#he's probably really thankful she's so patient though. even through everything. she always keeps saying they'll make things work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wonwoonlight · 2 years

Text

something warm / lee chan

➝ Reader & Chan (platonic) // feat. a lot of other idols

➝ coffee shop!au // slice of life // fluff // nonidol!au

➝ word count: 3.4k

➝ haven cloud masterlist (can be read as standalone)

➝ What’s playing in Haven Cloud

➝ A/N: didn't mean to upload this now but i wasn't in a good mood so i hope this make someone feel better out there. i suppose haven cloud is finally open for business! thank u @twogyuu my luv for beta reading

it's almost been a year since you started working in Haven Cloud and you look back to the day you find yourself on its doorstep.

“It’s already been nine months since you started working here, huh?”

You jump at the sudden voice, having been busy zoning out as it’s a pretty slow day in the cafe. You turn to see Chan leaning on the station, his boyish smile and messy hair reminds you once again that this boss of yours is younger than you are.

Other than the fact that he’s literally the owner of this cafe you’re working at, the way he carries himself often makes you forget that he’s younger than you. He’s very mature regardless of his age, and you often find yourself admiring him when he readily solves unexpected problems in the cafe.

Be it logistics because your supplier somehow messes things up in the warehouse to entitled customers who would show up from time to time, Chan is always ready to face them; always engaging the staff if they have other alternatives even though you all know you almost always go with his opinion because it is the best one.

It’s only recently that you’ve become a full time worker, the first six month passed by in a blink of an eye even though you’re initially just here to find something to do. Being in the last year of university, you’re left with only a few classes to attend as you focus on your final paper. Perhaps you should be more thankful you don’t have any classes to redo, passing them with good enough scores that your worst grade is a C+ (Statistics be damned).

That’s good enough.

But that means you’d be a little too free for your liking; and it was months ago that you were talking to your roommate about wanting to take a part time job so you could find things to do and some side earning because why not. You’re not interested enough in academics to apply for the TA or tutoring role so those two are a no go.

“Mm. I think Mingyu mentioned his friend recently opened a cafe or something, do you want me to ask?” Lisa had offered, and you tried to recall a Mingyu even though there’s too many in your university. She’s probably referring to Mingyu from the basketball team (he’s one year above you, you think, but you’re not really aware of people who aren’t in the same department as yours), and she confirmed your assumption when she mentioned she’d ask him after he’s done with practice.

Next thing you knew, you’re already starting day one in the cafe with Chan patiently helping you through the week. He’s the owner, you were told since the beginning, having established the cafe just a little over a year ago. But because the cafe is still small and it is his main job, Chan still runs the cafe on a daily basis. He does just about everything; covers for the barista when he’s not available, cleans the table when you’re too busy in the cashier, even keeps track of inventories when he has free time.

That said, you’re only the third full-time worker in the cafe, the first one being Boo Seungkwan, the barista, and Yoon Jeonghan, the pastry chef. Later on, you found out that the three of them started Haven Cloud together. Jeonghan is actually the co-owner though he preferred to bake and serve than do “his fancy job” (his words, not yours) as the co-owner, while Seungkwan helped invest a little and offered to be the barista instead because he’s just finished taking a course for it.

“It has, huh?” You grin before going outside the station to help Ryujin clean the tables.

Ryujin is a part timer that has joined before you, though she says she’s happy with being a part timer when Chan asks if she wants to work full time with him. She’s a very attractive girl who also works part time in a hair salon (she’s been asking if you want to dye your hair because she’s just perfected a new technique), and you think that’s why Ryujin refuses Chan’s offer; she likes to try new things and she doesn’t want to be chained to one job (or anything, for that matter).

You talk some more with her and Chan as the three of you do your own stuff, your resident barista nowhere to be found–presumably in the kitchen with Jeonghan. It’s around three in the afternoon, which is a weird time for the cafe to be slow, because usually at least your regulars are already in around these hours. Right now, there’s only one customer in the cafe, a regular that’s basically a friend to all of you at this point, and he had his headphones on, focused with something on his laptop (which is why the three of you can just talk without having to worry you’d bother him).

The familiar tinkling of the bell echoes through the empty cafe, and Ryujin readily greets the customer as you get back to the cashier and Chan goes to call Seungkwan from the kitchen.

“Hi, how can I help you?” you smile at the newcomer, a pretty girl with long, black hair that you’re sure have never been here before. You’ll remember her if you have; she’s easily the most beautiful girl you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

“Hi! Saw this cafe by accident and thought I’d drop by,” she happily indulges you in small talk, eyes busy roaming the menu board on the wall. Gosh, even her voice sounds nice. “What’s your specialty?”

“Do you want caffeine or?” You’ve always liked this question, happy that someone trusts you with their order. Also, to you, it validates your position in the cafe; like, wow, someone look at you and think you’ll know what’s good. Maybe it’s a little weird to think of it that much, but you just like to know that you are a part of this cafe. That’s how dear Haven Cloud is to your heart.

“Mmm, I don’t mind either but I’m not really in the mood for a cold drink, to be honest.” She blows air into her cheek, and you almost embarrassingly squeal at how adorable she looks. Gosh, it’s not funny the amount of cafe crushes, as you and Ryujin label them, you’ve had since you started working here. There are too many people dropping by here who are way too attractive for them not to be celebrities.

Sometimes you get giddy when they return for a second time, though you don’t give them any special treatment or anything. At most, you’re just more friendly and smile a little wider when you talk to them.

You hum, pretending to consider it for a second even though you already know what you’re going to tell her since she’s said she wants something warm.

“If you like something tingly, our hot rum mocha is always a favorite even during summer.” You offer with a smile, and she just nods and says that she’d happily have that–asking for an extra cinnamon on top. “Do you want anything to go with it?”

“Our dark chocolate chip cookies are to die for.” You jump at the sudden voice, and you turn to see Jeonghan with a fresh batch of croissant (when did he even come out of the kitchen?), a flirty smile on his face as he winks at her. “I’d know.”

You roll your eyes at this tendency of his, though your customer seems to not think much of it as she shakes her head and tells him she’d get some if you recommend it. You laugh when Jeonghan mocks a broken heart, telling her he’s hurt and she’s not allowed to order the cookies for that comment and then trots back to the kitchen after he’s successfully put the tray on the rack.

“Sorry, he’s always like that.” You scrunch your nose in amusement, glad that the girl simply grins and says she doesn’t mind at all and finds him funny.

“I’ll get that dark chocolate chip cookie then,” she muses as she scans the pastry display.

“Sure. Can I get your name?”

“Oh! Jisoo,” she informs you with a smile, muttering something about how she would be coming back to try out the pastries because they all look appetizing.

You thank her when she hands you the bill to pay for her orders, and it’s then that Chan comes out of the kitchen and says that Seungkwan is apparently out to the minimarket down the street because he needs to stock something real quick. You’re not sure when did he go, but you assume he might’ve left from the backdoor and that’s why no one but Jeonghan is aware that Seungkwan’s left.

“It’s fine, I can make the drink by myself,” you shrug nonchalantly, though the thought of making a drink still makes you excited everytime it happens. “It’s one of the recipes that I’ve perfected, anyway.”

Chan grins in amusement, though he nods and leans on the station and says he’ll watch you make it. It has been quite some time since he saw you make a drink; the chance doesn’t present itself often enough because Seungkwan is there most of the time, and Chan is better at making most drinks than you are.

“To think you used to be scared to even touch the foam machine,” the younger guy teases you, and you laugh as you start to prepare the drink, your mind taking you back to approximately nine months ago when you’ve just started working in the cafe.

The weather was super nice that day. But you’re inside Haven Cloud as you sat awkwardly in front of the younger guy, having some kind of interview though you guessed he’s really just trying to see if your personality matched well with his. In a workplace this small, you suppose it’d be better for him to be with someone he knew for sure he could work with. Skills could be trained, but attitudes were another thing altogether.

Lisa had kindly offered to come with you, and she’s currently talking to Seungkwan at the counter about the pastries within the display because everything seemed delicious to her.

“I don’t… know anything about working in a cafe,” you confessed right from the beginning. Chan intimidated you for reasons that you didn’t understand, because he seemed very warm and nurturing despite his age, so you really didn’t know why you’d feel intimidated.

But you were. And you thought it’s his sharp eyes and the aura surrounding him that made you want to just bow a little and give respect to the guy. Even though he’s smiling and there’s nothing threatening about him, you know he’s not the type of person that you’d want to be enemies with.

“Always a first time,” he shrugged with a kind smile. “Do you at least know the difference between latte and mochaccino?”

“Mochaccino contains chocolate, right?”

“That’s enough basics then.” The grin he gave you was so assured, like he’s not gambling if he decided to take you in. What if you’re extremely clumsy and you ended up wasting a lot of his ingredients? “Plus, you won’t be working as a barista though it is necessary that you know the difference between our menus. Just consider it an oral exam or something.”

“What… would my work entail, exactly?”

Chan hummed, as if wondering how to answer without scaring you away. “I need someone to help me, basically. Mostly, you’d be in the cashier; but you’d need to help around with just about everything because we’re still small and I only have one part-timer at the moment.”

The way he looked at you was the first time you felt that he’s a little unsure–would you be okay with this agreement? He probably thought. You appreciated his honesty though; glad that he didn’t feel the need to conceal that you’d be working as everything you need to be if you decided to work here.

Frankly, it’s a better strategy than to trick someone into working only to find out later on that you’d have more baggage than you signed up for; who knows how long someone would stand being in such a position? He’d have a harder time looking for a replacement for god knows how often if he decided to go down that road.

“How many of you are there?” you dared to ask to get a picture of how much you’d be helping out exactly.

Chan smiled sheepishly before he answered. “Just 4. Me, the barista, the pastry chef, and the part-timer I told you about. Sometimes my brother helps when the cafe is extra busy; but it doesn’t happen that often because it’s only been a few months since we opened. We’ve picked up a few regulars though, so I think it’s a safe enough time now to recruit another help.”

For all its worth, you really did appreciate his honesty. You liked knowing what you're up against, even if it might be overwhelming at times, and you’re starting to warm up to the idea of working in this small, cozy cafe due to the fact that the owner had this much integrity. Though you’re a little worried that he might be taken advantage of one way or another by how open this guy seemed to be.

Plus, you had always wondered how it’s like to work in one after watching one too many romcoms.

After talking some more about your shifts, salary, and so on, you promised Chan you’d come back in a few days after thinking a little more. You’re not even sure what you’re going to ponder over, but you felt like it’s necessary for some reason. The pay was good considerably, and Chan even said you’re free to arrange your shifts with Ryujin as necessary, and that you’re allowed to do your assignments in the cafe too if it’s not too busy.

Maybe you’re just scared you wouldn’t be up to this job because of the vague description of ‘helping around’; the line between questioning whether you had it in you to do it and whether you wanted to do it was a little too blurry at that point.

The next day, you dropped by as a customer because Lisa had apparently fallen in love with the cafe after one visit and wanted to try the Lemon Cake that’s apparently this month’s special but wasn’t on stock yesterday because you came when Jeonghan was still baking a fresh batch.

“Oh, hi!” Chan greeted you happily, and you told him you’re here to try their delicacy and maybe some latte. “Sure! It’s a little busy today but you shouldn’t wait for long.”

Evidently, there was no line at the cashier; but it’s true that the cafe was pretty packed. You counted only three empty tables, the rest full with customers though it’s not noisy. They’re all talking in hushed tones, the soft song playing in the background still vivid in your ears despite the fact that these people were talking.

Lisa told you to find a seat after asking for your order, telling you she wanted to ask a few things to the cashier and the barista so it might be better for you to do so. Sitting down on one of the empty tables by the window, you had only just realized that you liked the ambience of this cafe. It’s not those kinda crowded, boisterous cafes even when it’s busy.

You didn’t really get to look around yesterday, but now that you had the chance, you noted that Haven Cloud was the kind of cafe you’d go to when you want to be alone with other people. You wondered if it’s because it’s still small and fairly new, but the mood of the cafe made you warm inside. You wouldn’t make a business appointment here, it’s much too homey for that. But you definitely would bring your laptop and sit down to focus by yourself.

The sound of something breaking brought you out of your mind, and you saw a little girl tearing up at the glass shards on her feet. She almost bawled when Chan came by, her mom already apologizing profusely because she accidentally dropped the plate when her kid continuously tugged on her dress.

He smiled kindly at her, you noted, telling her it’s fine then you saw him squat down to meet the little girl’s eyes. You couldn’t really hear him, but you assumed he told her there’s no need to cry and that he’s not angry at her. He looked up to the mom and, at her nod, he carried the girl in his arms so Ryujin could clean the shards; you could hear her apologizing to the customers for the inconvenience.

“Do you want a cookie?” Chan’s soft voice traveled to your table as he stood nearby, the mom too apologetic to let Ryujin clean by herself. Perhaps he asked her if he could take the kid with him for a moment–who knew? “I’ll give you one if you promise to not cry and not bother your mom when she’s holding glassware, okay? What if you got hurt?”

“You’re not mad at me?” her small voice asked, sniffling a little.

“As long as you promised to say sorry and be careful from now on,” he patted her head. You almost melt at the way she offered him her tiny pinky, and you could see that Chan himself almost squealed at how adorable the exchange was. He accepted her promise, and you saw her hug him shyly before telling him, yes, she would like to have a cookie.

You heard the woman offering to pay for the cookie, but Chan shook his head and said it’s fine and it’s an honest mistake so he’s not blaming her for anything. She still felt bad though, you suppose, because you saw her drop way too many tips on the jar that Chan definitely couldn’t refuse.

“You okay?” Snapping out of your memories, you turn to see Chan looking at you in question. He looks almost worried, though you shake your head and tell him you just zoned out for a bit there. “Mind sharing your thoughts?”

“Mmm. Just got reminded of Hanna,” you grin as you finally work on Jisoo’s order.

“Little Hanna? Mrs. Jang’s daughter?” He tilts his head, unsure why you’d suddenly thought of her.

You nod, hands busy as you tell him you just returned from a walk down memory lane. Nine months seem so long ago now that you’re here. Chan sends you a questioning gaze, but you tell him you’ll tell him later and call for Jisoo because her order is ready.

“I don’t think I’ve told you,” you start, leaning back on the counter right next to Chan as you both watch the cafe. You see Ryujin wiping the glass door, and you could’ve sworn you can hear Jeonghan cursing faintly from the kitchen followed by the sound of something thudding. “But I decided to give working here a try because I saw how you handled that situation with Hanna.”

“Really?” He seems surprised, his eyebrows shooting up behind his fringe.

“Yup. I knew you wouldn’t get mad at a kid. But I didn’t expect you’d be so gentle about the whole thing?” You reminisce, still remembering how your admiration for the guy begins to grow from that point onwards.

Chan doesn’t seem to get it, his brows creasing with a confused smile.

“You think it’s just the obvious thing to do, don’t you?” You guess with a coy smile, which Chan answers by a sheepish grin and a scratch on the side of his face. Gosh, can he be more adorable? “Well, you could’ve handled it much worse. But you didn’t. You did more than good and I admire you for that.”

“Thank you, I guess?” he says with a hesitant tone. You always find it funny how bad he is at receiving compliments no matter how deserving he is.

“Thank you,” you counter back, a genuine smile etched on your face. You’ve never expected to talk about this with Chan; not because you meant to hide it but because you simply didn’t think the chance would present itself. But now it’s here, and you’re glad it is because you think you owe Chan a lot for giving you a chance. “For letting me join the cafe.”

You pause for a second before you continue, meeting his eyes as you do so with the warmest smile on your face.

“For letting me find a home in Haven Cloud.”

A/N: ahh it's been so long since i write anything for chan so i hope this wasn't too ooc?? excited to start this series and pls do tell me your thoughts <3 tried playing around to make the banner but lol i had too much fun doing it without considering it's good or not jsdhfbds well, anyway.

🏷permanent taglist: @kyeomjjigae @stantrash171819 @sebongmochi @luveveryonewoo @thinkinboutwonu @kpopjackie @ursweetener @lavenderautumnx @itsveronicaxxx @shuahoshiscoups @sunshinein17 @leechanniee @twogyuu @hoe4wonwoo @h3h3tm0n @noraehey @seokshook @rubyhoons @02psh

🏷haven cloud taglist: @berriesandjunnie @boowanie @honeymoondelicia @joshuahongnumbers @bbymatz @baldi-2 @justasoftstan @lechanters @darl-ings @17kwans @heesunki @13956789 @yoonguurt @yoonzinosworld @alicehatter457

#caratwritersclub #ficscafe #dino oneshot #seventeen fic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #dino fluff #dino scenario #dino imagines #chan scenarios #chan fic #chan fluff #chan fanfic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen au #seventeen scenario #haven cloud event #svt fluff #svt fic

164 notes · View notes

deepdisireslonging · 1 year

Text

Maybe One Day: Chapter 1

Sophia Adler is a nurse in Gotham. On her way home one evening, a problem drops into her lap. But it’s hard to tell if her new patient is the bigger problem, or the man in red who seems insistent on irritating her.

Pairing: (eventual) Red Hood x Sophia Adler (OC)

Warnings/Promises: canon-levels mafia violence, cw blood

Word Count: 1600

Note: This was a commission I wrote back in December for a patron. I’m going to share it here bit by bit. As always, I really appreciate all reblogs and comments.

December Twenty-First

DOWNTOWN GOTHAM, 7 PM

The well-suited man paced in front of the large ornate desk that took up most of the room. He straightened his tie for the hundredth time. “Shipment is set for that date? You have to be sure, or I can’t do anything about it.”

Behind the desk, Black Mask furrowed his brow. “If it is delayed, you’ll fix your preparations. Or you get nothing. And your next campaign run will be heavily underfunded.” He leaned back, relaxed. “You above all people should know what happens to city officials who don’t have my stamp of approval. You replaced the last one.”

Stepping back, the official wilted. He looked like a child trying on his father's clothes. He nodded, defeated.

“Great!” Black Mask pushed a button on his desk. “Ms Li, please show our guest to the door. Our business is finished for the day.” As his assistant did as he asked, an extra guard heavily guided the man out of the room. Black Mask looked down. The map on his desk showed all of Gotham with the usual police patrol paths highlighted. Other dots, far away from those paths, marked his warehouses and drop points. If everything went according to plan, Gotham would enter a new era.

<\\\*///>

December Twenty-Second

GOTHAM HOSPITAL, 10 PM

Incessant beeping was a daily part of Sophia Adler’s day. All around her various medical machines worked to keep Gothamites stabilized, and her team moved from patient to patient in a practiced dance. Carefully, she glanced at the watch on her wrist. Her patient chuckled.

“How long have they been running you for today?” His smile was hindered by bindings around one side of his face, but the warmth passed through all the same.

Sophia side-eyed him with a smirk. “Just the usual twelve hours. Nothing I can’t handle.”

He whistled, or did his best to. “They work you too hard. A smart woman like you needs to move to one of those private clinics. Make bigger bucks on fewer hours.”

“But then I couldn’t help people like you.” She looked up as the floor manager called out her name, motioning her to go home. “Don’t get into any more trouble while I’m gone?”

“No promises.”

They shared a laugh before she finished up his paperwork. Her friend and coworker, Alexis, bumped hips with her at the sink. They covered the usual catch-up for Alexis to take over Sophia’s rounds, then both leaned against the wall for a breather.

“So. How are you liking Gotham?”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “I like it. It’s home; always has been. I swear you guys treat me like a tourist sometimes.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been in Metropolis for school. Coming back here must’ve been a culture shock.”

With a laugh, Sophia picked up her bag. “No. The culture shock was moving there. Coming back was a relief.”

Alexis leaned close. “How was seeing Superman, though?”

“I never saw ‘im. Just cleaned up his messes.”

“Too bad.” Alexis leaned away, half-hiding behind a bed curtain as a manager walked by. “They say he’s a looker.”

With a tsk, Sophia dismissed the thirst chat. “He’s probably got some alien or super girlfriend, so what’s it to me?” Snagging her arm, they headed towards the door. Before she could go through, Alexis tugged her to a stop.

“Come on, who wouldn’t want a hero boyfriend?”

“No thanks. I’ve got enough stress in my life as it is.” She grinned. “If I find one interested in a nurse, I’ll send them your way.” Their giggles came to a stop when a Doctor walked by. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Drive safe.”

Sophia called over her shoulder, “I’ll do my part.”

Despite what she’d said, Gotham had been a bit of a culture shock. Metropolis didn’t have as many petty criminals. Hard to when their resident hero could hear everyone on earth. She had to reteach herself to carry mace and a knife, and to have a gas mask within quick reach at any given time. Still, the streets were the same. A few had been rebuilt. Though it didn’t take long for the city’s grime to reclaim them.

She was a block from home when she could hear shouting. Slowing down, she rolled down her window, a bad habit she picked up in Metropolis. For her trouble, a body plummeted to the concrete next to her, making her scream. Her hands were shaking so hard she could hardly park the car and grab the keys.

It was a man. And, based on the amount of blood and its placement, he’d been attacked.

“Sir, can you hear me?” Sophia kneeled next to him and prepared to check for the most dangerous injuries. “My name is Sophia, I’m going to try to stabilize you. What’s your name?” The man managed to whisper “Bill” before a dark shape dropped next to her, pushing her out of the way.

“Basically, goon number three.” The assailant dragged the man up by his collar, making him jolt with a hard punch to the stomach. “And he’s not worth stabilizing.” He proceeded to drag him into the nearby alley while the man blubbered for his life.

Sophia staggered to her feet and followed him. “Stop! You’ll kill him.” She skid to a stop when the streetlight revealed his gear.

The shiny red biker helmet identified him strongly enough. Red Hood. The red emblem across his chest angled more towards her, making her step back.

“Now that we’ve been acquainted,” he said, “can I get on with my work?”

“No.” Sophia swallowed. “There have got to be better ways of… processing this man than what you’ve been doing to him.”

“You sound like the Bat.”

“At least he recognizes that violence isn’t always the answer. And when it is, it is well deserved and he still delivers them to the authorities or the hospital.”

“He won’t need a doctor. He’s going to need a coroner.”

At that, Bill started wailing, pleading for Sophia to not let him die. She didn’t think. Stepping into their scuffle, Sophia yanked him out of Red Hood’s hands and guided him to lie down. Surprisingly, Red Hood didn’t put up a fuss, even as Sophia dug gloves out of her pocket and began to examine him.

“I didn’t want this job! It was all I could get in this crummy town.” He hissed when she pressed gently on his ribs. “I’m a good man. I try to keep my nose clean, I don’t take candy from babies, and I pay taxes on my income. What more do you want from me?” He shivered back with a yelp when Red Hood leaned into his face.

“I want scum like you to stop sneaking weapons into my city.”

Sophia’s eyebrows rose. “Weapons?”

“Mhmm. This worm,” Red Hood dug his thumb into Bill’s shoulder, “is part of Black Mask’s gang. They’ve got a big present coming into town sometime around Christmas. And I don’t think it’s good cheer.”

In her mind, Sophia recalled the last time Black Mask’s weapon market had brought her trouble. It inspired her to move to Metropolis for med school. And it about took out the city block where she lived. Angrily, she jammed her fingers into Bill’s side where he’d winced earlier. He yelped, confused. “You either tell this man what he wants to know, or I’m going to use my medical knowledge to help him hurt you more.”

The helmet quickly angled towards her. With a tilt, he accepted the help.

“I- I can’t. He’d kill me-”

“Mask? You’re still worried about him when you’ve got the both of us staring you down?” Red Hood nodded at Sophia. “Think again.”

On cue, she prodded one of his wounds. He cried out.

“Okay, okay. But I don’t know much. Something not from here. Some guy made a deal with the boss. R. Sage? Severe?”

“Savage?”

“Yeah. That sounds right.”

Red Hood ran his hand over his helmet like he would his fingers through his hair. “Great. When?”

The goon made a show of shutting his mouth. Until Sophia prodded his painful ribs again. “Christmas Eve! Geeze, lighten up, won’t you? Most everybody will be taking the day off. Minimum security.”

Sophia was in on it now. She needed to know if the upcoming attack was going to happen anywhere near her. Or near the hospital. “Where? And don’t say you don’t know. For a goon, you know an awful lot already, so spill.” To push her point, she made a show of grabbing his fingers, prepared to wrench them back.

He blubbered and moaned, but finally said, “dock C. Some city guy is making sure most of the team gets the holiday. The others will get a special present to make sure they don’t see a thing.”

Red Hood snapped his fist forward, knocking Bill out. He was about to hoist him over his shoulder when Sophia intervened.

“Alright, you got your information. Now let him go.”

“What? I’m not gonna-”

“I’ll call the police. You’ll be gone by then. And by the time he gets out, you’ll probably have this whole thing solved, right?”

She could feel him smirking as he crossed his arms. “You have a lot of faith in me, Doc.”

“Not a doctor. A nurse. And as such, I can’t let you-”

“Dammit!”

Bill had recovered while they argued, and ran off in a dead sprint.

Red Hood pushed Sophia to one side. “You did good, I’ll give you that. Consider it your good deed for… the year. Now, stay out of this. Please. You’ll only get yourself hurt.”

“But I can help!”

He was already gone.

Suddenly very tired, Sophia went back to her car. Soon she was safe in her apartment. She fell asleep quickly. And wishing that what she’d just seen had been a dream.

<\\\*///>

***

Part 2: Here

Intrigued? Interested in a commission of your own? Check out more information here: Guidelines Here

#Jason Todd #jason todd x oc #red hood x oc #DC comics #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #answered requests

24 notes · View notes

hecatesbroom · 1 month

Note

For the ask game -- The Golden Girls, of course! But also The Good Place, if you'd like! And I'm curious about what your favourite movie might be, if you have one, so consider that my third suggestion :)

aa thanks for the ask! And so sorry I took so long to reply. I love asks but am notoriously bad at getting to them on time, haha.

Of course the Golden Girls! (Which you can find answered here!)

The Good Place it is! + my favourite movie, both under the cut because this is getting long

My rating (1-10)

I still haven't watched the full show so I don't think I could rate it yet, but it's somewhere in the 8-9 range!

My favourite character

Ooh this is hard! I think Janet? Maybe? I love how she makes her own journey towards humanity. Though I also love Michael, possibly for the very same reason haha. It's been a while since I watched though, so I don't have too many well thought-out things to say about them at the moment!

My least favourite character

That bad guy? The demon trying to mess up everyone's plans? I forgot his name but I detest the guy (which I think is how you're supposed to feel as the audience, so you know, it makes sense haha)

The character I think I’d be friends with

To be perfectly honest, I can't really see myself getting along with any of the main cast. I'm sure they'd all get on my nerves after a while! 😂 my safest bet is probably Janet, or maybe Chidi.

The character I think I won’t hit off with

See my answer above! But I think out of the main cast, I'd get along worst of all with Jason. He's a nice guy, but even as a relatively patient person I'm sure he'd drive me crazy at some point 😂

My favourite episode/scene

It's been a while, but I still remember the way the reveal at the end of season 1 made me feel. And that was amazing!! It opened up a whole new layer of context, and gave the show so much more meaning. So that's probably my favourite part: the reveal!

Whose clothing style I like best

Oohh, I think it's Janet's outfit, to be honest. It's just great, what can I say?

Times I watched it (and if I would again)

Just once, about 2/3 of the way through, and I'd absolutely rewatch at some point (after I finally manage to finish it)!

My favourite movie is The Sound of Music! There are plenty of others I enjoy watching and rewatching, but nothing ever quite matches up to the magic of The Sound of Music :)

My rating (1-10)

10/10!! of course!

My favourite character

Maria, if only because I adore Julie Andrews (and she's just a great character!!) It's rare to find characters who are this kind and positive, without being a pushover or the comic relief :)

My least favourite character

I don't think I really have one? There are a couple I dislike for obvious reasons, but they all serve an important part in the plot, so I can't really bring myself to pick *one* I dislike most?

The character I think I’d be friends with

It'd probably be lots of fun to be friends with Maria! She seems like such a bright, uplifting person to be around. And also like the type to befriend everyone she encounters, haha.

The character I think I won’t hit off with

Uh. I think this is obvious if you've seen the movie lmao

My favourite episode/scene

Everything?? (Alright, I always swoon a little when I watch the Laendler scene)

Whose clothing style I like best

To be really honest, the costuming is the one problem I have with The Sound of Music. They're in the late 1930s! Why is everyone dressed like they're in the 50s and 60s?? I love how everyone's outfits match their characters, but come on, why didn't they make them more appropriate to the decade at least? :')

Times I watched it (and if I would again)

More times than I can count, probably (and yup, I'm definitely watching it again. And again. And again!)

Thanks for sending an ask! <3 I tried to keep it short, and I think I kind of succeeded (for my standards, anyway 😂)

#alys.txt #ask #ask games

5 notes · View notes

autumnalwalker · 1 year

Text

Find the Word Tag

Thank you for the tag, @winterandwords.

My words to find were bad, bear, break, & being.

Passing the tag to @talesofsorrowandofruin, @blind-the-winds, @writingpotato07, @void-botanist, and an open tag for anyone else.

Your words to find shall be did, didn't, don't, & doesn't.

Bad: Empty Names Side Story - Once Upon A Time...

Now, the Rogue’s two favorite adventures to go on were “Steal the hat” and “Spy.” “Steal the hat” was fun because there was no shortage of rich folks and nobles coming through the city who could afford to lose a fancy hat or three and they were usually guarded well enough to make getting close enough to swipe the hat a challenge. Even better, unlike most things that they took, the only ones who shouted at them were the now-hatless rich folks. And the guards, but shouting at people was their job, so they didn’t count. But the normal folks that saw the Rogue running around with a hat too big for them embroidered with gold and silver threads with a feather sticking out the top would smile and cheer at the trick. So long as the rich folks’ guards weren’t around, of course. If the hat belonged to someone mean enough, the Rogue might even get an apple tossed their way while they ran past, and a fresh one at that.

Keeping the hat was never a good idea though, so the Rogue always made sure to leave it somewhere where it was sure to be seen in case someone else wanted it. Usually hanging from atop a sign halfway up a building or perched jauntily on a horse’s head. They’d tried putting the hat on a goat once, but the goat just ate it, which they worried might have been bad for the goat.

Bear: The Archivist's Journal, Day 39

Lin spoke up at this, telling him not to blame himself. That he couldn’t have predicted how things would turn out and he certainly isn’t responsible for other people’s feelings or behavior. And besides, at the end, Bartolome wasn’t even aware of who was or wasn’t there, and hadn’t really been for weeks. She would know, she was there. She’d watched for months (alongside her father) as the old man grew less and less lucid and his sons became more and more distant. She was the one who had more and more become the man’s primary caregiver, keeping him comfortable, administering food, water, and medicine, and changing his sheets as his sons grew unable to bear the sight of a father who didn’t recognize them and her own father shifted his attention to other patients with sniffles, and headaches, and cuts that could be made better. She was the one who was acting upbeat every day for a sleepy old man who probably didn’t even notice. She was the one who couldn’t even get angry at the brothers for not wanting to see their father like that after having had to do so daily herself. She was the one who didn’t even have a day to process how she felt about it all because she’d had to ready the body for a funeral, and then attend the funeral, and then spend the mist night wondering what it’d be like when her own father got that old and if he would keep his mind to the end or not, and then got woken up at the crack of dawn to knocking on the door because the doctor and his assistant were needed to deliver a baby, and even though it’s normal for births to shortly follow funerals it’s not normally that soon after, and so she’d spent the morning dealing with all the pain and blood and everything that goes along with childbirth and how that to her always overshadowed how happy the parents might be holding their child afterward and how she was terrified of ever having to go through that herself but her parents wanted her to find a husband and have kids and she didn’t want to disappoint them and everyone else her age had already done so and were happy but she wasn’t even sure even wanted any of that and… and she finally ran out of breath and energy to keep speaking.

Break: Empty Names - 7 - Gathered Here Today

“So you’re saying each of these trees is part of a pair like the one we came in from,” Eris confirms.

“Most of them,” Bridgewood clarifies. “In some cases the other end of the bridge has been chopped down and made into something else and will spit you out into the biggest remaining piece. So far I’ve wound up accidentally breaking and entering four times that way and found myself in a ship at the bottom of the ocean twice ”

“You say that like you don’t know where they all go,” Eris says.

“My dearly departed wife preferred to memorize family secrets instead of writing them down. The signs are a recent addition.”

Being: Empty Names - 11 - Afterparty

“Just like it’s obvious she’s terrified of you? Seriously, what did you say to her when I wasn’t around?”

Sullivan clasps his apple-less hand over where his heart should be and gasps in mock indignation. “Why, I was nothing other than my usual charming self.”

“That’s what worries me. You were being antagonistic enough while I was around; I’m not completely blind to how you are when I’m not.”

The apple’s returned to its original hand when Sullivan pulls it away from his chest into an exaggerated shrug. He cheated that particular sleight-of-hand, but that’s one of the perks of being him.

“I was just stress testing them. If they can’t take a bit of light provocation now, how can we expect them to hold up a year from now in a real high-stakes situation with tensions running high? Besides, if I’d really been trying to antagonize anyone there would have been bloodshed.”

His friend sighs. “I know, I know. But for once, could you at least pretend to get along? I really want this to work out.”

Sullivan stops playing with the apple. “I know, and so do I. That’s why I did it. But since you asked, I’ll… show some restraint.”

“Thank you. Building up team trust and understanding is going farther than just learning to tolerate each other.”

Sullivan peels a bit of skin off the apple with his teeth instead of answering. The taste is so-so. Better as a prop than food, especially for one who doesn’t need to eat.

#find the word tag #manuscript search tag #tag game #my writing #writeblr #writing tag games

14 notes · View notes

lumilasi · 1 year

Text

So, technically his bio still needs one more part, namely his dog. However I REALLY wanted to tick off his bio from my to-do list today, so I'll add the dog here later. (I haven't decided on which suggested breed to go for yet)

Thank you @spokelseskladden for helping me with the name stuff and the dog! And ofc, the whole penguin thing with him was originally an idea by my friend @mad-hatter-rici that I chose to keep for his new incarnation.

Also, in his case I can say that he is meant to be specifically Norwegian, though not from our world's Norway. (Typically my characters aren't from actual IRL countries or places, but this story has at least a version of it) I initially planned on giving him a more of a common surname, but then I saw this one and just...c'mon he's a fictional character, I had to give him something a bit more special lmao

Bio below:

Age: 22

Family: Family lives elsewhere in a larger city, an uncle who owns the cabin he lives in currently. (not named rn as I probably won't have them appear much, so their appearance or name isn't relevant)

Friends: Araknos family, Any friend of Clover in general, his classmates in general...he's a friendly guy. His bestie is his dog, Alva

Love interest: Clover Belmont, a witchboy from Mirror World, a paraller reality to the human world

Occupation: Grocery store clerk/Wilderness guide student at vocational college/housekeeper for his uncle's cabin

He's just a human, just some guy, just that one sweet dude that's a lil weird and seems to believe in fairies.

Abilities:

He's good at surviving in the wilderness both summer and winter, as he's essentially grown up spending most of his time outdoors. He can recognize edible/poisonous plants and mushrooms, how to build an emergency hut, first aid, good crafting skills for makeshift tools etc.

He's an excellent cook and knows how to take anyone's food preferences/needs into accordance.

He's a very good fisherman (or just patient enough lol)

Due to his lifestyle, Henrik is fairly strong physically and has good stamina

Magic tattoo; he can communicate with Clover with his tattoo, and they can tell each other's moods and if one needs help through it. He can also use the tattoo to contact either its maker (Jurou) or Clover's adoptive father if he senses Clover is in trouble.

He has a surprisingly strong danger sense and can tell if something is off either in his surroundings, or with a person. He can just pick up on someone's "bad vibes" pretty much.

Personality:

Henrik is very sweet, hospitable and friendly guy, who is willing to help people in need. He's a bit naive too and easy to trick, but chooses to still have faith in people and believe in them - unless they very obviously show to him they're bad. he approached people with good faith, but once you fuck up, you do need to prove yourself as he won't forgive that easily depending on what was done.

He has almost childlike curiosity towards everything, and even if he doesn't necessarily understand topics, he enjoys listening to people who do. He genuinely always tries to understand it, but even if he doesn't, he won't beat himself up too bad, or pretend he does.

He can be a bit oblivious and sometimes forget things, like switching out of pajamas when leaving his home. His dog Alva often has to bring him stuff he forgets, or otherwise remind him of things. Sometimes she even drags him out of bed when he's being lazy.

Weaknesses:

Dude's a human in a world of mythical creatures, monsters, demons and witches, he's pretty weak and fragile in grand scheme of things.

His seemingly gullible nature makes him easy to trick with more harmless things; if someone dangerous tries to manipulate him, he tends to pick up on that. But pulling a prank on him and hiding his slippers or putting a kick-me note on his back? Easy peasy.

He tends to overestimate himself and gets hurt a lot, such as what happened with the bear spirit. The main reason he doesn't have more scars yet, is thanks to his magic friends healing away most of them.

The scar he has does sometimes ache, and on worse days can force him to be bedridden the whole day with pain and nausea.

Fun Facts

His dog Alva may not be an entirely average dog, but she refuses to tell her secrets even to a fellow dog, an Inugami (Japanese dog spirit) called Raitei

Henrik enjoys carving and painting small wooden animals on his free time, and he tends to make a lot of penguins and dogs.

Penguins are his favorite animals, and he'd love to travel to a place that has them in nature someday. His love for them comes from being given a penguin plushtoy as a kid by his grandma, shortly before she died. it's been his inseparable friend since then, and he named it Sven. (He still has Sven to this day)

Henrik has learned some Japanese from Clover, who, while living in the mirror world, is technically of Japanese origin so his native language is Japanese.

Mostly he communicates with Clover and others through the natural effect of Mirror World, where it allows everyone to understand each other's languages. This effect became applicable on him only after he got his tattoo; before that they both spoke English as it was the only common language they shared. (Clover also speaks German and French, as his adoptive dad speaks those alongside English)

He has taught Clover some words in Norwegian, mainly curses because he asked lol

Due to Clover's condition, typically when he visits he makes sure to have some of his special food enhancement dust with him, so he'll be able to get full from Henrik's cooking properly.

Henrik is pan

He likes dyeing his hair split-colored; the blond is his natural shade. He mostly goes for natural-ish shades for the dye job, like browns or blacks or coppery reds.

if fully open, he does have slightly long front bangs. He tends to only open his braids when he needs to really wash his hair properly though. (or when reapplying the dye)

many of his classmates have had crushes on him, and they are aware that he supposedly has a long-distance relationship with a Japanese person. (some doubt it'll last, others are more curious)

Despite being introduced with lot of powerful and scary magic things, Henrik is still very open-minded about it all and likes to learn more. It doesn't mean he's not scared of Clover's world, but he loves it despite his fears, as human world can be terrible as well.

He lost his tooth and got the scar on a hiking incident some years back, where he fell and hit his face against a rock.

The bear spirit thing happened during the second ever visit Clover did. In the end Clover's adoptive parent Angus had to deal with it and help save him. The scar was too severe to be fully healed, but most of the time it doesn't have any impact on his life; it starts causing pains and nausea only occasionally, due to being magical origin.

He chose to live in the cabin instead of an apartment, as he wanted to be close to nature while studying, and its not that far from his small college anyway. It even has internet!

#artists on tumblr #oc redesign #oc reference #oc illustration #lumi’s chaotic creations #lumi's chaotic creations #lumi’s art scribbles #lumi's art scribbles #night city parlor #Henrik Thorsen #just some dude #with magic boyfriend #and a responsible dog #he's not just a responsible dog owner #his dog is a responsible human owner lmao

7 notes · View notes

skyward-children · 2 years

Text

@zelinkweekofficial | Ao3

The air around Skyloft is fresh and clean, and the sun is shining, and everything is nearly perfect because Link has just won the Wing Ceremony race and is now standing atop the Statue of the Goddess with Zelda, his newly acquired sailcloth in hand.

Nearly perfect, because Zelda doesn’t quite have the courage to fully carry out the ceremony.

Nearly perfect, because the next thing she’s supposed to do scares and awes and thrills her, and she can’t get a grip on her logic at the moment. Her brain is full of thoughts of the golden-haired boy kneeling on the stone before her, running his fingers across the motif on his sailcloth. She can’t shake him from her mind. She can’t stop thinking about what she has to do.

She can’t do it, of course. But she has to. It’s part of the ceremony, after all. Why? She has no clue. But it is, and that’s a fact of life, and goddess darn it if her knees are too weak to even consider finishing the ceremony properly.

Link stands up, folding the sailcloth reverently over one arm before he smiles at Zelda. “This is awesome,” he tells her, gesturing to her gift. “It’ll be really useful, too! And….” He grins cheekily. “It smells nice.”

“Link!” Zelda huffs, momentarily distracted from her inner turmoil. “Stop goofing around, silly! This is a sacred ritual, remember?”

He chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, I know. But it does smell nice. Like flowers.”

Zelda rolls her eyes, hoping that all of Skyloft can’t hear her pounding heart. “Thanks for making it up here today, Link,” she says, partially because she wants to and partially to delay the inevitable a little longer. “I really appreciate you being up here with me like you promised.”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling happily. “Of course! I always keep my promises, you know that,” he adds with a wink.

Zelda laughs, though it feels a little forced. She drags the toe of her boot across the platform, trying to muster her courage. Link waits patiently, standing against a backdrop of perfect blue sky, although he’s most likely a little confused by the delay. (It’s not as if he knows what’s about to happen. Although, she reflects, it’s probably a good idea to check).

Zelda hesitates, peering at Link shyly and pressing her knuckles to her lips for a moment. “So…” She drops her hands and clasps them together behind her back. “We really should finish up this ceremony. You….” She swallows, her mouth going dry as she tries to look everywhere but his eyes. “You do know what happens at the end….right?”

Link stares at her, bafflement evident on his sweet little face, and Zelda blushes, thankful that he doesn’t know. “Ok then,” she says, drawing a deep breath and moving closer to him, so close they’re almost touching. Link instinctively rocks backwards before returning to his previous position, surprise clear on his face. He’s so close she can count the incredibly faint freckles on his nose.

“Um…” Link grins slightly, his eyes squinting as he looks at her. “Zel? W-what are you doing?”

Zelda bites the inside of her cheek, digging her fingernails into her palms and gathering her courage. Kiss him, Zelda. Kiss him. Go on, it’s no big deal. It’s a normal part of the ceremony, you’ve read about this, it happens every year. Go on. Kiss him. Just kiss him. He’s your friend, it’s not hard.

Her gaze falls to his lips. They look so soft, so inviting. It would be so easy to just lean in, it’s part of the ceremony after all, and it’s not like she doesn’t want to—

Zelda blinks, a shudder passing through her. She can’t do it. He’s her best friend, and the thought of kissing him makes her head spin and her knees go weak. She can scarcely breathe as it is, standing so close to him, so close she can feel his breath on her face. And besides, what if he doesn’t like it? What if she doesn’t do it right? What if–

“—Zel?”

His voice breaks through her flustered thoughts, and she jumps and looks up into his eyes again. He tilts his head, seeming worried, and she smiles quickly to reassure him. Her mind races in circles for several more seconds, until finally she comes to a decision, because right now she just isn’t brave enough to go through with kissing him. Instead, without warning she reaches out, grabs his shoulders, and spins him to face the opposite way. “You have to jump off the statue, silly! I thought you knew that,” she says quickly, relieved he can no longer see her face, which is burning comically red.

“N-no??” He glances over his shoulder, seeming more than a little concerned (which is probably valid, considering she almost pushed him to his death earlier). “Should I have?”

Zelda bites her lip. “No. It’s– no big deal.” Especially cause jumping off the statue is supposed to come after I– “ You just gotta land in the circle down there. It’s not hard, and now you’ve got my Sailcloth, so it’ll be easy!”

“Well, if you–” Unexpectedly Zelda shoves him off the statue, and Link’s statement turns into a strangled scream. He freefalls for a few seconds before he whips out his Sailcloth and floats gently to the ground, landing perfectly in the circle.

Zelda sighs in relief, though guilt thrums in her chest at the fact that she skipped an integral part of the ceremony. It’s not like anyone can ever figure it out though, right? And Link will hopefully never know.

No, it’s best that she skipped it. It would have been awkward, most likely. He would have hated it, probably.

That’s what she tells herself.

<><><>

They’ve been on the surface for three weeks now, and guilt is nagging at Zelda like an angry Remlit. Too often she finds herself drifting off in thought as she forages for food or water, only to be broken from her stupor by Link, who waves his hand in front of her face worriedly and asks if she’s okay. She always tells him that she’s fine, but then later at night she lies awake and lets her guilt consume her instead of sleeping.

She’s currently sitting atop the Statue of the Goddess, staring around the Sealed Grounds lost in thought, as usual. It’s insane to think that months ago, she and Link were up here for the Wing Ceremony, the very thing that’s been bothering her for the past few weeks. Only now the statue is down on the surface, not high above the clouds in the endless blue of the sky, and she’s the goddess and he’s the hero and Zelda has no idea what to do about anything at the moment.

She used to be so in control, but now she feels helplessly out of control. Like she’s trapped underwater, being slammed to the bottom again and again, unable to break free. It’s nothing to do with her new status, really– after all, she’s still Zelda. She’s still mortal, and there isn’t honestly a lot that’s different about her. No, this out-of-control feeling is more…

Confusion.

Confusion about her and Link, and exactly what they are, and the fact that she didn’t kiss him during the Wing Ceremony.

“Zelda?”

She starts at the sound of Link’s voice; he appeared as if conjured from her very thoughts. Twisting around, she spots him at the edge of the statue platform, having just leaped off his Loftwing to join her. He smiles and walks towards Zelda, sitting beside her and dangling his legs off the edge of the ledge.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Link remarks, beaming over at Zelda. A breeze ruffles his hair. “What’re you doing?”

“Oh…you know…just thinking,” Zelda answers casually, gazing into the distance. She can just see the tip of Eldin Volcano smoking on the horizon.

“Nice day for thinking. There’s hardly anything going on.” Link leans back on his palms, swinging his legs back and forth and staring up at the sky.

“Mhm,” Zelda agrees, then hesitates. “Actually…”

Link’s gaze flicks to her, and he continues kicking his feet. “Actually…?” he prompts, his head tilting slightly to one side.

Zelda chews her lip for a moment, considering. Finally she says, “Well…the Wing Ceremony.”

“What about it?”

“It’s been bothering me cause…um, I kind of skipped over a part.” She cringes, awaiting his reaction.

He doesn’t seem upset. “Okay, so? I’m sure by now I qualify as a knight, don’t you think?” he chuckles.

“No, you didn’t need that part of the ceremony, not this year at least. I just…it’s been nagging me,” she answers. “See, usually the Wing Ceremony isn’t performed atop the Statue of the Goddess, so instead something else happens to finish it off, instead of the knight jumping–”

“Being pushed,” corrects Link, grinning.

“-- Jumping off the statue.” Zelda sighs, twisting her hands in her lap. “This year that was the closing part of the ceremony, but as I said, normally it’s something else. I did read that the first ceremony included both closing parts, with the leap off the statue being the final one, but– I skipped over the typical ending and only had you do the statue jump.”

“...what?” Link stares at her, appearing extremely confused. “There were supposed to be two endings but you skipped over one of them? Why would that matter so long as I did the one ending?”

“It doesn’t really matter for you but it matters to me because–” She swallows.

Link waits.

“Anyway I think we should finish that part of the ritual,” Zelda blurts, changing the subject. “Just for my peace of mind.”

He shrugs. “If it would help. What should I do? Is there—”

Zelda cuts him off by leaning forward and pressing her lips to his.

It’s quick, and awkward, and fumbling, but it’s a kiss nonetheless. Zelda pulls away quickly, leaving Link wide-eyed.

“W-what was that for?” he stutters, his face the color of his Loftwing.

“Th-that was the part of the ceremony I skipped,” Zelda squeaks, shrinking away from him. “I— I felt bad that I couldn’t go through with it the first time. I thought you might hate it. But it kept bothering me and—”

“You mean—” Link stares at her, realization spreading slowly across his face. “When you got so close to me— and just stood there and I thought maybe you were looking at my mouth—”

“Oh, Hylia,” Zelda groans, burying her face in her hands.

“You were supposed to kiss me right then? But you didn’t! You thought I would hate it? W-why would—” He scoffs slightly, though it’s directed at himself, not her. “As if I would hate—! Zel, I wish you had kissed me like you were supposed to.”

She lowers her hands, looking at him shyly. “Why?”

“Because….then I could have done this sooner.” Before she can figure out what he means, he cups her face in one hand and kisses her, his thumb gently stroking across her cheek. His lips are soft, and they move against hers with such gentleness it feels more like a cloud. She deepens the kiss, leaning into him, tangling the fingers of one hand in his hair, pushing them beneath the rim of his cap. He sighs into her mouth, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pulling her closer, and Zelda practically melts against him, bracing her other hand against his chest, their legs tangling where they sit on the ledge.

When they finally break away, gasping slightly and flushed to the tips of their ears, Link gives Zelda a cheeky grin. “As I was saying, that’s why I wish you had kissed me at the Wing Ceremony. Then I could have kissed you and told you that I loved you, before you fell to the surface.”

She smacks his arm, trying to hide the blush in her cheeks even though it's mirrored perfectly in his own. “Well, I finally did kiss you, so….” she mumbles, a smirk pulling at her lips.

“Yeah, you did,” he laughs. “Finally. Because I thought I would never get the courage to.”

She smiles, bumping him with her shoulder. “Well, you just did.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Zel,” Link says fondly, leaning his head on hers.

She hums in agreement, taking his hand and looping their fingers together, and together they sit and watch the sun slip slowly down towards the horizon.

#my fluffiest zelink week piece probably #skyward sword #zelink week #zelink week 2022 #legend of zelda #loz #my writing #Zelda #link #zelink #sky zelda #sky link #sky zelink

21 notes · View notes

usaigi · 2 years

Text

Marc, Jake & Steven

Lunar sys au character cards | Read all chapters on ao3

Continuation of Birdy calling their dad, Marc finds out

CW: referencing past suicide attempts and past suicide idealization (does not go into detail), discussing mental illness, joking about mental illness

Birdy Spector Tuesday – 3:12 PM

Attachment: Fullhouse-Only-It’s-In-My-Head.ppt Lunar-sys.docx image_642.jpeg

I made the powerpoint when we first started seeing our therapist but some of the information has changed. At the time, I only knew about Marc, Steven, Jake, and myself.

Steven and I made another document with some info about the others

I know SMJ made another document that’s like a history/timeline of everything we’ve been through but they won’t show it to me 😒

Which is bs because I literally have all the trauma for trying to unalive ourselves but they think I can’t handle it

Elias Spector – Tuesday 5:26 PM

Thanks. Is it ok if I show this to my therapist? Also, I finished reading two books you recommended, we can talk about it next time you can call.

The cat is very cute.

Sorry to ask but

Since leaving home

Did you attempt again?

Birdy Spector – Wednesday 11:32 AM

Yeah, that's fine

Not me, just Marc I think. He’s doing better though.

Probably lol

Jake’s really good at keeping us safe

He;s funny, Jake made him a jar and now Marc has to drop a dollar every time he makes a joke about dying lmao

Also whenever Daniela is mean

or anyone says someone mean about themselves

Although

It’s less funny when he makes me do it 😒

Elias Spector – Wednesday 12:57 PM

I’m just glad you’ll are safe now

I understand you dislike labels but just for my comprehension, is it safe to say that you didn’t have BPD and/or Bipolar disorder? Was it just different alters fronting?

Birdy Spector - Wednesday 4:46 PM

Not sure 🤷🏼

What gets confusing is that while yes we are separate alters and all but we do all share the same brain, body, hormones, etc. And even when we’re not fronting/co-con, we can still have influence

So its hard to tell if we are acting a certain way because of another disorder or if its related to DID

Steven and I were reading about how childhood trauma shapes dna, brain development, how bodies react, etc it’s wild ngl

Maybe depression with mixed features? We’re testing out some new mood stabilizers to see if they help. Not everyone is good at logging the effects/side effects Steven and I are the only ones that are super consistent but I don’t actually front that often. It’s sooo exhausting trying to get everyone on the same page 😩

And it’s not that I don’t like labels, I justthink it was super frustrating how doctors would keep throwing whatever label at us and just hoped it’d stick

I felt like I was hoarding mental illnesses lmao like damn lunar sys leave some for everyone else

U know anyone who wants some? Currently got a buy one get one free special lmao

Elias Spector - Wednesday 4:48 PM

I imagine that’s difficult. How have you been doing otherwise?

Birdy Spector - Wednesday 4:50 PM

I joined Steven and Marc for some sessions this week. Three times a week is too much. since I was there we talked about the stuff that happened when we were younger. Jake was also there, but he only watched

EMDR is terrible, I hate it so much

But…

It’s easier to open up to the psychologist after talking to you about it first

But I’ve been fighting with Marc less so that’s probably good. Although he still won’t tell me about what he remembers and he even forbid Steven from telling me too. Jake has always been weird about it and Daniela is still pretty scary

Can you please tell me?

Elias Spector - Wednesday 5:05 PM

Be patient with Marc. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries, I think it’s best if you talk to the others about it.

Marc isn’t scooping, he’s totally fine with his alters having boundaries and privacy. He just happened to come across Birdy’s email account–which she stayed signed into–and stumbled across a chat thread with who else but Elias Spector.

His vision turns red, scrolling through dozens and dozens of messages, images, and call receipts. The earliest message is dated just over 6 weeks ago, although the first couple of messages imply that they were already in contact before then.

‘Steven. Steven! Steven!!’ Marc yells out internally, hoping to wake Steven up from wherever he is in the inner world.

‘What?’ He says grouchily, slowly stepping towards the front.

‘Look at this shit. What the hell was she thinking? Did you know she was in contact with our dad?’ Marc says as Steven takes control of the body to look at the screen.

‘Marc, you need to calm down,’ Steven says, still working his way through all the messages, he can feel Marc in the headspace making trenches from pacing around so much.

‘How dare you tell me to calm down? I can’t even trust my own fucking alters to not go behind my back. This is fucking Khonshu all over again!’

‘What’s going on, are you doing something dumb?’ Jake jumps in, suddenly appearing in the front conference room, as if he appearing out of thin air. He must have sensed their stress level rise.

‘Respectfully Jake, go fuck yourself. This isn’t about you.’ Marc snaps back, irritated he had the nerve to stick his head into this.

‘It looks like Birdy has been a messaging dad. Talking on the phone too, I think.’ Steven tells him, essentially ignoring all of Marc’s wishes.

‘She what? ’ Jake asks in disbelief, getting closer to the front to get a better look at the messages in question.

‘That sneaky little bra–’

‘Marc, stop it. I’m mad too but I won’t let you talk about her that way.’ Jake interrupts him in his tracks.

‘Oh of course you’re on her side. She’s always hiding behind you. And we all know you’re an expert at making decisions behind our backs, aren’t you? Tell me, what other secrets have you been hiding from us? Was it actually you that got me kicked out of the military?’ Marc rages with an exasperated outrage, arms wrapped around himself, taking careful steps backwards. Keeping his back against the wall.

Jakes glares at Marc over that comment, standing his ground, he shouts back, ‘Ok fine! Maybe this is my fault! Sorry I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth about our childhood! You don’t think it hurt me when she talked about how nice and protective her dad was when my dad failed us?’

‘Maybe we all need to take some deep breaths, yeah? I can make us a cuppa–’

‘Steven, your endless optimism and desire to make everything ok is exhausting sometimes. Can you please just shut it?’ Marc says, in a low bitter voice.

In response, Steven shut the laptop close, dropping his head to his hands, ‘Fine! Then I guess I won’t share what I think!’

‘What do you think?’ Jake asks with a heavy sigh.

‘Maybe… we should reach out to dad, it’s obviously helping Birdy. Looking over at his messages he seems accepting. And it looks like he’s in therapy too.’

Marc's knees buckle as his breathing rises, ‘I can’t believe this. Steven, what happened to system cooperation? I can’t believe you’re siding with her.’

‘I’m not siding with anyone.’ Steven replies calmly.

‘Marc, stop it. You’re acting like our mother.’ Jake states sharply and it hits Marc like an asteroid. Marc's mouth opens in shock, his eyes glare, almost as if he's going to attack back but he doesn't. His eyes, rapidly flashing from betrayal to anger to disgust to shame to fear. He slides down to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knee, dropping his forehead onto his forearms.

Even Steven tenses up at that comment.

Exhausted, Jake pulls out his chair from the crescent conference table, pulls out a cigarette from his jacket, and places it between his lips. This is all fake– all of this is happening inside their head, but somehow, the smell of tobacco fills the body’s nostrils.

Jake lets Marc recollect himself for a bit before saying, ‘There are no sides, we are a system. If you yell at her, all the work we’ve done to get her to open up will be for nothing. Tell me, who does Birdy remind you of?’ Jake asks in a stern but calm voice. When Marc doesn’t reply, he says, ‘She acts like we did at that age. Time has always been fuzzy for me but I remember feeling like I had no control over anything. Like adults were quick to dismiss all my problems. I’m guilty of this shit too, I’ve fed into her delusions about how great our dad was and how our mom was too sick to visit her in the hospital. I kept telling myself I was protecting her innocence but maybe I fucked up.

‘I still do that shit with Kid. I know he’s confused but I can’t explain it to him. Maybe I am protecting him, or maybe I’m just trying to protect myself.’

The three of them let words seep, processing Jake's words and the situation. It feels like all the hard work that Marc has done to try to heal, not just suppress, has been for nothing, he still felt like a scared child, abandoned by his parents.

‘Maybe...' Steven says, once some of the initial tension calms down, 'we should think about how our alter didn’t feel comfortable talking to us first before sneaking off to talk to dad. Be honest Marc, how would you have reacted if she asked you for permission?’

‘I would have blown her off…’ Marc mumbles, still hiding his face in shame.

‘Yeah, and I wouldn’t have been any better…’ Jake sighs.

‘Steven, I know you want to talk to dad, I know you don’t see him like I do. But his…indifference almost killed us,’ Marc says softly.

Steven pauses, before warily saying, ‘I think… there’s no growth living in the past and maybe… closure would be good for us.’

#moon knight #moon knight fanfic #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #mk lunar sys #layla el faouly #moonscarab #lunar sys & dad arc

4 notes · View notes

stonewallsposts · 1 year

Text

16 personalities questions: 28-30

This is halfway through the statements.

28. You lose patience with people who are not as efficient as you

Well, now this one's going to be tricky. In general I don't think I do. In fact, in a lot of areas, the way people do things doesn't even enter into my mind. Now my wife, on the other hand, consistently questions why I do things the way I do: "I'm just wondering why you turned down this street rather than going the other way, which is faster." Or "You know, there's a keyboard shortcut for that..." I can see her impatience watching me do some things and I'll just get up out of my seat and let her do it because she's just itching to get in there and do it. I do this to her much less frequently, but there are times when I probably do question why she's doing something a certain way.

I know I do lose patience fairly easily when I'm trying to teach people things. There was a lady at church who was doing stuff on the computer and consistently not only messing up, but forgetting the things I had already told her. At one point I decided to try a shock value and I just told her straight up, "How many times am I going to have to tell you to do this?" She just stopped and looked straight ahead, and then said ok. I know that worked with me one time when I was learning to finish concrete. My boss had explained something to me and I hadn't followed it. He then testily said: I don't want to keep having to tell you the same thing over and over. I got the message and straightened up. But I know I can deal with men in a different way than women. I can tell a guy: Quit screwing up and do it right, you moron! Guys may not like it, but we'll get it and move on. I would never call a woman a name like that. I might have crossed over the line too because while she did get it, I heard years later that she was still holding that against me.

I'll admit I'm not a patient teacher. I don't mind sharing knowledge I have, but I have no aptitude for trying to gently motivate people along. I can lose patience quickly if I think someone isn't getting it. I don't think they're stupid or anything, I just don't personally want to try and deal with helping them to get it. I'm exceptionally thankful for those people who DO have a gift of sharing the information though. I just know I'm not one of them. So, mercifully for anyone who would be my student, I don't take on students. Of course, If I really like you and like spending time (probably my top love-language) then I'll overlook just about everything because the important thing is the together time, not the efficiency of whatever we happen to be doing.

29. You end up doing things at the last possible moment

I'm not a procrastinator, no. Years of working for myself taught me to know the deadline, and establish benchmarks to hit along the way so that I would accomplish things on time. And I really hate the idea of being late. I know, weird for an Italian, but I almost get a physical anxiety when things aren't happening on time. If you tell me something is gonna be 2 hours, I expect 2 hours and set myself psychologically for it. But if church, which is supposed to be 1.5 hours, starts going long, I start getting antsy.

I hate being late, and if we're running late, I can start getting irritable. Though there are some times when I don't worry about it. For example I joined our choir a year ago. Whenever we meet with the whole band, they tell the choir to be there at 7, and we just sit there while the band dorks around for 45 minutes. THAT starts to bug me, so I'll often show up late for that.

But other than the above-mentioned type of scenario, I would disagree with this.

30. You have always been fascinated by the question of what, if anything, happens after death

I don't know that I'm fascinated by it, but I grew up in a Christian household, so I've always thought of heaven afterward. I believe in it, but I can't say I'm fascinated. There are too many things that, accepting the Biblical account, I just can't make sense of. But I'm not particularly concerned either. I figure I'll get answers when I get there, and wondering about things that I can't get answers to doesn't seem particularly useful to me.

While I know there is no absolute proof of an afterlife, I have found out-of-body experiences in near-death situations to be a sort of strong evidence for a separate entity we usually think of as a soul- a state of consciousness that persists even after the body is gone. This will usually entail a person who registers as dead- no brain activity at all- and yet they have an awareness of things that are happening around them during that time. There have been many reports of things happening in the near vicinity, where they were out of their bodies, and were able to confirm things that had happened while they were essentially dead. In some of these reports, there have been descriptions of angels, etc. We of course can't confirm those because we can't see angels. But we can confirm that x was happening at the time they said they saw it, even though they were dead and had no brain activity at the time.

These experiences would seem to me a strong evidence that the soul, or consciousness, survives the life of the body. Does consciousness apart from the body prove an afterlife? I don't know that I could go that far, but it would be strongly suggestive of it.

Does this statement concern itself more with whether or not I think there is an afterlife, or my level of concern about the question. What I'm unsure of, even when trying to calculate my level of concern or fascination, is how much other people are concerned. I know a lot of people would rather avoid thinking about death at all, so maybe in that light, I am more fascinated than average.

0 notes

stardustjie · 2 years

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐝𝐥𝐞 — chapter 1

vi x reader

words — around 2500

summary — vi and y/n are both stuck in pretty uncomfortable situations. while one can't move on with her love life, the other is forced in un unhealthy friend group. they are also both really into love stories and fake dating seems the best way to turn their life in to a romcom. and possibly to get rid of their all problems all at once.

author's note — i finally posted this and i'm kinda proud of how it turned out. just keep in mind i'm dyslexic and english is not my first language so you might find some mistakes. thank you for being patient ♡

sometimes love is not enough.

violet and caitlyn broke up after six months of dating and four months before the beginning of september. the reason for their separation can be found under the "mutual agreement" section of reasons to break up and from there they had decided to remain friends. nothing would ever have erased the fact they cared about each other even if they were not in love with each other anymore. unfortunately, the rumor didn't go around. they ofter were asked if everything was fine between them the few times they weren't having lunch together or why they started coming in separate cars but nobody believed them when were told they were not together as a couple anymore.

even when they were sitting in class together, next to each other, scrolling through their Instagram feeds and sending each other memes while waiting for the professor, they heard their colleagues whispering. some comented about them enter the classroom together. caitlyn used to ignore their conversations until some mentioned how she was probably going to have that redhead following her around out of pity. she must have put her hand on vi's shoulder several times to keep her from getting up and creating problems.

violet's bad temper was never a secret, but that situation brought out her worst self. she would often bite the inside of her cheeks or tap the surface of the desk to distract herself from the nonsense she was forced to hear. sometimes she would see you in the back of the class, sitting at your desk with your laptop open and a cup of coffee in your hand. you were trying to seem interested in what your friend said, which was usually about exams, courses, grades,... college life in general. she was talking about how she was gonna take her dad's law firm once she graduated, but you really didn't care.

"i've never seen her"

"that is sophia murphy. she is the type of person who thinks the world owes them something." caitlyn observed while checking the hour and putting her phone away. lesson was going to start soon. she closed her bag, placed it next to her and looked at the girls chatting in the back of the classroom. she could recognize some of them. "i've seen the girl with the leather jacket with them a couple of times, but i don't personally know her."

sophia wasn't a bad friend, but she wasn't a good person, either. she had that false sense of moral superiority that she was desperately trying to grab onto to feel good about herself. wanted to feel important, special, loved. wanted to feel like she was worthy of the position she held — the queen bee. Yet, whenever you had a problem she was always the first to try to resolve the situation. too bad she was the issue this time.

you were trying to focus on whatever he was saying, even though you couldn't care less about his test next week. you didn't really care about her as a person, either. she sat next to you once, pulling out her parents' names, and from there you became the sixth member of her exclusive group of friends. at that point you had thought of every possible way to escape from them, but every excuse was never enough.

"are those two still together?" it was sophia's best friend who focused on the girls sitting in the third row from the chair. violet had her head on the desk and hidden between her forearms. the neon pink hair was scattered across the sleeves of the jacket. caitlyn kept looking at the clock over the blackboard and you could see her impatience from the back rows. you were pretty sure this wasn't even her class to attend but she was still there, sitting next to her friend or girlfriend or whatever.

"thank god not anymore. i mean, i have nothing against gay people, it's just caitlyn is way out of her league... i'm almost sorry for her" sophie started. she was sitting in the row in front of you, three-quarters turned towards you and you could see the pink lip gloss glowing a little under the classroom lighting. "she is probably going to have that ginger around for a long time, poor thing. i'm pretty sure that one will not get over cait, she is way more then she was supposed to get. she'll end up a crazy cat lady or something"

•♡•

after the last class of the day, violet just wanted to go home. caitlyn had left an hour earlier and they had greeted each other fast before she could be late. it was four in the afternoon, she was tired and when she felt the car seat under her and the familiar vanilla scent she knew the day was almost over. she was tempted to stop by the cafeteria, but the desire to leave held her back. she took a deep breath, put her hands on the steering wheel and then carried her left one in her pocket.

violet didn't have time to take her car keys out of her pocket and the passenger seat door opened. you came in, with two cups of coffee in your hand. you handed the first to the girl and then drank a sip of yours. the car was clean, neat, flawless. you didn't expect all this care from a person like her, whose bandages were often worn out. there was a car freshener hanging from the mirror.

you were calm, as if you were doing the most natural thing in the world. it seemed like you have done it for years while vi couldn't realize what was happening. it almost seemed like she was watching the scene from the outside and grabbed the coffee cup without thinking about it. she held it in his hands for a moment, feeling the warm on her hands and then put it in the cup holder in the middle of the seats. you turned to her and giggled and took another sip.

"this is a really nice car! i love how you decorated, you must really care about it!" you said, looking around. you noticed the pastel green sweater, her teal backpack on the backseat and the neon colored doodles on the sun visor. it was probably unscrewed since it was dangling. you looked at her straight into her bright, blue eyes. "anyway, i want you to date me".

"come again?" she asked immediatly.

"you know daphne simmons? the redhead in the art history course? apparently, she has been into your ex girlfriend for a while now but she doesn't want to ask her out because she thinks you two are still together" you said. you had your body facing the pink-haired girl, you leaned your elbow against the seat and moved yourself a little forward in her direction and your free hand dropped on your thighs.

"how do you know?" vi asks. she couldn't quite believe it since she has been trying to figure out if that redhead was into girls for a while at this point even before caitlyn admitted she had a crush on her. purely in the name of friendship, of course! she was trying so hard to find hints to the point she thought her itintuition was not as good as she though and you not only knew, but you also told her she had a crush on her friend. she was in total disbelief at your words.

she still had her hands on the steering whreel, keys still in her pocket. she tried to find a logical explenation for your speech and, in general, for that situation. she didn't understand why one of the prettiest girls in her year was in her dad's car talking to her how she knew daphne simmons had a crush on her ex girlfriend. she snorted and tried to assume the most confident expression she could do.

"i love drama, but that's beside the point" you giggled "my friend group is kinda conservative, but you must know that. my parents want me to be their friend but if i happened to date a girl they wouldn't want to have anything to do with me" she could see a sparkle of joy in your eyes. you had a grin of your face, the type of smile of someone who had something unbelievably stupid in mind. violet laughed, leaning her head on the steering wheel to hide her face.

"so.. you want me to date you so my friend can date her crush, i can move on and you can find a decent group of friends sto spend your time with?" she asked once she calmed a bit. she lifted her face trying to not laugh again and her blue eyes found yours. that conversation from unusual became absurd at least but she couldn't expect any better. your smile didn't fade.

"pretty much. let's start driving me home, how does that sound?" and violet turned the car on. you fastened your seatbelt and started tapping the coffee cup with your index finger. you put your bag on the mat, leaning against the car door. you were holding your phone against your thighs. you waited for her to leave the parking lot before continuing the conversation. vi didn't say anything beside asking were she was supposed to leave you.

"okay, let's say we are doing this. what's your plan?" vi asked once left the parking lot. she was trying to focus on the traffic and possibly not kill both of you before your plan could start. you could notice the various ear piercings she had: two helix and the industrial bar. you also noticed she had a nostril piercing, a scar on her lip and the bandages or her hand were slightly yellowish. you tried to stay focused on the fake dating thing.

"most people are not going to believe us if we just show up tomorrow saying we are dating because they either think i'm a homophobe or you are still dating your ex. or both." your eyes started to sparkle. you turned three-quarters to her again with your hands on your knees and dropped your head on the back of the seat. "so, we are going to follow my super strategic and romantic plan in order to make things more believable and that includes recreating my favourite romantic tropes every once in a while. or everytime, it depends."

violet giggled. the fact that she was a romantic comedies lover had never been a mystery, but she never expected to end up in the lead role. especially if the co-protagonist had presented herself as a stowaway in her car without having spoken to her once before. you didn't attend the same classes or the same group of friends, but in the meantime you were in her passenger seat suggesting what seemed to be the plot of one of her young-adult books.

"we aren't coming out. we'll let people speak about us, we'll be the elephant in the room everybody knows but nobody dares to address. things will be clear, but not official" you continued, playing with the edge of your t-shirt. you could feel your heart beating even faster. you never expected her to agree to be a part of your nonsensical plan, but it turns out you underestimated how much she cared about caitlyn. or it was just a lot more impulsive than you thought.

"i don't drive, so you are picking me up tomorrow. i'll walk you to your class and then we won't see each other for the rest of the day. on monday we'll do the same except we are going to have breakfast together. deal?" at this point, you didn’t think she’d agree. she seemed like a simple person and you came up with a super complicated plan to make everyone believe that you were together when you never even really talked properly. you heard violet giggle and she passed a hand in her hair. then she answered.

"deal"

your plan was pretty simple, but it was maybe a little... cheesy. you talked about the details more carefully on the way and also why you couldn’t walk home like normal people. you said it was the price to pay for the coffee cup she left in the cup holder. you agreed on how many photos and stories to post on instagram, even if you were sure you would be the only one posting in the beginning since you were the most active on social media.

you arranged for a breakfast photo on a saturday morning, made at your house, bought croissants from the baker and arranged the table as if it had been prepared for two people. no faces or actual people in the photo, just the photo of the table ready for two people. you took a picture of vi driving to post in the stories the day after while coming home to make it clear that you were spending time together outside the university. you started following her on Instagram.

it was thursday when he made the deal, and you were pretty sure that the few students left in the parking lot saw you get in the car and leave with caitlyn’s ex-girlfriend. this wasn’t enough to start rumors about you, but seeing you coming together the next day and walk together to the classroom will get the work done. you thought you caught a glimpse of one of sophia’s friends, but you weren’t sure. they would see you two coming together next day anyway.

she left you near grafton street shortly after. you went home.

#arcane #arcane x reader #vi #vi x reader #arcane vi #arcane league of legends #vi x you #alix's wisteria flowers #league of legend #league of legends vi

172 notes · View notes

matcha-narancia · 2 years

Note

Headcanons about how did Jonathan, Speedwagon, Joseph, Caesar, and Jotaro meet their s/o (same shy and quiet but kind and patient s/o) please?

How Jonathan, Speedwagon, Joseph, Caesar, and Jotaro met their S/O!

𝐀/𝐍: Hi anon! My apologies for such a long delay between these hcs and the last installment of them! I hope you like these ones now!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): Some spoilers for parts 1-3!

Jonathan Joestar

- Knowing the times, you were probably either the child of a noble family that had ties with the Joestars, or someone from the quant little town that Jonathan had his eyes on!

- Either way you met, Jonathan was definitely the one to initiate things. After all, his gentlemanly ways had him do so! At first, he remained anonymous, sending you flowers and gifts without giving his name, but eventually he saw you face to face and asked if you’d like to accompany him on a stroll through the fields or such.

- You we’re just so kind and sweet! How could he not fall for you? The only person he’d probably tell his crush on you to would be Erin, who would encourage him to go and speak to you for weeks. As she prepped him, he would send gifts until he finally was ready to go and talk to you, and you both hit it off really well!

- Jonathan would probably be alright with either a fast or slow pace with your relationship, but it really depends on what you desire. He also wants you to know that whatever happens between you two, he’ll always be there!

- Tying back to events of Phantom Blood, if you’re in a relationship with him at the time it happens, then he would be extremely cautious with you and your family. He’d most likely ask for you all to be sent away somewhere safe while he and the others dealt with Dio,and as you’d say your goodbyes to each other he’d press a kiss to your forehead, promising to come back to you.

Robert E. O. Speedwagon

- Like Jonathan, he also strikes me as the type to non-verbally communicate his affection at first. The guy never really knew love until he met you, and he wants to make sure he goes about it right! However, as a gentleman, he would come and court you!

- You and Speedwagon most likely met either living together on Ogre Street, or sometime in his travels during PB. However, either way you met, Speedwagon loves you and is so thankful to have met you!

- It takes a lot of coaxing from both Jonathan and Erina to get him to finally speak face to face with you, and even when he does he’s fumbling over his words and blushing. In the end, that does work in his favor though! And you accept his offer of a date. The two practically jump for joy when he comes back with a smile.

- For Speedwagon, a slow speed to a relationship is most likely ideal. He really has no idea what he’s doing, but he would be grateful if you gave him the time to learn! He’d be incredibly grateful if you even helped him through the beginning stages to your relationship, too!

- And lastly, if you are together during PB, then he’d be taking all precautions as to keep you from harm. He’d probably leave you back in the town where you’re safe with your relatives, and promise to return to you soon.

Joseph Joestar

- Now Joseph is a little different as in he wasn’t as stationed in one place on his journey, meaning you could’ve met in any of the places he travelled to, from New York to Venice to Switzerland. Either way though, you caught Joseph’s eye and as such, no matter where you lived, he was chasing you down.

- The guy was constantly flirting with you nonstop, skipping over the anonymous messages and getting straight to talking. He was very forward when speaking to you, expressing his interest and asking you for a date, and you couldn’t help but smile when Caesar had to pull him away, apologizing to you.

- Speaking of Caesar, Joseph begs recruits him to be his wingman. He’ll stealthily follow you on dates and such and when Joseph excuses himself to the restroom he’ll run to Caesar and ask if he’s going about everything right. At first he’s not the greatest, but Caesar begins to see improvement the more you two go on dates!

- Joseph is wild and lively, so your relationship seems to naturally progress fast. However, he understands the need to slow down if you ever want to, and is willing to take your relationship at whatever pace you need be.

- If you met before Battle Tendency, then you and him talk before he heads off to Mexico. After learning the whereabouts of Speedwagon, he has a sense his life will be dangerous the next few weeks, and as such he asks you to stay where ever you are and wait for him. He says no promises about coming back completely fine, but he does promise to come back to you.

Caesar Zeppeli

- Ah Caesar, the smooth talking gentleman that he is! You were probably a new face in town, and immediately Caesar was looking for a chance to woo you!

- He swiftly asked you out on a dinner date, and when the night came you both found out that you had a lot in common and really hit it off! From that point on, his eyes were only on you, and he became extremely dedicated to your relationship.

- It’s quite often you hear him mumbling to himself about how amazing you are and/or what he can do to impress/surprise you. Lisa Lisa and Suzie Q find it sweet, though Joseph likes to tease him about you nonstop-

- The man’s got a lot of experience with relationships, so he prioritizes going about it at whatever speed you feel most comfortable with! He’s down with going super slow, fast, or in between!

- Like Joseph, Caesar will most likely talk with you before he sets off to take on the Pillarmen. Its a dangerous journey, and he would rather keep you out of harm if he can. However, if you insist on traveling with him, then he will allow you to, only because he wants to keep you close and protect you though!

Jotaro Kujo

- You either met Jotaro in school, or sometime along the crusade, getting to know him better the more time you spent with him. At first, he was very cold and distant with you, but he slowly warmed up the more interest you expressed in wanting to befriend him.

- Soon enough, he started to have feelings for you, but was unaware of them for the longest time. You were just so special to him, but why was that the case? It was either Holly or Joseph that noticed his troubles and asked him about them, eventually suggesting that he may have fallen in love.

- From that point on, they encourage him to ask you out, and so he does so upfront and directly. Though his voice was low and he towered over you when he confessed, you could see him blushing, and it was enough to set your heart aflame and accept!

- Jotaro appreciates a very slow pace to a relationship, as he’s never gone about one before you most likely. However, he’s alright with moving a bit faster, he’s just scared to go too fast and mess anything up. This boy needs a lot of reassurance, but if you’re willing to give him it; your relationship will go great!

- And lastly, parting for his crusade. If you met before it at school, Jotaro will most likely write to you before he leaves stating the true reason why he just go. You’re the only person he tells this to, indicating his trust within you. If you meet along the crusade, we’ll chances are you’re following one because of him, and two because his story struck you, and you want to help him defeat DIO.

↳ 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬/𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝! ♡

275 notes · View notes

kyberphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Smile

Word Count: 3467 Requested: yes. Based off ‘505′ Warnings: strong hints to sexual disposition. Spoilers if you squint.

“I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck... I did last time I checked.” -Arctic Monkeys, ‘505′.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

With hoarse breath and unwavering eyes, you look up to the stars as you speak. “So, you’re really going to do it then?”

“I have to,” you hear him say. His voice has gotten far more mature and calm since the first time you’d heard him speak. Still angry and determined, but in an intelligent, adult way. Eren is a more capable person now. The only thing left to do is wait and see if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.

“What do you think are the chances of winning?” you question. A shooting star whizzes across the sky at that very moment, and it’s gone before you can think of a wish.

You turn around to face him, but his eyes are already on you. Once upon a time, Eren’s eyes were emerald and teal and deep. Now they’re paler. They are cold and steady as a byproduct of who he’s become. It’s hard not to wonder what he’s thinking about when he looks at you like this, especially since he’s become harder to read over the years.

At first, Eren was one of the most insufferable people you’d ever met. He acted out so often, it was hard to see him as another person of intelligent life. You mostly just minded your business through your cadet years, usually hanging around Reiner, who was also difficult to see as intelligent life. Sometimes you and Eren would argue, but it was never passionate. You just had different world views.

Things got better when you found out what Eren really was. Since you hadn’t made top ten, you could only choose between the Garrison Regiment, or the Scout Regiment. And with Eren’s newly discovered power showing the promise of hope, you decided on the Scouts. He liked that.

After that, it was hard not to mature at the same time as he. Eren often blamed himself for the death and carnage that surrounded the regiment. You were solely responsible for the passing of your best friend. And after everything that happened with the government, almost dying at Shiganshina- you knew you couldn’t stand this much longer. With your relationship with Eren still budding in its early and steamy stages, he was the only one you told of your desertion. You abandoned the corps, finding a small, abandoned farm within wall Maria to hide out in.

Eren was too tired and sick of everything to think you were being cowardly. He wanted to leave too. Maybe come with you. But Eren had plans in the works that he couldn’t leave alone. He visited you less and less. Luckily you never made a fuss.

And now Eren wants to end the world, to save the world. How does he expect you to react to this?

“I just thought I should see you,” Eren replies. You know he’s deflecting your question. You’re not stupid.

You nod slowly, blinking as you think. “Am I going to die?”

Your companion crosses his arms calmly. “Yes,” he tells you.

There it is.

“You know I can’t support you in this, right?” you tell Eren, equally as calm.

He only replies after a moment, also in deep thought. “I know.”

You look back up to the sky, sighing out through your nose. “Why did you come, Eren? Did you want me to tell you that I think you’re doing the right thing? Or was it because you need to let out some anger? I wonder.”

“I did want to see you.”

“Do you still?”

Silence.

“Yes.”

“And I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“No.”

The stars are glittering with pastel hues, like a rainbow, or kaleidoscope. Each one is a different size, bordering on different shapes, all fusing and melting together like your idea of heaven. You can barely even see the midnight color of the sky through all them. It is beautiful, but it’s also bitter. Everything is bitter, here.

“I didn’t make myself any dinner yet,” you say. “Couldn’t think of anything.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

When she was alive, Eren’s mother would make a soup for the family. It was creamy, hot, filled with meat and cheese at the bottom. Eren never liked soup, but he did love that dish. She was always sure to make extra for him, so that he could enjoy it for several days. And although it wasn’t until after she was gone that Eren realized he rarely ever thanked her for it, it was still one of the warmest memories Eren had.

He fills your wooden bowl with it, being awfully generous. He knows that even though you haven’t eaten much in the last few years, you too had grown fond of the soup. He knows no matter how slowly you force it down, you are enjoying it. It burns the roof of your mouth every time, but you’ve never cared. All that matters is the creamy sauce, and the cow cooked to perfection.

You stare at the fireplace beside you, flames cackling and licking upward. Eren sets the bowl in front of you, and takes the seat on the other side. You know he sets his long hair behind his shoulders. You’re already prepared. From your pocket, you produce a stretchy brown hair tie on the verge of snapping, handing it to him.

“Thanks,” he says, even though this routine has happened however many times he’s seen you.

“You’re welcome.”

The soup is as amazing as usual. You’re willing to bet Eren makes it even better than his mother did, but you dare not say it aloud. It’s creamy, perfectly seasoned. It goes down your throat, still steaming.

“Does Mikasa know about this?” you question, taking one more delicious bite.

“No. None of them do,” Eren answers. “Armin will figure it out soon.”

“You want me to kill ‘em?”

Eren shakes his head. To a lot of people, this would be taken as a joke. But this is nowhere near it. Your tone is too casual, too low for it to be humor of any kind. And the way the man across from you reacts- he’s thinking the same thing.

“No.”

“How are they, then?”

Eren thinks as he takes another bite, the warmth creeping up his chest sweetly. “They’re alright for now. I don’t know for how much longer. I can’t see everything.”

“Can you see who’s next?”

He squints at his bowl as if he were angry, but his eyebrows barely move. “Sasha.”

Sasha. She was always a good presence to have around. While she seemed like the type of person who would annoy you, it was hard to hate her. And you admired her keen intuition anyway.

“Will you give her something for me?”

Eren nods. Then you both go back to eating for a few seconds, basking in the orange glow from the flames.

“How are things here?” he questions after a minute.

“The same,” you tell him. “I think the cow might die soon.”

Some people might reply with condolences, or sympathy. But your lover does not, and you do not expect him to. “I’ll get you a new one,” he says flatly, almost like a promise. You nod once.

Despite the atmosphere which can only be described as bitter, you’re glad to see Eren again. You’re glad that he’s alive, and as alright as he can be. The bed is always colder without him, heated up only by your lingering fingers that you pretend are his every other night. Whenever he leaves an article of clothing behind, usually on purpose, you hold off on washing it so it can smell like him for you as long as possible. Then there are the hair ties you keep either in your pocket or on your wrist, specifically for him. The razors in your cabinet he often didn’t even bother using.

Even with the sullen demeanor that had managed to overtake both of you, there was at least one thing you cared about in the world still. Maybe it wasn’t the most conventional kind of caring, or the healthiest coping mechanism. But it was still caring. And all that you cared about was him.

You knew you weren’t Eren’s first priority. You were probably second, or third. It didn’t bother you. Eren’s head was one of the first things lost when the truth was presented to him. It came back coldly and sternly, in contrast to how previously hot and impatient it had been. But by then your head had also grown colder and sterner. In simpler terms, Eren did care for you. He did love you. But he would consider letting you die if it meant achieving what he set out to do, and you knew this.

Across the table, Eren lifts his head to look up at you as he chews slowly. The burning meal slides down his throat easily, albeit painfully. It doesn’t even register with him, his piercing eyes slowly gaining a glint from the fire light.

You meet his eyes after a few seconds, feeling them on you. You don’t say a word, don’t even give a questioning look. You just hold him patiently, which is something the two of you find yourself doing often.

“You can’t stop it,” Eren speaks, looking you dead in the eyes with a steady gaze. There is love behind his eyes, far behind the anger, but you can tell from the tone of voice he is trying to tell you something as if it were an order. Your lips part slightly from the intensity radiating from your lover, who doesn’t move a muscle. ��You’ll be free soon.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Dinner ends. Eren helps clean up the dishes for you and goes to get water from your well so you can clean easier. You already know from the way his thumb brushed against your own when you took the bowls that you’ll likely be bent over the sink in a few minutes, which you don’t mind, but you wonder if he’ll be willing to be softer than usual as an apology for what he’d said earlier.

He’d meant to scare you. You’re intelligent enough to figure that out. Even though you don’t scare easy, and you didn’t even give an extreme reaction, the look in Eren’s eyes had made your heart drop to your stomach. Sometimes you forget that Eren sees everything. Then he says something like that to remind you in the most memorable way.

The wooden door opens and closes behind you. Boots scuff the ground for a few seconds, drawing closer and closer as something in you sparks with anticipation, as it always does. A pail of water hits the surface beside you, partially sloshing over the sides, shining silver in the moonlight from the tall window in front of you. Finally, ultra hot hands slide around your waist and push gently but tightly against where your ribs diverge.

A jaw leans down on your right shoulder, chin poking against your collarbone. Locks of hair brush against your own, just as the hand on the left runs across your side to finally put a small band in your pocket.

“I did miss you,” Eren’s low voice seemingly growls, his chest rumbling softly against your back.

“I was thinking about you,” you admit with monotone, knowing your lover can read through it like as easily as a knife slices through skin.

“I hope I didn’t worry you,” he says, though you can also read through his own tone. He probably didn’t care about worrying you. He definitely doesn’t still.

“You didn’t.”

You place a both bowls in the sink, running your fingers over the dirty spoons. Eren’s orbs follow your movement. You can feel his chin change positions ever so slightly in the coming seconds.

“Can you pass me the rag?” you ask, eyes focused on a piece of food on the spoon that doesn’t even exist.

In response, Eren doesn’t pass you anything. Only his right hand gives you any kind of acknowledgement, passing from on your ribs to down lower. His fingertips skin over the erogenous zone under the waistband of your undergarments.

“I worried about you,” Eren murmurs boldly. The hot fingertips pass under the cloth finally, pricks of stubble on his jaw scratching your neck and shoulder as he shifts. “I wanted you to be okay.” His left hand raises to grasp the breast above it. Slowly at first, then firmly, like a warning. Everything is a warning with him.

Your head lulls back uncontrollably. The back of your hair matts up as it rolls against his own shoulder.

“I said you worried me,” your partner grumbles. “Did you hear me?”

“No,” you lie lowly, refusing to let your voice shake despite the shiver in your throat.

“Mm,” Eren hums in condescending understanding. A force presses against your core, which has turned burning hot and ice cold at the same time. The force pulls away, a string of something smooth and slimy following it that makes a sound draw from your lips. It’s high pitched, weak, and unstoppable. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so associated with Eren.

His hand gives your breast a firm squeeze, soreness blossoming from the center. Your back arches quickly and returns lax against him, though now something pokes against your bottom that makes your eyes pop open with a new alertness. Eren’s hand gives you no time again. From your chest, it flies to your throat, holding it back with soft strictness as the other finally dips into the hot pool between your hips.

“I worried about you.”

A strangled groan releases from between your lips again, this time fully carried up through the air. To Eren, it must sound like nothing more than music, or background noise.

Thick cylinders pump inside you to the knuckle. They feel better than your own. They always have.

It feels good. Full. Tight and fast and like the inside of you is quivering under the weight of something that you can’t see or hear. Eren is like a blanket supporting you from falling over, keeping you upright with his grip and his fingers buried inside of you. Prodding every angle, every spot. Not necessarily romantically, but still lovingly. He has always had this goal during intimacy. Nothing matters but communicating to you just how close he wants to be.

“Eren,” you choke, a dribble of spit sliding from the corner of your lips.

“Again,” he hisses in response. His fingers hit a tight spot, making every muscle in your body clench at the same time.

You don’t say another word, your mouth hanging partially open as you focus on everything around you. And it’s all Eren Jaeger. His smell, his growls, his voice, his breathing, his chest, his muscles, his hair, his anger, his bitterness, his intelligence, his determination. It’s overwhelming. It reminds you of getting swept in one of those waves at the ocean he described to you. He’s yours. No- more likely, you’re his. End of story.

“I said again.”

“Eren,” you moan.

His head nuzzles into your neck comfortingly, his fingers pushing faster and harder. You can feel how warm you are, never mind how slick. And the way your own body holds around his digits every time he pulls away is enough to make you all the more warm and slick.

But then...

What is he doing?

He had said “you’ll be free soon”. And yet, here he is, gripping you tightly as he forces you into the corner of submitting. And yes, it is hot. It arouses you as it always has. But something about it makes your stomach turn into a knot of unpleasantness, in contrast to the other one of liquid pleasure.

“Eren,” you strain, squirming against him.

Eren speeds up again. A grunt falls from his own mouth from his own power, and you know he’s getting off almost as much as you are. It doesn’t stop feeling good. Feeling euphoric.

It’s getting rougher. Rougher and harder and faster, more intense.

“Eren.”

Another gruff moan from him.

“Eren! Stop! Stop!”

Eren’s palm softens away at once. It lifts away, his eyes opening and his hand stilling inside of you. He watches you shake as you gaze up to the ceiling, wide eyed. Your thighs sputter, entire body twitching. You didn’t cum.

His eyes trail over you. You’ve worked up a steady sweat glistening and glowing, shivering and shaking and quaking because of him in the best way. You’re his. His partner, his friend, his ally he knows for a fact he can rely on.

“C-can we... Eren...”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Drips of water dribbling down Eren’s temple. One of your hands are threaded in his brunette locks, holding them back so you can have an uninterrupted view. The other hand is dabbing cloth against his forehead and hairline, bathing him softly.

He’d gone a while without bathing again. You could tell. Eren’s eyes are glued to yours, deep teal memorizing all the flecks in your own as if he hadn’t a million times over.

Eren loves you. Dearly. He’d travel all seven hours and forty five minutes just to tell you that. He doesn’t know what made you stop earlier. He doesn’t ask. But he’s not mad. Overall, Eren understands that it doesn’t matter what you asked to stop for. You give the word, he obeys. Not because he has to, but because he loves you.

Still, he knows something is wrong. You don’t show it. You’re steady, calm, mature, apathetic as always. But in the pit of Eren’s stomach, something brews. A warm, strange feeling of intuition and omniscience.

“You look very pretty today,” Eren ventures, wondering only of your response. “Did I tell you that?”

Your eyes squint. “Thank you,” you reply back.

The cloth continues to rub against his skin, cleaning something that probably doesn’t even exist. Dirt, maybe. Eren’s stopped taking care of his skin in the past few years.

“You’re welcome.”

Your eyes squint again. This time, they gloss over with sharp wetness like glass. The eyebrows crease like a break, your bottom lip trembling as you suck it between your teeth.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. But your lover wasn’t expecting this.

Eren hates when you cry. He can remember the first time he’d seen it, but not the most recent. You didn’t cry often- you were strong. Crying over something as useless and flimsy as emotions didn’t seem worth it. So what was this for? What were you about to make Eren break down inside over?

Your hand falls limply from his forehead. Shoulders hunch over in defeat, staring down at the floor as your hair covers over your face. And then the sniffles come, choked out coughs like sobs.

Eren can see the lightest of bruises he’d left on you from earlier, but you’d never had a problem with it before. No, it was something else. But what?

Silent, your teeth grit together as you wince, tears streaming down your face inexplicably.

“Earlier w-when you,” you gulp, snot beginning to form, “when you- I did worry a-about you. I- I don’t know why I didn’t...”

You stumble forward. Eren stands from your bath tub to catch you as you slump against him tiredly.

“I hate it when you go.”

Eren switches positions with you, pushing you down to sit on the edge of the tub. He takes the wet rag from your hand and holds your shoulder back so he can have a good look at you. Then the cloth dabs against your own forehead, just as you had done to him.

“I hate it here,” you sigh, a single tear drop blurring your vision as it falls finally.

Your lover moves the cloth from your head to your cheeks, smearing the wetness into your skin and away. They moisten and dry, your eyes red and shiny. Eren tilts your head up under your jaw, creasing his brows and using the towel to clean closer to your eyes.

“If it helps,” he says, looking straight into your eyes, “you’re crying, but I still think you look pretty.”

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t help even a little, because you love him.

A soft smile creeps to your lips, your hands dropping in between your thighs.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

No I didn’t reread this lmfao enjoy. Hope I did you justice anon

4K notes · View notes

itsstrawberrymochi · 3 years

Note

Hi, I love your content so I wanted to request something! Could you do headcanons with the hashira’s x gender neutral reader(- muchiro ofc) where they find out that the reader self-harms? If this makes you uncomfortable at all please delete it!

Kny pillars reacting to their s/o who self-harms

Awww thank you anonymous that means a lot to me hope you enjoy this also thx for reading my request rules when you said minus Muichiro ^^

Characters: all pillars expect Muichiro

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm and suicide

Note: if you or anyone you know is doing this activity please seek help with people you trust , it may seem that self harm is the best distraction but it’s really not, it’s only a temporary relief and you don’t deserve to always go through that pain ❤️

Giyuu

🌊- Now it took him a while to notice this

🌊- Don’t get him wrong, Giyuu loves you and all but he just assumed the injuries were from a demon after all that’s what you told him you had to no reason to lie right?

🌊- When he found out the truth he got extremely sad, he also got mad at himself for taking so long to notice

🌊- When he finds out he wouldn’t dare shout at you or make a scene out of it, instead he’ll calmly approach you and ask what’s the matter

🌊-If you don’t tell him right away he won’t pressure you to do so instead he’ll wait until you’re ready to talk

🌊- He’ll just sit next to you calmly in silence for hours and hours until you’re finally ready tell him

🌊- When you tell him the reason he would start to try and find a solution for the problem so you can feel better

🌊- He would also pull you in a soft hug and just let you cry on him while listening to you tell him what’s wrong

🌊- Giyuu would alway try his absolute best to make you feel better and he’s very serious about the cutting/harming and does everything in his power to try and make you stop

🌊- He’s extremely afraid that one day you’ll go beyond self-harming and he doesn’t want to lose you

Rengoku

🔥- A literal angel that was sent from heaven

🔥- Rengoku would immediately notice that you self-harm, he is extremely observant when it comes to you so he’d be quick to realize

🔥- Like Giyuu he wouldn’t pressure you to tell him what’s the matter but he’ll wait until you’re ready to say

🔥- Rengoku would make sure you know that it’s not you vs the problem but rather you and him vs the problem

🔥- He’ll make sure you know he’s there for you and whatever problem there is you don’t have to go through it alone

🔥-He also isn’t the type to give you words such as “ it’s ok this problem will pass” or “you’ll get over ”, but rather say “ Don’t worry my little flame we will find a solution to the problem no matter what”

🔥- If you’re feeling helpless or upset and feel like self-harming again he’ll drop everything he’s doing to talk to you and try and calm you down

🔥- Rengoku would allow you to talk to him whenever. He would never tell you to go away or say he’s too busy. He’d also let you talk to him for hours it doesn’t matter to him just as long as you feel better

🔥- There are often occasions where you would be laying on his lap and he’ll gently rub your back as you cry and rant to him

Shinobu

🦋- She’ll notice right away, she’s a medic so she can tell the difference between real injuries and self- inflicted ones

🦋- She would become heartbroken to know you were so sad you felt the only way to feel better was pain

🦋- She would make all the butterfly girls leave and go to another room so she can talk to you in private when she found out

🦋- Even though some scars are already healed she would kiss every single one of them

🦋- She does it because she wants to ‘kiss it better’

🦋- She would place bandages and medicine all over the new cuts so they can heal properly

🦋- She is very patient with you, she understands that you won’t stop your self-harm just like that so she’ll take her time talking to you and helping you get over it

🦋- She would alway check up on you and whenever she does she always has some tea or your favorite food ready to talk and listen to you

🦋- She always encourages you to tell her you’re true feelings and never makes you feel emotional or dramatic for it

🦋- If she knows she’s going on a really long mission and won’t see you for while she’ll ask Kanao or one of the butterfly girls to check up on you but if you don’t want them to know about it she would keep it private and she’ll just constantly send you letters instead

Mitsuri

💖- When she found out she talked to you as soon as she could

💖- She found out during a pillar meeting when your sleeve accidentally lifted up showing all the unnatural scars

💖- She had waited after the pillar meeting, when you two were in private to talk about it. She knew you clearly didn’t want anyone to know so she was sure no one was around

💖- When she asked you about it she couldn’t help but break down crying, Mitsuri would blame her self for your self-harming and feel like she did something wrong to you but you’ll explain to her that it wasn’t her fault but she’ll still cry because you were hurting all this time and she didn’t know.

💖- Her number one method of helping you heal is showing you lots and lots of love and care and showing you she is there for you

💖- So that basically means more sweets, more tea parties, hugs and kisses,more l love you, her complementing you all the time etc

💖- She had also bought you a bunny, so if she ever went on long missions you’ll always have “ someone” to talk to.

Sanemi

☁️- At first he would be kind of angry. Angry at himself for not noticing and angry at you for not telling him

☁️- Genya was the one who had told him , Genya being your worried younger brother in law couldn’t stand by and watch you do this to yourself

☁️- Sanemi’s first thought was to yell at you for doing it but then he thought you’d probably be afraid to talk to him about it if he did

☁️- He’ll burst in your room and yell “Y/N I KNOW YOU INTENTIONALLY HURT YOUR SELF”

☁️- You expecting him to yell about it prepared for more but when he reached you he just shoved your face into his chest and pulled you in for a soft hug

☁️- He’ll then say he was sorry you had to go through all this pain alone and sorry that he wasn’t there for you

☁️- He’ll allow you to cry on his shoulder for as long as you’d like

☁️- He wouldn’t care that you’re messing up his slayer uniform nor how long you’re crying for

☁️- While you’re crying he’ll reassure he is now and will forever be there for you and he’ll also reassure you and you can tell him anything

☁️- This wasn’t the only time he allowed you to cry on his shoulder,after the one time you cried he wouldn’t easily dismiss the matter but instead constantly bring it up to make sure you’re getting better

Obanai

🐍- He’s a very observation person especially when it comes to you so he’ll notice your self-harming rather quickly

🐍- He was very patient with you, so the first time he asked and you didn’t tell him he waited until you were ready, like Giyuu he didn’t force you to talk about it.

🐍- When you two did talk about it he never judged you or made you feel bad for doing it, he never called your self harming ‘ attention seeking’ or called you dramatic for doing it

🐍- instead he’ll empathize with you and try to understand why you’re doing it

🐍-Obanai is definitely not one to show physical affection, he rather shows he loves you through words of affirmation BUT If you ever need him to hold you or hug you he’d be more than glad to do it

🐍- He’ll alway hold on onto you and assure you he’ll try and help you solve the problem

🐍- You’ll also have Kaburamaru to be your support snake he’ll alway wraps hisself around you or rub his head on your check to try and make you feel better

🐍- Obanai always try his best to make you feel better and he will near you every second of the day he’s right next to you to because he wants to be a constant reminder that you’re not alone

Uzui

🔊- It was own of the wives that told him about it

🔊- Uzui would immediately blame himself he would think you were probably upset that he was giving one of his wives e attention than you

🔊- He’ll then immediately go to you and apologies for it but then you’ll explain to him that’s not the reason. He’ll then feel relieved but immediately worry knowing there’s something making his love sad

🔊- He is the type to not assume what would make you feel better but would ask you how he could help. He’d ask if you want to talk about it with him, if you wanna talk to someone else maybe one of the wives, if you wanna be left alone, if you want a support animal ( yes willing to get you a cat/dog/lizard etc to make you feel better 😌)

🔊- He would kindly ask for you to give him the weapons you use for self-harm, he refuses to do it by force because that’ll make matters worst, if you don’t give it to him the time he’ll constantly ask for always in a soft and calm voice

🔊- If you’re a slayer he’ll even go as far and take away your sword he’d only give it back if he’s sure someone else is going on a mission with you and they can watch you or if he’s going

🔊- He would also get all of his wives to separately talk to you and try to make you feel better

🔊- Uzui allows you to cry on his shoulder if you ever need it and he’ll gently pat your head or rub your back

Gyomei

🪨-He would cry as soon as he found out

🪨-Like Shinobu he would be extremely heartbroken and his heat would weep for you

🪨- He absolutely hates the fact that you hurt yourself and would always cry thinking about it or if he hears you did it again

🪨- If the reason you are cutting yourself is because you don’t feel like you are good enough he would remind you of all your good qualities and there are lot

🪨- He’ll also wrap his arms around you and cuddle you as you cry because he knows how much you love it

🪨- Gyomei, if you allow it likes to gently rub all your self-injury scars because he believes you deserve comfort for going through all that pain

🪨-He wound often call them battle scars he does it because he believes that you did in fact went through a battle with many problems and you won

🪨- He is very gentle and patient when it comes to your self-harming , when he speaks to you about it and gives you advice it’s always in a soft and calming voice and whenever you rant or cry about how you feel he’ll patiently wait there for hours and let you speak, he’ll only speak when he knows that you are done, he wouldn’t dare interrupt you

This was my first time writing Uzui and Gyomei hope I did good, also this was my longest ever request so I wouldn’t be surprised if it has grammar errors sorry for that 😭

#anime #kny x reader #kny headcanons #sanemi x reader #giyuu x reader #shinobu x reader #mitsuri x reader #uzui x reader #gyomei x reader #rengoku x reader #obanai x reader

749 notes · View notes

studiojeon · 3 years

Text

use me | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. i think you can read this by itself though :)

| summary | - Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you.

warnings: language (?), mentions of hook ups and situationships. mentions of emotional trauma.

contents: a compilation of moments that contributed to the growth of their relationship, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read and sus. oc is kinda whipped and scared af. chaeryeong knows who you are and where you live. jk and oc are scared to let each other in. friends to lovers, idol!jungkook x student!oc.

author’s note: i hate this, but i have to get it off my chest. (the narration is off af but if i keep it in my drafts for longer this will never see the light of the day). p.s. thank u so much for the support on the last drabble <3

playlist: rain by trey songz (feat. swae lee).

words: 4.75k

“JK?” as his broad back faces you, you call out his name timidly, not missing the way he swiftly turns around as soon as he hears his name come from your lips. Hair wet and darker than usual, a very big sweat stain at the center of his hoodie. He had just gotten out of practice, you assumed.

“___?” he replied with the initials of your name as well, one of his tired grins plastered on his face, he must have been exhausted. You had caught on to him just as he walked out of the practice room in front of the elevator on your way to your office, right when you needed him, but now you weren’t so sure if it was a good idea to pester him. Even so, you didn’t know anyone else you could ask for help, aside from Linh who was currently in her own office doing other tasks you had assigned to her.

“Are you busy right now?” your eyes stare at him shyly, in hopes that he was willing to help you out, because you wanted to be around him, so maybe he could share a bit of his positive energy with you, the past week had been hellish. “Could use some help returning all those heavy stacks of paper in my office”.

“Of course! Why didn’t you give me a call earlier though? It’s pretty late” he walked by your side and you enter the elevator, beginning your adventure around the company.

Jungkook was fun. Always bubbly and reciprocative, constantly trying his best to make you laugh and make the absolute best of your situation, even if he could be a bit stubborn at times. You liked the spontaneity he provided though, the way he would switch from one topic to another and how he would make silly faces at you whenever you locked eyes.

He didn’t know, but in pure ignorance, he had just made your day ten times better.

In the past week, you had received a lot of counterarguments, one by one, on how useless your management tactics were. Granted, you hadn’t expected for your ideas to be welcomed with open arms, but at least you had hoped they would take them into consideration. You had also been assigned a team, in charge of social media management, who worked monotonously and with little to no insertion in the actual target audience… your logic was: how can you advertise products to an audience you don’t even have the mere interest to know? You had designed a strategy, presented it, and no one paid any mind to you.

But for the most part, you felt lonely. Had no one to talk to, nor go to whenever you needed your spirits to be lifted up.

Chaeryeong was busy busy with group projects and work. To the extent where she would get up at seven in the morning and come back at 12 pm. It wasn’t always like that, so you didn’t worry too much, but the fear she would wear herself off like usual still crowded your mind.

You close your office door with a sigh. Tired from everything, but somehow, your heart a little fuller, knowing that maybe you could use Jungkook in the future to give you a lift. Both figuratively and literally because he had offered to drive you home, being the gentleman he was.

“Why do you look like a sad puppy?” he asked you once you were sitting by his side in his very expensive and luxurious mercedes. Tinted windows and jet black shiny paint covered the outside of his car, the smell of air refresher and pinecone filling the inside. Mans was getting hotter by the minute.

“It’s friday night after the longest week of work. How can I not?” you put on your seat belt and lean back against the leather cushions. He pouts in response to you, with a concerned look on his face.

For a second you wonder if he did this with most coworkers… being nice to them and offering them drives after having met them just a few times before. Kinda risky behviour, considering his position and squeaky clean reputation. You figure this would only last a bit before he realized he had more important things to be focusing on.

“Do you ever get chased home?” you ask randomly.

With one hand on the wheel and the other leaned against his door he meditated on his response. “It happened once… And then I moved out, got a new car and everything. Shit was wild” he chuckles and you think that was the first time you had heard him curse, like ever. Jungkook, friendly and everything, wasn’t too big of a talker, but with you he found himself spilling, without giving it much thought. It felt refreshing to hear his voice and listen to his stories and the way he expressed himself. He was more interesting than he seemed, apparently. “Aren’t you hungry, by the way? We can have something to eat before i drop you off”

Traffic was hellish in Seoul everyday at every hour, and choosing to drive through Itaewon on a friday night wasn’t the smartest decision on Jungkook’s behalf, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that. Considering the demands of his job, he probably didn’t know his way around the city that well. You conclude taking a detour wouldn’t hurt. “I’m starving actually.”

He ends up taking you to a restaurant near your neighborhood you had mentioned being good and not crowded at all, the latter catching his attention immediately. It was a modest but nice place owned by a very funny and loud ahjussi. The man had lost count of how many times you had come down from your apartment at 11 pm and asked him to make you vegetarian tteokguk, but they were enough so that he could memorize your five orders by heart and the amount of saewoo mandu you could down by yourself in five minutes. You were making him rich at that point so the least he could do was comply when you gently asked him to shut the place down for you. Jungkook hadn’t asked you, but you knew how things could get awkward and dangerous quickly if too many people found out about him being there. “Ahjussi, you don’t have to” the boy protested as he noticed that the man had shut the blinds for him.

“It’s okay, boy. _____ has been single handedly paying the remnants of my mortgage for over a year now, I don't mind doing this for her.” he joked in his usual nature. already writing down your order and patiently waiting for Jungkook in front of you to voice out what he wanted for a meal. “And well, you and your friends are making our country proud, it’s the least i can do to thank you”

“Ah, thank you.” Jungkook bows to the older man. Your heart softened in your chest, seeing how considerate he was towards other people. He must be great with parents, you think. “Do you really not get that many people around here?” he asked worriedly once he sat back down on the wooden chair.

“We do! But she’s the one who comes the most often” he nods toward you and Jungkook smiles once he found your gaze, a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

“Can you recommend me anything, miss?”

“Of course, sir. Yeol-ah, double up my order. Drinks are on me today.” You yell at the man’s son in the kitchen, who was still a bit older than you, but also close to enough to let you order him around shamelessly. You knew him quite well, actually. He was Chaeryeong’s boyfriend after all.

The tall boy pokes his head out of the kitchen door with a very confused expression plastered on his face. “Aren’t we supposed to close in like, an hour?” Chanyeol asks his dad in front of you.

“Just go cook, I'll explain later”.

The two men go back into the kitchen and Jungkook looks at you with an amused expression on his face. “What was that?” he laughs.

“I’m very popular, you know?” it probably wasn’t a good idea to go there, but you felt a little drunk on his voice that night, and you also knew your friend didn’t mind. “In fact, Chaereyong from ITZY is my best friend, who would have guessed?”

“Yeah and my son is her boyfriend, who cares?” Byung-ho yells back at you from the cashier, pulling a hiss from your lips.

Jungkook still continued to stare at the both of you with confusion and intrigue, you guess he thought you were both joking.

“Wait, really?” he utters after a few seconds with big doe eyes and a pout on his lips, a combination that appeared when he was either confused or lying, which wasn’t the case then.

“Yes, my guy.” you laugh. “That juicy legged shortie is indeed my wife”

Jungkook loved the food, to say the least. It was all vegetarian and korean as fuck, a combination he never throught was possible, but downed like thristy camel. He was a loud eater, which was fitting of him and his politeness, something else you had noticed that night. You were the opposite, and actually despised the sounds of other people eating, yet, looking at him enjoying his meal so much made you feel full yourself. He made you feel like a kid in some ways too, brought back the times when being around others wasn’t so hard, and you still could have a sense of security around you. Talking to him was rather easy, maybe because of his welcoming nature, or because in fact he actually was interested in whatever stupid shit you were saying, something most people around you didn’t do. He also, amongst other things, seemed very interested in your job and the likes, always asking questions and absorbing information like a five year old. You had explained to him the five key steps of process design and the psychological effects on marketing in society to which he always responded with wide gentle eyes and attentive nods, not once looking bored or… annoyed in any way.

Was he like that, with every girl? Because you weren’t anything special, there were many other girls who worked with him everyday and even if you hadn’t seen him in his work space, you could guess by the way most women in your company look at him whenever he passes by that either they were just as captivated as you by his beauty or that he had fucked them. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was just trying to get into your pants either, it wouldn’t be the first time it happened to you nonetheless.

“I can walk from here, JK” you mention once you found yourselves walking towards the parking lot. A bit sad about the expense you had just made on food, it was your fault for trying to seem cool and rich, neither of which you were.

“Oh no, I’m not letting you do that, girlie” he unlocks the door and gets in, not even letting you finish or allowing you to fight back.

“My apartment is literally a block away” you protest in the car anyways. You fear you had been too much of a bother, and deep down, didn’t want him to feel like you were seeking his presence unnecessarily.

“Well, good for you. But, you paid for the food, which was a lot, and i don’t want my sugar mommy walking by herself at 12 pm on a friday night” you first freeze, and then burst a very loud giggle.

“Whatever” you slap his bicep and roll your eyes. “ Next time you can pay if it bothers you so much.”

“So there will be a next time?” wide eyes stare back at you. “Count me in. I´ll pick where we will be going, just lemme know when so i can plan ahead” he rambles, a little too excited about your suggestion.

He drops you off with a smile on his face and hopefulness in his eyes, promising to see you around the company. You, on the other hand, feel a tad confused as you enter your apartment building. What was going on?

You had overthought things so much your entire life that it suddenly became too tiring to do. During the past few years you had to learn how to detach yourself and just ride the wave sometimes. Once you had turned eighteen, everything started moving at a very fast pace, the pressure of adulthood fell upon you like a brick and everything was so overwhelming that you started to simply let the course of your existence take you wherever it needed to.

That’s how you ended up going out with Jungkook at least once a week for dinner or a drive around the city for more than two months. Without even noticing, he became so engraved in your everyday life that whenever he’d cancel plans because of work, you’d find yourself with a void in your heart and a rush of boredom filling your senses. Even if you found yourself in your living room with the company of your best friend whom you had seen at most four times in the past two months, you were still wishing you could share that intimate space with him instead, willing to let him a bit more into your life, in hopes that maybe he would do the same. Sue you, you were curious over the most intricate details about his personality, how his personal sanctuary looked and if the smell of his room is just as good as his car’s. You could bet a thousand dollars (maybe a little less, considering the unconventionalism that characterizes him) that he also had a few plants that only remembered to water three out of seven days of the week.

Hopefully life would draw you closer to more people like him.

"How's your boyfriend doing?" Chaeryeong asks you from the kitchen counter, sweet popcorn cooking in you popcorn-maker.

You sigh. "What boyfriend?"

She was a lot of things but oblivious, and you weren't either, just when you chose to be. "Cut the bullshit, you know who i'm talking about". The fake red head waits for your response as she pours the snack into a big bowl, and you on the other hand take this as an advange to search around the room for answers.

"He's just a friend" you say. "And he's fine, i guess… He doesn't really talk much about himself" you mention, matter of factly.

Chaeryeong nods beside you, understanding what you meant. Then, proceeds to tell a tale about her experience meeting the dark haired boy. "He's literally so quiet, but like, so incredibly kind. Once he tripped over and fucked up some of the decoration at an award show" she grabs a popcorn and continues her story. "He looked so panicked I thought his eyes were about to jump out their sockets — His eyes are huge, by the way."

"I know" you smile.

"My point is, he started to help the staff put everything back in order again. I think he's the only idol I've ever seen do something like that… i decided i liked him then" her beautiful features light up with mischief. "I bet he fucks great too."

You slap her leg. Hard.

"I'm only telling you this now so you don't get caught of guard when he actually manages to fuck you," her soft hands run through your messy hair, motherly touches easing the fluster in your body. "You know he's a big whore, right?" She adds after a while.

You didn't. According to Chaeryeong, who seemed to keep tabs on every single colleague of hers, Jungkook had quite the body count, not that you didn't have your suspicions before. Frankly, she only knew of two girls inside her company who had had some sort of situationship with him, but for the same reason, she also knew he had some history with other girls from different groups. "Yikes" you laugh nervously, in admiration of their ability to remain calm and collected without giving anything away to the public.

Thanks to your friend, you had heard lots of tea about other singers in the korean industry before, most of which were not as sweet or kind as they portrayed themselves to be, some even using their social status to get their way with girls. But for some reason, Jungkook had never made his way to your gossipping sessions, nor any other of his band mates (except for Jimin, who, if you remember correctly, used to have some sort of beef with one of Chaeryeong's company members). You guess it was because of his unproblematic nature that people chose to give him a pass for his sexual endeavors, not that they were of anyone's concern either.

A knock is heard against your office door. "Miss _____?" A girl with a brown bob cut pokes her head through it, the dim lights of your office shining upon her incredibly healthy locks. "Jungkook asked me to deliver this to you" sliding completely into the room, she places a box with a note on it on your desk.

"Thank you so much" you wave her off as she walks right out.

The package had a strawberry flavored canned tea and a bento box inside.

"I remember you telling me you'd never tried tofu pancakes before, so I made some for you last night. Hope you enjoy! - JK

P.S. Text me when you're done, maybe we can hang out tonight."

You felt like crying, in all honesty. The pancakes were heavenly, and he even added some slices of avocado and a few scoops of rice for you, despite not being the biggest fan of the fruit himself. With a warm heart and relief washing over your body because you wouldn't have to waste money on lunch that day, you had had half of your meal before said boy gave you a call.

"Did you like them?" He said almost immediately. "My assistant told me she already delivered them to you" he adds in a rush.

"Jesus boy, calm down." You giggle at his excitement. "Let me eat in peace".

"No, tell me right now." he demands with a fake angry voice. Cutie.

"They're alright".

"Figured… you have no sense of taste anyways" the hangs up. A giggle escapes your lips. Boy was something else.

Later that day, the weekend started it's course. Jungkook had offered to drive you to the Han River, careful to mention the fact he prepared a bunch of snacks for you two just about five times during your call. The place was almost empty, given that the rest of the city was doing something else more fun than staring at the night sky while sitting on itchy grass. Yet, you wouldn't change the setting for anything else. Usually, when you and Jungkook were out, he'd be in silent wary of your surroundings and the people who could be watching you. It broke your heart, knowing that most of the time he couldn't frequent places most regular people had the pleasure of enjoying, like the movies, for example, or a food stand in the middle of the street. Still, in that moment, the handsome man in front of you seemed as relaxed as ever, munching on grapes and strawberries as he sat in silence beside you.

"This blanket is so soft, isn't it?" he commented all of a sudden, caressing the fabric with his hand. The thing was made out of polar fleece, no shit. You just nodded and grabbed a piece of fruit from his container. "One of my friends gifted it to me on my birthday" he adds.

"I know. It was me".

"Well, maybe you do have a sense of taste after all" he complies as he lays down on the surface, eyes facing the night sky above you.

"Says the one who uses toe socks" you say back, poking his weak spot.

Instead of going back and forth with you as he usually would, he just winks and closes his eyes. He looked so peaceful and serene beneath you, features carefully carved on his face and slightly blushed cheeks from the cold wind. Jungkook was like that, randomly over confident and flirty with you, but just as quickly would refrain from even disagreeing with you in the first place, scared that you would snap at him. He hadn't told you this, but the way you saw thoughts hidden in his eyes whenever you made a statement let you know his true intentions, leaving you to wonder where that came from.

"Are you tired?" You ask after a few minutes. Still with his eyes closed, Jungkook denies.

"I just don't want to look at you right now," he turns to the side, back facing you as an offended expression finds its way to your face.

"Yah" you slap his back playfully, not letting him finish.

"Because you look too pretty." he mumbles the remnants of his statement.

Your breath catches in your throat as a shiver climbs its way down your spine. Why was he like that? He had no right tugging on your heart strings like that (if he was being serious in the first place because you never knew with him). You sigh, the blush his words provoked stinging your cheeks.

"You're supposed to say I'm pretty too" he turns around with a playful smile, expectant.

"You just go around giving compliments so you can get them back?" you hiss. "Why so insecure?"

"I'm not insecure, at all." He sits up again, ready to fight you and anyone who dares question the grandiosity of the confidence he had worked so hard for. "You can ask Linh about that".

To say you looked horrified was an understatement, hopeful that what you thought he meant was not it. "You fucked Linh?"

"Well, that's not for you to know".

What a gentleman, you think. And at the same time, ouch. He had just slammed a door on your face.

"That would explain the way she looks at you whenever you come by the office" you realize. Frankly, the girl looked a bit too panicked whenever Jungkook decided to barge into your space, usually bored out of his mind during his english lessons, laptop and notebook in hand, or struggling to get the questions right.

"Well good afternoon to you too" you ironically greeted once he sat in front of you, frustration written on his face. Linh, who stood by your side, suddenly fidgeting with the papers in her hand.

"Not the time, _____" he slammed both hands on your desk, startling you and your friend beside you. "Why the fuck did you make me enroll into this in the first place?"

"I did not make you do anything, dude. I just gave you an idea" you excused yourself, eyes back on your computer. You didn't miss the way Jungkook's eyes briefly followed Linh out the room, though.

His eyes looked back at you, leg bouncing impatiently on the floor as he leaned back with a pissed off expression on his face. You'd never seen him this way, so you took that as a cue to enter under paid therapist mode. "What's wrong?" You questioned gently.

"I feel incredibly incompetent right now." His hands roamed across his face with frustration. A sigh escaped his lips as he held tears back. "School's always been this way for me, always trying my best and constantly underachieving" he explained.

He was obsessed with winning, you’d even go as far to say more than he was with his job (which was a lot). It didn’t root from narcissistic behaviour though, but rather out of external pressure to constantly overachieve and exceed expectations. He was mostly good at doing that, but everyone had an achilles heel, yours was reading for example, his was studying and school.

"Jungkook, you passed most of your classes with more than 90%, what are you talking about?" a fact he had brought up to you randomly when you mentioned absolutely nearly failing most of your literature classes.

"Yeah, except for English." he shook his head in the way he would when he'd feel conflicted or insecure. "I don't know what i'm doing wrong".

"Did you fail something?" you tried to get some more insight into the situation, still unsure of where all his worries came from.

"No, there's just this sentence I can't properly put together" he turned his notebook towards you. "Ah, just look"

There were some words he had to conjugate and properly place in order to form a grammatically correct sentence, more than five attempts written in neat penmanship on the page evidenced the boy's battle with the assignment. He missed one very important aspect of it, though. "There's a fucking word that's missing, dude" you explain, grabbing the pen from his hand and showing him where the mistake was. "It's not your fault, it's the teacher's".

Jungkook's serious expression didn't go away though. "Well, damn".

You had some sort of emotional trauma with having people ask you for help, it made you think that they didn’t actually care for you as a person but rather just your skills. That was the way you’d grown up and what your position in society seemed to be as well, the one you could butter up and taste when you got bored. Heart had been broken many times too, whenever you’d realize what you thought to be a genuine connection was merely pure interest. Those thoughts clouded your head when Jungkook would randomly enter your office with a frustrated expression on his face, yet, that occurred less often than it didn’t.

Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you most of the time, hence your wish for him to let you in a bit more before you could allow yourself to free fall into whatever was going on between you both.

You reach for the fabric of his hoodie, tugging his sleeve with your fingers just because you really liked the color of it, and maybe because you wanted to feel closer to him. He doesn’t react to your touch, just looks at your hands briefly as they play with the edges of his clothing. “Where did you get this from?”

“An online store, I think.” he replies softly, reaching for your hand on his arm, caressing the surface of your nails. “It’s a unisex brand, i can send you their link afterwards.”

“Is it too expensive?” you inquire, not only to keep the moment afloat, but because you genuinely liked most of his pieces of clothing, especially his hoodies and shoes. Jungkook laughs at your question and looks at you with a smile.

“I don’t think i would know, ____. I’m rich.” he says, playfully. And he was right, what was expensive for you might just be cheap as fuck for him, you wonder if when a lot of money is in your hands you start to become very tuned out from what’s affordable or not anymore.

“True.”

“I can buy you one, though. I don’t mind.” he adds. Soft look in his eyes, a pure and genuine offer that you had to deny.

“I didn’t say i wanted one” you lie, only partially, because although you’d not mentioned it, you did actually want it. “I just think it’s pretty” you finally let go of him.

“Or do you think I look pretty in it?” he pushes, a sucker for compliments.

“Yeah, that might be it.” you admit, because there was no point in denying your irrefutable attraction to the man, as much as you hated to be vulnerable, especially in front of him.

“I think it would look prettier on you”.

Don´t copy or repost please. by studiojeon on tumblr.

389 notes · View notes

snackhobi · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say.

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

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

3K notes · View notes