imagining Kevin on his own while you were together. “Sure! Sure thing! You probably have a hectic schedule, but we can find something that works for the two of us?” you suggested, and he smiled, taking out his phone from his jeans pocket, holding the device with a nervous grip.

“Can I get your number, then? It’s gonna be easier to communicate rather than you coming around the café all the time. I- It’s not what I mean though, I really like having you around the shop, but you know, it’d be easier for the two of us,” you both shyly giggled as he messed up, the tip of his ears glowing bright red.

You were quick to enter your number in a new contact, confirming it before returning the phone to its owner, who gave you the warmest smile you had ever seen on his face.

“I’ll call you tomorrow then,” Jacob said as you walked him to the door, him thanking you just like your friends did. “Drive safe,” you whispered, and he nodded, giving you a soft smile before getting closer to you and softly pressing his lips on your cheek.

Your eyes widened at the sudden display of affection but smiled, feeling a wave of embarrassment invading your body. You waved at him until the elevator arrived, closing the front door with your heart pounding in your chest, doing a little dance of joy in the corridor as something concrete was starting to form between the two of you.

And the best was still yet to come. ♡

#oui oui baguette project #the boyz soft hours #the boyz fluff #the boyz imagines #the boyz #the boyz jacob #the boyz reactions #the boyz soft imagines #the boyz soft #the boyz fluff imagines #the boyz jacob imagines #the boyz jacob scenarios #jacob fluff #jacob soft hours #jacob imagines #bae jacob #jacob scenarios #jacob soft imagines #jacob reactions #jacob #bae jacob imagines #bae jacob scenarios #the boyz bae jacob #the boyz timestamps #jacob fanfic #jacob x reader #bae jacob x reader #jacob drabbles #the boyz fic #bakery!au

[ginkgomoon]

I Like You A Latte- Gavin ☕️

Happy blog birthday to @cheri-cheri. Another gift would like to present itself to you! 💙

“The exam is officially over,” you sigh.

All those years of studying and recurring late nights pouring the blood, sweat and tears for you push towards the finish line were all worth it.

You are now free.

Kind of… but not really.

For once, you were outside not catching the train to go university, heading off into another library or exam room. You had thought to savour this rare time to yourself before heading off to find a job. Thankfully, public transport is convenient enough to take you just about anywhere in Loveland City.

With only your phone, wallet and keys in hand, you stroll along the all too familiar building blocks near your home, pondering on where to go for the long awaited first day out by yourself. Should you go for some udon? Bingsoo? Pudding, perhaps?

While breathing in the sweet air of freedom, you admire the city that you grew up in, absorbing the view from down below and up at the infrastructure that the city was so renowned for.

The height, distance and those buildings haven't changed. But you- the stages of your life, experiences and perspectives have. The city almost seemed a little bit more… brighter. More alive. Or maybe… would it be for just this once?

This, you fear.

The glare of the sun continues beating down, its light reflecting off the glass buildings passing its judgement on the entire city. The heat is suffocating and you long for a cool drink or nice air-con to rely on to keep you sane.

A vision suddenly intrudes, presenting the clean pastel coloured store-front of the café that had just opened up nearby. You remember that you had power-walked right past the “WE ARE OPEN” sign on your way home from a past exam to prepare for the final one a few days ago.

You know you rarely enter any cafés at all, but your love for coffee and urge to explore someplace new begin to steer your legs into the walking direction of where you had remembered it to be.

As you soon reach the entrance, the sign you saw from the peripheral of your memory greets you.

“BRUNCH CAFE. WE ARE OPEN.”

You push open the heavy glass door, instantly entering a world of relief. Still in between the two opposing temperatures, you hastily swing the door back and encase yourself in paradise.

You take a moment to briefly scan your surroundings. The café, although it claims to be open, has everything but the barista. It wasn’t as big as the Starbucks down at the shopping centres, but it was humble enough for its size and able to fit all the requirements a café needs.

Soft instrumental music starts to reel you in further, like a siren hypnotising a sailor. You feel... peaceful. Though you wonder if you were hearing the non-diegetic music of the film occurring right in front of your eyes instead of your almost-dream café.

The minimalist designs, the ambience, and the extremely posh and elegant windows that you didn’t admire enough the first time strikes your appeal. You also confirm with yourself that this was the café that you would choose to break the cycle of drinking instant coffees everyday.

Just this once.

On the left side, those posh windows were flaunting on display, and to the right had little cubicles laid out perfect for providing spacious privacy. You marvel at what a genius idea the store owner had to create such a comforting and unique interior for a café. There was not a thing out of place.

Except of course, the barista.

You head over to where the cubicles were waiting and as you turn into the corner, you almost trip over something that looks like… a foot?

Following the coffee-stained sport shoes, your eyes slowly drift up on its owner, locking on a sleeping figure on the seats of the cubicle.

A young man with a soft aura.

You squint in confusion.

The poor cubicle clearly wasn’t big enough to fit his entire body. His hair seems to have fallen into place like dominos having slightly covering his eyelids, and appears to be breathing in a gentle rhythm with his chest following in sync. Your eyes also end up emphasising his jawline as you continue to stare.

His chest- wait.

A little badge on the right corner of his shirt immediately becomes the salient object.

So, he is the barista.

Barista… Gabin?

You lean closer at the words printed out on it.

No, it’s Ga-vin.

Apart from how attractive he looks, you question yourself- why is the barista sleeping during opening hours?

The man’s eyes slowly crack open, like a shell opening to display the pearl from inside, and you finally see his eyes of beautiful amber squinting back at you. Though, you can’t tell if it was because of the bright lights inside the cafe, or if he was solely observing you- and why you were so close to him at this very moment.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” you cry, instantly retracting from your forward-leaning position. Your brain tries to racks up reasons why you two were in this situation incase he asks.

“There was something on your face” or “your foot was in the way” could work. No- “sorry, I’ve never seen another human being before” sounds a lot more believable.

Gavin, the barista, furrows his eyebrows in confusion then seemingly in frustration.

Your body tenses.

It’s coming.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep…” he sighs softly.

You do another quick scan and take that only the two of you were in the cafe now, unless there was another sleeping barista somewhere else you didn’t notice.

“If you're here for coffee, it’s on the house. An apology for what you saw just now…. Just don’t tell the boss if he’s here,” Gavin lightly coughs.

“Oh okay... Thank you. A latte please,” you say, rather not wanting to question it further. For now. But free coffee made by this gorgeous barista? How could anyone refuse this offer? All you did was stare. In that case, you would gladly do it again.

You settle your belongings on the table and catch Gavin rolling up his sleeves, putting on the display of his toned forearms. Luckily, your cubicle entrance was facing the direction of the workbench allowing yourself to watch him set up.

You start to wish for your coffee to be as hot as him.

Scalding hot.

Gavin steadily handles the jug and effortlessly pours the milk into the latte glass with the espresso already inside. Despite your sight of his expertise, he still can’t hide the subtle droopiness of his eyes and the slight furrow of his eyebrows again.

You figure it would be better if you come up to him instead so he wouldn’t have to travel the whole way to your cubicle with his current state being like this.

You gingerly make your way to his workbench while fumbling for a topic to break the awkward silence in your head.

“Is it just you working here today or…?” you ask.

“Is there another hot sleeping barista I should know about?” you continued in your head.

Gavin hands you the transparent cup accompanied by the saucer, a little spoon, a packet of sugar and a complimentary ginkgo-shaped cookie on the side.

The art displayed formed a symmetrical heart with perfect one centimetre foam to present the perfect latte.

“There’s the chef who’s actually the boss of this place but sometimes he dashes in and out. Especially when there’s no customers as of late. I have no idea where he goes, actually. Right now is no exception,” he replies, sweeping the remains of the coffee grounds into the knock box.

“And you do all the work for him? That doesn’t seem fair. Does he allow you to make your own cup of coffee at least?”

“Well, not exactly. I just work over-time till late. Plus, I think my body is practically immune to caffeine by now,” Gavin laughs.

"Me too," you comment.

As tired as he looks, he still has the energy to light up a smile, even with a stranger. His mouth forms an effortlessly handsome arc and you feel something emerging from within your heart, so subtle that you almost think that you could have mistaken yourself as the protagonist in a romance novel.

Though working overtime till late… at a brunch cafe?

You don’t question him any further. You take a whiff at the single delicate-looking plain ginkgo cookie and have a bite. This moment of peace and serenity was offering the much needed break from all that tension and pressure you were under- apart from Gavin being here, though he didn’t seem to mind your presence.

You lean forward to place your elbows on the counter and stare at the coffee in front, frowning a little at the reality of ruining the beautiful heart. You rip open the sugar and pour in half, then give it a stir with the spoon. The foam is perfectly silky and frothy, fusing with the crema like a starry galaxy.

You remind yourself that "it was okay" because this moment would forever remain in your own heart instead. Delicious, creamy arabica coffee.

Like those ginkgo leaves dancing in the wind that autumn day.

You smile at the memory before multiple begin to overlap with another. Ones where you had passed by the senior classrooms catching a glimpse of a boy staring out of the window or down in a random alleyway on your bicycle.

You didn’t think much of it back then either, but he had always looked familiar and seemed to be everywhere you were too. Crossing paths in hallways and even at the library, reading. That upperclassman boy named-

“-Gavin?”

He looks up.

“From school?”

You wonder why you hadn’t realised.

His facial features are now more defined, sharper, and still a head taller than you. Who would have thought the hot barista was actually an old schoolmate. You put your coffee down and internally scream.

“You remember me?” he softly asks.

“Just a little bit. Wait, do you know who I am?”

“Just a little bit.”

Gavin smiles.

You break eye contact and continue drinking, not wanting the coffee to get cold during this exchange. But even now it tastes different than before.

“So, what brings you here?” he asks.

“Taking a break before I find a job. See if any place will accept me…”

“Of course they will. You’re brilliant at what you do. I have no doubts that you will be successful.”

You smile in response, taking in the last of the remaining coffee.

“How do you know? We haven’t seen each other in so long. And I don’t think we’ve ever interacted this much in the past."

“I just do… Trust me.”

You look back up. His eyes light up with so much sincerity that could power a whole entire city’s electricity.

"I never thought I'd see you again," you say.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You seemed like... you were just so difficult to figure out, especially for people like me who don't know you that well. So I never gave it a second thought either. And now here you are, making my coffee. Anyway, this is probably not making any sense..."

"No, I understand," Gavin states. "In your opinion... what kind of man am I?"

Before you could formulate a proper response, hot heat suddenly finds its way in, corroding with its cooler counterpart and signalling the entrance of another person.

Your eyes catch sight of a tall and handsome man, his aura so dominating that the heat you feel could just be from him instead.

“That’s the boss,” Gavin whispers.

The boss saunters his way in straight towards you two. His black hair matches his suit and tie, making him appear more like a CEO than of a chef.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going to the back to restock some things, I’ll be right back,” Gavin says, shooting you a comforting smile.

While trying to process all of this, your eyebrows are the ones to furrow now instead. How could this boss treat an employee like this? Working overtime without proper breaks? This to you was appalling and certainly see this as an act of injustice. Being the good and lawful citizen that you are, you decide to treat this like one.

“Excuse me.”

Before he enters the kitchen, he turns, offering his full attention to you. You thought you had a good grasp on what you wanted to say, but it seems that your head had disconnected from your voice box.

“Your employee…” you begin, “he seems very fatigued. I think you should be sharing the workload equally instead of leaving the cafe. Haven’t you ever heard of a collegial workplace before?”

His eyebrow lifts- in amusement, mockery or consideration, you don’t know. After all, your words carrying the “sense of justice” did sound a lot better in your head.

“I don’t interfere with anyone’s personal lives,” he said, his deep voice shattering your “prosecution”. But before you could have another go at him, he retreats into the kitchen.

Gavin returns with takeaway cups and lids and sees you standing flabbergasted at your interaction with the boss.

“You okay?”

You reply back with a little “humph” at the direction of the kitchen then turn to Gavin restocking the items on the cup warmer of the coffee machine.

"I-it’s nothing."

After all, this was your first and last time here, and maybe you shouldn't have acted so impulsively on a situation like this. Plus, how would Gavin react if you push the topic further?

You sigh. Hopefully the plan to have a drink and catch up with an old friend later in the night will settle the agitation you feel.

A soft ding is heard from your phone reminding you to get ready to leave.

Perfect timing.

As you reluctantly pack your things, you glance at Gavin’s way, who looks like he’s about to end his shift for the day as well.

You don’t want to be supporting a business owner who treats his employees like this, but yet seeing Gavin this way made you feel helpless. It’s a shame that you won’t see another handsome barista like this again. Or see him again. Or probably enter another cafe at all after this.

“I have to go.”

Your voice interrupts his workflow, and he frowns.

“Now?”

“I have somewhere to be, unfortunately.”

Gavin takes a moment to process this.

“Why don’t you wait till I leave? That way, I can see you off. It will only be a minute.”

More like a minute's time to sob about this man who could have been your boyfriend in a parallel universe. But as long as you won’t be late to meet up with your friend, you agree to wait for Gavin to finish up.

You linger by the entrance, not wanting to intrude his workspace again and steer clear from the awkwardness that could arise from watching him up close.

But after that literal minute, he steps outside with you and the heaviness in your heart starting to simmer back up again. The air already seems to have to cooled down, providing a thankful comfort to your surroundings.

Looking at him now, you almost change your mind. You could maybe see him again when you have time in the future. To... catch up.

Just maybe.

“Thank you for today," you say. You remind yourself to not get too attached, having really not know if you would be ready for all of that, especially for what was to come in the future.

You slowly walk backwards into the direction of your home, back where you need to get ready for the night out again.

“Thanks for coming. It was nice meeting you again,” he replies.

As you turn to leave, in your peripheral vision Gavin tracks forward to cover every step you took away from him, pulling a hesitant arm up to say something more.

But by then, you were already turning the corner and out of sight.

-And after all this time, your thoughts keep returning to those moments.

A couple of hours pass and your mind still orbits Gavin and that café. You wonder if there was something more you could have done or said. Hopefully he didn’t mistake your hurried steps for something else.

You soon arrive at the venue that you and your friend unanimously agreed on, though as you tippy-toe your way through the crowd to spot her, it seems that she hasn't arrived at the agreed time yet.

As you wait, you fiddle with the side of your dress. You decided to go with the classy minimalist look- a black dress and simple ginkgo drop earrings you bought recently. You didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, but you were satisfied that you were well-dressed enough to feel glamorous for the night. However, wanting to avoid the additional heat of the weather sticking on your body like a tattoo, you decide to head in first.

The music gradually becomes clearer and definitely louder as you weave your way through the hallway entrance towards the heart of the club, with the lights dimly lit and its walls enclosed for the darkness to rule.

You haven’t been in a place like this for so long, especially when you got used to the quiet and calm environment of libraries, the home, and the café earlier…

You could feel everyone’s body heat from a good healthy distance away, even at the seat of the bar. You don’t plan on getting drunk tonight, but you know your alcohol tolerance is so low that you figure it would be best if you should order a little fruity mocktail first instead then perhaps have a real drink with your friend when she arrives later.

You give a quick text notifying her of your location and place your phone back into your purse, ready to order.

Darkness continues to stir as you struggle to locate the bartender.

What kind of bartender is this person if they’re not at the bar?

Lights rotate and blind its way in every direction. For a fleeting second, it lands on the person across from you, illuminating those unforgettable eyes and smile of its owner.

His eyes are just as wide as yours.

"It's you."

The barista- no, bartender, was Gavin.

#I had so much fun with this one #happy birthday Cheri #I CANT WAIT FOR YOU TO READ THIS SIDISJSJS #3k words!! #THIS WAS THE SPECIAL POST I WAS TALKING ABOUT #mlqc #mr love queens choice #love and producer #恋与制作人 #gavin #mlqc gavin #mlqc fanfic #Gavin week

[kookiebunnii]

love you a latte || mark tuan

Working part-time at your aunt’s café was supposed to be a relatively easy task. You get to strike up conversations with regulars and your clothes always smell like dark roast. However, as large coffee chains begin popping up around your neighborhood, your job and your workplace are suddenly threatened. As you scramble to find a way to keep your family’s business afloat, meeting the God of Coffee might just be what you need.

→ pairing: coffeegod!mark x barista!reader

→ genre: fluff mixed with angst

→ word count: 4k

→ warnings: n/a

“How does Love You a Latte have such good drinks? Simple, they make regular sacrifices to the Coffee God.”

→ a/n: this is my submission for @got7writerscollective​‘s virgo project! please enjoy my short work and be sure to check out the other talented submissions 

Having the desire to burn down a Starbucks had never been on your to-do list, but recently life was full of surprises.

You continue wiping down the same table that you’ve cleaned for the third time today. The giant green competitor occupying your thoughts looms just outside the windows. Slumping into the nearest seat, you fold the dish towel in your hands into neat little squares. Recently, every time your aunt came into the store to check in on you and the other baristas, her face dropped at the empty room. The sadness in her eyes almost breaks your heart, and you don’t think you can stand it any longer. Wracking your brain for a solution, you watch as rows upon rows of laughing customers walk through the doors of the new coffee shop across the street.

How could you possibly beat a brand that had notoriety, cheaper prices, and all the funds in the world at its disposal? As much as you adored the little slice of heaven your aunt built for herself, this shop is a small business that barely makes ends meet when faced with such a famous competitor. You could not afford to lower prices while maintaining quality, nor continually develop new drinks to use individuality as a lure.

At least the one positive, if you could even consider it that, was how quick and easy closing time became. There were less pitchers to clean, less trash to empty, and less in the registers to account for at the end of the day. As you let your hair out of the high ponytail you typically make for work, you take your singular trash bag out to the dumpster in the alleyway.

When you dispose the garbage for the day, you make an immediate beeline for the sink to wash your hands. However, there is a tall man your do not recognize observing the ceramic mugs kept behind the counter, and suddenly your shift becomes a little more eventful than usual.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, as if you were a friend he was waiting on.

You point at yourself incredulously before realizing that this stranger could be very dangerous or very delusional. It wasn’t everyday someone hopped behind the counter without permission and started admiring your workplace appliances. God, was this man trying to rob you?

“There’s no point stealing from us. We don’t have much anyways,” you mumble, raising your hands up slowly in surrender.

This seems to amuse him, because he chuckles darkly before replacing the pastel pink mug in his hands back to its designated spot on the shelf. Hands tucked in his dark jeans, he almost glides over to you and you instantly feel the hair at the back of your neck rise in fear. His head tilts as he observes you, his dark eyes identical to freshly brewed coffee and his skin glowing like the gentle honey brown of the lattes you like to make.

“Are you afraid of me?” he muses, giving you a teasing smile that immediately sparks the fight-or-flight response in your brain.

“There’s a stranger in my store fiddling behind the counter. You tell me,” as soon as the annoyed words leave your mouth, you realize that it would probably be best not to provoke the man.

As you brace yourself for his response to your snide little comment, you don’t expect the laugh that comes out of him. He reaches out to fix your apron strap, the small act immediately causing your skin to flush, before offering you a more reassuring smile.

“I’m not here to rob you.”

Fiddling with the edge of your apron, you try to relax your nerves—a difficult task considering how muddled with anxiety they were. Gathering what little confidence you have, you reply, “Either way, we’re closed for the day. If you’re looking for something, please come tomorrow.”

As you brush past him to hang up your apron, you’re quickly tugged back with an insistent hand on your wrist. His deep chocolate eyes find yours again, and you can’t help but hold your breath as you wonder what would be coming next.

“I’m here because you called me,” he states plainly, as if this fact should be obvious to you.

Your mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish before you stutter, “I don’t even know who you are?”

His features are painted with amusement, as if your confused expression was funny to him. He backs up to lean against the counter casually, letting go of your wrist in the process. The warmth from his grasp lingers, and you find it hard to concentrate on the words he utters next.

“I’m here to help your store. You’re struggling, aren’t you?” he gestures around to the untouched tables, their accompanying chairs all properly tucked in due to lack of use. The observation makes your heart sink again, and you struggle not to let his comment hurt you. Even if this was something you knew already, hearing another person point it out so obviously nevertheless rubbed salt in the wound.

“Hey…I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m here to make a deal with you, and I promise in a week this place will be packed,” he hurries forward, tilting your chin up to look at him as you try to blink away tears. You offer him whatever semblance of a smile you can, and he offers you one of his own in response.

“How are you going to help?” you wonder, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The stranger snaps his fingers and all of a sudden, the ties of your apron begin undoing themselves as if an invisible hand were working at them. You watch, stunned in silence, and your apron drifts over to the man and serenely loops itself over his neck. Apron secured, he strides over behind the counter and sets to work. His motions are practiced with a smooth hand which make his actions as exquisite as a performance. Mesmerized, you watch as he gathers the perfect amount of milk foam over the espresso shots. As he hands the finished cappuccino in front of your eager eyes, you swear his fingers glow slightly against the side of the mug.

Abandoning all reason, you take a sip of the mysterious man’s finished product. Immediately, your lips curl into a smile. It tastes as amazing as it looks, and you swear it’s the best drink you’re ever had. All the notes are balanced perfectly, and the temperature isn’t too scalding either. Even the most experienced barista may not be able to create such a masterpiece, especially with the average ingredients Love You a Latte supplied.

“Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second, simply tugging the cup from your hands and taking his own sip. His mouth lingers slightly against the rim, his eyes observing you with satisfaction. Humming slightly, he taps the handle of the now-empty mug and it begins cleaning itself within your sink before settling back on the shelf to dry.

“I’m the God of Coffee. However, you can just call me Mark. It’s a lot easier to say,” he finally answers, before hanging your apron on the hook with his own hands and not whatever magic he controls.

“You’re a god? I never knew there were actual gods, especially not for coffee…” the idea almost makes you giggle, as you wonder whether there would be a god for cinnamon rolls too.

“Well, fortunately for humankind, we’re very real. You were hoping for a way to save your aunt’s café earlier, and now I’m here,” he rests his chin against his hand that’s propped up against the counter.

“I’m thankful you made me that cup of coffee earlier. I think anyone could trust you after that display,” you quip, much more comfortable now that you accepted that you could actually help your aunt’s business stay afloat.

He blushes, and the dusty pink across his cheekbones actually surprises you. You didn’t think gods would be so easily fazed over a compliment, but his bashfulness only makes Mark more endearing than before.

“So, are you just going to make all our drinks from now on?” you tilt your head slightly as you question him, wondering how you could convince your aunt to accept Mark’s help. She sure wouldn’t be as accepting of a supposed “god” since she was so strung up with figuring out finances already.

Shaking his head, he gives the top of your head a pat before saying, “Nope. I’ll just give you some of my powers.”

“What do you mean?”

“From now on, you’ll be able to add a little special something to any coffee order you make. In fact, I’ll be magicking this store a little so it’ll help improve the customer experience,” as he finishes his thought, he quickly adds, “I don’t just help anyone. You and your aunt have worked hard for this café, so it’s only right that it gets the attention it deserves.”

“You said you’d make a deal with me. What’s my end of the bargain?” you didn’t have much, so you were genuinely curious about what he could want from you.

He reaches for your hands, pressing his fingertips against your right palm before switching to the left. As he does this, you feel a strange warmth flowing throughout your hands, and you’re unsure whether your heart is racing because of the magic or because the way he brushes against your fingers with his own.

When he’s finished, he simply straightens up and replies, “Just make me a cup of coffee once in a while.”

With that, he fades alongside the setting sun.

☕☕☕☕☕

It appears that Mark is telling the truth, because your store is bustling by the end of the week. Word seems to travel fast when it came to delicious foods and drinks, so the amount of new faces you’ve seen make it hard for you to remember names—even if that was your special talent.

You call out orders, taking the time to hand each customer their order and personally wish them a pleasant day. You knew to be grateful for the new development, so you did your best to offer what little you could to add to the positive change. Even if Mark had helped make your drinks stellar, kindhearted customer service was essential too.

Even though you had only seen the man once, you sense the moment he’s in the room. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you look up from the croissant in your hands to see Mark sitting across the room with a smile. You can’t help but grin back, handing the last customer of the day her warmed-up pastry. When she leaves, you sneak off from your position behind the counter to approach him.

As soon as you’re within earshot, Mark says, “You look much happier Y/N.”

Assuming one of his godly duties is to already know the names of those he assists, you brush away the shiver that dances across your spine when he says your name.

“All thanks to you of course. What can I get you?”

“Surprise me,” he replies.

You can’t help the way your arms tremble as you adjust the steam wand into your pitcher of milk. Watching the way foam begins developing as a result of the heat and air bubbling in the liquid, you pray that whatever magic he gave you helps you also make a good decision for what to offer a literal God of Coffee.

Tapping the side of the cinnamon shaker in your hands, you watch as small brown specks dot the snow-white of the milk foam. Satisfied, you carry your creation over to the figure watching you with interest. Your coworkers don’t pay you much heed, opting to simply clean up as quickly as possible in order to clock-out on time. Since you were the manager’s relative, they were relatively lenient with you, never giving you a hard time or questioning you. It was nice at times, but it also made it difficult to befriend them, as they always placed you on a pedestal.

As he takes the drink you offer to him, his fingers brush against your own. It’s a small gesture, but it still does wonders in dispelling the fear you felt in approaching him. Almost immediately, Mark nods in appreciation.

“Pumpkin spice latte. Fits the season quite well,” he notes, before tipping the coffee into his waiting mouth.

“You knew that before tasting it?” you admire, wondering what the extent of his powers were.

“Of course,” he says as if agreeing that the sky was blue.

He waits for you until you finish locking up. In the time that he had been gone, you always wondered whether the sacrifices this god sought paled in comparison to how much he was helping you. After all, the sales generated were well over anything the café had previously mad. Your aunt had been ecstatic, immediately setting to work developing new menus to keep up with the growing engagement. Perhaps she felt that if she questioned why everything was happening, the bubble would burst like a dream. You were grateful for her easy acceptance, smiling whenever you noticed the gentle glow against a customer’s coffee cup that reminded you of Mark’s lingering presence.

“Are all gods like you?” you ask, tucking your keys back into your purse before running a hand through your hair in an attempt to fix any stray strands.

“Not quite. I’m one of the lesser gods, so that probably makes me less full of myself,” he jokes, laughing slightly when he notices the way you cover your mouth to laugh as well.

“I’m glad,” you reply.

He leads you all the way to your apartment, and the fact that he’s aware of your residence is simply another observation you accept as part of his godly duties. When you’re right outside the black metal gates, your hand hesitating against the keypad to open them, you realize that you’re reluctant to leave him.

“Y/N?”

You sheepishly turn to face him with an embarrassed expression, “You’ll be back again? Soon?”

Your question surprises him, as if he couldn’t believe you would request his presence in the way you did. Gathering his composure, he only ruffles your hair adoringly in response. He takes two steps back, his form barely visible when he finally whispers, “Yes.”

You stand there until you’re completely sure he’s gone. The soft ‘thank you’ that escapes your parted lips is quickly caught by a passing breeze. You pray that he hears it.

☕☕☕☕☕

Fall rushes past like a memory that’s difficult to grasp in its entirety. You developed a habit of counting the times Mark had visited you. Originally, you only offered him items available on your menu. You were confident that those drinks would at most be passable, and free drinks were a worthy trade-off for Love You a Latte’s sudden flourishing. Eventually, after some teasing encouragement from the Coffee God himself, you began experimenting. Taking ideas from flavor profiles you already knew would mingle well, you would happily offer those to him instead as his scheduled sacrifice. He was an honest critic, providing tips on how to improve taste or mouthfeel. Laughing whenever you would take notes and hang onto each word he utters; he’d simply call you ‘cute’ before returning to the drinks you offered him.

You wonder if being a deity also means he notices how you were slowly admitting him into your life.

Mark hadn’t been in the store for a week, something that was atypical for the man. Your fellow baristas had long clocked out for the day, bidding you half-hearted goodbyes after you insisted on doing some inventory review. Counting the boxes of oat milk remaining in the storage for the third time, you sigh and hang up your apron. Remembering the way he had fixed your strap absentmindedly the first day you’d met him, you run your fingers against the fabric in mimicry. It was a stupid emotion, but you missed him.

Even then, you couldn’t help the hope rising in your chest that told you he would be waiting for you at one of the tables you wiped down earlier in the day. When that didn’t happen, you told yourself that he would try to scare you as soon as you turn your back to lock the front door of the coffee shop. The music you listened on the way home still couldn’t soothe your powerful expectations, which chased you like hungry wolves all the way back to your apartment.

It’s only when you’ve changed into an oversized hoodie and worn sweatpants, ready to jump into bed and call it a night, that your wishes are finally answered.

“Y/N.”

No many how many times you heard his voice rumble with your name, you couldn’t help the way it felt like a shot of espresso to your system. He’d say it in warning whenever he notices you slyly trying to slip salt into his contracted offering as a prank or in a sort of gentle happiness when he leaves you outside your apartment in goodbye. You knew it was futile, letting yourself be affected by the natural awe that gods likely possessed. Your foolish mortal feelings would mean nothing to him, as he was merely here for business purposes.

“Hi,” you push away the sadness in your tone and clear your throat, “You usually don’t show up in my bedroom.”

Your tease garners an immediate reaction from him. Even though the night settles early in the winter evenings, you notice the scarlet color he tries to hide. You sit up from under your blankets, hoping that he stays longer than he used to tonight.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away,” he continues, averting his gaze.

You’re not used to the sudden awkwardness. Previously, the two of you would talk nonstop at the café and the walk home that were occurring two or three times a week. It was as if the god you knew had been replaced by this uncomfortable clone. It hurt you more than the idea that you would never be meaningful to him.

“It’s fine. I’m sure you’ve been busy.”

You’re not sure what you want. You want him to return back to the Mark you knew, the one who would tell you funny stores about his brothers and help you in the café whenever you needed a hand. You missed the Mark that looked like he didn’t want the day to end whenever he took the time to consume your coffee offering while laughing at your stories of unique customer experiences. You missed the way his hands would brush against yours, whenever he leaned in closer to hear you above the harsh winter winds on your nightly walks.

But above all else, you suddenly want him to tell you he missed you too.

“Y/N, I have other obligations elsewhere,” he finally relents, body sagging with the weight of the information he just exposed.

Even without the details, you know what this means.

“Will the café be fine without you?” you add, hoping to keep the disappointment in your tone at bay.

He moves forward to settle down on the edge of your bed, leaving the previous spot he’d occupied by your window. When his hand rests on your knee, you know you should push him off to rid yourself of the jolt of something you suddenly felt. But you were frozen, eyes trained on the way he looked at you. It was utter, tender love.

“It’s been without me for the past month, Y/N.”

His confession causes you to momentarily lose your train of thought. Did he mean that he hadn’t been using his magic for the past few weeks? But he still stopped by and complimented the drinks you were creating…why would he still be around if he was no longer holding up his end of the bargain?

“The magic in here,” he continues after taking your hand in his, “isn’t simply limited to what I gave you when we first made our agreement.”

You wait for him to continue, unable to help the way your fingers instinctively tighten around his. He doesn’t seem to mind, because he adjusts his grip to allow your fingers to intertwine with his own longer ones. You know you’re blushing, and you don’t need to see the small smirk tugging against his lip corner to know that.

“You didn’t need me to be successful. I gave the shop a small push in the right direction, but soon enough, the hard work and love in each coffee you sold echoed stronger in your customers than whatever strings I could’ve pulled,” he says.

His fingertips brush the tears away from your cheeks. You sniffle, upset that your vulnerability showed so obviously in front of Mark. He tugs on your hand slightly so you direct your gaze to connect with his again. In his eyes, you think you find comfort telling you that he didn’t mind your crying.

“Ever since that pumpkin spice latte, I’ve never given you access to my magic when you made drinks for me.”

“But wouldn’t magic have made them better? Everything I made must’ve only been subpar to you then,” you bite your lip, worrying that he had been lying to you all along that your sacrifices had been enjoyable to him at all.

He chuckles before pulling you into his arms. You drink in the soft scent of coffee beans against his skin, nuzzling close to the crook of his neck to seek the warmth there. His skin radiates heat like a freshly brewed batch of morning coffee. The way he rests his hand against the back of your head, slowly brushing his fingers through the strands of hair there does wild things to your pulse. There’s no way he doesn’t feel it drumming against your chest, with the two of you being this close.

“I wanted to enjoy whatever you made as something uniquely you,” he pulls back so you can see the stars shining in his eyes, “If you’ve learned anything from our companionship these past few months, it should be about how talented you are.”

You grip his own hoodie in your hands, fearing that if you didn’t hold onto him, he wouldn’t disappear just like he had the past 52 times.

“Please don’t go.”

The words fall like fractured pieces of glass on the floor. You let the pain fully seep into your voice now, hoping that he would stay even if it was out of pity. Instead, Mark simply presses his palm against your cheek before leaning in to give you the best kiss you’ve ever had.

He tastes bittersweet, and you wonder if it’s the coffee he’s probably had already or the fact that everything about this moment is a sort of painful happiness. His other hand joins the other to cup your face delicately, as if he couldn’t believe you were real. Lips soft yet desperate, you match his pace as you etch each detail into your memories. As long as you lived, you didn’t want to forget Mark.

At your insistence, he stays with you for the rest of night. Pressed up against his chest, you can almost delude yourself into thinking that you were a normal girl sleeping beside her normal boyfriend. You force yourself to stay awake as long as you could, not wanting to forget the small details of his face. From the bridge of his nose to the sharp line of his jaw, you trace these features until you fall asleep. Giving him a final kiss goodbye, you let the final tear cascade from the corner of your eyelid when he finally murmurs those three special words against your hair that you’ve been waiting to hear.

#got7 mark #mark tuan #mark tuan x reader #mark tuan x you #mark tuan x y/n #got7writerscollective #virgo project #got7 mark tuan #got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #mark fluff #mark tuan fluff #mark tuan angst #got7 oneshot #mark ff #got7 ff #mark tuan reactions #got7 reactions #mark tuan imagines #mark x reader #mark x you #mark x y/n #got7 au

[blueeyedgeorgie]

George Memeulous Going to a Coffee Shop Often Just to See You

A headcanon.

“Can I please get a coffee shop AU with George?“

_____________

You had just moved to London for Uni

Lucky, you had been able to get a job at a small coffee shop downtown

Before moving to London, you had worked a part time job at a Starbucks 

Your coworkers loved you

Easily, you had made amazing friends 

Everyday the coffee shop was busy

But it didn’t really matter, because you were use to it

One day, George and Will had wandered into the small cafe

They had just been taking a morning stroll downtown 

If they were being honest, they were waiting for a certain store to open to do some filming for Will’s channel

So to take up some of their free time, why not order a coffee? 

They had to stand in a line for a few minutes

During that time, Will was only paying attention to his phone

He had been texting Mia

As for George, he certainly didn’t have any notifications or messages to look at on his phone

So instead he had given his attention the the baristas working behind the counter. 

There were four people

A ginger who wore glasses that had the lenses in the shape of circles was working the cash register

A tall black-haired guy who towered over his coworkers

A blonde girl who had her hair pulled back in a low ponytail

And You

As soon as George’s eyes landed on you

You were the only person he kept his gaze on

Somehow you didn’t notice him

Maybe it was because of how busy you were with making an iced coffee

Eventually once George and Will had got to the front of the line

And George continued to stare at you

Will had to shake George's shoulder a bit to pull him out of his zoned out state 

The duo had ordered two lattes and walked over into the corner of the room

Will would ask what was going on with George when they were in front of the line

And George would come up with the most bullshit answer ever

Nothing

Will knew that it was bullshit too

Even while George was making up an excuse, his eyes were on you

You were just too pretty

Following George’s gaze, Will realized he had been staring at you

“Oh, I see. Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself instead of being a nonce?”

“Nah, they’re out of my league. They probably have a partner.”

Will dropped the subject and began to look around the cafe as they continued to wait

Soon enough he had noticed something

A bulletin board sat in the corner of the room with photos of each of the coworkers

You were there, your name written down below your photo

“Their name is Y/n.”

“How’d you find that out?”

Will would end up showing George the bulletin board

Eventually, Will’s name had been called to come and get their drinks

George would make his way over to pick up the drinks

And there you were, holding the two cups up, ready to hand to George

Flashing a small smile to George, you reached your hands out

And as George grabbed the cups, he gave you a smile

But as he began to walk away, something inside of him was screaming of excitement

Because holy shit, you smiled at him

And that wasn’t the only thing

As he took the drinks, your hand had touched his for a second

Part of himself felt like a creep for how he was acting

But as soon as he left the cafe, he had just assumed he’d forget about you 

It was late at night

And you hadn’t left his mind once

Forgetting you was going to be harder than expected

Waking up the next day, George wasn’t hungry

But he was thirsty

He eventually found himself back at the cafe

He had come early, meaning there was no line

Meaning he couldn’t gawk at you for the whole time he waited to order

Today the blonde girl was working the cash register

Once again, all he ordered was a latte

And instead of standing in the back, George had decided to do the opposite

He walked up to the glass, watching you create the latte

And from being quite obvious he was watching you, you had noticed

You didn’t feel creeped out

He was cute

A small blush appeared on your cheeks as soon as you noticed him watching

You couldn’t help it

Everytime you stole glances at him, you smiled

And he smiled back

George worrying you thought he was being a creep

After finishing with his latte, you walked over to the delivery area

And once again, you handed his drink to him

And once again you too smiled at one another

And once again your hands had touched

But there was something different about today’s interaction

You said something to George

“I like you name.”

And George responded

“I like yours.”

“What?”

You had been a bit surprised he knew your name, how did he find out?

Was he actually a creep?

“Oh, your name is on the bulletin board with your photo... I just assumed it was your name...”

You felt bad for jumping to the thought he was an creep

You had just forgotten your name was up on that board

“Oh! That thing... yeah, I just started working here. Forgot all about considering I never really take time to look at it.”

George would try and strike up a conversation about where you had lived previously

Only to have your ginger coworker come over and usher you away

After all, you were working

George would be bummed out you two couldn’t continue your conversation, but he understood why

You were working, you only had such a limited time to give him attention

The next day, guess who was back in the coffee shop?

George was

And once again you handed him hid drink

So he was able to continue the conversation

“So, yesterday you said you moved here from your hometown, where did you live?”

So you tell him

And once again, before you two could continue your conversation, one of your coworkers ushered you away.

So everyday after that, George would come into the coffee shop

Just to be able to talk to you for only a minute or two

George would show up so often, the rest of your coworker’s had learned his name by just the amount of times 

“...aren’t you suppose to ask who the order is for?”

“We know your name, George.”

No matter who made George’s drink, they’d always hand it to you

Just so you could hand it to him

Every morning when George would enter the cafe, your coworkers would find some way to embarrass you

“Y/n! Your boyfriend is here!”

“George is not my boyfriend!”

Eventually after a month or two of George coming in, he had finally decided to try something new

And on that day when you handed him his usual order, he handed something back to you

A piece of paper with his phone number written on it

At first you were a bit surprised, but you were excited

You did find George a bit cute

“I thought maybe sometime, you’d want to go out and get something to eat with me? So we’d be able to talk more and get to know each other?”

“That sounds amazing.”

As soon as George would leave the building, he’d pull out his phone, texting his friends about what had happened

While meanwhile inside the building, you and your coworkers were going crazy over the fact George gave you his number

And as soon as you finished you shift, you texted him

“Enjoy your morning latte?”

Taglist:

@anyasthoughts​

@multifandom-but​

@caswinchester2000​

@blondiee-seaveyy​

#eboys #eboys420 #eboys 420 #eboys 420 imagine #eboy420imagine #george memeulous #memeulous #british commentary #commentary crew #british commentary youtube #commentary youtube imagine #commentary youtuber x reader #x reader #youtube #youtuber #youtube imagine #youtuber imagine #memeulous imagine #memeulous x reader #memeulous oneshot #memeulous fanfiction #george memeulous imagine #george memeulous oneshot #george memeulous fanfiction #george memeulous x reader

[arc852]

Not Your Average Coffee Shop AU

Warnings: (Look in the tags for the warnings! I don’t want to spoil anything so I’m not putting it here).

Summary: Virgil workes at Starbucks when an interesting customer comes in. They strike up a friendship.

_______________________________________________________

 Virgil had been cleaning the same spot on the counter for the last ten minutes now. He glanced at the clock and mentally groaned as he realized he still had another two hours to go. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t so slow.

 But it did make sense. After all, who would want a coffee at 7 o’clock at night?

 Virgil heard the familiar jingle of the door and turned to greet the customer. He paused slightly, taking in the appearance of the man. He was definitely a new customer, Virgil having never seen him before. He wore a black polo and a pair of glasses. He looked like a teacher if Virgil was being honest. 

 “Hi, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you today?” Virgil recited, trying not to sound as bored as he felt. The man looked up at the menu, eyebrows furrowed.

 “I am...not actually sure.” Virgil looked from his screen to the man. Unlike other customers, who he would be annoyed with, this man actually looked genuinely confused.

 “Is this your first time coming to a Starbucks?” Virgil asked, raising a brow. The man looked at him and cleared his throat sheepishly. 

 “Actually, this would be my first time having...coffee. In general.” The man admitted. Virgil’s eyes widened. This guy, who couldn’t be older than Virgil himself, had never had coffee.

 “Well, I could always give you what I think you would like. If-If that would be okay?” Virgil asked, rubbing the back of his neck. The man’s eyes widened slightly and he nodded.

 “Actually, that would be great. Thank you…” He glanced down at Virgil’s nametag. “Virgil. How much do I-”

 “Oh no, it’s on the house.” Virgil cut him off, already sliding over to the bar to start making the drink. “You know, just in case you don’t like it.” The man blinked but gave Virgil a small smile.

 “Thank you, that is very kind of you.” Virgil shrugged and finished making the drink. He was nervous as he handed it to the man over at the handoff plane. The man took it, sipping it slowly. The man’s eyes lit up.

 “This is quite good.” The man said, after taking another sip. He looked back up at Virgil. “What is it?” 

 “It’s a White Mocha with 1 pump of regular mocha and caramel drizzle.” Virgil shrugged, looking away slightly. “You seemed like the type of person who likes sweet things but never gets them.” The man blinked before a small smirk appeared.

 “That is actually very accurate. I’m impressed.”  He looked like he wanted to say more but his watch beeped. He looked down at it with a frown. “Unfortunately, I must take my leave. Thank you again, Virgil...I hope to see you again.” And with that, the man left the store. Virgil watched the man go, hoping that he would see the man again.

 But for now, he had some dishes to wash.

***

 The man ended up coming again and several more times in fact. Virgil had come to learn the man’s name was Logan and at this point, Virgil could probably consider him a regular. It was about two weeks after their first meeting that a bit more than greetings started.

 “Hey Logan, your usual?” Virgil said, already typing in the order. Logan nodded, pulling out his wallet. As Logan paid, he seemed to look over Virgil.

 “I don’t mean to pry but what do you do Virgil? Outside of work, I mean?” Logan asked suddenly, causing Virgil to pause.

 “Oh, uh...I mean, nothing much really. I go to college online and work and that’s...basically it.” Virgil winced. He sounded pathetic when he put it like that. Virgil moved over to the bar and started to make the drink. Logan slid over as well to continue talking.

 “Interesting.” Was all Logan said. Which was probably him just being polite, because Virgil was not interesting. 

 “What about you? What do you do outside of getting coffee every day?” The barista asked as he handed the drink over. Logan hummed in thought as he took a sip.

 “I...work from home, I guess you could say.” He took another sip. “I actually just moved here a couple of weeks ago. Things are definitely a lot different here.” Virgil smiled, glancing towards the front to make sure he didn’t have anyone.

 “That’s cool, working from home I mean. Where did you move from?” Virgil watched as Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, as if he was suddenly in deep thought.

 “Well-” The door dinged and Virgil looked to see a few people coming up towards the front. He sighed.

 “Sorry Logan, but I gotta go. Duty calls and all that.” Logan nodded and Virgil went to ring up the new customers. When he had the chance to look back towards the hand out plane, Logan was gone.

***

 It was another two weeks after that when Logan asked him something that threw him off guard.

 “Would you like to go to lunch with me sometime?” Logan asked, completely serious and it caused Virgil to stutter.

 “W-What?” He asked, hand lowering from the screen. Logan adjusted his glasses.

 “Sorry for the bluntness. It’s just, I have been enjoying our conversations. And was wondering if you would be willing to join me in a setting where we wouldn’t be interrupted?” Logan asked again and slowly Virgil found it head nodding.

 “Um, yeah, yeah that sounds great,” Virgil said, smiling a little. Logan nodded, returning the smile.

 “Great. How does lunch at that diner around the corner sound?” Logan asked and Virgil nodded as he finally finished typing in Logan’s order.

 “Yeah, I can do tomorrow if that works for you?” Logan smiled as he handed over his money.

 “Sounds perfect.”

***

 They sat down for lunch, Virgil feeling a little weird seeing Logan outside of work. But he couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to getting to know more about the man.

 “So, Virgil.” Logan started, pushing his food around with a fork. “I can’t help but notice that we may be the same age?” Logan asked and Virgil hummed.

 “Well, I’m 22,” Virgil answered with a shrug. Logan nodded and took a bite of his food. He had gotten a caesar salad with chicken.

 “I’m 24, so fairly close I would say.” Virgil was glad to know he was right. “Do you live at home then? Or with roommates?” Virgil shook his head.

 “Nah, I live alone. It’s a little crappy, but it’s mine.” Virgil suddenly looked down. “I uh...my family isn’t the greatest. And I don’t exactly have...friends.” Virgil winced. Why was he telling Logan this? The man was going to think he was so pathetic.

 “I’m sorry to hear that but it is admirable that you have managed to live on your own. That is not an easy feat.” Or not. Virgil sent Logan a shy smile and Logan returned it. “I live on my own as well, though I will admit I have some help with the payments.” Virgil nodded, that was understandable. 

 After that, they fell into a nice steady conversation. Talking about their lives and their pasts. Virgil was sure he had never told anyone so much about him. But Logan...he just felt like he could trust Logan. 

 Near the end of their little lunch hangout, Logan leaned in closer, locking eyes with him. “You are very fascinating Virgil.” Virgil blinked, taken aback a little. 

 “Oh uh...thanks.” Not long after that, the two parted ways.

***

 They started having lunch dates at least twice a week. It was fun, the highlights of Virgil’s week if he was being honest. Was this what it was like to have a friend? Virgil was beginning to suspect so. 

 During one lunch date that happened to be at the same diner from their first, Logan brought up something different once again. 

 “I was wondering if, for our next lunch, we could have it at my place?” Logan asked. Virgil hummed in thought but honestly, he didn’t have to think too hard. He nodded. 

 “Yeah, that sounds like fun.” And that’s what brought him here, in his car and listening to his phone for the directions to Logan’s place. He made a right turn before pulling into the fourth driveway as stated by google maps. He got out of the car and looked at the house. Man, it was nice. He was glad Logan had suggested his place and not Virgil’s.

 Virgil came up to the front door and knocked. He waited a few moments before he heard a voice from inside. “It’s open!” Logan called out, voice faint. Virgil smiled and opened the door.

 A bright flash of light filled his vision and then nothing.

***

 Virgil groaned as he felt himself starting to wake up. What had happened? He weakly moved his hands closer to him, taking notice of the cold metal below, and pushed his head up. From his position, all he could see what a slick metallic wall. Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed. Where on earth was he? 

 The last thing he remembers was going to Logan’s place. He made it to the door but then...nothing. His mind just goes blank. Did he pass out? Where was Logan?

 “Yes, the target has been acquired.” A voice spoke out suddenly, much louder than it should be. It was also...familiar. 

 “Logan?” He groaned out and he started to move himself up slowly. Whatever had happened to him, he was still feeling the effects of.

 “It shouldn’t be too much longer now. I’ve just passed the belt, so it should be clear from here on out.” The more the voice talked, the more Virgil knew it was Logan. But what the heck was he talking about? And why wasn’t he helping him? 

 Virgil finally managed to move into a sitting position.

 “Oh...I must go now. Vir-I mean, the subject has woken up.” Virgil heard a click sound and, strangely, he felt the floor rumble a little. As if a small earthquake was happening…

 A shadow fell over him and Virgil finally turned his head to the right, now noticing the giant window. The most important thing he saw, however, was behind the window.

 A giant. 

 And one that happened to look just like Logan.

 “Hello, Virgil.” Holy crap it was Logan. But it didn’t make any sense. None of this was making any sense. He scooted back until his back was pressed against the opposite wall. “I am sure you are quite confused.” Virgil found himself nodding.

 “W-What is happening? Why are-why are you…? Where am…?” Virgil found he couldn’t get it out. Logan sighed.

 “Things will be clear quite soon. But just know that no harm will come to you.” Logan looked away for a moment. “I am very sorry about all this. But you happened to catch my attention and well...I was not lying when I told you I found you fascinating.” Virgil felt himself pale at that, remembering when Logan had said that to him. 

 “L-Logan…?” Virgil practically whimpered, scared out of his mind. “Please...what-what is happening…? Why…?” Logan looked at him sadly.

 “I suppose it would be better if I showed you.” Logan stood up and pressed something to the right of where Virgil was. And then Virgil watched in horror as the glass window opened up. He screamed when he saw a hand start to reach in for him.

 He tried pressing himself into the corner but it was no use. Logan’s hand easily wrapped around his body. The feeling sent chills running up and down his spine and he immediately started to struggle.

 “Please calm down Virgil.” He heard Logan say but Virgil didn’t stop. Tears started falling down his face.

 “Let me go!” Virgil yelled. He had no idea what was going on but he wanted out. He was lifted out of the room and into the open. Virgil’s eyes were shut tight, too scared to see what layout before him. He felt Logan start to walk, taking him somewhere before stopping fairly quickly. A second of silence went by, only broken by Virgil’s shortened breaths.

 “Virgil, open your eyes.” Virgil didn’t want to but he knew he had to eventually. It wasn’t helping him at all, not being able to see. So, ever so slowly, he opened them.

 His struggles ceased.

 Logan had stopped near a window. A window that showed him the night sky...all around them. Literally, everywhere he looked, he only saw darkness and stars. Below, above, to the left and right and straight ahead. They were...in space.

 “I was sent to Earth on a mission to learn as much as I could. I was sent with a cloaking device that shrunk me down to a human’s average height.” Logan held up his free hand and Virgil’s eyes were drawn towards the watch on his wrist. “Technically, it was to be a simple observational mission. I was to live as a human for a month or two and take notes on the things that I saw...but then I met you.” Virgil tensed as the hand holding him moved up and turned so he was now face to face with the giant alien. He cowered.

 “You were just so...interesting. I couldn’t place why but the more I talked with you and got to know you, I knew I would not be able to leave you behind.” Logan sighed and turned away from the window, letting Virgil get a good look at where he was. Which he now assumed was inside a spaceship. All Virgil could take in at the moment was that a lot of hi-tech stuff was going on and that it was very, very big.

 “So I spoke with my superiors and got the clearance to take you with me.” Logan looked back down at Virgil. “And so here we are.” Virgil could only stare wide-eyed at Logan. 

 “What-What’s going to happen to me?” Virgil stuttered out. He hadn’t resumed his struggles, knowing it was pointless. Logan stopped and thought for a moment.

 “Well, my superiors made it quite clear that you would be my problem. So, I am not sure. Though I have already said, you will not be harmed.” Logan could say that all he wanted, it didn’t make Virgil believe it anymore. 

 A couple of beeps sounded from the main screen and Logan looked over at it. “It looks like we’ve entered the atmosphere, I’ll need to take the ship off of autopilot here soon.” He looked sadly at Virgil before going back over to where Virgil had woken up. Now that Virgil was looking, he could see that the mini room was embedded into the wall.

 He was placed back into the room, the window door quickly shutting behind him. He watched as Logan walked back to the computer and took a seat before proceeding to push several buttons.

 Virgil sat in the corner, curling in on himself. 

 As his tears fell, he couldn’t help but wonder why.

#sanders sides #coffee shop au #platonic #analogical #virgil sanders #logan sanders #spoilers in tags past this point > #tw kidnapping #tw fear #tw panic #gt #Giant/tiny #aliens

[dykes4timrand]

Part 2 of the welcome to Night Vale au

***

“The Clivesdale Cougars were utterly destroyed last night during their match against our very own Hatchetfield High Sniggles, a meteor had once again fallen out of the sky, and crashed into the high school gymnasium crushing several members of the Clivesdale basketball team, destroying the court, and allowing the Sniggles to make the winning shot. Clivesdale residents argue that the game wasn’t fair, and that the gaping hole in the floor didn’t allow the remaining Cougars to get back to their hoop and set up a new defense, but I think that if you don’t come prepared for a sudden meteor strike, don’t come at all.”

Paul looked away from his script, and the empty coffee cup reading ‘Pail’ grabbed his attention. He had a late start this morning, and by the time he had reached the Starbucks he normally went to, it was far too crowded for Paul’s liking. Instead he went to Beanies, a small coffee shop about a block away. That was when he met her.

At first he wasn’t a fan of the shop, when he walked in he was immediately greeted by the sound of someone singing a song about lattes to the tune of twinkle twinkle little star, but then when he went up and ordered his black coffee the barista gave him a look, muttered “wow, so adventurous” and then cussed like a sailor when he put a dollar in the tip jar. By the time Paul left with his coffee, he was in love.

“Today I stopped by one of the many small buisness’s in our town; a little coffee shop called Beanies.” Was Paul allowed to talk about this? He had gone to that shop for the first time, that was something new that had happened in Hatchetfield. “The coffee was great–“ a lie “–the people working there looked like they were having a blast–“ another lie “–and the barista who gave me my coffee made my day.” That part, was true. “The only negative thing was the singing, the person sounded good, but that’s just unnecessary, don’t you think? I’m here for a coffee, not a performance that I also have to tip for.”

Was that his imagination or were his lights turning green? Paul took that as a sign to go back to his script. “As you all know, the local Cinnabon has been terrorized by a masked man who claims the recipe of the cinnamon bun holds the secrets to immortality and how to open up a gateway to another world. Well, the self named Prophet of the Devine Dough has been revealed to be Gerald Monroe, his trial will be on monday and he will be represented by Gary Goldstein.” Paul pressed the button that plays the station’s jingle. “And that, is What’s New in Hatchetfield.”

#tgwdlm #tgwdlm fanfic #starkid fanfiction #paul mathews #welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale au #whats new in hatchetfield au #pocket writing

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Triple Shot

Gerard Way x Frank Iero, 608 words, rated G. This is so ridiculously trite and cliched and I don’t even care. I’m just, like, getting all the cliches out of my system today and it feels kinda nice. From a Fluff Friday request: “Meet cute, like, seeing one another in the same coffee shop, for weeks, and both talking about one another to their friends, but taking months to bump into each other somewhere else and finally start talking.” Except it’s four days and not months. Oops. 

Also. Who the fuck decides to start writing Frerard fanfiction in the year 2020? Me, apparently. 

.

On Thursday morning, there’s a new barista in the Starbucks down the block. Gerard’s been staring at his feet, imagining a superhero with cloven hooves, so it takes him by surprise when he looks up and sees ink and piercings and eyeliner and oh my god those eyes. 

“Can I take your order?” the guy asks, one perfect eyebrow raised, a sly little twist of a smile on his lips. 

“Um,” Gerard says, and promptly forgets the order he’s been spitting out six mornings a week for almost a year now. 

“Hey, Gee,” Ray says brightly from behind Pretty Guy. “The usual?” 

Gerard nods, and then avoids eye contact as he pays and waits awkwardly for his drink. It can’t come soon enough. 

Finally, he waves goodbye to Ray and heads out. 

“Who was that?” he hears Pretty Guy ask, as he pushes the door open. He really doesn’t want to know how the rest of that conversation goes. 

On Friday morning, Pretty Guy remembers his name. 

“Gee, right? Triple shot?” 

Gerard gives him a dumb little wave and the guy smiles so brightly it leaves afterimages in Gerard’s retinas. 

“I’m Frank,” he says, pointing at his own name tag. “You’ve got some, uh… pen, I think?” 

He gestures at his cheek and Gerard flushes, rubbing at the ink even though it’s definitely going to be smeared worse now. That’s what he gets for falling asleep on top of his sketchbook again. He’s so flustered he almost walks out without his coffee. 

On Saturday morning, Gerard gets there a little early, and he’s already sitting on one of the couches inhaling his drink by the time Mikey slouches in. He gives Gerard a little jerk of his chin in greeting and somehow strikes up an animated (well, animated for Mikey) conversation with Frank almost immediately, because life is not fair. 

“How do you know Frank?” Gerard can’t help but ask, super casual, when Mikey settles next to him on the couch. Mikey gives him a too-sharp look before shrugging like he’s still mostly asleep. Gerard’s not fooled. 

“Just around,” Mikey says vaguely. “You’re coming out to the Loop Lounge tonight, right?” 

“Kinda wanted to stay in?” Gerard tries, but Mikey’s shaking his head before he can finish the sentence. 

On Saturday night, Gerard’s hovering awkwardly by the bar when he sees a familiar face weaving through the crowd. Frank’s wearing eyeliner and a too-tight shirt that exposes his hipbones, and the smile he gives Gerard should probably be illegal, it’s so pretty-dirty-mischevious. 

“I know you,” Frank says, leaning right in to say it against Gerard’s ear. “Sorry, no espresso here. I’ll buy you a beer, though.” 

“Wait, what?” Gerard says, but Frank’s already waving to the bartender. Gerard’s been trying to signal her for like five minutes now and she hasn’t given him a second glance, but now that Frank is leaning over the bar, she immediately appears with two cups of beer in hand. 

“Shit, I gotta go,” Frank says, and passes over one of the cups. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll find you after!” 

“Wait, what?” Gerard says again, and almost slaps himself in the face. Frank’s already elbowing his way through the press of bodies. To Gerard’s surprise, he elbows his way right to the front, and then he hops on stage and grabs the microphone. He looks right at Gerard and gives him a quick flash of a grin. 

“Okay, motherfuckers, let’s go,” he says, and the drummer counts them in. 

On Sunday morning, Gerard has coffee at Frank’s apartment. It’s without a doubt the worst coffee Frank’s made him, but it tastes fucking fantastic. 

#frerard #gerard way x frank iero fic #mcr fic #fluff friday

[keyboard-smashed]

The Storm That's Brewing

Warnings: Snake, blood (not in detail but it's mentioned), tell me if there's anything else

(link to chapter 1 & 3 at the bottom)

-----

Chapter 2- Singing With The Birds

To Virgil’s surprise, three whole weeks past by with no incident- unless you counted the morning that Patton told a joke about something sciency that made Logan laugh so much he choked on his tea, which caused him to drop his mug, which caused Roman to run our of his room, his hair wrapped in a towel and wearing a red bath robe, brandishing a pool noodle as a weapon (though why he had a pool noodle in his room was beyond Virgil). No, Virgil would only class this as an incident if he’d not managed to get a picture, but his lock screen proved this not to be the case.

In the brief amount of time, all four men had managed to find jobs. Acting was Roman’s profession of choice, but the local theatre was already halfway through their rehearsals for the upcoming play (We Will Rock You) and no roles were left, so he’d have to wait a few months to persue that. Instead, he found a job as a singer in a small restaurant that had live music on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. He only worked two or three of the nights per week, but the pay was alright and the tips were very generous most of the time.

Patton’s job surprised Virgil the most. A librarian wasn’t something he’d ever imagined Patton being. Pat always been insecure about his dyslexia, avoiding books and reading as much as he could, unless he was being read to by someone else. Virgil had vivid memories of Pat begging him to finish a story at 2am. Sure, he loved stories, but he hated reading. That’s why when Virgil visited Patton at work, he was utterly shocked to see Patton sitting in a circle of kids, reading to them. He did well for the most part, but whenever he was struggling, he’d call on one of the older children to help him out. The scene was so sickeningly sweet.

And Logan- well nobody knew what he did. He spent most of his time hauled up in his room, and would rush out of the house at random hours and be gone from any time between forty minutes and a day. When asked what he was doing, he simply responded “work”, and retreated back to continue that. It seemed to be the only subject he wouldn’t lecture everybody about. The lead theory about his job was Roman’s, who believed him to be a spy. It was ridiculous of course, but the others had no proof against the claim to disprove it.

Virgil briefly, when delivering the message from Roman that dinner was ready, caught a glimpse of the inside of Logan’s room. As he’d expected, it looked like a science lab more than a home. The space was very impersonal. His walls were stark white and his bedsheets and curtains a dark blue, bordering black. A large bookcase sat next to his bed, filled to the brim with books. It was all extremely neat and precise. Except the desk. The desk was full of paper, strewn around like it had been hit with a small tornado- something very familiar to Virgil. He didn’t get a good look at anything specific Logan had been working on though, which left the work a mystery still to him, Roman and Patton.

Virgil’s work was a lot less interesting than Logan’s, as a barista at the local Starbucks. He hated it. The pay wasn’t great, he hated coffee, he had long hours and had to deal with rude people all day which left him too socially exhausted to do anything after work except eat the dinner than Patton forced upon him on the days he was there.

What Virgil really didn’t want to see when he got home- exhausted and in serious need of a nap- was a bunch of birds in the apartment, chirping at his brother, and his brother chirping back. Virgil really couldn’t deal with this today.

“Patton! What the hell?” Virgil scolded, quickly closing the door behind him, “What if Roman had come home, or Logan? How could you possibly explain this?”

“Hey, bad day at work?” Patton asked. He chirped something at the birds. They chirped back enthusiastically and flew through Roman’s room and out the window. Virgil relaxed a tiny bit.

Patton chuckled and put his arms up in defence, his attempt to change the subject clearly thwarted, “It’s okay, they’re friends of Margaret. Roman left for a manicure ten minutes ago, and Logan’s busy in his room.”

Virgil dropped his voice to a loud whisper, moving closer to Patton so he could hear him, “He’s inside the apartment?! What if he’d seen you? Or heard you?” Virgil’s mind was racing with all the ways that it could’ve possibly gone wrong.

“You know Logan, he doesn’t stop work for anything-” Patton started. Virgil internally screamed.

Suddenly Logan’s door swung open, “Is everyone alright? I heard yelling, and... Chirping?”

“Sorry we disturbed you, Lo, we’ll try keep it down.” Patton promised.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was just checking everybody was alright, and the chirping...?” Logan asked slowly. Patton and Virgil looked worriedly between each other. Logan continued, “Were you watching a nature documentary?”

Virgil visibly relaxed. He didn’t suspect anything.

“Actually, it was the sound of me tweeting.” Patton laughed. Virgil’s shoulders tensed. Whhhhy?

“Uh yeah, Patton has a custom sound when he tweets. It’s a bird sound because he’s tweeting.” Virgil recovered, sealing the deal with a completely unbelievable fake laugh. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Logan furrowed his eyebrows. There was no way he was buying it.

“Right. I must return to my work. If you do end up watching a nature documentary, please call me, the Discovery Channel is doing an intriguing piece on the kookaburra.” He said, walking back to his room. Virgil couldn’t believe he’d bought it. Had he bought it?

As soon as Logan was out of earshot, Virgil whispered, “How did he even hear us, we were whispering when he came out. Jeez, it’s like he’s got super hearing or something.” Patton gasped.

Virgil quickly said, “No. I was kidding. No.”

Patton pouted.

“Okay, I’m going to my room.” Virgil said, desperately needing a nap.

“Okay!” Patton agreed.

Virgil walked into his room, dodging the boxes be still hadn’t had the time to unpack, and fell onto his bed.

Patton followed and sat on the edge, “So, Margaret sent Michael to find-“ Virgil groaned and rolled into his back, “-the local birds that aren’t migrating this year, their friend has a hurt wing and they’re staying on our roof, so that we could meet them. She also wants to visit, as soon as she can get her kids to behave well enough to be this far into the city.” Patton finally paused to take a breath.

“Is Margaret the one that sat on my window and woke me up every morning?” Virgil asked.

“Yep!” Patton twirled himself around on the desk chair.

“And she had kids?”

“Yeah, how could you forget? We stayed up all night waiting for her eggs to hatch.” Patton said. The memory came flooding back to Virgil.

“Sorry, my brain’s a bit...” He trailed off, unsure what word would best describe the mental haze that seemed to lurk in his brain the past few days.

“Foggy? Cloudy? Misty?” Patton suggested. Virgil rolled his eyes. “Do you think it’s because you haven’t been using-”

“You were saying about the birds.” Virgil interjected, hoping his subject change would go unnoticed. To his joy, it did.

“Right! So Michael also told the birds that they can come to us with any problems they have-“

Virgil mumbled, “Great.”

Patton ignored him, “-and so they came to ask for help.”

Virgil sighed, there was no way he was going to get a peaceful night. He sat up in his bed, “Fine. What’s the problem?”

“There’s a snake trying to take over their habitat.” Patton said calmly.

“That’s snakey.”

Patton’s head shot up, Virgil had made a pun!

Virgil lay back down in his bed, “Forget I said that. What exactly do the birds want us to do?” He asked, already knowing the answer but praying for another one.

Patton offered no such solution, “They want us to talk to the snake and ask him to move.”

“Pat, come on, it could be dangerous. What if it’s poisonous? What if it attacks” Virgil said as his brain supplied him with all the possible solutions for what could go wrong. Gosh, he loved being him.

“Then you’ll save us.” Patton said with one hundred per cent certainty. Virgil wasn’t so sure.

“Snakes can strike really quickly, what if I’m too slow or it bites me first and then you. Nobody would find us.” He said solemnly.

“Why don’t we ask Logan about poisonous snakes?" Patton asked.

Virgil wanted to say, ‘Are you crazy?’, then realised that would be completely insensitive. He felt bad for even thinking it. Instead he settled for, “That’s too conspicuous, Pat.”

-

Virgil must’ve spent too long thinking about what he was going to say, because before he could talk Patton down, he was gone.

Virgil heard the sound of knocking and ran out of his room. Logan opened his door.

“Have you decided to watch a documentary?” Logan asked.

“Aw, not yet, sorry,” Patton said. Logan’s face dropped a little, “But we were wondering if you could tell us anything about how to tell if a snake is poisonous or not.”

Logan sighed, “Well I assume that you mean venomous. Poison is ingested, unless you plan to eat the snake, which is, of course, delicacy in some cultures,” Virgil and Patton both looked disgusted. Logan guessed that this meant they wanted to know about venomous snakes, “Alright then. You can usually identify them by the shape of their head. Venomous snakes tend to have broader heads and skinnier necks. Their snouts are also pointier. If you can get closer to the snake, which I wouldn’t recommend unless you are sure it is not dangerous, you will see that they have heat sensitive pads and their eyes are elliptical rather than circular.”

Patton looked back at Virgil where he leant on his bedroom doorframe. He shrugged.

“Uh, could you possibly draw that please?” Patton asked.

Logan nodded, “I suppose. I am not an excellent artist but I can probably show you the basic ideas.” He walked into his room to retrieve some paper and a pen. While he routed through his disaster of a desk, he said, “May I ask why you’re inquiring bout venomous snakes?”

Patton laughed nervously, “Well a little birdy told me that there was a snake on our roof.”

Virgil ignored pun. “On the roof? How did it get up there?!” He exclaimed.

“Large birds of prey often eat snakes. Perhaps this one escaped its captor.” Logan suggested. Finally he found some paper. He walked out of his room and closed the door.

“If there is indeed a snake on the roof like your confidant said, the proper protocol would be to contact the landlord. Then he may contact an exterminator if that is necessary.” Logan said, but he started drawing a diagram of a venomous snake anyway.

Virgil knew Patton would decline, he hated exterminators with a passion. It was one of the very few things he actually hated.

Just as Virgil had had known he would, Patton declined.

“I don’t want to bother them unless we have to.” He said, shaking his head. Virgil doubted he’d call in the authorities even if the snake bit him. His compassion was really going to be his downfall.

Logan considered for a moment, “Alright,” he agreed, “But I beg you remember that even non-venomous snakes can bite. I think it would be best if I went with you so that I could identify it or remove it. ”

Finally Virgil piped into the conversation, worried that Patton would accept Logan’s offer. As much as he wanted an expert- or whatever Logan was- to identify the snake, he couldn’t risk Patton’s cover being blown.

“No thanks. We don’t want to bother you working. I’m sure your drawing will be fine, and I’m sure I can remove the snake without being bitten.” He said.

Logan sighed. “If you’re sure.” He said, handing his drawing to Patton. Virgil walked next to him to see the drawing. Logan really hadn’t been being modest when he said he wasn’t a great artist.

“Wow Logan, this is really...” Patton tried to think of a suitable compliment about the drawing.

“You don’t have to try and compliment me. I am aware that my drawing skills are subpar and can tell when you are lying.” Logan said. Virgil really hoped the last bit wasn’t true.

“...Helpful!” Patton beamed.

Logan smiled slightly, then coughed and reclaimed his usual stoic expression.

“Thank you.” He said, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose.

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Right well we best be off- dangerously high roofs to be on, possibly venomous snakes to extract, ya know.”

“I best get back to my work.” Logan said, turning back towards his room. He paused, “Text if you need me.” He closed his door.

“So how are we going to get onto the roof then?”

----------

Taglist: lmaoooo as if

Chapter 1:

Chapter 3:

(^idk how to link stuff in the nice, wordy way)

#the storm that's brewing #tstb #tstb chapter 2 #prinxiety #logicality #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #how do you link stuff nicely??

[blindbatalex]

i have 14 tabs open most of them are bruins related and it's your fault. also im going on my own judgement for how much coffee each person in the team looks like he drinks

This was probably not what you asked for but an incomplete list of (fictional) Bruins coffee headcannons nonetheless-

Brad Marchand: recently discovered what carrying a starbucks cup around does for his aesthetic and he is a fan. he doesn’t like coffee much but will not let on anyone that he is drinking tea instead. once got roped into a dare for who had the higher caffeine tolerance by tuukka and nearly died as a result.

Patrice Bergeron: doesn’t often drink coffee but will every once in a while have a classy drink, like a macchiato, in a porcelain espresso cup and look like a GQ model while doing it. if you call him out on it he will say he had no idea but secretly? he knows exactly how good he looks and 100% knows what he is doing

Zdeno Chara: drinks green tea only because it’s healthier

Tuukka Rask: lives on coffee. will order a red eye with an extra double shot and chug it all down like water. the amount of caffeine that will kill him has not been invented yet. he also gets super cranky if he misses his morning coffee and there is one person on the team responsible for making sure this does not come to pass at all times for the wellbeing and safety of all concerned.

Jake Debrusk: won’t drink coffee unless it has whipped cream on top. and the more complicated the drink the better. he and tuukka fought at least once as to whether a gingerbread latte with extra whipped cream counts as coffee and he also probably helped his local barista craft an iced coffee drink made using oreos.

Charlie McAvoy: Started drinking coffee in college before midterms and the habit kinda stuck. He proclaims he doesn’t care what he drinks much but secretly loves it whenever Jake orders one of his ridiculous drinks for him.

David Pastrnak: Has a fancy ass espresso machine on his counter but also gets ridiculously excited about free coffee - someone needs to stop him from drinking three cups in a row because he really can’t handle the caffeine. He also can’t fall asleep until 3am if he has any after 5pm and Jake and Charlie are very vigilant about it now after listening to Pasta wax poetic about hockey, the Czech Republic, and the universe one too many times at 2am.

Jaro Halak: Everyone is pretty sure he regularly spikes his morning coffee. No one dares to ask. In truth, Jaro specifically acts like he is spiking his coffee because he enjoys the fear it strikes in the hearts of his teammates. tuukka is the only person who knows the truth and he approves very much.

Matt Grzelyck: True lawful good. Will drink one cup every morning with cream and no sugar. Can tell good coffee and has a slight preference but never makes a fuss.

#boston bruins #also #heheheheh i feel 0% guilt #and the next steps is watching games #and then it goes downhill lol

[yespoetry]

Alex Z. Salinas: The Savage Screwball

The Savage Screwball

I was at Starbucks sipping coffee, reading Roberto Bolaño’s The Savage Detectives, when a feeling hit me: Everything was perfect.

The sensation was so striking I put the book down.

I looked outside: the sun was smiling, birds chirped, traffic advanced smoothly. The world was a mid-century postcard.

Emboldened, feeling especially good after my morning workout, I texted Vanessa if she could come over tomorrow night. I said I could cook lasagna and buy a bottle of red wine, her favorite.

“Here ya go,” said Madeline, the tall, beautiful barista with bright tattoo sleeves, placing a fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip muffin in front of me. The waft of baked dough was delectable.

“Thank you. They don’t pay you enough,” I flirted.

“But I get to see that smile of yours,” she flirted back.

Oh Madeline. I imagined us spending a day at the beach, me admiring her resplendent body art when I heard a bang. A man had pushed open the door into Starbucks. He had dark skin, army fatigue pants, crazed homeless eyes. He stunk. He looked to be my dad’s age. He peered left, right, straight ahead, then spotted me. He marched right up to me.

“Hey, let me bum a few bucks, dude,” he said. He smelled like a dead animal. His face was like expired beef jerky.

I patted my pocketless basketball shorts—my wallet was on the table—and said:

“Sorry, sir. Don’t carry cash.”

The man’s face twisted in ugly directions—was plain ugly.

“Little prick,” he mumbled, then marched right out of Starbucks.

Despite the insult, what struck me most was that he was clean-shaven. Some things don’t add up only after you think about them.

I felt someone’s eyes pierce the back of my head, so I turned around and caught an old black woman shaking her permed head at me.

“Yes?” I said.

She swiftly lifted up her Vanity Fair magazine to cover her face, effectively blocking me out.

I see how it is, I thought. Then my phone buzzed. Mom.

“Hey, Mom, what’s going on?”

“Hi mijo, I hope you’re having a great weekend. Real quick, I’m calling to update you on the house situation. I’ve thought a lot about it and…we’ve decided to sell it. I know, I know, that’s not what you wanted, but I think selling’s the right move right now. Lance agreed. He said the market is—”

“I don’t care what Lance thinks,” I interrupted.

“Mijo.”

“No, I’ve already told you I’m willing—more than willing to take it over. The house is all I have left…all we have left of Dad.”

Mom stayed quiet for a few seconds.

“I know, mijo,” she said softly. “I know. But me and Lance—”

I hung up on her. It wasn’t that Lance was white—he was—or that he’d become Mom’s boyfriend six months after Dad’s heart attack. It was his predilection to butt into our family affairs, give his two-and-a-half cents when we were good on the money. Lance wasn’t a bad guy, I don’t think, but that didn’t mean I didn’t think him a snake slithering on my property. White people, like snakes, have no propriety when it comes to death and property.

I pictured myself stomping on a snake’s head then sipped my black coffee. It was now lukewarm. It had lost its desired effect—to burn my tongue.

I went back to my book. I read a sentence six times over. I couldn’t comprehend it for the life of me. Bolaño wasn’t Balzac, but I might as well have been blind.

I put the book down again and closed my eyes. I focused in on the song playing in the back. “Maria Maria” by Carlos Santana. I started bobbing my head and was immediately brought back to middle school football, being on bus rides with the boys. Falling asleep, drooling.

As Santana made his guitar sing, I placed myself in Spanish Harlem, like in the song. Maria Maria—living the life like a movie star. She was getting ready for our hot date, putting on her makeup. It was always me waiting for her, Maria. She took forever, always. “Beauty takes time,” she’d always tell me.

How amazing would it be if even just for ten seconds, I wondered, if I was Santana’s guitar—no, his fingers, his magical fingers with so much talent they could make guitars sing and moan, just like women? What would it be like, I wondered, to have millions of fans across the world chant my name, beg encores every single night like I was the god of music? Like I was…Santana?

The song finished and I found myself tapping my left foot like mad. I was anxious. I needed fresh air. It was my day off, after all, so I needed to enjoy it.

The rude homeless man was sitting on the sidewalk by the Starbucks entrance. He looked up at me, studied me for two seconds, and seemed not to remember me one bit. He was whacked out.

Finally, he asked, “Got a cigarette I can bum?”

I was taken aback by the politeness in his voice. I patted the sides of my shorts where there were no pockets.

“Sorry, sir. Don’t smoke.”

“Geez, who you gotta blow around here to get a smoke? The Muffin Man?”

My muffin! I’d left it uneaten on the plate. Like my coffee, it was getting colder—was probably already cold. But then, the homeless guy. My sympathy synapses had already started firing. If I couldn’t help the man get a smoke, the least I could do was feed him. Right?

“Hold on a sec,” I said.

A few seconds later, I was back outside, objects in hand.

“Take this,” I said, handing the muffin to the man, “and eat it.”

“And take this,” I said, handing him the coffee cup, “and drink it. This is my blood.”

He accepted the muffin and coffee hesitantly. He sniffed the muffin, as if trying to detect poison. Then he threw it hard into the street. I didn’t even blink. I watched the muffin get pulverized by oncoming traffic.

The man polished off the coffee in one swig, burped loud, then set the empty cup on the ground. He reached inside his camo pants and pulled out a crumpled cigarette and a lighter.

“You had one this whole time?” I said.

“Last one. I get ‘em where I can.”

My phone buzzed. A text from Vanessa.

I can’t come over. Ted is in town the next couple weeks.

“Doomed!” the homeless man shouted. “We’re all doomed!”

He tapped cigarette ashes into the cup. The Starbucks woman imprinted on it still smiled her green smile. I’d never smoked a day in my life, but in that moment, a cigarette sounded so good. Anything did. Anything but standing there with the crazy homeless man, thinking the thoughts I was thinking.

“Hey, do me a favor and toss this into the street, willya,” I said, handing the man my iPhone.

He accepted it hesitantly then said:

“And what do I get out of it?”

I paused.

“Cigarettes and a cheeseburger,” I answered finally.

He scratched his expired beef jerky chin.

“It’s gotta be from Whataburger, though. I don’t want no McDonald’s.”

I smiled.

“Deal,” I said.  

Without wasting any time he launched my iPhone hard into the street. It flew upward as though toward heaven then took a sudden cruel dive toward traffic. I saw it get obliterated. Smashed into a hundred little pieces. Nobody stopped. Nothing changed.

“Incredible,” I said.

“That’s my screwball. Pretty good, huh?”

“Fucking amazing,” I agreed, holding back tears.

Alex Z. Salinas lives in San Antonio, Texas. His short fiction has appeared in publications such as Every Day Fiction, Mystery Tribune, Nanoism, escarp, Pecan Grove Review, 101 Words, 101 Fiction, 365tomorrows, 121 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, and ZeroFlash. He serves as poetry editor of the San Antonio Review.

#Alex Z. Salinas #fiction #special feature

[loverboyfae]

@atatfortatzelwurm

“And I wasn’t going to complain, obviously, but still it was pretty… weird…” my friend trailed off.

I wasn’t trying to ignore her, but my eye was caught. Because, against all odds, you were there. You walked into this Starbucks as though you didn’t know how Earth shattering that was. You probably didn’t know, actually.

Your outfit was more downstated now, just a simple white shirt and matching purple skirt and purple ballet flats, which made sense. This was a Thursday afternoon at a coffee shop, so of course you wouldn’t dress as extravagantly as at a party. You still made a striking figure, though, tall and thin with your hair carefully obscuring your face in a way that made you not seem shy or withdrawn but mysterious.

“Hey, is everything okay?” my friend asked me.

I wrenched my eyes away from you, but they drifted over again as I said, “Yeah, yeah, just, um, a memory…”

I had not wanted to come here. Which here? This room? The party? College? This earthly realm? I couldn’t tell you.

It was crowded. Dense. Small. And despite all that, lonely. This was where the full bottles of alcohol were, though, and so of course I was here. It was the only reason I had come to the stupid party in the first place, even though my friend Rose was trying to get me to make friends, or maybe something even more.

I fought through the crowd, red solo cup (of course it was a red solo cup) clutched tight to my chest. Head down, compact yet forceful body, no further interaction with the people here, and we’re good.

And then, when I finally made it to the bottles and started pouring generously, what should I be met with but your hand tapping my shoulder.

You were ethereal, in white from head to heeled booted toe, except for your multicolored faux fur jacket. Your lashes framed glittering eyes and freckles dusted your sharp cheekbones.

“Wanna top me off?” you asked with a smile and held your cup out to me.

I think I said something like “of course” and “say when,” and not “wow” or “hubba hubba,” which is a miracle, really.

“Thanks a million,” you said and started away again.

I nearly called out to stop you, to learn your name (probably something utterly lovely, like Luna or Aurora), to talk to you until the sun came up and then to keep on going. Then I remembered who I was: a pathetic dude who had come to this party just so he didn’t have to pay for illegal free booze. Who did I think I was to try to pursue something with you? If I hadn’t come to this party (to get drunk) I would be in my dorm room either watching Netflix in bed or lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, catatonic.

I took a huge swig from my cup and went off to find some corner to hide in where Rose wouldn’t find me and force me to be social.

I shook myself out of my thoughts again and smiled at my friend. “Will you give me a minute?”

Freshman year of college had not been kind to me. As I had seen you walk around campus, even as we had brief conversations in our shared poetry analysis class, I had never felt brave enough to make any moves, had never even learned your name.

Now, I wasn’t a freshman anymore, and it seemed too great a coincidence to ignore that we had both shown up in the same off campus Starbucks at the same time.

“Uh, hi,” I said as I approached you as you waited for your drink. “I don’t know if you remember me, we were in that poetry class together back like a year and a half ago?”

Your face lit up and my heart decided that the space it had always filled in my chest was suddenly not nearly enough room.

“Oh my god, yeah, you always had such insightful comments!” you beamed.

“That means a lot, coming from someone who spoke as artfully and intelligently as you,” I said in return, meaning every word.

You laughed warmly. “Listen, this is going to sound awful, but I never caught your name.”

“Oh thank god, me neither,” I said, then introduced myself. “And you?”

“Celeste,” you said, and it was better than any name I had guessed, exactly as mystical and otherworldly as you deserved.

“Well, Celeste, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to meet up sometime?” I asked, and as much as I had gained confidence in the past few years, I braced myself for the answer.

“I think I would like that a lot,” you answered, and now I was grinning like an idiot.

“Coffees for Celeste!” the barista called, and you retrieved your two cups.

“Look, I’ve gotta go now, but here… is my number,” you said, writing it on a napkin with a purple gel pen. “And I’ll see you soon, I hope.”

And then you walked out, leaving me with the most valuable thing I had ever held.

#my writing #writing #alcohol tw #anyway very good song very good request thank you so much <3 #the love interest is based on a real person i met once

[eerythingisshaka]

The Coffee Prince Pt. 1

Word Count: 2.6K

T’Challa x Reader

Plot:  Stuck in your ways of living, one day at the coffee shop, you run into a tall dark roast that threatens to wake you up from your romantic hibernation.

You are a notorious homebody; your laptop, bed, and streaming sites are all you need make a Friday night litty titty and you took pride in your introversion.  Growing up, school is all about who you know, what clique you are a part of, what parties you get invited to, clothes you wear, etc.  It was tiring on your psyche back then, and some complexes had formed due to all of that keeping up the the jones’ crap.  Nobody has time for that when you’re an adult, so you fully enveloped your true hermit lifestyle.  Then this nigga comes along, 6’0, adorable accent, beautifully crafted body draped in the finest clothes. Intelligent, with a crooked smile that could light a fire underwater.  

Y’all first met in line waiting to get coffee.  You had your headphones in, common defense to make sure no one fucks with you on a regular basis.  Once you made your order, you stood off to the side waiting for you order.  He was next but when the barista had a look on her face that was completely confused and more than annoyed.  You let one earbud hang as this intrigued you, especially since this was a white barista and a Black man at a Starbucks you had to make sure everything was cool, for the culture.  By the time you had an available ear, he was waving his hand at the exasperated worker and walking toward the area you stood.  

He looked at you for a moment as he made his way over, and you gave that tight smile that said ‘I am friendly but don’t expect anything more than this smile’, instinctively.  He nodded in your direction and stood about five feet from you.  

“Order for…..” the male barista squinting at his own writing.  “Uhhh, caramel macchiato, double shot?”

“That’s mine!  Thanks!”  you stepped up to the counter to pick up your drink, but checking him out your fellow patron in your peripheral.  You turn to take a quick sip and steal a glance at the same time, noticing him giving you a sideways smile before saying, “You too, huh?”

His accent caught you off guard for a second before you computed what he said.  It wasn’t hard to comprehend, but it’s very noticeable.

“Oh, yeah, I get this drink all the time.  Not like I’m here everyday, but…”

“Order for Thomas!” the male barista says loudly.

He walks up to the counter grabbing his cup.  He goes over to the side table to pick up some sugar, napkins, and a stirrer.  You follow picking up some napkins, before he begins again.

“I mean the barista; he has a problem reading your name.  He didn’t even try.”  He says as he add the sugar.

“Yeah, which could be a blessing or an insult.  But I’m used to it.”  You both share a sip of your caffeinated concoctions.

“But what was the problem with your name?  Was she not able to get past your accent or something?”

“What accent?”  He said, with a serious look.

You almost choke on your coffee when he said this.  What accent?  Did you just strike up a conversation with one of those people that went into a coma and woke up talking different?  You would get the cute and crazy type of nigga.

“Umm, I don’t know…” you stutter.

He looks away laughing to himself, “I’m only kidding.  My apologies for startling you.”  He says with a slight bow to you.

You nod in return to him, “It’s ok, I’m pretty damn gullible at times.  Good one!”

He smiles down at his cup, “Thanks, but my accent was not primary issue, no.  It was my name, like you.  So I just gave her the name Thomas to move things along.” he says bringing the cup to his mouth again.  You notice the length of his fingers…and no ring.

“Ah, I’m always nervous about giving a fake name.  Like, if they check my card and it isn’t the same they’ll question me or refuse service or something.”

“Oh, I didn’t think it would ever get that serious; it’s not a military base.”

You give a side eye, “How long have you been in America?”

He smiles, nodding, “I’m learning new things everyday.  But it’s been a little over a year now.”

“Are you from an African country?”

“Yes, a small village  near the central, eastern part.”

“Nice.  That’s so cool to know where you’re from, ancestrally.  It seems like everyone reps their set. But I still can’t get past the Southern states.”

He nods, checking his timepiece next to a beaded bracelet around his wrist.

“Oh, I’m sorry, if you need to be somewhere.  I’m not usually talkative with strangers.”

His mouth goes agape for a moment, “Well I don't think we could call ourselves strangers.  We are bonded by the oppression of our caffeine dealers who refuse to look us in the eye or remember our names.”  He holds his cup out and you meet his to cheers.  You feel a jolt when your finger brushes his.

“But I must confess that I do have other engagements to attend to, so please forgive me.”

“No, no problem at all, I’m needing to get back to the office.  But see you around!”  You do a quick about-face and walk away quickly after that, giving no time for a response.

Once you made it down the street, your heart palpitations start to subside but now the self deprecation begins.  Why did you talk so much?  And the worst part, all that conversation and you’re left with more questions than answers.  Where in Africa is he from?  What did he do for a living?  Him telling you he had a prior engagement was your way in!  OR would that have been too nosy?  No phone number, or an attempt to get one.  Y’all were highkey vibing and you got no questions in to gage his status or if he was willing to see you somewhere else.  And the biggest sin:  What the hell is his damn name?!  Thomas was a fake name. But the conversation never led to the real one, or yours.  You can’t even look him up!  And who the hell knows when you’ll see him again, so good job.

You text your friend when you get back to your office.

Girl!  I ran into this fiiiiine man at the coffee shop.

A few minutes later she responds,  Yaaaass!  Did you talk to him?

Child, yes. I don’t know what got into me.

Well hopefully him in a minute.  What did you say to him?

Lol, I thought he was being racially profiled so I am really in his business but it turns out the coffee girl couldn’t understand him.  He’s kind of foreign.

Oooh, that foreign though??  Where he reppin?

Somewhere in Africa, I didn’t get a country.

The motherland?  Was he wearing them sandals and shit?

I didn’t even notice! I feel like I would’ve if he was but idk.

Well which country is he from?

Idk!  I know I shoulda asked but I was caught up, not thinking straight.  

Well, is he light skinned with good hair or nah?

Ok, now don’t ask it like that.  He not light skinned but his hair was beautifully trimmed.

Ok, so he probably right on the equator then.  Well look at you, tryna get you an African King lol did you get the number though?

Noooo, so I don’t even know if I’ll see him again girl.  I fucked up!

Lmaooo, GIRL!  Well, don’t worry about it.  One thing about coffee shops is that they get regulars often so you’ll probably run into again but don’t be obsessive…

Truuuuue, if it’s meant to be, it will be.  I don’t get obsessive though.

Girl, you already planning your future for a practically imaginary relationship, I know you! Lol  Keep it together and live your life, but this was good practice for you.

Yeah it was.  I never approach guys but this was exciting!

You put your phone down and finish up your afternoon reports.  But the thought of “Thomas”  was still in the back of your brain.  He was soooo cute to you, but with your track record he could’ve easily been gay, taken, or just being nice with no other intentions.  But the universe owed you a win.  It had been so damn long since you had a thing to go to your friends about.  

At the end of your shift, you go straight home, kicking your shoes off at the door.

“Hey Tavia!”  You yell to your friend who is cooking something you wish was your meal in the kitchen.  Smells like some chicken or spaghetti thing.

“Wassup Queen Mother!  I was going to get rose petals but they too damn expensive for a joke.”

“Right, don’t try it!”

You make your way to your room, closing the door and taking a much needed breath.  You kick off your pants and and shirt, swan diving onto your bed in your undergarments.  The stress of the day just melts as you lay there and breath in your lavender and peppermint scented air from your oil diffuser.   You slowly peel yourself up from your covers and load up your laptop.  Checking your social media and queueing up some music as usual, you look around your room.  It’s completely cluttered with clothes from the week piled in the corner.  Your hamper is overflowing, as well as your trash.  Suddenly, you feel a sense of purpose, cleaning and straightening your hoarding mess.  When your shuffle hit a bop, the clean up became especially fun as you sang along and shook that thang as you picked through dirty clothes and maybe-one-more-wear clothes.  

Now that you have some order to your area, you have space that you didn’t have before.  Looking around with pride, you catch your reflection in the mirror, draws and all.  You touch your stomach, tracing the dark brown stretch marks that crack through your skin around your concave belly button.  Pushing down on your love handles, you iron out the folds to be smoother from your waist to your hips.  Your breasts are of a decent size as far as the numbers game goes, but the do not sit perkily in front of you, and a cleavage still takes effort to achieve since they sit apart from each other.  Dreadfully, you turn sideways to check your body from the profile.  Your belly hangs in front of you instead of flat like you’ve always prayed for since childhood.  The deep fold from your back to your side sneers at you.  Your ass isn’t non-existent but if only your waist was smaller, that could make those hips and cheeks really pop.

You had been giving yourself mantra pep talks on a regular basis to keep toxic thoughts from entering your brain.  You look up at the notes lining your walls.  “Keep your head up.”  “You are a Warrior.”  “You are beautiful.”  You get it, people have told you the same things before, it’s just hard to convince yourself that you're not imagining things.  

Your mind still wanders on about your day.  When would you see something that fine again?  And if you do, the fuck are you going to do about it?  You start up your shuffle of bops and make your way to your closet.  You were going to curate some outfits to be a dick magnet.  No way in hell there’d be a question of his interest once you see him again.  Go over some lines in your head to break the ice, figure out how to touch his bicep in mid-conversation, shit like that.  It would work, he knows who you are...facially anyway.  You just gotta run into him again.

Next day, you make your way out the door a little early.  Making your way to the office, you get a head start on making your calls so you can make your way to the coffeeshop.  You put on a navy blue pencil skirt with a gold zipper going down the back.  You layered a mesh lace blouse over a black cami and black pumps.  You usually stick to flats but today was the first of many for change.  If it wasn't “Thomas” someone was gonna get a look at this new fit!  Opening the door, the bell jingles, announcing our arrival to the patrons.  You look cooly over the people in the shop, but no one was there you care to see.  Making your way up to the counter, you make your order and stand to wait.  You pull out your phone to mindlessly entertain yourself for a minute, looking p periodically to survey people entering.  Every jingle of the bell made your heart jump.  

“Order for Tom!”

You look up a little too quickly but are disappointed when some balding white men in cargo shorts picks up his order.  You have had enough, you almost walked out right then when your order gets called: the order, not your name.  Nearly out of breath from stress, you pick up your drink and leave in a rush.  Breathing in the outside air, your heart rate begins to slow in pace again but you have got to get back to work.  Fuck that shop, and fuck this mission.  You already missed your chance so what is the point of it all.  Going back home, you have a cloud over your head.  You throw your clothes over to a pile on the side and flop onto your bed.  You deserve happiness, you deserve love, but don't get wrapped up in fantasy.

You still go to the coffeeshop the next day, but that was for a snack because you didn’t give yourself time to fix yourself breakfast.  Still no Thomas.

You don’t go back to the shop the rest of the week, You can’t go broke over a crush, plus, you had really no other reason to go so, you stopped.

By next week, you feel a lot better about yourself and your blood pressure isn’t skyrocketing at the thought of entering the shop anymore.  You didn’t go in depth with Tavia about your problems since meeting Thomas because even if she gave the perfect encouraging friend response, you’d die of embarrassment for feeling so caught up on nada.  She was only slightly right:  you lowkey obsessed over that 5 minute interaction and broke down the details or what you did right and wrong.  It was terrible, and you knew it, so no need to be reminded.

You got an email about a happy hour promo at the shop, so you decide to go cash that in.  It’s a Wednesday and it's been an especially trying week.  You need to wash your hair, so you have them pulled back in in two struggle braids.   Simple cardigan over a white tank and black slacks with your trademark flats.  You pick up your order and sit on a nearby stool to catch the free wifi signal and download your favorite podcast to listen to back at the office.  

“Order for Thomas!”

You are unphased and not listening when you get up and see this 6’0 man picking up his drink and turning towards you.  He makes his way to the side table, and your heart literally stops pumping for a split second from the anxiety.  He hasn't seen you yet and he could easily leave very soon without your acknowledgment,  What if he doesn’t recognize you?  The L’s you could take outweigh the dubs by a mile.

You get up to go get an unnecessary sugar packet.

“Excuse me,” you say.

He looks to you and gives you a crooked smile.

*Part 2*

Other Works:

King Kil’mawalls

N’Jadaka’s Helpful Hands

T’akia

Commencement Day (Chadwick Boseman fic)

Some Weeks Are Better Than Others -- *Part 1* *Part 2* *Part 3* (M’BakuxReader fic)

#black panther fic #t'challa fic #t'challa fanfic #tchalla #t'challa #t'challa x reader #fanfic #marvel fanfic #tchalla x reader #t'challa x you #tchalla x you