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worldsover · 3 years

Text

No More Drowning ft. Olivia Hye

length ✦ 7138

genres ✧ drunk hookup; outercourse; roommate!Olivia

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Perspiration deluges your white Taekwondo uniform. You make it fit loose so that it doesn’t stick to your skin. A refreshing breeze now annoys you as it whistles through your damn window that never sealed completely shut. At least you didn't need to turn on a fan today.

“Hey Captain,” you greet the commander of none. Hyejoo lies on a small blue couch, the only pristine spot in the living room. Her outfit suggests that there would be the usual cool air expected of the season but the fall is humid and stuck in the climate of a couple months past. It’s incredible that there is not a bead of sweat formed on her face. You study her and somehow she’s handsome in your eyes which is probably not a word others would use to describe the stunning woman reclining with her feet up.

“Wassup,” she says.

“You gonna-”

“Clean up? Yeah, yeah, lemme finish this round.”

Her face is welded to her screen though her eyes dart around maybe holding a hint of remorse at the clothes that litter the cramped living space and the dishes in the sink.

“I’m not an impostor! Ahhh!” Hyejoo shouts into the screen. Certainly none of her actions follow through on that guilt.

“How'd this even happen? You got pyjamas on the floor, shirts on the chairs. You a camgirl or something?"

"I'm a camgirl? I can see your tits dude.” Cover your pectoral cleavage in faux shame. ”Yo, I swear I just saw green-"

"And all these energy drinks? Come on Hyejoo, no way your heart lasts more than a year.”

“Wow, meanie.”

You look at your watch. “It’s like 9:40.”

“Shit, right, the marketing test.” Hyejoo’s fingers show no pretense that she’ll stop playing. She definitely didn't see your disapproving face. “Oh relax, I still got time,” she says anyway.

Finally, she looks up at you and her brows crease. “What?” you ask.

"You look good today."

Your heart floats just a little. You always appreciate the little compliments she gives. They were just ones that friends, good friends, would say but you’ll take anything to keep you going. Well, it’s enough to get you to clean up for her again.

“It’s gonna be a long shower by the way.” She giggles and you step over empty cans and bottles when you walk to the bathroom.

“No prob, I’m heading out soon,” Hyejoo says.

“Sure you are.”

Her exaggerated yawn seems not so exaggerated by how she stretches her entire being before putting her phone away.

“Oh, soon means now. How long’s it going to take?” you say.

She shrugs her shoulders. “One, two? I dunno.”

In a rush to get all her supplies in her bag, a series of metallic clangs sound out when finished beverages fall over like dominoes.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry about that, I really am. I can buy you lunch if you want something?” Hyejoo starts picking up a few of them to set aside in the corner and you help her.

“Nah, I’ll still be in the shower by then.”

Hyejoo scoffs. “If I'm addicted to caffeine, you're addicted to water. A sandwich sound good?”

“Yeah sure. I got a lot on my mind, Captain.”

“That include me?” A dismissive puff of air exits your lips. No, no way. She walks up to smell your uniform. Your acute awareness of her distance or lack thereof causes you to ignore her pupils' subtle drift downwards.

“You’re a weirdo, you know that?”

"Get to your shower stinky."

You wave Hyejoo off then enter the bathroom. The scurry of little steps and a slam from the front door echo the whole apartment. Never any privacy in here. These sounds give way to the jet engine of your shower with its pressure betraying the bargain rate of your rent. Soap washes away your muscles' ache and the sun’s beating on your skin. It's been unusually warm since the leaves turned brown. Water builds up in the tub.

Something's not adding up. There it is again. That plunging in your heart. Sparring always helps a bit after your early morning manual labor carrying bags of sand. However, it does not stop the resurfacing of your every mistake as there's nothing but your mind in the shower. You don't have a plan and your future is void because money and work hours kill you as much as school. You're not even getting all the wages you earn and there's nothing you can do about it. Past choices bubble up in that unkind way. The cup fills and clear blue liquid engulfs you.

Lift yourself out the tub to catch a breath that you don't deserve. Deliberate respirations do nothing to slow down your heart rate. The only thing that can is a captain. You could wander the ocean on a raft with her alone but you have no idea if she felt even close to the same. Maybe she's just the most important friend you've ever had. Light from the small window hits the tiled floor. Unplug the drain. Right, you left your clothes in your room so wrap yourself with a green towel you find hanging from the doorknob.

Shit! There's not a mouse in sight but you shriek like there is one when Hyejoo materializes in the confined kitchen. Hyejoo expresses no surprise herself as she sits cross legged on the miniature wooden dining table playing yet another mobile game. Laundry baskets and garbage bags hold all the previous mess. Your surprise at her appearance transforms into surprise for her proactiveness. You want to give her thanks but no words escape your lips.

"You gonna put on some clothes? Perv. That’s my towel too."

Your hands push off invisible blame. The hands of the wall clock reads five minutes before noon. "Woah, woah, wait a sec. What happened to the midterm?"

"Walked out in the middle of it. Couldn’t deal. Dropped."

"Wait, what about the refund?"

"Sunk cost dude.” Hyejoo sniffs a wide white shirt hanging from a chair next to her. “This yours or mine? Ehh, it's clean either way."

You catch the shirt and smell it. A little vanilla. It's hers. “Thanks Captain.”

“Even sniffing it? Really a perv.” You almost forget a single piece of fabric separates full exposure of your genitals but the realization makes you blush anyway.

“Nah, you smelled it first and. Whoever smelt it, dealt it.”

“That’s not what that saying means.” Hyejoo gets up from her awkward seat.

Incredible how many new ways she can throw you off like when she bumps into you with her eyes are still on her phone. Hyejoo's clumsiness will be your death as the towel slips down and hangs solely from your half erect dick. Cool, you're just a clothing rack now. She turns you around with one hand and snatches the large shirt with the other. Your bare moon is in full view.

"You gonna put this on or just stand there?" she says with no qualms about the absurd sight of your newly cleansed rear. You scramble to wrap the towel tightly around you to tame your erection but there's no way she hasn't noticed by now.

"Y- yep, I, I will do that, for sure." Turn back around and take the shirt to put it on carefully. It’d be oversized for her but it fits you snug. Your ears must have joined your cheek’s redness because your nipples poke through the thin white fabric.

Hyejoo takes a single glance away from her screen at your makeshift towel skirt and laughs. "Actually, you look cute like that. Just keep the towel on, it's less to clean."

Wide-eyed, you say, "What if ahjumma barges in?"

"What if? Whatever, no fun." She sticks her tongue out then gets comfortable on the couch while her diligent and nimble fingers peck at the screen.

Return to the restroom and deal with your erection before it becomes a problem. You’ve seen hints of her comely body before and it helps you undress her layered attire in your imagination. Instead of the black button-up long sleeve and track pants she wore just moments ago, you picture a crop top, her hair tied up and white panties, and it's that latter image that affixes to your mind. On a particularly balmy day, Hyejoo wore only her underwear because she had nothing else to do but game and it hasn't stopped plaguing your fantasies ever since. Your hands are Hyejoo’s, soft and loving just for a moment.

"You taking another shower in there or what?" Hyejoo shouts, “I’d definitely hear from here!”

Reality smacks you in the face. She had no fear of you, no worry that you’d take advantage of her. Were you even a man? Stop your jerking and get up.

Open the bathroom door absentmindedly and thump. It smacks her head. You don’t even think about why she was standing right next to the door, instead sweeping aside her hair from her face. Red doesn’t come from where you hit her.

Simultaneously, you and Hyejoo say, “You okay?”

“Um, I’m, look-”

Her blush grows but she interrupts your blabbering, “I didn’t hear you respond and thought you, uh, died in there or something.”

Nearly reached la petite mort if that counted but instead you say, “No, I just. Had a lot to consider.”

“Sure.” You’ve never seen her this flustered since it’s enough for her to scurry back to her room. Hopefully things wouldn’t be too awkward.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“I fucking hate you!” Hyejoo yells.

“Oh yeah? Same!” you retort, probably too loud.

Her tone goes down. “Were those the lines?”

“Ehh, as long as we get the gist of the argument down.”

Hyejoo and you stand on the stairway up to your rooftop apartment in your rehearsed spots. She looks a little confused on how to start what she wants to start but you poke at her when you see the landlady walking towards the stairs.

“Chill out!” she yelps.

“Chill out, you’re telling me to chill out?"

"Seriously, oppa," that's about as strained as a human can say a word, "You’re such a slob!”

“Shut up, look at me straight in the eyes and tell me you’re not just as bad,” you say, trying not to laugh but Hyejoo’s punch knocks the wind out of you. Your pain is only half acting. Her sympathetic look does nothing to soothe you.

"Ya!" The elderly woman interrupts and forces you two apart. “That’s enough! I get you’re cousins but even I don’t fight this badly with my family.”

Hyejoo whips her pupils towards you as though to ask the same question you had, if you sold the illusion too hard.

“I get that living with your kin is tough but at the very least, no murders on my property. Not until one of you graduates.” The old lady squints and turns to each of you saying, “Promise me. No hitting. Not in my sight.”

You nod then Hyejoo’s sigh becomes an assenting nod when the landlady smacks her wrist nearly black and blue. Satisfied at her hard work reconciling family matters, she walks back down her stairs to do her usual wandering around the neighborhood. Hyejoo and you take a second to stretch and relax.

“Ha. Do as I say, not as I do,” Hyejoo says as you both sit on the concrete steps.

You caress your tender rib. “Or don't do at all. Ow. You wanna be a Youtuber? They do boxing and gaming, and you'd kill doing both." Hyejoo's laugh is rich and all that it takes for you to forgive her. You exhale. "Hopefully that gets her off our backs for a while.”

“How do you even manage Taekwondo? You’re so fragile and-" Her sentence is interrupted when she looks at your built arms.

"No way they hit as hard as you, Captain." You miss her carnal look when you close your eyes and think about the nickname that you aimlessly threw out one day.

She stands up. Your eyes violently spread open at her “Kya!” Hyejoo’s fighting stance and shouts masquerading kihaps are totally off. As much as Hyejoo could kill you, a Taekwondo fighter since your childhood, she could also be incredibly cute too.

You tsk. "All that power and no technique."

Hyejoo sits back down none the more ashamed and scratches her head. "You think it would’ve been easier if we came clean?”

“Ahjumma could never allow two strangers to live co-ed. No way. I’m still surprised you came up with that so quickly.”

“It just came out so naturally, oppa!” she says in a deriding high pitch. “Yeah right I ever call you that again.”

Ring ring. You answer the call and Hyejoo's quizzical stare turns concerned at your breathlessness from the words that drill into your ear. They slam, they crash and their volume could break your eardrums even though they’re said as calmly as possible. The hole in your raft grows bigger and leaks more so even when you reach the abandoned shore, you're marooned.

"Fuck, fuck, god."

Sprint for the next bus. Pay no heed to the girl chasing you. Dammit, this can't be happening. Every problem gets fucking magnified because you can't have anything good and if you did, never could it last for more than a goddamn millisecond. You embark on the most anxious ride of your life even though you already know exactly what's going to happen. Transfer buses. The skyscrapers hover over you and gloat about how you’ll never enter their doors. Asphalt and glass swelter you when they reflect radiation down the sky. Your skin hurts. You get off the bus and arrive at the headquarters of the construction company. At the front of the building stands your boss.

Slap. "Did you not get the message? Were you under a tunnel?"

You get on your knees and bow. "Sir, I'm sorry."

"No one else is going to hire a goddamn delinquent like you."

"Please. I thought you understood." You nearly prostrate yourself

"I have no idea what you're talking about. There's a lot of assault on your record."

You stop yourself from blurting out that you fucking know. Defending yourself from bullies is assault? He already knew this was bullshit since that's why he hired you in the first place but now he's backtracking like a rat.

"I'll do anything to work here." He shakes his head while you hold back a tear. "Please. Just. Just tell me why?"

"You got greedy."

"Greedy?" You raise your head and then your tone. "Getting paid for the work that I do is greed?"

"You're on your knees and wanna talk back? Get out."

Bang. A closing door. Your head slumps back down and not a single person on the bus would misunderstand your emotions. You take the longest way home, unsure if you even deserve to go back. Any time, you could give up. Ponder your choices. Never going to get a job again. Never going to school. Never will have a chance to learn or a chance to improve. Never going to have money and never will have a place to live. Never going to see Hyejoo again. You have to give up.

One missed phone call from your polar opposite. She can do so much better. The longest way home turns longer when it goes straight to the sea as you decide to live life as a fisherman with your uncles. You were always invited. You wasted your time in the city. There's no stress here.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

There's no happiness either. Weeks passed even though only days passed. That’s life on the water. Everything spins. Fortunately, you manage to keep your stomach in not wanting to inconvenience the bus driver, the only other person in the vehicle.

You look at your watch as you near Hyejoo's home. She must be asleep by now but you carry each foot heavily when you walk up the steps anyway. Apologies, excuses and petitions that you wrote in your head blank away when you open the door when you see a woman asleep on the couch with earbuds on. Her unconscious head bounces to a slow rhythm. Your lungs fail your mouth's movements to form words because of all that creamy skin covered only by a green towel that creates an outline of her captivating curves. Hyejoo's legs beg to be licked and her collarbones direct your gaze to the bulging flesh poking from the top of the towel with her nipples an inch from your sight. Any other day and you’d ravage her on the spot. Stupid brain tells you to leave and stupid you follows.

You're outside when you hear Hyejoo say, "Hey! Motherfucker, where'd you go you son of a bitch?"

She steps out with no regard to her state of dress and you spin around watching for any witness. You notice her hold back when she hits you but her consecutive punches send a message anyway as each strike punctuates her words, "What, makes you think, you can worry me, like that?"

"Woah, you should. You should get back inside your house," your voice breaks and you back away.

"Hold on now, you're really about to go? Like this?" Hyejoo says.

"You. You look busy. I have to go."

"I'm sorry, I was just messing around with you. Come on, you're really telling me-" She notices your tumultuous expression and sighs. “Fuck it, we'll worry about it tomorrow. First of all, come in. With me. Into our home.”

You follow her into her apartment. She quickly returns from her room in a simple white tee and red gym shorts revealing the supple shape of her ass.

“I'm not gonna ask, okay? Tell you what. When you have a problem, the only answer is late night soju, beer and?” she says.

“Chicken, it’s gotta be. Come on, I see the bones right there.” You point to the countertop dishes. “I’m surprised this place isn’t messier."

"I can handle myself, thank you very much. And that. That was leftover, dry, sober chicken. We're going to munch down on that good crispy skin and we're doing it goddamn wasted." You can't help but match her smile, more radiant and genuine than yours.

Hyejoo pulls out all the alcohol from the small fridge while you call for delivery before both of you step outside the home. It’s night but the heat would make you believe the moon disguises the sun with how it shines on the green roof. What a weird fall. Only the trees remind you of the season. A short plastic table as the only furniture easily moved outside means that you’d have to sit close together on the floor, not that you minded.

Her silence confuses you but she becomes her usual self after you both down glasses of mixed beer and soju and especially after she sees the delivery man bringing an absurd amount of plastic bags for two people.

“Let’s. Go!” she shouts sloppily.

The poor worker looks at you so you give him a knowing nod and point to the beer and soju cans strewn about. His thumbs up as he walks away beguiles you. You look at Hyejoo and realize all the cleavage she’s showing with the shirt she chose. It's as revealing as the towel she wore earlier. Did she not put on a bra? Stand up quickly and search for the guy but his motorcycle revs and he’s already out of sight. That fucker probably saw something he shouldn’t have. You’re never gonna order from that chicken spot again. You bite angrily into the spicy crispy wing. Alright, maybe you just won’t order at this hour or whenever that dude works. Hyejoo chows down with drumsticks on each hand and it’s clear she’s responsible for a majority of the finished carcasses. The stains on her shirt would not make her look any less goddamn cute.

“Cheers!” Glasses clink. How many drinks, how many, burp, were you down? She burps too, you burp together. It’s funny. There was a lot of conversation but it slips you.

"I said I wouldn't talk about it, but Doyun and Michael, worried sick. They came here, everything.” Hyejoo garbles her words.

"Just ‘cause I don't show up to the club for a few days?"

"I'm telling you, a lot of people care. For you. I know I do."

It’s been a while since you started your little escape. All the food’s gone. You’re more sober now. You swear. The nighttime is so comfortable that Hyejoo brings out her blanket to lay on, along with a spoon and a watermelon.

"You're gonna have to wash this later," you say.

“Alright fine. Don't. Don’t rest yourself besides a pretty lady.“ Stab. ”On a perfect starry night.” Stab. “And don’t have some of this delicious watermelon."

One more stab at the watermelon she splits it open. Her devilish look suggests she might do the same to your rib cage if you don’t acquiesce. Lie down next to Hyejoo on the flimsy layer of cloth. You share pieces of the fruit and notice water spilling down her mouth. Definitely sober by now. She’s maybe half a meter away.

"Starry's a strong word to use.” You twirl your finger at the scarce lights in the black backdrop. “Lady too with the way you eat-" She playfully covers your mouth and flicks your forehead.

You don't know when your laughter and banter slow down, or when you start inching closer to her. It doesn't matter.

“Fishing is boring. They make it look all dramatic on shows and you’re just waiting. The night sky’s much clearer though.”

“You gotta. When you do something like that, gotta lemme join in at least.”

“You’re really fine on going on a trip with a man, alone, faraway on the sea?”

“If it’s you.”

“I don’t count, not much of a man at all. I just run away from shit and-”

"Shhh,” she shushes you loudly. “You can count on me.” Hyejoo says and you don’t let her voice project into empty space.

“I will.” It sounds a little forced from you.

“You will,“ she sounds so sure of herself, ”you’ll be okay.”

Your head lays in her neck. A finger in a cup, breaking surface tension so a drop escapes past the rim. You have no outdated sentiments on displaying emotion but you held back often pretending your tenacity was as strong as your body. Not this time. Your cup overflows.

Only moonlight refracts on your tears and Hyejoo wipes them away. You have no idea what she’s thinking as she gazes into the few stars visible in the city. Turn on your side and Hyejoo does likewise to face you then puts a couple of fingers in your hair. Cup her face in return and it wears many emotions, such as impishness, meekness at a few times, and an often impenetrable focus, but above all it’s the standard for beauty in how it assumes no blemish. Her triangle mouth is distinct, welcoming, but you hesitate. Her minute sugary fragrance overwhelms the variety of smells in the air. Crickets and distant occasional traffic. Hyejoo’s head tilts forward then places her lips light on yours and your world is silent. Your heart’s pulse slows so it doesn't interrupt.

“Captain,” you exhale out when she finally retreats her mouth. The name sounds ridiculous in this setting. “Ma’am?”

“Whatever sounds right to you,” she yields, though the subdued caresses on the definition of your arms, and less subtle grabs on your black shirt, convey that she’s in charge even if it’s a gentle direction. "Just Hyejoo is fine."

It's like she’s teaching you how to spar for the first time though neither of you are virgins. Hyejoo gives another kiss then turns you recumbent. You could not and would not stop her now especially when she straddles your denim covered thighs. Take off your shirt and her hands rush to aid you.

“But I’d prefer we don’t think at all.” Is she drooling?

“That’s what got me into trouble. Thoughtlessness.” Your eyes somehow wander away from the woman and her sumptuous yet clothed ass grinding on you.

“What do you think of me?

“Huh?” you say and your eyes snap back to her.

The underside of her shorts warm your groin. “I said, what do you think of me?”

“I think, ugh,” her weight striking a sensitivity in your pants makes you moan, “I think, you’re the most beautiful woman I know.”

“What a player. Well, that’s all you need to think.” Hyejoo rocks back and forth. “Fuck, this is going to be good.”

Lay your hands on her hips and Hyejoo takes your right one, lifting herself just enough to let your dick breathe.

“Why do you need that hand?” you say.

“Feel this.” She takes your hand to knead the thin cloth under her mound and you feel just the tiniest hint of moisture build on your palm.

Pull away to take a base whiff of your slippery fingers. It’ll be a new addiction. The smell of alcohol and the most delicious fried chicken in the world couldn’t compare.

"It's been like this around you since the day we met." Hyejoo bends down and etches every word of the confession into your eardrums, her tone even raspier. "This is all for you."

“Really?” You give her a peck and it turns frisky when tongues join the mix and teeth nibble at lips.

“Mhm.” Her lips vibrate on yours. Hyejoo gropes your crotch over your jeans. “I know it's going to be perfect.” She unzips and pulls down your pants to your knees. You take them off your legs completely and she searches for your wallet.

"I just lost my job and you're gonna rob me?" She breaks her serious character with a snicker. You sniffle and your mood lightens, “And how’d you know I had a condom in there?”

“Just had a feeling.” She winks.

Not an implausible cold reading but you can't count out the possibility of her snooping through your personal effects. You don't mind her proclivities this time. Hyejoo traces your every muscle’s curve with her index and middle finger and focuses especially around your pecs.

“I have to concede. I love these muscles of yours. Ever since that first day I met you at the open house. Maybe I’m just a simple woman.”

“Simplicity is sophistication.” Her fingers draw a line down your torso.

"Indeed. But I'm most interested in this hunk of meat right," she frees your cock from its confines, "Here." Hyejoo licks her lips.

“How is it?”

You’re already hard but Hyejoo's hands deftly work your shaft stiffer. “It’s so thick and this vein right here. It’ll hit just right.”

"Fuck, Hyejoo," you utter when she spits a little on your cock before she unrolls the condom on your erection. Hyejoo slips aside her shorts.

You don't get a view of her pussy with how she sprawls herself on top of you, but the slickness of her lips and the warmth that she emanates from between her legs immerses your senses enough. The missionary with her on top lets her control by the way she guides your cock and presses down on you.

“Oh god, I was right, fuuck,” Hyejoo proclaims when she sinks herself carefully into you and, on the next bounce, smacks her butt right into your waist. Her snugness clenches and quakes on your cock. Willowy arms share a similar hold of your body when she embraces you. You need her as badly as she needs you. You take heavy breaths, especially through your nose. Even her sweat is so alluring. The velvet texture that surrounds you keeps taut on your dick no matter how forcefully she rides herself on top of you. Squelches and quiet moans to a higher power pepper the warm night air.

Hyejoo removes her shirt and slings it away before bowing back down to lick your ears "God, your tits are perfect," you say even though your hands squeeze her buttcheeks in time to her thrusts. Her perky breasts recoil back and forth as they rub your chest while hard nipples juxtapose their softness.

No chance someone would come up to this little rooftop at this hour or have a good view though your cheeks flush at the thought. What if you had extra chicken coming? Or what if the landlady decided to check in on you two late at night? What if-

Hyejoo nudges her forehead against yours. She knows your habits. Your worried face is too familiar for her not to react so she nuzzles your neck and surrounds you with kisses.

Her husky voice vibrates your whole face. "Just focus on me." She makes out with you before her tongue dips into every crevice of your face the same way your cock does in her pink pussy.

Your dick slips out for a second and you take the time to admire her beauty and your fortune.

“Telling me not to drown and you’re going to inundate me,” you say in between her smooches, "With all these kisses."

“Well. Mwah.” Another peck. "You're so delectable.”

“So I’m just chicken to you then.” This deep kiss is probably to shut you up. You’re fine with that.

Regret on her mouth that she pulls away from you. One of you rips off her shorts, the last piece of clothing obstructing you two from total symmetry. Who cares who sees. You’re both fully naked with not a woe for the surrounding world. Delicate hands splayed across your upper body grasp tightly and again, your pecs get particular attention while she fondles your nipples.

She adjusts her back straight up and now she’s on her knees seated on your erection. The cowgirl stance allows her to find a new cusp of your cock head inside her. Hyejoo gyrates on you and you notice the understated lubrication of her pussy begins to overpower everything else in existence. Her musk vaguely reminds you of the ocean while its pheromones have you just as wobbly. It’s enough that, even though you're on your back, you have to hold her waist to avoid keeling over. Nails dig into your chest.

“God, yes, you, your cock, everything, just fuck into me.”

Hyejoo relaxes her body weight and relinquishes the rhythm to you. Pick up a new wind in your sails when you hear her gasp as you pinch her nipples. The momentum has you use all your stamina as though your rigorous fitness had one culminating purpose. You would make Hyejoo cum with only your cock. Rotate and circle your pelvis in pursuit of her most tender spot and an uncharacteristic high pitched wail confirms the location of the treasure. It’s difficult holding yourself up to reach the sensitive wall but she realizes your shared interest.

“That’s, that’s the spot. When I touch myself and think of you, it’s right there, fuck, it’s right there.” There’s no speed or power in your movement, only deliberate jabs and graceful nudges at the softest flesh. Sure it’s work, but damn did you get paid for it since she somehow sops even more between her thighs. Truly the reciprocating delight of friction and silkiness on your dick’s tip is worth it. Your name mixes profanities and wet slapping noises as Hyejoo bucks her hips in climax. Prized juices cascade all over your lap. Her highest vocalizations pierce your ears and her pussy tries its best to milk you but Hyejoo keeps as still as she can to hold your cock’s ideal positioning. Smear the fluids that coat her thighs slick with your hands and lick at your fingers, thirsty like you’re stranded.

Those thighs, by smothering your cock and removing your condom, soothe the pangs of when you pull out. Hyejoo is still in her cowgirl position reeling from her climax and her contorted face is yet more polished than any art you’ve consumed.

Seize the opportunity. Bend your dick forward. The topside of your shaft now rubs on her well-formed ass cheeks, moisturized by the wetness on your cock. Its cradle is different from her pussy's with perfect round cushions in her buns and a tight asshole that greets and tempts your shaft every time you thrust. It’s a siren call you’d have to answer another day. Fucking her bare buttcheeks satisfies you plenty enough.

She lifts up to let your erection return to its idle upward stance and you fuck her thighs in response. Her labia gnaws away at the bottom of your shaft and it begs you to shove it back in especially with how its liquor intoxicates your dick. You don’t forfeit, already overwhelmed by the thickness of her legs and her saliva dribbling from her mouth to help her juices. Hyejoo squirms as you repeat fucking her ass cheeks and fucking her thighs, and it makes the both of you feel heady. Alcohol and lack of sleep would probably do that too.

“Please. Hyejoo,” you implore, flexing your cock to scrape by her pussy lips.

“You want to?” She teases your bare tip but even just the spread of her satin pink on your head makes you shoot just a little. “I. I dunno.”

“Can we?”

“No.” You regret your loud sigh and feel selfish since you already had more satisfaction than one man could ever experience in his life. ”No, not no. No, as in no thinking.”

Plunge back into her wetness. Your cycle in and out continues with you eager to make her climax a second time. Maybe it’s the third time? The only thing you can recall is that this round, you can feel every corner of her pussy on your shaft tensing and relaxing without the latex protection. All of everything is a blur. Hyejoo could be clutching and ogling your muscles. She might be kissing your neck or maybe she’s bobbing up and down to show off her tits and her tummy. God, that midriff would look perfect coated in your cum. You could live forever with Hyejoo mounted on your cock and riding. A ringtone interrupts forever once again. It’s from that number. What was that number? Fuck it, no thinking. Her bouncing tits hypnotize you away from substantiality.

She snaps her fingers. “Hey! Hey. This is, fuck that feels so good, god your cock is just right. Ah fuck, I really think you should answer that.” You take an eternity to slow your boat. Hyejoo points to your phone on the table next to you. Work. She’s right. Both of you take a second to stabilize your breathing. Try to push her off but she refuses, shifting her mass onto your lap and keeping her pussy’s hold tight and warm on you.

“Really?” You groan, “You’re the one who told me to answer it.”

“It’s so late and they haven’t stopped calling.” She rests her head on your chest and yawns. “Your cock is sooo big in me. Don’t even need to move.”

Channel your practice silently jerking off to keep your cool though years of doing that couldn’t prepare you for this. Your hands certainly tried but never could imitate her pussy’s plush tightness. Really wish you didn’t have to but finally, you answer your phone after minutes of ringing. The voice on the other side mumbles a greeting. Didn’t expect to hear him. “Joonho. Why the fuck are you calling now?”

“It’s me! Joonho.”

“Yeah, I know. The hell you calling for?”

“Now that’s no way to speak to your boss, is it?”

“Huh?”

“I said that’s no way to speak.”

“I got that!”

“Hyung. That asshole, management fired him.”

“You telling me-”

“Yeah, they caught him stealing.”

“How the fuck?”

“Dude got too big for his britches and aimed up with his theft too. Mr. Son really didn’t like that shit.”

You cheer in your head. It wakes up the girl resting on you. Guess that wasn’t in your head. “Fuck man.”

"I know right. Fuck him!" You're not on speaker but Hyejoo must’ve heard him say that. You massage your ringing ear.

“Ow. But thank you. Seriously, it’s so late. You could’ve called me tomorrow.”

“I’m drunk as shit man. Sounds like you are too.” You don’t even realize how much you’re slurring your words. “Should I pull up, maybe we drink a little more?”

Stare at the woman still holding your cock in place, fluttering her lashes at you. Hyejoo mouths if you’re gonna take much longer. “I. I don’t think I will. We’ll have to meet up some other time, okay?”

Understanding that you’re winding down your call, she gets back upright and starts bouncing again. “You gonna pass out or something?” Joonho says.

“Something like that” Hyejoo teasingly drops her waist into you and waits, then lifts herself. You purse your lips. “Listen, ah.” And again. Purposeful slams into your cock too loud not to be picked up by a phone. “God. I gotta go, I’ll text you again tomorrow aight goodbye,” you rush your words.

She holds her hair up in pleasure and her profane cries let everyone living below know that you’re fucking the most gorgeous girl with more energy than you’ve ever had. For all the pressure on your sensitive nerves, it’s that image of Hyejoo satisfying her need with your cock that brings you closer.

“I’m almost there! Fuck, fuck.” You pull out and despite her drowsiness, Hyejoo diligently takes your dick with both hands, scoots back and bends down, slobbering on it with her mouth while her fingers stroke the skin of your shaft.

Hyejoo’s lips pop when she releases your cock’s tip. “Where do you wanna-”

“Those fucking perfect abs,” you shudder.

She takes advantage of your previous thrusts’ zeal on her thighs and repositions herself in cowgirl one last time to bend back and choke your cock with her toned legs. One single motion is all it takes. A tsunami and a storm clash. Didn’t remind her that you hadn’t cum at all away at sea as you explode. You call out, “Hyejoo, god, yes, fuck, Hyejoo, yes,” at every wave of pleasure. Shove desperately and Hyejoo’s eyes grow big at how much semen streams out of your slit because the volume of cum nearly rivals the fluid she ejected from her wetness. Her inner thighs, her lap and her stomach all soak in stickiness. She holds onto your arms as she finds enjoyment not only from your cock’s throbbing on her clit, but at your biceps and other curves. An inquisitive pinky takes a sample of your cum to lick up then, to your surprise, she collects all the cum she can with both hands and swallows it down.

“Ahh,” she presents her tongue to you.

Finally, you sit up and no amount of exhaustion would stop you from nibbling her neck as thanks.

“Relax, you hungry beast. You just came all over me and now you’re trying to tell the world we just fucked.” She gives you a little suck on your lips instead.

“I don’t mind.” You clash at her mouth and your teeth click. She smiles and gives you a deep but final smooch. Both of you breathe stiltedly and take time to readjust into the world once again.

“Me neither, if I didn’t have a presentation tomorrow.”

You fall back and feel everything aching in a good way. “Ah shit, school.”

“What did I tell you earlier?”

“Hmm?”

Hyejoo falls flat next to you and clasps her hands into yours. “You will be okay. I called them with an excuse. Speaking of which. You’re gonna find out sooner or later that a certain cool as fuck girl blew the whistle on that son of a bitch.”

This whole thing feels like it should be temporary, like a one-time thing. Any more and it’d be weird, yet her confidence makes you reroute all that anxious energy in your heart’s pace into something good. It’s not love but, “Thanks. I just. Thank you.”

“You are always welcome.” Her lips curl up.

“So. You a snitch now, huh?"

"Relax,” she hisses the end of the word. ”Maybe I snooped through the construction company records, maybe I didn’t. You didn’t hear from me, ‘kay?" She nudges your side with her elbow.

“Hey!” You laugh a little, ticklish in that spot. “Okay, okay. How’d you manage that anyway?”

“Joonho didn’t mention it? Well, I have my connections,” Hyejoo says.

You breathe out and you deserve it. “You really are the Captain.”

“Damn right. Guess you’re stuck on this boat a little.” Yawn. “Longer.” Her eyelids slowly descend.

Watch Hyejoo fall asleep and realize she’s nude and still a little sticky. You decide to make a smart decision just once by putting away all the garbage in your apartment. She giggles reflexively when you clean her up and you struggle but manage to put on her previous outfit.

After you get dressed yourself, you lie next to Hyejoo and watch the few lights in the sky all distanced from each other. You feel a little reticent but the old lady shouldn’t fret if the outdoors is a better bedroom for one night. Close your eyes. Drift away into the best sleep you’ve ever had even if it’s only you and a blanket separate the hard concrete rooftop from the atmosphere. Dreams of water are gracious for once. The ocean lacks bounds and you smile for it. Who cares about tomorrow? It’s made of sticks and rope fashioned from whatever bamboo you could find but the raft holds two. That’s all you need.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

"A college roommate scenario where the male reader is living with LOONA's Olivia Hye and she's attracted to him sexually since he moved in due to his physique. Then one day, he got home all stressed and the two hooked up eventually." - @optimisticwritersworld

AFF, AO3

Pretty sure this was supposed to be all casual but then I started adding to explain the co-ed living scenario and the stress, so here we are. Watch out for more LOONA though no promises on timelines

#kpop smut #loona smut #request #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

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karimac · 3 years

Text

…in the details, Part 3

A/N: Warning for this series: 18+ audience (minors DNI), some cinematic level violence, some fluff and angst. Doubt that smut will be involved, but it may be implied. I’ll make sure that is noted clearly if it pops up.

All relationships, at this point anyway, are platonic.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

A bit about the OC Kari

Part 1

Part 2

All mistakes are my own.

Word count: 3,556

Well, that was not exactly the best idea, was it?

Dr. Darcy Lewis, unlike her colleague, Dr. Erik Selvig, was not a big fan nor an authority on any form of mythology. And the Irish history ask was a longshot at best.

So, here you were, in the coffee shop smack dab in the middle of Westview, talking to Dr. Lewis and getting nowhere fast.

“And, that’s not happening,” the astrophysicist grumbled as she set down her phone and took another sip of her beverage. It was some weirdly sweet concoction that looked like what humans thought rainbow-colored unicorn poop looked like. This world was not ready for what real magical beasts looked like. Most authors had not gotten all of that right in their books. No surprise there. No human really needed to see such things on a daily basis, and whoever had been the muses for those authors had covered up a lot.

“I take it Dr. Selvig has no clue on the Celtic Pantheon?” you asked as you sipped your very boring, light, non-sweet hot coffee. The barista probably wanted to laugh when you ordered it, but he did his best to stifle his snicker. “It was a very long reach on my part, Dr. Lewis. I’m sorry I roped you into this.”

“You can call me Darcy because you actually acknowledge my academic status,” the brunette said as she flipped her phone over again. “So, Thor is off in space. You don’t want me calling Falcon or his pal with the metal arm. Captain Marvel isn’t on your contact list. Ant Man and The Wasp? They can be sort of science geeks, right? Wait. Banner? Is he OK to call?”

Before you could open your mouth, Darcy was texting Banner off her own phone. “You know Bruce?”

“I met him at some meet and greet at MIT before the world went poof,” Darcy replied as she set her phone back down and seemed to be praying Banner would actually return her text. “Stark was there, too, but Banner was the one I got coffee with. Sweet guy, you know, even if he gets all green sometimes.”

As you sipped your coffee, you noticed a few people giving you odd looks. It made you very nervous. “Maybe we should finish up and get back on the road?” you asked Darcy as you quietly motioned toward the other patrons getting their daily fix of caffeine.

“Yeah, bubbe isn’t answering me anyway,” Darcy said as she picked up her phone and got up from her chair. By now there were several residents blocking the exit. “What is your problem? We paid. We’re busing our table. Then we’re leaving.”

“Are The Avengers going to hunt her down?” one woman in the back of the group asked as Darcy looked back toward you and mouthed the word “Help” before turning back to the crowd. The questioner was loud, but you couldn’t see her because of the big delivery man standing in front of her with a huge pile of Amazon packages. “Why did you come back?”

It was time to vamp. With an apparently faulty memory, this was going to be interesting.

“Before you all ask about what is going to happen regarding Wanda Maximoff, I want you all to know I have no authority to speak for The Avengers. I have never been a true member of the team. I helped them at a time when things were beyond bleak for this world. It was an honor and a privilege. But I am not a spokesperson. I am not a team leader.”

“Then why did you come here?” a man with glasses, holding a briefcase, asked from the line where he was waiting for his order. “Then and now?”

“I came the first time because I was looking for my friend. I was pulled into that nightmare just like you were. I wish I had been able to help her before any of this happened.”

“But you have powers, right? Couldn’t you have shut her down, hot stuff?” the first woman added as she moved to the front. Then you recognized her. Agatha Harkness. If Wanda kept her alive, there was a reason for it, and all the pain you had rising in your core had to be tamped down fast. Harkness had hurt Wanda, and that would have to be addressed one day. You were good at playing the long game.

“Taking her out in any sort of power stunt could have jeopardized your lives. I was not sure what she did to make it all happen, and I was not going to risk your lives. I’m sorry it wasn’t put to an end sooner. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to get to a meeting regarding the incident here,” you said as you and Darcy pushed through the crowd and back out to the street.

“OK, what was all that? Spin? Or are you remembering something?” Darcy asked as you got back into her car. You had left your rental on the outskirts of town. Better to travel as a unit until your business here was concluded.

“I remember a couple of things from that mess,” you said as you tried to keep your hands from shaking. “I remember Wanda and Vision’s sons. Billy and Tommy. I remember the house where I lived. Can we drive out to where Wanda had her house? Maybe that will help?”

Darcy pulled out of the parking space and made the lefts and rights to the lot where Wanda’s house had been. The one you were living in was in a lot right next to it. It was empty now, too, but you got out of the car anyway and stood in the center of the patch of dirt. You closed your eyes and held your breath as you tried to piece together what had happened. And then you started to cry as you fell to your knees.

“Whoa, slow down,” Darcy said as she ran and knelt beside you. “What did you see?”

“It’s weird. Wanda came over one day and more or less apologized to me because she couldn’t give me my real happy ending. I can show you, if you’ll let me…”

“Go into my mind?” Darcy protested before you could wave her off the idea. “No Vulcan mind melds for me today, thanks.”

“No, I carry this mirror, and you can see memories in it. Trust me, I do not use telepathy as a first line of anything. I tried it once, to help a friend, but it just caused more problems,” you groaned as you pulled the mirror out of your backpack. You waved your hand over it, and Darcy could now see what had happened with Wanda.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find them and bring them here,” the Sokovian said quietly as she walked around the 1980s version of what was your living room. It was way too pastel for your liking, but the hints of fuchsia, orchid and teal in the overall cream and light gray design weren’t so bad. You had a couple of cats there with you. One was an orange tabby with a penchant for eating tuna at any given moment. He was warm and affectionate and just a ray of sunshine dressed in fur. The other was as white as the driven snow, but his own cuddly disposition came through. He was the one who would leave you weird gifts every morning. Rocks, feathers, and yes, the occasional dead mouse would be at the foot of your bed each sunrise. You’d find out at the end of that nightmare that the cats were only constructs of Wanda’s chaos magic.

“I know you miss the three of them,” she continued as she pointed to a framed picture of Steve, Bucky and Sam, all decked out in appropriate 1980s clothes that made them look like they ran away from some cop drama. “It’s probably better that there aren’t too many Avengers here anyway. Vis is getting concerned. And this way, well, no one needs to know which one you would have chosen. I know. You know. So you can always talk to me. Like we did before. But I gave you the wedding ring to make sure no one came on to you. Just in case I can get him here soon.”

As you showed Darcy the memory, a tiny part of you was screaming that this whole scenario seemed wrong. You watched Wanda’s crimson glow float around you as she spoke. You vaguely remembered The Morrigan trying to kick some sense back into your addled brain, but Wanda’s world was much too enticing to let your other self come to the fore. You wanted the damned happily ever after with the husband and the house and everything that meant in the modern American ethos. You had rationalized things for years in such a way that you’d never let yourself get it. That was why no one was here to hug you at night like Wanda had Vision. Maybe that fact alone was enough to crack Wanda’s hold on you a bit more than she realized?

But you also had to admit that you wanted to be there for Wanda in case things went south. That much was clear from the moment you showed up in Westview the first time.

“How come you didn’t just zap her? Fight back?” Darcy asked as you fully shifted to the present day and paused the memory.

“Because she wasn’t wrong. I did miss Bucky, Steve and Sam. I missed Banner, too, because they were, in the end, the ones still here that cared if I lived or died. And Spider-Man. Which is random and weird, but he did. And frankly, what I said in the coffee shop was true. I had no idea what my powers would do to her spell. I could have leveled the town. That was not an option.”

“So, that Agatha woman…” Darcy started to say and then stopped. “Wait. That was her? In the coffee shop? That was why you were acting so weird?”

“Yeah. Wanda could have killed her or taken Agatha away with her to imprison her. She didn’t. After what Agatha tried to do to Wanda, to try and take her powers, Wanda had every right to finish her off. But Wanda doesn’t likely know all that yet. There are rules set up from ages ago. Things witches can and can’t do to each other under specific circumstances. So Wanda left her trapped here—for now anyway. But, whatever happened with them, it affected me, too. I got hit with stray magic blasts. I’m betting it messed up my powers in ways I didn’t realize. And maybe my memories as well.”

As Darcy knelt there, her phone finally chimed. It was some weird little R2-D2 chirpy beep, and she looked elated as she showed you the message. “Seems Bruce still cares if you are OK or not. I don’t think bringing him here is such a great idea…”

“Did anyone send him data about what happened here?” you asked as you got to your feet, pocketing some of the dirt from the lot before you stood up. “Air and soil samples? Readings from the residents?”

“I can get them for him. Trust me, Jimmy Woo and Monica Rambeau would be more than happy to help. I’m glad that loon Hayward seems to have gone into hiding or was hauled away to The Raft,” Darcy noted as she checked her phone again. “Seems the doc is working out of a Stark lab here in Jersey. Road trip?”

You really didn’t want to go see Bruce. You had no idea how you’d explain any of what you did to him.

++++++++++

You rehearsed what you planned to tell Bruce a million times in your mind as Darcy drove along the Garden State Parkway to a place called Woodcliff Lake. Stark Industries did indeed have a lab there, and it made you want to scream as you walked into the facility. You did not need yet another reminder that you could not save Tony Stark’s life at the end of that final battle with Thanos. That was part of why you were in this mess in the first place. It was also why you had a screaming fight with Stephen Strange, but no one else knew about that yet.

“Dr. Banner? We’re here!” Darcy yelled as you walked toward what had to be the research wing. The lack of security in the place was a bit disturbing, but then again, there were probably booby traps built into every square inch of the place. You could just hear Tony now as you got closer to the lab area. It would likely have been close to the speech you got the first time he talked to you at the compound.

“Hey! Lucky Charms! Don’t touch any of the expensive stuff. I guess that means don’t touch anything. I still have no idea why you are hanging around the team except that Steve wants you here for some reason. Maybe you’re tied to…his friend…and I just don’t want to face that? Still have issues with all of that, even if the man is dead. Pepper and Morgan said I should be nice to you, but I’m not quite there yet after what happened in Berlin. They are better people than I’ll ever be.”

“Earth to Kari?” you finally heard Bruce say as he waved his massive green hand in front of your face. Then he realized why you were likely spacing out. "Dr. Lewis, can we have a minute?”

“You can call me Darcy, if I can call you Bruce?” Lewis said as Banner nodded to her. “Cool. I’ll go find the little scientist’s room and be right back,” she added as she left the lab.

“So,” Bruce started as he pointed you toward a set of chairs at one side of the lab, “Darcy filled me in via text. I have no idea what happened with Wanda, and I know none of us know where she is. I did call a friend who wants to help,” he noted as a swirling circle of yellow light formed near the window that looked out over the parking lot. “I figured you’d listen to him, and he knows more about this stuff than I do.”

“What did you do?” Wong shouted as he exited the portal. “You usually listen to reason. Why did you go after Wanda all alone?”

“I went to help Wanda. She was hurting. She watched Vision die twice. She lost Pietro. I can relate to all that very, very well. My twin Branan died in front of my eyes, too, and I’ve buried two husbands. Both died in battle. I just wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. But she…she hit all my vulnerable points. And she was under attack at the same time. From a woman named Agatha Harkness and from the director of SWORD. Some martinet named Hayward. He built another Vision. I think Hayward was using Wanda’s powers to bring him to life. Darcy is going to check in with some of the people who worked with her to get you more intel, Bruce.”

“Another version of Vision? Great,” Bruce muttered as he looked over at Wong. “As for this Harkness person…”

“The name rings very small bells, so I’ll need to do some research,” Wong noted as you bumped your left fist against your forehead. “What?”

“Harkness is a succubus. And she is old. Not as old as I am, but she is still a good 400 years old, give or take a day. She apparently survived the Salem Witch Trials. Wanda spelled her and left her in Westview. I think she is, at least in small ways, aware that her world is all wrong. I didn’t want to press it when I saw her in that coffee shop. We do not need an angry succubus flying around. Wong, they got into an aerial battle, and Wanda was using sigils, runes, whatever you want to call them, to focus her power. I think she picked that up from good old Aggie. I never showed her anything like that on purpose. I always suspected she had magic in her bones, but it wasn’t my place to start that fire. The bigger issue is that Wanda conjured up two children while she was there. She created cats for me, so anything is possible. I got knocked out by the end of the fight, so I have no idea what exactly happened in the end other than Wanda running off and Agatha being left behind for some reason.”

“And?” Wong asked as he started to look you up and down. “You did a spell? And it went bad? Your aura is all messed up.”

“I…I tried to do a spell so The Avengers would think of me less and less, and then eventually I’d just be a fleeting memory. I felt walking away in the dead of night, the thing I usually do when I am leaving town, would not be good enough. The spell got botched, and now I’m connected in some fashion to Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Looking back at it, I spent more time with them in the days leading up to my departure. Steve and Bruce were there the day I left, and so were Sam and Bucky. And…I’m carrying a lot of guilt about Bucky after his accident in 1943.”

“All this on top of the magical circus Wanda made? Are you insane?” Wong yelled as he started to pace.

“And the fight I had with Stephen on the day of the battle. Yeah, I guess I am insane,” you replied as Wong threw up his hands. Bruce had gotten extremely quiet, and that was not a good thing.

“Before we get to dissecting your spell, Kari, was this because of what Tony said? About you not being an Avenger because you were…?”

“Unstable? Yes. And the fact I could not bring anyone back from the grave, especially during that last battle. And the fact about who killed his parents. Buck did while under Hydra control. Steve found out and never told Tony. I ran into The Winter Soldier a few times over the decades, so there was the chance I could have prevented their deaths, too. Tony really had no reason to ask me to join the band.”

“Once we get your spell problem sorted, then we will address this, too,” Bruce said as he looked toward Wong and shook his head. “I loved Tony like a brother, but he was wrong…”

You winced a few times as you tried to listen to Bruce and Wong, now joined once again by Darcy, as they tried to figure out how to fix or reverse that spell, and they hashed out what might have happened to you during that first trip to Westview. You were really trying to focus on their questions, but you felt a tug that no one else could ever have possibly felt.

“Baltimore,” you mumbled as you pulled out your cellphone and debated texting the person you felt tugging at that damned invisible string. No. That would have ended badly, especially since your original spell had gone haywire.

“Bucky Barnes was arrested?” Darcy asked as she showed you her phone alert. “I bet he punched that new fake Cap in the nose. Sorry, but that guy looks like he has no clue. I saw him on Good Morning America. Total cheese fest.”

“Wait. What?” you asked as you took her phone. “Sam didn’t keep the shield? I just hope Bucky didn’t punch Sam and wind up in jail for that!” You gave Darcy back her phone and looked at yours again. It was buzzing. “Anyone here know who the hell is Christina Raynor?” you asked the trio in front of you. No one had any clue about that. You hit the speaker button as you answered the call.

“Hello? Ms. MacOrish. I’m James Barnes’ therapist, Christina Raynor. Sam Wilson said I should give you a call and ask you to join us in Baltimore. As quickly as possible, if you can. I don’t think Mr. Barnes wants to spend the night in a holding cell.”

“Oh no, you are not going to Baltimore,” Wong said as he crossed his arms and got a stern look on his face. “Not while your head is all over the place. You could portal to Baltimore in the 1800s for all you know. You could end up eating lunch with Lord Baltimore in the 1700s. You really shouldn’t do this.”

“Wong, what better place for me to go than to see a therapist?” you said with a smirk as you opened your own portal, this one a lovely shade of emerald green, that went to where Raynor was waiting for you—outside an interrogation room at the city jail.

“Mr. Wilson said you’d be fast. He did not tell me you were one of the powered class,” Raynor said as you went through the portal, looking back to wave briefly as you heard Darcy’s last comment.

“What about your rental car?”

#avengers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #sam wilson x oc #bruce banner x oc #wong x oc #darcy lewis x oc #avengers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #bruce banner #wong mcu #darcy lewis #my mcu oc #my ocs are my babies #my oc writing

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mopeytropey · 3 years

Text

a beer bud series: chapter 11

author’s note: times are tough. stay safe. read some fluffy fic. take care of each other.

Timeline: this is set just before Lincoln and Octavia's wedding, probably in the realm of chapters 11 and 12 of apu, after Clarke has given Lexa a key and asked her to move in (because they are both too gay to function)

Beer: La Ferme Urbaine FARMHOUSE ALE

Influenced by the Belgian saison style, La Ferme Urbaine features a complex blend of German hops, pilsner and pale malts, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. The beer pours a hazy straw color and delivers a spicy, dry finish.

ABV 7.8%

Posted to AO3 here, or below the cut:

:::

“This is going to require some intense renovations.” Lexa stands with her hands in her front pockets, neck craned towards a dilapidated two-story house on a small corner lot. Its Victorian architecture is nearly eclipsed by peeling paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch, but the way Lincoln’s face beams, it’s as if the house shows no signs of disrepair. “You sure you’re up to task?”

“Hell, yeah.” Lincoln’s confidence is as strong as the late afternoon sun, glaring in a burning orange glow as it reflects off the windows of the historic city buildings surrounding them.

He then launches into an animated diatribe of improvements and restoration projects, pacing the perimeter of the property as he gestures to certain aspects of the house with broad hands. He and Octavia have likely discussed these visions of their future home endlessly as they await inspection reports and closing signatures to make everything final. Their initial offer had been accepted almost immediately, and Lexa has to believe it is thanks to, in part (if not entirely), the authenticity of her good friend’s charming demeanor.

“It’ll be a massive undertaking, but with the right help—”

“You planning to swing a sledge with me during the demo stage?” Lincoln grins.

“God, no.” Lexa nearly shudders. “Though I imagine Clarke might enjoy the destructive release of aggression after some of her more challenging bar shifts.”

Lincoln chuckles and returns to stand by Lexa’s side as they continue to gaze up at the house. “Yeah, Octavia too.”

“I’m so excited for you.” Lexa smiles up at him, nudging their shoulders together as Lincoln meets her eye with a grin of his own. “About everything.”

His upcoming nuptials (which have explicitly been banned from being referred to as a wedding) are less than two months away, and Lincoln hopes to have the keys to their new house in hand before the ceremony. He and Octavia seem happier than ever—real life exemplars of a healthy, supportive relationship between two friends in love. Lexa feels a kindred satisfaction at having found something similar with Clarke. Perhaps no one would have predicted these outcomes, but she and Lincoln have done rather well for a couple of kids who spent years feeling unwanted and unloved.

“What can I say: I’m living my best life.”

“Truly,” Lexa laughs, leaning into the nook of Lincoln’s armpit as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Even for early April, the weather has warmed, and the sun hangs in the sky for longer intervals. There’s no longer a bite in the air, even in the cooler, evening temperature. The breezes coming in off of the harbor have a fresh scent, like rejuvenation in the air that will soon breed blossoms on all the trees and fresh shoots of grass beneath their feet.

Lexa is perfectly comfortable in her jeans and a soft, grey henley layered with a pastel flannel that she has permanently borrowed from Clarke’s side of the closet. A closet that they now share in an official capacity. Lexa’s mouth slopes into a stupid grin at the thought of their now shared space. Her stomach swoops because of the new gold key in her pocket that she can feel between her fingers.

“I could say the same for you,” Lincoln tells her, somehow reading her thoughts. “You get all your stuff moved in yet?”

Her breath stutters at the mention of it, at the vision of scattered boxes and her random belongings that have slowly infiltrated Clarke’s space. “My lease isn’t up until the end of the month, so I’ve been moving things gradually.”

“Not ready to fully commit, huh?” Lincoln jabs with a teasing grin.

“I feel exceptionally confident about it, thank you very much.”

“What? Just like that?” Lincoln laughs. “Where is the torturous, internal Lexa struggle? Where are the mountains of anxiety about making the wrong call or moving too fast? Is this what four months as Clarke’s girlfriend has done to you?”

Lexa shrugs as if her chest hasn’t just snapped like a rubber band at being called Clarke’s girlfriend, a title that still sparks jittery excitement. Particularly when she is still grasping the house key that Clarke has recently given her. “Apparently.”

“Well, it’s a good look on you.”

“Thanks.”

They’ve stopped at the house Lincoln intends to buy with Octavia on their way to food and beer at Dockside, having fallen into the habit of visiting the girls during their longest shift of the week. With the mention of Clarke and the newest development in their relationship, Lexa feels a sudden wave of impatience to continue their walk to the bar where she knows Clarke and Octavia will be waiting to greet them.

Lincoln releases a long, contented sigh. “Should we head down to see the girls?”

Lexa exhales in turn and attempts to answer in a measured and completely unhurried manner: “Sure.”

:::

It’s just shy of six when Lincoln pulls open the front door of Dockside, allowing Lexa to walk through into the familiar establishment. Her eyes perform a practiced scan of the room, but Clarke isn’t immediately visible as she and Lincoln head straight for the half-empty bar counter.

Octavia is chatting with other customers as Lexa and Lincoln approach, but she winks at Lincoln, her mouth curving just so, mid-conversation, which has him beaming as he slides into a bar stool.

“That’s my future wife,” he stage whispers, and Lexa can’t help but smile at how ridiculous being in love with Octavia has made him.

They’d been more than halfway to the bar when Lexa had received an S.O.S from Clarke about caffeine and sudden fatigue and exaggerated pronouncements of loyalty, commitment, and sexual favors if Lexa would bring her coffee. Of course, it strictly goes against her better judgement to enable Clarke’s reliance on caffeine in unhealthy measurements.

Then again, Lexa has lost almost all ability to ever actually tell her no because being in love with Clarke has made her better judgements ridiculously feeble.

As such, she stands beside Lincoln with a small half-caf drip in a paper cup from Clarke’s favorite roaster, a generous concession without fully giving in to her girlfriend’s unredeemable habit.

“Clarke’s in the back if you want to bring that to her,” Octavia says as she approaches.

“Oh. Okay.” Lexa starts for the black swinging door of storage before Octavia calls out again.

“Sorry—not the stockroom. The other back.” She’s jutting her thumb over her shoulder when Lexa turns around, indicating the narrow corridor behind the bar counter that leads to Clarke’s office and the back entrance.

“Oh. Right. Thanks,” Lexa smiles. “I’ll be right back,” she says to Lincoln.

“I’m starting a timer on my phone,” he calls after her. “Just because I’m curious to see how long it takes you to deliver a cup of coffee.”

She just manages to stop herself from flipping him off before pushing through the door, leaving him with a meaningless scowl.

:::

Clarke looks up from whatever she’s been working on as Lexa steps into the open doorway with a smile she intends to curb by biting her lower lip.

“Hey.”

“Oh my god, I can't believe you actually brought me coffee. I love you.” Clarke says it offhand, a bit theatrically even, but Lexa’s stomach flip-flops all the same.

She enters the office with a slow stride and gently places the paper cup onto Clarke’s desk. “That’s half decaf, by the way.”

Clarke’s face falls as she eyes the beverage with sudden disdain. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we have to break up.”

“Ouch. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Get over here.” Clarke has already snared her wrist with a widening smile, pulling at Lexa’s arm so that she is forced to lean across the desk and meet Clarke’s waiting grin. “Hi,” she almost whispers after their lips part.

“Is this how you typically break up with people? Because it’s actually pretty enjoyable,” Lexa murmurs into the space between their lips.

“Shut up,” Clarke laughs before they are kissing again, Lexa’s palms flat against the desktop while Clarke’s fingers thread into her hair.

It’s still a soft greeting and nothing obscene—two people happy to be in the same space again after a short time apart—but Lexa feels the quickening of her pulse all the same.

“Thank you for my fake coffee.”

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

Never before has she felt so unapologetically mocked by a single person yet utterly enamored in spite of it. Lexa pinches her lips together and looks away from Clarke’s teasing smile.

“I have to get back out there,” she announces, finally pulling back to stand at her full height. “Lincoln thinks he’s being clever by setting a timer for my return.”

Clarke stands with a laugh. “I’ll come with you. I need a break from these orders anyway.” She holds her fake coffee with one hand and finds Lexa’s fingers with the other. She kisses Lexa’s shoulder cap and regards her fondly. “I’m never getting this shirt back, am I?”

“Especially not now that we’ve broken up.”

The genuine hurt that immediately darkens Clarke’s eyes coupled with her protruding lower lip stops Lexa from moving towards the office doorway.

She stills her movements entirely as Clarke says, “I don’t want to joke about breaking up anymore.”

“It was your joke to begin with,” Lexa softly reminds her, nevertheless smoothing the pad of her thumb over Clarke’s lower lip.

“I know,” Clarke says, frowning still. “It was a stupid joke, and I don’t like to think about it.”

A soft press of her lips to Clarke’s forehead has her leaning into the touch, releasing Lexa’s fingers to curl an arm around Lexa’s waist.

“If you think you would be able to get rid of me that easily, Clarke, we might need to revisit some previous conversations about my intentions in being with you.”

“I seem to recall some very persuasive measures that we engaged in alongside those conversations,” Clarke says, her smile pressing into Lexa’s neck where she has tucked her head beneath Lexa’s chin.

Lexa hums through a smile of her own. If she didn’t know Clarke so well, it would be easy to mistake her perpetual, single-minded focus on sex as a complete lack of sentimentality.

But, Lexa isn’t fooled.

Clarke thrives on crass innuendo and well-meaning objectification (both of herself and Lexa), but she can also be openly sensitive and affectionate. Vulnerable in her need to be near Lexa—to feel safe and connected—as often as possible.

Lexa can’t say for sure if they will always be so desperate for each other’s company, if small fractions of time spent apart will continue to breed an urgency for reuniting. She has been in enough relationships to know that attachments usually fade and the needs of each person most often change over time.

Still, something tells her that when it comes to this relationship, Clarke will break the mold of every truth Lexa has previously known.

“The point is: I’m not going anywhere,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke looks up at her with a renewed smile. “Although, you’re still not getting this shirt back.”

Clarke kisses the underside of her jaw and tightens the hold she has around her waist. “You can keep all of my shirts as long as I get to keep you.”

“Deal,” Lexa answers, finally leading them out of the office.

Lincoln will roast her for having taken an exorbitant amount of time to deliver Clarke’s coffee, but having Clarke hugged against her side, Lexa finds she doesn’t exactly care.

:::

In an hour’s time Lexa has been fed no less than six times—small plates of food from the kitchen’s rotating menu like an assembly line in front of her and Lincoln—and an empty beer glass is no sooner bussed than another full one appears. As it turns out, dating a bar manager and sustaining a lifelong friendship with her business partner’s fiancé is a pretty good gig for libations and keeping well fed. By 8:00, she’s not necessarily sober, but the continuous parade of appetizers that Octavia and Clarke slide in front of Lexa and Lincoln keep her from tipping over the edge into properly drunk.

“This one is my favorite.”

“You’ve said that about the last three.”

Lincoln crunches into his charred nopales and street corn tostada as if to be sure. “Nope. This is the one.”

Lexa smiles around a second bite of her Korean short ribs and savors the balanced marinade—a perfect blend of smoky sweetness and tangy spice.

She is washing it down with a saison from Rhode Island as Octavia swings out of the kitchen and approaches their end of the bar.

“How good is that corn?”

“The whole thing is amazing,” Lincoln tells her.

Octavia swipes an avocado off his plate without hesitation. “What about the Kalbi?”

It sounds conversational, the way that Octavia, as a friend, is asking Lexa about her meal. But, in spending the past year of her life in proximal relation to her, Lexa has determined that, in some capacity, Octavia is actually always working.

“These are easily some of the best short ribs I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah,” Octavia grins. “I’m obsessed with them. Jane has been on staff for less than two months, and she’s already killing it back there.”

“Be sure to extend my compliments to the chef. Beer is incredible, too,” Lexa adds.

“What did Clarke bring you this time? The Foolproof?”

“Their farmhouse, yeah.” Lexa’s attention is drawn to the kitchen doorway again as Clarke exits carrying plates of food. She doesn’t glance in their direction as she drops the plates farther down the bar, but her smile is warm and bright, and Lexa can’t look away.

There’s a generous crowd strung along the bar counter, plus a few of the nearby tables that keep rotating with guests who stay for a drink or two before heading off into the night. Clarke is engaging with the three men who have just received their plates of food, and Lexa’s ears attune to the friendly pitch of her voice while Octavia and Lincoln momentarily hold their own conversation.

Lexa sips her saison and enjoys the way Clarke handles herself in conversation—confident, approachable, friendly, but with a distant professionalism. It’s not until she registers the distinct tone of patriarchal arrogance coming from a few of Clarke’s guests that Lexa realizes Octavia and Lincoln have also clued into the nearby exchange.

From what Lexa can gather, over the din of other surrounding patrons, the men are attempting to challenge the accuracy of Clarke’s knowledge on one of Dockside’s pours. Clearly first-time patrons, to these men, Clarke is easily mistaken as the beautiful bartender in a nice dress with a friendly demeanor who pours their pints and delivers their food. They would never suspect that she is also the unassuming curator of every beer offered within the establishment and a well-read expert in the field of craft brewing.

If she didn’t find misogynistic biases against women in male-dominated fields to be nauseatingly unforgivable, Lexa would almost feel bad for what these guys have coming to them.

“This should be good,” Lincoln mutters with a deviant smile, and Lexa flicks her gaze to find Octavia looking half-amused, half-poised for lethal intervention.

In short, Clarke absolutely eviscerates the men’s inflated egos by seamlessly rattling off a short history on the brewery in question, explaining their evolution of kettle sours and dry-hopped IPAs with thrilling precision, all while maintaining her hospitable smile. The cohort of sexist men are left silenced and stunned as Clarke moves on to tend to the rest of the bar, leaving their gaping jaws in her wake.

“What a bunch of fucking morons,” Octavia grumbles with an eye roll just before another table of guests catches her attention and she is pulled away.

“I love it when she does that,” Lexa says, smiling in Lincoln’s direction.

“It is really gratifying to watch someone’s fragile masculinity skillfully shattered,” he agrees with a satisfied smile. “I’ll never understand it, that intrinsic need to be an expert on everything, but it’s entertaining as hell to see O and Clarke flex on these random assholes who waltz in here and mistakenly try to out-beer them.”

Lexa's smile widens as she and Lincoln clink their beer glasses together. “It really is.”

:::

“One strand of lights.”

“No.”

“A single banner. A classy one.”

“No.”

“Candles. Come on, O, no one can say no to candles.”

“Watch me.” Octavia, who up until this point had been withholding eye contact, gives Clarke a pointed glare. “No.”

Lexa smiles at Clarke’s frustrated groan while sipping her glass of water. Three-and-a-half pints of beer and countless plates of food have left her feeling fully satisfied if not also ready for bed. Clarke won’t close the bar for another few hours, and though Lexa acknowledges this is the reality of their chosen professions, she also wishes to steal Clarke away and take her home for a cuddle.

“Think about Lincoln,” Clarke continues, beating her dead wedding horse, much to Octavia’s dismay. “You’re depriving him of this fanfare, this pizazz, this well-deserved—”

“Don’t drag him into this,” Octavia interjects.

Clarke’s jaw drops. “He’s literally one half of the reason we’re celebrating! And honestly, with how difficult you’re being about this whole thing, it might be more like 70/30.”

Octavia rolls her eyes and starts to walk away, busying herself with clearing empty glasses from a table whose guests have just vacated. “When you two leave, will you take her with you?”

Her voice carries across the now mostly empty bar, and Clarke scowls at Octavia from where Lexa and Lincoln sit at the far end of the counter. They often lay claim to this section of the bar during their Wednesday night visits, and it always feels like a sacred, little huddle.

“That’s a tempting offer,” Lexa answers as Octavia breezes past them to deposit the empty glasses into her bus tub behind the bar.

Her comment successfully erases the look on Clarke’s face as their eyes meet, and she watches Clarke’s frown melt into a dopey smile.

“I’m not leaving you to close by yourself. Stop being so dramatic,” Clarke admonishes, though she is still smiling as her eyes leave Lexa to look over her shoulder at Octavia.

“I’m not by myself,” Octavia grunts, hoisting her black bin of glassware and dirty plates off a low shelf. “Jane and Murph are in the back. Take the orders home and finish them there. You know the last two hours of the night are the slowest midweek. I’ll be fine.”

“Stop trying to get rid of me just because you’re throwing a fit about candles,” Clarke shouts after her even though Octavia has already pushed through into the kitchen.

Their small end of the bar counter temporarily swells with music blaring from the line cooks and back-of-house staff, a stark contrast to the lo-fi hip hop Clarke has playing on a lower volume in the main room.

“I should get home either way,” Lexa admits with a short stretch of her arms, pulling taut the muscles of her back. “You fed me too well, and now I’m sleepy.”

“You’re a grandma every night of the week—in bed before ten or cranky as hell the next day.”

Lexa furrows her brow at Clarke’s unnecessarily accurate depiction of her sleep routines, but Lincoln laughs openly while nudging her shoulder.

“This one’s never been able to burn the midnight oil. Needs that beauty rest to maintain her cheerful disposition.”

“I’m officially breaking up with both of you.”

“Hey.”

Clarke’s pout is back, the color of her eyes saturated in renewed hurt at Lexa’s bad joke. Three-and-a-half beers have also made her forgetful, apparently.

“Sorry, sorry.” She reaches for Clarke’s wrists across the glossed wood of the bar and is gently rubbing her thumbs across Clarke’s pulse points when Octavia reemerges. “Just Lincoln then.”

Lincoln offers a good-natured shrug. “That’s fair.”

“See?” Octavia eyes the affectionate gesture between Clarke and Lexa with a practiced look of exasperation. “You could be doing this loved up shit in the privacy of your own home.”

“Says the one who is about to profess her undying love and commitment publicly in front of all our closest friends,” Clarke argues.

“I feel like if you keep reminding her, she’s more likely to back out,” Lincoln muses, and Lexa wonders if he is only half kidding.

Octavia pins him with a look. “Never.”

It’s a charged moment just for them, despite the fact that Clarke and Lexa are caught in its crosshairs, Lincoln grinning as he catches Octavia’s crooked smirk.

“I really should go,” Lexa reiterates quietly, not wanting to interrupt. Her day will start early the following morning with a delivery just south of Boston, and traffic will be nauseating through Sumner Tunnel. “Are you sure you don’t—”

“Seriously, get her out of here,” Octavia interjects. “She overworks and stays late out of guilt and loyalty, and it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Keep insisting, and I’m gonna say yes,” Clarke shoots back, almost threatening if not for her smile.

“Good. Then you can stop badgering me about fucking tea lights.” Octavia flicks the side of Clarke’s head and smacks her ass as she passes by to clear more tables, and somehow Clarke is charmed by the violent affection.

“I’ll stay and keep her company,” Lincoln offers. “You guys should take off. Enjoy the early night.” He then leans in closely to them both, his head bent in conspiracy. “And, I really do like those paper lanterns that you guys string up on the deck sometimes.”

The way Clarke’s entire countenance glows, eyes sparkling in victorious mischief, has Lexa’s smile growing in kind.

“I. Love you. You wonderful, wonderful human.” Clarke places her hands affectionately on either side of Lincoln’s face and looks as if she might actually plant a kiss between his eyebrows. “I will not let you down or betray your confidence.” Her tone is gravely solemn as if they are alluding to something far more serious than wedding decor.

“Give me a second to gather my things from the office?” she then says to Lexa, her voice shifting to that delicate timbre that turns Lexa’s beating heart to a useless puddle.

She tells her, “Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll be quick.” Clarke reaches for her fingers, giving them a quick squeeze, and disappears into the back hallway.

“Did I mention we did very well, ending up with these two?”

Lexa looks over to catch Lincoln’s giant grin and feels her own lips stretching into a smile. “I’m proud of us.”

Lincoln very nearly giggles. “Me too.”

A beat or two of amicable silence passes between them, in which time Octavia has returned behind the bar to tend to her few, straggling guests.

“What are the chances Clarke already has a shitload of decorations she’s been stockpiling for this party?” Lincoln contemplates aloud.

Lexa’s response comes without hesitation.

“Oh yeah, without question.”

:::

#a beer bud series #apu #a pleasant undoing #brewkru!

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ryanwantsapetrabbit · 3 years

Text

first chapter of my new jamilton fic on ao3 titled “pathetically in like.”

[chapter one—]

alexander hamilton.

a college junior and unfortunately a starbucks barista.

he stood in front of the oven, waiting for the pastries to finish so he could take them out. the timer beeped and alexander bent down to open the over, using his hand with an over mitten over it to take the tray out. he stared down at the danishes and yawned, sitting them down on the counter to begin filling them with cream cheese.

as alex was filling up the treats someone tapped his shoulder, he looked behind him to see john lauren’s had just gotten into work. “good morning.” john said, taking the piping bag from alexander’s hands and beginning to fill the treats for him. “you tired?”

“yes and adam’s banned me from drinking the coffee while on the clock.” alex grumbled, wiping at the sleep in his eyes.

“well adam’s isn’t here, is he?”

“well no but—“

“then drink a damn cold brew.” john smiled lightly, pointing to the machine brewing fresh coffee. “i’ll finish these danishes but please go do something to get energy, lafayette doesn’t come in until 2.”

“john... if you’re in here and i’m also in here, who’s working the counter?”

“shit.”

alexander rushed to the front, seeing only a line of two people and sighing in relief. “hello, welcome to starbucks! what can i get for you?”

“what do you recommend james, i’ve heard this place has incredible fruity drinks.” the tall man said softly to the boy next to him, a shorter boy with dark skin and short hair. his eyes were gentle and sweet but his face was puffy, a tissue in his hand to conceal his coughs.

“i’ll just have a black coffee?” james responded, quickly pulling his debit card out and handing it to alexander. “thomas will order whatever.”

“so what name do you guys want on the cups?” alexander asks, looking down at the screen and tapping their orders in. “i can do separate orders if that’s better for you two?”

“yeah, that sounds about right.” james said, looking up at thomas and waiting for him to order. “thomas, we haven’t got all day dear.”

“dear?” alexander mimicked, meaning for it come out in a curious way. “you two are adorable together.”

“we’re not together, pet names are james love language.” thomas explains, still staring up at the menu but then giving a passing glance down at alexander. “but i’ll have a...? honey almond milk cold brew and a cheese danish”

“lucky for you we just took those out the oven, what size can i get that in for you guys?”

“large?” james said, looking at thomas with a bit of concern. “he’ll take a large too, even though he’s not really supposed to have so much caffeine.”

“he acts just like my mother.” thomas chuckles, “you know how moms are?”

“my mothers dead.” alex mumbled, “and it’s venti, not large.” he handed james back his card then walked away and began their orders, watching as the two men walked away embarrassed and stood at the waiting center for their beverages.

✿

alexander sat inside the sushi restaurant while on his hour long break, twisting the chop sticks and picking up the sushi. he dipped it into the soy sauce before bringing it up to his mouth and indulging, a soft moan left his body at the satisfying taste and he took a sip of water after the food.

he felt a soft tap on his shoulder and he turned his head, “oh, it’s you?” alexander said softly. it was the man from starbucks earlier, “iced caramel latte right?”

“it’s thomas but i wanted to apologize for earlier with the mother thing, i didn’t really know how to respond so i never said anything but i am truly sorry for your loss.”

“it’s fine dear.” alexander mocked james from before, “i was messing with you.”

“so your mother’s not dead?”

“no, she is but i’m not devastated. she died when i was ten so i’ve had plenty of time to grieve, your friend isn’t with you?” alexander mentioned, looking around to see if james was near.

“oh yeah, he had to get back home to his fiancée.” thomas made sure to exaggerate the fiancé word, making it clear to alex that they weren’t dating. “she’s pregnant and not feeling very well.”

“i hope she gets better, what’re you doing here?” alexander asked, “stalking me?”

“oh no, i’m just getting lunch between classes.”

“cheese danishes and tuna? a great mix for the stomach, i’m sure.” thomas chuckles and takes a seat at alexander’s table. “oh i totally don’t mind.”

“great because i wasn’t leaving.”

“asshole.” alexander mumbled, picking up another piece of sushi but struggling and watching it wobble between the wooden sticks. thomas grabbed the sushi that alex was trying to pick up with a fork and shoved it into his mouth, “screw you.” alexander shoved at thomas’s shoulder.

“california rolls and a job at starbucks, how basic could you be darling?”

“i’m not basic, i just like simple things.” alexander whined, picking up another sushi roll and sipping it into the soy sauce before shoving it into his mouth before it could fall to the floor.

“cute.”

alex finished chewing before quickly swallowing the fish, “i’m not cute, i’m in distress.”

“well then let me help you?” thomas grabbed an extra set of chop sticks and twisted the sticks around the sushi perfectly. he dipped it into the sauce before waving it in front of alex’s mouth, waiting for him to open. when alexander opened his mouth, thomas brought his hand up to his jaw and held it while placing the sushi in it. alex closed his mouth and began chewing, a slight blush spreading across his face as thomas mumbled a soft “good boy.” it’s almost like an instinct, the soft reassurance from jefferson’s end and the grumbles of fake annoyance from hamilton.

“want me to order you something?” alexander asked with a full mouth, clenching his eyes shut as he forcefully swallowed.

“no thanks, i’d rather watch you eat and pick off your plate to annoy you.”

“jackass.”

“i know.” thomas smirked, stealing another sushi off alexander’s plate.

#jamilton #alexander hamilton #hamilton #thomas jefferson #gay #hamilton au #barista #southern asshole

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19mrs-barnes17 · 4 years

Text

Friendly Wager

Summary: Nothing like a little friendly wager between old friends to stir up feelings

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Billy Russo x reader

Warnings: none?

Word count: 2,065

A/N: Hope you enjoy! Requested by anonymous

“Over here!” Emma waved her hand high, a gentle smile tugging at the edges of her lips, something in her spirit brighter than before.

“Someone’s in a very good mood.” She waves you off and passes you a cup filled to the brim with caffeine and foam. “What on earth have you ordered me Em?”

“Don’t question my expertise and drink woman.” She smirks as you sip the beverage and hum in delight, arching a brow at you. “That’s what I thought. Now, are you working late Friday?”

“No I think I’m off early actually, why do you ask? What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at your former roommate, cautious of what you were getting yourself into. “Better not be a party.”

“No, no. Of course not, but as you know I am now living with my boyfriend Tom.” You gasp, placing a hand over your heart. “Oh quit it. He’s finally back from his trip today and I want you to meet him.”

“And let me guess, he’s free Friday?” She nods, her gaze a bit distracted by something over your shoulder. “Okay, I’m in but you should really be a bit more subtle if you’re gonna keep gawking at other men.”

“What? No, there’s this guy who keeps staring over here but I don’t think he’s staring at me.” With your brow knit closely you begin to scan the environment until you land upon the subject in question and sigh heavily. “Do you know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

“He’s hot.” You inhaled in shock far too quickly and began coughing, Emma raises a brow at what she assumes are theatrics. “Are you two a thing?”

“Are you trying to kill me Em? Asking stuff like that when I’ve taken a drink?” She shrugs and mutters something about a master plan before sipping her drink. “No, we’re just friends, he’s too wrapped up in himself for anything else.”

“You might wanna tell him that. Don’t think he received that memo.” The ringing of her phone saves her, and by the gentle tone of her voice you know it's Tom on the other end. “Sorry amiga, I’ve gotta go pick up Tom from the airport. Totally blanked.”

“For shame!” She swats your shoulder and pulls you into a hug before rushing out the door, flaming hair billowing behind her.

Finishing your drink you toss the cups and exit the building, eyes landing on someone who seemed to be waiting for you. His soft smile made you roll your eyes as you approached.

“Billy Russo. Back in the city are we?”

“Fancy a walk to catch up?”

You hadn’t the slightest clue why you agreed to the walk, he had never done anything to make you think he was anything but selfish. The man hadn’t even told you he had enlisted. One day he simply disappeared, no call or explanation. Social media plastered his face across the papers when he became CEO of Anvil, your only indication he had survived his service. And now he was back again, no call.

The guilt was etched into his features as you told your side of the story, always ending up in the dark. His eyes softened and you almost believed his apology, but your stubbornness wouldn’t let it go that easy. Not with one single apology for years of mistakes.

“You’re going to have to do better than that Russo.” He arched a brow, curiosity overtaking his features. “If we’re actually friends you are going to have to keep in contact instead of disappearing and reappearing.”

“Deal. Daily updates it is.”

“You could never, eventually you’d forget.” He walked in front of you and halted your steps, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I could keep this up all week and longer.”

“You couldn’t even keep this up till Friday.” He rolled his eyes, not backing down. “In fact, I wager you won’t.”

“It’s on.”

“What do I win if you forget?” He pauses, eyes locked onto yours for a minute or two before fumbling out that you could kiss him. You scoffed, not surprised he’d find that a promising prize and moved around him to continue the walk.

“Oh, come on Y/N you know you want to!”

“You are completely delusional!” Billy jogs to catch up to you, muttering apologies as you continue speed walking.

“Okay, okay. If you win, I owe you a favor of your choosing. Valid until you decide to use it.” This slows you down, mulling the idea over before nodding. “If I win, you invite me to dinner.”

“What?”

“Your friend passed me by, I asked if you two were celebrating something and she told me she was there to invite you to dinner with her boyfriend.” He smirked, seeming rather proud of himself for acquiring such information.

“Remind me to tell Emma not to talk to strangers about our private plans.”

“Deal?”

“Deal, but only because i’m confident you’ll slip.”

Somehow this bastard was doing it, each day your phone was flooded with texts from him about his day. He even asked about yours, which surprised the hell out of you. Something about him seemed different and you weren’t sure you trusted it. Instead of being the self-absorbed pretty boy you had met when your cousin came to visit, who used to occasionally reply to your emails, Billy was now the flirtatious man who sent you daily texts and replied fairly quickly. It was a 180. One you couldn’t allow yourself to be attached to for fear of being eventually disappointed.

He even called you when you were at home alone, talking to you about all manner of subjects and even on occasion making you laugh. Slowly the man was squeezing between a crack in your wall and you absolutely hated it. All you could think was that it was all an act for the wager. He was determined to win. Nothing more.

“Hey Em, you might wanna set another plate at the table.”

“And may I ask who this is for?” Her smirk traveled across the line through her tone.

“Oh please, you practically invited him yourself outside the cafe.” She was silent, you almost began to think she wasn’t there anymore.

“Billy’s coming? Oooh.”

“I may be on the other end of a phone call with you, but I know where you live and I will pound on your door at an ungodly hour.”

“Duly noted.”

Tom was an absolute sweetheart, a tough looking guy with a heart of gold and you had to make a good impression. This man was dating your best friend and it seemed as though they were going to last, so if you were going to be seeing a lot of him you wanted to get off on the right foot. Billy being present made that a challenge, but one you were prepared to tackle.

“So how did you two meet?” Tom was sweet, but you were beginning to think that he thought this was a double date.

“I grew up with her cousin, served with him.” Emma sat back, eyes recollecting where she had seen him before.

“You’re in the photo we had hanging in the apartment. The one with the marines standing at attention.” His attention moved to you, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself, my cousin is the reason that still hangs on my wall. You just happen to be in it.”

“Oh, but of course.” There was something about the way he acted toward you that had you questioning your stance on him, the way he smiled and watched you out of the corner of his eye. How he offered to walk you home after dinner, maintained the distance you asked of him, and left without a smart-ass remark.

Your back pressed softly against the door as thoughts began to race through your mind. He was so different from the man you knew before, and yet there was something in your heart that held back. It was just an act, you couldn’t have been wrong about that. You had merely miscalculated just how much he wanted to prove you wrong. It wasn’t out of love, it was out of competition. You were certain.

When he continued to message you the entire next week you pushed it aside, it was just him proving his point. He was gloating that he could keep up the act. Nothing more, nothing less. Just an act.

Each week was filled with conversation, secrets began to be shared and slowly you became less and less sure about your stance. He was patient it seemed, but was he just devoted to his promise or was it more. It was driving you mad.

“We need to talk.” Billy was rubbing his face awake, eyes blinking slowly to regain their ability of clear sight. A yawn slipped from his lips as he moved aside to let you in.

“It's 3 in the morning you maniac.” He chuckles softly, shutting the door behind you and putting on a pot of coffee. Pulling out a stool Billy sat and awaited whatever revelation had brought you to his home.

“I need to know something and I want the truth, no lies or evasion.” You point your finger accusingly and he wanted to feign offence but he was far too sleepy.

“No accusations before coffee please, I have no energy to defend myself yet.” He smiles softly, features waking up a little. “What is it you have to know at this hour?”

“Why?”

“You’re going to have to be a tad more specific sweetheart.” You could smack him for the nickname, it made asking increasingly more difficult.

“It’s been two weeks since you won. You’re still keeping up the act. Why?”

“Act?”

“Pretending like you care, you never have before.” He slowly stood from the stool, brow knit together as he studied your face. “What’s your aim?”

“It’s definitely too early for you to be accusing me of lies. In my own home.” His confidence faltered, eyes tearing away from you to pour two cups of coffee. “I keep in touch because I promised to and I try to be a man of my word.”

“So is that it? Just to uphold a promise?”

“Did you want there to be something more?” He was very close as he handed the second cup to you, eyes watching you curiously. You were speechless, unsure how to ask him what you wanted in a way that would protect you.

“That’s not what I asked.” He sighed, setting down his drink and taking a seat on the stool once more.

“There may have been an ulterior motive, one i had hoped you would eventually reciprocate.” You tilted your head and this seemed to just break the wall down. “I love you Y/N, I have since I spent two tours with your cousin who watched your video updates every day. I fell in love with your smile, and your theatrical way of telling a story. Your life drama and your achievements became important to me. I suddenly felt closer to you than I had ever felt to anyone. I knew I’d have to do better before I could reintegrate into your life again.”

“You watched those?” He nodded before sipping his coffee, eyes beginning to wander to your lips every now and again. “You love me?”

“I do.” You pulled out the other stool and sat in silence, Billy said nothing as he drank his coffee and let you process everything.

“I think I love you too.” Barely above a whisper, but his hand on your told you he heard every syllable. “Maybe I should have made a wager I was sure to win.”

“Why is that?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have come knocking and waking you at 3 in the morning and I wouldn’t have to tell Emma she’s right.” He laughs, eyes crinkling as he shakes his head. “She’s going to hold this over me for the rest of our lives.”

“That so?” He smirks before sliding off his stool and offering his hand, which you gingerly took. “Then we’ll have to make this worth the consequence, eh?”

“Don’t you tell another living soul, but you wouldn’t have to do a thing.” His forehead rested gently against yours as you swayed to the tune of some song Alexa played at his command.

Tags: @qtmeryr @broken-hearted-barnes @asphalt-cocktail @gstran18 @cantnkrusshedevil @alexaandraah

#requested #billy russo #billy #billy x reader #billy russo x reader #jigsaw #punisher #marvel #kayla answers #open requests

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highsviolets · 4 years

Text

of caf & conversations

pairing: non-toxic masculinity, wedge/luke if you squint

summary: “So, Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion: what on earth is keeping you up at night?”

word count: 3k

rating: G

A/N: lolol I said I would post the update for “steady” this week and then @blonde-avenger and I were talking and, well, this happened. I can never refuse Luke Skywalker shenanagins. Canon + Legends compliant.

OF CAF & CONVERSATIONS, a fic by corellians-only [read on AO3 | external references are linked]

Wedge felt a sharp dig in his ribs as he lifted his cup of caf to his lips. The slim pilot scowled as the precious liquid danced over the top of the metal cup and collided with his flight suit. A stain started blooming on the weighty fabric of his khaki-colored trousers, creating an intricate patchwork of splotches.

“Seriously, Tycho?” he asked, staring in askance at the blonde-haired human male sitting to his right. “What is so important that you couldn’t wait until I finished my caf?”

While the Rebellion was a self-defined group of informal group of fighters, politicians, and the galaxy’s strays that gave little thought to rank, Rogue Squadron was infamous for its blatant disregard for rules and regulations.

Be that as it may, a few unofficial ordinances that governed the squad of ace pilots to preserve what remains of my sanity, Luke had commented dryly a few months earlier, after a particularly colorful incident that featured commandeered Corellian whiskey, a broken ‘fresher unit, and Wes Janson’s bedsheets.

Rule number one: Never, ever, come between Wedge Antilles and his cup of caf.

Everyone knew that. General Jan Dodonna. High Command Leader Mon Mothma. Even roguish Han Solo respected the man’s right to enjoy his caf in peace. Captain Wedge Antilles’ devotion to the caffeinated drink was nearly as legendary as Rogue Squadron itself.

Tycho ignored Wedge’s griping, merely arching an eyebrow. He pointed to the opposite side of the rudimentary mess hall. In the dim light of the glow rods, Wedge could make out Luke Skywalker making his way towards them with a cup of caf in each hand.

“That’s Luke,” Wedge stated baldly, still peeved at the interruption.

Tycho sighed, a gentle sound that belied the fact that his patience was wearing thin. “I know, Wedge. I live with the man. So do you. Or are you confused on that front as well?”

Wedge rolled his eyes in response to his wingmate’s sarcasm. “What’s your point, O Noble and Wise One?”

“The point, my stubborn Corellian friend, is—”

“Wait, was Luke scheduled for a patrol?” Wedge cut him off.

“There we go. Knew the converters would fire up eventually.” Tycho sat back and nodded approvingly, crossing his arms as he did so. The heavy-duty winter uniform did nothing to hide the grace of his movements, a remnant of his Alderaanian uprising that not even harsh training at the Imperial Academy — or the irrevocable loss of his culture — could push aside.

From his relaxed position, Tycho extended a gloved hand and snatched Wedge’s cup, taking a sip of caf. He shuddered.

“Wedge, this is disgusting.” He thrust the offending beverage back into Wedge’s open hands, his tone hurt and betrayed, as though Wedge not properly sweetening his caf was a personal affront to Tycho’s sensibilities.

“That is not caf.” Tycho pointed at swirling black liquid. “That’s what Zraii uses to clean our X-wings.” He regarded Wedge with concern. “Are you sure Wes didn’t swap your cups again?”

“I don’t hear you complaining about how I take my caf when it makes me awake enough to cover your six.” Wedge shot back. “Besides, I’m not the one who worries about his hair in the middle of firefight.”

“If you’re done squabbling like an old married couple, you’re right, Wedge.” Derek “Hobbie” Klivian, another human male pilot from Ralltir, joined them, plopping down on the other side of Wedge.

“I served a double patrol with Luke yesterday. Neither of us were scheduled for patrol today,” Hobbie added, discarding his outer layer.

Tycho winced in sympathy. Fourteen consecutive standard hours patrolling the Force-forsaken, freezing pile of bantha dung that was Hoth was dangerous, and not for the usual reasons. Hypothermia and avalanches were the most fearsome enemies on this planet — a far cry from the proton torpedoes and firefights that usually incited fear even in the most hardened of pilots.

Hobbie glanced up at Luke, who was rapidly closing in on the trio. “As far as I know, he was in meetings with High Command all day.”

“I don’t know,” mused Wedge. “I might prefer patrol to listening to politicians all day.” He frowned, considering the situation. “Then why is Luke wearing full gear? Is he crazy?”

Tycho shook his head, amused. “Stang if I know. But I’m glad you’ve finally caught on, boss.” He clapped Wedge on the shoulder in mock approval, a grin playing about his lips.

“Wait, am I the last one to notice this?” Wedge’s eyes darted from side to side, a look of incredulity spreading across his features. He was the squadron’s executive officer. Taking care of his pilots was not only his job, it was a source of pride — and if Luke was technically his commanding officer, well, that was a matter of semantics. And Rebels didn’t care much for those.

“Well, I wouldn’t say the last,” Hobbie inserted pragmatically. “I don’t think Wes knows.”

Wedge fixed him with a hard stare, not appreciating the comparison with the accident-prone pilot. “That’s not saying much, Hobbie.”

He shrugged apathetically. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Tycho motioned with his hands in a be quiet motion as Luke approached. “Good evening, Commander,” he greeted Luke pleasantly, his tone abandoning its previous mischievousness.

“Hello, Tycho,” Luke responded in kind, his blue eyes clear despite the sheen of weariness that stretched over his features. “Wedge. Hobbie. Good to see you.”

“Is there something out there, sir?” Wedge gestured with his free hand, the one that wasn’t clutching the cup of caf, to Luke’s quilted white coat.

The collar was turned up to provide maximum protection against the elements, and Luke had piled beige utility vest on top. A scarf fluttered from its haphazard perch around his neck, obscuring the rank cylinders that Wedge knew lay on the left breast pocket.

Luke’s face and sandy head of hair were the only bodily surfaces not completely swaddled in fabric of some sort. The whole ensemble — combined with his boyish good looks and gentle demeanor — had the effect of reducing Commander Luke Skywalker, destroyer of the Death Star, to something akin to a young porg.

“Another suspected meteor?” Tycho probed.

Luke’s brows bunched together. “Uh, no?” He shook his head. “Situation’s normal — as though the nine hells of Corellia had frozen over.” He shot a playful glance at Wedge. “You would know something about that, wouldn’t you, Wedge?”

He bent over and placed the extra cup on the table as he spoke, but the movement lacked its usual swiftness owing to the bulk of his gear. Tycho leaned over and pulled out a chair, and Luke sat, nodding at him gratefully. The lightsaber attached to his hip bumped against his leg as he sat, catching the reflection of the glow rods stationed strategically around the room. The movement drew Wedge’s eye, and it occurred to him absently that the antique weapon seemed to gleam even in the dull illumination of the mess hall.

“Actually, I don’t think he would, sir. The nine hells kicked him out, so the powers that be made him our problem.” Hobbie eyed Wedge’s cup warily. “Have you tasted his caf? No sane human can drink caf that strong.”

“When will you three get it in your heads that not every Corellian is a scoundrel?” Wedge asked. He pointed to himself. “My parents ran fueling station. No spice. No smuggling. No bribes.”

“Weren’t you raised by a smuggler after your parents died?” Luke asked suspiciously.

“Well, that doesn’t mean that I was a smuggler,” Wedge deflected. “Besides, I was already a teenager when Gus Tetra Station went up in flames. Booster Terrik didn’t exactly have to tuck me into bed at night.”

Luke snorted in amusement. “With logic like that, I was never a moisture farmer, I was just raised by one.”

Wedge sobered slightly. Like him, Luke’s parents had died, leaving him to be brought up by his next of kin. But Wedge was lucky. He had known his parents still reflected on fond memories from his childhood. Luke had enjoyed no such luxuries.

Tycho butted in before Wedge could change the topic. “I agree with Luke.” He began counting off on his fingers, naming each instance in turn. “So, you never helped him with accounts? Installed illegal parts on his ship? Owned belongings that had been declared contraband by the Diktat? Never went with him to meet a client?”

Sensing defeat, Wedge inclined his head. “Well, that may have happened. And I may have used his contacts to secure my first deals before I went to the Academy. But those were legitimate. I, personally, am not a smuggler.” He raised his chin in an act of defiance.

“Well, well, whatever shall we do with such a disloyal son of Corellia?” Hobbie asked in mock seriousness, as though he were presiding over a trial.

“He’s still a Rebel,” Luke pointed out mildly, sipping his caf. “I think that counts for something.”

Wedge cleared his throat in a desperate attempt to bring the conversation back under control. This was getting out of hand, and Wes Janson wasn’t even here.

“If there’s no patrol, sir, why are you wearing full gear?”

Luke started at the change in topic and then blushed, a delicate tinge of red sweeping across his cheeks even in the coolness of the hollowed out ice cavern. “It’s always best to be prepared, Wedge.”

Wedge met Tycho’s eyes and had a feeling that the puzzlement he saw etched on Tycho’s face mirrored his own.

“Sir, we haven’t seen action in days.” This time it was Hobbie who spoke. “Unless you know something we don’t…” his voice trailed off, the question lingering even as it went unsaid. Is Rogue being deployed?

Luke shook his head. “No, you know as much as I do, boys.”

The mood shifted palpably at his announcement. His pilots, Luke had learned, did not actively seek out conflict, but being grounded for more than a few days at a time tended to make them restless. And impatient, reckless pilots get killed, Luke reflected. Maybe I can get them scheduled for some supply runs. He filed away the suggestion to take up with High Command later.

“Okay, so if you can’t answer that, then why do you have two cups of caf? Are you planning on taking on the entire Imp vanguard by yourself? You never drink more than cup a day.” Luke’s XO indicated the cup on the table and its partner, now clenched around Luke’s gloved hands.

“C’mon, Wedge. If I wanted to take on the vanguard, I’d at least let you vape a few of your own.” Luke turned his head and grinned lightly at Tycho. “Leave Tycho here to clean up the mess and deal with this group of loca kung.”

“Hey! Watch who you’re insulting in — well, whatever language that is,” Hobbie protested weakly and turned to Tycho, hoping he would back up the beleaguered pilot.

“Don’t look at me.” Tycho lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I wasn’t the one who insulted you.”

Wedge cocked his head. “Was that…Huttese, Luke?”

Blue eyes averted brown, fixating on some amorphous clump of snow directly above their table. “Maybe.”

Something about the gesture unnerved Wedge, and he began to examine Luke more closely.

Sure enough, Luke’s leg was bouncing, and his shoulders were hunched together, as though he could keep the warmth closer to his body by closing in on himself. He couldn’t see Luke’s hands, but Wedge would bet his last round of sabaac winnings that Luke’s knuckles were white underneath his gloves, latching onto the warmth provided by the caf in a vice grip.

And with the precision of an ion cannon, it all clicked into place. Heavy jacket. Moisture farmer. Two cups of caf. Huttese.

“Hey, Luke?”

“Yeah, Wedge?”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Uh, last night, Wedge. You were there.” He sounded bemused.

“No,” Wedge corrected. “I saw you get into your bunk. I don’t know if you actually slept.”

“Well, I slept.”

“You sure?” Wedge pushed.

“Pretty sure, Captain.” Luke’s tone was firm, and Wedge winced at the use of his rank.

“Just making sure, Commander.” Wedge tossed back the rest of his caf. “Can’t have Rogue Leader operating on backwash fuel,” he added, as though the comment had been a casual afterthought.

Luke’s eyes widened, but he kept his tone even. “Is there something to suggest otherwise, Antilles?”

“Honestly, sir?” At Luke’s encouraging nod, Wedge shrugged. “A few things. The jacket. The caf.”

Luke’s blue eyes narrowed. “You knew I was’t sleeping because I wore a jacket and drank caf? And because you didn’t physically see me sleeping?”

“Wedge knew you weren’t sleeping because he was stalking you, sir” Tycho put in, easing the tension that had settled over the group. “I, however, had a feeling that you weren’t sleeping because I haven’t seen you hug anyone in days.”

“Tycho?” asked Hobbie. “Shut up. That’s even creepier than Wedge’s assessment somehow. Luke doesn’t want to hear that.”

Hobbie turned to Luke. “I thought you weren’t sleeping because you didn’t make one joke about womp rats yesterday — not once, over the span of fourteen hours, with nothing to stare at but ice, did you mention those infernal creatures.”

Luke shook his head ruefully. “Am I really so obvious?” he questioned aloud.

His pilots looked at each other. “Yes,” they answered in unison.

Wedge met Luke’s gaze. “Look, Commander, we’re just concerned for you. As your friends, not as your pilots. We have every confidence in your ability to lead us, sir.”

Luke smiled wanly, and he looked older than his 22 years. “No cylinders, Captain,” he instructed softly, the fight having drained out of his voice.

Hobbie sighed dramatically and reached up to unpin his rank. “Oh, thank the Force. I hate having to dance around rank like we all haven’t seen each other —“

“Thanks for listening, Luke.” Tycho spoke over Hobbie’s sarcasm and placed a hand on Luke’s arm.

“I can’t very well ignore my best pilots, now, can I?” His blue eyes met Tycho’s own. “Especially when they’re my best friends.”

Tycho smiled.”That’s what we’re here for. He squeezed Luke’s arm before releasing his grip and leaning back into his chair once more. “So, Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion: what on earth is keeping you up at night?”

“Well, we know it’s not women troubles,” Hobbie quipped, frowning when two pairs of eyes fixed him with a steely glare.

“Not. Helping,” seethed Wedge between gritted teeth.

Hobbie ignored him. “Well? Is it?” he queried Luke.

The younger pilot shook his head. “No.”

“Okay. Gambling debts? R2 unit can’t be repaired? Missing family member? A strangling feeling of impending doom?”

Luke shook his head at each suggestion. “None of the above. Although, I think the feeling of impending doom is just you, Hobbie.”

“A pity,” Hobbie returned wryly. “It does wonders for one’s health.”

Luke took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Honestly, guys? It’s not that deep. I’’m just really cold.”

“You can’t sleep because you’re cold?” Wedge blurted, unable to contain his incredulity.

“I’m from a desert planet with two suns, Wedge.” Luke’s voice held a hint of his regular self with the teasing. “What did you think would happen when you put me on a snow planet?”

Wedge exhaled slowly. “Well, when you put it like that —“

“—which I do —“

“that kinda makes sense,” he admitted.

Luke smirked. “Good to know I’m not barvy as well as sleep-deprived and freezing.”

Tycho placed his hands above his head. “Well, I gotta say, that’s kind of a relief, Luke. I thought you had combat fatigue or something. This is problem is a piece of ryshcate compared to that.”

He looked at Wedge. “Did I say it right?” he asked, referring to the invocation of the famous Corellian dessert.

Wedge shook his head. “Well, technically yes, but your pronunciation is atrocious. I think Gamorreans could say it better than you.”

“Gentlemen.” Hobbie extended his hands palm-first. “If we could return to the task at hand, I propose a simple solution.”

“I’m all ears,” Luke said seriously.

“Luke can’t sleep because he’s cold. What’s the simplest way to conserve heat? Stick close together. So, the three of us take turns bunking with Luke to conserve body heat and make sure our dear old Commander finally catches some shut-eye.” Hobbie stated his conclusion apathetically, as though he hadn’t just suggested what sounded suspiciously like a squadron-wide sleepover.

“Hobbie.” Tycho stated slowly. “You hate being close to people.”

Hobbie shrugged. “So get Dak to take my place. Does it matter who it is as long as it’s one of us and it means Luke can sleep?”

Wedge searched Luke’s face for signs of misgiving, but found none. “Are you okay with this?”

Luke considered. “Would you care even if I wasn’t?”

“You know I would.” Wedge’s voice was low and serious.

“Yeah, I’m okay with it.” Luke smiled brightly and met Wedge’s brown eyes. Even without reaching out in the Force, Luke could feel that Wedge was radiating warmth and concern.

“Well, it’s a plan then,” Tycho confirmed, looking between Wedge and Luke. “Wedge, you’re up first.” His eyes twinkled. “Time to take our dear old Commander to bed.”

Luke reached across the table and lightly punched Tycho in shoulder. “Hey, watch who you’re calling old.” He yawned, screwing up his face and rubbing his eyes as he did so. With a concentrated effort, he heaved onto his feat.

“Mind if we turned in?” he asked Wedge. “I know it’s relatively early but—“ Luke blushed for the second time that evening — “I really haven’t sleep in weeks.”

Wedge nodded. “Of course, Luke. Whatever you want.” He stood, matching Luke’s stance, and the two walked away, speaking softly.

Hobbie looked at Tycho, who was watching them with a grin on his face. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“If I didn’t, you’d never know.”

#character: luke skywalker #luke skywalker fic #film: empire strikes back #star wars fic #cristina writes #cg's og's #rogue squadron #wedge antilles #hobbie klivian #tycho celchu #hoth #protect luke 2020 #star wars legends #corellian flyboys #wedge antilles x luke skywalker

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sm-entertain-me · 5 years

Text

Caffeine Chronicles (E)

Requested by @august-angel0802: Hello there ;)) I am abck! Well..... how about a cute yangyang barista AU?

Contains: Liu YangYang x (f) reader, fluff, barista!YangYang.

Synopsis: This is the third time this week that your favorite coffee shop has ruined your order, so it's time you go in and have a little chat with the staff. But when you lay your eyes on the an employee you’ve never seen before, all of your complaints seem to wash away.

Author’s Note: We interrupt our regularly scheduled smut filled program to bring you some wholesome fluff featuring our smollest bean YangYang. Enjoy!

Usually, it wouldn’t have been a problem for you when your favorite mom and pop coffee shop messed up your seemingly simple order. But that’s the thing. Usually they don’t ruin your order three times in the same week even though you’ve ordered the same thing the whole entire time you’ve visited. Virtually everyone at the shop knows you by name and knows exactly what your order is the minute you pull up in the drive thru and greet them in your famous sing-song voice.

Usually, you wouldn’t be insisting on physically coming in the shop to have a few choice words with whoever keeps messing up your order. Usually you would keep your mouth shut and just have to suck down whatever caffeine fueled beverage currently occupied the cup in your hand. But this week was probably the worst week to do that, especially since school has been destroying every ounce of happiness you’ve ever attained in your life. Your studies were becoming increasingly demanding, requiring at least two hours of your time every night in order to finish homework or prepare for annoying tests every week.

Usually, you wouldn’t be parking in their parking lot, cup of hot bean juice in your hand with a frown on your face, marching towards the entrance to rip the door open to have them fix their ongoing problem. You weren’t one to complain about anything, especially when it came to the food service because you know how horribly people in the food service are treated by entitled, snobbish, and arrogant customers that assume they’re above the employee just because they have to serve them food and act nice to them to earn a living. Perhaps you’ve been nice for too long.

Frowning deeply, you opened the door to the coffee shop and were welcomed by the intoxicating scent of signature roast accompanied by the sweet smell of pastries that decorated the counter in the front of the store. The minute the employees heard the bell ring to indicate the new arrival of a customer, their eyes shot over to your direction and offered a smile as they chorused “Hello!”

You simply nodded in response to them as you sauntered over to the counter, resting your hand on the marble and waited patiently for the next available employee to hear your complaint and hopefully fix the issue. One look around the shop allowed you to conclude that they were absolutely swamped, multiple employees running around to complete the overflowing amount of orders that flew from their printers, some of the tickets being so long that even you were overwhelmed and you didn’t even work there. Okay, now you felt bad.

“Sorry about the wait, miss,” A voice called out to you, causing your attention to shift from the menu to a man that had brown hair and stood slightly taller than you. “How can I help you out today?”

“Oh, I just came in here to say that you guys made my order wrong, but I had no idea how busy you guys were,” You replied as you leaned around the corner to see two other men scrambling to put whipped cream on top of some Valley girl’s mocha while the other struggled to get enough ice into someone’s iced Americano. In all honesty, it was quite painful to watch them all struggling.

The man at the counter tilted his head at you, reaching out to grab the cup in your hand, “Oh I’m sorry miss. What did you order?” Before he heard your response, he leaned back and yelled out to one of the employees scrambling at the coffee machine, “YangYang! I need you to remake this order! And quickly, please!”

The person addressed as YangYang quickly turned around, a worried look on his face as he nodded at his boss, walking towards you two. As he stood behind his boss, ready to hear the order he needed to make, he completely froze at the sight of you. His eyes seemed to double in size as his eyes locked onto you, you noticing how his pursed slightly to show interest in you.

It was safe to say you had never seen YangYang before, assuming he was the new guy, but you were really sad you never have because he is probably the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. He had cute chubby cheeks that made his youthful features seem that much more emphasized, soft brown eyes that shine brightly at you despite the low ambient light of the coffee shop around you, and the softest looking lips.

“Wow,” You breathed out at you still stared at YangYang, your eyes widening immediately as you realized you really said that out loud. In front of YangYang. In front of his boss. In front of all of his coworkers. In front of the long line of customers that seemed to form behind you. Upon the realization, you could feel your cheeks heat up from the embarrassment, quickly resulting to hiding your face in your hands as you muttered your order to the man at the counter to avoid speaking to YangYang and make your situation worse than it already was. But little did you know, YangYang thought the exact same thing about you.

After you were dismissed by the man at the counter, insisting that they would make you a fresh coffee for free, you ran to the opposite side of the counter that was far away from YangYang. You were pretty certain you just messed up any chance of talking with him by just saying a single word, not knowing if you had creeped him out or anything. He was very hard to read given his back was facing you as he slaved over the coffee machine to make your order over again.

Minutes seemed like hours as you stood still, gripping your elbows nervously as you waited patiently for someone to call your name out. And as luck would have it, YangYang would be the one to call out your name, forcing you to walk up to the counter and look him in the eye as you took your coffee from his hands.

“Hey,” a voice sounded as your hands wrapped around the paper of the cup, causing you to look up at YangYang and the soft smile he wore on his face. He didn’t seem the least bit creeped out by what you said earlier, he seemed flattered as he stared at you with the same curiosity you had for him earlier. “If it’s any consolation, I was about to say the same thing about you. You just happened to be the first one to say it.”

If your cheeks were red before, they’re purely crimson now as you looked down at the floor to contain the red hue, smiling lightly to yourself at YangYang’s compliment, “Yeah, that makes me feel better. I thought I made you uncomfortable.”

“Me? Uncomfortable about a beautiful woman showing interest in me? Never,” YangYang retorted, trying his best to continue the seemingly playful banter between the two of you as he became more and more fascinated with you. In no way was he uncomfortable or embarrassed at your outburst, he just felt bad that he didn’t really get a chance to tell you how beautiful he thought you were, something he might come to regret if he didn’t get your number or something by the end of your conversation. And besides, he called you beautiful.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” The man’s voice from earlier sounded out behind YangYang, clearly annoyed with the duration of the conversation you two were having despite the long line that had formed in the couple minutes you two were talking. “But I have a full lobby of customers and the line isn’t getting any shorter. YangYang, I already wrote down your number for her, just get back to work and I’ll give it to her.” After his little tirade, YangYang’s boss leaned over the counter to where you stood, slipping a blue sticky note into the palm of your hand and resting his hands on his hips to signal YangYang to get moving.

YangYang nodded at his boss as he turned to you, offering another kind smile that had you melting before he reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling it up to his lips and kissing the top of it lightly before he spoke to you, “Well, you heard the boss. I have to get back to work, but I’ll be expecting a text or a call when I get off, right?”

“Of course,” You responded with quite possibly the biggest smile you’ve ever had in your life, the feeling of butterflies swarming your stomach as you still felt the imprint of YangYang’s lips on the top of your hand. His lips were so soft against your skin and you couldn’t help but wonder how they would feel against your lips as you were now saying goodbye to him and his staff, slipping outside of the shop with your new coffee in hand and holding the blue sticky note close to your heart.

If you knew this is the kind of treatment you would get from complaining about coffee, you would’ve complained months ago.

#Liu YangYang #YangYang #YangYang fanfiction #YangYang fanfic #YangYang fluff #WayV #WayV fanfiction #WayV fanfic #WayV fluff #NCT #NCT fanfiction #NCT fanfic #NCT fluff #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fluff

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fresh-outta-jams · 5 years

Text

Plastic Heart - Part 8

Namjoon x Reader Author: Mo Summary: When you get the highly-anticipated BTS dolls for Christmas, your life takes a turn in a way you never could have expected. Note: Double update today because I looooooove you <3 Warnings: None? Word Count: 1.8k

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

God, how you loathed writing papers. You hated outlining them. You hated researching for them. You hated citing references in them. But most of all, you hated the writing process. It was exhausting, trying to keep an academic tone, using words you would never dream of using in some vain attempt to impress you professor. It was awful, really.

So, because you had left so much of the paper until the night before it was due, you were sitting at your desk, sipping on your third cup of iced chai of the evening, praying to the caffeine gods above that you could stay up late enough to finish.

“Is that...healthy?” Yoongi asked, watching you from your shelf amused.

“Probably not. What are we talking about?” You asked, looking at him as you typed.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re consuming your third cup of caffeinated beverage at--” he looked at the clock, “midnight.”

“It is not midnight, it is eleven-thirty.” You protested, stirring your straw around your drink before setting it on your BTS coaster. “And I am writing a paper, so it’s excused.”

“How’s it going?” Namjoon asked, hopping from your dresser onto your desk and walking in front of your computer screen. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“If I think of something, I’ll let you know, but for now, your company is appreciated. Writing papers suuuuuucks.” You whined, leaning back in your chair.

“I thought you LIKED writing!” Jungkook piped up from his spot on your bed. He and some of the others were playing games on your DS.

“Papers are different. Believe me, I’d much rather be writing fanfiction right about now.”

“You write fanfiction?” Namjoon asked, amused. “What about?”

Your cheeks burned bright red. You weren’t about to tell him, or any of them, really, that you had...dabbled in writing (and reading) some BTS fanfictions from time to time. So instead, you bullshitted. “Oh, you know...Astro. They’re adorable.”

“Astro?”

“Really? Astro? I thought BTS was your bias group!”

“Traitor!”

“What can I say? They’re cuties.” You shrugged, smirking. You took another sip from your tea.

“You’re a liar! There was not a single Astro fic on your AO3 page!” Hoseok accused, pointing a little plastic finger at you.

“You stalked my AO3 page?” You gasped, whipping around to look at him. “I thought you were watching dance practices!”

“You left it open!” He defended. “But may I just say, your fic about RM and the novelist was superb.”

“Hoseok, what the fuck.” Yoongi scrunched his eyebrows while you hid your reddening cheeks.

“Is it my fault our girl writes remarkable literature?”

“And with that, I leave to make my fourth tea of the evening. Would anyone like to accompany me to the kitchen?”

“Me!” Namjoon volunteered immediately, wanting to get away from that conversation as fast as possible. You scooped him up and set him on your shoulder, picking up your cup before starting to walk to the kitchen.

In all honesty, Namjoon was kind of in a daze. He supposed he should have kind of known that you wrote and/or read fanfiction about him--no, about RM, not about him. But he was still a little flustered. Okay, a lot flustered. The fact of the matter was: he was a little plastic carbon copy of your bias, the man you held above all men, the one who sung--well, rapped--you to sleep, whose mixtape soothed your anxiety, and whose Tweets never failed to bring a smile to your face no matter how upset you were. Namjoon looked just like...Namjoon. And yet, he wasn’t.

He knew in his heart it was silly. He knew Yoongi was right, that his crush was impossible and unattainable, that it would only hurt him in the end, once you finally figured out just how you made him feel, but he couldn’t shake his feelings. They’d wrapped themselves too tight around his soul. And that only broke his heart more.

He wanted to feel things, like properly FEEL them. He wanted to know the difference between warm and cold. He wanted to know how soft your sweaters and blankets were. He wanted to feel the softness of your skin under his fingertips. He wanted to taste salty buttery popcorn and chocolatey sweet M&Ms. God, he wanted to kiss you. Everything would be so much easier if he was just--

That was it. That was what he wanted. Namjoon wanted to be human.

“Joonie, is everything alright?” You asked gently, getting your vanilla soymilk and chai latte mix out of the fridge. “You look really sad.”

“I’m okay.” He nodded, but he wasn’t very convincing.

You tilted your head, pouting slightly. “You can tell me anything, Joon. Is something bothering you?”

“Really, (Y/N). I’m fine...I just...it’s kind of hard to explain.” He admitted, looking up at you from his spot on the counter while you poured yourself some more tea, stirring it together with your straw. “Do you ever...wish things were different? Even though you know you have it great, there’s just...one thing you would change.”

“I get what you’re saying, yeah.” You nodded. You had some idea what he was talking about.

“I don’t know...I just wish things were different, you know?”

“Different how?”

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head, “Well for starters, I wouldn’t be made of plastic, that’s for sure.”

“Mmm.” You hummed, smiling softly at him. “The universe is cruel like that sometimes. I’m really sorry. I don’t know how to help you, but...I’m here for you, alright? If you need to talk about it. I know it can’t be easy.”

“Thank you. Really. From the bottom of my heart...or, well, lack thereof.” He laughed a little. If you’d told him a few months ago that he’d not only be TALKING to his human, but that he was actually FRIENDS with her, he’d probably laugh in your face. And yet, here he was, having a full heart-to-heart with you. “You’ve done so much for us since you found out about us. We were all kind of afraid you’d give us to your little cousins.”

“It might have crossed my mind during my post-Tae-sneeze anxiety attack, but, having seven little roommates running around has been fun, too.” You helped Namjoon back onto your shoulder, taking a sip of tea. “And besides, I was so lonely before I started talking to you guys.”

“Well, we’re glad you’re not lonely anymore.” He grinned, hugging your neck as best as he could given the current circumstances. You smiled and used your free hand to give his back a gentle little rub.

The two of you returned to your bedroom. You got back to work on your paper while Namjoon read one of your giant books and the rest of the boys entertained themselves. You were blissfully unaware, mostly because of the curtains in your kitchen window, that while Namjoon was unpacking his emotional load, something a little out of the ordinary had happened.

This something was a shooting star zipping across the sky.

So, once you had finished your paper, brushed your teeth, and crawled into bed, you went to sleep. By now, you’d made beds for each of the boys, some of them bunkbeds, some of them solo, differing by request. Namjoon was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure why, but something felt...off, deep in his chest.

Not thinking much of it, he rolled over, closed his eyes, and tried to fall asleep. And yet, he couldn’t. Something was definitely wrong. It wasn’t an emotion, really. At least, he didn’t THINK so. But it was there, hovering, lingering inside of him. Strange, he decided.

He laid there for a while, maybe a few hours or so before he felt it again, that strange feeling bubbling up in his chest. Swelling and festering until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He swung his legs out of the little bed you’d made for him and sat there for a second, waiting a few seconds to see if anything changed. Something was happening, and he wasn’t sure what.

A few more minutes ticked by and the feeling evolved from a faint murmur to a deafening sting, bright and decidedly hot. He stood up from his bed, stumbling, and carefully used your desk chair to get down onto the floor. It was then that things started to get even stranger.

Slowly, not all that noticeably at first, but moreso as the process continued, your room started to get...smaller. He stared at the chair he’d just had to use as a firepole. After a few moments, the seat was at eye level, and then the top of the back was at eye level, and then it only stood as high as his shoulders. He looked at your desk, which now only reached his hips. What was happening to him?

Namjoon was all but convinced he had fallen asleep and that this was some insane dream, especially when the shrinking stopped and he looked around at his new, much smaller surroundings. He took a few tentative steps, flinching when the plastic stars you had hanging from your ceiling fan hit him in the face.

That was weird. They had always seemed hundreds of feet above him, and now, he was too tall to walk under them.

He stopped in place, frozen as he felt something else in his chest. He put a hand there, feeling as whatever was inside him moved. It was like someone was knocking on a door, trying to get out of him. What the fuck.

Slowly, quietly, Namjoon walked out of your bedroom, down the hall, and into the bathroom. He felt the wall for a light switch and flicked it on, stumbling back away from the mirror at the sight of the guy standing in his reflection. He slipped and fell on his ass, sitting there for a few seconds in shock.

“Ow…” He mumbled, pain blossoming from what would surely become a bruise. Pain. He’d actually FELT pain. That was...new. While he was sitting there, he took some time to look at his hands. He had fingernails, knuckles, veins beneath his skin. He used his right thumb to pinch some of this new body of his, feeling how his skin moved.

Shaking, he used the bathroom counter to get up off of the floor. He locked eyes with the man standing in the mirror. He had detailed brown irises, and upon further inspection, eyelashes. Namjoon blinked a few times, watching as the man blinked too. Maybe it was the shock of it all, but it took him a few moments to realize that this reflection was his own. This was what he looked like, and if he remembered correctly, he looked exactly like RM, dimples and all.

“Holy fuck.” He swore softly, hands rising to his cheeks to feel the soft skin there. That knocking feeling had returned to his chest, and maybe it made too much sense, but he realized it must be a heartbeat. Holy fuck, he had a heartbeat. And that meant one thing, and one thing alone.

“Oh my God, I’m human…”

Tagged: @iie-wakarimasen, @lilgaga98, @catbugsugarpea, @demonic-meatball, @backtonormalthings, @kbowen9, @honig-bienchen, @coolcat494, @ffantasylandd, @feed-my-geek-soul, @ayoo-bangtan, @xxqueenwxtchxx, @cap-lu20, @finninpoposu, @coldbookworm, @sitkafay, @daniawinchesters21, @okaysoplshelpme

#kpopwonderlandtag #btsprotectnet #armyofwriters #plastic heart #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagine #namjoon fluff #rm #rm x reader #rm imagine #bts imagine #toy story au #disney au

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writingsbychelle · 5 years

Text

The Perfect Mixture

Summary: Bucky is the barista in your favourite café. One time you notice how your heartbeat seems to pick up every time you visit the cosy café. Did the barista put too much coffee into your drink or is it something else?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Request: /

Warnings: /

Word Count: 1.874

Opening the door of your favourite coffee shop you were greeted with the familiar scent of roasted beans, fresh flowers and the variety of baked goods being presented in the display next to the counter you walked to.

“Hello (Y/N),” the barista and owner of the place you called your second home greeted you, knowing your name after the countless hours you spend in his café, drinking coffee, eating a brownie while you were finally making some progress on the book you were writing.

Over the course of several months, your routine never changed, not even once. You always entered the café at 11 am on each Tuesday and Friday, laptop tucked inside your brown messenger bag alongside your phone, notebook and a pencil, occasionally even a book for the college class you took or one you were currently reading for yourself. Without even looking up, Bucky would grab a brownie, always the corner part, from the display, placing it on a small plate before carefully putting it on the counter for you to grab after the pastry got joined by your cold brew latte with a soft hint of hazelnut flavour. It had taken a few weeks for this routine to settle but once you noticed the gesture you couldn’t help the gentle smile that was tugging on your lips, your eyes flickering upwards to his handsome face while you felt the heat rise up your neck.

“Thank you,” you’d always mumble, handing him the money for your order, stuffing two dollars into the tip jar next to the small board with the ‘special of the day’.

After grabbing your drink and food you would sit down at the table sitting by the windows, towards the back of the café, always the same table, always the same order of pulling out your stuff. First, you pulled out your phone to answer any text messages, then you’d place your laptop on the wooden table, opening it and while waiting for it to start up you’d set up your notebook, searching for the page you last wrote on before getting to work.

Bucky had started to memorise this exact routine of yours, getting used to the look of concentration on your face when you got stuck with the plot, the way your tongue would sometimes poke out or your pencil tapping against the table while you tried to find the right words. The café was usually quiet whenever you came in, allowing him to watch you while you were working, getting lost in the way your eyebrows frowned whenever you couldn’t think of a particular word, the way your eyes drifted away from your laptop to the outside world or the way your head would move along to the music playing softly in the background, ever so slightly you could’ve sworn no one would notice it.

The brunette had to admit it, he felt like a stalker more than often when he caught himself watching you. But to his defence, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, you were breathtaking to him and he felt himself getting more and more attached to you, happy you choose his coffee shop as your regular and not the brand shop from down the street.

Unknown to the tall man behind the counter you had a very specific reason to come to ‘The Winter Bean’ instead of the coffee shop with the star in its name and it certainly wasn’t the incredibly tasty coffee or the perfect brownie, even though you weren’t necessarily aware of it yourself.

“Morning, Bucky,” you smiled, placing your hands on top of the counter while you waited for the barista to finish your beverage.

Handing you the cup he shot you a smile as you already handed him the money for your order, “Here you go. Enjoy.”

“Always,” you grinned before making your way to your standard table, following your typical routine while Bucky decided to wipe down some of the free tables, seeing as the rush from earlier was finally over.

You didn’t notice just how much closer to your table he was when you felt your heartbeat speed up, making you question just how much caffeine Bucky had put into your cold brew latte as you noticed small details you usually didn’t think you were paying attention to.

The smell of maple syrup, fresh flowers and something light and bright you couldn’t quite define, but definitely familiar to you, filled your nose, the way Bucky’s arm flexed while he held the cleaning cloth in his right hand, swiping over the table to get rid of any crumbs, the other pressing a tub against his hips in which he put the empty cups and plates.

For seemingly the first time you noticed how the barista styles his hair, a few strands falling into his face while the rest was brushed backwards. The way the soft midday sun illuminated his entire face, softening his features while making him appear even more buff than he already was.

The stubble on his face.

His way too defined jawline which made him look like a god.

The way his clothes seemed almost too tight for his body, stretching over his shoulders, his biceps, his abs.

The cute little apron he wore.

For some reason you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the barista, following his every little move while your heart seemed to run a marathon inside your chest, making you certain that if Bucky were to come any closer he would be able to hear the frantic beating of your heart.

You could've sworn that your barista had made a mistake with your coffee, probably putting too much of the caffeinated liquid into your beverage, which would explain your weird behaviour.

Yes, that had to be it.

Deciding you needed some sleep to deal with the symptoms of your caffeine overdose, you stood up with shaking hands, quickly packed up your stuff, practically stuffing it into your bag before you hurried out of the cosy café, leaving a baffled Bucky behind, his eyes drifting to your untouched coffee and brownie.

You felt silly.

Silly for actively avoiding your favourite café just to instead sit in the crowded Starbucks down the street, always struggling to find a free table where you could spread out your stuff, their cold brew latte not even close to being as good as Bucky’s. You didn’t know why but something kept you from setting your foot into ‘The Winter Bean’, your body knowing the way there on its own but you always having to change your direction to go to the chain café instead. At the same time the brunette barista couldn’t help but worry, he saw you walk past his café regularly so he was sure you were well but at the same time, he kept wondering if he had done anything wrong, what the reason was for your sudden avoidance of the coffee shop.

He wanted, no, needed to see you again, ask you what went wrong, the thought that it was his fault constantly nagging in the back of his mind. But at the same time, he didn’t want to bother you, respecting you enough to give you the space you needed for whatever your reason might be. Meanwhile, you knew that you couldn’t hide forever, you needed to face Bucky, overcoming the awkwardness of whatever stood between you and getting back to your regular routine. Packing up your things you decided you couldn’t wait any longer, after bringing the cup back to the counter you walked out of the overly crowded coffee shop, turned right and walked back to your favourite place in the world.

When you came to a stop in front of the door you couldn’t help but hesitate, your hand hovering above the handle of the door until you saw the brunette barista look up, your eyes met through the glass door as you pushed it open, the little wind chime above it ringing out, ultimately announcing your entrance.

“Hey, Bucky,” you quipped after you stopped in front of the counter, looking up at the barista through your eyelashes as he placed his elbows on the surface, leaning against it.

“Hey, (Y/N). Before you say anything, I just wanna say I’m sorry for whatever I did.”

You couldn’t help but gape at him, momentarily speechless and fumbling with what words you were gonna say next as you started to fidget with your fingers, “Uh…no it’s. I just wanted to ask you if you, by any chance, put more coffee in my cold brew last time? Because my heart was racing quite a lot…”

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I didn’t put more coffee into your drink,” he smiled at you, something cocky and sheepishly in his expression, “Besides, you didn’t even touch your drink or your food last time.”

Suddenly it hit you, hard, your heart always started racing way before you even stepped into the café, just the thought of seeing Bucky and being near him made it speed up and hammer against your chest, excitement filling your veins.

Fuck…you were completely in love with Bucky. The barista chuckled at your stunned expression, sliding a piece of paper across the counter he was leaning on, his phone number scribbled onto it in black ink.

“Can I take you out on a date tonight?” he asked, his eyes flickering between your eyes and lips, unsure if he was reading the signs correctly or if he was interpreting things wrongly.

Feeling heat rising up your neck, slowly creeping to your cheeks you nodded slightly, your head slowly inching over the counter, closer and closer to Bucky’s face. You felt his breath fanning over your face, your heartbeat picking up even more to the point you were sure he was able to hear the rapid hammering inside your chest, his left hand reaching up to your face, his fingers cupping your jaw while his thumb brushed over the corner of your lip. Just as your lips were about to touch you hear the wind chime above the door ring out, causing you and Bucky to jump apart only to see a smirking tall, blonde man stand in the doorway.

“Steve, hey,” Bucky breathed out, his voice slightly pressed as he felt frustration at his best friend raise.

“Am I interrupting something?” he teased, knowing well enough that he did, in fact, interrupt something.

Letting his head hang low Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle at the awkwardness of the situation, a smile tugging at your lips as well.

“I’m…gonna go. I’ll see you at 7?” you smiled at the barista, his head shooting up and he gave you an apologetic smile as you fixed the shoulder strap of your bag.

Bucky quickly jogged around the counter, meeting you in front of the glass door to his café to hold it open for you, pressing a quick kiss against your cheek as you walked out onto the street, waving goodbye to Bucky and his friend, “Bye, Bucky. Bye, Steve.”

“Bye,” the blonde man waved quickly before Bucky turned towards him, the smile leaving his face as the barista pointed his finger at him.

“And you…”

Before you were able to hear what he was going to say to his friend the door fell shut and you were walking down the street, excitement filling you up as you were barely able to contain the big smile stretching over your face.

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED!

Tag List

Forever Tag List: @marvelsbunch @trees-and-ink @stardustbooknerd @heartbreaker6995 @alex--awesome--22

Marvel: @thebookamongmen @caswinchester2000

Bucky Barnes: @thisismysecrethappyplace @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @stanclub

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #*writing #marvel #bucky barnes

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bethkerring · 5 years

Text

I’m beginning to think that one of the most lauded qualities of a writer is not taking care of yourself.

I can already hear the responses to this. Some of you might say that this is a load of BS, that of course this isn’t an ideal, even if it’s (sometimes) a reality. And some of you might nod along, but also say that it’s not going to change. Writers, artists, and people in other creative fields of work tend to put caring for themselves on the backburner, and that’s just the way it is.

I also don’t claim some sort of self-care high ground. I am just as guilty as most of us in putting my work before my health. I remember spending most of the summer when I was fourteen staying up until five in the morning working on my second novel. I wrote around 4000 words a day then, and finished my 150,000-word book in less than two months.

I also screwed up my sleep schedule so thoroughly that, for that entire summer, I found myself completely unable to fall sleep until the sun was up. There were days when I didn’t pass out until eight in the morning.

Now, I can’t blame all of this on my writing, but I also can’t discount it: it was far from the first time I had sacrificed sleep for the sake of my craft, and it would be far from the last. And to be fair, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with an occasional sleepless night if you happened to be filled with inspiration, and I know that many creative people are night owls, but are forced to live in a world built for morning people. But there’s a difference between occasional sleepless nights and intentionally living in a constant state of sleep-deprivation just to get more writing done.

That’s the first, but far from the only, symptom that I’ve seen popping up among writers, sometimes as a complaint, sometimes as a joke, and occasionally even with a sense of pride. Sleepness nights are common, but so is drinking a ridiculous amount of coffee (or another caffeinated beverage of choice) and surviving on junk food. I also see writers pushing themselves to write full-time even when it doesn’t provide enough income to live on, thinking that financial strain is better than “giving up” by getting a part-time or full-time day job.

Then, of course, there’s the tendency for writers to joke about their own suffering, talking about their own depression, anxiety, and/or addiction—especially alcoholism—like it’s “just part of being a writer.” And though it’s true that depression is more common among writers, and a number of famous writers struggled with alcoholism—though I can confirm, as a writer who has had maybe five sips of alcohol ever, that not all writers drink to excess—the fact that this is taken as “just the way things are,” and often made light of, is more than a little concerning. It’s even more worrying when writers talk about this suffering as beneficial to their writing, saying that experiencing pain is the best way for them to write their characters’ pain more accurately. Though I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a writer suggest that you should intentionally make yourself suffer, or fail to seek help, “for the sake of your writing,” it’s not a huge leap, and I know that I’ve felt on more than one occasion that there was no point seeking help when I was hurting, because, even if I was in pain, my writing would be all the better for it in the future.

I didn’t think a lot about this for most of my life, even though I’ve known I wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. I knew, at least on some level, that I didn’t want my life to be full of suffering, and I didn’t want to be a “starving artist.” But for years, I often talked about my past and present experiences with mental illness not as an unfortunate fact, but as something that helped me be a better writer. I also refused to think much about a backup/day job because I thought that meant I would never be a full-time writer—or that, if I wasn’t a full-time writer, that meant that I had “failed.”

I was lucky. I had a very supportive family that made sure that I got help for my mental health issues and supported me financially before I could do so myself. I did eventually realize that if I wanted to have any sort of independence, especially financially, that I would need to have a different job for the moment—even for years—while I built up my writing career, and with my family’s help, I found a career that made me happy and kept me financially steady. But even with this support, I still thought that I wouldn’t have “reached my goal,” so to speak, until my writing could support me—and that being a full-time writer had to be my end goal, no matter how much money I ended up bringing in.

I subconsciously continued a lot of other unhealthy habits as well. Just last year, I signed up to do NaNoWriMo—and no, I don’t think NaNoWriMo is inherently unhealthy, by any means. But I also got hired for my first full-time job in a new career on October 30, with an hour-long commute. Despite my family’s repeated suggestions that I either postpone or cancel my NaNoWriMo participation, I insisted that I had to go through with it. And so I did, sacrificing every single one of my lunch breaks and a good chunk of my evenings so that I could hit my daily wordcount goal, and the stress of that combined with the insanity of my new job led me to develop severe, almost debilitating insomnia by the middle of the month. Not exactly a healthy choice. I won NaNoWriMo, but in hindsight, I’m not particularly proud of it.

As of December 1, though, I don’t think I regretted my decision, because a good amount of writing had come from it, and I might have gone on with these unhealthy beliefs for years, if no one had challenged them. But later that month, over my long commute, I discovered the audiobook of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic.

This isn’t a review of the book (though I hope to do one in the future, once I’ve read it again), and I’m not going to go into the wide variety of topics discussed in it. In short, it’s a fantastic book and I think all creatives—and I think all humans are creative, so everyone, really—should read it. But it was one part in particular that made me rethink so much of what I’d come to believe about being a writer.

Be a trickster, not a martyr.

I admit, the second part of this made a lot more sense than the first, at least on initial reading. I don’t think I had ever consciously thought of myself, or other writers, as “martyrs.” After all, we’re not throwing ourselves in front of buses to save a bunch of people—we’re just making art, right?

But being a martyr doesn’t necessarily mean sacrificing yourself for other people, at least in the traditional sense. We might be sacrificing ourselves—our mental or physical health—in the belief that our art is worth more than we are, in the hope that our work will be making a difference long after we’re gone, or just to the idea that “good” writers sacrifice themselves for their craft. Even if we wouldn’t call ourselves martyrs, we might have at least a bit of a self-sacrificial mindset.

The second part of the statement, being a “trickster,” is something I’m still trying to fully understand, and it’s a philosophy that applies to far more than just writing, or creativity in general. The way Elizabeth Gilbert puts it, it is approaching “the chaos of the universe lightly.” Tricksters trust that things will work and sneak around, doing their work playfully. I’ve never really thought of myself as a trickster before, and even with this definition, I still don’t think I’ve come close. But it’s a goal that sounds more than worthwhile: being able to stay playful even when dealing with the challenges inherit in writing and publication. Being able to trust that things will work out, even when they seem to be going horribly. Treating art as a game instead of focusing on the difficult parts.

Of course, as attractive as this kind of life sounds, that doesn’t mean it’s at all easy to achieve—and I don’t want to imply that individuals are necessarily at fault for living like a martyr. Some problems come from society, and some problems are probably going to be there no matter what we do to improve the world. Mental illness can result from life experiences, genes, or a combination of the two, and no one should ever be blamed for having them—and sadly, at least in America, health care for these illnesses still kind of sucks. A lot of creatives also struggle financially, and that, too, isn’t the fault of the individual. The world of creative professionals is harsh and making a living in it takes immense amounts of time and effort, and even more dumb luck.

But there’s a difference between not blaming yourself for your suffering and embracing that suffering as “just part of being a writer.”

And that’s what hurts me to see in the writing community, and what I still see pop up occasionally in myself: the idea that suffering makes you a better writer, a real writer, and instead of getting help, you keep on suffering “for the sake of your craft.”

I’m not going to present some grand theory about where this comes from. Maybe writers just saw other famous writers suffering and wanted to emulate their idols. Maybe it sprung out of the greater culture that self-sacrifice is always a good thing, that it’s virtuous and a sign of strength, instead of something that can destroy you. Maybe we really do think that suffering ourselves is the best way to write the suffering of our characters more accurately. Or maybe we see more value in our work than in ourselves, and are willing to sacrifice our own health and comfort during our short time alive in the hopes that our work will be good enough to survive long after we’re gone.

But whatever the reason—and even if our individual reasons are different—the fact remains that many of us are living as martyrs, at least in some sense. And even if you don’t think you can embrace being a trickster, I feel sure that being a martyr isn’t going to help anyone. Yes, you may produce truly fantastic work, and maybe that work will live on far longer than you do. But I don’t think that’s worth your life. Your work has value, but your work isn’t alive. Your work doesn’t have physical or mental health that needs caring for.

I know that just me saying this isn’t going to convince you. If you’re absolutely stuck on the idea that your work is more important than you are, very little I say is going to change your mind. But if you’re on the fence, if you’ve been doing this without fully realizing it, then I hope you’ll consider the idea that you don’t have to keep doing it. Being a martyr doesn’t equate with being a good writer, and doing so might actually keep you from being healthy or long-lived enough to create much work. If you want your work to help people, in some way or another, then please remember that you are a person, too, and your happiness and wellbeing matters no less than any of the people you hope to reach.

I can’t give you a nice clean formula for self-care. It looks different for everyone, especially if all of our reasons for neglecting self-care are different. Everyone has different needs and it’s a lifelong journey to figure out what they are and how best to meet them. But here are a few things to start that will apply to almost everyone:

Get as much sleep as you can given your life situation (job schedule, whether you have dependents, etc.). If you find yourself unable to get good sleep, try to find help in fixing that.

Even if you can’t eat healthy all the time, try to include as much healthy food in your diet as you can.

Stay hydrated - as in, drink actual water, not just coffee.

If you find yourself suffering from depression, or if you have suicidal thoughts, look into what mental health options are available to you. Even if you can’t afford traditional therapy, there might be support groups or other resources either in your area or online. If you can’t find something at first, please keep trying. You are worth it.

Same goes with anxiety or other mental health issues.

If it truly makes you happy to be a hermit, that’s up to you. But most human beings need contact with other human beings, even if you feel awkward, have social anxiety, or have difficulty making friends. Try to reach out and find like-minded people, whether that’s other writers or just people who you get along with. This isn’t always easy or fast, but it’s worth it.

If your location and climate permit it, try to get outside a little every day. We might feel like vampires, but I swear sunlight is actually good for you.

It’s okay to not write for a while, whether that means taking a few hours off or a few months. You aren’t a failure as a writer for not writing every single day. Life happens, and sometimes you just need a break.

If you are struggling financially as a writer and see another job that you don’t mind working, will pay the bills, and will still allow you the time you want for your craft, then don’t brush it aside because you think it will make you somehow less as a writer. Being a starving artist isn’t an ideal. It’s a sad fact some of the time, but if you have a chance to get paid decently and not be miserable, then please don’t starve just so you can be a “real writer.” (You already are one.)

Remember that no matter how popular your work is, you are always more important.

Whatever you do to take care of yourself, remember to do something. Listen to yourself—not just the criticizing voice in your head—and figure out what you can do to take care of you: the human being, not just the writer.

It’s not quick, it’s not easy, and the problem is not going to go away anytime soon, but it’s always worth trying.

Original post on my website.

#writing #beth kerring blog #self-care #writing encouragement #big magic #elizabeth gilbert

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mikoriin · 5 years

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Major In Love: Bonus chapter

okay so like i realized this scene doesnt fit in the fic but i rly like it so im going to share it here. maybe put this as a bonus chapter to major in love

Syaoran sat slumped over his desk, his nose buried in his textbook. He had an exam coming up in his Religious Studies class and he wanted to get the best grade he could. His eyes ran across the pages and through his notes, flipping through the color coordinated information in his binder. He had been studying for three hours now and his brain was frying, he had two exams already within the week, a presentation that he pulled multiple all-nighters to finish, three essays, and a quiz. He was exhausted. He leaned back in his chair, resting the back of his neck onto the rim of the seat. He looked up at the white ceiling of his dorm, darkness slowly flooding his eyes as he began to doze off. Suddenly he felt a light hand on his shoulder which startled him, his eyes darting open, blinking various times. "I brought you some coffee." Tsubasa spoke, two mugs in his right hand. Syaoran happily accepted the caffeine, taking a big sip of the piping hot drink. It burnt his tongue but it didn't hurt as bad as his head felt. He watched his brother go to the desk opposite of his and open his own textbook and notes. They both took various classes that gave out a lot of homework, though Tsubasa's major was different than his own. Tsubasa was a linguistics and sociology major, a little similar to Syaoran's own major but with its own differences in classes and teachings. Luckily, the twins were fairly intelligent and could figure out the classes easily, even if one or the other needed a bit of help on whatever they were working on. Syaoran was taken out of his trance by the familiar notification of snapchat. He grabbed his phone and lit up the screen, his phone background a repeating art piece of puppy paws with a green backdrop. He noticed he had two texts from Ryuo and a snap from Sakura. Syaoran's heart fluttered at the sight of her name on his phone screen. The two had exchanged numbers and snapchats at Yuzuriha's party before everyone left the next morning. Sakura stopped Syaoran and Tsubasa on their way out, saying she wanted to keep in touch with the both of them. Syaoran opened the snap, it was a selfie of Sakura sulking with her cheek squished against her hand and a caption "This essay has me Dead" with various emojis. Syaoran smiled at the photo, even though the picture wasnt necessarily flattery, Sakura still looked incredibly cute; she really was photogenic. He replied, taking a picture of his work desk piled with books and papers, putting a caption that read "I'm exhausted". He looked at his reply before sending, wondering if it sounded too uptight. His brows furrowed, contemplating on what he should do to make the message a little more friendly and inviting for further conversation. He decided to add the weary emoji, something simple but to also show the message wasn't strict or serious. With a shaky hand, he pressed the reply button then clicked off his screen and set his phone down. Just as he was about to get back to studying for this godforsaken exam, his phone lit up again. Syaoran blinked then grabbed his phone and saw it was another notification from Sakura. She replies fast, he thought. He opened the reply to his reply to see another selfie, this time she said she "wanted a Phat Cup of Coffee". Syaoran chuckled at her use of the word "phat", clearly incorrect but done so on purpose for the sake of humor. "Does your textbook have a typo too?" Syaoran heard Tsubasa's voice from across the room. "I just found, like, two." He laughed. He looked over to his brother, a blush on his cheek. "Ah, no, I'm Snapchatting Sakura." He said sheepishly. Tsubasa then turned his full attention to Syaoran, a knowing grin on his face. Syaoran blushed even deeper at his brother's sly smile, "I-It's not anything serious, we're just talking about coffee. I'm sure she sent you a snap as well." He said, almost blurting out his sentence. Tsubasa raised an eyebrow, checked his phone screen, then looked back to Syaoran. "Nope." He said in amusement. Syaoran's face went beet red, surely Sakura was talking to someone else as well, maybe she just assumed that if Syaoran got the snap then Tsubasa would see it too. Yeah, that had to be it. Syaoran was knocked out of his racing thoughts by another snapchat notification, this time from Tomoyo. Curiously, he opened it then felt his heart race by what he saw. It was Tomoyo, clearly sneaking a picture of Sakura hunched over in her pajamas focusing on the essay she had mentioned, the side of Tomoyo's face in the corner of her own photo, she was grinning. There was text, it said "Bring her some coffee" with a heart emoji. Syaoran immediately stood up, the legs of his chair scraping against the hardwood floors of the dorm. "I'll be right back." He sputtered out without looking his brother in the face, quickly shutting the door behind him. He went outside the boys' dorms, heading to the side of the building where some vending machines sat. He parked himself in front of the coffee machine, then stopped himself, Crap I didn't ask what kind of coffee she likes! He mentally slapped himself. His eyes darted around the vending machine, examining the various types of drinks it had to offer. He could get a mocha, cappuccino, black, caffe americano. What kind of coffee does she like!? His mind was swimming in distress, he quickly grabbed his phone out of his pocket and went to snap Tomoyo, she had to know Sakura's preferences. "Syaoran?" He heard a voice from beside him. Syaoran looked to his side and saw her, Sakura standing in her pj's in front of him. His face turned a pretty shade of red, "Hi." He said, standing up straight. "You came to get coffee too? I'm glad! We can talk to each other in person now." Sakura beamed, her smile lighting up the area surrounding her. Syaoran smiled gently, his nerves easing a bit at her relaxed nature. He put his phone back in his pocket, then pulled out his wallet, getting cash out for the machine. Sakura walked up beside him, which he noticed she was awfully close, scanning the machine for her desired drink. "I think I'll have...an Espresso." She said to herself, pressing the buttons on the machine to fit her order. Syaoran mentally noted her like of espresso, thinking he would have to remember that for the future. He stood silently, still unsure of what to do. He was supposed to bring the coffee to Sakura's dorm, which he was putting off thinking about until the time came, but now she was here buying one for herself. He already had coffee in his room, he didn't want that to go to waste but he also felt weird not buying anything. "Aw shoot!" Sakura cried from beside him. "Is everything alright?" Syaoran looked at her in concern. Sakura looked at him defeated, "Yeah I just forgot to bring my cash with me...I'm so forgetful when I'm tired. I'll have to use my card now." She sighed slowly. "Is that a bad thing?" He asked. "Well, not really. But I hate using my card unless its an emergency, but I already made that trip here." She laughed quietly, brushing a bit of hair behind her hears in nervousness. "I need coffee to survive this essay and I don't want to make another trip." Syaoran looked at her for a moment, then down at his wallet. "I'll pay for you." He said without hesitation. Sakura looked absolutely shocked by this, "No!! No, you really don't have to! I was a dummy and forgot my cash, I'll just use my card, it's okay!" She was so flustered at the idea of Syaoran paying for her coffee. "I want to." He said with the most genuine eyes. Sakura looked into his eyes, connecting jade with amber. Syaoran smiled at her, giving her a look so gentle she could feel her entire body grow soft. She blushed, "Okay. Thank you so much, Syaoran." She said shyly. Syaoran's heart skipped a beat when she said his name, sending chills up his spine. He nodded then put his money into the machine, watched it make her coffee, then handed it to her, their hands briefly touching at the trade. Syaoran's cheeks turned pink at the touch, her hands were so soft. "I'll pay you back tomorrow, okay?" Sakura said with her own red cheeks. "No, you don't have to. I wanted to pay for you." He replied, giving her that same gentle smile. Sakura blinked, then smiled back. "Thank you, Syaoran...Really." She rubbed her shoe on the concrete, looking down at her hot cup of coffee. "What are you gonna get?" She then asked. Syaoran looked at the machine then down at his wallet, he only had ten dollars left in cash and then his credit card. He wasn't against using it like Sakura was, but he did prefer to use cash when he had it on him. Realistically, he had enough for a coffee, but he wanted to use the money for lunch tomorrow before he went to work. The scale in his head weighed his options: save the money for lunch or have a coffee with Sakura right now in this very moment. Sakura seemed to easily outweigh the food. He put in the order for a regular coffee, paid, then took his beverage. The two sat against the wall by the vending machines sharing their coffee over conversation; "My brother used to always call me a monster, saying I stomped around the house too much. I always dreamed of growing taller than him and crushing him under my feet, but he's still taller than me and still calls me a monster!" Sakura told Syaoran, grumbling at the talk of her brother. Syaoran chuckled at her words, thinking her batner with her brother was cute. She looked to him, "Do you and Tsubasa have anything you quarrel over?" Her smile was genuine and curious. Syaoran hummed, "Not really. We have our differences though and he likes to tease me about things, but I don't mind. He's just a little more bold than I am." He said, watching the stars peak out from behind the clouds. "Though our brother, Kimihiro, can get a bit upset easily." "You have another brother?" Sakura asked, her expression full of surprise. Syaoran nodded, "He was adopted into the family when we were 7. It took him a bit to warm up to us, but we're all very close now." He smiled fondly. "How old is he?" Sakura asked curiously. "21, the same age as Tsubasa and I." "Where does he go to school?" "New York, he's studying psychology." "That's so cool! Do you guys talk often?" "Yeah, we FaceTime when we're all free, sometimes we all FaceTime our father who is a college professor in Washington." Sakura brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She stared at Syaoran with a tender smile, "I really enjoy talking to you Syaoran." She said with a pink tint to her cheeks, "I hardly know anything about you, but I think you're kind and hard working. You take on so much and never complain and you're always helping out others. I admire you a lot." She rested her head on her knees, her smile radiating light all around her. Syaoran stared into her gentle green eyes with a blush, she was so honest and genuine. She made his chest feel like it was on fire and the butterflies in his stomach never stilled when he was around her. He looked away from her eyes, the blush still lingering on his brown skin and took a long sip of his coffee. Sakura sighed, "It's getting late and I have to finish this essay." She said, standing up from her spot on the ground, stretching in place. Syaoran stood up with her, brushing off any dirt that may have gotten on his pants. "Thank you again, Syaoran. I had a really good time." She smiled that same bright smile, "I'll see you in class tomorrow." She waved a goodbye, then turned to walk back to her dorm. Syaoran watched her go, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He had talked to her again, held a proper conversation with her, and it made his heart soar.

#tsubasa reservoir chronicle #tsubasa chronicle #trc #syaoran li #sakura kinomoto #tsubasa li #clamp #syaosaku #trc au #my writings #major in love

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stanbangttan · 6 years

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BTS REACTION “You touching and/or flirting with them”

A/N:Hi, Stanbangttan here. Yes I am in fact alive. I have been dealing with few personal issues and now I hope I will be back for good. I had this reaction request for a long time from @olivia-cosmosine But better late than never. Right? I am sorry you waited this long, but as a thank you for being patent, i made it EXTRA LONG as an imagine/oneshot kinda deal. Hope you like it! Keep reading folks.

Genre: fluff / angst / a little smut you name it

Warnings: mention of some kinks, almost pg 13

NAMJOON/RM

It was late for going out now. You are tired. You took of your make up, or what's left of it after this hell of the day at work. Stress, your boss yelling, at you and your co-workers, didn’t leave you in the best mood for the rest of your day. You didn't wanna go home. You didn't wanna go to your work. Could you just be locked inside of an library with endless rows of books? Even though you didn't want it, you went home, took a shower and was ready to finish the manga you love so much. You sat in your bed, got comfy and reached for the book. You started reading. 'I know this. I read this. Oh my god. I finished all ten of them.' - It was time to visit Clara. Clara was an older lady that held a cute little bookstore/ library. Her husband Rick, made every shelf in that bookstore for her and made her dream come true. She wanted a safe and comfy space for everyone to read and only beverage she will give you will be tea. The library was on the other part of the town. Just a few people you knew visited it or knew about the place. That gave you more peace even tho it shouldn't. It had all from books, textbooks to mangas and comics. Clara wasn't gonna discriminate any book there is, whatever form did it came in. Bean bags with coffee tables or regular chairs with regular tables for studying. Lo -fi music in the background. It was the best place on earth, why would you share it with someone? You wanted it all for yourself. You found out for this place by accident, when you were in high school and visiting a math tutor in this part of the town. Jimin was quite a good tutor but he was also handsome, so you were terrible at math all together even after his tutoring. Because how are you gonna focus on algebra when that man is next to you? So you self taught yourself, all over again at Clara's bookstore, and Clara gave you tea to keep your caffeine intake high so you can actually focus. Clara was younger, Rick wasn't in a wheelchair then, and everything seemed harmless and fun, with no responsibilities. After a while you realized you payed Jimin money just to see him every week, and not because you actually learn something from him. So you came clean. Asked him out. He said he has a girlfriend. Oh, all of them always do. That he is flattered. Oh, all of them always are. But never, ever someone said 'yes'. Or 'I wanna go out with you, Y/N.' You stopped getting tutored, you stopped going to Clara's. But you missed it. So you started to go to Clara's once again. And it became your little secret and guilty pleasure.

You sat in the bus 854, that had a stop near Clara's bookstore and about half a hour later you hopped off. Clara's face lighted up when she saw you tonight. "I thought you're gonna miss your tradition, Y/N." "Let me tell you, I was gonna do it. But I ran out of chapters." - Clara just laughed. "How is Rick?" "He's good. Recovering. They say he's gonna be walking again in a month. Even though he keeps getting up without doctor knowing." "He just can't keep his butt at one place." "You know it. Are you reading here or not? " "We'll see. Are my chapters at the same place?" - you said as you got far into the rows of shelves and books on them. "M-hm. Rain started." - Clara somewhat shouted. It is pouring out there. Great. You turned around to see Clara's face - "Then I will, until it stops." - Clara laughed mischievously, disappearing in the back room , confused you kept walking backwards until I hit something solid and firm. Automatically your lips mouth - "I am sorry." "It's okay." - male voice responded. Not stopping, you took a left, you knew the shelf location by heart, found your aisle, between ton of shelves. As you went to grab next chapter of a the manga you want to read, as a hand found yours on the same book. "I saw it first." - same male voice said. So what, it's his hand on yours. - "I took it first." His hand quickly vanished. You turned around, manga in your hand, then your eyes found his. His warm but deep brown ones. You broke the contact. Looking at him under your lashes. His lips are so full. You bet they're soft too. His voice awakens your daydream "Will you read it here?" - Oh dios mio, he has dimples. With every word those two appeared. "Uhm," - you turn to see the rain showering the streets - "Probably." - you said nodding. "I can wait for you to finish.. It." "Y-yeah. Deal." - You walked to the bean bags. Clara brought two, yes, two cups of tea, and winked at you. "Y/N, I need to go to the grocery store for a minute, can you keep the bookstore running?" "Now? Out on the spurting rain, really Clara?" She made the shush face and continued, - "Yes. Namjoon help her out, please." "Of course, Mrs. Jenkins." - he politely responded. Clara basically evaporated from the bookstore. "You know she will take long on purpose. She is acting, no, she's playing matchmaker now. This is not my first rodeo with her." "I know. Neither is mine. But she has the best interest, I swear. " "I know" - you said apologetically.

"I live down the street. I am Namjoon." - he said putting his hand in yours. "I know." - you shook it for maybe way too long as your eyes smiled at each other. Someone would say your gazes already made love to each other, because the chemistry as off the charts. His puzzled face was enough. "She said it. I am Y/N." "I know" - he smiled. Y ou took the comfy bean bag you always lay in, blanket over you and got back to your manga. He got up and looked for another manga or book to read. Whenever you lifted your gaze from the book, his gaze was on you, and he smiled. You smile back. Maybe Clara is not just playing.

JIN

"Maria, not another blind date. Nope, just NO." You shouted over the phone. Your roommate was getting pissy because she couldn't hear what Khloe Kardashian said in the new episode, but you didn't give a flying fuck. Whenever Maria got a love or better said dick interest you were the one she dragged with her, her plus one for all of mediocre best friends Maria's date had. One never better that the other. Issues and problems you didn't want in your life. But as a good friend you were you were pretending for her. But this was outrageous. "Can't you keep a man, Maria. Please keep fucking Jungkook, so I can actually have a weekend for myself, to find a date I actually want to go to." You screamed. I bet your neighbors have first hand reality show experience with what comes or is heard out of this apartment. Kira is now muting the Kardashians and pays attention to you and Maria's conversation. "Who is Jungkook?" "Shut it Kira,” - you continued the phone torture - ”I can't go on another blind date." "Tell Maria, I'll go." Kira shouted.

"No, not her Y/N. Please. Not for this one. This one is the real deal. I swear to you. He is from a good family. They both are. Both Hoseok and Jin." - Maria pleaded me. "You are indebted by me, by soooooooo much, you're not even aware how much. " "Thank you, thank you." "When are we going? And how?" "Hoseok said to catch campus bus at seven." "Dresscode?" "Girly? I don't know where we’re going. I am sorry.” "Ugh, okay. " “I can ask him though." “Yea, you do that.” - you hang up on her. Why is this your life?

-----

Instantly as you and Maria got into the bus you spotted him. This man was unbelievingly handsome. Not just handsome, he was beautiful. Pouty lips, piercing eyes, and a skin clear as first snow. I wish she set me up with a guy like him - you thought. You hate blind dates, and blind double dates are even more uncomfortable. As bus was leaving the bus stop, you looked for an empty spot, but Maria was already doing that for you. Going into pretty boy's direction. She waved the guy that sat in front of him, I assume Hoseok and he gestured her to sit next to him. There was an empty spot next to the hottie. But who's your date? Is he already at the venue? Is he at the bus? As you stood over them, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with the pretty boy, and trying not to interrupt your friend and her date, her date finally said "Oh, hi, Jin saved you spot, too." I looked at the hottie, as the guy gestured behind him. Jin. I like it. "Hi, Jin" you said as you hugged him. Was that too much? Maybe he is not the hugging type. "Hi.." said Jin awkwardly. You looked straight ahead, closing your eyes in regret, thinking how you fucked everything up, and the blind date didn't even start. This is the first one you actually liked and you fuck up. The gist of your life in 2 minutes. Then you looked at Jin, looking at you, and he smiled. Well, maybe you didn't fuck everything up just yet.

YOONGI / SUGA

Working at a Music Entertainment company as a secretary was pretty much boring, at first thought. But when you gave it time, it became quite interesting. You got to meet a lot of celebrities. And to find out some of those celebs are actually trash. To surprise pleasantly that some of them are so kind. That there are divas and an actual human with a reasoning. It was hard, but once in a while it was pleasant to work with them too. Company birthday was around the corner, and company dinner was obligatory. Well that was in the email you got. I mean dinner & drink with colleagues can't be lethal, right? You're not all from the same division, so that means you'll meet more people. As anxious that made you, it made you think about how good that is for your carrier. Just think how many people you'll meet, and how many more opportunities it will open - you said to yourself in the mirror at the restaurant. You splashed some droplets of water on your face, while picking up courage to go inside and find a table where everyone is. Girls exiting the bathroom in this exact moment laughed at you. Whatever. Y/N , be a good girl. Don't drink much. Be normal, just for tonight don't be yourself. Don't say stupid things. Stop with the puns Jin learned you. Okay? Okay. You got out there. Just few of employees arrived, which is good. Let's start small. Time passed, few small talks nothing big. Slowly but surely seats filled up. One next to you empty for over an hour. It felt like everyone knew everyone. You felt like a black sheep in a flock. Which left you with more time to drink. So you actually did. Suddenly a guy sat on that empty spot. And he puts his empty glass in front of you. Gesturing at the Soju in your hand. You stared at him in confusion. You don't know this guy. He read your mind. "Hi, I am Yoongi. Can I have the drink now we passed the names and all shitty conversation?" "Y-yes.." You poured him a drink. Then another one. And another one. When you felt like you were drunk enough for this, you asked him "Sooo, cutie pie, what division are you?" - great, we started with the awkward flirting. He kept quiet. You thought he didn’t hear you so you asked again. "C'mon, how long do you work for BH?" "I guess we didn't skip all the shitty conversations and after all. Look, I don't work in the departments." he answered, and you laughed. "Pfft, how is that possible?" - Who do he think he is? "I'm a producer. CEO.I work at the studio." Then it dawned on you.. "Ohh, so you like play an instrument? Are you my boss or something? " - you smiled. "InstrumentS actually. Piano is one of them, for example. Maybe I am. " he emphasized the "s", bragging. "I know preppy ones like you." - you blurted out. This is ironic flirting for you. He needs to keep up. He's kinda slow. And you're kinda drunk. Who are you kidding, you're too drunk. "What is that supposed to mean?" It means you are preppy full of yourself guy who thinks he's better than anyone else, but you actually fake it. You didn't say that. He's your boss. Well maybe. But you're not gonna risk it. He pays well. Well maybe. "Oh you can actually hear me now? I meant, your fingers must do wonders then." You touched his fingers, bumping at one of his silver rings, playing with it and laughed at your own dirty joke. Damn you Jin, if I remember this in the morning, I'll kill you. He was rather surprised of the sudden touch, making the face at your dirty pun, but didn't want to show that he got it or that he liked it for a matter a fact. Both of it. He just responded "I can show you if you want.." This night will be fun.

J-HOPE/ HOSEOK

You were new here. New town. New people. New group of friends. Well some of them were just friends in your eyes. Not Hoseok though. He’s so dreamy, the smile he gives to everyone, but is able to scold them as well. You needed that balance in life. You are a friendly person, talkative as much as it gets. But you never said to anyone about your crush on Hoseok. He was your little secret. Other people paired you two together for activities accidentally which made your smile grow bigger and somehow, you fell under his spell. Not that he knew, or noticed. He gave you as much attention as he gave anyone else. Or that's what you thought. It was game night and it was your turn to choose the place you all will go. After thinking long, the best option was rolling skate rink. You knew the place well, you skate well or you can pretend you don't, you dance well and you knew Hoseok would enjoy it. You made a choice thinking of him, that was not surprise to you. And as a bonus, they had amazing milkshakes! Perfect. You skated with friends, Hoseok showed off his moves even on skates. Jumping around, speeding like a lunatic, moonwalk all the way to you and the girls, pushed you about 10 meters away from the group, and almost knocked you over doing so. He caught you mid fall, like in the movies you watched, you took your hand and moved to his cheek, entranced. It'll be just like in the old movies - you somewhat prayed. He made a serious face, "wha-?" "um--" you fake cough, standing up, and looking down, trying to calm your beating heart, and shaky knees. Too bad your knees are a pair of freaking betrayers. You fell once again, your butt on the floor. He helped you stand up. You wanted to run away. To lock yourself in safety of your room for a month till this sickening, gushing feeling stops. Or just forever so you don't embarrass yourself ever again. His face was blood red, just like when he drank, the song changed and he took the chance to run away to the other side of the rink. Flustered? Or Ashamed? And you thought you wanted to run. Why did he run away? Why did you even think your life could be a movie? Whole squad was at the tables, calling your name, while you stood on the center of the rink. "We saved you a spot." - someone said. You don't even know who, you're so much out of yourself. Across from you was a empty spot too. You looked at it, for hour what it felt. But it barely passed minutes. Until someone sat, and looked at your eyes. Same voice spoke again - "Maybe we should give them little space guys.." Another chimed in "Yeah.. " All of your friends left the table, you felt the same feeling, voice inside telling you -RUN- but Hoseok didn't run so you didn't too. "So.." - he said "So.."- you repeated "I.." - you both chimed at the same time.

"You can go first" - again "Are we gonna act as twins or?" - you joked nervously "That'll be incest then.. " - Hoseok said under his breath

"What ?" - you asked just to be cut again. "I like you, Y/N" - his face flushed again, his voice stuttering and head hung low You smiled, " I do to.. " " I mean don't understand me wrong I do not like me too.. What I wanted to say.. Ugh, I hate this.. I mean I don't hate you. I... I just .. I like you too." "We're both a stuttering mess.." - Hoseok said, holding your hand.

JIMIN

Jimin was popular for his “friendliness” with girls. Whole campus knew who he was, what he was doing with his free time, and was pretty known campus hoe. Men threw him high-fives and "WhoopWhoop-ed" him when they saw him, like having a STD was something to be proud of. Boys will be boys, and girls wouldn't be girls if they didn't fall on that façade he puts every morning. How did you know that? Well, you have been childhood friend, not that close one, with the said hoe. Driving him/ being driven to campus by him, or carpooling with some friends from same neighborhood and him being there was one way. But like it wasn't more than enough that you had to share the air with him, he decided to tease hell out of you. You both sat in the back, you were looking through the window and the scenery you have seen, well million times, and still that was better than dealing and talking to him. You didn't hated him, you hated his behavior, which his older brother somehow passed on to him. That fucker is a story for itself. Suddenly, Minie and Jess, riding in the front got into “female only” discussion on a topic why is the diva cup better than a tampon or the pad, for your hygiene and economically, cutting Jimin off completely having him jobless, and in a mood for teasing you. He poked your arm, smiling so hard that his eyes closed, HE ENJOYED THIS. *poke* *poke* *poke* over and over again. You ignored. Well you tried. You snapped. That's an understatement.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"

Minie flinched and Jess, who was driving honked the car accidentally because of the sudden shout. He put the innocent face on “Why are you screaming at me, I didn’t do anything to you,” sly smile creeping in, “Gezz woman, is that time of the month again?"

"They’re bickering again.. ” Minie sighed and Jess dismissed you two, continuing their conversation, this was daily routine now.

“If by that time of the month again you mean you being annoying little shit, then that’s the whole month, brat.” you hissed.

“WOAH, someone likes that dirty talk. Kinky.” he trailed his fingertips on your arm. You kicked his hand with a smack, only to hear him mumble “Auch, rough, too.” with a sly smile. He is being entertained now. And you are the entertainer.

You didn’t care what other girls have done, that’s their life, their respect and decisions. YOU wouldn’t let that happen to you. Not with Jimin. Couldn’t he be like, normal for once, and ignore your existence? Anger flew trough you. You were red furious when you pinched closer, grabbed him by the throat, nails digging into his tender neck flesh, you lost control, the last drop overflew the glass you have been filling with annoyance and anger of him being rude and disrespectful to you.

“Touch me again, without my permission, douche, and I will cut this air flow to your non existing brain, are we clear kid?"

Minie and Jess, saw this thing went overboard, turned around when it was red light just to stop you two from killing eachother.

"Okay.” he said. Alright. That’s it. You stood for yourself. Turned around and watched the trees move again when green light showed up. You were on campus already, Jess finds a spot to park. Jimin held his throat, smiling like nothing happened, then you heard his smile voice grow again “Into chocking, huh?” his smile grew bigger and bigger as he got off the car, “I never would have guessed, but I like it.” He winked and with that he took off running, so you couldn’t catch him and kill him, per say.

TAEHYUNG / V

Being one of the boys was kinda a normal to you. You were always labeled a tomboy and to be honest you didn't hate it. It had its beneficial aspects. For example boys didn't try to use you, you didn't have those fake girl friends, most of boy friends are actually really easy and honest. Obnoxious - YES, but honest. On the other side, it was hard to date, because all your boy squad will scare him away, or tell you he wasn't good enough for you which you knew, but SOMETIMES A GIRL JUST WANNA KISS. You're not gonna marry a douche. You are rarely girly, because being girly is a opportunity to be mocked by them. All of your girlfriends, which was a small few, are possible hookups to them and you had no saying in it as they had in your love interests. Unfair. Tae will purposely tell guys to stay away from you. Or scare away the freshmen that pick up a courage to try and pick you up with cheesy lines. Namjoon would sometimes tell him to chill, and let you breathe, and you thank him for that with a ice cream cone once in a while. And he'll give you the same lecture every time, "You know I can't protect you from them all the time. You need to find a girlfriend to do this love life shit with. And this ice cream is not really worth it to go against their back…" "You sure about that? Your passionate licking tells me otherwise." "I mean mostly it is, but it's getting transparent what I am trying to do here. Just get ready and go clubbing sometimes without us Go with your girlfriends from the dorm. Just know that one call will get us there where you are if something goes wrong." And You'd say "Okay, I will." Every time but you never do it. Your girl friends are just not - not them. You don't mind not hooking up most of the time. But a period comes when you really wanna kiss somebody, and then you drown yourself in Vodka. Or Tequila. Or anything that'll help you forget how much you wanna kiss Tae. You'd dance till your feet hurt as hell. You'd scream over the lines of every love song they play. You'd make fool out of yourself. And you don't have to worry because your male squad is there to take care of you. Same one, that is hooking up rn, and same one that have a designated driver and a designated someone who will look over, specifically, you. That was the deal, every week one of them is the driver and "the look out for Y/N". This week that was Tae. You sat at the booth you got reserved. Next to Tae. “Where are they?" "Jimin was grinding over the blonde in the corner. Namjoon is at the bar with the redhead. Hoseok -" You stopped him mid sentence and continued "- at the dance floor, with god knows who, kissing god knows who." "As usual." He said. "You jealous TaeTae?" - You bopped his nose in playful tone - "You'd loooooooove to be nuzzled in someone's neck right now, making tons of hickeys. BUT YOU'RE STUCK WITH ME." - It was really pathetic telling him that last part of the sentence. He ignored your drunk ass - "Jungkook is already at the bathroom going at it. I gave him my condom, that crazy kid. Yoongi and Jin are god knows where I lost them. Probably somewhere, making puns and wining in life. And yes, I AM here stuck with YOU" - He bopped your nose back. Your head fell down, eyes filled with tears, not that he saw. You put your hand on his leg, squeezing the thigh. He didn't expect that. He got shivers. He didn't expect that too. You looked him in the eyes - "Is that what I am to you, a fucking bother?" - you stood up. You're leaving this place right now. You don't need them. You can go back. You can order a uber. An uber driver can be a murderer. But you're not that pretty anyways. "Where the heck do you think you're going to?" he mocked you, laughing. You wobbled around. You're too drunk for this. You should stop drinking. Or stop drinking this much. "What do you care where I am gonna end up to? Will I get murdered? Or not?" - you made no sense. "And I am perfectly fine for your information. I'm not that pretty to be murdered.” - he laughed harder. "Don't you laugh at me, you moron." - you came back just to hit him. He welcomed your hits. He caught your hands, locked his gaze on you and then he kissed you.. You stopped breathing for a second, you stopped crying, you stopped hitting him, and stopped screaming at him. World stopped spinning for that ten seconds too. "Stop it, you're drunk, Tae." - this was not the first kiss you shared, every time Tae drunk as an ass when it happened, every time you stopped him telling him he's drunk. "No I am not, I'm sober as a cop tonight. Remember?"

JUNGKOOK

I think it's understatement to say you are crushing on Jungkook. It's been too long to even remember when this started for you. He's the best friend of your brother. He's always at your house, since you were 8, and he moved down the street, and stole Michael's bike. So Mike ran back to your mom crying to go and retrieve the bike Jeongook stole. He didn't stole it, per say, he just borrowed it. For a couple of hours, to drive, without giving it back to Mike and ignoring him all together, later stashing it in his garage as his own. Okay, he stole it. But he was not a bad kid. Then he kept getting Mike to play with him, you were somewhere there playing sometimes with them, sometimes with Anna across the road. School started, years passed, and puberty came. Some of you, him per say got handsome, muscly, jawline got sharper, and he got taller. Long story short, puberty hit him like a truck, no, even better, like a bus. You for example, almost got hit crossing a zebra of adolescence, but the puberty saw you just in time so you didn't get hit at all. Puberty got out in a hurry at the crime scene with a simple sorry. You got to work for your beauty yourself. Pluck those bushes above your eyes. Strip the mustache that Jeongook didn't even grow out, yet somehow you had it. Shave your legs. Buy pushup bras, that didn't do wonders for your non existent boobs, because in order for push up bra to work it needs little some-something to push - up. Girls got prettier day by day, and you got more and more friend-zoned by Jungkook day by day. He started dating, you started extra curriculum activities. He was going to parties, you were going to poetry slam nights at the local coffee shop. Until one night, he was knocking at your window at 2 am. You heard a knock while finishing a book, yes, at 2am. A crying mess. You opened a window, expecting Mike to sneak in as usual. But when dark figure that was inside your bedroom, pulled down the hoodie, you almost screamed. His hand found your lips, and shut it quickly. "shhhhhhhhhh.. " - he looked at you once more, moonlight only thing that was on at this our, making your face barely visible - "were… you.. crying?" "What?" - you remembered the book - "uhh, no, allergies." "At night?" - he laughed. "It's that bush you climbed on, I swear to god, imma make dad cut it down." "Don't" - he said alarmingly, - "How am I gonna sneak into your room at night then?" Your heart skipped a beat at this teasing he always did even though you looked like it didn't - "You'd just have to stop doing it." - he made a fake crying face - "Why are you here, now?" "Kaitlyn threw me out, her parents got home early from their business trip." - he joked. Or Jacob came early, you chuckled. "And you told your parents you are at??" "at yours.. I mean Mike's. " "Of course." -irony came out. "Are you mad?" "Well you literally barged in my room at 2am.. It's not like I am happy.." - you grumbled, sitting back on your bed. "You're the only girl in our school, no, town, who would be mad I got into her bedroom at night." - he jokes, "Cocky much?" - but see you're not laughing with him, - "Or I could leave." "And where would this gentleman go, to who's girl bedroom in this time of the night?" - your curiousness got to you. "No one's, Kaitlyn and I are official now." , Except she's cheating on you, you thought. "My ass you are." - you muttered to yourself, "But here you are." - you sounded bitterly.

"You know that you don't count, Y/N. " You arched an eyebrow. "Does she know that though, Jeongook? "She doesn't have to know. It' not like anything is gonna happen. C'mon, You're not gonna throw me out.."

"Maybe I should." "But, Y/N, I don't have anywhere to go." What do you do when a poor puppy comes to you for help?

"I guess you can sleep on the floor. You know where the blanket's are, don't touch anything else." "Thank you. I won't." You usually wake up hugging a pillow. Today you hugged something more stiff. Longer too. Bigger too. Warmer too. Also smelled nice. You nuzzled your face into it, not opening your eyes once. His arms wrapping in a perfect loop just for your shoulders to fit in. You continued to sleep. After fifteen minutes the alarm started ringing. You snoozed it by memory and turned your back to the "pillow". He hugged you tight around the waist. Pressing your body to his. "Good morning, Y/N."

Waaaaaaait, wha--? Your pillow doesn't talk. Or smell. Or hugs you back. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK THAT YOU'RE DOING? I TOLD YOU TO SLEEP ON THE FLOOR."

"No, mid night you said I can hop on. You even took my hand, played with it, laced your fingers with mine. And told me the truth." - he said sleepy voice. Oh gosh you could wake up to this every day. Wait what truth? "Jeongook?" "Yeah?" "You know for a fact I sleep talk shit."

"No."

"No?" "I know for a fact you sleep talk the truth you usually hide. Like the when you saw Mike hiding the gummy bears in the ziplockbag under the hollow box. You told me that while sleeping, and I found them and then we ate them together without him. I still remember his face when he found a FUCK YOU!note." - he laughed wholeheartedly, eyes closed. This feels so casual and nice. Why can't I be Kaitlyn, I'd never cheat on him. "You're missing the point here. What did I tell you?" "Nothing. Get up, we're gonna be late to school." "Since when do you care?" "Since today." WHAT THE HELL. He left. Through the window. "We have doors, you know." "I know." - He smiled back. He went insane. ------ Lunch break. You spotted Jeongook, alone. Now's the time. You took him by the hand. He let you. You dragged him across the yard. He let you. You hurried. He slowed you down. You sat at the far back bench. He stood next to it.

"Sit." you ordered.

"Why?" he asked. "Just for five minutes."

"Okay" "Tell me what I said tonight." "The truth." "I got that, dumbass. But what did I exactly say?" He took your hand, taking you by surprise. He laces your fingers with yours. Slides across the bench closer to you. Clasping your hands together. You kept watching your hands intertwined. How a nice feeling to feel. Your eardrums had a beat of your heart on them. Blood rushed from your to your head and you could swear to god you could feel it. His lips parted, his hand played with your fingers. "Don't be with Kaitlyn, Gookah." - he suddenly said. You still kept quiet. Lips pressed into a thin line. "Why?" - he said in more masculine tone. He was finally telling you what you wanted to know. And it terrifies you. You knew what he did. He did the Ken and Barbie thing you did as a kid. You stopped breathing. You can't look him in the eye. Still playing with your fingers, leaving slow and gentle touches all over it, how you probably did to him yesterday - "She is a bad person." "How do you know?" - You were afraid of this. "I saw her.." -Oh god you didn't say this. "and?" - he was asking questions to you on purpose.

"and it's not on me to tell.. " - Yes that’s where It should end. "but?" "but.. She's two timing, she is with Jacob. I am sorry." "It's okay."

You stopped his monologue. "I am really sorry. It's not a way to find out. " He stopped you, now, mid sentence - "I am not finished." He looked you in the eyes. He continued. Oh god, no.

"But I'd never do that to you." - You prayed hard this isn't what you did say in your sleep. "I know."

"I'd never cheat on you, Gook." - All life you had left in your face, vanished.

"I'd never cheat on you, Y/N." - All life that had left you, came back. Your eyes warm. His voice honey like. "I know." "Can I got on the bed now?" - His smile smug. You didn't call him up, after all. "If you're cold." - He took you from the bench, put you on his lap, whispering "I am cold, Y/N."

It sent shivers down your spine, as his lips found yours, fitting perfectly into each others. Low on breath, he stopped, just to say -

"Don't cut that bush for real now."

"Stop lying I invited you to my bed, you freak."

"Will you invite me now? "

"I don't know. Not yet. You can sleep on the floor like yesterday."

"But I didn't sleep on the floor yesterday. Oooh" - He wanted to hug you much closer than he physically could.

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ramyunbb · 5 years

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DECORATION (pt. 1)

Minhyuk hates Mondays. He also hates work. Who wants to attempt to sell houses and apartments and everything in between on a Monday morning? What nutjob wants to buy anything on a Monday morning? His office is too warm, and, if dress-code allowed it, he would rip off his suit jacket in a heartbeat. The way the harsh sun shining through his office window burns the skin on the back of his neck and heats his dark leather chair is reminiscent of an ant being burned by a magnifying glass. This oddly profound thought leaves Minhyuk wondering if he’d somehow managed to inhale some of the stifling cloud of marijuana smoke at Jinwoo’s cousin’s friend’s party last night. Or was it Jinwoo’s friend’s cousin? Who cares? The point is, it’s Jinwoo’s fault that Minhyuk is hungover and can’t bring himself to get out of his chair even though he has a meeting with a client in 10 minutes and hasn’t even opened their file yet. It’s definitely his fault.

A knock on the door of his office earns a groan of protest from Minhyuk, as the sound causes pain to course through his brain. A second groan escapes when Myungjun waltzes into the office without being told to enter, arms holding a tray of iced coffee and his face carrying a smile.

“Hey, Rocky!” Myungjun chirps.

Minhyuk’s forehead slams against the desk, still in the process of rolling his eyes at the silly nickname.

“I brought you coffee!” At this, the hungover man shifts slightly to see his sunbeam of a friend kneeling by his desk, holding out the aforementioned caffeinated beverage.

“You’re the fucking best,” Minhyuk manages to grumble, reaching for the coffee.

“Ah ah ah, language, mister!” Myungjun teases, gently patting the top of Minhyuk’s head, smoothing a few stray hairs into place. Minhyuk just halfheartedly flips him off and snatches the drink.

“I’m leaving a painkiller on this weird old napkin underneath your dying succulent plant- you need to water that by the way- and there are more in my office if you need them. Your client should be here any minute, so I think you should probably at least attempt to look like a human being, do you have a comb? Because your hair is a mess. You should also probably try not to glare too much, we wouldn’t want a repeat of the October Incident-“

Minhyuk sharply cuts into Myungjun’s torrent of words as soon as the talkative man takes a breath. “Okay, Mom, I get the point. And I thought we agreed to never mention that again?”

“I just like to watch you suffer, have fun with your client, I’ve heard he’s a doozy.” Giggling, Myungjun turns to leave the room, leaving Minhyuk wincing in the sun streaming into his office. “Lunch with JinJin at that new café down the street today?” He calls as he walks down the hallway.

Minhyuk doesn’t bother to respond. Myungjun already knows the answer, lunch on Mondays has been their tradition as long as they’ve been friends. Minhyuk does wonder what Myungjun meant by calling his client “a doozy,” so he reaches over to grab the painkiller (Myungjun was right, his succulent did need to be watered) and washes it down with his coffee. Grimacing at the god-awful combination, he reaches for the manila folder on his desk and flips it open. His heart nearly stops when he sees who his client for this morning is.

Yoon Sanha.

For the second time in 5 minutes, Minhyuk’s forehead meets the polished wood of his desk, narrowly missing the keyboard.

—————

When Minhyuk decided he wanted to become a realtor, he really was expecting to be selling cute houses to new couples and families, the kind of families with one boy and one girl and a dog and a cliched but perfect life. The kind of life Minhyuk secretly craves (he can’t be open about that, it would ruin his punk-rock aesthetic). He did not expect to be selling studio apartments and mansions to famous interior designers looking for a new project that they’d just turn around and sell again as soon as they finished whatever it was they were attempting to accomplish. But Minhyuk has always been good at accepting the little quirks life throws at him, and he has built quite the reputation for himself in the design world. The one quirk he wasn’t prepared for was the sudden appearance of Yoon Sanha.

Yoon Sanha. King of interior design and king of making Minhyuk feel like he’d just swallowed a bowl of jello. He appeared out of the blue, taking over as CEO at his mother’s interior design catalogue when she decided to retire in favor of cruising around the Caribbean. Suddenly, he was the star of every realty and interior design related tabloid (not that Minhyuk would know, he definitely didn’t have a subscription to “Decoration Disasters” which featured Mr. Yoon’s work as an example of a non-disaster and described him as a “handsome hunk”. Minhyuk only slightly agreed). Minhyuk had the chance to meet this design extraordinaire at a mixer put together by Cha Eunwoo- aka Dongmin, one of Minhyuk’s best friends and a photographer.

The party was going fine, the champagne was delicious, and Minhyuk had his eyes on a plate of those little sausages that a waiter had just carried past, when Dongmin slapped his arm to get his attention. That would’ve been fine normally, if they had been alone, but when Minhyuk turned, he came to realize that a certain Yoon Sanha was standing close- too close- and a collision was inevitable. One glass of spilled champagne later, soaking Sanha’s shirt, Minhyuk earned himself an incredibly awkward introduction and a very uncomfortable aquaintance. His friends have never let him live it down, and Minhyuk was hoping to never have to think about it again.

That was in January, now it’s March and that uncomfortable aquaintance is going to be sitting in his office and taking over his life for the next 4 months, if he was lucky. Sanha has a knack for roping his realtors into every project he works on, something about “the realtor’s eye” he doesn’t possess (Again: Decoration Disasters and their interviews putting weird Yoon Sanha trivia in Minhyuk’s head). He’s never kept a realtor for more than one project, and it’s common to hear of them quitting partway through. Minhyuk wonders why he didn’t know about this appointment, and why he would ever agree to schedule something for 10:00 am on a Monday. Maybe he’s possessed and needs to go to church with Dongmin, who asks him on a weekly basis. (He definitely inhaled some marijuana smoke at the party, why else would he be thinking about possession?)

A knock on his door snaps Minhyuk out of his thoughts.

“C-come in!” Minhyuk really wished his voice hadn’t cracked.

The door swings open and there, in all of his glory, was the man himself.

Yoon Sanha.

#astro #socky #mj #jinjin #eunwoo #moonbin #rocky #sanha

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abiteofnat · 5 years

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Don’t knock it till you try it...

Because one day, you might suddenly be old and ill and just really need the comfort of a hot cup of black coffee.

Even writing that, I suddenly felt all my joints stiffen and a need to yell at neighborhood kids.

As an ex-barista and lover of ALL overly-sweet coffee beverages (including the occasional summertime Frappucino), I have never been one to crave the same cup of scalding hot acid that customers used to wait in line for 20+ minutes for. I get it- it’s cheap, it gives your eyeballs the ability to see, you can put sugar and milk in it, whatever. But other than enjoying the very intense training and roast taste tests Peet’s loved to encourage employees to take part in, I never found myself walking out of a shift holding anything other than a glorified morning-time cocktail of caffeine. So imagine my surprise when the other week I was in Boston with my family, and that awkward fall weather between chilly, moist and downright pleasant had me questioning if it was time to ween off the iced coffee for something that could warm me like an internal fireplace. ME? Not want ICED COFFEE? Unheard of. I also wasn’t feeling great, and wanted... black coffee?? What?? So I asked my dad, the designated water boy of Starbucks for my family of demanding women, to get me a tall dark roast coffee with cream. Let me tell you, it sparked genuine concern in my mom and I think it’s truly when my life as a grandma began. Between that and needing to ice my legs every few hours due to a medical mystery I’m currently the star of, I had become old and weak, wanting none of that caramel macchiato crap and just wanting coffee.

Twenty minutes later I sipped the ostracized dark roast with a pinch of cream and chocolate powder, and I'll be damned- it was so, so good. As in, I wanted it the next morning, and the morning after that, and then wanted to try a different roast from a non-Starbucks cafe, and then began a quest to try all the house roasts at little coffee shops around Chicago. It’s become an obsession of sorts and caused me to question, maybe working as a barista made me resent black coffee from working around it too much; from measuring beans and counting out pounds and constantly burning myself on the giant coffee brewer baskets, I can see how it’s possible. We’re an espresso family- it’s in our blood. We are made of Americanos, and I was blind to see any other way to be. But I am changing.

So now I have a running list of everywhere that makes a decent cup of dark roast and it turns out, when you have a really refined palette from needing to recite flavor profiles off the top of your head to very inquisitive customers and also grew up around coffee since birth, you can tell what’s good and what’s not. Everyone has their own personal preference, but I’m all about the Central American roasts that offer rich chocolate tones, deep flavor, and a smooth finish. Working at Peet’s, the only roast I would suggest was the Guatemala San Sebastian blend because it was the single roast I genuinely loved and because it tastes like chocolate cake. It is fun to build up that flavor profile and know exactly what smell, taste and depth makes you happy to brew up in the morning, and so I suggest you don’t act like a mole person as I did for many years and aim to expand your coffee knowledge. One day you’ll be 80 and that cup of coffee will take you back to all sorts of memories, which is also why I believe the only reason people like coffee is because it reminds them of adults they love drinking coffee and therefore also want to feel like an adult by drinking it. Ask anyone, adults have nooo clue what they’re doing in life either but they look like they do when they’re holding coffee.

Anyway, the point of this post was not to preach about not being a mole person and instead inform readers where some freakin’ good coffee is! So keep scrolling!

1. Everybody’s Coffee

This place was somewhere I'd been once before with a close friend, and we spent a very early morning there hiding from the bitter cold after attempting to do a full-on photo shoot with the sunrise by the lake. If you have ever been to Chicago and been by the lake outside of the summer months, you know it’s breathtaking but terrible. So Everybody’s Coffee was our heaven that AM and the entirely wooden interior made it infinitely cozier, as it feels like a secret log cabin located right on Wilson. The Wilson area isn’t exactly desirable, but there are some gems if you find ‘em. Also, there’s a Sonic.

The other morning I changed up my routine and took the bus to Wilson, got a coffee, enjoyed a particularly peaceful morning sipping joe and waiting for the next bus, and then rolled up to work feeling caffeinated and yet calm. Taking that extra time for myself in the AM, and weirdly enough talking to a barista before a single coworker, made such a difference!

Everybody’s Coffee is one of the most inviting coffee shops ever, so if you’re looking for an actual hideaway where you can set up your laptop and enjoy a croissant and damn good coffee, check this place out.

2. Zanzibar’s Cafe

This spot is always full of interesting characters enjoying their cakes, sandwiches, gigantic salads, and shockingly awesome coffee at all times of the day. Located on Bryn Mawr (yes, even more north) this cafe has a mix of all the breakfast/lunch essentials and they are GOOD. Snag a morning bun filled with fresh lemon zest, the Western breakfast sammie, and a pipping hot coffee with a dash of hazelnut syrup to start your Sunday and you’ll be ready to take on anything... like a nap, or the short walk to the next location!

3. Phlour

Phlour is a newfound love song I cannot stop singing. Also located in the Narnia that is the Bryn Mawr area, this spacious bakery has like a billion type of croissants and they are all DELISH. I am very picky about croissants because there’s a difference between the waxy, bread-y Starbucks kind and then the buttery, flaky, light but oh-so-rich decadence of a FRONCH CROISSANT. One bite of their chocolate croissant and I was like OUI OUI, MERCI. Then I also ordered a cinnamon roll and after a lick of icing I was like oh HON HON (French laughter). The coffee was ordered large and black, and it was perfect. Since it’s now winter and snow has snowed, I was wrapped in layers and hats and my fur coat and nothing was better than wrapping my hands around that cup o’ morning love. Go to Phlour and find literal paradise in the form of carbs, caffeine, and incredible decor that includes neon lights (my kryptonite).

4. Cafe Hollander

Ok... So this one is in Wisconsin... EVEN FARTHER NORTH. I’m so sorry Chicagoans, I'm askew! I’m not trendy! There’s something very satisfying about enjoying a cup of coffee that’s not 2 feet from the streets of the Loop... but watch me live in the Loop next year and change my tune. My girl Sheila and I adventure to Madison every fall and this year we happened to go the first weekend of November, when that cold, sleepy feeling truly takes you over no matter what time of day it is. We enjoyed a football game and lots of Starbucks day one of the trip, and even got cider at Collectivo which was warm and wonderful to sip while looking at the Capitol all lit up. Sunday, however, we needed real coffee and a lot of warm food before heading back to Chicago so we headed to Cafe Hollander a little outside of the downtown area. While the service was overwhelmed by the amount of people there, and the food took eons to come out of the kitchen, I was soooo pleased with my breakfast and drank maybe 3-5 mugs of their coffee. It was the perfect mix of bitter and sweet milk chocolate tones, and then the smooth aftertaste sold me on whatever they kept pouring in my mug. Combined with the cute seating near the giant glass windows and greenhouse-style roof, I was very excited to relax and chat about life for the hours we roosted there.

And then, we got Starbucks for the drive back because the holiday cups really just scream “please hold me while you sing Christmas carols for the entire two and a half hour drive back.” Yeeeep.

I can’t wait to keep trying new coffees at new places, and I'd love to hear any suggestions for coffee spots I have yet to wander into! Please let me know!

Until next time, Happy Eating!

-Natalie

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