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noahaidanandmrdarcy · 1 year

Text

Updated "NoahSeeksAllie" OkCupid Profile

MY SELF SUMMARY

"What do women want?"

Women keep us guessing. That’s why when a man tries to figure out what a woman wants, he often looks like a cat chasing a laser pointer…confused, disoriented, but strangely hopeful.

Women seem to want contradictory things in a man:

Women want a man who’s ambitious; an achiever who’s successful both professionally and financially........

who’s not materialistic.

Women want a man who is solid, steady, consistent and reliable........who is fun, unpredictable and spontaneous.

Women want a strong-willed, decisive man who takes a stand and doesn’t waiver........as long as he’s flexible, open-minded and can admit when he’s wrong.

Women want a lot…

Women want a realist........who’s romantic,

a guy who’s serious........but playful,

who’s confident........but humble,

and horny........but faithful.

Women want a man who is career-driven........but family-oriented.

Women also want a man who is smart........but not nerdy,

caring........but not needy,

affectionate........but not clingy,

and protective........but not possessive,

emotional........but not neurotic,

funny........but not a clown,

dominant........but not domineering,

and in control........but not controlling.

No problem.

Good to know.

So, take notes guys and remember…

We’ve got to be strong........but sensitive,

tough........but tender,

masculine........but gentle,

and manly........but vulnerable.

Apparently what a woman wants is a gay football coach."

• Brian Scott McFadden

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The Husband Store

A store that sells new husbands has opened in New York City, where a woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates:

"You may visit this store ONLY ONCE! There are six floors and the value of the products increase as the shopper ascends the flights. The shopper may choose any item from a particular floor, or may choose to go up to the next floor, but cannot go back down except to exit the building!"

So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband. On the first floor the sign on the door reads:

Floor 1 - These men Have Jobs.

She is intrigued, but continues to the second floor, where the sign reads:

Floor 2 - These men Have Jobs, and Love Kids.

"That's nice," she thinks, "but I want more."

So, she continues upward. The third floor sign reads:

Floor 3 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, and are Extremely Good Looking.

"Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.

She goes to the fourth floor and the sign reads:

Floor 4 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Good Looking, and Help With Housework.

"Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!"

Still, she goes to the fifth floor and the sign reads:

Floor 5 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Gorgeous, Help With Housework, and Have a Strong Romantic Streak.

She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor, where the sign reads:

Floor 6 - You are Visitor 31,456,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store.

PLEASE NOTE:

To avoid gender-bias charges, the store's owner opened up a New Wives store just across the street.

The first floor has wives that love sex.

The second floor has wives that love sex, have money, and like beer.

The third, fourth, fifth and sixth floors have never been visited.

*(I'll be waiting for you on the 5th Floor).

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ASPIRATIONS

If money were no concern, this is what I would be doing:

Setting up Water Purification Centers and Schools in Africa.

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TALENT

I'm really good at:

• Counting (I’ve counted to Infinity….twice).

• I can play the Minute Waltz in 58 seconds.

• Pushing the envelope...where other people fear to tread, I own property.

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MY TRAITS

My golden rule:

Actually, I have a few golden rules:

The first one is the granddaddy we all subscribe to:

"Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You."

The second one, for the time being, is...

"You Can't Do Epic Shit With Basic People"

Third one:

"Beware the Lollipop of Mediocrity...Lick it Once, and You'll Suck Forever."

Fourth one:

"A walk through the lake of most souls would scarcely get your feet wet."

Fifth one:

“If you’re willing to do for 5-10 years what other people won’t….you can do for the rest of your life what other people can’t.”

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MEDIA

The tastiest thing I've ever consumed:

Sorry, don't want to get banned from this site for my non-PG, non-PC answer...

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NEEDS

My partner should be:

Smart, Feminine, Fashionable, Fun, Flirtatious, Frisky and Faithful.

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HOBBIES

I spend a lot of time thinking about:

• Are we ever going to see a movie about Morgan Freeman that is narrated by animals?

• Do people on Swiss streets constantly get into fist fights over the correct time?

• How I overcame my fear of travel even though my dad used to beat me with a globe.

• How the first 40 years of childhood are the hardest.

• How common sense is like deodorant...the people who need it most, never use it.

• How ironic it is that the Amish Bishop responsible for cutting off the beards of some fellow Amish males he was having a quarrel with, had the last name "Mullet" (you just can't write irony this good).

• How Success comes before Work only in the dictionary.

• How my friend will never buy Colgate Whitening Toothpaste again.

It says "Guaranteed Whiteness in 14 Days."

15 days have come and gone and he's still Asian.

• Maybe the Hokey Pokey really is what it is all about.

• How the parents at KMart make the WWE look like Touched by an Angel.

• That if a woman is upset, hold her and tell her how beautiful she is. If she starts to growl, retreat to a safe distance and throw chocolate at her.

• How Sarc is my second favorite –asm.

• Why I keep having to explain to Charro that, until George Hamilton dies or retires, she cannot be the President of my Fan Club.

• How if Ben Bailey of Cash Cab ever sees me on the streets of NYC, he'd better not pick me up because I will change my destination to something like Peru and bankrupt him.

• How I want to dress up as a Pirate for Halloween and tell women to Surrender Your Booty.

• How women ever get anything done when their minds are like a browser with 2,857 tabs open….All. The. Time. (more power to ya).

• How Alcohol is the liquid version of Photoshop.

• Why my love scene with Betty White was cut from Pulp Fiction.

• I finally figured out why only dogs go to heaven. Because St. Peter gets tired of opening the Pearly Gates when cats want to come in, then go out, then come in, then go out, then come in…

• How one time, on a grade school test, I was asked to name one popular Queen and I wrote, "Freddie Mercury." (double entendre for the WIN!).

• If cats always land on their feet, and toast always lands butter-side down, if you put the buttered toast on the cat's back, wouldn't you wind up with an anti-gravitational cat just spinning in mid-air?

• I think my guardian angel sometimes drinks.

• Why it is that masochists only laugh when something strikes them funny.

• Whatever you give women, she will make greater. If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby. If you give her a house, she'll give you a home. If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal. If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart. She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her. So, if you give her any crap, be ready to receive a ton of shit. ;-)

• I want to be the reason you look down at your phone and smile…then walk into a pole.

• I wonder if clouds ever look down on us and say, “Hey, look...that one is shaped like an idiot.”

• How Kanye West wrote and released “Gold Digger.”

Then Kanye West started dating Kim Kardashian...

Then he and Kim Kardashian had a child….

Obviously, Kanye West doesn’t listen to his own music.

• How one time my girlfriend found lipstick in my pocket. I told her I was cheating; there was no way I was going to confess I sell Avon.

• The look on marathoners’ faces when they grab my cup of vodka.

• How Grammar is the difference between knowing your shit, and knowing you’re shit.

• How Charlie Chaplin once secretly entered a "Charlie Chaplin Look-a-Like Contest"... and placed 3rd…seriously.

• These words, that will forever be etched in my mind as the greatest evasive answer ever uttered by a politician:

“I didn’t say I didn’t say it…I said I didn’t say I said it.”

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MOMENTS

A perfect day:

This scenario was conceived when I lived in New York, and thus is based there, but it is easily adaptable to many locales.

Being woken up in my favorite way (not what you think), going out to a nice breakfast, from there taking the motorcycle to the pier to catch the ferry to Jersey for some JetSkiing around the Statue of Liberty for a couple of hours, motorcycle to Astor Wines (or similar wine store) to pick up some cold Gewurtztraminer or German Riesling, over to Whole Foods at Columbus Circle to pick up some Sushi (and/or cheese & crackers...maybe a Humboldt Fog Blue, a Camembert and Aged Manchego), and we're off to have a picnic on the grass in central park with our sushi/wine/cheese, then home to take a steamy shower together to get dirty...err...I mean, cleaned up to go out again; get soigné, head out on the city, for an early dinner (maybe Per Se), then off to a Broadway Show/Opera/The Met, afterwards maybe a stroll around Times Square for the energy (obviously written Pre-Covid), followed by a nightcap at somewhere like Raines Law Room, tucked into the corner by the fireplace at The Beatrice Inn, or maybe check out the scene at Baccarat. Finally, we head to a hotel room I've previously booked and take a candlelit bubblebath in the oversized tub overlooking the city, while drinking some wine (maybe a Cornas, Cab Franc, or Robert Foley Claret or Charbono), feed each other chocolate truffles, converse, get into splash fights and have Mad Pash makeout sessions. We dive through the shower to rinse off the bubbles, I wash your hair and massage your scalp, then I put you to bed MY favorite way possible (once again, probably not what you're thinking), wrap my arms around you like a python for some spooning, and we drift off to sleep.

If you've got a better "Perfect Day", I'd truly be interested in hearing about it..

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SECRETS

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

This is a touchy subject, so I must tread lightly here on OkCupid, because even though there are women on this site STRAIGHT UP asking for money for sex (which OkCupid seems to turn a blind eye to, thus condoning it),....even a "hint" of anything sexual in a guy's profile on OkCupid, that even a singular woman takes offense at, can get a guy banned. Sad, but true....

Having said that, as delicately and "PC" as I can put this,....... I go down like I made it up.

Think of it this way:

Me: "Mitch Sailor"-like passion (http://bit.ly/MitchSailor)

You: Austin Powers FemBot on overload...

...BUT the difference between Mitch and I, is that I WANT to be in relationship.

A Couple Things of Note:

1. 2-4 HOURS is not uncommon....Seriously.(not mandatory by any means, just my preference if we have the time and you can handle that much pleasure).

2. NO reciprocation, whatsoever, is expected....Seriously.Just lay back and let me enjoy (as you're sure to as well)...

**********DISCLAIMER:***********

Common Side Effects may include, but are not limited to:

1. Shortness of Breath.

2. Arched Back.

3. Sweating.

4. Shuddering.

5. Tense muscles, and clinched hand cramps, followed by eventual, etherial release.

6. Full-Body tremors.

7. The inability to form coherent sentences (or even speak).

8. Making-Up/Moaning/Screaming words that don't actually exist in the English language, and interlacing said "words" with expletives that do.

9. Narcolepsy.

10. Missing your freeway exit for 3 days afterwards.

• These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration.** But if they were, my skills would be classified as illegal.

P.S. When you get to know me you'll find that I am very humble about most things.

About this subject, however, I am not.

I am very passionate about doing this, and am VERY good at it, as some lucky lady will find out.

I love this to do this with/to/for my partner, and OFTEN.

So, if you don't like having this done to you, or are just Meh about receiving hours of pleasure in this manner, then WE ARE NOT a match. I WILL NOT forego this in a relationship, so my partner has to be pretty into this as well. It's odd that I have to write this last paragraph, as most women seem to not be able to find enough guys who are willing to/love to do this, but I chose to include this last paragraph because I did have one LTR girlfriend who was meh about this, even though the girlfriends flanking her all "suffered" from the aforementioned "Side Effects", so I'm not willing to go through that again.

If "this" isn't your thing, no worries.

If it is, clear your calendar....

(while your friends may occasionally think you've gone into Witness Protection, you're continued reappearance with Perma-Smile will let them know you're doing JUST FINE).

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DATING

What I'm actually looking for:

We all have our own road/journeys to follow/take, and while no one can walk our roads for us, I'm looking for someone who I can hold hands with as we walk our separate journeys, together.

We all have baggage we've accumulated in life.

Some people have more baggage than Liz Taylor going on Safari, and others have little more than a clutch.

I'm currently whittling mine down to fit into the overhead compartment, and I look forward to being there for my partner and supporting her while she unpacks hers

(thus, releasing those weights from her ankles, so that moving forward her load is lightened on this journey of hers).

Put simply...

I don't need fixing; I want someone to love me while I fix myself (and I promise to do likewise).

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TRAVEL

My favorite relaxation destination:

Carmel, and/or the Post Ranch Inn (Ocean House) in Big Sur….

Having said that, I’m looking forward to comparing Soneva Fushi (Maldives) and the Seychelles, to see how they stack up.EDIT

Remove Travel

Outdoors

My favorite outdoor activity is...

...Motorcycle Riding, probably followed by JetSkiing, Scuba Diving, Surfing or Skydiving.

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BOOKS

Currently reading:

Infinite Jest

DFW's writing style is absolutely amazing; Oh, to be blessed with such a brain.EDIT

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MOVIES

The most eye-opening documentary I've seen:

"The Social Dilemma."

One of the best documentaries I've seen in years (and yes, if you've seen it, the irony of me posting that on this site is not lost on me).

The other one, that actually still irks me is, "Who Killed the Electric Car."

I've wished for the demise of GM since seeing that movie.

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TV SHOWS

The show I’ve rewatched too many times:

It's a tie:

Arrested Development (the first 3 Seasons)...and

The West Wing (first 4 Seasons)

IMO, two of the best shows ever written for television.

Third show would probably be Little Britain USA (not nearly the same caliber as the aforementioned shows, but pretty damn funny).

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FOOD

One of the best meals I’ve ever had at a restaurant was:

....actually plant-based, when I was helping my friend Chef Mads Refslund open a restaurant in Aspen, and he had a 10-course Vegetarian menu. Too intricate to explain here, but truly amazing (which is exactly why He and “Noma” have won "Best Restaurant in the World" 4 times).

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ART & DESIGN

My thoughts on photography:

A great medium, because

anything well-done,

is rare.

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PERFORMING ARTS

My favorite comedian and why:

Bill Burr.

He and I are like long lost brothers (from the red hair, down to the quick, sardonic wit).

We think so much alike, it's scary.

Then I would have to say it’s a tie between Greg Geraldo, Nick DiPaolo and Patrice O’Neal.

And let’s not forget one of, if not, the smartest comedians of all time…George Carlin.

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STYLE

The most iconic fashion house:

Pre-assassination, I'd have to say Versace (Donatella is nowhere near as brilliant).

Nowadays, I'd probably have to give the nod to Chanel...

Followed by (in no particular order):

Valentino, Dior, Armani, YSL, Givenchy

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SOCIAL CONSERVATIVISM

My three wishes as political Aladdin:

1. Instantaneous Lightning Strike of Anybody in Politics who Lies.

2. Single-Item, Up-or-Down votes (no Christmas Tree Bills, or any of that B.S. where a Bill is 51% good, and 49% bad/pork, but politicians vote for it anyway because they have to show “something” for their cough..... “efforts”)…..

3. Absolute transparency about how/where our tax money is spent, without any accounting tricks/spin, and jail terms for politicians who spend it recklessly and/or in such a manner as to pad their pockets and/or get them re-elected.

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WORK

My Dream Job:

To be independently wealthy to such a magnitude that I could literally spend the rest of my life putting my money to good causes like fresh water projects and building schools in some of the poorest countries on Earth, so that more people than ever would at least have an even start/fighting chance to make their lives, their family’s lives and the lives of their community, better because of my efforts.

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METAPHYSICAL

This really resonated with me, so I thought I'd include it for those curious about my thoughts on a how good a relationship with the right person CAN be:

The Invitation...

I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

I want to know if you’ll risk looking like a fool for love, or your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals...or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it’s not pretty, every day and if you can source your own life from its presence.

The Navajo have a prayer, “May I walk with beauty before me, may I walk with beauty behind me, may I walk with beauty above me, may I walk with beauty below me, may I walk with beauty all around me, as I walk the beauty way.”

What is this beauty that the Navajo seek?

It is what pulls us toward life. It is what calls to us when we despair, seduces us into opening again and again to the possibility of love and laughter. It is the physical manifestation of the mystery: God, Spirit, the Divine that surrounds and beckons to us everyday of our lives. It is life that chooses life. The Navajo prayer expresses our soul’s desire to recognize and receive beauty, knowing that as we do so we become co-creators of this beauty, of that which urges, live. Many spiritual paths, both traditional and new age, posit a hierarchy of beauty. If they give any recognition to the sacred as it is manifest physically, such acknowledgment is confined to the nonhuman natural world and relegated to a status below that of the purer beauty of the human spirit or mind. Often, being in physical form is seen as a trial, a burden to be endured, a time to learn vital lessons for a time when we can escape the limitations of our bodies and graduate to the higher nonphysical afterlife. I don’t know what happens when we die, but I do know what happens when we live with this separation of spirit and matter. Beauty becomes merely physical packaging, and those with power define what is pleasing based on profitability and subjective preferences. It is easy to become cynical about how the marketplace has used our desire for beauty to sell us a narrow version of what cannot be bought or sold. We know the costs of this: eating disorders, self-hatred, endless striving for physical perfection. It’s tempting to protect ourselves from this manipulation by devaluing the physical as meaningless or less important than the emotional, mental and spiritual. But this perpetuates the split that is so familiar. This separation of spirit and matter leaves us with the spirituality that lacks the vitality and fire of the physical, and expressions of our creativity and sexuality are cut off from the depths of our hearts and meaning of our souls. Physicality is a gift. It lets us literally touch one another. I am not interested in theories or practices aimed at getting out of here. I do not want to focus on preparing to go to heaven or evolving into formlessness. I want to learn how to be here fully, in this body, in this world, and I want to live in a world infused with the power of the erotic; physical sensation inseparable from heart and soul that calls us to live. When we live erotically, the meaning enfolded in our very cells is unfolded as we touch and are touched; this is beauty. Seeing beauty is not about narrowing our vision, designating only some of its manifestations as worthy. It means expanding our definition of beauty, suspending our judgments and appreciating both the quiet joy of riding a bicycle along the lake, and the raunchy glee of driving a cherry red sports car that hugs the open highway. Seeing beauty is about broadening our ability to recognize the interconnectedness of all manifestations of life, and delighting in how the smells, and sounds, and tastes, and sites that surround us conspire to draw us toward living fully. I want to touch the power of life-giving moisture, and recognize the smell of the sea where it caresses the shore, in the scent of my sweat, in the salt of my tears, in the slippery witness that pours from between my soft thighs when I am well loved.

I want to receive the beauty that reminds me that there is no separation; that each act I live while I’m fully awake cannot help but be both prayer and lovemaking.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, Yes.

It doesn’t interest me who you know, or how you came to be here; I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied; I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

I am not interested in a spirituality that cannot encompass my humanness. I find little comfort or guidance in traditional dogma or unqualified new age optimism. Because beneath the small daily trials are harder paradoxes, things the mind cannot reconcile, but the heart must hold if we are to live fully; profound tiredness and radical hope, shattered beliefs and relentless faith, the seemingly contradictory longings for personal freedom and a deep commitment to others, for solitude and intimacy, for the ability to simply be with the world and the need to change what we know is not right about how we are living.

The invitation is a declaration of intent; a map into the longing of the soul, the desire to live passionately, face-to-face with ourselves and skin-to-skin with the world around us, to settle for nothing less than what is real. If we are to traverse this territory together, there are some things you should know; because simply saying yes to the invitation, feeling the pull of the heart or the quickening of the blood that urges movement forward is not the same thing is actually making the journey. I want to live with deep intimacy everyday of my life. I am guided, sometimes driven, by an ache to take the necessary risks that will let me live close to what is within and around me. And I am sometimes afraid that it will be too much; that I will not have or be connected to whatever it takes to be with it all, to bear the exquisite beauty and bone-wrenching sorrow of being fully alive. The places foreshadowed in the invitation are not metaphorical; they are actual. I want to know if you can do the small, mundane but necessary tasks; if you can give what is needed when you feel you have nothing left to give. When I ask if you can be alone with yourself, I am not asking if the idea of being alone appeals to you, but if you can actually be present with yourself, for longer than a couple of hours without flipping on the TV, or the radio, or picking up the telephone or a magazine; if you can truly find and be at peace with your own company.

We all have 1,000 stories, and my life has had no more or fewer than others. But stories, carefully chosen and shaped by both the teller and the listener, can open gateways into our interior landscape, can reveal the meaning in our lives enfolded in the details and unfolded in their telling and conscious contemplation. I promise that I will not pretend to know something I have not experienced, nor will I try to increase our comfort with each other by feigning confusion where I have knowledge. The consequences of moments of deep intimacy with yourself, another or the world are completely unpredictable. When we learn how to truly be present with our joy and our sorrow, with our longing and our desires, layer upon layer of ourselves in the world are revealed. We cannot know in advance what this revelation will look like or what action it will inspire or compel us to take. I have watched people circle a moment of anticipated intimacy with their own desires, catch the scent of portended change on the wind, and turn and flee the very thing they came seeking; a deeper connection with self and spirit, for fear of what it would call upon them to do in their lives. If we have based parts of our lives on lies, or truths that no longer hold, however well-intentioned or unconscious, the changes that deep intimacy evokes can look very dangerous. We cannot tell in advance which aspects of our carefully constructed sense of self, if any, will survive. This is the good news and bad. If you take the journey, real change is possible and inevitable, and from the present vantage point, completely unpredictable. No part of the journey is wasted. Once you recognize within yourself a hunger for something beyond just continuing, once you taste even the possibility of touching the meaning enfolded in your life, you can never be completely content with just going through the motions. There is no going back; learning cannot be undone. The wisdom touched in moments of real intimacy penetrates the soul with knowledge of who and what we are; it transforms us.

I cannot promise that the journey will always be easy. Opening ourselves to living intimately with the world is not a selective process. If we refuse to touch the places of sorrow or confusion, within ourselves or others, we cannot cultivate the ability to be completely present in our moments of joy and ecstasy. But, if we are open to sorrow as well as joy, we can expand our ability to hold ourselves, and the world, in our own hearts.

I can tell you that it is possible to feel pain without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it; to dance with joy and feel the ecstasy completely; to live with failure, to see beauty, to stand in the center of the fire. I have lived each of these without regret, and my experiences have given me a great faith in the human spirit. My experiences have birthed within me an infinite tenderness for the courage of the human heart, mine and yours, that’ll stand up again and again, and expand to hold all that matters, even when doing so seems to the human mind unbearable or simply impossible. We can do this, and when we do it together it is easier.

When it is hard, I will remind you of what you already know; that you can do this, that the courage to go deeper is found by letting your desire grow larger than your fear. That strength is found in your longing to live fully, your willingness to settle for nothing less. I will not leave you suspended in the places that may be difficult, but will move you through to the places where breathing comes more easily. We are not alone as we struggle to open fully to life. When I am able to live with real intimacy, when I pay attention to each moment and do not shrink away from what is true, I experience a presence that is not mine alone, that holds me even as I hold the moment. This presence, this great mystery, known by so many different names: God, Spirit, Allah, the great mother, lifts me, fills me with a vast silence and a sharp taste of the interconnectedness of all life. I have faith in this mystery and the many ways in which it sustains us.

Before we begin this journey together, you have a right to know what motivates me; why I seek to live intimately with my own life and the world. The most truthful answer to this is the simplest…because I have to. I am compelled by some deep hunger of the soul, driven by a desire that will not leave me alone, to live life to the fullest. And I know this does not mean working endlessly, accomplishing the most or consuming the greatest amount and variety of things and experiences. It means tasting each mouthful, feeling each breath, listening to each song, being awake and aware of each moment as it unfolds. Living fully in the present does not mean disregarding the consequences of our actions for the future. If we, in the West, where so much of the world’s political and economic power resides, are going to find a way to make the changes that are necessary to ensure that our children’s children can live on this planet, we have to learn how to participate fully in our own lives; how to remember and experience the interconnectedness of all Spirit and matter. I seek wisdom in a life that combines contemplation and action. Real contemplation, truly being with the joys and sorrows of my own heart and the world moves me to action guided by awareness and fueled by a passion for life.

There are no deals being offered here. You cannot trade the courage needed to live every moment for immunity from life’s sorrows. We may say we know this, but ours is the culture of the dealmaking mind. From infancy, we have breathed in the belief that there is always a deal to be made, a bargain to be struck. Eventually, we believe, if we do the right thing, if we are good enough, clever enough and sincere enough, work hard enough, we will be rewarded. There are different verses to this song. If you are sorry for your sins and try hard not to sin again, you will go to heaven. If you do your daily practice, clean up your diet, heal your inner child, ferret out all of your emotional issues, focus your intent, come into alignment with the world around you, hone your affirmations, find and listen to the voice of your higher self, you will be rewarded with vibrant health, abundant prosperity, loving relations and inner peace; in other words, heaven. We know that what we do and how we think affects the quality of our lives. Many things are clearly up to us, and many others are not. I can see no evidence that the universe works on a simple meritocratic system of cause and effect. Bad things do happen to good people all the time. Monetary success does come to some who do what they do not love, as well as to some who are unwilling or unable to see the harm they due to the planet or others. Illness and misfortune come to some who follow their soul’s desires. Many great artists have been poor; great teachers have lived in obscurity.

My invitation, my challenge to you here, is to journey into a deeper intimacy with the world and your life, without any promise of safety or guarantee of reward beyond the intrinsic value of full participation.

Life, lived intimately, may not be easier. But it is fuller, richer and more open to everything; the confusion and the insight, the excitement and the boredom, the shadow and light. And somehow, expanding my ability to simply be with it all does make what is hard easier to bear, allows me to give and receive more in each moment. More often than not, it simply helps me find my sense of humor when I’m taking myself too seriously.

When I imagine myself at the end of my life, and ask myself how I will evaluate my time here, there is only one question that concerns me; Did I love well? There are a thousand ways to love other people and the world: with our touch, our words, our silences, our work, our presence. I want to love well; this is my hunger. I want to make love to the world by the way I live in it, by the way I am with myself and others, every day. So, I seek to increase my ability to be with the truth in each moment, to be with what I know, the sweet and the bitter. I want to stay aware of the vastness of what I do not know; this is what brings me to the journey. I do not want to live any other way. And sometimes, I allow myself to imagine that each moment in which we love well by simply being all of who we are and being fully present, allows us to give back something essential to the sacred mystery that sustains all life.

- Oriah

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dreams-of-a-lark · 3 years

Photo

(Lark and Elias’s first and last photos together)

TASK 1: THE LAST DAY

January 11, 2016 7:00 AM, EST 12:00 PM, GMT

“Lark, you know I love you—”

“Boring.”

“Mmm fair. It’s fine, I have others. How about this one? Lark, you mean more to me than—”

“Erh! Nope. Try again.”

“Oh, come on, you barely let me start!”

“Boo hoo… I knew where you were going with it. Got anything else?”

“Just one more, I was saving this one for last. It’s the best one I have, so will you let me actually get going before you stop me this time?”

“Maybe. Compel me and we’ll see. I want to see you dig into the deep recesses of your soul, pull out your raw, still-beating heart and lay it bare. Otherwise, what am I even here for?”

“You’re unbelievable. But fine… Ahem...” Elias closed his eyes and let out a deep, shuttered sigh, “Lark. Before I met you, I had lost almost all faith in humanity. I found it impossible to believe that anyone acted with genuinely good intentions. I was bitter, cynical, lonely… and then, just as I was on the precipice of giving up on people entirely, there you were. Right on time. This pure light, banishing all my shadows. You are everything I was once sure didn’t exist in reality, but also the most real thing I’ve ever encountered.

The sheer amount of love you have to give blows me away. Love isn’t something you keep a reserve of only for certain special people. For you, love permeates the air around you everywhere you go and anyone lucky enough to meet you or know you gets to breathe it freely. Lark, you are so good, with no expectations or conditions attached to it, but just because it’s your nature. You make me want to be better everyday now, whereas before… I was just working on the motivation to be, period point blank.

I have had the unfathomable privilege to breathe your love everyday for the past eight years and I hope you’ve felt even a fraction of what you’ve given me reflected back to you. Because, Lark, I love you more than I have the words to say. I love you with every last bit of life in me and I want to love you and feel your love for just that long, until the very last bit of life leaves me and I’m returned to the earth. I don’t know where I’ll be in the next five, ten, fifty years, all I know is I want to be wherever you are. So, Lark Dorian Crain, will you marry me?”

A silence hung in the air accompanied only by a faint mechanical whirring and the low buzz of an LCD screen. Katie finally broke it, her voice glitching and tinny through Elias’s small laptop speakers, “Better.” She said simply.

“Seriously? That’s it?” Elias replied, his voice laden with shock and disappointment.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful, definitely a solid start. I almost teared up a few times. But, as all first drafts go, it could use some improvement.”

“It’s not my first draft, though…”

“Eh, feels like a first draft, love.”

“You know, sometimes it’s almost impossible to believe you’re related to Lark, let alone twins?”

“To be fair, do you know anyone in our family that’s really like Lark?”

“Eleanor.”

“Not related to us, stupid.”

“Mmm.. true. Ugh! Katydid... What do I Katy-do?”

“Well, for starters, you could never do whatever that just was again. Secondly, stop worrying about it, seriously. Knowing Lark, you could throw the ring across the deck and say, ‘go fetch if you wanna marry me’ and he’ll be running for it in an instant.”

Elias rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly at the thought of Lark bounding eagerly around the ship. It filled his heart whenever he thought of Lark’s joy, to think he had the power to bring so much of it to the surface baffled him endlessly.

“I’m so nervous,” he admitted.

“You don’t need to be,” Katie reassured him, “All jokes aside, it’s beautiful, and Lark loves you so much. You may not have moved me to tears, but you’ll definitely move him to tears. And then he’s going to blush like a damned schoolgirl and say yes a million times, like the sappy romantic he is.”

“You think so?”

“If he doesn’t, call an exorcist immediately, because that’s not Lark.”

Elias scoffed, but this was comforting encouragement to hear. Nothing he didn’t secretly already know, but it didn’t hurt to be reminded when he was feeling self-conscious. He breathed in deeply, filling up his cheeks with air, then puffing it back out through the small ‘o’ his mouth formed.

“You’re right, I know.”

“I know you know. Listen, I’ve got to get back to work, love. I can call you when I get off, if you want, but you really should just enjoy your time with him today. Just act like it’s any other day... on a fancy cruise ship with the love of your life. Right?”

Elias nodded, “Right. No need to call me back, you’re right. I’m just going to enjoy the day with him. Have a good day at work, I’m sure we’ll both call you after it happens.”

“I’ll be sure to hold the phone far away from my ear, so you all can squeal without busting my eardrums. Bye for now, then.”

“Alright. Bye Katie.”

The call ended and Elias closed his computer and looked out over the beautiful expanse of ocean surrounding the ship. Lark was still asleep in their cabin and probably would be for another couple of hours or so, it was nearly impossible to wake him anytime before 9 am. So Elias decided to stay for a while, taking in the peacefulness of the empty deck while the majority of the ship’s passengers slept, rocked by the lullaby of gentle waves.

January 11, 2016 9:00 AM, EST

Elias crept silently back into their cabin to find Lark sleeping fitfully, brows furrowed, eyelids knit tight. This was normally fairly unusual, but lately he’d been experiencing an uptick of nightmares that he didn’t like telling Elias much about for some reason. Elias eased down onto the edge of the bed and carefully lowered a hand down toward his forehead, fingers grazing across, pushing aside a stray curl. Almost instantaneously, Lark’s expression softened at his touch. It was moments like this that reminded him just how strong their connection was, the small gestures that could soothe one another’s most turbulent emotions.

He leaned down and pressed a light kiss on Lark’s cheek at which his eyes fluttered open, gazing weary oceans up at him. A soft smile, wrapt in security accompanied the gaze and Elias felt a pang in his chest as his heart skipped in response. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he sang softly to him.

Lark hummed and curled around where he sat, “Mmmmm… no.”

“No? What do you mean, no?”

“Not morning,” Lark muttered.

“It is, though.”

Lark shook his head, “No,” he mumbled, sleepiness still heavy in his voice, “still nighttime.”

“Oh is it now?” Elias asked, to which Lark nodded. Then, before he had a chance to react, he felt long arms wrap around him and pull him down and over into the bed, “Ah! Lark!” He laughed, “What’s this?”

“We sleep now,” Lark cooed, clearly very pleased with the results as he held Elias close.

Elias let out another gentle laugh and turned to face the larger man, pressing his forehead to the other’s and cupping his face in his hands. “I love you,” he whispered.

Eyes closed, Lark gave a delighted smile. “Mhmmm,” he hummed in response, raising a hand to Elias’s eyelids in an attempt to shut them, “we sleep now.”

“Okay,” Elias giggled, “we sleep now, just a little longer.”

January 11, 2016 1:20 pm, EST

Elias woke to find Lark gone. Where was he? He rolled to sit up in the bed and checked his phone. 1:20 pm. Of course it was. With a stretch and a hearty yawn, he began to work on getting to his feet and looked around. The room was empty, the shower wasn’t going either, then he saw a shadow through the blinds leading out onto the small balcony of their room.

He opened the blinds to find Lark sitting in a wicker chair, sipping tea, gazing out over the water in placid solitude. There was a bottle of champagne and a pitcher of orange juice sitting on the table next to him, along with two champagne flutes and a bouquet of roses resting in a faceted crystal vase. Elias smiled to himself and slid open the glass door onto the balcony, coming up behind Lark who turned his head slightly towards him.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Lark said, seemingly completely unaware of the irony.

“It’s nearly 1:30.”

The other shrugged, “Morning is a state of mind.”

“Okay,” Elias laughed, draping his arms around Lark’s shoulders, and kissing the top of his head, “what’s all this?” He pointed at the set up on the table, to which Lark rose from his seat, came around to hug him tight, and laid a tender kiss on his lips.

He smiled, then turned to pour two mimosas, “Happy Anniversary,” he said, holding out a glass to Elias.

They clinked glasses and sat on the balcony, sipping their drinks, enjoying that serene silence they could only take true comfort in with one another. Every once in a while Elias would glance over at Lark’s satisfied face, the view of the ocean sparkling in his bright eyes. It didn’t matter where they were, Elias knew, but this was perfect. He wondered if he shouldn’t just pop the question right now, but the ring stayed in his pocket, waiting for a moment more perfect than this one.

January 11, 2016 5:30 pm, EST

Elias hopped and shimmied as he pulled on his slim fit black slacks and tucked his stark white button up into them. He sifted through his bag and spread out the various necktie options he’d brought with him — plain black, floral, black and blue stripes, matte and satin striped maroon, black bowtie with subtle gold stars. A muffled sound of happy singing came from beneath the hiss of the running shower in the background. Elias looked back toward the bathroom and smiled, then turned to eye the bowtie lying on the bed. He was no good at tying bowties, Lark would have to help him, which made it the obvious choice in accessory.

“Lark! Hurry up, our reservation’s at 6:00.”

The singing stopped, “What’s that?” Lark called from the bathroom.

“I said... move your butt!” he called back.

“It’s always moving, love!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll be out in a minute.”

The shower went on for a little longer, then the hissing became a light trickle and, soon enough, a thick fog of steam rolled out of the bathroom door, orange light dissipated through the clouds. Lark strolled out, towel tied around his waist, drops of water hanging from the ends of his hair and glistening on his shoulders. He eyed Elias with the untied tie around his neck. A pleased laugh escaped his lips as he inched toward Elias and tugged at the ends of the bowtie, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Did you pick this tie just so I’d help you with it?” Lark asked.

Elias shrugged, “Maybe I did, you don’t know me.”

“No, of course I don’t.” Lark smirked and gently traced the side of Elias’s face with his fingertips, taking a moment to savor the sight of him. Eight years in and seeing Lark look at him like this still made Elias’s heart race.

“We have to get a move on,” Elias muttered, breathlessly.

Lark cleared his throat, coming back to earth, and brought his hand back down to the tie. “Right,” he said matter-of-factly, then started on the tie. He worked the ends over and under, focus woven into his furrowed brow. Elias glanced down to watch his hands move then glanced back up at him. “There,” Lark fluffed the bowtie proudly when he had finished and met Elias’s gaze again.

“I love you.” Elias reminded him for the millionth time and pulled him down to meet his lips, running his hands through Lark’s wet hair.

Lark responded in kind, wrapping his long wingspan tight around Elias’s waist, “I love you too,” he whispered into Elias’s lips.

“I know,” Elias said and patted Lark’s chest as they pulled apart, “Now get dressed, we have like fifteen minutes.”

January 11, 2016 8:00 pm, EST

Elias and Lark walked hand in hand across the top deck of the ship, stomachs full, hearts warm, and heads perhaps a bit too light from a day full of champagne. Above them hung a cloudless, black blanket of sky encrusted with brightly shimmering, diamond stars and the thin sliver of a waxing crescent moon. Not far from them, a band played a harmonious violin cover of “You Are The Reason” with soft percussion accentuating the background.

Lark pulled away, still holding onto Elias’s hand at arm's length, “Dance with me?” he asked.

Elias looked around the deck at the other families and couples enjoying the night around them, “There’s so many other people.”

“So what?”

“They might be watching us.”

“Then we’d better put on a good show for them, don’t you think?” Lark smiled, pulling him back in and holding him close.

Elias sighed, but a blush pulled the corners of his mouth into a coy smile. He wrapped his arms around Lark’s neck and leaned into him as they spun around the deck. Holding each other like this felt equal parts due to the desire to be close to one another and the necessity to help one another remain standing. The more they danced the more the effects of the day’s drinks took their toll and it wasn’t long until they had to slow to a stop.

“Getting a little dizzy?” Elias laughed.

“Just a little,” Lark agreed. Then his face got serious and he pulled Elias with him towards the railing of the ship to look out over the water, shimmering under the stars.

“I don’t want this night to end,” he said as they walked.

“Neither do I…” a pause settled between them.

“Lark—” / “Elias—” They both spoke the other’s names in unison, followed by another unison, “sorry.” Then Elias spoke alone, “You go first.”

“Oh, uh,” Lark began, thrusting his hands into his pockets. He seemed to be fidgety all of a sudden, “Well, Elias… I know you know how much I love you, but I just wanted to say… before I met you…” Was this going where Elias thought? Had they really had the same idea at the same time? Well, he’d be damned if Lark was going to upstage his proposal. He gave a knowing smirk and stepped forward towards the other, “Lark…” but suddenly… time seemed to slow.

January 11, 2016 8:15:28 pm, EST

“… sorry.” Lark squinted and shook his head slightly, slow blinking.

January 11, 2016 8:15:30 pm, EST

Lark’s knee gave out on him and he stumbled back a bit.

January 11, 2016 8:15:32 pm, EST

Elias noticed the railing behind him fell just below Lark’s hip level. His eyes widened and he reached out to him.

January 11, 2016 8:15:33 pm, EST

The railing of the ship caught the back of Lark’s thigh.

January 11, 2016 8:15:34 pm, EST

“LARK!”

January 11, 2016 1:15:28 - 1:15:34 am, GMT

Katie slept fitfully, alone in her small, twin bed, nestled in her small, one bedroom, Hampstead flat. In her dream, a flock of seagulls surrounded a small brown bird with a yellow face, a white underside, and black accent marks across it’s chest, under its eyes and in the tufts that sat upon its head. The small bird desperately flapped its wings to stay in the air, but the gulls, ten times its size, flapped their wings with all the more force down upon it.

January 11, 2016 8:15:35 pm, EST

Lark flipped over the railing, tumbling down towards the frigid waters below. A small crowd on the deck gasped as they bore witness. Elias ran to the railing and climbed readying himself to jump in after, but, just as he was about to take the leap a couple bystanders stopped him.

January 11, 2016 1:15:35 am, GMT

Katie sprung up in her bed and screamed, cold sweat running down her face. An indescribable feeling of unbearable loss hit her core and ricocheted through her body.

January 11, 2016 8:15:36 pm, EST

The two bystanders held Elias tight, while others ran to find crew members that could help. “NO!” Elias screamed, “LET GO OF ME! LARK!” His body, completely sober now, shook with shock and tears cascaded from his eyes. “LET GO OF ME, GODDAMMIT!” He struggled against the ones holding him, finally breaking free and running back to the railing. His eyes scanned the water, desperately searching for signs of Lark, but couldn’t make out even the slightest shadow of a body. “LARK!” He called out. “LARK!” His knees buckled and he collapsed against the railing. “HELP HIM! SOMEBODY! Do something!” His forehead pressed hard against the bars, as his voice gave out, cracking a helpless, “please…” the bustle of crew members rushing to help Lark echoed from lower decks.

“Please… Lark… help him… somebody… bring him back…” It was impossible to see through the blinding film of tears rippling across his eyes, “please… I can’t… please don’t let him be gone… I can’t… I can’t… please… I can’t… somebody… Lark… I love you… please… I can’t.”

January 11, 2016 1:15:36 am, GMT

On the other side of the world, Katie sat alone in her bed and heaved untamable sobs for reasons wholly unknown, save for the fact that it felt like something had reached into the deep recesses of her soul and snapped her still-beating heart in half, leaving the memory of it lingering like a phantom limb.

January 11, 2016 1:30 am, GMT

A high tinnitus whine made its home in her ears, as she tried to process what she was feeling. Then the phone rang.

#stranded task 1 #task #loss tw #drowning tw #outside meridium #pre meridium #also I hardly proof-read this so please be gentle #I'm considering an epilogue as well but we'll see #lark songs #vibes

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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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dreamkidddream · 3 years

Note

I’d like to request hc’s of the Brothers and Diavolo reacting to an MC that’s so cute, she could pass off as a doll. If she stands perfectly still, she could pass off as a full sized doll until she moves again. She has adorable doe eyes, wears cute clothes (Lolita fashion or just has an anime girl style), and even makes cute desserts. If the usual MC was weak and frail to them already, Doll!MC seems so dainty, precious, and fragile; these guys would ban paper if she ever got a paper cut.

Oooooo this is really interesting! I can just imagine Doll!MC just making everyone so scared every time she moves because they could probably hurt themselves just bumping into a wall because they look so fragile lol. These were short, so hope you enjoy!

Update: here’s part 2 with the other Undateables!

The Brothers and Diavolo Reacting to Doll!MC

Lucifer

...maybe he made a mistake in picking you for the exchange program after all

You just look so delicate, and just so pure.

You have definitely made cute little snacks and brought it to him while he locked himself in the office with paperwork

He lowkey highkey likes it no matter how he brushes it off with the usual thanks. Keep doing it, MC, he really appreciates it

When you get in trouble and he gives you the usual lectures, he can’t look into your eyes for long

Geez, he already can’t stay mad at you for long but now he can just feel his resolve cracking

If you get hurt oh Diavolo prepare for helicopter parent Lucifer

As soon as you accidently cut yourself in the kitchen (it would be the tiniest cut, barely noticeable), you’re no longer allowed in the kitchen unsupervised and can’t handle anything with a sharp end (whether its a butter knife or kid proof scissors that would be safe for Luke to use unsupervised)

“Let me do it for you, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Lucifer, thank you but I’ll be okay. It’s just a frosting spatula it’s not sharp-”

Will punish his brothers 10x worse and demons 100x more if he finds out you got hurt (doesn’t matter what the injury is, could be so much as a paper cut there will be hell to pay)

Constantly checks on you when he can’t see you in person

Handles you so lightly that you barely feel his touch

Move over Belphie, you’re the baby of the house now

Mammon

Protective x100000

Is still tsudere around you, but doesn’t insult you as much

Who are you kidding as soon as he looks into your cute doe eyes, he forgets what he’s saying

Complains about having to do stuff for you but doesn’t mind at all really. He loves it because it feels like you’re depending on him, and that makes him feel worth something.

“C’mon human, let the Great Mammon carry your books! You’re gonna hurt yourself and I don’t feel like hearing Lucifer’s mouth today!”

It was just your planner and a small recipe book that Luke gave you, and it weighed less than 10 pounds but okay. You don’t complain either when you see that he genuinely wants to help and do these things

Basically your loud guard dog and secret service agent rolled into one

He’s gotten into trouble more than once for “protecting you”. A student barely bumped your shoulder and Mammon already tackled him. Lucifer was not pleased (but he secretly understood)

He can’t help it that you’re weak and surrounded by hungry demons! It’s a pain to go through this much effort to just protect you, since you look so helpless

MC he’s just worried that you easily break if a demon so much as breathes on you but he likes that he can protect you because he knows that he can keep you safe. You’re just too cute and sweet okay??

Also stand in his room after watching a horror movie to freak him out and he’ll be sounding like Mariah Carey lmao

Leviathan

RURI-CHAN IS THAT YOU??!

Is for sure having an otaku/weaboo freakout moment

You blend in with figurines so well, every time you come into his room he asks you to stand next to them so he can feel that his collection is complete

He does it sometimes when he streams so people can think he has a rare limited-edition life sized doll that they can’t get. Makes him feel superior

DRESSING YOU UP IN COSPLAY 100%

You’re like an anime character but in real life and he does not know how to handle it

Can’t stare into your eyes, it makes them too flustered because he’s used to seeing it in his otome games and not from an actual person that he likes

Who needs maid cafes when he has you? You even dress and make anime themed desserts (once he built up the courage to ask you to make it for him)

Has to calm his beating heart every time he talks to you, you’re too precious for him MC!

Your like his very own idol, minus the singing and dancing. However, if you can sing and dance....

Levi.exe has stopped working

Satan

Thought you were a real doll until you introduced yourself

He really thought that someone brought you to life Pinocchio style

You looked like a princess from the many stories that he read, and he was smitten

Treated you so graceful and elegant like until he had his rage moments, which he told you to stay far, far, far away from him until he calmed down completely

Secretly placed a hex on you to where if someone tried to attack you or touch you with harmful intentions, they would be somehow be subjected to looking at their worst fear

You were wondering why that random stranger was just staring wide at you with extensive terror, but then you saw Satan grinning, so you left it alone. You thought it was just some weird demon thing

Loved when you made him cat-themed desserts

If you wore cat ears while doing it, he will turn extremely red

If you meow for him, he won’t know how to handle himself

Asmodeus

You are just the cutest thing he has ever laid his eyes on!!

Besides from himself of course, don’t get it twisted he’s still #1

He has most definitely had more than one photoshoot done with you both. And you guys have been trending on the Devilgram a couple of times already

Really you guys trend at least twice a month, and his fans love you!

They always ask where he got the doll from but he always laughs and says that “it’s a secret”

Imagine their shock when they see you walking and talking at RAD, some are amazed and some are downright scared

Fashion shows!

He lives for dressing you up in cute clothes. Your style already suited you and he had great tastes so the new outfits he got you were just *chef’s kiss*

The cute little desserts that you made for him, he always posted it on the Devilgram before he ate it. They were just so cute MC and he couldn’t not show his fans!

Is the most careful brother when it comes to keeping you out of danger. He refused to let his body or skin damaged, and he wasn’t about to let it happen to you either! You are both way too dainty and fragile to let anything happen

Also spa days and self-care nights weekly!

You’re the perfect match made just for him MC

He finally has someone that can understand his struggle of being beautiful, bless you MC

Beelzebub

Soft boy is scared of touching you :(

He towers over you, and he’s scared to even be near you

It takes some time, but he starts to warm up to you

Is always gentle with you, no matter the scenario

Holding hands? He is hardly gripping your hand, said hand fitting loosely in his

Getting hugs? He’s meagerly holding you, not wanting to crush you

You once complained to Beel that it wasn’t fair to get half done hugs (if you were hugging, you were getting a real hug, not a scared one).

He made you swear that if he was hurting you to let him know, so now you have your very own signal to use for him just in case

He was very tempted to wrap you in bubble wrap and just carry you around like that

He LOVES your sweets, even more than Luke’s and Barbatos’

No matter the size, he loves them, mainly because you made them and it was made with love, just for him

It always makes him feel so warm inside, and he doesn’t feel his appetite gnawing at him like usual

No one is dumb enough to try anything with you both in his presence and not, unless they want to end up either a: deep into the ground or b: into his stomach

You just make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and he just loves everything about you. He just loves you

Belphegor

Hm, you look cute

For a human

Acts like he doesn’t care, but you’ve caught him blushing before (he still does it too)

Won’t outright admit that you’re charming in your own little way, but he does in his sarcastic way like usual

“MC, you’re such a half-pint. You’re like my personal sized teddy bear.”

Has cuddled with you like you were his personal teddy bear (and still does, but you don’t complain at all)

Has a secret sweet tooth and eat your desserts whenever you make it just for him (and he doesn’t even share it with Beel, that monster)

Demons just have to look Belphie in the eyes, watch him flex his claws, and they all of a sudden forget about whatever they were planning. Good

He hates that you look so fragile, but at the same time he kinda likes it

You just look so soft, and you’re just so kind

It makes him feel like he’s protecting and caring for you, and that makes him feel calm and peaceful

Please make sure that he’s okay MC, he’s scared that he’s gonna mess up again

Diavolo

The Prince of Hell is both surprised and pleased at your appearance

Do all humans look this charming or is it just you??

If someone as soft as you can survive living and going to school with demons, then this is great

Knew that you weren’t a doll, but still liked to admire you like one

Has asked more than once for pictures, you are just too enchanting!

Wants to have a portrait painted of you so he can hang it up in the castle

LOVES you baking for him! Loves when Barbatos does it too (even though it is kinda part of his job), but it feels different with you. It feels...domestic in a sense. Makes him feel like Diavolo, your friend and very interested in being your boyfriend, instead of Lord Diavolo, the prince that will be residing over Hell in the future

No one would be foolish enough to hurt you. If someone was, they wouldn’t even get the chance to lift a finger before they were directly dealing with him. Don’t take his kindness for weakness, he still is a demon after all, the future King of Hell to be exact

Was scared of touching you at first, but quickly grew out of it! He can handle his own strength, and you guys also have a signal to use just in case he does squeeze a little too tight

Will want to dress you up in royal clothes (if you were okay with it). Nothing is wrong with your current style, as a matter of fact it suits you! He basically just wants to play a fancy game of dress up/have a fashion show with royal clothing

Will take 100s of photos, no exaggeration

Asmo will be jealous, so be warned

Plus, he wants to know how his future lover/ruler would look in a crown so he can start taking measurements. You can never be too ready, right MC?

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king-bito · 3 years

Text

Vanta Black is a butt

I’m sorry, this is my first Drabble or whatever this is, I didn’t proof read it, I don’t really know what my intention was here.. I’m not a writer, I do digital art, but there’s so little Shihai smut out there I thought I would add my bad writing to the small pile xD

I’m SO SORRY.

Pairing: Shihai Kuroiro x Reader

Characters are in their mid twenties.

Rating: Explicit

MINORS DO NOT INTERRACT

Warnings: Dub-Con, Predator/Prey Dynamic, Quirk use, Smut

It’s been a long day, it’s 10pm and you just exited the cinema alone, your friend, who decided to make the whole movie about kissing, making out, and blowing their newly acquired boyfriend, ditched you early in favour of going home with him.

Oh how wonderful it felt to be a third wheel. You’d resigned and accepted your fate, opting to take your time, grabbing a coffee at concession before leaving.

It’s Friday night and there’s still a buzz of nightlife, just barely starting to pick up. Luckily you lived nearby so you wouldn’t have to suffer atrocious cab fares, and the awkward conversations that you always felt cornered into.

You take a deep breath, finishing off the last of your beverage and tossing it into the trash and beginning your walk home, pulling together your jacket to ward off the cold bite of the night air.

————

It’s only 2 blocks from your apartment when you hear what sounds like distressed meows coming from a dark alley. Was it a cat? Fuck, it’s too cold on a night like this to just ignore it. You aren’t the bravest person, and dimly lit alleyways threw up about a dozen warning signals, but these small, infantile kitten meows had you falter and pause.

Biting your lip, you decide to suck it up. You can’t abandon a little kitty out here..

Oh how wonderfully gullible you are.

As you near a filthy dumpster with so many tags on it you can’t even make out a single letter, a cold breeze makes you shiver, it travels up your spine making you feel unsettled. For some reason the meows stopped when you began to enter the alley, and as you pull your arms around yourself for comfort to try and quell the fear, you peer around some stray boxes and trash bags, hoping to locate the abandoned animal.

You let out a gasp as something moves, you suppress a scream and tumble back against the brick wall, panting, heart beating rapidly.

There is nothing.

You swallow, you must have imagined it right?

Suddenly you feel something warm grab your wrists from behind, instinctively you try to pull forward but whatever is holding you is like a vice. Looking down you see pitch black hands wrapped firmly around your dainty wrists and then a low, whispering voice hits your ear.

“Hello little mousy~” Out from the dark brick behind you, a mans face with charcoal pigmented skin is pushing out from the darkness, his deep, dangerous tone terrifying and a little too provocative. Your first reaction is to bolt, and as you yank yourself away (purely at the mercy of this strange man in a wall letting your wrists go), you fall to the ground, turning to back yourself up against the opposite wall, resting on your now scraped palms. “W-what the hell?!” You stammer, taking in the sight before you.

Oh how cute.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You yell, hoping to draw the attention of someone, anyone, nearby.

...

A deep chuckle cuts through the cold silence between you, and you watch as the head moves forward, more of his body emerging from the wall, and now, you get the chance to fully drink in his features. He’s handsome, well, what little you can make out in the low light against impossibly dark skin. His eyes are hooded and seductive, they study you with each breath you take. His lips are lightly pursed into a small smirk, they look perfect on his sharp jawline. His face is framed by a mop of thick silver hair that flicks out in an unruly manner over his cheeks and the back of his neck. The man is clad in a black coat, grey denim jeans, and a low cut v-neck tee, where you can make out his defined collarbones disappearing beneath the lapels of his long coat.

“Aww.. did I scare the poor little thing?” The man coos out gently, and the twisted smile he wears tells you very clearly this was all just fun cruelty to him.

“O-Of course you did! Who the fuck does tha-“

“Shihai” he interrupts you.

“What?”

“My name is Shihai Kuroiro, but you may call me Kuro.”

“I don’t give a damn what your name is.” You blurt out, getting yourself back to your feet and pressing yourself against the cold brick as if it would get you any further away from this..thing.

“You should. You will. Pretty thing like you couldn’t help but come to the pitiful little meows of a kitten, you didn’t even think, did you?”

“I-I…”

“I’m not even very good at making those sounds.. and yet you wandered all the way down an unlit alley, where oh, I don’t know…” Shihai steps forward and places his palms either side of your shoulders. He’s taller than you, lean, but sturdy in build, and his every languid movement was filled with its own strength and purpose. “...anyone could take advantage of you."

"I saw you in the cinema," He continued."you and your so called friend, she certainly had a good time, didn’t she?” He muses, leaning down so his wild grey-ish locks tickle your temple, his breath fanning over your neck as he spoke.

You can’t help but go red at the closeness, there was no doubt he was hot, he was very much your type and when was the last time you had a good fuck? Too long, that was for sure. But this guy was being a real creep! Not to mention scaring you half to death like some sort of twisted predator…

“Such a shame they didn’t invite you along with them.. then again, if they had, I wouldn’t have been able to get you alone like this… so cute, so flushed.. and my.. so easy.” He growls darkly, carding his fingers through your hair, and slowly curling his hand into a fist to grab a handful and yank gently. “Have some fun with me…” You knew this wasn’t an offer, but an inevitable demand, and against your quickly disappearing better judgement, you nodded meekly. Fuck it.

———————

The next few minutes are a blur, as you find yourself naked beneath Shihai, panting and mewling as his mouth works your nipple, sucking and nibbling while his hand massages and kneads your other breast. “K-...Kuro…” You gasp, arching your back and grabbing a fistful of his hair. You throw your head back and pant to the pulsing in your core, deft fingers of Shihai’s free hand thrusting in and out of you while curling them expertly.

The man is ravenous as he attacks that spongey spot inside you, his mouth hotly working up your neck and leaving an all manner of marks in his wake. You let out a guttural moan, writhing underneath his frame, pressing your chest to his and rocking your hips against his fingers, chasing your orgasm like a woman starved.

So Shameless

You weren’t quite sure how he got you to this room so quickly from the city street, no doubt it had to be some weird quirk that came with his abnormal allearance but you were hardly complaining once he stripped you, and himself down and practically threw you onto the bed to jump you.

“So beautiful.. so good for me, little mouse…” he coos, growling shortly after as he notices your body giving him telltale signs of your impending release. “Kuro.. please.. I-I’m..” You whine loudly as he pulls his fingers out of you abruptly, ceasing his administrations in full and repositioning himself above you. “Uh-uh-uh..~” Shihai keens, tutting before capturing your mouth in a lust filled kiss and pressing his tongue to your lips, demanding access. Your pitiful whine of protest offers him the perfect opening as he slides his tongue into your mouth and dominates you entirely, a free hand pushing your hips down to stop your pitiful bucking. “Mmmphhh~” You moan into his mouth, running your hands up and down his chest and ribs, feeling the muscles move and tense and admiring each contraction as he moves to line himself up.

“You only get to cum on my dick, understand~?” His voice is smooth like butter when he breaks the kiss, bringing his hand up to lick your ample juices from his fingers in a lewd display. He nearly moans when he tastes you, eyes fluttering closed as he savours your taste, slowly and teasingly sucking every digit clean. “Oh.. so delicious, little one. I’ll be sure to clean you up properly when we’re done…” He grins, sliding his tongue out of his mouth provocatively, causing you to whimper.

It’s only when you feel his hips move do you realise he had slowly been lining himself up with your dripping entrance, rolling them to push the tip of his leaking cock into your stretched hole, the movement drawing a long, loud moan from you. Fuck, you didn’t even get a good look at it in the heat of things, but fuck if it didn’t feel massive as it slowly stretches you out around the sheer girth.

Shihai hums contently, clearly holding back his sounds in favour of composure and control as he slowly, smoothly, sheaths himself into your heat. The stretch hurts, and is taking a little too long to grow accustomed to as you look up at the stunningly biz are creature above you. You raise a hand to his cheek, admiring his smooth warm skin and slight changes in shade as he grows hotter and hotter from the workout, and you offer the first gentle touch of the night to him, as re-assurance he can move, yes, but also an attempt to connect, and as his eyes dart to you’s, you swear you could see his cheeks reddening a little.

Shihai shakes his head and lowers himself down to bite and nibble at your neck, slowly beginning to rock his hips back and forth. “So.. so tight, you really are a sweet little thing aren’t you” he manages between thrusts that grow in intensity. “Fuck, you’re practically sucking me in, beautiful.” he grunts, a shudder racking his spine as you continue to touch him tenderly.

“A-ahmmm… Kuro!” You groan, breaths becoming an uneven pant, you lean back to give him better access to your neck and guide his hand up to your breast again as you start to move your hips in time with his, lifting your knees to let him hit deeper and deeper inside of you. “I wanna… mmmmphhhh! Shit.. I need to…” you feel the tightness building in your stomach.

The pace quickens and the new angle has him hitting that perfect spot inside of you. He’s bracing himself on one hand, and with his other, he’s squeezing and gently teasing your pebbled nipple beneath his fingertips.

“Hahn… gonna cum? Go on… you can do it. Cum all over my cock.”

You throw your head back again and wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust until your walls clench and contract around his dick, making it twitch and pulse as you both reach your high, coming undone at once.

—————————-

Kuroiro takes surprisingly good care of you after multiple rounds of intense orgasms, he cleans you up with a warm damp cloth, feeds you, and gives you water before you damn near pass out in his bed. As he settles in beside you, scooting up to try and make you roll over so he can spoon you, you reach up to cup his cheek in your hand, your sleepy expression sweet and lazy. “...You’re still a creep..” You murmur gently, causing him to look at you with a little shock. He opens his mouth to retaliate, but you cut him off before he can get a stupid cocky remark in. “...but this was amazing. Do you think next time we could start…. with an actual date?”

His mouth opens again, this time he’s speechless. “Wait.. r-really? You’d.. you’d like to…?”

“Shhhh…” you nod, smiling gently as you roll over and shuffle back into him.

What you’re too tired to notice, is the heat coming from his cheeks, ears, and neck. Shit, he thought if he could just remain in control he wouldn’t become a stammering blushing mess. You weren’t supposed to like him! Nor ask him out!

But you had to be a cute little sweetheart and flip the tables on his plan.

#shihai kuroiro #Shihai Kuroiro x reader #lemon #smut #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha x reader #vanta black x reader #first time doing this please go easy on me

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tsukishimas-shortcake · 3 years

Text

Zapped

↦ Character(s): Kaminari Denki X reader

↦ Warnings: zapped out denki and caring reader? No proof reading?

↦ Word Count: (including the head canon part) 1.3k ish

↦ Your Momo’s Receipt: This is an entree following this appetizer where I talk about some head canons I have on zapped out Denki, feel free to read it, though they are stand alone writings.

Does zapped out denki look kinda funny? yes

does that mean people should a l w a y s make fun of it? no.

Denki can get kinda insecure about it, especially when he’s around people he doesn’t know that well

obv he is comfortable enough with some people to become zapped out just to make others laugh

sometimes after missions he’ll be zapped out all night because teachers, mentors, etc. make him continue other activities instead of resting like he should

def gets the worst headaches after

rub his head pretty please

also you know how electricity and water don’t go well together? I think while yes his body can function fine normally even though water and electricity don’t mix well, but I think when he uses super high voltages, like when he gets zapped out, he gets super dehydrated and ends up drinking like 2 gallons of water

Like he doesn’t repel water its just his body doesn’t absorb as much as he should so he has to drink a lot more than normal people

Denki def likes being babied, I will take no criticism, I will never prefer Dom!denki compared to sub!denki, even in a non-sexual way, he is a baby and I will treat him as such

Baby him and he’ll get all blushy and cute, no one ever babies him because 1. girls just think he's a perv and can't respect women (which yes I will admit he is a perv but he def is a simp who respects women unlike rat boy who is an incel) 2. why would his friends that are guys baby him

Sometimes kiri will because taking care of your friends is manly or some shit like that but not all the time

Even though the bakusquad takes care of the simple things that Denki needs while zapped out when you take care of him he feels like he's getting better 3x faster

Mainly because he feels he can relax the most when you’re taking care of him, when its the bakusquad he feels kinda stressed cause he doesn’t wanna do something dumb that will be a running joke for the whole school year or something

Once got caught on Sero’s tape and go wrapped up in it like a mummy, but he used so much of it that it took like 2 hours to get him fully unwrapped. Had a small bald spot in an unnoticeable spot on the back of his head because the tape w o u l d not come off

When you’re with him just hold him. Baby him. Set his head in your lap and just rub his head while he gets better.

Another boring day had passed during your internship, thank god it was boring. No hero wants an interesting day seeing as to how that would mean a disaster had occurred or some evil bastard had committed a crime. Today it was all making sure kids weren’t running into the street or stopping creepy men from hitting on school girls, the most mundane common occurrences in your region of work.

You got to the dorms a little after some of the other students, you couldn’t tell who but you saw the living room in disarray and decided the first thing would be a shower and checking who was back was second.

As you were showering, there was a loud bang on the door causing you to jump, what were these people trying to pull? you had jumped straight into fighting stance since you’re always ready for some crazy bitch to pull some psycho scene while you shower.

“Y/N! Are you in there?” You heard one of the other students say, not sure who it was exactly because of the door between the two of you but knowing it was one of the girls because of the octave they spoke in. “Yeah, what’s up?” you said as you shut off the water, grabbing your towel and beginning to dry off, figuring that maybe you are in there too long.

“Well... you see... Kaminari is kinda zapped out again and he won’t sit down for some reason. He just keeps walking around and we can’t get him to talk either. We think maybe he’s looking for you.” They said. “Okay, I’ll be right out. Just let me dry off and stuff” you replied, they said thank you quickly and almost more of a ‘thank you god’ than a ‘thank you Y/N’.

You came out of the shower and dried off your hair as much as you could with the towel, before heading down to the living room were the bakusquad had almost created what seemed like a circle around him to keep him from getting around.

He made a sound similar to babbling when you finally came into sight and he just had a pout on his lips as you got closer. The bakusquad all let out sighs of relief as you finally got to them and reached your hand out to Denki. Once he took your hand you put another hand on his shoulder and began to lead him to his room, hoping to help him get changed out of his internship clothes and clean the dirt off his face. Once you got to his door you took his spare key from your pocket and unlocked the door, helping him in since the last time you let go of his hand for him to walk in himself he walked straight into his dresser.

Once you got him inside you helped him strip down, picking out some clean clothes for him. After he got dressed you took a damp rag and had him lay on the bed. Sitting down with his head in your lap. He just smiled up at you, almost like he was dumbstruck by love, his eyes big and he just laughed as you pushed the hair away from his forehead. Wiping it with the wet rag he sighed in comfort before you continued, attempting to be gentle instead of turning it into some type of facial exfoliation.

“Are you okay baby?” You asked as you set the rag to the side and just ran your hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He hummed in reply, the best he could manage at the time but it was a good hum. “Good.” You said softly “You feel like drinking some water?” you asked again, this time him making a hum that was not such a good hum but not one of the completely horrible grunts. You sighed, time to pull some ‘gotta get my sick child to take medicine’ type stuff. “Well, would you mind sitting up and taking a few sips...” his eyes almost looked too sad to deny, knowing he really didn’t want to “please... for me?” you asked and he sighed before humming in the tone that means ‘oh okay, for you’.

He leaned up with your help and you rubbed his back as you grabbed the water for him. He ended up drinking the entire glass and once you set it down he was leaning against your shoulder, tiredly, hardly able to hold himself up anymore as the tiredness and soreness finally hit him.

“Good job baby” You said and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer as he wrapped both arms around you. “Let’s lay down now okay?” you said softly and he nodded against your shoulder. Once you laid down he smiled tiredly at you and then his blinks began to get more spaced out.

“I love you. I’ll be right here if you need me okay?” You said softly, knowing his head must be hurting by now.

“...love...you too...” He finally managed to speak before you kissed his forehead. Falling asleep before you pulled your lips away.

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babybluebex · 3 years

Text

not your duke [tom holland x reader]

➽ pairing: prince!tom holland x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 2.7k ➽ summary: at the dawn of the new century, you meet two men: one, your betrothed, and the other, a prince with a secret. ➽ warnings: explicit language, gothic era shit bc i live for that ➽ a/n: many thanks to the loml @earthlyholland for coming up with the title and urging me to finish writing this i luv u kiss

Nothing had ever drawn you into London. In fact, you were staunchly opposed to the idea when your father first told you that you were moving. What was the point of it? You knew that your father could conduct business as easily from the States as from England, but what’s done is done. You had lived in London for a short time, only a few months, before you realized the real reason why your father relocated you.

You met your fiancé at a party. London was known for its aristocracy, and your father’s banking business had put him in high regard with many of the British elite, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were invited to a New Years party. “The Osterfields,” your father told you. “I’m told they have a son only just older than you.”

“Really?” you asked, looking out the window, hardly curious. “His name?”

“Harrison,” your father told you. The carriage bumped along the street, and you swayed with it. “The Honourable Harrison Osterfield of Kingston.”

“Of course he’s noble,” you muttered. “Father, will you ever stop trying to marry me off?”

“Your younger sister is already married,” your father reminded you. “If it’s not soon, it’ll never happen. And Sir Harrison is a perfectly agreeable gentleman.”

“Agreeable to you,” you scoffed.

“He’s an Oxford-educated man,” your father pressed. “Well-read, which I know is something you covet. I’m told he’s a good conversationalist as well; I guess you’ll be able to judge that for yourself tonight.”

You cried out in opposition. “Father! Am I to meet Little Lord Fauntelroy tonight?”

“Watch your tongue, girl. You are to meet your fiancé tonight.”

The New Years party hosted by the Baron and Baroness Osterfield was what you expected, a lush spectacle of champagne and pleasing music and perfume. It wasn’t the sort of place that you usually found comfort at, but you tried your best; the Baron Osterfield was a close business partner of your father’s, and you couldn’t afford to muck everything up by having a foul attitude. “Lord Osterfield,” my father began, placing a hand on my back to usher me into his conversation. “Might I introduce my daughter?”

The man before you was older, his fair hair tinged with a bit of grey, but he was dressed wonderfully in his tails and a red tie. “Pleasure to meet you, miss,” he said in a sonorous voice. “You’re the lass that’s engaged to our Haz, yes?”

“So I’ve been told,” you smiled, and your father sent a warning pinch to your back through your dress. Attitude, you could hear him scolding you.

“Have you met him yet?” Lord Osterfield asked. “He’s a strapping lad; running around with his uni mates, I’m sure.” He looked around the room, bustling with activity, and he made a quick motion with his hand when he spotted someone across the room.

The space before you was suddenly filled by a young man, still older than you, blond hair and green eyes, a wonderful smile on his face and his cheeks blushed. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you, and he took your hand in a gentle but strong hold. “Hello, madam,” he said cordially. “I’m called Harrison. Haz, to most.”

“Haz,” you repeated slowly. “I’d rather keep with Lord Osterfield, if that pleases you.”

“Of course, madam,” Harrison said. “Might I interest you in a turn about the garden? It’s such a lovely night.”

You looked to your father for permission, and he patted your back with a nod. Harrison saw this and gave a smile, and you hooked your arm with his as he led you out into the cold December night. Harrison’s body was warm and you found yourself moving into him, and he finally stopped at a metal bench along the path. “Do you mind if I smoke?” Harrison asked, settling himself onto the bench.

You shrugged. Harrison took that to mean “No”, and he situated a cigarette in his mouth. It was rolled perfectly, either the work of a skilled amateur or a professional; either way, it was the smallest proof of his aristocracy. All of your friends smoked lopsided cigarettes that had tobacco that spilled out of the ends.

“I’m sure you like this as well as I do,” Harrison began. “I told my parents that I prefer to marry for love, but my younger sister is already married. They said it was getting to be--”

“Too late,” you supplied. “My father said the same of me.”

“You prefer to marry for love as well?” Harrison asked. Feeling slightly more at ease than before, you sat down next to him, fiddling with your skirt to lay right.

“I would like to,” you said. “But we both know that’s not possible.”

Harrison shrugged. “We only have a few minutes left of this year,” he said, looking at the Swiss watch on his wrist. “Who knows? Maybe 1900 holds newfound possibilities.”

You tilted your head. “What makes you so sure?” you asked.

“I’m not sure,” Harrison chuckled. A strand of blond escaped the rest of his styled hair, and you gently pushed it back, earning you a smile from your fiancé. “I’m just hopeful.”

“Hope can be dangerous,” you remarked.

“That’s true,” Harrison said. “But what’s the harm in having a little hope? Perhaps we can learn to love each other.”

“Perhaps we can,” you agreed. “I guess we have the rest of our lives to do that.”

Harrison smiled at you, and you huffed out a laugh. He pulled a drag from his cigarette, and he said, “So we’re getting married, huh?”

“Seems like it.”

There was a shout from the house, one that made Harrison look over, and you did as well to see a man, about the same age as Harrison, dressed nicely with curly hair, half-hanging out of the house. “Haz, get your stupid arse in here!” the man yelled. “Find your girl, the clock’s about to turn!”

“I have my girl, you git!” Harrison cried. Before either of you could say anything, the man slipped from the house and came over to the two of you, and Harrison rolled his eyes. “Here we go…” he whispered.

“This is her?” the man asked. He was British too, and he smiled at you widely.

“Yes,” Harrison said, and he stood up. You did the same, and Harrison carefully took your hand. “This is Y/N, my fiancé.”

“Ah,” the man said. “Hello, madam.”

“Y/N, this is one of my mates from university,” Harrison told you. “Duke Harold Holland of Kingston-Upon-Thames.”

“Call me Harry,” he said quickly. “Everyone else does.”

“Harry,” you said with a relieved smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Harry said. “Have you only just met?”

“Just several minutes ago,” Harrison told him, his arm snaking around your waist.

“Well, it’s quite cold out,” Harry said. “And the clock’s about to turn. Come in, madam, get a drink.”

“Oh, I don’t drink,” you told Lord Harry Holland of Kingston-Upon-Thames quickly. “It doesn’t agree with me.”

“No matter,” Harry said. “I’ll warn you, though: a drink completely agrees with your fiancé.” He gave a laugh, and you noticed that Harrison shifted uncomfortably next to you.

“Well, Christ, don’t make me out to be a drunkard,” Harrison laughed nervously. “You’ll frighten her away, and we only just agreed to go through with this.”

“Not meant to frighten you, madam,” Harry said quickly. “In fact, my oldest brother doesn’t drink. Perhaps you two will get along.”

“Oh, no, Harry, she’ll hate Thomas,” Harrison sighed. He looked at you, then added, “Thomas is quite a bore, honestly. Not nearly as fun as me, Harry or Sam.”

“Sam? Thomas?” you asked. You agreed that Haz and Harry seemed like fun, but anxiety thrummed in your chest. If Thomas was a bore to Harrison, you didn’t want to know what he truly thought of you. You could easily also be classified as a bore: you preferred reading and drawing to the piano or squash that was popular with your friends. You had done ballet when you were growing up, but were by no means athletic otherwise.

“My twin brother, Samuel,” Harry began. “And Thomas is… Haz is right, he’s an awful bore. He brought a fucking book tonight, can you believe it? What sort of sod brings a book to a party?”

“But Thomas is a good friend,” Harrison added. “He’s a wonderful listener and gives excellent advice.”

You nodded slowly. Thomas already seemed like a better match than Harrison, and you cursed your father. Of course he would match you with someone who wasn’t the best option for you. But no matter. Your fiancé offered you his arm and you took it, and you followed the men back into the ballroom. There was a renewed energy, and the ballroom was abuzz. You were introduced to Duke Samuel Holland, a man who bore a striking resemblance to Harry (as they should), and were briefly told about the twins’ younger brother, a boy of sixteen named Lord Patrick. The Honourable Charlotte Osterfield came after Sam, and she was giggling the entire night; she was engaged to Sir Tuwaine Barrett of Chelsea, another uni mate of your fiance’s.

“Where is Thomas?” Harrison asked, looking around wildly. “He promised me that he’d be my New Years’ kiss!”

“Did he swear to it as he did to Nadia?” Harry chortled. “I bet he’s gone home already. Slipped away without any of us noticing.”

The clock chimed, and Harrison turned his jade gaze back to you. You gave him a gleeful look over the brim of your champagne as you took a sip, and your body cowered at the bitterness of the French alcohol. “Happy New Year, dearest,” Harrison said quietly, just for you to hear. “Here’s to many more.”

You nodded. Suddenly, your chest felt tight, and your head was spinning, and you knew it wasn’t from the alcohol. You suddenly saw the rest of your life flash in front of your eyes: The Honorable Lady Osterfield, on your husband’s arm every single day, expected to please him and serve him. You didn’t want that.

“Y/N,” Harrison said, putting a hand on your shoulder. His eyebrows were furrowed, and you at least felt comforted at his genuine worry. “You look pale. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Quite fine. I told you that alcohol doesn’t agree well with me.”

Harrison nodded, his lips drawn thin, and he turned to Harry. “Call her carriage,” he instructed him. “I think my dearest needs to go home.”

Harry nodded, giving you a worried look, but hurried off to do as his friend requested. Harrison took the flute of champagne from you and set it down, and he put a hand on your back. “I hate that you’ve gone ill,” he said. “I do wish we can see each other again, though. I enjoy your company greatly.”

“And I, yours,” you replied. “I really apologize for my behavior--”

“Harrison,” a booming voice came, and you looked to see the Baron Osterfield approaching you. “I need to speak with you, son.”

“Father, can it wait?” Harrison asked. “I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“His Majesty needs to speak to you,” Lord Osterfield said. “A business venture, he says.”

Harrison looked from you to his father, and he chewed his bottom lip. “I’ll be right there,” he told his father. “I just need to escort Y/N to her carriage.”

“Harrison, Dominic cannot be kept waiting,” Lord Osterfield grumbled. “Especially not on such a matter.”

Harrison looked at you once more, then his eyes caught someone behind you. “Thomas,” he said. “Thomas! Come here, please!”

Your heart hit against the wall of your chest when you finally saw Thomas Holland. He was a well-built man, wearing nice clothes that were a bit worn in places. His hair was dark, and in frizzy curls, crawling down his face, as was the fashion. His eyes were the color of amber, his cheeks pink, his lips thin but like a rose. He had a book under his arm, bound in leather, a bit of paper sticking from the top. “Would you do me an amazing favor?” Harrison asked. “I have to speak to your father; can you escort Y/N to her carriage out front?”

“Y/N?” Thomas asked, and your heart warmed and melted just like chocolate. He had a beautiful voice, and you could just imagine the way he sounded as he read aloud.

“My betrothed,” Harrison said, gesturing to you. “She’s fallen ill and must be taken home at once.”

Thomas finally pulled his gaze to your face, and a lopsided smile came across his face. “Oh, of course,” he said. “Such an honor to meet you, madam.”

“Same to you, sir,” you said. “I’ve heard tell about you.”

Thomas’s smile faltered. “Good things?” he asked.

“Nothing but the best,” you said. You still felt dizzy, but Thomas’s warm hand on your arm brought you comfort, much more than Harrison’s did. “I apologize again, Lord Osterfield. I hope to see you soon.”

Harrison kissed the back of your hand. “Same to you, dearest.”

Thomas led you out of the crowded and loud ballroom to the front of the manor. “Lord Osterfield?” he chuckled lowly. “He’s your fiancé. You should call him by his name.”

You shrugged. “I can’t bring myself to,” you said. “I hardly know him.”

Thomas nodded. “I understand,” he said. “So… Harrison told you good things about me?” You nodded, and Thomas let out a laugh. You could tell that it was bitter, though. “Excuse my language, madam, but that’s a load of horseshit. You know it as well as I do. Harrison only puts up with me because my brothers are his closest mates.”

You were startled at his honesty. “I suppose that’s true,” you mumbled. “My sisters are the same with me. They call me boring, say I’m no fun.”

“The same is said of me,” Thomas said. “I’m perhaps the least commendable of my brothers.”

You nodded carefully, then tilted your head to look at his novel. “What are you reading?” you asked.

Thomas smiled. “You’d like to know what I’m reading?” he asked. “Are you actually curious?”

“Yes!” you said. “I just read the most wonderful novel, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It’s called McTeague and it’s about an American dentist--”

“By Frank Norris?” Thomas asked excitedly. He pulled out the book to show you, and you smiled at the same one you had been describing. “It’s so entertaining. You’ve finished it, then?”

“Just last night,” you told him. “I won’t spoil it for you, but it was so wonderful.”

“Have you read The Picture of Dorian Gray?” Thomas asked. When you shook your head, Thomas’s face went red, and he laughed. “It’s my favorite. I could lend you my copy, if you’d like.”

“Oh, Thomas, that would be so lovely,” you gushed. “You’re too kind.”

Thomas shrugged. “You’re my best mate’s girl,” he said. “I’m obligated to be kind to you.”

You chewed your bottom lip. “And what of your wife?” you asked. “Am I to meet her soon?”

Thomas came to a stop at the edge of the steps, casting a glance out at the carriage that rumbled closer. “I am unwedded,” he said. “Courtships have come and gone, but none have ever come to fruition. My father believes in me proposing rather than being forced into marriage, but I’ve never found a lady that I truly loved.”

Your carriage stopped before the two of you, and the Osterfield’s servant opened the door for you. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, then turned his attention to Thomas, and he lowered his head in reverence. “Your Highness.”

“Your Highness?” you repeated, and your heart flipped in your chest. “But I thought that you were a duke?”

“My brothers are,” Thomas explained. “But, seeing as I’m the oldest and heir apparent, I get a different tile.”

“Your Highness, though?” you chuckled. “What are you, a prince?”

Your laughter died when you saw the stony look on Thomas’s face. “Yes,” he said. “Did Harrison not tell you?”

You shifted. No. Please, God, you pleaded. Don’t let it be true.

A smile played at Thomas’s face. “My lady,” he said. “I’m Thomas Stanley Holland. Prince Thomas of England.”

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland au #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland x reader #prince!tom holland

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kal-djarin · 3 years

Text

Attached

Fandom: Star Wars

Date Posted: January 30th, 2021

Pairing: Jedi! Reader x Obi-Wan Kenobi

Warnings: none that I know of?

Request: nah

A/N: so this is my first time ever writing anything so I am so sorry if it is terrible, I didn't have the guts to proof-read it. Also, sorry if the romance feels rushed, I tried to time it as best as I could. Please let me know how I can make my writing better!!!

Word Count: 4.4k (I DIDN'T REALIZE IT WAS SO LONG UNTIL I FINISHED)

Obi-Wan Kenobi has always had an addictive personality, to say the least. He had a way of making light of any situation with his sarcastic quips and quick wit, even during the most gruesome of battles. Maybe this was the cause of your ever-growing infatuation with the reputable Jedi or perhaps it was the way he always had a hint of rebellion in his eyes, despite his groomed appearance and strict code-abiding ways.

As Plo-Koon’s padawan, you weren’t able to see Obi-Wan as often as you wished, but it made even the smallest of interactions memorable; just making eye contact with the man while walking through the halls of the Temple resulted in sleepless nights. Even Anakin began to sense your constant flustered state whenever his Master walked into the room, no matter how hard you tried to keep those feelings out of your force signature. He teased you constantly and would always try to see how embarrassed he could make you in front of Obi-Wan.

Once you and Anakin underwent the Knighting ceremony, he went as far to tell you to follow your heart and confess your feelings for him.

“Y/N, you can’t keep walking through life bottling up every emotion you feel!” Anakin said, exasperated

“Isn’t that the whole point of being a Jedi,” you say, not at all surprised that it would be Anakin telling you to rebel against the Order.

“And anyways, unlike you, Anakin, not all of us decide to go against our entire upbringing and marry a senator.” you pointed out, effectively shutting him up about the subject.

It was inconceivable just to think about revealing your feelings to Obi-Wan. There were too many factors against you and the idea of being rejected by him after years of secret pining would be devastating. The worst part is that you know he would reject you in a gentle and kind way, making it impossible for you to hate him for it.

Not only were attachments forbidden by the Jedi council, but Obi-Wan was known for his adherence to the law and there’s no way he would break it for anyone, especially you. You were only a newly knighted Jedi and probably completely off of his radar, if he even had one. There was only one solution for your feelings for Obi-Wan: try to avoid him until they begin to fade.

But since the Maker has a vendetta against you, you, Obi-Wan, R2-D2, Anakin, and his padawan, Ahsoka, were assigned to leave Coruscant for a mission on Naboo. Senator Amidala was having a ball to celebrate the Festival of Light and there were rumors regarding a potential attempt on Senator Organa’s life, so the Order offered to send some Jedi to ensure the safety of the guests and Padmé.

The trip is going to be about a week long, so you mentally prepare being in close quarters with Master Kenobi. When you arrive at the hangar, you are pleasantly surprised to see the ship that was being boarded by Anakin and Ahsoka was bigger than what you expected. You board the ship with a new-found confidence in being able to complete the mission without embarrassing yourself.

“How is the whole avoiding Obi-Wan thing going for you, (Y/N),” Anakin teases once he sees you enter the cockpit.

“Why are you trying to avoid Master Kenobi?” Ashoka asks, looking between you and Anakin confused.

“Anakin I swear to-”

“Our beloved (Y/N) here has a crush on him.” Anakin interrupts and before you can yell at him for sharing that embarrassing information you hear a set of boots walking up the ramp. Your heart stops and you say a prayer to whoever is listening that Obi-Wan did not hear your conversation.

“Is everyone about ready to leave?” Obi-Wan’s accented voice rings out, coming closer to the cockpit.

Feeling yourself heat up from embarrassment, you quickly turn around and face the pilot seat in front of you in an attempt to avoid seeing him. You release a relieved breath, not sensing he heard anything. He walks in and once you calm down and realize how rude you must look, you slowly turn back towards him. He greets you with a smile and you can’t help but return the gesture. That breathtaking smile alone makes you feel like a flustered padawan again but you realize that if you are going to get through this mission and over your feelings, you must overcome your want to shy away.

“Hello Master Kenobi. Yes I believe we are all ready,” You say; your words were stiffly said but at least they weren't a stuttering mess.

He nods in acknowledgment and sits down in the pilot seat across from where you are standing. Anakin closely follows and sits in the adjacent seat, but not before stifling a laugh at the glare you give him for almost revealing to Obi-Wan how you feel. You sit behind Anakin and Ahsoka sits beside you. Anakin starts the ship and begins to fly towards the Chommell sector, where Naboo resides. Once you have left the atmosphere, he initiates hyperspace travel.

Once in hyperspace, Obi-Wan excuses himself and leaves the cockpit to meditate. Right when the door to the cockpit shuts Ahsoka snaps her head towards you.

“You have a crush on Master Kenobi?!” she whisper shouts, but it is still loud enough to facilitate a small internal freak out from you.

You don’t respond and keep looking out the window, contemplating whether or not to jump into the void of blurring stars in order to avoid this confrontation. Ahsoka, on the other hand, takes your silence as a confirmation to her statement.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ahsoka exclaims to you and Anakin, mostly in disbelief that you never mentioned this and that Anakin was able to keep a secret like that to himself.

“Well it’s not exactly something I’m proud of, Ahsoka,” you say, turning towards her.

“We’re Jedi.” you state solemnly, “It doesn’t matter who knows about our feelings; it doesn’t change the fact that we will never get to act on them or even truly experience them.”

“I know, but maybe you could-” Ahsoka starts but you are quick to shut down any false hope she could make for you.

“Ahsoka, there’s nothing you can do, I just have to get over it,” you say a bit harsher than intended. You and Ahsoka don’t have the most conventional of Padawan and Jedi Knight relationships, but then again neither did her Anakin. Since you were still a young Knight, you two were more like sisters, making you feel infinitely more guilty for taking your frustration out on her

“Look, Ahsoka, I’m sorry, it’s just that I don’t want to get my hopes up over something that will never happen”

“I just don’t like seeing you hurting, (Y/N)”

“You could always tell him.” Anakin chimes in,

You look at him, annoyed with his ever present need to pull the trigger, and then turn back to Ahsoka.

“I’ll be fine, I always am,” you assure her, but honestly you say it more to reassure yourself.

****

A couple of days past and you successfully have limited your time with Obi-Wan as much as physically possible. He was a very structured man and figuring out his daily routine was easy, so all you had to do was go to a part of the ship he wasn’t, or in worst cases, meditate so he couldn’t interact with you even if he wanted to.

But of course, Anakin, always being the meddler, picked up on your perfectly coordinated avoidance of his Master. He decided to “spontaneously” take Ahsoka to the back to do more training, leaving you and Obi-Wan to man the cockpit.

You approach the metal doors, mentally preparing having to spend the next couple of hours or so with the Jedi Master.

“Master Kenobi.” you greet as soon as you walk in.

“General (L/N), how nice of you to finally join me.” He says with a sarcastic edge but the smile on his face shows he means nothing by it. “In fact, I’ve hardly seen you this entire trip.” He states, matter-of-factly.

You nervously laugh while sitting down in the pilot seat next to him, in an attempt to release some stress over the fact that he noticed. The worst part is that there is a sick kind of rush of pleasure you get from the fact that he noticed you were missing.

You face forward, trying to ignore the way he is watching your movements.

“How much time until we reach Naboo?”

“According to the navigation system, about 23 hours, allowing us to arrive about…7 hours before the actual festivities.” He responds, looking at the display before returning his gaze to you.

“You seem unsettled,” He continues and you meet the concerned look in his eyes.

“I-I’m just…preparing myself for the mission,” you quickly come up with an excuse, slightly cursing the force for putting your emotions on display.

“There’s no reason to worry, at least from what the Council and Anakin have told me, but then again, Anakin is not known for his accuracy of judgement of how difficult a mission may be” Obi-Wan replies while grimacing, most likely remembering his padawan’s past misjudgments.

“There is something to be admired about Anakin’s lack of self-preservation,” You joke, starting to loosen up at the fact that Obi-Wan didn’t pick up on your lie.

You feel a sense of pride go through you when you see him laugh at your attempt of humor.

“Yes, Anakin has al-” He starts but is quickly interrupted by an angry series of beeps coming from the navigation system. You check the monitor and don't see why the ship is freaking out, until hundreds of small dots appear on the radar.

Obi-Wan is quick to react and begins to prepare the ship to enter the asteroid field. It doesn’t seem to be too congested but enough where you begin to worry.

“R2, take control of the steering!” He shouts and is given a series of beeps of affirmation by the astromech

You enter the field and suddenly wish you remembered to buckle up; R2’s steering is jerky and all over the place, but at least the ship is still intact. You grab on to the armrests of your seat as tight as you can and hope R2 will be successful.

Obi-Wan, as outwardly calm as ever, says, “Hope you don’t mind a bumpy ride!”

His sarcastic words force a laugh out of you. Even still, despite the fact you could be facing imminent death, he expresses dry humor.

The field seems to stretch on forever and R2 navigates through it without error. Finally seeing the end approaching, you begin to loosen your death grip on the chair. To your horror, R2 sharply jerks the ship to the left one last time, throwing both you and Obi-Wan out of the pilot seats. Landing with your back on the far wall, your eyes shut on instinct when your head slams into the metal. It’s not until you feel breath fanning your face and open your eyes that you realize that you weren’t only one who fell over here.

Obi-Wan’s hands are pressed against the metal beside your shoulders, caging you in. His arms are bent at the elbows from absorbing the impact of his landing, making his body even closer to your own. His nose is close enough to touch your own and you can feel his legs tangled between your own.

His eyes widen in shock and you begin to see the parts of his cheeks not covered by his trimmed beard turn a rosy pink. You would almost find it cute how his ears were becoming a bright red if it wasn't for your own embarrassment. It only makes matters worse when you watch Obi-Wan slowly glance down at your parted lips, still taking in the image of you pressed against him. If he could sense your unsettledness when you walked into the room, there is no doubt in your mind that your force signature is screaming your feelings. The seconds felt like hours and it seemed that both of you were completely frozen. You are so lost in the moment that you hardly react quickly enough to separate from him when the metal doors to the cockpit slide open.

Anakin’s annoyed shout entered the room.

“What the hell was that!” Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice the flustered state of both you and his former master.

“I-it w-was an um…” his voice trails off as he keeps looking at you.

“An asteroid field! It was an asteroid field,” you quickly say in an attempt to fill in his words.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Anakin says sarcastically, still oblivious, and heads to the back to make sure Ahsoka was alright.

It’s only then when you begin to feel the throbbing in your head. Your facial expression must have given away the pain you are currently in, since Obi-Wan quickly sits you down and looks at the place where your head hit the wall, making sure you had no serious injuries. Throughout the entire examination, he didn’t meet your eyes once and he didn’t have the same surety in his movements like he usually did. Once Obi-Wan finished, he quickly excused himself and left the room, leaving you more confused than you had been.

Not even a minute later, Anakin pops his head in, quickly rubs R2 affectionately on the head, and then turns his attention to you.

“What the hell did you do to Obi-wan, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.”

***

After the accident, Obi-Wan was now the one avoiding you. He would excuse himself whenever you entered the same part of the ship as him. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for making him so uncomfortable, even though it wasn’t your fault.

You were going to apologize to him, but by the time you arrived on Naboo, you realized the moment had already passed. Senator Amidala greets you right when you walk down the boarding ramp. You and Padme have always had a close relationship, especially since you are one of the only people who actually knows about her and Anakin.

“Master Kenobi, General (L/N), General Skywalker, it’s always a pleasure to see you,” Padmé said in her always regal and kind voice.

“Senator Amidala, in need of our assistance once again?” Anakin teases her, but still tries to keep the outward formal relationship displayed.

Padmé playfully rolled her eyes and escorts us into the

building that we are supposed to rest for the rest of the trip in.

She brings Anakin to his room first to his dismay, but quietly reassures him that she’ll be back after making sure you, Ahsoka, and Master Kenobi are settled in. Obi-Wan still hasn’t made eye contact with you or even truly acknowledged your presence. Once Padmé shows him to his room, she goes to the two doors across the hall, and lets Ahsoka into one and opens the other.

“and here is your room (Y/N).”

You walk inside and just like everything else on Naboo, the place is absolutely beautiful.

“I’m going to send up some dresses for you to choose from for the ball tonight and we could get ready together, if you want.” Padmé says, seeming excited at the idea of dressing up with you.

“Sorry Padmé, I was just going to wear my robes.” You tell her, while still preoccupied with exploring the room.”

“Didn’t Anakin tell you? To ensure that the supposed assassins don’t realize that they have been compromised, you all are supposed to dress in normal clothes.”

***

After hours of being poked and prodded by some of Padmé’s servants, you finally were ready for the ball. You looked beautiful when you looked in the mirror, but you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable because of this sudden change of appearance. You couldn’t remember the last time you dressed like this and your head still couldn’t wrap around the image it saw in the reflection. The dress you decided to wear was floor-length with a slit that stopped at your mid thigh and was a light blue. The top was a bit more modest but not by much. It was more risque than what you expected to wear, but Padme insisted that it look beautiful on you; also the slit allowed you to strap your lightsaber to your thigh, keeping it accessible, but still hidden. Your hair was in an intricate half-up half-down braid so it looked formal enough for the ball, but if you needed to engage with the potential assassin, it wouldn’t get in the way. As much as you protested, Padmé insisted on you borrowing her jewelry and makeup.

By the time you all finished, It was time to head to the ball. You, Ahsoka, and Padmé all arrive together, and quickly scan the outside for anything suspicious. You head inside and immediately people begin to swarm Padmé and thank her for hosting. You and Ahsoka excuse yourselves and begin to scan the crowd for Anakin and Obi-Wan.

You spot the back of a strawberry-blonde head next to Anakin’s always messy hair talking to a senator you didn’t recognize and begin heading towards them. Ahsoka gets there first, quickly getting Anakin’s attention and talking to him. When Anakin sees you he looks impressed.

“Wow, you clean up nice.” Anakin jokes, making Obi-Wan turn to see who he is talking to. When he sees you his smile falters and his eyes widen a bit. His cheeks start to redden.

“It’s just weird for you as it is for me, trust me” you say trying to overcome the sudden rush of self consciousness you feel.

“N-no you look…radiant, General (L/N).” Obi-Wan breathes out, his eyes scanning your body, slightly widening when they catch your upper thigh peeking through the slit.

You instantly flush at his words and look down in embarrassment from such a compliment from Obi-Wan.

You catch a glimpse of his shined shoes and realize that he, too, is not wearing his Jedi robes. Your eyes trail up his whole body and see he is in robes, but they appear much softer than the rough ones issued by the order and they resemble what a senator would wear. He looks absolutely breathtaking. “And you look…” your voice trails off in shock, “...very handsome, Master Kenobi”

Pamdé finally joins you, unintentionally saving you from the awkward tension. Anakin greets her and as always he instantly appears calmer and more relaxed in her presence.

You awkwardly sit in on their conversation, trying to distract yourself by scanning the room for anything or person out of place. Suddenly, the music began to shift to slower and people began to pair off. Anakin started slow dancing with Padmé, making sure that there was enough room between them to avoid any suspicion.

Obi-Wan walks into your field of vision.

“Would you like to dance with me...to blend in of course.” He says while raising his hand in an invitation.

“I-I would love to.”

Obi-Wan’s rough hand encloses your own and he leads you to the dance floor. Once, there his other hand comes around and rests above the small of your back and yours over his shoulder, hovering over the skin, scared to touch him. You start to slow dance and Obi-Wan glances over at your stiff hand, and his mouth breaks out into a grin

“Relax General (L/N). You are allowed to touch me.” He says quietly.

Your eyes widen at his sudden boldness, but comply nonetheless. He readjusts his grip on your hand so that they woven together and you place your hand on his shoulder. You look at him with uncertainty, but he gives you a small smile of encouragement and nod to approve of your actions. The longer you dance, the more you relax into it, and only internally freakout at his hand sliding a bit lower to the small of your back and his body moving much closer to yours.

You can’t imagine he isn’t seeing the emotions you are trying so hard to contain in your force signature. Your mind is freaking out at just how close Obi-Wan’s body was to you. Your body, however, wants to completely submit to the feelings and melt into his. By the time the song ends, you two are so close that you can feel Obi-Wan’s shaky breath on your cheek, and it all becomes much too overwhelming.

“Excuse me.” you quickly say, removing yourself from Obi-Wan.

You quickly shove your way through the crowds until you find doors leading out to a balcony. You open them and take several gulps of the fresh night air in an attempt to calm yourself. You hold onto the railing and stare out into the starry Naboo sky, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. Suddenly, you feel the doors open behind you and sense Obi-Wan’s presence.

“Did I upset you, General (L/N)?”

“I can’t do this right now, Obi-Wan” you mutter, dropping the pleasantries of titles.

“And what exactly is this” He questioned, his voice sounding more desperate than you have ever heard before.

You turn to face him and see that his facial expression matches his tone: desperate and concerned. His eyes search your face as if he can find what you're thinking if he just looks hard enough.

You shake your head in disbelief.

“Do you think this is a game, Obi-Wan” you demanded.

His facial expression warped into one of confusion.

“A what?” He replies, seeming taken aback.

“A game. Do you think toying with me is fun? You just want to see how flustered you can make me, huh?”

“General (L/N), I don’t understand where all of this coming fro-”

“I am attached to you!” you interrupt, not realizing what you are saying before it leaves your mouth. Your eyes widen and you watch in horror as Obi-Wan comprehends what you just said.

“You are attach-” Obi-Wan starts, trying to understand the meaning behind your words but before he can, a loud crash is heard from inside the building. You rush past the frozen Jedi, relieved for the unexpected interruption. You attempt to shove down all of your feelings so you can evaluate the situation going on inside the ballroom.

People are fleeing from every which way, making it damn near impossible to understand what exactly is going on. The lights go out, making the room break out into even more chaos. You finally see Ahsoka, who is hovering over Senator Organa’s body. Thinking the worst, you rush over, but are quickly relieved to see him alive. Ahsoka notices you and fills you in.

“A sniper hidden in one of the interior balconies attempted to assassinate Senator Organa, but they only hit his blast vest, thankfully. Anakin is scanning the area right now to see if he can find them before they escape”

“Stay here with the senator, I’m gonna look around and see if I can find anything,” You say, running off to scan the outside of the building. Once you get out there, you see Anakin in pursuit of a tall figure running in the direction of a small single-person starship. You join in the chase, catching up to Anakin. “It’s a bounty hunter, she may have information on who wants Senator Organa dead!” He yells, not at all winded by the sprinting he is currently doing.

She gets to her ship, quickly hopping in and starting up the engine. You and Anakin jump onto the wings and ignite your lightsabers to try and disable the ship from leaving. The ship begins to hover just above the ground and veer left and right in an attempt to throw the two of you off.

“Where the hell is Obi-Wan!” Anakin swore while trying to maintain his balance.

“Finally ready to admit that you need me, Anakin? I thought I’d never live to see the day,” Obi-Wan suddenly quips, as if the last twenty minutes never happened, and uses his lightsaber to effectively damage the ship's engines. The bounty hunter tries to jump out, but Anakin quickly grabs her and throws her to the ground. The entire time that the girl is being put into custody and brought to the holding cell, you avoid Obi-Wan completely, mortified that you confessed how you feel for him.

When the whole ordeal is taken care of and she is set to return to Coruscant with you guys to be questioned there, Padmé insists that you, Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka stay another night to rest. You quickly take her up on that offer, thankful that you can try to ease your embarrassment with another night with a hot shower and plush bed.

You head straight to your room, not bothering to talk to anyone, and immediately take a shower. You sit there under the scalding hot water trying to process what you have done. When you get out, you change into your pajamas. You try to relax, but quickly realize that you need to do something to resolve the unsettled feeling you have in the pit of your stomach. As much as you hate to admit it, you need to talk to Obi-Wan. You just have to say that you didn’t mean what you said and that it was just word-vomit, no true meaning behind them. You open your door and are about to step out until you realize that the man you want to see is right there, with his hand raised, about to knock on the door. His eyes widen in shock at the sudden opening of the door but before he can react you quickly try to explain yourself.

“Master Kenobi! I-I was just about to come see you. You see, I truly didn’t mean what I said earlier. It-t m-must have been the stress getting to m-” You ramble but quickly are cut off by the feeling of Obi-Wan’s hands cradling the sides of your face.

You look up in surprise but see his eyes holding a questioning look, asking if this is alright. You quickly nod and his lips are on yours. Obi-Wan’s kiss is just how you imagined it would be like: Soft and sweet and with his beard tickling your cheeks. His hands stay on your face as he pulls away all too soon and rests his forehead against your own and catches his breath.

“I have grown quite attached to you, as well, (F/N).”

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan fluff #obi wan oneshot #obiwan #star wars #star wars fanfiction #obi wan x jedi! reader #starwars x reader #star wars prequals #clone wars #clonewars #firstfic #obi wan x reader #obiwan x reader

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byunbaekby · 4 years

Text

title — the following pairing — demon!haechan x female reader, slight jaemin x reader featuring — jaemin as reader’s roommate and crush word count — 6.9k genres — horror, angst warnings — language, religious concepts in accordance to demons and angels, mentions of murder, psychological and physical torture, elements of haunting, choking, degradation in a nonsexual context (donghyuck often refers to y/n as feeble or unintelligent), minor character death inspiration — monster by red velvet

“under a single light, why are there two shadows?” “i’m a little monster, be scared of me / i’ll bother you by making you only dream of me.” “see i’m just playing, no bad intentions / try to come out of the dream but monster lives forever.”

author’s message — for the #neohalloween event hosted by @nct-writers. this is my first time ever writing something of this genre, so i’m very excited and nervous to put this forward. thank you to @give-seconds for proof reading this and making it 100x better! much love ♡

also, this entire scenario is loosely generated from a superstition in hmong culture that you shouldn’t pick up anything you find laying around in public, for you might bring home something else with you.

“Y/N? Is something wrong? Why are you calling me?”

Your roommate’s voice rings clear on the opposite side of the line. Though you’re shivering as a result of the cold, barren winter air, you try to get a response past your shaking lips. “I-I’m walking home, Jaem. Can you… can you stay on the phone with me?”

“Oh.” He immediately gets it; it’s never safe for a young woman to walk home alone, especially not in your neighborhood. “Of course… Where are you?”

You turn into the shortcut, your feet meeting the soft, pliable ground. The cemetery; it’s probably the worst shortcut you could ever take, but it cuts your walk home in half. “The cemetery…”

“Again? I told you that you should stop cutting through there, it’s not safe.”

You register his words in your ear as you eye a black bird resting atop a gravestone, peering at you with bright eyes. Casting your sight away from it, your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, roseate tier captured beneath the sharp incisor. “Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.”

Jaemin sighs on the other side. “Even worse, anyone hanging out in a cemetery at…” He pauses, likely to glance at his watch. “10:28 PM, is probably going to be weirder than someone you find out on the street on a Friday night.”

“Hey!” You tell him, clutching your bag close to you. “I’m a person hanging out in a cemetery at 10:28 PM.”

“My point exactly.”

You roll your eyes, a laugh leaving you, but you’re glad for Jaemin’s teasing. It helps get your mind off the fact that the hill you walk past casts a dark shadow over the path. As you walk past, engulfed in what seems to be the darkest area of the entire graveyard, you attempt to make easy conversation with your roommate to get it off your mind.

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask him, voice low as if someone were listening. Who knows, someone might be.

Jaemin easily sees through what you’re attempting to do, but he follows along anyway because he’s nice. “I did. I tried to wait for you, but you took too long.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Time passed by me in the library.”

“I know. Like damn, you should really lay off the studying sometimes and have fun.”

“I know, I know. You tell me, Renjun tells me, Professor Kim even—woah!”

You drop to the floor, the air flying out of your chest and dissipating into nothingness as you fall forward onto your chest. All the contents of your bag spill out, along with your phone, which lies a few feet away on the dirt.

Groan escaping your lips, you look down at your white jeans. Completely stained and covered in dirt. Damn.

“Y/N? Hello? Y/N, you there?”

You can hear Jaemin’s muffled worried tone from where you are, but you focus on gathering your things from your bag first before you grab the phone. In the darkness of the night, you can’t even see everything, you just hope you manage to grab everything. It would definitely be your worst nightmare if you lost your Calculus homework due on Monday to the graveyard because you hadn’t grabbed it.

When you finally return everything to your bag, you press the phone to your ear. “Hey, sorry, I tripped.”

“You had me worried there! I was about to run out there myself,” nags Jaemin, and you can see in your mind the way his dark eyebrows must be furrowed in distaste.

“Sorry Jaem,” you apologize to him as you scurry down the path, ready to be free of the cemetery’s unsettling aura as soon as possible. “Please tell me you saved me some food, I’m starving...”

He feels it when you walk in. He senses the irrefutable change in the air, smells your delectable scent with his sharpness. His grave sits at the very top of the largest hill, giving him the perfect place to watch you from. The cemetery becomes alive with your entrance.

Ironic, isn’t it?

Sitting rather stylishly with his thin, gauntly body atop his gravestone, Donghyuck watches you with sharp, focused eyes. You’re so pretty. He smirks, observing the way you flutter through the graveyard, feet barely touching the ground in your feeble attempt to escape the ominous lot as soon as possible.

“Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.”

That’s where you’re wrong.

The dark demon can hardly keep the devilish grin off his tiers, watching you. Beautiful, you are.

He’s seen you a few times, in the handful of times you’ve dared to cut through the cemetery on your way home. With an amused, almost teasing shake of his head, he tsks. “Bad decision, little lamb.”

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask whoever you’re speaking to on the phone. Donghyuck can barely remember what human food tastes like. As a demon, he doesn’t eat humans, let alone get hungry, but if he had a choice, you’d definitely be his first choice.

Your soul is good. He wants it.

If he can’t have you, at least he can play with you a little.

It doesn’t take much. The moment you glide through the path and under the darkness of his hill, all it takes is the slightest snap of his fingers to send you flying forward. He’d love to make you stay down there, perhaps drag you down below with him, but that would be no fun.

Rather, he plucks off one of his rings, one of the many decorating his hands for absolutely no one to see, and tosses it seamlessly into the pile of your things spilled across the path. As he watches the way you carelessly shove everything back into your bag, his Cheshire grin grows even wider. Now, he has a reason to leave.

As you scurry away, Donghyuck jumps off his grave which he had occupied for decades, and lands on his feet. With a wipe of his hands on his jeans, he watches you go.

“Stupid little lamb. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to take things that aren’t yours?”

The rest of the walk home, you can swear there are steps behind you matching yours.

When you get home, you quickly slide into your bedroom amid Jaemin’s nagging sounds and slip off your white (well, brown now) jeans from your legs. After getting on some more comfortable clothes, you grab your dirtied jeans and make your way to the bathroom.

The restroom, however small, still has room for a washer and dryer, which you’re thankful for, seeing as you and Jaemin don’t have to pay a laundromat for your weekly laundry. You toss your jeans in the washer; normally you wouldn’t wash just one garment, but the dirt would likely stain your perfectly white jeans. After pressing start you make your way to the kitchen, where your roommate is reheating dinner for you.

The image of Jaemin’s broad back standing at the stove makes you smile to yourself for just a millisecond, so quick that it’s fleeting. Before you can take another moment to admire your roommate however, he turns to you with his trademark smile. “Hey, pick a movie. Let’s watch something.”

About fifteen minutes later, you’re eating your leftovers on the couch, Jaemin’s arm spread over your shoulders while the beginning scenes of The Conjuring play. You don’t have much, the apartment barely enough for the two of you to inhabit, and Jaemin is only your roommate, but you’ve gotten used to these kinds of nights. Simple, easy, sweet.

The light remainder of Jaemin’s daily cologne mixed in with his gentle cotton scent pervades into your senses, and you lean your head onto his shoulder with a smile. You’ve always wanted to be more with Jaemin, but you could settle for these comfortable nights of movies and platonic cuddling.

It’s something about having a full belly, Jaemin’s warmth, and the everlasting light traces of his scent that has you falling asleep, eyes drooping closed slowly into a peaceful suspension of consciousness.

You wake the first morning.

You don’t even remember falling asleep, but it doesn’t surprise you when you wake up in bed. Recently you’ve developed a habit of falling asleep on movie nights, and Jaemin is always kind enough to place you gently back in your room.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you let out an unearthly sound as you sit up and stretch your arms above your head. When you unsheath the blanket from your legs, your unprepared toes meet the cold wooden floor, causing you to flutter across the room quickly and into the living area.

It’s Saturday, but Jaemin volunteers at the hospital on Saturdays, so you only prepare a bowl of cereal for yourself. If your roommate were here, he’d probably scold you for the lack of nutrition, so you toss a couple of berries into your frosted flakes.

After you finish up, washing your bowl at the sink, your eyes widen in realization; you left your jeans in the washer! Falling asleep mid-movie had caused you to completely forget about them, not drying them before you slept like you had told yourself. God, they probably stink by now, sitting wet for hours.

But when you slide open the door to the bathroom, you see your jeans resting atop the drying machine, folded neatly like they had been waiting for you. Perhaps they were.

Ah, you realize, mouth parting just the slightest. Jaemin must have dried them and folded them before he left for the hospital this morning. Another grateful smile spreads across your visage; you really do have the best roommate.

You spend the rest of the day studying, and prepare a nice dinner (which also means going grocery shopping) for Jaemin, as a little thank you for always being so thoughtful. He appreciates it when he comes home to a fully cooked meal, and there’s something about the way he smiles that has you feeling as though you’ve finally done something good to amount to all the times he’s saved your ass as a roommate. When the night ends, you both retire to your rooms.

In your lovesick daze, you fail to recognize that under the single lighting of your room, there are two shadows.

VII.

On the seventh day, Donghyuck’s displeasure is enough to choke him—that is, if he needed to breathe.

He had wanted to tease you, follow you home and play with you a little before revealing himself. But God, you are so dumb; he should have expected as much from a feeble, stupid little sheep anyways.

That first night, testing the waters, he had done your damn laundry for you. It was just a little fun, to get the ball rolling. Any superstitious person would have known. And what did you do? You had thought it to be your roommate. As the days went by, his teasing grew in quantity and intensity; hiding your keys, ripping apart your essays, perhaps all the menial and annoying things that some stupid schoolboy would do to grab the attention of a girl he liked. But your attention is lost, and he is not a stupid schoolboy. No, he is far from it.

Even as his antics have built up throughout the following days, you always found some excuse to play it off; you must be more clever than he thought. No, you weren’t; you were either extremely clumsy and forgetful, or you were simply denying his existence. It’s time to make himself known.

VIII.

It’s the eighth night when he appears in your dreams. No, not he. It.

You can sense it, the moment your suspension of consciousness becomes overtaken by him and you find yourself in a simple black room. It seems to extend in every which direction, as though you could run off in any given direction and never hit a wall. But you feel it watching you.

He’s behind your shoulder, and the moment his low, amused chuckle is heard in your ears you swipe around to face him, eyes wide. He’s beautiful; dark brown hair, smooth skin, a captivating honey color, and dark eyes.

Those eyes.

They pierce into your soul, as though they can see right through you. They probably can. He is not a person, you know. He is… more.

Dark eyes once overtaken with curiosity are now characterized by bleak amusement. Your breath hitches, and his voice comes out low. “Welcome.”

“What is this? Where am I?” Your voice comes out rapidly, shaking. You know nothing of this… thing before you but you can’t help but feel unsafe under its gaze.

“Now, that’s not very nice. I am very much a person, not an it,” he smirks beneath the shadow which casts itself upon his visage. You freeze; he can hear your thoughts.

This realization only further widens the Cheshire grin across his lips, and instinctively you take a step back further into the black nothingness. “G-Get out of my head,” you threaten to no avail.

The same mocking laugh leaves his lips. “Sweetheart, this is your head. This entire place is of your making. If you hate it so much,” he says, and suddenly he’s in front of you. His hand leaves the pockets of his black bottoms, lithe digits suddenly cupping your chin and tilting it upward so you are staring right into his dark empty orbs which come to life with the image of you. His fingers, dressed in various shades of gold rings, grip you. You should feel his warmth on your skin, you should feel the radiating human heat that you so often feel with Jaemin.

“Erase me from it.”

But you don’t feel anything behind his callused skin, and that’s what scares you the most.

Your throat runs dry and when he parts his lips, even his breath is cold. “But you’re scared.” When you fail to respond, he licks his lips, and his next words are characterized by sarcastic rancor. “What’s wrong? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Unless…” At this point, under his burning gaze that contrasts the ice-cold emptiness against your skin, your knees begin to buckle. The smile which accompanies his next words, revealing his pearly whites and perhaps his intentions, is sinister: “You’re not afraid of demons… are you?”

IX.

You wake in a cold sweat, and you’re more aware of Jaemin’s soothing voice telling you to breathe than the fact that you’re not breathing. Chest heaving and eyes wide, you search for something in Jaemin’s eyes to tether you back to earth, back to reality.

He’s not real, he’s not real. He can’t hurt you.

It was just a dream.

“Hey, hey,” Jaemin calls out to you, hands on your shoulders to steady you from your previous thrashing. You had awoken him with your screaming. “You okay? Breathe, Y/N, just,” he takes a pause to take a deep breath, silently instructing you to follow with him. “Breathe.” In a few moments, when your breathing pattern has begun to return to normal, steady breaths, he asks again, voice dripping with nothing but pure concern for you, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s the first word you’ve spoken, so your voice comes out scratched and you’re reminded just how much air you need to actually speak coherently. “It was just… a bad dream.”

“Sounded a lot worse than a bad dream…” He responds, taking his respectful hands off of you and tucking them into the loose pockets of his fleece pajama bottoms. An image flashes before your eyes: that… person, hands tucked leisurely into their pockets, ominous smile enough to make you wonder what they were hiding in there.

You blink, closing your eyes tightly and shaking your head, as though it could shake the image from your mind. When you open them once more, Jaemin is still standing next to your bed. “I’m okay, I promise,” you tell him, though it feels more as though you’re speaking to yourself. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” responds your roommate, who offers you a reassuring smile and another worried look before slipping out of your bedroom. When you’re finally alone, you bring a hand up to your forehead, where sweat has made your skin clammy and sticky.

You’re warm. He is not.

XII.

“You’re a demon.”

You say this on the twelfth night, finding yourself once again stranded in the same dark and endless room with the sharp-eyed devil. This time, there are two chairs and the two of you sit facing each other. He sits as though he has all the time in the world, and perhaps he does. Legs crossed leisurely and arms over his chest with his head tilted at you, he stares.

With your tense posture in your own chair, you wonder fleetingly how enough light exists in this black room that you can never seem to avoid staring at his mocking facial expression. You gulp, gripping onto nothing as you tighten your fists to prevent them from trembling. He’s not real, you have to remind yourself.

“When did you figure that out, little lamb? When I told you, probably?” His tone is insulting, as though you were stupid. You narrow your eyes, biting the flesh inside your cheek.

“Aw,” he coos, grinning at you with dark beguilement. “You’re frustrated.”

“Duh, I’m frustrated,” you huff, blowing some air from your mouth to push away a strand of hair that has fallen into your face. “You keep bringing me here with no jurisdiction or knowledge of who you are.”

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “Three questions. Don’t make them stupid, though I know that’s hard for an incompetent human like yourself.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Next question. I’ll even be nice enough to abstain that as a question,” he responds, as though he’s doing you a favor.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Being a demon is rather boring, you see. Not here, not there.” He waves his hand around, as though pointing to heaven and its counterpart. “I found you, and you intrigued me.”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Or rather, you found me. You invited me in.”

“I never did that,” you reply, indignant.

“But you did.” A dark eyebrow raises at you, and you bite down on your lip to prevent your anger from rising. “You never checked your bag, did you? Never found a gold ring, maybe?” He lifts his chin off of his palm, stretching out his fingers as though they were cramped. “Maybe one with DH engraved in it.”

You had. You had found the ring in your bag on Saturday and had figured it to be one of your own negligible accessories, tossing it into your jewelry box. Had there been letters engraved on it?

At the look on your face, a smile spreads across his features. “So you do remember.”

Despite the umbrage bubbling in your stomach, perhaps more feisty than you should be in the presence of a self-proclaimed demon, you have another question. Leaning forward just the slightest you ask, “Why haven’t you hurt me? Isn’t that what demons do?”

There’s a glint in his eye, and the easy-going expression on his face is quickly replaced by a darkened simper. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

Your fists tighten again. “N-No…”

“Don’t tempt me.” His voice is dark now, his earlier lilted tone now descending into a deep pit. It’s almost demanding, as though he’s daring you to push his buttons and send him plummeting into a torturous rage. At the look of fear that swipes across your face, he chuckles once more. “Relax, little lamb. I’m just playing, no bad intentions here.”

You don’t believe him, not even for a second. If he’s really what he says he is… why does he torture you in this way, making you only dream of him? You push the thoughts from your mind, knowing that he has full access to your brain. “What’s your name?”

“Now you’re asking the good questions. You may call me…”

The corner of his lips tug upward into a smirk.

“Donghyuck.”

XIII.

The titles should shock you more than they do.

University Student Pleads Guilty to Murder of Three Female Students

College Killer: More Murders Revealed In Trial of Lee Donghyuck

Lee Donghyuck, Murderer of At Least Thirteen Victims, Sentenced To Death Penalty

He’s real.

It’s Friday night again, and you find yourself back at the library. Except this time, it’s not calculus nor world history that you are pondering. It’s not your psychology textbook that you are poured over.

No, the archives are open, and all it took was a little keyword into the filter to find just what you’re searching for. The only word you needed: Donghyuck.

He hadn’t been lying. Not about his identity or his demonic status.

When you read over the headlines and their accompanying stories, you don’t realize the way your pupils begin to shake, or the way that your heartbeat begins to accelerate as the truth dawns upon you.

He is real, he is dangerous, and he is haunting you.

XIV.

“So you know who I am.” It’s less of a question, more of a statement. Tonight, there is only one chair and you are sitting in it as Donghyuck walks circles around you. There are no chains, no straps to hold you down to the chair but you cannot move. Despite what he had told you the first night, that this is all your dream and that you have the ability to change anything, the opposite seems true.

He disappears behind you, and suddenly his voice is in your ear. Your breath hitches at the sudden gust of cold air on your sensitive skin as he speaks. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

“You forget I’m in your head, sweetheart. I know everything, so don’t lie to me.”

He’s caught you.

You say nothing, and so he stands straight and makes himself present in your vision again. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s in your feeble nature.” His finger starts at your hand, bringing a chill down your spine. As he drags it slowly up the scope of your exposed arm, you hardly resist the instinct to shiver. “I just want to know, what are you afraid of?”

“Is it…” he speaks softly, teasingly throwing each word in your ear, like tossing small bites to a starved dog. “That I know each of your thoughts the moment you think it, and you only know my name? That I’m a dark spirit and can bring you enough pain to make you forget your name with just a snap of my fingers?”

His trailing hand, once tracing over the curve of your clavicle, suddenly grips your neck. Though only a light pressure is applied, you feel the wind knocked out of you by his sudden, unforeseen movement. “Or is it that because of me, sixteen women died and you might end up the same?”

With the little air you have left, you manage to squeeze out, “They said thirteen.”

Amusement shows on his visage before he finally lets your throat go, and you heave as you attempt to refill your lungs with air. “No,” he corrects, moving back to his original space, circling you like a shark locking its prey in uncharted waters. “They said at least thirteen. They never found the other three.”

The thought is enough to make you sick, but before you can manage to swallow down the bile attempting to rise up your throat, he speaks. “Don’t worry about them too much, my little lamb. You’ll join them soon.”

“You’re lying,” you spit out. “You keep threatening me, but you’re all talk and no proof. You can’t do anything to me, that’s why you only bother me in my dreams.”

Your sudden and unexpected quip seems to, rather than upset him, entertain him. “You think I can’t do anything to you outside of this box? Funny,” he scoffs, though he still maintains that grin on his lips. “Humans are so cocky, I learned that after they killed me.”

He stops pacing, and instead kneels before you, his face placed before yours. “I’ve done things, sweetheart. Remember the pants? The essay you spent five hours on torn up the morning after you printed it out? How about the dress you bought that I cut up until there was nothing left but shreds? You got really mad at your friend for quote-unquote, ‘pranking’ you.”

But Donghyuck is nothing if not honest. You’ve learned this.

“But on some level, you’re right.” His hand reaches up once more, but instead of resting it on your shoulder again, he gently caresses your cheek. It would be soft, romantic in any other case. But no, his touch makes your skin crawl. “I can’t hurt you, and I don’t know why. Don’t worry, I want to, but outside this dream…” His hand stops, and grips your chin instead. “I physically can’t. Tell me why?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You have a cross on you somewhere, little lamb? Or, a guardian angel?”

“I said I don’t know,” you repeat, voice louder as you turn your head sharply, ripping your chin from his grasp. In your ear, he tsks.

Now you’ve done it.

“Getting too comfortable, aren’t we? You’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” he says, voice dipping into dangerous territory as he reaches forward, gripping your throat once more. But this time, he digs his nails into the softness of your skin, and your choked scream is caught in your throat by his hands before it can ever leave.

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!”

Jaemin’s voice is the only thing carrying you back to sanity, and when you finally force your eyes open he’s before you, gripping your arms once again to prevent you from thrashing about. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” he coos out in worry as you finally come to.

Your hand immediately flies to your neck which is, to your relief, not at all sore. The moment your eyes fall on him and you realize that the hand around your neck is no more, you fall into a bout of tears. Instinctively, your roommate holds you to his chest in a protective hug whilst you sob into his chest.

It’s not real, it’s not real. You keep telling yourself this like a mantra in your head as Jaemin rubs your head soothingly. But why does it feel so real?

“It’s okay,” Jaemin continues telling you, voice soft as his sweet familiar scent pervades your senses once again and your tense muscles begin to relax.

Minutes pass before you’ve calmed down, outright sobs now quiet whimpers. Jaemin begins to set you down back into bed, but you grab at his wrist before he can set you down. “What, what is it?” He asks, eyes immediately scanning your body for any sign of distress.

“Can you… can you stay with me?” It’s a large request, perhaps much too intrusive for someone who is supposed to just be your roommate. But lately, Jaemin feels… much more. Every night as you’ve been plagued by Donghyuck’s presence in your haunting nightmares, he has come to save you when you’re falling apart in screams.

He feels like a friend, and a… a protector.

Not at all fazed by your sudden request, Jaemin wears an abiding smile and nods. “Of course,” he says, sliding into your bed whilst you move over to make room for him. You feel much safer with him around, and now with him in your bed, your personal dreamcatcher, you naturally find yourself in his arms once more while you drift away into sleep, Donghyuck’s presence no longer occupying your dreams.

Neither of you take the time or attention to look, for if you had you would have seen, in the corner of the room furthest from the window, where the darkened corner seems to extend into an infinite world of black, Donghyuck looking less than pleased.

Your roommate needs to be handled.

XXI.

Something seemed to have changed that night when Jaemin first slipped into your bed. You have since not dreamed of Donghyuck even once, and you definitely do not miss him. Perhaps he is gone for good.

How stupid of you to think so, even knowing what Donghyuck is capable of. Perhaps you never truly knew, not before now, just how powerful he is, or just what kind of chaos he can incite.

It’s 3 PM on the twenty-first day when you finally find out just how evil he is.

Jaemin is in the hospital.

You had gotten the call on the bus ride home from campus; your roommate, jokes and boyish smiles for all the time you’ve known him, had been hit by a car just outside your apartment building. Now, he is in the hospital with broken ribs and a herniated disk, barely holding on for his life in a coma.

You’re not allowed in his room, but you do catch a glimpse of your roommate when his physician enters, and just the sliver of him that you see is enough to make you turn your head away.

You know who is responsible for this.

The door to your bedroom is thrown open, and before you can recognize the emptiness of the apartment without Jaemin’s presence around, you’re screaming into the void.

“I know you’re listening, you dick! Show yourself, fucking coward!”

The obscenities that leave your mouth seem to do the trick because before you can register it, you’re on the floor. As though the carpet is pulled out from under you, you go flying forward and the wind is knocked out of you as you meet the ground chest first.

You don’t have any time to breathe or recover, as immediately there is a force pulling you up by the shirt, and suddenly you’re no longer standing on the ground.

You see him.

You’ve seen him before, of course. He’s appeared in your dreams enough to have his sinister expression sewed in your thoughts at all hours of the day. But now… now he looks stronger. Less pale and more colorful. Even the aura which exudes from him… is more dangerous than ever.

Yet, he still wears that shit-eating smile on his lips as he watches you float in the air, collar squeezing at your throat and looking completely powerless. “Now, little lamb, those are not very nice words,” Donghyuck chastises as he approaches you. When he’s finally before you once more, he twitches his eyebrow upward just the slightest. “Missed me?”

“Not at all,” you manage, gathering the spit in your mouth to chuck it out at him.

Not even fazed, he simply wipes at the spit on his face, flicking it off in a negligible direction. “I’m not feeling welcomed,” he comments.

“Because you’re not,” you retort, thrashing about to no avail. “What did you do to Jaemin?”

The mention of your now critical roommate only makes his grin grow wider. “You see, sweetheart, I thought you’d be pretty proud of me. I found out what was keeping me from being able to inflict any real damage on you,” he says whilst his cold hand comes out to squeeze at your cheeks. “Your guardian angel has been taken care of.”

Wait, what? Then it dawns on you.

Jaemin is… your guardian angel.

“You look surprised. That’s okay, I didn’t know either.” Donghyuck releases your face, instead choosing to pace left and right before you, though he never lets his eyes leave you. “But then he started sleeping with you, and I couldn’t get into your mind. I put two and two together. With him around, I’d never be able to touch you.”

The glint in his eyes turns feral. “And you have an embarrassing school girl crush on him, so I was able to kill two birds with one stone. With every second that passes, his life is draining away, and I’m only getting stronger.”

“Why are you doing this?” You cry out once again, though your voice is more desperate than it had been the first time around. “What do you want?”

“You see, I figured that out too.” His mocking tone begins to seep away and is instead replaced by that familiar dark timbre of his as he approaches you once more, gripping your chin again in his fingers. Tilting your head up harshly, he stares endlessly into you and whispers, “I thought I was done with those petty murders, that the sight of women begging at my knees like dirt for mercy wouldn’t excite me as much anymore. But no… I want you to suffer. I want to destroy you, take away your happiness, and break you piece by piece, until you’re just begging for me to take you out of your misery.” The semblance of a smirk quirks at his lips. “Just like those other girls. Except this time, there’s no limit to what I can do. And when you do die, I’ll be right here to welcome you back.”

Tears sting your eyes at the horrible things he whispers to you, but you refuse to capitulate to him. “I’d rather die than do anything you say.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be dead just as soon. The fun hasn’t even started yet,” he teases. Suddenly, it’s as if the paranormal restraints on your limbs are cut free, as your body immediately falls to the floor, collecting in a pile. You hardly have the energy to lift your head, but you register the sound of Donghyuck’s voice as he walks away from you. “Rest up tonight, little lamb. You’ve got a long eternity ahead of you.”

Then he’s gone. You swear you will make use of the last twelve hours of your life.

First, you visit Jaemin again. You know you’re not allowed in, but you know his room number and there’s no one coming in to check up on him, you hope.

You don’t know if he really is your guardian angel, but above that, he is your friend.

“Hey,” you say softly, making your presence known as you sit down in the chair beside his hospital bed. It’s arbitrary… you know Jaemin doesn’t have parents around, and perhaps that only lends to the possibility that he really is someone sent here to protect you.

“How are you?” You scoff at yourself. “That’s stupid of me to ask, you’re in a coma. I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you really are an angel, but thank you, Jaemin. For always… always being there for me, protecting me. Walking me through the cemetery, making dinner for me, chasing my nightmares away.”

Sitting there, staring at your friend’s lifeless body laying on the bed looking gray as a sheet, tears begin to sting your eyes. “I’m sorry for bringing you into this, I should have listened to you when you told me to be careful. And if I have to lose someone as amazing and… pure-hearted as you, I don’t think I can live with myself. So please, even if you don’t make it out of here, please… stay by my side.”

As your first tear breaks the barrier and begins to coast down your cheek, you reach out and grab his hand. It’s cold.

XXII.

It’s a little past midnight and though your fingers shake from the cold, you throw everything of yours that he’s touched into the bucket.

Even the things you weren’t completely sure of, you toss away anything that could have been influenced by his dark magic; the leftover shreds of your essay that you had recovered from the recycle, the pieces of fabric that he had obliterated your dress to, the white jeans you had worn that first night, and more. Finally, you throw in that godforsaken ring that had started it all.

You swore that you would never return to the cemetery again, but here you are. This time, you really can see everything at the top of the hill. You turn your head back to glower at the tombstone before you.

Lee Donghyuck.

What a piece of shit.

Though your fingers shake, you light the match without trouble. When you toss it into the basket of forsaken belongings, it is only a matter of seconds before Donghyuck appears, tethered to his tombstone once more.

Gripping at his body, he snarls out at you, “What the hell are you doing?”

That, you hardly even know. Following only the speculations found on the internet, you had unknowingly lured your monstrous demon back to his home.

It seems to work, as the greater the fire grows, the more pained Donghyuck’s expression seems to become.

Your voice finds its strength as you announce your intentions. “Erasing you.”

“You can’t do that to me, you don’t get to win!” Donghyuck yells in growing anger, reaching out to you but failing. With this inability of his to touch you, you tilt your chin higher, the orange tint of the flames reflecting off your strengthened pride.

“I believed you all this time, I let you scare me into thinking that you could overpower me. That you could hurt me,” you muse, staring without remorse at his pained form. “But I was wrong. You only exist as long as I let you. You can only hurt me as long as I believe you can.”

“I’ll be back,” declares Donghyuck as the fire roars, only sending him further into a realm of pain. Whilst he grips his limbs in pure fury, you shake your head.

“No, you won’t. Because you were right, this is my world. I’m the one with the power here: I have blood flowing through me, I have oxygen in my lungs, and I have a soul. You have none of those.” With your anger bursting at the seams, you kick over the metal bucket burning from the inside, instead tossing the trash over the dirt of Donghyuck’s grave. “And because of that, I’m not scared of you.”

As the fire burns out at the final thread, and the spirit which had infested your mind for twenty-two days begins to fade away in a fit of rage, you offer him the same powerful, mocking smile he had tattooed into your mind.

“Goodbye, Donghyuck. Rest in hell.”

CCCLXV.

“Hey, did you do the notes from the last lecture?”

Flipping through your binder, you nod and pull out the said notes, handing them over to the student sitting next to you. At this point, you’ve learned enough about her to know that on Mondays, she always asks for the notes. You’ve started printing extra copies for her.

It’s been a year.

You had taken a year off of university to return home. After everything that had happened and Jaemin’s death, you simply couldn’t bear to even step into your old apartment anymore. Over time, you’ve found that you’ve healed and you are no longer afraid.

Not afraid to return to school, at least.

“Here you go,” you tell her as you hand over the notes. “You can keep that copy.”

The look she wears is grateful. “Thanks!”

“Hey,” calls a voice on your right. “Do you have a pen?”

“Sure, I—” You start, reaching into your pencil bag, but stop when your gaze falls upon the owner of the voice.

No, it can’t be. It just can’t.

Before you is Donghyuck. Except it’s not. He’s… different.

His hair is no longer brown, but rather a light shade of blonde that accentuates his honey olive skin tone. Rather than all black, he is dressed in a cream-colored sweater and a pair of light washed ripped jeans. Most strikingly of all, his signature sharp eyes are no longer clouded by dark evil, but are light with the sweet smile that he wears on his lips.

No… it’s not Donghyuck. After your return home, you had begun to see his face everywhere, and have since learned to distinguish between reality and trauma. When the stranger catches you staring, he tilts his head, smile growing further. “I’m Haechan.”

Shaking your head slightly to clear the thoughts, you go back to searching for a pen in your bag. “Uh, hi Haechan. Here you go,” you say as you hand the pen over to him.

When your fingers brush just the slightest, he’s cold.

You pull your hand back quickly, as though you had been burned. No, you tell yourself. It’s cold in here, the air conditioning is always on in the lecture hall. Turning back to face forward in your seat, you try to calm your breathing, pulling your cardigan closer to cover you. The stranger next to you pulls out a notebook from his bag, and in full view, begins to write in the corner.

Your professor is speaking, clicking on his projector, when Haechan slides his notebook over to you. There, written in perfect handwriting…

I told you I’d be back.

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #mlznet #neothestars #haechan angst #haechan fanfic #haechan scenarios #nct angst #haechan x reader #nct fanfic #haechan horror #neohalloween

355 notes · View notes

peachy-inserts · 4 years

Text

𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟/𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜 - 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣, 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝟜

✰warnings: mentions of pregnancy ✎a/n: ok mod josie here and im going to be completely honest.. this is the first actual smut ive ever written and i didnt proof read it because im embarrassed and im not happy with how it turned out PLEASE be gentle with me im very scared also more under the cut

➳ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

The bedroom is hazy, fuzzy. It’s almost as if it’s clouded your vision, the heat from both of your bodies overwhelming and contributing to the change in atmosphere. Iwaizumi’s hands are finding every part of your body, sliding down slowly to your supple thighs just to give them a quick squeeze and travel back up towards your neck, where he lingers for a moment before deciding tonight isn’t the night, not for choking, at least.

No, tonight he’s going to get you pregnant, and he at least wants it to be special. He’s already prepared for the aftercare, going out of his way to make sure you have to do as little as possible while you fucks you senseless and stuffs you full with his cum time and time again so that there’s no possible chance of not getting it on the first try

You’ve only just gotten home a few moments ago, still fully dressed and yet already a shaking mess beneath him, a devilish glint in his eyes that suits his smirk all too well, satisfied with your wide eyed anticipation that you always seem to reward him with before you’ve even begun. It really gets him going. There are no words, but only an intimacy that leaves you feeling completely overheated and yet as if your whole body is relaxed, even despite knowing that he’ll have you in a mating press before too long; you know from experience it’s worth the aching joints, though.

He ghosts his fingertips along the curve of your breast under your buttoned shirt, laughing to himself and retreating his touch when you lean into him, begging for him to finally do something, anything.

“Please-”

“Please what?”. He cuts you off, grinning, looking down at you with what could almost be interpreted as malice, but you know him better than that. You know it’s just an act for him, he only does this because you enjoy it so much.

“Aren’t you gonna stop fucking teasing me, Haji?”.

He huffs, thinking to himself for a moment before pressing you backward onto the sheets so you’re lying down, and places soft open mouthed kisses along your jawline all the way down to your collarbones, carefully undoing the first few buttons in doing so. “You’re so impatient, you know that?”, he whispers against your skin, and the hotness of his breath is arousing. He notices the way your heart thumps within your chest against his lips and laughs to himself yet again.

“It’s only been a few moments, and I bet you’re already soaked for me, aren’t you? I bet you were thinking about this all day.. Coming home and letting your man fuck you so good, put his baby right in you…”. Iwaizumi’s hands finally travel back down your body, grazing across your thighs and gently prodding at your clothed cunt, rubbing light circles into your work pants until he can feel them dampening beneath his touch, to which he immediately stops, only to run his thumb over your lips so you part them for him and force his now scented fingers into your mouth while the other hand softly caresses your cheek, tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

“I knew it. It doesn’t take much for you, does it, baby?”. Hesitantly, you nod, careful not to accidentally bite his fingers in the process, although he’s much gentler in his ministries than usual. With his tapping against your cheek, you know to let his digits go, and a trail of saliva is left running down your chin, and a cold chill runs down your spine despite the heat consuming your body.

Before you know it, he’s discarded your shirt and left you topless save for your bra, although it’s not long before he’s made quick work of it, too, and your torso is completely exposed before him. It’s a little unfair given that he’s still fully dressed, but you know it won’t be long before he gives in and strips down to nothing. A calloused hand circles your nipple until its erect, and he clambers onto the bed to take the bud into his mouth, tongue swirling around it with little kitten licks and biting down on it every few moments just to make you jump, and you’re whining beneath him, it’s so good and yet not enough-

“Don’t be so greedy”. He swats your hand away and releases your breast with a pop when you try removing your pants, only to do it himself in a contradictory fashion. Iwaizumi looks you up and down, his breath hitching and a sudden pang in his chest. You’re going to look so fuckiing good carrying his child, stomach swole out with his seed and breasts heavy with milk, bigger than they had ever been before

He can feel his cock twitch in his pants.

His body moves on its own, and he's situated himself above you with his elbows on either side of you, a knee prodding at your heat and teasingly rubbing against the fabric of your panties, wet in excitement and anticipation. Iwaizumi’s lips find your own in haste and he’s eagerly pulling you closer to him, hand returning to your breast to squeeze and fondle the one he has previously neglected while the other remains pert and slick with his saliva. He’s becoming feverish, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and sucking on it before he pulls away for air, panting, chest heaving, just to dive straight back in with an open mouthed kiss. His tongue is swiping at your red and swollen lips, and when he twists your nipple you moan against him, and he licks the back of your teeth, his wet muscle finding every sweet spot of your mouth and eating it up with delight so you’re whining below him.

“Hajime-”. You’re fucking desperate now, wanting nothing more than for him to fill him up the way he does, so good each and every time, his cock too fat to ever miss those sweet spots inside of you that always having you seeing stars.

“I know, I know sweetheart”. He’s quick to undress, and although your view is obscured by your current position, you’ve come to recognize the sound of his belt thumping against the floor, the metal piece always clinking with the hard wood below.

His rough fingertips are grazing along the sensitive skin of your thighs, and he tugs your panties down slowly, revelling in the string of slick that pulls from it until finally breaking contact and running down to your ass. God, he can’t stand it; you’re always so perfect for him, always getting yourself nice and ready for his dick.

Iwaizumi positions himself just before your entrance, his cock painfully hard. The head is red with blood and throbs against his palm as he strokes the prominent vein that runs along the underside of his girth. He’s trim, well cut and fit, and you find yourself pink in the face as your eyes dart across his trained abs, a happy trail just below down to his well groomed and massive cock. His sensitive slit you’ve always found a way to take advantage of is oozing with precum, and he rubs it against your thighs before using the head to tease your swollen clit. Your hips buck at the touch, abused lips parted as a low whine escapes them.

His fist guides himself along your glistening folds, and a growl resonates in his chest and the slick feeling. He lines his head up with your hole, and you grip his arm in preparation. Slowly, tantalizingly slowly, he pushes into your little cunt, pushing your walls apart and coating him in a sheen of white. He hisses as you clench around him like a vice, nearly losing control and rutting into you at full force.

“Fucking shit, babe, fuck”. Iwaizumi grunts, and he repositions himself so that one hand is gripping the headboard above you while the other keeps you pinned below him. Finally, he bottoms out within you, and begins a slow and shallow pace. Your sweet little moans fuel him and before he knows it he’s thrusting into you at a relentless pace. You hardly have any time to comprehend what’s happening, head bobbing at the force he’s beating into your tight little with a rhythm and high pitched whines your only capable form of speech.

“H-Haji!”. Your words are slurred, and you bite your tongue as he ruts into you particularly hard. His cock is ripping you apart, your sweet cunt wrapped around his base in a way that’s downright pornographic, your hands wrapped around his neck and nails digging into his back, scratching the skin and drawing blood, but he doesn’t slow down

With every thrust he’s hitting the tip of your cervix, and it hurts but god, it also feels so fucking good. The bed shakes and headboard smacks against the wall, but it’s hardly audible beneath the lewd sound of your his clashing, his balls slapping your skin while your own cum leaks out around him, dripping down his thighs

He grunts, having no words left to speak in losing himself in the feeling of how fucking amazing you feel, walls fluttering around his length and your breasts bouncing with his every move, and he thinks again about how perfect you would be carrying his child. Your pussy is aching, and the sensations are overwhelming. His hips grind against your neglected clit only a few times, and yet it’s enough for you to unravel around him.

You gasp, trying to sputter out a warning, an indication, but he’s pounding into you so fucking hard and the noises of your own juices squelching around him are so prominent that it doesn’t matter anyways. Your pussy flutters around him and your walls clamp around him like a vice, and he hisses at the sudden tightness and grips the board above you so tight his fingernails are marking the soft wood, no different from the way your own leave scratch marks down his back. Your back arches causing your hips to catch against his own, and the friction is unbearable. He only pounds harder, faster, fucking you through your release and chasing his own high, leaving you overstimulating and squirming beneath him. You try to wriggle your way free, but his hands have moved to pin you down.

Just as you’ve finally began to feel the first aftershocks of your orgasm, Iwaizumi tugs you forward by the waist, sheathing himself balls deep with one final thrust, and paints your abused little cunt white with his seed, breathing heavily inches away from your face.

With a languid sigh, your body sinks into the mattress and you finally relax, and after a moment of stillness, he finally pulls out, making sure to keep every last bit inside of you so it doesn’t go to waste. Iwaizumi rolls over onto his back just beside of you, pulling you into his arms and rubbing at the knots in your lower back from the position he’d help you in. You were going to be so good to your kids, so kind and nurturing.

And he couldn’t wait.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi fanfic #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi hc #iwaizumi drabble #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi imagine #iwaizumi insert #hajime iwaizumi #mod josie #kinktober #hq #haikyuu #scenario

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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Note

Please ignore this if you've gotten sick of this particular prompt, but may we please get another set of the Oxygen Deprivation scenarios, but this time with Ratchet and Megatron?? Regardless of if you do it or not, thank you for your hard work, I love everything you've written so far!

Thankfully I never tire of drama! I did the prompt for Megatron back in part three, but I've absolutely got some grumpy/caring medic for you! Thank you for taking the time to read my stuff and send in a request, it always makes my day!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: You're Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Ratchet

·You're in Swerve's with him for a nice evening off, something he enjoys a little more frequently than he used to thanks to the multitude of medics on board, but he appreciates every minute the two of you get to enjoy together regardless. There's hardly a lack of things to discuss, and you often find yourself listening to his stories until the bar closes and he has to carry you to berth. It's a little embarrassing for you, especially with every bot that knows thinking it's the cutest thing they've ever seen, but you admittedly enjoy being with Ratchet too much to care about how it looks. It doesn't hurt that he quite obviously enjoys it as well, especially when he's usually around those who only seek him out if they're sick, and he enjoys that he finally has an enthusiastic audience.

·The two of you are amongst the last of the patrons but still going strong one slow evening, with you perched atop a table whilst the older mech tells a story about a long ago incident in a medical lab where, upon being short staffed due to an ongoing battle, a patient had helpfully assisted with his own surgery. Though you're tired due to the hour, you're more than invested enough to keep your eyes open and listen along in fascination. It's not often he gets to go on like this, after all, and he looks absolutely adorable when he does.

·There's an unexpected flickering of the lights that stops everyone in their place, but it ends just quickly enough for the atmosphere to return to calm and for some bot to crack a joke about Swerve not paying his electric bill. You barely have time to chuckle before the whole ship is rocked like a boat on the open ocean, sending engex flying and glass shattering as everything not nailed down is tossed without a care, yourself included. Only the quick hands of an experienced medic save you from experiencing a not so gentle crash into the floor. Looking up once the dust settles to see Ratchet has you cupped safely in his palms, the two of you can't help but exchange a quick smile before the various bots around you start asking questions.

·Ratchet is quick to answer, keeping you in his hands to avoid the sea of broken glass as he stands. Any bot with decent battle experience on a ship like this recognizes what they all just felt, but being a bot who's seen more than his fair share of combat in space, he's able to explain that the size of the tremor indicates that they've been trapped by an enemy ship of smaller but not insignificant build. He gives them about five minutes before they're boarded, and instructs those gathered to head for emergency battle stations, as commands for defense will no doubt be incoming.

·Announcing his own intent to get to his post in the medical bay, the mech is quick to get going despite appearing outwardly calm, even promising Swerve he'll settle his tab when they get all this sorted. Holding you tight in one hand, he pulls up his communicator and tries to reach the bridge for specific instructions. To his frustration nothing comes through, and you find the same results when you make an attempt to establish communication with any top bot on your own communicator, prompting a few muttered swears from your partner. As usual, he's quick to get right to planning.

·Thankfully his designated task for any kind of emergency is exactly the same no matter the crisis; he heads to the medical bay and starts repairing the inevitable wounded. While you can't help with surgery, being that you're not much bigger than most of their tools, he posits that it makes sense for you to come with him. There's nothing more fortified than the medical bay, after all, so you can at least be somewhere safe. Though you're tempted to tease him about how obvious it is he wants you somewhere he can keep an optic on you, for now you decide to just settle in his hand and focus on what's ahead.

·Having been on many ships before this one, he's able to navigate with hardly a second thought, giving him a chance to keep his focus on you whilst he tries to keep figuring out the extent of the ship's difficulty. You can see him frown as he tries unsuccessfully to get his communicator working, and though you want to be stealthy for the sake of safety, you do want a better understanding of what's going on. Thankfully a human voice doesn't travel far through the hallways when spoken at conversational volume. Trying not to betray your anxiety, you ask if he can tell you anything about what to expect.

·Holding your tiny form a little closer, he hides the fact that he can see your apprehension clear as day, quite familiar with the brave face bots and humans alike will put on when in danger. Still, he certainly respects you enough to be honest. He explains that one ship latching on to another for an ambush these days is typically a pirate tactic, as they're more interested in selling the vessel afterwards or scrapping it for tech, unlike warring factions who will typically just blow each other up. There's probably already enemy forces on the ship, and they've certainly come well armed if they feel confident enough to take on Cybertronians.

·Your eyes dart around a little faster at that thought. Securing your hand against one of his digits, you remember they're sensitive enough to pick your heartbeat from just a touch, and the recollection stirs your affection whilst also making you think. If Cybertronians are so advanced, how can there be nothing working on this ship right now? Were there really no back up systems that could at least give you the basics? With the whole structure being the size of Manhattan, it'd be very nice to at least know if some areas might be safe, but then again bots tended to build things in a strange way. Nevertheless, your curiosity is so great you can't help asking a question.

·Ratchet pauses even as he keeps walking, his expression going distant in a way that initially makes you worry your query was taken with offense. But thankfully he speaks a second afterwards, looking inspired as he recalls a station of terminals not too far out of your path. It's more vulnerable, sure, but it also has physical connections to every part of the craft. He'd at least be able to conduct a system wide scan from there, and after that he'd have a much better idea of what they're up against. But he has to ask you first; are you comfortable with him taking the risk? Of course he'll always protect you, but there's a greater chance he'll need to do that if this path is chosen.

·You're smart enough to know exactly what he means. But there's a risk you'll bump into an enemy anyway, so wouldn't having a chance to get information like this be worth it? Oddly enough you seem more on board than he is with the plan, his friendly blue optics dimming with worry before you lay a comforting hand on his chest, smiling as you do so. This big mech cares so deeply for everyone, but you have a very special place in his loving spark, no matter how much he tries to pretend he's a grump. Your sentimental move seems to snap him back to hiding behind his mask, and he mutters something about feeling your heartbeat against his palm and how it's obvious you're nervous but if you say you're ready then he'll give this plan a try...

·For the sake of stealth he remains in bipedal mode, but he absolutely keeps you securely held to his chest, and you can't help but wish the circumstances were better because his spark humming beside you is impossibly soothing. Being held protectively by a Cybertronian is undoubtedly one of the most secure feelings in the world, you believe. Just being held by him in general though is enough to make you realize you're actually quite tired, enough so that you could absolutely fall asleep... Until he detects your slowing heartbeat and encourages you to stay awake.

·The terminal is in sight without a spot of trouble when Ratchet has to gently coax you awake for a second time, using a light nudge of his digit to encourage you to open your eyes once more. Though he knows the hour is late, your sudden sluggishness concerns him as a medic, enough so that he's now more intent than ever on getting some answers. Even without proof and a wealth of far more simple explanations, he's got a feeling something is wrong. A small part of his concentration is divided to keep a constant watch on your vitals.

·You're still alert enough to hear the incoming trouble just as he does; gunfire, shouts and general sounds of skirmish approaching rapidly down the hallway. Hearing him curse this unfortunate luck, you try to ascertain how long the two of you have until company arrives, but the noise is much too chaotic for you to gauge. Knowing Autobots will be amongst the fray is somehow far from comforting. Holding on tight to the hands cradling you so protectively, you look straight up just as the quick thinking doctor looks down at you, absolute trust in your eyes as you meet his optics. Whatever he decides to do next, you trust him with your life.

·The decision he makes isn't a spontaneous one, but it certainly feels like it as he barrels towards the terminals, holding his tiny partner to his chest as he runs. Knowing what's happening may well be the key to undoing any damage before it's too late. He can feel the heat of a few errant shots of blaster fire just as he gets his one spare hand on the keyboard, typing with speed he typically reserves for surgery as the world around him grows gradually more chaotic. Fortunately he only needs to hit a few buttons to bring up all the information he's looking for. Sharp optics start scanning whilst he uses his multitasking skills to keep track of everything else, listening for the threat and holding your little body close while he registers your pulse.

·The world around you feels like it's moving through water that thickens with every passing second, and neither the crackle of energy weapons nor the clanging of blades does anything to reverse the process. Even a shout from an Autobot warning Ratchet to move seems a million miles away. You know he told you to stay awake, but would he really mind if you got a quick nap in? After all, it's so late, and you're so tired, and you feel so safe in his sheltered grip... There isn't even a bit of worry in your mind regarding the fray. How could you be worried, here with the bot who would protect you always?

·Everything makes a terrifying amount of sense far too quickly. Ratchet is accustomed to the rapid responses his occupation requires of him, but for this singular instant he's frozen, optics locking on the atmosphere readout and hoping that he's simply misread it. A glancing but molten blow past his back forces him to accept what won't change, and he manages a combat roll just as the terminal is blasted by errant fire, the battle now within arms length as the same Autobot keeps encouraging him to move. He obliges only after sinking a fist into the face of an alien who wanders too close. After that, he's on the move without reservation, keeping you shielded with his entire frame as he runs.

·Your world spins without end even when the movement of everything beyond stabilizes, and you cling to the bot holding you for something to steady it all. God, what you wouldn't give to lie down and sleep... Ratchet is talking to you though, holding you so that you can see his face as he explains something about oxygen and taking deep breaths while focusing on him. It makes tragically little sense to you. Still, you feel bad as your eyelids grow heavy and your body turns to limp weight in his grip. Even your efforts to breathe as instructed feel like a failure. Of all the beings in the galaxy he's the one you want to dissapoint least, but his warm palms beneath you are so comfortable, and his spark humming in your ear is so soothing... You only hope he can forgive you for submitting to sleep.

·Ratchet knows he's powerless to wake you again, but that hardly keeps the agony from tearing at his spark. Seeing you go limp in his grasp, feeling your pulse weaken and grow irregular, hearing your breath stall... How long has it been since any medical emergency has reduced him to near panic like this? He's so invested in his task that his arrival to the medical bay only comes with orders. You're the human equivalent of a Fader, and so much of what he needs to save you isn't even ready to go! He needs to have a mask, a saline solution for dehydration, and oxygen of the exact content percentage you need to survive just to start... For the first time in eons he's terrified, even as it all comes together and he sees your vitals stabilize before his very optics, as all he can think of is how very close this came to ending tragically. As you're left recovering he quickly gets to work on other patients, throwing himself into the task so as not to worry, though his optics betray him on the regular with glances towards the berth supporting your tiny body.

·Wakefulness comes with a familiar digit resting in your palm, reading your vitals as you put together blurry pieces of a not so happy story. To your delight, a brightly colored chevron is the first thing you see when you open your eyes, and it's impossible not to smile when you roll your head over to look at the owner. Ratchet somehow looks more exhausted than you've ever seen him as he smiles back. He relays everything that happened in a way that paints him as an unimportant figure, up until you move your hand to rest atop his, your eyes filled with that same trust and admiration you'd given before he'd gone for the terminal. You want to communicate that you know how much you owe him. This brave, selfless medic who'd risked so much to give you his best and deserved the full credit for saving your life... Humility doesn't allow him to agree in full, but you're certain you can see peace in his optics, the kind he only seems to feel with you.

#transformers #maccadam #more than meets the eye #mtmte #lost light #idw #tf #transformers headcanon #my writing #my asks #anon #requests #ratchet #ratchet x reader #self insert #human reader

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omgrachwrites · 3 years

Text

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: lil bit of angst, fluff, fluff and more fluff!

Words: 2554

Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me!

A/N: I was going to make this chapter filled with so much more angst but I think that you guys deserved a break! Hope you guys enjoy this one and please let me know what you think, and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter Twelve - A Knight’s Tale

The waiting was torture, though that first night had been the worst, you had fed your twins, Elena and Johnathan before putting them to bed. And, then you had crawled into your huge cold, empty bed with your heart hurting as your tears soaked your silken pillows. You couldn’t lose him, you couldn’t lose Sirius. He was the love of your life and you had never dared to hope that you would meet someone like him or be so deeply in love.

Sirius was a hero – James was going to knight him if he ever woke up – and it would be cruel indeed if God decided to take him away from you. It seemed like God showed you mercy, because the following day, Sophia woke you to tell you that Sirius was still hanging on, he was still alive. He wasn’t doing any better but thankfully his condition hadn’t got any worse. For two weeks, you spent most of the morning with him, Lily would have granted you more time but you knew that Sirius wouldn’t want you to give up your duties for him. Working kept your mind off things.

Every time you went to see him, you brought the twins with you and you tried to make the small dark room brighter with the fresh flowers that you placed on the windowsill every couple of days. Through your tears you smiled down at the handsome man that was the subject of all your deepest dreams and fantasies. Even when he was so close to death he was still so devastatingly beautiful, like a fallen angel or a hero from those silly romance novels that you liked to read.

Gently, you pushed his raven black hair from his forehead, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead. His skin was as cold as ice but you knew that the doctor did his best to keep Sirius warm.

“I have to go, my love, I can’t shirk my duties,” you let out a little watery laugh as you swallowed down the lump in your throat, “I love you so much and I’m living for the day when you’ll wake, I would do anything Sirius, please just come back to us,” you pressed your warm lips to his cold ones, they were almost blue, “I’ll be back tomorrow, darling, though it’ll be a bit later on, I’m going to help Sophia pack for France,” you stroked your fingers against his cheek as you stood up.

The doctor smiled at you but you could see the blatant sympathy in his eyes as you nestled Elena and Johnathan in your arms, “thank you so much for looking after him, I appreciate it with all my heart,” you paused as a tear slid down your cheek, “if he wakes do you think all will be well?”

“You don’t have to thank me, Duchess,” the kindly older man bowed his head as he pushed his spectacles up his nose, “I cannot be sure, there may be some temporary memory loss but he’s defied all the odds so far. Your husband is a fighter, My Lady.”

You laughed a little as you nodded in agreement, “he is indeed a fighter, he’s the strongest man that I know,” it was for that reason that you were hopeful that he’d wake up. You gave him one last loving, wistful look before looking back at the doctor, “good day to you, doctor.”

“Good day, Lady Y/N,” he bowed his head as you departed from the room and sucked in a deep breath.

Remus was outside, leaning against the wall, he stood up straight when he saw you, a smile lighting up his handsome scarred face as he glanced from you to the twins, “are you waiting to go in and see Sirius?”

Remus nodded as he ran a hand through his hair, his hazel eyes growing worried, “how is he?”

You shrugged as sadness shrouded your heart, “he’s no better but he’s no worse either,” you tried to muster a brave smile.

Remus bit his lip as he looked down at his feet, “is it true that Sophia is going to French court?” even though he was getting married this coming summer, you knew that he still loved Sophia.

You sighed sadly, they would have made a fantastic couple and you knew that they both lamented what they had lost, “maybe you should talk to her instead of me, Remus,” you softened the blow by pressing a kiss against his cheek. You offered him a soft smile before walking down the hallway.

The following day dawned with warm and sunny weather with a slight breeze. The weather was so fine that you had thrown open the doors that led to the balcony while you helped Sophia pack for France. It was a pleasant task as the chirping of birds and the sweet sound of laughing, playing children that travelled up from the grounds. You glanced at Sophia with a smile on your lips, stopping short when you saw that a shadow had fallen over her face as she unblinkingly stared at the contents of her luggage.

“Are you alright, Sophia?” you asked, placing your hand on her shoulder.

Sophia looked up at you as her face transformed with a pretty smile that reached her eyes, “I’m fine, this is exactly what I want, and I suppose that I’m just nervous.”

You smiled as you pulled your dear friend into a tight hug, “I’m going to miss you,” you would sorely miss her and you knew that she would take a piece of your heart with her. But, you also knew that she would be radiant at French court. Over Sophia’s shoulder, you saw Remus run into the room, panting and you pulled away from Sophia as you took in his delighted face.

“It’s Sirius,” he smiled and your heart felt very hopeful and heavy, “he’s awake and he’s asking for you.”

You gasped as you held a hand to your heart as the relief and happiness almost swept you off your feet. You felt giddy and lightheaded, you felt drunk. Tears sprang to your eyes, “I must get the twins,”

Sophia laughed and cupped your cheeks, “I’ll get them and follow you, go, Y/N!”

You didn’t need to be told twice as you hitched up your skirts and ran to Sirius as quickly as you could, your heart beating wildly in your chest. Sirius was sitting up in bed when you reached him, the colour hadn’t quite returned to his cheeks yet but he was still so beautiful.

A smile spread across his face as soon as he saw you, “Y/N!”

As gently as you could you threw your arms around him, not wanting to hurt him as you sobbed into his neck. Your heart burst with love as he tilted your face up so he could kiss you, his gentle thumbs wiping your tears away. You pulled back to look at your husband, “I’m so glad that you’re alive, I love you,” you clutched his linen shirt between your fingers, not wanting to let him go.

Sirius smiled as he kissed your forehead, “I love you too, my Princess, I always promised that I’d come back to you, the doctor thinks that I’ll make a full recovery, apparently I’ve defied all the odds,” he chuckled before biting his lip, “I’m so sorry that I put through so much anguish.”

You shook your head as you cupped his cheeks, pressing your forehead against his, “I’m just glad that you’re okay, it was torture without you. You’re a hero Sirius; you saved the King’s life.”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” his loving words made you giggle, already he was flirting with you, “I’ve missed that sweet sound,” he pressed a kiss to your lips and he smiled as he trailed his fingers down to your stomach, looking up at you with a frown when he realised that the swell of your stomach had reduced, “our child?” he whispered and you kissed him gently.

You turned to Sophia who was standing in the doorway, she grinned at you as you lifted the twins into your arms and thanked her, “our children came a month early, both completely healthy,” you laughed and turned back to Sirius, “meet Elena and Johnathan, I wanted to honour your squire, he was a hero,” you added.

“Johnathan would have liked that, he would have been bashful,” he smiled and gasped with joy as you placed the twins in his arms, “typical that we wait for one baby and we get two,” he laughed, his voice thick with tears as he held his children.

Your heart swelled with love as Sirius pressed tiny kisses on their little foreheads. Elena wrapped her whole tiny hand around one of his fingers as she gazed up at him with her father’s stormy grey eyes while Johnathan fussed a little. Sirius choked back a sob as he grinned down at his children, his face bright with love as he glanced up at you.

“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here for you, I’m so proud of you,” he tilted his head so he could press a deep lingering kiss to your lips and you threaded your fingers through his hair, “they’re so beautiful, just like their mother,” he murmured against your lips.

“And, just like their father,” you added, stroking over his beautiful face.

You and Sirius grinned at each other as you held your family in your arms. For once the little room didn’t seem so dark. It was as bright as heaven.

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Sirius blew out a nervous breath as he looked at himself in the golden looking glass. Much had happened and yet, he hardly looked any different, apart from the long scar above his ribs and the haunted look that his eyes now held. He winced as he looked down at the pink welt on his skin, it was an ugly scar but late at night, Y/N would run her fingers and then her lips across it. She told him that it was proof of his heroic actions, he didn’t believe her but he lived for those moments.

Sirius could see his beautiful wife reflection in the golden mirror as she smiled and put the twins down for their nap. He was so blessed to have not just one, but two beautiful children. Y/N looked up and met his eyes in the mirror, he smiled at her as her lips parted slightly as her eyes raked over the bare top half of his body, and it was enough to make him blush.

With a sultry gaze, she looked at him beneath her thick lashes and she sauntered into the room, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Her nails ran over his skin lightly, enough to make him shiver beneath her warm touch, “my God, you look so beautiful like this,” she purred into his ear.

Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders as she kissed the back of his neck as she held eye contact with him in the mirror. Sirius blushed and bit his lip at her words, thankful that she still wanted him, “I could just eat you up,” she nipped at the lobe of his ear teasingly.

Sirius chuckled as he turned his head so he could capture Y/N’s lips with his own, smiling into the kiss when she ran her hands down to his stomach as she snaked her tongue into his mouth. When she pulled away, she kissed the tip of his nose, “what are you thinking about, my love?”

Sirius sighed and shrugged “just nervous I guess, I wish everybody didn’t have to make such a big thing over this,” he truly felt like he didn’t deserve this.

Y/N smiled at him as she cupped his cheeks, looking at him with so much love in her eyes, “you’re a true hero Sirius, let it be recognised properly,” she pressed a lingering kiss against his lips, “now, let’s get you dressed.”

She leaned down momentarily and pressed feather light kisses against his scar, running the tip of her tongue over the ruined skin. Tears sprang to his eyes as he cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip. She smiled as she leaned into his touch and gazed up at him with sparkling, adoring eyes.

“I love you so much.”

Y/N grinned as she stood up and buttoned his shirt, smoothing her hands over it, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

All too soon, it was ready for them to leave, Y/N smiled at him comfortingly as they walked down the hallway, nerves swarming around in Sirius’ stomach. Even from outside the Throne Room, Sirius could hear the buzz and the chatter of the court, he knew that James would make a spectacle out of this. When they entered, the whole court turned and stared at him, the men looked at Sirius in jealousy while the women looked at Y/N in the same way. Y/N smiled and kissed his lips before going to stand with Sophia who had postponed her trip to France to come to the ceremony. There were sweet smelling ceremonial candles burning in every corner.

Swallowing back his nerves, Sirius walked towards where James was standing, the King’s face was mostly stoic but Sirius could see the glimmer of a smile beneath his mask. With his eyes fixed on James, Sirius knelt on one knee and the King began to address the court.

“This man is a hero,” James started as he pointed at Sirius, pride in his voice, “this man saved my life, he climbed over enemy lines to pull me to safety and almost gave up his own life in the process. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here and our beloved England would be at war, he saved me and so many more people.”

Sirius took his eyes away from James and concentrated on the red velvet carpet in front of him, as James placed the flat of his sword on his shoulder.

“Do you, Sirius Black, the Duke of Bedford promise to serve your liege lord in valour and faith? Do you promise to protect the weak and defenceless, live by honour and glory and respect the honour of women?”

Sirius cleared his throat to stop his voice from shaking, “I, Sirius Black, the Duke of Bedford solemnly swear to do this.”

Sirius could hear the smile in James’ voice as he moved the sword from his left shoulder to his right, “then it is my great honour to dub thee, Sir Sirius, Knight of England and Wales. Arise Sir.”

When Sirius got to his feet, James pulled him into a hug as the court cheered and applauded. Sirius chuckled as his best friend clapped him on the shoulder, “congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at James and Lily before turning to face the court, his eyes searching. He grinned when he found his wife among the crowd; her face was bright with a smile and tears streamed down her cheeks.

He strode towards her and kissed her passionately, Y/N giggled into the kiss as the court whistled at the display, “My Lady,” he whispered against her lips.

“My Knight,” she grinned up at him.

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@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @siriuslyjanhvi @pregnant-piggy @lindatreb @mabelle-cherie @hxrgreeves @britishspidey @mads-bri @classicrocketqueen @sxtansqueen @hufflepuffzutara @missmulti @bruxa0007 @ourstarsailor @fific7 @galwithbluethoughts @2410slb @sunles @krismeunicornbaobei @theincredibledeadlyviper @deathkat657

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underappreciated-bee · 3 years

Text

Incompatible Intentions

Chapter One

A/N: This is a Sokka x female!reader and Zuko x female!reader. This is one of my first stories so please enjoy. Also, Y/N is 10 years old in this chapter, making Zuko and Azula 11 and 9 respectively. The year is 94AG.

Can be read on both A03 and Wattpad (same username)

SUMMARY:

Y/N was a young girl born in the Fire Nation: taught that it was the greatest nation in the world. She grew up with these ideologies engraved in her mind. As her father was a close trusted advisor of the Fire Lord Ozai, she would often spend time with the young crowned prince, Zuko.

After her father dares to disagree with the Fire Lord in a meeting, opposing to the invasion of the water tribes, he and his family were banished from the Fire Nation, never allowed to return again. They seek refuge in the Southern Water Tribe, however not for long, as the Fire Nation soon would raid…

WARNING: N/A if you find any please tell me

Also sorry for any spelling mistakes or typing errors. I have proofread this, but sometimes it just skips over my head.

Status: IN PROGRESS

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Y/N- your name

Y/F/N- your father’s name

Y/L/N- your last name

If you’re on Chrome, you can use this extension to personalise your names.

WC: 1.9K

Zuko's eyes slowly began to follow the gentle movements of the young turtle duck in front of him. Its feet lightly paddled in the shallow water of the pond as it tried desperately to create enough momentum to reach its mother that sat a distance away. Zuko smiled fondly at the creature, breaking off another small piece of the bread in his hand, throwing it gracefully in the direction of its mother- enticing it.

This had been going on for a while: Zuko feeding the turtle ducks and Y/N staring mindlessly at the cerulean sky, neither of them speaking; only sitting in comfortable silence.

Y/N and Zuko had known each other for just under a year, first having met one another at a birthday party for Zuko's grandfather.

Y/N's father, Admiral Y/F/N Y/L/N, helped aid the Fire Lord in his war efforts against the other nations; so for the Fire Lord's 93rd birthday, he and his family were invited by the Fire Lord himself to come to celebrate.

That was the first time that Y/N and Zuko had met.

Neither of them talked the entire night, only ever sharing momentary glances with the other before briskly turning away. It had been during the weeks following when they would first speak.

Y/N's father had brought her to the palace with him, having promised that the meeting wouldn't take up much of his time and that the two of them would be able to go and eat Mochi straight after. Begrudgingly, she followed her father and waited for him in the palace garden.

Warily, her feet dangled off of the bench you sat on- too short to reach the ground- but that was to be expected from an 8-year-old. Happily, she watched as the turtle ducks raced around the pond, your eyes tracing their movements; they seemed relaxed- content, even.

Zuko felt relaxed as he walked into the palace garden. His hand clutching the bag of seeds his mother had handed him, ready to feed the ducks that day. Smiling, he walked into the garden, eyeing his surroundings in hope that Azula wouldn't be there.

Abruptly, his feet stopped beneath him: catching the sight of a young girl- around his age- sitting alone on the corner bench. He had no idea who she was, or even if she had been allowed in there, but that didn't stop him from approaching her.

"Hi," Zuko first spoke up, waving his hand awkwardly in the air at the girl.

She looked up startled, her face morphing into one of shock as she realised who had just spoken to her. Immediately, she stood up and bowed at the prince

"P-Prince Zuko," she stammered. "I am so sorry if I've disturbed you. I didn't realise you'd be here. I can go and wait for my father somewhere else." The words flowed off her tongue swiftly, her nervousness apparent.

Y/N had never seen the young Prince up close in person before. Sure, she had seen pictures of him around the Capital, and she had noticed him a couple of weeks ago at the Fire Lord's Birthday, but despite her father's position, she had hardly ever met anyone other than the Fire Lord himself.

"My friends call me Zuko." he smiled softly.

"Oh. Well, uhm, Zuko- My name is Y/N," she smiled shyly at him, timidly putting her hair behind her ear. Zuko had picked up on her discomfort, and so he started to walk towards the pond to spare her of any more of the awkward conversation.

Carefully, he sat down under the tree in the centre of the garden and started to feed the ducks. Y/N only watched on fondly as the turtle ducks swam towards the seeds he had thrown in their direction.

"Do you want to come and sit next to me?" Zuko asked the girl, turning around to look at her, "Promise I'm not as intimidating as I look."

The young girl smiled timidly, she wasn't even really supposed to be in the garden, let alone be talking to a member of the Royal Family. Glancing between him and the bread in his hand, she spoke up, more confident than before, " Only if you let me feed the Turtle Ducks."

Y/N watched the sky peacefully. As time passed, she had learned to feel relaxed in Zuko'd presence; no longer was she as tense and unnerved as she once was. She looked over at him quietly, still feeding the Ducks, she thought. Her head shook slightly before finally breaking the silence.

"Are we not going to talk today?" She asked concerned. He simply shrugged, unsure of what to say.

He seemed unusual today, not his typical self, and that to no fault of his own. Zuko now being a young 10-year-old Prince had found himself with fewer responsibilities than he'd like. Despite his countless pleas to his father to allow him to be more involved in the war effort, he would always be turned away as 'he wasn't old enough to understand'.

"Sorry I just..." he paused briefly, deciding whether or not to say something, "...I have a lot on my mind, " he admitted, giving her a distressed look.

She glanced at him, concerned, "D'you wanna talk about it?"

Before they could discuss any further, they were unpleasantly interrupted.

"Hey Zuzu," Azula gleamed as she walked into the garden.

Zuko sighed heavily at the sight of his sister. He had tried avoiding her the entire day in hopes she would catch interest in other things.

"Hi Azula," Y/N looked at the girl brightly, whilst Zuko only mumbled irritatedly under his breath.

Azula sat down beside Y/N, looking at her quizically, "I didn't expect you to be here today," her tone more similar to that of a question.

"My father had a last-minute meeting he had to attend. And since we were on our way to the market he brought me along with him." she smiled kindly at Azula.

In the past year, Y/N had found herself inside the Fire Nation palace more often than she'd first liked. Her father would regularly be called in to advise the Fire Lord on some new plan for invading the Earth Kingdom or the Water Tribes. Y/N didn't mind it though, because every time he would have to go to the palace, she'd join him.

It was somewhat of a ritual between the two. Whenever her father had been called to the palace, Y/N would happily join him. At first, she did so because she wished to see the Turtle Ducks. After a while, she realised that she liked talking to Zuko.

Sometimes, however, Zuko wouldn't be in the garden; only his sister Azula. At first, she was a whole lot less welcoming than her brother. And even though Azula wouldn't admit it, eventually, she too began to like Y/N. She liked the fact that there was another girl, around her age, in the palace.

It made her feel less alone.

Azula had sat down beside Y/N and started to pluck at the grass, viciously ripping it up with her fingers before dropping it back on the ground: then repeating.

As she continued playing with the grass, a bundle of daisies caught her eye. Azula scooted closer to them. Then she started to rip the daises out of the ground, as she had done with the grass.

By this point, Zuko finally began to notice his surroundings and looked over at Y/N, who remained unmoving on the grass, sprawled out like a starfish. He smiled kindly at the sight before turning his attention to his sister.

"Azula you shouldn't be doing that! Leave the flowers alone."

Zuko's sudden increase in dynamics caused Y/N to look at the two, unsure of what was going on. Her face was laced in perplexion as she tried to decipher their interaction. It was only when she noticed the daisies in Azula's hands that Y/N moved closer to her to inspect. Slowly, she picked up a daisy off of the ground, and then another, and another; joining Azula in her conquest

Zuko gawked at them both in complete shock, unsure of how to proceed.

"Look Zuko, it's okay," Y/N smiled, lifting a beautifully crafted daisy chain. "We can make friendship bracelets out of them." She smiled kindly at Zuko, who had a shocked look on his face. He glanced at his sister, seeking comfort in the fact she looked just as baffled as him.

"A what?" Azula spoke up.

"A friendship bracelet" Y/N repeated. "It's self-explanatory really. It's a bracelet that friends wear to symbolise their friendship." As she began to dig her nails in the stem of a daisy, to thread the next one through, " and we can make them out of daisies."

From that day on, it became almost like a tradition for the three to sit down together in the garden, creating daisy chains in honour of their friendship. Because despite how long it'd been since they'd seen one another, or even if Zuko and Azula weren't on speaking terms. It would be something they all enjoyed doing, together.

A couple of weeks had passed since that day when Y/N walked into the palace with the brightest smile on her face. In her hands, two perfectly packaged presents. She bid farewell to her father before giddily running off into the garden to meet with her friends.

Azula, sat on the bench, was reading a book and Zuko sat underneath the tree, as he watched the Turtle Ducks paddle in the water. Y/N skipped into the garden, standing in the middle of the room, the cleared her throat.

Both the siblings looked up at their friend and quickly ran up to her, forgetting what they were doing.

"Y/N!" they both exclaimed in unison, rushing to be the first to embrace her. After the three of them had hugged and the excitement had died down, Y/N looked at the two, "I got you both something."

The two siblings remained confused as they began to wonder what could their friend have possibly gotten them.

Y/N brought out two presents from behind her back, giving them to the two. They both looked at Y/N, then at each other, unsure of what to expect from the girl.

As the two opened their gifts, Y/N spoke, "I wanted to get the two of you something for being my best friends. So I decided to make it meaningful."

Azula was the first to open her gift, seeing a red string bracelet with a silver small sun charm on it. She looked down in the box, in awe of the jewellery.

"I decided that the best thing to get you would be the most important part of a daisies life cycle, " Y/N said as she showed the two a bracelet similar to theirs on her hand.

Unlike Azula who had a sun charm and Zuko who wore a water droplet: Y/N had a daisy. Showing them her charm she began to explain her gifts.

"I have a daisy. Azula is my sun," she said nodding to her friend

"And Zuko is my water."

The two children looked at the girl in front of them, both grinning from ear to ear. They placed the red string on their wrist and looked back up to their friend.

" I wanted you to have these so that you would be reminded of our friendship. That no matter where we go and no matter how far apart we are. You will always be my best friends."

No matter what.

#avatar the last airbender #zuko #sokka #katara #aang #ozai #zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #sokka x reder #sokka x y/n #sokka x you #multiple ending #this is really bad #im sorry #i hope you like it #slowburn #ish

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sleepymccoy · 4 years

Text

Aziraphale’s demon aspect

As voted by 246 people!

The winner is

Owl

with nearly 26% of the primary vote

many people added in their free form answers that they were imagining a barn owl specifically

Owl was the front runner the whole way through this survey, but most of the time by a very beatable margin. The 40 or so people who voted in the last night really tipped it over, it was a tight race! And the results are crazy split imo, a quarter of votes constitutes a win! I love the different opinions and ideas we all have so so much

Ram/sheep came in a hearty second with 16.5% of the vote

A very regal demon there.

After that it gets a little murky, so I’m going to share the second graph I made when is every animal that got more than 1% of the vote. So it’s the top six animals

Magpie and Lion holding strong! Then Moth and Goat looking very good

The second question let you vote for as many options as you thought were appropriate for Aziraphale! So, there were a lot more write-ins! It’s crazy!

I’m using google sheets so I can’t get it to show you every name, but the raw data will be in a read more so you can scroll through everyone’s beautiful imagination there

Again, Owl winds with a solid 20% of the vote. Ram/Sheep coming in with about 15%, followed by Moth, Magpie, Goat, Lion, then Tortoise.

Tortoise was 11th in the first round, tied with Snake (but pale), and managed to surprise me by coming through so strong in the second. Slow and steady, baby.

Nearly everyone who wrote in about Magpies told me that Magpies hoard stuff, so it’s nice to see the hive mind at work there!

Five people told me they were voting goat because of that one piece of art by @hollow-head that shows Aziraphale scaling a bookshelf like goats do cliffs. As an artist myself I found it legitimately moving that this one image had stayed with people so strongly. That’s just beautiful. Here’s an example of just one person’s comment

idk dude i just remember one person posted art of him scaling the bookstore shelves like those goats scale mountains and just eating his clothes while he reads it was so fuckin funny but anyway goat eyes are great or he could have lil stubby horns that r covered by his hair

One moth enthusiast took the time to give me a short essay on their choice of moth. I have included a portion of it, cos it was so great

So if I had to choose an insect, it would be a moth, preferably a Megalopygidae, also known as the Flannel Moth. They are fluffy, white-beige and look innocent and fluffy, but their larvae can cause painful inflammations. A poodle moth would also fit because it's almost pure white.

Here’s a flannel moth for everyone

and a poodle moth, which i honestly thought was a hoax but i looked into it just now and it seems legit? There’s not a tonne of proof, but the og pictures are from a scientists who stands by them, so like, wow

And then a DIFFERENT PERSON put this in;

the moth i had in mind is Acherontia atropos, in polish called Zmierzchnica trupia główka (meaning more or less "dusk death's head"). i have a whole symbolism planned out and stuff

Fucking, moth fandom come through!!

I’m vaguely scared of moths, fun fact. I don’t like the thick thunking sound they make when they hit stuff.

Here is the second round but with all the animals that got four or less votes removed for ease of viewing

the one segment there at 12 o’clock that google hasn’t labeled for me is Swan at 0.9%

I cannot believe I didn’t put swan in as an option, that’s all write-ins

So, to summarise, I suggest you take a lot of this with a grain of salt. It is not meant as an instruction to fandom or to railroad creativity. I have a narrow corner of the Good Omens fandom that I interact with, and while this quiz was up for a week I’m not sure it reached a great variety of people. About 250 folks filled it out, which was tonnes more than I expected and I love each and every one of you for filling it out!! But I have noticed that Owl was first on my list and in the free form answers the example prompt I gave included, “such as a breed of owl that specifically speaks to you,“ so I think it’s possible I did that unknowing bias thing that practiced survey folk know now to do. So, grain of salt.

I also think that if animals like Swan and Cat were in the list of options they’d’ve gotten more votes because the people who voted for those were coming up with it fresh themselves. I suspect people would’ve voted for them, but it just didn’t occur to them in the moment. In much the same way it didn’t occur to me in the moment I was writing this survey.

So people know, I got the ten or so animals that I put in the survey from searching the demon!aziraphale tag on tumblr, so it was all stuff that other people had come up with. I was trying to avoid my own bias, but i think in hindsight i could’ve done better!

Having said all that, this was all so much fun and the results are clear!!! Love a good owl!aziraphale

Imma continue to draw my boy as a ram, though. Cos this was all just for a laugh <3

numbers and a few more things under the cut

So some of these have half a vote ascribed to them. That’s for people who in their freeform answer said things like this;

ngl, that one post about him being a swan still makes me laugh

Mourning Dove. Though that Scallop answer was fucking brilliant

And I kinda made a judgement call that that wasn’t a vote, but it was kind of a vote. So I gave them half a point.

There were a few situations where people would write in a specific species. If I got more than one vote for the root animal I just grouped them together, but if it stayed the only vote then it kept the species. Cat got the most specific species mentioned, and in the second vote Bat had a few species mentioned (albino bat being my fave), but I ended up grouping them all just under Cat and Bat to give them a better chance of getting on the graph. There were probably a few other examples but I can’t think of them. The one exception to this is the person who wrote-in Duolingo Owl specifically. For that one I figured Owl is already pretty solid, and that’s just fucking funny, man

I was also pretty generous about some stuff. So, this person didn’t vote for Moose but they clearly regretted it so I added a vote for Moose in the second one where you could vote for multiples. They kept their Ram and Goat votes, of course, but I added Moose for them

I get very bastard energy from my demon az headcanons. Like f-ing shit up for a laugh more than anything, but otherwise indifferent. That's kinda why I like the ram/sheep/goat thing so much because it reminds me of indifference and random chaos. Or a moose. Shit, I should have written in moose

So yeah, it’s hardly a double blind study that’d stand up to any real criticism, but it was fun and I think the essence of it is fun!! Scroll through and have a read. Imma pull a few more of my fave write-ins and put them down the bottom cos it’s great. Esp the ones that only got one vote, the reasonings were stellar on some of those

Here is the first vote results, where everyone could only vote for one animal each

Owl 63 Ram/Sheep 40 Magpie 28 Lion 26 Moth 21 Goat 17 Swan 4 Eagle 4 Dove 4 Cat 4 Tortoise 3 Snake 3 Scallop 2 Rat 2 Rabbit 2 Mongoose 2 Badger 2 Shima Enaga 1 Shark 1 Porcupine 1 Orangutan 1 Mouse 1 Long Furby 1 Hippopotomaus 1 Goose 1 Duck 1 Dragon 1 Cow 1 Cereberus 1 Boar 1 Bee 1 Bat 1 Alpaca 1

Second Vote results, where everyone could vote for as many as they wanted

Owl1 82 Ram/Sheep 136 Moth 108.5 Magpie 98 Goat 96 Lion 72 Tortoise 61 Snake 37 Eagle 33 Cat 9.5 Swan 7.5 Lizard 4 Rabbit 4 Badger 3 Mongoose 2 Dove 2 Mouse 2 Squirrel 2 Bear 2 Raccoon 2 Capybara 2 Dragon 2 Bat 1 Long Furby 1 Rat 1 Boar 1 Goose 1 Peacock 1 Pangolin 1 Lindworm 1 Moose 1 Chinchilla 1 Duolingo Owl 1 Cackatoo 1 Crow 1 Cow 1 Alpaca 1 Dodo 1 Shark 1 Big Dog 1 Snow Leopard 1 Scallop 0.5

All voting was optional. To help explain how scallop lost 1.5 votes from first to second, I believe the people who voted for it in the first question just skipped the second cos they’d said their bit.

In terms of how many people engaged with the questions, Q1 had 245 answers and one skip. Q2 had 241 answers and 5 skips, and Q3 where I just let people talk at me if they wanted to had 84 answers and 162 skips.

So please enjoy my selection of free form answers. They all made me smile but putting all 84 in seems excessive to me, so I’ve chosen the ones that are either full blown mini essays or that make me laugh. It’s still a lot, this project brought me so much joy

Shima enaga - It's the hair man

Cow (aka golden calf)

Scallop. He is a snack.

Swan. Elegant but very capable of fscking you up. Mates for life.

basically anything that is both gentle in nature and fiercely loyal, territorial and protective (but prone to anxiety). Also hedonistic esp. with food. For all of these reasons, I think a dog would be the best choice.

Dragon with his hoard of books

it’s about the teeth. just too sharp and too many to be human. (comment from op here, this person voted for shark, just for context)

Turkish Angora cat. Magnificently fluffy, incredibly intelligent, love heights and will jump off crazy high things and land on your head, gloriously dignified until they see a string and run into a wall, love one or maybe two persons to distraction and want everyone else to fuck off, will drape themselves over their person’s shoulders and go to sleep, range from “will jump in the sea to hunt fish and has a murder pit full of seagulls they’ve massacred” to “will fall over at the sight of a baby bird”, very particular about food and will yell at you if you get it wrong. Also the breed that some asshole took three cats from and bred parent to child to make Persians. The cautionary tale has been acknowledged and we love our crazy smart, single braincelled children.

I usually imagine him as an owl because they are nocturnal (and we know that Aziraphale can easily stay awake the whole night reading). Also the image of an owl puffed up is kind of ridiculous and reminds me of him, of how an annoyed Aziraphale would look. However the options above have made me think that a lion would suit him very well, too. A lion or just a very BIG cat. I mean, he makes pleading eyes to get what he wants, likes to be confortable, is a bit of a bastard and often puts himself in awkward situations from which he needs to be rescued. He just... acts very cat-like in my opinion. Also owls and cats are both predators, but are usually imagined (or, at least cats are) as cute little creatures, just like Aziraphale is an Angel of the Lord (a Warrior, actually) but looks all soft and cute and huggable. I dunno. Maybe I just want to pet an Aziracat.

I love all the other people's thoughts about demon!Aziraphale, but what about the honey badger? I try to explain why I have it in mind for demon!azi: its name (I think it's funny, expecially in English because 'honey' can make you imagine it's something sweet (it is for me), while the 'bad' in badger can be an alarm bell (like 'be careful! It is not like it seems!')); its face (ok, who can say its face isn't cute? I think, and hope, nobody can, and like the name, it is a misunderstanding: as always, be careful, it's not like it seems!, I think demons can say something about demon!azi as like "you don't seem like a 'good' demon, you can't be, your face (animal and human) is too f-ing disgusting sweet to be a demon!", I think maybe even angel!crowley, at the beginning, can think something like this ("how in the world somebody so cute like you can be a demon?"), then he discovered how demon!azi can be a very talented demon sometimes, but in Crowley's mind azi is still his little cutie angry furry); its furry's colour (black=demon, white/grey/silver/idkitsname= color of demon!azi's wings, because even if he fell, I can't say no to his white wings 😭); it is a snake's predator (and in my mind angel!crowley is still a snake); its solitary life (demon!aziraphale is alone and he doesn't mind it, unless it's angel!crowley we're talking about, then our cute demon minds it); its behaviour (demon!azi, even if he's cute, can be a really very talented demon: honey badger is fearless and dangerous, it can fight bigger animals if there aren't other chances and it can't escape); its skin is very tough (except for a soft/safe spot, behind its neck if I remember well, that only angel!Crowley knows and sometimes he uses it to calm demon!azi down or make azi do some good deeds); its diet (it has a sweet-thooth, for honey in primis, but it can eat everything it wants... Doesn't it resemble demon!azi?); it's smart (search for Stoffle on your browser if you don't know)... Ok,I think I finish, sorry for the novel 😅

I tend to think of animals that meet three criteria: (1) they exemplify “faults” in his character exaggerated to “sins”—gluttony, greed/hoarding, sloth, (2) they are species that favor fawning or flight as a defense mechanism but can also be bold on occasion, and (3) blend very well or have a keen affinity with human society, specifically thriving in urban (i.e., city) environments. This is mostly because I can’t see “Aziraphale” in a reverse AU that doesn’t preserve some of his core traits as an angel (a little hedonistic, hoarding, anxious, etc.). So I like city-dwelling bastard animals with bonus points for relation to scripture, like a rock dove or a fox or an owl.

Owls aren't smart, and the pedant in me says not an owl. But, thinking on it, demon aspect, owls are perceived as smart, but designed as deadly silent predators, patient and solitary. So actually demon Aziraphale could take on more owlish aspects. I just like cockatoo better, since they are smart, and showy. Or a crow, although that does amusing things with Crowleys name.

god imagining him as a chimera is !!! (comment from op, there was this odd flurry of mythical animals being voted for one night. i think the survey hit a corner of fandom that leans that way. there was also dragon, another chimera, a griffon, and a lindworm all at the same rough time)

Magpies are great because they’re cute and fluff themselves up (go look at Sophie the magpie) and like hoarding their favorite things but also I’ve watched one just straight up kill another bird before because corvids are sneaky little bastards with no lack of a mean streak if they’re crossed

It’s the duolingo owl, I’m so sorry op but it just is. I genuinely don’t mean to clown on your post, but this take was delivered to me in a sleep induced haze and I believe it’s the god given truth. Demon Aziraphale WOULD try to make you learn a dead language and he’d go about it in a vaguely threatening way (comment from op, you’re so fucking right dude. also, shit like this is made for clowning, i’m with you 100%)

When choosing a demon aspect for a Aziraphale, I usually tried to keep in mind the artistic tradition of which animals are linked with demons. The Good Omens team seems to have drawn inspiration from that source because all the animals we do see are either reptilian or insectoid. Those species were often shown inhabiting hellish landscapes in Renaissance and Baroque paintings. However, Aziraphale never struck me as cold or slimy or hard like an exoskeleton. So if I had to choose an insect, it would be a moth, preferably a Megalopygidae, also known as the Flannel Moth. They are fluffy, white-beige and look innocent and fluffy, but their larvae can cause painful inflammations. A poodle moth would also fit because it's almost pure white.

Ok so the only reason I pick magpie is because those bastards are smart as hell but also know how and when to inconvenience the shit out of you, and if you gain their trust then they're absolute darlings but if they decide "nah, dont like ya" then you're basically done and you'll wake up every morning with shit on your car window. I also chose sheep/ram cuz I mean... idk it suits him. I don't remember my other choice but I'm sure I had a good reason.

I feel like a barn owl would suit him well but I'm not really sure why, I also think that a moth would suit him really well because of the whole "moth to a flame" thing and as a demon he would have gotten burned because of that attitude.

I write a reverse AU fic called Lambs to the Slaughter where Aziraphale's demonic aspect is an albino sheep! I imagine him as a mix between a wild Argali ram and the first woolly domestics. I chose an Argali because they're the largest species of wild sheep, but I wanted him to have traits of a domestic breed because he obtains his animal aspect from a sheep in Abel's flock which would be several generations down from the original wild species in Eden. I really think a sheep suits Aziraphale! They're an incredibly common animal and have been since they were first domesticated. Likewise, since the start of human history, Aziraphale has been living side-by-side with humans, providing for them, and protecting them. Due to how common they are, sheep are often unnoticed, which Aziraphale leans into. Crowley wants to stand out. He has a dedicated aesthetic and an obsession with human invention, where Aziraphale leans more towards simpler, known things and creature comforts. He fades into the background, and that suits him fine. He doesn't have to be outstanding to Heaven or to humans or even to Crowley -- it's enough to do his part, to trust in a bigger plan. People associate sheep (especially lambs) with innocence or ignorance which foils nicely to Crowley as the serpent tempting with knowledge, as well as with Aziraphale's own sharp mind and ongoing embers of faith in a system that is failing him, Crowley, and all of humanity. Sheep are, like Aziraphale, soft, cute, and hiding a hard-headed stubbornness and a surprising strength that makes them absolutely fearsome. Aziraphale is very much the sort to put his head down and push relentlessly forward regardless of the pressure and strain. Rams in particular have thick skulls to withstand the brutal force of headbutting one another in displays of dominance. While Aziraphale is clever, he's not above rolling up his sleeves and getting the job done, as messy and unpleasant as it might be (see: pulling a gun on the Antichrist). Also sheep are associated with Pan, a god associated with food, music, theatre, and the criticism thereof, which hit many of Aziraphale's personal interests and hobbies! I like the idea that in a reverse AU, the demon formerly named Aziraphale might be the original basis for Pan!

I wrote in Orangutan for the first question because if I remember correctly they are some of the most violent apes. Although I'd accept bonobo for him too. They fuck alll the time.

mothman aziraphale,,,,, thats it

Snowy owl, speremint's tortoise, and I just adore the goat.

moth - dusty and eats books

Long Furby the way Loni-Capri draws it.

I keep thinking about that Black Philip quote "doest thou wish to live deliciously" because... it fits so much with the general epicurean/hedonism vibe the Fandom has for him ... but in a demonic way and also I think a lot abt that art piece (already referenced many times probably but what the hell) of him climbing his own bookshelves, it's just so good!!

Albino Lion/white lion (matches his hair). I feel like maybe I should explain why I think Lion would fit him best, lol. Lions actually are rather sedate, inactive for 20 hours of the day (see: Aziraphale reading and unmoving- yes I pulled wiki for this to make sure I didn't spout anything terribly wrong, shhh) but also there's nomad lions. Lions that range widely and move around sporadically either alone or in pairs (*looks at Crowley after apoconope*) (pairs are more frequent among males who have been excluded from their birth pride) but also I think of lions as protectors, defenders, and what is Aziraphale if not that? If not an angel who fiercely protects humans, crowley, earth? (When he finally overcomes heaven and it's abuse) lions don't hunt unless they're hungry, don't attack unless they're defending. They've been known to sit directly next to jeeps full of people and just watch them, not attacking or being aggresive.

I saw art once (I have no idea who the artist is) of Demon!Aziraphale climbing his bookcases like a goat and absentmindedly chewing on his sweater while he reads. I felt like the goat aspect suited him perfectly.

Honestly I wrote Az with a rat aspect because, well, it fits who I see demon Az as. He's not super powerful but he is very consequential, like rats carrying plague fleas (this also describes how I see Az tempting). He tries to blend into a crowd, which is arguably one way rats survive, and can get himself into places/situations that should be impossible or super difficult. Like snakes, rats have been unfairly maligned by our culture for a long time, even though they are very social with their colonies, smart, affectionate, and generally good beans. Finally, male pet rats are known far and wide as the lazier of the sexes while the girls are super curious and adventurous.

Somehow his tartan pattern becomes either his colour scheme or his coat/feather pattern.

Eurasian eagle owl. A big, unapologetic grump of an owl that is soft as soft can be underneath. Possessor of the glare to end all glares to be used in such dire situations as being interrupted when reading or being told one has "had enough cake".

#demon!aziraphale #reverse omens #sleepy speaks #fandom vote #aziraphale's demon aspect #this was so fucking fun you all

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