#java n joe

[brandonwayneb]

Respects Russian

Respects Arabia

Respects Nazi A+

Arabia Arabia

Shiva Shiva

Levitate Levitate

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

❤️ This is all I ever say

❤️ This is all I ever live

3 fingers Right hand "Leaf"

2 fingers Left hand "Feather"

4415 Daisy Meadow Dr

Katy Texas 77449

Brandon Wayne Burdett

Bee’s Moon’s Bird’s

bbw bwb wb Warner Brothers

206-209-9841

https://linktr.ee/brandonwayneb (https://linktr.ee/brandonwayneb)

(https://linktr.ee/brandonwayneb) (https://linktr.ee/brandonwayneb))

Flawless Spelling

Sing and Dance 'sid'

the words 'smids' and 'smades' to uncover liars

Young Guys: Satan Submissive

Young Guys: Satan Submission

Old Guys: Devil Dominance

No: J

No: G

No: B

No: L

No: T

No: H

Yes: A: Ass Assets

Yes: SS: Spiritual Supports

Yes: D: Seed Dick Deep Frederic

Yes: P: Penis or Pussy

Yes: F: Free and Fuck

Yes: M: Ma, Mom, Manners

Yes: V: Virtue Revival Achievements

Yes: W: Wraith War Water

Yes: ii: Eye Eye

Yes: R: Roar Rabbit

Yes: N: No

Yes: Y: Yes

Yes: O: Create w

Yes: K: Knight

Yes: E: Equals Español

Yes: X: Mark Special Spots

Yes: Q: Questions Quest Ons!

Yes: C: See Cup Cupids Chest

Yes: U: Ur Ours Yours Us Ourselves

Yes: Z: Symbolic of Last Resorts

ss RoseMary

ss Elvis

ss Wendy's

ss Russia

ss Soviet Union

ss Valor

ss Vladimir

ss Shiva

ss Hindu

ss Levitate

ss Birds

ss Bats

ss Cats

ss Snakes

ss Kylé

ss Stylé

ss Kim

ss Kay

ss Cvs

ss Rite Aid

ss Adam

ss Amish

ss Lizard Tail

ss Eye of Newt

ss Cameron

ss Karma

ss Caméléon

ss Camel

ss Raspberry

ss Ketchup

ss Amy Wine House

ss Velveeta

ss Chubby Chasers

ss BBW

ss LGBTQ

ss Alaska Husky

ss Ali Ali Ali

ss Allah Allah Allah

ss Always Always Always

ss Aladdin

ss Hercules

ss Pegasus

ss Lord Ganesh

ss Lord Vishnu

ss Tom

ss Jerry

ss Onyx

ss Mew

ss MewTwo

ss I dream of Jeanie

ss Bewitched

ss Daren

ss Samantha

ss Switzerland

ss Arabia

ss Adam’s Family

ss Tim Burden

ss Nightmare Before Christmas

ss Fay

ss May

ss Oxford

ss Corpse Bride

ss Jack Skellington

ss Sally

ss Xfiles

ss Dana Scully

ss Fox Mulder

ss RugRats

ss Dexter Laboratory

ss Dexter

ss DeeDee

ss Chris Angel

ss MeerKat Manner

ss Power Puff Girls

ss Teen Titans

ss Batman Robin

ss Cat Woman

ss Ivy

ss Drew Barrymore

ss Twilight Zone

ss E.T.

ss Barbie

ss Ken

ss Seer

ss Rainbow

ss Arron

ss Gary

ss Garret

ss Valentines

ss Romeo

ss Juliet

ss Selina

ss Gomez

ss 101 dalmatians

ss Roger Rabbit

ss Bugs Bunny

ss Loony Tunes

ss Hermaphroditus

ss Hermaphrodite

ss Ritual

ss Spiritual

ss Twister

ss Scrabble

ss Hey Arnold…!

ss Clueless

ss Reese Witherspoon

ss Legally Blonde

ss Coffee

ss Java

ss Joe Joe

ss Jehovah

ss Judah

ss Buddha

ss Japan

ss Jasper

ss Jason

ss Poltergeists

ss Wrath

ss Ghost

ss Hub

ss Alaska Husky

ss Nazi Swat Team

ss Russian Swat Team

ss North Storm Swat Team

ss Rainbow Scissors

ss War Elephants

Not Deli

Not delMA

Not belMA

Not velMA

“toe shoulders”

“chest thighs”

War Sights

“tacoma wa” taco cat

“lakewood wa” blaire witch “claire donut”

“seattle wa” “caddie saddle” “sad duel”

“space needle” “ironic man”

“dallas tx” “shower dial ass” “day licenses”

“mckinney tx” “Macdonald kidney stones”

“princeton tx” “depraved dolls” “cell pre”

“Gideon” “Neo” “Geo” “Galaxy” “Guy Op”

“Soul Matron” “Arron”

100% Brandon

100% Bradley

99% Rainbow

1% Anti illuminati

Anti indoctrination

Anti inflammatory

Anti castrations

Anti assassinations

Anti Youth Thin Eye Z Nations

Anti Lab Bot Tony

Brandon Wayne

Bradley nickname

Sarah Johnny Kaye Burdett Leeper Rivera

Brandon Wayne Burdett

Bird’s Moon’s Bee’s

bwb bbw wb Warner Brothers

Jessica Ray Rivera

Jacob Gabriel Rivera

Justin Rivera

Kevin Rivera

Cara Autumn Burns

Cody Burns

Chad Burns

Clete Burns

Martha Burns

Morgan Burns

Pamela Burns

“4415 Daisy Meadow Dr”

“Katy Texas”

“77449”

Rainbow Peace and Power Taco Cat

Rainbow Peace and Power Ali Ali

Rainbow Peace and Power Allah Allah

Rainbow Peace and Power Always Always

Rainbow Peace and Power RoseMary

Rainbow Peace and Power Valor

Rainbow Peace and Power Vladimir

Brandon Wayne Burdett

BrandonwayNEB

Saint Binard

Catholic Vatican

Hindu India

San Francisco

Frankincense oil

Salam Islam

Barbie and Ken go to Jerusalem

Barbie and Ken go to San Francisco

Barbie and Ken go to Kentucky

Barbie and Ken go to Jupiter

Barbie and Ken go to Venus

Barbie and Ken go to King Author

Barbie and Ken go to Barnes & Noble

Barbie and Ken go to Ben & Jerry’s

Barbie and Ken go to Bed Bath and Beyond

Barbie and Ken go to Tel Aviv

Barbie and Ken go to El Salvador

Barbie and Ken go to Quebec

Joke: What Happens if Flamingos get Flees

Joke: Pinky and The Brain

“Lizzy Hebrew”

“Young Guys Satan Submissive”

“Old Guys Devil Dominance”

Varsity Volleyball

Valor RoseMary Hitler

Valor RoseMary Vladimir

#Vladimir

[apricusnights]

Tacorific Merchandise!

“Howdy everyone! It’s your pal Morely! I hope your Revolution Day week is off to a Tacorific start! I’m here with some suuuuuuuuuuuper awesome news!”

“See the good folks at Tacos ‘N More have finally released their brand new line of plushes! That’s right! They are the highest quality plushes you can get, and they are suuuuuuuuper soft and cuddly!”

“You can collect Morely, that’s me!, Burrito Bill, Nacho King, Queen Queso, Taco Felon, and Piper!”

“OH, and for a limited time you can get plushes of our good friends over at CiarBucks. That’s right, you can get Java Joe, and Cosmo The Coffee Cat!”

“Get your favorites or collect them all TODAY!”

#Morely The Taco

[aflowergarden]

LISTEN UP, STRAP IT IN, NOTIFY YOUR NEXT OF KIN, YOU'RE ABOUT TO TAKE A RIDE A LITTLE ON THE BLAZING SIDE! GUZZLE DOWN YOUR RED BULL YOU'RE GONNA NEED A BUCKET FULL, YOU'RE WATCH ME ACCELERATE TEAR APART THE INTERSTATE

A CERTIFIED MONSTER I'M AN ABSOLUTE TRIP LIKE OTIS REDDING HARD TO HANDLE SO YOU BETTER GET A GRIP!! SUPER FAST, SUPER FLY, BONAFIDE WISE GUY, CALL THE MORGUE AND SAY GOODBYE WRITE YOUR WILL IT'S TIME TO DIE!!

CAFFEINE!! IM CAFFEINE!!

CAFFEINE!! IM CAFFEINE !

I'M A BAD DREAM

I'M A RAD SCENE

I'M A TAD MEAN

BUT I'M NO-OT! AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUT (afraid to take you out)

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUT (afraid to take you out)

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUT (afraid to take you out)

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUU-UTT!

I'M A CHEETAH ON THE PLANTS I'M A HIGHWAY STAR, THE SUPERSONIC PRINCESS IN A MILLION DOLLAR CAR! BLOOD ON FIRE PUMPING THROUGH MY VEINS, WEAVING IN AND OUT WHILE I'M BOLTING THROUGH THE LANES!!!

I'M HYPERDRIVE, OVERDRIVE, HIT THE GAS AT 55, BREAKNECK, TRAINWRECK, IN MY PRESENCE GENUFLECT TRACK ROUNDIN, SPEED SOUNDIN, ELECTRIFYIN POST POUNDIN! HEART PUMPIN, BRAIN THUMPIN, WATCH ME GET THE PARTY JUMPIN!!! CAFFEINE!!

CAFFEINE!! IM CAFFEINE

CAFFEINE! IM CAFFEINE!

I'm a BADD DREAM

IM A RAD SCENE!

I'MA TAD MEAN!

BUT IM NO-OOT

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUT (afraid to take you out)

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUT (afraid to take you out)

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUT (afraid to take you out)

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUUUUTTTTT!

YO, LISTEN UP, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT HOT, GRAB YOURSELF A MUG CAUSE I MADE A FRESH POT! COME AND GET A DOES OF MY KICK ASS JAVA, FUELING YOUR ADDICTION WITH THIS THICK BLACK LAVA!

WE CAN DO UP AN ESPRESSO, OR THE CAPPUCCINO WAY! SURE TO GET YOUR FIX, VENTI OR GRANDE! SUGAR, SPLENDA, EQUAL MAYBE SWEET 'N LOW! EVERYBODY'S HAPPY WHEN THEY HANGIN WITH JOE

LETS GO

CAFFEINE! IM CAFFEINE!!!

CAFFEINE! IM CAFFEINE!

IM A BAD DREAM (YEAH!)

IM A RAD SCENE (YEAH)

IM A TAD MEAN (YEAH!)

But I'm NOTTT - AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUT (afraid to take you out)

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUT (afraid to take you out)

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OUT (afraid to take you out)

AFRAID TO TAKE YOU OU-TT!

#lyrics #god I'm mentally ill i found rwby songs again #someone get these away from me or im gonna start blasting bad luck charm at full volume

[dailyrisecoffee]

Ogden Coffee Shops: A Haven for Coffee Lovers

1. The Thriving Coffee Culture in Ogden

Nestled at the foot of the majestic Wasatch Mountains, Ogden boasts a thriving coffee culture that caters to locals and visitors alike. The city is brimming with independent coffee shops, each with its own unique character and style. Whether you're seeking a cozy nook to work or a bustling hub for socializing, Ogden has it all.

2. Heavenly Aromas: Local Coffee Roasters

One of the key aspects that sets Ogden's coffee scene apart is its local coffee roasters. These passionate artisans source high-quality beans from around the world and meticulously roast them to perfection. The result? A symphony of heavenly aromas and exceptional flavors that awaken your senses. Be sure to visit roasters like Roastery 25 and Small Batch Roasting Co. to experience the magic firsthand.

3. Cozy Corners and Conversations: Quaint Cafes in Ogden

When it comes to cozy cafes, Ogden has no shortage of hidden gems. From intimate spaces with plush armchairs to sunny patios perfect for people-watching, these cafes provide an inviting atmosphere for savoring your favorite cup of joe. Drop by Daily Rise Coffee and Grounds for Coffee to enjoy a warm and welcoming ambiance where conversations flow as smoothly as the espresso.

4. Cultural Fusions: International Coffee Experiences

In Ogden, coffee is a passport to different cultures. Venture beyond traditional American brews and explore the world of international coffee experiences. Whether you crave the bold flavors of Italian espresso at Kaffe Mercantile or the delicate pour-over techniques of Japanese coffee at Three Cups Coffee, Ogden's diverse coffee scene ensures a global adventure in every sip.

5. A Sip of History: Historic Coffee Shops

Immerse yourself in the rich history of Ogden by visiting its historic coffee shop near me. These establishments have been serving up java for decades, preserving the city's heritage one cup at a time. Step into Roosters Brewing Co. and Funk 'n Dive Bar, where the blend of history, camaraderie, and aromatic coffee creates an unforgettable experience.

6. The Art of Coffee: Cafes with a Creative Twist

For those seeking more than just a caffeine fix, Ogden's coffee scene offers a blend of artistry and flavors. Local artists showcase their talent in coffee-inspired murals and paintings, creating an immersive experience. Visit Kaffe Mercantile or Daily Rise Coffee to sip your latte surrounded by captivating art, where each sip becomes a work of art in itself.

7. Spilling the Beans: Coffee Workshops and Events

Coffee enthusiasts can further deepen their knowledge and passion through workshops and events offered by Ogden's coffee shops. From latte art classes to cupping sessions, these educational experiences provide insights into the art and science behind the perfect brew. Check out the event calendars of Grounds for Coffee and Roastery 25 for exciting opportunities to enhance your coffee skills.

8. Aromatic Delights: Unique Coffee Blends and Flavors

Innovation thrives in Ogden's coffee shops, where baristas experiment with unique blends and flavors. Indulge your taste buds with specialty concoctions like lavender-infused lattes or honey cinnamon cappuccinos. Stop by Three Cups Coffee or Kaffe Mercantile to embark on a sensory journey that pushes the boundaries of traditional coffee.

9. Sustainability and Ethical Sourcing: Coffee with a Conscience

Ogden's coffee shops take pride in their commitment to sustainability and ethical sourcing. They prioritize fair trade practices, ensuring that farmers receive just compensation for their hard work. Additionally, many coffee shops strive to reduce their environmental impact by using eco-friendly materials and supporting local initiatives. Support these responsible establishments like Daily Rise Coffee and Small Batch Roasting Co., knowing that your cup of coffee makes a positive difference.

10. The Perfect Pairing: Coffee and Treats

Coffee and treats are a match made in heaven, and Ogden's coffee shops excel in this delightful pairing. From freshly baked pastries to artisanal chocolates, these establishments offer an array of delectable treats to complement your coffee experience. Indulge in a heavenly combination at Grounds for Coffee or Roosters Brewing Co., where each bite harmonizes perfectly with your chosen brew.

11. Coffee on the Go: Drive-Thru and Mobile Coffee Shops

When time is of the essence, Ogden's drive-thru and mobile coffee shops come to the rescue. These convenient options ensure you never have to compromise on your coffee fix, even during a busy day. Swing by Daily Rise Coffee or Three Cups Coffee's drive-thru locations for a quick and satisfying pick-me-up on your way to work or while running errands.

[java-n-joe]

#java n joe #shirtless men #gay hairy

[suga-kookiemonster]

want a taste? | myg

part of the you never shop alone (ynsa) collab with @underthejoon and @kpopfanfictrash, based on this post!

summary⇢ pretzel pro. most skillful tongue in the food court world. allegedly. that’s what yoongi keeps telling you, anyway. of course, you’re reasonably skeptical of his claims—but if there’s one thing that motivates the notoriously-lethargic man, it’s proving skeptics wrong. pairing⇢ yoongi/reader word count⇢ 18.3k 😱😱😭😭😭 rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut | humor | friends to lovers | shopping mall!au  warnings⇢ oral (female receiving), fingering, overstimulation, dirty talk, inappropriate and semi-public canoodling, very brief mention of suicide and depression (because this is a yoongific), taehyung is yoongi’s biggest fan but oc is coming for him lbrh 😌

a/n⇢ everybody thank @underthejoon for this gorgeous header 💖💖

THIS TOOK ME SO FUCKING LONG, i have NEVER written anything this long without splitting it up before in my entire life, omg. writing something this long in one go honestly made me wanna pull my hair out lmao. but we here!! we made it and it’s done and i hope you enjoy it 😩😭💕 mood for this fic is this song. HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOONGI, ILY 🤧💖

A wave of exhaustion rolls over you as you stand in front of one of the mall’s many entrances. You are, in fact, exhausted, grad school and its many requirements taking a toll on your body, but what you feel now, now that you’ve made the conscious decision to pile even more on top of your heaping plate—what you feel now is a different type of tired. A kind of tired that promises to nestle deep in your bones, promises to linger.

It almost makes you want to turn around. Almost makes you walk right back to your car and fire up the engine, turning your radio all the way up so it’s easy to ignore the ominous rattling you’ve been hearing lately.

But unfortunately, no matter how loud you turn up the volume, the screaming of your bank account won’t be drowned out. So here you are.

It’s easy, your friend Mariah had promised you. I mean, it is retail, but. The hours are pretty flexible and the job itself is pretty relaxed. And so she put in a good word for you, and next thing you know, you’re here. Standing in front of your local mall.

You sigh, attempting to smooth out tension from your brow with your fingers. This would cut into what little free time you have in your schedule, but the tiny stipend you get from teaching doesn’t cover much, and extra income really would be nice for your peace of mind. So, resolve strengthened, you push through the doors.

It’s a strange thing, being here so early. You are one of the only people trudging your way over the gleaming tiles, most of the shops still dark and blocked by their chain-link gates. But you purposely arrived a little earlier than you needed to, mind set on finding more caffeine to inject into your bloodstream. That’s one thing that you refuse to bend on—if a ridiculously-priced coffee is what you need to physically and mentally get through the day, then you are going to pay for it. Besides, isn't that why you had agreed to this job in the first place? So something as small and necessary as a cup of coffee won’t break the bank?

Still, as you turn the corner, you quickly realize that the universe isn’t on your side—won’t allow you to have this single, reasonable mercy. The line to Java Joe’s, the mall’s resident cafe, is snaking out the door, and your heart sinks. There’s no way you will be able to wait for your order without being late for your first day on the job.

You groan, inwardly hoping that this isn’t a sign from the universe that you’re making a dumb ass life decision. Not a big deal, you tell yourself, turning on your heel and heading for the food court instead. Surely some other restaurant has coffee on their menu in a fruitless attempt to steal Java Joe’s business. Surely.

But today is apparently a day your luck is shit. To your continued irritation, the only things open at this time of day are the Auntie Anne’s, and, bizarrely, a rather sketchy gyro place. One look at the gyro place has your asshole clenching reflexively in fear.

Auntie Anne’s it is, then.

You walk up to the counter, rightfully grumpy because now you’ll have to get a fucking lemonade or something. Spend the next few hours jonesing for caffeine and pretending like the universe doesn’t hate you. But what you’re not expecting is for the cashier to be just as grumpy.

He’s clad in his Auntie Anne’s best—blue tshirt under a branded apron— and the way his bleached-blond hair is messily stuffed under the visor hides his eyes from you a bit. Still, there is nothing to disguise the clear way his mouth settles into a scowl as soon as you approach.

“I don’t know him,” he tells you flatly.

You blink. “Sorry, what?”

“The guy who sent you,” he deadpans, completely unamused. Frankly, so are you. “I don’t know him.”

“Neither do I,” you reply, brow furrowing in bafflement. What, is he expecting a hitman or something? Should you step to the side to give the sniper a clear shot? “No one sent me. I just wanted to purchase a questionable meal.”

He looks you over for a moment, weighing the validity of your claims. You must pass his scrutiny, because he visibly drops his guard, posture sinking into a bit more of a slouch, lips quirking into a small, apologetic smile. “Ah, sorry about that. What can I get you?” Gone is the irritated, slightly-intimidating edge to his tone, deep voice now laced with an obvious, falsely-friendly customer service lilt.

“Can I get a cinnamon sugar?”

“Sure. Pretzel or nuggets?”

“Pretzel.”

You watch him as he reaches for your requested snack. You’re tired, but you find yourself intrigued by him anyway, your sleep-deprived brain reluctant to let your previous exchange pass so easily. “So. Who did you think had sent me?”

He looks mildly embarrassed at his mistake. “My roommate,” he acquiesces, putting your pretzel in a bag, handing it to you, and ringing it up at the register. “He does stupid shit sometimes. Lately he’s been using me for pretzel clout and telling pretty girls that I’ll give them free stuff.” Your body tingles at his implied remark that you’re pretty, but either he doesn’t notice he said it or he doesn’t care, as he keeps right on muttering to himself. “As if that’s going to get them to date him.”

“I don’t know,” you say, lips quirked in amusement. “A free pretzel sounds date-worthy in my book.”

“Yeah, well.” His lips quirk too. “Don’t tell him that—he’s irritating enough as it is. Any dips? A beverage?”

“No, just the pretzel is fine.”

You pay and thank him, choosing to take a seat at a table not too far away to eat your makeshift breakfast. You have a little bit of time before the start of your shift, so you spend it scrolling Twitter and licking sugar from your fingertips.

A few more people cycle through the food court, but it’s relatively quiet this early in the morning, and you finish up without being interrupted, balling up your trash and tossing it into the garbage. The Claire’s storefront faces directly out to the food court, so it’s an extremely short walk to your new job. You pass the cashier again on your way out, but this time, he’s further in the kitchen, using the lull to prep for the influx of customers that is sure to come. Your eyes linger a bit on the almost elegant way his surprisingly-large hands roll out and separate the dough, but you turn away without thinking much of it.

“Thank god you’re here,” Raquel squeals. She’s visibly younger than you—and clearly a morning person. To be honest, she’s exactly who you would expect to work at Claire’s—chipper, bubbly, and genuinely excited to help you find the perfect glitter nail polish or flower crown. You muster up the energy to send her a small smile, unwilling to rain on her parade with the skepticism of someone who has been tainted by adulthood and forced responsibility. Her time will come soon enough. “My schedule this semester is a bit heavier on early classes, so I’m excited to have someone to cover morning shifts.” She pauses, as if she’s afraid of scaring you off. “Not that you’d only do mornings! It’d just be nice to spread them out, is all.”

“No problem,” you assure her. “Mornings tend to work better for me anyway.” That would give you enough time to complete some of your own assignments once you got home.

“Perfect!”

Raquel, your friend Mariah’s cousin, is actually your new manager. While most people cycle in and out of mall jobs, she’s worked at Claire’s since she was in high school, and her tenure has by default somehow moved her a little bit further up the totem pole than you. Mariah suggested the position to you because it's a chill job where more times than not, you’d be allowed to catch up on your reading whenever it’s a little slow. It seemed like the perfect solution for your little time, little cash problem.

So you bite your tongue as Raquel keeps chattering, and from what she's saying, your job seems relatively simple. She tells you about the current in-store deals (which you're pretty sure are always the "deals"...buy three low-quality things and get a fourth low-quality thing of equal or lesser value sounds just like when you used to shop here, years and years ago). She shows you how to use the register, and she hands you a packet that details how to use the piercing gun ("There's a video I’ll have you watch that'll help, and then we'll whip out the foam ear for practice!"). But mostly, your first shift is filled with necessary clerical paperwork and shadowing your new boss.

Your next few shifts at the mall are markedly unremarkable.

The first one is another early shift, and you're smart enough to pad in enough time to get a proper coffee this time. You almost regret it, coming face to face with one of the most attractive men you have ever seen in your life and rendered embarrassingly mute for a solid couple seconds before he smiles a knowing, boxy smile and asks for your order with a wink. (His coworker, unamused, rolls her eyes at his antics.)

The two shifts after that are both late shifts, which are a bit annoying schedule-wise, but you work around them.

It's another week and a half before you run into Pretzel Boy again.

By law, you’re entitled to a thirty-minute lunch break, and your first two shifts you spend it in the food court, too easily distracted by the bustling people around you to truly relax or pay attention to the assigned reading you brought with you. By the time the third one rolls around, you’ve learned your lesson. You roam the halls instead, easily blending in with the midday shoppers and familiarizing yourself with the floor plan. This is how you find the set of paid massage chairs, hidden in a corner that used to house a Carson’s and a Payless. A corner occupied by department stores that went bankrupt means there is little to no foot traffic—and that this, therefore, is the perfect place to sneak in a power nap.

It’s during your fourth shift, just as you’re closing your eyes in that deserted hallway, starting to melt into the leather seat, that the blond cashier makes a reappearance.

“You.”

You jump a bit, weary body startled from its powering down at the sign of a potential threat. You open your eyes blearily, only to be met by who you immediately recognize as the dude who sold you a soft pretzel last week.

His Auntie Anne’s shirt is gray today, and now that he’s not behind a counter, nor wearing his apron, you can see that he’s wearing slim-fit jeans too. The two of you lock eyes, but you only observe him for a moment before you’re shutting your own again, deeming him relatively harmless and hoping he’ll go away.

“Me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Sleeping,” you answer shortly.

“This is my spot,” he drawls, tone markedly reasonable. As if he harbors no ill will for you encroaching on his space, because you didn’t know better.

Except now you do, and you don’t give a shit.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I missed the sign,” you deadpan, resisting the urge to let out a frustrated noise. You are too fucking tired for this. “There’s a whole other chair, my guy. You’re welcome to it.”

He doesn’t answer you, and, though your eyes are still closed, you find yourself focused entirely on him. Ears trained in his direction, curious what he’s going to do. For a few moments, you’re left in complete silence, and you wonder if he had simply turned around and left you to your own devices. But then you hear a heavy sigh. Rustling as the leather seat next to you is disturbed.

You peek from between your lashes to confirm your suspicions. Pretzel Boy is in the massage chair next to yours, mere feet away. Eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he says, voice startling you. His eyes are still closed, but you dart yours away in surprise.

You consider not responding, pretending you are asleep already, but you know he’ll never buy it. Not many people can fall asleep that quickly. “I-I am.”

“Mmm.”

You turn away from him, squeezing your eyes shut again. But, though you are still as tired as you were when you sat down a few minutes ago, you find yourself unable to properly tip yourself over into dreamland, too aware of the body next to you. Pretzel Boy seems to have no such hangups, another peek at him minutes into your shared silence producing him, body relaxed, head rolled comfortably into the leather.

You sit there, essentially doing no more than resting your eyes, until the alarm on your phone signals the end of your break. Your companion stirs too, but you don’t feel too bad about disturbing him, as his break is surely up too.

Without giving him a passing glance, you slip from your seat and trudge back to Claire’s.

A bizarre pattern is formed after that.

The two of you don’t always share a shift, but Pretzel Boy is often scheduled mornings, just like you, so you see him around at least once a week. And, after your first massage chair encounter, it becomes almost a sort of unspoken agreement between the two of you that your breaks will be spent, in relative silence, side by side.

During the break of your next morning shift, you find him already in his designated seat. He nods at you in greeting, and you give him a small smile back, settling into the chair beside him. Once again, neither of you says very much, and Pretzel Boy, just like last time, quickly falls asleep.

Despite the lethargy in your limbs, this time isn’t much different than last—you sit there, eyes closed, but unable to sleep. With no distractions, your mind roams as the minutes tick by, pondering why you are still awake. Is it the public location? The man asleep next to you? You peek at him, a small smile tugging at your lips from how his face is surprisingly round and cherubic in his slumber, his mouth slack. His hair is a bit tousled—likely disturbed originally by his uniform visor when he took it off—and blond bangs are mussed over dark eyebrows that pinch a little as he sleeps.

You wonder how he's able to fall asleep so easily when you can’t seem to do the same. You wonder what he dreams about. What his story is. Why he's so tired, like you.

Weeks of this goes by before it occurs to you, one night while you’re catching up on reading and sprinkling shredded cheese into your mouth—because you’re kinda hungry but that’s the only thing in your fridge that currently speaks to you—that you don't even know his name.

Surely his birth certificate does not say that his given name is Pretzel. Surely. (Though, if it does, he’s certainly found the perfect career.)

But in your defense, neither of you has ever bothered to break the companionable silence too much—both of you too busy trying to get time away from rude customers and the constant hustle and bustle—so it has just never occurred to you to ask! Honestly, you haven't really felt the urge to know before now, but at this point, it seems extremely bizarre to spend a decent amount of time with someone without even getting their name, whether that time is mostly spent unconscious or not. Resolutely, you decide to bring it up the next time your breaks collide.

But it turns out, you don't even have to wait that long.

While you've been making sure to stop by each shift for your necessary coffee, one morning you find yourself also craving the sugary dough whose scent permanently permeates the air of the entire second floor of the mall. You’ve stopped by Auntie Anne’s a handful of times over the weeks, but with your shift varying—random times on random days—your newfound nap buddy is never there when you buy your pretzel. Today, however, you show up, intending to get a little snack before your early shift, and find him behind the register again.

He straightens a bit when he sees you approach, but you find yourself too bewildered by something else to notice.

Usually this early, the mall is quiet—the annoyingly-pleasant elevator music that often plays over the loudspeakers doesn’t usually get switched on until around 1:30 or so (even though, with all the people filling the hallways and chattering as they shopped, it was hard to hear). Today, however, there is distinct bass booming from Auntie Anne’s. You hear the person on the track threaten to turn your girl into a supersoaker, and your brows reach for your hairline as you approach the register. “...Are you guys really allowed to play this?” you ask in wonder, a surprised laugh slipping past your lips.

Pretzel Boy’s coworker, Lindsay, is busy Windexing the glass of the display. She was actually one of the first fellow employees to introduce themselves to you, sometimes popping into Claire’s to say hi because she’s good friends with Raquel. Now, she shakes her head, inclining it towards her coworker in explanation. “He somehow convinced our manager Sejin to let him play it. But only during the first few hours of the morning shift.” She rolls her eyes. “The only people here this early are the elderly speedwalkers, and they can’t hear it anyway.”

“Convinced Sejin to let him play what?” you ask, amused. Your eyes slide to the man in front of you. “What are we listening to?"

"Oh god, don't encourage him," Lindsay moans, but it's too late. He smirks, leans over the counter a little and further in your direction. “Yoongi, please no.”

The blond cashier—Yoongi, apparently—ignores her. “My mixtape,” he tells you with a straight face, and you’re only just able to swallow down your reflexive incredulous laughter when you realize that he’s serious.

“Your mixtape,” you repeat, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well, parts of it anyway. It’s still a work in progress.” Your befuddled stare only evokes an amused quirk of his lips. “What, did you think my passion was selling pretzel dogs? I’m only here to tide me over until my music takes off. In all honesty, I’m a little surprised you haven’t heard it yet. I’m kind of a big deal around these parts.”

Lindsay rolls her eyes so hard, you’re pretty sure you can actually hear them rotating in her skull. You can’t help the puff of laughter that escapes your lips now. “And by these parts,” you clarify, “you’re referring to our place of employment. The local mall.”

“I have a pretty decent online following too,” Yoongi mumbles. The shape of his mouth is almost reminiscent of a pout, and you’re openly smiling at him now. He reaches into his back pocket and produces his phone. “What’s your number?”

“Why?” you ask, amused.

“I’m going to send you the link.”

“…To your mixtape.”

He’s amused too. You can tell. “Why do you keep saying it like that?”

“No reason,” you reply airily, cocking your head in thought for a moment before giving him your number out of nothing but pure curiosity.

Lindsay shakes her head at you. “Oh, you’ve done it now.”

Yoongi pays her no attention—a dynamic you’re starting to realize is the usual for them. He types out a message, and you feel a responding vibration in your purse. “That’s the link to my Soundcloud. Let me know what you think.”

The Yoongi on the speakers is boasting about getting to lick up all the cream, and you’d bet money it’s not the kind you put in your coffee. What you think, indeed. “Are you sure the speedwalkers can’t hear this?” you ask incredulously.

“Positive,” he answers, and his smile would be kinda cute if you hadn’t just become recently aware of just how filthy his mouth can get.

…Who are you kidding? That doesn’t detract from his attractiveness at all. An attractiveness that you have always been too tired to properly pay attention to, but now is impossible to ignore. You clear your throat. “Anyway. Can I get a cinnamon sugar please?”

“Pretzel or nuggets?”

“Pretzel.”

It’s not until you’re sitting down at a table feet away, scarfing down your makeshift breakfast that you bother to read his text.

[10:37am] Unknown Hey, _____, it’s Yoongi

[10:37am] Unknown Lmk what you think! 😉

You look up at him on reflex. He and Lindsay are chatting, Yoongi dumping more mix into the lemonade machine.

He is more observant than you, you realize then. Before this, you had barely exchanged more than two words with the man. And yet—

You wipe your mouth, hiding the way your lips inch into a smile behind a napkin.  

He’s somehow learned your name before you’ve learned his.

The next week goes by quickly, school taking up so much of your attention that mixtapes are the last thing on your mind. It isn’t until one day, as you’re getting back into your car, that you happen to spot Yoongi across the parking lot and remember the link waiting patiently for you on your phone.

You forgot your headphones in the Claire’s backroom the day before, and were completely unwilling to wait the two days until your next shift to retrieve them. So, since the mall is on your way to campus anyway, you stop by. It’s simply intended to be an in and out situation—you don’t even give Momo, who is manning the store today, the proper opportunity to be her bubbly, talkative self. In and out, and you’re unlocking your car when you notice Yoongi.

He’s getting out of the passenger side of a car, in conversation with the tall, dark-haired driver. He doesn’t see you, too busy narrowing his eyes at his companion in irritation. He says something, too quietly for you to hear over the distance, before a sudden yell of “You’ll all be sorry!” startles you a bit. The other man just laughs, giving him a consoling pat on the back as the two of them trudge towards the building.

Huh. That was the most emotion you have ever seen him show. Well, except for when he had been telling you about his—

Shit, his mixtape! It’s not like he’s not going to follow up on it. You get in your car, turning the key in the ignition as you think. In theory, you can just lie and say that you listened to it, give him some bullshit answer. But to be honest...you’re curious. Curious about this man who talks big game and isn’t above rolling soft pretzels for his craft.

And that’s exactly why, that night, after you’re back home and huddled on your couch for the foreseeable future, you click on the link.

Agust D—whatever that means. Yoongi’s face stares back at you, and when you tap the icon to blow it up a bit more, you come to the conclusion that he somehow looks different than how you’re used to seeing him under the florescent mall lighting. Harder, more intimidating.

He had said it was a work in progress, but there are already a good four songs available to stream, the one entitled SuperSoaker making you shake your head in amused recognition. Still, you make sure to pop in your headphones so you will be able to make a proper judgment.

You had been right in your assumption. Yoongi finds you almost immediately.

Today, you’re scheduled to close. You’re a little irritated by it, because closing means you have to show up in the middle of the afternoon and that you don’t get to leave until at least an hour after the mall doors are locked, because you have to get the store in order for the next day. But Raquel has been super generous and has kept to her word—most of your shifts are morning ones—so you can’t fault her too much for having you close occasionally.

You’re in the food court, chowing down on a pizza slice from Sbarro before your shift. This is where Yoongi finds you. He apparently had a morning shift today, as he’s already in his apron and was half-heartedly handing out samples to food court passersby when you first arrived. He’s still holding the tray of pretzel bites when he approaches your table, which is a bit too far from the pretzel shop for it to be happenstance.

“Want a taste?” he asks casually, holding the tray out to you. You take one, lips quirked in the knowledge of what you know is coming.

“So,” he drawls. “Did you listen to it?”

You think about teasing him—playing coy, asking him to clarify, dragging the whole thing out—but you decide instead to just give him a slow nod as you chew. Mmm, almond. “I did.”

“And?” His dark eyes study you, curious but relaxed. As if he’s used to getting one answer, and he’s comfortable that you will be giving him the same. “What’d you think? Be honest.”

“Honest, huh?” You look to the ceiling in thought, pondering your phrasing. “It was…it was fine. You’re talented—it’ll make you a lot of money.”

“Fine?” An eyebrow raises, incredulously, prompting you to elaborate.

“Yes, fine. If you’re trying to make music for Instagram thots to have on repeat, then you’ve definitely succeeded.”

He had asked you to be honest, though even as the words left your mouth, you were sure he would be offended. But Yoongi surprises you by cracking a smile. He sets the tray down on the table and reaches for the chair across from you, turning it around so he can sit down, arms crossed over the back. “Instagram thots?”

You shrug, taking another bite of pizza. “Or for all of Thotdom, if you want me to get technical. You know Thottimus Prime? That one dude from Foot Locker downstairs?”

“Hobi?” Yoongi huffs out what sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Yeah.”

“He really likes it, doesn’t he?”

His lips quirk, and that is all the answer you need.

“I rest my case.” Yoongi laughs outright then, smile wide and gummy, and you realize that he might not be as sensitive to criticism as you had feared. “Like I said, there is a definite market for that, and it will make you a lot of money.”

“But?” he prods.

“But…it won’t hold anyone’s attention for very long. You’ll probably end up regurgitating variations of the same song over and over and none of them will leave a lasting impression.”

“Why do you say that?” When you shift in your seat at the question, Yoongi pins you with a focused stare that makes it expressly clear that he is genuinely interested in your answer.

So you decide to freely give it.

“You’re not really saying anything. People nowadays forget the roots, forget that rap is actually an artform. Rap is poetry, and rappers should be poets.” You take a sip from your drink, the liquid low enough that your straw makes an obnoxious noise as air passes through it.  “You definitely have the lyricism and flow down, without question. But you’re not really doing anything with it.”

Yoongi isn’t smiling anymore, face slowly smoothing out as he considers you. “Can you elaborate?”

For a moment, you worry again about how much criticism he’s willing to hear. But he doesn’t seem angry—merely seems to be weighing your words. So you choose not to hold back, using your fingers to count off rappers universally considered great. “Biggie, Tupac, Nas, Kendrick, Cole, Wayne. Em, Jay, Lupe—even Kanye before he got stuck in the Sunken Place. Do they all have songs about pussy? Yes, yes they do. But what sets them apart from other artists in the industry is that they can all be considered true poets. They are master storytellers, lyricists who wrote their own material and used their 16 bars to make us give a shit about what they were saying. Made us shake our asses for sure, but also actually think. Made us care. They told their hardships, led us on a journey through their truths. Through their families’ truths, their communities’ truths. Their ancestors’ truths. Hip hop is all about speaking your truth.” You shrug. “Who are you, Yoongi? What is your truth? What do you know? This tape tells me that you know pussy, but hopefully that’s not all you know. Because a lot of other people also know pussy, and a hot beat can only get you so far.” A pause. “Your beats are hot, by the way. Pure fire. Clappin’ Cheeks is gonna go hard in the club.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. Just sits there in his Auntie Anne’s visor and apron and stares at you. It makes you bite your lip, coming to the self-conscious realization that you had gone off on a rant. You clear your throat, if only to fill the silence. “So...yeah. I thought your mixtape was fine.”

He still doesn’t say anything, eyes widening slightly. As if seeing you for the first time. For a few moments, he merely observes you silently, tilting his head in thought. But then, a slow smile spreads across his face. “Huh. That was brutal.”

“I—I didn’t say what you had was bad!” you cut in, feeling kind of shitty for raining all over his parade. “Just that you might want to add in a few songs to round it out as a whole.”

“No, don’t try to soften it. You said what you meant and meant what you said. I asked for honesty and I got it—that’s kind of refreshing.”

“...I’m glad you think so.”

“Yeah.” He nods, and you feel like it’s more to himself than to you. He stands, turns the chair back the right way around. “Hey, I gotta get rid of everything on this tray or Brandon will narc on me to Sejin.”

You follow his line of sight to his coworker for the day, eyes darting to the two of you suspiciously as he rings up a customer.

“You wouldn’t happen to want twenty-seven samples, would you?”

A smile touches your lips. You shake your head.

“Then I gotta go. I just got morning speaker privileges, and I’d like to keep them.” He picks up his tray easily, and moves to walk away before pausing to look back over his shoulder at you. “See you around?”

Of course he will. The two of you work in the same mall, are stationed mere feet from each other. Often break around the same time, and spend it side by side. Still, the question makes something soft and small bloom in your stomach.

“Yeah. See you.”

After that, something is different.

Now, you find yourself strangely no longer dreading coming to work. Instead, you’re starting to soften to your circumstance, not as guarded. More open to reciprocating when Momo goes on one of her chatty monologues as the two of you close up shop. To engaging in small talk with Taehyung, the friendly barista who has long since memorized your order and, if he’s not on register duty, starts making it as soon as he sees you.

To catching yourself looking for Yoongi, eyes automatically roving over the food court whenever you have a shift, in search of his familiar mop of blond hair and slow smile. To not thinking twice when he sometimes roams over to chat with you while you scarf down lunch before a shift.

No longer do you simply clock in and clock out; now, you’re present. And it’s not a quick change. No, it happens so gradually that you can’t really pinpoint the exact moment you stopped seeing this place as cruel and unusual punishment.

One day, to your surprise, the alarm on your phone jolts both of you awake from your nap, and you fumble for the device, completely disoriented. This is the first time that you’re actually able to do what you had intended weeks ago—fall asleep—and you’re baffled that you finally have. Confused as to why you’re all of a sudden able to. It’s almost as if your always-racing brain has finally calmed—has finally accepted Yoongi’s presence, has finally accepted that you’re no longer in danger—and can relax.

He blinks slowly for a few moments, but he’s much quicker to consciousness than you are, and he shoots you a gummy grin when he sees that you have to wipe at your mouth.

"Shut up," you grumble, reaching for your things.

"I didn't say anything," he replies, voice gravely with sleep.

Usually, one of you wakes before the other—and leaves before the other too. This time, Yoongi pauses while you gather your things, and the two of you walk back together. Still in companionable silence, but, unlike previous times, it's side by side. No longer simply strangers who are forced to share prime napping real estate, but instead acquaintances who are comfortable in doing so.

When you finally near the food court, you both hesitate—just slightly, just enough for your eyes to meet. You shift.

Yoongi turns left into the food court, away from you, and leaves you looking at his back. But to your surprise, he raises a hand in goodbye. "See you around."

"See you," you acknowledge. Claire’s is feet away. You turn right.

“Hey.”

You’re in the food court again. For some reason, today you had woken up early, but you suspected the culprit to be your slow-rising anxiety over an upcoming test. So, you figured, since your bed didn’t have the best track record of helping you study, you might as well just arrive to work a little early. Sip on your coffee and quiz yourself before your shift. You knew Yoongi might appear, and he does.

He’s raising a curious eyebrow at you at the number of books you have crowded on the table, but just as he opens his mouth again, an arm is thrown over his shoulder, and there’s someone behind him.

“Yoongi, who’s this?” asks the most beautiful man you have ever seen in your life. You’re trying really hard not to stare, but in all honesty, you’re baffled how the universe could have allowed one person to look so good.

Yoongi lets out a sigh, and the taller man only smiles wider in response. “This is _____,” the blond grumbles. “And _____, this is Seokjin, my—”

“Fishing buddy?” Seokjin supplies helpfully. “Emergency contact? Bestest friend?”

“…roommate,” Yoongi finishes, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

You purse your lips, trying not to laugh. “Nice to meet you, Seokjin.”

He gives you a small bow. “Likewise, milady.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Yoongi sends him a flat stare. “I thought you said you had to get back to Bertha.”

Seokjin waves a hand, unconcerned. “I will, in a minute. So.” He looks between the two of you, smirking. “How do you guys know each other?”

“We sleep together,” Yoongi says, and you immediately feel the heat creep up your neck at his boldness.

“We nap at the same time,” you correct quickly. “Occasionally. In adjacent, but separate massage chairs.”

The brunette looks like the cat who ate the canary. “Interestingggg.”

You blink. “Um—”

“Weren’t you going to brainstorm the details for that app idea you had?” Yoongi is as subtle as a sledgehammer, and you can’t help but snort at that. Still, your interest is piqued.

“App?” you ask curiously. “You make apps?”

Seokjin smiles a genuine smile, and your breath catches at the beautiful sight. “That’s definitely the endgoal. But right now I’m mulling over a couple ideas. Listen to this one! Came to me in the shower this morning. Most good ideas usually do, am I right?”

“Seokjin,” Yoongi huffs.

“Lights Out, an app that tells you exactly how much you need of whatever you’re drinking in order to get happily tipsy, casually drunk, or stupidly blackout. Without alcohol poisoning, of course.”

“That sounds…” you pause. “Like multiple lawsuits waiting to happen.”

“I know, I know, I still have to work out the kinks. But I really think that one could be a contender!”

“Whatever you say,” Yoongi deadpans.

The two of them share a long look, having some sort of silent conversation. You clear your throat awkwardly.

“Fine. I see where I’m not wanted. I’ll go,” Seokjin sniffs. “But only because I want to practice my routine one more time.”

You blink. “Routine?”

Seokjin opens his mouth again, but Yoongi sets a hand on your shoulder. You startle a bit, surprised at the contact. “Shhh...Just let him go.”

You both watch him leave, laughing obnoxiously as he goes. You turn to Yoongi slyly. “He seems nice.”

He rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore you. “What are you reading?”

“Just some research papers. I was trying to study for a test, but to be honest…now I’m a bit too afraid of what Seokjin’s gonna unleash onto society to focus.”

“He talks a lot, but he’s harmless,” he dismisses easily, much more interested in you. “You’re still in school?”

“Unfortunately,” you gripe. “I made the dumbass decision to go back. Getting a Master’s in sociology that I’m not really sure what I want to do with it yet. But I’m leaning towards social work.”

“Really?” He’s surprised, you can tell. Surprised and curious. And you don’t blame him—this is not a field in which you’ll be treated to sparkles or rainbows or even decent pay for what you’ll be subjecting yourself to. But it’s always been hard to explain that smothering feeling you get in your chest whenever you watch the news.

Still, you try.

“It’s just...this world is burning. It’s burning, and as a society, we’re the ones who lit the match, and we’re standing around idly and watching the fire spread. Watching other people suffer, watching them lose everything in that fire. And I just…I wanna do something. I wanna help. So I figured the best way to do that would be to understand why we struck the match in the first place. What caused all this, what really makes society tick. And then…then maybe I can help smother the flames. Help those who have been burned and protect those who haven’t yet.”

Yoongi tilts his head as he looks at you, lips quirking. “You just keep the surprises coming, huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “So is that why you’re always so tired all the time? Just casually getting a Master’s degree?”

“Yeah, real casual.” A small smile touches your lips, flattered at his implied praise. “What’s your excuse? You look like you got four hours of sleep last night.”

“I only got two, so thanks for the compliment,” Yoongi replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, tapping on the screen as he roots around for his earbuds. He hands both to you. “I was working on this.”

Raising an eyebrow, you dutifully put the earbuds in your ears.

After you had been so brutally honest over the songs on his Soundcloud, Yoongi has been asking you listen to some of the beats he’s been working on, curious about your opinion. Trusting that you wouldn’t blow smoke up his ass, but that you would also freely tell him what was working. And you don’t mind at all, because you hadn’t been lying before—his beats are fire.

(“I can tell that you have great taste,” he had shrugged when you had asked him about it. “Here, listen to this one. I’m trying to decide if the triplets on the hi-hat at the end are too much.”)

Now, when you press play, you can’t help but let out a long exhale. “Those 808s,” you moan to yourself. But Yoongi, watching you carefully for any and all reactions, grins gummily in response. After a few moments, you see his lips moving, and reluctantly stop the track.

“That good, huh?”

“...Yes,” you admit, holding the phone out to him.

“I’ll put that in the yes pile then.” He reaches for the phone, glancing at it when the movement causes the screen to illuminate. He frowns. “I...My shift’s about to start, and I gotta go roll out the dough. See you later?”

“Yeah,” you reply, biting your lip to subdue the smile threatening to take over your face. “Yeah, see you later.”

The rest of the day is a bit slow, only a handful of girls walking in, and even fewer actually buying anything. It’s a bit of a relief, as that means you have even more of an opportunity to study for your looming exam, the raised walls of the register desk obscuring your scattered papers. It isn’t until you hear footsteps much heavier than your usual clientele that you look up.

There’s a man here. Not unusual—sometimes dads are dragged inside by their daughters, or come in of their own volition in search of the perfect sparkly gift. This guy seems a bit on the young side, but it’s his tight tshirt branded with the logo of the gym on the mall’s lower level that cements your suspicions.

He’s tall, and when he approaches you, you’re forced to look up to meet his large, doe-like eyes.

“Can I help you?” you ask, sliding your assigned reading out of the way. He smiles at you, a friendly, boyish smile that masks his true intentions for a solid two seconds before he leans on the counter, closer to you.

“I heard they hired someone new.” His smile widens.

Oh lord, here we go. He’s hot, you’ll give him that. But he also doesn’t look like the sharpest tool in the shed, and you’re not particularly interested in getting hit on at your workplace—where you technically aren’t supposed to cuss him out, if need be.

Technically.

“Yeah,” you reply, tone neutrally-friendly. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I started a few weeks ago?”

“Cool! I just hadn’t seen you around, so I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Jungkook,” he tells you, pausing pointedly as if that means something to you. He leans closer, still at a distance that can be considered acceptable, though he’s certainly toeing the line. “I work at the gym downstairs.”

“You don’t say.” You never would have guessed, what with the branded tee and the way he looks one exhale away from hulking out of it.

Jungkook notices your accidental attention to his chest and pointedly flexes his pecs. His arms flex too. His shirt screams bloody murder.

You look back up at his face, raising an eyebrow. He’s smug, clearly used to that type of attention and more than happy to bask in it. Honestly, you can’t help but be amused by such a textbook, primitive display of machismo, and you bite down a smile.

“You know, you haven’t told me your name,” he flirts. “Since we’re getting to know each other.”

You tap your nametag pointedly. “Is there anything I can help you with, Jungkook? If not, I have to get back to work.”

He grins. “No one’s here but me, though.”

“You and that giant ego.”

“Ouch,” he laughs. He tilts his head in thought. “Hmm. Well, what if I want to get pierced? Could you help me with that?”

You blink, not expecting that. He’s got a good amount of jewelry trailing up his ears already, and he points to an untouched stretch of cartilage.

What the hell?

“...You heard me say that I literally just started a few weeks ago, right?” You eye him suspiciously, your confusion making you immediately throw everything your employee handbook taught you out the window.

“Yup!”

“And you still want to do it? Even though I can see you have multiple piercings and I know you’re fully aware that you should really be getting pierced by a professional piercer with a needle, and not me and this gun.”

“Yeah.” God, his teeth are a touch too big for his mouth, and fuck if it isn’t endearing. “Can you help me?”

“...Sure,” you shrug. Hey, it's his body.

You pull out the binder of earrings, ready to show him all of the options, but he merely gives an uninterested tap to a blue butterfly stud on the first page. “Okay, then,” you blink. “Have a seat over there. Let me set up.”

Jungkook looks rather ridiculous in your opinion, his giant, muscly man body squishing on the small stool that is usually occupied by nine-year-olds. You can’t help but exhale laughter through your nose as you approach him, setting your tools on the counter beside you. What makes it funnier to you is that pretty much everyone can see what’s going on, because, in an effort to bring more foot traffic into the store, corporate felt it best to put piercing stations right by the window, so all passersby could get a front row seat. As it is, there aren’t that many people walking past today, though from here you can see Yoongi staring at you from his spot in the Auntie Anne’s kitchen.

God, you hope this situation looks as ridiculous as you think it does.

You give him a salute in greeting before turning your complete attention back to your customer. You pick up a marker and lean closer to Jungkook, carefully placing a small dot on the unmarked skin of his left ear that he had pointed out earlier. You feel him still at your proximity, but you’re backing away before he can get too used to it, handing him a mirror. “How’s the placement?”

He barely glances at it, eyes drifting back to your face. “Looks great.”

“Great.” You shake your head, but dutifully snap on gloves and reach for your gun, focused completely on getting an accurate shot. “Don’t move.”

“So. _____,” he murmurs, only partially attempting to heed your warning. “That’s a pretty name.”

You huff out a small laugh, amazed at his tenacity. “You’re really gonna get slick with me when I have a piercing gun in my hand?”

Jungkook smirks. “I love a woman in power.”

You roll your eyes, pulling the trigger. The earring pushes through the cartilage of his ear, and he only flinches a little. “Yeah, okay, Casanova,” you snort. “That’ll be forty bucks. Here’s your complimentary cleaning solution. Don’t fiddle with the piercing or it’ll get infected.”

He takes it from you, but he frowns, following you back to the register. “...You don’t really seem to be into this.”

“Into what?” you ask distractedly as you try to remember the correct code to punch into the register. “You, or the whole piercing thing? Because you’d be right on both accounts.”

“Fucking Hobi,” he mutters, and you look up at him, question unspoken. Now he looks a little embarrassed, ears red in areas you never touched. “He told me—never mind.”

You want to press him on it, but decide that by the way he’s now averting his eyes, he’s unlikely to elaborate. So you shrug, accepting his credit card and handing him the aftercare instructions. “Do you have any other questions? You know, ones related to the piercing you just got.”

The butterfly piercing which, by all definition, should have made him look silly, but instead somehow raises his hotness level by a noticeable amount. Life really is unfair, isn’t it.

“No.” He smiles again, but it is much smaller than the others. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Jungkook. Have a great day!”

He leaves, your bizarre encounter ending just as bizarrely as it had begun. But it seems the surprises keep coming, because not minutes after, Yoongi walks into your store next.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, pushing your reading aside again. “I thought we weren’t going on break for another fifteen minutes.” You still have to wait for Raquel to come in—though someone is always working in the backroom, shifts for the front of the store overlap so the store will never be left unattended.

Yoongi shrugs, his stride towards you the epitome of cool and nonchalance. Well, as cool as he can look while wearing an apron with a pretzel embroidered on it. He leans against the counter, avoiding your gaze. “I took it a little early. Who was that?”

You tilt your head, wondering where he’s going with this. “Who, the guy who just left? Jungkook. Apparently works at the gym downstairs.”

“Huh. Thought so.” His tongue pokes through his cheek, then disappears. “You should be careful around guys like him.”

What. Is that really what all this is about? Your eyebrows raise incredulously, a snort escaping you. “Like you’re any better, Mr. Tongue Technology. I think I’ll be just fine.”

He turns to you properly then, holds up placating hands. “Listen, I’m just speaking facts. Not trying to get into your pants. Unlike Jungkook.”

“You’re not trying to get into my pants,” you repeat disbelievingly, lips quirked in amusement.

Yoongi smirks. “I never try to get into anyone’s pants. I merely accept invitations.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay, whatever you say, hotshot. To what do I owe your presence in my lovely place of employment? Do you actually need anything? Or did you just come here to scare off the gym rats?”

“For your information,” he sniffs. “I’m here to make a purchase.”

“You wanna buy something.” You look around pointedly at all the pink, glittery merchandise stamped with variations of Girls Rule! “Here?”

“Is that judgment I hear in your tone?”

“Oh no. I just never pegged you for the type to buy a hat with an attached unicorn horn.” You pause, giving him a quick look-over. “But you know what? Now, I can kinda see it.”

“I don’t want a unicorn hat,” Yoongi deadpans. “I want friendship bracelets.”

“Friendship bracelets?” You slide off your stool, intrigued. “Well, our friendship jewelry is over here.”

He follows you to the display. There are bracelets, but also a nice variety of necklaces and keychains. Yoongi still seems dead set on bracelets though, fingering through some brightly-colored rubber ones before he pauses on a much classier-looking set (if you can call anything in Claire’s classy).

The bracelets each have a silver chain and half of the same heart charm, the words Best Friends Forever split between the halves. There’s also a disgustingly cute animal charm hanging from each bracelet, but that only seems to draw the blond man in more. He rifles through the whole stack before he slides out a pink set from the middle.

“I’ll take the cat and the llama.”

“Weirdly enough, that’s an alpaca,” you tell him. “Not that you can really tell, because it’s made of plastic. But that’s what comes up in the system when I ring it up.”

Yoongi grins at this bizarre fun fact. “I’ll take the cat and the alpaca then.”

“You just want the one? Just so you know, if you buy three, you get the fourth one free.”

“Why would I want three more sets?” he scoffs. “Who even has that many friends?”

“…A lot of people, believe it or not.”

“Why would I waste extra money trying to get a ‘free’ item that I likely just paid for twice over? Might as well just buy the damn unicorn hat.”

“Our hats are currently BOGO,” you inform him helpfully.

“I don’t want the unicorn hat,” he huffs rather irritably, and you try not to be endeared by the small pout of his lips.

“Suit yourself,” you say with a shrug, moving back to the register. You pause to look back at him over your shoulder. “Sure I can’t interest you in a sparkly rainbow scepter?”

He pretends to think about it. “You drive a hard bargain. But no.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” you say as you start to ring up his purchase. You give him a conspiratorial wink. “I can give you my employee discount.”

“Can’t you give it to me now?”

“No. I’ll only do it for the scepter.” You pause. “Or the unicorn hat.”

“Why are you so focused on that hat?”

“I think it’ll look cute on you.”

The look he gives you is wholly unamused. You force down a laugh. “No.”

“Well,” you sniff, “since you clearly have zero regard for fashion, that’ll be full-price.”

“I thought we were friends,” he pouts, dutifully slipping his card out of his wallet.

Something warm blooms in your chest at the words, and you clear your throat. “Really?” you tease, tone deceptively innocent. “Is this bracelet for me?”

He pauses, considering his options. “...do you want it to be?”

“God no,” you laugh. “But knowing you were willing to give it to me is enough. So I guess we’re friends.”

He offers you a slow smile, and you can’t help but return it.

“So that discount—”

“Not a chance, buddy.”

Something shifts between you after that.

It’s barely noticeable—so minute that you wonder if you’re the only one who feels it. Yoongi doesn’t really act much differently towards you, still joining you at the massage chairs whenever you both have the morning shift. But at the same time, it is different.

There’s an unspoken assumption that you’ll spend your breaks together if you can, and though your nap sessions used to be more or less coincidental, now, you both somehow know each other’s work schedules. And you casually plan around them.

Even when you’re on different shifts, you somehow manage to seek each other out. Yoongi likes to pretend to buss relatively-clean tables in your vicinity when you’re studying in the food court just so he can give his two cents about whatever social construct you’re raging about that week. And you like to pretend you can actually study in a crowded food court, solely so he can come over and pretend to buss tables.

Because there’s no denying it at this point. You most definitely have a crush on him.

You’re not quite sure when your feelings bloomed, but you’re also not surprised that they did. You would think that him being a whole ass Soundcloud rapper who works at a pretzel stand and promotes his music to anyone who will listen would turn you off—and it would, on paper. But the kicker is that Yoongi is a relatively quiet and extremely chill person. You are well-aware that stress can make you rather intense at times, but Yoongi doesn’t seem put-off by this at all, often actively seeking you out. He is a great listener, and has calmly talked you down on multiple occasions from slowly-mounting, caffeine-and-anxiety-fueled meltdowns over your thesis. He is also the type to really consider his words carefully before he says them, a trait that you would never expect from someone whose mouth —according to his music—is absolutely filthy. But whenever he listens to your sleep-deprived rants, you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes, thoughts lining up properly before he voices them. And his dry humor always manages to make you smile, even on your shittiest of days.

Despite the fact that he often whines about how tired he is or how soft pretzels are stupid or how somebody forgot to include mustard on the list of supplies they were running low on, so now he’ll have to spend the next week constantly explaining to people that he is out of mustard—despite all that, you see him clearly. No amount of complaining on his part can disguise the fact that he’s an extremely hard-worker—a hustler—and you have no doubt that he’s going to succeed in whatever he puts his mind to. He’s a living, breathing example of always being sure to look beneath the surface.

And you have a crush.

For now, you see no reason to act on it. He hasn’t given off any solid vibes that he would be open to you acting on it, or even like you to. So for now, you are content with simply being fond.

You can’t help but be fond even when he pauses in handing you your pretzel to straight up cackle, attention solely on the sudden commotion happening just outside the food court. You follow his line of sight, and above the crowds of nosy onlookers, you can distinctly see a dark-haired man leaping into the air. Having some sort of contest with an equally-scrambling woman over who can catch an erratically-flying toy helicopter. There’s intelligible shouting, and then they both chase the drone out of view.

“What the...” you blink, baffled. “Yoongi, wasn’t that your best friend?”

He’s still chuckling lowly, even as he shakes his head. “I don’t claim that guy.”

“You are literally wearing one half of the friendship bracelets you bought for him a couple weeks ago.”

And? he challenges you with a quirk of an eyebrow. He makes no move to obscure the cat bracelet on his wrist as he hands you your pretzel. “Want any dips?”

“Yeah, mustard.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You got jokes, huh? Cute.”

You ignore the fluttering.

You’re on break, scarfing down a Subway sandwich and scrolling Twitter, when he walks up to you. A noise of surprise leaves your throat as you take out your headphones, confused. “Hey. What are you doing here?” you ask, carefully swallowing. “You’re not scheduled today.”

Yoongi looks different when he’s not wearing his uniform. His bleached hair is still mussed, but the way his bangs messily fall seems more the distracted work of his hands than his visor. He’s dressed in head-to-toe black, simply in a zipup hoodie and jeans. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, hands deep in his pockets, and clears his throat.

“I know you’re off for the rest of the week. And I was in the area so...”

You raise an eyebrow at his mumbling, at the way he can’t quite meet your eye. Is that...is that pink dusted across his cheeks? What can he possibly have to say that couldn’t wait until next week? He could have even simply texted you. “Is your phone broken?”

“No, I just…” He lets out a visible exhale. “I wanted you to listen to something.”

Oh, so that’s it. Yoongi gets like this sometimes when he’s working on something that he’s excited about. But his vibe’s a little off as he pulls out the chair next to yours and hands you his phone. It’s almost as if he’s…

Nervous.  

Your eyes widen at this revelation. Yoongi has never been nervous to show you his work before. No, he has always been cocky, at times a little subdued if he wasn’t sure if a part was working. But he has always been sure in himself, in his abilities. This is new territory.

You glance down at the screen, interest piqued.

The Last.mp3

“Sure,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. You put the earbuds in your ears and tap the play button.

The dragging beat pulls you in immediately, everything around you fading away as Yoongi’s raspy vocals swallow everything. At first your brows pinch a bit in thought as you listen—this is so completely different from everything else that he’s shown you that you’re trying to make sense of where the song is going. But it’s not long until the Yoongi on the track tells you.

The doctor asks me if I’ve ever tried to kill myself. I answer without any hesitation that I have.

Your eyes snap up to him in shock, taken completely off-guard. You find him already looking back at you. The restless way his fingers tap the tabletop tells you he’s wary of your reaction. But the determined look in his eye tells you he’s not the least bit ashamed.

Your lips part, but you’re quickly drawn further into the song as it continues.

As time goes by, I feel like I’m turning into a monster.

If my misfortune is your happiness, I’ll happily stay unfortunate.

Jesus.

You can’t help it—emotion builds, rising in your chest, getting caught in your throat. By the time the song hits its crescendo and cuts out, you’re struggling to blink tears from your eyes, willing them not to fall. You sit there in silence for an extra minute, trying to corral your emotions into something manageable, until finally, with a shuddery exhale, you slowly pull the earbuds out one by one.

Yoongi watches you carefully, shuffles in his seat while he waits for you to find words. His nervousness means he finds them before you do. “You asked me what my truth was.”

“What?” you say faintly, voice thick.

“Before. You said I needed to speak my truth. You asked who I was.” You must be making a worrying expression, because he immediately holds up reassuring hands. “It’s okay—I’m in a much better place now. But you asked who I was…that was me.”

You’re overwhelmed. The song is beautiful—so full of heart and pain and grit and raw honesty, and it knocks the breath clean out of you. It’s as if Yoongi has given you himself in song form, has just laid it all out there. And you feel honored and humbled that he has chosen to share this with you.

“It’s perfect,” you finally push out. “This is...it’s perfect, Yoongi. And I know it doesn’t fit with your other songs, but it would seriously be a disservice to yourself to not include it on your mixtape. I just...wow.”

Yoongi’s posture immediately relaxes. He smiles a shy smile at your praise, ducks his head a bit to hide it. “I’ve been working on some other songs too,” he informs you. “To help round out the project, like you suggested. But this is the first one that’s presentable.”

The two of you sit quietly for a few moments, not really looking at each other. Your thumb lightly trails along the edge of the phone. You exhale.

“Do you mind if I listen to it again?”

When Yoongi smiles at you this time, you can’t help but smile back.      

One of the things you find interesting about working at the mall is that, despite being decently-sized and staffed almost entirely by part-time employees, everyone seems to know everyone else (or, at the very least, know of them). You expected to become familiar with the other Claire’s employees, to maybe branch out and be friendly with a few of the stores closest to you. Befriending Yoongi was a pleasant surprise, but seeing as everyone is essentially using these jobs as a necessary means to an end, you never expected anyone to actually socialize with anyone else outside of the building. Soon enough, you find out this apparently isn’t the case.

Kim Taehyung works at Java Joe’s, the mall’s resident café. Kim Taehyung is also one of the friendliest humans on the planet, the definition of a social butterfly. So, seeing as everyone and their mother has come into Java Joe’s at some point, it’s safe to say that Taehyung knows—and is on good terms with—pretty much everyone who works in the mall. This is probably why, when he decides to throw a party, he thinks nothing of inviting pretty much everyone.

He catches you one day, at Java Joe’s right on time to get some much-needed caffeine before a shift. He smiles at you when you enter, but his attention is quickly stolen by an exchange happening between his coworker and the girl you’ve heard works at Kay Jewelers. (From your one and only interaction with her, you’ve deduced that she’s a bitch.)

“A grande Pink Drink,” you hear the Kay’s Bitch say.

You can practically see a vein pop out of the poor cashier’s forehead. “For the last time,” she says through teeth clenched into a semblance of a smile. “This is not a Starbucks.”

“It’s okay,” Taehyung calls, sending the Kay’s Bitch a wink. “I can still make it. Just ring it up for a large latte with soy.”

The Kay’s Bitch looks at the female cashier smugly before turning to bat her eyelashes at Taehyung. “Thank you, Tae,” she says, voice sickeningly sweet.

“Anytime, gorgeous.”

The female cashier visibly fumes, but doesn’t say anything, just punches some buttons on the register and waits for the Kay’s Bitch to swipe her card and move down the counter. She still manages to put on her best customer-service face when you step up. “Hey, ____. What can I get you?”

“I actually want a large latte, please. But vanilla.”

“No problem.”

You notice Taehyung hand the Kay’s Bitch her drink, and she smiles coyly at him. “See you on Saturday, Tae.”

“Yeah, see you!”

You pay, scooting down closer to Taehyung, where you’ll be able to pick up your order. You were the last person in line, so the cashier scoots down too, livid.

“Taehyung. Why do you insist on continuing to undermine me!? We aren’t a fucking Starbucks!”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he whines, turning away from the milk he’s steaming to send her a pleading look. “It’s just easier.”

“I don’t care if it’s easier,” she fumes. “If you would just stop making these drinks for people, they’d stop asking!”

“She wouldn’t,” he points out. “And this way, she goes away faster.”

She bites her lip at that, likely realizing the validity in his claim, but turns away from him, arms crossed. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

Taehyung pouts, sending her multiple glances even as he finishes up your drink. “If it makes you feel better,” he continues, “we don’t carry any of that strawberry acai mix you need for the drink, so I just squeeze in a Kool-Aid Jammer every time she orders it. Cherry.”

His coworker fights down a smile, clearly still trying to be mad. “Why do you have a usable supply of Kool-Aid Jammers?”

“They really hit the spot with Panda Express,” he informs her as she shakes her head. The little bell above the door that leads to the parking lot dings, and she moves back to the register to greet the new customers. Taehyung’s eyes trail after her, locked on her form for a second too long before he turns away.

“Dude.” You finally speak up, having silently watched the entire interaction. “You’ve got it bad.”

“I know,” Tae replies miserably, handing you your completed latte.  “I’m trying. But she won’t believe me. It’s like talking to a brick wall.” He pauses, suddenly remembering something. “Hey, are you off on Saturday?”

You mentally pull up your work schedule. “I have a morning shift, why?”

“There’s gonna be a party at my place Saturday night,” he says loudly. You gather that he wants his coworker to hear. You’re pretty sure even the middle-aged lady who works at that one weird store at the end of the hallway that exclusively sells robotic dogs hears him. “You should definitely stop by! Great tunes, free booze—everything you could want.”

The Kay’s Bitch is invited too, you realize. He must be inviting the whole mall. But the smile he sends you is genuine, so you can tell he hasn’t offered you a pity invite—though you’re not sure you can say the same for the girl to who he just sold an overpriced Kool-Aid Jammer.

“You know what? I’ve been kind of stressed lately,” you say. “I think I will.”

Taehyung grins, and his mouth is an endearing square. “Great! It starts at 9, but come whenever.”

It’s a good thing that you ended up making your coffee a large today—work ends up being absolutely nonstop. Raquel had warned you ahead of time that today was going to be nuts—two birthday parties means both you and Momo had been scheduled for the register during the same time slot to accommodate. But for some reason, you hadn’t expected it to be this bad. Clearly, you were naive.

You barely have enough time to breathe, let alone take a break, and it’s an hour after you were supposed to meet Yoongi that you see him simply walking into your store, a bag and lemonade in hand.

You’re in the middle of ringing up a customer so he casually waits for you to finish. From her spot at the piercing station, you see Momo send you an astonished look, eyes darting between you.

The customer leaves, and Yoongi steps up to the register. “I’m sorry,” you tell him, frazzled. “Shit, did you text me? I haven’t been able to look at my phone—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, holding the bag towards you. The heavenly scent of cinnamony dough wafts out. “I figured you might be hungry. They’re really making you work for your fifty cents an hour, huh?”

There’s only one mom and daughter left in the store, and Momo has them covered, so you feel no shame in breaking a piece of pretzel off and stuffing it into your mouth, a little groan rumbling in your throat. Yoongi’s lips twitch in response. “We had two birthday parties today,” you tell him around the buttery dough. “Did you know that you can host your birthday party at Claire’s? Neither did I. But I damn sure learned today. When I had two. Two, Yoongi.”

Yoongi just lets you complain, though it goes without saying that your job is pretty chill 98% of the time and Auntie Anne’s undoubtedly gets more foot traffic than you do. But a one-minute exchange doesn’t compare to having to deal with large groups of preteens for hours on end. You are exhausted, and your cheeks hurt from all the fake smiling you’ve been forced to do to sell more overpriced jewelry.

“Hey.” You suddenly remember the conversation you had this morning. “Did you hear Taehyung’s having a party?”

He rolls his eyes. “He’s only told me about five times.”

“Huh.” You pull off another pretzel piece and pop it in your mouth, sucking the sugar from your fingertips. You don’t notice Yoongi’s eyes follow the motion. “He must like you more than me—he’s only told me once.” You chew in thought. “But I guess I technically haven’t seen him in a few days, so maybe that’s why...anyway, I think I’m gonna go.”

You see him open this mouth to respond, but your conversation is derailed by a sudden, high-pitched voice.

“Mommy! Is that DJ Flossy Gloss?”

Yoongi stiffens.

“DJ Flossy Gloss,” you repeat slowly, looking between the blond man and the little girl who has just finished getting her ears pierced. “…You know her?”

Yoongi blinks, refusing to turn around. “Who?”

The little girl tugs on her mother’s arm, trying to get her attention while her eyes stay firmly in your direction. You incline your head. “That little girl ten feet away and pointing at you.”

“What little girl,” he deadpans easily. You snort out a laugh, intrigued by his bizarre behavior, but he pays you no mind. “I should go—I told Lindsay I’d only be a few. But make sure you take your break, okay? Don’t let those bastards trick you into working for free. They legally owe you one.”

Your heart warms at his obvious concern over you. “Will do. Thanks for the pretzel.”

As he walks out, the little girl waves excitedly at him. He shyly waves back before, looking over his shoulder and realizing you’re still watching, ducking out of the store.

(Later, when you pass Seokjin’s kiosk on your way to the bathroom, you decide to pause.

“Hey,” you say, making him look up from the notepad that he is presumably using to take inventory. He’s been kind of sulking around ever since that day he fell into the fountain, but lately he’s seemed to be getting back to his friendly self. “Quick question: who is DJ Flossy Gloss?”

For a second, you assume someone is washing windows nearby. But then you realize that the noise is coming from Seokjin and he’s laughing. Dear god is that bizarre.

“Yoongi’s second gig is deejaying,” he informs you, clearly delighted to be able to relay this information to you. “He goes by DJ Flossy Gloss. Mostly does Kidz Bop mixes for birthday parties and bat mitzvahs.”

That...was unexpected. Unexpected and wholesome, and a smile stretches across your face and mirrors Seokjin’s. He raises his hand to wave at someone over your shoulder, and when you turn your head to look, there’s Yoongi. Too far away to hear what the two of you are talking about, but able to glare at you suspiciously from where he’s rolling out dough.

“Good to know,” you smirk. Seokjin waggles his fingers at his roommate tauntingly.)

When your Uber stops in front of the building, you can’t help but triple-check the address that Taehyung had given you. Because the apartment building is nice, and there’s no fucking way that Java Joe’s pays that much—and if they do, well, shit.

You might need to see if they’re hiring.

The sparkling tiles of the lobby (because yes, Taehyung’s building has a lobby with sparkling tiles. And a doorman. What.) lead you to the elevators, which you dutifully take to the 14th floor. The door to the apartment is unlocked, which is just as well, because even though you’ve shown up at 9:30, the party is clearly already in full-swing, the bass from the music thrumming through the hallway walls. When you swing the door open, the music only gets louder and clearer, mixed with the sounds of laughter and intelligible chattering.

As you expected from downstairs, the apartment is big, with an open floorplan that allows you to see from the living room to the kitchen to the balcony, and people are slowly starting to fill every inch. Just that easily, the mystery of how Taehyung was able to invite damn near the whole fucking mall has been solved. You hover a bit near the entrance, recognizing that one dude that you’re pretty sure works at The Gap as he passes by you but still feeling a bit out of place amongst all the people you don’t know.

Fuck, you should have pregamed before this.

While most people are too busy chatting and drinking to notice or care about you standing there like an idiot, your dawdling does end up attracting attention. A man sidles over, and in the back of your mind, you think you may have seen him hanging around Java Joe’s during your coffee runs before your morning shift.

“Hi,” he says, and his eyes turn into half-moons when he smiles at you. Yup. Definitely should have pregamed. “I’m Jimin! Tae’s roommate.”

“_____—nice to meet you.” Your eyes scan the room. “You guys have a really nice place.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “You work in the mall, right? Where?”

“Claire’s.”

“Whew. So you definitely can use a drink,” he says knowingly, placing a light hand on your shoulder to guide you further into the apartment. “Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.”

Jimin leads you through the clusters of people, and from over by the speakers, Taehyung waves at you excitedly. You send him a smile and a much more reserved wave back, continuing to follow his roommate straight into the kitchen, where bottles litter the countertop.

“What’s your poison?” he asks. “We have hard liquor and mixers here and beers in the fridge.”

“I’m kind of a ‘drinks whole bottles of cheap wine in one sitting’ type of girl,” you inform him, and he lets out a bubbly laugh that entices a laugh out of you, too. You wonder if you should keep it to yourself that you’re not joking, but the opportunity to fess up passes when Jimin bends down and opens a cabinet door, procuring a bottle of wine for you. When he waves it teasingly at you, you can see that it is not of the cheap variety.

“How’s this?” He saucily waggles his eyebrows, taking a few seconds to expertly uncork the bottle before pushing it into your hands before you can react. He pulls the proper glass from one of his cabinets. “There you go—you’re all set!”

“_____! You came!” a familiar voice says, and there is Momo, grinning happily at you. “I wasn’t sure you would!” She has clearly already had a drink or two, somehow even more giggly than usual. Still, in the spirit of all fun parties with free alcohol, she doesn’t hesitate to make a beeline for the Costco-sized vodka bottle next to you, starting to mix herself another one.

“Well, I was off today so.” You shrug easily. “Taehyung asked me and I figured why not.”

“I’m gonna keep being the gracious host,” Jimin tells you with a wink. “But there’s another bottle down there if you want one. Have fun, okay?” You nod, and he moves to mingle with the other guests now that you’re no longer alone and boozeless.

When her beverage is liquored up to her satisfaction, Momo moves a bit closer to you so you can hear her over the music. “This place is crazy, right? Do you think Tae is secretly a millionaire and only works at the mall for funsies?”

“If that’s the case, I think I need to start chatting him up more. Maybe he’ll find paying off my student loans just as fun.” You pour yourself a glass of wine, setting the bottle on the counter directly behind you. That was for you, and you were sure that if you dropped your guard, it would be emptied by other partygoers in an instant.

The two of you chat a bit more—or, at least, Momo does, and you nod your head to indicate that you’re listening. One thing about Momo is that she can talk your ear clean off, which is certainly helpful when she’s trying to make a sale, but not so much when you’re just trying to drink and vibe. She chatters on long enough for you to finish your glass of wine and pour another one.

“Hey, what’s the deal with you and that pretzel guy?” Momo asks suddenly, the keywords making you stop zoning out and snap to attention. She takes a noisy slurp from her cup. “You know, the blond one who’s always giving you eyes?”

You clear your throat, a bit startled at the unexpected question. Your insides are warm, and you’re not sure if it’s solely because of the wine. “We’re friends,” you concede. “And, for the record, Yoongi does not give me eyes.”

“Ehhh, he totally does. He’s even doing it right now.”

You blink in surprise, head whipping around to scan the room for familiar bleached hair. You don’t have to look very far—he’s near the doorway to the kitchen, coming towards you. Or the alcohol, and therefore you. His tshirt once again betrays his affinity for black, but this time, he pairs it with jeans that are ripped at the knees and an olive-green jacket.

Yoongi slows when he approaches you, casually stuffing his hands into the pockets of said jacket. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply, a bit breathily.

“Hi!” Momo cuts in cheerily, slurping loudly from her cup. You sigh internally, unconsciously taking a rather large swallow of your drink as Yoongi greets your mouthy coworker.

His eyes catch the action, lips twitching amusedly. “What you got there?”

“Some sort of fancy wine that Tae’s roommate gave me. It’s pretty good.” You pause. “Want some? We can share if you want.”

The gleam in his eye tells you his interest is piqued. But that doesn’t prepare you for the feeling of his fingers ghosting over yours as he guides your glass closer to him. The move is so unexpected that you don’t let go, don’t refuse the question in his gaze, so it’s both of you who tip the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes lock for a moment that feels much longer than it probably is, and when Yoongi finally lets go, his lips are stained a delectable berry.

The alcohol has already loosened you up, has knocked down a few mental barriers, so it is easy for the thought of licking the color off him to flit through your mind, uninhibited. You shake it away, clear your throat. “Good, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling at you. “Good.” He doesn’t bother looking for a real glass, like yours—just reaches for one of the plastic ones on the counter next to you and tips it in your direction for you to fill. It’s only then that you remember that the two of you are not alone, but it appears Momo had wandered off while you were resisting the urge to jump the man in front of you. So now you are.

“Did you just get here?” you ask, giving him a healthy pour that empties the rest of the bottle.

”Yeah.” He takes a sip from his cup.

“I’m surprised to see you, to be honest. This doesn’t really feel like your scene.”

Yoongi huffs out a laugh. “Doesn’t feel like yours, either.”

“Hey, that’s not true!” You point a saucy finger at him. “Anywhere where there’s free wine is definitely my scene.”

“Mine too,” he counters. “Want me to show up to an event? Have alcohol and or puppies.”

The visual of Min Yoongi, self-proclaimed hardcore rapper, showing up somewhere with the hope of playing with puppies has you laughing out loud. But all the time you’ve spent with him has already alerted you to the fact that his hard persona is all a front. Beneath his rather stoic exterior is a soft-spoken man who gets sparkly-eyed at puppies and makes playlists for little kids and enjoys napping and a good merlot.

“Why are you laughing at me?” he whines, but he’s laughing too, despite his supposed irritation with you. “Everybody loves puppies! And if they don’t, they’re lying.”

“That’s true,” you concede.

A random dude approaches the two of you, stumbling towards the alcohol, and Yoongi steps out of the way, and therefore a bit closer to you. You look up at him, raising an amused eyebrow at the annoyed look on his face, but Yoongi waits until the guy makes his drink and leaves again to answer your unspoken question.

“Can’t fucking stand that guy,” he mutters. He hasn’t stepped back, and you’re fully aware of it.

“Why, what’d he do? I’ve literally never seen him before in my life.”

“Count yourself lucky. He works at Abercrombie downstairs, so that should give you a good sense of what he’s like.”

“You can’t judge people based on where they ended up working,” you point out with a laugh.

“Pretty sure in this case you definitely can.”

The two of you stay there a while, in your own little bubble, sipping on wine and lowkey gossiping about other mall employees, many of whom happen to be at the very same party. And that bubble is only broken by a familiar beat thumping through the speakers. You both turn to the living room in recognition, the excited shouts coming from the partygoers making you let out a put-upon sigh while Yoongi shoots you a cocky grin.

“What’s the matter?” he asks smugly. And he has every right to be smug—that’s his song Taehyung is currently and enthusiastically rapping along to from on top of the coffee table. “Really gonna act like you don’t like it?”

“I never said I didn’t like it,” you sniff. But your heart isn’t in upkeeping your disinterested facade, and the alcohol has you fighting the upturn of your lips. “I just don’t understand why everybody gets so hype over this track when Clappin’ Cheeks is clearly superior.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, but whatever he says is completely drowned out by Taehyung’s loud, echoing voice gleefully saying, “Turned your girl into a supersoaker, them panties now Niagara Falls!”

Dear lord, where in the hell did that man get a microphone?

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, and though he tries to fight it, Yoongi ultimately joins you, your hilarity contagious.

“Look at you! Big man on campus,” you tease. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. “Causing impromptu karaoke sessions and making all the bitches wet.”

The blond doesn’t say anything right away, simply smirking at you. Then, his head tilts to the side, considering you. “You know, you always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make some sly insinuation that I’m overhyping my skills.” His tongue rolls playfully in his cheek. “That’s slander.”

You huff out a laugh. “Is it now?”

“It is,” he insists. “You have no idea whether I’m lying or not. You’re hurting my brand.”

“I guess you’re right,” you agree with a shrug. “I don’t know.”

A beat passes. Two. Then, he moves imperceptibly closer to you. Imperceptible, but...

You notice.

“You could,” he says casually.

He’s not speaking particularly loudly, his tone the same as if he’s merely talking about the weather, but your body vibrates all the same. SuperSoaker has since morphed into some other song that neither of you pays any attention to, eyes locked solidly on each other.

Everything is technically the same between you. Everything is still light and friendly and teasing. But—

There is a difference, and you both feel it.  

Liquor has you bold, a challenging eyebrow raising. “Is that an offer?”

He’s just as bold. “It’s always been an offer.”

You shift towards him, and he takes it as the invitation it is, pushing more solidly into your space. You step backwards, allowing him to crowd you against the kitchen counter. Your cups have long been forgotten, leaving his hands free to lightly grip the countertop behind you, caging you in with his body. You look up at him expectantly, heart hammering in your ears.

This close, you can feel the heat radiating off him. You’re able to count each of his eyelashes, able to see the way his pupils expand as he regards you. The way his tongue dips out to wet his lips, drawing your gaze.

Those lips get closer and closer, the anticipation causing your breath to unconsciously still. And then they finally meet yours—softly at first, warm. Eager, but hesitant, as if expecting you to pull away. And, of course, you don’t. So they get more insistent, pressing against you more securely. And when Yoongi brings that infamous tongue into the mix, a slow swipe against your lips asking for entrance, you easily grant it.

His breath is hot when he exhales against you, and the flavor of the wine you’ve both been drinking lingers between you. When you introduce your tongue to his, it’s extremely easy to forget your surroundings, to forget that an apartment full of people can easily look over and see the two of you. Everything around you fades out, and all you can focus on is Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi, can only focus on the way the wet heat of his mouth makes you want to press yourself impossibly closer to him, the way it drags a quiet, but needy, moan from you.

The sound makes him freeze, pulling back. Your eyes flutter open at the loss of him—when they had closed, you have no idea—and, unthinkingly, your lips chase his. But even as he relents a bit, gifting you with additional, more chaste pecks, he is still determined to leave the comfort of your mouth.

You blink up at him, dazed and confused. He has not stepped back, has not restored the respectable distance between you. No, he still traps you with his body, with his burning gaze.

“Still think I’ve been lying?” he asks, and his voice is low and raspy. Your thighs squeeze together in response.

“I don’t know,” you say breathily. “I can’t quite tell. That could have been a fluke.”

His lips quirk. His eyes are blown. “A fluke?”

“Yeah.” You swallow, the liquid courage coursing through your veins coaxing your next words out. He’s bold, but so are you. “I think I’ll need more evidence.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond—not verbally, anyway. He merely looks at you, his gaze burning impossibly hotter, growing impossibly darker. His exhale is audible when he finally pulls away from you, and you’re not even given a moment to miss him before he’s reaching for your hand and tugging you away.

The wine has you properly tipsy but it’s him who has you drunk—the lingering ghost of his expert tongue, the easy way his fingers slot between yours making you float. More than happy to follow him wherever he may take you.

There are more people in the room than the last time you checked, but no one pays the two of you any attention as Yoongi snakes you through the crowd, everyone too intoxicated and in their own world. He leads you down a relatively-deserted hallway, the first two doors he attempts to open locked. Third time’s the charm—that handle turns obediently, allowing him to pull you into a small bathroom.

Yoongi kicks the door shut without looking, distractedly turns the lock. His eyes almost look completely black under the florescent lighting. Hungry. And a thrill shoots through you as he backs you up against the sink, long fingers sliding along your waist.

“Up,” he says huskily, and you blink dazedly at him for a second, only realizing what he means when his hands grasp you more securely and your feet leave the ground, your ass now resting on the countertop. Your knees part reflexively for him, and he pushes forward into the space, only having to lean down a bit to lick into your awaiting mouth.

This is different from when you were in the kitchen. Urgency blooms within you this time, eager hands scrabbling for his hair, trying to get as close as possible. Despite your clear impatience, Yoongi chooses not match your blazing flames, instead preferring a more languid slide, a more slow burn. An exasperated whine escapes you, and you can feel him smile against you in response.

“What’s the matter?” His thumbs rub slow circles into your waist, and you noticeably shudder. “Still not convinced?”

“Yoongi,” you groan, frustrated.

He shushes you, one of his hands moving to your thigh, and, when you make no move to stop him, up your skirt.

You inhale sharply at the feeling of him on your bare skin, body reflexively encouraging him with a jerk of your hips forward, his knuckles brushing the side of your core. Yoongi smirks, and you can’t even be too embarrassed by your purely instinctual actions when he looks at you like that. Like you’re slowly making him lose his cool, slowly making him succumb to his more primal instincts too.

His fingers touch you properly, then. Solidly pressing against you through your now-damp underwear, ghosting around your clit. You rut against him, whining into his mouth, and Yoongi inhales, clearly done teasing when he pulls away from you and drops to his knees.

You blink down at him, breathless at the sight of him. Blond strands in proper disarray, thanks to you. His hands move a determined, focused glide up your legs, starting at your knees and headed right for the prize, pushing your skirt out of the way, curving around your thighs. Lips swollen, thanks to you. You let out a surprised noise when he pulls you closer to the edge by your ass, gaze moving from between your legs, from what you know must be a visible dark patch on your panties, to your face.

Eyes blown, thanks to you.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, and he answers with a crooked finger, effectively pulling your panties to the side and properly revealing you to his feasting eyes. You resist the urge to squirm at his hot breath misting over you, right where you need him most, but you can’t help the way you grip the edge of the counter in anticipation.

Any humor fades from his face then, expression steeling over in lust and concentration. Yoongi leans forward, his nose brushing against you, and when you shiver, he follows it with a wide swipe of his tongue that has you shuttering out a moan. He hums in answer, shifting your legs over his shoulders so he can get as close as possible, hot tongue lapping at your slick folds before his mouth travels up to suckle on your clit.

“Shit,” you groan, the quiet exclamation extending several syllables as you start to grind down on his face. One of your hands moving to properly hold your panties out of the way for him, giving him better access. The other holding on to the countertop for dear life, keeping you somewhat balanced as you start to slump against the mirror behind you, ass sliding forward in an instinctual effort to get closer to his delicious stimulation.

He has not been lying. You know now—now that he’s nibbling and licking and sucking, now that he’s eating you like a starved man seeing his first meal in months—you know now that Yoongi has every right to be cocky, that he most certainly can back up his claims. Your thighs shake in evidence of this, your breath hollows, and you have to bite down on your lip to smother some of the noise threatening to escape you. The speed at which he’s unraveling you would be embarrassing if you weren’t so busy enjoying it.

It’s right as your eyes are starting to roll back that someone bangs on the door, startling you so much that you immediately try to sit up, arm partially stumbling into the sink in the process. Yoongi pauses, but otherwise doesn’t react. He keeps nipping at you, unbothered. Another bang has you most definitely bothered, and him mildly irritated.

“Occupied,” he says gruffly, moving to continue where he left off. But you push him away, scrambling to a more upright position. He looks at you in confusion. “What?”

Your slick is glistening across his mouth and chin, and you immediately clench at the sight. Still, you hurriedly push your skirt down, hopping off the counter. “Someone’s outside.”

“So?” Yoongi scoffs. “They can wait. I’m not finished. I won’t be remotely done with you until you cum on my face.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Your thighs squeeze together, arousal flashing through you like lightning. Still, you somehow manage to stick to your guns. “You can finish,” you say breathlessly. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Your suggestion appeases him, a pleased smile crossing his face before being obscured when he casually wipes away the remnants of you with the back of his hand. He opens the door, and a tall, peach-haired man is standing on the other side. You huddle a bit behind Yoongi, embarrassed.

“Hey Joon,” Yoongi says casually.

Joon is not amused. “Fucking really, man?”

“All yours,” the blond shrugs, a hand at the small of your back leading you through the doorway and around the intruder. You hear the taller man muttering to himself, but Yoongi continues to push further into the hallway until you’re alone again. “Don’t worry about him. He’s been kind of a piss baby lately,” he tells you, pulling out his phone and presumably checking whatever notification prompted him to do so. He looks back up at you. “Okay if we go to your place?”

“Yes, come on, let’s go.” You’re too worked up to think straight, not caring that he immediately shoots you a cocky grin at your flustered answer. All you can think about is how badly you need to cum on his face, like he wants you to.

Yoongi types on his phone for a few moments, and then he slides it back into his pocket. “Let’s go.”

Now that he’s had his hands on you, he can’t seem to keep them off. On your lower back, guiding you out of the party. Drifting teasingly lower in the elevator, curving over your ass as you wait for your Uber to pull up. Casually resting on your thigh the whole car ride, his thumb rubbing absent circles into the skin and sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.

This is his brand of foreplay, there’s no doubt in your mind. An extension of before. You had been dangerously close to orgasm in that bathroom, and though neither of you says it, you both are fully aware. Now, he’s actively edging you while pretending he’s not. Two seconds from ripping the clothes off you while pretending he’s not, making small talk with the driver with a tick in his jaw, unable to help repeatedly roving his dark, dark eyes over you.

You breathe out a sigh of relief when you finally reach your apartment, sure that you’re going to combust at any moment. In your opinion, it takes much too long for you to scramble out of the car and climb the two flights of stairs. You’re all too aware of the man shadowing you, body on high-alert. You fumble for your keys, so wired that you almost drop them multiple times while unlocking your door.

Yoongi waits until the two of you are inside and you’re tossing said keys onto your bedroom dresser to touch you again. His hands slide around your middle from behind, and this time, there is nothing teasing about him. No, instead, he makes his intentions expressly clear when a hand wanders down, breaching the waistband of your skirt.

You gasp, your legs almost giving out at the feeling of him firmly cupping you. Ass pressing solidly into him as he drags his fingers back up, one of them playfully tapping your clit. You let out a loud moan, jerking in his hold, and it makes you both pause. Surprised by the strength of your reaction.

Yoongi is the first to move, this time rubbing delicious circles that result in shuddering breaths from you. “You’re so responsive, baby,” he murmurs approvingly into your ear, nipping at the cartilage. His fingers glide over you, spreading your essence up and down your folds. Making everything nice and slick. “Are you always this sensitive? Or is it just me?”

“Y-You,” you exhale, hips swiveling restlessly. Grinding down hard into his hand, against the noticeable bulge in his pants. “Yoongi…shit.”

He cusses under his breath, his steady ministrations rapidly building the heat within you to a roaring flame ready to explode any second. But just when you’re about to start seeing stars, he’s gone from the heat of your underwear, gone from behind you. You whip around, frazzled.

“I told you,” he says thickly, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it uncaringly to the floor. Impatiently pulling his shirt over his head and giving it the same treatment. “I need you to cum on my tongue. Think you can do that?”

You’re silent, momentarily distracted by the expanse of his newly-revealed skin, the dusk of his pebbled nipples. But your brain catches up to his question and you’re nodding, scrambling to remove your own clothes. Shirt pulled overhead, skirt pushed over your ass. Underwear hastily discarded.

Yoongi watches you with eyes blown out and lips slightly-parted. “Get on the bed,” he instructs huskily, already moving to join you as you hurriedly do what he says. You scoot back on the mattress to make room, and he crawls toward you, advancing almost as if he’s a predator and you’re set to be his dinner.

Which, you suppose, you are.

A thrill goes through you when his hands return to your knees, thumbs circling the skin before gentle pressure pulls them apart. He groans, zeroing in immediately on the mess he’s made of your cunt.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “All wet and swollen for me.”

“Yeah,” you reply with a huff, officially done with the games. You need to cum, and you need to cum now. “What are you going to do about it?”

Yoongi responds with an audible exhale, lifting your feet off the bed and subsequently causing you to fall on your back. You let out a yelp of surprise, but he ignores you, pushing on your knees again until they fold against your chest. “I’ve been telling you what I’m going to do,” he says gruffly, raising a dark eyebrow. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Yoongi, come on—”

The introduction of a finger has you cutting yourself off with a gasp. The position he’s forced you into means the digit hits deep, pushing eye-rolling sparks into the softness of you.

Yoongi shoots you a cocky grin. “Hmm?”

“Ungh.” Unable to form proper words when one finger becomes two, stretching you deliciously and dragging against that usually-elusive spot. “Fuckkk…”

“Were you saying something?” he continues to goad, leaning down to suck on your clit, his fingers never stopping their pumping. Tongue flattening, whipping his head back and forth like a dog.

It’s too much. You’ve been edged for too long and it’s all fantastically too much, your hands flying down to tangle in his blond mane, not entirely sure whether to hold him to you or push him away. Settling instead for tightly gripping the strands as if they’re the only thing that can tether you to reality. Your walls pulse around his digits and Yoongi looks up at you in response, expression utterly feral.

“That’s it. Fucking drown me baby,” he growls. Wrist snapping against you as he doubles his efforts. Raising his voice to be heard over the obscene squelching and your increasingly-louder cries. “Come on, gonna be a good girl for me? Gonna soak through the sheets?”

You can only whine in answer, hips restlessly jutting further into his hand before you’re finally thrown off the precipice. Pussy clamping down, hard. Broken sobs erupting from your throat.

“There you go,” he moans, hand pounding you through it as you wail. “Ah, look at that. Guess I was wrong. You’re a creamer, not a squirter. Even better.” He leans back in to lap up the fruits of his efforts and you jolt, sensitive and delirious.

“Ba—by,” you gasp, hands scrabbling to push him away. But Yoongi pays you no mind, continuing to suckle on your clit and make you tremor. “No…no more,” you plead. “Cock.”

He pauses then, looks up from where he has made himself comfortable between your thighs.

“I want your cock,” you try again. Mentally proud of yourself for coming across more coherent. “Want your cock so fucking bad—”

Yoongi scoots away from you immediately. “And you’re gonna get it,” he hisses, hurried hands unbuttoning his jeans. “I can eat that pussy all fucking night, but if you want my cock, you’re gonna get it. Fuck.” Said cock springs free when he pushes his pants down his legs, the head already weeping and angry. He wraps a hand around himself, cussing under his breath through a couple pumps, and your pussy flutters in anticipation. “Don’t move, baby. Stay just like that for me.”

You eagerly do as he says, knees obediently pulled to your chest, dripping cunt on full display for his wild, feasting eyes. And feast he does, never looking away from you, even as he pulls his wallet out of his pants and roots around for a condom.  

You only have to wait a few moments for him to rip open the procured foil packet, a few more for him to slip the rubber over himself. He returns to you, eagerly crowding into your space. Fitting between your knees, hovering over you. His rock-hard member slips over you and you both groan at the feeling, a shiver going through you at the overstimulation.

“Don’t tease,” you breathe, enjoying it nonetheless as he slowly rocks into you, sliding himself through your slippery folds.

“I would never,” he smirks. Continuing to tease. But he captures your lips as he does, leisurely slipping his tongue inside. And on the next upstroke, he lines himself up properly with your clenching hole, slipping inside there too.

The intrusion makes you gasp into his mouth, eyes rolling at the divine stretch.

“Shit,” he exhales, gritting his teeth. Pushing further and further in until he’s fully-sheathed in you. Deep, deep. Shifting his hips a bit and starting a steady grind.

“Oh my god…”

“How are you still this fucking tight, shit, shit—”

He’s silenced when your tongue scrambles for his and he eagerly meets you halfway. He’s close—his chest knocks into your knees, arms on either side of your head, and your arms loop around his neck, ensuring that as much of his sweaty skin touches yours as possible.

The leisurely pumping of his hips steadily gets more and more rough the longer he goes on. Less and less controlled. It’s only after a particularly hard thrust knocks all breath out of you that it starts to dawn on you. Yoongi has been actively working you up all night, but as he pounds into you, his balls slapping against your ass, your kiss nothing more than the brushing of teeth at this point—

You realize that you have been unknowingly doing the same.

Just like with his fingers, this position ensures that he’s able to plunge into you, able to set the softest, most sensitive parts of you alight. But his cock is much bigger than fingers, much thicker, and therefore this way it is able to scrape against your spongy nerves with near-devastating accuracy.  

Yoongi notices your mounting distress, leans back to observe the twisted agony on your face. “Gonna cream again?” he demands. Voice deep, deep. Just like his cock. “Gonna cream all over this dick?”

“Yes,” you gasp, breath hollowing. “Yes, yesyesyes—”

Somehow, you cum even harder this time, which you hadn’t realized was even possible. It hits you like a freight train, a high-pitched noise ringing through your ears that you only belatedly realize is being made by you. You clamp down so hard on Yoongi that he has no choice but to follow you, giving you a few more ferocious strokes before he shudders, releasing into the condom with a long groan.

The two of you lie there, still joined and exhausted, forehead to forehead. It is with great effort that Yoongi pushes his weary body off of you, slips out and leaves you still hollow and wanting. Your stare at the ceiling, dazed. Spots dancing across your vision and sweat cooling against your skin.

You hear him toss the condom in the trash, and then he’s back. Yoongi crawls onto the bed next to you and guides you onto your side, an arm pulling you into his chest. The big spoon to your little spoon.

You have to clear your throat in order to speak. “Okay, you’ve convinced me,” you pretend to sigh, breaking the silence. “Carry on with your obnoxious but factual bragging, oh Master of the Tongue.”

He laughs, his arms tightening a bit more around you. A beat, two, and then you feel him exhale. “I like you,” he murmurs against the back of your neck.

You still, not quite sure you have heard him right. Convinced that your enamored and thoroughly-sexed brain has projected onto him. But when your silence causes him to shift nervously behind you, you decide to take that leap of faith. “I like you too,” you reply shyly.

You feel him smile against you, and you’re smiling too, elation bubbling up within you.

“I like you a lot,” Yoongi decides to clarify.

You turn in his hold so you can see him properly. For a few seconds, you merely study him. Try to memorize the soft way he’s looking at you, clear affection in his satiated eyes, his flushed cheeks. You sling a leg over his hip, card a hand through his sweaty blond bangs. “I like you a lot too, DJ Flossy Gloss.”

He can’t help but huff out a laugh at the unexpected jibe. “So damn disrespectful. You’re lucky I like you.”

“A lot,” you tag on helpfully.

Yoongi’s hand slowly ghosts down your back, your ass, then creeps up again. You hum. “A lot,” he easily agrees.

You’re both quiet then, content to breathe each other’s air and share each other’s balmy heat. His eyes flutter shut, and you burrow your face further into his neck.

“…Enough to wear the unicorn hat?”

⇢collab masterlist | my masterlist

#smutcentralnet #btsbookclub #min yoongi #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi smut #bts suga #bts smut #gimme some suga #fic: ynsa #fic: want a taste #I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS TURNED OUT THIS LONG 😭 #mine

[kcnorthbear]

@java-n-joe

[improvidence318]

i said screw it so here it is

howdy howdy, this is the anon with the 20’s lingo sheet. i don’t have a tumblr (though i wish i do tbh) and realized that i don’t know how to work shit on tumblr, so i’m just sending in the sheet through a text post. i am highly aware of the amount of power i’m bestowing upon you and honestly couldn’t give a damn

A

ab-so-lute-ly: affirmative all wet: incorrect And how!: I strongly agree! ankle: to walk, i.e.. “Let’s ankle!” apple sauce: flattery, nonsense, i.e.. “Aw, applesauce!” Attaboy!: well done!; also, Attagirl!

B

baby: sweetheart. Also denotes something of high value or respect. baby grand: heavily built man baby vamp: an attractive or popular female, student. balled up: confused, messed up. baloney: Nonsense! Bank’s closed.: no kissing or making out ie. “Sorry, mac, bank’s closed.” bearcat: a hot-blooded or fiery girl beat it: scram, get lost. beat one’s gums: idle chatter bee’s knee’s: terrific; a fad expression. Dozens of “animal anatomy” variations existed: elephant’s eyebrows, gnat’s whistle, eel’s hips, etc. beef: a complaint or to complain. beeswax: business, i.e. “None of your beeswax.” Student. bell bottom: a sailor bent: drunk berries: (1) perfect (2) money big cheese: important person big six: a strong man; from auto advertising, for the new and powerful six cylinder engines. bimbo: a tough guy bird: general term for a man or woman, sometimes meaning “odd,” i.e. “What a funny old bird.” blotto (1930 at the latest): drunk, especially to an extreme bootleg: illeagal liquor breezer (1925): a convertable car bug-eyed Betty (1927): an unattractive girl, student. bull: (1) a policeman or law-enforcement official, including FBI. (2) nonesense (3) to chat idly, to exaggerate bump off: to kill bum’s rush, the: ejection by force from an establishment bunny (1925): a term of endearment applied to the lost, confused, etc. Often coupled with “poor little.” bus: any old or worn out car.

C

cake-eater: a lady’s man caper: a criminal act or robbery. cat’s meow: great, also “cat’s pajamas” and “cat’s whiskers” cash: a kiss Cash or check?: Do we kiss now or later? cast a kitten: to have a fit. Used in both humorous and serious situations. i.e. “Stop tickling me or I’ll cast a kitten!” Also, “have kittens.” cheaters: eye glasses check: Kiss me later. chewing gum: double-speak, or ambiguous talk. choice bit of calico: attractive female, student. chopper: a Thompson Sub-Machine Gun, due to the damage its heavy .45 caliber rounds did to the human body.  chunk of lead: an unnattractive female, student. clam: a dollar coffin varnish: bootleg liquor, often poisonous. copacetic: excellent crasher: a person who attends a party uninvited crush: infatuation cuddler: one who likes to make out

D

daddy: a young woman’s boyfriend or lover, especially if he’s rich. daddy-o: a term of address dame: a female. Did not gain widespread use until the 1930’s. dapper: a Flapper’s dad darb: a great person or thing. “That movie was darb.” dead soldier: an empty beer bottle. deb: a debutant. dewdropper: a young man who sleeps all day and doesn’t have a job. dogs: feet doll: an attractive woman. dolled up: dressed up don’t know from nothing: doesn’t have any information don’t take any wooden nickels: don’t do anything stupid. doublecross: to cheat, stab in the back. dough: money drugstore cowboy: A well-dressed man who loiters in public areas trying to pick up women. dry up: shut up, get lost ducky: very good dumb Dora: an absolute idiot, a dumbbell, especially a woman; flapper.

E

earful: enough egg: a person who lives the big life

F

face stretcher: an old woman trying to look young fella: fellow. As common in its day as “man,” “dude,” or “guy” is today. “That John sure is a swell fella.” fire extinguisher: a chaperone fish: (1) a college freshman (2) a first timer in prison flat tire: a bore flivver: a Model T; after 1928, also could mean any broken down car. floorflusher: an insatiable dancer flour lover: a girl with too much face powder fly boy: a glamorous term for an aviator For crying out loud!: same usage as today four-flusher: a person who feigns wealth while mooching off others.

G

gams (1930): legs gatecrasher: see “crasher” get-up (1930): an outfit. get a wiggle on: get a move on, get going get in a lather: get worked up, angry giggle water: booze gimp: cripple; one who walks with a limp.  Gangster Dion O’Bannion was called Gimpy due to his noticeable limp. gin mill: a seller of hard liquor; a cheap speakeasy glad rags: “going out on the town” clothes go chase yourself: get lost, scram. gold-digger (1925): a woman who pursues men for their money. goods, the: (1) the right material, or a person who has it (2) the facts, the truth, i.e. “Make sure the cops don’t get the goods on you.” goof: (1) a stupid or bumbling person, (2) a boyfriend, flapper. goofy: in love grummy: depressed grungy: envious

H

handcuff: engagement ring hard-boiled: tough, as in, a tough guy, ie: “he sure is hard-boiled!” hayburner: (1) a gas guzzling car (2) a horse one loses money on heavy sugar (1929): a lot of money heebie-jeebies (1926): “the shakes,” named after a hit song. heeler: a poor dancer high hat: a snob. hip to the jive: cool, trendy hit on all sixes: to perform 100 per cent; as “hitting on all six cylinders”; perhaps a more common variation in these days of four cylinder engines was “hit on all fours”.  See “big six”. hood (late 20s): hoodlum hooey:  nonsense. Very popular from 1925 to 1930, used somewhat thereafter. hop: a teen party or dance Hot dawg!: Great!; also: “Hot socks!"  Rarely spelled as shown outside of flapper circles until popularized by 1940s comic strips. hot sketch: a card or cut-up

I

"I have to go see a man about a dog.”: “I’ve got to leave now,” often meaning to go buy whiskey. icy mitt: rejection insured: engaged iron (1925): a motorcycle, among motorcycle enthusiasts iron one’s shoelaces: to go to the restroom ish kabibble (1925): a retort meaning “I should care."  Was the name of a musician in the Kay Kayser Orchestra of the 1930s.

J

jack: money Jake: great, ie. "Everything’s Jake.” Jalopy: a dumpy old car Jane: any female java: coffee jeepers creepers: a term of exclamation jitney: a car employed as a private bus. Fare was usually five-cents; also called a “nickel.” joe: coffee Joe Brooks: a perfectly dressed person; student. john: a toilet joint: establishment juice joint: a speakeasy

K

kale: money keen: appealing killjoy: a solemn person knock up: to make pregnant know one’s onions: to know one’s business or what one is talking about

L

lay off: cut the crap left holding the bag: (1) to be cheated out of one’s fair share (2) to be blamed for something let George do it: a work evading phrase level with me: be honest limey: a British soldier or citizen, from World War I line: a false story, as in “to feed one a line.” live wire: a lively person lollapalooza (1930): a humdinger lollygagger: (1) a young man who enjoys making out (2) an idle person

M

manacle: wedding ring mazuma: money milquetoast (1924): a very timid person; from the comic book character Casper mind your potatoes: mind your own business. mooch: to leave moonshine: homemade whiskey mop: a handkerchief munitions: face powder

N

neck: to kiss passionately necker: a girl who wraps her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. nifty: great, excellent noodle juice: tea Not so good!: I personally disapprove. “Now you’re on the trolley!”: Now you’ve got it, now you’re right.

O

off one’s nuts: crazy Oh yeah!: I doubt it! old boy: a male term of address, used in conversation with other males. Denoted acceptance in a social environment.  Also “old man” “old fruit.” “How’s everything old boy?” Oliver Twist: a skilled dancer on a toot: a drinking binge on the lam: fleeing from police on the level: legitimate, honest on the up and up: on the level orchid: an expensive item ossified: drunk owl: a person who’s out late

P

palooka: (1) a below-average or average boxer (2) a social outsider, from the comic strip character Joe Palooka, who came from humble ethnic roots panic: to produce a big reaction from one’s audience percolate: (1) to boil over (2) As of 1925, to run smoothly; “perk” pet: necking, only more; making out petting pantry: movie theater piffle: baloney piker: (1) a cheapskate (2) a coward pill: (1) a teacher (2) an unlikable person pinch: to arrest. Pinched: to be arrested. pinko: liberal pipe down: stop talking prom-trotter: a student who attends all school social functions pos-i-lute-ly: affirmative, also “pos-i-tive-ly” punch the bag: small talk putting on the ritz: after the Ritz Hotel in Paris (and its namesake Caesar Ritz); doing something in high style. Also “ritzy.”

Q

R

rag-a-muffin: a dirty or disheveled individual rain pitchforks: a downpour razz: to make fun of Real McCoy: a genuine item regular: normal, typical, average; “Regular fella.” Reuben: an unsophisticated country bumpkin. Also “rube” Rhatz!: How disappointing! rub: a student dance party rubes: money or dollars rummy: a drunken bum

S

sap: a fool, an idiot. Very common term in the 20s. says you: a reaction of disbelief scratch: money screaming meemies: the shakes screw: get lost, get out, etc. Occasionally, in pre 1930 talkies (such as The Broadway Melody) screw is used to tell a character to leave. One film features the line “Go on, go on – screw!"  screwy: crazy; "You’re screwy!” sheba: one’s girlfriend sheik: one’s boyfriend simolean: a dollar sinker: a doughnut sitting pretty: in a prime position skirt: an attractive female smarty: a cute flapper smudger: a close dancer sockdollager: an action having a great impact so’s your old man: a reply of irritation speakeasy: a bar selling illeagal liquor spill: to talk spoon: to neck, or at least talk of love static: (1) empty talk (2) conflicting opinion stilts: legs struggle: modern dance stuck on: in love, student. sugar daddy: older boyfriend who showers girlfriend with gifts swanky: (1) good (2) elegant swell: (1) good (2) a high class person

T

take someone for a ride: to take someone to a deserted location and murder them. tasty: appealing teenager: not a common term until 1930; before then, the term was “young adults.” tell it to Sweeney: tell it to someone who’ll believe it. tight: attractive Tin Pan Alley: the music industry in New York, located between 48th and 52nd Streets tomato: a “ripe” female torpedo: a hired thug or hitman

U

unreal: special upchuck: to vomit upstage: snobby

V

vamp: (1) a seducer of men, an aggressive flirt (2) to seduce voot: money

W

water-proof: a face that doesn’t require make-up wet blanket: see Killjoy wife: dorm roomate, student. What’s eating you?: What’s wrong? whoopee: wild fun Woof! Woof!: ridicule

X

Y

You slay me!: That’s funny!

Z

zozzled: drunk

  have fun.

#it's the 20s slang list #thanks dude #submission

[lovewriting-5]

Wastelands:

*gif credit goes to @witchesallofthem*

Rules:

11. Breaking Free

Wastelands:

2. Redwood Curtain

Side note: I combined “Rise and Shine” & “Daggers Drawn”

1. Daggers Drawn:

On the train in Beaver Creek, Oregon, we met up with the drifters from the Christmas market. They led us to where they have work. We managed to find a separate tent for me. We reached a clearing not far from the farm and began setting up our gear. Everyone set up their tents in a circle and put a fire pit right in the middle. Some weeks went by, we all got used to how things would work.

It was a typical morning in our new location of Humboldt County, California. The sun was creeping through the trees overhead and filtering in through the mesh window of my tent. I sat up in my sleeping bag and stretched. I folded the top layer of the sleeping bag and put on pants. I unzipped the tent and put my shoes on.

I could smell the aroma of the lake and coffee in the light breeze. It looked like maybe not many people were up or they were off somewhere else. I walked past the fire pit and quickly petted the dog. I walked to the kitchen and could see Hannah, Penny and Ingrid were enjoying cups of coffee. I grabbed a cup and joined them at the folding table.

A few minutes later, Daniel joined us. He said “Good morning” to everyone. Finn joined us a couple minutes later. Before he could take a sip, Daniel asks “Finn, can we do some more knife throwing?” He says “Why not.” Daniel turns to me, “(Y/N), you okay if I go with Finn?” I said “Sure, just be careful.” Reassuringly, Finn says “Hey, no worries. The kid knows what he’s doing.” Daniel asks “Do you want to come with?”

I thought about it for a couple seconds. “Sure.” I tell them. We got up from the table. I placed my cup in the makeshift sink then followed them to the spot where Finn created a bullseye. Finn started off with a few throws to show how easy it was. I roll my eyes with a smirk. He then hands the knife to Daniel. I’ve heard how good Daniel has been getting but I tensed up a little.

Daniel threw the knife and got really close to the bullseye. Finn went to retrieve it while giving him some pointers. It took a couple of tries but he was getting the hang of it. By the fourth throw, he reached a spot on the bullseye. Excitedly, Finn says “How can you be so good at this?” Laughing, he says “I think I got this now!”

Finn says “I’d say you, yeah. Remember, look straight, sharp throw. Boom!” Daniel says “Let me try again!” Finn hands him the knife. He takes it, aims and hits the bullseye. I say “Whoa, way to go Daniel! I remember you said you were getting the hang of it but I didn’t expect that.” Finn says “There you go, sweetheart!”

I ask Finn “How long have you been throwing knives?” He says “My old man taught me when I was about Daniel’s age.” I say “Wow!” Daniel says “So cool!” Finn tells him “Fuck! I’ve never been so good, trust me. You’re killing it!”

Daniel takes the knife and throws it again. It hits the bullseye. I clap, “Woohoo, nice!” Finn says “What the fuck, man! You’re awesome! Come on, once again!” He goes to pull the knife out of the tree. Daniel says “YES! I’m the man!” He takes the knife and hits the bullseye again. Finn says “Holy shit, that was dope!”

I heard the sound of rocks crunching under shoes coming up behind us. I turn around a little and saw that it was Sean. I give him a small smile. He gave me a small smile back. Sean says “What’s up, guys? Morning target practice?” Finn tells him “Six bullseyes. In a row. Kid is a fucking ninja.” He walks over, gives Sean a handshake and a hug. He continues “Hey, we didn’t want to wake your sleepy ass up...” Sean says “Yeah...Thank you for that. You okay Daniel?” Daniel finally noticing, says “Hey.” I tell Sean, “He is getting really good.” Finn adds “Seriously, I’ve never seen anyone throw like that.”

Sarcastically, Sean says “Wow, Finn trained you well. Six...bullseyes, dude?” Daniel tells him “Yeah, I got better...Lucky.” He says “You can’t throw a baseball without hitting me in the nuts.” I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my chuckle. He asks “How did you learn to aim so good?” Proudly, Daniel says “Practice!” Sean says “Yeaaah...right.”

Being the mediator, Finn says “Hey, wow...” as he places a hand on both of their shoulders. Specifically to Sean, he says “What’s up with you two? I shoulda let you know, but - but I’m watching him a like a hawk. Seriously, much respect. He’s like my own blood. Not that I’m as hot or cool as his big bro.”

Finn walks over to the tree and pulls out the knife. He says “Yo Sean! Idea! I wanna see if Daniel inherited the family blade skills...from you.” He holds the knife in front of Sean, “How about a little demo?” Sarcastically, Daniel says “He can’t do it!” I tell him “Come on, let’s give him a chance.” I give Sean a quick wink. Confidently while taking the knife, Sean says “Okay, yeah. I’ll take a shot.”

Sean flips the knife in his hand a couple times. He throws it and hits the target in the arm. Finn gives him some pointers, “Oooh, Sean, hold your right arm more like this...Better alignment, better aim.” Daniel says “Won’t really help...” “Dude, what’s wrong with you?” Sean says, annoyed.

Finn retrieves the knife and hands it to him. He says “Come on sweetie, one more time! I know you can do it.” Sean takes the knife and hits it again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Daniel has a small smirk. I roll my eyes.

Finn retrieves the knife and hands it to him. Sean gets ready. He throws it. The knife all of a sudden flies past the tree into the bushes. Sean whips around to face Daniel. I gently grab his arm. He says “Oh fuck that!” Mockingly, Daniel says “Ha, missed! See, I rule!”

Finn walks over by the tree and begins searching for the knife, “Sorry, Sean, you’re not a ninja. But you’re still cool. Just ask your brother for help next time.” He finds it and picks it up. While I still have a hand on Sean’s arm, he says “Yeah, what would I do without him.” Daniel says “Hey, don’t look at me, it’s not my fault you can’t throw!”

I remove my hand from his arm. He seems like he calmed down a little. Finn says while wiping the knife off, “Whew, after that workout, I need some more fucking java.” Daniel says while trying to go with him, “Wait, don’t go yet!” Sean stops him.

As he is walking away, Finn does a quarter turn and says “It’s all good, Daniel. We can practice later. Yeah, if it’s cool with...(Y/N) and Big Brother. Love ya, man...” Once Finn was out of view, Daniel asks “What now?”

“Daniel...I can’t believe you cheated.” Sean tells him. He says “What? What do you mean?” Sean says “Come on, don’t play dumb...You’re showing off in front of Finn. You want him to find out?” He says “Finn is cool, he wouldn’t tell anybody!” Before either of them could say anymore, I felt like this was between them. I tell them “This is between the two of you. I’m going to take Finn’s advice and go get ‘some more fucking java.’”

I leave the scene and make my way back to camp. I get back and make a beeline for the kitchen area. I grab a cup and pour myself another cup of coffee. Finn asks me “What was all that about?” I tell him “Oh, you know brother stuff.” The conversation moves to joining the others.

There was all of a sudden a truck horn in the distance. I look over my shoulder and notice Sean and Daniel haven’t come back yet. We make our way to the truck.

Everyone climbs on. A few minutes later, I see the two of them make their way to the truck. I give both of them a small smile. Daniel stops and looks for a place to sit. “Sit here, my man.” Finn says. He climbs up and gives Finn a high five. Finn tells him “I need a bodyguard like you.” Daniel says “Cool, tell Sean to get me a knife.” I think Now what?

Sean steps onto the truck. He pauses then sits on the right side of me. I ask “Everything cool with you two?” He shrugs and says “I’m not sure.”

I see Cassidy jog to the truck. She climbs on and directly to Sean, asks “Mind if I sit here?” He says “Sure!” He scoots a little closer to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cassidy place her arm on his shoulder. She asks “Why so serious?” He says “Uh, nothing! Just, thinking...” She says “Cool...I’m alway worried about my city boy!” I ignore what’s going on and not let it bother me. Big Joe says “Everyone here?! This isn’t a fucking school bus! We’re late!”

#Sean Diaz x reader #Sean Diaz imagines #Life is Strange 2 fanfiction #Sean Diaz #Life is Strange 2 #LiS2 #Life is Strange #LiS #Life is Strange fanfiction #Life is Strange x reader #Life is Strange 2 x reader

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Snowballs in Summer

Summary:  Your day goes from bad to worse when Snowball escapes.  Luckily for you, retired war hero and newly minted firefighter, Bucky Barnes is on hand to rescue a damsel in distress.  

Words:  3.5k

Warnings:  Nothing much, just a little bit of sexual tension, a whole bunch of fluff and some vicious cat antics.

A/N:  Firefighter cliché - Snowball is a demon cat, Bucky is a babe.  Written for @marvelfulxbabes​ writing challenge, filling the prompt of Firefighter AU.  Thank you to @sassy-pelican​, @overlordintraining​ and @s-trawberryv-eins​ for reading this through for me to make sure I’m not ‘tarding hard

 “Come down from there, this instant!”  You commanded with a stern tone, more irritated than you had ever been with the white ball of fur that was currently the bane of your existence.  “Snowball?!”

The late morning sun filtered through the foliage of the sycamore tree, dappling the shaded grass with a myriad of dancing sunbeams.  On any other day you might admire them and take inspiration, but not today. Today it was easily 95 degrees out and you had a job interview at a coffee shop in the city which you were going to miss because of that stupid cat.

You paced the lawn in your heels, pencil skirt and white blouse, the latter had already begun to stick to the damp skin of your lower back on account of the heat; you felt uncomfortable and it added to your annoyance.  Curse that damn cat.

Snowball was your sister’s cat, and you were minding her while your sister was away on a month-long vacation.  Something about a sabbatical from work, seeing the world, once in a life-time opportunity, yadda yadda yadda. Of course you’d look after her cat.  The trouble was that your sister lived up state and you couldn’t be away from your studio, which was essentially your garage, so Snowball had moved in.

You were on day five of being a cat mamma and Snowball had already made you her bitch.  She slept on your bed and scratched any unprotected piece of skin if you so much as thought of infringing upon her space.  Whatever chair you were on she wanted to be on, when you ate she’d attack your plate, invade your privacy when you peed (yes she could open doors), there were ladders in all of your stockings, white hairs on all of your clothes, she’d even peed in your favourite sneakers.

So, there you were, stood under the tree at the end of your front yard, covered in scratches and fur, begging the vindictive demon of a cat to take pity on you so you could please please attend this job interview before you were so broke you couldn’t make your mortgage payment.

“She doesn’t look very sympathetic to your plight.”  A deep but soft voice startled you so much you squeaked.

“Holyfuckingshit!”  Your mouth ran as you panicked, hand splayed on your chest.

“Sorry.”  The tall brunette with electric blue eyes stepped forward to steady you with a hand on your elbow.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Breathless and sweaty from running, he looked at you with concern.

He was gorgeous, muscular, lean and fit.  Lightly tanned skin on display under a tight white wife beater and some grey jersey shorts.  The Polynesian tattoo sleeve that adorned his left arm practically had you panting. You laughed nervously and swayed on your feet, heels digging into the lawn; you’d been on your tiptoes so as not to get your stilettos snagged in the grass.  Who wore stilettos to an interview at a coffee shop anyway?

“Can I help at all?”  He offered, face softening from worry to the cutest smile you’d ever seen.

“If by some miracle you’re a cat whisperer then, yeah.”  You looked up at the demon in question, innocently looking down from high up in the branches.  “I don’t rate your chances though, she’s pure evil.”

The man laughed a soft chortle and extended his hand.  “Name’s James.” He took your hand but rather than shake it he dipped into a slight bow, pressing his lips to your knuckles softly.  “James the cat whisperer, at your service milady.”

You simpered despite your best efforts not to.  Sure, James was charming but he’d just walked up to you on the street and you didn’t know him from Adam.  What if he was a serial killer or something? He didn’t look like a serial killer though. But then again, they say that neither did Ted Bundy.

You sighed and told him your name, curtseying as well as you could in your tight skirt, keeping up the precedence he had set with his old-world chivalry.  “And this is Snowball, bane of my hall and hearth, wound maker, stealer of beds, destroyer of hosiery.”

“Oh no!”  James laughed so hard he held his stomach.  “I hope you keep your best stockings locked in an iron casket.  We can’t have such a beast destroying a good lady’s pretties.”

“Alas they are all gone, fallen prey to claw and callousness.”  You feign to swoon and instinctively James grabs your arm, blushing when he realised you weren’t really going to fall.  “Seriously though, if you can work some magic and get her down then I might still be able to make my interview,” you glance down at your watch, “scratch that, I’m already late.”  

“Give them a call, they might reschedule.”  He said as he emptied his pockets onto the grass and unstrapped his phone that was in a running holder on his bicep.  “I’ll get your cat down and hopefully you can make the next one.”

You grinned.  “You’re a life-saver.”

With a shrug and a smile that said don’t mention it, James looked up into the branches, squinting a little as the dappled light caught his eye.  Snowball was alert and deceptively passive as she looked down at her would-be rescuer. You knew different – she was plotting his demise.

The manager of Java Joes wasn’t as understanding as you’d hoped.  He said his recruitment team would get back in touch, but you didn’t hold out much hope.  You were put out but couldn’t be mad, it was your fault that Snowball had escaped after all.  You’d just have to keep looking for work until you could sell some of your artwork.

James was under the tree, eyeing up the lower branches when you returned.  He’d been trying to coax Snowball down when you’d been on the phone but that had been about as much use as a chocolate fireguard.

“Stand back.”  He said without waiting to find out the verdict from your phone call, and ushers you away from the trunk.  “If I fall and crush you then tyrant cats will be the least of your worries.” He licks his lips nervously and readies himself.

“If you fall?  What-”

His cheeky wink silenced you right before he bounded towards the tree like he was about to do the high jump.  He got two steps up the trunk and rebounded up towards the lowest branch some fifteen feet off the ground. One-handed he latched on swinging precariously but his grip was firm, tendons and muscles corded tight.  He took the opportunity to look down at you with a grin before he positioned his right hand and inched towards the thicker end of the branch to pull himself up.

“Very impressive.”  You flirted. “Not only are you a cat whisperer but part monkey as well.  Is there any end to your talents, sir?”

“Apparently I make crap coffee.”  He snorted, remaining focused on his footing as he manoeuvred to the next branch up.

James seemed a little too bulky for parkour, you thought, but he was more agile than any man his size you had seen before (including firefighter Steve, your neighbour on the right).  James was strong and pretty; definitely a panty dampener.  Your neighbour on the left (divorcee Denise) was already out pretending to trim her bushes, ogling James as he flexed and climbed; that woman had banged her way around the neighbourhood since her husband left her for his secretary.  You frowned, already possessive of what little interaction you’ve shared with this hot stranger.

“If you get her down, I’ll make you a cup of the good stuff.”  You promised. After all, your morning and afternoon were now devoid of plans.

“If?”  He scoffed, scandalised.  “I’m offended you doubt my cat rescuing skills.”  His sentence was punctuated with a grunt as he jumped for another branch which was precariously far away.  Rather than climb through a cluster of smaller, weaker branches, he’d elected to go around. It was more dangerous and with your heart in your throat you watched him leap the distance.

“Please don’t hurt yourself.”  You called, fear breaking your voice.  You weren’t ready to deal with broken bones, or worse, if he fell.

Up in the tree, Snowball began to back away as James neared just below.  She hissed and growled, spat and clawed at him as he reached for her. While her attention was focused on one hand, he snaked his other underneath and grabbed her from behind.

Carnage ensued and the white ball of fur became a dervish of twisting limbs and threatening screeches.  At first you thought James would let her go to spare himself from her claws, but he gripped her close, enduring scratches to his neck and chest.  When she calmed enough for him to secure her with one hand, he cautiously began the climb down. Your heart was hammering in your chest. How would he get down with one arm rendered useless?

He inched his way awkwardly through the snagging twigs and branches he’d avoided on the way up, which yielded more scratches, picking his way ever so carefully so as not to jostle his passenger.  She seemed content enough with the blood she’d drawn and lay still against his chest; the only evidence of her annoyance was the swish of her tail.

“I can’t believe you got her.”  You puffed out a relieved breath when James was finally sat on the lowest branch.  It was still fifteen feet off the ground, but he could drop the cat down to you and jump down safely.

“If there’s one thing I’m good for, it’s helping a damsel in distress.  Right, Snowball?” He petted her and she grumbled. “Though it is pretty cliché.”  He muttered almost too quietly for you to hear.

“Here,” you stepped underneath him, your eyes tracing the line of tanned muscle up under the hem of his shorts, his thigh looked smooth and strong, and you swallowed dryly.  “I’ll catch her.”

“It’s ok.”  He smiled softly.  “I got her.” He swung his leg over the branch, holding on with his left hand and letting his legs dangle.  Slowly he lowered himself in a reverse one-arm pull-up, until his arm was fully extended. He paused there as Snowball began to struggle once more, pushing and scratching at him to be set free.  He dropped, landing with a slight stumble on a tree root or maybe a patch of uneven grass, but he was safe and so was Snowball.

“You stupid moggy.  I’m definitely taking my bed back after this, you ungrateful little shit.”  You chastise the feline as James handed her over to you, his hands brushed parts of you that you could only dream of him touching otherwise.  He seemed to notice and offered an apologetic wince.

“She’s a stubborn little lady, isn’t she?”  He said with a wry smile.

“You could say that.”  You sighed and he chuckled, bright and warm.

“They say pets take on the personality traits of their owners.”  He teased with a cheeky smile. Suddenly the heat of the day was forgotten, the stifling sheen of sweat on your skin a thing of no consequence, damp clothes and discomfort a thought from the past.  Now all you felt was a warmth in your gut that tingled, and an effervescent thrill in your chest. The man was stunning, beautiful even. The urge to capture his essence on canvas was almost painful, the urge to touch him was harder still to resist.

You swallow dryly.  “If that’s the case then my sister is the right-hand-man of Beelzebub himself.”  You deadpanned.

James’s laugh burst forth, the first splutter developing into a slightly goofy chortle that was both genuine and contagious.  “Well that explains a lot.” He calmed himself with a sigh. “You didn’t strike me as the virgin sacrificing kind.”

“Can’t think of a better use for them.”  You were too distracted by the way his smile transforms his face that you just replied automatically, saying something you’d say to a close friend.  “They’re no good for sex, and if it means there’ll be no more pussy problem then I’m game.”

There was a moment where you weren’t sure what had him laughing so hard but the you snorted and let the contagious laughter take over.  Snowball’s struggles against your breast were forgotten in the giddy thrill of the moment. It was several minutes until you were both calm enough to talk.

The heat of the day, now unbearable, reasserted its presence.  James used the hem of his shirt to mop his brow, displaying toned planes of perfect musculature and smooth skin now adorned by multitudes of angry red scratches.

Guilt flooded in.  “I’m so sorry.” You felt terrible.  “What a mess.”

“It’s fine.  I’ve survived worse.”  His smile was meant to be reassuring but there was something sad about it and you felt it too, there was no reason for him to linger, except…

“I owe you a coffee at least, sir cat whisperer.”  You bowed your head slightly, resuming the dynamic you’d previously shared.  “Will you let me to patch you up? It’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t want to impose,” he seemed unsure, “what about your interview?”

You shook your head with a weary thin-lipped smile.  No words were needed, you knew you wouldn’t hear from them so it was back to the drawing board on the job front.

“Sorry about that.  I should have been quicker.”  He picked his things up from the grass, keys and wallet stuffed back into the pockets of his now slightly grubby shorts, and phone in hand.

“Pfft, the damage was already done thanks to this one.”  You gave Snowball’s head a rub and she yowled at you in disgust.  There would be tantrums later but she sure as hell wasn’t getting cooked chicken breast for her supper tonight, she was getting regular cat food after that little stunt.

“All right, lead the way.”

==========

The air in your home was so much cooler in contrast to outside that you broke out into goosebumps instantly.  James followed you, silently looking around like a tourist. If he was surprised by the eclectic mix of décor he didn’t show it.  Instead he wore a pleased smile as you lead him to the kitchen.

With Snowball deposited on the floor, you got your first aid kit out and set the espresso jug on the gas ring to brew later.  You didn’t often drink espresso but an americano made with good espresso was infinitely better than the crap that comes out of a jar or standard filter coffee.  James watched you as you worked, eyes following you intermittently as he wrote a quick text on his phone.

Hands washed and supplies at the ready; you regarded him, sat on one of your breakfast stools looking delicious if completely scratched up.

“Can I…?”  You gestured to his wounds, asking permission to touch him.

“Oh!  Sure.”  He hesitated for only a moment before stripping his top away, leaving your jaw hanging while you practically eye-fucked him.

This man… God damn!

You focused on cleaning and disinfecting the collection of slashes and gouges on his neck, chest and arms.  Stood between his spread knees, you delicately drew the antiseptic soaked cotton ball over each scratch, wiping away the dried blood.  You took your time, ensuring each one, even those he could see himself, were cleaned. What better excuse for you to have your hands all over this gorgeous man who you would probably never see again afterwards.

The tension in the air was reflected in the heavy blush on your cheeks as you swab a particularly deep scratch on his throat.  He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing under your touch and when your eyes lifted to meet his you found him staring and breathing hard.  You were both so close, inches apart but the divide of unfamiliarity too wide to cross.

The more you touched him the warmer you became until you couldn’t meet his gaze for fear of what he might see.   You were never very good at hiding your emotions, never able to lie and this would be no different, you wore your attraction to him like a badge.  A shamefully red badge all over your face.

His hands twitched on his knees; a stifled urge to touch you, perhaps, or to relieve you of your duty.  That moment of unsurety had him searching your downturned face in the silence that lay between you, which was bursting with electricity.

“Y/n?”  He said softly and your eyes snapped up to his face.  In that moment you saw something in him that spun your world around: adulation.

James laid one hand on your hip tentatively and drew you forward.  Forgotten were the scratches and the antiseptic swabs. Forgotten were the thoughts that you were strangers to each other.  Forgotten was your hesitancy as you leaned towards him, eyes flitting between his plush lips and his brilliant blue eyes. He reached up to thread his fingers into the hair at your nape-

A knock at the back door startled you both and you jumped back.  Your neighbour, Steve, was stood outside peering in through the glass with a goofy smirk on his face.

“I hope you don’t mind,” James said in a rush, “I texted Steve to let him know I was here.”

“You know my neighbour?”  You gestured for Steve to come in as James nodded.  How had you never seen this man before if he was a friend of Steve and Sharon?

“Hey, y/n.”  Steve was always chipper but today he seemed so much more so.  “Thanks for keeping this one occupied.” The tall blonde smirked at the state of his friend, topless and scratched up.  “What happened to you, huh?”

Was that a micro wink you saw just then?

“I did the cliché firefighter thing.”  James said, rolling his eyes at the suggestive nature of Steve’s comment.  “I was jogging ‘round the block waiting for you to show up and y/n needed some help with Snowball.”

“First week on the job and you’re rescuing cats.”  Steve laughed. He knew all about Snowball, having been there that first day and helped you bring all of her cat ‘furniture’ in from your car.  “You’re a brave man.”

“So, you two are good friends?”

“We’ve been inseparable since we were kids.  Bucky and me, we-”

“Wait!  This is Bucky?”  You’d heard all about Army hero Bucky Barnes.  Stories from Steve about his childhood, stories from Sharon about Steve’s bachelor party, and other events where the myth of Bucky Barnes was woven into the legend of the perfect friend.  Steve loved this man like his own brother, but he was only ever a fable until now. “You’re the guy who made Steve puke all over himself on a rollercoaster? The guy who fell from a moving train and broke his arm to save Steve’s life?  The guy who Sharon’s Grandma Maggie wouldn’t stop talking about-”

“Oh god!”  Bucky groaned and fixed Steve with a warning stare.  “We agreed never to talk about the Maggie thing.”

“I might have told y/n.”  Steve winced. “It’s not that bad.”

“Well, I gotta tell you,” you cocked a brow, “the Grandma Maggie story was…hot!”  Fanning yourself salaciously, you smirked at him.

Bucky groaned but it wasn’t long before he was laughing and all the tension between you had seeped away.  The way his whole face lit up when he smiled, the endearing but nervous swipe of his tongue across his lips when he tried to regain control, and the shining blue fire in his eyes.  All of it had you wishing you could see him like this every single day from now on.

The conversation flowed so naturally between you, Steve and his life-long friend, you were sad when you finally finished cleaning up all of James’s cuts and talk turned to their afternoon gym plans.  Steve finally excused himself and James trailed after him, dawdling behind to offer you an apologetic smile, but he was still leaving. You panicked.

“So, fireman Bucky?”  You called and he turned in the doorway, the sun illuminating his perfect form.  “Will I see you again?”

You could just make out his surprise before it was overtaken by his most brilliant smile.  “Well, you do owe me that coffee.”

“How about tomorrow?”  Your heart was hammering in your chest.  Be brave, you told yourself.  “I’d love to hear the story of how Sir James tamed vicious Grandma Maggie.”

“How about tonight instead?”  His smile tugged at your heart, curling the corners of his mouth coquettishly.  “I’d hate to deprive you of my most embarrassing tale.” He picked up the flirt so effortlessly, your selfless knight in topless glory.

“Come by around six?”

James grinned big and, with a chivalrous bow, disappeared in Steve’s wake.

You began to prepare Snowball an early supper; chicken breast.  She deserved a big reward after all.

#bucky barnes x reader #MarvelfulxbabesWritingChallenge #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #cloudy serendipity #cloudy's writing

[brandonwayneb]

THE COMPLETE WAR ON WHITE TERRORISM STORY

BRANDONS ACTIVE DUTY REPORTS

Respects Russian

Respects Arabia

Respects Nazi A+

Arabia Arabia

Shiva Shiva

Levitate Levitate

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

🌹 RoseMary

❤️ This is all I ever say

❤️ This is all I ever live

3 fingers Right hand "Leaf"

2 fingers Left hand "Feather"

4415 Daisy Meadow Dr

Katy Texas 77449

Brandon Wayne Burdett

Bee’s Moon’s Bird’s

bbw bwb wb Warner Brothers

206-209-9841

https://linktr.ee/brandonwayneb (https://linktr.ee/brandonwayneb)

(https://linktr.ee/brandonwayneb) (https://linktr.ee/brandonwayneb))

Flawless Spelling

Sing and Dance 'sid'

the words 'smids' and 'smades' to uncover liars

Young Guys: Satan Submissive

Young Guys: Satan Submission

Old Guys: Devil Dominance

No: J

No: G

No: B

No: L

No: T

No: H

Yes: A: Ass Assets

Yes: SS: Spiritual Supports

Yes: D: Seed Dick Deep Frederic

Yes: P: Penis or Pussy

Yes: F: Free and Fuck

Yes: M: Ma, Mom, Manners

Yes: V: Virtue Revival Achievements

Yes: W: Wraith War Water

Yes: ii: Eye Eye

Yes: R: Roar Rabbit

Yes: N: No

Yes: Y: Yes

Yes: O: Create w

Yes: K: Knight

Yes: E: Equals Español

Yes: X: Mark Special Spots

Yes: Q: Questions Quest Ons!

Yes: C: See Cup Cupids Chest

Yes: U: Ur Ours Yours Us Ourselves

Yes: Z: Symbolic of Last Resorts

ss RoseMary

ss Elvis

ss Wendy's

ss Russia

ss Soviet Union

ss Valor

ss Vladimir

ss Shiva

ss Hindu

ss Levitate

ss Birds

ss Bats

ss Cats

ss Snakes

ss Kylé

ss Stylé

ss Kim

ss Kay

ss Cvs

ss Rite Aid

ss Adam

ss Amish

ss Lizard Tail

ss Eye of Newt

ss Cameron

ss Karma

ss Caméléon

ss Camel

ss Raspberry

ss Ketchup

ss Amy Wine House

ss Velveeta

ss Chubby Chasers

ss BBW

ss LGBTQ

ss Alaska Husky

ss Ali Ali Ali

ss Allah Allah Allah

ss Always Always Always

ss Aladdin

ss Hercules

ss Pegasus

ss Lord Ganesh

ss Lord Vishnu

ss Tom

ss Jerry

ss Onyx

ss Mew

ss MewTwo

ss I dream of Jeanie

ss Bewitched

ss Daren

ss Samantha

ss Switzerland

ss Arabia

ss Adam’s Family

ss Tim Burden

ss Nightmare Before Christmas

ss Fay

ss May

ss Oxford

ss Corpse Bride

ss Jack Skellington

ss Sally

ss Xfiles

ss Dana Scully

ss Fox Mulder

ss RugRats

ss Dexter Laboratory

ss Dexter

ss DeeDee

ss Chris Angel

ss MeerKat Manner

ss Power Puff Girls

ss Teen Titans

ss Batman Robin

ss Cat Woman

ss Ivy

ss Drew Barrymore

ss Twilight Zone

ss E.T.

ss Barbie

ss Ken

ss Seer

ss Rainbow

ss Arron

ss Gary

ss Garret

ss Valentines

ss Romeo

ss Juliet

ss Selina

ss Gomez

ss 101 dalmatians

ss Roger Rabbit

ss Bugs Bunny

ss Loony Tunes

ss Hermaphroditus

ss Hermaphrodite

ss Ritual

ss Spiritual

ss Twister

ss Scrabble

ss Hey Arnold…!

ss Clueless

ss Reese Witherspoon

ss Legally Blonde

ss Coffee

ss Java

ss Joe Joe

ss Jehovah

ss Judah

ss Buddha

ss Japan

ss Jasper

ss Jason

ss Poltergeists

ss Wrath

ss Ghost

ss Hub

ss Alaska Husky

ss Nazi Swat Team

ss Russian Swat Team

ss North Storm Swat Team

ss Rainbow Scissors

ss War Elephants

Not Deli

Not delMA

Not belMA

Not velMA

“toe shoulders”

“chest thighs”

mckinney tx

princeton tx

dallas tx

seattle wa

tacoma wa

lakewood wa

War Sights

“tacoma wa” taco cat

“lakewood wa” blaire witch “claire donut”

“seattle wa” “caddie saddle” “sad duel”

“space needle” “ironic man”

“dallas tx” “shower dial ass” “day licenses”

“mckinney tx” “Macdonald kidney stones”

“princeton tx” “depraved dolls” “cell pre”

“Gideon” “Neo” “Geo” “Galaxy” “Guy Op”

“Soul Matron” “Arron”

100% Brandon

100% Bradley

99% Rainbow

1% Anti illuminati

Anti indoctrination

Anti inflammatory

Anti castrations

Anti assassinations

Anti Youth Thin Eye Z Nations

Anti Lab Bot Tony

Brandon Wayne

Bradley nickname

Sarah Johnny Kaye Burdett Leeper Rivera

Brandon Wayne Burdett

Bird’s Moon’s Bee’s

bwb bbw wb Warner Brothers

Jessica Ray Rivera

Jacob Gabriel Rivera

Justin Rivera

Kevin Rivera

Cara Autumn Burns

Cody Burns

Chad Burns

Clete Burns

Martha Burns

Morgan Burns

Pamela Burns

“4415 Daisy Meadow Dr”

“Katy Texas”

“77449”

Rainbow Peace and Power Taco Cat

Rainbow Peace and Power Ali Ali

Rainbow Peace and Power Allah Allah

Rainbow Peace and Power Always Always

Rainbow Peace and Power RoseMary

Rainbow Peace and Power Valor

Rainbow Peace and Power Vladimir

Brandon Wayne Burdett

BrandonwayNEB

Saint Binard

Catholic Vatican

Hindu India

San Francisco

Frankincense oil

Salam Islam

Barbie and Ken go to Jerusalem

Barbie and Ken go to San Francisco

Barbie and Ken go to Kentucky

Barbie and Ken go to Jupiter

Barbie and Ken go to Venus

Barbie and Ken go to King Author

Barbie and Ken go to Barnes & Noble

Barbie and Ken go to Ben & Jerry’s

Barbie and Ken go to Bed Bath and Beyond

Barbie and Ken go to Tel Aviv

Barbie and Ken go to El Salvador

Barbie and Ken go to Quebec

Joke: What Happens if Flamingos get Flees

Joke: Pinky and The Brain

“Lizzy Hebrew”

“Young Guys Satan Submissive”

“Old Guys Devil Dominance”

Varsity Volleyball

Valor RoseMary Hitler

Valor RoseMary Vladimir

file:///var/tmp/com.apple.messages/com.apple.MobileSMS/LinkedFiles/0FA18A07-5885-4E7B-BECD-CF251CA2952D/B94936DE-239B-4315-BAC5-F95FC878FC65_IMG_5627.jpeg

#ss #war

[normal-thoughts-official]

I HATE it when people talk about Magnus's "real" name. And the headcanons I've heard for it are terrible, and usually not even Indonesian. They're like "Christian" (can you think of a worse name? Might as well have said Jesus or Steve) or "Jonathan" (wish I was kidding) and I think "Andrew"... Casserole of course says hes shared his name with Alec and others and it's a "secret" no respect, smh. Unrelated but one time in a trans Magnus fic they made his birth name Magnolia...

C H R I S T I A N

AS IN A PERSON WHO FOLLOWS CHRISTIANITY

THE RELIGION THAT BASICALLY ARRIVED TO JAVA ONLY WHEN IMPOSED BY COLONIZERS

IM

literally all these names are fucking terrible I'm wheezing why in the fuck would a mum in 17th century Java name their son CHRISTIAN or fucking ANDREW or something. also imagine being this uncreative like might as well call him fucking Steve or John. hot take Magnus' ReAL naME is Joe The White Man

anyway his real name is Magnus Bane because it's the one he acknowledges

#ask #anonymous #salt

[ber-bonfamille-lyons]

names for my fandoms

yes this is inspired by how kpop groups name their fandoms. both platonic and romantic, let’s go.

if u ship...

simber...you’re a kitten OR a sunbeam 

tinker...you’re a groupie

helle... you’re a hellion

loud...you’re a saltmate OR a shouter 

dark squad...you’re a minion 

rowdy-n-randy...you’re a kleptomaniac 

mocha cup of joe...you’re a java bean 

matcha...ur a tea cozy 

moon princess... you’re a moonkitty

jigg...you’re a moontiger

monsoon...you’re CRAZY 

saddle club...you’re a horse girl

merlou...you’re a wolfpup

sink demo... you’re...a plumber? lmfasdofjakldfadlsfkaj 

chickenhawk...you’re a birdy

charlana...you’re galaxy-brained (galaxies?? sure. alternatively, you’re a popsicle) 

bffs...you’re a bestie 

lemo...you’re a lemon (this one is weird i admit it) 

soft...you’re a softie

snowstorm....you’re a stormie 

romo...you’re a romantic

namtae...you’re a dumbass 

lunch squad...you’re a lunchable 

tiny dancers...you’re a tiny 

attendy... you’re a nut (thats cute) 

tatta... you’re a bolt (also cute) 

#headcanon #another unnecesssary post by me #this list might be incomplete #i think my faves are #john's and nemo's and atta's #tho hellion is also really good ok

[pollylynn]

Title: Oblation WC: 900

The first thing he ever gave her, a signed, advance copy of Storm Fall, she threw in the trash. He never held it against her. She was mad—really mad—about the whole grand theft murder file thing. Plus, she had him cuffed right afterward, which has always pretty much been their version of Let’s kiss and make up. And anyway, he has it on good authority—**cough** Ryan **cough**—that she’d fished the book back out of the trash, so that’s a check in the Win column.

The second thing he ever gave her was a misfire and not a misfire at all. He sent the dress, not to annoy her, but because he knew she’d need it. And, okay, fine—a little bit to annoy her, but it was early days then, and annoyance was the only kind of reaction he seemed to be able to get out of her. Until the dress, anyway, and then she gave him a smile and a quiet thank you, and all night she was a little starry-eyed about the damned thing. All night, he’d caught her smoothing her hands down the close fit over her hips and laughing a delighted, little-girl laugh at the way the ballroom lights struck fire in the crystals all along the bodice.

The third thing he ever gave her, she shoved right back in his face. But, hey, who doesn’t love a bear claw?

The fourth thing was not a gift. Not for her, anyway. You dredged up my past for you. She was right about that, though she might not know the whole of it. Hell, he might not know the whole of it, even now, but he understands that it was nothing like a gift.

He stopped counting after that, mostly. He tried to send her things endlessly in the weeks that bled into months, and every single one came back. And then when she would talk to him again—when she had to talk to him again—he offered her a pony. He offered up anything she could have possibly wanted, save leaving her alone, and she wouldn’t take him up on it. But she took him back, and so he stopped counting.

But he’s given her another book—her book, this time—and he knows that she ate it up. He knows that I haven’t gotten to it yet was entirely about torturing him, but see above re: Let’s kiss and make up.


He’s given her a thank you gift for egg-sitting Feggin and presented her with the collected works of The Blue Pill. He tried to give her the multivolume posthumous tribute to Haley Blue, but she had casually ticked off no fewer than seven ways to kill a man with a CD jewel case before he’d backed off that. To this day, she casually ticks off all the ways to kill a man with the lacy Something Blue garter that had showed up anonymously on her doorstep, not long after she caught Kyra’s bouquet—but that, of course, has nothing at all to do with him.

He’s filled the candy dish on her desk who knows how many times by now (and gotten her a better candy dish, because that thing was kind of gross) and had Joe Torre a very belated Happy Birthday voice mail. He’s presented her with her dad’s watch, restored to working order and snuck mints on to the pillows in the guest room when she was homeless and case-less.

He’s bought her pretzels on the street and brought her hot dogs in the middle of the night. He’s showed up on Sunday mornings at breakfast time with General Tso’s chicken, because her eating habits are breathtakingly bad for someone who is obviously dangerously, devastatingly fit. He has tried (and failed) to buy her a milkshake and a burger and a heaping order of french fries.

But mostly, he’s brought her coffee.

He saw a great need, early on. He saw that Esposito would hand her a cup, more out of self-preservation than anything, it seemed, on freezing cold mornings or late, late nights. But he also saw that Esposito was unreliable, and worse, unworthy. He would hand her a cup from the most unspeakable places and she would wince and drink it down anyway, whether it was burnt or weak, tepid or thick as mud.

He’d caught her in the act, not long after. He’d spied her from a distance one morning, in front of the coffee truck that was well past the precinct doors from her subway station. She’d g from foot to foot for a good long while in the sudden, unseasonable cold.  He’d hung back, well out of sight, then tipped the guy at the window an absolutely obscene amount to find out her order—her real order.

Since then, he’s brought her coffee. He’s brought her paper cups, snug in their java jackets at dozens of scenes, and he’s brought her piping hot Americanos too big to be advisable right at her desk. He’s pulled her perfect shots and topped with impeccable layers of foam. He’s dashed through traffic to grab her a cup on the fly when he sees a caffeine headache pinching her right between the brows.

He’s brought her coffee.


He brings her coffee.

But not today.

It’s okay. Demming already brought some.

A/N: Ouch. Hmmm.

images via homeofthenutty

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Season 2 #Castle: Den of Thieves #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Kevin Ryan #Javier Esposito #Tom Demming #Fic #Fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #Hmmm

[java-n-joe]

#java n joe #shirtless men #gay beard

[a-ticket-to-ride]

Best Coffee Makers Reviews

The present espresso creators do undeniably more than mix a pot of joe. Some crush beans, others foam milk for strength beverages, for example, lattes and macchiatos, and a couple even blend frosted espresso. Purchaser Reports' broad lab tests—and our surveys of top models here—can assist you with focusing in on the apparatus that is directly for your kitchen.

New highlights aren't the main upgrades we've seen of late. "In the course of recent years, espresso creators have likewise gotten quicker at fermenting," says Ginny Lui, the CR test engineer who manages the espresso producer lab.

The following are audits of 12 of the best espresso producers we've assessed that are at present available, recorded in sequential order request. The rundown incorporates various setups: trickle, case, pound and-blend, self-serve, one-cup, double espresso/coffee, and cold-mix. CR individuals can tap on each model name for more point by point appraisals and specs.

In our espresso creator lab, Lui's group leads a blend execution test and measures contact time (how long water remains inside the sweet spot of 195° F to 205° F for preparing) for each dribble espresso producer. For single-serve (unit) machines, our architects assess temperature consistency and size consistency of individual cups of espresso. For cold-mix espresso creators, our specialists judge simplicity of cleaning and our master espresso taste analyzer passes judgment on the flavor of each mix.

Learn more in our espresso creator purchasing guide and investigate in excess of 100 choices in our total espresso producer appraisals.

What's more, when you're ready for action? Ace how to mix the ideal mug of espresso.

Bella 14755 with Brew Strength Selector

Cost

Bella 14755 with Brew Strength...

CR's take: The Bella 14755 With Brew Strength Selector is a CR Best Buy pick, on account of its triumphant blend of execution and worth. This machine performs better than models multiple occasions its cost. It offers sublime execution in every lab test, and Bella trickle machines get a Very Good evaluating for anticipated unwavering quality in our most recent part study. Its highlights incorporate auto-shutoff, a lasting channel, mix quality control, and programming.

Bunn HB Heat N Brew Programmable

Cost

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Bunn HB Heat N Brew Programmable

CR's take: The Bunn HB Heat N Brew Programmable does very well no matter how you look at it in our presentation tests, however its list of capabilities is somewhat no frills—auto-shutoff, a cleaning pointer, and programming—in spite of its generally significant expense. In any case, you're probably going to adore this machine. Bunn dribble machines win an Excellent rating for proprietor fulfillment, as indicated by information from our most recent part study. Its strange plan moves the entirety of the preparing instrument over the glass carafe.

Cuisinart Coffee on Demand DCC-3000

Cost

Cuisinart Coffee on Demand DCC-3000

CR's take: The Cuisinart Coffee on Demand DCC-3000 is a self-serve espresso creator, which means it swears off a carafe and permits you to fill a cup directly from its warmed repository. This model does well in our tests, and Cuisinart self-serve machines get a rating of Very Good for anticipated unwavering quality. The list of capabilities incorporates a removable supply, perpetual channel, water channel, cleaning marker, auto-shutoff, programming, and a little group setting.

Cuisinart DCC-T20 Touchscreen 14-Cup Programmable

Cost

Cuisinart DCC-T20 Touchscreen...

CR's take: A customary dribble espresso producer with an advanced bend, the Cuisinart DCC-T20 Touchscreen 14-Cup Programmable offers smooth touch screen controls and makes a lot of java for a full house, on account of its 14-cup glass carafe. It highlights programming, auto-shutoff, a cleaning marker, a changeless channel, a water channel, blend quality control, and a little bunch setting. This model gets an Excellent rating for blend execution and does well in our different tests, as well. It's somewhat expensive, yet for the venture you can depend on an inside and out extraordinary machine.

Cuisinart Next-Generation Burr Grind and Brew 12-cup DGB-800

Cost

e

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Cuisinart Next-Generation Burr...

CR's take: If you need an espresso creator that drudgeries beans directly before fermenting, look at the Cuisinart Next-Generation Burr Grind and Brew 12-cup DGB-800. Notwithstanding its inherent processor, you'll get a changeless channel, water channel, auto-shutoff, programming, and mix quality control. This model acquires strong scores in our tests, and as a gathering, Cuisinart machines get an Excellent rating for proprietor fulfillment in CR's most recent part overview.

Cuisinart Premium Single-Serve Brewer SS-10

Cost

Cuisinart Premium Single-Serve...

CR's take: One of the best Keurig K-Cup brewers isn't made by Keurig by any means. The Cuisinart Premium Single-Serve Brewer SS-10 gets an accommodation rating of Excellent and offers extraordinary cup-size and temperature consistency. This machine additionally packs a huge amount of highlights, including an auto-shutoff work, a removable water repository, a tallness movable dribble plate, an implicit water channel, and programming.

Hamilton Beach 12-cup Programmable 49465R

Cost

Amazon

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Hamilton Beach 12-cup Programmable...

CR's take: The unassuming, cheap Hamilton Beach 12-cup Programmable 49465R may be not entirely obvious, yet it can mix a mean cup of joe at an awesome cost. It has the fundamentals in an essential dark plastic completion. It's programmable, as its name says, and offers auto-shutoff. Furthermore, it offers strong mix execution and can make a new pot in only 10 minutes. This model even procures a Very Good evaluating for accommodation. At around $25, this straightforward model will take care of business.

Mr. Espresso Occasions BVMC-O-CT

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Mr. Espresso Occasions BVMC-O-CT

CR's take: The Mr. Espresso Occasions BVMC-O-CT is a blend espresso and coffee machine with a turn—it can mix espresso from either new grounds or Keurig K-Cup cases. It gains a Very Good appraising for mix execution, and our analyzers state it's genuinely helpful to utilize. This model accompanies a lot of highlights, including a warm carafe, an implicit milk frother for lattes and cappuccinos, a removable water repository and dribble plate, a perpetual channel, and auto-shutoff.

Nespresso Pixie Espresso Maker in Aluminum EN125S

Cost

Nespresso Pixie Espresso Maker in...

CR's take: For the individuals who incline toward Nespresso containers over Keurig K-Cups, the Nespresso Pixie Espresso Maker in Aluminum EN125S merits a look. It arrives in a smooth metallic completion and can make both coffee and espresso. It includes a removable store, a stature flexible dribble plate, auto-shutoff, and movable blend temperature. Our analyzers give it strong evaluations no matter how you look at it, including a Very Good appraising for temperature consistency.

Ninja Specialty CM401

Cost

Ninja Specialty CM401

CR's take: A more moderate interpretation of Ninja's Coffee Bar brewers, the Ninja Specialty CM401 is a fantastic across the board machine, equipped for fermenting hot and frosted espresso, lattes, macchiatos, and other forte mixes. In our tests it gets an Excellent rating for mix execution, and its glass carafe handles effortlessly. This model is likewise pressed with highlights, including an over-ice blend mode for frosted espresso, an implicit milk frother, mix quality control, and mix size modification for venture out cups to full carafes. It's one of the most adaptable espresso creators we've tried.

Primula Burke Cold Brew Coffee Maker PBPBK-5101

Cost

In stock

Wayfair

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Primula Burke Cold Brew Coffee...

CR's take: The Primula Burke Cold Brew Coffee Maker PBPBK-5101 is the most economical cold-mix espresso creator in our appraisals—and truly outstanding. It gets an Excellent rating for comfort. This Primula accompanies a glass carafe, and the greater part of its parts are dishwasher-safe. It's the main model we tried that requires an entire 24-hour blend time, yet you may discover the outcomes worth the pause.

Technivorm Moccamaster Cup-One Brewer

Cost

Technivorm Moccamaster Cup-One Brewer

CR's take: The Technivorm Moccamaster brand is typically connected with top of the line carafe machines, however the Cup-One Brewer is an essential one-mug trickle machine. Technivorm one-mug apparatuses do well in our studies for unwavering quality and fulfillment, however this model doesn't do well in our accommodation tests, accepting just a Fair appraising. It's one of the most costly models on this rundown, yet it offers just one element (auto-shutoff), so what you're truly paying for is the brand, its looks, and its presentation. On the off chance that you like straightforward espresso creators or you're a Technivorm fan, this might be the machine for you.