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#Specifically of him saying “Keep your smile merry and always know that I love you. Very much.”

b00tyliciousbabe · 4 months

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gingerbread

himbo bf x male reader

summary: spending time with your boyfriend and his family for the holidays. some fluff, lil angst, bad jokes (i apologise in advance), and minimal smut of course.

notes: merry chrysler! hope y’all pretty people are doing amazing. notoriously indecisive in true bootylicious fashion, i settled on one of my fave typa men - gentle giant himbos. think danny wheeler from baby daddy. now, i would never call my men dumb, but always be saying real stupid things. there’s a specific kind of wonder that you can see in their eyes…i’m whipped.

disclaimer: i also tried to keep it as open to as many tastes as possible, so a lot of who he is, you can do create yourself. but i had to make him a bit of a redhead, they too fine.

y’all better gass me because the way i wrote this 3 hours before the end of xmas day, enjoy babies <3

saved in his phone as gingerbread - he’s a ginger, and you get bred xx

you always loved spending time with your boyfriend’s family, almost as much as they loved you. his mother was the first to catch Y/N fever, mostly because you reminded her of herself and it was a relief to know that someone could handle her son’s antics . then it was his brothers, they loved how mellow you made him, as if all of his struggles melted away when you waltzed into his life. they felt like your guardians, wanting to protect you because they knew how much you meant to their baby brother. and his sisters…they’re lowkey your best friends. when you first met, y’all got on so well with one another bonding over fashion, pop culture, and weirdly philosophy.

his dad liked you as a person, believing you were a kind soul, but not the person for his son, because of how different you two were. they were a quiet luxury kinda family, which didn’t necessarily coincide with how connected you were with celebrities. this was until he saw how well you worked together. whilst working on a huge project for the family business, your boyfriend was stressed in the office. you walked in, ready to go on a date after he’d finished. ‘hey baby, you look hot, where you going?’ he’d forgotten, but you never held it against him. you loved to see the cogs turn in his head as he came to a realisation. ‘shit. it’s date night.’ he groaned head in hands. ‘I’m so sorry Y/N, work’s just been so busy, the clients wanted to move the order forward, the contractors needed more data on the financial markets, and…’ you sat down on his desk, holding his chin so you guys exchanged eye contact. ‘babe, it’s all good, i know it’s a really busy time for you.’ you stroked his face reassuringly, a sigh of relief emitted from his lips. ‘i ain’t leaving your side, we’re in this together,’ you said as you went in for a kiss. it was deep and sensual, and if you didn’t stop when you did, you would’ve left that room walking side to side. ‘so, what can i help with?’ you responded, looking at the documents on the desk. he stared up lovingly, ‘i don’t deserve you,’ he admitted ‘too good to me.’ which garnered a little chuckle from you. his dad saw how supportive you were, pulling an all-nighter for the benefit of your man. you were so tired that the two of you spooned on the couch in his office, and slept there. early the next morning, the two of you were met with a breakfast course on the coffee table and your respective starbucks orders. you kissed your bf goodbye, so he could work, and just as you were about to leave, his father stopped you. ‘good morning Y/N, did you enjoy the food?’ he questioned as you entered the elevator together. ‘it was lovely sir, thank you.’ you replied hesitantly. ‘the only thanks due is to you, i appreciate how you’re always there for my son.’ you smiled inside, longing to prove yourself to him. ‘I love him sir, he needs to know that any problem he has, automatically becomes our problem to solve together.’ he knew at that moment, you were the perfect fit.

one of the core memories of your relationship was the weekend in the alps. your boyfriend thought this would’ve been the perfect opportunity to have some alone time with you before the new year. with award season coming up, many celebrities needed to be styled, you legit had no time to see him, it was going to be amazing. you stayed in the chalet his parents owned, but neither of you knew that it’d be an entire sibling getaway. the two of you snuggled under the blankets, drinking hot chocolate, whilst listening to some quiet smooth jazz in the background. revelling in how cozy and warm it was, he was dozing off whilst cuddling and you decided to follow suit, but not before a quick kiss on your bf’s nose - he’s so cute. unfortunately, like most precious things, this didn’t last long. there was a huge clatter at the door, awakening you two. ‘what the fuck are you guys doing here?’ your man blasted at them. ‘oh hey lil bro,’ one of them said as the others made themselves feel at home. ‘we heard you lovebirds were here and wanted to see Y/N again, we missed him.’ they all waved at you. you blushed and immediately got up greet them all with hugs and squeals. ‘omds, i haven’t see you guys in ages, we have so much to catch up on.’ you blurted out in an excited frenzy. your love, on the other hand, didn’t share the same energy. whilst you had walked to his sisters, his brothers playfully punched your bf to cheer up. ‘you idiots, have the worst timing, he said as they got ready to get some wood for the chimney.

it was just you and the girls, as you gossiped about the drama that went down during fashion week as they ate up every word. you mostly had done a lot of listening to their relationship dramas and work lives, as you shared a couple giggles. you has made gingerbread men, as his sisters watched the master at work. ‘Y/N, these are delicious, how are you so good at everything?’ they praised which made you blush. the boys had returned, with your man wincing with pain as his brothers carried him in. ‘the dummy tripped on the snow’ they said snickering as you walked to help him. ‘how many times have i told you to be careful out there?’ you said, concerningly staring at the bruise on his hip. you touched it gently earning a wince from him as he pushed away your hand. ‘sorry babe.’ he stared dead in your eye and looked away, giving you the silent treatment. ‘what do you need?’ he continued airing. ‘i’m gonna get some bandages’ you said, unsure of what you did to hurt him emotionally.

‘the fuck is wrong with you?’ his sisters protested, thumping his head. ‘ow! what do you mean?’ ‘that boy loves you, so much so that he puts up with all of your shit and stupidity.’ they come to your defence. he looks to his brothers for help, but to no avail. ‘dude, I’ll be real, you fucked up.’ one says. ‘he was just trying to help’ another adds. like the youngest, he continues to deflect ‘well, if you guys hadn’t come, i wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and me and Y/N would have been happier. he finally admitted. ‘oh damn.’ their faces became gentler as they circled in on him. ‘I just never get to see him now, with work and everything, and i don’t want him to get used to not seeing me’ he started to get teary but hid it behind a scowl. ‘bro, you are meant to be with Y/N, i see it in your eyes every time he walks into a room, like he’s the only one there.’ your bf smiles at the mere thought of your face. ‘see, he ain’t even here and you’re cheesing so bad rn.’ they all laugh. ‘i don’t know how to tell him, he’s so good at communicating his feelings, i just, i just can’t do it the way he does.’ his heart begins to beat faster. ‘that’s the thing though, he knows you better than you know yourself.’ the eldest brother says ‘there’s nothing that he won’t be able to understand because the two of are so connected.’

you enter with the bandages and medical supplies. ‘here’s a chance to fix that’ his twin sister says as they leave and move to the other side of the mansion, locking the door behind them as they wave you bye for now. you sit beside him on the sofa, placing a hot compress on his bruise. ‘Y/N, we need to talk.’ you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine by being stand-offish ‘speak then.’ you say glaring into his eyes that made you melt every time but now. ‘i am so sorry for my rude behaviour, i know you were just tryna help my stubborn ass.’ you continued tending to his wounds, with an apathy rivalled only by the unconditional love you have for him. ‘whatever.’ you muttered. ‘aw, come on baby, don’t be like that.’ he grimaced. ‘like what,’ your voice growing in confidence ‘like someone who, as hard as they try, can never get their boyfriend to fully open up?’ you admitted. ‘you know that’s not the whole story.’ he looks down. ‘mkay’ you say, tired of arguin, he just needed to cool off. he takes a deep breath. ‘Y/N, you know i love you more than anything ’ your boyfriend boldly states, deepening your eye contact. ‘and you know i love you the same, but sometimes love is not enough,’ you struggle to get the words out, getting choked up as you hold his cheek for stability. he turns to kiss you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. he caresses your thigh, as your tongues dance for dominance in the warmth of your mouth. you pulled back. ‘here goes nothing, babe, I’m afraid, afraid of losing you.’ he admitted desperately. ‘we barely ever see each other and I’m scared that it has, um, like, maybe, um’ he failed to articulate his thoughts, angering him further. ‘calm down love, i hear what you’re saying. you’re worried about the possibility of us being comfortable with rarely seeing one another and what that means for us.’ you always knew how to soothe his heart. ‘exactly, you’re just so good at letting me know what we need to do to make this relationship work that I’m clueless at asking for help.’ he smiled earning a chuckle from you. ‘we’re in this together boo, you won’t ever lose me.’ as he sneers into another smooch. ‘fuck.’ he moaned into your mouth as a tent forms in his boxers. ‘your voice always gets me going.’ you looked down and immediately dropped to your knees.

you hadn’t sucked your boyfriend’s cock in what seemed like forever. you pulled his boxers to his ankles as his thick cock sprung up, throbbing in the cool air of the room. you grabbed his pole, gaslighting him into thinking you were going to start at the tip. instead you began to massage his beefy, low-hanging balls in your mouth. ‘Y/N, fuck, that’s where the spunk is stored, not where you drink it from’ he snickered, removing them from your mouth. ‘you’ve got to st-UGHHHH’ you deepthroated with ease, loving how his dumb, naive nature was still translated to your time in the sheets. ‘that’s it baby, good boy’ he praises, looking at the slobber that made his dick glisten. ‘shit.’ he cums without warning, giving you an impromptu facial. ‘sorry darling, i came as soon as i saw you slap my dick on your thick lips.’ your boyfriend helped you to clean up, pushing his hand all over your face and fingering your mouth with his nut.

you moved to undressing, as you straddled your man. ‘i know you wanna pound me into tomorrow, but you can’t,’ gesturing to his bruise. he whined and cooed. ‘however…’ you whispered into his ear, jerking him of with a mix of his cum and your spit ‘imma help my man out tonight.’ as you sank onto his schlong with ease. his hands immediately grabbed your globes, as he licked his lips salaciousy, enjoying your physique. ‘so fucking hot.’ your bf mumbled. you started bouncing on his cock as he slowly rutted in you from beneath, your hole was already sore.

it was gonna be a long night…

@gayaristocrat imma save your fantasy for dacre, that man is 90s fine fr

#gay #smut #bottom male reader #male x male #mlm #male reader #christmas fanfic #male x male fluff #male x male angst

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fallingintoyourlilaceyes · 2 months

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My little winter rose (Aemond Targaryen x Little red riding hood!Reader)

synopsis: On your way to visit your grandmother, you meet a handsome stranger that points you towards some lovely flowers. Little do you know what else that aquaintance holds in store for you...

warnings: slight dubcon, p in v sex, mention of severed body parts, afab reader

word count: 2.3k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to the wonderful @slytherincursebreaker for requesting this piece. I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it!<3

Dividers by @valeskafics

For as long as you were old enough to roam around Winterfell and the surrounding woods, you heard the same thing every time. "Beware of the one-eyed beast in the woods" or some form of that sentence. You knew it by heart, saying it along every time it was spoken. Yet you had never seen a beast, no matter how often you wandered through the trees you called your second home. However, it also led to you becoming less watchful every time, thus not noticing how the so proclaimed one eyed beast very much saw you. Grew taller as you did with age until he towered over you easily, his mind darkening with thoughts as yours brightened with entirely different ideas. Going unnoticed day after day after day. Another institution set in place that you remember ever since you could think was a group of hunters going out every night. Their torches burning like the fear in their hearts, sharp swords, spears and weapons of any kind held close to their bodies that would always return marred. Sometimes you would hear rumours that people that died at an earlier date were taken by the beast while hunting for it alone.

You understood all of it, though that didn't mean you liked it. The sight of the hunters was one you hated. It was a surprise that with their viciousness the "beast didn't las out more or come closer to the village. Not even all the understanding of the human mind in the world could have saved you from hating the head of the hunters with a passion that burned even brighter than any fire ever could. Howland Reed and his relentless pursuit of trying to win over your affection by bragging about hunts long over and how well equipped he was to hunt the one-eyed.

"Red! Where are you off to?" He yells from a distance to stop you, as he trots over to you. Cursing him out in your mind in return, you oblige and wait for him to catch up with you, putting a smile on your face as you did so. Even the nickname everyone called you due to the red cloak you wore at every given time, sounded so gross from his lips you wanted to puke. "Oh, I am merely off for a visit to my grandmother." You chirp in the politest tone you could muster.

“Well, how lucky I must be to catch you then? You see, I just had some modifications done to keep you safe better.” He presents you with one of his hands and you see exactly what modifications he talked about. His nails had been filed into sharp points and seemingly coated with silver to harden them, just like claws. The pride in his face makes it hard for the polit mask to stay on yours.

“Say, Howland.” You take a deep breath in to keep it together as you speak. “I have been wondering something lately. Mayhaps you will be able to answer the question.”

“Ask me anything you wish and rest assured that the smartest man around will surely give you an answer.” He makes it so hard not to throw up right then and there.

“You are too kind. Now my question is, if you are as smart and strong and skilled in hunting as you proclaim… How come that one-eyed beast has not been slain yet?” You don´t stay to hear his answer, instead you hide a giggle behind your hand and go off on your merry way.

With the light of the early afternoon sun in the sky you have little concerns or cares about the safety of the forest. Humming the sweet tune of a song that you had often sung with your grandmother when you were younger, you skip along the way.

The deeper you get into the wood, the colder it gets and so, while you wrap yourself tighter into the red cloak, you almost run into what you at first think is a tree. As it turns out it is another human, a man and a tall one at that. His silver hair reaches down to the middle of his back, covering one of his eyes and the other you are sure shone in a pretty lavender hue once. If it did it had since dulled to a darker tone. The creases in the pale skin on his face speak volumes on how hard his life must have been. Yet when he looks down to meet your eyes, there is a charming smile set in place.

“My apologies, ser. I should have watched my steps.” You apologize before he even opens his mouth, looking up at him with the most innocent eyes he had ever seen.

“Oh no, by all means, I am the one that has to apologise. You are not the only one that should have watched where they were going.” The beautiful stranger replies in a velvety smooth voice.

"Please, I insist. If I would have stopped for a moment, I would not have run into you." You reiterate. "Alright." The stranger lifts his hands in mock surrender. "May I ask where a young maiden like you is headed? All alone in these big woods." "Well, for one I am not alone. Clearly." You go to answer with a waggish smile. His grin widens in response and his voice deepens for a moment as he speaks. "I would not be so sure that is such a good thing." His words hold a sense of warning that you swiftly ignore to tell him where you were going. "I am on my way to see my dear grandmother. She lives not far from here."

"My, what a sweet girl you are. Your grandmother can count herself lucky to have you." You hadn't even noticed so far, but when he continued speaking his voice registers almost right beside your ear. "If you want to bring her some flowers, the winter roses are blooming beautifully not too far from here in that direction."

You follow his finger with your eyes, to see that it isn't that much of a detour.

"I will be going right away. Thank you, kind stranger." You turn your head back to him.

"Oh no, I have to thank you." He murmurs. “And you may call me Aemond.”

“Aemond…” you test the way the blonds name rolls off your tongue and then let your smile widen as you give him your name.

You happily skip along the way, giving him no chance for further conversations as you only turn once more to wave him farewell.

While you busy yourself with making the most beautiful bouquet of winter roses and greenery, Aemond goes off with a new plan in mind to finally get you.

The task takes you longer than you would have thought and so the sun stands high in the sky when you continue the way to your grandmother's house. It begins to grow dark when you arrive at the small house in the middle of the woods, so it is no wonder you find your grandmother asleep in her bed.

Gently you shake her awake by the arm. “Grandmother, are you well? I came to visit you." "My sweet girl, is it really you?" The old woman's voice sounds different than normal, though you can't quite put your fingers on the exact way it does. "It is. I brought you some flowers and a cake I baked." You set down the flowers in a vase on the bed side table and sit on the edge of the mattress beside her. "Oh, you are so good to me. Come, lay down. You came all this way and I could not possibly send you home in the darkness." Without any questions you obey her, pulling off the cape and dress until you are only left in your small clothes. Through the thin fabric the cold air makes your nipples harden and so you hurry to climb underneath the blanket.

Once in bed, you notice the long scar over the left side of her face, with the eye seemingly missing entirely. “Grandmother, what happened to your eye?” The words come out dripping with uncertainty.

“Bad men took it, but you need not worry about it. They are not able to hurt anyone anymore now.” The answer does little to quell the questions on your mind.

"My, what big hands you have, Grandmother?" You continue questioning.

"All the better to hug you." Comes the quick explanation.

"And what sharp teeth you have..." Your skin begins to prickle and the air becomes harder to breathe. Something in the way your grandmother pauses before answering, makes the hair on your neck stand up. Too late to react, as you get pinned to the mattress with surprising strength.

"All the better to eat you!" With a swoosh the blanket and who you thought was your grandmother's clothes get ripped away, to reveal Aemond sitting on top of you.

He grabs your shift and easily rips the fabric off your body, leaving you gasping, wide eyed and unable to cover yourself as he still pins your wrists above your head with one if his large, strong hands.

The cold air, that streams in through the cracks in the window frame, has your nipples harden even further, until they stand painfully against the heat of your admirers’ chest. Instinctively you lean further into him to catch more of his warmth. Aemonds hard cock presses between your folds, twitching against your entrance, to collect some of the juices that flowed between your thighs.

“Will you be a good girl if I let you go now?” He growls lowly into your ear, eliciting a quiet but eager nod from you.

Slowly the pressure around your wrists vanishes to come down to hold you by the hips. Aemond leans down to capture your lips with his. The slow, but nonetheless passionate nipping at each other’s mouths gives the perfect way for him to express every last bit of longing and yearning that had coursed through the blond’s body ever since he first laid his eye on you. The kiss deflects your attention from the way Aemond rubs his erection against your dripping centre until he has buried himself entirely in it. His tip nearly kisses your cervix and the way your cunt adjusts to his form makes your entire nervous system burst into flames. The flames lick only higher as Aemond absolutely ravages you, rutting into you with inhumane pace and without abandon. It seems he fucks deeper into your tight channel with every thrust, that is accompanied by breathily whispered praise of how long he had waited for this moment and how well you took him. Every once in a while, when a pained whimper leaves your lungs, he kisses your forehead, rubs a few circles with his thumbs into your hipbone and shushes you in the most loving tone anyone had ever used on you beside your family. Yet Aemond doesn´t slow down. Not until you are first to reach your peak and he had made sure to shoot his seed so deep into your core it was sure to take.

Aemond slides out of your sensitive cunt and sits back to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” he inquires short of breath.

“I am. Perhaps I will be a bit sore for the next few days.” You jested back with a raw voice.

“Ah, my apologies. I simply found myself unable to hold back any longer. I have been watching you for so long, my little winter rose. Imagining how it would be to touch you, to claim you, to finally take you as my wife in the face of the seven…” The one-eyed man sheepishly rubs his neck as he confesses to his desires.

Desires that make your face feel like it is on fire once more and your brain is entirely empty. “Is that the truth?”

“I could never lie to you about the graveness of my affections towards you.” Gently, Aemond takes one of your hands into his and presses a kiss to the palm of it.

“Oh, Aemond…” You melt at the show of affection. “I wished nothing more than to be able to be with you for the rest of our days, but I fear it is not possible. For my parents have already promised me to another.”

“Worry not. I have already taken care of that.” The blond stands up to offer his solution to the issue. A severed hand lands between your legs on the bed.

You gasp and raise your eyebrows, but before any question can claw its way out of your lungs, the sharpened silver nails catch your attention. It was Howlands hand that lay there presented to you as if it was a trophy. However, it does not disturb you. On the contrary, it makes you feel strangely appreciated, that someone would go so far as to secure you being with them.

“How dare that son of a whore go after my wife.” Aemond growls and his forehead lays into deep creases.

Careful not to kick around the severed body part, you stand up as well now, stalking over to Aemond on mildly trembling legs. When you reach him one hand goes to his shoulder for stability and the other rises to his face to run the thumb over the space between his eyebrows until it is even again.

“There is no reason to get angry about him anymore. My heart never belonged to him, but it will forever belong to you.” The two of you share one more kiss. This one much more slow, but just as emotional, to seal your future together.

#aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #hotd x reader #hotd x you #fairytale au #little red riding hood au

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shirefantasies · 4 months

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LoTR Characters' Favorite Body Part of Yours

This sounds dirtier than it is, I swear 😂

Aragorn

He shows much love to your hips as moons pass over your relationship. Securely holding them as he protects you, running a hand over the curve of them as you lie side by side. They are truly beautiful to him as well as being a place of natural connection; he adores when you pull him closer by the beat loops, colliding as you do into affection.

Legolas

Very specific, but he loves your cheekbones, the curves that outline your face whether they are sharp or soft. Perfect are they to trace along with kisses, the precious companions beneath your beautiful eyes. Legolas also loves to caress them with the back of his hand, silently admiring your beauty as he takes in every inch of your face. He needs not speak a word, his fond touch speaks volumes.

Boromir

Boromir loves your shoulders. He loves sneaking up behind you and placing kisses there or else just holding you by the shoulders to gain access to your neck or cheek. If you have long hair, the feeling of sweeping it off your shoulder is very romantic to him, especially if he can tuck it behind your ear to reveal your face, too. If you expose the skin of your upper back, it is certain you will soon find Boromir watching the ripple of your shoulder muscles as you move. When your activity is particularly strenuous you can expect him to offer a massage as well!

Gimli

Does your hair count as a body part? Because of course Gimli loves your hair! If it’s long, he’s going to be obsessed with braiding it, the feel of it flowing between his fingers and all the ways he can form it. He’s the best partner to someone with high-maintenance hair or a long care routine because he legitimately wants to learn the whole thing and take care of it for you, even if it means learning a lot. If you prefer to keep yours short, he may ask why and tease you a bit, but it also allows him more access to your beautiful face to grab for kisses and he can’t argue with that!

Frodo

Your eyes are his favorite by far. Windows to the soul as they say, your eyes betray the sincerity Frodo is always searching for and can consistently find there. He loves watching your lashes flutter as you read or look upon new sights with confusion, curiosity, whatever it be. The feeling of those lashes fluttering against his cheek as you nuzzle against him is enough to bring a smile to his face and a blush to his face. Eye contact is a must with Frodo as much as possible- it just feels so intimate and powerful to him in a way he hopes to be able to articulate with words.

Sam

Honestly? Your entire face! Sam’s pure love radiates at nearly every expression, whether he sees the light of joy illuminating your smile or the heartbreaking sight of pain he’ll do anything to cure. Being able to read your emotions is vital to empathetic Sam- his greatest desire is to know what you need from a single glance and be there with it as soon as he can! One of his favorite things to do it hold you gently, hands caressing your cheeks, and peer into your eyes before guiding you into a kiss.

Merry

There’s no good way to sugarcoat this- Merry’s an ass man hobbit. He can’t help stealing glances when he is granted the opportunity to admire the shape of it. Absolutely he is the type to give it a playful squeeze every now and again as he pulls you in for a kiss, too! No matter how you feel about it, no matter what shape you are in, he loves it and, if you are comfortable, that is, will pay you compliments about it when your attire is especially flattering.

Pippin

Trite as it may sound, Pippin loves your lips. He truly could kiss them all day if you let him, the incomprehensible joy he gets every time washing over his heart. Of course he also loves the sight of your lips curving into a smile when he gets a laugh out of you, the sly way they tease upward when you’ve formulated a particularly ridiculous pun. His habit is pulling you in to deepen almost any kiss you give him; you may have just leaned in for a peck, but you’ll get much more than you bargained for!

Faramir

Beloved are your hands to Faramir; his security, his gentle hold upon you and grounding connection. A squeeze to your hand is the perfect little reminder in his mind that he is here for you, present and at the ready to comfort you. The feeling of your intertwined fingers during the most intimate of moments is pure bliss to him, so much so that it never really comes as a surprise when you feel him reach for you.

Eomer

He loves your legs, the sight of them as you throw them over your saddle when the two of you take a sunlit ride, the peeps of skin he is granted when you tug up your garments to wade in the stream. The carefree way you lay them across his lap in your alone time, reading to him or singing together or just enjoying each other’s company by the fire. If you grant him leave to massage the stress from them, the feeling of muscle relaxing beneath his hands.

Haldir

There’s something infinitely alluring about your collarbones, the little nooks and hollows therein. Haldir can hardly keep his eyes off them, barely restrain himself from tracing them with his gaze whenever you dress in a way that exposes them. When your company is naught but the moonlight, it is a gift from above to ravish them with his lips, his gaze drifting back up to meet your eyes with a smile of deep satisfaction as he does so.

Eowyn

Eowyn loves your arms. The strength of them betrayed by the motions of muscles, the way they hold her, the unbreakable security of them. It's a bit of a habit of hers to run her hand up and down your arm as you stand side by side, sending little shivers of warmth along the skin. She also adores intertwining them as you walk, the both of you serving as each other's anchor to the earth's gifts of comfort. If you're able to lift her, give her a surprise by pulling her up when she holds your bicep!

Arwen

Your thighs, definitely. Some of Arwen’s favorite moments are spent laying with her head resting gently upon your lap, the plush of your thighs the perfect pillow. No matter the size she just loves them. When your kisses overflow with passion, it really sends her over the edge when you wrap your legs around her; her hands almost instantly go to your thighs.

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kscheibles · 5 months

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christmas break (college bf! au)

content warnings: f! reader, fluff, smut, oral sex f! receiving, gagging

word count: 2.4k

a/n: merry christmas from your sweet boyfriend who also doms you :)

You watch the minutes pass on your computer clock as you sit under the punishing fluorescent lights of the library. You’ve been done with your assignments for a half hour, but have dutifully decided to stay with Matty until he finishes researching his term paper. It’s some rumination on Sartre you don’t quite understand but you told Matty you’d keep him company and you intend to keep your word.

He’s been homesick all semester, you can just tell. He takes every opportunity to bemoan the lack of brown sauce in New England and show you photos of his family preparing for the holidays back home in Wilmslow. In an effort to make him feel better, you’d driven to a specialty food store to buy him the specific chocolates he’d been craving the most. A few weeks ago, you’d looked up flights to Manchester together, hoping that with a few tricks you’d learned from a friendly compsci acquaintance, you’d be able to score a deal. But Matty’s on work-study and can barely make enough money to cover his living expenses, let alone a transatlantic flight. It will be his first Christmas without his family, no matter how he spends it.

He slams the top of his laptop down suddenly, sighing dramatically as he does. You rub your boyfriend’s thigh in hollow reassurance.

“You ready to head up?” he asks.

You nod. “Did you finish your research?”

“Fuck the research. I can’t focus, my Adderall has worn off anyway.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce, beginning to pack your belongings into your bag. The air is thick with something unsaid. Matty would never try to make you feel bad, but your excitement for the winter holiday is not something he shares. It makes you apprehensive to broach the subject of even going on a date to the local light show. You can’t imagine that would make him feel better.

You both trudge up to your dorm, as is your ritual. Matty always follows you to your door and waits for you to take your backpack off so you can give him a proper hug before he heads home. You would sleep together if you could, but the stiff single beds you rent are hardly comfortable, let alone sexy. At your door, you set your things down and envelop Matty between cold, brittle arms, squeezing him gently so hopefully he knows you care.

“I was thinking,” you start, pulling away to look in his eyes, “We have room for a guest at my house. I think my parents would be okay with you staying over the holidays as long as you take the spare bedroom. Would you like that? I know it’s not home home and my parents will definitely try to suss you out, but there will be warm food and Christmas traditions and–”

Matty cuts you off with a soft kiss on your lips. “I’d love to stay with your family, babe.”

Your face breaks into a grin. You nod slowly.

“Okay. Okay, then it’s decided. I’ll get them to cave.”

“My little meddler,” Matty beams, ruffling your hair. You catch his hands and move them off, smoothing your hair down.

“I’m their only daughter and they haven’t seen me in months,” you shrug.

“I love you,” he says, seriously.

You fall into his chest and smile, “I love you, too.”

It feels weird dragging your carry-on luggage up the pathway to the home that used to be yours. You have Matty in tow whereas the last time you lived here, you had never met him before. You’re transformed, yet when you put your key in the lock and step across the threshold, you feel like the same girl who lived there for eighteen years. You feel like a child again somehow.

“Mom, Dad! Matty and I are here!” you shout out. Your mom comes scurrying from the kitchen.

“Hi, how are you?” she asks you as she pulls you into a hug, rubbing your shoulders, “I thought you were supposed to have stopped growing. Harold, get in here, she’s grown three inches!”

You shake your head, chuckling. Your mom opens her arms warmly and holds Matty in a welcome hug.

“I’m Carol, nice to meet you,” she says.

Matty introduces himself as your dad shuffles into the entryway.

“Ah, there she is! I had a work call that ran long, shutting down for the holidays it can be a lot,” he leans down to hug you, “We missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you sigh, “Especially missed your cooking.”

“Speaking of, I’m making Papa’s chicken tonight!” your dad exclaims, “Matty, I hope you aren’t a picky eater because we’ve planned a whole spread to welcome our girl back.” Your dad reaches out, offering his hand to Matty as he speaks.

“Not at all, sir,” Matty replies.

“Good then,” your dad states, “Why don’t I show you to your room, Matty? Let our girl get settled.”

You give Matty an apologetic look and head over towards the opposite side of the house and to your old room. It’s been preserved in its perfect adolescent state of whimsy, but something isn’t right. It's weird that it used to hold all of your clothes, all the evidence of your accomplishments, all your turbulent, hormonal emotions and now it’s like a movie set or a museum exhibit. Or an archeological site. Your bed is made with a childhood favorite stuffed animal in the middle against the pillows. You pick her up and give her a quick hug, she smells like home. You used to not be able to smell it because you smelled like home, too.

You take care unpacking your clothes, meticulously folding your sweaters and jeans, and placing them in your dresser. You open the windows to rid the place of the smell of nostalgia and then head back to the kitchen nook, where Matty is talking to your mom. You put on a brave face and massage Matty’s shoulders sweetly before sitting down with them.

When everyone’s departed to their separate rooms at night, you take an extra-long time doing your evening routine. You press each serum and treatment into your skin extra carefully and brush each tooth individually. When you’re sure your parents will have fallen asleep, you tiptoe to the other side of the house and open Matty’s door. He’s tucked into bed, back against the pillows, and phone in his hand. It almost flies out when he recognizes you in the doorframe.

“Fuckin’ hell! Thought you were the grim reaper,” Matty whisper-shouts as you make your way to the bed and tuck yourself in next to him. His arm pulls you close to him on instinct.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, just missed you,” you whisper.

“Awwwwww,” he pouts condescendingly, “Well, I’d love to have you stay, but your dad might actually take me outside and shoot me if he found you in here.”

“Oh god, did he give you the talk?”

“Just a little, don’t worry about me,” he consoles, “I kind of respect it anyways. I’m sure I’ll be the same with our daughter one day.”

“Our daughter?” you ask, looking up at his eyes.

“Too much? My daughter then. I dunno I just… I get the protective instinct.”

“It’s not too much,” you tell him, leaning over him to kiss him on the lips, “Very cute and very appreciated.”

Matty smiles into your mouth and you move to sit on his lap, straddling him comfortably.

“Well I really like your dad, too,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he really loves you,” Matty states, rubbing circles onto your hip, “You can tell that everything he does is for you.” You get shy at that.

“It’s fine, you can call me spoiled.”

“Not spoiled if you deserve it,” he says.

“I want you to spoil me,” you say into his ear, “Need you, baby.”

“Baby, I can’t, Harold will have my fuckin’ balls.” You giggle in response.

“Will you just put it in, then? I’ll be so quiet, I promise,” you plead. You see a familiar glint in his eyes and feel him hardening under you.

“One sound and I take it out, you understand?” he tuts.

You nod eagerly. “I understand.” You move his pajama pants down and take yours off, moving your panties to the side as you sink down onto him. You breathe wildly for a moment when you’ve taken him all the way. Your world is spinning.

“You okay?” he asks. You nod, “C’mere.”

You fall into his chest, totally content, and start kissing his bare collarbone. You lay the side of your head on his shoulder and try to catch his eyes. He leans down and nips at your earlobe.

“Bein’ so good for me, baby,” the praise makes you squirm and you clench around him repeatedly, looking for some relief. “I can feel that,” he teases. You pout in response. Matty’s hands reach for the hem of your oversized nightshirt and lift it over your head, revealing your naked breasts to the cold night air. His hands cover them instantly and his head ducks down to take one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Matty,” you warn. He responds by lapping his tongue all over you, sucking you more insistently. He bites gently at the sensitive bud, and you whine loudly, involuntarily.

“Shhhhh,” Matty tsks, looking up at you, “You don’t want me to stop do you?”

You shake your head back and forth so quickly you think it might fall off. Then it tips back; you look at the ceiling fan hoping the sight will ground you but it doesn’t. Your body is filled with pleasure and you have no outlet.

“Matty, can I move? Please? I promise I’ll still be quiet.” Matty huffs frustratedly and lifts you off of him harshly. You look at him sadly while he gets up to get out of bed. You reach for his hand as he does, feeling as though you might cry if he leaves you hanging.

“Please, Matty, I didn’t know that talking counted. I need you!” you say as loudly as you comfortably can. His hand slips out of yours as he heads towards the closet and kneels down to rummage through his luggage, leaving you dripping on his sheets. When he turns around, he has a tie in his hands.

“What’s that for?” you ask.

“Well I was gonna take you to a nice dinner while we were here,” he says playfully, “But now…” He taps your bottom lip, a command to open your mouth. When you do, he places the silky fabric on your tongue, looking into your eyes for permission as he ties a snug knot at the back of your head. “Need to shut you up if I’m gonna give you what you want. Would you like that? Gonna be a good girl and take it nice and quiet?”

You nod, drool already pooling in your mouth, soaking through the tie. Matty pushes you down so you’re flat on your back. You make grabby hands at him as soon as you’re down, still trying to be good. He smiles good-naturedly and takes his pants all the way off before moving on to you, removing your last stitch of clothing: a heart-printed pair of cotton underwear you’ve probably had since high school. He kneels before you – knowing he’s being watched closely – and slowly brings his mouth down between your legs, breathing all over you before licking a broad stripe up your soaking cunt. You gasp, trying to stay as quiet as possible as he starts to fuck you with his tongue; filling you and leaving you again. You grab his hair and try to maneuver him a bit higher to your clit.

Matty takes the hint and starts working on you there, switching between flicking his tongue up and down and sucking at you. You can feel the pressure in your body building and you accidentally let out a moan. Matty stops for a second, looking up at you. You realize what you’ve done too late, slapping a hand to your mouth. Matty chuckles a little before leaning down again, thrusting two fingers into you.

“Keep that hand over your mouth, okay, baby?” You nod, delirious from lack and need and anticipation. Matty’s mouth finds your clit once more, licking side to side and keeping in rhythm with his hand fucking in and out of you. You can feel your moans trying to escape on your hand as you begin to buck your hips in time with Matty’s assault on your pussy. You tug on his hair a little to catch his eyes and nod, silently communicating to him. Then he’s sucking on your clit and you’re a goner. You burst into flames as you cum, clenching his fingers as he works you through it until the pleasure feels like pain. You remove your hand from your mouth and gasp, pulling your boyfriend away from your tortured cunt.

Matty kneels over you a second later, untying the gag, wiping your mouth gently, and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Thought you were gonna fuck me,” you say playfully.

“Greedy, greedy.”

“Not greedy, I just want you to feel good,” you tell him earnestly. Matty lifts the tie up so you can see the wet spot you left on it.

“I’m gonna use this when you go to sleep don’t worry about me.”

“But I’m here now.”

“I know but I’m really quite scared of your dad,” he laughs a little as he says it, but you believe him.

“Okay,” you kiss him hard and long, “Goodnight.”

“G’night, baby.”

On Christmas morning, Matty knocks on your door before going to the living room. You beckon him in to sit on your bed, careful to leave the door open in case your parents wake up. You give him a quick kiss and then turn around to grab something from your dresser.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him. Matty looks at you questioning but finally gives in. You place the item on his legs and indicate for him to look.

On his lap is a set of pajamas, matching ones that your whole family wears.

“My mom gets them for all of us every Christmas, you don’t want to be caught without,” Matty is quiet, “Do you not like them?”

“I love them,” he says, pulling you into a hug, “I’m so grateful to your family for taking me in this Christmas. I felt like a bit of an orphan, to be honest.”

You hold his face in your hands.

“You always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay,” he smiles shyly.

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

#matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfiction #matty Healy #matty healy smut

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she-wolf09231982 · 1 year

Text

Chapter 4-The Day of The Fellowship

Summary: The Council of Elrond commences with you in attendance. As discussions become heated, you inaugurate yourself into The Fellowship.

Author Note: LegolasxFemale reader, Legolasx!Female Elf, Y/N, Elves, Hobbits, Dwarves, Men, LOTR movie references, Inserted LOTR script, Sindarian language, Lord Elrond, Gandalf, Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippen

Tags: @ameliabs-world @angelicsmilestff @abakar974 @michaelcerassweatband @maddi-sun18

I hope you enjoy this! Thanks for the love

*State Visits-Incoming and outgoing visitations of Foreign Monarchs to discuss concerns and ideas.

Sindarian to English translations:

* Ir are cin govanneth nin adar?- When are you meeting my father?

*nin bein mellon- my fair friend

*nin cóon-my prince

*nin mellons- my friends

*ward- a courtyard within the castle walls.

*keep- a fortified tower built within the walls and used as a last refuge in case of an attack.

*Havo dad-sit down

*Baw, nin -iel- No, my daughter

*Adar, im will ú- dorth- hi ir im tur- tulu a ar thel- -Father, I will not stay here when I can support a noble purpose.

*Legolas na- with nin- Legolas is with me

*nay- not

~~~~~~~~

The following morning upon yours and Legolas’ arrival to Rivendell, you found yourself once again meeting him at dawn in the rich and lavish gardens surrounding the kingdom. Just as you’ve always done during your state visits at Mirkwood.

“*Ir are cin govanneth nin adar?” You ask Legolas.

“This afternoon, *nin bein mellon.” He responded.

You look ahead as you walk, your arm hooked and resting on his as he escorts you on the scenic trail.

“You’re still troubled, Y/N.” Legolas observed as he glances over at you.

“I am.” You admit after an extended pause.

“We know not what this council holds yet, Y/N. No need to fret over something we know nothing of.” He responded trying to comfort you.

“The earth is trembling, *nin cóon. I know you feel it, as well. Middle Earth is in grave danger.” You say.

Legolas nodded in agreement.

~~~~~~~~

After breakfast, you stroll through a palisade that is overgrown in white and blue anemones. Suddenly ahead of you, there is a rustle in the shrubberies. At first, you’re alarmed, and slowly reach for your blade beneath your robes when suddenly two small beings tumble out quite abruptly, rolling to a halt on the gravel path in front of you. You are taken aback to see a pair of hobbits groaning from pain after colliding onto the ground.

You tilt your head to the side studying the silly little creatures as they attempt to stand brushing the dust and dirt off themselves.

“I told you those weren’t raspberry bushes, Pippen!” The one hobbit snickered.

“No, you specifically said they looked like they were, Merry.” Pippen retorted.

“Exactly, I never said that they were actual raspberry.” Merry clarified.

They continued to debate not noticing you approaching them.

You inserted yourself into their conversation.

“I can tell you where the raspberry bushes do grow, if you like?” You say to them.

They both jump back with a gasp, then grasped their chests with a sigh of relief when they see it’s you. Their eyes widened after they realize that you are Rivendell royalty, and each knelt to a knee bowing their heads to you.

You chuckle at them.

“Rise, *nin mellons. I don’t require such formalities.” You say as you walk over to them gently guiding them upward to their feet with your fingertips under their chins.

Pippen and Merry smile at you and exchanged bashful expressions.

“You are too kind, your highness.” Merry stated.

“Please, I am Y/N. Refer to me as such for you are friends to my family and I.” You asserted with an inviting smile.

Pippen and Merry smiled appreciatively at you. You continue.

“Now, let’s find those raspberry shrubs, shall we?” You suggest flashing the pair a mischievous grin.

The two hobbits looked excitedly at eachother and scurried to catch up with you as you proceeded ahead of them.

~~~~~~~~

The Council finally began to gather in one of the blossoming *wards just off Rivendell’s *keep. You had convinced your father that you should also be present, otherwise you would relentlessly pry him for details later. You were seated to the right of your father, while the other attending members of his council began to settle into their seats facing eachother in a circle surrounding a carved stone pedestal in the center.

You saw Legolas enter with his retinue of Elves from a stone archway. He casted a glance with a faint smile when he saw you. You beam at him but avert your attention to regain your composure realizing you just seen him a few hours ago and shouldn’t be so excited to see him.

You recognize Gandalf the Grey right away and beside him, another hobbit you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet. A group of dwarves enter as well as Boromir from Gondor. Aragorn arrived last, seating himself quietly on the end.

Your father addressed the congregation,

“Strangers from distant lands, Friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor.”

You notice Legolas perking up in his seat, leaning forward to hang on every word your father said.

Elrond continued,

“Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction…”

You start to fade into fog. Elrond’s words became mumbles to your ears as you sensed troubling times approaching with the news you just heard. You must have been distracted by your thoughts for quite a bit of time, for out of the corner of your eye, you see Boromir approaching the pedestal that displayed a gold Ring upon it. Your elvish hearing returning to you, you hear Boromir speaking.

“…Ilisldur’s Bane is found.” Boromir whispered as he reached towards the Ring.

Your father and Gandalf exchange concerned looks as Boromir’s fingers hover above the Ring.

You father leaps up, “Boromir!”

No sooner does Gandalf stand and begins to chant in the Black Speech. The Ring echoes the harsh words as thunder cracks and the sky suddenly darkens. The council look around them in fear and confusion as your father rubs his temples. Legolas closes his eyes waiting for the chaos to pass. Gandalf finishes his mantra, swaying in place from the heaviness of the words he spoke.

“Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris!” Elrond scolded Gandalf.

“I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond,” Gandalf began still trying to catch his breath, “for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is all together evil.” Gandalf warned, peering over towards Boromir.

Boromir continued to oppose the disposal of the Ring, suggesting using it as a weapon against their enemies.

“You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.” Aragorn interjected.

Boromir approaches Aragorn arrogantly, words leaving his mouth that you fail to receive when you see Legolas stand,

“This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathron. You owe him your allegiance.” Legolas declared.

Aragorn raised a hand to Legolas gesturing him to calm down,

“*Havo dad, Legolas.” Aragorn responded in elvish to Legolas.

Boromir scoffed, looked back at Aragorn hissing a retort about Gondor not needing a king, then returned to his chair.

“Aragorn is right. We cannot use it.” Gandalf confirmed.

“You have only one choice,” Elrond continued, “the Ring must be destroyed.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” A dwarf growled as he grabbed his axe striking down upon the Ring.

He is repelled back, sending him to the ground. The ring remains unscathed, while his axe lays in shards around the pedestal.

You notice the hobbit next to Gandalf wince in pain suddenly. You tilt your head at him, while clairvoyantly reading his thoughts, you see the Eye of Sauron.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we possess here-“ Elrond began.

He continues to explain that the Ring must be unmade where it was created; it will need to be casted into the fires of Mount Doom.

“-One of you must do this.” Elrond stated.

You notice Legolas’ chest rise with pride. He was already prepared for the challenge. You beam at him, staring in awe and also in fear. He will leave here, and you will be held here against your will awaiting his return…if he did return. You’re taken back from your deep thoughts when you hear Boromir barking at the council.

“-And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with 10 thousand men you can do this. It is folly.” He scoffed again.

Legolas stood indignantly, “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” He projected.

You revert your attention to him as he stood, alarmed at the rising intensity in the air. Legolas continued.

“The Ring must be destroyed!” He stated again.

Gimli spoke up, “And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it?!” He mocked at Legolas.

Legolas gave Gimli a scathing glance.

“And if we fail? What then?!” Boromir argues.

“I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!” Gimli spat.

Arguments erupted amongst the council members. Elves advanced on the dwarves, but Legolas extended his arms out to restrain them.

You stood as your father approached the mixed council quarreling and bickering over eachother. All you could do was stand there still, your eyes darting between each of them with your heart and mind racing trying to contemplate a way to de-escalate this muddle.

Your focus is suddenly pulled by a scorching heat towards the stand where the Ring rests. You look to see flames engulfing the surface of the Ring. You then hear an obscure; booming voice arise from the Ring.

“Ash Nazg Durbatuluk! Ash Nazg Gimatul! Ash Nazg Gimbatul! Ash Nazg Gimbatul!”

As these words hang in the air, the intensity of the arguments increases. You then notice the one hobbit from earlier stands and addresses the arguing council with a dawning look of determination across his face.

“I will take it!” He calls out to the council. They continue to argue, so he repeats,

“I will take it!!”

The fighting dies down. Gandalf closed his eyes as he heard this statement. All attention is redirected towards the young hobbit, as he continues.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though- I do not know the way.” He added.

Gandalf approaches him.

“I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear.” Gandalf placed his hand reassuringly on Frodo’s shoulder.

Aragorn rose to his feet, “If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will. You have my sword.” He pledged as he kneels before the hobbit.

Legolas stepped up, “And you have my bow.” He stated.

A gruff voice arises from behind the group, “And my axe!” Gimli pushes through the circle joining Legolas on his left.

Gimli exchanged a begrudging look with Legolas.

Boromir approaches, “You carry the fate of us all little one. If this is indeed the will of one Council, then Gondor will see it done.” He joins the group.

A proud smile spreads across your face watching this act of unity blossoming before you. Your father is pleased as well.

Suddenly, another hobbit you didn’t know appears.

“Hey! Mister Frodo is not goin’ anywhere without me!” This hobbit known to be Sam, stood proud next to Frodo crossing his arms in protest.

“No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.” Elrond chastised, looking somewhat displeased with the intrusion.

Not sooner after you father’s words did the two hobbits you met on your walk earlier emerge.

“Wait we’re coming too!” Pippen and Merry shout as they join the ever-growing group of volunteers.

Your father flashed a surprised irritated look, but softened his expression as he observed the assembly before him.

“Nine companions…So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!” He announced triumphantly.

You stepped forward, “Ten.” You stated boldly.

Legolas’ eyes flashed to you in apprehension. His eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Your father and the remaining members of the council direct their gazes upon you, all looking as puzzled as the next.

“*Baw, nin -iel.” Your father disputed.

You turn your attention to your father whose face now appears hardened and stern. You sense he’s alarmed and panicked by your declaration.

“*Adar, im will ú- dorth- hi ir im tur- tulu a ar thel-" You respond serenely walking towards him. He meets you halfway to speak directly to you.

“This journey is besieged with dangers and perils beyond your understanding, Y/N.” Elrond whispers to you firmly. His concerned sharp eyes glossing over with what looks to be tears.

You take your father’s hands in yours, squeezing them comfortingly as you speak.

“Father, it is time I serve our family, and our people for the greater good of Rivendell. I am very capable to complete this quest, and The Fellowship could benefit from having a woman accompany them.” You explain then continue.

“Besides,*Legolas na- with nin.” You added, while looking over at Legolas who is staring intensely at you.

Your father turned and observes Legolas with eyebrows furrowed giving him a once over. Elrond knows Legolas is an elf more than worthy of his youngest daughter. He also knows if he tries to keep you from accompanying The Fellowship, you will certainly go without his consent. Elrond sighed in defeat, then looked back to you lovingly with a slight grin.

“Legolas, come forth.” Elrond commanded loudly.

Legolas proceeded to you and your father, standing tall and proud, chest steadily heaving with anticipation. Elrond slowly faces him.

“Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, do you vow to keep my daughter, Y/N, princess and self-proclaimed protector of Rivendell at your side; *nay allowing her out of your grasp nor sight; seeing she is protected at all costs from harm’s way throughout this precarious journey with The Fellowship to its end?” Elrond announced for the entire council to hear.

Legolas places his right hand over his chest and bows to Elrond.

“I swear by the Greenleaf name and all that my heart possesses, I will see to it Y/N remains at my side for the duration of this quest until I return her to you, my Lord.” Legolas’ voice deep and honeyed as he dares to raise his eyes to yours without lifting his head, meeting your gaze devotedly.

Your heart soars as Legolas’ sky-blue irises pierce every inch of your soul, sending waves of warmth to your cheeks. You award Legolas a smile.

“So, it is ten.” Elrond continues. “Rise, Legolas, Guardian and Defender of Princess Y/N. May all the strength and vigor of Middle-Earth lead you to victory.��

Elrond then addressed the rest of The Fellowship.

“And to you all.” He added with an approving nod.

Each member of The Fellowship respectfully lowered their head to Lord Elrond.

Legolas claims his position at your side, placing his hand gently on the small of your back sending you into a whirlwind of sensations. Although his touch had you outright glowing, you stand tall, head held high, shoulders back and hands folded in front of you maintaining your royal disposition. You and Legolas were a magnificent vision standing side by side. Ready to face head on whatever underworldly challenges come your way…together.

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obwjam · 6 months

Note

34 with Zoro would actually be 🤌

"Sorry you had to see that."

you guys are so talented at picking the exact perfect prompts for these characters i'm crying

(i've only ever watched OPLA so the characterizations/details are solely based off that pls no hate 🫣)

from this post

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There wasn’t a whole lot to do below the deck of the Going Merry.

It was fun when everyone was here – there was lots of laughter, plenty of jokes and sometimes even sea shanties. But whenever the Straw Hat Pirates visited a village, Nami insisted that you stay behind because it was way too dangerous. Not many people had seen tinies or respected them much, she would always remind you.

But Luffy was as persuasive as he was persistent. You were a part of the crew, after all, and he wanted you to see the world! He hated the idea of you being cooped up on the ship while the rest of them got to have all the fun.

So, finally, he convinced Nami to let you tag along for this one. They only needed to restock the pantry, and Sanji insisted that they stop in this very specific village to get the best ingredients.

“Alright, Kona, choose your ride!” Luffy said, beaming down at you. He always silently hoped that you would pick him. He loved having you perched on his shoulder.

“Hmm…” you tapped your finger on your chin. It used to be overwhelming to have five giants stare down at you, but now, it made you feel safe. “I choose… Zoro.”

Everyone exchanged glances, ranging from confused to amused, and Usopp, who had been crossing his fingers in hopes of being picked, let out a loud groan. Zoro briefly shut his eyes and prayed that nobody noticed his cheeks turn pink.

“Zoro? Why him?” Usopp whined, not trying very hard to mask the hurt in his voice.

You shrugged. The real reason was that you thought Zoro was the coolest person in the world, and you wished you could spend more time with him. You were always hanging around Usopp or sitting on the brim of Luffy’s hat, and you rarely got to be around the crew's swordsman. But you could never admit that; it was far too embarrassing.

So all you said was, “I dunno, because I feel like it!”

Usopp crossed his arms in a huff. “Fine. But I call dibs for next time!”

“You can’t call dibs. It’s Kona’s decision,” Sanji objected, sparking a small argument that the two of them carried back up to the deck. Nami and Luffy smiled at each other as they followed, leaving you alone with Zoro, who literally hadn’t moved.

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry if that was… embarrassing,” you blushed, taking a few steps forward. You were almost at the edge of the table.

“It’s fine,” Zoro said after a moment, finally kneeling down so he was at eye level with you. “It wasn’t embarrassing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I definitely saw you blush.”

And just like that, he was blushing again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

Zoro didn’t say anything, instead opting to place his shoulder against the edge of the table so you could climb on. For reasons that eluded you, he was very averse to having you in his hand.

You hopped the small gap between the table and his shoulder, grabbing onto Zoro’s shirt collar to stabilize your landing. This wasn’t the first time you were on his person, but it would be the first time it happened off the ship.

“Ready?” he asked, keeping his hand cupped in front of you until you took a seat. You gave him a hearty thumbs up, and he bounded up the stairs.

It was always eye-opening to see the world from this perspective. It was one thing to experience it on the Going Merry, just the six of you, but getting to see strangers from the viewpoint of a giant was a whole different beast. Most people didn’t notice you were there, but a few would do double-takes, nearly stopping in their tracks to stare at you as Zoro walked by. Your stomach churned with each set of human eyes that followed you.

“They’re staring,” you frowned, speaking softly so only Zoro could hear.

“Of course they are,” Zoro muttered back. “They’ve probably never seen a tiny before.”

“Hmph.” You slumped over, wanting to say something, but unable to find the words.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zoro said, sensing your discomfort. “It doesn’t matter what these people think.”

Easy for you to say, you wanted to remark, but stopped yourself.

Like magic, Luffy practically materialized next to Zoro, making both of you jump. “Kona? Are you okay?”

“‘M fine, Luffy,” you lied. You knew he could see right through it. He had this talent of knowing more about people than they knew about themselves. Being at eye level with him while he was at his full height didn’t help you mask your feelings, either.

He stared at you intently, momentarily making you nervous, until he simply said, “Well, alright!” and bounded back to the front of the group.

After a few minutes of walking, you could start to sense that something was off. The bustling village center had melted away, replaced with run-down buildings and a sudden shroud of darkness.

“Sanji… are you sure this is the right place?” Usopp asked, clutching his slingshot in both hands.

“Positive,” he replied, though nobody was really encouraged by that. “I think.”

“Great,” Nami grumbled, rolling her eyes. Her hand twitched behind her back, ready to grab her staff.

“It’s okay,” Luffy reassured. “If Sanji thinks this is the place, then we’re going to check it out.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. If anything happens, the great Caption Usopp is here to protect y’all.”

Suddenly, a loud snapping sound echoed from a dark corner. Everyone’s heads whipped around, and your hands flung to the collar of Zoro’s patterned shirt to keep you from tumbling off. In catching your breath, you looked down and noticed that one of Zoro’s hands, usually quick to protect you, was now gripping the hilt of his sword.

“Well, well… if it isn’t the Straw Hat Pirates.”

“Zoro…” you said, voice shaking slightly. “What’s–”

You were cut off with a curt shh from your chaperone. And just a few seconds later, a horde of scraggly-looking people jumped out from all corners, surrounding your group in a matter of moments. A quick count revealed that you were outnumbered nearly 3-to-1.

“Nice place, waiter,” Zoro grumbled to his left, where Sanji stood. He just grunted.

There was laughter from the men. “These are the pirates worth over 10 million Berry? Each?”

“Musta been a misprint.”

The Straw Hats stayed silent as the group of mercenaries kept hurling half-baked insults. Zoro now had both his hands on his swords, and when he started to unsheathe them, that’s when one of them noticed you, letting out an ugly cackle.

“Check it out! This one's got a pet. You think that’ll fetch us extra bounty?”

You wanted to stand up and scream at them with all your might, but you knew better. You just sat there, face hot, staring straight ahead and ignoring the heat of everyone’s gazes on you.

“They’re not a pet,” Luffy hissed. “They’re a pirate, and they’re part of my crew.”

Another round of laughter. “Keep it alive,” one man, clearly the leader, spoke to his henchman. “It may make a fine gesture of goodwill.”

The men inched closer, clearly ready for a fight. Your knuckles were turning white as you looked up at Zoro, waiting to see what he’d do.

“See, I told you bringing them would be a bad idea!” Nami said angrily, briefly giving you a sympathetic look.

“It’s alright,” Luffy told her. He sternly nodded at you, as if to say we got this, you’ll be fine. “We’ll protect them.”

At this point, you were panicking. You were now standing, unsure of what exactly you should be doing, but ready to run if you had to. It’s fine if I fall from this height, you thought, I can just hide over there. They’ll find me when they’re done. Nobody will see me over there, I’m sure of it. But what if they do? What if someone grabs me? Will I be someone’s pet for the rest of my life? What if–

You screamed when you felt a sudden pressure behind you and you were flipped upside down, your world turning blurry and dark. Your stomach told you you knew this sensation – being scooped up by a hand – but your brain told you to panic. You kicked and punched and even bit at the hands that now surrounded you, but in a matter of moments, the movement stopped.

You were awkwardly laying down, feet up in the air as if you were falling in suspended animation. The light around you was translucent, almost angelic. Your tentative hand reached out to feel the material of the wall in front of you. Cotton. You shimmied into an upright position as everything began to dawn on you.

Zoro had grabbed you off his shoulder and deposited you into his front pocket.

The swordsman felt bad when he grabbed you with no warning, but he didn’t even have time for that. His heart panged when he felt your small kicks, and he made a mental note to apologize to you later.

You were just getting your bearings when a loud, scraping metal sound penetrated your ears – Zoro’s swords. You only had a few moments to flip to your knees for stability before he lurched forward into battle.

There was a lot of yelling and a lot of slashing. You were honestly surprised with how little you were being jolted around. Outside of training, you had only seen Zoro fight one other time, and that was the day the Straw Hats found you.

You were still shaking from being grabbed unceremoniously, and tears began to prick the corners of your eyes at the sheer scale of the situation. More than anything, it just reminded you of how scared you were when the pirates first saw you, and how you weren’t convinced that they actually wanted to be your friend.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud squelching sound, followed by a harrowing scream, followed by silence. Zoro was killing people. Of course he had to, or else he’d die himself. But here you were, uniquely positioned to feel his heartbeat and breaths, and through it all, he remained surprisingly calm. Like he wasn’t afraid at all.

That’s it. I have to see this.

You shook away your jitters as much as you could and stretched your arms up, briefly wishing you had Luffy’s rubber powers right about now. The top of Zoro’s pocket folded down when you grabbed onto it, and your arms were so shaky that as soon as Zoro lunged, you fell backwards.

Your second try was more successful. You sucked in a deep breath and pulled yourself up, draping your arms over the top of the pocket to secure yourself.

What you saw was nothing short of incredible. The small group of mercenaries was apparently much larger, because more and more of them just kept coming from the shadows, only to be swiftly met with Zoro’s swords. Blood spattered everywhere, yet somehow, Zoro stayed clean. You gasped each time a body twisted to the ground, when limbs were cut off, and when Zoro would jump and run and flip his way out the line of enemy fire.

You don’t know how you managed to stay in his pocket, but it wasn’t without effort on your part. Maybe it was the pure adrenaline that kept you from vomiting everywhere. This was your first giant fight, after all.

Almost as soon as it started, the battle came to an end, with Zoro gracefully slicing through the chest of an enemy. This time, a bit of blood did spatter across his torso, narrowly avoiding your pocket home.

With calm composure, he peered down at you, a look of shock clearly present on your face.

“Sorry you had to see that.”

Through his patented monotone voice, you could hear the subtleties. He really did feel bad. Even if you were shaken up and still reeling from being so close to a massacre, your eyes shook as you craned your neck to look back up at Zoro. He understood that look, too: Don’t worry. I’ve seen this kind of thing before.

“Everyone okay?” Nami asked into the now-quiet night. As usual, everyone was fine.

“Kona,” Luffy breathed, running over to Zoro. “Where’s Kona?”

Zoro tilted his head down to his pocket and Luffy bent down, hands on his knees, with a relieved smile. The rest of the crew soon stood behind him, all looking to make sure you were alive and okay.

“You were in there the whole time?” Luffy asked, pointing to the pocket. You nodded. “Wow.”

Sanji smirked. “That couldn’t have been fun.”

“I dunno, feels pretty irresponsible to me,” Usopp said. “I think I’ll have to hang onto Kona next time so they aren’t put in danger again.”

You smiled. No matter the situation, Usopp never failed to make you feel better.

After a few moments of silence, Usopp spoke again. “So, uh, we’re leaving, right? Like, immediately?”

“What? No,” Sanji frowned. “We still haven’t gotten the ingredients I need.”

“We’re leaving,” Zoro declared, not waiting for an answer before turning around and walking away. Luffy, with his ever-present smile, just shrugged and followed his first mate back to the ship.

Sanji threw his arms out. “Guess our food will just taste like shit!”

Zoro didn’t even bother making the most obvious comeback, instead cupping his hand around his pocket. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said after a moment. “That was just…”

“Intense,” Zoro finished.

“Yeah. Intense.” A pause. “Does that happen… all the time?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Hm.” You leaned back into the comfort of the pocket. It was cozier than you thought a pocket could be, and the closeness of Zoro’s hand was able to calm you down.

“Sorry I grabbed you before,” Zoro said softly.

“It’s alright, Zoro. You didn’t really have a choice.”

“I’ll… try to give you a warning next time.”

“Or you could keep wearing shirts with pockets for me to sit in,” you smiled.

Zoro looked down with a smirk. “That’s comfortable for you?”

“It’s growing on me. And trust me, I’ve been in a lot worse.”

You didn’t ever talk about your past, but neither did anyone else, unless the situation mandated it. But he understood what it was like to have a traumatic upbringing.

“Well, good thing you’re with us now.”

You leaned forward, watching as the world whizzed by around you. You knew plenty of tinies who were in unfortunate situations – probably stuck in cages somewhere, or living alone in crevasses and abandoned buildings. You don’t know how you got so lucky to be found by the kindest pirates in history.

When you returned to the ship, Zoro bounded below deck to his hammock, and you stayed with him, letting the deep rhythm of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

Good thing indeed.

#i'm so one piece pilled you guys #maybe it's time for me to watch 1000 episodes of the anime #or at least keep reading articles for context #i saw that there are canonical giants and now i need to know more #also pretty sure i've used the name kona before but shhh. no i havent #obwrites #one piece #one piece g/t #g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #OPLA

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kirklandsheartsecrets · 1 year

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thank you for answering!🥰 could i request an england x male reader where it’s the first time that englands boyfriend is spending the night and meeting the brothers? i absolutely ADORE your writing, it always makes my day better when you post💕

Hello, merry (late) Christmas! There you go son, your well deserved request!

it makes me happy to know my posts make you happy!

MALE READER

England x male!reader II meeting the family for the first time

You felt really awkward sitting there at dinner. It was nerve wrecking to stand there with his 3 brothers. Arthur being totally different from his siblings made it even harder. You were caught up in between feeling comfortable and getting death stares every minute.

You never ate this slow, ever in your life, them adding up drinks and shots every minute made it difficult to keep up on a single discussion.

You haven’t had dessert yet that Scotland went to get candies.

You kindly refused the offer, as you felt embarrassed to even ask for water.

Wales wanted to show North something, leaving the table randomly.

So it was you and the dessert yoghurt at the table, sitting there.

They all left the table for the most random reasons, Scotland by the couch munching on his candy.

North walked in dressed in pyjamas, chuckled at Scotland saying out loud:

“You’re really munching that hard,” he said, mocking dirty moves and sounds quickly laughing.

“Shut yer trap” the brunette replied.

You ignored any eye contact with them, but they still randomly spoke to you.

“Do you want some candy ?" Scotland would ask and few minutes later say again,

“If you want candy you can have some there. It’s on the table for you”

You just smiled and shook your head saying no to the offer the 10th time this afternoon.

Wales finally came back with the said drinks. Arthur was next to you chilling, having a hard time, staying still due to the alcohol in his system.

He wasn’t black out drunk but still a bit uneasy.

You enjoyed the atmosphere for sure, everyone was lovely, but meeting them for the first time and seeing them so purely made you overthink.

Your arms were crossed, fingers rubbing slightly the skin of your forearms. You felt every hair follicule on your arm, almost counting them as your eyes traveled back and forth to the brothers.

You appreciated the attempts at making you feel home but something was keeping you away from being comfortable.

Scotland and Wales did notice your uneasiness. One shared look between the blonde and his taller sibling for them to connect.

“Sorry we’re a bit—“

“It’s fine, I’m really enjoying myself” you cut off, trying to reassure the siblings.

“Then chill” North said confidently.

“I am chill” you replied again, hoping they would stop worrying.

They shared looks altogether silently as you stared at the wooden table.

Moreover, you stared at the 4 kinds of alcohol placed on the table.

“That’s a lot of alcohol—" you almost whispered, feeling too shy to speak loudly, specifically in this silence.

“Choose one—" Arthur muttered, pushing one bottle towards you.

“Why are you getting this one closer Artie’ let him choose—" North pulled back the said bottle, aligning his favorite one next to it.

“You really think we didn’t see what you did ? Pull back the bottles and let him choose” Wales announced, pushing closer to you his favorite bottle.

Scotland huffed,

“Maybe he doesn’t like your shitty ones and wants some real—“

Arthur interrupted the brunette immediately,

“He will choose mine, he’s my boyfriend after all—“

You stood there, a line of beers and whisky bottles thrown in front of you like soldiers.

The glass sound becomes louder and louder as every second passed they would find another one you could choose from.

You panicked, watching all the brands, logo colors, different colored glads bottles and the words over them.

The brothers started arguing against each other about who’s beer or whisky was the best.

The next day you received a text from Arthur’s brothers s/o’s explaining you that they always did that.

After excusing themselves for Arthur’s brothers behavior to their sibling’s boyfriend they added you to the group chat.

#uk brothers #aph england x reader #hws england #aph england #hetalia x reader #hetalia

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snackhobi · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say.

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

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

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itsdanii · 3 years

Note

Because I’m an angst-addicted ball of misery, is it okay if I request drabbles of Fuckboy!Atsumu and Fuckboy!Oikawa being the crush of the reader but she knows of how they treat other girls and doesn’t want to end up heart broken and since she’s shy and introverted, the boys barely know her aside from her being a classmate?

She tries to keep a simple distance away from them until said boys randomly show an interest in her and they start showing her attention, love, and treating her better than the girls they messed with until after a few weeks she overhears from them or their teammates that it’s out of pity/they were bored because Y/N seemed easy to mess with.

Y/N doesn’t let them know she overheard them, instead a switch is flipped and she’s emotionless around them and avoids them. When they ask why she’s like that, she simply says “I won’t let you hurt me like the others.” She basically treats them like they don’t exist (she’s friendly to everyone but them) and said f!boys regret it and bust their asses to fix everything between them (I read how you felt about full angst, so the reader just blocked their number, social media’s, and treat them like the plague until they prove that they truly love her or regret messing with her :) )

Hey, bub. Sorry for the slight delay! I hope you don't mind me making slight adjustments about the plot for my comfort 🥺 And uh... this drabble turned out to be a oneshot because I got carried away. I only did Atsumu's part which went over 3k+ works 👁️👄👁️ Anyway, I hope that you still like it. Have a good day, stay safe and hydrated! ♥️

Karma's a b*tch

genre: angst to fluff

warning/s: rude behavior (resolved), cursing, self doubt and insecurity(?), do message me if I missed any

a/n: please do read the warnings before you proceed. warnings have been put there for a reason

ft. fboy!atsumu miya, f!reader

never play with a girl's feelings. wanna know why? just read the title.

You stared at the back of Atsumu's head dreamily, your elbows propped on your desk as you basically ignored the world around you.

Contrary to the belief that noisy students always sat on the back, Atsumu and his twin were actually seated in front. Despite being in the middle of a class discussion, the two kept on chattering as if the teacher didn't exist. The teacher basically gave up already trying to shut them up since they never listened anyway.

You knew that she could've just sent them to detention but of course, who would do that to the miya twins? People almost worshipped them and your teacher wasn't excluded. Everytime she entered the room, you noticed how she would always cast a glance at the Miya twins and smile "politely."

The two, of course, took advantage of it. If it meant being able to get away with their noise by just simply smirking at the teacher in front of them, they'd do it. They already did anyways. They never did anything more than that though, and for some reason you were thankful that they never crossed that line.

You jolted up slightly when the bell suddenly rang, a loud yelp slipping past your lips out of shock. With your eyes widening like saucers, you felt your cheeks heating up when majority of your classmates turned their head towards your direction, some having a grin on their faces while the others having a look of displease.

However, their stare didn't matter as much as a specific person's did. A pair of brownish eyes stared at you intensely, his gaze so intense it was enough to make you almost squirm in your seat.

Feeling your heart rate picking up along with the shiver running down your spine, you looked down at your lap, successfully cutting your eye contact with Miya Atsumu - the guy you secretly liked despite being hailed as your school's certified f!ckboy.

"Make sure to finish all your requirements this upcoming weekend. You're all seniors so I have high expectations on your outputs, understood?"

With a series of "Yes, ma'am," the class was dismissed.

The room was filled with different noises - subgroups gossiping with each other, the footsteps of students hurrying their way out, the rustling of papers, clanking of chairs and the voices of the class representatives reminding the assigned people to clean properly.

It was lively, for them at least.

As for you, you preferred being alone. No, you weren't some weird nerd kid who acted as if they hated the world. Instead, you preferred categorizing yourself as one of those people who were naturally shy and introverted.

You don't really like crowds nor socializing. You've always opted on sitting by the corner, just enjoying the calmness silence brings you.

Grabbing your books from your desk, you stood up and made your way to the door, head casted a little downwards to avoid making eye contact with people, knowing that doing so will result to interactions, and who has time for interactions anyway? Certainly not you.

With the lack of paying attention, you failed to notice someone who was rushing their way out. Like a cliche movie, your body collided with them, the impact causing you to stumble backwards, loosening your grip on your books as they fell on the floor.

Luckily, the person behind you managed to catch you on time, their hand gripping the small of your back to keep your bum from meeting the floor.

"Whoa, there. Ya alright, princess?" spoke the familiar voice just behind your ear, his breath against your skin giving you small goosebumps.

Instantly, you jerked away. Turning around to face him, you bowed down while muttering continuous apologies. "Miya! I didn't mean to bump into you, I.. I swear. I was just walking out and then somebody j-"

Chuckling, Atsumu placed a hand on top of your head, giving your hair a small ruffle which eventually made you look up at him. "Calm down, I ain't mad at ya. No need to be so flustered."

With a stiff nod, you mumbled a small "Okay," before bending down to pick your books off the floor. You didn't fail to notice how your hands were trembling and you silently prayed to whoever diety was watching over you that Atsumu won't notice it.

"Yer y/n, right?" Atsumu asked as he bent down as well, one hand clutching your book as he let his finger trace over the name written on it. "A pretty name fer a pretty face like yers."

You wouldn't be surprised if he'd ask if you were doing okay because by now, you were a hundred percent sure that your face must be looking like a red tomato. "Thanks I guess," you said, giving him a shy smile before taking the book from his hand.

The small encounter was cut off by someone calling for Atsumu's name. Turning your head to the direction of the noise, you noticed Osamu walking towards you with a small frown on his face, one hand gripping the strap of his bag as he went on how they're going to have to run extra laps again if they ever got late for practice.

Atsumu only chuckled at Osamu before turning his focus back on you. With a cheeky smile, he booped the tip of your noise fondly. "Guess I'll see ya around, pretty thing. Careful not to stumble again, alright? Don't want another man catchin' ya."

With that, Atsumu went on his merry way, turning around one more time to send you a wink, chuckling as you gave him a slow wave before his figure disappeared from your vision as a mere dot.

"See ya later..." you whispered on thin air, lips unconsciously curling up as you stared at the direction he went off to. Once you snapped out of your daze, you bit your lip to stop yourself from squealing like a school girl in love.

Well, technically, you were a school girl in love, right?

That night, as you laid on your bed staring at your ceiling full of glow in the dark stars, you thought that maybe it wasn't so bad making conversations with people every once in a while.

The days went by pretty quickly.

At first, you thought that everything will be back to normal. After all, you never tried associating yourself with people. Your high school life was basically nothing but waking up early for school then going back home after class and then repeat.

However, something was strange. In fact, it was very strange. Not only were people trying to befriend you but the one and only Atsumu Miya was actually making an effort to talk to you, and to say that you were confused would be an understatement.

He basically didn't pay attention nor spared you a glance before, until that day you bumped into him.

You knew that it wasn't a good practice to judge someone based on what other people say but he wouldn't be called as your school's f!ckboy for nothing. He'd change his girlfriend almost every week as if he's only changing clothes, cruelly dump those who did not meet his certain standards and doesn't care even if a girl cries infront of him. Those are exactly why you tried not associating yourself with him nor his twin.

But there was something about Atsumu Miya that kept on drawing you in. You didn't know if it was his annoying piss colored hair, intense gaze, or the aura surrounding him. You couldn't help but wonder how someone like him, the exact type of person you swore you hated, managed to keep you attracted like a moth on to a flame.

It was weird.

And yet you loved it.

"Ya know y/n, ya kinda wound me," Atsumu said, plopping himself down beside you on the cafeteria.

With your hand clutching the chopsticks mid-air, you surveyed your area, noting how some heads, specifically the Inrizaki VBC's, turned to your direction. "Sorry, what do you mean?" you muttered as soon as your eyes met Atsumu's.

"I literally thought we're already friends when I saved yer ass from falling backwards," Atsumu answered before stuffing his mouth with an Onigiri, no doubt made by Osamu.

Placing your chopsticks down, you wiped your lips with some napkin before speaking up. "I'm sorry for asking this but... what's with the sudden interest, Miya?"

You were aware of how snappy you sounded, but in reality, it was your own defense mechanism acting up. Just how were you supposed to ignore him when it's he himself who kept on clinging to you?

"Hm, what do ya mean? Is it so hard to believe that I'm trying to befriend ya?" Atsumu tilted his head a bit to the side, his lips curling up into a smirk. "Why not try givin' me a chance, princess? That isn't so much to ask for."

You organized your now empty bento, placing it on the side before focusing your whole attention to the man in front of you. "I've seen how you treated girls before," you said with a low voice, averting your gaze from him to avoid melting into a puddle.

Damn stupid feelings.

"I see..." Atsumu said with a slow nod. "Then I guess that makes it more of a challenge."

Your eyebrows immediately furrowed upon hearing that, your curiosity spiking up at what his words meant. "Challenge? What do you mean?"

Instead of answering you, Atsumu just stood up, his bento in hand with the side of his lips curled up. "I'll see ya around, princess."

With that, you were left alone in your table, eyes still trained on Atsumu as he made his way back to the Inarizaki VBC's table. You watched as most of his friends chuckled while patting his back, some even sending a glance towards your direction.

Deciding that pondering over it would only be a waste of time, you stood up and made your way back to your classroom, failing to notice a grey haired Miya watching you.

You let out a small squeak as someone behind you reached for the same book you've been trying to get for almost 5 minutes now. Tilting your head back a little, you were met with an upside down vision of Miya Atsumu's face.

With your arms still raised in the air, you spun around to face him, your back flush against the bookshelf keeping you basically trapped. "Miya," you mumbled while looking up at him, one hand fisting the side of your skirt to release some pressure.

"Here," he simply said while handing you the book, obviously holding back from laughing at your flustered expression. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna try anythin' that would make ya uncomfortable. I was just passin' by and saw you strugglin'."

"And he even tucked my hair behind my ear!"

"He did that?" your cousin spoke from beside you.

Both of you were seated on top of your bed, legs crissed crossed as you gossiped about your interactions with Miya Atsumu.

For the past few weeks, you've been having encounters with Atsumu - in the cafeteria, in the library and even outside of school where he claimed that he was out to buy some ingredients for Osamu and only managed to bump into you "coincidentally". Name it and he'll be there.

With these constant encounters stirring up your feelings, you had to resort on calling your cousin for some girl time in order to save your sanity. Luckily, your parents had no objection. They were even happy that you were actually trying to open up to other people. It was only your cousin but according to your parents, "A small step is still a step."

Plopping your back on your bed, you grunted as you placed both of your hands on your cheeks. "Mhm. I just don't get it you know? He's basically this popular guy that plays volleyball, has a group of girls swarming over him and has the face and body that looks like it's been sculpted by God himself, and yet he's wasting his time on me."

You looked at your cousin with a small pout, one hand reaching out to poke her thigh. "Am I just overthinking things?"

With a breathy chuckle, your cousin laid down beside you. "Maybe? I can't really say for sure since I don't know this Miya guy except your description of him, but what I think is that you should give him a chance."

Hearing that, you laid on your side to face her, elbows propped up against the mattress as you rested your cheek on your palm. "Aila, have you been listening to me? He is a f! ckboy. Dangerous, treats girls like shit, and undeniably sexy. What if his sudden interest is only a one time thing? What if he's just messing with me?"

"And what if he isn't?" Upon hearing no reply, your cousin took your silence as her cue to continue. "What if people just labeled him as this so called 'f!ckboy' because that's what they perceive him to be? What if inside him is just someone who's vulnerable, trying to protect themselves from getting hurt by people so they end up hurting others first to save themselves from the pain? What if he's just waiting for someone who wanted to really know him, the real him? Would you really deprive him of that opportunity just because of what you hear from other people?"

"I... I don't know.."

"Miya isn't here to defend himself and I'm not trying to defend him, but don't you think you should at least give him the benefit of the doubt?" Aila smiled as she settled herself on a comfortable position. "Give him a chance, y/n. Everyone deserves to get one. It's up to him to prove whether he's worth the chance he was given."

You sighed deeply, letting her words sink in as you also shifted yourself on a comfortable position, raising your comforter up until it reaches just below your chin. "Then what happens if he isn't worth the chance he's given?"

With a hum, your cousin just shrugged. "Then you either forgive him and let it go or... give him the finger and tell him 'f!ck you' for messing with your feelings," she said with a short giggle.

"It's something only you in the future can decide. Goodnight, y/n."

With a thankful smile, you turned the lamp off as you whispered, "Mh, goodnight, Aila."

"Let's be friends," you said as you slammed a box of onigiri in front of Atsumu, a smacking sound resonating in the air making the rest of the boys look at your direction.

Even the sound of balls whooshing in the air stopped, replaced by the sound of them dropping suddenly on the gym's floor.

With his lips parted, Atsumu shifted his gaze from the onigiri, Osamu, Suna and you. "Ah..." he muttered as if he was just as shocked as you for having the guts to come inside the gym in the middle of their training.

Feeling your cheeks heating up out of embarrassment due to his lack of response, you looked down and started to fiddle with you fingers. "You said you wanted to be my friend and I kept on keeping my distance from you so I thought you might appreciate those onigiri as my peace offering." You scratched the back of your head before giving him an awkward smile. "A-anyway, that's all! I'll see you around, Miya!"

Atsumi could only watch you as you dashed out of the gym. Snapping out of his daze, he looked down at the box of Onigiri, smiling unconsciously as he noticed the sticky note posted on top with "Good luck on your practice, Miya! :))" written on it.

"Interestin'," Atsumu whispered before standing up, Kita's voice filling the air as he called the team back for practice.

It's safe to say that after that embarrassing moment, you became friends with Atsumu. You even became close with his twin because they were always with each other. It wasn't long then when the usual duo became three - Atsumu, Osamu, and you.

It was hard to adjust at first. Your female classmates would always glare at you and spout out some nasty remarks but the twins were always there to defend you. In fact, you even met the whole team and hanged out with them when you didn't have some academic tasks to finish.

It was fun, and you were thankful for your cousin who gave you the advise of giving Atsumu a chance.

But there was a downside on the situation.

Your feelings which you kept hidden for a long time was only growing day by day, and you were afraid that it was slowly showing signs.

How?

Everytime Atsumu was near, your heart would beat so fast that you felt like you just finished a 4 kilometer run. Your hands would become clammy, breath would hitch, and face would heat up whenever he teases you, and don't even forget to add that one time you literally froze when you spun around, only to come face to face with him - nose almost touching, lips ghosting against each other with only an inch keeping you apart.

You were playing a dangerous game and yet you had no intention of stopping, not knowing that it wasn't only you who had a secret.

Because Atsumu Miya was also playing a game - something much more dangerous than yours.

"Where's 'Tsumu?" you asked as you peeked your head inside the gym.

Kita, who was about to walk out, gave you a smile before opening the door wider for you to come in. "Atsumu's in the storage room. The twins made a mess again so I told them to go clean up before we start practice."

"Typical," you said with a short giggle. "Anyway, I'm just going to drop off Atsumu's hoodie that I borrowed last week. I'll watch over them while you do your business."

"That would be great. Thank you so much, y/n-san. Call me if something happens," Kita said, giving you a small nod before leaving.

As you entered the empty gym, you grimaced upon seeing something that looks like spilled milk on the floor. With a shake of your head, you made your way near the storage room sneakily in attempts of scaring Atsumu.

However, as you got closer, you heard two familiar voices. It was Atsumu's and Osamu's voice, and basing from the way they were speaking, it seemed as if they were in the middle of an argument.

"The fuck did ya say?" It was Osamu.

"I said I was only playin' with her. I mean, she's so easy, don't ya think? It basically only took me a couple of weeks and she came runnin' to me with that box of Onigiri, claimin' she wanted to be friends," Atsumu said, followed by a chuckle. "As if I didn't notice the way she acted around me. I'm telling ya, that girl is in love with me."

"And so, what if she is? That's not an excuse for ya to play with her feelings, dipshit."

Hearing Atsumu huff, you slightly backed away from the door, only to freeze when you heard his next words.

"Y/n is nothin' but a toy to me, somethin' I can dispose of when I got bored."

Biting your lower lip, you clenched the handle of the paperbag you were holding before running out with tears streaming down your face.

You ran as fast as you could, ignoring the worried looks you're getting from the people you were passing by. Even Kita was shocked to see you yet he didn't bother calling out, thinking that you might be needing some alone time for yourself.

You skipped class.

Throughout your whole Highschool life, this was the first time you skipped your class and it was a bummer that the reason was Atsumu Miya.

Stirring your strawberry milkshake from a nearby cafe, you thought about Atsumu's words, another batch of tears streaming down your face as you realized how pathetic you were for believing that he isn't what others say.

Maybe your cousin was wrong.

Atsumu Miya wasn't worth the chance he was given, because he only proved that once a f!ckboy, always a f!ckboy.

You blocked Atsumu's social media accounts.

In fact, you even blocked and deleted his number to stop getting in contact with him.

Even in person, you didn't bother paying him any attention unlike before. You stopped coming to their practices, stopped giving him food and stopped talking to him.

You basically acted as if he didn't exist.

It was hard because you knew that your heart belonged to him, but you had to endure it. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction for playing with you. You know your worth and there's no way you're going to let some f*ckboy ruin you.

"Y/n, would ya stop?!" Atsumu said as he grabbed your wrist, effectively stopping you from walking away from him any further.

"Get your hands off me, Miya. I don't wanna talk to you." You struggled against his hold, trying to take your hand back, only to fail when he tightened his grip.

"The hell's yer problem? What's with the sudden attitude? Yer basically ignorin' me and I don't have any idea what I did. Just tell me what I did wrong instead of actin' like a little brat." Letting go of your wrist, Atsumu groaned as he ran his fingers through his hair out of frustration. "I.. I don't like this."

You laughed, eyes squinting as you let out a fit of giggles before pointing at him. "You don't like this? Why not, Miya? I'm just a toy for you, right? So, I don't really get why you don't like this. Is it because you're not bored of me yet so you're not willing to dispose of me?" Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked at him with a serious expression. "Well, I'm sorry to say this but I'm not going to let you hurt me like the others. I'm not a plaything nor am I desperate like those girls pining over you. Have fun looking for a new toy. You're not worth playing with anyway."

That being said, you turned your back on Atsumu, ignoring the whispers that suddenly filled the hallway as the students parted some space for you, leaving Atsumu with his lips parted and feet frozen on the ground.

Serves you right, Miya.

Atsumu felt hollow.

With every passing day that you're ignoring him, conversing with people whom you never bothered associating yourself with before, the more he regret taking advantage of your feelings.

It was only supposed to be a game, nothing but a pass time and yet why did it felt like something was missing?

"I wasn't supposed to care," Atsumu said desperately while clutching his head in his hands, elbows propped on the table as he opened up to his twin. "F!ck...I think I like her, 'Samu."

"No shit, idiot," Osamu answered without taking his eyes off the stove. "I told ya several times to stop messin' with people's feelings and did ya ever listen? No. That's what ya get for bein' stupid."

Groaning, Atsumu rested his cheek against the table, facing Osamu's back. "Help me."

Slowing down from stirring the pot, Osamu looked at Atsumu through his shoulder. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, I'm yer twin. Aren't ya supposed to help me? Plus... y/n acts fine around ya." Atsumu sighed before sitting up properly. "I won't bother ya fer a week if ya help me out. I already did everythin' I could. Flowers, chocolates, even payin' attention in class just to impress them! Nothin' worked."

Osamu chuckled at the desperation and frustration in Atsumu's voice. "Deal." He turned the stove off, covering the pot before making his way to Atsumu. Sitting down, he crossed his arms over his chest while staring at the brokenhearted Miya. "Y/n is actually kind. Well, not until that moment she found out about yer stupidity. Have ya tried showin' her that yer willin' to change?"

Atsumu nodded. "I did. I even gave her the usual things girls like."

"I asked if ya showed her that yer willin' to change, not tried winnin' over her through bribery." When Atsumu didn't respond, Osamu let out a 'tsk' before continuing, "Just stop botherin' her and prove that ya regret what ya did."

"Easier said than done," Atsumu grumbled which earned him a smack on the head.

"Will ya stop bein' a sad boy already? I have a plan."

Its been two weeks.

Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu trying to apologize. Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu following you like a lost puppy while holding either chocolates or flowers.

Instead, what you were getting were these random post it notes on your locker, your desk, everywhere. Wherever you go, there would be random post it notes with various messages. Some contained cheesy quotations, the others short apology letters.

And despite how mad you were at Atsumu, you wouldn't be able to deny how cute the act was. Not only did he gave you space but also exerted an effort of silently letting you know that he'd be willing to wait for you.

You noticed how he stopped acting like a boss in class, opting to jot down notes instead of chattering with Osamu like usual. You also noticed how he stopped having a random girl beside him during breaks. Everytime you would pass by, no longer would he try to block your way and flick your forehead, but instead give you a hopeful smile before proceeding on his way wordlessly.

But what made you realize that he indeed regret what he did was that one time.

You were walking back to your classroom after forgetting your umbrella. The sound of the heavy rain tapping on the ground resonated on the empty hallways, the cold wind making you shiver as it whooshed in the air.

Wrapping your arms tightly around you, you entered your classroom, eyes widening as you saw Atsumu trying to fit something on the space below your desk while mumbling something.

Clearing your throat, you noticed Atsumu jolting up slightly before turning around to face your direction.

He smiled sheepily before scratching his nape. "I know it's yer birthday tomorrow so I was tryin' to fit this here. I guess there's no point hidin' it already since ya caught me anyway." Sighing, Atsumu picked up the fox stuffie and handed it to you. "Happy Birthday, y/n. I know yer still mad at me and ya probably hate me but I still wanted to give ya a present."

You stared at the fox in your hand, your fingers poking the fluffiness of the material as you fought back the urge to smile. "Thanks," you answered with a dismissive tone.

For a split second, it was silent, and you were aware of the intensity of Atsumu's gaze burning on your forehead, yet you refused to look up, knowing that once you did, you won't be able to hold yourself back and might just forgive him there and then.

"I like ya, I really do. I know I messed up big time fer taking advantage of ya and I'm sorry fer that. It was stupid and childish of me to think that the people around me are nothing but mere toys fer me to play with. I regret hurtin' yer feelings and I'll be willin' to wait until ya forgive me. Just know that I won't stop until ya do."

Hearing something rustling, you looked up and noticed Atsumu taking off his jacket. Within a few steps, he was already infront of you, draping his jacket over your figure. "I'll see ya around, princess. Don't get sick, alright?" Smiling, Atsumu gave your cheek a small pinch before heading out.

You were left in the empty classroom with nothing but the fox stuffie serving as your company. Atsumu's scent was swirling around you from the jacket you were given and at that moment, you haven't notice the single tear sliding down your cheek.

Because of all people, you never expected for Atsumu Miya to be the first one to greet you without having to remind them.

He was the first person you knew outside of your household to ever remember your birthday.

You hugged the stuffie close to your chest, burrying your face on top of its head as you let the comfort it brings envelope you.

You stared at the empty space infront, your head swirling as you thought of the possible reasons why Atsumu haven't been in class for three days now.

It's currently your last subject and throughout the whole day, you've been doing nothing but wonder where he was. You haven't asked Osamu about it yet since he was excused from the class due to the preparations for the upcoming match.

And so, the moment your class was dismissed, you rushed your way out, making your trip to the gym. You were thankful that they were in the middle of a water break so you had the chance to call out Osamu's name without having to worry about Kita.

"Y/n?" Osamu's eyebrow shot up upon seeing you. Suddenly, a knowing smile made its way to his lips. Standing up, he walked over to you. "He's sick," he said without even waiting for you to say something.

"Oh.." you muttered, shifting from one foot to another nervously before tugging at the hem of Osamu's jersey. "Do you... uhm, do you think it would be alright if I visit him after your practice? I wanna see if he's doin' alright."

"Alright. I think 'Tsumu would appreciate that. Why don't ya sit on the bench and wait a little for us to finish practice then ya can visit our house after?"

Upon hearing that, your face instantly lit up. You smiled at Osamu as you nodded.

Osamu only chuckled at you and fondly ruffled your hair, a habit he and Atsumu shared.

You waited patiently, and it wasn't long then when their practice finally finished. After Osamu took a shower, you both went on your way to their residence.

As you entered their house, Atsumu's voice immediately met your ears.

"'Samu! Cook me somethin', I'm starvin!"

You looked at Osamu who only shrugged as if he was already used to it. You took your shoes off and wore the slippers you were given before placing your bag on the couch.

"Our room is on the right. Go ahead and talk to him." Osamu said as he pointed on the door at the end of the hallway.

With a nod, you slowly made your way to their room, knocking softly before sliding your way in.

The first thing that greeted you were the mess of opened junk foods on the floor. Roaming your eyes around, you grimaced at the sight of empty water bottles littered around along with the volleyball laying on the ground.

Averting your eyes away from the trash, you looked at Atsumu whose back was facing you, his shoulder raising up and down evenly, indicating that he must be asleep.

Carefully, you walked claser and sat on the edge of his bed, your hand immediately feeling his forehead. "You're burning up," you mumbled, brushing his hair away from his face.

Suddenly, Atsumu's hand gripped your wrist, his eyebrows furrowed as he squinted his eyes. "Am I dreamin' or are ya a ghost?" he asked with a raspy voice.

"I'm not a ghost, 'Tsumu. I'm really here."

You watched as Atsumu slowly nodded before letting go of your wrist. "What're ya doin' here? I thought ya were still mad at me." Sitting up, Atsumu held the comforter close to him as he shivered.

"I heard you were sick. I'm no longer mad at you. I guess I'm still upset but I just can't hold a grudge against you forever, can I? That's not something I can do," you said with a shake of your head. "I really like you, you know? Despite your title of being a f!ckboy, I still fell for you. You were the first person I tried opening up to aside from my cousin. It's just a bummer that you ended up taking advantage of that vulnerability."

You felt Atsumu reaching out for you, his hand enveloping yours as he gave it a small squeeze. "I know, and I'm sorry. I really am."

"And if I give you another chance, will you prove me that you deserve it?" you asked as you looked at him, "I'm still hurt about what happened so I hope that if I give you this chance, you won't waste it."

"Yes. God, yes," Atsumu answered breathlessly, "I promise it won't happen again and I'll try to be better."

Suddenly, Atsumu wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you on his lap as he settled his head on the side of your neck. "Thank you," he mumbled repeatedly against your skin, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid of letting go.

And he never did.

Indeed, there was something about Miya Atsumu that kept drawing you in, and despite the bumps and dangers that came along your way, you didn't withraw.

Because as you closed the last page of your photo album eight years from then, you realized how right your cousin was alll along.

Atsumu Miya was worth the chance he was given, and he proved it to you every single day, sealing it with the diamond ring now resting on your left hand.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

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writingwithcolor · 3 years

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Hey, I have kind of hc'ed myself into a corner. I'm working on a oneshot based on someone else's art, which takes place at an office christmas party. Somewhere along the way I started hc'ing one of the chars as jewish tho. I went through your tags and it appears to me that it wouldn't actually be a problem for him to be at the party, as long as it's not overly religious? (Which it isn't. It's just a "christmas party" because of christian culture.) My main question is now, what would be good, small ways to keep the character noticeably jewish, esp in a relatively short story? My thoughts so far were that he'd probably object to someone putting a santa hat on him? And/or his colleagues might thank him for taking some extra shifts during christmas itself so they can stay home (in exchange for covering shifts for him during Chanukah? I know it's not a major holiday but around the same time so an exchange would make sense?) Mostly I'm just looking for every-day details, maybe something you guys would like to see more of? Thanks in advance!

Jewish character attending office Christmas party, also Chanukah

I like thanking him for working on Christmas — but working for him "on Chanukah" really doesn't make a whole lot of sense because you wouldn't be missing work. Recognition of the holiday is done mostly through lighting candles at night. If you want the exchange to be fair, they could always have traded just for him traveling at a different time — like oh, thanks for working for us on Christmas, now I'll work for you the following Tuesday — a day off is a day off.

Mileage may vary on the Santa hat. I wouldn't necessarily have a problem with someone putting that on my head if I was already at a Christmas party but someone else might, so I'm curious what our Jewish followers will say about this in the notes.

He can maybe bring something traditional like rugelach or babka as his contribution to the party's dessert potluck... or if you want something specifically seasonal, jelly donuts (which are a Chanukah thing for some people.)

--Shira

I'll start with a caveat I've made before: Jewish people are varied. Our practices, views, and choices are manifold.

All of that being said, there's no way I would go to a Christmas party. I know what you mean when you describe the party as not being overly religious but "Christmas because of Christian culture." From where I'm sitting though, you can take the Jesus out of it, but it's still a Christian holiday, Santa, trees with lights, caroling, Christmas music (even the heaps of songs written by Jewish people) are all still Christian culture. Christian being the operative word, and with my operative word being Jewish.

Now, let’s say I went to a secular, winter-party. We'll imagine that there are no decorated trees, no gifts being given, just snowflake decor and mulled wine. If someone at that party (or any other), who knew that I'm Jewish, tried to put a Santa hat on my head, I would be immediately arguing with my fullest, deepest voice. Christmas is pervasive, it's music in the stores, lights on every street, public buildings closed, and everyone wishing you a "Merry Christmas," and then angry when you smile and say "thank you, but I celebrate Chanukah!" Even if you use your cheeriest voice, and your happiest smile. It's great that other people are so excited, and happy at the time, but it can be exhausting to have to be constantly reminded that I am largely forgotten, and when I am remembered, I'm expected to assimilate. Why would I put myself through an extra portion of that?

I don't mind one, or two examples of stories where Jewish people go and participate in Christian holidays, plenty of us do! But it's all the time, in books, tv, movies, comics... I'm exhausted by the premise, and frustrated as the overabundance of that particular story contributes to the broader culture's expectation that I should be willing to be culturally Christian for a night, a week, a month, or more.

-- Dierdra

Like Dierdra, I have largely stopped going to these, but I would reiterate that there are many reasons why people would go. For example, being Orthodox, it’s hard enough not being able to join colleagues for drinks on Friday night or dig in when a manager takes pity on us and orders pizza. I don’t want to be that Jewish girl who never gets involved.

With this in mind, I would avoid using refusal to take part, or even getting annoyed at being forced to take part like with the Santa hat, as the parameters that define your character’s Jewishness. Especially at Christmas, where there’s already the common assumption that only the biggest killjoys refuse to celebrate.

Because of the seasonal aspect, this is one of the few times that I actually would consider Channukah to be one of your best options for introducing Jewish identity. Pre-Covid, I would often bring a dreidel and a box of chocolates to my very non-Jewish office during Channukah, and anyone who wanted could play with me at lunchtime. There’s no reason this couldn’t be taking place at a Christmas party, since it’s a very simple game to learn and most people find it fun the first few times. If you can, try slipping into the dialogue that this isn’t the only holiday the character celebrates though, since we are very tired of seeing that.

If you’re confident in your ability to write microaggressions, you could also create one or two uncomfortable moments for the character, because when people get drunk they often ask really weird questions about your religion and culture. For example, I was once at a work party where someone managed to get out of me (despite my attempts to dodge his invasive questions) that I was Jewish, and he immediately asked me why all the Jews in a particular ultra-Orthodox neighbourhood drove similar cars. The same night, my boss’s boss told me three times that he had loved going to Israel as a kid and thought of it as Christian Disney Land. You don’t have to get into microaggressions if this is just supposed to be a short, festive story, but I think it would feel very real and refreshing for a lot of Jewish people to see those experiences validated.

Other than that, I also like Shira’s suggestion of bringing Jewish food. I’ve turned up to many a ‘winter holiday’ party with latkes, even if I was the only Jewish person there. Covering Christmas day and getting a day back later is also very common, although I agree with Shira this wouldn’t be for observance of Channukah. It would either be a random day in the near future, or saved up for Passover, which is the next holiday requiring time off work.

- Shoshi

#daughterofhecata #asks #jewish #christmas #chanukah #religion #characters

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stylistiquements · 3 years

Text

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated. {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing

Masterlist | Next

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy ; @bizarrebibitch ; @bellomi-clarke ; @ladybismuth ; @katyasrussianaccent ; @satanhauntedourcats ; @owl-llie ; @teenloves ; @notannis ; @mcntsee ; @rottenroyalebooks ; @peachdoppi ; @mirahg ; @foxxtrot-116 ; @koi-soi ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fic #corpse husband AU #the sorcerer #platonic!dream

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luna-writes-stuff · 2 years

Text

It’s December 24th! Merry Christmas Eve!!

Giving a special shoutout to the blogs that really did make my year better:

@inthegistoftime

Bestie, we might have only talked like three times, but it’s cool! I’m not good in maintaining contact, but you’re amazing!!! I love your content (your Jesper headcanons👀) and you truly are a fun person to message. I feel like we have the same type of humor, so ty for messaging me😌 Wishing you lots of love and health!

@midearthwritings

You send me a message for a request halfway through this year, I believe, and you kept in contact for a while!! Thank you so much for that!! You have always been one of my favorite blogs, so when you texted me, I swear I nearly screamed. I hope you’re doing better now, and that life will treat you better. You deserve all the happiness this world has to give❤️

@errruvande

Now I know you went offline for a few weeks (months?) I believe, but you supported my Kili X OC series from the moment I released the prologue. Your comments really did urge me to continue writing so thank you so so much for that!! I’ve always loved your writing, so when I saw your reblog, I nearly thought I read it wrong….Merry Christmas sweetheart!!!

@pistachiozombie

We never really had any contact I believe, but I love your Bofur and Leanna art!! It’s so amazing and beautiful and each time I see a new post, it just makes me feel all happy and excited! Don’t you ever stop what you’re doing! You are so talented! Thank you so much for sharing your art with us for free!

@legolaslovely

Probably one of the best Tolkien fic blogs I’ve ever seen or came in contact with. I believe you are the first blog I followed when I created my account on Tumblr, actually. Your writing is so amazing and well structured! It’s so easy to fall in love with! I hope you’re doing well and may you get all the joy this world has to give❤️

@guardianofrivendell

Your writing? Immaculate. Your energy? Unmatched. Your oc Tullaina? Absolutely amazing. Everything about your blog is so good! If I’m being honest, when you first began talking about Tullaina, it kind of fueled me to write about my oc as well, so thank you so much for doing that! Even though you probably didn’t even know you did that…wishing you all the best!!

@candlesandconstellations

You, who always reblogs my Grishaverse fics and then proceeded to recommend my writings TWO TIMES!!! Thank you darling!! I really love your blog and thank you so so much for sharing my work with everyone else!! Merry Christmas!

@mrs-brekker15

Your grISHAVERSE FICS???? AMAZING!!! MORE SPECIFICALLY YOUR KAZ BREKKER FICS!!! You just write him so well????? Truly do love it, so please don’t ever stop writing for him. I wish you a very merry Christmas!! Enjoy the last week of December!!

@luna-xial

Hello my fellow Luna. Where do I truly begin about you? You are one of the kindest people I have come across on this app. I don’t think we ever privately talked, but I feel as if your reblogs and responses to asks say enough… your writing is absolutely wonderful and I always find myself looking back on your master lists and re-reading every single thing. Have a very merry Christmas!

@crowsmybeloveds

your jespER FAHEY SHADOW AND BONE SERIES??? AAAAHHHHHH I LOVE IT SO MUCH??? YOUR WRITE JESPER SO PERFECT!!! I’m still planning on going through the entire fic again just to reblog with comments, so keep your eyes peeled👀

@shawty-writes-a-little

MORE ROBB STARK FICS. WE NEED THEM. I DON’T CARE WHAT IT’S ABOUT. FUEL MY LOVE FOR ROBB PLEASE. Though I do admit, I’m not a Kirigan fan, your fics about him? The absolute best. Top tier reads, definitely. 10/10 would recommend to any Grishaverse lover. Even if you don’t like him.

Special shout-out to my personal cult❤️

@justnerdystuffs

Your comments on my chapters??? BESTIE THEY MAKE ME SMILE SO MUCH BECAUSE YOU POINT OUT EVERY LITTLE THING I’VE WRITTEN AND IT MAKES ME FEEL SO VALIDATED???? THANK YOU????? DON’T EVER STOP PLEASE

@fallenangeloflight

Let’s start of with the fact that your dedication to my fic is UNREAL. YOU WERE IN THE LITERAL HOSPITAL AND YOU MADE MEMES ABOUT MY WRITING???? Please your comments always make me laugh, so thank you so much for that!! I feel like, if there would be a Raewyn protection squad, you’d be the leader, so kudos to you for that!! Cannot wait for your what-if series!

@lxdymormont

First of all, if that name is a game of thrones reference, I love you. Second of all, you probably had no idea you were in a cult but people who interact with my Starcrossed Losers fic are immediately my cult members, so; welcome❤️. Thank you for all your kind comments about the chapters and thank you so much for your support!! Merry Christmas!

@chaoticpaintsplatter

Another cult member who loves to comment on my fics. Thank you so much for doing that!! It lets me know people actually like it and it really fuels me to write more, so thank you for the motivation!!!

@deathofafangirl01

Your memes about my writings gives me LIFE!! THEY’RE SO FUNNY EVERY SINGLE TIME AND THEY MAKE ME LAUGH SO MUCH AT TIMES!! Thank you so much for that and I appreciate the fact that you love my fic enough to make memes about it❤️

THERE ARE MORE CULT MEMBERS I KNOW!!! @writingawaymylife @radbarbariancupcake @spidergirla5 @the-cranck-hobbit @m-sterboggins @erathene @bianavacker-is-bi-as-hell ALL OF YOU ARE SO AMAZING FOR SUPPORTING MY FIC SERIES THANK YOU SO MUCH! WISHING YOU AN AMAZING CHRISTMAS!!!

#merry christmas #christmas shoutout #check out these blogs!

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celeste-clearwater-06 · 3 years

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Hello! I was wondering if you could please write something about how the Fellowship (+ Thorin?) Would help a s/o who's Disabled and Chronically ill. Like she has a lot of symptoms like chronic pain, chronic fatigue, difficulty sleeping, difficulty breathing at times, difficulty walking at times, higher sensitivity to the cold, difficulty talking at times, and anxiety, depression and executive dysfunction?

I've been really struggling with my chronic illnesses lately, namely my Autism, Anxiety, Sleep Apnea, a really bad Overbite, Raynaud's Syndrome, Asthma, etc, so I'd really appreciate an Imagine like this. I have a really weird disorder where one of my legs is longer than the other, and it's been causing me a lot of pain and difficulty walking lately, and people have been bullying me for it a lot too, so I could really use a Comfort Imagine right now. Thanks so much hun!!

It's no problem! I'm glad I can provide some comfort!! For each character, I'll use a specific struggling area, to make it a bit easier!! I hope I got these accurate enough, and of there are any mistakes, feel free to point them out!! You are strong, beautiful and so, so amazing!! Keep being you!! ❤❤

Help (The Fellowship// Thorin x Fem!Reader)

Aragorn (Autism)

Aragorn has known you for a long time, so helping with your autism is not new for him

He's particularly experienced in reading your emotions and meeting your needs, whether it's helping you out of stressful situations or calming you down, he's there 🥺

If there are large and boisterous gatherings in Rivendell, its almost guaranteed that you can become over-stimulated quickly, and Aragorn immediately senses this (spidey senses õoõ)

He's fast to find your hand and give it a gentle squeeze of reassurance

If that doesn't seem to help, he'll instantly stop what he's doing and take you out of the room

If you're someone who prefers lots of space and little physical contact, he is 100% respectful of this and asks if you'll let him touch or hug you (very much gentleman 😌)

If ever you're confronted by someone of importance, Aragorn is right by your side to ease some of the tension

Sometimes there are things you find difficult to say or get out of your system

The king seems to know exactly what it is and will help you out by saying it or asking you simple questions that you can easily answer

And he always reminds you, no matter WHAT

YOU ARE NOT STUPID 😤😡

You may struggle with some parts of your life, but every day, he's constantly telling you that you're very intelligent and kind

His patience is unending and he'll never let you think down on yourself

Overall, Aragorn is always someone and reminding you that it's all going to be okay ❤❤

Legolas (Anxiety)

Most nights, Legolas keeps watch (since elves don't require much sleep) and notices that you jolt awake out of the random

Now, most of the Fellowship notices that you're usually awake and ready to go before anyone else

But Legolas is really the one to address you first

You were a bit nervous to explain, since you didn't want to worry him or the great of the fellowship, amount the other disadvantages you have

He gently encouraged you, and finally, you explained to him your sleep apnea

Yeah, he was very concerned

I mean, his blue eyes widened with terror when you told him that you could basically die in your sleep if you weren't attentive enough 🙃

Legolas, from now on, sleeps directly next to you, or keeps extra careful watch over you at night

Because he could NEVER see his precious mortal friend become injured... Or worse 🥺🥺❤

The other members had noticed a change in his behaviors towards you as well...

Gimli teased him whenever he caught Legolas giving you some extra lembas bread or offered to carry you 👉👈

You really tried to assure Legolas that it wasn't a big deal when you were awake, since you're aware of your breathing situation

But still 😤

Legolas will always bring you comfort and take great care of you, and that will NEVER CHANGE

Because he loves you very much ❤🦋

Frodo (Anxiety)

Frodo is familiar with the feeling of great anxiety, seeing he had a stress-free life while living in the Shire and suddenly was forced to carry a piece of jewelry all the way to giant ass volcano

It's easy for you two to comfort each other and seek refuge in thoughts and feelings ❤

He's not super comfortable with the thought of you having a panic attack though...

Only because he's never had one

It starts to give him a panic attack whenever you have one around him the first time 😳-

Any time you begin to breathe heavy or hyperventilate, halfling boy is hot at your heels, rubbing your back and reminding you to breathe gently

(So many hugs, if you're up for it)

After you calm down, he's constantly checking on you, asking if you need anything etc.

Really, he just wants to know if he can help 🥺

And even with the weight and stress of carrying the ring, Frodo manages to cheer you up somehow

Samwise (Asthma)

Sam has never had to deal with asthma once in his life

He's very nervous when the subject is brought, afraid it might trigger something inside of you 🥺👉👈

But you just chuckle, assure him that it's alright, and you have ways of keeping it under control

And now, he wants to know everything about it, just to have the awareness in case something happens

Sam just wants to protect you forever, and this was a great way for him to start

He constantly reminds Aragorn that you'll need breathing breaks and will convince Gandalf to let you ride on his horse

He'll scold Pip and Merry if they are trying to drag you around and be silly, because as he says

"You'll rouse him/her/them up! We can't have Y/N gettin injured!" 🤨😠

Sam is MOM

As always, he's very kind and always makes sure your needs are met ❤🥺

Pippin and Merry (Raynaud's Syndrome)

Very confused halfings 🤔

Also extremely concerned!

You were eating one of the lesser pleasurable nights

It was cold and rainy, and a fire couldn't be started, not to mention the quiet arguments of Aragorn and Gandalf in the nearby woods

And Pip's eyes widened when he saw the tips of your petite fingers begin to pale upon hearing Aragorn mention Orcs

"What's wrong with your hands?!" He squeaked, pointing towards your now white-colored fingertips

You hadn't even noticed, nor felt, considering they were numb anyways

Merry looked over his cousin's shoulder and his eyes also widened, not with fright, but wonder

They were both fascinated with your condition, convinced that you were casting some spell Gandalf showed you

Although you reassured them it was just an extremely frustrating inconvenience that you had, among other things

So from then on, the disastrobus duo did their best to keep you out of the cold (and stressful situations!!)

As a distraction, the pair will tell you great stories of the shire, doing little dances and skits that always cheer you up 🥴

Sometimes, they can be a little rambunctious though...

Merry will pick up on this fact quickly, and nudge Pippin to get him to calm down

Even though it may not feel the best

They find your syndrome absolutely fascinating!! 🤔🤔

All in all, these two are always up for keeping your beautiful smile on your face and your spirits high!! ❤🌺

Boromir (Depression)

Throughout the journey, Boromir has always found an easy way to make you smile

After all, he himself has a fascinating way of brightening anyone's spirits

Yours included ❤

Boromir may not have great stories from The Shire, like Pip and Merry, but he sure has a lot of positive things to say

He'll often suggest sparring with the two troublemaking halflings, just so you can see him goof up and get knocked over 🥺

If the nights become cold and weary, he'll give you a warm hug or a nudge on the shoulder

And a few words of helpful encouragement along the lines of;

"Don't fret Y/N. You have more strength than you'll ever know."

"Let our spirits never dampen! We've come this far!" 😊

He's also an incredible listener

Boromir wants to hear what you have to say if you ever need to rant or get something off of your chest

And don't think for a second that he would ever judge you ��

Son of Gondor sees past all of your insecurities and knows you for your beautiful, amazing self ❤❤

Gimli (Walking disadvantages)

As you travel across great plains and mountains, your limp doesn't go unnoticed by Gimli

It may take him a while to open up about it, since he's afraid he might offend you in some way

And once he asks you, you inform him that it's a difficulty that unfortunately cannot be changed any time soon

And where you come from, lots of people tease and bully you about it

He did NOT handle it well 😳

"wHAT BLUBBERING DULL-MINDED PIGNUTS-" 🤬

Although this Dwarf is short and a bit slow at times

He's fascinatingly strong 😳

And so, he makes it his duty to be your designated carrier 🥺

At first, your a tad skeptical...

I mean, he's only around 4 feet tall...

BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HIM THROW THAT HUGE AX AROUND?!

Gimli will happily carry you great distances when you need a break, and even longer

(Sometimes it's just to show off around the others-)

"Gimli, are you sure you don't want a break?"

"Aye lass! The strength of Dwarves is unending!" 😌

*struggling to breathe*

11/10, fantastic dwarf, will never let you down!!

Thorin (Executive Dysfunction)

Another Dwarf??

Absolutely

Thorin himself has trouble keeping composure with his time management (and sense of direction 🙄)

This means that he'll have an undying amount of patience for you and you only

There's just something about you that he fond of, and it fills in that little sassy, brooding place in his heart

Can also relate to you whenever you grow frustrated at the setback of your journey or lack of sleep

Is 100% willing to help you find your lost belongings (and once again, ONLY YOU)

Thorin will literally make the whole traveling party stop so that you can put something in your bag and make sure that you put it somewhere you'll remember

Always happy to give you extra gentle reminders of keeping your pack closed

The company is utterly SHOCKED with how he treats you

I mean, this man has always been extremely stubborn and hard headed

But when you show up, it's another person he can easily relate and share frustrations with

Also a master at organization?!? 🤔

The one thing he could do successfully was organizing the damn journey and traveling company, so ofc he's gonna be good at that 😂

Yeah, Thorin definitely has a soft spot for you

King under the mountain will never run out of patience and kindness for you 😌💙

Sorry these took so long!! I hope you like them!! ❤❤

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broadwayandnetflix · 3 years

Text

Overprotective, Much? - Bill Hader x Reader

Theme: Fluff + Angst

Warnings: Sexual Terms, Language

Summary: You and Bill have been secretly dating for two years now, only to complicate things one night when you partake in a very risque sketch unbeknownst to him?

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Ahhh Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! This was a request sent in by @berkmansbabe I really hope you enjoy it! And it somehow fits what you were asking for! Have a good rest of your year everyone, hopefully 2021 is better?

It was nearly four in the morning the last time that you checked, and you were almost half asleep over your laptop. Squinting one eye open, you gazed around the room to find a selection of your coworkers staring at you with little smirks.

"You're drooling, Y/N," one voice calls out; it had to be Mulaney's.

"Okay, you didn't have to tell her that!" another one chimes out, Jost?

Furiously you wipe the drool that was currently dangling from your chin and give the two the meanest glare that you could possibly muster.

At four in the morning, Tuesday's were the worst. Okay, well, technically, it's Wednesday now.

Mulaney only smirked before sliding a post-it note your way. You grimace, reading the details of the message scrawled out in what appeared to be Jost's messy script.

P. G. A. D, weekend update, orgasms onstage.

You practically gape at the note in awe; you were a writer, weren't you the one who was supposed to write this shit? Not perform it.

"Um, I'm not complaining, but isn't this more up Kristen's alley?" you protest, trying not to sound whiny.

"She's on vacation this week, and honestly we think you'd be perfect for it." Jost says matter of factly, giving you a small smile.

"Fine," you sigh before flopping back onto the table to get some more sleep. Earning another chuckle from the boys.

It ate at you all week, but I mean, you had the potential. If anyone would understand your feelings, it'd be Hader. His anxiety always got the best of him, and it hurt you to still see the man so stressed and uncomfortable.

Often, you'd be the one to find him after a sketch, rubbing soothing circles into his back. While he stares off rigidly into the curtain, he was fantastic at his job; it just didn't sit well with his anxiety. Although you knew it followed him home, into the late hours of the night, disappointment settling in.

It wasn't public, but the two of you had managed to make things work for the past two years. You had met Bill back when he had first arrived at 30 Rock, as you had gotten hired the same year Mulaney did.

Seth, who was practically your best friend at this point, could tell within an instant that you harbored a small crush for Hader. Often picking at you with little side comments that'd make you stammer and feel your body heat up in embarrassment.

For some time, you didn't even realize that Bill had reciprocated your feelings until he asked you on a date. The two of you curled up back at his place while he showed you some of his favorite movies, it was nice, and the rest was history.

The only problem was, it was safer not letting the rest of the group know about this advancement. God knows what they would do to Bill onstage with sketches...you didn't wanna know.

Alongside the fact that the two of you had quite a bit of an age gap, it wasn't that big, but you knew that Bill often internalized the seven-year gap between the two of you. You were only twenty when you had started at 30 Rock while Bill was twenty-seven. You loved him nonetheless, but you could tell it made him stress a little.

So you both kept it a secret, although you were pretty sure that Meyers and Mulaney knew at this point. While Jost continued to remain oblivious towards your little endeavor.

For this sketch in particular, maybe it was best to keep this one secret as well. Rarely did you ever perform on the show, and you wanted Bill to be proud.

Seth, who had been motivating you all week, motioned you into his office early Thursday morning.

"Okay, just spoke to Lorne about this, we're gonna fit you into one more sketch due to Kristen's absence." you nod apprehensively.

"It's the easiest thing ever, all you have to do is sit there with Franco, and Hader, and read the cue cards about environmental issues. Keenan will cut you off, and you should be good." Seth explains before giving you a quick thumbs-up, causing you to smile slightly.

"God I am so nervous, is that normal?" you admit as Seth sits back into his seat.

"Oh my god yeah, it is not always easy going up onstage like that, but trust me you have the talent and potential. Lorne hired you for a reason, I'm sure if you brought this up to Bill he could give you a few tips on how to release stress." Seth replied as he gave you a warm smile.

You nodded, thanked him for the advice, and began heading back towards the writer's room to help the rest cut the left-over sketches that you all had mulled over during that week. Only to run straight into someone, their hands instantly going out to hold your shoulders steady.

"Oh I'm so sorry I didn't even see where I was going!" you yelp, only to look up and see Bill trying to hold in a laugh. Only causing you to laugh slightly as well at the situation the two of you were in.

"You okay?" he asks sweetly after taking in your somewhat frazzled state; without a second thought, you shook your head and went into his arms.

"I'm just stressed," you murmured into his chest as he quickly reciprocated the hug and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

"About what?" he replied softly, his hold growing just a little bit stronger, that is until the two of you heard nearby footsteps and quickly broke away.

A random production assistant walks past while you and Bill clear your throats awkwardly.

"Uhm, I am actually going on a sketch this week, you're gonna be in the same one actually. It's with Keenan, I just barely ever go on, since I am a writer, you know?" you exhale softly, only to look back up to Bill. Who is nodding furiously in agreement.

"Oh my god, I mean, you know me," he stops to chuckle, "Y/N, I am a literal mess, I mean don't act like I am totally oblivious to you and John changing the cue cards before Stefon sketches." Bill exclaims as you find yourself beginning to smile.

"I mean, it's really cute seeing you break babe," he fake gasps. "I mean you just make it look so easy sometimes even when I know you're stressing out." Bill sighs slightly before meeting your gaze.

"It's not easy, it never is. It's just you learn how to cope over time, if you want I'll meet you at the end of the sketch. Does that sound okay? Just like you always do for me, which I can never thank you enough for." he says, grinning as you slowly nod in agreement.

Giving you a quick peck on the forehead, he explains he has to go back to his costume fittings and that he'll see you later in the night.

He always knew how to help.

You watched anxiously while Seth said the cue that would lead you on stage. Letting yourself take a deep breath, you allowed yourself to block out the situation's overwhelmingness.

Also, was it always this hot up here?

With the cue cards coming into focus, you delved into the script, finding yourself ease into it over time. It was comforting to hear the audience laugh at your delivery, often seeing Seth trying to hold back a grin.

Especially upon the time, you began to describe what made your character Tamara Parks go into orgasms from her specific condition, of Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder.

"With the help of my physician I was able to find treatment, and today I can say that I am fully-" you let out a moan, trying not to break as you look down. Only to continue on the moaning and the appearance of discomfort as the script goes on. Seth progressively tries not to laugh as well.

It almost was shocking that you were pretending to be aroused on live national television. Still, clearly, you were doing something right given the reactions that had been intended.

You began to find yourself grateful for the ability to look down and away from the audience to compose yourself against the fake orgasms you were portraying. Seth's hand leaning to rest upon your shoulder, setting your character's orgasms off even more until the sketch was nearing its finish. The crowd applauded as Seth called you offstage.

You had let out a breath that you didn't even know that you had been holding the minute you had left the stage. Clearly, you had done the job just as Meyers and Mulaney had anticipated, the crowd going wild, it felt nice, but you also felt like you needed a nap. Many of your coworkers had come up to congratulate you, but all you wanted was just to see Bill.

Except, Bill and Fred were going up to another sketch for Weekend Update, you had asked a production assistant for some water as you took a seat in a nearby corner. It wasn't long before you had spotted Mulaney from out of the corner of your eye, within seconds; his eyes met yours, and he rather awkwardly stumbled over.

You had to stifle your laughter at how ridiculous he appeared in that moment, his rather tall figure colliding with the floor as he slid down beside you.

"You did fantastic out there! See, I knew you could do it!" he whispered enthusiastically while nudging you playfully in the side.

The two of you commented on the show's progress and or which sketch that you had written was your favorite. Until your stage manager had motioned for you to go on for your second sketch of the night. John gave you a reassuring smile before giving you a little push off into the side wing you were supposed to enter on.

The sketch was going well, that is until you felt an intense stare out of your peripheral vision coming from Bill, who was sitting beside you. Instead, it felt more dominant and tense than comfortable and safe as his thigh began to press up against yours. You gulped slightly before Keenan made his way over to you, feeling Bill's thigh against yours, almost making you lose control.

The skit's premise was that Keenan's character would never let the guests speak, which was probably a good thing as soon as the cameras went off of you; you had to stifle a moan of your own, a real one.

You were flustered beyond belief, and you couldn't tell why for the life of you that Bill was screwing with you on live television, but he was, and it was working. Of course, you appreciated the man's dominance but now was clearly not the time, except all you could feel was the heat pooling at the pit of your stomach.

While you were slightly annoyed with him, something about that leather jacket he was wearing was really turning you on. Or the way he did all of this was genuine ease like he wasn't putting you in complete arousal right now was so intimidatingly hot.

The crowd's cheering almost caught you off-guard as you realized the sketch was over, and Bill and Franco were getting up to leave the stage. You almost had to steady yourself as your legs felt wobbly and out of place, but you managed to maneuver yourself off the stage with as much grace as you could possibly muster.

It didn't take long for you to feel Bill's hand slip under yours and tug you along to a back room, his taller figure looming over yours with a side of him that you had never seen before. His lips practically hovering over yours as you inhaled deeply and ultimately tried to compose yourself only to stammer your words a little bit.

"Um, heh, what did you do that for?" you murmured quietly so that only he could hear you.

"You really think I would let you get away so quickly with that sketch, I simply had to remind you that you're mine babe, mine." he growled as he leaned down close to your height, whispering the words in your ear.

Your breath hitching at the contact, goosebumps spreading directly across your skin, and your heart skipping a beat. Except, you were in public, for crying out loud; why couldn't he have waited to save this for the bedroom later tonight?

"I-um, Bill did you forget that this is sorta a live show?" you retort back, stepping away from his slight hold. It finally hits you all at once, "Wait, Bill, are you jealous of my sketch with Seth?" you quickly ask, his eyes widening before quickly denying it.

"What? No of course not since when do I get jealous Y/N?" he says defensively, only to see you start to form a small grin.

"Oh my god you totally are!" you practically yelp, his eyes staring daggers at you.

"Hader, quick change happening for Daveheart in four minutes!" Bobby calls as he walks past the two of you unbeknownst to the little debacle going on.

Bill's eyes darting between yours and the dressing room, you sigh and motion for him to go-on for how you would somehow resolve this later. After the door closes behind him, you allow yourself to slide down against the wall once again, trying to compose yourself after everything that had just happened.

It doesn't take long for him to find you, this time in a Scottish get-up, you were assuming, and still painfully as ever, you still couldn't help but think that he looked hot, even with his long brown wig.

He sits down beside you, looking at you with a hesitant look in his eyes.

"Okay, so maybe I am jealous okay?" he admits quietly, completely catching you off guard. "It's just sometimes I wish we didn't have to have this weird age gap, or have to worry about judgement from others or the press. I guess, just seeing you like that today, it just really made me jealous. Proud of course, I mean babe you killed it out there, I didn't even notice that you were anxious. It's just hearing you moan like that, god that was so hot, the things you do to me." he says, no longer making eye contact as he goes into his little tangent.

God, you loved him.

You sigh before wrapping your hands around his, before slowly pushing forward to envelop him in a kiss. He hesitates for a split second before going in at once, his hands reaching up to cup your face deepening the kiss.

It was like a breath of fresh air whenever the two of you had kissed, whether in the late nights after shows and you can see the sunrise. Or in walks home from work, fingers entwined, and quick glances before sneaking a quick kiss, or even just whenever Bill can spare one.

The two of you pull away, only to catch your breath for a second. Bill's wig now tousled, and his eyes staring at you with admiration that you couldn't help but melt under.

"You know Bill, I wouldn't change a thing about us. I love you just the way that you are." you say softly, sneaking in a little kiss before pulling away to finish your statement, a small pout grazing his lips.

"Just maybe not during a live sketch, please?" you giggle softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Hey, Y/N, I just wanted to say that you killed it out there-woah, what's going on here?" Seth calls out, startling the two of you; you moving to jump away before Bill quickly stops you.

"We're dating!" you blurt out randomly, "we have been for the past two years, and its time that we probably tell others about it."

You clamp your mouth shut, ignoring Bill's jaw-dropping, and focusing on Seth entirely.

"Oh my god I knew it! Mulaney get your ass over here, we've been right this entire time! Hader and Y/L/N have been boning for two years." Seth yells over to John, who was busy cleaning up the cue cards as the show was coming to an end for the night.

You practically groan, digging your head into Hader's chest in pure embarrassment as Mulaney comes bounding over to cheerfully laugh at your combined misery.

"And to think that Jost said that we were lying about the two of them, guys come on we're gonna go tell Colin!" Seth exclaims, beckoning for the two of you to follow to the writer's room down the hall.

"Might as well join them," Bill whines as he pulls you off the ground and drags you along after them.

#@broadwayandnetflix #bill hader imagine #bill hader x reader #bill hader x you #bill hader #fluff #angst #snl #saturday night live #john mulaney #seth meyers #2020 #request

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lunaekalenda · 3 years

Note

Hi! For the movie event, can i get 𓂺💕⚜️ (tragicomedia, couple and royal AU) with geto suguru? Im addicted at royal AU, and original geto suguru, he is so handsome HJHHSJ.

Also can you do forbidden love like the princess and the knight or two rival kingdom?

Thank you very much, hope you have a nice day <3

of course! i hope you like it! thanks for participating!

tragicomedia + couple + royal au feat geto suguru

wrote this listening to little fragments of reflections by toshifumi hinata, merry go round of life from howl’s moving castle and clair de lune by debussy.

“Have you heard the rumors?”

“The princess has just rejected another prince?”

“She’s really mean. We would die for marring a prince and she rejects them so easily...”

You’re tired. You understand that you’re the heir of the empire. The Princess, the one that will became a Queen in less than five years. You know your parents just want you to have someone insured who can give you the heir. That’s what the kingdom needs, right? What your parents want.

But what about you?

There, sitting on the throne next to your mother’s, you look to all the nobles that came for your party. You don’t want to look bored, but you do.

“Look, my princess.” this one, blond and slim, takes a huge ring out of his jacket. You look at it, trying to see interested. You don’t want more rings. You don’t have enough fingers to wear them.

“It looks really beautiful, my lord.” he smiles for himself after the Queen said that. You roll your eyes. This noble people like to be praised. They love to hear how the kings flatter them.

“It will be your daughter’s new ring if she marries me.” he says, without shame. You try not to show your disgust on your face, faking a smile.

“Give me a time to think it, my lord.” he smiles for himself. He should know, because of all the rumors, that your “Give me time” means no.

Your mother will scold you before dinner, but you don’t really care. You’re used to it. And you’ll endure it, because the reward worths it.

Your eyes move lazily to a corner of the room, specifically the one in front of your throne. There, a knight makes guard. He’s not wearing his helmet because he’s on the throne room, and it makes things easily for you, even when you could recognize him just with his hands. You can see his man-bun, and also the hair strand he lets free in his forehead. He feels your gaze on him, that’s why he turns around, his sharp eyes finding yours. He smiles sweetly.

You try not to smile back, or your mother will notice something is going on. She’s focused on the blond noble. You look back to Geto. His eyes are fixed on yours, his smile, as beautiful as always. You give him a little smile back, and he shakes his head, looking at your mother, as if he wanted to say that you should attend the noble. You roll your eyes and he almost laughs, covering it with a cough. You try to suppress the smile and you look back to the blond noble. But the man is no longer there. Instead, a lot of people is now in the center of the room, making a little corridor between them. Your mother gets up and so you do, kinda confused. The guards help your mother to go downstairs. Next, your little sister is the one helped. If your calculations don’t fail, Geto is the one helping you. You feel a familiar softness in yours. Geto looks to the front, smiling a bit, his hand holding yours quietly, helping you to go downstairs. You’re fast, but you’re taking your time.

You don’t want his hand apart from yours. You want to take his hand as a normal couple, not by protocol or fortune. Geto keeps taking your hand softly until you’re in the corridor, heading to the ball room. You know you have a ball now, before dinner, that will end right after every single noble interested in you dances with you. You’re tired just thinking about it. You don’t want to dance with them. You just want to dance with him. His hand lets yours go, and he follows the other guards quietly to the ball room. It isn’t fair for him. Touch your hand as if you were playing hide and seek, enter your room really late at night and leave early in the morning.

“Would you dance the next one with me, Princess?”

“You look gorgeous today, milady.”

“You have a natural grace to dance, your Highness.”

Why are they all the same? The same praises once again, the same faces, the same curious hands that want to explore more than your waist while you dance. The same jokes, the same looks to the Queen.

You turn between the arms of another man, different to the last one, a little bit shorter. His breath smells awful. He keeps talking about his salt business. As if he never told you about it, even knowing it is his only topic of conversation. You have lost count of all the people you’ve danced with since you arrived the room. You look at your mom, that smiles at you, proud. Your dad is almost sleeping on his chair. Your sister talks with a little girl. Geto has his gaze on you, and you feel it. As if you two were connected. He’s always alert, in case someone tries to hurt you. As your personal guard. You have been secretly dating him since he had to make guard in your room. You talked, he smiled, you felt butterflies. That’s how you two grew closer, so closer that it hurts.

It hurts to know you’ll have to say goodbye to something that makes you feel good to hug a new and boring life.

“Don’t think about it.” he said, your head lying on his chest, his fingers caressing your hair quietly on one of those afternoons when your parents went to the city. “Don’t think about the end.”

“It’s impossible.” you answered, tears falling from your eyes. His caresses became more sweet and soft, if possible.

“I can’t give you the life you deserve.” he said, calmly. You wanted to tell him he was wrong, he was incorrect, he could give you the happiest life. He kept talking. “I’m not a noble, Y/N. I’m not even a minor noble. I’m just a guard.”

“I don’t care.” you sob. His fingers wipe quietly some tears. You press your body more against his.

“But you’re the princess.” he says. “And I can’t change that.”

You’ve danced with all the nobles that asked you for. Your feet hurt, that’s why you ask your mother to retire to your room. She looks at you, concerned.

“Are you feeling okay, honey?” she asks. You smile quietly at her and nod.

“I just need to rest a little, I’ll be back as soon as possible,”

“Do you want me to accompany you?” you shake your head.

“Stay here, probably a lot of nobles want to talk with you.” she nod. She calls a guard with her hand. You pray to all the goddesses you know. You hear steps behind you, and a familiar voice following them. “Accompany her to her room and stay inside, in case she needs something. If needed, send someone to notify me, Geto.”

The boy nods and offers his arm to you. You put your hand cautiously on it, and the two of you walk towards your room. Once you’re in, Geto closes the door.

“Are you ok...” you interrupt him, colliding your lips against his, making his back find the door. His hand leaves the sword hilt. You melt against him, and his hands hug your waist. You find easily the little key that blocks your room behind his back, giving it a spin, blocking the access to your room.

“Aren’t you hurt?” he asks, in a whisper. His hands collect some strands on your face, and he puts them behind your ears. You shake your head quietly.

“No. I didn’t want to stay there. I wanted to be with you.”

You can hear the violins from your room. Maybe that’s what makes Geto smile quietly.

“I didn’t dance with you.” he says, taking your hand. Your hand rests now in his neck, his other hand on your waist while he makes you spin between his arms. You take his other hand, and he pulls them to his chest, near his heart. You smile, if time could stop right now, you wouldn’t doubt to stay like that forever. Geto hugs you then, making the dance stop. You sigh on his neck. You’re now in your twenties. Mom won’t wait any longer to marry you.

“You looked so beautiful today.” he says. You smile at him. It doesn’t care how many people said the same today. His praise is the only one that makes you tremble, your legs becoming jelly after hearing it.

“Mom has been obsessed with my marriage lately.” you say in a whisper. Even when Geto doesn’t like you to talk about it, you have made a decision. Even if it hurts. Even knowing it will hurt.

“Can’t you make some more time?” he asks. You take your face out of his chest, smiling sadly at him. “Why are you crying?” he asks softly. His hands find your cheeks, caressing them, taking the tears away. You put your hands over his, a smile that makes him think the worst.

“I’ll get married.” you say. Geto looks surprised, his eyes starting to tear.

“What?” he asks in low voice. You sob a little.

“You deserve to find someone who loves you without restrictions. I can’t” you say. It hurts. Geto looks at you in the eyes, analyzing them. You hate that capacity he has to read you as a open book.

“You don’t want to marry someone, Y/N.” he says, his voice quite unstable.

“I don’t. But that’s life. I’m a princess, you’re a knight. We have come far, and I think it’s time to end this.”

Geto looks at you, his beautiful eyes dropping tears. You’re crying as well.

“I don’t want this to end.” he says. You nod.

“I know. But I can’t use you, Geto. I love you too much to keep you here, by my side, watching how I give birth to other man’s child, how I kiss other man’s lips.”

“I don’t care as long as I can be with you.” he says. You smile, sadness can be read on his face. You hug him again.

“I’m sorry, Geto.” you say, your voice less than a whisper. His hands are buried softly on your hair. You kiss his chest over his shirt.

“Then, it’s finished.” he whispers. You nod, crying silently on his chest.

“I hope you find someone. You deserve it.” you say, letting his body go. He keeps your hand between his.

“I thought I was going to marry you. I know it was almost impossible. We need a miracle.” he says, his sharp eyes looking at some random painting on your wall. You nod. “I hope your marriage goes well, your Highness.”

You thought you couldn’t be more damaged, but being called “Your Highness” by the love of your life was definitely the last thing your heart wanted to hear. You feel how your heart break into little pieces.

“Accompany me to the ball room, please.” you ask. He nods. Once you two are in front of the door, your hand lets go his arm. You swallow. You look at him one last time, trying to make him know all the things you want to say to him.

“Please, don’t be rancorous. I’m trying to give you a digne life.” you think. You look at his sharp eyes once more, the ones that you wanted to look every morning when you wake up.

“I want you to be happy, because I love you, and I care for you way more than for myself.”

He takes his gaze far from yours, and you breath deep before entering the ball room.

“Please, be happy for both. My destiny is written, but yours isn’t, Geto.”

You walk towards the throne, sitting with a fake smile. Your mum asks how are you, but your head keeps thinking about him.

“Please, whatever you do, don’t forget me.”