#coffeeshop au

[colormepurplex2]

Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop | MYG

▻ Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop ↳ ArtProfessor!Yoongi x Artist/CoffeeShopOwner!f.Reader ⤜ Strangers to Lovers, Cozy Romance ⤜ Coffee Shop/Art AU | fluff, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 8,028 ⤜ Summary: It’s like clockwork; you receive the same online order every weekday morning at eight o’clock: large decaf iced Americano, picked up promptly shortly after. His face has become familiar, as a part of your routine as the hiss of the espresso machine. Until, one day, that routine takes an unexpected turn, and you find yourself getting familiar with more than just his face. ⚠️ Very mild language, panic over student/teacher potential date (reader is a student, but she's the same age as Yoongi, just taking classes later in life than most), oral m receiving, fingering, kissing, mild dirty talk, cum swallowing, confessions of the heart

A/N: This is part of my 'Heartbeat Melodies' mini-series, where I write fics that are inspired by songs. If you'd like to hear the song that inspired this, you can find it here! A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi & @moonleeai for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

“Large decaf iced Americano,” you call out, barely glancing up from behind the counter.

A deep, familiar drawl pulls your attention, “That would be mine.” It’s only familiar for the fact you’ve heard that voice nearly every day for the last six months.

Your eyes snap up from the tablet, where the next online order has come through, to meet warm brown ones. “I should have known,” you reply before you can think better to bite your tongue. Heat suffuses your cheeks. You pull your lips between your teeth to stifle the groan of embarrassment that begs to be released.

The man chuckles, absently using a knuckle to push up the hornrimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if I should be offended or honored by that comment. But, I guess I do come here a lot.”

Nearly every day for the last six months, at least. That’s how often he comes here—to your coffee shop. It’s tiny, barely big enough for a handful of small tables and chairs. But it’s yours, and you’re proud of it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to seem…” you trail off. Not sure how to finish that thought because you’re not entirely sure how you meant it or why you said it other than the fact you’re a bit frazzled this morning and apparently forgot your mouth filter at home. It was a late night last night for you. It's not an excuse, but still.

He waves a large hand in the air, dismissing your apology. “Please, it’s quite alright. I’ll take it as flattery; could use a little boost to my confidence anyhow.”

That almost makes you sputter in disbelief. There’s absolutely no way this man needs any flattery. Surely, he comes by it in droves. Because, well, he’s honestly so gorgeous it should be criminal.

His hair is fluffy, somewhere between charcoal grey and black, though the warm lighting of your cafe gives it a golden honey halo effect. The eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses are dark swirls of espresso that match his coffee order—a straight nose sitting above soft, pink lips that have a light glossy sheen to them.

As usual, he’s wearing a pressed slack and jacket combo, a cream-colored collared shirt underneath with a bold print tie. His choice of ties is what drew you to him in the first place, and made you pay a little closer attention to the mysterious man behind the large decaf iced Americano.

You clear your throat, daring to be bold, while it seems you’ve no filter to stop you. “Well, if you ever need further flattery, you know where to find me.” It’s clear that you give him an assessing once over, his eyes locked onto yours as you do so.

“Do you paint?”

The question throws you off, nearly making you drop the tablet in your hands. Your fingers flex against the case, your thumb brushing along the glass screen. Busying yourself with reviewing the next order on the screen, you turn, giving him your back as you decide how to answer his random question. You’ve never actually had a conversation with him; this man that you feel like you know yet is a complete stranger.

“Why do you ask?” you deflect as you go through the motions of scooping grinds and swapping out the portafilter for a freshly filled one. However, you know it’s not always polite to answer a question with a question; you’re just not sure how to decipher his curiosity or where it came from to begin with.

The bell above the door rings, and you wince as the espresso machine gurgles and hisses loudly as you mechanically pop a cup in the machine and hit the brew button. The noise fills the quiet space of the coffee shop. It’s not until the cup is filled, you’ve added two lumps of sugar, and you’re grabbing a lid that the man responds.

“There’s paint under your fingernails. Or, at least, what I would guess is paint.”

Glancing down at the cup in your hand, you take in the colorful myriad of flecks coating your skin. The colors fill the grooves of your knuckles and hug around the bed of your nails.

“Double espresso with two sugars,” you announce, ripping your gaze from your hand to the interior space of your cafe. A woman steps around the man, giving you a hurried smile as she holds out her hand to receive the cup. You hand it off. “Have a good day.”

Giving the cafe's inside a quick glance, you ensure all the customers within are taken care of. A college student is busy pounding away at their laptop keyboard in the corner, utilizing your free wifi. A half-empty cup of hot cocoa sits cold and abandoned beside them. A trio of friends sit at your only table big enough to seat more than two people, laughing softly and sipping hot lattes and teas. No one seems to need your attention; except the man still standing there, large decaf iced Americano in hand.

You lick your lips, a nervous habit you picked up after endless stressful nights pouring your heart, soul, blood, sweat, and tears into opening the small cafe. Most believed it would flop; others rallied to your side and helped your dream come true.

“Look, sorry if I’ve overstepped somehow,” he begins, but you shake your head, letting him know he’s not.

Gesturing at the wall behind the man, you finally answer, “In my spare time.”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes zigzagging across the giant unfinished mural covering the windowless back wall of the cafe.

“That?” he asks. “You’re painting that?”

It’s hard to decipher if that’s disbelief or awe coloring his voice.

“I am,” you answer a bit hesitantly.

“Wow!” he exclaims, a giant grin spreading across his face, crinkling his eyes at the corners. “I’ve been meaning to ask after the artist every time I come in and see something new added, I just uh,” he brings his free hand up and rubs it across the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor under his feet, “well, could never bring myself to.” It’s pretty, the way his cheeks take on a flush of color as his eyes cut to you from over the frame of his glasses. “It’s wonderful work.”

“Thank you.” You can’t help your own flush of shyness at his praise.

“So, uh,” he lifts his cup and gives it a swirl, the ice sloshing around inside, before taking a small sip through the straw, “I know you probably see it on the order, but for the sake of propriety, my name’s Yoongi.”

Min Yoongi, to be more precise, you know. It’s a name you’ve read so many times it’s ingrained in your mind. However, it’s still nice for him to offer it to you. Willingly establishing your connection one step further than his coffee order.

You feel so silly tapping the name tag on the front of your apron, but you do it before you can think better of it, mumbling your name as if he can’t read it for himself after you brought direct attention to it. “Sorry, I’m not normally so weird,” you give a shaky laugh, willing yourself to shut up before you chase him off from how awkward you’re being.

Something changes in his demeanor, his eyes taking on a light twinkle that sits somewhere between mischief and wonder. “I like weird,” he offers casually as if that doesn’t make your stomach swoop and your heart beat a little harder. “Maybe we can talk more about your art sometime. Maybe over dinner? Or lunch if dinner is too forward.”

If you were a cartoon, you’re confident your tongue would actually be tied into a jumbled knot right now with you frantically trying to talk around it, a comical scene for sure. Yet, there is no knot, just a thick feeling that you have to swallow past. “Um, yeah, sure. That would be great. Dinner…or uh, lunch. Both. Either one. Though, dinner might be better considering my hours.”

Yoongi glances at the vinyl hours printed on the front window by the door. They’re backward from his vantage point, but you assume he has no issue reading them, considering he turns back to you and asks, “How does seven work for you?”

“Tonight?” The beating of your heart lurches again, and you can barely hear him over the rushing in your ears.

“Yeah, if that’s not too soon. Perhaps next week, if that’s better? I don’t want to come on too strong. Or well, rather, what I mean to say is, don’t feel pressured.” You can tell he’s feeling hesitant now, trying to backtrack and offer you a way to politely decline his offer for dinner tonight. You didn’t mean to come off sounding so put out. You just weren’t expecting his request to be for tonight.

Mentally, you dig through your schedule. You’re not closing today. Marvin comes in at noon to help with the lunch rush, and then you leave at four to make it to your five o’clock class. It would be today of all days that your new art class starts. It’s the beginning of the fall semester at the local university, and you just so happened to decide to take a few art classes they were offering, the first of which starts tonight.

The class should only be around an hour long, with plenty of time to get home and change before the date. Is it a date? Or just strangers getting together to talk about art? Isn’t that what a date is anyway, though?

“Seven. Tonight. That would be great.”

“Okay, perfect. Can I pick you up? Or we can meet here if that works better.”

It’s endearing he’d offer, both picking you up and meeting in a familiar place. Considering you live above the coffee shop, though, it makes no difference. Though, he doesn’t necessarily know that.

“Here is fine.”

“Wonderful. Have you tried that steak house on the corner yet?”

“The new one that opened last week?” He nods. “I haven’t, no.”

“Perfect.” Yoongi smiles. “Here, at seven. Consider it a date.” His smile falters, and his brows pinch, forming a line between them. “Not that I…well, it’s not that…it doesn’t have to be…if you don’t want this to be a date, that’s—”

“It’s a date,” you confirm, giving him what you hope to be a warm smile to ease his mild panic. “I’ll see you then, Yoongi.”

“See you then,” he responds, tacking your name on at the end in his deep drawl. The way it sounds coming from his mouth should be added to one of those spicy erotica audiobooks you may or may not have downloaded on your phone.

Just as Yoongi is leaving, it’s like the world finally takes a breath, and the exhalation that follows brings with it a rush of early morning commuters seeking their morning fix. The everyday bustle and hubbub of the day filter back in, and you’re soon lost to the sway of the shop, coffee, tea, and cocoa. It all comes alive beneath your nimble fingers, much reminiscent of the way holding a brush makes you feel: a thrill of the soul with each pour.

☕☕☕

Yoongi

In all Yoongi’s years of teaching, he’s never been late to a class, especially on the first day of the semester. Yet, he’s nearly fifteen minutes late getting into his classroom this morning. Students are already filled in and scattered around the theatre-style seating. No one says anything. It’s far too early in the morning for smart mouths and snarky remarks about his tardiness. Not that he would expect that from any of the students anyway.

“Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min.” He drops his bag and coffee off on his podium at the front of the classroom. Turning to the large chalkboard behind it, he scrawls his name to the side and then begins to write directions. “We will begin with Chapter 1, ‘Mediums and Forms’, in your textbook. Please read quietly, and I’ll be with you all in a moment.”

The day goes on, class after class, and the familiar monotony of it brings Yoongi a sense of peace. This is familiar territory; he’s in his element, not like this morning in the coffee shop. He felt totally out of control and swept up in the swirl of uncertainties and possibilities.

To say he’s relieved you agreed to go to dinner with him would be an understatement. From the moment he decided to change up his routine to check out the cafe Namjoon wouldn’t shut up about, he’s been hooked not only on the impeccable decaf iced Americano, nor the beautifully decorated and painted interior but on the smiling face behind the counter.

Yoongi feels a bit self-conscious thinking about how much he thinks about you. He’s always been too intimidated by the idea of speaking more than a few passing words to you. It’s like every time he gathered up the courage, it would abandon him at the last moment. Namjoon calls it a crush, Yoongi calls it frustrating.

The whole conversation this morning is a bit of a blur to him. Yoongi swears once he opened his mouth it was nearly impossible to stop the word vomit from gushing out…and the next thing he knew, you were agreeing to a date with him tonight.

The day's last class rolls around, and Yoongi feels much lighter as he steps out of his adjoining office and into the classroom to welcome the new students. A few offer him quiet hello’s, some he’s seen from other art classes he’s monitored across the entire department and fine arts program. 

Turning his back as the last few students filter in, he makes the same spiel he has at the beginning of every class. “Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min…”

And so it begins, the beautiful dance of teaching and introducing fresh minds to the concept of forms and mediums. Yoongi is sure he could recite the entirety of Chapter 1 from memory now, with as many times as he’s gone over it today.

“What if you decide you don’t like your form or medium halfway through the project?” a student from the front row asks after Yoongi explains the medium and forms requisite for the final project for this class.

“We’re going to spend plenty of time during the first part of the semester testing out different mediums to know which best suits each of your individual tastes and needs. Regarding the form, I recommend choosing something you most likely won’t tire of. Something that means something to you but also isn’t so complex that you frustrate yourself and burn out before you can complete the project. You’re welcome to, at any time, bring me an idea of the form you’re considering, and we can talk about the intricacies and any potential issues that might arise with using it.”

Another question comes from somewhere in the middle, “Can we choose people, too?”

“A form can be anything that inspires you. If that happens to be a person, then of course. However, note that portraiture isn’t covered until Art 322, but I’ll do my best to help if that’s what you choose.” Yoongi glances at the clock, noticing there are only a few minutes left of class. “Let’s take the last few minutes to wind down, pack your things. If you have any further questions concerning your final project forms and mediums, please don’t hesitate to email me. Also, my office hours are open Tuesdays and Thursdays from two to six.”

As Yoongi turns to begin putting his things away from his podium, his eyes slide across the faces of his last class students, trying to cram them into his mind for the sake of remembering. He always likes to be as personable and approachable to his students as possible; knowing names and faces is always a good place to start.

He has to do a double take as his eyes flick over the very top row. The shock is felt throughout his entire body. It’s not that he’s surprised to see a face he already knows. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting it…wasn’t expecting to see you. Mild panic makes him jerk around, hands gripping at the papers on his podium, shuffling them mechanically.

The first thought that crosses his mind is he can’t possibly be going on a date with one of his students. Surely you’re just here to…to what? He turns over one of the papers, quickly scanning his roster that he hadn’t bothered to check yet. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to snag on your name.

Unease settles across his shoulders. He hates to cancel the date, as he was really looking forward to it, but it’s just…not right, right? There’s a line he shouldn’t cross with his students, even one who he is sure is his age and not the typical college freshman. Yoongi knows this because maybe, perhaps, he might have spent his lunch hour googling you and the cafe. You’re in your early thirties, given the birth year that was viewable on one of your social media pages, and own the coffee shop, have for several years now…a full-ass grown adult—the perfect person to date.

Except now you’re his student. There’s some moral code there somewhere, something about the skewed power dynamic. The thought of going on this date should have red flags flashing in his mind. Yet…yet, no matter how much he tells himself to cancel, he honestly doesn’t want to. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt that much, right? A harmless date.

That’s what he’s still telling himself as he dismisses the class a few minutes later. He intentionally avoided looking in your direction, unsure if you’d be comfortable with him acknowledging you as one of his students or not.

Much to his surprise, as the bubble of sound dissipates, a soft voice reaches his ears from a few feet behind him, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Yoongi has been so consumed with his own feelings about going on a date with a student that he hasn’t even thought about how you might feel. Are you about to cancel on him? Does he try to convince you not to?

He slowly turns, the stack of papers clutched in his hands, glasses slipping down his nose, yet he doesn’t want to pry his fingers from the bundle to fix them. “Look, I understand if you’d rather not—”

“I’m fine as long as you are.”

He’s relieved for your interruption, for keeping him from saying those words out loud. “Are you sure? If I had known this morning that you’d be one of my students…” he trails off, because he’s not so sure that would have stopped him after all. Considering he’s wanted to ask you out for at least the last four months.

“I’m glad you asked me. Student or not. I promise not to make it weird if you don’t.” You give him a brilliant smile, coy and full of mirth but light enough to make his heart jerk inside his chest.

“No weirdness, got it,” he agrees, unable to help his own teasing smile.

“So, I’ll see you then?” you ask, hefting your canvas bag on your shoulder. His eyes flick to it, noting the splashes and swirls of fabric paint that cover the outside. Yoongi wonders if you painted it yourself.

He nods, letting his eyes drink you in one last time before you turn to go. You’re still wearing the same jeans and thin cable knit sweater from the coffee shop this morning. Even in such casual clothes, you are stunning. A work of art all your own. He doesn’t stop staring until the door to his classroom shuts behind you.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. It’s not out of irritation or anger, just an acknowledgement of how truly and utterly he’s got it down bad for you.

☕☕☕

Seven can’t come soon enough. It only took you thirty minutes to get ready, putting on a simple black dress and flats. It’s not too fancy, but it makes you feel far more put together than just jeans and a t-shirt.

At five til, you make your way down into the coffee shop from your upstairs apartment. All of the main overhead lights are off, leaving only the warm accent lights that line the menu board and the display case lights on. Even now, the space smells delightedly of coffee.

It’s kind of funny, the fact that you’re not a coffee drinker. Everyone finds it odd that someone who doesn’t drink coffee would aspire to open a coffee shop. What they fail to realize is you love the smell of coffee. The warm, roasted, mildly sweet notes are what you thrive on, better than any shot of espresso in your mind.

There is a street lamp right outside your shop, flooding the sidewalk with a pool of yellow light. Standing just within the glow is Yoongi, his back to the shop door. You watch as his head swivels, looking down both directions of the sidewalk, completely unaware that you’ll be coming from behind him instead.

The sound of the lock turning over startles him. He jerks around and laughs softly, taking a step back, hand to his chest, as you pull the door open. “Can’t say I expected you to come from inside the cafe.”

“I would have been down sooner had I known you would be a bit early,” you say, locking the door behind you. “I probably should have given you my number or something.”

Yoongi eyes you, his gaze sliding up and down your body like he’s drinking you in. You hope he likes what he sees. “I think I was so excited about the date that I forgot even to ask,” he admits, giving you a sheepish smile when his eyes finally land back on yours. “You look,” —he gives you another quick once over, shaking his head and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip— “gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you preen under his praise. “You look quite handsome, yourself.”

You’re not just saying that to return the compliment, either. Yoongi is wearing the same thing he was this morning, except the tie is loosened, and the top button of his shirt is undone, giving you the slightest peek at his prominent jugular notch.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering you his arm.

You slip your hand into the bend of his elbow, falling into step beside him. The walk to the steak house is short, just enough for pleasant exchanges. He asks how your day at the coffee shop went, and you ask after his first day of classes. Neither of you bring up the fact that you were part of one of those classes.

“I’ve been meaning to check this place out. I’ve heard excellent things.”

Yoongi hums, nodding his head at your words. “I’ve also heard good things, though it might perhaps be biased considering all the praise I’ve heard has come from the owner himself.”

“You’ve spoken with the owner?”

“He’s one of my best friends, actually. This will be the first time I try it out. I kept telling him I’d stop by, but it always got away from me.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “I can’t believe you know Seokjin.”

“Wait, you know Seokjin?” Yoongi asks, surprised.

“I’d say know is a relative term. We get deliveries from the same produce truck. He tried to take my apples one time. I had to set him straight.” That makes Yoongi laugh along with you. “We chat sometimes, mostly about the quality of produce and the best places to get ingredients. I had no idea he was your friend.”

“Small world,” Yoongi says. His smile is warm and inviting. You’re sure you could get lost in it if he’d let you. It makes you wonder what his lips taste like. They have a slight sheen to them like they did this morning. Cherry chapstick? Maybe mint? A nice subtle vanilla?

You’re not sure the last time you laughed so hard you had tears in your eyes. But Yoongi has your sides in stitches and your cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so much during dinner.

“Oh gosh,” you wheeze between fits of giggling, clutching your stomach. “Ow, ow. Don’t make me laugh again. I can’t take it.” It just makes you laugh even more, the huffs trailing off as Yoongi reaches across the table toward you.

You pry your hands from your abdomen and slide them into his. His fingers are warm against yours, his thumbs rubbing across the backs of your knuckles. It’s a gesture he’s done several times tonight, silently asking for your hands any chance he could.

“Sorry, you just have such a beautiful laugh,” he says. “I could listen to it all day.”

His flattery hasn’t stopped. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two glasses of wine he had with dinner were going to his head. But, he speaks so assuredly and looks in your eyes like you’re truly something special.

Feeling so intimately connected with someone you barely know might be absurd. Yet, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. If you’re being honest, the attraction started long ago, and tonight has just made it blossom into something so much more.

Yoongi has been the perfect gentleman. He’s not tried to railroad the conversation or make decisions for you like other guys you’ve gone on dates with. Whenever a server approached the table, he would defer to you and your needs before his.

“You’ve been so wonderful to me tonight. Please let me repay you with coffee and dessert. If you’re up for it.”

Yoongi squeezes both your hands before letting them go and sitting back in his chair. “There is no need to ‘repay’ me,” he says, emphasizing the word repay. “But, I wouldn’t say no to a date after this date, say in fifteen minutes, coffee and dessert?”

“Fifteen minutes? Coffee and dessert?” You give him a thoughtful look, tapping your fingers against your chin. “Hmm. I think I’m available.” You both break into more fits of soft laughter, contrasting so highly to the high energy from before; it’s intimate, if laughing can be such a thing.

It’s easy being with Yoongi; he’s attentive and curious. “What made you want to open a coffee shop?” he asks as you unlock the door to the cafe.

“I liked the idea of having a space that could cater to people from all walks of life. Businessmen in a hurry? Get it to go. Students needing a place to study? I have a quiet corner for that. College professor looking for his daily decaf Americao fix? Would you look at that? I got that covered, too.” You usher him inside, closing and locking the door behind you. “It also doubles as a great place to have a private coffee and dessert date after a lovely dinner date.”

You watch as Yoongi looks around the cozy space, his attention ending on the mural wall. “What’s your favorite kind of coffee?”

“Would it be weird if I said I don’t like coffee?” you ask.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “Really?”

You shrug. “I love the way it smells, though.”

“Acrylic?” Yoongi asks, nodding toward the mural.

“Good eye,” you assess, stepping behind the counter to start making the coffee. You grab two pecan cinnamon twirls from the dry storage where you keep extra treats to take up to your apartment at the end of each shift and pop them into the small convection oven along the back wall. “You teach art, but it might be presumptuous of me to assume you also create. So, do you?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to. Pastels and charcoal are my favorites to work with. I like the mildly messy, chaotic feel of them. There are few things better than the feeling of taking something so uncontrolled and turning it into a thing of beauty.”

“Charcoal, huh?” Your mind instantly goes to the framed collection of pieces you have in your apartment upstairs. “I can appreciate that.”

“Maybe I can show you sometime.” Yoongi turns from his appreciation of your mural to watch you work behind the counter. He gestures to a few frames hung up on either side of the giant menu on the wall. “Arfé, right?”

You glance up, moving with automated motions to load the portafilter into the espresso machine. “Oh,” you laugh. “Yeah. An experiment. I wanted to try something new and needed some new decor. I thought it was appropriately on theme.”

The half-dozen pieces are all made with swirls of various shades in brown and tan and depict a mix of cups, mugs, bags of grinds, lumps of sugar, and piles of roasted coffee beans.

“Very appropriate. They’re lovely. You’re an exceptional artist.” You’ve lost count of the amount of compliments Yoongi has paid you tonight. You might have been the one flattering him this morning, but it seems he’s making up for that now.

“Thank you. Truly. That means a lot coming from you.” The hiss of the brew machine fills the air, and the soft gurgle of espresso trickling into the small mug follows. “One decaf Americano for one of my best customers,” you say, carefully carrying the steaming cup over to a table beside Yoongi. “Please, sit.”

Yoongi settles at the table, bringing the cup of coffee up to his nose and giving it an appreciative sniff. “Wonderful,” he murmurs before taking a tentative sip. “Thank you, that hits the spot.”

“If you think the Americano is good, wait until you try this,” you say, scooping the twirls out of the oven and onto a plate. They’re perfectly warm and gooey. “You’ve never tried any of our pastries, have you?”

You sit across from him. The table is small enough that you could reach out and cup his cheek if you wanted, and set the plate on the table before Yoongi. He whistles low, “Wow, these do look amazing. Maybe I’ll become a pecan twirl and coffee guy every morning instead.”

Your eyes track his movements, watching as his fingers pinch and slightly sink into the edges of one of the twirls. Some of the warm glaze and cinnamon sugar filling squishes from between the layers.

Yoongi’s lips part and the tip of his tongue peaks over his bottom teeth as he brings the pastry up to take a bite. The moan he lets out surprises you both. His eyes flutter before landing on you and going wide. He chews methodically, his gaze not leaving yours. His tongue darts out, swiping over his lips before he swallows.

“Well?” you ask, settling your elbows on the table and leaning into him, expectant.

The smile that tugs at his lips is coy. “Might be one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.” There is a heat in his gaze as his eyes search yours. “What other surprises do you have up your proverbial sleeve for me?”

“Now, if I told you, they wouldn’t be surprises anymore, would they?”

That makes him laugh. “Fair point. You know,” he glances around the coffee shop, “I never knew just what it was about this coffee shop I loved so much, but I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Yeah?” you say, feeling positively giddy.

“Mhm. So,” he mirrors your pose across the table, his elbows nearly touching your own, fingers toying with yours where they’re folded in the air in front of your face, “is it too soon to ask you on a second date?”

“I thought this was our second date.” You raise a teasing eyebrow, a smile quirking on your lips.

“A third then,” he offers, eyes hopeful.

Of course, you want to say yes. And in the spirit of trying to be coy and playful, you lean in with the full intent of showing him instead of telling him how much you want to go on another date.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker to your lips, watching as you deliberately lick them as you lean in a bit closer. Acceptance lies within their dark depths, a flash of hunger at the impending response that’s only a breath away.

As you advance, your elbows slide on the table, accidentally knocking the coffee cup. Liquid goes everywhere; it floods over the table and pours off the side…right into Yoongi’s lap.

“Oh fuck!” you yell, jumping up from the table and rushing around to his side. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance? Does it burn?”

Yoongi pushes back from the table, holding his arms up off his lap as he assesses the mess. “No harm done. It was already cooled off. It's just a bit of a mess, that’s all. I’m fine,” he laughs. “Truly, I promise. Do you have any towels or anything?”

“Oh god, your shirt, it’s going to stain,” you lament, staring at the dark splotch soaking through above his trousers. “Towels? Yes. Yes. Okay. And some baking soda. Come on, let’s hurry. Again, I’m so sorry!”

“Should we clean this up first?” he asks, motioning at the coffee-covered floor.

“I can mop in the morning. Please,” you fret, guilt making you a bit frantic and flustered.

Yoongi lets you lead him up the stairs in the back that go to your apartment. “You live here?” he questions. “No wonder you were coming out of the coffee shop earlier. That’s very cool.”

You make a noncommittal sound. “It’s cool if you like the smell of coffee and don’t mind rising early every day to open shop.”

It’s so hard to think right now, your mind solely focused on cleaning up the mess you’ve made of Yoongi’s clothes. That’s what you get for trying to be sly and answer his date question with a kiss. You’ll be lucky if he still wants that date now, surely.

The bathroom is barely big enough for the two of you. You insist Yoongi sit on the lip of the tub while you dig under the sink for the baking soda that you use for cleaning and removing your own coffee stains.

“Hey,” Yoongi says softly, grabbing your attention. You glance at him over your shoulder, bottom lip clamped between your teeth in an effort not to fall apart entirely. “I promise it’s okay, alright? You don’t have to stress over it. It’s just an accident. It's a pretty funny one if you ask me. If I’d have known we were getting wet on the first—I mean, second date, I would have planned accordingly.”

His words hang between you, full of static and charged with intention. He’s trying to lighten the mood…and it’s working. It’s also making you feel a certain kind of way. Words shouldn’t have the power to do that. Yet, here you are, flustered for a whole different reason now.

“Date’s not over yet,” you respond, unsure where the bold attitude came from, but you’ll take it. His eyes flicker with something like surprise mixed with desire, though it’s gone before you can really be sure. “Do you mind?” You gesture to his shirt. “It’ll be easier if I can soak it in the sink.”

Slowly, Yoongi undoes the buttons on his shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. Somehow, you weren’t expecting him to be naked underneath, but every open button reveals another swath of flesh. He shrugs out of the shirt, revealing a toned chest and taut belly. His nipples are hard, dark chips, standing out in contrast to his smooth, creamy skin. Yoongi is absolutely breathtaking.

In fact, you have to remind yourself to breathe, taking in a large lungful of air that’s so much it makes your chest ache. He holds the shirt out to you in offering. Your fingers tremble lightly as you take it, quickly turning back to the sink and the distraction of scrubbing at the stain.

Reading over the garment tag quickly, you make sure what you’re about to do is okay. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on your back, like heated dagger points pricking beneath your skin. You turn on the water, letting the tap run until it’s hot, before quickly swishing the area of the shirt covered in coffee under it. The hot water alone makes a world of difference, the dark liquid swirling away down the drain.

“Do you want my pants, too?” Yoongi asks, startling you.

Your eyes flick up to the mirror, looking at him through the reflection. He’s talking to you, but his attention is zeroed in on your backside. Suddenly, you’re intimately aware that your dress has ridden up dangerously high. You can feel the cool air of the bathroom kissing the crease between your thigh and asscheek.

Turning off the water, you slowly turn to face him. Your chest rises and falls as you try to take deep, even breaths, but with the way your heart is revving inside, it’s impossible to do so. “Let’s see the damage,” you say lightly, raising an eyebrow in question, giving him a chance to call you off.

When he doesn’t comment further, you close the distance to where he’s sitting and ease down onto your knees. You mentally tell yourself it’s so you can get a better look at the coffee that’s saturating the dark fabric, but you know better than that.

Being so close to him, you can feel the heat of his body. His chest rises and falls as rapidly as yours, and when you look up and meet his gaze, there is no mistaking the fire that you see blazing there. “Don’t think I forgot you still haven’t answered my question,” he murmurs, lips barely moving as he watches you.

You lift a hand, hooking your index finger under his chin and using it to angle his face toward yours. “I’d love that,” you respond, your lips brushing over his with every syllable.

He kisses you. Or maybe you kiss him. It’ll be something you tease each other over for many years to come. You open yourself to him, welcoming the glide of his tongue against yours. The kiss tastes mildly of coffee, yet for the first time in your life, you don’t mind the flavor.

“For me to take my pants off, or the date?” he teases, alternating between nipping and consuming kisses. Yoongi’s hands frame your face, holding you to him as he continues to ravage your mouth.

“Mm, both,” you manage to get out. “Definitely both.” Sliding your hands down his torso, you marvel at the softness of his skin and the already very prominent bulge that your fingers dance over as you try to get a grip on the button to his slacks.

Yoongi breaks away from the kiss long enough to help you with his pants, standing up from the edge of the tub and bringing you up with him. He toes off his shoes, leaving his pants puddled on top of them. “Good answer,” he chuckles.

You let out a tiny squeal as he wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs and hauls you up, your legs automatically winding around his waist. Thick erection pressed right against your panty-covered pussy, he slowly walks you out of the bathroom and into your adjoining room. You land on the bed with a soft oomph, Yoongi following you down. His weight is a comfort, settled over your body in a warm, hedonistic embrace.

“I’ll change classes,” you pant, flexing your hips against his. “As long as our next date is to an art gallery.”

“Is it weird for that to turn me on?” he responds, groaning as you roll your hips against him again. “The art part, not the dropping classes part. You don’t have to do that if it’s too much trouble. I know your schedule must be pretty set with the cafe.”

You press your hands against his chest, giving him a gentle push until he’s rolling over and you’re hovering over him. “I’ll make it work. I want to make it work. Everything tonight,” you pause and sit back on your heels, dragging your hands along his torso as you do, “I want more. You’re driving me crazy in the best of ways.”

“Says the woman who’s been running through my thoughts for the last several months now.” Yoongi’s lips part in a gasp, turning his last word into a breathly plea as you trace the tips of your fingers over his straining erection. The fabric of his grey boxer briefs is slightly sticky when you brush your thumb over the head.

“It reminds me of making art,” you casually say, curling your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and tugging until he lifts his hips and lets you drag them down. You toss them to the side, marveling at the glory now resting against his belly. Yoongi’s cock is a gentle upward curve, all smooth steel and thick veins. It throbs, bouncing against his stomach, leaving behind a thick smear of precum. “The way you make me feel.”

“Art?” he asks, breathless. His eyes flutter behind his glasses, his chest hollowing as he sucks in ragged breaths.

“Being with you gives me the same feeling as viewing a Duncanson or a Matisse, calm and full of joy. Though, you can also make me feel the chaos of a Kandinsky when you touch me.” To emphasize your words, you wrap your fingers around his girth, angling it up, watching the emotions on his face. The tip of his tongue works at the corner of his mouth, lips parted with every pant and soft moan. “Is this okay?” you ask, leaning down and gently blowing over the leaking tip before tentatively giving it a kitten lick.

“More than,” Yoongi moans. His eye slide closed as you wrap your lips around the head and suck. The flavor of him bursts across your tongue. You can’t help but moan yourself at the idea you’ve made him like this, hard and leaking.

Working as much of his cock into your mouth as you can, you delight in the shuddering convulses you can feel from his body as he loses himself in the sensations you’re bringing him. Yoongi always seems like such a collected individual. He still appeared so well-kept even when he stuttered over his words asking you on the date this morning. Now, though, he’s unraveling into a puddle of debauchery.

It’s a satisfying feeling, similar to when you get into a perfect rhythm when working on a project, bringing him to the edge. You work your mouth and hand in tandem, never leaving an inch of his cock free of your touch.

“Mmm,” you moan, the head of his cock resting in the back of your throat. Yoongi jerks under you, half raising onto his elbows, his eyes zeroing in on where you’re wrapped around him.

His fingers twist into the duvet, bottom lip puffy and flushed as he worries it with his teeth. “I’m going to cum,” he grunts, throwing his head back and moaning his pleasures, deep and throaty.

You quicken your pace, hollowing your cheeks as you suck in earnest. Yoongi cries out a second before liquid warmth floods your mouth. It’s greedy, the way you swallow and continue to lave your tongue over him, eliciting tiny tremors and more moans.

“Just like art,” you whisper, finally letting his cock slip from between your lips. You’re riding your own high, wet and throbbing between your thighs. You can feel the ache in your clit, begging to be touched. All it would take is a few seconds, a few well-placed swirls of your fingers, and you know you’d be floating in orgasmic bliss.

Before you can even think of bringing your hand between your thighs to find relief, Yoongi is sitting up and urging you backward. Your back hits the mattress, and he settles on his side beside you. Somewhere between there and here, he pulled off his glasses. Despite having just found his release, his eyes are still so full of hunger and desire.

“May I?” he asks, pressing a hand against your inner thigh. You nod, eyes locked with his as he slowly trails his hand upward until his fingers brush over the soaked fabric of your panties. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in to capture your mouth in a languid kiss. Your lids flutter closed, consumed as you are by his touch.

Yoongi takes his time, toying with the edge of your panties before tugging them down past your knees. They pool around your ankles as he pushes your thighs apart, exposing your weeping pussy to the air of the bedroom.

“Yoongi.” His name is half moan, half curse as he brings his hand back up and cups your heat. The meat of his palm rests against your clit, right where you need to be touched, but the pressure isn’t enough to satisfy.

“An exquisite work of art.” His lips strum against yours, plucking and teasing just the way his fingers do through your wetness. The tips of his fingers briefly kiss your clit, dancing away before returning; a slow build of decadent pleasure.

It’s not above you to beg. “Please. Yoongi, please!”

“Open your eyes, look at me. Let me watch you fall apart so I can brand it into my memory.”

You snap open your eyes the exact moment he slides two slender fingers into your pussy, thumb finally giving the needed pressure to your clit. You’re so worked up that your body pulses around the intrusion, a tiny fluttering orgasm rippling through you.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

Yoongi gives you a wicked, knowing smile. “It’s not over yet, beautiful,” he assures you in a whispered promise.

His fingers are long, able to reach the perfect, special place inside you. As he strokes his fingertips, moving them in an undulating wave, his thumb swirls in a circle around your clit.

The next orgasm is less surprising, building to a heightened peak that has you crying out as you careen over the edge, entirely at Yoongi’s mercy. “Yoongi, fuck!” you babble, your whole body alive with sensations of pleasure.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. “So beautiful.”

Your body shudders around his hand, his fingers slowing down their rhythm until you finally recover. The slide of his fingers along your walls as he withdraws makes you wish he’d put them back in…or maybe something else. The bereft feeling lasts only a moment before Yoongi gathers you into his arms. He’s completely naked, and you’re still wearing your dress, but you feel just as exposed as he is…only, it’s your soul on display for him instead of your body.

You wait for the feeling of vulnerability to filter in, that broken feeling of uncertainty. But, it doesn’t come. The only thing you feel is complete and utter content. It’s not even the post-orgasmic bliss that’s clouding it, either. No, there’s plenty of that, but it feels different; he feels different.

“Yoongi,” you begin, resting your cheek on his chest. You want to confess to him, but the words get choked in your throat. Is it too soon? Are you completely crazy? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Fuck. Here goes nothing. “This feels good, really good. Is it too soon to say…?”

“Too soon to say?” he prompts.

You absently trace haphazard swirls and lines across his chest, trying to think of how to word it. “I, well…”

“Too soon to say that I think possibly, maybe, I’m falling for you?” You look up at him, surprised by his words. Yoongi looks at you with so much warmth and affection in his eyes. “Because that’s exactly how I feel, too.”

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2023-12-30 ColorMePurplex2

#min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi imagines #coffeeshop au #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts yoongi #professor yoongi #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts imagines #micdropnet #bangtanwhq

[abby-howard]

Hey look! Look at this! A new Scarlet Hollow AU poster just went up over on TopatoCo :3

The coffeeshop AU where nothing bad has ever happened to anyone except for minor miscommunications that can be cleared up over a cup of java at Stella's themed cafe~

THERE ARE ALSO NEW CHARMS..... Kaneeka and someone else 👀 (warning for mild spoilers for what's currently available of Scarlet Hollow)

I would say more but I'm in a work haze right now getting Slay the Princess ready for release, so let's all imagine I did :3 Have a nice day evrybody

#scarlet hollow #coffeeshop au #wooden charms #special limited edition poster #its our video game #our other one #i have been drawing nonstop for what feels like months #but soon stp will be out and I can rest fro a week #then get right back to scarlet hollow

[engie-ivy]

(Wolfstar Christmas Get-Together Coffeeshop AU Holiday Fluff!)

3304 words.

Sirius is the town’s most eligible bachelor, and while home for the Holidays, everyone seems eager to get him coupled up.

Euphemia wants to set him up with this sweet boy who frequents the library where she works.

Hope Lupin wants to set him up with her own son.

James wants to set him up with Lily's cute best friend.

Sirius, however, isn't interested in any of them, as he's already smitten with the adorable guy from the coffeeshop.

This Love We Got Is the Best Of All

Merry Christmas - Ed Sheeran & Elton John

“Oh my!” Hope Lupin claps her hands together. “What a handsome young man indeed!”

“I told you, didn't I?” Euphemia beams at her. “Hope, this is Sirius Black, James’ best friend, but more like my second son. Sirius, this is Hope Lupin, she has recently joined my book club and I invited her over for tea.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Lupin,” Sirius smiles.

“Oh, please.” Hope Lupin waves her hand. “Call me Hope.”

“How was it at the shelter?” Euphemia asks Sirius.

“Very good!” Sirius’ face lights up. “Mr Snuggles’ owner came to pick him up. You should've seen how happy he was that he had found his friend back, it was lovely, and Mr Snuggles wouldn't stop purring.”

“Sirius is studying in London to become a veterinarian,” Euphemia explains to Hope. “And while he's in town for the Holidays, he's volunteering at the animal shelter.”

Hope leans her elbows on the table and rests her head on her hands. “Handsome, smart and good for animals,” she sighs. “All the girls in town must be swooning over you!”

“They are,” Euphemia chuckles. “But he has already broken all of their hearts by having no interest in girls. Though he has never brought home a nice boyfriend for Christmas either,” she adds, with a stern look at Sirius.

“You know,” Hope says, directing a meaningful smile at Sirius. “My son is about your age and still single. And knowing my boy, he'd be quite charmed by you.”

“Now, wait a minute!” Euphemia protests. “If you want to set Sirius up, you'll have to get in line, my dear Hope. There's this really sweet boy who frequents the library, and I've been dying for Sirius to meet him! If only Sirius would let me introduce them…”

“You know I'm not-” Sirius begins, but he's interrupted by Hope.

“Well, surely my own son comes with a higher recommendation than some boy from your workplace,” Hope insists.

“But I know Sirius,” Euphemia counters. “And I know his type best.”

“Hello?” Sirius waves. “Does anyone care what I think?”

“My son is everyone's type,” Hope says firmly.

“And if my match turns out to not be such a match after all, then your son is more than welcome to shoot his shot…”

“Apparently not,” Sirius sighs, hoisting his bag higher up his shoulder and walking out of the kitchen.

“So now they're both trying to set you up?”

James chuckles.

“It's not funny!” Sirius covers his face with his hands as he drops down next to James on James’ bed. “Just mum was bad enough, but now her friends as well?”

James pops himself up on his elbows and waggles his eyebrows. “That's what you get for being the town’s most eligible bachelor.”

“Middle-aged women meddling in your love life?”

“You know,” James says. “If you want to be one step ahead of the nosy ladies, there's always Lily's friend.”

Sirius groans. “Not you too, Jamie!”

“Oh, come on!” James exclaims. “He's a really chill guy and hella cute! You'd totally like him.”

“Jaaaaames, you know that I'm not… open.”

“Right,” James says, rolling onto his back. “Coffeeshop guy,” he sighs exasperatedly.

“Coffeeshop guy,” Sirius sighs dreamily.

“He's so funny and kind, James. You won't believe.”

James snorts. “What I mostly don't believe, is that you still haven't asked him out yet!”

“I'm getting there, I'm getting there,” Sirius says. “But it's not like I haven't made any progress! Did I tell you that he knows my order now?”

James rolls his eyes. “You've been coming there twice a day ever since you got back in town. If he didn't know your order by now, I'd worry about his mental capacities.”

“You should've seen the way he smiled at me yesterday when he handed me my drink” Sirius says dreamily, as if he hasn't even heard James. “He's so pretty, oh my gosh.”

“I would've loved to see that,” James says dryly. “But someone-” He pokes Sirius in his side “-made me solemnly swear that I wouldn't go near that coffeeshop.”

Sirius huffs. “You admitted that you wanted to interrogate him about ‘his intentions’!”

James shrugs. “Only my brotherly duty.” Then he grins. “Lily's friend already passed my test, by the way.”

“Good for him,” Sirius says unimpressed. “I'm sure he'll make someone very happy someday.”

“Good morning, Remus!”

Remus looks up from where he had been rearranging the pastries in the display. “Oh! Sirius! Morning! A good one. To you as well, I mean.”

“Did you survive the morning coffee rush?” Sirius asks as he approaches the counter.

“Barely,” Remus chuckles. “Good thing it's still too early for most people to order one of our more complicated Holiday Specials.” He shudders. “I'm already dreading the afternoon rush. Luckily some customers are thoughtful enough to always come when the rush is over,” he adds, smiling at Sirius.

Sirius’ stomach flutters. Sure, it's super inconvenient to always start his volunteer work at the shelter a bit late and always stay a bit longer, but that smile makes it all worth it. “Well, gotta make sure I get enough one-on-one time with my favourite barista,” Sirius replies with a wink, and he's pretty proud of his smoothness.

Remus’ cheeks colour, and that could be a good sign, though there's always the chance he's just making Remus uncomfortable.

“You charmer,” Remus mumbles, awkwardly bumping Sirius’ shoulder. “Are you looking for a discount?”

Sirius places a hand over his heart and gasps in pretend-shock. “I would never use my charm for such purposes.”

Remus has given him a free cinnamon bun once, and while Sirius is not much of a sweet tooth, he savored every bite.

“No,” Remus chuckles. “Great power and great responsibility, I suppose.”

“Can imagine rush hour is the worst around Christmas,” Sirius says, looking over the menu. “Must be rather frustrating when you have ten people waiting in line, four coffees still running, and someone goes and orders…” He narrows his eyes at the sign above Remus. “A caramel cookie dough vanilla bean syrup latte moccachino with whipped cream and hazelnut topping.” He looks back at Remus. “What even is that?”

Remus leans over the counter and smirks. “Wanna try one?”

“Remus,” Sirius says emphatically. “The day I walk in here and order something like that, please take me to the ER, because I must've slipped and hit my head on the way here.”

“Booo, you're no fun,” Remus pouts rather adorably, as he pushes himself up from the counter. “Your regular it is.”

“Thank you,” Sirius says, pleased.

“You know,” Remus says, turning around to make Sirius’ double shot cappuccino. “You really gotta step out of your comfort zone every once in a while.”

“My coffee is my comfort,” Sirius replies. “So what would even be the use of my coffee moment if I'm using it to step out of my comfort zone?”

“A little adventure, maybe?”

“It's not that I'm not adventurous, it's just that I know what I like and what I don't like.” Sirius shrugs. “I'm actually plenty adventurous in other aspects of my life.”

“Are you now?” Remus asks, turning around to bring Sirius his cup.

“Oh yeah,” Sirius says. “I love going on spontaneous road trips on my motorcycle, for instance. Did I tell you that I drive a motorcycle?”

Remus’ eyes slightly widen. “That's hot.”

Sirius arches an eyebrow.

“Erm, the coffee,” Remus says, putting the cup down in front of Sirius. “Very hot, so, erm, be careful.”

“Thanks,” Sirius says, giving Remus an amused look. “After having ordered it about twenty times already, that hadn't occurred to me yet.”

Remus immediately hands Sirius his cappuccino as he walks in that afternoon. He's got cacao powder stains on his apron, whipped cream on his cheek, cookie crumble in his hair, and a bewildered look in his eyes, making him look like a very cute mess.

Sirius arches an eyebrow. “You're not gonna try to push one of your Holiday Specials on me?”

Remus shakes his head. “I feel like I've made enough moccaccinos, frappuccinos, chococcinos, hazelnuccinos, or whatever kind of ccinos for the rest of my life. If you ordered one, I might have actually refused.”

“Well, not to worry,” Sirius says, taking a sip from his drink. “And here I thought my impeccable argumentation had convinced you.”

“Well, the motorcycle was a strong argument,” Remus says, leaning over the counter, resting his head on his hand. “Guess there's a whole other side of you outside of this coffeeshop that I do not know yet,” he murmurs, looking at Sirius intently.

Sirius tries to school his expression into something more collected than how he feels on the inside, because yet? Does that mean Remus wants to get to know him while he's not just doing his job? And god, must he be looking at him like that?

“Well, yeah,” Sirius says, surprising himself with how normal his voice comes out. “I suppose there is more to me than double shot cappuccinos.”

Remus smirks. “Who would've thought?”

“Excuse me?”

Remus jumps, only now noticing the woman standing at the counter. He quickly rushes to her. “Hi, yes, I'm sorry, how can I help you?”

Sirius finishes his coffee and slips on his jacket, staring at Remus, who's still having a conversation with the woman about the difference between a latte and a flat white. He's trying to work up enough courage.

“You!” Remus suddenly says, pointing his finger at Sirius while the woman walks away with her gingerbread latte. “You're not thinking about leaving without showing me, are you?” He turns his hand around and wiggles his finger, beckoning Sirius over. “Come on, let me see, let me see!”

Sirius rolls his eyes fondly as he walks over to Remus. “I wouldn't dare,” he says, as he whips his phone out of his pocket and opens his photos.

Remus eagerly looks at the screen. “Oh my, did Purrkins get her fur brushed? What a lovely lady!”

“She did, and she was quite the drama queen about it.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “You'd think we were trying to torture her.”

“Look how proud Bowie looks!”

“Well, he was a really good boy and found two sticks in the yard!”

“And who’s that fuzzy ball of fluff?”

“That's Myta! She was brought in today, and already made many friends.”

“And there's our dynamic duo!”

“Yes, little Adrian and his big brother Bram are still as inseparable as ever.”

“Oh! Is… Is this what I think it is?”

“It is! Siepie got adopted today!”

Remus sighs deeply as Sirius has swipes to the last photo. “God, I envy your job. I mean,” he adds quickly. “I know it's not always fun and very hard work as well.”

“I guess it is,” Sirius says. “But everytime I walk in and see those faces, it more than makes up for it.”

“That's what my friend who works in kindergarten always says,” Remus says. “But I could never quite imagine. In this case, though, I immediately believe it.”

Sirius grins. “Wanna quit this job and come volunteer in the shelter with me?”

“Too bad,” Remus says. “Getting paid is a non-negotiable for my job.”

“You'll get paid in cuteness!” Sirius insists.

“Cuteness doesn't pay college tuition, I'm afraid.” Remus chuckles. “Otherwise you'd be studying for free.”

Sirius opens and closes his mouth.

Remus turns bright red and runs a hand through his hair. “I… Erm, I mean…” He claps his hands. “Well, I better get cleaning! Considering my brain-to-mouth-filter apparently stopped working, I must be very tired. I should start closing up.”

“You know,” Sirius quickly says. “If you really want to know more about me outside of this coffeeshop, my chosen family is hosting a Christmas Eve party. Maybe you'd like to come?”

“Christmas Eve?” Remus replies. “Oh, I'm sorry. I already promised my mum that I'd go to this event with her on Christmas Eve.”

Sirius face falls. “Right. Of course. It's short notice, after all. Well, better luck next time.” Sirius turns to walk away.

“Sirius!” Remus grabs his wrist. “I really am sorry.”

Sirius looks down at Remus’ hand and then up to his face. “It's okay. It's Christmas Eve. You can't cancel on your mum, of course.”

Remus bites his lip. “Would you think me a terrible person if I kind of wish I could?”

Sirius smiles. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“That's amazing, mate!” James beams at him.

“We should not get ahead of ourselves,” Sirius warns. “I mean, he did say no.”

“But he obviously wanted to say yes!” James exclaims, grinning broadly.

“He did, didn't he?” Sirius’ face also breaks out into a grin. “I mean, he wouldn't have called me back to emphasize how sorry he was if he was just trying to blow me off.”

“Definitely not,” James assures him. “He's totally into you, just really couldn't make it. And now he knows you're interested, so nothing should be stopping him from asking you out next! Which is good, as the sooner we know if it's going to work out with coffeeshop guy, the better. Lily's friend is single now, but he won't be forever. Ow!” James rubs his arm where Sirius just punched him. “But of course I'm rooting for you!” He adds, upon seeing the glare Sirius is directing at him. “I'm just saying, it's a shame Lily's friend can't make it to the party either. It would've been good if you could've at least gotten to meet him before completely making up your mind on coffeeshop guy.”

Sirius lies back on the bed, folding his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “I hate to break it to you, Jamie, but my mind is already completely made up on coffeeshop guy.”

James looks at Sirius and shakes his head. “You're really gone for him, aren't you?”

Sirius sighs. “I can't bloody stop thinking about him.”

“Good heavens,” James says. “You're down bad!”

“I'm glad mum's library boy couldn't make it to the party either,” Sirius says. “Now the only person I have to politely reject is Hope Lupin’s son. Though maybe he's completely mortified about his mother's meddling and isn't even into me at all,” he adds hopefully.

“Wouldn't count on it mate,” James says, lying down next to him. “A single gay guy seeing you and deciding he's not interested? That happened exactly never.”

Sirius groans, and James pats his leg sympathetically.

“I'm not even trying to boost your ego here. You know the effect you have when you walk into a room.”

Okay, so maybe Sirius does kind of know the effect he has when he walks into a room. Giggling, admiring glances, lingering looks, that sort of thing, but he had not exactly expected to have that effect on the middle-aged and elderly women of town.

At the Potters’ grand Christmas Eve party, it seems like every single one of them is stopping him. “Oh my, Sirius Black? Is that you? Look at you! My dear, you get more handsome every year! Say, is there a special someone in your life already?”

This is mostly followed by them listing all their children or grandchildren who are still single, while Sirius tries to politely get away before they whip out the photos. He's grateful that at least he hasn't run into Hope Lupin yet, shoving her son in his face. Photos are easier to get away from than an actual person, after all.

When talking to seventy-five-year-old Mrs Markell, she hadn't even been mentioning any grandchildren, and Sirius is wholly unprepared when she suddenly takes a stack of photos out of her purse, with no chance for him to get away on time. But it turns out she heard Sirius is studying to become a vet, and she just wants to show him pictures of her beloved dog, Mr Barkell. And well, Sirius is definitely here for that.

“Oh my god, what a handsome fella indeed!” Sirius is just gushing over Mr Barkell in his brand new Christmas sweater, knitted by Mrs Markell herself when he hears a familiar voice.

“Sirius?”

He looks up and immediately feels his heart speed up, because Remus in an apron is adorable, but Remus in a button-up and suit jacket? Good god. “Remus?” He manages to say. “What are you doing here? I thought you had that thing with your mum?”

Remus looks just as surprised as he does while gesturing around himself. “This is the thing with my mum.”

Sirius blinks. “Your mum took you to our Christmas Eve party?”

“Apparently,” Remus says, smiling sheepishly.

Suddenly, Euphemia’s voice can be heard. “Remus!”

“Msr Euphemia?” Remus stammers.

“You're here! Oh, how lovely.” Euphemia gives Remus a warm hug, before playfully slapping his shoulder. “And you made me think you couldn't make it, you,” she tuts.

“You know Remus?” Sirius asked, stunned.

Euphemia rolls her eyes. “Why, of course I know Remus! I've been trying to introduce you to him for ages! Ever since this adorable boy walked into my library,” she says fondly, squeezing Remus’ arm.

Before Sirius can say anything else, another voice sounds. “Oh no, you two are already talking!” Hope Lupin rushes up to them. “And I wanted to be the one to introduce you two!”

Euphemia frowns. “Why did you want to introduce Remus to Sirius?”

Hope blinks. “...Remus is my son?”

“Remus from the library is your son?” Euphemia exclaims.

The two women stare at each other for a moment, and then they burst out laughing. “Can you believe it…?” “This whole time…” “We were just trying to get Sirius together with the same person!”

Remus’ cheeks turn bright red. “Mum!”

“Remus! Mate! You're here!” Sirius probably shouldn't even be surprised anymore to see James running up to Remus and slinging an arm around him. “Lily said you already had other plans, but I'm super glad you made it after all!”

James lets go of Remus and walks up to Sirius, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward. “Have you met Sirius yet?”

“Yes,” Remus replies, looking a bit dazed. “As a matter of fact, I have.”

Sirius stares at him and opens and closes his mouth a few times before managing to produce words. “You're library boy, and Hope Lupin’s son, and Lily's friend?”

“Wait, really?” James speaks before Remus can reply. “Are you serious, Sirius? That's all the same person? All Remus?” He starts laughing and clasps Sirius on the shoulder. “I know how head over heels in love you are with your coffeeshop guy, but mate, this sort of seems like fate, doesn't it?”

Now it's Sirius’ face that turns bright red, as Remus raises his eyebrows. “James!” Sirius hisses.

James looks from Sirius, to Remus, and back again and his eyes widen. “What? Do you mean… No way!” He gasps. “Are you for real? That's insane, mate! Insane, but also kind of amazing. Wow, this best man's speech is going to write itself!”

“James!”

“So,” Sirius begins, staring up at the night sky after Remus and he have stepped outside for a moment to talk. "Apparently, everyone in my life has been trying to set me up with you.”

“Yeah,” Remus says, awkwardly scratching his head. “Sorry about that.”

“Don't be,” Sirius says, turning to him to look him in the eyes. “I must admit, I kind of like that everyone in our lives saw you, saw me, and all had the same thought: these two should be together.”

The smile Remus gives him makes Sirius feel warm even in the December cold. Remus reaches out his hand. “Including us?”

Sirius smiles back at him as he takes the offered hand. “Yeah, we beat them to it, didn't we?” He squeezes Remus’ hand softly. “Including us.”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar christmas fics #wolfstar christmas #wolfstar holiday fluff #coffeeshop au #smitten sirius black #good friend james potter #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #james potter

[sassypossumm]

Daggers and Coffee

You just wanted to be left alone to finish some work, when into you life walked a creep and two gorgeous Asgardians. Who'd have thought that your local coffee shop would just be having ALL of the drama today?

“Really, brother, I don’t see why you dragged me all the way to this dismal establishment.” Loki sniffed, folding his arms and throwing his brother a look of disdain. Thor merely chuckled and clapped Loki soundly on the back.

“You must learn to live for a different kind of adventure, Loki.” Thor clapped him on the back again, causing the slimmer man to stumble forward a step.

“None of our adventures ever included dreary coffee shops inhabited by a lower class of life form.” Loki hissed, brushing Thor’s hand off his shoulder and taking a step back. With another chuckle, Thor moved to stand at the back of the growing line to place his order. Clasping his hands behind his back, Loki moved to stand next to his brother, studying him out of the corner of his eye. “You have a motive for bringing me here, don’t you?” Thor’s eyes flickered to Loki before flitting back to the menu options. Loki narrowed his eyes. “Thor?” The taller man shifted nervously, clearly fighting the urge to meet his brothers heated stare.

“Sir, are you ready to order?” The bright voice of the barista at the register broke the tension of the moment, and Thor rushed towards the employee with a relieved smile.

“Ah, yes! What would you recommend,” Leaning forward he planted his hands on the counter and squinted to read her name tag. “Tessa?” The barista in question flushed at his attention.

“Well, sir,” Loki rolled his eyes and let his attention wander away from the barista that was now fawning over his brother. Turning his head, he regarded the patrons with an impassive expression. A pudgy balding businessman chewing some poor soul out on his phone, another man at a window table reading a book, and two other people sitting at the counter on the taller bar stools. Nothing of note caught his attention.

“Loki?” He turned his head to see a non-descript brown cup being shoved into his face. Loki looked from the cup to Thor’s expectant face.

“Thank you.” He said dryly, gingerly taking the beverage from his brother’s extended hand. Catching an unfamiliar pungent scent wafting from the partially opened lid, Loki eyed Thor suspiciously. “What is this?” Thor rolled his eyes.

“If I’d wanted to poison you, Loki, I would have chosen a more discreet method.”

“Could you have managed to think of something more discreet, brother?” Loki gave his brother a wry smirk. Thor chuckled again and shook his head.

“It’s simply a black coffee, Loki, nothing more.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Loki took a small sip of the ‘coffee’. Pungent, slightly bitter, stronger than some of the Midgardian beverages he’d sampled. He liked ‘coffee’, and he was just about to say as much to Thor when the movement at the counter caught his attention. The two people who had passed under his notice before were quickly becoming more interesting. “Are you ready to go, Loki?” Thor boomed into his attention. Loki held up a finger and motioned for Thor to be quiet.

“Just watch.” He said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at Thor. Turning back, he focused first on the woman, unassuming to his eye as Midgardian women went, busy typing away on her laptop minding her own business. It was the man’s action that really had caught his attention. He was steadily shifting and sliding so that his stool was slowly inching towards the unsuspecting woman. He had now positioned himself directly next to the woman.

“Hey.” The man tried. No response. Loki saw why, she had those little ear plugs in her ears he’d seen so many of the other Midgardian’s wearing. If he wasn’t mistaken, Thor called them ‘ear buds’. “Hello!” The man tapped her shoulder this time. She flinched. He pulled back slightly and chuckled as she pulled one of the buds from her ear.

“Can I help you?” She shifted away from the man’s hand that sat precariously near her arm.

“Hi.” The man leaned forward and gave her what Loki guessed he thought was an appealing smile.

“He knows nothing about wooing a woman.” Loki commented dryly taking another sip of the ‘coffee’.

“Can I help you.” She reiterated. The man ran a hand through his hair and, in a rather vulgar manner, let his gaze rake over her physique from head to toe, coming back to rest on her chest before letting his eyes meet her face again.

“My names Luke, and I’d like to buy you a cup of coffee.” The woman rolled her eyes.

“That’s very nice of you, Luke, but no thank you, and if you don’t mind, I’m kind of busy.” Motioning towards her laptop, she gave him a tight smile and moved to put the bud back in her ear. The man reached out and stopped her hand with his. Loki wrapped his fingers more tightly around the cup.

“Actually, honey, I do mind, I’ve given you my name now it’s your turn to give me yours.” The woman raised a brow at the way the man, ‘Luke’, had arrested her hand and had it pinned against the counter.

“I want you to release my hand, now, sir.” She said in a low voice, looking at ‘Luke’ with darkening eyes. Loki could sense Thor tensing behind him and reached out a hand to stop him from stepping in with his hero theatrics.

“Not here, brother.” He whispered. In truth he was intrigued to see how she planned to get out of this predicament. Would she call for help? Perhaps sense the presence of the ‘all powerful’ Thor and seek assistance?

“Now, honey-“

“My name isn’t ‘honey’, and I told you to get your hand off me.” She fairly hissed at the man. It didn’t take an observant eye to see the way ‘Luke’s’ fingers were biting into the skin of the woman’s hand.

“Loki, enough is enough.” Thor grumbled, moving to round his brother to confront the offender.

“Just another moment, Thor.” Loki had turned to stall his brother when a cry pierced the air. He whirled around just in time to see the woman calmly place the ‘bud’ back in her ear.

“You stabbed me!” ‘Luke’ shouted, clutching his hand.

“You can keep the pen.” The woman glanced at him blandly before turning back to her laptop. Loki chuckled. His eyes flickered to ‘Luke’, and he narrowed them when the worm took a step back into her space. Loki snapped his fingers, disappearing.

“You’re a-“

“That’s enough.” Loki reappeared in front of ‘Luke’ and grasped his shoulder. Leaning towards his ear he lowered his voice. “And I wouldn’t attempt to involve the authorities if I were you.” Pulling back, he brushed the mans shoulders off and gave his cheek a pat before Thor firmly grabbed the back of his jacket and steered him towards the doors. Turning, Loki looked down at the woman who was now staring at the pen.

“He forgot his pen.” She sighed, pushing the offending instrument away with a notebook. Loki bit back a chuckle and motioned towards the stool.

“Might I sit, warrior maiden?”

“Gopher it.” She shrugged and began reaching for her laptop, when she paused. “Did you seriously just call me ‘warrior maiden’?” Turning, she looked at Loki with a bemused expression. He smirked and folded his arms on the counter.

“Since I don’t yet know your name, it seems more fitting than what that worm attempted to call you.”

“Oh, that’s nothing, I’ve been called worse.” She chuckled, waiving off his comment.

“Midgardians.” He grumbled, reaching for his long-forgotten coffee. Taking a sip he hissed at the lukewarm liquid.

“Let me order you a new one.” She smiled, reaching for her purse.

“That’s not necessary.” He said, wincing internally at how sharp it had come out.

“I insist.” She narrowed her eyes at him and then paled a little at how harshly that had come out. “As a thank you.” Her features softened and she gave Loki a sheepish smile. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your whole knight of valor routine, you and your friend I mean.” She motioned towards Thor who had taken up residence on the other side of Loki at the counter. Loki glanced at his brother who was beaming at her. Catching his brother’s intense glare, Thor quickly became interested in an invisible bit of lint on his jacket. Pulling out her wallet and giving it a small shake, she gave him a playful grin.

“If you insist, a plain coffee for me, but nothing for my brother, he’s on caffeine restrictions.”

“You got it!” As she headed towards the register, Loki ignored Thor’s scowling face.

“Not a word, Thor.” He muttered, keeping his eyes glued to the back wall until she returned.

“Here you go, plain coffee.” Setting down the coffee, she also slipped Thor a bear claw. “Sugars not caffeine, right?” She gave him a wink and rounded back to her own stool.

“Thank you, lady,” Thor paused for her to fill in her name.

“Y/N.” She returned his smile with a genuine one of her own. Loki couldn’t help but feel a sting of some unnamable emotion.

“Lady Y/N.” Thor dipped his head before tucking into the bear claw, leaving the two acquaintances to their own devices.

“I am hailed as Loki, god of mischief, and the oaf stuffing his face is my brother, Thor.” Loki remarked dryly taking a sip of the fresh coffee. Y/N stifled a grin at the satisfied sound Loki made when the coffee hit his taste buds. Opening her mouth to respond, Y/N paused when her eyes flickered towards the clock on the back wall.

“And I am hailed as Y/N, fired from my job if I don’t get back to the office.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N gave Loki a warm smile as she quickly gathered her belongings. “It was nice of meet you, Thor.” Nodding at Thor, she turned towards Loki and her grin widened. He wasn’t even going to think about what that did to his insides. “And it was fascinating to meet you, Loki.” Slinging her bag over her shoulder she turned to go.

“Wait, Lady Y/N.” Loki turned around on the stool and beckoned her to come closer. Tugging on the bag again, she shuffled closer to him and glanced at the clock quickly before catching his eye. “What shall you do if another individual attempts to molest you?”

“Well, I’m fresh out of pens, so I guess I’ll scream bloody murder.” Y/N chuckled, shifting the bag again.

“I have a better idea.” Loki shot her a mischievous grin, and with a flash of green and ornate dagger appeared in his hand. Flipping the blade in his fingers, he held it with the handle facing her, and he didn’t fail to notice the flicker of excitement in her eyes.

“Oh, I couldn’t.” She murmured, all the while slowly reaching for the dagger. Loki chuckled and placed the handle firmly in her hand.

“Yes, you can, I insist. Consider it payment for the coffee.” Gripping the dagger, she turned the blade back and forth slowly to examine it before meeting his eye.

“I’ll take good care of it.” Blinking once, she swallowed.

“I’m counting on that.” He gave her a lopsided smile and nodded. Thor coughed and began reaching for Loki’s coffee. “Thor, don’t you dare.” He hissed, turning to smack Thor’s hand away.

“Thanks again, maybe I’ll catch you around!” He turned in time to see the door swing shut and sat in stunned silence as she made her way towards the subway.

“I’m counting on that.”

#loki x you #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #marvel mcu #mcu loki #coffeeshop au #daggers

[kasanii]

I... had a dream of Karlach as a barista?? And Tav being someone who studies at the coffee place n shit? Anyways, had to draw it, obviously

#baldur's gate 3 #karlach #tiefling #coffeeshop au #my art

[sky-kiss]

For the prompts: I’ve been thinking non-stop about your professor/barista au and would LOVE to see the date/the aftermath of said date 👀

A/N: Dude, I’m so glad to hear people like this dumb universe. Have a second prompt coming in for the same verse later. 

_____

Raphael x Tav: You Cannot Invite Her to Italy Yet, My Guy

_____

The temperature has dropped low enough to warrant a coat when they leave the restaurant. Tav shoves her hands into her pockets, turning her face up to feel the breeze on her skin. It’s fresh in a way you rarely experience in the city. Her head is pleasantly swimmy off good wine, food, and better company. 

Tav smiles to herself. Raphael lingers on her left. The wine has left a flush of color in his naturally tanned cheeks. She reaches out without thinking to adjust the hang of his scarf. He stiffens momentarily before relaxing, allowing her to smooth nonexistent wrinkles from the lapel of his jacket. “Well, I’d call that a successful first outing.”

“How gratifying to hear. Haarlep would never have let me live it down otherwise.” He holds out his arm. “Come, the night is young.”

“Oooh, a secondary location. I am doing well.” She tucks her hand in the crook of his elbow. 

“Exceeding all expectations, my dear, I assure you.” He sighs, angling down the street. She relaxes, hugging her guide's arm to her chest. Heat radiates through his jacket, much needed. The material smells pleasantly of him, a touch of spicy bleeding into the cherries and musk. A little creepy to go around smelling your date, but she won't apologize. Most men didn’t smell half as nice. Raphael continues, his movements and voice looser. He’s in his element, rarely liquid; it’s charming. “You read, you brew, you’re well-spoken…what more could I ask?” 

Tav snickers. “My, I’m uniquely qualified.” 

He tips her a wink. “Almost as if we were made for one another” 

It’s a terrible line. Raphael is attractive enough to make it work. Tav rolls her eyes, shrugging under his arm and dragging it over her shoulders. If he’s going to make his moves, she'll try hers. The barista winds her arms around his waist. “Look at that. We fit, too.” 

He stiffens, staring at her in a mix of amusement and wonder. It’s too open for the typically confident man. Tav fears she overstepped. Raphael chuckles, bringing her free hand to his lips for a kiss. “Wonders never cease.”

They wander for a while. He angles them towards a park. They talk about books they’ve read and the places they have traveled. Tav has never been to Italy. Raphael spent a decent portion of his childhood on the Mediterranean coast. 

“Do you get back often?” 

“Less than I’d like. But I am always looking for a new excuse to visit.” He glances down at her, eyes glittering. “In the dark heart of winter, Italy, Spain…they seem like a dream.” Raphael purses his lips. A real mischief crosses his face. “If you require a guide one day…” 

Oh, she shouldn’t. It’s the magic of the evening; it’s the chemistry and the company. She can't stop from saying, “I’d like that.”

They walk a little longer. When it comes time to part, Tav lingers by the door, chewing her lip between her teeth. It’s too early in the relationship, but she’s still chasing the high. “You could come up?”

Raphael chuckles. The professor leans over her, curling a finger under her chin, tipping her head up. He brushes his lips across hers, more delicate than she’d like, still tasting the rich cabernet they had with dinner. “Expectation will make such things all the sweeter, pet. Perhaps next time.” He kisses her knuckles and turns to go. 

Tav just stares after him like a love-sick idiot: a little disappointed and a little giddy. 

Before she drifts off to sleep, she sends him a text. Dinner, Saturday. There is a tapas bar near her apartment, and it only seems fair to continue their faux Mediterranean tour. 

She hates that his response makes her blush: he is, as ever, delighted to serve as her guide. 

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #asks #coffeeshop au #my writing #the other one is smutty lol #five people asked for smut so #stupid fluffy fluffy au

[noneorother]

The grand unified theory of Good Omens S2 hangs on - you guessed it - a double meaning (and art). *Part 3*

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l The End? This is major spoilers for season 3 territory. You have been warned. I'm also going to split this into parts because wow, I have so many ✨Clues✨! My peeps, before I show you the prestige, we need to discuss Maggie. Maggie is SO WEIRD.

Right up top we get her telling us this. Who loves something since they were a baby? Since you were a kid sure, but how can you remember loving something since you were a baby?

This one's fun. The double meaning here is 1) I was a huge uptight nerd so I never went to parties and/or 2) I wasn't a human teenager so I never got to go to your earth parties. But check out when Nina and Maggie *first* meet in her coffee shop. We spend a lot of time in this scene, because it's framed as a meet cute, but it's also full of weird dialogue.

So i'm not a writer, someone feel free to tell me I'm wrong, but Maggie is remembered by Nina AS A COFFEE. She IS a skinny latte. This works on two levels again. 1) You're not important enough to me to remember you as a person, just as an order. 2) You do not fit into my memory of people I know, but subconsciously I remember you as NOT a regular human.

And then again when she leaves the shop, Nina isn't paying attention and just sort of subconsciously replies:

Again, two meanings. Maggie is unimportant to her, Maggie is also a *coffee*.

Which is weird, because as far as I can tell Maggie never drinks a coffee, or anything for that matter. Sure she orders stuff in the shop, and is offered food and alcohol, but we never see her actually drink or eat any of it. She stirs the tea but never takes a sip.

So what IS Maggie then? Many people have pointed out that Maggie and Nina are a coffeeshop AU of our heroes. Their visual presentation seems to be screaming Nina = Crowley! and Maggie = Aziraphale! And they *work* on opposite sides of the street and everything! So is Maggie just a stand-in for Aziraphale then, to make the parable work? Cool, then what's the parable?

Uh oh. What possible AU fiction ends up with the main love interests breaking up with their toxic ex, dancing in a ball and fighting demons together and then... just not ending up together? An AU written by kind of a bad writer who wants to show the two lovebirds he's trying to separate that it will never work. Oh hey look The Metatron is here:

Now, I think the same guy that has been adding bits and pieces in the past would have no problem adding stuff and/or people in the present to make a point. Maggie also seems to be pretty sure about quite a lot of things that I wouldn't be sure about, given the context.

Maggie's knows it's not going to do any good, but she has to tell them anyway? Tell them what, that Nina and Maggie talked it out and never ended up together? Wow, what a great message. Thanks Maggie. Maggie isn't just a downer of an example though, remember she's also A COFFEE! Shoved in Aziraphael's and Crowley's faces, asking them to take it and help her since the beginning.

There's a concept in magic tricks called a force, where it seems like someone has free will ; to put a card anywhere in a deck, or pick a number, or volunteer, but actually the outcome has been chosen for them by the magician for the trick to work. The actual trick is about getting the person to think they've freely chosen to participate in the trick, not the act of revealing the card. The real trick was never making Maggie and Nina try to fall in love, it was getting Aziraphael to think he had freely chosen to help Maggie get this whole thing going. And if we know one thing about Aziraphael, it's that he's actually terrible at magic. Aziraphael has been primed to take the coffee in S2E6, because he's been taking the coffee the whole season. Ready for the prestige reveal after the force? We're going right to The Metatron in Part 4.

#good omens prime #go season 2 #go3 #good omens s3 #good omens meta #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #go meta #ineffable husbands #art director talks good omens #nina and maggie #coffeeshop au #go spoilers

[fridgrave2-0]

Pls pls draw Max in the little shorts (and maybe flustered Richie) /nf

it's my first time drawing cakes don't judge me <3

#max jagerman #richie lipschitz #ruth fleming #because she has to be there #nerdy prudes must die #npmd #coffeeshop au

[eddies-artofsuffering]

Part I: Sweet Tooth

(Part II)

Eddie stares down at his wristwatch. One minute to noon. Just one more minute.

“Want us to clear the path?” Argyle claps him on his shoulder and squeezes. “It’s almost time.”

“I don’t – I don’t know. Maybe you guys could stand behind the kitchen doors? You can see through the windows, right?” Eddie scrunches his nose.

He can feel it, he’s been conditioned to it by now, the familiar pit of anticipation. Other people may call it butterflies. Eddie thinks it’s more like pterodactyls breathing fire inside his stomach. He desperately needs someone to hold his fucking hand during this hardship.

But he also really, really doesn’t want anyone up close to witness him making a fool of himself in front of Hot Steve - a new regular customer at their cafe. An incredibly attractive guy who works at the bookstore next door.

Eddie can NOT fuck this up. It only happens once a day, for a maximum of three minutes.

“Maybe today’s the day you ask him out,” Jonathan smiles. Dude never smiles with his eyes. It’s kind of unsettling.

“Absolutely not, have you seen Hot Steve?” Eddie groans. “There’s no way he plays for my team. He’s –“

The doorbell chimes. Eddie’s head snaps towards the entrance, mouth falling open. Hot Steve is walking towards him, holy shit. It’s go time. Eddie shoos his coworkers away with a frantic wave, straightens his name tag, and rests his chin on his palm and bends over a little, elbow on the counter.

This is always the way he greets Hot Steve. It’s his signature move. Although, it hasn’t really worked yet. If it worked, Eddie would’ve won Hot Steve’s attention by now. But this is the best he got at the moment, damn it.

“Hi, Eds, how are you doing?” Hot Steve is wearing a baby-blue button-down today, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His name tag pin on the left side of his chest glints.

Eddie loves that Steve came up with that nickname on his own, despite only having seen him here at Cafe Byers for, like, two weeks now.

“Better now that you’re here.” Eddie gives him a cheeky smile, If Argyle and Jonathan were here, they might’ve been impressed with how smooth it sounded; they always comment on the way he flirts, the things he says. If you ever said shit like that to me, I’d be hella blushing, brochacho. You know you got game, right?

What they don’t know is that these lines are rehearsed in his head, so many times. It’s all Eddie ever does: practice pickup lines for Hot Steve.

“Right out of the gate, huh? You're makin' me blush,” Hot Steve smiles, and honestly, it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing at all. Or if he’s even flustered. Hot Steve's always so confident. “I’ll get a latte. With oat milk, please?”

“Oh?” Oat milk? That’s new. Steve didn’t care last time what milk he was getting. Interesting. Or is it? Eddie decides to file that information away for later. “Yea, coming right up.”

“Thanks.”

Another thing about Hot Steve that really does something to Eddie’s overworked pterodactyls, is that he never has a phone with him. Or on him. If it is, it's never visible.

Which is odd, because the entire café is littered with folks who cannot tear their eyes away from their little gadgets and devices, especially their phones; most people can’t even wait for their drinks without looking at them, checking something constantly, emails or texts or whatever. 

And, well, Hot Steve never does any of that. He always waits at the end of the counter, patiently watching Eddie making drinks. It always makes him feel so self-conscious. Eddie’s burnt his hands under hot steam a couple of times, actually.

But these two, maybe three minutes of Eddie making a fresh beverage for Hot Steve – this is the only time he gets to make small talk with him. Each time, he learns something new about him, or confirms something that Eddie’s already inferred. The grand question of the day is: “So, who’s the drink for?”

Hot Steve blinks rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. “Uh – what?”

“Whose drink is this?” Eddie says, tamping the coffee grounds. “I’m assuming it’s not yours.”

“How… did you know it’s not mine?” he narrows his eyes.

God. It’s really telling, isn’t it, that Eddie’s noticed these things? “First time for you to ask for oat milk, so. I don’t know, I figured,” he shrugs.

Hot Steve opens his mouth as if to say something. Then he doesn’t. In the corner of Eddie’s eyes, he sees him nodding with pursed lips, with a hint of a smirk. It’s so distracting that Eddie almost heats up regular milk despite this whole conversation being around someone’s (not Steve’s, apparently) preference for plant-based milk. Oops.

He finishes making the latte and walks over to the cash register, handing over the drink. Steve receives it with a small thanks. 

But Eddie knows Steve's not quite done here today. Because, when you have a tiny (massive) crush on a near-stranger, you just, kind of look for patterns. That’s just how human minds work; Eddie has been carefully collecting all the little information about Hot Steve, just based on the few minutes that he spends at the café at noon.

Which is how that Eddie’s almost certain (almost, because there’s always room for anomalies) what Hot Steve’s about to do when he asks, “Is that it for today?”

“Oh – um,” Hot Steve scans the glass case of assorted desserts and baked goods, subconsciously wetting his lips. “Actually, yea. Can I have the blueberry crumble, please?”

This is one of the very few predictable things about him. Eddie doesn’t know why Hot Steve even looks at the shelves of sweets each time as if he’s ever going to make a different choice, because it’s always the same, the only constant pattern besides his entrance that he’s ever shown Eddie: the house blueberry crumble, the ones that Eddie bakes himself.

And every time Hot Steve asks for it, Eddie has to turn around and flex his arms, letting out a silent scream of victory, because Hot Steve is fucking hooked on those things. It’s truly incredible to know that he wants it. Eddie pours his heart and soul into those.

“Of course, babe,” he swoops down, takes a small square piece out with tongs, wraps it in a pocket of parchment paper. “D’you know I bake these every morning?”

“You – it’s you?” Hot Steve’s eyes widen comically. “Wow. I thought they were, like, shipped over from a bakery or something.”

“We do have an oven,” Eddie points behind the kitchen with his thumb and looks back, makes a mistake of drawing attention to the door, only remembering then that Argyle and Jonathan are probably watching this whole thing. Really hoping that they’re being discreet. 

“That’s amazing. I – I love them,” he says, not at all looking behind, thank God. “Guess you’re good with your hands.”

Eddie could practically hear the angelic chorus from the sky. Holy shit. Hot Steve loves his crumbles. Fuck. He could cry. 

But, you know. Everything always comes to an end, and that’s usually how far their conversation goes. Nothing more than just small talk, and then Hot Steve would pay for the stuff, go back to the next-door bookstore where he works. And until the next day, it’s as if he doesn’t even exist. A mythical creature that only appears during those three minutes in time and space, then vanishes afterwards. 

So he tries, just one last time before he leaves. “Steve?”

“Yea?” Hot Steve looks up, batting his lashes. They’re – so – pretty. So long, delicate. Such a fucking contrast to his muscular arms and chest that his thin blue shirt does nothing to hide, sleeves and buttons ready to pop. It’s sinful.

Fuck, and time’s ticking, yet there are so many things Eddie wants to ask. What is your drink, then? ‘Cause you never get the same drink twice.

Why is it always at noon? Is that your break?

Where are you from? When does your shift end? You do work at the bookstore, right?

When are you free?

All of these are more or less reasonable, if not a tiny bit creepy questions. But any of these would’ve been so much better than what Eddie actually blurts out, so out of the left field that he surprises even himself: “So, uh, how much do you bench?”

Oh, fuck. Where the hell did that come from? Eddie cringes hard inside, unsure how those words, that kind of vernacular even came out of his mouth, please, he wants to rewind time - 

But it's spilled oat milk. Guh. He crinkles his nose to prepare himself to apologize. Sorry. That was so – I’m not a gym bro. I’m not! Look at me! He's about to say, but:

“You wanna know?”

Hot Steve has a shit-eating grin on. That’s a first. There might even be a faint blush on his cheeks. Holy shit. Hot Steve took the fucking bait. Not that it was bait – it was just Eddie being a fucking disaster – but he nods all the same, stupidly. Of course he wants to know. He’s committed, now.

“Let’s see.” Hot Steve’s now circling around the counter to take a closer look at Eddie, eyes travelling up and down. It feels like Hot Steve is undressing him with his eyes. It’s kind of insane that they’re doing this in public.

Hmm. 140, 145 at the most – Hot Steve mutters under his breath. “Oh yea. Easy,” he says, still smiling wickedly.

“What do you mean, easy?” Eddie croaks.

His breath hitches when Hot Steve leans over the counter, inches away from Eddie’s face. “Probably could do twenty reps of you,” he whispers, winking.

Eddie’s brain short-circuits. He stares open-mouthed at Hot Steve, unable to move until he exits the café with the drink and a brown bag, fading away from view. Gone for the rest of the day, rest of the evening. Rest of the next morning. Only to return the next day at noon, like a fucking reverse-Cinderella.

“Why were you guys whispering?” Jonathan appears from behind, nudging him on the arm. “What did he say? Did you finally ask him out?”

“I’m about to ask him out myself if you don’t,” Argyle says lazily, earning a sharp smack from Jonathan. “Just joking, man, you know you’re my main dude,” he squeezes a squirming Jonathan on the side.

“He… “ Eddie gulps, closing his eyes, and pictures Hot Steve’s tantalizing smile. “He winked.”

Continue reading on Ao3

Read the sequel: Savour

#steddie #steddie fic #Steve x eddie #eddie x steve #Steve harrington #eddie munson #argyle stranger things #jonathan byers #jargyle #jargyle supremacy #steddie:sweet tooth #ao3 #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ronance #stranger things #stranger things fic #modern au #coffeeshop au

[braindead-criminal]

zapomeňte na coffee shop au panelák au je mnohonásobně lepší, přátele

#alternate universe #coffeeshop au #panelák #pls pište panelák au fanfikce #potřebuju je #čumblr

[jeune-vampire7]

#dead plate #dead plate vincent #vincent charbonneau #art #dead plate rody #rody lamoree #rody x vincent #coffeeshop au #digital painting

[ramblingoak]

Ratte Art

A little drabble set in an au where Omega runs a coffee shop called The Ghouls Den. (Thank you to the amazing @writingjourney for the art!)

~ Omega helps Copia deal with a customer that doesn't appreciate his latte art ~

Copia x GN Reader (coffeeshop au, background Terzo x Omega, nothing but fluff here, sfw, 1,300 words, not beta read)

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

Omega had owned The Ghouls Den for almost 10 years now. 

He named it after the mascot of the local college, a place that held a lot of sentimental value for him.  For almost four years he had been the captain of their rugby team.  It all came crashing down when he’d injured his knee and was told he wouldn’t be able to play his favorite sport ever again.  So he ended up being forced to fall back on the business degree he had half-heartedly been working on.  

The coffee shop was right on the edge of campus.  It was his favorite place to study and eventually the owner threw an apron at him and told him if he was gonna be there all the time he might as well earn some money.  So he slowly began to learn how to make all sorts of caffeinated beverages as well as all the ins and outs of running a coffee shop.  When he graduated the owner offered him a chance to buy the place and Omega couldn’t think of a reason to tell him no.

There was only one thing that would have stopped him from buying the place (besides a severe lack of money).  Although it wasn’t so much a thing as it was a person: Terzo Emeritus.  He and Omega had met in their first year of college and despite a rocky start it didn’t take long for them to realize they were meant for each other.  Terzo was there when Omega hurt his knee and had to face the harsh truth of never playing rugby again and Omega was there when Terzo’s father, Nihil, cut him off.

Thankfully Terzo was an extremely talented artist and with his income from selling his pieces to Omega’s income from The Ghouls Den they both lived a very comfortable life.  Terzo sometimes worked at the shop (although Omega would use the term ‘work’ very loosely), but the majority of the other employees were college students.  His newest employee was hired as a favor for Terzo.  He had waltzed into the shop one day dragging a guy behind him.  Omega had vaguely recognized him, but the sideburns and mustache were definitely new.

College is for experimentation afterall.  

He hadn’t been very confident in Copia’s barista abilities at first.  Or his customer service abilities.  The guy seemed way too anxious for his own good.  After a few extremely iffy shifts Omega had decided to schedule him with Aurora during the mornings.  The perfect companion for Copia while he learned the ropes. She was his best employee, personable and quick.  Although she was a terror with sprinkles and ever since she had started Omega had been forced to double his order for them every week to keep up with her.  

Omega’s biggest worry was how Copia would handle a rude customer.  Most of the folks that came in were pretty chill.  Everyone wanted to be nice to the people providing caffeine.  But every now and then you’d get someone that seemed to be itching for a fight no matter how stupid the reason was.  Unfortunately this morning would be the real test because Omega had been pulled out of his office by the shouts of a woman from the front of the shop.  She was squared off against Copia, wearing a business suit that probably cost more than his monthly rent.  He observed for a few moments to figure out what was going on and once he did, Omega had to turn around to hide his laughter.

“Why would I want a rat in my latte?!”

“Technically it’s on your latte.”

Poor Copia, he seemed genuinely bewildered as to why this woman didn’t like his latte art. 

“Rats are pests!  They’re disgusting!”

Copia immediately straightened up and squared his shoulders.

“Rats are actually some of the most intelligent and cleanest creatures in the world.”

“Well I still don’t want one on my latte.”  While Copia just stood frozen in place Omega could see her gear up and he knew the next thing out of her mouth was gonna involve asking for him so he decided to intervene.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

He had honed his customer service voice many years ago although anyone that knew him well enough could tell he was annoyed.  Aurora was definitely one of those because out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn around, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“Yes this idiot seems to think putting a picture of a rat on top of my latte was a good idea.”

He was really glad Terzo wasn’t here right now.  Terzo had a protective streak a mile wide when it came to Copia and Omega knew this woman would’ve been wearing the latte if he had heard her insult his little brother.  Omega was angry enough on his own and all of his fake niceties flew out the window.

“My apologies ma’am, I’m sorry you didn’t like the rat.  We’ll skip the art next time.”

“That’s all I get?  An apology?!  You’re not going to offer to fix it or even refund me?”  

The woman’s voice was getting more shrill with each word and the line of customers behind her was growing.  He always hated dealing with this shit, but he hated giving in to rude people more.   

“You want me to fix it?  Fine.”  Omega reached around Copia and grabbed a small straw.  He plunked it into the cup and gave it a quick stir.  As the poor rat disappeared Copia sighed next to him.  Omega clapped a hand on his back before addressing the woman again.  “There, the rat’s gone.  Next!”

No one in the shop moved for a moment as they waited to see what the woman would do.  Omega was really hoping he wouldn’t have to call campus security on her.  When she finally moved it was to dump the latte all over the counter.  With a frustrated growl she turned and started shoving past the other customers towards the door.  She had just made it outside when Aurora shoved her way in between Omega and Copia, shouting after her as loud as she could.

“Have the day you deserve!”  The woman’s gasp was cut off as the door shut behind her.  “What a bitch.  I can help the next customer!”

Aurora gave Copia a quick hug and then scooted back to her register.  Copia was quiet as he grabbed some towels and started to sop up the spilled mess.

“Hey, you ok Copia?” 

“Si, si.  I’m fine.”  

Omega was pretty sure he wasn’t fine, but he didn’t want to push.  

“Don’t let someone like that bother you.  They just enjoy making everyone around them miserable.”  Copia nodded as he finished wiping the counter off.  “But maybe don’t do any more rat art, ok?”

“Yeah, you’re prob—“

“Actually I’d love a rat on my latte!”  Omega, Copia and Aurora all turned to stare at the customer that had spoken up.  They actually appeared to be blushing a bit when their eyes met Copia’s.  With a little shrug they walked up to the counter.  “Rats are my favorite animal.”

Copia’s mouth fell open and Omega was pretty sure if this was a cartoon there would be hearts coming out of the younger Emeritus’s eyes.  Another good reason Terzo wasn’t here.  The teasing would be relentless.  Omega would have to use some of his old rugby moves to make sure Terzo didn’t try to “assist” his little brother with whatever this might be and judging by how Copia and the customer were looking at each other this was definitely going to be something.

Omega knocked his shoulder against Copia’s and gave him a wink when he looked up at him.    

“One ratte coming up.”

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

P.S. Ratte is rat in German (thank you again @writingjourney 🤣)

If you'd like to see more from this au let me know!

my masterlist

my ao3

#my fics #my writing #oakie drabble #the band ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia fanfiction #copia fanfiction #cardinal copia x gn reader #copia x gn reader #the band ghost fanfic #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader #cardinal copia fanfic #copia fanfic #coffeeshop au #papa emeritus iv x gn reader #papa emeritus iv x reader

[whetstonefires]

okay so for the proposed very funny 'secretly half vulcan spock' modern coffeeshop AU scenario sparked by that concretes post, the only reasonable way i can see to set this up (without messing up vulcan culture in ways that would annoy me) is if Sarek crash-landed in Canada--probably alone in an escape pod, although if we want to make him the only survivor of a larger vessel coming down who evaded the government that could work too.

anyway Sarek doesn't have a sciences background to the extent Spock does, so i feel that finding himself in a 'stone knives and bearskins' scenario would be a bigger problem for him, and he'd have a great deal more trouble working around issues like 'i need some platinum to make this machine work' and his partner is like 'lol well i got bread.'

so he's stuck in canada trying to signal Vulcan for surreptitious rescue, and in the meantime he falls in with Amanda Grayson and they get him a fake identity and fulfill some cliches. and to their surprise they're reproductively viable, hello Spock.

so this fic is set like 20 years later and Spock is in college. i want to say in iowa because that's the natural habitat of jim kirk but spock is too much of a goddamn snob to go to school in iowa, they have no Notable Institutions, sorry iowa.

maybe he's got an associate professorship at the University of Iowa; academic job market sucks. Or maybe Jim left Iowa as soon as possible, being how he is, and they're in Big City.

the older they are the more you can stick them anywhere on earth for this. the younger they are, the more easily you can justify spock picking up a part-time job at the coffee shop. depends on where you want to go with the story.

anyway Jim runs (owner? manager?) the Not Starbucks indie coffee shop where Spock goes all the time (to get Not Coffee) and Spock being secretly half alien doesn't come up for ten chapters, except for how he comes across as spectacularly autistic and never takes off his stupid headband that covers his ears and eyebrows even when it's 102F.

#hoc est meum #star trek #coffeeshop AU #i find these more writeable now that my sister works in such a shop #so i now experience a regular stream of coffeeshop anecdotes #mr spock #james tiberius kirk

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Hehe yes I do know how to make good coffee. What's ur order babes?

SPEAKING OF IM GIVING YALL SOME 141 COFFEE SHOP HEADCANONS

Price is that regular who gets the same thing every damn day at the same damn time. If he is running five mins late because of traffic we are panicking, where's our predictable man?!

Definitely on a first name basis with all the baristas. We have his order ready by the time he's walking through the door.

Simon is a tea guy but he prefers to make it himself. If he's getting coffee he is asking us how many shots of Espresso we can legally give him. Usually buys a lil bakery item too. Loves when we put coffee puns on the bag. Sometimes he'll offer pun suggestions.

Soap the motherfucker I love him but UGH he is totally wasting time asking for recommendations just to flirt with the baristas. So.much sugar. Extra whip. Every sugary syrup we have. Please babe give us a break.

Gaz flirts with the baristas but he gets away with it. Everyone is fawning over him. Calls the baristas "his girls". Super chatty. Telling whoever is making his coffee such riveting stories we forgive him for the complex order with so many substitutes. Charming little shit.

-🔪

I LOVE YOU

AND I LOVE THAT

AND

AND

AND

YES

I SEE IT

I LIKE IT

YES

#asks #🔪 anon #tf141 #coffeeshop au #my anons are so talented

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

Extra Foam, Double Shot.

Summary: CoffeeShop!AU. Jason has been working at your Cafe for about 6 months now and boyoboy is he a flirt. Sure, he gets you great tips, but when he turns it on you, you can't help but feel like he's still putting it on.

CoWorker!Reader x Jason Todd

2.7k

Warnings: SMUT 18+Only, AU!CoffeeShop, teasing, banter, No vigilantes in Gotham, swearing, flirting at work.

"Jay," you call, a jug of milk in your hand while you try to juggle the 3 types of syrup this woman wants, "dude why are you late? And so sweaty?"

"Got side tracked at the gym. Give me a sec to change and I'll be right out."

"Make it quick. Margo can't handle the register on her own."

"Yes boss." Jason disappears into the back room, blowing you a kiss on his way.

"Asshole." You whisper to yourself.

"Heard that."

The day whizzes by in a rush. Fuck it's so busy. The convention downtown is in full swing this year and it seems every man and their side kick is going. Except you. Instead you're stuck inside this block of glass and concrete with the most annoying man who ever lived and he won't stop being sweet to you and it doesn't make any sense. He’s sweet, sure, but he’s like that with everyone, but when you’re alone, when you stop and think about it for some reason, it makes you feel special.

"Lunch rush, here they come," Jason nods towards the crowd at the door.

"Dude, the whole days been a rush."

"True, maybe you need some time to cool off."

"What? I can't take a break now."

“I know a way we can relax you quickly."

"You.. we.. " you shake your head, focusing on replacing the cups, "the ahh."

"You're so fuckin cute when you're flustered." He smirks, leaning over to grab a jug that nearly collided with your head, "just don't hurt yourself," he leans down, "I'd really hate to play doctors."

"Doctors? Really? Didn't you drop out of medical school?" You whisper, finally finding your voice.

"Oh," he places his hand over his heart, "you wound me."

"Do more than bloody wound you."

"That a promise?" Jason's voice low and right in your ear.

"Yes. Now move so I can get off." You pause, "off the floor I mean."

"Of course," he holds out a hand for you, smiling when you take it and pulling you close, "I'd love to help you get off."

"Right," you roll your eyes, "someone's waiting for you." You flick your head towards the register.

"They can wait."

"Jason dear!" Mrs McGullan calls from her spot at the counter, twinkling her fingers at him. "You're looking so handsome today."

"Off you go." You start to prepare her regular order while Jason heads over to her. Watching the ease at which he and this 70 year old woman flirt. You admire his skill at sweet talking the customers, but it does sometimes, make it feel like he's just- like he doesn't mean it with you either.

"So when's the wedding?" You ask when he comes to grab Mrs Mcgullan’s coffee.

"We're thinking late fall." He jokes, " what's with the face?"

"What face?"

"See something green in your eyes there."

"You're imagining it."

"I'm always imagining you." He smirks, his eyes flicking up and down before he turns away.

XxX

"That's the last one, want me to lock the doors?" Jason asks, as the couple closes the door behind them.

"You can head home, I'll lock up."

"I was late. Least I can do is help clean."

"Fine, just let Margo and Dane get out the door. Then whatever. I'm going to start clearing the tables."

"Dane already left and-"

"Bye besties! See you Tuesday!" Margo smiles, throwing her handbag over her shoulder.

"There goes Margo." Jason grabs the keys, locking the front door and pulling the blinds down. "Now you've got me all alone, what are you going to do with me?" He smirks, leaning into the table your cleaning.

"Do with you?" You lean towards him, your face so close that you can hear his breath hitch, "put you to work. Go grab the mop." You smile in victory as you grab the coffee cup from beside him and he groans at you. XxX

"I'm nearly done with the grinder, then we can go." You call out to Jason who disappeared into the kitchen 10 minutes ago.

"What are your plans for tonight?" He asks, appearing around the corner with the clean muffin display in his hands.

"Eat some dinner, go to bed, maybe read."

"Come out with me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you want to."

"Do I?"

"I know you do."

"Right, because you're so charming and all that."

"What does that mean?"

"You're a flirt, Jay. Doesn't mean everyone wants you."

"Excuse me?"

"I see you here flirting everyday. Just leave me out of it."

"Oh. OH." He steps toward you placing the display on the counter, "you got me all wrong. I'm only fitting with them for work. My flirting with you is strictly unprofessional."

"Sure."

"You really think I'm nice enough to lie to you?" He steps even closer to you, "Want me to prove it?"

"What does-" your cut off by his strong hands holding onto your waist while his lips sit a breath from yours, his eyes darting along your face. Oh so slowly he leans forward, giving you enough time to pull away. But you don't, trapped in his deep blue stare. His soft lips brush over yours, almost like a kiss from a ghost before he's resting his forehead onto yours.

"You get it now?"

"I- ah.. umm.. what?"

"So cute," he places a little kiss on the end of your nose. "Can I just- ." His hand slides from your waist up to where your neck meets your shoulder as he kisses you deeper. You lean into it, your hands dropping the tea towel you were holding to cling to his arms, "do you get it now?" He whispers into your lips.

"No. Need more proof." You smile so hard your teeth clash.

"If proof is what you want," he takes your hand from his arm, guiding it down, down towards his-

"Oh my God, Jason." you laugh in shock.

"I know, it's big right and it's all for you."

"This is not the time, or the place,” you chide him, not wanting to pull your hand away.

"Which is why I wanted to take you to dinner." He presses himself into your open palm, "but I could just make you dinner at my place?"

“Is it far?"

"Not too far." He winks, "go grab your stuff. I'll finish up here."

Xx

"This is where you live?” you ask, staring at the quaint looking townhouse, “Isn’t your dad like uber rich?”

“Yeah, but since I dropped outa school he cut me off.” he shrugs, he hasn’t ever really talked to you about his family before and you were always kind of curious as to why Bruce Wayne's ward was now working at your tiny coffee shop. But, being cut off seems like a low blow.

“Nice looking place though,” you try to change the subject, hopping from one foot to the other, “Does it have an inside?”

“It does.” he beams down at you, “Sorry, I was just enjoying the view out here.” he fishes his keys from his pocket while not looking away from you.

“Well, I have a secret Jason.” you lean up really close to him.

“And what's that?”

“I’m fucking cold.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” he opens the door, “My humble home,” he bows like a doofus as you walk past him and into the dark green and wooden interior.

“Did you-” you stare at the dark oaken chair rails, the fretwork lining each archway, the bookshelves and bookshelves that line the walls of what you assume is the living room.

“Decorate? As much as you can on a barista's budget.”

“It’s beautiful.” running your hand along the bannister that's carved with half finished birds. “Who made this?”

“Me,” he states, “haven’t finished yet, but it’ll look good once I’m done.'' He comes up beside you, his hand following along yours as you trace over the carvings.

“You carved these?”

“What can I say? I'm good with my hands.” he winks, before slapping you on the ass.

“Hey!” you yell, peeking over your shoulder to smile back at him.

“Too much?” he laughs, before staring up at the door above the stairs, “Wanna see what else I made?”

“Is it in the kitchen? Because I remember being offered dinner.”

“Kitchen ain’t up there.”

“Down here then?” you brush your ass past him as you wander down the stairs and through a large swinging door. He’s right behind you, his hand on your hips as he follows. “It’s cute.” you turn to face him, “Cosy.” your breath hitches when you notice just how close he is.

“It’s functional,” his fingers trace up your arm, sending goosebumps all over your skin. “Sturdy,” he pushes into you with his hips, your ass clashing with the side of the counter. “But you said you were hungry. I can whip something up for us. If you want to wait.” he kisses you gently, while his hands hold you so he can deepen it. His tongue glides into your mouth, his hands holding you so softly you feel like you’re made of butter. “So tell me, what do you want?”

Your hands slip up his back, gripping tight into his hair, “This,” you whisper, bringing his lips even closer that your noses are squished together.

Jason moans into your mouth, while you relish the sweetness of his tongue, his cock pressing into your thigh as he pushes you even harder into the counter, like he just can’t get close enough. His lips travel from your mouth, pushing your hair over your shoulder, his tongue lathing at your neck. Hands travel south, gripping into your breast, he pulls your shirt from your skirt, his hand snakes up under pinching at your nipples through your bra. “Fuck, I wonder if your pussy tastes as sweet as your mouth,” he moans into your skin, his eyes full of lust when he stares back at you and kneels down in front of you. “Can I lick you?” he stares up at you, his lips softly caressing the bare skin of your thighs.

“Yes,” you push your hips forward, holding your skirt up with one hand the other tangling through his hair.

“Need to take these off first.” he kisses at your panty covered pussy, “fuck, you taste,” his tongue pushes your pants to the side swiping at you, “Mmm… I could get..” he pushes his head up his mouth devouring you as he makes the most delicious noises you’ve ever heard.

“Like that,” you moan, arching your back into the counter and curling your toes so hard you start to cramp, “Fuck, Jason, thats..”

“Good? Is it good?” his voice is mostly muffled by you, “You want a finger?”

“Ah, hmmm.” you nod down at him, your legs already starting to shake when his finger pokes into you, filling you not quite enough, “Fuckkkk… yes..” you start to grind down on his finger. “Shit… shit.. Jas-” your voice falters, “My-” you start to slip as your legs shake too hard.

“I got you,” he picks your legs up with ease, throwing them over his shoulders and keeping you steady as he fucks you with his fingers. “Fuck, can feel you getting tighter. You going to cum?”

“Yes, please. Jason, Harder.” you moan, throwing your head back. Your clit grinding into his nose, it sends your orgasm crashing into you. “Fuck, Fuck.” you cry as your release floods Jason's mouth.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you cum.” Jason says as he rises from his knees, “And it tastes like ambrosia. Fucking hell,” he kisses you again, “I’m so hard right now, for you.”

“For me?” you ask, feeling so blissed out from the way his tongue was just over your and the tangy taste it's now leaving in your mouth.

“Do you want it?’

“Jason,” you stare at him, for some reason feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Tell me you want it,” he holds your hand pulling it towards his belt, “Better yet, take it out for me.”

“I want it.” you keep your eyes on his buckle as you undo it, yanking at the button on his pants and pulling them apart.

“Good.” he directs your face up to his, “But I want you to keep your eyes on me. Ok?”

“Yeah, I can-”

“I know you can. I’m going to put you on the bench. You ready?”

“I'm ready.” you say a little too eagerly. You let out a giggle that you don’t even recognise as he picks you up like you weigh nothing and drops you on the counter, the cold wooden surface fresh on your ass.

“Wrap your legs around-” he laughs at your initiative, “Yeah, like that. Pull me- Fuck. Slow down.”

“Inside.”

“You that desperate for it?” he stares down at you, one hand on your hip bringing your ass right to the edge while the other laces through your hair, “You like that? When I pull your hair and grab your ass?”

“Yes,” you wiggle forward, swallowing even more of his cock inside of you, “Feels.”

“Addictive?” he pushes in harder, when you nod and let out a breathy moan and start to grind down on him.

“So addictive.”

“I’m going to move now,”

“Yes, please move.” he starts slowly, his face moving down close to yours. You wrap your hands around his neck bringing him even closer as his cock thrusts even deeper and his pelvis grinds into your clit. You move with him, matching his pace and tugging gently on his hair. “Jason, that's amazing.” you moan into his ear.

“Say my name again,”

“Jason.”

“Sounds so good when you say it like that.”

“Jason, faster.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, please. Just like-” you arch your ass out, your back lifting from the counter.

“Angel, fuck. You’re something else.”

“Don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping. Holy shit.”

“Sooooo good.”

“You nearly there?” he pants, scrunching his brows together, “I’m so close. I can’t hold it much longer.”

“Yes. So close,” you fuck him back even harder, bringing his lips to yours, “Fuck Jason,”

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Fucking, Jason.”

“Where?”

“Mouth.”

“Cum, Cum then, cum on me so I can put it in your mouth.”

“Again.”

“Cum on me pretty girl,” fuck, your world starts to shake as you cum all over Jasons cock. “Fucking stunning.” he moans into your mouth while your legs tighten around him and hold him deep inside you while your pussy sucks and clenches over him.

“Shit, you’re cumming so hard.” he grits his teeth, “Squeezing me, fuuuccckk. You’re pushing me out, fuck.” His name falling from your lips like a weird little chant made just for you.

He gives you a few moments to ride it out before he pulls from you and lowers you to your knees. “Open your mouth for me.” your mind is half dead as you open your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out and stare up at him with your dazed look. “Those fucking eyes.” he growls, “Keep em on me,” he slips his cock into your mouth, groaning as your tongue licks at the underside of his cock. “Fuck, can I just-” you suck him in, hollowing out your cheeks as you keeps your eyes on him. “Yes, pretty girl.” his hips slam into your face, his cock throbbing in your mouth. “I’m going to- just like- fuck- Iiiii.” he moan as his cum fills your cheeks and slides down your throat, his hips still trusting like he's trying to fuck it down your throat. “Oh my god, you're something else.” his voice breathless as he pulls from your mouth and offers you a hand. “I didn’t hurt you did I?” he genuinely asks, throwing your arms around his shoulders and lifting you up.

“My knees are kind of sore.” you rub at them, “but it’s really ok.”

“Sit here,” he plops you back on the counter, “Let me,” he gently rubs at them, “You still hungry?”

“A bit, but I did enjoy my entrée,” you smirk, your eyes darting down to his twitching cock.

“Do you like pasta?”

“Who doesn’t like pasta?”

“You happy to sit there and watch?”

“Hmmm… It’s a good view.”

“You can stare at me like that anytime, pretty girl.”

“I might just do that.”

“Though,” he turns back from the fridge, once again crowding your space, “Maybe keep the fuck me eyes for after work.” he lips press into your cheek, “As pretty as they are, I don’t want anyone else seeing them.”

“And why is that?”

“Because those pretty eyes are mine now and I do not like to share.”

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@bubbles-incorrect-yb @megumisbabymomma @nutmeg030

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#coffeeshop au #jason todd fanfic #reader x jason todd #jason todd x reader #x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd

[sassypossumm]

First Editions

The manager of one of the most illustrious coffee shoppes in London, and a mysterious grumpy businessman (who may or may not be some kind of mob boss). What could possibly go wrong?! Right....

"Stop looking at him like that, it's creepy!" Margary leaned over, hissing in your ear. Brushing off the unpleasant sensation you leaned back and gave her a dirty look. 

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Margary!" Grabbing several paper towels, you began furiously wiping up a wet spot on the counter. Folding her arms, she raised a brow and gave you a knowing look. 

"Don't think I haven't noticed how you've been staring at him every time he comes in! And don't try to deny it!" Clenching the towels in your hand you closed your eyes and clenched your teeth. She wasn't wrong. Much as you hated to admit it, you'd developed something of a... fascination for the older British gentleman who'd taken to coming in everyday now.  

And every morning he ordered the same thing. A plain hot earl gray tea, cream on the side. Then he'd do the same thing, every day. He took his tea and sat in the exact same chair at the exact same table, every day. And every day you watched him shake open the paper. And he sat there for exactly forty-five minutes to the dot. Never a minute more, never a minute less. Then he'd neatly fold and crease his paper, tuck it under his arm, return the empty teacup, and thank you in that clipped accent of his, and he'd walk out the door. 

In the weeks he'd been frequenting the shoppe where you managed, you'd exchange a handful of words with the man, and that was a generous estimate at best. And yet, somehow, you'd become fairly well acquainted with the stodgy man. 

For starters, he was wealthy. Disgustingly if you had to guess. From the way he dressed to the way he carried himself, he exuded confidence and that old-world charm that seemed to be going rapidly extinct. His appearance was always meticulous.

He didn't dress in a flashy manner, that had you supposing that he was a self-made man who valued his money, and preferred to invest in the quality of his garments rather than simply following whatever was the idiotic trend of the week dictated by the self-proclaimed fashion gods.  

In summary, you were besotted. 

"I swear, you've got some serious daddy issues, or a major grandpa kink." Margary's voice dragged you out of your thoughts and back to your present reality. Coffee.  Strong coffee at that. Your shoppe prided itself on the special blends you brewed. It was rumored that even members of the royal family popped in from time to time, discreetly of course. Tossing the towels in the bin, or trashcan as you'd say back home, you threw Margary a wry grin. 

"Maybe it's a little bit of both, Marge." You chuckled at her scowl. You knew she hated that nickname, which was precisely why you continued using it. 

"He actually remembered your name today." She teased, bumping your hip playfully as she passed to wipe down the tables. 

"Yeah, yeah, big whoop." Rolling your eyes, you opened the cash register to make sure you'd have enough funds to make it through lunch. Business usually tapered off around 12:30, meaning you'd most likely be able to dash to the bank and back without being missed. 

Margary hated holding down the fort, but hey, perks of being the manager, right? Flipping through the fives, you were so focused on counting and facing the bills, initially you didn't notice when a customer came to stand in front of the register. He cleared his throat. 

"I'll be right with you." You said politely, glancing up absently. Him. Your throat constricted and your grip on the bills tightened. "Mr. Lannister." Your voice sounded a pitch too high even to your ears. Stuffing the bills back into the drawer, you slammed it shut just a bit more forcefully than necessary. A ghost of a smirk crossed his face, but before you could fully appreciate it, his features fell back into their usual passive refrain, and he slid the empty teacup across the counter. 

"You're finished early." The words left your mouth before you could stop them. You felt a telltale flush creep up the back of your neck. He did smirk this time. You reached for the teacup, utterly mortified. You weren't supposed to keep tabs on how long customers spent in the shoppe. That was creepy, right? 

"Yes, I've unforeseen matters to attend to." 

Your heart jumped at that. He was talking to you. Sure, it was vague and a bit cryptic, but Tywin Lannister was actually talking to you. And while his expression remained impassive, something in his eyes told you he wasn't exactly pleased to have his schedule messed up. 

That you could understand. As a rule of thumb, you yourself were a creature of habit. If your plans were screwed with, it had the strong potential to through your whole day off. 

"Well, I hope it resolves itself." Offering what you hoped was a conciliatorily smile, you placed the teacup in the mess bucket and turned to take it to the dishwasher. 

"Oh, just one moment." You turned expectantly. He flipped open his brief case and fished out a book. A very old book from the looks of it. "Here." He held out the book and you took it gingerly. "I recall we were discussing the classics," 

"We were?" You blurted without thinking. Mr. Lannister soured at your outburst. Pursing your lips, you waited for him to continue. 

"Perhaps I heard you and your friend discussing it in passing, regardless, I recall you mentioning that you'd never read 'Anna Karinina'. To be quite honest I found such a notion appalling. Most likely the result of the poor education system in the states." Your head span like a dervish under his barrage of words, you hadn't been aware he was even capable of so many. "Nevertheless, that is neither here nor there," He continued, shutting his briefcase. "You now possess a copy, and I expect you to read it." His eyes pierced through you with the order. 

"Yes, sir." You murmured, your ears burning under the heat of his gaze. 

"You seem intelligent. And an intelligent woman should be well read." He tapped on the cover of the book for emphasis. Your mouth went dry, and you found it impossible to tear your eyes away from his. You were vaguely aware of yourself nodding in agreement. With a final curt nod, he left without so much as a look back. 

Looking down at the book, you actually took the time to look at it. A first edition copy of 'Anna Karinina'. 

"What did he say? Come on, tell me!" Margary rushed over, animated and full of questions. 

"He... gave me this." You gestured to the book and handed it to her without a second thought. The shock of the encounter had left you a little hazy. 

"This is a first edition, those aren't cheap!" She looked at you and narrowed her eyes. "What else did he say?" 

"I think I need to sit down." The blood rushed to your head, and your knees wobbled. Margary placed the book on the counter and grabbed your arm. 

"Easy, girl, come on, easy does it." She pulled out a chair at one of the tables and you sat with a heavy thud. "I observed," 

"You eavesdropped."  You looked at her pointedly. Margary huffed. 

"I eavesdropped. But I couldn't hear much." She grumbled, tapping her nails on the table. "But I saw how he looked at you." 

"How did he look at me?" You squirmed in your seat; not certain you wanted Margary's undoubtedly accurate insight. Somehow it might make it... real... tangible. She leaned forward and looked at you seriously. 

"He was practically eye fucking you through the entire conversation." She said with a bit more gravitas than you'd have liked. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you willed your head to stop spinning. "What else did he say?" Her tone was gentler this time, concern shining in her eyes. You sighed heavily and propped your chin in your hand. 

"He said I seemed intelligent." 

"He's seducing you." She concluded. Your mouth opened and you looked at her as though she'd grown a second head. 

"Margary, be serious! A man like Tywin Lannister," 

"My point, exactly." She cut you off, adamantly. "A man like Tywin Lannister, with his reputation, and his well-known disdain for Americans, no offence," 

"None taken." You waived a hand dismissively. "Continue." 

"When a man like that starts handing out expensive books and compliments, that's as good as him propositioning you." 

"Well, he sure has a funny way of going about seduction, and what do you mean, reputation?" You look up at her before closing your eyes and rubbing your temples. 

"You honestly haven't heard the rumors?" 

"If I had I wouldn't be asking, would I, Margary." If you'd opened your eyes at that moment, you'd have seen the nasty look she was giving you. 

"No need to get snippy with me." 

"Sorry." You sighed, dropping your forehead to the table's surface. Placated, she continued. 

"He's a terribly mysterious businessman, few people actually know how he makes his money." 

"And naturally people imagine the worst and flap their gums." 

"Flap their gums?" She blinks, confused. You cracked a small grin. 

"Gossip, Margary, gossip." 

"Ah, I see. You and your American idioms." She shook her head. "All I'm saying is... tread lightly when dealing with the likes of Tywin Lannister." She reached out and squeezed your hand. Your grin turned wry, and you returned the squeeze before releasing her hand. 

"I'll keep that in mind, besides," Pulling away from the table you stood up and shrugged. "What's the likelihood I'll actually end up in his bed?" You both chuckled. 

#tywin lannister #tywin x reader #modern au #coffee shop #margaery tyrell #tywin lannister x reader #coffeeshop au