#the fic is paced seasonally - it goes month by month and it's very short but the format is such a neat challenge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snackhobi · 3 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say.

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

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

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jinkicake · 4 years

Text

What Happens When You Ignore Ushijima Wakatoshi

Note to self, Ushijima always craves your attention during a game.

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Here you go Anon~ I hope this is good and filthy enough! I’m not that really good at writing long-ish fics because I have trouble tying in all the pieces together. There might be some typos, hopefully not, but I can only go over my words so many times LOL. Yeah, long story short, Ushijima makes me go feral. PLUS FERAL!

This contains SPOILERS. Nothing too much just timeskip manga stuff, mainly Schweiden Adlers.

THIS HAS 1.5K WORDS OF SMUT // NSFW

WC- 2,709

~~~

“You’re going to do great, Wakatoshi!” You encourage your boyfriend as the two of you walk through the gym. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here for you the entire time, okay?” Ushijima tries to hide the smile on his face but is unable to do so when your lips peck his cheek.

“Thank you (Y/N),” He leans into your touch and you reach up to run your fingers through his hair, smoothing it out to perfection.

“I’ll be in my usual spot, okay?” You tell him and Ushijima nods, already knowing where you sit in the arena, his fingers pinch the identical jersey you have on that matches his own. With one last kiss, Ushijima heads off to the locker room.

You turn around after deciding to head to one of the merchandise booths to see if you can find anything to send to Ushijima’s mother but, much to your luck, you run right into the chest of someone very familiar. You pull back and notice the thick black curls and legendary mask on his face.

“Yo, Omi-omi?” You gasp in shock at your old classmate, not at all expecting to see him here. “What are you doing here? Did you come with Komori?” You look around for his cousin and Sakusa simply takes in the jersey you have on.

“You’ve always been a big fan of Wakatoshi, haven’t you?” He teases and you narrow your eyes up at him as he brings up your old high-school crush who, luckily, became your boyfriend after Sakusa pulled some strings.

“It’s been like five months since we’ve last seen each other and that’s the first thing you say to me?” You scoff and gently punch his shoulder, remembering all the times you two spent together at Itachiyama. “How have you been? I’ve been watching some of your games.”

The two of you talk for a while and you eventually invite him back to your seats.

“I always have Wakatoshi score me an extra ticket in case my friend wants to come or something,” You explain and Sakusa refrains from rolling his eyes.

“You simply use Wakatoshi for his power, don’t you?” He asks and you cross your arms over your chest.

“No, I don’t. I very much love my Wakatoshi.” You tell him honestly and your eyes fall on your boyfriend, Ushijima glances over at you and a large smile appears on your face when you wave at him.

“He was looking at me.” Sakusa leans back into his chair and you have to hold yourself back from tackling him, his teasing competitive nature getting the best of him. “Ah, Kageyama?” He scoffs and you glance at your old friend and then back at the setter. Sakusa looks over at you. “You know him?”

“Mmm, not really. I’ve bumped into him like once or twice, he seems nice?” You really don’t know what to think about Kageyama, you don’t know much about him.

“You remember our second-year when Wakatoshi wasn’t able to come to nationals because his team got beat?” Sakusa asks and you nod, you were really butthurt back then. “That was Kageyama’s team.”

“Oh, really? And now, they’re teammates?” You gasp and Sakusa nods. “That’s so weird, they seem like they get along though.” Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at your old friend. “You jealous of Kageyama? That he gets to play with Wakatoshi and you don’t?”

That comment sparked a long argument filled with bickering between the two of you and before you know it, the second set had begun. Not that you noticed, you were too busy catching up with an old friend.

Ushijima noticed, he watched you the entire time. He watched every interaction, every laugh that left your lips, every time you touched Sakusa, and it made him spike the ball much harder than he needed to. Kageyama simply looks at Hoshiumi with a raised brow and the wing spiker motions to where you are sitting, it still doesn’t make sense to Kageyama. What do you have to do with how Ushijima plays?

The Schweiden Adlers still win, not that it comes as a surprise to anyone, especially when it is an early match in the season like this one is.

Ushijima, in his dense head, manages to push down how he is feeling. The feeling of frustration over how you didn’t look at him once while he was playing. He is whole-heartedly jealous even if he doesn’t realize it. When he finally leaves the locker room he is rudely awakened. There you are waiting for him like normal, but this time you are with someone else.

You are still talking with Sakusa.

“Wakatoshi! Look who I found!” You excitedly grab his arm and bring him toward your old friend. Ushijima notes with an irritated expression that you don’t congratulate him on the match or praise him like you usually do.

“Wakatoshi.” Sakusa greets, subtly nodding his head and Ushijima does the same. Except, he even refuses to acknowledge Sakusa past that. You notice the tense air rather quickly and try your best to smooth it over.

“We should all go out to eat, Sakusa already has a place in mine, it’ll be fun.” You tell him, trying to warm Ushijima up to the idea while at the same time calm his anger down. You don’t understand why he is so upset.

“I will just meet you at home.” Ushijima stiffens and coldly disregards you, breaking from your grasp, he sends Sakusa one last nod before walking off.

“I should check on him.” You sigh and turn back to Sakusa. “I’m sorry, rain check, you still have my number right?” Sakusa nods and you send him a sympathetic smile before running off to where Ushijima went.

Thankfully, you catch up to your boyfriend rather quickly, you find Ushijima right outside the subway next to the arena.

“Wakatoshi, wait!” You call and grab onto his arm when you get the chance. Ushijima glances at you once before going back to looking straight ahead of him, he is clearly ignoring you. “What’s wrong?” Your question is met with nothing.

When you finally get back to your apartment, Ushijima heads straight to the bedroom as he still ignores you. You quietly take off your coat and put away your bag before following him.

It’s quite the surprise that you find him laying on the bed, already watching playbacks from the game on his phone, usually, he does this later at night.

“What’s wrong?” You ask again and Ushijima finally turns to you and you can practically see the anger swimming in his eyes.

“Why do you even go to my games if you are not going to watch?” He asks and you raise a brow at him. You softly shut your eyes before taking a deep breath.

“I was watching, I always watch you, what are you talking about?” You press, not liking his sudden change in attitude, at the same time you take off your annoying jeans. All that you are left in is his large jersey and your panties, your socks already flung elsewhere.

“All I saw was you watching Sakusa.” He glares and you click your tongue, trying your hardest not to scoff. Deep down you realize, he’s just jealous.

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the court and not me, Wakatoshi? It’s my job to watch you.” You tease and poke his nose, Ushijima’s face doesn’t falter. “Are you really that upset?” You ask as you climb onto the bed. “Wakatoshi, I’m sorry, you know I love you right?”

Ushijima simmers in his frustration and goes back to his phone. You heave a sigh and take your underwear off, leaving his jersey to be the last thing that leaves your body.

“Let me make it up to you Wakatoshi,” You gently cup his cheek and climb onto his lap, from where you rest on his hips you can see how upset he is and your cheeks puff out in frustration. You try to kiss him but Ushijima dodges your lips and instead tightly grips your hips, his phone now forgotten.

“On your knees.” You cautiously look up at your boyfriend but still drop to your knees obediently, shuffling down in-between his legs. Your innocent eyes nearly make him groan, there is nothing innocent with what he is about to do with you. Ushijima palms his clothed cock and audibly grunts when your smaller hands take over for him. Your hands run along his strong, muscular thighs while purposely skimming over his most sensitive parts. With another look up at him you see his olive eyes already staring back at you, you know you have to get to work. Slowly you pull at the waistband of his shorts, bringing them down his thighs while every so often looking back up at him to check for his reaction.

Ushijima’s hard cock slaps up against his stomach and you bite your lip at the thoughts coursing through your head, just the sight makes butterflies wind up in your stomach. You lean forward and place a single peck on the head of his cock before taking him into your mouth. The pace you have set is slow as you let yourself adjust to having his large length inside of your mouth. Ushijima sighs and tips his head back when you run your tongue along the underside of his dick, your warm mouth sucking him in feels heavenly.

He needs more.

You glance at his hands fisting your hair before looking up at him, Ushijima only stares blankly down at you. He gently cups your cheek while gently stroking the skin with his thumb before he continues.

“I am going to fuck your face.”

You have to appreciate the warning, you gently pull off of him and let yourself take a deep breath before taking him in again. Ushijima guides you along his length, setting the pace to which you bob your head up and down to take him down your throat. Your nose brushes against his pubes and you gag loudly once it finally registers just how deep he is inside of you. Your nails pinch his thighs as you try to keep up with his pace. The only thing keeping you going is hearing his moans and praises.

“Such a good girl sucking me off like this, so good.” Ushijima grunts, tightening the grip he has on your hair. The jealous from before is still resting in his belly, even when he has you like this, he’s still pissed. “You can take more.”

A loud guttural moan echo throughout the room once you swallow around him, one of your hands trails down to toy with his balls. You do anything to distract yourself from the ache in your jaw and the lack of oxygen you’re suffering from. One glance down at you and Ushijima can tell it all, he gently pulls you off of him and stares at you as you rest on his muscular thigh.

You cough lightly before sending him a wobbly smile, ensuring that everything is still okay. He can’t make you deep-throat him again, as good as it feels, Ushijima won’t allow it. Instead, he pumps his length right beside your face as you continue to massage his balls. His hand speeds up and you watch with dark eyes as he finishes all over your chest and chin, coating you in his cum.

You stare up at him with your mouth agape slightly, you’re in disbelief that he came all over you.

“I’m not done with you yet.” Ushijima pulls you back up into his lap, your legs spread wide on either side of his thighs. You can feel his length hardening against your hip and you can’t even comprehend how fast everything is moving. Before you know it, you’re flipped onto your back with Ushijima towering over you. He pulls your legs over him with your knees bent towards your chest.

Ushijima drags the tip of his cock along your slit, pressing into your clit to get you squirming.

“You don’t get to enjoy this,” He tells you and you can’t help the way you pout at him. Ushijima leans forward to place a single kiss on your forehead before thrusting inside of you, completely bottoming out and not even giving you the chance to adjust. His hips slowly pick up the pace, thrusting into you all at once.

“I’m going to stuff you full,” Ushijima growls, his low voice rings in your ear. “you like that? Having my cum drip out of your little cunt?” His hips slam into yours harshly and your lips fall open in a silent moan. Your back arches as you thrust your chest into the air and Ushijima takes no time in sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. “No one else can fuck you like I do.”

His thick fingers move quickly against your swollen clit, rolling the bud against his digits while his cock drills into you. Ushijima is able to get so deep inside of you, especially when he has your knees bent like this. His balls hit your ass with every thrust and the sting makes tears prick in your eyes. He is being so rough and you absolutely love it.

“Cum now, right now or you do not get to cum at all,” Ushijima commands, his eyes narrowing down at your fucked out figure. His hips stutter slightly when he notices the way your eyes are half shut and your tongue is peaking out past your lips, you look so ruined. When he zones in on his cum splayed on your chest, he can’t help himself anymore. “I said to fucking cum.” His fingers pinch your clit and you sob at the feeling, his other hand moves from your ass up to your throat. As his fingers move up your body he tweaks your other nipple, roughly fondling your breast, before cupping your throat.

Ushijima squeezes the sides of your neck as his frustration continues to grow.

“Why aren’t you cumming? Do you think someone else can fuck you better?” He snaps and your lips fall into a pout, his insecurities are getting the best of him.

“Only you can fuck me like this Wakatoshi, I love you,” You hiccup and each thrust causes your breath to hitch as loud moans spill past your lips. “I-I don’t want it to be over.” Fat tears roll down your face and Ushijima feels his heart stop, he seriously can’t get enough of you.

“I fuck you every night, pump you full with my cum and you still are greedy for more?” At one harsh snap of his wrist, your hips rise up to meet his thrust and you come undone. An unfamiliar feeling washes over you and before you can even process it, you’re squirting all over his cock. Your essences coats his abdomen and his thighs, his cock, the sight makes Ushijima fall onto his forearms.

Despite your orgasm, he still fucks you with purpose. He still uses you as if you are a toy to get his own personal fill. His lips suck deep bruises into your neck and your eyes flutter shut as you focus on his grunts, his groans, how rough and animalistic they sound.

“You’re mine, you know that?” Ushijima asks, his hips speeding up even quicker to chase his own release. “Mine.” You’ve never heard your boyfriend talk like this before and it sends your heart into a frenzy.

“All yours, Wakatoshi.” You moan quietly into his ear and Ushijima’s hips still against yours, he completely bottoms out inside you as he finally comes undone. His cum paints the inside of your walls and after a few moments, he shallowly thrusts experimentally inside of you as he pushes his cum even deeper into your cunt.

You watch with your mouth agape as he pulls out of you, his spent cock falls limp against his muscular thigh. Ushijima brings his fingers to your lower lips, pushing the cum back to your entrance before thrusting two of his fingers inside of you.

“Take it all, I don’t want you to waste a single drop.”

Taglist.

@yams046 @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy @xhanjisungiex @xxashshs @chaosamu @angelkogane @augustdearly @kunimwuah @littleshopoflove @osamuonigiri @pearzuko @darksxder @macaronnv @nerdygremlin @buzzybeebee

#ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima smut #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu smut

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lovesanmotion · 3 years

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Still Here - Wooyoung

Summary: But why did you have to go?

A/N: Hello! This is an advance gift fic from me to reaching 400 followers! And yes, this is the mystery fic I was talking about and at the same time the discussion I had with you a few weeks ago. The gif is also not mine, credits goes out to the rightful owner.

Two years after success found the boy group, ATEEZ, KQ decided to debut a girl group for a change. Originally, they wanted the girl group to debut in Seven Seasons - a subsidiary company of KQ - debut a seven member girl group called 7S or short for Seven Seasons. However, the plans fell apart and the casting and recruiting was given to KQ, what kept intact was to debut a seven member girl group, but with a different name.

KQ decided to name this girl group as Girls’ Paradise. It was an ambitious project brought to you by KQ, having used half a million just to bring in seven individuals into the company and laying down each girl a million won to train. The company’s best trainee? You.

You were a breath of fresh air to the company, a trainee they have never seen before. When the choreographers teach you all of you the basics of dance steps, you were quick to pick all of it up. The vocal and rap trainers were impressed at how clear your vocals and good your pronounciations are. Quick to master the english language, be able to compose lyrics overnight and quick to adapt to the hectic schedule given by the company. The company started to call you “the female hongjoong”. But you brushed that nickname of, saying that they are just too humble to give you that nickname.

You were excited to hear the news that Girls’ Paradise is finally set to debut. What shocked you more was that it was your senior idols ATEEZ Hongjoong and Mingi who majority produced the songs for your mini album. Hearing this news, you couldn’t help but thank them everytime you get the chance to meet them inside the company building. And on one particular day, Hongjoong and Mingi invited you to go on a dinner with them. Ecstatic to get close to your senior idols, you agreed. What you didn’t expect is to meet the whole members of ATEEZ at a restaurant their road manager pulled up at.

You were so shy to join in dinner with eight males in a private room at the second floor of the restaurant, but the boys made you feel welcome. It was safe to say that you had gotten close with Seonghwa, San and Mingi. What the fans were saying were true, Seonghwa is very motherfly and San and Mingi were childish yet mature. Jongho cracked a few jokes with you that helped you open to him, and it did. And beside you, Wooyoung has this look on your face that you couldn’t explain. But that was only the beginning.

You began to see Wooyoung around more often unlike before. If you say its because you both are from the same company, it doesn’t guarantee that you would always run into each other. You tried to brush it off at first, but then the unthinkable happened. Tensions arose between the two one night in the practice room, and from that night on, it continued to happen.

"Ms Y/N is ready for her makeup” You smiled upon hearing that voice, you opened your eyes and found Wooyoung standing behind you in the changing room. He picked up the hairbrush and gently brushed your hair gently.

“Relationship aside, you look pretty without make up on” He smiles at you through the mirror, you felt your inside tingling, Woo made sure not to brush your hair too hard.

“And I like your hair longer. It suits you.” You smiled, turning your head up to smile at him. Placing a hand under your chin before he leans down to capture your lips with his. Pushing his tongue inside your mouth while his other hand gripped on your waist. Tasting the wine being offered at the awards show from his mouth, a cold hand wrapping around your neck, shivering at the contact. As you two slightly pull away, eyes looking at each other intensely. There is a long pause, hearts pounding inside your chests were the only sounds visible to hear.

“My stylist doesn’t come back in fifteen minutes, if you’re wondering.” Biting your lower lip flirtatiously before standing up and teasingly removing the white robe around you. Wooyoung’s eyes darted around your body that he loves. The sight of your pink panties already has his cock erected, wanting to come out of his pants.

A smirk paints his lips he removes the robe and hoists you up the table, back leaning the vanity mirror. Brushing your hair back before he attaches his lips once more with yours, a hand holding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss while his other free hand wanders on your leg, hoisting it up and wrapping it around his waist.

That’s what you and Wooyoung are - nothing more than just friends with benefits. And it seemed that it was the best relationship for the two of you, neither wanting to be committed with someone and only to be wallet and emotionally drained after a few months or a few years. Apart from that, you both love performing on stage, no other person holding you back from what you both love doing.

The invigorating hands that touches between your legs sends a twinge of pleasure through you as he traces a hand over the fabric of your underwear. “Look at you, so beautiful and addicting” he whispers, taking in your view with his eyes.

“But you’ve always been beautiful - covered or bared” with that, Wooyoung attaches his lips on the crook of your neck that sends out a soft moan from your lips, his hand slipping inside the fabric of your underwear to palm your dampened pussy. You quickly arched your back and rubbed his erected clothed cock with your free hand, the harder you rub your hand through his clothed cock, the faster his lips slide up and down your neck. His lips were then fastened at the nape of your neck, not letting go as he gave a gentle bite on your neck, sending chills all over your body.

“We have to be quick, Y/N” he pauses “and I think you’re ready for me” he unbuckles his pants along with his boxers down, letting them slide down to his ankles and before grabbing your legs, teasingly poking the tip of his cock to your tight entrance.

“Stop teasing” you whined, slightly swinging your legs to which Wooyoung laughs softly, amused by your reaction.

“Even if your stylist walks in on us, do you think I would stop fucking you here? Not a chance. Let’s get caught in the act together” and with that, he plunges his cock inside your entrance. No matter how many times you and Woo have done it, it still surprises you how seeing him alone is already enough to make you this wet for him.

Wooyoung begins to pump fast and furiously, making his cock very happy to be inside you again and your pussy wanting to melt. Gently caressing your outer thighs and up to your hips, hearing his low moans in your ear,

“Faster...please...” you begged. Woo increased his pace, feeling his dick move and harden inside you had you a moaning mess. Your pussy pulsating and contracting all around his throbbing cock when all of a sudden, the door slightly opens and suddenly closes down, but the two of you were lost in the moment of pleasure.

“I’m gonna cum...” you mewled. Wooyoung bit down on your shoulder and you came over and over, rocking his hips against his.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum” Wooyoung said, sweat beading his brow. He gritted his teeth as he slammed into you hard.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” you shrieked as hot cum shots all over your pussy walls. Wooyoung came inside you, filling your pussy with his cum. As the two of you catched your breaths, the room smelling of sex and rose water.

“I love you” you confessed out of nowhere. You knew it was risky saying those three words to him, knowing too well what you two just are. But you were hoping that, despite this kind of relationship, he would, at least, just feel a small percentage of love for you.

“Y/N....you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wooyoung said as he slowly pulls away from the hug. You suddenly felt a wash of shame run over you. Maybe it was best that you didn’t confess. You thought he would at least feel something for you, but apparently not.

Weeks turned into months, you and Wooyoung have not spoken or seen each other. It was awkward. Whenever you knew ATEEZ was in the building, you’d skip entering the company building and call in sick instead. Promising your managers and members that you would double your efforts in practising the following day. But there were days wherein you couldn’t help but cross paths together. For example, music show promotions. Whenever Girls’ Paradise is standing besides ATEEZ, you would always stand farthest, just to be able to be away from him. You hated seeing and mentioning his name. It tasted sour now in your mouth.

“Congratulations! The company has confirmed sixteen cities for your first European tour! After the European tour, you will be given a few days off before going to your North American tour which the company has also confirmed eight cities!”

The news of the tour sounded pleasing in your ears. You were happy to see the growth of your girl group right before your eyes. You couldn’t wait to leave the country next week.

Wooyoung hated to admit it, but he was scared of falling in love. He didn’t know if it was also right to say “i love you too” to someone whom he harbored feelings for but was scared to admit of falling. He hated it how he felt like he was at fault. But he was determined to talk to you.

He was about to march into the dance room you and your group often used to practice, but he was met with an empty and clean room.

“Uh....what are you doing?” Hongjoong asks, eyeing Wooyoung while he held a cup of coffee he picked up from the 7/11 downstairs.

“Are they not here?” He asks, tilting his head before slowly closing the door.

“Oh you didn’t heard?” Hongjoong sighs before taking a sip on his hot americano. “They’re on a tour and they’d be home two months from now.” Hongjoong takes another sip before entering the other dance room that ATEEZ often occupies, leaving Wooyoung standing alone outside.

#ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez oneshot #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x y/n #kpop imagines #kpop smut #kpop angst #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop oneshots

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hawkland · 3 years

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Destiel fic recs (round #4) + commentary

Time for another (mostly) Destiel fic rec round-up post before my bookmarks get out of control! This one’s a mix of longer and some shorter fics (or series thereof), no particular theme except I guess a lot of angst, hurting Cas, and all the other things that tickle my Id. Several Season 9 human!Cas divergence fics, plus some later season angst-fests and rewrites.

In the Shadow of your Wings by Enochian Things (Salr323) (52k) The first of two fics by this author which I absolutely fell in love with! Canon-divergence from the end of Season 11. Cas finds himself blasted to Naples, Italy by the banishing sigil in the bunker and he stumbles — almost literally — into a sexy, delightful Italian Man of Letters, Luca. When he makes his way back to the bunker and finds Dean still alive, he tries to confess his feelings but Dean panics and shuts him down. Cas goes back in Italy soon thereafter and ends up beginning a relationship with Luca, much to Dean’s chagrin. Meanwhile Sam is still missing and it turns out there may be some dangerous individuals who are out for Cas more so than even the Winchesters.

I loved everything about this fic so much - Luca is an amazing OC, the Naples and London locations are wonderfully evoked and took me straight back to places I’d been. The angst, the pacing, the plotting and the eventual Dean/Cas getting together are all amazing and this is definitely on my re-read in the future list.

The rest of my recs below the cut!

My heart is beating from me by Enochian Things (Salr323) (55k) The other fic by this author that I literally inhaled in one day! Season 9 Human!Cas canon divergence. It’s been months since Sam and Dean have heard from Cas, and when they do, it’s in the form of a wedding invitation. Cas is getting married to Daphne - the woman who “rescued” him and named him Emmanuel when he’d lost all his memories post-Leviathans. It seems Cas went back to her while on his own and they’ve rekindled their relationship...whatever it is. Dean just knows something isn’t right about her, so he sets out to investigate and try to figure out WTF Cas is doing before it’s too late.

This story is so, so good! The case Dean gets Cas to come along on is unique and provides a neat investigation subplot, but what’s so especially wonderful is the explanation the author gives of who Daphne really is — and why she’d been so cool about just having a strange man with no memories move in to be her “husband” (and then want to marry him for real a couple years later, after he’d vanished from her life!) In fact it’s so brilliant I’m basically accepting it as my Daphne headcanon from now on and I don’t want to spoil it. The fic is also great in exploring Cas still struggling with understanding human emotions, customs and etiquette, Sam is A Very Good Friend, and Dean is, well, Dean. (I’m just sad this author hasn’t written more SPN fics because what they have is just brilliant.)

The wilderness. by orange_crushed (8k) Wonderful, shorter Season 9 canon divergence fic by an author who consistently makes me happy. Human!Cas leaves the bunker with a few things to get off the ground from Dean and directions to connect with Garth...but he ditches that plan to try to find his way on his own. It’s wonderfully detailed about the basic struggles of survival, finding work, making ends meet and trying to make some new friends...and why it’s important for him to prove he can make it on his own before he’s willing to welcome Dean (back) into his life.

I Through My Window See by deHavilland (26k) This is an interesting one, written well before we had canon human!Cas in Season 9. Canon-divergence in which Cas remains human after they avert the apocalypse in Season 5. Sam and Dean set him up in an apartment in Sioux Falls and then...just kind of abandon him there. He spends most of a year just barely existing before a visit from Sam finally stirs him out of his inertia and depression, to eventually get a job and also start hunting on his own. This is an interesting read, if just to see an author exploring the idea of human!Cas abandoned by Dean a few years before it actually...ended up becoming canon! I love how Cas is written in this (it’s a story much like the next one on my list that I thought does an amazing, realistic job of capturing what depression feels like), but I do have some issues with Dean. It’s never fully resolved or explained why Dean was being such an ass so I honestly wasn’t totally sold on the ending - I wanted some more out of Dean, some more explanation or apology or something. It’s a story that would have been great to have a sequel from Dean’s POV but after all this time, that will just have to exist in my brain, I suppose! Still worth a read because it’s excellently written, Cas becomes totally bad ass again by the end and it’s always fun to read early SPN fic speculating on future developments.

I Shall Not Want by domesticadventures (20k) I found myself inhaling a bunch of wonderful short ficlets by this author the other day, but this is the one I had to stop at to rec. It’s another Season 9 divergence fic, of a sort - Cas is newly human, for the sake of the story there’s no Abbadon to worry about, Sam is healed...and Sam wants to move out and get on with his own life. Cas and Dean are both struggling with adapting to their new lives and it’s a hauntingly rich and stark portrayal of depression, inertia, and the slow healing process of accepting and adapting to change. I also liked that this story gives us a Dean who is a little more aware of his feelings for Cas and they both struggle to reach out to each other - for once it’s not sexuality causing a crisis of identity but all the other shit they are coping with.

Don't Sing Love Songs by ireallydidthistomyself (17k). I’m not normally a big fan of baby/toddler!Jack fics - I like the angst that he was forced to grow up too quickly, and in general I’m not big on kid!fic in fandom. This author’s work is a big exception to that. They’ve written several stories along a similar theme: Cas raising Jack on his own/in secret for years, Dean only finding them or coming back into their lives later on. But this is the version of that idea that really packed the most punch for me and was incredibly emotionally satisfying. Dean finds Cas after 6 years, where he’s kept Jack mostly isolated and safe from the world. But with Dean allowed back into his life, Cas may be inviting grave danger upon Jack as well. This one ripped my heart out but managed to make it all better by the end.

Better Ways to Kill Our Time by always_a_birthday_girl (8k) I don’t know why I torture myself reading Dean-in-the-Ma’lak-box AUs, but I do. I think because it’s pretty much my biggest nightmare/horror and for some reason it’s cathartic while terrifying? Anyway here’s one where Dean goes through with his plan, Cas crashes and burns for most of a year, until Dean finally starts doing what he promised he wouldn’t: praying to him. Cas figures out a way to communicate back and over the distance, they manage to have certain conversations they should have years before. It’s painful but lovely and there is a happy ending, so it’s well worth the read!

Time Flows Like Water and We're Drowning by triedunture (7.9k) A little break from the later-seasons stuff I (mostly?) read, featuring a seriously hot (but angsty) Cas/Endverse!Cas/Dean threesome. When Zacariah’s plan to show Dean the future doesn’t change his mind about taking on his “responsibility”, he sends Endverse!Cas back in time to try to convince Cas instead, showing him what he’s to become. I don’t think Zac expected it to turn into a threesome, but it’s hot and beautiful and sad and wonderful all at once.

hachikireru by vaudelin (23k) At one point I went on a wallow-fest of reading a bunch of sad 14x20-15x03 divorce-arc fics. Just to hurt myself more, I guess. I know this fic’s been recced around a lot (at least on fail_fandomanon) and I can see why! After leaving the bunker, Cas ends up in Sioux Falls to visit Claire. She’s busy tracking down leads to find Kaia’s killer and he decides to go along with her on one such hunt. But what they find is an unexpected supernatural threat targeting those with broken hearts. Well. I think you know where that might be leading. This is a wonderful casefic with lots of character moments between Cas & Claire and then Cas & Dean, working through their pain and angst and just...it’s a very satisfying read.

Moriah Codas: A Trilogy by Toomanyfandoms99 (11k total) A series of 3 shorter fics spinning off the events of 14x20, developing a slightly divergent universe the author’s written where Cas does have his wings back and has helped resurrect a few of the angels (Balthazar, Gabriel, and Samandriel in particular). This series is absolutely heartbreaking — Cas is completely broken by Jack’s loss, has “fallen out of love” with Dean after he was ready to kill Jack, and sees no way back to what he’d had and felt before. He’s determined to just let the Empty take him...but not until he and his assembled squad of “avenging angels” clean up the mess Chuck has created, smiting zombies and taking out super-powered monsters across North America.

Cas’s motorcycle gang/angel squad is so fucking awesome (I want a happy fic where they do this!) and this is BAMF!Cas at his finest. I just have to include a quote:

He set down the empty glass, and Gabriel said, “well, dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to kick some zombie ass. Since they have chosen to amass in Carthage, we are here to take out as many as we can without causing this town to flip the fuck out. Are we in agreement?”

“I expect,” Balthazar grinned, “a full-on bar brawl. Do not disappoint me.”

“Cassie, Driel,” Gabriel addressed the duo, “how are we with weapons?”

“I have enough machetes in a storage facility uptown to film a Jackie Chan movie,” Castiel said.

But it’s also utterly and completely heartbreaking, so don’t read this one if you need a happy ending. If you do read, check out the author’s other later-season coda fics and fic series as they are all really great.

to mend what is not broken by gothyringwald (2.6k) This last short one I’ve mentioned before, but I just have to rec it again! It was my gift for the 2021 Hurt Comfort Gift Exchange and it’s everything I wanted, and more. Sweet and caring Dean, wounded but still prideful Cas, and some lovely wing!kink/wing!care that pushes all of my button just right.

Anyway, that’s it for now as I think this is long enough. If you enjoy my recs, could you let me know? I try to not just list titles but give some commentary...as it helps me re-find stories I enjoyed the most, too!

#destiel recs #my fic recs #deancas fic recs #my destiel recs

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scullysexual · 4 years

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One Moment In Arecibo

I really don’t write smut often (and for good reason probably) but I thought I’d give it ago. Like I said, I’m obsessed with the concept of early msr around season 2 so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It’s on ao3 too

@today-in-fic @mypanicface

- - -

They find a small motel just outside Arecibo. The manager knows no English, Scully only a smattering of Spanish but it’s enough to get them a room.

They’re both exhausted; the adrenaline off being chased wore off hours ago now they’re left with achy and tired bones. With plans to get the earliest flight possible tomorrow, they know sleep is what they need.

Mulder still worries her. Scully took the wheel once it became transparent that the Berets had lost them, Mulder had looked to be on his way out anyway and uncharacteristically crashed as soon as he got into the passenger’s seat. Scully drove until she found a motel sign.

“You get the bed, Mulder,” Scully says upon entering the room.

He would usually protest, offer to sleep on the floor but he goes over to it without a word of complaint, falling against the pillows and shutting his eyes.

He’d drank the entire bottle of water but he still looked dehydrated. Scully had no idea how long he’d gone without it. She pours him a glass and sets it on the bedside table.

“Drink,” she gently commands and as he does so she disappears back outside with the go-the-go firstaid kit.

Tending to Mulder became part of the job description. Always needing to look at various bumps and scratches- perhaps she should officially become his doctor. She has the thought to ask him about that later. For now, she places a cold, damp cloth against his forehead.

“I really saw them, Scully,” he croaks, his eyes opening slightly to look at her.

“I’m sure you did, Mulder.” She runs her hands through his hair feeling the bump from when he must have fell. He winces slightly as her hands brush over it.

“Sore?” she asks.

“I’ll be fine,” he answers and Scully rolls her eyes. “We should get out of here as soon as we can.”

Scully nods. “We will. But first I want you to sleep.”

“What will you do?”

She smiles, combing her fingers through his hair once more.

“I’ll keep watch.”

She lifts herself off the bed then, picking up the glass and heading into the bathroom. When she exits with another full glass of water, Mulder is sleeping, snoring softly. As quietly as she can she places the glass on the table again and moves to the desk chair to begin her vigil.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He’s startled awake around 1am.

Only the desk lamp is on and Scully is above him, removing the cloth off his forehead. The excessive sweating is over, his chest bare, and looking a lot better.

“Feeling better?” Scully asks.

Mulder nods, reaching for the water on the side and taking a gulp. Scully watches as he downs the whole thing, playing with the cloth in her hands.

“Thank you,” he says wants he finishes and the words come as a surprise to Scully. It’s a very rare thing for Mulder to be so openingly grateful. She knew he appreciated her work and all she had to offer, more so now they’ve been separated, but it brings a soft smile across her lips to hear him say it.

“I’d probably be dead like Jorge if you hadn’t found me.”

He’s right. “Well, somebody has to keep you alive,” she says with a grin.

Mulder grins back then swings his legs off the bed. He stands, only to wobble a bit and sit back down again, a dazed look on his face.

“Are you okay?” Scully asks, a hand reaching out to steady him even as he sits.

“Yeah,” Mulder answers blinking a few times. “I just stood up too soon.”

But she fingers are still brushing through his hair, feeling for the bump. Her eyes do their own searching too, for any cuts or bruises she might have missed the first time. She finds one on the side of his neck, closer to the back.

“Mulder, you’re cut,” she says.

His hands instinctively come up to his neck, feeling over the cut.

He shakes his head. “Just a scratch. Doesn’t hurt, honest.”

She takes his word for it, her own eyes confirming that it is just a scratch and shouldn’t cause too much harm.

“Any other dizziness? Nauseous?”

He shakes his head again. “Not anymore.”

She smiles, moving her hand from the back of his back to the front, brushing away a stray strand curling against his forehead. She loses herself in the motion, zoning out and not coming back until she hears her name.

“Scully?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m good. Really.”

She realises then how close they are. In her concern, she had threw herself over him, straddling him almost, becoming aware of how close their noses were to touching.

Her eyes move from were they are locked on his nose down to his mouth and maybe it’s the temperature of the room that has her brain all fuzzy and is clouding her judgement but his plump, pink lips have suddenly become the most enticing thing she’s ever saw.

And there’s no thought process, no last moments of lingering doubt in her mind as she drives right in, connecting her own lips with his.

There are no objections from him, either. He matches her pace quickly and efficiently, opening up when her tongue prods at his lower lip.

Her hands stay where are they, above his shoulders, but his begin to explore, stroking over her clothed hips before slipping and dipping inside her shirt.

His hands spur her on, feeling his fingertips slide up her stomach. She presses harder into the kiss, angling slightly so their noses don’t hit the other.

She’s unsure which of them moans, she thinks it’s her, as his hands come up to cup her breasts, finger circling her nipples through the fabric, clenching as she feels them harden.

And the lower half of her body begins to sought out his lower half. Everything below her is hard. A solid body of taunt muscles.

His hands have moved away from her breasts, something she finds herself missing, and they begin their descent back down, over her hips and round her back, resting on that space he’s always touching, the space that has become his. He pushes her body down, her centre coming into contact with his and upon touching, Mulder immediately starts to grind his hardness into her.

Their kiss broken a while ago, they’re still close but their lips aren’t touching anymore. Scully gives herself to the building pleasure of it all, feeling herself go up and up but it’s not enough, she needs more.

Her brow frowning, a frustrated plea exits her mouth.

“Mulder…please.”

Knowing what she needs, Mulder flips them, his hands coming to rest either side of her waist and he grinds harder into her, pushing her deeper and deeper into the mattress.

But Scully knows what she needs. She tries to grasp his button and fly which becomes a difficult thing when he’s still thrusting against her.

Finally, she manages to grab it and Mulder halts his movement when he realises what she’s doing. The first bit of questioning enters the space as he looks at her and with his eyes asking her if she’s sure if this is what wants.

And sure enough it is. The peak has been passed, her clit throbs with need, she needs.

He helps her free himself- shorts and boxers going, but this is a two-way dance and her clothes must go as well. Mulder takes it upon himself to sort that out, he unbuttons her own shorts and pulls them down, taking her underwear with it.

And if there was a time to be self-conscious, now wasn’t it. With both lower halves bared, Scully pulls him back to her, her lips claiming his once more. The kiss is a lot messier than before with no concern for noses this time as they bump against another. His tongue enters her mouth and Scully nips at it gently with her teeth before soothing it with her own tongue. This time Mulder moans, hand fumbling between their bodies to line himself up.

Scully lets out a gasp, breaking the kiss and her head falling back against the pillow as he fills her, the slight sliver of pain as her walls stretch to accommodate him.

“Sorry,” he whispers an apologetic look across her face.

Scully smiles, shaking her head, urging him to move.

When he does, the pain makes way for pleasure. It’s slow and gentle, painfully so. She wants him harder and deeper, her fingers wrapping around the poles on the bedframe, giving herself leverage to speed up the thrusting.

Thankfully, Mulder is a quick learner and he quickly realises what she wants him to do. His own hands wrap around the poles, around her hands, holding her there, restraining her. At the thought, she feels an embarrassing amount of wetness gather, slickening them up even more as Mulder’s thrusts come harder and harder.

She’s moving up the bed, her head millimetres away from the frame and there’s just enough coherent thought left in Mulder to pick up the pillow and place it in between, least she bash her head.

Her legs wrap around his waist, ankles interlocking to keep them there. She climbs higher and higher, up and up until there’s nothing but that peak in sight, nothing but the feeling of Mulder about to rip her in half.

“Scully, I’m gonna…” Her brain in mush and before she can say or do anything his fingers are on her clit, circling, unrelenting ,without pattern but God she doesn’t care because it’s enough to peak that peak and fall right over the edge.

“No…No…” she says as she crests over, her body stiffening, fingers tightening around the pole.

“Yes…yes…” Mulder says, following quickly after her.

They relax. Mulder removes his hands and manages to fall to the side of her, refusing to squish her. Scully brings her own hands down, stiff and sore from being trapped for so long.

Her muscles aching, her body singing, she doesn’t care for the come that leaks out of her. Her eyes close.

“Let me clean you,” Mulder says. The bed rustles with his leaving but he returns just as quickly, she bearly feels the cloth touch her.

When he’s done, he lays next to her, a hand combing her hair out of the way before they wrap around her, tugging her closer to him.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

They don’t speak about it. Not tomorrow, not the next week, not the next month. But it lingers with them, in their arguments and their touches. When he touches her back she is instantly reminded of that night, of that one moment in Arecibo.

- - -

imma die. bye.

#txf #early msr #smut #:)#kill me #i write #i forgot the read more oops

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englishstrawbie · 4 years

Text

The Beast Lurking

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Characters: Dani & Jamie

Summary: The knowledge of the beast lurking nearby has always been there and it's almost time for her to claim Dani. Jamie thinks back to Owen’s mom. She thinks about how Owen had given up his life in France to take care of her as she had become a shadow of herself, the dementia slowly taking a little piece of her day by day. ‘It must be a relief,’ Jamie had said. How wrong she had been.

Also @ AO3.

Note: This fic was born out of Jamie's comment in episode 4 that "on some level, it must be a relief" and then episode 9, the bath tub scene, when she so desperately says "not yet". The grief you feel at losing someone from a long, drawn out disease starts long before they die, and I wanted to tell a small piece of that story from Jamie's POV.

* * * * * * * * * *

It’s only November and the snow has already started to fall, just a light dusting on the cars and window ledges so far. Jamie closes the shop early in the winter months, the visitors to the town dropping as the temperature falls and business growing quieter. She doesn’t mind, she has become fond of spending the dark nights at home, curled up against Dani’s warm body as she reads or they watch tv.

She walks the short distance home as the sun sets, a soft orange hue illuminating the sky. She has the same, familiar feeling of contentment as she does at the end of every day, happy to know that the woman she loves will be waiting for her.

She pushes her hands deeper into her pockets to protect them from the cold, her thumb running instinctively over the ring on her wedding finger. A smile passes across her lips and her pace quickens. Their apartment is only three blocks away. The route home takes her past row upon row of townhouses that she dreams of them owning one day. Somewhere with a yard she can grow plants and flowers, and maybe a vegetable patch.

Their apartment is on the fourth floor, giving them a view across the rooftops of the town. Jamie brushes the snow off her coat and runs her hand through her curly hair before she goes inside and trudges up the staircase, mindful of not leaving a mess in her wake. Dani always scolds her when she notices the dirty footprints she leaves behind on the stairs.

As she enters the apartment, she sees Dani by the window, her forehead pressed against the glass looking out over the street below. Visiting Vermont had been Jamie’s idea, but staying and making it their home had been Dani’s choice, borne from her love of the changing seasons. This will be their tenth Christmas together; ten years of exchanging gifts in bed and eating tree-shaped pancakes for breakfast, ten years of throwing snowballs in the nearby park and warming up afterwards with hot chocolate topped with marshmallows.

Jamie can’t wait. She has already designed this year’s Christmas wreath in her head and has started collecting the foliage to make it in time to hang on the front door immediately after Thanksgiving.

Dani doesn’t move as Jamie steps inside and pushes the door closed. Whatever is on Dani’s mind has all of her attention. Jamie shrugs off her coat and hangs it on a hook, sliding her feet out of her boots and walking into the apartment.

“Hey,” she says softly.

Dani doesn’t hear her. Her body is rigid, her eyes fixated on the window, and Jamie feels uneasy all of a sudden. She takes another step forward.

“Dani?” she says a little louder.

It is only then that Dani reacts, turning her head towards the sound. Her eyes are wide and vacant, and Jamie realises that she wasn’t looking out at the snow at all.

She was staring at her reflection.

Jamie’s eyes flicker towards the window and she sees the profile of Dani’s face, just like normal.

Except when she looks at Dani, everything about the way Dani looks back at her tells Jamie that it isn’t normal, that something is very wrong.

A heaviness falls across Jamie’s chest. She knows what it means; deep down in the pit of her stomach, she knows. After all, they’ve been expecting it.

The beast in the jungle.

They’ve been expecting it ever since that day in the bedroom ten years ago, when Jamie pinky-promised to stay by Dani’s side and keep her company. There had been something about the way Dani had looked that day, so scared and lost, that had captured Jamie’s heart, and it was then that Jamie knew that whatever time Dani had before the beast came to claim her, she wanted to be time they had together.

Because it turned out that Jamie had been waiting for Dani her whole life. All the pain of losing her family, the abuse in foster care, living on the streets in London as a teenager and ending up in prison, and starting over at Bly Manor thanks to the generosity of the Wingraves had led her to that day when she walked into the kitchen to see Dani sat at the table. It had taken her a while but eventually Jamie had opened up and let Dani into her life, and there hadn’t been a day since that she had regretted it.

She didn’t regret for a second promising her life to someone who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

The days and months and years had passed, and the memory of Bly was always with them. Staring Jamie in the face – literally – as Dani’s eyes revealed the secret that they carried around with them. Her big blue eyes now one blue, one brown; changed forever since that night at the lake when Dani had saved Flora’s life.

The knowledge of the beast lurking nearby has always been there, but they have done more than just wait for her to return. They have travelled America using the money that Henry Wingrave gifted them. They have seen things that Jamie never believed growing up that she would get to see, like the Liberty Bell and the Empire State Building. They have fallen in love. They have built a home and a business and a life together, and Jamie isn’t ready to let that go. Not now, not ever.

But Jamie knows she doesn’t have a choice. When the day comes, she won’t be able to stop it. She’ll try as hard as she can, she’ll give up everything for just one more day with Dani, but eventually she will lose and the beast will win.

She already feels Dani pulling away from her. She is as loving and giving as always, but a wall is starting to build between them. It might be invisible, but it’s there, and Jamie hates it. She wants to take a sledgehammer and knock it down, like she would the walls of a garden, but she can’t. She can’t stop the inevitable.

She carries that with her every day, in her heart, knowing that when that day comes, all she will be able to do is watch as the person she loves most in the world is taken away from her. She pushes it down as much as she can, but sometimes it catches her by surprise and the pain is overwhelming.

She says the words herself, a desperate whisper into the darkness when Dani is sleeping.

It’s you, it’s me, it’s us.

It doesn’t work, and Jamie doesn’t know if that’s because the beast won’t let go of Dani or because Dani won’t let go of the beast. She knows that Dani won’t let anyone else take on that burden, and it’s one of the reasons that Jamie loves her so much but, oh, it makes her so angry sometimes. Angry that Dani was so stupid for inviting the beast into herself, was so selfless in sacrificing herself. Not that she shares that anger with Dani; she keeps it hidden, her own burden to carry.

She thinks back to Owen’s mom. She thinks about how Owen had given up his life in France to take care of her as she had become a shadow of herself, the dementia slowly taking a little piece of her day by day. She remembers watching him break down upon hearing of her death, of hugging him a little bit tighter when she had greeted him at the funeral.

‘It must be a relief,’ she had said to the others when she had got back to Bly.

How wrong she had been. How stupid and naïve and wrong.

There will be no relief when the inevitable happens, only pain and sorrow and loneliness, and Jamie isn’t ready for that. She isn’t ready for that goodbye. Not now, not ever.

“They say there’s going to be a foot of snow by next week,” Jamie says eventually.

She watches as the light comes back into Dani’s eyes, watches her face soften as she comes out of her reverie and recognises the woman in front of her. Her lips turn upwards into a smile although it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

James walks across the room and holds out her hand. Dani accepts it and Jamie pulls her away from the window, away from her reflection. She presses her lips to Dani’s cheek. Dani closes her eyes and leans into the kiss, and Jamie can feel her stealing as much comfort as she can from the embrace.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Jamie whispers.

She doesn’t say it outright, but Dani looks at her and there is a silent understanding that Jamie knows what’s going on.

Jamie feels a gentle squeeze of her hand, as Dani nods. “I’m fine, I just got caught up in the snow falling, that’s all.”

Jamie hates being lied to, but right now she prefers a lie to the truth.

Because she’s not ready for the truth.

Not now, not ever.

#the haunting of bly manor #dani clayton #jamie #dani x jamie #thobm #the haunting of bly manor fanfiction #my fanfiction

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twdeadlysins · 4 years

Text

My Girl

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 2,858

Summary: During a hunt with her boyfriend, the reader is left alone for a brief moment. And in that short span of time, she’s fighting for her life with no sign of surviving.

Requested by: @leej2468 #17 - “This is going to hurt.” #82 - “I trust you.” - Daryl and the reader are on a run and something went wrong. The reader is injured with a dislocated shoulder.

Warnings: season 2 spoilers? fluff, injury, dislocated shoulder, the usual walking dead violence, language and such with possible typos.

Author’s Note: I’m sorry if Daryl seems a little out of character? He does, but then he doesn’t to me. I mean... he’s so comfortable with the reader especially since they’ve known each other for years so like it makes sense??? Also, I don’t think is the greatest, but it’s what I came up with :/ Anywho, I hope you all enjoy the fic nonetheless!!

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

Masterlist in bio

Hearing them crunch beneath you, the rest of the colorful autumn leaves gracefully fell down around you as you trekked in front of Daryl. The sun was bright as hell, giving you a substantial amount of warmth while a gust of breeze would travel your way every so often. During this time of year, it was a tad colder considering winter was just around the corner which meant extra layers to wear, hunting and going on runs almost everyday to stock up on supplies… and snow.

“Dixon, I can feel your eyes on me,” you teased before you turned around to see him with a big smirk on his face, not ashamed he had gotten caught. You and the hunter were very close before the apocalypse, best of friends even though you harbored a crush on him. Merle would tease his brother about making a move or tell you guys to shut up and just kiss already. Sometimes he would even take it upon himself to flirt with you, but it was just all fun and games. Later on, Daryl had told you it was to make him jealous, a part of Merle’s stupid plan to get you two together. In the end, you two had finally admitted your feelings at the farm after Daryl came back with an arrow in his side. Merle would be proud that his little baby brother finally got the girl.

“Gotta nice view.” You snorted and shook your head, stopping in your tracks to walk in sync next to the archer who stared at you, amused. Your hands brushed together, the both of you thinking the same thing as you intertwined them. Daryl brought your linked hands together and pressed a soft kiss, smiling as he did so, looking at you while you giggled. He was a big softie even though he denied it every time, but you both knew you were right, hell even the group teased him about it.

“I hope we can bring back something good because the squirrels we caught aren’t going to be enough,” you brought up after a few minutes of silently walking. Daryl tugged on the rope of squirrels on his shoulder while he rubbed your hand with his thumb, trying to comfort you.

“Hey, we’ll be fine. We always find a way.” You were still worried, but you nodded nonetheless. Winter was coming and the group was going out on runs everyday to stock up on can goods and other supplies, so you didn’t have to go out of hibernation as Carl liked to call it. You and Daryl were the ones in charge of hunting and occasionally going on runs as well. Squirrels and other small animals were the only thing that you guys saw and caught, but you needed more especially since Lori was pregnant. You needed a deer or something. One deer could last you a couple weeks to a month, maybe less considering you had a whole group to feed, but maybe more if you rationed properly.

After an hour of endlessly walking through the woods, you had snagged two rabbits and a squirrel. You were disappointed, so Daryl suggested another hour before you guys would head back and maybe you could get a deer heading home. You highly doubted it, but you were damn hopeful. If not, then you’d be out there tomorrow.

You and Daryl came at an impasse, the path you were sticking to was interrupted by a steep hill that lead down to a shallow river. The both of you decided to go along the edge, still hopeful that you’d find a deer. Maybe a deer was drinking some water? Wouldn’t that be something.

“Do you remember the way back to the place we’re staying at?” You rolled your shoulders and readjusted your grip on your compound bow, feeling tired and stiff from all the walking you had done. You had been hunting for roughly two hours and the thought of retreating back ‘home’ for three more hours exhausted you. You were definitely making Glenn rub your feet and massage your shoulders when you get back.

He playfully scoffed and gave you a ‘of-course-I-do’ look. “Hey, I just thought I’d ask, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t remember.” Your boyfriend shook his head with a smirk before striding ahead, making you groan since your feet were killing you. You were usually fine with all the hunting and traveling, but you weren’t used to doing it every single day for hours on end, especially with bouncing from one location to another. The farm became your safe haven and you were hoping to find another one.

“Daryl,” you whined. “My feet are killing me, can we-” Daryl whipped around with his finger over his chapped lips, signalling you to shut your mouth. Any other time, you’d question him, but considering you were in the apocalypse and trusted him, you kept quiet and halted your movements. Your brows were furrowed though, letting him know you were beyond confused. Was it walkers, people?

The hunter quickly motioned for you to come to him, so you carefully stepped beside him. He pointed in front of you, over your shoulder, and at first you couldn’t see anything, but then you squinted and saw the bushes move. Your eyes widened as you let out a breathless chuckle, smiling at the sight before you… a deer. Since the mammal was a little bit far, you could only see their head peeking out of all the greenery, chewing on their meal as they scanned the area.

“I’m gonna go get that deer, ya stay here,” Daryl whispered, earning a nod from you before he went in the direction the deer was in. Since he was capable of catching a deer alone, you took the opportunity to sit down near the edge of the hill and rest. Setting down your bow, you untied one of your boots to massage your foot. You closed your eyes at the sensation, moaning to yourself and enjoying the sound of the stream flowing beneath. You stretched your leg and went to put your shoe back on before soothing your other foot, but suddenly footsteps and growls could be heard from behind you.

You hurriedly unsheathed your dagger from your ankle holster, discarding your shoe, and whipped around to see two walkers very close to you and another making its way over. Mentally cursing yourself for letting your guard down, you stabbed one in its skull, struggling to keep the other away from you, but it kept nabbing onto your parka. As you were about to withdraw your blade, you took a step back to get away from the dead, but your foot never made contact with the ground.

You tumbled down the hill, hitting numerous branches and rocks with the walker not far behind. Instinctively, you covered your face with your arms and grunted at the harsh contact your body was suffering from. A shriek left your lips, the hill had hills within them like a roller-coaster or a series of waves, making you pop fly up before hitting the ground hard. Something struck your shoulder, making you wince as you rolled down further, finally coming to a stop in the water.

The calf deep water was ice cold as you struggled to get up, the excruciating pain in your right shoulder preventing you from doing so easily. You couldn’t sit there and clutch onto your injury, you had to fight for your life first. Not knowing where your other knife had gone, you searched frantically for something to aid you in killing the walker that was coming towards you. The third walker that you had almost forgotten about was rolling down the hill, so you needed to find something quick.

As you were sliding backwards with your injured arm hugging your torso, your hand hit something big and solid. Gripping the object, you gave the creature a blow to the head once it stooped in front of you, and it fell over along with the rock that slipped from your grasp. You panicked and went to reach for it, but the last walker had gotten on top of you. Despite the pain, you wrapped one hand around its throat while the other tried to fight off its hands, not wanting to be ripped open like Dale.

This was it. You were going to die. You were going to die and never see your family again- never see Daryl again. He wasn’t too far away from you and he would blame himself when he would find your lifeless body. You wanted to scream his name, but you couldn’t… nothing audible would come out. The inevitable was about to happen, but you kept fighting, you weren’t about to give up even though your thoughts were. The walker was growling and snapping its jaw, inching closer and closer as you grew weak in fending it off.

All of a sudden, an arrow was staring just inches away from your face, sticking through the walker’s eye, making yours widen in shock. Tears streamed down your face as you shoved the dead weight off, hearing your name and quick paced footsteps splash the water coming towards you. Daryl kneeled beside you and set his crossbow down before you immediately wrapped your uninjured arm around his neck tight, trying not to have a panic attack. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and cried, feeling him secure his arms around your waist even tighter. You were soaking wet, but he didn’t seem to care.

After a couple minutes, you loosened your grasp and withdrew, feeling a pair of hands on the sides of your face. The archer’s piercing blues were glossy, scanning your features and he rubbed your tears away with his thumbs. Your hands went to hold his wrists while your lip quivered, trying to hold back your cries.

“I… I couldn’t call for… for you. It wouldn’t… it wouldn’t let me,” you choked, motioning to your throat. Daryl shook his head and embraced you once again, whispering that it was alright, that you were safe now. As much as you wanted to stay in his arms, your shoulder was killing you and you let out an involuntary wince causing Daryl to quickly retreat with worried, apologetic eyes.

You instantly caressed his cheek. “It’s okay, just my shoulder. It’s fuckin’ killin’ me. I think… I must’ve dislocated it.”

“Here, lemme see.” Whimpering in pain, you shrugged off your jacket with Daryl’s help. You were wearing a black long sleeve shirt that was low cut, exposing the top of your chest. Your boyfriend only had to move the fabric near you shoulder a tad before seeing your bone was, in fact, out of place.

“Uh, I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” you mumbled, grimacing at the sight. Daryl was quiet, so you glanced up to see him already staring at you with sympathetic eyes that were also nervous. Him biting his lip also being a dead give away.

“Do ya trust me?” You furrowed your brows and frowned thinking it was a stupid question. Of course you did, you’d put your life in his hands, hell, he saved you from that walker just mere moments ago.

By the look on your face, he knew you thought it was stupid to ask, but you were going to hate him for what he had to do next. “Just spit it out, Dixon. I’m in a lot of pain right now and will be for weeks. Not to mention I’m soaking wet and not in the good way.”

Daryl softly chuckled, but it quickly dissipated when he softly grabbed your wrist that was cradled against your chest, with both of his hands, making you swallow thickly. “This is going to hurt.”

“I trust you,” you smiled even though you weren’t looking forward to what he was about to do.

He slowly stretched your arm out in front of you and began to bring it towards him, pulling until the ball of your arm bone would go back into your shoulder socket. You bit your lip hard and shut your eyes as he continued to tug, which made you lean back so you didn’t go forward. Suddenly, you heard a pop followed by a sensation, it still hurt like hell, but it felt normal.

Daryl shrugged off his winged vest before peeling off his leather jacket and brought his knife up to it. You hurriedly placed your palm over his hand that gripped the bladed weapon. “No, Daryl, just use my jacket. Besides, it’s wet and I can’t use it.” You lifted the black material and offered it to him.

He shook his head and pointed at it with his knife. “Nah, it’s ya favorite jacket, just gonna use mine.”

“But that’s your only jacket.”

He looked down at his jacket and huffed as he peered back up at you. “Yer stubborn, ya know that?” He gravelly said, snatching your parka in a jokingly manner, making you smile and nod.

You watched in bewilderment as he meticulously cut up your jacket and maneuvered it around your injury, the perfect makeshift sling. Honestly, you didn’t pay attention to how he managed to put your arm in a sling and knot it, you couldn’t help but stare at him the entire time in awe. You thought you were going to faint when he wrapped you in his jacket despite your protests.

He sat back and stared at his work satisfied. “It feel alright? I can readjust-”

“It’s perfect.” You leaned over and pecked his lips, brushing some hair out of his face, staring into his orbs with tears brimming your own. “Thank you.” You weren’t just thanking him for creating your sling, but for saving your life… for loving you.

The archer shook his head with his hand on your thigh, rubbing circles and knowing your appreciation had a deeper meaning. “Ain’t gotta thank me, gotta take care of my girl.”

Butterflies flew crazy in your stomach and you could feel your heart almost pound out of your chest. His girl. You don’t think you would ever get over the fact that he was yours and you were his.

Daryl tapped your thigh, pulling you out of your trance before standing up, offering his hand to the only one you could use. When you accepted, his attention went down to your feet and by his befuddled reaction you followed. “Where’s ya shoe?”

You nervously chuckled, wiping your eyes before they could release tears. Scratching the back of your head, you glanced over to the ground above that you were once on, averting your eyes away so he wouldn’t notice. Oh, but he sure did. He did a double take, catching on and glared at you, waiting for an answer.

“I may or may not have… taken my shoe off ‘cause my feet were killin’ me which then led me to get jumped ‘cause I wasn’t payin’ attention like an idiot,” you confessed rapidly with a small voice, shutting your eyes to prepare yourself for the scolding he was about to do. When no words were spoken, you cautiously opened one eye to see him with a tiny smile. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” You questioned, tugging his jacket tighter around your frame.

Your boyfriend shrugged, his smile more evident before he grabbed his crossbow off the ground and began to walk across the river. Having no other choice but to follow, you huffed. What a tease. “So what’s your plan, smart guy?”

“Walk down the river ‘til there’s an easier path ta the top. I’m gettin’ deja vu just bein’ down here n’ we ain’t gonna try climbin’ with ya bein’ all crippled.

You rolled your eyes even though he was right. There was no chance in hell that you were going to be able to get back up there regardless if he helped you or not. “Crippled my ass. I could still put up a fight,” you mumbled grumpily, imagining yourself whooping some ass one-handed. “Also, that reminds me… my dagger’s up there in a walker’s skull.”

“Alright macho girl, we’ll get ‘em along with our food. I dropped everythin’ ta slide down and getcha.”

You scoffed at the nickname… wait, food? FOOD! Your near-death experience and detour made you forget why you were out there in the first damn place. “Wait a minute, what happened to that deer? Did you get it?” You sped up to walk alongside the archer, excitement and hope flooding your features as you grabbed onto his arm, waiting for his face to show any sign of an answer.

He continued to walk as if you weren’t there which earned a tug on his forearm and a plea for him to spit it out. Daryl peered down at you with a smirk and with that you snaked your arm around his neck from the side to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone I got hurt ‘cause I fought off a bunch of walkers to get the deer before they could,” you proudly said, skipping in front of a very confused Daryl.

“Aye, don’ ya dare!”

Taglist: @jodiereedus22 @sourwolf-sterek32 @haleypearce @gruffle1 @lonewolf471 @dashesoflipstick @aristocracy-y

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libsterslobsters · 3 years

Text

Since I've Been Loving You...

Part four of The Song Remains the Same series

Summary: The Reader hadn't had many friends in her lifetime before a chance encounter in Romania brought Bucky Barnes into her life. That's all he is. Just a friend... that she may be slowly falling for. As for Bucky, dating may have changed since the 1940s, but he's pretty sure that's what he and the Reader have been doing for the past four months, and he assumes she's on the same page.. When a night in results in deep fears revealed, both parties involved learn more about themselves and each other than they bargained for.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see little bits of the future and understands every language)

Warnings: language, mild angst, slow burn (See fic "Communication Breakdown" on my page for resolution), mentions of minor character death, fluff, misunderstandings

Author's note: In this ficlet series, I've referenced the one time Bucky and the reader caught a mouse in her apartment multiple times, so I figured I'd better go ahead and write it 😉. As always, the reader is unnamed, but since these characters live in my head rent free, I call her Violet Aimes.

*************************************************

The radio is on full blast as she dances around her apartment, rearranging a cabinet here, brushing away a cobweb there. Despite the fact that the season is months away, she’s set about the task of Spring Cleaning… in the middle of Autumn.

Since she lives on her own, she rarely has the motivation to clean her apartment. She keeps it functional and hygienic, but other than that, she usually doesn’t do much. That is, until recently, when the most extraordinary thing has happened: she’s made a friend.

As a child, a huge premium is put on your ability to make people’s aquaintances. Every time you go anywhere knew, you’re asked, “Did you make any friends today?” As an adult, friends are seen as nice, but not a priority. That is, unless they can help you get ahead. Since she rarely lets anyone get close to her (it’s too damn dangerous when you see the future, not to mention speak every language automatically, and because of that, the U.S. government would very much like to get it’s hands on you), her list of friends in adulthood has remained quite short. But, it turns out what they say is true: it’s not the quantity that counts, but the quality, and Bucky Barnes is indeed a quality friend to have. He’s kind, he’s loyal, brave, and- she shakes her head- attractive, yes. He’d make someone someday a fine partner. Not her, of course. If there was ever a chance that something like that could happen between them, experience has shown her that once someone learns her secret, they immediately decide it’s best to keep their distance romantically. What was the phrase she heard a while back? Don’t stick your dick in crazy? Well, she can’t blame anyone for thinking that way, dick sticking or not, because while she’ s not crazy, her life definitely is.

Pushing all of those thoughts to the side, she grabs her broom and begins to sweep her kitchen. It’s a small space. In fact, she can only walk three paces in either direction. Still, by the time she’s finished, she has a respectable pile of trash at her feet waiting for the dustpan. Only three more rooms to go in… she glances down at her phone… forty-five minutes. Yikes. Well, if she’s going to spend the afternoon cleaning, she needs an appropriate album to listen to.

Thank goodness for streaming services, because although she has a hefty CD collection (it’s no longer the ‘cool’ way to enjoy music, but what can she say, a girl’s gotta have hobbies), if she started looking through it, she’d be here all day, trying to make a damn decision. So, instead she searches for the first thing that comes to mind: Amy Grant, Heart In Motion. It’s cheesy, but it’s bright and poppy. A perfect combination for getting her though the arduous task of cleaning. So, duster in hand, she slips her earbuds in and, once again, gets to the task at hand.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s a few minutes early, so he’s not expecting the door to be open, or even for her to be home. In hindsight, he should’ve texted and asked if it was okay, him showing up before the agreed time, but he didn’t think of it, and now that he’s in her building, well… he’ll just hang around in the hallway until it’s closer to five o’clock.

Not for the first time in the past three months, he thinks to himself that he has absolutely no idea what the protocal is for dating these days. He’s read multiple articles (Reddit is a wellspring of information that he wasn’t necessarily looking for, but there it was) and watched several Youtube videos, but one person seems to contradict another. Wait twenty-four hours after a date to call, no don’t do that, it makes her nervous, but if you call before then, you’ll scare her off with your desperation. Let her determine who makes the first move, but don’t be afraid to take control. Go with casual dates, but make them special. All in all, he can’t help thinking this was much simpler seventy years ago when there were basically three choices on what you’d do on any given night: the movie theater, a diner, or dancing. Maybe a combination of the three, and if you were lucky, possibly parking afterwards. Now… good grief. The best he can figure is to just go with his gut. In essence, get to know her, enjoy their time together. Other than that… well, he’s still figuring it out. So far, things are going slowly, and he’s okay with that. It’s really nice, actually. No pressure for either of them.

He’s still emmersed in his thoughts when he steps out of the elevator and onto the sixth floor. It’s always vaguely noisy. The walls are thin ( the building was constructed before the collapse of the Soviet Union, which he only recently learned about), and there’s several couples cohabiting on this floor who… well, frankly, he’s surprised the ones next door to her haven’t killed each other yet. However, as he gets nearer to the door, one sound grabs his attention. That of someone singing. Singing loudly, and completely off-key. He’s heard some tone-deaf people before, but wow. This is bad.

He’s just outside her door when realization dawns on him. The singer (who is either blissfully unaware of how bad they sound, or simply does not care) is her. He stifles a laugh. The voice is so comically mismatched with the girl he’s come to have quite the crush on. But hey, at least she’s having fun, if the sheer enthusiasm is anything to judge from. In fact, he kind of hates to break up the impromptu concert (although the neighbors might thank him), but he should let her know he’s here.

Thirty seconds after he shoots a quick text in her direction, there’s still no reply, and the singing hasn’t stopped. She’s just moved on to a new song. Phone’s on silent, then. Alright knocking. Just as he raises his hand to do so, his phone dings. “Come on up! It’s open!” Clearly she didn’t take, “I’m here” to mean “I’m right here, ten feet away from where you’re more than likely standing.” Alright then, since he has permission…

He can see straight through the kitchen and living room into her bedroom from the front door, so he usually averts his eyes (everyone deserves some privacy, after all), but today, before he can manage that feat, he catches sight of… is she dancing? It’s not a fox trot, that’s for sure… and is that a feather duster? None of that matters, because, still oblivious that he’s done exactly what she suggested and let himself in, she starts belting out the next verse.

“Classic case of boy meets girl, moving in the same direction.” Oh, now he can see. Her headphones are in. That explains it. “You’re not asking for the world; I’m not asking for perfection.” What’s the best way to go about alerting a person that involved in what they’re doing to your presence without making them jump out of their skin?

“Just a love that’s well designed for passing the test of time-” Knocking is always a classic. Maybe, since he’s closer this time, she’ll hear him. “I’m here to tell you, I’m here to stay. Every hour, every day.” Here it goes.

The good part is, his knocking does get her attention. The bad news-

“Holy fucking-” She jumps, startled, and if her earphones weren’t in, her phone would fall to the floor. “Dammit, Barnes!”

He tries hard, but he’s not entirely certain he’s convincingly covered his laugh with a cough.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball.” She’s trying to seem annoyed, but her own smile gives her away.

“Star Wars, right?”

“Good to know your memory still works. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

“You told me to let myself in.” Her forehead wrinkles.

“Yeah, but that was when I thought “here” meant “down the street, so you don’t have to stop singing for another two minutes.” She pushes a few escaped hairs back from her forehead. “Are your ears okay? I usually save the live music for when no one else is around.”

He chuckles. “Somehow, I think I’ll make a full recovery.”

“Thank goodness.” Stowing the feather duster, she pushes past him out of the door. “I hope my fine vocal performance haven’t put you completely off, because tonight’s selection is a musical.” Huh. It’s been a while since he watched one of those. Well, apart from whichever Disney flick they’ve caught up on recently (they never watch anything too intense; he still hasn’t figured out if it’s out of concern for his well being or because that’s what she prefers, and he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask).

He must stay silent for too long, because, cheeks slightly flushed, she explains-

“Don’t knock it just yet. This one’s a classic. Plus, it takes place sometime you’re already familiar with, so you can tell me if there’s any historical inaccuracies.”

“Wait-” He crosses his arms. “-is that an old man joke? Because if it is, I’m gonna have to start on how I woke up only to find out music has been completely ruined by the kids these days.” That’s it. Her smile is back, embarassment erased.

“We’re just gonna have to agree to disagree on that one.” Settling into place on the couch, she boots up her laptop. “Now sit down and watch Singin’ in the Rain with me. It’s the least you could do after taking five years off my life by sneaking around.”

He snickers and with a nod, sits next to her.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Here’s a historical inaccuracy for you.” She was sort of joking about that part, but it seems like he’s taken it to heart and is good-naturedly pointing out everything Hollywood got wrong about the 1920s. “Hemlines were NOT that short back then. At least, not where I was from.”

“What?” She pretends to be shocked (although truthfully, she is a little). “Don’t tell me the roaring twenties weren’t as wild as The Great Gatsby would have us believe!”

His forehead wrinkles. “I think I read that one. Didn’t think much of it.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but neither did I.” She was bored to death and hated pretty much every single character, but that’s not what’s most important right now. “How long were the dresses back then if they weren’t Debby Reynolds short?”

He seems to think about it a moment, then- “Around here, if I’m remembering right.” His hand brushes just above her knee. “That’s about as wild as it got in our part of Brooklyn, and even that was just the flappers. Of course, my Ma had them all the way down to her ankles until I was grown.” They’ve never spoken about their parents before. She appreciates the trust he’s putting in her, bringing up the distant past. Still, she hesitates before returning the gesture.

“My Mom and I didn’t have a great relationship. She was a little-” She makes a vague motion. “-not all there. She told me that my Dad came from outer space, if you can believe that.” Now that she thinks about it, that’s probably not the weirdest thing she’s ever heard, even if she doubts it’s true. “Anyway, she died when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand closes over hers, and she forgets how to breath. “Do you have any other family?”

“No.” She shakes her head, attempting to laugh it off. “Just me.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, and she’s about to make a joke to lighten the mood, when-

“I had a sister. Rebecca.” He sighs. “She’s dead now. Looked it up. I thought about looking up her kids, but it’s probably better if I didn’t.”

In a sudden moment of boldness, she gives his hand a squeeze. “Maybe one day, when things aren’t as complicated.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Maybe one day.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Despite his opinions of what music has become since he was young (and the fact that this movie really is full of historical innacuracies, but then again, he was under the age of ten when all of this was happening, so his view of the world might’ve been on the narrow side), Bucky can’t help but enjoy it. The male lead has a serious set of pipes. It kind of reminds him of Frank Sinatra. Plus, it’s bright and light and funny. Most of all, it makes her smile.

Around the halfway point, they hit pause to make some popcorn (“Not like the movie theaters, because I’m cheap, but we can doctor it.” ; he didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s been so long since the last time he had popcorn, she probably could’ve offered him packing peanuts to munch on and he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference), but now they’re back on the couch, the bowl resting somewhere between them. He’s not sure when or how it happened exactly, but at some point, they both migrated so far towards the middle of the sofa that now she’s leaning against him, pressed against his shoulder, and his arm is draped over the back of the couch. It’s nice. If only he could work up the nerve to kiss her.

They’re both laughing just a little too loudly over the scene where the voiceover goes out of sync with the picture part of the movie when a flurry of motion catches his eye. He turns his head to get a better look, and it’s just in time to see a mouse run directly over both of their feet.

“What the-” Her eyes go wide as she sees the creature and registers what it is.

“I think you might have a roommate.”

In a flash, she’s pulled her legs onto the couch, knocking the bowl of popcorn onto the floor. “Oh god! Please tell me that wasn’t what I thought it was.”

“It wasn’t. Unless you thought it was a mouse.” She shudders.

“Bucky, I really don’t like mice.” Considering he found one in his pipes a few months ago, he’s not the biggest fan either.

“I’m not too fond of them myself.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I mean, I really don’t like them. As in, I’m irrationally afraid of them.” Wait-

“You’re afraid of-” She nods, and he feels bad for it, but he has to stifle a laugh. “Doll, you realize they’re a lot smaller than you are.” He immediately regrets the pet name, but she doesn’t react.

“So are atoms. Split one and you’ve got an atomic bomb.” She’s got a point, but still…

“They won’t hurt you. Most of them are pretty shy-”

“The one I woke up to eating my hair when I was a kid wasn’t.” Well, now it makes more since.

“Maybe we can find some traps tomorrow-”

“No. I need it out of my apartment. Tonight.” Tonight… just to refresh his memory, he glances out the window. Uh-huh. Just as he thought. It’s pitch black, and he doubts it’s gotten any warmer since his arrival two hours ago. “I’ll catch it somehow. I just can’t sleep knowing it’s there.”

He starts to tell her that she’ll have better luck winning the lottery without a ticket than catching that rodent, but as he peers down at her face, he sees that she’s gone a shade paler and her eyes are wide. She really is terrified of this… mouse. Alright. Decision made.

“Okay.” Careful to avoid grinding the popcorn into the truly ugly shag carpetting covering the living room, he stands. “Can you tell me where to find a broom? Maybe a spare rag if you have it?”

“Broom’s behind the door. Wash rags are under the sink.” He’s already bent over, searching for the objects in quesiton when she asks, “What are you planning to do?” That assumes he has a plan rather than just a random guess.

“Go poking around. Check behind the fridge, in the cabinets. They like to hide out where they won’t be seen.”

“You don’t have to-” She stops short as he straightens, dish rag in hand. “-but if you do, I owe you big time.”

“Tell me the next time you have a vision of me forgetting to take the clothes out of the washer and put them in the dryer, and we’ll call it even.”

Despite his best efforts, the kitchen and bathroom lend no results. He’s really hoping to avoid poking around her bedroom (that still seems a little too personal, especially since mice like to hide in places like underwear drawers), so that leaves….

It’s completely thoughtless, him pulling the couch out from the wall while she’s still sitting there. It doesn’t strike him as odd until she says,

“You could’ve asked me to get up, you know.”

“No need.” Looks like they’re in luck. “There’s your roommate.” Wrong thing to say, because she shoots off the couch like it’s on fire and, without her feet so much as touching the ground, jumps on top of the coffee table.

“Shit! It was under there the entire time?”

“Looks that way. There’s a hole in the wall, so-” He raises the broom, but before he can bring it down-

“No! Don’t kill it!” What the- He glances at the woman still standing on the coffee table. “It has as much right to live as we do. Just wanted to get out of the cold.” Okay, but-

“What do you want to do with it then?”

She grimaces.

“Just… can you get rid of it?” Can he… oh boy. But, he’s not about to say no. That is until he realizes-

“I could if it were still here.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He couldn’t have put it better himself. “Okay, um.” She frowns, then with a sigh, squeezes her eyes shut.

“What are you-”

“Sometimes I can see something if I’m not paying attention to anything else.” A few seconds pass, and then she cringes. “Ew! Okay, bottom cabinet, right hand side in the kitchen. I’m gonna have to rewash all of those dishes.” Good enough.

Now that his mission is to catch and carry instead of kill the furry fiend, he moves more quietly, grabbing the now-empty popcorn bowl from the floor as an afterthought. He really hopes that this vision isn’t too far in the future, because although it’s preferable to the way he’s spent a lot of his time in the past seventy years, he’d rather not crouch by a cabinet for the rest of the night. He’ll do it, but if there’s another option…. Pulling open the door as slowly as he can, he catches sight of it. Hope she wasn’t too attached to that box of cornflakes, because Mickey here has helped himself. If he can just get his hand in… the mouse registers that he’s got company and starts to dart out of the way, but this time, Bucky’s prepared for it and catches it between the towel and the bowl.

“Got him!” She cheers from her place on the table, but still takes a step back when he comes nearer.

“Thank god!”

“Never been called that before.” She rolls her eyes, but chuckles.

“Thank you, Buck. Now can we get him the fuck out of here?”

“Sure, but where exactly?” He’s not opposed to letting Mickey Mouse loose in the hallway so he can go bug the neighbors, but then Mr. Mouse might make his way back here, and this seems like the kind of adventure you only have once.

“Um-” She starts to climb down, but hesitates. “Are you sure you’ve got him?”

“I’m sure.” It physically hurts him not to laugh.

“Then out in the courtyard, do you think?” She jumps from the coffee table and picks up her coat, pulling it on.

“That’ll work.” He starts towards the door.

“Don’t you want your coat? I can drape it over your shoulders?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright.” He’s about to mention she doesn’t have to come with him, but before he can, she’s by his side, one arm hesitantly wrapped around his back.

“I’ll stay close then. Can’t have you freezing to death on a mission of mercy.”

As luck would have it, everyone else is already tucked away this time of night, so they have the elevator and the dingy lobby all to themselves. Still walking side by side, she pushes open the door and they step through.

“Just set him down, or-”

“No. Let’s go to the bushes. Give him some quick and easy cover so he won’t be too cold.” Shaking his head, he makes his way towards the shrubbery. Him and his human coat.

“This seem like a good place for a mouse house?” Chuckling, she nods. “Alright then, little man. You’re officially being evicted.” As soon as he releases the mouse, she jumps back with a yelp, still grasping his arm.

“Sorry!” It’s a lost cause. He can’t hold it back. At long last he lets out the laugh he was holding back.

“I’m sorry, Doll-” Why does it feel so natural to call her that? He’ll think about it later, but right now he needs to do damage control. Even when he was coming up, it was rude to laugh at a person.

But, if she’s offended, it doesn’t show, and instead she beams at him.

“Is that the stupidest thing you’ve ever done or what?” It’s one of the strangest, but he’s been known to do stupid things, especially if it’s someone he… oh. Oh. Well, that’s not one he was ever expecting to say again. But it’s true. Somehow, although it’s under the most unlikely of circumstances, he has come to love this woman. More than that, he’s pretty sure he’s starting to fall-

“I’ll take the stunned silence as a yes.” It’s a joke and it snaps him out of his revelry. He loves her, but now’s not the time to say it. For now-

“No, Doll.” Taking her hand, he begins to walk back towards the building. “Not even close.”

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n #bucky x reader #fanfiction #bucky fanfic #fluff

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recyclingss · 4 years

Text

Klaroline Fic Rec Event 2020 - Day 1: Canon-ish

Title: In the Backseat AO3 / ffnet

Author: Lila82 (AO3) / Lila2 (ffnet)

Summary: Klaus goes on the run with Hope; Caroline comes along for the ride and does some healing of her own.

Warnings: There’s a chapter where Klaus wears swimming trunks. It’s VERY hot. I had to fan myself... Also, angst but only the best kind.

Status: Complete

Why you should read it: Oh Lila2… the reason why I started reading Klaus and Caroline fics. If you haven’t read Paradise Circus, I highly recommend it as well. [Paradise Circus is also canon-ish! It takes place after TVD 3x15. Caroline strikes a deal with Klaus: she will travel the world with Klaus in exchange for Tyler’s life]

Anyway, onto the actual fic. In the Backseat follows our favorite couple after Caroline loses her mother and after everything that transpires in TO S2. I stopped watching TVD after season 5, and I never watched TO. But you don’t need to worry about that with this fic. Lila2 does a fantastic job at giving you all the details you need to know through Caroline’s heartbreaking POV and through the initially tense "reunion” scene between Klaus and Caroline.

Every chapter aches in a different way. Klaus shows up on a grieving Caroline’s doorstep with Hope in his arms. He has taken Hope away from Hayley, but at Caroline’s request, they embark on a road trip to bring Hope back to New Orleans. From the first chapter, you already get the sense that Klaus doesn’t know how to care for his daughter. Sure, he loves her, but he can’t nurture her. Luckily, he has Caroline there to teach him and slap him with some cold hard truths. Klaus and Caroline are both processing their emotions. Caroline is trying to deal with her mother’s death, while Klaus is trying to learn to be a father. And throughout this short fic, we get to see them heal, grow, act as a wholesome family, and travel together from Mystic Falls to places in Georgia and Florida and finally to New Orleans. The chemistry between them still sizzles, and they’re so comfortable with each other despite not having been in contact for months and so much happening in between. You need to read this. The characterization is spot-on; the pacing is perfect; and the only issue I have is that there aren’t more chapters.

Also, there is a Camille and Caroline interaction that does not attempt to pit them against each other. It is so refreshing, and that is the last spoiler I’ll give.

Thank you @klaroline-events and @galvanizedfriend for hosting this :)

#KCFicRecEvent #klaroline fic rec #tvd

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

Note

Fics where they pine over each other while the other one is in a relationship? Example: Sherlock pines for John while he's with Mary or someone else. Or John pines for Sherlock while he's with someone else. Preferably with a happy ending!!

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: Do you know of any fics where either John, Sherlock or both of them are in relationships which stops them from getting together? Idk if I’m explaining this well. Kind of like fics where Sherlock is pining for John but they can’t be together bc John’s already with Mary or someone else but there’s still a lot flirting and stuff. Or it could be the opposite where John pines for Sherlock but Sherlock is dating someone else. And ones where there’s a happy ending, and they get together! Thanks!!

Hi Nonnies!

I’m feeling like you’re the same nonny, since these came in around the same time and are worded very similarly, but I’ll assume they’re not and put these together since they’re very similar :) I for sure have fics with these parameters on these lists here:

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

John Marries and Sherlock Admits his Feelings

Mutual Pining

Infidelity

John Chooses Sherlock Over Mary

I have a couple other pining lists I’ve still to post, LOL. But let’s go through my bookmarks and see what I got for you. Some of these are like… really LIGHT on the “relationship as an obstacle” but they’re the catalyst of sorts. I’ve certainly missed a lot, these are just the ones I recall for sure that there was a relationship of sorts before Johnlock LOL. I might have messed up on one or two fics but I hope you don’t hold it against me, LOL

——–

RELATIONSHIPS AN OBSTACLE TO JOHNLOCK

I don’t mind by beltainefaerie (G, 221 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Stag Night, 221B, Post-TRF, Angst, Longing) – Sherlock is more vulnerable than he pretends. Part 4 of Bel’s Tumblr Ficlets

And Then I Fall by sherlockholmes_doctorwatson (G, 973 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Unrequited Love, POV Sherlock, Reichenfeels) – He was right. Falling is just like flying.

The Talons of Sentiment by dearcst (G, 1,463 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV, Angst, Unrequited Love, Pining Sherlock) – I promised myself long ago I wouldn’t succumb to something so degrading, something so vicious. I promised I wouldn’t let myself fall. But that was before him. That was before I met John. In sleep there is such bliss and peace, and as John slept on my shoulder, it killed me inside to know I was so close yet I could never touch him.

In Which John is Attractive and Sherlock is Angry by kim47 (T, 2,382 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Est. Rel., Jealous Sherlock) – Sherlock’s reaction to finding out that everyone wants HIS John, and how he told them to piss off and get their own Watson.

and stand there at the edge of my affection by coloredink (G, 2,683 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Letters, Clueless John) – “You’ve written love letters,” Sherlock asserted.

No Strings Attached by Elster (G, 2,714 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Fairy Tales, Love Confessions, Fae/Faeries) – To save John from being spirited away Under the Hill, Sherlock challenges the fairy queen to a fiddle contest.

Turn the key, and come home by TooManyChoices (M, 2,718 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Angst With a Happy Ending, Emotional Messes, Implied Sex, Angst and Humour, Bed Sharing, Post-TRF) – Sherlock and John have been dancing around what’s between them for years. Will John return to Baker Street, and if so, will things ever be the same?

Let Go by thisisforyou (G, 2,743 w., 1 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious / Worried Sherlock) – In the end, separating John’s things from Sherlock’s in the chaos of their sitting room is like pulling a limpet from a wet rock. Especially when the rock is clinging on for dear life, because Sherlock doesn’t want to let go. Short, fluffy h/c Johnlock oneshot.

It’s After That Hurts by jonnyluvssherlock (T, 2,791 w., 1 Ch. || City of Angels AU || Fantasy, Fallen Angel Sherlock, Soldier John, Pining Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Permanently Incomplete Fic) – Sherlock’s an angel stuck as a guardian to danger addict John Watson. Everything is fine until he gets too involved. Now he has to make the choice, eternity alone or one life time with a man who may or may not love him.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

Until the End of the World by SarahCat1717 (G, 3,049 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, First Kiss, Pining Sherlock, Oblivious John, Drunkenness) – Taking place in Season 3, John listens to an old favourite song and sorts through his memories and feelings about Sherlock and Mary.

MR# 1430155 by blueink3 (T, 3,560 w., 1 Ch. || Talks of Parentlock, Baby Watson, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Fluff and Angst) – John paces the length of the not inconsiderable hallway and glances at his phone for the tenth time since he exited the hospital room seven minutes ago. Sherlock’s last text was sent at 5:06pm. It is now 5:39pm. He should be here by now. After all, his daughter is 46-minutes-old and if John is going to share this momentous event with someone, it sure as hell isn’t going to be the woman who just gave birth to her. Part 5 of Tumblr Prompts

But Tonight You Belong to Me by esplanade (T, 4,296 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff & Angst, Pining, Stag Night, Sad Ending) – “You. It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right.”

The Prize We Sought Is Won by deathfrisbees (E, 4,610 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Mild D/S, Oral, Military Kink, Bottomlock) – Sherlock’s in love, or in lust, or both–unfortunately, the object of his affections is not only his completely oblivious flatmate, but said flatmate would probably run screaming into the hills should he find out. John’s been invited to a wedding–unfortunately, the groom used to serve under him back in Afghanistan, and requests that John wear a uniform he’s honestly not sure he fits into. Unfortunately for both flatmates, Sherlock’s got a military kink the size of Kandahar and John wants to know if he actually can fit into this uniform or if his eyes are deceiving him. It goes from there.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want by hubblegleeflower (E, 4,804 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Sexual Tension, UST / RST, First Time) – John wants. He always has, but now that he’s living with Sherlock again, it’s all he can do to hold it back. And Sherlock isn’t helping…

No Light, No Light (in your bright blue eyes) by orphan_account (G, 5,915 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Songfic, Mutual Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension, UST/URT) – Relates to both Sherlock’s and John’s feelings for each other and highlights select moments of hurt and inner turmoil starting from right before the fall all the way to HLV.

Recovery by thesignsofserbia (T, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || HLV-Fix It / Rewrite, Villain Mary, Pining Sherlock, Major Character Injury, Scars, Self-Hatred, POV Sherlock, Doctor John, Friends to Lovers) – Set after the confrontation with Mary, and Sherlock’s cardiac arrest, John stays at 221B to aid Sherlock’s recovery, forcing them to confront wounds both old and new as they try to heal their damaged relationship.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do. If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that’s no one’s business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

The Light of Day by allonsys_girl (M, 7,297 w., 4 Ch. || First Kiss, Angst, TSo3-Fix-It, Possessive Sherlock) – Rewrite of the end of Sign of Three. John actually notices Sherlock leaving the reception early, and chases after him. Angsty Johnlock. Happy ending, for sure. Part 1 of The Light of Day

On the Losing Side by missselene (E, 8,210 w., 1 Ch. || Anal / Oral, First Kiss / Time, Angst, Misunderstandings, Mild Dub Con / Drunk John) – After Mary’s death, John moves back into Baker Street, but is still upset at the loss of his wife and child. Eventually, he and Sherlock stumble into a sort of relationship, but it’s more physical than anything and they don’t talk about it. They especially don’t talk during sex. If they are going to have sex, Sherlock notices the signs hours beforehand, and he prepares carefully. The lights are off, they’re under the covers, he prepares himself using lots of lube so he can make it feel as much like a woman as he can, and he doesn’t let himself make any noise so that, if John wishes, he can pretend that he’s still with Mary.

The Engine by stitchy (T, 8,294 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, ASiP Do-Over, Sci-Fi, Time Travel) – Shortly after the events of His Last Vow, Sherlock has an opportunity to revisit the night of A Study in Pink and get some perspective on the destiny of he and John’s relationship.

Every Night I Look for You by destinationtoast (E, 8,377 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Post-TRF, Angst, Mystery, Unsafe Sex, BAMF John) – Every night, John looks for familiar hints of Sherlock in the men he meets in bars, and he does with them all the things he wishes he’d done before. Eventually, he stumbles into a situation that Sherlock would know how to handle, and John must decide whether he can handle it without him.

Matters of National Security by mistyzeo (E, 8,465 w., 1 Ch. || BAMF John, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Dating, Bisexuality, Arguing, Stupidity, Teasing, First Kiss/Time, Hand Jobs, Frottage, RST, Idiots in Love) – John starts dating a male client of Sherlock’s, and Sherlock can’t figure out why he’s so incensed about it.

To Quote Malcolm Tucker; or, Get The Fuck In or Fuck The Fuck Off by kim47 (T, 8,484 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous Sherlock, Flirting, Cockblocking) – Sherlock is cockblocker and a prick tease and John is not amused.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w, 1 Ch. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

High Tide by stardust_made (T, 8,540 w., 1 Ch. || Jealousy, Angst, First Kiss) – A little favour Sherlock stupidly agrees to do for Mycroft leads to John meeting a handsome, affluent man, who is going out of his way to woo him. Sherlock struggles with the situation and with his own reactions to it. Part 1 of The High Tide Series

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8,737 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Stroppy Sherlock, Love Letters, POV John) – Sherlock asks John for relationship advice. Little does he know that it’s him that Sherlock is in love with.

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w., 6 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Angst, Friendship/Love, UST) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn’t Know He’s Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine’s Day Ever by unicornpoe (T, 9,832 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Crack, Soft Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He’s also pretty sure that John doesn’t know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine’s Day.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John’s identity tags around his wrist.

Paparazzi by SilentAuror (E, 10,543 w., 1 Ch. || Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Post S3) – John moves back into 221B Baker Street after his marriage falls apart and the paparazzi won’t leave him and Sherlock alone about the status of their supposed relationship. Sherlock, of course, never denies it, until one day he does…

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w. || UST/RST, For an Experiment) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by “accident”, it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, POV John, Phone Sex, Texting, Masturbation, Long Distance, Drunk Texting) – What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once: Flirting. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

I’m content as we are (but) by inqui (The_Circus) (E, 13,086 w. || Jealous John, UST/RST, Pining, Victor Trevor, Minor Whump, First Kiss / Time, Misunderstandings) – In which John Watson sees something unusual, becomes jealous, and makes too much of a small thing as an old friend of Sherlock’s shows up in the middle of a case.

Say For Me, Love by MirabileLectu (T, 13,147 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Drama, Pining John, Victor Trevor) – If you had asked John this morning what the result of his quiet afternoon at home would be, discovering a truth about Sherlock’s past startling enough to shift the foundations of their friendship would not have been his first guess. So naturally, that was what was bound to happen.

The Nutcracker by Odamaki (T, 13,758 w., 7 Ch. || Nutcracker AU || Christmas, Dark Magic, Dolls) – Sherlock is unimpressed with Uncle Rudy’s present. A doll? What does he want with a doll?

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice, First Time, Pining Sherlock, Time Skip Filler, Drunkenness) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone’s sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn’t even know why he resents John’s dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don’t let that scare you off!)

Second Chance by SilentAuror (E, 15,816 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Divorce, Friends to Lovers, UST, Romance) – Now that John’s divorce has gone through and the dust is settling, Sherlock thinks that he would very much like to see if there is any possibility of moving their friendship in another direction. The only thing is, he has no idea how to go about doing that…

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John’s preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Software Malfunction by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (E, 16,679 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Android Sherlock, Love Story, Unhappy Ending, Angst, Suicide, Jealousy) – “You think I can’t love you? Just because you’re made with metal, and detailed programming?” The doctor propped himself on his elbow, and looked down at it. “I am nothing but blood and bone, and tissue. Things just managed get mashed together in a manner that made me like this. Just like you were put together to make you how you are. When I kiss you-” he did so, briefly, to prove his point. Then more deeply, and lingering, because he could. “When I touch you, or smile at you, does it make you feel different from when others have done it in the past?”

Best of Three by SilentAuror (E, 17,473 w., 1 Ch || POV John, 3G Moment, Porn with Feels, Post HLV, Rimming, Denial, Anal) – “You want to have sex with me,” Sherlock announces one evening about a year after John’s divorce. John’s vigorous denial sparks a three-day wager wherein Sherlock is determined to prove his point, and John is determined to hold onto his heterosexuality. Set well after HLV. (Canon-compliant). PORN. With feels.

Let’s Make a Bed Out in the Rain by theimprobable1 (M, 17,664 w., 11 Ch.|| Pining Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, First Kiss, Unrequited, Jealous Sherlock, Protective Sherlock) – John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

I Think I’ve Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

John Watson doesn’t have a Boyfriend by naughtyspirit (E, 18,932 w., 7 Ch. || UST / URT, Fluff & Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – John’s date has gone very well. Sherlock requires tea. John wishes he hadn’t resolved that their relationship was strictly hands off and isn’t about to address it. Unless he has to. Smut, fluff and shower time for a naked John Watson.

For you, there’s only me by shock_blanket (E, 19,557 w., 7 Ch. || Jealous Idiots, Virgin Sherlock, UST/RST, Pining, Miscommunication, First Kiss / Time, Insecure Sherlock, Masturbation) – Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock’s part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there’s only John.

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slowburn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn’t where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He’s charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w., 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 23,031 w., 64 Ch. || Post-TRF, Online Dating, Pining, Epistolary, Cybersex, Long Distance Romance) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.) Part 1 of Dear John

Once Upon a Beast Becoming by antietamfalls (T, 24,042 w., 6 Ch. || Beauty and the Beast AU || Magical Realism, Folklore, Celtic Mythology) – An act of pride, a druid’s curse, an enchanted leaf; Sherlock’s torment has lasted an age. Hope arrives in the form of one John Watson, a man uniquely suited to break the spell. But with a single night to win his affections, Sherlock finds his carefully laid plans disrupted by a monstrous killer whose sights are set on the only thing he has left to lose: John.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they’ve made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

Tomorrow’s Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || S3 Fix It, Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance, Humour, Masturbation, Love Declarations, Bottomlock, Brief Suicidal Ideations) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they’re both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

Dropping the Act by jadztone (T, 27,258 w., 10 Ch. || Parentlock, Fake Relationship, Mary’s Family, Post-S4, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Pining, Christmas) – Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St. They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic. Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a “normal” family. It’s easy enough to pretend when all you’re doing is dropping the act.

Don’t Leave Anything Out by lookupkate (E, 27,422 w., 24 Ch. || Letters / Epistolary, Misunderstandings, Angst, Happy Ending, Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock in Love, Pining Sherlock) – The first letter John writes home from Afghanistan is meant to go to a woman he went on only one date with. How it ends up in Sherlock’s hands is completely innocent. What happens next is not. What do you do when you find out the person you’re in love with has been lying about something as monumental as who they are? What do you do when you’re the one who lied?How on earth do you put the pieces back together?

Sherlock Holmes & The Mysterious Ex by Gatergirl79 (M, 27,942 w., 16 Ch. || Family, Romance, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John are forced to spend Christmas with Sherlock’s family. An unsettling idea especially when John will have to play ‘Boyfriend’ thanks to Mycroft. But why exactly does Sherlock want to avoid a family party?

Another Auld Lang Syne by DiscordantWords (M, 30,234 w., 31 Ch. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Introspection, Parentlock, Christmas, New Year’s, First Kiss, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Drinking, Sherlock Whump) – There had been years of missed chances.

The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death (E, 30,856 w., 15 Ch. || Sickfic, Angst with Happy Ending, Case Fic, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Jealous Sherlock, Body Image Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional H/C, POV Sherlock, Oral / Anal, Thong, Frottage) – John brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a “harmless” virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror (E, 31,672 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, HLV Fix It, Infidelity, Pining Sherlock, First Person POV Sherlock) – Starts as Sherlock’s plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he’s being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It’s a lot less cracky than you’re probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,690 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody’s happy.

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, MollyxJohn [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon…or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn’t know what Molly’s up to…but he knows he doesn’t like it.

Classified(s) by blueink3 (E, 36,153 w., 4 Ch. || Wedding Date AU || Fake Relationship, Jealous, PIning, H/C, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, Mary is not Nice, Escort Service) – Clara’s American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger. See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she’s also best friends with John’s ex-fiancée. Whom she’s placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor. And John just happens to be Best Man. Bloody brilliant.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Malediction by MapleleafCameo (M, 36,680 w., 11 Ch. || Ladyhawke AU || Magical Realism, Romance, Curses, Eventual Happy Ending) – Cursed to a half-life, John and Sherlock must fight the forces of evil to be reunited once again.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock Has a Boyfriend) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, HLV Fix-It, Infidelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

The Curious Adventure of the Drs. Watson by ShinySherlock (M, 40,883 w., 14 Ch. || BBC & ACD Fusion || Victorianlock, Time Travel / Magical Realism, Friends to Lovers, Love and Kissing, Romance, Body Swap) – What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places… “Imposter!” Hands clenching the lapels of John’s coat, Holmes shoved him anew. “Yes!” John agreed, nodding, and then grimacing. “Sort of!”

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. || H/C, Injury, Slow Burn) – When John’s left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she’s about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Soul Remembers by i_ship_an_armada (E, 43,636 w., 10 ch. || Oblivion AU || Post-Apocalypse, Movie Fusion, Science Fiction, Action/Adventure, Angst, Dreams, Bittersweet Ending) – John Watson is the lone security repairman stationed on a desolate, nearly-ruined future Earth. His dreams are plagued by a tall, dark-haired man, and when his dreams meet reality, he will be forced to question everything he believes is the truth about his life.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || Post S3 || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock’s first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (E, 58,611 w., 10 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Experiments / Sexual Experimentations, Multi Pairings, Voyeurism) – John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.

Scars by SilentAuror (E, 60,493 w., 5 Ch. || Rape / Non-Con / Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dub Con Elements, Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending, Mary is Not Nice) – S3 rewrite, showing Mary’s manipulation of John as he realizes his love for Sherlock. Mary is not having it.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom (E, 62,006 w., 25 Ch. || First Person Sherlock POV, Pining, Angst, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Sherlock Learns About Himself, Happy Ending) – Sherlock struggles with his feelings for John, makes a mistake, and learns just how important he and John are to each other. Non-BBC Mary / John, but it’s a *complicated* relationship.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he’s consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w., 10 Ch. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary’s betrayal and Sherlock’s deceptions.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 27 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #angst fics #pining idiots #Anonymous #long posts #relationship problems #relationships

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