#me up at the register but sometimes when customers approach me i feel like a chimp and they just flashed me their fuckin teeth

[calypsocolada]

9:15 A.M. | k. nanami

synopsis: a handsome man is very puctual at the coffee shop you work at. authors note: hi! in celebration of the upcoming shibuya arc (sadface, here's a lil fluff, might write a part two if the spirit posseses me. cw: fluff wc: 1.8k

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There was a man that came into your work almost everyday at exactly 9:15 a.m. He was never late, at least not on the days you worked. He was polite but never smiled and tipped you very well for someone only spending five dollars on a black coffee. You didn’t know his name, you thought it might be weird to ask. But he was tall, styled blond hair, sharp features and impeccably tailored suits. Which was why you called him suit. It wasn’t clever you knew that but it was the first thing you thought of and it caught on with you coworkers. 

You liked seeing him, it helped that he was incredibly handsome, like one of those business men in romance movies, the ones that act cold but have secretly big hearts. 

Sometimes you find yourself wondering about him. Was he married? It wouldn’t surprise you if he was. You also wondered what he did, did he sit at a desk all day, bossing around a bunch of college aged interns? He had to be the boss. The way he dressed, his impossible seriousness, you could see him running a stressed hand down his face after a long day, or through his styled hair, messing it up. His hand coming up to loosen his tie with deft fingers, leaning back in his expensive leather chair, exhausted. 

“Earth to Y/n,” Your co-worker snapped her fingers in front of your face. You blinked a few times, shaking your head as if coming out of a dream.

“Yes, sorry, I’m listening.” You said apologetically. 

“I was just wondering if you felt any better? Someone told me you called off yesterday.”

“I feel better.” You say with a smile. You had a migraine that kept you up the night before last, it wasn’t a big deal but you didn’t want to deal with snappy customers yesterday. 

“That’s good.” Your co-worker smiles as the front door bell chimes, indicating a customer. Your eyes glance at the door and you see him. You glance at the clock. Right on time. “Your favorite customers here.” Your co-worker teases in a low whisper as you shoot her a quick glare. Suit approaches the counter as your eyes meet and your face lights up in a smile. 

“Good morning, the usual?” You ask as the man purses his lips slightly giving you a nod. You push off the counter, spinning around to make his order. “It’s nice outside today,” You say over your shoulder. You always tried talking with him but he didn’t say much, he seemed very mysterious, that or maybe he wasn’t a morning person.

“It is.” He says and you hear him pulling out some cash from his wallet. Sliding a lid on his coffee you turned back around to hand it to him. He reached for it, his fingers brushing yours. “Are you feeling any better?” He asked and your eyes snapped up to his. 

“Hmm?”

“Your co-worker,” He started. “She told me you were out sick yesterday.” He said and for a moment you're stunned, you're not sure you’ve ever heard  more than two words from this man and it has been months that he’s come in here. 

“Oh that,” You wave your hand. “Bad migraine.” You say and he looks at you and nods.

“Drinking plenty of water then?” He asks and you laugh softly. 

“You sound like my father.” You joke and see the corner of his mouth quirk up, he breathes out a small laugh. Your brows raise at the sound, stunned at this entire little conversation.

“I’m glad you feel better.” He says warmly as he hands you the money. 

“Thank you.” You smile, putting the cash into the register and handing him the change. 

“That’s your tip. Keep it.” He says, tilting the cup to you before turning. You pause to watch him leave and when he disappears past the windows you look down at your hand. 

“Did he just give you a forty five dollar tip?” Your co-worker chirps behind you, you startle at her voice, breathing out a laugh. 

“He sure did.” You answer, sticking the money into your aprons pocket. 

“He’s not married by the way.” She says as you turn to face her. 

“What?”

“Suit’s not married. He doesn’t have a ring.” She points out.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well if he was and I was his wife I would divorce his ass because the way he looks at you should be considered an emotional affair.” You blush to your toes at that comment, turning from her as you roll your eyes.

“Come on, no he doesn’t.”

“He does. Not to mention he asked about you yesterday, that’s why I told him you were out sick.”

“Liar, he did not.” You argue.

“He totally did! He looked worried for you too.” She jests as you slap her arm slightly. “You know what he tipped me yesterday?”

“What?”

“2 dollars! He usually gives you ten.” She pouts as you start laughing. “He totally has a crush on you.”

“A crush? Stop… He doesn’t. He’s just nice.”

“Yeah he wants to be really nice to you up against a wall maybe.” She says as you press your hands over your face in embarrassment. 

“Go away.”

“Ask him out. I dare you.” She pushes.

“No! I don't want to make him uncomfortable.”

“Trust me, he won’t be.” 

“No.”

“Come on! Live a little. When’s the last time you went on a date anyways?” She asks and you think genuinely about it. It had been months, maybe even closer to a year. “I know you find him attractive, you probably want to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” You interrupted, sliding into the stool right by the counter. 

“Ask him out or I’ll do it for you.” She says and you stare at her hard.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

But she totally would, which is why you find yourself incredibly nervous the next day as you watch the minutes tick by. 9:13. You blew out a nervous breath, tapping your pen against the counter. 

The worst he could do is say no but nevertheless it was still completely nerve wracking. You could barely sleep the night before. You put your shoes on the wrong feet and accidentally wore your jacket inside out, then you missed your bus and had to jog to work. It had already been a long day and you’d only been here for just over an hour. 

The door chimed. 9:15. Damn, the one day you wished maybe he wasn’t so punctual. When you looked up your breath caught. He wasn’t in his usual suit and tie. He was in gray sweatpants and a tight black shirt with what you were assuming was his college’s name across his chest, not to mention his hair wasn’t styled back, it was falling onto his forehead. You let out a breath you were holding in, your throat dry as you forced a smile and hoped you didn’t look like a maniac. 

“Morning,” You greeted. 

“Morning,” He said back, giving you a warm smile. A smile! He never smiles. You are momentarily taken back by the smile as he approaches the counter. 

“Were you out for a run?” You croaked out as he nodded his head, his hand coming up to run his hand through his hair, his shirt riding up slightly exposing a very toned stomach. You forced your eyes up, a blush coming to your cheeks. “Your usual?” You ask. 

“What would you recommend instead?” He asks and your brain stutters. 

“Me?” You ask and his mouth quirks up. He looked entirely too handsome. 

“Uh huh.”

“Uh-- I don’t-- Maybe, uh-” You stutter, feeling like a fool but he doesn’t cut in or look impatient. “I don’t really drink coffee.” You say and he tilts his head, his hair falling on his forehead slightly.

“Tea?” He asks and you nod your head. “I’ll take your favorite then.” He says, reaching into the pocket of his sweats to fish out his wallet. 

“Okay, coming right up.” You try not to sound nervous as you turn, working quickly. It seems like today really isn’t your day, you burn your hand as you fix him the tea and drop the glass, cursing in pain. You turn to grab ice.

“Did you burn yourself?” He asks, voice concerned. 

“I’m sorry, your drink will be right out.” You say as he smoothly walks around the counter. 

“Not worried about that right now.” He takes the ice from your hand. “May I see?” He asks, he’s so tall up close, and he smells like pine even though he should smell like sweat. You nod your head as his fingers gently turn your hand so he can see the burn. He turns on the faucet. “Ice won’t do the trick, you need cool or lukewarm water.” He says, feeling the water before gently pulling your hand under it. You're both so close, his arm brushes against your shoulder.

“Am I gonna live, doc?” You ask as the man laughs, you made him laugh twice now and each time it stutters your heart. He looks good serious but even fucking better when laughing and smiling. 

“I think you’ll live.” He says. 

You wrap up your hand and finish making him the tea, this time carefully without injuring yourself. You slide it to him across the counter and he picks it up. 

“It’s green.”

“It’s matcha.” You smile, watching him pull the cup to his lips, taking a slow careful sip. He lets it ruminate before humming slightly. 

“Mhm, it’s good.” He says and a giant smile slides on your lips. 

“You like it?” You ask.

“I do. I should’ve asked your favorite a long time ago.” He says, pulling out money.

“Oh, you don’t have to pay, it’s on me.” You say but that doesn’t stop him.

“I insist.” He says, pulling out a one hundred dollar bill.

“Please, after helping with my hand it’s my treat.” You say but he hands it to you anyways. 

“Well, consider that my tip then.” He says. “That’s too much, sir, I can’t,” You start. “It’s Nanami.” He says and you realize that he’s told you his name. He’s known yours this entire time due to your name tag.

“You're too kind,” You say, sliding the money back to him. “I’d feel like I’m robbing you.” He doesn’t make any move to grab the money, just takes another sip of his matcha.

“It’s hardly robbing if I’m giving it to you.” He says with another warm laugh.

“I can’t take it. I’m sorry.” You say, and he nods his head.

“How about a date then?” He says and you snap your eyes up to him. He has that serious look about him again.

“A date?”

“Mhm.” He nods.

“You and me?”

“Ideally.” He smirks and your entire body blushes. You wondered where all this confidence came from, but honestly it didn’t matter. You liked it. 

“I get off at 8.” You say and you see his cheeks blush as he smiles at you. 

“I’ll pick you up then.” 

#jjk x reader #jjk #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader

[mrsshabana]

I'm not sure if commissions are open or not, or if you've done something like this before but can you do a story where reader is also really insecure and meets gyutaro? (He can be demon or human up to you). I think reader would be so different and doesn't feel attractive to due to flaws they have but end up feeling better when they end up with gyutaro who compliments them and spoils them a bit since he understands how they feel.

𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞!𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Gyutaro couldn't understand what was wrong with you.

It appeared that nothing was wrong with you at all, but you acted like something was wrong with you. And he just couldn't put his finger on it.

You've come into the convenience store he works at every couple of days. Most days you grab a coffee, some days you get snacks, and once a month you buy face cream.

The way you walked, spoke, and looked around nervously was confusing to him. You carry yourself as if you just want to hide. And he understands that, it's something he wishes he could do every day. But you're not like him.

In his eyes, you're a cute girl that looks to be around his age. Maybe a couple years younger.

Instead of wearing cute skirts and accessories like the other girls your age do, you wear baggy pants and hoodies. He doesn't dislike it, he actually admires how you wear what you want. But you don't seem confident in the clothes you wear. And the way that you look at the other girls is all too familiar to him. Envy.

He narrows his eyes as he watches you peruse the convenience store once again. Going to the beauty section. Has it been a month already?

With a sigh he slips his phone back into his pocket as you approach.

He doesn't greet you when you walk up to the register. But you're used to it. You've seen him enough times to know that he's cold towards every customer and not just you.

Putting the face cream on the counter, you instinctively reach into your purse.

"This shit doesn't work. You know that right?" He rasps, looking down at you with an indifferent expression.

"Wh-what?"

"This cream. It's bullshit. You should stop buying it," he frowns and takes the cream, putting it behind the register instead of scanning it for you.

"What do you mean? I use that stuff every day..." you mumble.

"A stupid cream isn't gonna make you feel prettier."

You feel tears welling up in your eyes as you hear his words. It's embarrassing and you feel humiliated being called out by a cute boy. With a sniffle you promptly turn to leave. But you don't get very far before you feel his calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist.

"You're a pretty girl, you don't need this shit. I know you feel self conscious cause you compare yourself to everyone else. I'm the same way. Look at the shit I have on my face!" He raises his voice slightly, then takes a deep breath to calm down before continuing, "Listen, I'm just tryna say I know how you feel... and you shouldn't spend your money on dumb products like this. You just gotta deal with it in that stupid little brain of yours."

He pokes your forehead with his finger. The way he is so blunt makes you smile a bit.

"I-I know... you're right," you wipe your tears, "It's just so hard when those other girls are so much prettier than me... all of them probably have boyfriends too. No guy would ever look twice at me."

"I did," he doesn't hesitate, "I stare at you every time you come in here. I think you're a very pretty girl."

Your face instantly turns red and you stare up at him in surprise.

"I get jealous too when I see all these dudes come in here with their perfect skin and expensive shoes. Pisses me off... probably have girlfriends too..." he lets go of your wrist and starts scratching his neck. "But maybe we could work on it together..? I wouldn't mind hangin' out with you sometime..."

"R-Really?" you say so quiet that he almost doesn't hear you. But he does, and he shyly nods and looks away as his cheeks turn pink.

"I'd love that," you say with a smile, "Thank you..."

You lean forward and hug him. A soft gasp escapes his lips from the sudden gesture, but he quickly hugs you back.

You barely know him but it feels so good to know that someone understands how you feel. And of course it's a plus that it just so happens to be the cute boy that works at your favorite convenience store.

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader #𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 ʚ♡ɞ

[drabbles-mc]

It'll Get Done (Pt. 2)

Richie Jerimovich & F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto & F!Reader

Find Part 1 Here

Warnings: 18+, language, alcohol, canon-typical vibes

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: My writer's block has been brutal lately because of lift things, which is deeply unfortunate because I wanted to NaNo this month. But! I did write this for these guys. I just want to put them in rooms and let them talk to each other forever.

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @narcolini @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @darqchilddaydreamz @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, plesae let me know!)

Richie didn’t make it back before the end of the day. You only noticed because the kitchen was a little quieter. Not quiet, of course, but quieter. There was one less person that Carmy was yelling at and arguing with. It was amazing how much it cut down on the noise level.

Every now and then as Carmy raced back and forth between the front and the back of the house, you could feel him lingering behind you. The kid exuded stress in a way that you didn’t know was possible. You understood why, because most people if they were thrown into his position would’ve jumped off the sinking ship rather than trying to scoop the water out with a soup ladle, but sometimes you still felt like you should strap him to the chair in the office and force-feed him some of Richie’s Xanax.

You empathized with him. Or you empathized with him at least more than Richie did, which was a low bar these days. But despite the compassion you were dredging up to give him, there were still plenty of times when you felt him standing behind him and all you wanted to do was spin back around to him and ask him what his fucking deal was. It was easier to refrain from doing that on days when Richie was there because he would say it for you.

Carmy came all but skidding back through the kitchen towards the register, going back and forth between muttering and shouting, “Behind,” as he made his way through.

“Calm down, Jeff,” Tina said with a laugh as she went to take her pot off the stove.

You felt your jaw clench on Carmy’s behalf. Tina was knowledgeable about a lot of things and one of those things was, most definitely, how to get under Carmy’s skin. It wasn’t a difficult code to crack but there were so few people in the world who could do it with such expert precision. Her and Richie were two peas in a pod that way.

“It’d be easier for me to calm down, Tina,” Carmy snapped as he kept walking, “if we were able to pay our goddamn vendors!”

She was shaking her head at him—you caught it out of the corner of your eye. But you also noticed that she didn’t say anything more about it. Content to go back and lie in wait for something else to pop up that she could nettle him about. The end of the day might’ve been approaching quickly but you had the feeling in the pit of your stomach that she would be able to find something else before she clocked out without having to work too hard.

When Carmy came back into the kitchen a little while later, he was walking at a much slower pace than he had been before. You were sure that some of that had to do with the fact that the last of the customers had left, and presumably whatever vendor that had showed up looking for money had also left.

He looked on as everyone slowly but surely worked through their cleanup processes. He wasn’t looking at you, but you still asked him, “All good?”

His head snapped in your direction. “What?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of you. It wasn’t funny per se, but if you didn’t laugh about it you’d end up crying. “What can I help you with, Carmen?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. N-nothing. No one can help me with,” he let out a huff, raking his hands through his hair, “fuckin’ anything.”

“Little dramatic,” you replied honestly, sarcastic but kind, “but alright.”

It got a weak chuckle out of him. “You know what the fuck was going on in Mikey’s head with all that shit?” he asked as he gestured to the office.

You didn’t have to turn and look where he was pointing to know how bad the mess was. You’d seen it while Mikey was making the mess. You’d been seeing it as Carmy made almost no headway in cleaning any of it up. You didn’t blame him for that. If you’d been in his position, you wouldn’t have any idea where to start either.

“Thank fuckin’ god no,” you finally answered him.

He pressed his lips into a thin line for a second as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah that seems to be…yeah.”

“You should—”

“You can head out, Chef,” Carmy cut you off, and you didn’t know if he even realized that he’d done it. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”

You shook your head. “I can clean up my shit.”

He motioned for you to leave. “It’s fine. I got it.”

“Carm…”

“Seriously,” he reiterated. “Go.”

You looked at him for a moment, and that’s when you could see it in his eyes, the silent plea to just let him have some time to himself. You knew that feeling—it was the whole reason you’d shown up as early as you had that morning in the first place anyway. You knew better than to tell him that he should leave. He wasn’t going to and all it was going to do was turn into an argument. You didn’t need another one of those.

“Fine,” you said with a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You ditched your apron and switched back into your casual shoes, stuffing everything else into your locker while you grabbed your bag and your jacket. Neither you nor Carmy spared each other another goodbye, or any other words in general as you headed out.

There was no point in getting your car keys out of your bag, not when the bar you went to with Richie all the time was within walking distance. The couple blocks felt way longer when it was cold out, but it wasn’t that bad yet.

The bartender recognized you when you walked in, giving you a smile and a nod as he moved to start pulling your drink together before you even sat down. He waited for you to get situated before asking, “Flying solo tonight?”

You laughed as you pulled your phone out of your bag. “That’s an excellent question. Let me call—” The rest of the sentence died on your tongue when the door to the bar flung open and Richie strode through. You instantly let it drop right back into your bag, eyes fixed on Richie even though you were talking to the bartender. “I’m not flying solo tonight, no.”

“Can’t believe you came over here without me!” Richie said as he walked over to you.

“Yeah, well,” you looked up at him from the stool you were sitting on as he clapped his hands down on your shoulders, “least I ordered you a drink.”

He laughed, leaning more onto you. His tone shifted completely as he spoke. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

You rolled your eyes. “You can always tell me again.”

He kissed the side of your head. “I love you.”

“Damn right,” you said with a nod as Richie plopped down on the seat next to you. You waited until he was comfortable in his seat, leaning forward with his arms braced against the edge of the bar with his breathing evened out, before you tried to have anything resembling a real conversation. “Where the hell did you go all day?”

“What do you mean?”

“You expect me to believe that it was guys and places all day?” You were only bringing it up because, much to Carmy’s dismay, Richie usually was at the restaurant all day every day the place was open. He’d pop in and out briefly for whatever errands he assigned himself, but other than that he was present and accounted for. Being gone all day was noticeable, at least to you if no one else.

It was written all over his face that he was thinking about not elaborating. You saw the shifts in his expression as he tried to come up with a joke, or a lie, or anything besides getting into the reality of it all. But then when he looked you in the eyes again, all he could do was be honest with you. “Tiff called. Had to go pick Eva up from school.”

You nodded. “Got it.” You paused. “Wanna talk about it or—”

“No, no,” he laughed, shifting back into his usual demeanor. “We’re not doing that. You don’t get to do that.”

You let out a confused laugh. “I don’t get to do what?”

“You don’t get to try and use Eva to get out of telling me what the fuck your dumbass boyfriend did!” He paused as the bartender set both your drinks down, taking a moment to thank him before shifting his attention right back to you. “You first.”

You huffed, wishing that you could get out of it again. Even with things that were much lower-stakes, there was only so long that you could dodge Richie and his endless line of questions. You took a long sip of your drink as you tried to figure out what you wanted to say, how you wanted to try and say it. There was no way that you could tell the story that would end with him being anything but pissed off about the entire situation. You couldn’t blame him for that, either. After all, you were still pretty pissed off about it yourself.

“It’s nothing new,” you said, a cop-out you knew that he wasn’t going to accept.

He shook his head, looking down at the glass in his hands before looking at you again. “Tell me the old news, then.”

“I’m done being angry about it, Richie.”

“I’m not,” he replied with no hesitation.

It got you to laugh, at least. “That’s because you’re never done being angry about anything.”

He waited for you to look at him. “You’re really not gonna tell me what he did?” He paused, and when you didn’t say anything, he added on, “That bad?”

You shook your head, drumming your fingers on the outside of your glass. “That pointless.”

“Ah,” he waved you off with that same smirk you’d seen from him so often over the years, “another drink or two and I won’t be able to get you to stop talking shit about him.” He missed the look on your face as he looked back down at his drink and shook his head. “Fuckin’ jagoff.”

You chuckled, nodding. “Yeah—that we can agree on at least.”

“Speaking of which,” he gestured towards the door of the bar, “how was the fuckin’ executive toddler chef the rest of the day?”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “An absolute gem once you walked out the door.”

For a split second you could see it on his face that he almost believed you. Then he smartened up and gave you a playful bump against your shoulder with his own. “Fuck you.”

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear fanfiction #richie jerimovich #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x you #my writing #it'll get done #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[haileyywrites]

Summary: Kaveh's strange ability to draw in animals of all kind had always been more of an annoyance than a blessing. At least until a particular cat lead him to meet someone interesting...

Pairings: Kaveh x Reader!

Warnings/Notes: Completely gender neutral reader! Poc friendly! Pure fluff! Possibly ooc Kaveh maybe? Not properly proofread!

For some reason Kaveh had always had the ability to attract animals of all kind to him. At first he didn't mind as he very much liked animals, but it became a real problem and a nuisance for him later on... He'd simply step outside for a break or something of the sort and soon enough birds, dogs and cats would begin swarming him for his food or affection - of course he would feel bad for them and give in to their demands...

After a thorough talking to by Alhaitham he begrudgingly listened and would avoid places where pets or wildlife gathered. It felt stupid having to avoid animals that meant no harm to him, but he understood Alhaitham's point and knew he would just give in again. Any pets that would approach him in the city would give up easily when he stood firm and shooed them away. Except for one...

This particular cat that had never begged him for scraps and only wanted affection wouldn't leave him alone no matter how much he tried. It was ridiculous really! No matter what route he took the persistent feline would always find him and meow at him until he agreed to either pet it or play with it for a while. No matter what he did he couldn't get rid of it, he was out of options since splashing it with water just seemed cruel.

The cat was definitely well taken care of and even had a collar that was clearly custom or homemade by its owner. It was a healthy rounfd and it's fur was well kept - then why was the cat so keen on him? It didn't seem interested in the scraps he would sometimes give to distract it, but instead it just wanted some belly rubs and a playmate. It was truly bizarre...

“Meow!”

“Oh no, it's you again! Listen I don't have time to just play with you all the time!” He tried to hopelessly explain to the clueless animal.

“Meow?”

“I'm serious! You need to find someone else to beg for pets. Why don't you go find your owner?” He exclaimed in frustration.

“Meow.”

“I know you probably don't understand what I'm saying, but I don't know what you want from me!” He sighed loudly.

Before he could properly react the cat jumped into his arms and stole the feather placed in his hair. The cat was quick to jump away before Kaveh could hold onto him and caused him to fall down in the commotion. Baffled he turned to look at the cat that was just watching him with the colorful feather secured in it's mouth. It slowly began to run away with Kaveh scrambling to chase after it.

It was truly a sight for others to see the blonde shouting and running with full speed chasing a cat... Some didn't react at all while others watched in either confusion or amusement, but no one did anything to aid the poor man despite his shouts for help.

The feline rounded one last corner before finally stopping much to Kaveh's relief. He followed after to see the cat facing away from him and meowing at someone standing in front of it. His eyes wandered upwards until they reached the face of the person and he couldn't tear his eyes away...

The midday sun made your features glow beautifully as if you were an angel with a halo, you were standing amidst a flower field making you look ethereal. Was he in a dream? He almost completely forgot about the cat that lead him here in the first place until it let out a loud meow which caused you to pick it up. You noticed the decorative feather in its mouth and carefully remove it without the cat caring in the slightest.

“Would this be yours?” You asked.

He was so preoccupied with your voice to register what you said at first, after an awkward pause he coughed and nodded with an embarrassed look. You didn't seem to mind as you smiled kindly and handed the feather back to him. His cheeks only continued to heat up as his fingers breafly touched yours, they were so warm and soft...

“I'm so sorry for the trouble my cat has caused you.” You apologized with a sincere tone.

“It... It's fine.” He mumbled, he couldn't bring himself to complain to you despite the trouble.

“Is there anything I can do to apologize properly to you?”

“Honestly it's fine! There's no need!” He tried.

“I insist! Please.” You smiled again.

Kaveh couldn't help but give up when you made a face like that, “Okay... Then how about lunch?”

“That sounds good! I'll just quickly take my cat inside and retrieve my mora!” You sprinted off before he could reply.

Kaveh was simply left standing with a flustered expression as he waited for you. He looked down at his hand which held the feather your cat had stolen, thinking about it now he wasn't even mad about it... He noticed you returning and quickly placed it in his long blonde hair without too much thought - which was unlike him.

You were about to say something before stopping and smiling humorously at him, he was confused before you reached out and gently adjusted the feather slightly. Kaveh couldn't tear his eyes away from your face as you were standing so close to him, close enough that he could feel your breath on his skin and smell your scent... He felt almost like a creep for some reason.

“There! It's very beautiful - especially against your blond hair!” You smiled brightly.

“Thank you.” He couldn't help, but smile despite his cheeks burning brighter - if that was even possible at this point.

“Your smile is even more beautiful!” Honestly were you trying to make his heart stop with how wonderful and lovely you were?! But he thanked you regardless.

“So, what should I call you?” That's right he never introduced himself to you or vise versa!

“Kaveh.” He held out his hand for you to shake out of habit.

Before he could pull his hand away you took hold and shook his hand gently while introducing yourself. Once again he was touching your soft and warm skin, though it was embarrassing he didn't want to let go... Your hand felt so nice in his, so lovely against his skin. He held onto your hand longer than appropriate which embarrassed him greatly but didn't seem to phase you thankfully.

Honestly he was thankful for that troublemaker cat you owned and for his strange ability to draw in animals, otherwise he would never have met you. He made a mental note to remember to bring your cat a treat tomorrow. If in the future it happened that the feather fell from his hair and your cat happened to run off with it in your direction... Well he wouldn't be that mad at it for being so mischievous.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait and shortness of this fic!! Posting this in honour of our pretty boy becoming playable! Congratulations to all the Kaveh havers! Anyway likes, reblogs and or feedback are appreciated! <3

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fandom #genshin impact x you #genshin impact kaveh x you #genshin impact kaveh x reader #genshin impact kaveh #kaveh x reader #kaveh genshin #kaveh x you #kaveh imagines #genshin kaveh #gi kaveh #kaveh #genshin impact empyrean reflection #kaveh empyrean reflection #empyrean reflection

[custardcrazy]

Hi there! Idk if you're taking requests but here's one for now:

Ted Logan x reader

Reader works at a music shop (they bond over a love for music or a specific band). Reader doesnt play the guitar. They ask Ted for some pointers and hes all flustered trying to teach her.

you're so wild (and wonderful)

summary: It's not every day that a cute near-stranger offers to teach you guitar. (gn!reader)

wordcount: 5.2k

A/N: uhhh little to no beta so again. correct me if i terrifically fucked up some grammar thing or spelling and i'll be SO SO grateful

tagged: @kurt-nightcrawler

You'd worked at the mom-and-pop record store long enough to get a good feel for the place. 

It wasn't small, but it also wasn't big and shiny like other popular outlets; tucked into a street corner in downtown San Dimas, it wasn't exactly noticeable if you didn't know where to look. Because of that, you mostly encountered the same people -- the lady always wearing cable-knit sweaters, the teenage punk with a pretty gnarly mohawk, and last but not least the middle-aged guy who came in every so often to check if you had any new Beatles records.

(You usually didn't, but it was nice to hear him talk about how his various fishing trips went instead.) 

Sometimes, someone new wandered in now and then, drawn in by the faded sign and various music posters plastered around or on the door. Of course, not all stayed; some just found what they were looking for and left, others got overwhelmed and did the same. It didn't really matter, because most of what you did anyway was sit behind the counter and wait. 

But it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest. The hours were excellent, the pay was good, and you got a discount if you wanted to buy a record for yourself. All in all, it was totally worth the occasional music snob who ranted to you about the newer generation "ruining music" or whatever. You didn't get paid to listen to that. 

Today wasn't too different from any other -- you checked all the deliveries, made sure everything was in order, and double-checked the new arrivals. Then, you found your familiar post by the register, pulling up the familiar battered stool. It did nothing for your poor back, but it was better than standing for sure. 

Your coworker, Alice, arrived a couple minutes after you. She was slight in build with more than a few piercings, always sporting an oversized band tee. You were generally friendly to each other, but since she usually killed time by looking through all the various records and other things on sale, or just straight-up vanished into the back; you didn't get many opportunities to speak to her. Which kind of sucked, because she was ridiculously funny. In a sort-of sarcastic, biting way. 

An hour went by with nothing out of the ordinary. A couple of teenagers came in, and you watched somewhat amusedly as they attempted to pool their money to buy a Pixies record. 

Unfortunately, they had to leave empty-handed. 

You were staring at the wall when the tinny chime of the bell announced a new customer. 

Abruptly, your attention snapped up, and you got a good look at the new arrivals. 

One was around average height, with blonde curls in what looked to be a halfway-mullet and downturned eyes that made him look permanently sleepy. He looked around the store with unconcealed reverence, and it was a little funny -- but you respected it all the same. But it wasn't him that really drew your attention. 

It was the other guy he came in with.

Tall, dark-haired, rather easy on the eyes and dare you say handsome, he carried himself with an easy, loping gait that immediately stuck out to you. It wasn't often you found someone attractive quite like this, and even rarer that you had to pause what you were doing to look. (Even though the fact remained that in this case you were doing pretty much nothing, it still counted.) 

It took all of your effort to remain seated and wait for him -- well, them, to approach. 

Thankfully, it didn't take too long. After maybe a minute or two, the newcomers looked at each other. For whatever reason, you waited with extreme anticipation. 

Then they grinned. "Excellent." 

You were a bit taken aback at the way they said it in perfect unison, but didn't get the chance to dwell on it; they were heading towards you, and you had to put on your customer-ready smile. 

Though it didn't escape your notice that it came easier than usual. 

"Hey," you said, hoping you didn't sound strained, "can I help you with anything?" 

"Hi," replied Blond Guy. "Yeah, me and my esteemed colleague here would like to know if that two-for-one sign that is looking most ragged still applies." He gestured to the back, where all the various memorabilia and tee shirts were -- stuff that usually wasn't popular amongst customers, and were mostly things that the owners found in the depths of their attic. His "colleague" nodded in agreement, hair flopping around a little. 

You mirrored the nod, but with less shoulder movement. "Yeah, it goes for basically anything, since everything over there is under ten bucks." Pausing briefly, you added, "unless you try to get a tee shirt for the price of a guitar pick. Then, no." 

That earned another nod from Tall Guy. "OK, that makes sense. Thanks, dude." 

He grinned, and his smile was bright enough to rival the sun; you were momentarily blinded, but were able to smile back. "No problem. Just ask me if you need anything else." 

When the two boys turned away to inspect the goods, you heaved an internal sigh of relief. 

And for once, it wasn't because the customers were being annoying. 

You put in the bare minimum in pretending to not be staring; only glancing for a split second at the pages of your battered magazine that served as time-killing material before looking back up. But, seriously, even if you were doing a poor job, neither of the guys seemed to notice. They were pretty engrossed in examining a couple Garfield mugs. 

After that, they actually moved on to the records -- lingering near Hendrix but not dwelling long on Herb Albert, and then making their way through the racks from there. It was a personal hobby of yours to guess what a customer would buy from their appearance and demeanor alone. But you'd been too …  preoccupied to think of it, and you assumed it'd be considered cheating to take a stab at it now. 

Eventually, they returned to your counter, and you looked up at their approach. As if you hadn't been watching intently out of your peripherals. 

A single record was set in front of you, and you put down your magazine. 

"Just this one?" Peering down at it, you quickly recognized the album cover: More Songs About Buildings and Food, by Talking Heads. "Oh, good choice." 

"You really think so?" Asked the taller boy, and it was a little overwhelming with how much he was focused on you. It didn't seem like he was doing it on purpose, though. "I liked '77 a lot, but I'm not sure if David Byrne's delivery'll go well in this album. His voice is pretty distinctive, dude." 

"Trust me," you grinned, "it's good. You won't regret giving it a listen." 

Flipping the record over to peer briefly at the back, you put it back down. "That'll be $6.95." 

It took a bit of frantic searching on their part, but eventually, you slid a couple crumpled bills into the register and gave them back a nickel in change. 

For a moment, your hand just hovered awkwardly in the air, the coin in your palm. The boys exchanged glances, as if daring the other to take it. But, finally, the shorter of the two grabbed it, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. 

"What're you gonna use that for? A Tootsie Roll?" Grinning, the dark-haired guy looked proud of his joke. 

You didn't miss how he glanced over at you, to check your reaction; completely unphased by how his friend shot him a near-murderous look. 

"Shut up, Ted, you wanted it too!" 

Unfortunately, you didn't catch the blonde's name, as they were already walking away from you, record in tow. The small bell chimed once more. For a moment, you just looked at the door, the store feeling empty again. 

At least you had a name to attach to his face. 

… But it was kind of embarrassing, how you didn't even think of asking him. Maybe you wouldn't even see him again. 

Sighing, you picked back up your extremely entertaining reading material, attempting to bury your shame with a poorly-written article about a celebrity's affair. 

The rest of the day was pretty boring, to say the least. Only a couple more customers came in, but at least you made a decent amount of sales. Alice emerged from the back a couple times to put a couple ancient-looking movie posters on the walls -- you recognized Barbarella and Yellow Submarine. 

"Don't get run over," was Alice's way of saying goodbye to you, as you grabbed your stuff and headed home just after six. 

You stayed up a bit later than usual, but it didn't matter, since you had to be at the record store at around eleven or so. And it wasn't like you got lunch rushes or anything that you absolutely had to be there to handle. 

To be honest, it was barely annoying when that Ted kept popping into your mind; nobody could blame you, after all. It was rare that anybody you encountered at work was someone who legitimately had the power to capture your attention. So you entertained the feeling, right up until you arrived back at work the next day. 

Sitting down at the counter with a purpose after doing the usual routine, you rummaged around for another crappy magazine.  Now you were going to be professional and level-headed. 

And that was what you did for an hour or so. Professional stuff, like helping out a confused-looking older woman find an Elvis record, or shooing away a group of what looked to be ten-to-eleven-year-olds who tried in vain to barter for the junk that was already considerably cheaper than everything else in the store.

Everything was going well. 

Until, of course, the bell dinged again, and you just had to look up on instinct. 

They were back. 

This time, the shorter guy was wearing a backwards cap (bright red) with his blonde curls poking out the front. You appreciated that for a moment, and then, of course, your gaze slid over to him. Worn-out Megadeth shirt and all. 

To your mild surprise, he met your gaze almost instantaneously. And then he was jogging -- well, practically bounding over. 

"Dude!" He exclaimed, once he was directly in front of you. "You were so right. That album was truly heart-stirring." 

It took you a moment to recall which album he was talking about. When you did, though, you didn't hesitate to return his once-again blinding smile. "Yeah, told you so. You should totally listen to more Talking Heads, if you liked the album that much." Unlike last time, Ted's friend was hanging back, but you were curious anyway, and gestured in the blonde's direction. "Did he listen to it, too?" 

"Oh, Bill?" Nodding vigorously, Ted's grin didn't fade. "Yeah, he thought it was pretty good. But he didn't like it as much as I did." 

"At least he still liked it." You shrugged. "I mean, you were the one who bought it, right?" 

Ted glanced off to the side. "Well, I was the one who decided to buy it." He ducked his head a little. "Uh, we pooled our money, though." 

"Oh, okay." 

There was a bit of an awkward silence, before you spoke up again. "... Is there anything specific you're looking for today?" 

"Oh!" At that, Ted perked up. "Yeah, actually. I was gonna ask if there were any other Talking Heads albums here, besides, y'know, the ones I've already listened to." Quickly, he added, "uh, and by that I mean '77 and More Songs About Buildings and Food." 

"Sure, I remember." You put down your reading material, before getting off the stool and coming out from behind the counter. "Let's take a look." 

He followed behind you as you made your way to the T shelf, and stood next to you as you thumbed through the records. 

(If you concentrated just hard enough, you could feel how he was only inches away.) 

It didn't take long to find what you were looking for, thankfully. Feeling victorious, you pulled out Remain in Light. And right behind that was Fear of Music. It kind of sucked that Speaking in Tongues wasn't nearby, but if you got lucky, maybe you could find it in the countless decaying cardboard boxes in the back. 

"There," you announced, "here. This is good stuff, I think." You showed the album to Ted, and he leaned a little closer in order to get a better look. 

"It might be kind of a weird listen for some people, but it's good in my opinion. Some of the songs are kind of similar to hip-hop, and they even use elements of African music -- it's pretty cool." When you offered it to him, he took it; he handled it as if it was a delicate piece of treasure, flipping it over to read over the song titles. 

"Rad," he said, after a few moments of deep concentration. "Thanks." 

"No problem." 

You found yourself smiling along with him. "Need anything else?" 

"I think I'm okay for now." His shoulders bobbed when he nodded, you noticed. "I'm gonna look at the other albums over here for a sec, I think." 

"Sounds good. I'll be over there if you need me." 

After you turned your back to walk back to the counter, you didn't catch how he looked up -- before glancing back at the records. Once you were seated once again, the only thing you saw was how engrossed Ted was in finding what he was after. Or maybe he was just examining the album art; who knew for certain? 

It was a little while later when Bill traipsed over to Ted, and they quietly conferred. Their very hushed discussion ended pretty fast, and before you knew it, they were in front of you, and the album you'd shown Ted was placed in front of you. 

"Just this one?" You wondered if they were going to keep buying singular records. "Same as yesterday. $6.95, please." 

Again, it took a bit for the money to be collected from their pockets, but again, there was a nickel left in change. 

You didn't miss how Ted gave Bill a smug look as he reached over to take the coin from you.

Ted's fingertips were callused as your hands brushed, and 

chocolate brown eyes met yours, and 

"Do you play an instrument?" You blurted, and then winced. "Sorry, that was -- " 

" -- Actually, yeah!" 

But before you could apologize, Ted cut you off. If he was thrown off-guard by your oddly-placed question, he didn't show it; if anything, he actually looked happy that you'd asked. 

"I play guitar!" Proudly, he continued, "so does Bill! Which is great, because we can learn all the tough songs together." The previous brief animosity over the nickel completely disappeared as they exchanged glowing looks. "It is most productive." 

"Oh." Briefly, you were still caught between guilt and embarrassment, but you recovered quickly. "Oh! That's neat, actually. Guitar's a cool instrument."  

Bill seemed to take your praise in stride, but Ted -- he suddenly avoided eye contact. You carried on, though. "I've kind of always wanted to learn, but I've never really committed." Giggling semi-awkwardly, you shrugged. "Oh well, I guess. Maybe someday, right? Actually buying a guitar might be kinda hard, though. I've fooled around on a couple, but never owned one." 

"That is totally understandable," nodded Bill solemnly, "it does take a decent amount of cash and time to be able to learn any instrument." 

"Exactly," you agreed. Smiling, you nodded slightly in return. "Have a nice day, guys." 

Suddenly, Ted's attention was back on you with an intensity. You looked at him -- did he have a question about the album? -- but no, he was practically radiating nervous energy, almost looking like a deer caught in headlights. You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed; he seemed to be steeling himself. 

Before you could ask if he was okay, though -- 

"I could -- " he cleared his throat, "I could, uh, teach you a bit of guitar. If you wanna." 

What?

"What?" You and Bill said, at the same time. 

"I mean, I'm not, like, prodigy material, but… " Ted's face was gradually appearing pinker by the second. "I know some stuff, at least." 

Ignoring Bill's extremely concerning look directed at his friend, you genuinely considered his offer. 

This was actually a prime-time opportunity. 

It wasn't every day that cute boys just fell out of the sky (well, walked through the door of the record store) and offered to give you free guitar lessons. Sure, it was true that you barely knew him -- but if you said no, would you even get the chance to get to know him? Probably not. You couldn't tell if he was the type of guy to back off if you said no to something like this; and that was a little scary. 

He was shuffling a little, and looked pretty nervous by the time you came to a conclusion. 

"Yeah," you affirmed. 

"That'd be nice." 

If anything, Bill looked more surprised than Ted; who, after a moment or two, seemingly remembered his ability to speak. 

"Wait, really?" Ted's face displayed open shock, before fading beautifully into joy. 

"Killer, dude." 

-- 

Turns out the bookmark you'd been using also worked pretty well as a means for Ted to scribble down his (and Bill's, apparently) address. His handwriting was a couple steps up from basically illegible, but considering that you'd noticed his hand shaking, you'd take what you could get. You had a sneaking suspicion that, even on a good day, writing wasn't his strong suit. 

The apartment building wasn't too far from your own home, thankfully. 

You were only a bit nervous when standing in front of the door. Waiting for either Bill or Ted to answer it. 

It turned out to be the latter, who looked partially disheveled as he opened the door for you, stepping aside. 

"Sorry. It's a bit of a mess, dude," he said, sounding sheepish, "uh, but trust me, it's usually way worse." 

Stepping inside, you looked around -- it wasn't the worst place you'd seen, to be honest, and it had a sense of familiarity radiating from all the stickers stuck on basically every surface, and posters, pictures, and other memorabilia everywhere. Most of the posters were of bands you recognized. 

"It's fine," you replied, as he shut the door behind you. "Is Bill home?" 

"No, he went out," came Ted's answer. "Dunno where, though. He just gave me a sorta squinty look and left." 

"Oh." 

An awkward beat, before Ted picked up the thread of conversation; thin as it was. 

"C'mon, you can sit down on the couch or wherever. I'll go get the guitars." He smiled at you. "There's probably, like, cereal in the kitchen if you want something." And with that, he practically bolted into the next room. 

Doing as he said, you made a place for yourself on the green couch, trying not to knock off any of the pillow and whatnot piled onto the surface. Not that you thought Ted would mind or anything, judging by the semi-cluttered state of the apartment -- but you didn't want to be a rude houseguest, especially during the first time he'd invited you over. 

Ted returned pretty quickly, though, carrying two guitars. One was beige, the other black and red. 

"You can take Bill's," he said, offering the latter guitar to you. "He won't mind, I think. Unless you break it or something." 

"That's not … really comforting." Taking the guitar, you placed it in your lap. "Now I'm nervous." 

"Oh. Sorry, dude." He sat down next to you, his own instrument placed on his leg in a position that looked much more comfortable. "I mean, if you did break it, it'd be most calamitous." Seeing your expression, he rushed to add, "but I trust you not to! Since you work in a record store and all." 

"That's a good point." Looking at him, you hoped you didn't appear too lost, and you adjusted the way you held your guitar to mimic him. 

"So, uh." Ted didn't seem to notice. "You wanna learn a couple basic chords? It's gonna be a bit weird at first, but you'll get used to it pretty quick." 

"Alright." 

"Stellar." Rolling his shoulders, he grinned. "Here's an A major chord." He demonstrated the finger position, and then strummed his guitar -- it looked easy enough, but still took a couple tries for you to put your hand in the right spot for it to sound right. Eventually, though, you got it, and Ted beamed. 

"That's it. Probably the easiest chord. Wanna move on?" 

"Sure," you said, "how long will it take to get used to the strings? They're a little tough to keep down." 

"Don't press too hard, it'll kill the quality." Ted adjusted himself in his seat, but didn't take his eyes off you. "If you play regularly, you'll get calluses in no time. Don't worry." 

"I hope so." You unconsciously mirrored his movement, but weren't able to hold eye contact for as long as him, and dropped your gaze to the guitar in your hands. There were a couple small scratches here and there, which was comforting; because if it could survive a few dings and scrapes, it could survive your amateurish playing. 

"I know so, dude." Ted was completely relaxed. " 'Kay, moving on -- C major chord, right? Also pretty easy." He repositioned his fingers, and strummed once more. 

Again, after some trial and error, and maybe a little help, you caught on. Ted looked pleased. "See, you got it! You're learning way quicker than I did." 

You weren't sure if it was empty praise or not, but judging from how blunt he'd been so far, you doubted it. And it wasn't like you weren't going to take the compliment -- not with how it brought a supremely light feeling into your chest. 

Ted had you practice going between the chords a couple times, to get used to switching finger positions. It was awkward, to say the least, but not outright difficult or challenging. You supposed that, with enough practice, it'd get way less fiddly. 

"What's next?" You asked, after that. "More chords?" 

"You got it!" He'd been demonstrating how to switch positions efficiently, and you tried not to focus on how his fingers easily reached across the fretboard with little to no effort. "Next, we've got the G major chord. Three fingers again." 

It was the same process as before, you thought. However, this time, you just couldn't get it right; his fingers and hand were positioned in a way that made it difficult to tell which frets he was pressing. A little frustrated, you tried for the fifth time, and yet. No dice. 

Ted didn't seem too bothered, but he sounded empathetic when he spoke up. "Oh. Lemme help, dude." 

If you were expecting anything in particular, it probably wouldn't have been him reaching over to move your ring finger onto the correct fret, and then nudge your index finger over a little. 

Your heart did a traitorous little skip. 

His hands were warm. 

"... There." Even he looked bashful as he pulled back. "Uh. That should be good now." 

It took you a moment to breathe a "thanks." 

Wonderfully, and finally, you got it right. The chord was a little shaky, but you reveled in your triumph. 

There was something thick in the air, 

but it quickly dissipated as Ted cracked another smile. "See? You got it!" 

"Yeah," was all you could muster. 

"Let's go between those three for now," he said, mercifully not picking up on your current state of mind. "I think that's a good spot to kinda review, right?" Flicking back his head to get his bangs out of his face, he continued. "I'm not going too fast, right? I'm not, like, a professional music teacher or anything, so…" 

At last, you recovered your ability to find words. "No, you're fine. The chords aren't too hard to remember, anyway." 

"Right," agreed Ted, "then, can you play the A major one again?" 

That was easy enough. You got C major right rather quickly too, much to Ted's delight. And you even remembered how to shift between the two positions in a way that didn't result in uncomfortable finger-twisting. Your fingertips were steadily growing sorer, indented by the strings, but you tried not to focus on it; you'd get used to that later. 

However, when you got back to the G major chord… You tried once. Nope. Once more? Couldn't get it. 

Third time could be the charm. 

No dice. Your guitar emitted a sound similar to that of a severely out-of-tune violin. 

"That one trip you up again, dude?" Ted frowned, but it wasn't in a disappointed way at all. More like the sympathy from earlier -- and he sounded a bit guilty, but you didn't know why. 

"I swear it's not on purpose," you grumbled, "sorry." 

" 'S fine, really." His frown melted into that same easy smile. "I get it. Imagine how long it took for me to get that one right. I didn't have a teacher at all." 

Your mind abruptly conjured up an image of Ted, just as frustrated as you were, sitting on the same couch. Struggling to learn the chords you'd gotten in mere minutes. Maybe Bill and him struggled together, when they were both unfamiliar with guitars. Like you were now. 

It was kind of a funny image. You were wondering if it was rude to think so; it probably was, right? 

But your train of thought was quickly interrupted. 

As Ted moved over. 

Closer than the last time. 

"I have a trick that helped when I first learned the G chord," he began, "uh, you just gotta remember that your middle and ring finger are on the same row, right? And the pointer is just up there." He made a couple hand gestures that didn't really help with the explanation. You understood what he meant, however… 

"Where's the pointer finger supposed to go, again?" You asked, a little embarrassed that you'd already forgotten the correct hand position. 

Ted opened his mouth to say something. His brow furrowed as he hesitated, before apparently giving up on trying to detail it with words. Gingerly, he placed his own guitar the side. 

"Just -- here. Hang on." 

Your heart swooped as he reached out again, and -- 

he was so gentle in how he guided your hand to the correct spot, before carefully nudging your fingertips onto the frets, pressing them ever so slightly onto them. 

It took him a moment to speak, and when he did, he hadn't removed his hand from on top of yours yet. He was turned entirely to face you, having been so focused on his task of helping you that he hadn't noticed -- until now. 

"Uh," he said, before clearing his throat. "So, see? Middle and ring on the same row, like I said." 

His voice was quieter. "And … pointer to the side. There." 

You risked a glance up at his face. 

It was a brilliant pink. 

But he still hadn't moved away. 

Every single nerve in your body felt like they were migrating to where your skin met his. 

"... There?" 

You echoed.

Ted finally seemed to snap back to reality -- pulling his hand back, nearly scrambling backwards on the couch, almost bumping his guitar off it in the process, with how he bounced back on the cushions in his rush to get out of your personal space. 

"Yeah!" He blurted as he did so. Face scarlet. Hand flying up to scratch at the back of his neck.

"That -- that should be good." 

And now he was avoiding eye contact. 

"Okay," you replied eloquently, mentally kicking yourself afterward. 

You had to admit, there was a little bit of suspense before you finally strummed your guitar. 

And as if from the heavens above, the correct notes finally rang out, just as Ted had demonstrated earlier. 

"There!" You declared, and couldn't help your sigh of relief. "I think I'll remember it next time." 

It took Ted a second to respond, but when he did, he'd recovered, and was grinning; even if he was still a little pink. 

"... See!" He dropped his hand back to his lap to join the other. "The same goes for other tough stuff in music. If you're having trouble, just try to find a pattern." Sagely, he nodded. "Even if it takes you a while to find the pattern, it'll be most gratifying in the end. Makes it way easier to remember stuff." 

"Yeah, thanks." You loosened your grip on your guitar. "Actually, that helps a lot. Should we go back to reviewing all the chords again?" 

Ted reached back to grab his own instrument, before flicking back his head to get his bangs out of his face. 

"Let's do it, dude." 

-- 

It was about an hour and a half later when your fingertips really started to get sore; even after said hour and a half was interspersed with several breaks, in which your very helpful teacher showed you a couple records from his own collection. And played a couple songs from said couple records. 

Most of the songs were from the albums you'd chosen for him. 

However, when it came to continuing to practice guitar, half of you wanted to bravely persist, and the other half wanted to stop. Though it was inevitably Ted that made the decision. 

"I said it'd take time for you to get calluses, but you shouldn't push yourself too hard," he said, after you winced for maybe the third time. "It hurts, right? And that sucks, that was exactly what it felt like for me during the first, like, few weeks or so." Idly, he pushed back a lock of his hair which had migrated into his face. "I think we could stop for now." 

"Yeah, okay." You put down your guitar. "You're right. I should head home to eat, anyway." 

"Right," he replied. 

There was an awkward beat, before you finally stood up. Ted followed suit.

"Yeah," you repeated, not being able to stop the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Thanks. Really, it was really sweet of you to offer to teach me a bit of guitar. I only mentioned it in passing, too." 

His hand was back on the back of his neck as he walked the short distance with you to the entrance. "It's nothing," he deflected, but his expression said it all. "I'm just glad that I didn't turn out to be a horrific teacher, or something." 

"No, you were fine!" Giving him another 'thanks' as he opened the door for you, you stepped out of the apartment. "I'm just glad that I wasn't a horrific student." 

Turning to face him, you inclined your head, speaking before he could object.

"Bye. And thanks -- " 

"-- you wanna do this again?" 

It seemed even he was surprised at the question, taking into account how his face reddened. Once again. "Uh," he added, "I mean, it was fun. To hang out and teach you a couple chords. It'd be nice to hang out again." His tone was wavering. Stilted, almost. "Yeah."

It was cute. 

"Sure," you answered without missing a beat. "Give me your number and I'll call when I get home." 

His answering grin was powerful enough to power a thousand solar panels. 

You probably broke a speed limit heading home, to say the least. 

#ted logan x reader #ted logan imagine #ted logan imagines #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #ted logan x you #bill and ted imagine

[iceelenemonade]

When Life Gives You Hot Chocolates - Lee Jeno

Pairing: Lee Jeno x fem! reader Wordcount: 7k+ Genre: Cafe au, university au, fluff, angst, slice of life, coming-of-age Warnings: Food names, self doubt, and mentions of friends becoming distant

Solitude may shadow her life, a presence that frequents her every step lately, but sometimes the simple pleasantries—whether it is a hot chocolate or a salutation—can serve as good reminders of what happiness is, even if that fluttering feeling may come and go.

A/N: This fic is a part of The Crush Chronicles collab hosted by @/rrxnjun. Thank you, Bar, for hosting this collab as well as having me on board. Please go check out the other fellow writers’ fics (found in the masterlist here)! Feedback or any errors found here are greatly appreciated. Regardless, thank you for taking the time to read. Hope you guys enjoy!

How did we meet?

The idea of ordering from the 7Dreams’ Chocolate Cafe had been stuck in her mind much longer than she would have liked.

She even searched up the hot chocolate menu on their website in one of her study breaks a few days ago; a small cup of hot chocolate with blueberry filling sounded appetising. In retrospect, she entertained the idea of treating herself way too much — not that she deserved it.

The cafe was strategically placed along her daily route to her university; it’s neatly placed alongside other assortment of shops and specialties, like a deserted bookshop and an abandoned laundromat, to name a few. Her local university just had to be a 10-minute walk from the cafe on a pathway that is the most time efficient. There was a bus stop near her home but, for whatever reason, it’s on the opposite side of the street that never drives to the university.

So, to any stranger, it’s the perfect excuse to try out the cafe’s specialty. But to her, overpriced is a far better argument to not fall into the temptation of the cafe’s warm atmosphere.

It was a cold January morning at seven as she stood idly from the entrance to the cafe, just a few feet away. From her field of vision the cafe was quite deserted. And yet the harmonious sounds of laughter exchanged between the coworkers and customers was close to a booming crowd on a good day.

“Just for today,” she muttered before a muted yawn came out. One hot chocolate to calm her nerves before her morning lecture, and that will be it.

Small cup. Dark chocolate. Blueberry filling.

She stepped into the dimmed golden lights of the cafe, scanning the interior. There, a colourful bookshelf in the corner just a few feet away from the end of the display cabinet. The display cabinet was filled with the typical choices of any regular cafe: croissants, brownies, muffins, toasties. Next was the menu that secured a huge portion of the wall behind the cashier. The chalked writing, styled in cursive, showed off the various options to customise a hot chocolate; from white to dark chocolate, and an assortment of flavours to mix with. She scanned the menu.

Small cup… Dark chocolate… And blueberry filling.

With slow steps she repeated the order in her head as she approached the checkout counter, manned by a boy with a black face mask. His eyes widened a little when she got closer. A deep rumble resonated from him as he cleared his throat. “Hello! What would you like to order?”

She peered behind her shoulder. There’s no one else. It’s just her, the cashier, and a couple giggling at the corner of the cafe. Time is treating her well today. She looked back at him with a tired smile. “A small, dark chocolate with blueberry filling… Oh, and takeaway too.”

He nodded, slowly working through the cash register as he pushed aside his black bangs. His arm was stretched to the side for something when she noticed him freezing. She could see the guy flitting his eyes about, from the counter to her and back.

Another few seconds of just hushed conversations filling in the silence until, finally, he faced towards her and forced out a nervous laugh. “One sec, I’ll… be right back.”

The boy turned away to tap on his coworker’s shoulder, a brunette barista who was cleaning the coffee machine, and leaned to his ear with an alarmed look on his face. A yawn escaped her lips as she glanced at the bookshelf once she let her mind to plan for the day ahead.

There was enough time to do some shopping for novels to read. But the hot chocolate is already a treat… That’s too much for a week, so maybe next time. Ah, and that morning lecture… It’s two hours. And another one an hour later, the building on the other side of campus… Her mind ached at the thought of overfilling her document with more notes later in the afternoon. She tried to blink the drowsiness away, her vision slowly becoming more clear as she turned back to a blurred silhouette—

The boy’s jaw seemed to have moved slightly before stopping, now staring back at her.

How long was she standing there? And what did he say? Her brow deepened. Right, the flavour… It has to be. She rubbed her arm roughly as she mumbled, “Ah, sorry about that. It’s blueberry.”

The cashier’s expression was more or less the same as before; however, the face mask did help to calm her nerves. Maybe. His eyes then curved into crescents as he scribbled on the cup with a muffled “got it”. Once he ripped the receipt, he handed it to her and said, “Your order won’t take long.”

With a curt nod, she hurried to one of the wooden chairs that was close to the checkout counter. Settling herself onto the seat, she tried to soothe her numbing headache as she thought back to what she said to him. Like, do people say takeaway in cafes? And what was up with him pausing before giving her the receipt? Then the guilt started to creep into her chest.

How long was he standing there for?

With a muted sigh, she turned her phone on and went straight to the Instagram app for a mindless scroll. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting on the feed. Well, aside from her past classmates who often posted dull pictures of their road trips or expensive cuisine. Sometimes an arm or a face of someone, like a friend or a relative, would make an appearance too.

She pursed her lips when the sight of a ski trip was posted by someone she hadn’t talked to in a while.

She kept scrolling; there were some cat videos, a few miscellaneous facts of movies, and some random reuploads of viral dances of sorts. Nothing much interested her until a muffled, deep voice made her look up to the sound of…

The black-haired guy.

He was taking an order from an elderly man. Even when he abruptly turned away to let out a loud sneeze, his pleasant demeanour prevailed as he nodded to the customer. She quickly looked around his area and spotted the brunette barista from before who was pouring milk into a large cup. Not hers, she betted.

When she looked around her surroundings, that’s when she finally took her time to examine the cafe. There was that giggly couple from before who now settled for hushed whispers and grins. Behind them was a woman with spectacles; her form seemingly relaxed as she typed on her laptop. And there was a lady in a hazel-coloured apron, a waitress she presumed, who collected the ceramic cup from the woman who briefly nodded at her with a small grin.

The atmosphere here was one of a kind.

“Your order is ready!” Her thoughts abruptly stopped when she turned to see the cashier leaning over the counter. She hurried over to him, her fingers stretched for the cup. She was about to thank him when he interrupted with a soft voice, “Sorry for the wait again. Have a good day.”

She stilled. He didn’t look annoyed… Then again, this is a business, and for that you need to sell a sweet demeanour. Stopping an instinctive sigh, she turned back to him with a close-lipped smile. “Ah… you too. And thank you again.”

She scurried out to the lone street; the drink warming her hands as she turned on her phone.

Thirty minutes left till her morning lecture. Plenty of time.

She closed her eyes briefly as she brought the cup to her mouth with short sips. For a few seconds she relished the taste before slightly scowling at the taste as she smacked her lips. The blueberry flavour seemed like the perfect counter to dark chocolate, even if it tasted faint. It’s not bad; really. But at the moment… It’s a shame it tasted a bit too bitter. Just a little too bitter for her liking.

Deciding to take another sip, she stared ahead when, at the corner of her eye, she noticed some black lines on the lid. There, a shaky scribble of a smiley face next to the word ‘berry’ greeted her.

Her body became much warmer underneath her layered garments as her lips slightly lifted at the cup.

The name of her order was written tidily by the boy. And the drawing… Well, she found it cute despite how unnecessary it was for him to add on a disposable cup. Or perhaps this was simply a custom of 7Dreams’ Chocolate Cafe, or at least something every cafe does, right? She shook her head when she entered the campus, “Ah, nevermind.”

When the designated lecture arrived, the lecturer continued to drone on about the group activities and seemingly took no notice of both hers and the other students’ shivering in the room.

Tell me your name!

The times she had passed the 7Dreams’ Chocolate Cafe in the last few weeks since her first visit are far too many to remember. 

She would take slow steps as she looked through the cafe’s large window before speeding up to her home as she reminded herself to finish off the day’s work. Several of those times she lingered near the entrance, feigning curiosity at the menu as she peered into the window.

Then, lately, she would enter the cafe, only to then retreat to the corner and skim through the cafe’s bookshelf. Sometimes she would meet the eyes of the staff; especially the black-haired cashier from before, and they would greet with either a grin or a shout of acknowledgement before resuming their work.

She hoped her nod and smile were friendly enough to stop them from kicking her out.

Either way, she wouldn’t dare to linger around for too long since she doesn’t order anything from the cafe. Perhaps about ten minutes and then she’s off back to her quiet home, turning on the lights of her bedroom once more, and resuming to work through her university work.

This time, however, she really couldn’t take it.

It was about five-thirty on a Thursday evening in March, and she was already at the brink of napping the lethargy away thanks to her late lunch. That, and the numbed annoyance towards her messy notes which were furiously typed out in a hurry from earlier today’s lecture that still required revision.

It still wasn’t done.

“Screw it,” she muttered before rising from her chair to put on a pullover.

With the house key in hand, she quickly slipped into a pair of sneakers and headed out to the cafe. What started off as an excuse to stretch her legs has become a daily need to check by the cafe. It was laughable. Perhaps the cafe was at fault, had they not had staff be enthusiastic at what she believed to be making ends meet; and it’s something she can’t blame them for.

The 7Dreams’ Chocolate Cafe was truly something else.

When she stepped foot into the dimmed golden lights of the cafe once more, she noticed two things: she was alone, and the only staff present was the black-haired guy.

They stared for a few seconds too long until the boy grinned, and then resumed cleaning the table with a cloth. Her eyes darted around the cafe as she stepped away from the entrance. She couldn’t hear any other commotion coming from the kitchen, nor could she see any passerby outside the window. Perhaps…

“Hey, sorry… Were you closing up?”

The boy shook his head, his wiping slowed as he looked at her. “Nope. I’ll only close up at six, so you can stay until then.”

“Ok, cool…” she was fiddling with her sleeve as she glanced around the cafe. The dull ache of guilt was growing. She tried to push the feeling down as she took a breath, “I was wondering if I could still order a drink? Of course, it’s no problem if you packed up already.”

“No, no, it’s ok,” he wiped his hands on his apron before beckoning her over to the counter. “What can I get for you?”

She strained a smile, “A small cup of milk hot chocolate with hazelnut please.”

“Of course! It won’t take long.”

With his back to her, she walked to the bookshelf once more and sat onto the chair nearby. At this point, that seat seemed to be designated for her given how it was the only place she sits at.

Not that she minded to share, of course. Not ideal, but still.

She closed her eyes as she sank further into the chair, the crackling of the coffee machine being the only sound accompanying her train of thoughts.

The guy was quite nice despite having the opportunity to kick her out if he wanted to. Or he could have closed up early had she not entered the cafe. And she never noticed it until now, but the face mask was long gone since the first few times she had seen him, and she admitted he looked pretty without it.

Pretty…

Her brows deepened. Why the sudden intrusion of her opinion on a mere stranger’s appearance?

And then a soft thud on the table woke her up from her slight daze. There, a plastic brown cup laid idly near her hand. She looked up to see the boy who is now dressed in a dark bomber jacket over his white T-shirt, and a backpack slinged over one of his shoulders.

Quickly registering her surroundings, she nodded at him and cradled the drink with a small smile, “Oh, thank you.”

She rose from her seat and sauntered to the entrance. The cafe’s lights were almost gone, saved for one near the cafe’s door. And a glance at the window there were cars lining up slowly on the road; a product of the rush hour.

When she turned back, the boy was rocking back and forth a little on his heels who had been silent since taking her order. He was slightly taken aback from her sudden staring and quickly followed her to the entrance. His hand reached out to a switch as she stepped out whilst keeping the door open for him. With the lights gone in the cafe, they both turned to walk.

“Oh!” she stopped to look at the boy who had finally spoken. “Are you heading to the bus stop?”

“Bus stop?” her mouth agape as the realisation came to her soon after she repeated his words. “Is it the one opposite here?”

He nodded, “Yeah. I was wondering if maybe you wanna walk there together?”

Together? With this guy? She was dumbfounded, and the warmth from the drink was definitely not helping her feeling any less nervous. She tried to bury any semblance of hope that bloomed in her chest when she mumbled, “Sure”.

Fortunately, the conversation flowed quite naturally given their lack of history. From exchanging names to learning what university course they were studying. It turned out the boy, Jeno, was doing a music major at the same university she’s attending, albeit their classes were on different days.

They stood a little apart from each other as they waited for the bus to make an appearance. Despite the pair having reached the bus stop a little while ago, the pair continued to chat, with Jeno initiating most of the topics. Of course, there was so much she could share in just a single meeting. For now, she was satisfied with just familiarising herself with the boy through niceties and salutations.

“Finally, a name to a face,” Jeno chuckled. He noticed her perked brow before a smaller smile took over his face, “I’m just glad to know your name and not, uh… Not knowing your name.”

His slight fragmented phrase at the end was noticeable. Shaking her head, she shrugged it off and brushed off the unnecessary doubt as she returned a smile at him. “Same here. Happy to know your name too.”

The distant honks of the vehicles were the only accompanying sounds that bridged the awkwardness between the pair. No shy glances or any similar gestures were exchanged, which she was relieved at. This evening already took an unexpected turn that a potential friend wanted to walk with her, or weirdly even wanted to continue talking to her.

She fought back the familiar bitter numbness in her chest when, from the corner of her eye, she could make out a distant shape of a bus.

Jeno took notice as well and walked closer to her, a few feet away. “Hey, I’ll see you…” He pursed his lips as he watched the bus approaching them before looking back at her. “Next time, at the cafe.”

There was a hint of a smile on his face, his eyes curved in crescents for a brief moment before he stepped inside the bus. The corner of her lips lifted gradually as she slowly waved; however, she was a few seconds too late when she muttered goodbye. She sighed as she looked to the bus window where his back faced hers.

Her chest, however, felt much lighter, like she could finally breathe again. The familiarity of hope… She wished for the feeling to stay. One of her hands was slightly sore when the realisation hit her: the hot chocolate had yet to be tasted.

How long were they talking for?

Feeling the house keys in her pocket, she headed towards her home as she sipped the drink. As expected, it was cold, but apart from that? It was far better than her berry dark chocolate. Then again, hazelnuts with chocolate are a safe combination. But still, the right balance of sweetness was addicting.

Even as the evening air got colder that prompted her to hurry her steps, her smile never left her face.

Did you ever like me?

The thought of enjoying her time at 7Dreams’ Chocolate Cafe purely for the atmosphere and people would be laughable had this been told to her from the beginning.

It had been about two months since the evening walk with Jeno, and initially nothing between them had changed. Each subsequent visit she stayed a little longer, except for certain days where she needed to finish an essay for an assignment. The routine remained mostly the same: smile, greet the staff, and sit next to the bookshelf and work through her university work.

Jeno assured her that he and the staff aren’t going to kick her out regardless if she ordered from the cafe or not. She just had one condition.

“Every time you wanna order a hot chocolate, you need to get something different.”

Sometimes she saw a shadow of Jeno disappear into the kitchen, presumably for his break, with another worker manning the cash register. Other times he would briefly chat with many of the customers, from disgruntled employees to elderly people. And one time he meekly asked her if he could join her for his lunch break.

In those special cases, not many words were exchanged between them; she would ask how he was, and he would ask the same. She had prepared details of her days—and they were right at the tip of her tongue—only to then fall back on the familiar enunciation of “alright”. And when the conversation diverted away from the salutations, then Jeno would share a snippet of his days.

If her lack of initiative was noticeable, then fortunately he never brought it up.

Because no matter how brief the chats were, she found those moments to be generous. And she was even more happy to simply listen to whatever entailed in Jeno’s life.

It was a bright noon on a Saturday, accompanied by Jeno who was sitting opposite to her.

He was on his laptop with a similar goal to hers; finishing off an essay that was due in another week or so. The hushed chatters were enough to compensate for the silence shared between them for the past hour. They were currently attending to their own devices for a brief break, with Jeno who just returned with two hot chocolates.

Today was a cup of white hot chocolate with strawberry flavour.

She racked her brain for a topic to easily weave into the conversation that, to her, was already more comfortable than prior interactions with her high school peers.

Surely there was something else to talk about.

She really wanted to try to get to know him more, by her own rules and by her own initiative. There was a brief surge of confidence when she nodded to herself. With a shaky breath she asked, “What were your first impressions of me?”

He pursed his lips for a moment as he leaned into his seat. Then, a slight grin was plastered on his face. “You really want to know?”

That expression really worried her. Still, she just bobbed her head slowly.

“Well, remember when I said I was glad to know your name? That’s because I remembered you as ‘Berry’.”

She forced a chuckle, “Berry?”

“Well…” Jeno reached for his drink, the ceramic cup masking his expression. “That’s the name you went with when I asked when you ordered.”

“Huh…” Her hand was propped underneath her chin as she could recall the image of the disposable cup; the lid, the boy’s doodle, and some letters written… She mentally chanted the word. Berry seemed to fit the missing gap. But then why didn’t he write blueberry? Berry could have referred to strawberry or blueberry, and it wasn’t like berry was her—

“Wait a sec…” She squinted as the hazy memory of the drink became clearer; her joyous mood at the sight of his doodles becoming familiar as she focused on the word, ‘Berry’, once more. “You were asking for my name?”

He nodded; his face grimaced slightly as he tried to mask his stifled giggles with a neutral expression. “Yeah…”

That…

Yeah, in retrospect, that made a lot of sense.

She groaned into her palms. Jeno’s laughter soon came after and it only intensified in her ears as her body warmed up intensely. Curse him and that sweet laugh of his. And curse her past’s sleep deprived self; she’ll never live that moment down.

“Jeno! You should have”—she peeped through her hands briefly to meet his smile before retreating behind her palms—“You know what, that’s on me. I should’ve just asked you again instead of assuming something else.”

“You were tired, so I get it, but also I didn’t wanna embarrass you even more.”

“You’re right, I would have been more embarrassed. But still…” She pressed her hand to the cup briefly; it was still pretty hot.

“I know,” Jeno lets out a deep chuckle before tilting his head, his eyes curved as he asked. “Now, what about me?”

She hummed momentarily. Where should she start? Or better yet, what could she say? Jeno was slightly leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table, all while beaming at her. After a few moments, her eyes drifted to the side as she let the words fall out, “At first, nothing much. You know, just a regular part-time worker.”

“Damn, could have just said I was boring.”

“Hey, let me finish,” her lips lifted at his feigned annoyance. “Anyways, I think it’s cool you look out for others. You know, checking on them and all, and chatting with them like this.

“You may think it’s not much, but I’m sure to many it means a lot. At least for me, and I… I think that’s pretty admirable.”

She tried to gauge his reaction; his mouth was agape as he seemingly froze in his seat. She frantically waved her hand, now feeling the familiar ache of guilt creeping in her chest, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that. I just thought—”

“No—Don’t apologise. It’s just…” Jeno took a breath as his stare flitted about to the window beside him. The mirthful glint was absent from his now widened eyes, and his clamped jaw was close to cracking. After a few seconds had passed, he looked back hesitantly, “I wasn’t expecting to hear that, especially from you so…”

Forget the looks, she thought. Jeno. This guy, whose glance darted between her and the cup in front of him, appeared so shy from a mere compliment? Her heart soared at the sight. She hid her growing smile behind her ceramic cup as the realisation slowly dawned on her.

And then she hacked at the taste of her hot chocolate.

“Hey, you ok?” Jeno rose from his seat and handed her a nearby serviette which she reluctantly took after coughing a few more seconds.

“Y—yeah. Sorry,” she patted her chest with a grimace, “just had something in my throat.”

His stance was tense even after she brushed his concern off for her agitated state—a compulsive excuse that she concocted—not being a big deal.

Sure, she was unfamiliar with white chocolate compared to the other chocolate variants, so perhaps the sweetness was expected. But wow, the strawberry flavour intensified the sweetness greatly. She also couldn’t calm the rapid beating of her heart as she watched Jeno who continued to frown as he sat back down.

"Was the drink bad?"

"No! I mean"—she laid the cup down on the saucer—"it was a little too sweet for me, but still I'm glad to try it. Thank you again for the drink, Jeno.”

"Oh, no worries. And hey, the feedback helps." he laughed, his posture relaxing as he leaned back into his seat.

Even a little while after their break, after reluctantly reminding him about their overdue urgency to return to their assignments, she tried to mask her shaky smile through short sips of the hot chocolate. Even when the illusion of time slowed as she chided herself to fixate on the words of her document, she cannot shake off the warmth that lingered in her chest and stomach.

And even then, she wouldn't dare to flirt with anything beyond this newfound friendship with Jeno.

A few drops remained in her cup by the time she left the cafe in a slight haste.

If you did, then what made you like me?

The amount of visits she had made since her first visit had eventually spread word of her name around the community in the 7Dreams’ Chocolate Cafe, especially the staff.

Soon after learning first impressions, she got acquainted with some of Jeno’s workmates. There were Dejun, a second-year music student and roommate of his; and Yoohyeon, a part-time waitress who is finishing her final year of nursing. They only exchanged salutations at the moment, but she shrugged off the awkwardness and focused on the bliss of conversing with Dejun and Yoohyeon.

Again, nothing significant happened between her and Jeno. Their dynamic was still mainly Jeno leading the conversation, but with some encouragement from the boy, she had tried to share short extracts of her hobbies. She doesn’t expect him to be there all the time, of course. The extra company of any of the staff were bonuses to relieve her restless thoughts at the cafe. And depending on how busy the cafe got, Jeno would join her afterwards, either for the last ten minutes of her stay or for much longer.

So when she stepped inside the cafe, on a Tuesday afternoon of September, she was taken aback by the sight of Jeno occupying her usual spot. Or really, their most frequent meeting place. She shook the thought away as she approached the boy who was dressed in a white hoodie and light wash jeans.

At closer inspection, he was scowling as he continuously glanced from his phone and to the cloudy sky on the window beside him. Despite his body seemingly relaxed into the chair, one of his legs was bouncing. As she neared the table Jeno briefly looked up with expectant eyes; there was a quick change in his expressions, from a slight frown to a close-lipped smile that never reached his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Hey…” she slowly sat down in front of him, wetting her lips as she pondered on her next words. It was unusual to see him visibly upset, either at someone or from something. “Not a good day?”

“Kind of…” Jeno mumbled, his attention directed elsewhere. “But don’t worry about it, I mean, it’s fine, I don’t want to bother you and all—”

“Jeno. If this is bothering you, then you can share it.”

He stared back with an eerily familiar emotion etched on his face: guilt, ashamed, or fear even.

She bobbed her head slowly as she leaned forward with an attentive look. “That is if you want to, of course. I won’t force you if you’re not comfortable.”

The boy’s mouth opened and closed a few times, though nothing came out. He slumped back into the chair as he tucked his arms further into the pockets of his hoodie. “It’s just... Uni stuff. The usual...”

She nodded, humming.

He pursed his lips for a moment; a brief pause of his eyes flitted about until, finally, he let out a weary sigh.

“Well, it’s… hard? I mean, I love music, which is why I picked it. But it’s so different from what high school was. I shouldn’t complain, really, because I’m just a first year at uni versus high school. And Dejun? He seemed fine, especially when he’s gone through his first year.

“And there’s a group project, which fortunately most of it is done, but one guy hasn’t been responding, so I just…” He was now staring at the table as he slumped against the chair. Her chest ached at the sight of someone, a friend especially, who never seemed to express any emotional outburst. From a glance, she assumed Jeno was a quiet guy with an open mind.

Unless… Was he good at hiding his emotions?

She rubbed her clammy hands on her leg. The situation at hand is recognisable to her, because when friends—or at this point, friendly acquaintances—shared their struggles to her through chat messages, she could only provide words akin to comfort. She wished there was more she could do, really. But first things first: Jeno. “Yeah… I get that, especially when there are different people going through far worse things.

“But that doesn’t make your situation any less still, because everyone’s well being is important, including yours. And making comparisons with others like that can help motivate you to do better, but too much of it will hurt you, which it did. I, and surely the others, don’t want you to keep hurting yourself like that.

“And for group projects… Well, we know they suck. Period.”

Jeno lets out a hoarse chuckle at her last sentence as he lifted his head gradually. The light patter of the rain on the window beside them was enough noise for this quiet moment that the pair are in. She stopped herself from apologising, because this time really wasn’t appropriate for one.

He closed his eyes briefly as he swayed a little in his seat for a few moments until he let out a sigh of relief, “Thank you, and… sorry if I ranted a lot to you like that.”

“Hey,” she shook her head quickly with a frown. “You got nothing to apologise for. If you’re feeling better, then that’s what matters.”

“Yeah…” He fiddled with his hoodie’s pockets, his eyes curved as he met her stare. “Thank you, really, and I… I’m happy to lend an ear if you need someone to talk to.”

“Jeno…” Her heartbeat quickened at his words. She blinked for a few seconds before her lips lifted, “Thank you, Jeno. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Of course. You’re important too.”

For the next hour or so they just chatted, from her excitedly sharing a video of a cartoon bat hanging upside down with a coffee cup, to him recounting an awkward tale of how he and another friend of his, Jaemin, met Dejun.

As soon as the rain had subsided, they both left the cafe and walked to the bus stop together. It was only with a reluctant step away from the bus stop that she waved goodbye and wished him safe travels.

She smiled when he saw his eyes curved as he mouthed the same words to her.

Did you know that I liked you?

This past year was quite something else.

She already came to terms with the overpriced menu ever since her first visit at the 7Dreams’ Chocolate Cafe. But the laughter and chatter between the staff and their customers as well as the warm atmosphere that is unique to the cafe is what slotted a special place in her heart.

On a late afternoon in December, she finally had the freedom to relax. She quickly pushed the door and stepped inside the familiar bright lights illuminated in the cafe. The bookshelf in the corner had a makeover; it was painted with a dark red wood stain; and more variations of novels were neatly bundled together. Not much has changed in the display cabinet and the menu. She then approached the counter and, from the corner of her eye, spotted Dejun walking out of the kitchen.

“Hey,” Dejun waved. “Been a while. You’re gonna order something?”

“Yessir. Just a small dark hot chocolate with hazelnut, thanks.” She heard him hum in acknowledgement as he handed her the receipt. “It’s nice to see you, Dejun.”

“Same here!” The brunette grinned at her before attending to another customer.

She approached the familiar seat that resided next to the bookshelf. Before she could sit down, Yoohyeon shouted out an enthusiastic salutation before pulling her into a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

“Yeah, same here.” She patted Yoohyeon’s back, a smile growing on her face. Her eyes then widened when she stared back at the waitress. “Wait, and you’re graduating too, right? How do you feel?

“Oh, so weird,” the woman, now dyed in ash-grey tied in a ponytail, pursed her lips. “But at the same time, I’m happy to just be done with uni.”

She chuckled, “Understandable, Yoohyeon. Congrats on finishing by the way.”

“Aw, thank you”—The sudden clatter of broken glass from one of the tables made the pair turn to the sound. Fighting back a sigh, Yoohyeon bowed quickly to her—“I’m so sorry, this week has just been busy. Let’s catch up sometime later, alright?”

“Of course,” she waved at Yoohyeon who returned the gesture before hurrying to the mess on the other side of the cafe. Whilst settling herself on the seat, she saw a few high school students giggling as they entered the cafe.

It had been a while since she had seen any of her past classmates.

She still frequented her Instagram feed to see what they had been doing. Again, nothing interested her, but rarely there was anything that trapped her into an endless scroll. Her mind for this past year had mainly been just university work. Well, that and the bonus of the 7Dreams’ Chocolate Cafe—

"Hey, is that you?"

She froze when the voice registered in her ears. Stopping a shaky breath from coming out, she faced towards the source of the sound, a person who stood a few feet away. “Yeah… Hey, Christina.”

Christina looked the same as two years ago, aside from her dark hair that was now tied in a ponytail. She glanced back at the counter before walking closer to the bookshelf, “It’s… wow… Haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?”

“Likewise… And I’ve been doing fine. How about you?”

“Yeah, I… I’ve been fine, thanks.” She just slowly nodded as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

She frowned slightly, her fingers picking at her jeans. The silence was making her sweat more, now feeling the pressure in thinking of something. Or really, anything to save this conversation. Christina wasn’t faring any better as she appeared stiff in her stance whilst she kept looking back to the counter.

And then a memory hit her.

“How was that ski trip earlier this year?”

Christina widened her eyes slightly. She coughed into her fist before facing towards her properly, her mouth curled in excitement, “It was fun! Getting to spend time with family is always nice.”

“That’s good to hear,” she rubbed her neck, nodding. “And Christina? It was nice to—”

“Order for Christina! Your latte is ready!”

“Ah, that’s my order…” Christina gave her a sheepish look. “It was nice to see you again.”

“Same… And, uh, early Merry Christmas…?” she grimaced at her unintentional phrasing of her nicety to a question. “Take care.”

Christina giggled, “You too. And Merry Christmas as well.”

With one brief glance, she turned back to the direction of the counter and disappeared into the queue.

The rising bitter ache in her chest was recognisable.

She closed her eyes as she took deep breaths. When she said to herself that the year was quite something else, this was not what she expected. Technically she could text her again, she could. But the fear of being ignored after not having conversed in… Right, two years, was far greater than getting closure.

“You ok?”

She jumped at the abrupt voice as she glanced back to…

Jeno.

He was on duty at the moment, as he was armed in a white dress shirt and the cafe’s brown apron. There, the signature ceramic cup was cradled in his hands before he laid the drink on the table gently.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks…” she strained a smile at the boy. “How about you?”

“Eh, a bit tired, but otherwise I’m doing alright,” he shrugged with a laugh as he sat across from her. He rested his chin on one of his hands as he exaggerated a loud sigh. “Still got my AP exams, though.”

“Come on, with the music knowledge and demo tracks you’ve shown me? I bet you’ll do great.”

Jeno beamed at her.

She watched the chatter in the cafe; Dejun taking orders from the influx of customers with ease; Yoohyeon who was chatting with the female employee in spectacles; and the couple known for their infectious giggles are still as rambunctious. Her face softened at the sight.

“Would you like to talk about it?

She glanced at the boy; a slight frown etched on his face.

“If you’re not comfortable, then that’s no problem,” he added with a small smile.

It’s been almost a year since they met. And whilst she was grateful to know Jeno, her nerves were heightened. They've gotten past the stage of exchanging niceties. They greeted each other comfortably with no awkward silence.

So… “Why?”

Jeno gave a quizzical look. “‘Why’ what?”

She sputtered. That was not meant to be said out loud. “Sorry, this is going to sound stupid. I just wonder… Why do you still talk to me?”

“Do I really need a reason?”

“I mean…” her chin propped in her palm as she glared down at her drink. “I don’t really share much of myself, and yet you do. A lot actually. It feels unfair for you.”

She watched him cross his arms, humming to himself deeply. There it was again; the guilt. Like before, she attempted to bury it down and fixate on the afternoon sun outside the window. Just… anything else. She heard her name called out gently from Jeno and, reluctantly, looked back at the boy.

“How do you feel whenever you interact with me? And be honest.”

Her brows furrowed at the sudden question. She thought back to her previous train of thoughts, and what kept her coming back to the cafe. “Well… I like listening to others talking, mainly because that’s what I was used to. But I also just… don’t feel comfortable sharing everything about me.”

There was a pause before a small smile broke out of his lips. “Then, that’s fine by me.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think it’s necessary to share everything about yourself, and I get why you won’t do that.” He drummed his fingers on the table, his attention still on her. “And I also don’t think there’s… A fixed goal for what a friend is.

“Every friend group is different. Just because we don’t hang out outside of here, that doesn’t make you any less of a friend.”

Her eyes widened slightly, a little taken aback by his answer. “Even if we just talked here?”

“Even if we just talked here.” He nodded with his signature curved eyes and grin; her heart quickened at the sight of them.

She knew rationalising feelings was difficult—annoying even. She knew what happiness and disappointment were because she had encountered them before. She knew how to manage her expectations to prevent another heartbreak because of firsthand experiences.

And yet…

Perhaps age has matured many people, including the people in the cafe, in how they view relationships. And really? She was more than happy to find a group of people who enjoyed being around her just as much as she does. “Thank you Jeno… Really.”

“Of course! And hey, if you want, maybe we could meet up? Outside of the cafe, I mean.”

“That… that sounds great,” she smiled. “Though we should probably start exchanging phone numbers first—”

“Jeno! Your break is over now!”

He grimaced at the sudden interruption. Sighing, he rose from his seat, “Sorry about that. I’ll see you around, right?”

“Yeah… Oh—and have a good Christmas break!”

She bit back a laugh when he shouted a “you too” during his haste, only to collide with the display cabinet. Dejun, with a cheeky grin, patted Jeno’s back before disappearing into the kitchen. The latter shook his head before following after him, their banter quickly lost in the loud chatter of the customers around her.

Maybe she will never return to the 7Dreams’ Chocolate Cafe. Maybe she will lose contact with the staff. Maybe she and Jeno will never follow up on meeting up as promised.

But, at the very least, the mundane interactions within the cafe are joyful reminders of the simplicity of life. At the very least, the shadows of solitude were not the last thoughts she slept on and to be greeted by on the following day.

Perhaps there could be potential for something more but, at the very least, the brief sweetness of connecting with new people will be treasured for a long time.

She brought the ceramic cup to her mouth, a smile now resting on her face as the hot chocolate tasted… Well.

It tasted just right.

#nct #nct dream #jeno #lee jeno #nct au #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #jeno x reader #jeno fluff #jeno fic #jeno scenarios #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios #nct scenarios #nct angst #nct dream angst #kpop scenarios

[geemosses]

The Chef, part 1

I hate it when the workers at a restaurant start to recognize me. Hostess, cashier, waiter, chef, doesn’t matter. As soon as someone at the restaurant starts calling me by name or worse, remembering my order, I bolt, and I find another place.

I think it makes me feel self-conscious. Like yeah, I get it. I eat here all the time. I don’t cook for myself. I eat out way too much. I must be terrible with money because why would anyone spend all that money for a sandwich at the local deli when they could just make one themselves for a fraction of the price?

Well because I’m a terrible cook, that’s why. I don’t know what it is, but no matter how many recipes I find on Google, the deli sandwich always tastes better. Also, I work a lot. I don’t have time to cook for myself even if I wanted to. So, stop judging me.

Anyway, I don’t go to the local deli anymore. The last time I went there, the girl who works the register started ringing up my order the second she saw me walk in the door.

“$12.99,” she said with a smile as I walked up. I did my best to chuckle and muster up an “Oh gee, you caught me,” kind of smile while handing her my credit card. And then I never went back.

It’s been a month since that fateful day. I’ve been surviving mostly on microwavable meals, although sometimes when I’m feeling particularly adventurous, I’ll pick up one those pre-made meal kits that I can just pop in the oven for 15 minutes.

But damn do I miss those sandwiches. The way the bread had just the right amount of crunch as you take that first bite only to have that rough shell give way to a soft and fluffy interior. The way the sauce, a perfect balance between sweet and spicy, coated my tongue and carried those delicious flavors to every corner of my mouth. And the chicken! Oh, the chicken. Some people think chicken is boring. Those people haven’t tried this chicken. It’s coated in spices that I couldn’t even begin to identify but it’s still somehow in perfect harmony with the sauce. And most importantly, it’s never dry!

Surely a month is enough time for a cashier to forget about a customer… right?

So, a month and a day after I had abandoned my favorite deli, I decided I’d risk it and go back. I packed up my work laptop at 6pm on the dot, like I always did, and hopped on the next bus for the 30-minute ride home. The deli was right around the corner from my apartment, so I dropped off my backpack and walked over. My steps slowed a bit as I approached, trying to catch a glimpse through the glass doors of the restaurant. If I could just see if the cashier was the same girl, maybe I could make a last second decision to veer away and continue walking as if I had always been going somewhere else. But the sun at my back was working against me, and all I could see was a bright white glare.

It took a second for my eyes to adjust when I walked inside, but I immediately let out a small sigh of relief when I saw that the cashier was someone totally new. Someone who didn’t know my name and had never taken my order.

The new girl looked up from her phone when she heard the chime of the bell above the door and smiled politely. I weaved my way through the handful of empty tables and chairs towards her. The deli was a popular lunch spot but was almost always empty for dinner, so it was just me and the new girl.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

“One chicken sandwich please. Chips and a soda as well,” I said when I reached her.

“Alright, that will be $12.99 please.”

I paid and grabbed a bag of Doritos and a Coke, then chose a table by the window to sit and wait. The new girl just went back to her phone, not even pretending like she wanted to politely make small talk. Perfect.

Outside, a pair of small dogs had started playing on the sidewalk as their owners had a conversation. They were adorable, jumping on top of each other, wrestling for a few seconds before breaking away from each other to reset. Then they’d start all over again. I was so lost watching them play that I didn’t hear the chef walk up to my table.

“Here’s your sandwich,” he said in a deep but soft voice.

“Oh, uh, thank you…” my voice trailed off as I turned to look at the man holding my order. The man was gorgeous. He was a few inches taller than me and was a bit more muscular as well. Not that I was particularly muscular, but I tried to stay fit. On him though, I could see the definition in his arms and shoulders through his white t-shift. His eyes were a striking blue, the kind that you can’t help but stop and stare at, and his black hair only made his eyes feel deeper.

But what really got me was that smile. It was soft and welcoming. It made me feel safe.

How had I never noticed it before?

“What, do I have something on my face or something?” he asked, lightly brushing his forehead. I must have been staring a little bit too long.

“Uh, no, no, sorry, you just surprised me is all,” I said, clearing my throat and looking away to try and hide the obvious burning in my cheeks.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, since you last stopped by,” he replied.

“You remember me?” I asked. I’d never had a conversation with the chef before. I definitely would have remembered that. Most of the time, all I could even see of him was the back of his head over the grey wall that divided the stove and kitchen area from the rest of the restaurant.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. That smile that made it seem like all was right in the world. “You used to come in several times a week but then suddenly you just stopped coming. I hope everything was ok?”

Most of the time I would have dismissed his question as boring or polite small talk. People don’t really care how you’re doing when they say, ‘how are you doing’. But somehow, his question felt genuine. Maybe it was those eyes, or maybe it was that disarming smile, but in that moment, I was sure that he really wanted to know if I had been ok in the month since I last visited the deli.

“I was ok, yes. I was just trying to cook for myself a little more often. No matter how hard I tried though, nothing quite compares to your sandwich,” I said with an awkward chuckle. I guess technically everything I said was true. No need to mention my semi-anti-social tendencies.

“Thanks for asking.”

“Of course!” he said. “Well, I hope you don’t wait another month before you come visit again.”

“Definitely not.”

He started to turn to walk away but before I even knew what was happening my hand had shot out and lightly grabbed his arm.

“Uh, sorry. What’s your name?” I asked shyly as he turned back.

“It’s Liam,” he said. His smile grew even wider with what felt like true joy. I couldn’t help but smile an actual, real smile in response.

And when I got back to my apartment, I ate the best damn chicken sandwich I’d ever had in my life.

#lgbtq #romance #short story

[dogsongy]

Good Boy~ (19)

Masterlist- Series masterlist - Previous - Next

Chapter 19

Summary: Miyeon opens a dog cafe with her 5 dogs and two handsome young men happen to come in on opening day.

Pairing: Yunho x reader (named Miyeon) x Mingi

Genre: fluff for the most part (with a little bit of angst)

A quiet groan left Miyeon’s lips as the professor went over the syllabus of the class. Her brown haired friend turned to her while flipping his pen a couple of times. “This class is going to bore me to death, Yeosang.” She whispered towards him. In response he shrugged. “I dunno, it seems like it's going to be an easy A for me.” He leans back and smirks. “Maybe not too much for you.” Miyeon lightly elbows his side. “Yeah right I have trouble getting you to make a social media presence for us at the cafe.” 

“Well you said I can’t shitpost so it's hard to think of something.” 

“Saying that we will draw doge on peoples lattes is not a good business move”

“Whatever”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That Friday Miyeon had her laptop set up by the cash register around 1:30 pm. The lunch rush was not as bad as it usually is, maybe because everyone was working hard towards the weekend. She had an online English class around this time and the 4 other employees seemed to be busy with other engagements such as clubs, sports and other classes. A familiar orange haired boy also introduced himself to be in her class so she was glad to see at least one familiar face. The cafe itself is mostly empty with a couple of customers drinking coffee and working on various projects on their devices. The dogs were littered around the cafe as well except Yuo who was lying in one of the dog beds behind the counter and near Miyeon. 

Luckily the rest of the day was also pretty quiet. Customers came in to order coffees and sat quietly using the cafe as a peaceful workplace where they could even pet a dog if they got too stressed. Three pm came around surprisingly fast and Miyeon closed the shop by herself after her class ended around 2:30. She then continued with her day by showering and leashing her dogs up for a nice walk. Things were going pretty smoothly as she made sure her dogs were well trained and in life when it came to walk etiquette. Eventually they circle back to head back towards the cafe. 

“Hey! funny seeing you here.” A voice calls out to Miyeon. She turns around to look at the voice and is greeted by none other than Yunho. 

“Yunho!” She grins at the tall man jogging over to approach her. He bends down towards all the excited dogs. Even Yuo seemed a little comfortable with his presence. “What are you doing around here?” Once the dogs calm down he stands up straight. 

“I was just taking a walk around the park when I noticed you walking the puppies so I had to at least say hi.” He lets out a small chuckle as they begin to walk and talk due to the restless dogs. “Ah well I'm a little hard to miss but I'm glad to see you.”

“Likewise!”

After a slight pause in the conversation Yunho takes a deep breath. “Hey, I have a question for you.” His whole bright demeanor seemed to change to a more shy tone.

“Sure, ask away.” She glanced up at his nervous figure. He was playing with his fingers one second then fixed his hair with them the next. 

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to see that new spiderman movie sometime…. I mean it's ok if you don't want to-”

“That sounds like fun! When were you thinking?”

“How about tonight at 7:30? I checked the show and they're practically every hour.” The redhead smiles softly at her feeling slightly relieved.

“Yea I could do that!”

“Awesome I'll pick you up from the cafe if that's no problem for you.”

“Yeah that'll be great I’ll see you then Yunho!” Miyeon’s cheeks flushed as she waved to the guy that just asked her on a date.

#ateez #ateez mingi #ateez yunho #ateez yungi #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #yunho x reader #yes miyeon is your name now #ateez ff #ateez fic #ateez jongho #kpop #ateez yeosang #dogsongygoodboy #ateez san #ateez wooyoung #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

[mediocre-eternity]

Today is 20 November, 2022.

The trio of us haven’t actually been staying on Night Island full time. A month or so back a horrifically large hurricane tore through Florida and our little Island. We’re incredibly lucky that our property didn’t sustain totaling damage but was battered nonetheless. All the business is lost and some structures still remain partially in the water. Trash is askew on most of the streets though now piled in high mounds. I’m still having difficulty finding the words to process how we’ll rebuild. It feels like a great organ has been cut from me. The Villa is livable, for us anyway. We can sleep where we find the most comfortable. Because the Villa was built up high, a lot of primary damage was avoided; only some flooding in our basement, which is unfortunately where me and Daniel slept. There is a lot of labor going back into the Island though and I truly believe sometimes nature gives us the blank slate we didn’t ask for. I’m not so concerned for my emotions about the Island. We are traveling back and forth to the mainland and when we can, we spend time here. On the mainland I’m surrounded by much more tragedy than my own. We’ve only fed sparingly on the locals as everyone’s focus is on their lives torn asunder. No, for myself I am not concerned at all. Me and Daniel spoke at length about what we wanted on the Island in future. Daniel calls it Night Island 2.0 and we’ll definitely have a record store again. Oh and a dispensary. “Give them their drugs,” he said with a laugh. “I know I would have loved that.” It’ll be lovely.

We had to evacuate first to the mainland then we traveled up to New York to stay at Trinity Gate there and struggled to get back as soon as we could. The first night was the three of us kicking out broken glass and torn walls. Why I need so many windows in my homes is a mystery. Consider me a slave to the moon and the stars. As wee were assessing the damage, I picked up some books and started moving them to a pile then heard Benji calling to me from the living room.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He said as I approached, his face sinking and turning. Behind him, belly up like some stinking, glossy beached whale was my beloved 1981 custom Italian white leather sofa. It was specifically designed for the Villa and one of my most prized pieces of furniture. The entire room’s decor had not been touched since we first moved in and I cherished it so deeply and so fondly. Daniel’s sudden howl broke my daze as I was staring at the broken thing. He laughed and laughed as he walked to it and with Benji, tipped it back onto it’s feet as water and debris gushed forward like entrails from this slain creature. The entire room was a mess but the sofa stood upright now, flayed like a martyr to what our Villa once was.

“Oh my God, Boss, it’s fucking dead!” Daniel bellowed, still laughing, ironically echoing what I might have been thinking. Benji looked up at Daniel a bit confused by his rejoicing but Daniel was plainly remembering a rather charged argument we had over this furniture. Again, it was custom and took a great deal of designing to match the vision I had for this space. It was my seat and I was very proud of it. I tore the damaged fabric up to reveal it’s metal springs and soaked wood. Daniel was reciting a lot of stories involving the item to Benji as I couldn’t help but inspect it further. Daniel burnt the sofa with cigarette about six months after we installed it and the wetness in the wood unleashed a vile smell of stale tobacco. He also vomited on it once and plenty more times he was close to doing it again. So, I screamed at him so loud that he didn’t sit in it for the rest of that summer. I really didn’t mean to scare him but ever since then Daniel had become completely invested in hating it. And now my fledgeling finally won. Something plastic and bright pink caught my eye so I reached for it and held it in my palm. Daniel snatched it from me the moment I registered what is was.

“Holy shit. I remember this.” He was in disbelief. The object was a little pink lighter with Miami 1982 printed in white below a palm tree motif.

“Oh.” I responded, remembering. “You had bought that before we got back on the charter to the Island. You lost your previous one and went into the Seven-Eleven to buy a new one.”

“Aah, a relic!” Benji took it from Daniel and really thoroughly examined it. “Put on E-Bay for a million dollars!”

Daniel laughed.

“That fucking couch swallowed my lighter. Do you know how pissed I was when I lost it after taking an hour and a half nap?” He took the lighter again, waved it at me and put it in his pocket. “It’s good luck from now on.”

Daniel was looking outside at the total, silent darkness. At once I was thrown back to a memory. Maybe not a complete memory, but the emotion was there and I wanted so badly for this moment to be from decades ago. Daniel would be staring past the open windows at the flashing neon below him then out at the moon above the sea. His face would be unshaven, his eyes stale, his hair blowing wildly over his forehead. And he would light a cigarette and say the probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, so stupid I’d marvel at the sheer wit of it. Then Daniel would ask me to join him in the shower and he’d promise he’d focus on staying. I wish I could show this image in my mind to him but I couldn’t and that realization is what destroyed the bond I had with Daniel in his mortal life and for decades I couldn’t stand to look at him in the Blood. I’m a monster of the highest caliber but please understand that a near constant mental link existed between Daniel and I before I gave him the Gift. But Daniel right now is all I can think about. Back in the present, he kicked some glass over the edge of the room out into the palm trees below, studying the little bit of outside before moving back toward the center of the room. I reflected that my life had always been a series of endings. There are always chapters closing at an alarming rate, almost faster than I can plan for them and once again I stood in the center of vacant palace. In these moments a small thought always occurs to me, that there’s at least one person I could go to for help but it’s a thought that’s never lead me anywhere good. Daniel’s arm came around my shoulders… I really I feel like he could sense why I was so speechless. He was looking at my face and my eyes met his.

“Ah, don’t worry about this,” he said so very casually, scanning the room again and then he smiled at me. Since that night a lot of the Villa has been cleared out and has become much more comfortable again. I want to continue to exist here.

#devil’s minion #the vampire chronicles #tvc #the vampire armand #Daniel Molloy #iwtv #interview with the vampire #queen of the damned #journal entry

[wiltedrosewritings]

OPERATION CUPID

howdy :) so, the characters you're about to read sort of sprung out of their own volition as I worked on a namjoon fic. I wanted to see how these scenes would do as standalones, as little slices of life, peeks into the daily ups and downs of the cast. scenes proceed in no particular order. sometimes chronological, sometimes as time-skips. I'm just going with the flow, wherever the tide takes me.

wc: 3.0k

tracklist: 'halley's comet' by billie eilish, 'pink skies' by lany, 'safety net by ari g

tense and POV: 3rd and present

ep. 2 | AO3

OPERATION CUPID Classified Excerpts

Jimin is lean, and comparatively small when standing next to Namjoon. His hands are chubby, and his fingers are stubby. None of this, however, subtracts from his agility and his swan-like elegance even as he glides across a fifty-year-old, small-town diner at rush hour.

It's the kind of awe-inspiring grace that belongs on stage, spotlit amidst tule skirts and disciplined ballet point shoes. The kind of grace that is chiseled to perfection through years of arduous practice and patience.

Norah, who is sat on a swivel bar chair behind the register, takes inventory of crinkled green bills. Between lining the bills with a few taps against the counter and reaching over to scribble on a tracking sheet, she steals glances his way.

She wonders just how many falls it had taken him to trust his quick and light footing not to betray him. How many bruises he'd acquired and endured to no longer fear pain.

Jimin never seems to catch on to her stray glances, or the twinkle in her gaze every time he comes into frame from behind the shoulder, or broad back, of a customer that shuffles in, or out, of the establishment.

He's used to having eyes affixed to him; feels comfortable in the spotlight, in crowds. Naturally charming and approachable, he makes friends left and right, and talks to them as if they are years-long acquaintances meeting over dinner. How's your family doing? My, that must have been so hard for you! Say what, here's a plate of Saturn rings, on the house. He'd wink and utter something, while holding a hand to their shoulder, about keeping it a secret from the boss, Namjoon.

Norah would wince. It's not like they are financially flexible enough to afford freebies.

As for Namjoon, he'd pretend to have not seen anything.

Jimin gently sets down a tall glass of strawberry milkshake, adorned with a dollop of white foam and a single, shimmering cherry on a table where a customer is hunched over a book.

He'd noticed, on his glide her way, that she'd been pensively entranced, entirely engrossed in the blotchy ink of the pages, brows pinched beneath the slight part between her curled bangs.

He didn't want to interrupt her careful consideration. It appeared of utmost importance, and if not that, than at least of utmost enjoyment. In the case of the latter, she had a peculiar way of displaying it (enjoyment).

At the drum of the glass's rim over the wooden table, the woman snaps her head to capture his studious gaze.

The pinch of her eyebrows dissolves, much like the foam atop her drink, and becomes replaced with an appreciative smile.

"Is it any good?" He glances, suggestively, at the book she'd hurriedly closed over her forefinger, which she'd been using as a make-shift bookmark.

Her cheeks and ears grow flushed, as if it were a shameful thing to enjoy reading.

Jimin wonders if it's the nature of the text that makes her so bashful, hiding her blush by flattening her bangs.

Regret hardens like cement over his feet, leaves him paralyzed to assess her response.

"Ah, this?" She drums her fingers over the hardcover, and it resonates wonderfully crisp. "Quite unexpectedly, yes."

Jimin's smile returns, as does his graceful fluidity. There's a single crooked tooth that peeks through when his smile reaches his eyes. It's just barely noticeable. It's Norah's favorite detail.

Unaware, the woman elaborates further: "You see, a friend of mine-" She halts as if holding a mental debate over whether that was the proper term for it. She shakes her head, dismissing the flurry of questions and doubts brought forth by a simple six-letter word. "It was his choice for the month. We have this thing where we trade books after each turn. We read each other's margin annotations, and sometimes try to identify doodles done in the likeness of classical art pieces. It's our way of getting to know each other."

"It's unexpected because," she explains in a sort of round-about way, "he knows, and knew while picking out this title, that I loathe Nietzche."

"Ah, that's lovely! It's a clever take on penpal-ship," Jimin quips.

"Oh!" She chokes a chuckle down, not meaning to sound so excited.

She hadn't been able to conceal her smile at the mention of the friend; Jimin had caught on to her wandering, dreamy gaze falling down at the book's cover amidst her recollection. "I hadn't thought of it like that, but now that you mention it, it is, isn't it?"

Perhaps only now made aware of her rambling by the holler of a nearby customer for Jimin's attention, does she let her voice diminish and takes up interest at the glass before her. Condensation dotting her fingertips.

"In short: Yes, it's good." She takes a decided sip of her drink, the foam smearing her upper lip only for a second before she licks it away. Her eyes expand and soon enough she's eager for another sip of the decadent drink. "As is this!"

Jimin's turning to tend to the customer who had been hollering and whistling for his attention. He halts mid-step, and swivels back to face her, doesn't leave her table until he prompts: "You should tell him you like it over coffee, chocolate, or even a milkshake sometime. Step out of the pages, the margins."

"No-" she stammers. "No, no." It's more a bid to persuade herself out of pointless delusional than it is an attempt at shutting him up.

"We've never talked about meeting," she adds. "I think it's a mutual desire to keep it anonymous. It's perfect like this, safe from external pressure to be anything more than two friends bonding over literature and internal jokes."

"Perfect's not real," Jimin responds. "Forgive me for being pushy, here, but if you like him, as you appear to, why only limit yourselves to footnotes in each other's lives?"

"That's a preposterous proposition!" She hides her blush this time behind the rim of the glass she brings up to her lips, and what little frothy cream is left. When she sets the mug down, a triumphant smile momentously strikes her face like lightning at the realization she'd weaved in her word-of-the-day so subtly, and with added alliteration.

She continues, reigning in the smile (Jimin wouldn't get that inside joke): "How can you like someone you haven't even met?"

"Haven't you, though? Met him, in a sense? I'd argue you're intimately aware of all the pages of his life, like that little book of yours." He taps the sturdy cover lying on the dinner table before bowing away, leaving her to ponder - not before slipping a circular coaster beneath her drink as it had already started to condense.

Namjoon would get on him about the wood, how old it is, how delicate, how financially inflexible they are.

For, possibly, the first time in her life, since she was an infant, she sits in silence. The concerto of intriguing words playing in her mind falls mute. All diction and syntax is replaced with a profound note of realization. A note she ushers to silence, lest anyone else hear. A note that's her secret - like a bookmark, or dollar bill, sticky note, or receipt shoved between pages and preserved over time.

After tending to the demanding customer with an unwavering smile, Jimin glides around the counter and rubs shoulders with Norah, who is still hunched over the register — has been for the past half-hour, impatiently stabbing her fingers over its blank screen.

Fucking Mercurcy retrograding; it always had to cause some sort of glitch. She always happened to find herself dead-center to its discovery.

The register had functioned fine for Namjoon just an hour ago. Now, it'll appear as if it was her doing. How much of a deduction would that be from her paycheck?

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Jimin whispers over her shoulder: “It’s her.”

At Norah's lack of enthusiasm, he repeats himself, only now forcing her gaze onto his suggestive one.

Norah's face twists with bewilderment. "Who?"

Jimin casts his eyes at the star-dotted ceiling with an exasperated roll. Then, he slams his shoulder cloth down on the counter (more for dramatic effect than intimidation) and subtly nods in the direction of the bibliophilic woman.

Norah squints. Unamused, she blankly stares back at Jimin. Irritation is starting to settle on her face.

"Namjoon's penpal," he finally comes out with it, spells it out with each syllable as if it had been painfully obvious all of this time.

At that, her chocolate eyes light up, the way they do after her first espresso each morning.

Jimin crafts up this "amazing" (his words, not Norah's), and densely convoluted plan to stich the two up. He's convinced that just because they don't glide at his swift pace, they are helplessly in need of intervention, lest they waste their youth away pining and brooding aimlessly.

Norah holds her refutes deep in her chest, merely lends a curious ear to his inspired rambles. An assumption bubbles to the surface of her mind that this hyper-fixation with establishing a romantic interest for Namjoon was only a projection of Jimin's own scarcity in the love department. Even since he'd become a single father, he'd not had much time, space or privacy to afford a fling.

And even if a desperate fling did happen to materialize itself at his front door, he'd kindly decline; stringless hook-ups are no longer his thing. He's looking for something solid, something long-term. Thinks baby Byeol will benefit from a feminine role-model.

He's trying his best as a father, and in his defense, that's more than most absentee fathers out there, but he's fearful that as she grows, he'll be of less use to her. All he has to worry about now is feeding her, bathing her and providing a roof and clothes. Later, he'll have to procure answers to increasingly difficult questions.

Regardless of the intrinsic motive, Jimin's buzzing, talking a mile-a-minute as he walks circles around the diner.

Norah furrows her brows as she hoists a chair onto its corresponding table.

Jimin likes playing Cupid a little too much. He forgets that those red-tipped arrows are sharper than they seem in folklore. Perhaps Cupid wasn't born blind, rather his own carelessness with those arrows blinded him before he learned fates weren't something to toy with when bored and idle.

Jimin's first warning arrives in the form of Norah's apprehension. "I don't know, Chim," she whines.

His eyes round with quiet concern, and he cranes his weight onto the edge of a table. Crosses his arms over his chest, a stained rag dangling between his hold.

"Why? Why not? Don't you think Nam deserves some excitement? All he ever does is overwork himself and play the same miserable song over and over. " He shoots a deathly glare at the vintage juke box at the edge of the bar at the mere recollection.

"He's young. Has a build most girls would gawk over." He's listing the attributes on his stubby fingers. "Smart, kind, generous- I mean, do you think any other boss would put up with my BS on a daily? The man's an angel."

In the dim light of the overhanding star lights, Jimin's eyes glisten, and he averts his gaze, fearful his composure will crumble.

"He deserves happiness, Nor. if this all goes up in flames, he deserves a speck of happiness to carry him through it, guide him to a new horizon. This can't be his everything, because as soon as it falls, so will he."

"You're saying he needs a safety net."

"Yes, exactly! A safety net." He recites the term, weighing its shape on his lips, surprised at how properly it fits.

Norah weakly hoists the last of the chairs. "I thought that was us. You know? Us three, to the end?"

"Nor..." he frowns, launches his weight off the table he'd been reclining himself against, and saunters his way through the maze of stacked chairs to Norah. "We will always be there for one another, but you and I both know there are things he carries in secret. Things he keeps from us, for our sake. Maybe she'll crack through his shell, and make it less..." He looks for the word somewhere over and past her head, and physically palpates the air for its shape. "Less...you know...less heavy." He's not please with the selection, but it's the only word that comes to mind in that instance, and bears resemblance to the abstract idea of his mind.

"Maybe he'll allow her, unlike us."

"I get it. I hear you. I just don't know how to feel about this. What if it blows up and he hates us for it?"

Jimin takes up the role of devil's advocate, an un-orthodoxically hopeful one: "What if it works out wonderfully well?"

"Fine," her agreement falls flat, but he makes up for her lack of enthusiasm by doing a little fist hoist in the air.

She grabs his wrist and forces his gaze back onto hers. "This is Nam we are talking about. We need a good plan and an even better execution. Absolutely no room for fuckups."

"Hey, Jimin?"

"Hmm?" His gaze flies up at the sound of such formality, and the absence of the familiar 'Chim.' His furrowed brows frame a set of eyes rounded with concern. They scan her countenance, attempting to pick up on subtle, unspoken moods that could explain that sudden change.

"Whatever happens -if this place goes belly-up..." Norah does a motion with her forefinger, its silver band reflecting in the waning amber of evening. "We'll still be..." her gaze dances, unsteady between his steady and attentive one, but she proves incapable of holding it.

Circling the bands around her now clammy fingers, she orders her thoughts, lines her words over the plateau of her tongue. Like perfectly placed and aligned dominoes, she intends to let them charge forth with unbridled momentum.

But instead, they clank awkwardly and with no set rhythm as she stammers between what should be said, and what should be censored, eternalized to secrecy.

"It'll be us three, forever, right? Nothing will change?" Of course things would change, drastically. Namjoon alone would have to uproot his life to comply with the terms of agreement he'd established with his parents in allowing him to take-up the risk of running the diner. That alone would suggest him moving away. Communication between the three would fall, their bond crafted over years would loosen and come undone like an improperly fastened knot, or one that just wore away, sun-bleached and tattered.

He wants to procure a worthy response, to at least undo the tears starting to form on her lash-line, but he can't bring himself to lie to her. Nothing was certain. Not ever, and certainly not now.

He would be lying if he denies having scouted for jobs online once he puts Byeol down to bed each night.

It's less about holding different jobs than it is about the distance between those routines. The fall-out wouldn't be palpable during the first few months as they would make every attempt to overcome the discrepancy, to meet and chat, with everything being freshly new. Once they were to give into monotony and convenience, though, those meetings would shorten into oblivion.

Perhaps this is why Jimin is so adamant about helping Namjoon conquer love; it's his way of leaving an impression that will outlive his presence in Namjoon's life.

Instead of voicing his reasonable suspicions, he coos, much in the likeness of the tone he uses to calm Byeol. "Hey, hey... It's okay. It'll be okay."

He encroaches with outstretched arms, ready to collect her before she shatters into a million pieces right before him. His small, delicate hands hold her head and stroke her hair.

Norah renders her guard useless, and sheds it with a few tears that stray from her shut eyes. She nuzzles the bridge of her pierced button bose against the side of his neck.

No longer looking into her eyes, he musters a pretty, white lie, sweet like cane sugar, to coax the bitterness of medicine, of reality, of life: "Until the stars burn out."

She wants to call him out on the lack of accuracy in that statement; processes it's fallacy, but stops herself from speaking. Instead, she relishes the embrace as if it were the first and the last.

She allows herself to enjoy the imagery of the sentiment and locks her hands behind his back, just in case the stars do burn out in that instant. In case they drift off into the void together, to face that dark unknown together.

Norah's unspokenly ambitious, hazardly competitive. Rather than boasting about how she's the very best, she'll take up any and every opportunity to one-up her opponent in the most obscure trivia, a match of chess, tennis (you name it).

Her ambition is merely a deep, infiltrating greed that courses through her like an infestation. She's conditioned herself to fear coveting something. Taught herself that to want is to lose; and that vulnerability is dangerous.

She's recited a million times over in her head declinations of her blossoming feelings for Jimin. Every bud that blooms in daylight, she snips in moonlight.

She wants it all. She wants him. She wants forever. She doesn't merely want to buy an extension for the inevitable. She doesn't want to convince herself out of the want. Not with this want.

Something deep inside her is gnawing with want - not the lustful desire kind, rather, the I've been alone for so long that I am touch-starved, and wholly lonesome and tired and I just want a place to rest.

She wishes on every lash of her eyes that Jimin could one day be that for her, and likewise, her for him.

A safe place.

But she also wishes incessantly for the diner's success and Namjoon's happiness, yet the bills continue to pile. With winter unfolding, the crowds are thinning, the diner grows quiet and stale.

Wishing has never proven to suffice. It never has been the magical remedy. Stars are just pretty orbs of light in the sky, not wish granters.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ this teeny series is lowkey a love letter to jimin for being such a loving, warm person. a literal angel x

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ also, probs unconsciously influenced by peyton x jake oth dynamic (we were robbed!)

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ the ode to jimin continues >> ep. 2

#park jimin fanfic #park jimin #bts jimin #bts jimin au #dilfjimin #waiter jimin #jimin #park jimin x fmc #original fmc #character study #character dynamics #ship dynamics #sliceoflife #flowery writing #flowery fic #purple prose #oneshots collection #drabbles collection #halleys diner #halleys au #dilf jimin series #dilf pjm series #michie writes #michie writes pjm series #listening to pink skies by LANY

[rainisawriter]

The Cat, the Raccoon & the Human

Synopsis: Jen is a human who loves cats. Mizuiro is a cat who doesn’t trust humans. Stripes is a raccoon who’s getting on in years. When she stumbles upon the stray cat one night at work, she’s instantly smitten by how adorable he is. Despite himself, Mizuiro finds himself starting to trust her. When winter arrives and Stripes starts to struggle, will Mizuiro finally put his trust in her?

Genre: fluff, slice of life

Prompt: Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.

Word Count: 2,993 (max 3,000)

Contest: Cozy Corner by Reedsy Prompts

Author's Note: My first time writing for Reedsy prompts. I’m not sure if I kept to the theme perfectly, but I’m quite happy with the result. Went quite a bit over 3k, though, so I had to trim a lot haha I hope you enjoy!

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A lot of people don’t like cats. They compare them to dogs and say that they’re cold or disobedient, but that’s not a fair comparison. Dogs will love anyone that gives them attention and they’re desperate to please humans. Cats are independent, giving their trust only to people who earn it. They don’t like to be ordered around and they live life at their own pace.

It’s hard to gain the approval of a cat, so most people just choose to get a dog because it’s less work. To me, there’s no greater feeling than knowing that a cat trusts and loves you. You’ve proven yourself worthy of their love and they reward you like no other animal can.

Maybe it’s because they’ve always been associated with witches, but they’ve always felt magical to me. No matter what kind of mood I’m in, a cat can always make me smile. They fill me with warmth and love. For that, I’m proud to admit that I always have been and always will be a crazy cat lady.

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I stifled a yawn, shaking my head to try and wake myself up. Today had been a long, boring day. I was ready to get home and crawl into bed, but I still had an hour to go before I could leave.

My eyes scanned the convenience store. There wasn’t a single soul inside and no one had stopped by in the past hour. It was always slow this late at night, usually not picking up until around two in the morning. Thankfully, I would be home by then.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice having an easy job where I didn’t have to deal with a lot of rude customers, but it could get so boring sometimes. I basically just sat behind the counter, hoping I didn’t fall asleep before someone got the munchies. We weren’t allowed to use our phones while clocked in, either, so I couldn’t even watch videos or play games to pass the time.

I yawned again before slapping my cheeks in an attempt to wake myself up. Shaking my head, I stood up to walk around the store, hoping the exercise would wake me up, but I continued yawning. Actually, I think it got worse once I started.

I needed caffeine.

I approached the soda machine, grabbed the biggest cup we had, and filled it with Coke. Definitely not healthy, but it should help me stay awake, at least. As I headed toward the register to pay for it, I heard a faint sound coming from the back of the store. I paused, straining my ears, but the sound was gone. Had I imagined it? Great, I’m so tired I’m hallucinating!

I had just slipped my money into the register when the sound started again. My brow furrowed as I approaching the door leading into the backroom. The sound was getting louder.

It sounded like something was scratching against the metal which should have been creepy. I didn’t feel scared, though. I’ve always been morbidly curious, almost to the point of stupidity. If this was a horror movie, then I was definitely the dumb character at the beginning who gets killed first.

My fingers wrapped around the doorknob and the sound stopped. I paused, considering for a moment if this was a terrible idea. I knew it was, but I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it if I didn’t check it out. Besides, if it’s an attempted robbery and I report it to the manager, I might get a raise.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and glanced around. The humid night air hit me in the face, the sound of cicadas and frogs mixing together like some poorly made nature remix. The light next to the door was dim.

No one was there.

With a furrowed brow, I turned to head back inside when I heard it. 

Meow. 

A smile immediately came to my lips. A cat was sitting at the edge of the light, half hidden by shadow. His fur was as black as the night surrounding him, though there was a circular patch of white fur over his right eye. The tip of his tail was also white, resembling a brush dipped in paint. His eyes seemed to glow, the left one a dark blue, like a sapphire, while the right one was lighter, like ice.

“Hello there,” I called softly, squatting down so I was closer to his level. I held my hand out toward him. “Come here, boy, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

He didn’t budge, just staring at me.

“Are you hungry?”

Meow.

I was surprised that he answered me, briefly wondering if he actually understood my question. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” I straightened up, heading back inside. I grabbed one of the paper containers that people use to put their hotdogs in and a can of tuna.

I made a mental note to pay for the items before rushing back outside. The cat was gone. Should I open the tuna? Maybe he’ll hear it and come back. Surely he’ll smell it but… if he doesn’t come back, the tuna will go bad and smell something terrible.

As I contemplated my next move, I heard another meow from beside me. Glancing to my right, I realized the cat was sitting on top of the dumpster, peering down at me as if frustrated that I was taking so long. He meowed again, tapping his paw against the lid.

Hurry up, human, I’m starving, I imagined him saying.

I chuckled, popping the lid before dropping its contents into the container. I held it out to him, trying to entice him to come closer so I could pet him. “Here, boy.”

The cat didn’t budge. Instead, his eyes shifted to the door and back to me. He did this a couple of times as if telling me to get lost. I set the container down before grabbing the empty can and heading back inside. I left the door cracked so I could watch him, feeling at peace as I did so.

From that day on, he appeared every night that I worked. I would feed him some tuna which he refused to accept until I returned inside. It was taking a lot of time to earn his trust, but I wasn’t surprised. He was an outside cat which meant he knew how cruel humans could be, especially toward strays.

I’d give anything to be able to take him home and give him a safe place to live. Would he get along with the little monsters I had already? Would he be sad, yearning for his life of freedom? I didn’t know. I just wanted him to be happy and safe.

I started to call him Mizuiro, the Japanese word for light blue or color of water. It seemed fitting because of his beautiful eyes which reminded me of the ocean. He didn’t seem to mind and accepted the name, often looking at me whenever I said it. He was honestly the cutest cat in the world – just don’t tell my furballs at home I said that.

I started to look forward to going to work. He made it more bearable and time went much quicker when he was around. I often asked my co-workers to look out for him, but none of them ever saw any signs of a cat. This was strange to me, but I didn’t dwell on it for too long.

I started bringing dry food to work with me so I wasn’t giving him tuna every day. I could only hope that, with time, he’d come to trust me and allow me to give him a home. 

A smile came to my lips as I stepped outside, finding him sitting at the edge of the light, looking at me expectantly. The cat bowl I bought for him was sitting halfway between him and the door.

I pulled a bag from my pocket, pouring the food into the bowl. As usual, I waited a moment to see if he would approach but he stayed where he was, planted firmly against the concrete. 

Meow.

It sounded sassy, as if telling me to go away so he could eat.

“Fine,” I laughed, turning around and heading inside.

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Mizuiro narrowed his eyes as the human returned inside. He waited a moment before cautiously approaching the bowl and giving it a sniff. It smelled heavenly, though not nearly as good as the tuna she was feeding him before.

He was surprised by her kindness, though he didn’t fully trust her. How could he when so many humans have treated him poorly? If he had his way, he’d hate all humans.

‘You shouldn’t judge humans by the poor actions of most,’ his mother had told him. She was a cat that saw the good in everyone, even when there was none. He never understood it, but he wanted to honor her by at least trying to do the same.

This girl was the first human he tried to trust since his mother’s passing. She wasn’t anything special, really, but he could faintly smell other felines on her clothes, which helped calm him.

Before he first approached her, he spent days watching her through the large windows of the store. He thought he could get a grasp on her character that way. Apparently, judging someone just by watching them at work offered little information.

Plus, he had gone days without a proper meal, eating whatever scraps he could find. She had taken longer than he wanted to finally investigate his scratching at the door and, when she finally appeared, he expected her to shoo him away.

He knew he should be cautious when she offered him food – humans use it quite often as a way to trap strays – but it just smelled so good and he was so hungry.

It took every ounce of self control he had not to immediately pounce. The human took even longer to realize that he wanted her to go away, though she finally obliged.

Mizuiro didn’t trust the other humans who worked there. They smelled strongly of chemicals and he hated the smell because it bothered his nose. If it was that strong from outside, he didn’t want to think about how bad it would be up close.

When his human wasn’t working, he stayed hidden in the bushes. There was a hole that had been dug beneath a large tree behind the store and, though he had an unwanted roommate, it was better than being out in the open. Besides, the raccoon had been there first. He could have easily run off Mizuiro, but he allowed the feline to stay.

It probably helped that the cat often shared his food once the human was gone. The raccoon, whom he had decided to call Stripes due to his striped tail, was quite old, unable to hunt for food. He struggled to climb things, especially if they were high off the ground. He was quite slow, too, waddling like a duck who ate too much.

Despite claiming he needed no one, Mizuiro was grateful for the company. He hadn’t realized just how lonely he felt until he had someone at his side. He’d never admit that aloud, though, claiming that the old animal talked too much. Stripes did love to tell tales, though the feline doubted they were true. The tales were far too fantastical.

As the days passed by, growing hotter as Summer progressed, he found himself looking forward to meeting his human. He hated it when she had days off but he wasn’t too sure why. Was it because he didn’t get fed? No, that didn’t seem right. 

There was a strange feeling in his chest when he saw her. The best way he could describe it was how he felt when his mom would return home from hunting. She would always nuzzle his face with her nose, asking how he was feeling.

At first, he wanted to use the human for free food but… now, he wasn’t so sure. He wanted to spend more time with her, to have her pet his fur. The thought made him both nervous and excited at the same time. He couldn’t bring himself to get closer, though, choosing to keep his distance despite his desires.

He was just afraid, a scared little cat alone in a big bad world.

When winter rolled around, he was surprised by just how cold it was. It rarely dipped below 60° Fahrenheit in Florida, but this year was proving to break the mold. Some nights reached almost 40° which wasn’t fun to survive in as a small animal.

More than anything, he worried about Stripes. He was old and brittle, could he survive a winter that he wasn’t used to?

Mizuiro paused at the entrance to the hole, looking over his shoulder. Stripes was curled up in a ball on the blanket that the human had given him, his fluffy body shivering. He thought about how he felt when he lost his mom and he didn’t want to experience that again.

With determination now filling him, he ran through the forest toward the store. His human was just stepping out the door when he broke through the fence.

She was humming softly as she poured food into the bowl. She hadn’t yet noticed him. Mizuiro meowed loudly as he approached her, his heart hammering in his chest. 

She smiled when she saw him, patting the edge of the bowl. “Food’s here, buddy.” And then she stood, turning to head back inside.

He started to panic, darting toward her and meowing loudly. This confused her and she stopped suddenly, causing him to run into her ankle before falling backward. If she hadn’t been so alarmed, she would have laughed at how comical it looked.

Her brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

Mizuiro jumped up, shaking his head to regain his senses before swatting at her leg, careful not to use his claws. He worried that, if he accidentally scratched her, she might turn aggressive.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” She squatted down, expecting him to back away, but he didn’t. 

He bit down on her pants and tugged as hard as he could, trying to pull her toward the fence. She didn’t budge an inch, but she seemed to understand him.

“I’ll follow you,” she said softly, standing to her full height.

He nodded his approval before darting toward the hole in the fence. It was too small for her, so she had to climb it, using a large wooden box to help her over. Overgrown vines and branches tugged at her clothes as she walked through the forest. She kept losing sight of him due to the overgrowth and how dark his fur was, but he kept returning, making sure she was still following.

He stopped in front of the tree, waiting for her to catch up.

“Where are we?” She wondered, her breath coming in a cloud of thin smoke.

Mizuiro smacked his paw against the ground a few times, staring her in the eyes.

She tilted her head, scratching her cheek in confusion. When she took a step forward, he quickly shook his head no. “You want me to… stay?” She guessed and he nodded. “Okay.”

Feeling satisfied, he darted into the hole to gather the old raccoon. 

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I squatted down, looking at the hole curiously. It was too dark to see inside so I could only wait for Mizu to return, which he did a moment later. He wasn’t alone, though.

Slowly waddling behind him was a large raccoon. His fur was thin, looking faded and gray. He wasn’t moving very fast, either, so I assumed he must be an older raccoon, though I’m no expert.

A frown tugged at my lips when I noticed he was shivering. “You poor thing, you must be freezing,” I spoke softly so as not to scare him, holding out my hand. He sniffed it cautiously, ice-cold nose bringing goosebumps to my skin. “I’m going to pick you up, okay? Don’t freak out.”

The two animals exchanged a look and he didn’t back away when I reached for him. Instead, he curled against my chest, seeking out the warmth I offered. I held back the urge to aw as I turned, heading back toward the store. I glanced over my shoulder, but Mizu wasn’t following.

“Come on, Mizuiro,” I called out, motioning for him to follow. He seemed surprised, slowly making his way through the undergrowth. I made a beeline to my car, holding the door open for the cat before sliding into the driver’s seat.

The car stuttered to life and I quickly flipped on the heater, running it on its lowest setting since that was the max I could handle. The car warmed up quickly, the raccoon slowly crawling away from me so he could explore. He ended up finding the bag of chips on my floorboard, his tiny hands flipping it around as he tried to open it.

I chuckled, gently taking it from him so I could tug it open. I don’t think that’s the healthiest treat, but he’s probably had worse. Mizuiro, sitting in the backseat, put his front paws on the armrest between the seats, his blue eyes staring into my own.

I’m not sure how, but I swear I heard the words, thank you.

I smiled warmly at him, reaching forward to pet him gently between the ears. He allowed this, pushing against my hand.

A chip was shoved in my face and I glanced over at the passenger seat, seeing the raccoon holding it with both little hands, giving me the cutest look ever.

“Aw, thank you!” I took the chip, patting him gently on the top of the head.

Well, I think my family just extended by two.

If you enjoy my writing, please consider tipping me through Ko-fi. All support is appreciated ^-^)/

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#writeblr #writing #writing community #short story #one shot #fic #fiction #cat #raccoon #contest #reedsy

[chenisthebestkitty]

Activism and praxis are hard with clinical depression.

So I

Leave absolutely glowing reviews for customer service unless it was abyssmal

Give a little bit more than the standard in tips whenever I can afford it

Try to tip in cash instead of through services like Lieferando (basically a form of uber eats) so the service can't gobble it up

Do my best to make my grocery shopping easy to ring up and keep my backpack and card ready to pack up and pay fast

Take things service workers tell me in the goodest faith I have

Put dishes together a little and scoot them to an easy to reach spot on the table for the waiter

Bring articles I don't want to buy all the way back to where they belong or give them to the employee at the counter

It's not much but heck. I rarely feel like I can do much to change the world for the better. But I do often see and feel in the reactions to me that at the very least, I am making it less worse for people sometimes. Sometimes service workers just give me a warm, tired smile and look so relieved and I remember how I used to work the register as a help and it always meant so much to me when someone just put the bottles in a good position on a stressful day.

Seriously, pay attention and you will spot the moment a lot of tension leaves the body of a service worker when they realise you're not just reasonable, but actively friendly and compassionate. It's a shame that they're even in a situation where experience has conditioned that tense response into them.

Even when one is snappy or such, expressing empathy can do wonders sometimes. Once an employee at a souvenir shop kinda snapped at me that it was closing time. I immediately went "Oh gosh! Thank you for telling me - I'm sorry, I got so absorbed in all the nice stuff... now I delayed your closing time! Thank you for being so patient, I'll be right there!" While giving him a bright, apologetic smile.

He immediately relaxed and when he saw me actually hurrying to get to the counter, his mood completely flipped to sunshine pleasant and we even chatted a bit. He was probably just so used to customers disrespecting his time that by the end of a hard workday, he didn't have the energy to be gentler about it. People probably also dismissed the gentle approach before. The moment Schroedinger's customer turned out to be nice and understanding, he could relax again.

No, Sir, you don't need to apologize to me. I get that policy is not something you can determine, change or go against! No, Ma'am, I get it. You probably have to work with very curt timeframes that make this especially hard!

That's my daily praxis until I can do more.

#chen rambles

[myherowritings]

PART 2. LOVE IS FAKE, MARRY A WEALTHY SUITOR

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.5k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. thank u guys for all the positive feedback on this series so far and i really hope u enjoy this chapter too ! ^-^ xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

It seemed your subtle pleas to the gods to see the mysterious businessman again had been answered, since only the day after Shouto gave you a $100 tip, you saw him at the cafe. 

You looked to the skies with a hint of suspicion. This seemed too easy— You were expecting at least a few weeks of your heart pining as you wondered where-oh-where your dreamy customer could have gone. But instead, after a mere 24 hours later, you saw him enter the store in a pair of pressed trousers and a light blue, button up shirt that was rolled just below his elbows. 

Blinking, you drew your attention away from his exposed forearms. You knew he was attractive from your first encounter, but was he always this hot? 

Sadly, you couldn’t focus too much on that since he had to get behind the line and obstruct himself from your view, and you had to take the order of the next customer. 

“Hi! I can take the next person in line.” You smiled. “Good morning! What can I get started for you today?”

After repeating that five or so more times and starting a few drinks on hot bar, you finally reached Shouto’s place and, thankfully, there didn’t seem to be too many patrons piling behind him. 

“Good morning, Shouto!” you greeted when he stepped forward to the counter. “How are you this morning?”

“Better now that I saw you.” 

Your smile faltered as your cheeks heated up, but you tried to brush it off with a laugh. While Shouto had the definite looks of a so-called businessman playboy, his words held none of the flirtatious intonation as one might expect. In fact, he sounded like he genuinely meant it— Like he was only stating a simple fact and had no reason to be shameful. 

It felt both like an attack on your heart and like a refreshing glass of water at the same time. 

“How about you?” he continued. 

“I could say the same thing,” you said with a chuckle, but you found yourself meaning everything you told him. Though you didn’t expect to see him again at the cafe so soon, you couldn’t deny the instant he walked through the doors, your morning felt just a little bit brighter. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, but this is a pleasant surprise.” 

Shouto had the decency to look a little bashful as he averted his gaze slightly. “Yeah. I…really liked the...cheese danishes.” 

Surprised, a small giggle left your lips. “Don’t tell me you finished all three dozen of them!”

“Well…” He looked even more sheepish. “I didn’t exactly… I guess you could say that.” 

“I’m glad you liked them so much you came back for more,” you teased, looking down at the pastries from the oven you just stocked. “Sadly, our fresh pastry today is a chocolate croissant. I can tell my manager to have cheese danishes made again soon though!”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll try the chocolate croissants today then. Maybe five dozen this time.” 

Five multiplied by twelve… A whole 60 chocolate croissants? Were they all for him? You shrugged, not one to judge. If someone wanted to eat 60 croissants, so be it. Though you did hope he wouldn’t eat it all in one sitting. That might give him a stomachache. 

“Alrighty, five dozen chocolate croissants,” you repeated as you typed it into the register. “And would you like any beverages with that? Another flat white maybe?” 

“Actually, I’ll have a large macchiato with two extra shots of espresso this time.” 

You nodded with a hum. “Long day ahead?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“I hope the coffee and croissants can carry you through, Shouto!” you said, wishing his day would go by smoothly. “Will that be all for you today?”

“Thank you, Y/N. I hope so too. And yes, that’s it.”

“Great. $73.24 is your total then! Will you be paying in card again?” 

He nodded. 

“Go ahead and scan and sign when you’re ready.”

You busied yourself by writing his name and order on a large cup and starting the espresso pulls. Your manager was helping get the pastries and other orders ready this morning, so it was nowhere near as hectic as yesterday. 

“Your order will be to your right. It was nice seeing you again, Shouto.” You smiled, giving him a small wave and already wishing you could hold the line up to talk to him longer. “See you tomorrow morning?” you asked almost hesitantly.

He returned your smile with upturned lips of his own. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” Before he left the counter, he pulled out another $100 bill—did he go to a dry cleaners to have his cash steamed and ironed? It was almost ridiculously crisp—and handed it to you. “A tip to show my appreciation for your service.”

“A-Again?” you stammered, eyes wide. That was $200 in two days from just his tip alone. That was more than you made in two weeks when you worked part-time! “Are you sure?”

Whether he had money to spare or not, this was incredibly generous of him and you would never have expected this amount from anyone. And it wasn’t like Shouto made it a scene for everyone in the shop to look at and gawk; he was subtle yet unashamed. Like he wanted to do it for no other reason than to do it. 

“Of course. You deserve it for your work, Y/N.”

The customer behind him made an impatient noise and you winced. You wanted to be able to thank him more, but all you had time for was a simple, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

Shouto nodded in response before walking to the other side of the cafe to wait for his order while you managed the other customers in line, a fuzzy but warm feeling lingering in your stomach from your bizarre interaction. Money or not, you enjoyed seeing him in the mornings and were already looking forward to your brief conversations that would take place the next days to come.

He certainly gave you something to look forward to amidst the inconsiderate customers who barely saw you as human every morning. Sometimes, that was all you could ask for. 

When Shouto left the store and the line had died down towards the end of rush hour, your manager approached you with a curious look on her face. 

“That guy named Shouto…?” Miyazaki said. 

You nodded. 

“A friend of yours?”

“You could say that… We just met yesterday’s morning shift,” you said as you finished up the green tea latte for one of the remaining stragglers from the last hour’s boom. “But he’s really friendly I think.”

“You only recently became associated?” she asked, lifting a brow. “It seemed like you two were quite chummy today.” Then, nudged your side. “He was rather attractive don’t you think? And rich-looking.”

Fumbling with the lid on the beverage, you stifled a surprised cough. Sure, you got along with your boss and thought she was one of the more understanding and kind individuals you have worked under, but gossiping about the looks and potential income of a customer with your 56-year-old manager was not on your bingo sheet as a worker here.

“I…” You called out the order for the latte before turning back to your manager. “He is.”

“Ooh, he’s rich?”

“I meant he’s attractive!” you sputtered, feeling abashed at her blunt words. You thought of the tip he gave you in your pocket and his orders of dozens of pastries. “Rich…maybe so. Not that it matters!” 

Miyazaki tsked. “Of course it matters! Marry rich and your life will be easier. That’s what my mother told me and what her mother told her.” She shook her head. “Should’ve listened.” 

You laughed, feeling only a little awkward. It wasn’t the first time you heard that sentiment from someone older than you. It wasn’t uncommon for family members or even workers you were close to to share that same advice—if you could even call it that.

While you agreed money could make a lot of things easier, marrying someone for wealth didn’t appeal to you. But you recognized that even that may come from a place of privilege to be able to say. 

“He seems like a wealthy suitor for you, yes?”

“Suitor—?” you choked out. “No! I mean— We just met! We don’t know anything about each other really.”

She sighed, “Young people and their obsession with marrying someone they ‘know’ for true love. When do you really know someone anyway?” Waving a hand she changed the topic. “But enough of that. What I wanted to say was next time that man comes in here, we can offer him a complimentary box of a dozen pastries— Since he’s spent so much in so little it feels like the right thing to do.”

“Sure. A complimentary dozen.” Finally. Work. A topic you felt much more comfortable talking about. “That, I can do.” 

“And then maybe offer a hand in marriage while you’re at it.”

“Mrs. Miyazaki!” you gasped, feeling only mildly affronted. 

“I joke.” She ruffled her hair and smoothed down her apron. “I’m going to make more pastries now. Can you hold up the front?” 

“You can count on me.”

“I know I can. Thanks for your hard work!” 

And with that, she headed to the backroom where the kitchen was to leave you alone with your thoughts in a quiet cafe. Rush hour ended so there were only a few customers trickling in, most much kinder and more pleasant to talk to than the bustling businessmen of the earlier shift. 

Throughout your small conversations with the patrons, you found yourself thinking back to two things— One, how interesting traditional values and teachings in collectivist cultures were and questioning where you fell into place with them, and two…wondering about Shouto. 

Tomorrow, he had said before he left. You’d see him again tomorrow. 

Oddly enough, you were looking forward to it more than you’d like to admit. 

— ✩ —

It was the fifth day of the week, the fifth time he had seen you at the cafe, and he was already tempted to see you again. Would it be invasive to get another pastry after work? Would you even be there working at that hour?

Shouto saw you this morning (along with all the other mornings before that) and yet he couldn’t quell the pull he felt towards you with only the short interaction time you had together. But he would take what he could get without being weird. 

He had been told in the past he could be too forward and dysregulate his feelings and scare people off, and that wasn’t something he wanted to risk with you, though he was certainly much better at it now with learning and practice. If he was reading things correctly, you at least seemed to enjoy seeing him during your shift. 

“You got more pastries, sir?” an employee from the medical supplies sector asked him gleefully. “I swear they get better each time!”

Shouto nodded with a smile. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll be sure to relay your compliment.”

With the dozens of pastries he’s been ordering from your cafe (each order seeming to grow every time he visited after realizing just how much his employees enjoyed it), he would place them around the breakrooms and staff kitchens in the establishment. Those areas were always fully stocked with drinks and sandwiches and chocolates in case anyone needed a little boost, but nothing seemed to bring as much comfort as freshly baked pastries did. And a different baked good almost everyday seemed to give people more to get excited about. 

He owed it all to your sales’ pitch and blinding smile that made him want to buy it. And your personality, of course.

His Personal Secretary had started to wonder why she no longer was tasked with his early morning coffee runs, and Shouto had to find a way to answer without saying it was because there was a barista he wanted to keep talking to. 

Not even he was that shameless. 

The first time, his PS had just called in sick and Shouto decided he might as well head to a cafe himself for the first time in a while. He worried he might have been rusty while ordering, but you did such a good job at being welcoming and guiding the transaction that he found himself actually enjoying it. (Enjoying you, maybe. But it was too soon to admit that.) 

And now, after that initial meeting, he decided it was worth half an hour of his day to give his PS some early morning break time and visit the cafe himself. 

It was worth it so much, in fact, that the next morning on a Saturday, despite most of his employees being given the weekend off, he still went to buy some coffee and pastries. 

“Good morning!” an older lady called as he entered the front doors. Shouto had seen her assisting in shifts and baking pastries when you were busy working the cash register. “What can I get started for you today?”

He looked around the store—relatively quiet compared to the rush hour during the weekdays—and to his disappointment, saw no sight of you. 

The current barista laughed, seeming to read his very thoughts. “Looking for someone? Y/N perhaps?”

His gaze shot up, feeling like a kid getting caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to by his guardian. Cautiously, he gave a small nod. 

“‘Fraid they have the weekends off, actually,” the lady—her name tag read Miyazaki—said. “But don’t look so down, they’ll be back on Monday morning to greet you with a smile.”

He nodded again, feeling his face heat up. Was he that transparent or did Miyazaki just know too much? “Thank you, ma’am.”

She chuckled, waving him over. “No need to be so formal. Now, is there anything I can get for you? Or were you just visiting in hopes of asking our dear Y/N out?”

“No— I…” Shouto felt himself averting his gaze. “I’ll order something.”

At his apparent discomfort, her mischievous gaze softened. “Of course, hon. Sorry for teasing too much. I was just excited seeing how adorable you and Y/N were.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, that’s not my business. Anyway. What can I get started for you?”

He asked for a macchiato and a couple dozen of today’s pastries, paid, and tipped. (Though, it was initially met with a blatant rejection. He didn’t take it too hard; he knew some older members of society thought of tips as insulting and he’d never force anyone to take a tip if it made them feel bad. But after offering again, she thankfully accepted it.)

When he left the cafe, although the exchange was pleasant enough, Shouto still found himself disappointed he wasn’t able to see you. 

At least he had something to look forward to next Monday morning, though part of him wished the day would somehow come sooner. 

a/n: hope u enjoyed miyazaki’s words of wisdom u.u FHKDF i’m totally kidding, but if ur asian like me then u kNOW what convos like that are like omg ,, just had my mom and two grandmas tell me that recently :’/ kskskfd but anyway i hope u enjoyed this chapter and liked seeing a glimpse of shouto’s thoughts ;3 tysm for reading!

what to expect in the next part:

more shouto and y/n :>

maybe some ~flirting~ pfft idk idk u.u

some minor...misunderstandings 

“hello, zuko here” vibes

#bnha x reader #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha fanfiction #mha #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha imagines #mha fanfiction #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha fluff #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #todoroki imagines #shouto x reader #shoto x reader

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Waffle House AU

It’s never mentioned but for clarification, Jaskier has a beard in this. Anyway, @officerjennie, @all-hail-the-witcher, and myself shouldn’t be left alone together because then things like this happen. I love you both.

Geraskier, rated t, modern au and Geralt's still a witcher

-

The first time the man showed up, it was nearing three in the morning. The Waffle House Jaskier worked overnights in was as packed as ever, that’s to say there were two regulars sitting at the bar and a hoard of bugs flying around the place.

The man in question was dressed head to toe in some sort of armor that looked like it belonged in a steampunk cosplay and covered in an odd black substance that looked sticky. Even from across the restaurant, Jaskier could already smell the foul odor rolling off the man in waves. It was so strong Jaskier was surprised that he couldn’t see it.

Walking to the other end of the bar, closest to the corner table the man had seated himself it, Jaskier shouted at him, unwilling to get any closer than necessary, “What do you want to drink?”

“Coffee,” the man’s voice was deep, more a growl than anything else.

Wrinkling his nose in displeasure, Jaskier grabbed the coffee pot and a mug and made his way over to the table, singing loudly to himself as he did so. Jaskier’s voice bounced off the shitty interior of the Waffle House, making it echo in a most unpleasant way. Jaskier switched to humming an upbeat tune as he approached the man at the table and began pouring the coffee.

“So, what do you think of my singing?” It was a question Jaskier asked all of his late-night customers. Their answers would determine whether he would keep them as regulars or do his best to run them off.  And his best never failed.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier frowned at the non-answer, “Come now, three words or less.”

“Filling-less pie.”

Spluttering, Jaskier pointed at the man angrily, “You know nothing about music. What do you want to order?”

“Hashbrowns. Smothered and covered.”

Spinning on his heal, Jaskier stalked away from the man without responding, instead muttering angrily under his breath, “I’ll show you filling-less, you bastard.”

-

Dropping the plate in front of the man, Jaskier watched as the rubbery meal bounced uncomfortably off the plate before landing back on it, somehow looking even worse than it already had.

“What is this?” The man’s voice held no inflection and Jaskier had no way of knowing the man’s feelings as he looked at the pathetic plate in front of him.

“Your food.”

“I ordered hashbrowns.”

Jaskier had to hold in his gasp as the man’s eyes, the most unusual golden shade, met his.

“Well, this is what I’ve brought you.”

The man looked back at the plate, flipping open the joke of an omelet, revealing that it was just eggs cooked in a pan and folded over, “There’s nothing inside. What kind of omelet doesn’t have anything in it?”

“Oh? Do you not like filling-less omelets? What a shame.”

Jaskier stalked back to the bar and took a seat by the regsiter, pulling his book back out and pretending to read it while he watched the man from the corner of his eye. He didn’t even look back to Jaskier’s direction, instead staring grumpily at the eggs in front of him before beginning to eat them.

The man ate quickly and before long he was walking over to the register where Jaskier sat, throwing a wad of bills down on the counter, “Keep the change.”

“I will.”

“You’re a shitty waiter.”

“You smell bad.”

And that, Jaskier assumed, would be that and he would never have to see the weird, smelly, strangely attractive man ever again.

-

The next night when the man arrived again, this time covered in a weird flaky green substance, Jaskier couldn’t help but eye him suspiciously. People didn’t typically return after Jaskier provided intentionally bad service, at least not if they were sober and of a sound mind. Jaskier couldn’t confidently say this man’s mind was sound, although he did seem sober.

Jaskier grabbed the coffee pot and a mug and stalked over to the corner table. He filled the cup halfway.

“More hashbrowns?”

The man wrinkled his brow, a frown on his face “Yes.”

Wandering back to the kitchen, in no rush, Jaskier stuck his head back in to look at the cook, “More eggs like last night. And can you add something weird to them this time?”

The line cook saluted him before reaching up to grab something off the shelf above his head. Jaskier winced, he wasn’t sure what exactly was in the mixtures of spices that were kept up there, but he had never had a good experience with them, that was for certain. This would for sure run off the weird tone-deaf man for good. The cook was done in no time and Jaskier walked the plate over to the man in the corner, throwing it down on the table like he had the night before.

He did no more than blink in surprise when the table collapsed. Jaskier wasn’t sure exactly why the table collapsed, the plate and shitty eggs didn’t weigh very much, and he hadn’t thrown the plate down particularly hard. But, it wasn’t the weirdest thing he has ever seen in the Waffle House, so he simply caught the man’s eye and shrugged, turning and walking back to his seat.

He watched amusedly as the man juggled his plate off the table before propping it up awkwardly and moving seats. That hadn’t been part of Jaskier’s plan, but it would certainly work in his favor.

-

Jaskier was shocked when the man walked in for a third night in a row. The normally difficult to fluster waiter was very aware that his face was the very picture of surprise. Luckily, the man didn’t even look at him as he walked over to the table in the corner. He shook it a bit before sitting down, presumably making sure it wouldn’t collapse today. To be honest, Jaskier wasn’t overly confident it was any sturdier now, but it did appear that someone on day shift had at least made it look as though it was fixed.

Grabbing the coffee pot and a mug, Jaskier couldn’t help but hope this wouldn’t truly become a ritual. He didn’t want a man in his Waffle House if said man couldn’t tell that Jaskier’s singing was nothing short of marvelous.

“Hashbrowns again?”

The man nodded, staring out of the window rather than looking at Jaskier. He wasn’t in the weird steampunk armor anymore, this time wearing a soft black tee shirt and worn in jeans. It also seemed he had managed to find a bath and was able to get all of the weird grimy things off of him.

He really was quite attractive all cleaned up, Jaskier couldn’t help but notice.

“What’s your name?”

The man turned to look at him, “Geralt.”

Walking over to the kitchen, Jaskier put in the order and sat back down by the register to wait. It wasn’t long before One-Eyed Larry grunted at him from his usual seat at the bar, “Napkin holders on fire, kid.”

Looking over at the table in front of Geralt’s, Jaskier saw that the napkin holder was, indeed, on fire. Sighing and getting a glass of water, Jaskier walked over to the table and poured the glass on it, drenching it thoroughly. Waving away the smoke, Jaskier turned the napkin holder around, making sure the fire was completely out, before putting it back in its place and taking his seat again.

Geralt’s golden eyes followed him curiously the whole time.

If the man was going to be spending his nights here, then he would need to get used to these kinds of things. It was three in the morning in a Waffle House, weirder would happen.

A few minutes more passed before there was a bell ding from the kitchen, signaling that Geralt’s food was ready. Jaskier tossed the plate on the table as was tradition, smirking when he saw the surprise flit across the man’s face. No doubt he hadn’t been expecting to receive hashbrowns, smother and covered as he had first asked for two nights prior.

What could Jaskier say, he was rather weak for a pretty face. Even if was a rude one.

“If you agree that my singing is spectacular, I’ll let you take me out for coffee sometime.”

“Good coffee or this shit?” Geralt gestured to the mug in front of him.

Jaskier scoffed, “You think I would ever eat or drink anything from here?”

“That’s comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Jaskier sat a notepad and pen on the table, “Leave your number and I’ll call you tomorrow to cash in.”

Later when Jaskier cleared the table, he couldn’t help but smile at the neat handwriting on the notepad.

Looking forward to hearing from you. You should get your napkin holder checked out.

-

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[bukojuiice]

i like you a latte. ➸ coffee shop au headcanons

ೃ pairings: (izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugo, and shoto todoroki x reader)

ೃ  tags: headcanons, coffee shop au!

ೃ warnings:  none

ೃ word count 4572 words

ೃ  my nav  →  my mha writing masterlist  → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ if you want to be a part of my mha taglist. send me an ask!  ♡

ೃ  please do reblog if you enjoyed!! it really helps writers and content creators on tumblr! (feel free to add tags too because i love reading them and my heart swells with happiness when people love my work!)

ೃ taglist: @chibishae34​ @sparkykatsuki​ @ramunegoddess, @serossimpy

- Katsuki Bakugo

-        Being a barista or just someone who works in a coffee shop in general, leads to a lot of unexpected things.

-        You meet and interact with a lot of busy people every single day. They come and they go.

-        Anything could absolutely happen.

-        But did it ever cross your mind that amongst all these busy people who flock in and out of the café, that you’d fall in love with one of them? Nope.

-        That was until a particularly handsome spiky-haired blonde came crashing into the door with his chaotic friends at his tail, pushing him to confess his feelings to you.

-        How did this come to be? Why you of all people?

-        Bakugo and his squad frequently visit a café that you work in as a barista.

-        You were one to take note of every regular customer you see.

-        You do it for fun most of the time and it’s nice to observe people, especially at a very social job such as this.

-        Katsuki and his friends were a bit loud and stood out in particular. They were good-intentioned people and they looked like they were very fun to be with.

-        They immediately piqued your interest as soon as you saw them line up at the counter, chattering away, their personalities clashing with each other with the way they talked, yet they looked like they were all still the best of friends.

-        Kaminari noticing how cute and pretty you are, and decided to hit on you. Pulling a very lame romantic coffee pun that you’ve heard time and time again.

-        His red-headed friend who was a few places away from him, bonked him in the head for being a weirdo again.

-        You brush him off jokingly, ignoring his pleas and side remarks until he finally tells you his order and apologizes. (Not only for embarrassing himself, but also to you for having to put up with a lame joke.)

-        When it was time for the blonde to order, you notice his expression soften and his voice go low. and as oblivious as you were, you just took it as a casual customer who was just being courteous and respectful to baristas like you.

-        But, you were very very wrong. There was meaning in it all along.

-        “One Pumpkin Spice Latte please.” He announces his order, looking away from you, whilst you can hear his friends snickering behind you as if they were teasing him about something.

-        “Will that be all?” You smile, calculating his order onto the cash register.

-        “Yes.” He nods solemnly, then hands his payment to you.

-        “Name please?”

-        “Katsuki.”

-        Ever since that warm spring day in March, the blonde would visit almost every day.

-        Sometimes with or without his friends, sometimes just dropping by to get his usual drink or staying until closing hours, sometimes ordering his usual Pumpkin Spice Latter or some other drink that surprises you, and sometimes with a book on his hand or typing away on his laptop.

-        And- you never got tired of seeing him.

-        For all the people who come in and out of this establishment, he was special.

-        He became someone whom you couldn’t get out of your head, someone who you were excited to see after a tiring day, and he became a sort of reminder to you as to why you came to love this job in the first place.

-        In fact, you’ve grown to like him by just merely observing him.

-        Sure, there were times when you’d go up to his table and interact with him. Engaging in small talk, albeit sometimes he didn’t seem interested, but you knew he was listening.

-        You wanted to interact with him more than just idle chit chat. More than just asking if he enjoyed his drink or if he need an extra fork or straw. You wanted it to be more than just that.

-        Katsuki feels the same too, but with how unfriendly and aggressive he may look sometimes, he has no idea how to interact with you either. Maybe, he might hurt your feelings or maybe you might misinterpret something he says, prompting you to not approach him anymore.

-        Maybe for the first time in his life, he needed to appreciate and be contented with the little things. No matter how insignificant or trifling they may be, he had to be content with what he has with you right now.

-        That was until today.

-        You take a tray from the counter, and place Katsuki’s drink on it. You walk slowly to his table, showing him your usual smile, sliding his drink off your tray and putting it down on his table. “Enjoy your drink Katsuki-san!” Next, you place tissues and his usual order of honey-glazed donut (in contrast to his every day order of pumpkin spice latte)

-        When… your hand brushed with his.

-        You hear yourself squeal in place, slowly taking back your hand and apologizing. “Ah, I’m s-sorry! Anywho, enjoy your drink!”

-        “Wait.” He grabs your wrist. His touch, soft and gentle, giving you a very different feeling that you would usually feel from a guy like him. “Can I ask for your name?”

-        “Oh. It’s (Y/N)! It’s nice to meet you Katsuki-san! Bye!” You cover your face, running back to the counter to attend to another customer’s order, leaving his table before he was even able to say another word.

-        It was a week before he came back to the coffee shop after that day.

-        You counted the days when he didn’t visit, and because of that, you were in a rather damp and sad mood ever since. Maybe he wanted to tell you something? Maybe he was about to tell you he was never going back to the coffee shop again? Maybe he took the gesture of you running away from him as a sign that you weren’t interested in talking to him that’s why he didn’t bother coming back?

-        It was a regular Tuesday. Taco Tuesday actually. You decided to stop counting the days that Katsuki didn’t visit, maybe he really was gone now.

-        Your eyes lit up at the sight of Katsuki entering the café with his friends. A pink-haired girl, obviously points at you, nudging her blonde friend in the arm. “Go for it! What’s stopping you from talking to her!?”

-        You pay them no mind and divert your attention back to the customer in front of you. Although you were waiting for them to get in line and attend to them.

-        You hear their voices from the back of the line growing louder and louder as they got closer to the counter. You couldn’t help but shake your head and chuckle at the sight of seeing them.

-        “Hi (Y/N=chan)!” Mina beams. Kirishima and Kaminari had their arm around Bakugo’s shoulder at both sides whilst Sero was behind Bakugo making sure he had no chance of escape. “My friend, Bakubro, here wanted to ask you something!”

-        “Sure.” You give them your signature smile. “Is there something up?”

-        “Ooooh! He wants to ask you if-“

-        “Could you guys shut up for a second!?” He turns to his friends, shooting all of them a glare, and you swear you could see him pop a vein on his head. His friends simmer down and hand you a note with all of their orders instead, as they retreat to a table within earshot of the two of you. They flash Katsuki a thumbs up before trying their best to not eavesdrop.

-        He collects himself first, taking a deep breath before finally speaking again.

-        “I was wondering… if you’re free sometime?” He scratches the back of his neck, looking away from you as to not show the cute and dorky blush present on his face. “If you’re not interested though then-“

-        You giggle, reaching for the cup of his pumpkin spice latte and writing something down on it. You put down the orders of his friends on a tray then hand it over to him. “Let’s talk about it later… If that’s okay with you?”

-        He nods, a puzzled look on his face, as he gets out of the line.

-        You notice his friends were about to jump for joy as soon as their explosive blonde friend approach their table, Kirishima grabs Katsuki’s pumpkin spice latte before he takes a sip, then notices what you had written on there. “OH MY GOD!?”

-        “BAKUBRO! SHE GAVE YOU HER NUMBER!?”

-        “WAIT!? WHAT!?” He reaches for his drink, stealing it from his red-headed friend, reading the contents of the cup.

-        You notice him blushing as his friends burst into a fit of laughter. “SMOOTH MOOVES, KATSUKI! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING! YOU WERE THAT OBIVIOUUS!” they continue to tease him as he registers your number into his cellphone.

-        “START EATING YOU LOSERS! WE HAVE A LECTURE WITH A SHITTY PROFESSOR AT 10 AM.”

-        “yeah~ yeah~ yeah~”

-        You giggle at the sight of them relentlessly teasing him still.

-        At the end of your shift, you finally check your phone to be greeted to a text by Katsuki.

-        “Hey (Y/N). Is Friday good with you? I noticed that you don’t work at the café during Fridays, and I wanted to confirm if that’s one of your free days?”

“Of course! And, yes, it is! Can’t wait to see you for the first time out of the café by then!  (´｡• ω •｡`)”

-        “Yeah… see you.”

 - Shoto Todoroki

-        Why is the owner of the coffee shop near your university have to be this hot?

-        The girls around campus call him the Coffee Prince for a reason.

-        Who gave him the right? Who gave him the right to arrive at the very café he owns in a dashing black coat that he matched with a black (sometimes grey) turtleneck, his defined and toned muscles clearly perking from underneath, an expensive watch in his wrist, and some doc. Martens boots to complete the look.

-        Who gave him the right to be this handsome?

-        Did I mention that he’s also a student at the same university you go to?

-        Did I also mention that he sometimes manages the cash register? And how everyone and their mothers flock to the café as soon as they see him at the counter?

-        Shoto Todoroki.

-        That was his name.

-        The youngest son of the Todoroki family who owns pretty much about every corporate building and company in the city.

-        Yet, here he was, managing his little own café. Clearly not interested in the business world that his entire family had built.

-        It was large yet quaint coffee shop, not only were the drinks crafted with love and care along with the snacks and food you can order, but it was also the wonderful smell of scented pinecones wafting around the café. It was heaven. (Just like all coffee shops are, but this one in particular has a special place in your heart, and it’s not JUST because of the handsome man that owns this café.)

-        Shoto was different and a very hands-on kind of guy. If he wasn’t managing the counter, he would be making drinks, messing around in the kitchen, and bringing out yummy cookies and other amazingly baked goods (that he made) as the dish and the dessert of the day.

-        He was very kind to his staff. Making sure the energy was always light and happy. Joking around with them, helping them out, and with the occasional outbursts that customers have, he quickly handles the situation with ease.

-        He was perfect in more ways than one. And with that, he was very much out of your league.

-        Although your friends would encourage you, it wasn’t enough for you to push through with it and talk to him.

-        Besides, it’s not like he has time to talk with customers on a daily basis right? He was a busy man and a college student just like you.

-        You were just like everyone else. Helplessly in love with a guy like him. The rich and handsome young man who looked like he came straight out of a romantic comedy.

-        There is a 0.0001% chance he would even notice you. Why bother trying to compete when there’s so much competition? You weren’t main character material at all. Why would he notice you then?

-        In some days, when busines is slow and the café is quiet, you see him working at the farthest table in the corner, near the charging station. He had a stern and serious face, very much focused on his laptop, typing away, while sipping on a cup of coffee from time to time.

-        Although this happened very rarely since the café was usually packed 24/7.

-        But, when days were extremely slow, these were the perfect times to just admire him from afar.

-        His handsome features, half-and-half colored hair, and his beautiful heterochromatic eyes…

-        Sometimes, he would run his fingers through his hair, and you feel your heart stop every time he does it, that you can’t even focus on the project you were doing.

-        Unbeknownst to you, he too would sneak glances at you from time to time.

-        Maybe, Shoto Todoroki wasn’t the type of guy who would fall in love with the main heroine.

-        Maybe, he wasn’t that kind of person after all this time of thinking that he is.

-        As books and clichés go, maybe you just had to read in between the lines.

-        To notice that he too was in love with you all this time.

-        “Earth to (y/n)?” Ochaco waves a hand in front of you. No answer. The girl huffs and starts to pack up her things. But, before she leaves, at a last attempt to wake you up from your trip to space, she whispers loud enough for you to hear.

-        “Is that Mr. Shoto Todoroki I see shirtless in the corner!?”

-        “You won’t be able to trick me with that Ochaco-chan.” You snap back into reality, shaking your head at your best friend’s failed attempt at trying to get your attention.

-        She winks and grins at you in disbelief. “Still gotcha there love. I’m about to head off to my next lecture, will you be staying here?”

-        “Yup. It’s not too crowded today anyway, and I also need to catch up on my lessons.”

-        “Mkay! I’ll tell Tsuyu and the others to head here after class! See you!” Your brown-haired friend waves goodbye, a ringing bell at the door signaling that she left the premises.

-        You watch Ochaco’s walking figure as she leaves. But, once you turn to sneak a glance at Shoto, you catch his gaze.

-        Oh. my. God.

-        He was looking at you too.

-        You grin sheepishly, waving gingerly at him. “H-hi Todoroki-san…”

-        He returns the greeting by nodding at you, as he gets back to doing his work. (trying to keep his cool as you obviously caught him staring back at you.)

-        You frown as soon as he averts his gaze. Much like him, you go back to focus on the pile of learning materials you had to go through.

-        Someone suddenly enters the store, disrupting you from your studies yet again with how loud they shut the door behind them. Shoto was also annoyed and alerted by this, keeping an eye on the sleazy guy who had just entered his precious establishment.

-        The guy approaches you, shooting you a glare. “This is my seat. Get out.”

-        “Excuse me? I was here first. I don’t see your name anywhere you a-“

-        “What did you say!?” The sleazebag attempts to grab you by the wrist forcefully, trying to drag you out of the table by first. But, before he could, you notice someone grab his arm first, pushing him away from you.

-        “Who the hell are you!?”

-        You look up to see Shoto shielding you, his hand gripping onto the guy’s wrist. You feel your heart beat rapidly at the sight of his tall and well-built figure standing in front of you.

-        “The owner of this café. There are a lot of unoccupied seats in the area that you can sit in, as you can see. Unless you’re blind that is.”

-        “Excuse me!? What kind of asshole are you!? Ain’t the customer always right!? I’m never going back to this shitty establishment!” He flips Shoto off before storming out of the store.

-        Shoto sighs and then turns to you. “Are you okay?” His hand tries to reach out for you, but he hesitates, and stops before you notice him doing so. “Did he hurt you anywhere?”

-        “Ah no. Not really. Don’t worry.” You wave your hands in assurance, a faint blush appearing on your cheeks. “Thank you, Todoroki-san. You didn’t have to do that.”

-        “I had to. You’re an…“ He pauses for a second, as if trying to collect his words and trying his best to not slip up in front of you. “Important customer. I couldn’t stand to see anybody be hurt like that.”

-        “Important customer?” You look at him in disbelief. You turn away from him, trying to process what he had just said. “I’m just another regular old customer who frequents your café. How can I be of importance when nothing stands out about me?”

-        Shoto raises his finger, telling you to wait a moment, and then leaves your table. He collects his things from the place he usually sits at and heads over to sit on the chair opposite of yours. Sitting down on the seat, he brings out his laptop and places his coffee mug on the table.

-        You blink and tilt your head. But on the inside, you wanted to yeet yourself into space because here he was, the guy you’ve been crushing on for almost a year, face to face, your face meters away from his, and the two of you trying to study in peace like some lovey dovey university couple.

-        The two of you continue to make idle chit-chat while working on your respective tasks. You told him your name and in turn, he told you to stop being so formal with him, saying that you calling him Shoto was fine.  He was fun to be with despite the fact that the two of you were quiet throughout the entire time.

-        Time does fly when you’re with your crush, that you didn’t notice it was time for your next lecture. You were about to stand up from your seat when Shoto suddenly speaks.

 -        “(Y/N).” He says sternly. You look up from your computer, continuing to fold it and stuff it in your bag. “Yes?” You reply.

 -        “I was wondering if you wanted to be study buddies? I notice you studying alone most of the time whenever the café isn’t busy, and I think it would be less lonely if we shared a table. Only if you want to though…” He says ever so casually, as if nothing fazes him. Even though on the inside, he was about to die of embarrassment thinking about what would happen if you said no.

 -        “Of course! I’d love to!” You reply coolly, trying to not act like you were about to explode of happiness on the spot. “See you tomorrow, then?” You stand up from your seat, slinging your backpack on your shoulders.

 -        “Yup. See you.” He waves goodbye, watching you leave his café. As soon as you were out of earshot, he breathes a sigh of relief, mouthing a joyful “yes!” as he goes back to what he was doing, and he’ll be in a good mood for the rest of the day.

 -        You did the same too. As soon as Shoto wasn’t within reach, you smile widely, squealing, and clutching your journal to your chest. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I can’t believe that actually happened.”

 -        This was it. The start of something new.

 -        Your love story with the Coffee Prince was about to begin.

 - Izuku Midoriya

-        Izuku Midoriya is the cute and hardworking barista who works at your favorite café that you and your friends visit every day.

-        Aoyama and Ochaco call him the “matcha haired cutie” for some reason, even though the color of his hair?? is far?? from the color?? of actual matcha??  

-        Even from afar, he just looks like the most precious cinnamon roll ever?? And your heart just can’t stop fluttering at the thought of seeing him every time you drop by to get a cup of coffee.

-        Pls why must this boy be so cute? his floofy dark green-hair do be making all the ladies swoon

-        The coffee shop is flooded with customers every time it’s his shift. Most of them are regulars who find him really sweet + adorable and they spend way too much time at the counter trying to make idle chat with “izuku” (as seen on his name tag) and it’s really annoying.

-        Some bold and confident regulars attempt to ask for his number, but izuku politely refuses.

-        Which means more chances of winning for you (even though you’re in the same level of interaction with izuku as all these other people)

-        When you come up to the counter however, his smile feels different. He shows you a smile that feels so warm and comforting. A smile that reminds you of home. a smile that makes you forget the stress put upon you by college just for a little while.

-        You notice that he adds extra whipped cream and some chocolate sprinkles to your frappe from time to time and you have no idea if this is intentional or if he just does it by accident.

-        Either way, your friends are convinced that it is intentional and it’s some sort of love language/special treatment that baristas have for customers they have a soft spot for.

-        You always greet him warmly. “good morning izuku-kun! How are you today?”

-        He immediately beams at you. “Good morning! It’s been a great day so far! may I take your order?” You then proceed to recite your usual drink.

-        It’s the littlest things and the smallest gestures that matter after all.

-        Sometimes you would space out whilst at the register, not knowing you were next in line (most of the time it’s because you’re trying to think of something witty to say to him)

-        He smiles at the sight of seeing you, “hi! will it be the usual?”

-        “a-ah yes. I’m sorry for spacing out there.”

-        “it’s alright! I feel you! it happens to me all the time too actually!”

-        His smile. His cute little freckles, his friendly aura, and just his entire presence in general. There’s just something about him that draws you in.

-        He reminds you of a little daisy amongst a field of different flowers. pure, bright and very pleasant. Just swaying with the wind and perfectly content with life.

-       If he arrives early from uni, you see him chilling at the mini library of the café and is usually seen engrossed in a classical novel (you’ve noticed he’s been reading a lot of jane austen, franz kafka, f. scott fitzgerald and arthur conan doyle novels recently!)

-        For some reason, when he’s out of his whole barista uniform, no one seems to notice him. It’s like he fades into the background.

-        He’s able to enjoy the peace and solace that loneliness brings, with a frappe or an expresso usually at the table next to him along with a pile of other books.

-        At the insistence of your friends, you decide to approach him and have small talk.

-        That was enough to make you happy even just for a moment.

-        “hi there izu-kun! It’s nice to see you out of your popular barista persona for the day.”

-        “oh? hi (y/n)!”

-        “wait… you know my name?” you immediately feel a faint tint of pink appear on your cheeks, trying your best to hide it from him by covering your mouth until it fades.

-        “of course! i asked one of your friends who regularly visit the shop. Your blonde friend? The one that has these sparkles around him that follow him everywhere?”

-        “aoyama…” you grit your teeth, muttering under your breath.

-        “anyway, would you like to have a seat? It’d be nice to have some company.” he pats the cushion next to him, scooting over to the other side of the sofa.

-        You slowly sit down, feeling yourself shaking a little bit because you had absolutely no idea he even ACTUALLY knew your name and what you had originally wished for, which was just a normal interaction with him, would ESCALATE to this.

-        “What are you reading?” you turn to him, trying to take a peek.

-        “Pride and Prejudice!” he grins, scratching his head sheepishly. “I know it’s not the typical book that you’d expect someone like me to read out in public like this, but mr darcy and elizabeth’s romance throughout the book makes me feel giddy. They’re such a good couple and they’re written so well!”

-        “they are! The dumb English lit major in me wrote a 40-page doc just talking about their love and other classical couples seen in novels! There’s just something about them that makes the book worth reading time and time again!”

-        “Y-yeah…”

-        You notice him grow flustered and nervous all of a sudden and you can’t help but shoot him a puzzled look. “is something wrong Izu-kun?”

-        “I-I actually want to recommend this to you!” He hands you a small and slightly worn book with no cover or title in it. He then takes a look at his watch, his eyes growing wide. “A-ah! It’s time for my shift!” He stands up from the couch, but before he properly leaves, he turns to you and smiles his precious smile again. “see you later (y/n)!” he waves then quickly takes a beeline to the back of the café.

-        You wave back. watching his figure growing smaller and smaller until his disappears when he enters the backdoor.

-        You sigh and start to skim thru the pages of the book, when you notice a yellow sticky note inside.

-        “Words cannot expresso how much you mean to me. Would you like to go out sometime?”

-        And you swear, at that moment, you feel your heart about to combust from happiness. Squealing internally, you hide your flustered expression by digging your face inside the book, not to be seen by anyone else.

-        You were going to savor this moment.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #shoto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x r #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo headcanons #bakugo headcanons #shoto todoroki headcanons #izuku midoriya headcanons #deku headcanons #mha fluff #bnha fluff #coffee shop au

[lovetorn]

iced caramel macchiato [dream's version]

dream x reader — coffee shop!au

summary: enemies? to lovers? or maybe dream just plays hard to get lmaoooo

word count: 1.7k+

warnings: swearing? sometimes.

a/n: my harry fic rewritten for dream :] i just changed the pov and some lines but its basically the same asdfghjk enjoy ig <3

Service has been slow. So slow, that you’re sure your head will roll off your neck from the number of times you’ve looked at the clock behind you. The copper hands of the round object tick obnoxiously, making you bring a hand up to your temple to rub firmly.

Closing your eyes, you loll your head back to stare at the grainy ceiling in hopes that the bell above the glass door would chime. You move your head back to stare blankly at the door before you run your hands over the brown apron on your hips, the fabric harsh against your fingers.

You then bend down to lean your head on your palm in a bored manner while you watch the countless pedestrians walk past the coffee shop. Just one customer, please!

The light reflecting off of the glass is giving you a headache, but you still stare. In your state of utter boredom, anything would be exciting.

Your gaze shifts to the painting on the right wall when the glass door opens and a man stalks in. He is mumbling lowly into his phone, telling someone named George that he doesn’t know why Sapnap isn’t answering. You silently cheer at the sight of a customer, pleased to be productive on this slow workday.

The man has his light hair pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck and he looks borderline intimidating to you—maybe it’s his height, or perhaps it’s his cold stare. He scans the shop before he stalks towards the counter.

You’re slightly concerned at the sound of him not knowing where someone is, thinking that he will simply move off to the side to finish his call before ordering; but he doesn’t.

You seethe slightly at the blatant disrespect of the man. How are you supposed to catch a person’s order in between a string of conversation they’re having with someone else about something completely different? You don’t understand how someone can be that rude.

But nonetheless, the man stands there talking aimlessly before glancing up at you with an uninterested look on his face. You furrow your brows at him before your eyes flicker back to the cash register in front of you. You choose to pick at your chipped nail polish before the man decides to pause his phone call to order. But, the clearing of his throat catches you off guard and then you’re met the man’s hard stare.

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me what I want?”

Your eyebrows fly to your hairline as you stutter, “W-What?”

The man huffs as he switches his weight to his other foot and swaps his phone to his other ear, his eyes wide with irritation. He waves his hand in front of your face as you stand in shock at his rudeness. The man rolls his eyes before speaking to the person on the phone again. You reach over to pluck a plastic cup from the stack and grab a Sharpie pen, ready for his choice. However, you’ve soon got a death grip on the cup as he carries on talking to the person on the line.

“A cold caramel whatever.” You catch what he mumbles before he continues whispering into his phone. You grumble bitterly to yourself that it isn’t an order. But, not wanting to have to interact with him any longer, you ask for his name.

“Clay.”

And with that, he steps to the side, laughing into his device. You stand in disbelief holding the black Sharpie marker in your hand. How can his demeanour shift so quickly? Pulling yourself together, you scribble quickly, ‘C-… Cray’? You cock your head at the spelling but shrug one shoulder and slide it towards the metal bench next to you.

When the barista at the other end of the bench calls ‘Cray’, the man either isn’t paying attention or doesn’t care because he takes his drink and leaves; not even sparing a glance at you, who had misspelt his name.

The next day’s rush is far more fast-paced. The chatter of people around the coffee shop makes it near impossible to hear the orders of customers at the counter—but it is the way you like it. The more customers, the faster the day goes. And at this pace, you swear your shift is almost over.

As you finish taking the order of a young girl, your mood instantly dims when the girl moves to the side. Head down, Clay stands in front of you typing on his phone, murmuring his order to you. You tilt your head as you huff. The plain disrespect, again.

“Excuse me?” You say while leaning closer to him.

He gives a quick glance towards you before sighing, “A caramel cold, no cream.” His irritated expression makes you stare blankly at him.

His bleak response earns a quick eyebrow raise from you, who struggles to understand his order, but grabs a cup anyway and scribbles ‘Cole’ on the side along with a whole bunch of jumble on ‘caramel cold’. You assume he means the same drink as yesterday. And as the same as yesterday, his hair is pulled back, leaving his forehead bare and the crease in between his brows evident. Why does he always look so angry?

—

Over the next few weeks, you had continually and deliberately gotten Clay’s name wrong. You had become quite creative with ridiculous nicknames when he ordered his boring ‘cold caramel’ drink and think he deserves it from how rude he was to you. As much as you disliked the man, you found fun in getting his name wrong.

Cloud, Clam, Cleo, and even clarinet. At this point, the barista at the other end of the counter could yell ‘cabbage’ and he’d just accept it.

You had the luck of not running into him anywhere outside of the coffee shop, saving yourself the embarrassment of confessing why you write his name like that on the cups. But you can’t help it, you hate when people are distracted whilst they order; as well as arsehole men who wave their hand in front of your face when you’re simply waiting for them to finish their call to tell you their order.

No matter how much you despised it, Clay never failed to walk into the shop without being on his phone in some way. And he never once looked at you when he walked out with his drink, only sparing you a glance when ordering. You just didn’t understand this man!

It’s Friday and it’s raining. The dark clouds hang in the sky like a bad smell and you can’t shake the feeling in your gut. It is 15 minutes to closing time and Clay hasn’t walked in today. A weird sense of disappointment washes over you as you gaze out of the glass door.

The bell chimed for the last time that day at 5:55 pm and as you wrote down the abbreviations of a latte on the top of a white coffee lid, you felt sadness. It was subtle but it was there. And you didn’t know why it sat at the bottom of your stomach for so long, but it wasn’t pleasant.

As you reach to close up the register, the bell at the door rings. Your head shoots up from looking at the numbers on the buttons and is met with Clay—with no phone in sight. As much as you were looking forward to writing down a new nickname for him, your thought process is interrupted.

Clay looks at you, straight in the eye, and smiles. You stand in confusion, the black sharpie dangling from your fingertips as he leans on the counter. The cup in your hands is close to falling on the floor when he nods towards it.

“Iced caramel. And get my name right this time.”

You feel your cheeks heat before you scrunch your nose in distaste, “So you did notice.”

The man hums in confirmation before he reaches over the register to snatch the cup from your grasp. “Of course I did. I’m gonna show you how to spell it right.”

You’re quick to bite back the urge to comment that you know how to spell his fucking name but you patiently wait for him to return the cup.

He hands the cup back to you, holding it teasingly above your head before he drops it onto the counter. You catch the cup before it rolls onto the floor and become confused at the scribble of numbers on the cup instead. You lift your head to meet his gaze when you see his lips drawn into a large grin. Your features soften as you give him a soft closed-lipped smile. You turn your head to look towards the menu behind you, the numbers next to the orders catching your attention.

“Are these all of the orders you want?” You ask. You furrow your eyebrows while you look back down at the cup. Oh.

Clay bites back a giggle and shakes his head at your expression. “It’s my number.”

As shocked as you are, you manage to keep your grip on the cup, despite it nearly falling from your hand again.

“W-Why?” You mumble, face flushing at the thought of Clay even thinking about you in that way.

Clay makes a smug face, shrugs, and then spins around before walking back towards the door. You stand frozen; like literally stuck in your spot as you watch Clay glance over his shoulder.

“This place closes in 5 right? I’ll wait outside while you finish up and we’ll go get dinner together.”

His statement lingers even after he leaves. You still hold the plastic cup in your hand as you stare at the spot he was last in. Your heartbeat is in your ears as you finally blink. No… I can’t, he’s—. You shift your eyes down to the cup and the haphazard writing and feel as your heart skip a beat.

And as soon as you step out of the shop, the rain patters lightly on the pavement and you spot his figure leaning against the side of the bookshop next door—typing on his phone. You scoff out a laugh as you begin approaching him. Clay lifts his head at the sound of someone nearing and smiles when he sees you.

“Ready?” He asks, offering you his elbow. You roll your eyes at his gesture, nod and place your hand on his bicep.

No matter what happened in the past, you’re willing to see where this goes… with Cray— I mean Clay.

#dream smp imagine #dream smp imagines #dream smp x reader #dream x reader #dream imagine #dream imagines #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines