#and the little double twist with it being ''just'' a croissant and then a ring in it
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Ted Lasso - 3x07
Bonus:
#tedlassoedit#ted lasso apple tv#jack danvers#keeley jones#jodi balfour#juno temple#ted lasso 3x07#jack x keeley#femslash related stuff#heh this is all just so funny#like this is an actually really nice little resolution to their arc this ep#the conflict raised and keeley being super straightforward about it#and jack actually reacting rather petulantly at first#but quickly able to acknowledge the point and agree to do better#all done with good humor and affection#and the little double twist with it being ''just'' a croissant and then a ring in it#lovely#but at the same time--not to keep repeating myself but it feels hard to really enjoy them#feeling like there's such a hard expiration date stamped on them#and that's aside from everyone ready to read this all in the worst way possible :o
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Tricks of the Trade | MYG (M)
Shared as part of the Similarly Sequestered game with @kpopfanfictrash, @underthejoon, @fortunexkookie, @gukslut and me!
Rating: M (Explicit 18+)
Word Count: 24.1K
Prompt: “The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences.” {Body Swap AU, Soulmates AU}
Genre: Fluff, humor, smut, oneshot
Summary: The convenience store across the street from your apartment carries your favorite energy drink. That's why you frequent it. It's definitely not because you have a big fat crush on the owner you've been flirting with for the better part of a year. Of course your brand of flirting can also be misconstrued as bickering. When a strange man wanders into the store, he thinks you need a little nudge to embrace the strings connecting you. Next thing you know you're waking up in a body that definitely doesn't belong to you. You can't decide if it's the best or worst thing that's ever happened to you.
CW & Other Tags: Anxiety attacks, language, oral sex, unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering, Agent of Chaos Jin, shopkeeper Yoongi, idiots to lovers, frenemies to lovers, bodyswap shenanigans
Pairings: Yoongi x Reader
Posted on June 23, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to this or any other platform, including YouTube.
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The bell at the top of the door jingles as another customer walks into the store, but you pay them no mind. You’re already scanning the refrigerated drinks section for the third time, scouring the rows of cans and bottles for your beverage of choice. There’s only one kind of energy drink you want but its usual location is barren. Desperate to find what you’re searching for, you squat down to look behind the other drinks in the fridge.
“You’re not going to find any.”
The familiar, disinterested drawl of the shopkeeper has you popping up from the floor to look over at him. He wears a green apron over a black tee and a pair of faded jeans. His back is to you so he doesn’t have to see your face when you complain. He reaches up to take off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through thick locks of ebony hair before returning the cap to his head. He spares a glance over his shoulder at you, knowing you’re watching him. He sighs loudly as he continues to stock nearby shelves with boxes of cereal.
When he opened this tiny shop across from your apartment about a year ago, you thought he was cute, but he’s always seemed cold to you. The gossips around town say he’s a bit scrawny, monotone and boorish, but you like his voice and you like his style. He must be intelligent if he started this business from nothing, especially at his age. Not many people in their late twenties can say they are as independent as Yoongi.
He has confidence and pride in his values. You’ve seen him tell rude people off without a second thought and kick people out for being racist towards other customers. He puts on a front to seem unapproachable but you’ve seen him give a carton of milk to a mother who didn’t have money to pay for it, and free candy to a group of kids on a rainy day. While he pretends to be an old grump who shuffles around his shop all day, you’ve seen him get the energy to sprint around the block after a shift and then collapse at the cafe tables next door. He’s weird. He’s honest. He’s kind-hearted. It’s easy to admire him.
He bends down to pick up more boxes, and you cock your head to the side to stare at the way his ass looks in those jeans. He’s also insanely attractive. It’s no wonder you still come in here every day.
The more you see of him, the more you feel you know him, and the more you’ve grown to like him. The problem is that your relationship with the shopkeeper has shifted into a weird territory you’re not sure how to escape from. It’s not that you hate each other, but it seems you can’t hold a conversation without getting on each other’s nerves. Either you’re always saying the wrong thing or he’s pressing all the wrong buttons when he teases you.
At first you read his teasing as awkward flirting but for someone so blunt, you’ve convinced yourself he would have been straightforward and said the words out loud. I like you. Let’s get a drink. It would be easy for him to say, wouldn’t it? Despite trying to convince yourself he’s not interested, you can’t help but flirt with him at any opportunity to do so. However, you seem to forget how the moment he looks at you. It’s like your flirting skills took an exit down a shitty highway and now you’ve lost the GPS signal to navigate back to civilization.
Talking with Yoongi has become an ache you can’t seem to give up so you’ll take whatever excuse you can to keep doing so. That usually takes the form of you poking fun at one another until you hurt your own feelings. Sometimes you spend the remainder of a day thinking about the ways you can fix tomorrow’s fictitious conversation. You forgot how being infatuated with someone can make you feel so stupid. He’s not your life, just a part that you wish could be more prominent. It’s fine.
All you have to do is get your morning beverage and pastry before working your shift. Then you can focus on how nice it will feel to do nothing all weekend and catch up on TV shows.
“So…. What did you do with it? Are you hiding them from me today?” You quickly snap your eyes to his face as he twists his body to look up at you.
He scoffs. “Not me. College kids came through last night and cleared them out.”
“But you know I always get one,” you pout, crossing your arms like it’s going to make a difference.
He turns his attention back to his task, slowly stacking the boxes in silence before he clicks his tongue. “So? I can’t just hide stuff for you, you know.”
“Don’t you have more in the back? You’ve never run out of Hot6 before.”
He laughs to himself. “This isn’t a warehouse. I have to wait for product to arrive before I can restock. Just get a Red Bull. It tastes the same.”
You crinkle your nose at him. “It does not.”
He crosses the store with a roll of his eyes and a loud sigh. Before long he’s back at the register and sipping on his iced americano. “Whatever. Why do you care? It’s easier if you develop a taste for espresso. Then you don’t have to worry about that kind of thing. Besides, energy drinks aren’t that great for you, you know.”
You make a sound of disgust as you sulk your way over to the pastry cabinet. “Jeez. Do you always have to have such a stick in your ass? You act like coffee is so much better for you.”
“More caffeine, less sugar. I guarantee you it’s better,” he says with a smack of his lips against his straw.
“Whatever, Grandpa. Hmm... Muffin, muffin, muffin…” you quietly chant to yourself as your eyes rake over the racks in search of your daily pastry fix. Today seems to be against you: no muffins.
“We’re out of those too,” he says. “You know you could stand to change up your routine. Don’t you get sick of getting the same things every day?”
You bite your lip and look over the case of pastries, grabbing a simple croissant. “I like my routine, but I guess I could always stop coming here.”
“If that’s what you want.” He sighs dramatically as he leans over the counter, resting on his elbows as he surveys the store. “Well, I could enjoy a quiet morning for once.”
You roll your eyes.“Pfft. You like to argue, so I know you’d miss me.”
There’s a squeaky laugh from behind one of the shelves and as your attention shifts to the sound, a young man with dusty pink hair pokes his head up. He must be rather tall if he’s able to look over the aisles. You quirk an eyebrow at his strange laughter and wonder what kind of stranger could be so entertained by the pair of you.
“Sorry. It’s just…” He holds up a card that neither of you can really make out at this distance. “On the front it says ‘It’s Your Birthday?’ and inside it says ‘Alpaca my party hat!’. Ha! And there’s this pop-up of the alpaca with a bandana and party hat.” He giggles again as he opens and closes the card a few times and waves his hand. “Sorry. Sorry. You can continue flirting now.”
“This is not—” Your breath catches in your throat and you have to take a moment to swallow down your embarrassment before turning back towards Yoongi. “Can you believe this guy?”
He’s in the middle of taking a bite from a half-eaten muffin when your eyes meet his guilty ones. Your jaw falls open as he slowly chews and rings you up, placing the remainder of the pastry back down on the counter.
“You took the last one?”
“I had a craving.” He shrugs.
“You knew I would want it and you took it so I couldn’t have it,” you guess in a playful tone. “Was your aim to make me suffer double today? You’re so cruel, Yoongi.”
He pauses to poke his tongue against his cheek as he handles your change. “It’s not like I planned it. Don’t make me out to be some bad guy.”
“Bad guy. Tch. No, I wouldn’t go that far.” You lean forward, planting your hands on the counter and ensuring a clear sightline into your shirt. “I think you just like getting under my skin.”
He bristles at your words, taking the bait and dropping his gaze to the lace exposed for his eyes. He licks his lips and lazily lets his eyes drift back to your face, his expression unreadable. “Maybe that’s true.”
You cock your head and smirk as you stand up straight, your ego slightly inflated. “Is it really so hard to be nice to me? I’m nice to you.”
“Hah!” He breaks into an amused grin. “When?”
You’re taken aback by his response. Surely you’ve been obvious with your infatuation up to this point. You scoff. “Wha- All the time!”
His brows furrow and he crosses his arms with the change still trapped in his palm. “So complaining is a form of politeness now? Then I should be grateful for how often you shower me with kindness.”
“You know I do more than complain! I complain because you complain to me!” you pout, pointing your finger at him. “Maybe we could talk about something meaningful if you ever cared enough to ask.”
His eyebrows raise with the pitch of your voice. It’s not a big deal. This is stupid. You’re overreacting because you like him. You know he’s fucking with you so why is your face still getting hot? Even if he’s joking, he’s planted the seed in your mind that he sees you as a grumpy customer. He’s clearly never thought of you as anything but a negative start to his day. You’ve seen him be sweet but right now he feels as bitter and cold as the coffee he drinks.
“What do you think of this?” the pink-haired stranger asks, donning a pair of thick black frames with orange-tinted lenses.
The man cuts the tension from the room for a brief moment. Yoongi stares at him, his lip curled up in disgust as he slowly shakes his head. When his eyes travel back to yours they seem full of apprehension. Your name rolls off his tongue as though it’s an apology.
“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me. Just give me my change,” you grumble, reaching up for his palm.
His grip is impossible to penetrate. He smiles as you struggle to work your fingers beneath his, shaking his head like you’ve revealed some embarrassing secret. Heat builds in your face the longer you stand there fidgeting with his hand. You feel like a fool.
“You’re obnoxious. Let me count it out first,” Yoongi sneers while trying to pull his hand back.
“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes and yank his hand towards you. “I don’t need you to count it.”
“You know what I think you need?”
The other customer leans beside the counter, a new pair of glasses on his face that are twice as hideous as the first pair. As you turn to look at the stranger you can see the pair of you reflected in hues of red and yellow in those disturbingly 90s opaque lenses. It almost looks like you’re holding hands. You stiffen at the sight but keep your fingers locked against Yoongi’s calloused ones as you focus on the pricetag dangling across the man’s nose.
The stranger slowly moves a closed fist above the place where your hand and Yoongi’s meet. He waits a few seconds until you’re both focused on his hand before a flash of silver falls from his palm. You almost mistake the shapes for identical necklaces until they untangle and rotate to reveal two halves that form a heart.
The fluorescent lights of the store highlight the engraved text on each. One says ‘BEST’ while the other half reads ‘FRIENDS’. The faux-metal irritates your neck the moment you think about it touching your skin. The chains appear fragile and cheap, like they might break at the slightest amount of tension. If this guy thinks you’re going to take these he must be delusional.
You exchange a quizzical look with Yoongi as the necklaces dangle between you. He’s distracted enough that you’re able to pry your change from his sweaty palm.
“Uh. No thanks,” you say, shoving the coins in your pocket before grabbing your croissant. You take a moment to regard Yoongi with a scowl, cocking your head to the side. “See you, Grandpa.”
The stone in his gut sinks as he watches you leave but he forces his attention to the pink haired stranger in the obscenely reflective glasses.
“You know, I think she likes you,” he whispers with a wink.
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It’s been a long day but at least you don’t have to go out tomorrow. You’ve already changed into your favorite pair of comfy shorts but as you move to unbutton your work shirt something smacks against your chest. Did something get trapped in your cleavage?
“What the fuck?”
As you look down your stomach does a somersault. There’s a necklace draped around your neck with a half-broken heart pendant, etched with the word ‘BEST’. How did that guy sneak this ugly thing onto you? How did you not feel it until now? Maybe he’s some sort of street magician. Your shock is accompanied by a chuckle as you reach behind your neck to fidget with the clasp. Spinning the chain between your fingertips, you soon realize there isn’t one. This thing feels like a dollar store trinket, so you curl your fingers around the charm and pull down with all of your might. It remains secure around your neck no matter how hard you tug.
Your mind begins to break into a panic. What the fuck? What the fuck. What. The actual. Fuck.
You quickly throw on a pair of sneakers and nab the keys hanging near the door on your way out of the apartment. It's hard to believe the speed at which your feet carry you down the several flights of stairs. A couple scrambles out of the way as they watch your frenzied descent. Before long you're pressing the entirety of your body against the familiar door of the convenience store across the street.
The clerk looks up from his phone, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise as you stumble past the threshold. Your body nearly folds in half as you plant your hands on your knees and struggle to catch your breath.
"Are you alright?"
You force yourself to stand up straight to address the man standing behind the counter. The word is devoid of conviction as it leaves your mouth. "Yeah."
You know him as Tae, one of Yoongi's part-time employees. Yoongi offered him a job when he heard him say he was looking for work to supplement his endeavors to put himself through art school. You’ve seen him a lot, spoken a little here and there, and he even knows you by name now. If he's here, it's probable that his boss is not. You sigh loudly in an attempt to relieve some of the panic and frustration built up in your brain. It's not like you can just ask Tae to give you Yoongi’s number.
Tae’s wide-eyed stare indicates his concern for your well being but it’s not until he drags his gaze across your body and purses his lips that you feel something is amiss. It's at this point that you realize how much the air conditioner billows the fabric of your work shirt. Goosebumps form along your calves as all of the blood in your body rushes to your face. You quickly cross your arms over your chest to conceal the half-unbuttoned shirt and the bra that pokes out from beneath it. There’s little you can do to cover the expanse of your legs while wearing such form-fitting shorts.
“I was just… checking to see if you have any Hot6,” you say with barely a glance in the direction of the refrigerator section. “But it’s clear you’re still out.”
Tae raises his eyebrows and grants you a subtle, uncertain nod as your eyes settle on the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’
“Is your boss here?” you blurt, reaching for the chain around your neck. “I’ve got a—”
Your stomach drops. It’s gone. Both of your hands instinctively smack at your collarbones, like frantically patting against your flesh will cause the necklace to reappear. You hold your shirt open wide enough to peer down at the skin of your chest with a concentrated gaze, eyes begging for any trace of the tacky piece of jewelry to resurface. Was it really just a figment of your imagination? You swear it was there. You felt it. You pulled on it. It had to be real.
You swallow hard and quickly bounce your eyes to the uncomfortable-looking cashier. All you can offer is a weak chuckle as you try to play it off by shaking out your shirt. “Sorry… I thought there was a bug."
There's an awkward, heavy silence between you as he nods with pursed lips. There's no way this poor guy believes your delusional ass. "Bossman's gone for tonight. Seemed kinda beat."
"Oh."
Your eyes settle on the countertop as your brain tries to rationalize what kind of unresolved issues at work are causing your mental breakdown. You stand there while spacing out, barely blinking. You can't believe you imagined that. Not knowing what to do, Tae walks his fingers towards the miniature cans of Red Bull stacked on the counter. He gracefully sweeps his hand around a can and offers it to you. That breaks you from your daze.
"It kinda tastes the same." He attempts to cut the tension with an endearingly awkward, close-mouthed smile. "My treat?"
If it were Yoongi saying such a thing you might scowl and tell him that he must be delusional if he thinks they're the same. Tae is a much kinder soul. You find yourself softening at his suggestion and shake your head.
"You know I should probably lay off the energy drinks now that I think about it," you say. "Have a good night, Tae."
"Goodnight, Y/N!" he calls after you as you wander back through the door. He leans over the counter. "Oh, hey wait! Do you want me to let bossman know you were looking for him?"
"It's fine!" you shout back on autopilot. You're already sinking into a pool of your own thoughts as the door closes behind you.
It was not fine.
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Sleep does not come easy despite your exhaustion. You find yourself tossing and turning all night. When the light begins to stream through your blinds it seems to strike at the perfect angle to blind your fluttering eyes. You pull the blankets up over your head even though you know it’s of no use; you’re already awake and there’s no going back to sleep now.
You stretch out with a yawn as you sleepily shuffle from the bed to the tiny bathroom around the corner of your room. It’s easy to apply toothpaste to your toothbrush on autopilot, taking a moment to rub your knuckles against an eye before glancing up towards the mirror. How bad is the bedhead today?
The sight that greets you causes you to drop your toothbrush in the sink and stumble back out of the doorway. Your fingers grip the frame to keep you on your feet, your attention quickly drawn to the thick digits situated there. As you force yourself forward, you support yourself with one hand on the counter and bring the other up for inspection. The foreign hand trembles as you turn it back and forth while trying to catch the breath that keeps running away from you. Anxiety sinks its teeth deeper into your lungs, causing a puncture that has you gasping for air.
Calluses adorn your fingertips, accompanied by scratches and scars from moments you've never experienced. Your nails are jagged and short, devoid of the pleasing pink color you applied to them two days ago. You dread the journey your eyes threaten to make towards the mirror once again but you find that you are unable to stop them. The face staring back at you with saucer-wide eyes is none other than Min Yoongi.
Your head feels light. This face is fake. You gasp for the air you can't seem to get enough of and stumble out of the bathroom. The walls seem to wobble in place as you race towards the living room where you can feel the breeze flowing through the window you left open last night. This world is fake. Nothing is real. Air will fix this. If you could just breathe like a normal person everything would be okay.
You fall to your knees within spitting distance of the window. For all the air your body greedily sucks inward, your mind feels bereft of any. Your vision goes dark.
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Yoongi does his best to make his way up the stairs with poise, but he's almost sure it looks like a waddle more than anything. His thighs --your thighs-- are chafing from the run here and each step is a painful reminder of the irritated flesh still rubbing together beneath these sweatpants. At least one of your neighbors was kind enough to let him into the main entrance. They must have recognized the face he mysteriously woke up with. Luckily your mailbox has your last name on it and as much as you might disagree he does pay attention when you talk.
He tries to wipe the sweat from his brow as he bends down to plant his hands on his knees. Even as his breath recovers, he grows increasingly frustrated with how heavy his chest feels. He repeatedly pushes the hair from his face with a groan, wishing he had taken the scissors to it when he had the opportunity earlier. He takes off the cap atop his head, runs his fingers through his hair, and places it back on his head. Everything is too much. You need to fix this. Take it back.
The faster he tries to ascend the stairs, the more he aches. He finally gives up on looking civil when he decides there's no one else in the stairwell to judge him. After all they'll only remember you anyway so what does it matter? He rolls the sweatpants up above his knees and cups the breasts hidden beneath the oversized sweater for support as he scrambles up the last few floors.
He grimaces at the dainty pink fingernails before curling his hand into a fist and rapping his knuckles against your door. He puffs his cheeks out and expels a long breath. What could you possibly be doing? You have to be in there. He tries the handle to no avail. Are you still asleep? He quickly abandons the need for subtlety and places both palms on the door and drums loudly against it. The sound of the deadbolt unlocking tells him he shouldn't hesitate. He's through the door before you can even properly get off your knees.
Somehow you knew what would be waiting for you on the other side. The sight before you has your mind reeling. That's your body, but it's not you. Could it really be Yoongi? You did not get Freaky-Friday'd with him. There's no fucking way this is reality. You can feel yourself panicking again as you back away from the figure, falling back on your ass. You watch yourself look down at you with a look of disgust.
"What are you doing?" That's definitely your voice.
Your body takes slow steps towards you as it crosses one arm over the other. You lean back on your elbows and groan. It's a deep sound, deeper than anything that's come from your throat even on your sickest day. This isn’t happening.
"Oh my god. I'm fucking dying," you murmur while tilting your head towards the ceiling. "Everything is fake. Nothing is real. I’m going crazy. Please let me rot."
The figure bends down and leans over into your field of vision. The image of your face frowns back at you and pokes you in the chest with a pointed fingernail.
“Stop that.”
“I can’t,” you whine between heavy breaths. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out again.
“Y/N. Look at me.”
Those perfectly manicured hands reach out for your shoulders in comfort but you fall flat on your back and your arm flies up to cover your eyes.Tears sting at them as reality warbles around you again. Seeing your own face hovering above you definitely isn’t helping you feel more sane.
"I don't know what's happening," you sob.
With each breath you suck between your quivering lips, your chest aches. Suddenly that pair of hands is cupping your jaw and pushing your arm aside. You look into the eyes you are already so familiar with, but they seem far more caring than you’ve ever managed to display.
"We need to undo whatever is happening right now," he says calmly. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to tell me you're okay. But I need you to sit up and pull yourself together long enough to help me figure this out. Can you do that?"
You swallow hard and nod slowly as you take the hand offered to you. A half-smirk appears on his lips; it's strange to see yourself reflected with such warmth, especially knowing it's coming from Yoongi.
"Good. Now please go change. I can't look at those shorts anymore.”
You look down at your attire for the first time and realize how absurd Yoongi’s body looks in the clothing you wore to bed. The skimpy tank top clings to the muscular, flat chest you now possess. Worse still, you can see bits of flesh poking out against that hairy inner thigh below. You squeeze your eyes shut and pretend like you can forget what you just saw sticking out of your shorts.
You take a deep breath as your face burns with embarrassment. “Okay. Give me your pants.”
He stiffens at your demand and scoffs. “What?”
“I don’t have anything that will fit you— er, I mean, me. Us?” You gesture at your body and stare at the floor, trying to will yourself to not dissociate. “This. You can’t be comfortable either.”
There’s a sigh before he plops down on your couch with legs spread wide open. “My back hurts and my thighs rubbed together so much I don’t want to move anymore.”
You can’t help but laugh at the admission. At least he feels your pain. He looks up at you while reclining his head on the cushion behind him. You’re not hyperventilating anymore so distraction seems to be the key to keeping you relatively calm.
“Why you, of all people?” he wonders.
You roll your eyes and stomp across the room and disappear into your bedroom. “Hmph. I was about to ask you the same thing. This is bullshit.”
You come back with a handful of carefully selected clothes and strappy undergarments that you know for a fact flatter your shape. If he has to walk around in your skin the least he can do is make it look good. You pause halfway down the hall and swallow hard as it dawns on you that he’s going to have to get naked in order to change, which means he’s unavoidably going to be looking at your body without any barriers. You decide you’re going to be strong and you simply won’t think about it or acknowledge it as a possibility.
He’s busy chewing one of your nails when you reach the living room again. You hug the clothes close to your chest and storm across the room.
“Do you bite your nails?! Ew! God, no wonder yours are so jagged and gross,” you complain, thrusting the clothes into his lap.
He offers an apologetic look before glancing down at the attire you’ve supplied with raised eyebrows. He picks up the bra with one finger and grimaces at the way it dangles off his digit. He’s looking up at you with pleading eyes shortly after it falls back in his lap. It’s hard to avoid his gaze. You feel those pupils boring into your skull as you dart your eyes away to focus on the floor.
You clear your throat and muster every last bit of courage you possess. “Um… Your clothes, please?”
He inhales loudly through his nose and you watch the grey sweatpants pool around the toenails you just painted last night. You swallow hard and scramble to pick them up when they slide across the wooden floor to you. You clutch them to your chest, quickly catching the scent of your sweat and arousal on them. Maybe he hasn’t noticed? Trying to suppress the mortification growing in your chest, you purse your lips and trail your gaze back up to his face--your face. Thankfully the hoodie covers your sex and you’re hoping he hasn’t bothered taking a peek before coming here.
“Don’t… Don’t look,” you plead. So much for not acknowledging it.
He’s feeding his arm through one of the sleeves when he freezes in place and locks eyes with you. “I should tell you I woke up shirtless,” he mumbles. As if to lessen the blow of his admission, he continues with a pout, “But you can’t blame me for looking. It’s hard not to look at a pair of perfect tits that mysteriously appear in the middle of the night. What was I supposed to do?”
Perfect tits? You’d almost be flattered if it wasn’t so fucking morifying to know he’s already seen you. Your eyes screw shut and you nod. “Right.”
This is fine. This is absolutely fine.
“Hey,” he calls softly, prodding you to open your eyes. “Here.”
He keeps eye contact with you while feeding his other arm through the sleeve. Watching yourself strip without performing the act is bizarre. He holds the sweater out for you to slowly take. It eases your mind to see his gaze never wavered. Yours drops to the nude form before you and suddenly you’re criticizing every curve and flaw you can find. It’s as though you’re simply standing before a mirror and feeding your insecurity with needless scrutiny. Despite this, Yoongi remains focused on your face and the discomfort you display so openly at seeing your own form stripped bare. Almost bare. That beat-up baseball cap he wears every day now adorns your head like a crown for your mediocrity.
You spin on your heels and speedwalk down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”
It’s hard to ignore the new appendage you’ve acquired but you make sure to shut your eyes while peeling the shorts from your thighs and sliding the sweatpants up in their stead. While you rushed through the bottom half of your attire, you stop for a minute to inspect Yoongi’s bare pectorals. It’s all too easy to get lost in the sight of his body in the mirror. You subconsciously lick your lips and run your fingers across your flat, hard chest.
Your thumb circles a brown nipple and you watch with satisfaction as it grows hard at your touch. Your palms press down over your stomach, feeling the muscles hidden just below the surface of soft flesh. You grab at your hips, fingers threatening to dart below the band of your pants. Instead you suck air in through your nose and scold yourself for such weakness. You’re about to tug the sweater over your head when Yoongi silently enters and flops down on the bed face-first.
“Yoongi? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!” you shriek in your haste to cover up your own moment of weakness.
There’s a muffled response spoken into the mattress that you can’t quite understand.
"What?" Annoyance is a front for your embarrassment.
He turns his head to one side and sighs. "There are too many straps. Why did you pick such a difficult one?"
You definitely selected something with a lot of extra straps for a reason but you bite your lip and try to come up with an excuse that seems plausible. The truth is that you wanted to pick something sexy because you wanted him to see you as such. Does he care though? It's hard to tell. You decide the best excuse is to dismiss the question altogether.
"Stop being such a baby. I'll help you."
As he lifts his head to cringe in your direction, you're already out the door. He pounds his forehead against the mattress again and squeezes his eyes shut. There's clearly no logical explanation for this, so what is the next step to take? What should the pair of you do? Is this permanent? There has to be a way to undo whatever has happened. In order to figure that out he's trying to piece together the source of this predicament. No matter how hard he wracks his brain for answers to the puzzle, there still seems to be pieces missing.
"Get up. Come on," you huff, tugging at his arm.
The sound he makes is pitiful and whiny as he rises. It's easy enough to see where his arms are supposed to go when you've already bunched all of the material together. You step behind him and fiddle with the fit around the familiar mounds of flesh at his front. He instinctively looks down to watch how his own familiar fingers slide beneath the bra. He pries his eyes away just as quickly to find he has a much better view of the pair of you in the mirror.
There's a sight he'd never thought he'd see: both of you shirtless with his hands in your bra. It's not that he's never wanted it. It's just that he always seems to fuck it up when it comes to being social, with you in particular. Maybe it's because he likes you too much. There's never been a proper opportunity to make a move outside of work and he knows his flirting skills are abysmal. But looking at the reflection of the pair of you now fills him with equal amounts of desire and confidence.
Just as you’re about to clasp the first strap behind his neck you glance up and find yourself lost in the same reflection. An electric blush creeps up your spine and causes a tingle in your cheeks that makes you freeze like a deer caught in headlights. He hums a soft sound and makes the decision to reach back for your wrist. For a moment you’re not sure if you’re moving or if he is but you find yourself enjoying the sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers dipping below the fabric of your bra.
“Yoongi?” you ask, jaw hanging slack as the bra slips a bit further down.
“Do you feel that?” The voice is quiet as he lets you trace fingers along the soft skin. “It pinches there.”
That pinch is a familiar one but you always tell yourself that’s the price of beauty. The straps chafe. The underwire digs into your ribs. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s the sexiest-looking thing you own so comfort be damned. You watch it slide further down to reveal one of your nipples in the reflection of the mirror; it’s impossible to look away. So much for him not looking anymore. You can’t blame him because it’s impossible for you to take your eyes off it too. The sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers trailing along the side of your breast sends a surge of excitement through your veins.
Goosebumps form a path where your fingers have traced and Yoongi exhales a shaky breath. The sound makes you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. Is he feeling just as turned on right now? You try to remind yourself that the mirror is a lie. He’s not touching you. You’re touching him, regardless of how it looks. You can’t let your feelings cloud your judgement. It’s so fucking hard to think straight now that you’re together like this, not just because he’s here in your room but because he’s experiencing the unique arousal of his body while trapped in yours.
“Being a girl sucks. What am I supposed to do about it?” Your fingers tremble as you force your eyes to meet his in the mirror.
The action does not go unnoticed. He smirks and quirks a brow but chooses to let it slide without commenting. “Give me something easy and comfy.”
“But—” You hesitate. Do you really need to argue about this? You can’t explain it without admitting your feelings towards him. It seems like an inopportune time, more so than usual. It’s better if you can just shut the fuck up for two seconds and work on the important task at hand: figuring out how to get back to normal.
He immediately fills the gap with an objection of his own. “Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” you say in the flattest tone you can muster.
He turns around to get a better read on your body language but you’re already rummaging through your drawers. You toss a sports bra with a front-facing zipper at him while you don the sweater and slip into the bathroom to relieve yourself. It’s best to avoid situations like that again if you can.
Yoongi takes this moment to inspect the room, crinkling his nose at the several empty cans of Hot6 stacked on top of your dresser. He brings a long manicured nail to his teeth and begins working it back and forth as he slides the folding closet door open with a finger. Much to his surprise your wardrobe is filled with t-shirts that look much more comfortable than the piece you previously selected. He’s quick to trade shirts and carefully replaces the clothing on the hanger before sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning back on his elbows. Comfy. Finally. His attention is drawn to the closed bathroom door. It’s been a while. Are you okay?
“You better not be passed out in there,” he whines, making sure to sound extra annoying for you.
The attempt to conceal the concern in his tone is successful but he’s happy you’re not able to see his worried expression. If you knew how badly he wants to freak out, you might actually start hyperventilating again. He’d like to avoid that. The door swings open and you exhale deeply. You’re not about to tell him you had to wait out the boner because then he’d probably make fun of you. He watches you take a few steps forward while wedging a nail between his teeth.
“Are you biting my fucking nails again?”
“Yup.”
You’re already scrambling across the bed and by the time he moves to shuffle backwards you have his wrists pinned against your soft comforter and you’re straddling his waist. Oh god. This is too fucking hot to be doing with him while he’s in your body. Abort. Abort!
It’s now that you note he’s wearing a soft cotton t-shirt you definitely did not pick out. “Yoongi, did you—”
“These clothes are better. Did you give me the most uncomfortable things you own just to make me suffer for stealing your muffin?”
Between the sports bra and the t-shirt he’s selected the curves of your body are lost to your eyes and your heart sinks. There goes any chance you had of him thinking your body is sexy. He’s expecting a tongue lashing but you sigh instead and release your hold on him, quickly climbing off his form before you can let your body get you into trouble. You search for the laptop that you know is hidden just beneath the covers near your pillows.
“Pfft. Look, maybe we can google what happened to us and not get Freaky Friday movie reviews. You wanna see if it works?”
He offers a half smirk in response and he’s quiet only for a second before he hums a sound of distaste. It’s an accusation and you know it. He quickly scoots back towards the pillows so he can sit beside you.
You scowl as you mistype your own password. “Ugh. What?”
“I’m just wondering why you’re so mad.”
“I’m not.”
You make sure to broadcast the fact that you’re definitely not mad by repeatedly tapping the delete key in a slow, deliberate motion.
“Why does your face look like that then?” he prods while folding his hands across his lap.
“Like what? You of all people should know that your face always looks this grumpy.”
As he rests his head against the fluffy material behind him, he lazily rolls his head towards you. “Y/N.”
You dramatically throw your head back against the pillows and mirror his stare. “Yoongi.”
“What is it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you mumble.
“It clearly does,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “We have to work together to figure this out, so some honesty might be nice.”
You open the laptop and stare at the password screen for a moment with a longing sigh. “Fine. I look gross in those,” you admit with a brief glance at his attire. “You’re making me look like an unsexy blob.”
He scoffs. “What? Is that all? You’re being ridiculous. These clothes don’t matter at all. We both know what you look like underneath them. Honestly, you could be wearing a trashbag and still be sexy.”
“To whom?” You want to laugh at how absurd his explanation sounds. “What kind of lunatic would think that?”
He blinks slowly and raises his eyebrows with a calculated clench of his jaw. “Me. For starters.”
He’s stiff as he purses his lips and crosses his arms. He stares at the login screen, waiting for you to type your password. “And any sane man or woman with a pair of eyes and a brain.”
Your mouth falls open in disbelief mid-stroke. Was that a confession? Your head might as well be full of helium with how high you’re feeling. This has to be a dream. If the insane concept of switching bodies with Yoongi isn’t enough to solidify it, those words sure are. You have to be dreaming.
Your eyes remain locked onto the fingers now resting against the keys. “Do you really think that?”
“Yes.” The response comes quicker than expected but instead of giving you time to ruminate on it, he nudges you with his elbow. “Password.”
Your shoulders lift with a deep inhale through your nose and drop back down with the subsequent forceful exhale through your lips. What are you supposed to do with that information? You feel your consciousness try to lift into the aether. If you could only make it float back into your own body, you might have the courage to say something, anything. With your mind drifting away, your fingers move of their own accord as they type in the password to your laptop.
"Whoa, what the fuck is that?"
The video you'd left open last night starts up with a preview that brings you back to reality, but not fast enough.
"D-Don't look! It's private!" you screech.
Heat pulses through the veins along the sides of your forehead. Precious seconds have already been wasted by the time you frantically scramble to close the tab. He's seen the keywords in the search bar and the nastiest bits of that particular video. You're fucking mortified.
“I mean that’s definitely a couple privates," he jokes with a laugh. "You seriously just leave your porn out like that?"
”Incognito mode, Yoongi," you sneer while pulling up a new tab. "I don’t need you or my FBI guy judging me.”
He snorts. “Oh come on, Y/N. The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences. And neither do I. Besides, you technically looked at it with my eyes already.”
He taps the side of your forehead gently as if you needed the reminder that you're not in your own skin and you swat him away. You quickly type the phrase “body swap” into the search bar and try to focus on the resulting web pages even though you’re distracted by the blood leaving your brain in favor of other body parts.
"Can you just… Shut up for one second?"
"Hey, I'm just saying..." He clicks his tongue thoughtfully as he scooches closer to you. "You’re into some good stuff. We might have more in common than I thought."
Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the physical contact and send a tingling electricity down your abdomen. You clear your throat and reposition the computer over your lap as you feel yourself growing harder. You stare down at the two fingers settled on the trackpad rather than the information on screen. Try as you might to remain inconspicuous, suddenly all you can think about are those thick fingers rubbing hard circles against your clit while the two of you watch porn together. Bad thought. Baaaaaad. You attempt to pass the laptop over to him as discreetly as possible while shifting your pelvis away towards the edge of the bed.
“I’m…” You flounder for an excuse to leave the room and get these racing hormones under control. “...pee.”
“What?” There's a quizzical expression branded upon his features that toes the line of disgust.
“I have to pee,” you quickly correct while tactically holding your forearm over your lap. If there is such a thing as fate, why is it torturing you like this?
“Again?”
You push the laptop towards him once more and pray that he’ll just let you go be embarrassed alone in the bathroom for five minutes. Instead he looks down at the way your forearms cross your pelvis and exudes a deep, throaty laugh that sounds foreign in the tenor of your voice. That laughter travels through your head like it’s made of hot coals.
“Wow. Got a boner, huh?”
Your cheeks are made of fire. Literal fire. They feel like they should melt straight through your skin and torch your brain yet here you are: still alive and wishing you would burn to death. God is dead. There is no mercy in this universe.
"Don't fucking laugh at me! I can't control it!"
When he laughs harder, the urge to silence him overtakes all rational thought. You reach for a lock of hair sticking out from beneath his cap and pull hard. He hisses through his teeth and you smirk, knowing what kind of response this would normally elicit from your body. Will it affect him the same, or is the sexual response guided by mental preference rather than physical? Maybe it’s both. It seems to have some effect because he’s stopped laughing.
Yoongi shivers as goosebumps riddle his arms and prickle along his chest until his nipples are threatening to poke holes through the thin fabric of the bra and t-shirt. His jaw tightens and on instinct his hand shoots up to grasp at the short black hair adorning your head in retaliation. He catches himself before he pursues the motion of yanking down. What is he doing? Can he really be so bold with you? He knows you, but not like this. Things are strange right now but if he keeps going they're bound to get stranger. If the butterflies in his stomach weren't enough to tip him off to his attraction to you, even like this, the wetness between these thighs solidifies the magnetism you hold over him.
A pitiful sound escapes your lips that hints at your disappointment. “Mmm?"
He pauses there to inspect your expression, tilting his head as though it will give him a better read. He should be able to interpret his own expression but looking at his face through your eyes doesn't seem to help at all. Because he's studied your features for so long it's hard to see what you're feeling now that he can't see them at work. His palm flattens against your scalp and he allows his fingers to wander through the thick black hair he's combed out a million times. Somehow it feels softer in your hands. Soon he finds his hand cupping the back of your neck. Labored breaths swim in the space between the pair of you, but it's hard to tell who they belong to.
"What are you doing?" you whisper as your fingers reach for the brim of his cap.
"What are you doing?" he echoes back.
Have your eyes always looked so fierce, or is it his persona breathing a dark fire into them now? You flick the cap off his head, which releases all the hair he had trapped underneath it. You push it back from his face and tangle your fingers within it.
"Pretending like this isn't just you wanting to make out with yourself to see what it's like," you answer, staring at the reflection in his eyes. "You?"
There's a smirk that grows into a full blown grin within seconds. "Trying to convince myself that it isn't insane to want to make out with myself just to see what it's like."
You scoff and drop your hands to his shoulders to give him a firm push back. "Dick."
He giggles at the way you pout and halfheartedly pushes the laptop towards the other side of the bed. The hand still on the back of your neck travels up to massage your scalp and suddenly you're putty in his palm. His other hand trails along your stubbly jaw until his fingers are nestled behind your ear. As he glances down at the tent in your pants he laughs.
"Still hard?"
"Like your nipples," you grumble.
You reach out and twist the peaks barely hidden beneath his shirt; it's an impulse you don't refuse. This time he moans.
"Oh, you liked that, hmm? I bet you're so fucking wet right now," you whisper, embracing your boldness.
You watch his eyes roll with the flutter of his lashes at your words. Both of his hands glide through your hair and he begins to flex his fingers around some strands. He alternates between releasing his gentle grip on your locks and twisting his fingers back into them. You’re making him crazy. Should he even bother trying to compose himself at this point?
“What?” you prod, pushing the limits of his endurance for such brattiness. “Aren’t you going to pull my hair, Yoongi?”
The way he glares at you causes your skin to break out in a series of goosebumps. How can you be shivering when your body was just doing its best impression of molten rock? Yoongi. That’s the answer. You whimper a pathetic sound as his knuckles curl towards your scalp. The motion brings your forehead down to meet his and your eyelids flutter closed. He focuses heavy breaths out through his nose and stares at the lips he knows are his own. They may be part of his usual physical appearance but right now they’re a part of yours.
“You’re so fucking obnoxious.”
He sucks his bottom lip through his teeth and moves towards you before he can second guess what he's about to do. His lips seem to meld with yours and your eyes pop open to be sure this is really happening. Is this really happening? You see your own nose and heavy lidded eyes peeking open just enough to roll back in pleasure.
The hands buried in your hair drop to cradle your jaw and you can feel the stubble scraping against the delicate skin of his fingers as he drags his hands slowly towards your chin. You melt into his touch and hold your breath like you'll never inhale another again. Suddenly you're kissing him back and no amount of lightheadedness can stop you.
Oh shit. This is happening. It’s not anything like your daydreams but it’s real and it feels so fucking good. It feels surreal. It feels too surreal. Maybe the lightheadedness can stop you. It's you, but it's not. Your eyes open again and you find a battle of anxiety raging in your brain. He pauses to peck the edge of your mouth when he realizes you're no longer kissing him back.
"What are you doing?" he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “Did I… read that wrong?”
“No! No, I’ve wanted to do that for a while. It’s just…” A laugh bubbles from your throat and you shake your head before bursting into a fit of giggles. “This is weird.”
Relief washes over his features and he smiles as he leans back to look at you. “It’s definitely unique. But I can’t say I want to stop.”
His admission fills you with a fresh wave of tingles up your spine. “Me neither. I… still want you.”
You sheepishly turn your head to the side and find the mirror lining the closet wall, looking at the image of the pair of you as if it will save you from the embarrassment of your own words.
"What? Now you're getting shy?" he teases while following you gaze to the reflection. It dawns on him that he can enjoy the view. "Or do you just want to watch?"
He moves towards your lips slowly while keeping focused on the mirror, watching your eyes lazily roll back behind your lids and revelling in the whine this pulls from you.
“Look,” he pleads in low whisper, angling your body so you can get a better view. “Look how good you look with your tongue on my neck.”
Your head lolls around just in time to see exactly that before the sensation snaps across your nerve endings. He latches on, sucking light bruises into the tender flesh. He knows where to put his tongue to have you gripping the back of his neck and arching your back up towards him. He smirks as he glances at the mirror, licking a hot stripe up to your ear where he teasingly nibbles on the lobe.
"Does it look as hot when I--when you...?" You flounder on your words in between soft pants, your eyes trained on the reflection.
He counters with a whisper, “Do you want to find out?”
“I’m… curious,” you admit, leaning your head back to give him access to more of your neck.
“You want to know how it feels,” he lazily mumbles against your neck. “Hmm. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it.”
“It’s a unique opportunity,” you say, trying to convince yourself that proposing the idea isn’t weird at all. “Maybe we just… See?”
“Right. This is a unique opportunity,” he echoes in agreement, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His voice is muffled as he sighs a heated breath against your skin. “We should take advantage of it.”
“I mean, as long as you don’t tell anyone.”
He pops his head up to look at you, his brows knotted in confusion. “Who would believe me?”
You shake your head and smirk. “I guess you’re right.”
There’s a moment where the concept of time seems to evaporate. You both stare at each other like you’re seeing your own faces for the first time, like it’s the first time you both can actually love and accept yourselves as you are. It’s easier to be gentle with someone else, but now that someone else is technically also a part of you it brings a level of clemency to your feelings regarding your appearance. You like yourself better now that you can see a part of him there.
“Will you show me how you like it?” he asks with a tilt of his head.
“If you show me, too,” you say with a gentle rock of your hips towards him.
“You first.”
Your mouth is already covering the soft expanse of his neck, dragging your teeth with just enough pressure to tease the skin. He watches you work up and down through the mirror, feeling the arousal between his legs building. As you're kissing a path back towards his mouth he takes a chance and swings his leg over your midriff so he's kneeling just above the throbbing cock hidden beneath the thin layer of gray fabric. The jeans dig a hard line into his stomach and limit the range of his spread.
"These pants are horrible," he complains.
"Take them off if you hate them so much," you agree between hungry kisses. It's impossible to keep your eyes from the mirror. He hooks his fingers beneath your sweater and begins working it upwards, stopping only to rest a palm on your chest.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He trails his fingers down the flat expanse until he gets to your navel, passing over the dark hair leading down into your pants. He tugs at the place where the hair begins to grow thicker and laughs when you hiss an expletive.
He quickly pulls the oversized sweater upwards. Instead of helping you out of it, he clutches the fabric with both hands as you bring your arms above your head and presses you back into the mattress. You find your bent elbows trapped in the sleeves.
“How about this?” he whispers. “Do you like this?”
“Yes.” You look down at the delicious pectorals he’s exposed, practically salivating at the sight of those pert nipples. “Yoongi, please.”
He smirks as he runs his fingers down your chest, ignoring the nipples you wish he would do something about. Lower. Lower. His hand travels behind him until suddenly your body spasms with pleasure from the practiced grip he’s placed on the cock standing at attention behind him.
“This? Does it feel good when I touch you like this?”
“Fuck! Yes. Please. Yes!”
Just as quickly as his hand pressed against your clothed erection, it’s gone, leaving you a whimpering mess. He plants a kiss beside one of your nipples, but denies it any direct contact.
"Stop teasing me," you whine. The pressure in your chest builds with every second that passes and you feel like your heart is going to burst.
He lets out a lofty sigh as he sits back on his thighs, promptly removing his t-shirt. "But you make it so easy..."
You wiggle out of the arms of the sweater and sit up to unsnap the button to his jeans. You kiss up his stomach until he’s unzipping the bra and letting you nip at the supple flesh for a moment. He discards the bra like it’s nothing before rolling over to unzip his pants. He peels them from his legs along with the soaked panties. It’s hard to not look at the mirror as he climbs over your waist. If he holds any shame for being nude in front of you, it’s not apparent in his current form. Your face, however, feels hot. Your body is exposed and he keeps looking at it, groping those breasts with his hands.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, admiring the reflection as he plays with his nipples between his fingers.
You want to bury your face in something to hide your embarrassment so you plant your face between his tits and begin to suck bruises into the soft flesh beside his fingers.
“Oh fuck.” The sight of his own face diving between those squishy tits is enough to make his body involuntarily flex in ways he’s never experienced before.
“How does it feel?” you murmur, slowly licking a path to one of his nipples and lightly dragging your teeth along it.
The sound he makes when he moans has you shivering all over again. He lets his head fall back for a second and then he looks at you. “Like I want you to touch me.”
Now you’re the one who smirks with confidence. “Lay back.”
He snaps the band at your waist as he rolls off of you. “These. Off.”
Manicured fingers slip down to rub some of the tension from the swollen bud between his legs as he watches you awkwardly push the pants down past the cock begging to be touched. You try to avoid looking at it. It’s hard not to feel exposed even though it’s not your body. You scramble back into the bed as quickly as you can. His laughter catches you off guard.
“You’re so shy now. Look at it. Feel it,” he urges. “Grab my cock.”
You try to be casual about your downward glance but the way you lick your lips is anything but casual. You press your thumb into the base of the cock to admire its shape from a 90 degree angle. It’s average in terms of length but your mouth waters at the sight of the bulging veins and increased girth just below the swollen tip. You don’t bother to resist the urge to grip the shaft. You drag your hand up and trace your thumb around the fleshy mauve tip. The sensation causes you to shiver. It’s so sensitive.
As you’re admiring the way it tapers towards the base, soft, thinner fingers curl around yours and begin to guide them into a slow, controlled pumping motion that sets your nerves alight.
He quirks a brow at you. “What do you think?”
“Fuck, Yoongi,” you choke out with a held breath. Greedy gasps break the small silence that follows. Has it always been so hard to speak while masturbating? It’s not like you’re terrible at dirty talk so why are you hesitating?
“Do you need me to stop?”
You fervently shake your head and follow it with a needy groan. “No. Please… Keep going.” You hope he never stops.
“Then use your words” he urges, placing his hand over yours to slow your pace to a crawl.
You whimper. It’s a pathetic sound created with his voice in his throat, yet it still somehow sounds so deliciously like you. While he finds himself attracted to your usual body, it doesn’t bother him that you’re currently assuming a different form. Looks are fleeting anyway. It’s the person inside he’s grown attached to, the caring soul he feels connected to.
He’s seen you stare at the bulletin board near the restroom and tear off the tabs of creative community activities to benefit those in need. If he wasn’t so busy managing the store all the time he would have been able to sign up for those events too. He’s seen you volunteer at the homeless shelter just around the corner. He’s seen you cradling posters for your neighbor’s missing cat— he’d even let you keep one on the door to his store until you told him they found it.
The truth is that your soul is so beautiful and full that he’d want you no matter what you looked like. If only he had the courage to say that. But it's easier to hide behind snark.
“It feels so good,” you whine. “I wish I could put my mouth all over it. Bet you’d fill me so good.”
A growl escapes with his exhale and he guides your fist up and down the girth between your legs with increased vigor. He gently leads you by the dick, pulling you closer to the bed until your knees hit the side.
“Look in the mirror, Y/N. Watch,” he whispers in a low tone, almost begging you to keep your eyes on the reflection.
You do as he says and watch in awe as a set of manicured fingers tap against your chest and trail down to the cock still nestled in your fist. They work their way beneath your palm and shoo your hand away. Even knowing that Yoongi is behind the action, the sight of your hands stroking that perfect cock sets a fire of desire coursing through your veins.
You watch in the mirror as your lips plant kisses on the dark hair beneath Yoongi’s navel. You watch as your head sinks lower and lower until soft, plush lips are skimming the tip of his dick. You watch his length slide into your mouth and immediately your knees threaten to buckle.
His hands are already reaching up to stabilize your stance even as he glides his tongue against you. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve felt before, but having your clit sucked and teased comes close. It’s heaven. You whimper a tortured sound sitting somewhere between the boundaries of pleasure and anguish. He plays your role so well, maybe even better than you could play it. You attempt to distract yourself from the nervous tremble of your thighs by gathering bits of his hair in your hands and balling it in your fists. He gargles out a muffled moan against you.
“I look so good sucking your pretty cock,” you whisper in awe.
He leans back to swipe his tongue over the slit and then sinks back down, nose hitting the tuft of dark hair at your pelvis as you bottom out in his throat. Your grip around his hair tightens with the slight rock of your hips. You press his face against your crotch like you never want him to leave. The pair of you look so fucking hot. You’re revelling in slow, shallow thrusts deep in his throat when he makes a gagging noise you know all too well. He grips your thighs and you immediately release your hold while pulling your hips back.
“Fuck I’m so sorry!” Heat rises in your face and you want to run and hide.
He rests his palm on your waist and catches his breath, a trail of sticky precum and thick spit connecting his mouth to your cock. It involuntarily flexes and bobs up towards your stomach and then back down, which severs the path of saliva.
“Don’t be. That was hot.” He wipes his lips with the back of his hand.
“Yoongi, you didn’t have to! I mean I was curious but I—”
You’re cut off by his harsh tug on your hands. You stumble forward and meet his dark gaze. How can he make your eyes look so hungry?
“I’m a firm believer in never asking someone to do what I wouldn’t. I like to know what I’m giving, don’t you?”
“God, I wish that were me. I want to taste you so bad,” you whine, licking your lips as you spare a glance down at the glistening appendage standing at attention between your legs. “Wanna taste you dripping off my tongue.”
“You can,” he assures you in a soft voice, cupping your face with his hands.
His lips are on yours in an instant and you’re moaning against them like you’ll never get enough. The salty tang on his tongue transfers to yours as it dips into your mouth. You wish you could take him into your mouth yourself, but this is a good substitute for now.
"You taste good," you pant between kisses. "Why haven't we done this sooner?"
He pulls away to shrug, cocking his head to the side and focusing on your neck. "If you want something you have to speak up. No one can read minds and even if they could, often times people are so wrapped up in their own heads they'd never see what you think.”
"Wow, getting philosophical on me, huh? So… What? I'm just supposed to say, ‘Hey yoongi you're hot. Wanna fuck’?"
"That's a little blunt don't you think?" He laughs, allowing you to push him back onto the mattress. "Been holding that back long?"
Your heart skips a beat, heat flushing your ears. "Maybe. Would it have made a difference?”
He ponders this for a moment as he squints at the ceiling in concentration. "Mmm. I'd say you should at least buy me dinner first… "
You scoff. It’s not a no but it’s not an enthusiastic yes either. You climb onto the mattress, trying to ignore how casually he lays in your bed, completely barren before you.
He rolls onto his side and props his head up to survey your approach. You seem a little nervous so it’s easier for him to fake confidence for both your sakes. "I guess we're both guilty of not saying what we mean."
"What is it you really mean to say then?" If he’s got a juicy secret he’s been holding in, then you want to know to salvage what’s left of your pride.
"I give you shit but I like that you come into the store every day to get your muffin and your gross energy drink. I like when you come back in after just to bitch about your day and pretend like you need a snack that I never see you eat. I like when you ask me about my day, even though you know I’m shit at conversation. It makes me happy because I care about…" he hesitates when he sees your smug grin. "...”
“Yes?” you prod.
He draws a deep breath from his belly. “You. I care about you. I’ve never found an opportunity to tell you that I like you. I’m always working, keeping my store afloat, focused on the numbers and the success of my business. But I see you coming out of that building every day. I watch for you to make sure even after a year of this that you’re still coming here first. It’s crazy but you put me at ease and make me anxious at the same time. I feel like I know you, like I’ve known you all my life.”
He pauses to allow you to interject. When you don’t, he continues, “I feel it in my bones when you smile at me, when you roll your eyes at me, when you try to make me laugh... You’re so easy to fall for. I know that I’m not, but sometimes you look at me and I feel like you want to. I want you to. I wish you would come back when I’m locking up for the night so that I could see you outside of work, so I could take you out, so I could take you home. A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say.”
“Yoongi…” you finally whisper.
Your face scrunches up like you’re about to cry and he grimaces at you, knowing you’re definitely about to do just that.
“Don’t do that. My cheeks look so fat when you do that. Hey, are you listening? Don’t make my face look so ugly!”
His attempts to make you smile simply causes the tears to fall from your eyes. You melt into his embrace, burying your face against his neck as you sob. He places a tentative palm on the back of your head.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, planting a kiss against your hair, “if it’s just me.”
“No, I feel the same way,” you admit, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “You say you’re hard to love but how can that be true when I feel what I feel so easily? I will wait for you to close your shop and walk you home every day if you let me. I will be yours, if you let me.”
He turns your head so that he can bring his lips to yours. They taste salty again for entirely different reasons. Can you feel the way he’s trembling right now? All the relief in the world can’t assuage the ache of carrying such a burden in his chest for so long. The adrenaline is coursing through him like a wildfire, spreading until his lungs are burning with a heat he can’t quell.
“Mine, then,” he whispers, allowing the tears to stream down his cheeks freely. “Mine.”
He tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling you into a passionate kiss that threatens to steal every last bit of oxygen from your lungs. He growls into your mouth, claiming every inch inside with his tongue. He grinds his hips upwards and it’s then you remember that you’re naked and you have a dick that’s still half-hard and growing harder by the second.
You groan loudly. “Fuuuuuck. I want to fuck you so bad right now.”
He pulls back to bite his lip, the intrigue in his features apparent. “You want to try it?”
“I mean… you sucked your own dick for me. You don’t owe me anything—”
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I want to try it,” he says, wriggling his hips beneath you. “Fuck. Me.”
“This is still so weird,” you say with a giggle, your eyes rolling back into your skull when the tip of your cock glides against his clit. “Ah…”
The pair of you pause and slowly repeat the motion. You can feel how wet he is and instead of being embarrassed like you would be in his place, you find it incredibly hot.
“Do it again,” he pleads, spreading his legs further apart to allow you better access.
You look down, pressing your thumb into the base of your cock and carefully glide the tip across the folds between his legs. He hisses an expletive between his teeth when you drag it past his clit and begin rocking your hips back and forth.
“Yeah, just like that,” he whispers through frantic panting and sloppy kisses.
You feel a cramp in your thigh and pull back to nurse the ache. He whines when you slink away from his body, missing the friction on his clit already, although he’s satisfied enough when you circle one of his breasts with your tongue and take a nipple into your mouth. You press light circles into his clit with the pad of your middle finger until you can feel his legs flexing around your body like you’re not giving him enough. His fingers dive beneath yours to tease the swollen bud.
“Let me feel,” he pants. “Let me learn where to touch.”
You carefully guide his movements for a minute while treating his other nipple to the pleasures of your tongue. He seems to get the hang of stimulating himself pretty quickly so you turn your attention towards his thighs. You sink between them and begin kissing the sensitive skin beside his folds. His thighs twitch when you trace circles around his entrance with your tongue. You briefly pause to inspect your fingernails, making sure none of them are a jagged mess from the way he’s bitten them. When you’re satisfied with your inspection you peek up at him.
“You want to try my fingers first?” you ask, feeling envious that you can’t be riding three of them to the knuckle right now. “I can show you how my mouth feels too, though I doubt I’m an expert on that.”
“I don’t care about that.” He lifts his hand so he can peer down at you from between his tits. “I’ll take your mouth anywhere you want to give it.”
He watches as you flick your tongue across the sensitive, slick bundle of nerves. He bucks his hips as you clamp down and roll your tongue back and forth over it. His pretty painted nails look so good digging into your ebony hair. It’s not long until you dip a finger inside his cunt, teasing until you’re bobbing it in and out at a decent pace.
“Oh…” he says, as if he’s surprised that the experience is so pleasurable. “Shit, that’s good. Fuck. I’m gonna....”
You push another finger into him, curling the longest digit as far as you can to try and reach the g-spot you know is hiding nearby. When you finally get it he grips your shoulders and arches his pelvis off the ground like he’s committing to a new yoga routine. You recognize the stiffness in his limbs, the involuntary tremble of his thighs beside your head, the heaving of his chest and the frantic nonsense spilling out from his lips. You focus your energy on his clit, replacing your mouth with your hand since you have more confidence bringing about his climax this way.
His hips stutter and you know he’s riding the line. It’s a little bit more difficult to find that perfect rhythm when your hand isn’t in it’s normal position. The way he sucks in a breath to release his needy whines almost makes you feel guilty. It’s not like you’re trying to edge him but you’re not able to keep that pressure as consistent as you’d like.
“I’m so close,” he pants. “But I keep losing it. I’m sorry.”
You’ve been there plenty of times but you’re desperate to make him cum.
“It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. Rub it, baby. You know what feels good,” you whisper, shifting your attention to fingering his cunt. You don’t call attention to the pet name, but it feels so natural falling from your lips in this moment. You hope he doesn’t mind.
In an instant his fingers replace yours on his clit and he’s building back up. His thighs quake and his back arches off the mattress one more time and you know it’s coming. He’s about to reach his peak.
He takes a sharp inhale and where you expect the loud wails you would normally make while riding out your high, there’s quiet shuddering and softy breathy moans that linger in the air around you. He grabs your wrist with an ironclad grip as soon as he rides the last wave and his sweaty thighs fall limp around your face. You’re grinning like an idiot as he pulls you by the hair towards his lips, desperate to feel you, to taste you. His tongue is exploring every bit it can, trying to steal the essence from your mouth.
“Mmm. I want to taste that sweet pussy every day.“
“Do you… Still want me to fuck you?” You’re really trying not to sound hopeful but you can’t stop thinking about it.
He smirks and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Let me feel how well my cock fills you.”
“Do I need a condom?” you ask. “Are you clean?”
He laughs like it’s an absurd question. “That’s up to you. I haven’t had sex in four years. I’m clean. If you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”
“Four years is a long time,” you mumble, suddenly feeling pressure perform well. “I have an IUD so if you’re okay with it…”
“I wanna know how it feels.”
As soon as you line yourself up with his entrance you’re sweating like you’ve never sweated in your entire life. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re hoping it doesn’t suck. It doesn’t take a genius to sense your nerves. He reaches out to cup your stubbly jaw.
“We don’t have to.”
“I want to. Just… tell me if I’m hurting you,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his.
You let the tip dip inside and descend into his cunt slowly, knowing the thickest part of your dick follows the tip immediately. The stretch must be delicious. You’re distracted by how tightly his walls are clamping down on you. It’s tempting to bury yourself in his warmth as quickly as possible but you show restraint. His breath hitches as he adjusts to your girth and you freeze. Has your body ever taken someone as thick as him? You can’t recall. Probably not.
“Keep going,” he coaches, grabbing at your ass to press you further inside until you’ve bottomed out.
Your head hangs down as you try not to let the sensation overwhelm you. His lips find yours, helping you climb back down from the high. You slowly move your hips back, already missing the tight warmth hugging you. It takes a few more slow thrusts until you’re pumping into him at a relatively steady pace.
“Sorry if my rhythm isn’t good. I’ve never done this,” you manage to say between heavy breaths.
“You’re doing fine. This feels amazing. What are you talking about?”
He could be lying to make you feel better but it’s working. He puts his hands by his head to indicate he wants you to hold them. You immediately twine your fingers in his and press the back of his hands into the mattress.
“Yeah? It feels so fucking good, Yoongi.”
“It does... But I know you can fuck me harder than that, Y/N.”
You can already feel the tightness you’re holding back, a pleasurable pressure building in your pelvis that warns you of the imminent orgasm you can only stave off for so long. You can’t help but slam your hips in harder and faster at his request. The sound of balls slapping against skin fills the room and he moves his hips to meet yours. His breathing grows labored but you know he’s not about to cum again. You’ve never gotten off from penetration alone and there’s no way your sloppy performance will cause that miracle to happen now.
“There you go… Fuck. That’s it.”
“I’m gonna pull out,” you warn, feeling like you’re testing your own limits with every thrust.
“Already?” he teases, digging his pretty fingernails into your back.
“It feels… too fucking good, Yoon…” You wish you had more stamina. “Gonna cum on those pretty tits.”
“Yoon?” He chuckles, now distracted by the way his tits are bouncing with each slap of your hips.
“Just wait until I’m back in that body riding your cock. See how long you last then.”
“Is that a promise?” he questions, cupping your jaw to kiss you.
“...Yeah...”
He can feel the difference in your pace, in the shivers of your body. You’re about to cum. He turns your face towards the mirror so you can see how fucked out your reflection looks. It’s intoxicating seeing Yoongi’s body so needy and desperate.
“Look at you. You’re not gonna make it to these tits.”
“Fuck…” you bite your lip and try to slow your pace but it’s too late. The tension and pressure bursts from the head of your cock like a confetti popper on New Years. With a few, strong pumps you spill your seed into his warm cunt. “Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cummmph--”
Yoongi brings your lips back to meet his to muffle the unexpected sounds of your orgasm.
“Oh my goooood. You’re so loud,” he teases when you finally come down, but you’re too spent to refute him.
There’s another twitch in your dick and you lay there with your mouth open, trying to regain sense of your faculties. He intentionally clenches around your softening length and every muscle in your abdomen flexes.
“Too much!” you shriek, pulling out and rolling off of him in one swift motion.
You let your sweaty back hit the soft duvet, trying to recover from the sensation. He laughs, angling his legs towards the mirror. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when he spreads his legs and swipes at the cum dripping from his cunt, pushing it back inside with his fingers and releasing a soft sigh. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen yourself do, and you’re not even doing it.
When he’s satisfied that he’s pushed it all in, he lays down next to you. The two of you stare at the ceiling in silence for at least a minute. Is it awkward or was it just that good? You can’t tell the difference right now and it’s making you anxious. He covers your hand with his and looks over at you with a warm smile.
The anxiety-driven words come out before you can stop them. “You should pee. You don’t want a UTI and neither do I.”
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About an hour has passed in awkward silence as the two of you conduct research on what the fuck happened to you. You haven’t talked about what you both did in this bed, but the smell of sex still hangs in the air. As soon as you both put your clothes back on it was like a switch of modesty came back into play, and you feel too shy to point it out. You don’t know what to say, so you’ve just been clicking on every link you possibly can to fill the silence as he scrolls through articles on his phone nearby. It’s uncomfortable and you hate it.
“I think I have something, maybe,” you say, scrolling through the 90s looking website you’ve been exploring for the last few minutes.
Yoongi scoots closer to you and furrows his brow as he squints to read the sloppy banner at the top of the page. “The Unsolved?”
“I know what you’re thinking. Conspiracy theorists are insane, I know, but—”
You reach for the trackpad at the same time and your fingers brush, causing you to freeze mid-sentence. You stare at the keyboard for a second and chew on your lip, allowing your eyes to dart towards your periphery without moving your head. When he doesn’t say anything you clear your throat and scroll with the trackpad.
“But, look.” You point to the two embedded images triumphantly.
“Necklaces.” He cocks his head to the side and reads the text underneath aloud. “‘An Amulet of Discord is used by an Agent of Chaos to spread mischief and debauchery in the universe. It can be split into two halves to displace unsuspecting victims from their bodies. A glamour will protect the Amulet once the ritual is complete, making it impossible to see or touch. In order to reunite the victim with their body, the Agent responsible must be compelled to remove the glamour and mend the fragmented pieces into one.’”
“Last night I had one of those chincy friendship necklaces on and I definitely did not put it on. It looked a lot like the ones that weird guy tried to give us at your shop yesterday. I tried to get it off but it wouldn’t budge. Then it disappeared.”
“This sounds insane,” he muses, mulling over the information.
“Did it happen to you too?”
“I thought I saw one briefly, but… It was gone when I looked again. I thought I must be seeing things.”
“It’s gotta be it!”
Yoongi furrows his brows as you scroll back up to the navigation, not sure if he fully believes in this explanation. “What’s an Agent of Chaos anyway?”
“I guess they like… cause mayhem for fun? I don’t know, the description said something about pleasing a patron that they get their powers from.”
“Like a god?”
The thought makes him uneasy. If a god of chaos exists then surely there are more out there. If gods exist but they do nothing to balance out the cosmic injustices of the universe, are they really gods or more like demons? He feels like he’s about to have a full meltdown over something he can’t understand or control.
“Maybe. It doesn’t describe them at all. But…” You give him a reassuring smirk. “It does give instructions on how to trap an Agent. We just need a little more space and some chalk. We’ll draw him out, trap him, then make him undo his magic. What do we have to lose?”
His heart feels lighter when you look at him so softly. “Makes it sound simple when you say it like that. Also, slightly insane.”
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The website was very lax on defining the ‘discordant energy’ needed to summon the agent, so the pair of you have been improvising. Yoongi suggested moving into the store for the space you needed, but you have a feeling he’s just anxious about it being closed for the day. It’s fine. You don’t want to constantly be thinking about the sex neither of you are acknowledging right now. Yoongi is brushing his teeth after drinking a bottle of orange juice.
You grimace at him. “You really think that’s gonna do it?”
He stops mid-brush, his mouth full of foam and garbling his words. “It’s better than doing nothing. How are you helping?”
You give the sunglasses rack a slow spin. “I drew the sigil on the floor. If we’re gonna trap him we need to be ready. Were you able to find anything else?”
He clicks on your laptop a few times before hurrying into the back room. He reappears a moment later, wiping at his mouth. “That was gross.”
You watch him concentrate on the screen, trying to forget the way it felt to kiss him everywhere he would let you. It’s hard to focus on the task at hand when there’s this feeling lingering in your uneasy stomach. Are you doomed to never speak of the things that made your heart flutter?
“ A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say .”
You tell yourself you imagined those words, that you wished them into existence. You turn the rack of cheap sunglasses again. Even if you knew what you were looking for, you wouldn’t find it with the way your mind is wandering. You look back at Yoongi, debating whether or not you should speak up about the uncertainty in your gut.
“Keepsake!” he says excitedly, running out from behind the counter. “It says they often leave something behind so they can return to observe their work.”
His sudden movement makes you jump and loudly smack your hand against the stand in a panicked attempt to look inconspicuous. He pauses to look at you and raises an eyebrow but you’re already laser-focused on the rack again. Desperate to hide your growing embarrassment you pluck a pair of sunglasses that is strikingly similar to the ones you’d seen the man wearing that day.
As soon as you put them on you inhale sharply. “What the fuck?”
“Hmm?” Yoongi wonders. “What is it?”
“There’s something written… on the fridge.”
“What? Where?”
You lift the glasses up to be sure you can’t see the letters scrawled on the glass without them. The message disappears. Once you place them back on the bridge of your nose they practically glow, beckoning you towards them. You push past him on your way to the drinks section. “Here. It says… Now you have… specs appeal?”
Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It was a solid pun.”
The pair of you look towards the sound of the stranger’s voice. Instead of forming words you exclaim a sound of surprise. He looks confused.
“You’re going to need to speak clearly. I’m not sure I understand your language.”
“You! You did this!” you shriek, taking a step forward.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” the man says with a puff of his cheeks. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “It’s not nice to accuse people of things. Have I done anything? Are you sure you’re not dreaming?”
A haze of golden dust spreads across the room like twinkling stars. As you blink and rub at your eyes you yawn and feel a sudden urge to lay down.
“Mmm. I am sleepy…” you admit as you sink to your knees.
Yoongi looks down at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Y/N, what are you doing?”
You laugh and lazily grapple with his leg. “Come lay down. Please? It’s made out of feathers.”
Yoongi watches you close your eyes. Suddenly your body falls limp at his feet. He crouches down to cradle your face in his hands, your name an urgent plea on his lips. “Y/N. Y/N wake up.” He pinches your cheek but you don’t respond.
“She wants this to be a dream. Don’t you?” The man takes a few casual steps forward.
“No, I don’t,” Yoongi growls. The threat sounds odd coming from this body, tone too meek to pass for intimidating. He glares at the man after reluctantly tearing his eyes from your sleeping form. It may be his body on the floor there, but you’re trapped inside it. “Wake her up.”
“She’s tired!”
Yoongi rises to his feet and shields your unconscious form as the man creeps closer. “Don’t take another step. You’re going to regret it.”
“Threatening me? Hah… You’re pretty bold, considering you’re not really in a bargaining position. Spunky! I’ll give you that. Say, I’m curious. What do you think I am anyway? I’ve got a bet going and I know I’m gonna win because I’m right, but I need proof. So if you wouldn’t mind speaking into this...”
Out of his pocket comes a microphone. He holds it out like he’s giving the most intense interview of his life as he awaits Yoongi’s response.
“You’re… Some kind of trickster.”
The man sucks his teeth and shoves the microphone back in his pocket. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind. So much for my bet… Come on. Don’t you think I look more like a god?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you work for one,” Yoongi muses, “but you sure aren’t one.”
“Wooooow….” The man sighs in disbelief. “The disrespect! At least you’re honest. I can appreciate that. I— ”
The stranger’s body seizes up as he takes another step forward. ”Ow!” His body convulses for a second before he regains his faculties. He looks down to find the sigil scrawled in chalk around his feet. Try as he might to scrape the markings off with his heel, his shoes are unable to scuff the powder. He furrows his brows and throws his hands in the air.
“Really? Are you kidding me? An integrity prison? Where did you learn this?”
Holy fucking shit. It worked, Yoongi thinks. He’s never been more relieved in his life.
“Wake her up,” he repeats calmly.
“I was gonna,” the man pouts, slumping into a cross-legged sit. “But now I really don’t want to. Would it kill you to have manners? Look at this. You’ve put me in a difficult little pickle here.” He reaches behind his back and pulls out a jar full of dill pickles. He fishes one out and takes a loud, crunchy bite. “I was just having a little fun and now I’m stuck here, doomed to this ugly little space.”
Yoongi crosses his arms, quickly losing patience. “Stop being dramatic.”
The man glowers at him and crunches on the last bit of the pickle with slow, loud chewing.
Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh. “Please, stop being dramatic.”
With a surprised nod, the man gulps down the pickle and hops to his feet. “Well, you said please, at least. Was that really such a big... dill?”
Right as Yoongi groans, the man snaps his fingers and flexes his pointers into finger-guns. You immediately yawn and sit up.
“What happened?” you mumble.
Yoongi offers you a hand and you take it, rising to unsteady feet. He wraps a hand around your waist to support your weight. “You took a nap but you didn’t miss much. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you murmur, the haze lifting from your sleepy eyelids. You gasp as your eyes focus on the man trapped between the center aisles. “Huh! We got him!”
“Yeah, yeah. Time to celebrate. You trapped me. Good job.” The sarcasm in his tone is evident, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Confetti falls from above your heads, showering the pair of you in glitter and shiny streamers with the flick of his wrist. “Now let me out.”
You’re blown away by the bizarre moment, springing forward and out of Yoongi’s grasp. “Magic? Then, are you really… a god?”
The man pats his pockets frantically. “Finally! Someone with a sense for my greatness! Ugh! I should have been recording. Damn! Where’s my microphone?”
“Gods don’t get trapped with chalk,” Yoongi says, folding his arms and tapping his toe impatiently. “This guy is an underling. Hey! Don’t get too close!”
Your mouth hangs agape in awe as you approach the man. Scrutiny must be new for him because he seems stunned. That wide-eyed expression is erased quickly enough when he strikes a heroic pose, planting his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. His pecs and shoulders seem to inflate when he inhales, causing them to swell into well-defined muscles.
“Oh.” You blink a few times, entranced by the sudden transformation. You reach your hand out as if to touch the meaty bicep practically bulging from his sleeve. “Who… What... are you, really?”
“Y/N!” Yoongi’s hands enclose around your waist, pulling you back into him just as your hand is about to break the barrier.
The man’s muscles deflate with his held breath as he bursts into a fit of squeaky laughter. “Oh! I almost had you!” He wheezes a squeaky sound through his inhale that you can only guess is laughter. He clears his throat. “My name is Jin. Matchmaker…” He holds up two matches in his hands and sets them alight with a flick of his wrist.
“Lover...” He winks and the matches disappear. In their stead are two roses. He tosses them at the two of you but when you go to catch yours it disintegrates.
Yoongi catches the disappointment on your face and thrusts the flower towards you, hoping it will restore the shine to your eyes. You give him a big, cheesy smile as you dust glitter from his hair.
“Ah… And! Balancing agent…” He stands on one foot as a seesaw appears to lift him into the air. He jumps down triumphantly with a bow. “At your service.”
You clap enthusiastically until you look over at Yoongi, who looks less than amused. You then nudge him with your elbow until he gives a solitary clap.
“What’s a balancing agent?” Yoongi asks dryly.
“We restore balance to the world. Things that are too uniform need a little chaos. Things that are too chaotic need to be put back into line. In our down time we like to have fun in our own ways. Me? I like to set people up.”
“So you’re not an Agent of Chaos?” you ask, disappointed that the conspiracy theorist page that led you to this point isn’t exactly the fountain of knowledge you had hoped for. There’s so much you don’t know.
Jin looks at you, clearly confused. “I mean some people call me Cupid, but I guess you can call me that. Has a nice ring to it. My powers are more inclined for chaos.”
“Cupid?”
“What? I’m a romantic. I can see the strings of fate! Also I may have a penchant for mischief, but that’s neither here—” He points at his feet. “Nor there!” He points at the shelf beside you which causes a bag of chips to burst, sending its contents everywhere.
“Hey!” Yoongi yells. “Are you going to pay for those?”
“Yoongi…”
“What?”
You can tell he’s irritated but clearly this guy can do a lot more than pop a bag of chips from across the room. You don’t want to fall on the bad side of his magic but you don’t exactly trust Yoongi’s mouth to keep you in Jin’s good graces.
“Stop being rude,” you whisper through clenched teeth.
He scoffs and answers you in a hushed tone. “How am I rude? He’s making a mess!”
“Then we’ll ask him to unmake it.” Your irritation heightens the volume of your voice to the point where it’s barely a whisper anymore.
“He’s playing with us. I’m through asking.”
“Yoongi.”
“Y/N.”
Jin laughs. “See, this is what I mean. Fate is practically screaming for me to help you. Chaos is just an added bonus for this boring town.”
You both look at him and ask in unison, “What?”
He points to the both of you. “Look.”
As you turn back to face Yoongi you’re shocked to see a pale blue orb glowing above his head. “Huh? What’s that?” You reach out to touch it but your hand passes through it without any change.
“You have one too,” he mumbles, squinting at the way a thin line seems to stem from it. Then he sees another. And another. It looks like a shiny, glittering web that splinters into a thousand different directions. His brows furrow as he inspects the tiny threads. “Do you see them?”
Your gaze follows his pointer and suddenly you can see the branching strands too, not just yours, but his as well. It’s beautiful. It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. Seeing the trepidation written on your face he silently beckons your attention to his finger, which is pointing to a thread that is golden instead of a pale blue hue. It’s the only one of its kind in the intricate glittering lattice between the two of you. You follow his pointer as it traces the path that stems from your orb until it gets closer to his and then you take over, finishing the path with your finger to the point where his orb engulfs the line.
“What is it?” you wonder aloud.
“A string of fate,” Jin answers with a wistful sigh. “It’s always exciting to see one, isn’t it? It means you’re soulmates.”
“Hah. Bullshit,” Yoongi responds, waving the air with his hands as if to disrupt the strings. They remain intact. “You just like causing mischief.”
Jin puffs his cheeks and scowls. “I can lie about a lot of things, but the strings aren’t one of them,” he huffs. “Why would I need to do that? What’s more unpredictable than true love slapping you in the face?”
He makes a motion with his fingers and sweeps them towards Yoongi.The compulsion rises and you’re powerless to stop it. Your hand moves of its own accord and lightly slaps Yoongi across the face. He looks betrayed as he rubs his cheek.
“I’m sorry! It wasn’t me!”
The tingle in your arm causes it to move back towards him in a gentle swoop. Your wrist is limp as it smacks into his chin and rubs back and forth as if to comfort him. Jin bursts into a fit of laughter as he breaks the compulsion.
Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh, stomping up towards the circle around the stranger. “Just change us back and you can go on causing problems elsewhere.”
“I can’t,” Jin answers simply, crossing his arms. “The charm will break only under specific conditions.”
“And those are?”
Jin shrugs with his bottom lip protruding as he frowns. “It’s different for everyone.”
“Of course it is.” Yoongi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, pacing back towards you.
“There are some things you can try. Staples of the trade.” Jin notes some dirt beneath his fingernails and begins cleaning them. “Number one. Have you tried talking about your feelings?”
Yoongi’s gaze settles on yours and it’s like you can feel your heart stop. Say something. You open your mouth to speak but the words won’t come so you snap your jaw shut and stare at the glitter on the floor.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yoongi says as he folds his arms across his chest, trying to not get distracted by the breasts he inadvertently touches. He decides to drop his hands to his hips instead.
Jin rolls his eyes. “Okaaaay... Number two is filling the chaos meter. Go crazy. Do the unexpected.”
“I don’t know what we’d do,” Yoongi admits, pacing around the circle.
“What if we kissed?” The voice is soft and sweet.
He turns to face you, a combination platter of surprise and confusion. “But we did.”
“Reeeeally?”
Jin’s laughter makes him feel like a fool. He was convinced you said it, despite knowing your voice is not your own right now. How stupid could he be, walking right into that? He squeezes his eyes shut a moment and then focuses his attention on the captive.
While Yoongi is distracted you’re working a pack of mentos out of their packaging. You kneel down and twist the cap off one of the liters of cola placed on the endcap you. The hiss of the carbonation makes Yoongi shift attention.
Your name on his lips is half a warning, half a question loaded with uncertainty. You open another bottle beside it before he can get close enough and drop mentos into each. The liquid erupts into two fizzy fountains that reach the ceiling and spill back down to the floor. Yoongi takes off his hat and grips his hair like he wants to tear it out.
“What are you doing?”
“Filling the meter?” you answer meekly with a shug, stepping back from the puddle on the floor.
Jin roars with laughter. “Oh man. There is no meter, but that was delightful.”
Yoongi grumbles and goes back to the counter, grabbing the laptop and sinking down behind it to hide from the pandemonium of this situation.
“You’re the worst,” you mutter as you pass Jin. You quickly sit next to Yoongi on the floor.
“It was a joke!” Jin calls. “Come on, don’t leave me alone here.”
“I’m sorry,” you apologize as his fingers rapidly tap the keys. “I’m trying to help.”
“I know.”
“What are you looking for?” you whisper.
Yoongi listens for a minute to the grumbling of the man trapped in the circle nearby. “How to trick a trickster. I have a feeling we need him to undo it but he won’t come out and say it.”
You sigh and press your chin against his shoulder. “I’m tired.”
He looks over and tips his head down to nuzzle his cheek against you. “I know.”
“Huh?” Your vision diverts to a shiny blue can beside him. “Are you serious?”
“Hmm? Oh yeah.” He picks it up and quickly downs the last sip, the Hot6 Logo shining back at you in mockery. “I found it earlier and needed a pick-me-up.”
“Did you find more?”
“Nope. Just the one.”
“But…” you pout. “I wanted it.”
He holds the empty can out to you. “It’s grown on me.”
“I’m about to die without the sweet taste,” you whine, shaking the can to make sure there’s nothing left.
“You’re so obnoxious.”
He rolls his eyes and cups your jaw, leaning in to press his lips against yours. You don’t protest when he dips his tongue past your lips to rub against yours. You can taste remnants of the drink on his tongue. If Hot6 wasn’t your favorite drink before this, it is now.
“Better?”
“Maybe. Still not sweet enough.” You giggle.
He takes the opportunity to kiss you again, crushing your mouth against his in a deeper kiss. You’re practically melting into him as his tongue glides against yours, moving in a rhythm that you now crave. It’s so easy to forget everything else, where you are, what’s happened to you. He moves to straddle your lap, grinding down intentionally as he grips the back of your neck. He knows you’re half-hard already and fuck if he doesn’t just want to have you again. You’re the only thing that feels real right now.
He pulls down the zipper of the hoodie you’ve given him to allow access to his neck. It’s not until he allows you to latch onto the sensitive flesh there, with his hands buried in your hair, that he notices the security mirror. You’re so hot. He wants to be in you so badly but he’ll settle for you being in him right now.
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Suddenly he notices the other person in the mirror. Jin is sitting cross-legged on the floor in his invisible prison, resting his chin on a hand as he stares back through the reflection with eyebrows raised. Yoongi quickly clears his throat and climbs off of you. You blink in confusion at the disruption until he points at the mirror and then you cast your gaze at the floor.
“We should take care of this.” He runs his fingers through his hair to compose himself before placing the cap back on his head and focusing his attention back on the computer.
“Wow, you almost went there with me watching. That would have done it for sure,” Jin says, breaking into a grin.
“Come on!” you shriek, popping up from behind the counter. “Please, just change us back.”
“I told you. I can’t,” he repeats firmly. “I actually don’t lie as often as you seem to think I do. Maybe you should try having sex. They say the soul leaves your body for an instant when you reach the finish line, you know. It can’t hurt. Ohhhh wait a minute...”
He jumps to his feet after watching the guilt flash across your face. Your eyes seem to dart around him, but never land close enough to his. Blood rushes through your ears, drowning out all the sounds that aren’t your heartbeat.
He smiles wickedly. “Oh my god, you already did. I mean, I get it. Who wouldn’t be curious? It’s only human to wonder. Oh, to be human… Seriously, have you tried talking about your feelings?”
You turn towards Yoongi and crouch back on the floor, disappearing from Jin’s view. He steps on his tiptoes to try and see around the counter before settling back on the security mirror. You can’t help but focus on his nosiness.
“Yoongi. I... Look. Can we go in the back? I need to talk to you. Privately.”
Jin clicks his tongue and sighs as the pair of you cross the store and slip into the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’ You breathe a sigh of relief when Yoongi locks the heavy door behind you. He bites at his nails--your nails as he waits for you to say whatever you need to. You take his hands into yours.
“Things are weird right now and not just because of this,” you hold up his hands in yours. “Are you regretting everything now?”
He smirks and gives you a small laugh. He slinks away to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t regret anything. I mean what I said. I care about you. I just… I get embarrassed, I guess.”
He’s embarrassed? You didn’t think he was capable with how blunt he normally is. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m insecure. Sexy, right?”
Time seems to slow as he draws near. There’s a lighthearted laugh on his lips before they meet yours. It feels like the first time all over again. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you throw your arms around his neck, desperate to get closer even though you’re already pressed up against each other. You lean into him as you gasp in his hot breaths between kisses. To counteract the weight you’ve pressed against him, he pushes you backwards. Your arms fly back to catch yourself as you stumble but you knock into a freestanding shelving unit. Cans of soup clatter to the floor and roll off in various directions as Yoongi steadies the rack to keep it from falling.
He sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder in defeat. “We should focus.”
You whimper and will yourself to move the pair of you away from the wire rack. You run your fingers through your hair and attempt to compose yourself. Everything feels like a dream. It’s hard to think with him consuming the majority of your thoughts. You clear your throat, hoping your mind will also clear with the action.
“Hey,” he says, fingers on the latch. He pauses to lock eyes with you. “It might have seemed like the heat of the moment, but I really mean what I said. So tell me you’ll stick around after this is done?”
You run up and lace your fingers in his free hand before giving it a firm squeeze. “Promise.”
As he opens the door Jin jumps like you’ve startled him with your presence. “Whoa, I thought maybe you’d murdered one another. I heard a loud bang.” His gaze drops to your entwined hands. “What? Did you finally embrace destiny?”
“Destiny. No destiny. It doesn’t matter,” Yoongi says calmly as he squeezes your hand. “This could all be a dream. But we’re here now. We care about each other in this moment. That’s real. That matters.”
Jin does a slow clap while grinning from ear-to-ear. “Wow! It usually takes people a few days, maybe a week!” He looks at his wrist as though he’s wearing an invisible watch. “It’s been, what, a day? You did good.”
“Does that mean you’re going to help us now?” You perk up immediately.
“I mean I think you’ve helped yourselves. You look happy. You’re comfortable, right? Can’t you just let me go and keep existing like this?”
When he’s met with silence he sighs. “Ahh, well there is one more thing you can do, I guess. Have you tried checking your pockets?”
His suggestion is met with eyerolls from the both of you. While nonsensical, the unexpected has become a staple of your current state of existence and you feel you owe it to yourself to at least entertain the possibility. Your fingers slip into your pocket and explore the ridges of the hard object nestled against the fabric. Excitement courses through you as you pull your half of the locket from the confines of your sweatpants. Dumbfounded, Yoongi sticks a finger into his tight jeans and fishes the other half of the necklace out of his pocket.
“Hah, I can’t believe you didn’t even look,” Jin says with a laugh. “Now put them on, place the pieces together and say ‘Me Hoy Nimoy.’”
You exchange a skeptical look with Yoongi but you both comply and blurt the phrase soon after linking the pieces of the necklace together. You hold your breath, waiting for something spectacular to happen but disappointment soon floods your lungs. Just as you’re about to speak up, Jin clicks his tongue.
“Ah, close your eyes. It won’t work if you’re watching.”
Yoongi grumbles. “You’re fucking with us.”
“Hey, some magic is shy. Follow the rules. Do you think I’m just making this all up?” he pouts.
Your answer comes in unison with Yoongi’s: “Yes.”
Jin looks hurt as he clutches a hand over his heart and staggers backwards. “Woooooow. Well, just do one more thing then. ”
A devilish grin soon replaces the expression and his squeaky laughter fills up the store. He points at the pair of you with both fingers and wags his fingers in circles. You feel compelled to turn in place. Yoongi matches the uneasiness in your gut with the panic in his eyes. You both spin in circles away from one another. Once. Twice. Three times. Just as you’re about to complain about the nausea churning fresh waves in your belly, Jin waves his hands inwards.
You’re lifted into the air. The toes of your sneakers leave behind squeaky skidmarks of rubber on the tile as the pair of you are dragged forward. Jin cocks his head to one side and examines you with an expression of stone. For a split second you’re terrified but then he breaks into a grin and snaps his fingers. His thumbs and index fingers form the shape of a heart as he holds them out and you drop to the floor.
Yoongi reaches out for your shoulder. There’s a soft tremble to his fingers as he pulls you close to him. When you look upon his visage you can already see his jaw transforming, a thin stubble growing in along its perimeter. Every time you close your eyes to blink more of his face has morphed back into his own. You look down at your own fingers and watch as the nails narrow and elongate. A glossy pink hue returns to them but the polish looks slightly less finished with the way Yoongi has gnawed on the edges all day.
Suddenly Yoongi is frantically scrambling to his feet, kicking off his shoes and working the zipper down on his jeans. Everything is quickly growing far too tight. The hoodie you’d given him just barely covers his crotch as he stands up straight. He looks over at you with a relieved sigh and cups your jaw.
“You good?” he asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your chin. It takes all of your self-control to keep from licking it as it grazes your lip.
You nod, eyes falling to the necklace dangling over his sweatshirt. As soon as you reach out to yank it off, the trinket disappears in a puff of purple smoke with a clap of Jin’s hands. He holds them in place like a silent prayer just below his chin, a strained smile staining his face just above his fingers.
“So, here’s the thing. I’m gonna need you to hold up your end of the deal.”
“Fix my store first. Clean up this mess you’ve caused,” Yoongi says while taking a step in front of you.
Jin’s bottom lip protrudes into a pout as he eyes the puddle of cola on the floor. “I didn’t do that,” he complains under his breath.
It’s incredible how close he came to freedom, incredible and frustrating. His magic may not be able to touch or alter the circle, but you almost freed him with your ignorance. If the liquid had run close enough to seep into the chalk, he would be somewhere far more sunny and beachy right now. He’s earned a vacation for this milestone of success.
“Fiiiine,” he concedes.
With a snap of his fingers the store is spotless once more. While Yoongi inspects the area of the tile floor previously coated in cola and glitter, you glide your foot over the circle of chalk and break the seal that binds Jin to his current location.
“Finally…” he sighs, side-stepping out from the invisible barrier. “You’re welcome, by the way. Invite me to the wedding, okay? Don’t forget the little people who helped you on the way. As for me... I’ve got a date with the pearly beaches of Accord.”
He swirls his wrist in the air and the pair of ugly red mirrored sunglasses appear on his nose just in time for him to adjust them. He lowers the specs to give you a wink before snapping his fingers. Before you can even call out for him to wait, he’s gone in a puff of purple smoke that quickly dissipates. You’re left in stunned silence to contemplate your existence.
What are you supposed to make of everything?
As you stand there on the cusp of a mental breakdown, soft, velvety petals brush against your cheek to steal your attention. The scent of the flower overtakes your senses as Yoongi uses it to tickle your nose. You find him smiling back at you, almost like he’s too shy to speak, but then he does.
“Weird day huh? Can I have my pants back?”
You hum thoughtfully, making sure the shutters of the shop are still shielding you both from the outside world. “Would you mind if I wanted to get back in them later?”
He snorts, holding back a laugh. “Been waiting to use that all day?”
“No, I just thought of it right now. Aren’t I impressive?” you say, wiggling your eyebrows at him. You shimmy out of the sweatpants and leave them pooled on the floor, doing your best to walk past him with grace and seduction.
“So impressive.”
He offers an amused laugh when you bend over to pick up the garments he was so quick to discard when his transformation reverted. You spare a glance behind you to see if he’s looking at the way you so blatantly flaunt your ass. He’s in the middle of dragging his bottom lip through his teeth when your eyes steal his attention.
“Something wrong?” A wicked grin belies your innocent tone.
He exhales a long breath and shakes his head, turning his attention to pulling his pants up. “Impressive isn’t the word. You’re obnoxious.”
“Isn’t that your way of saying you wanna make out?”
He’s quiet as he takes off the remainder of your clothes to reveal a muscular chest riddled with goosebumps. It’s hard to hide how your grin spreads wider as he approaches with them in hand. You’ve had dreams like this: he’s shirtless, asking you to take off your clothes so he can fuck you in his store. Right here with your tits against the cold glass of the fridge. It would be a dirty secret only the two of you would know and you’d think about it every time you’d come in for your energy drink.
You slowly lift the hoodie from your own body, trying to appear as alluring as possible. You make sure to arch your back as your breasts briefly catch in the fabric and then drop against your ribs, completely exposed to the chilly air. Much to your dismay he’s quick to spin away from you and mutters a “thanks” instead of naughtier offers.
He’s aware you might mistake it for rejection, but he’s hoping you don’t see the way his fingers tremble. It’s incredible how scared he feels being back in his own skin. The intimacy of your connection left a void behind that’s quickly filling with disquiet. He feels incomplete without a piece of you with him, lost in the vast emptiness of himself. How can he feel such need for you? His chest aches with the possibility that he won’t ever feel whole again. The bravery that possessed him while piloting your body has waned. Now that normalcy is somewhat restored, he has the chance to start processing the events of the day. A part of him begins to embrace the panic he’d previously pushed down and his confession replays in his mind as though he’s just spoken it.
It was a bold move, especially given the situation. It could have ended horribly. He puffs out his cheeks and holds his breath, trying to remind himself that it didn’t. It’s okay to let go of the anxiety over it, but he still feels so uncertain. Even turned away from you and fully clothed, he’s never felt more exposed and vulnerable. He tries to hide the burning of his ears by running his fingers through his hair and shielding them with his arms. He has to bring himself back or else you’ll be talking him down from a panic attack and he doesn’t want you to see him like that.
Stupid. Stop throwing yourself at him. You struggle to put on the tight clothing as quickly as possible. Tears threaten to fall as you awkwardly wiggle your jeans back and forth up your thighs and over the swell of your ass. You make sure to swipe at the corners of your eyes before clearing your throat to signify you’re fully changed. He spins to face you but everything he means to say gets lost on the way to his mouth. He freezes, overwhelmed by how beautiful you are even in this shitty lighting, and how thankful he is to be able to see you through his own eyes.
His heart pounds at the confines of his chest like it needs to burst from within. There’s a small burst of adrenaline that plumes from the explosion of butterflies in his stomach. It fills him with the courage he needs to close the distance between you with a kiss, the kind of kiss he’s been dreaming of giving you for months. Right here in this store.
He loves how eager you are to reciprocate when he tangles his fingers in your hair. He holds you there like you’re about to melt away in a puff of smoke. Your lips are so soft, so sweet, so warm pressing against his. His tongue rolls over yours, desperate to keep tasting and feeling more. You grasp behind his neck and dig your fingernails into his shoulder as he deepens the kiss. When you roll your hips towards him as a subtle test for determining his hardness, you can feel him smile against your lips.
“Not in the store.” He gives you one more chaste kiss and pulls back just enough to allow you both to breathe. He adjusts one of the boxes on the nearby shelves. “You already drive me crazy. If we do it here I’m going to be thinking about it every time I’m stocking shelves.”
“Yoongi…” you whine. “Please tell me you’re keeping it closed for the day.”
He sighs as he plucks his phone from the counter to check the time. “Might as well.”
“Can I walk you home?” You chew on your lip as you wait for his response. What you wouldn’t give to spend the night with him.
Unable to hide the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, he nods his head towards the exit. “Why would we waste our time?”
Your heart sinks into your butt, thinking this must be it. He changed his mind after all. He hates you. There’s no doubt about it now. All you can manage is a squeaky, “Hmm?”
He rests his palm on the handle of the door and he presses his lips into a thin line, looking wide eyed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so adorably hopeful and embarrassed at the same time. “You live closer.”
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The comforter at your back is soft and cool to the touch as you scramble to settle yourself against the pillows. Yoongi wastes no time wiggling off his sweatpants and climbing over you. The sound of your panting mingles with his as he hovers above you with his lips parted, trying to catch his breath. If the hurried ascent up the stairs wasn’t enough to have him gasping for air, the makeout session just inside your front door definitely has him devoid of oxygen. This still feels like a dream, but it’s one he doesn’t ever want to wake up from.
"How do you want it?" he whispers. He glides a finger up your thigh and lightly traces circles around your labia.
Your mind travels back to your earlier experience of coming undone and suddenly your stomach is doing flips.
"Just like this," you answer. "I want to feel you just like this. Do you remember where to touch?"
He nods, skimming his parted lips over yours while he places his finger over the hood of your clit. "Like this, right?"
"More pressure," you plead, working your hips in circles to coach his movements.
He does as you instruct and clamps his mouth over yours in a futile attempt to find relief for the aching need to be inside of you. He grinds himself against your side, his cock rubbing against your soft, heated skin as he tries to remember the exact motions needed to elicit enough pleasure to make you cum. He doesn't have to wait long until frenzied, weak moans are vibrating against his mouth so he turns his attention to your neck. He wants to hear how fucked out you are. He wants to hear how badly you want to cum. He wants to feel you pulse around his fingers.
As he plunges a thick finger deep into your cunt, a pathetic, desperate sound escapes you. "Oh, fuck."
"Feel good?" he mumbles into the hollow space between your neck and shoulder.
"Please. Please. Please. Please," you whimper incoherently, bucking your hips to meet each thrust of his finger. You can feel his cock rutting against your side and all you can do is imagine that he's pumping it into you instead of his fingers. "Oh fuck, Yoongi."
His lips twitch into a smile as he feels you tighten around his finger. He kisses your neck and sinks a second finger carefully inside you. You allow your head to fall against the pillow and bite your lip to try to contain the drawn out needy groan already helplessly spilling out of you. So close. Your back arches off the mattress and he wishes he wasn't so concentrated on the motions of his hands right now because he would absolutely love to be tonguing your perfect tits.
He pants against your skin and looks at them longingly. Maybe he can manage it? He's determined to use what he's learned about your body to help you cum, but not yet. You can't help but whine at the loss as he repositions himself, which breaks the sightline you had on your orgasm.
"Yoooongi... I was close..." You whimper when he abandons your cunt entirely to press your tits together. His mouth is hot as it clamps down on your nipple, giving the peak a hard suck before dragging it through his teeth.
"I know. Wanna make you cum with my tongue," he murmurs into the supple flesh.
He swipes his fingers along your cunt and swirls the wetness over your clit before bringing it to his mouth. You can already see how they glisten in the low light of your bedroom. The low moan that rumbles its way from his throat has you rocking your hips up against his pelvis as he settles between your legs. Your silent grinding isn't enough of a confirmation. He wants to hear you say it.
"Can I go down on you?" He blurts the shameless question while alternating between kissing both of your breasts and only pauses to meet your eyes.
You want to feel him everywhere but mostly you want his mouth on yours while he’s balls deep inside you. You don’t even care if you cum because being with him like this feels good. Being with him fills your heart with giddy hope and your stomach with butterflies. Being with him is enough. You want to tell him that but instead you nod and whimper out a pathetic “please.”
He wastes no time dipping his head down between your thighs to press the flat of his tongue against your clit. A low growl escapes with his exhale before he puckers his lips to kiss the soft skin and breathe in the heavy scent of your arousal. You’d be embarrassed if his tongue didn’t feel so magical. It glides against you so effortlessly, bringing pleasure with every quick flick against you.
Your hands dive into his hair and you start rolling your hips to grind his face harder against you. He doesn't seem to mind though. In fact he seems to embrace the motion, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you in as closely as possible. If you weren't so preoccupied with the orgasm building just below the surface of the place where his tongue keeps hitting then you might worry that he's suffocating himself. Right now all you can focus on is the pleasure threatening to break you open and leave you spilling a million curses into the air around you.
"Yoongi. Fuck. I'm close," you warn, as if the frantic way you've twirled his hair around each of your fingers isn't enough to tip him off. Do you really think he can't feel the shaking of your thighs in this moment?
He hums a sound like he doesn't hear you, but he doesn't let up at all. He keeps his pace steady for you as you approach your end once again. Your nails scratch against his scalp but he doesn't mind. He actually really likes the way you're losing your mind over the simple things he's doing with his tongue right now. He can't even begin to imagine the pretty sounds that might spew from your lips with practiced effort but he knows he can't wait to hear them.
Suddenly your hand flies up to pound the wall behind you and you announce the wave of pleasure coursing through your clit through the use of a loud string of expletives. He can feel the way your flesh pulses beneath his tongue and he revels in it. You ride his face so well. You can ride it for as long as you want as often as you want. He wants to tell you that but he also wants you to ride out your high for as long as it lasts, so he lets you buck your hips and raise your cunt off the bed. He lets you thrash around through the sensitivity until you're finally pushing his face off with both hands.
"Good? Do you need more?" he verifies, rising from between your legs to deliver a messy, wet kiss to your lips. He smirks through it, knowing he really doesn't need to ask at all to know the answer.
"Cheeky fuck," you murmur, not bothering to even attempt to hide your matching grin against him. "I need it."
"What do you need?" His fingers trail a soft line down your side, reminding you that his teasing nature is simply a front for his caring heart.
"I need you inside me." Your breathing is spotty as you pepper kisses along his jaw. "Like this. I want you to feel me the way I felt you."
It doesn't take long until you're tasting yourself on his lips again. He shifts slightly and you know he's lining himself up with your entrance when you feel the swollen tip of his fat cock nudging at your hole. He's slow to thrust into you. In fact he stills, only giving you shallow, teasing thrusts. He favors letting you wiggle down just a little bit to coax him in. He smiles against your lips and pushes in further, giving you that stretch you were hoping for.
When you suck in a sharp breath he pulls out, but as soon as you whine in protest, he's already carefully moving to slide it back in. The slow stretch has your jaw dropping open and he takes the opportunity to bite on your lower lip. You take the bait and feed him hungry kisses until he’s completely buried inside of your tight cunt. He takes a moment to growl a low sound that has you clenching around him.
“So tight,” he whispers, pausing to curl an arm beneath your head.
He presses the back of your hand against the mattress as he twines his fingers with yours. He drives himself deeper into you with each slow thrust and it feels like he still can’t get close enough. So you raise your other arm above you and angle it until you’re linking your fingers with the ones beneath your head. You kiss his cheek and savor the intimate moment.
When he lazily sinks into your cunt again you crack a smile. “Can't you fuck me harder than that?"
"Mmm." He lifts his head and seems to accept your challenge. His hips pull out slowly and suddenly slam back into you. This sets a new fervent pace that has you squeezing both of his hands. "What do you think? Is this better?"
You do little to actually answer his question and instead offer a slew of swears and moans each time his balls slap against your ass. "Shit. Fuck, fuck fuck. Yoongi..."
"What kind of answer is that?" he asks innocently.
"God, your cock..."
"Mhm," he prods.
"Feels so good, Yoon."
He chuckles. "Yoon... Cute."
"I'll show you cute," you huff.
"Oh?"
You release his hands in favor of pressing your palms against his chest. He pulls out and before you can miss the way he fills you, you're flipping him down on the mattress. You swing a leg over his pelvis and straddle him. It takes you a moment to properly position yourself. You give his length a few pumps in your hand before lining it up with your entrance.
"Careful," he warns, planting his hands on your thighs. "Don't wear yourself out."
You sink down quicker than you probably should. You're eager to make him cum faster than he did for you. The wetness in your core seeps down in translucent trails down your inner thighs. Your own brand of lubricant seems to be enough to keep the stretch pleasurable. Yoongi bites his lip as he gazes down at the way you're bouncing on his cock. You know how good it feels for him, especially with how hard your pussy is squeezing him.
"Don't worry about me."
The sensory overload building in your gut coated with the memory of the unique experience. It mixes with the high threatening to burn its way from your core. You take a deep breath and exhale loudly before you continue. You revel in a slow descent, memorizing every kind of way the stroke makes you feel. Then you begin to quickly draw him in and out of your cunt. The obscene sounds of wet, rapid slapping fill the room.
After a few minutes you've finally got a good rhythm down. Despite the cramp throbbing down your obliques, he's hitting that sweet spot inside you at just the right angle. If you didn't know any better you'd think you're about to cum again. You steady yourself on his chest and trail your hand to his stomach to maintain your balance. Trying to keep the unrealistic pace you'd previously set for yourself is proving difficult, but you swear you're feeling like maybe you're about to crest into the biggest climax of your life. Then again, it could certainly be the biggest letdown now that you're aware of it. Your orgasms have left you for less.
Yoongi knots his eyebrows together in concentration and he reaches down to rub circles against your clit. His fingers are clumsy and new to this angle but they're feather light. He can see in your face that you're chasing some great new high and he just wants to help you achieve it without overdoing it. He knows how shy your cunt is about giving you orgasms so he really wants to do it right. Is this right? He figures you'll tell him if it isn't.
You moan weakly in response. Suddenly, you know it's coming. You can feel it building every time his hips slap up to meet yours. "Oh my fuck."
His abdominal muscles flex beneath your palm and he forces his breaths through his nose as he struggles to keep himself composed. Your cunt is squeezing him so tightly that he knows he's on the brink of his own release but he's determined to help you feel as good as you make him feel.
"That's it. Cum for me again." He tries to coax it with those strong pleas, but his voice is broken with an inhale sharp enough to cut his words.
Both of your thighs are coated in slick sweat. You don't think you've ever felt so fucking wet in your life. He glistens just as much in the dim light so you know between the two of you there's a puddle of sweat soaking your sheets. It's easy to forget how gross or embarrassing it is when the tip of his cock rubs against your g-spot so well. Right now the only thing that matters is getting relief for this pressure building behind your clit.
Despite the shakiness of his fingers, he's able to coax it out of you. Your trembling thighs feel like an earthquake that's finally reached its peak tremor and you find yourself crying out and bouncing to the rhythm of your spasming cunt. You chant your praises and curses in the same breath. His name is a drawn out breathy expression of gratitude and bliss. As soon as you slump forward to kiss him he takes your hands in his own and frantically pumps himself up into you. He can still feel the involuntary flex of your cunt even after you've clearly expended every ounce of your energy reaching and literally riding out your second orgasm.
"Can I cum inside?" he asks between frantic breaths.
"Well, you're not gonna make it to these tits," you tease with a smirk. You may be spent but you'll always have the energy to give him shit. "Do it."
"So fuckin hot," he mumbles against your lips.
The muffled grunts expelled against your mouth and the slow, deliberate snap of his hips leave you in a state of surreal euphoria. He squeezes your hands in his along with his release to let you know this is real. You're here with him. When he comes down from his high he kisses you gently one more time and pulls back to look at you. You take the break in physical connection to roll off of him and stretch out your aching calves and let the air from the fan cool your skin. The tingling in your legs tells you not to get up right now, as much as the fear of a UTI screams at you to do the contrary. Instead you turn your head towards Yoongi and he smiles at you. Sleep threatens to take you when he begins to stroke your hair.
"If you'd have told me last week I'd feel this close to someone, I'd have laughed at you," he starts in a quiet voice, "but I feel really close to you. I'm glad this insanity happened to us."
"Me too." You can't help but smile back. "I don't want to go to sleep because I'm afraid you'll be gone when I wake up. What if this is a dream?"
"Then I'll find you when I wake up. You'd better find me too."
"What if we forget?"
He grabs your hand and runs his thumb over your knuckles. "I won't forget."
"Promise?"
"Mhm." He closes his eyes, clearly every bit as exhausted as you are. He's quiet for a minute and you think maybe he's already fallen asleep until he peeks out from under his eyelids. "... I think you need glasses."
"What?"
"I was just thinking. I felt like I was squinting all the time when I was you. Maybe that's why it took you so long to see how I felt." He shows off a big, toothy grin.
"Wow that guy really rubbed off on you, huh?"
You smack him in the face with a pillow when you get up.
╭⋟────────────────────────╮
╰────────────────────────⋞╯
The muffin and can of Hot6 sit on the counter, guarded by Yoongi's forearm.
"Wow, you already have my stuff ready? Is this the kind of perk I get for dating the owner?" you wonder.
He rolls his eyes. "Not yours until you pay for it."
"You're so sweet, not eating my muffin this time."
He drags his lip through his teeth and tries to hold back a devilish smirk. "I've found better things to eat, don't you think?"
Your heart thumps against your chest and you do your best to remind yourself that offering to suck his dick behind the counter is not what you should be doing in this situation. But you want it so bad. He watches your internal struggle with raised eyebrows and a smug smile. He slides the energy drink towards you.
"Here. This is on me today. You look a little thirsty."
Your shoulders raise and then deflate with your sigh. "Do you even want me to come back later?"
"What? It's free for you. You should be happy."
"And the muffin? What do I owe for that?"
He mimics your dramatic sigh and places it before you. "It's crazy. Your boyfriend offered to pay for that too."
"He's so generous." You shake your head but it can't keep the grin from your face. "Lots of free stuff today."
"It's a... special for today only. So don't get used to it or anything. But there is one more thing we're having a sale on, if you're interested."
"Hmm?"
"Free of charge, for you only." He taps his lips with both pointers, looking impossibly cute. His charm is devastating, really.
He cracks a smile and you feel yours grow impossibly wider. You lean over the counter and give him a sweet kiss.
"How long does this offer last?"
"As long as you want."
"Forever."
"Forever, it is." He gives you one more quick peck. "I've gotta mop the floor and you're gonna be late for work."
"Ugh. Wanna trade?"
He purses his lips and gives your hand a little squeeze. "Not a chance."
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losing your wedding ring and other hostage situation things
im having way too much fun, you will have to pry this au from my cold, dead hands
two birds, one stone, lets GO
(tw for: violence, hostage situations, mention of recreational drugs, a bit of swearing, neil being a mouthy ass mf, mild stabbings)
*
Andrew had been having such a good day.
Those were rare to come by: some form of disaster usually appeared, if not by mid-morning, then by lunch. A perp that was too handsy; an elderly woman shouting tireless angst at Andrew over not being able to find her precious, street-rat looking cat; a stack of overdue paperwork from the nightshift fuckers who were the worst people to exist ever.
No: instead, Neil had woken him up with a tray of hot coffee, chocolate croissants and strawberries for their anniversary celebration (not that either of them had mentioned it), kissed the crumbs away from the corner of his mouth and lead Andrew into the shower with that damned smile of his.
He’d driven Andrew to work (something about Allison holding down the fort), which meant Andrew didn’t have to commute and deal with the general public, or figure out where to park for half an hour. It was coming dangerously close to their rule of ‘don’t talk about work’, but Andrew couldn’t complain when Kevin had been too busy to scrutinise him upon entry to the bullpen.
He and Renee had cracked a decent case, a burly dealer with a ‘Nittany Lions’ emblem tattooed across her collarbone had been shut away for being the primary distributor of a lethal strain of methamphetamine, and there hadn’t been a queue in his favourite subway corner store at lunch time.
Wymack had stuck his head out of his office at about half-past two, with a quirk to his eyebrows. “They’re requesting backup at a shootout situation, up north. Change out.”
Andrew, who had just been getting slightly bored signing neighbourly complain forms, took this in his stride. Renee smiled at him as they left, always knowing more than Andrew ever let on. He hated being known at first, but years with Neil had tempered that discomfort, and having someone who knew what he needed when he couldn’t express it wasn’t half bad.
He cut over Kevin’s music in the patrol car and let the windows down, siren tolling. There were no deaths on the scene as of yet - and Andrew had a feeling there would be none.
It seemed as though there was where his good luck had run out for the day.
Upon exiting the car, protocols had been adhered to, blocks were canvassed, civilians were removed, and Andrew found himself squatting behind a crumbling brick wall, Dan and Matt ahead of him, Kevin and Renee behind him.
Dan looked around the doorway, signalled clear, and so they skirted into the small courtyard. The house in question had been the location for the shooting: how Andrew and the rest of his team had found themselves in the infiltration force was another issue entirely.
“Sargeant, everything’s gone quiet, what’s happening?” Wymack demanded.
“House is looking clear -” a distinct thud and Dan’s disgruntled “Oof!” had Andrew drawing out his gun once more.
“Guns down,” came a strained voice, stepping out from behind the door with a gun held to Dan’s head. He had a ski-mask on. “Everyone put your guns down, or she dies.”
For fuck’s sake, Andrew thought, slowly crouching down and putting up his hands. Matt’s entire body was shaking, but he followed suit, Kevin and Renee copying him.
Three men appeared: one grabbed Matt, another grabbed Kevin, whilst a third went for both Renee and Andrew. The glint in Renee’s eyes said it well enough: it wouldn’t do these fuckers well to underestimate either of them.
But Dan still had a gun to her head, and Andrew was in no business of letting decent people die because he didn’t play along, so he let himself be shuffled into the basement of the house: there, he was shoved against one of the old, wooden pillars and tied up, hands behind his back. The rope burned against his skin.
“Body in the corner,” Renee whispered, nudging his foot with hers. “Stripped, two bullet holes in the head. Look, you can see the Butcher cross on the back of their hand. It has to be a Bearcat.”
Andrew stared at the Butcher’s mark. His husband’s father had once liked to mark his loyalists with two gashes on the back of their hand, often with his favourite cleaver. Neil said he’d left similar marks across his father’s eyes when he’d finally brought him to his knees. The corpse in the corner had to be an older member of the Wesninski gang: Neil had changed a lot of things since inheriting his father’s syndicate.
Gang violence was never great, nor simple, but perhaps a man who was loyal to Nathan Wesninski was better off dead.
“Quiet!” one of the men barked, kicking Renee in the side of her head. Andrew grit his teeth as her head whipped back against the wall.
“Search ‘em,” the other said, crouching by Dan. Identification, a spare twenty, her gun and taser and baton were all removed. When she tried to head-but him, he decided to gag her and tie said gag to the beam she was shoved against. He checked her hand for an engagement or wedding ring, of which neither Dan nor Matt ever wore during their shifts. Matt, Kevin and Renee went through the same thing, radios and guns and spare cash filched from their pockets.
Then it was Andrew’s turn. He coiled up as soon as hands were on him, gritting his teeth. He hated sitting like a victim. He hated waiting around to be rescued. He would be able to cut through this rope somehow if he was just given a minute, but instead he was enduring hands across his arms and shoulders and back, down his legs. They didn’t find the knife in his boot - something he’d copied from Neil - but one of their fingers did catch on the silver chain around his throat.
His eyes closed as they pulled it out.
“Ha,” the crook sneered, snapping the silver chain and holding up Andrew’s wedding band. “Who’s the lucky girl? Doesn’t matter, I s’pose, if you never see her again.”
“You’re married? Since when!” Kevin remarked, and got a knee in the ribs for good measure.
Andrew watched the man pocket his wedding ring and sighed. He’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to Neil when he got home. Hopefully his husband wouldn’t go out on a spree for vengeance just to get the ring back. Worse would be if he decided to go teaching everyone not to touch his family.
For a few moments, the men left them alone, stomping around the house and yelling for good measure. They’d taken Dan’s radio to lay down their terms: they were no doubt in the midst of negotiation.
“I went to the ceremony,” Renee offered in the strained silence. “It was very sweet.”
“Shut up, Renee.” Andrew muttered.
“It’s their anniversary, today,” she added.
He glared at her. “I hate you.”
“What a way to spend it,” Matt murmured, looking to Dan, who was still gagged. He looked back to Andrew. “We’ll make sure you get back home to your...partner?”
“Husband.” Andrew confirmed, then mentally cursed himself for giving away such needless information whilst in a dusty basement, held hostage by some randoms who had already murdered one member of said husband’s gang. Instead, he shuffled his feet around to Renee.
“I’ve got a knife,” he said, like she didn’t already know. He just didn’t want the others to see Renee trying to take off his shoe with her teeth when he’d just mentioned that he has a husband. She nodded, leaning down to pull at his laces, then tugging off his shoe with her knees. The knife skidded out: she kicked it back to Andrew, who flicked it into his hands. She shuffled around so that her ropes were accessible to him, and he got to work sawing.
It only lasted thirty seconds before the men thundered back down stairs: Renee sat on the knife after Andrew dropped it to the floor.
“They need a little more motivation,” the burliest one sneered, stomping over to Dan. “How about you, sarge?”
“You’re making a mistake,” Renee said, calmly. “I’m sure that if everyone walked free right now, we’d be able to figure something out. It doesn’t have to end badly.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped. “God, you’re annoying, aren’t you? Not everything’s so simple, pig.”
“No,” a new voice agreed. “It’s not. But you could’ve at least cleaned this place up a bit before you made such a scene.”
“What the fuck,” the ringleader managed, just as two men dropped to their knees, hands to their stomachs. Two new figures stepped into the basement, dressed similarly. Both wore black jeans and sweaters, though one was a hood tugged firmly over their head, a bandana over their nose and mouth, whilst the other wore a ski-mask with a singular window for the eyes, long hair tucked up into a twist under the wool.
The shorter figure’s blue eyes sought Andrew out immediately: he gave the man a quick nod. I’m alright.
Those eyes burned like the ninth circle of hell. Instantly, Andrew knew he was safe.
“The fuck is this?” the man said, just as another knife buried itself into the chest cavity of his third ally. “Hold on, hold on - are you repping Wesninski? How the fuck did you get here -?”
“Learn your place, Gorilla,” the shorter one said, spinning a knife around on his fingers. His counterpart - and if Andrew didn’t know it was Allison, he would’ve still been able to tell she was a woman - busied herself tying up the other three that were moaning on the floor. Gloved hands, double layered but still deft. Andrew grabbed the knife that was under Renee and kept sawing at her closures.
“You don’t mess with a Wesninski, nor his people.” the knife was slowly raised to ‘Gorilla’s chin, just as gloved fingers reached into the crook’s pocket and drew out a small, silver band. “Too predictable with your trophies, Hawking. Dumped again?”
The man - who was more than a foot taller than their savior and definitely double the width - roared with fury, raising up his hands. He was too late, his body slumping with a pinch to the back of his neck.
The woman looked over to the corner, where the body was dumped, and sighed. “You weren’t the worst, Richie.”
“Definitely bad timing, A.” the man said, hopping over the unconscious body of his rival to lean over Andrew: the others looked on with intrigue as the mysterious man slipped Andrew’s wedding ring into his front pocket.
“Go,” Andrew muttered from out the corner of his mouth. Only Renee would be able to hear. “We’ll be fine.”
“Love you,” Neil whispered back. Not a moment later, he was gone.
“We’re we just saved by a Wesninski gang member?” Kevin wondered aloud.
Not just any gang member, Andrew thought. Kevin would shit himself if he knew who was under that mask.
“Stranger things have happened,” Matt said, though he was unsure. At that point, Andrew had cut Renee’s ropes free, and she set to work unbinding them all.
Wymack was the first into the basement, fury scrawled across his scraggly brows. “Is everyone - Christ.” He looked to the four men on the floor: three stabbed and bound, still alive and writhing in pain, and one unconscious, jaw at a bad angle from where he’d fallen over. “Do I even want to know what happened?”
“I don’t think you’d believe us if we told you, sir,” Renee said, sweetly, as she cut Dan’s gag free and helped her off the floor.
Wymack simply rubbed at his temple with one hand, the other reaching for his radio. “Four stretchers. All threats have been disengaged. Stand down: everyone is safe.”
*
Andrew felt his phone buzz as he was stood behind his desk, packing things into his bag to head home. Hostage situation aside, it’d still been a good day.
Home now - got more ice cream and borrowed Bridget Jones’ Diary from Ally’s collection
I hate you, Andrew texted back. Heading home now - i can detour and get Joe’s thai
no, Neil said immediately. i’ve already got food being delivered. need to see u home and safe.
Andrew felt something warm in his chest. I’ll be there soon.
He tucked his phone into his bag, and brought out the ring that he’d kept tucked into the pocket of his pants all day, seeing as the chain had been broken. Carefully, he slid it onto his finger. It still fit, though he wasn’t sure why he’d thought that it wouldn’t.
Across the room, Matt smiled, nudging Renee and gesturing to where Andrew had put on his wedding ring and was almost ready to leave. “The Monster has a husband.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Dan agreed, sidling up to the pair.
You barely know the half of it, Renee thought, watching her partner amble out of the bullpen, a fondness in her smile.
*
wow. SOFT.
#andreil#mobster/cop au#butcher!neil#cop!andrew#neil josten#andrew minyard#i cannot believe i have written such a soft hostage situation#wow#all for the game#aftg#mobster neil#policeman andrew#jem writes
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winter reminiscence pt . 2
Summary: Upon meeting Timothee on the bus, Y/N goes to her favorite bookstore, while Timothee goes out to his study place, to get their minds off of each other. Unfortunately, for both of them it is a small world they live in and luck was not on their side, or was it?
word count: 1,967 reading time aprox: 7 mins
timothee's pov
From the turn the bus had taken after she had gotten off to a few stations down, I sat despairingly in my seat, cooped up in evident mental suppression. I ran my fingers through my curls, while my other hand played with the ‘Columbia University’ tassel that hung from my side pocket, scanning the surroundings and finding the bus a ghost town.
“Kid, this is the last stop” The bus driver announced over the loudspeaker, the wheels screeching to a halt, catching my attention.
“Sorry, thank you” I apologized, apprehensively waving a hand to gesture my atonement. With that I stepped off the bus and made my merry way to the coffee shop where I would buy my daily dose of caffeine.
The sign read “bon café” in luminescent script, surrounded by cartoons of miniature succulents and vines that draped across the cafe’s door frame. The aesthetic of the place reminded me of the trips to Marseille with my dad whenever I’d fly to France to meet him. The greek inspired textured walls, the little ornaments of boats, and the paintings of water would be what my father called “la plus belle époque architecturale”.
Standing by the counter, I took my place in line while listening to the muted tracks of ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘White Christmas’ that battled against the chatter that filled the atmosphere. As soon as I got to the front, I ordered a hot chocolate and a buttered bagel, knowing that I was going to be here for a while.
I picked up my order from the counter, and chose a two-seater in the corner where a single ficus stood, an overhead light illuminating the table. I rested my Anthropology textbook in front of me, opening to the review page as I studied for my Midterms.
The rings of the welcome bell by the front door would take me out of my concentration, although I tried to focus on the material in front of me. But what really did it for me was the change of music in the place, the cheery seasonal playlist was swapped out for a Beatles song, specifically, ‘Here Comes The Sun’, more specifically:
her favorite song
It seemed as if I suddenly forgot how to read as my eyes scanned the same phrase over and over again. With this, I closed the book aggressively, shutting my eyes in irritation and dragging my hands over my face. In addition to this, as the song ended, ‘She Loves You’, another song from the beatles, came on.
With a groan, I rested my head on the surface of the table, banging my head in attempt to physically shake out all the sensations and memories I wish I regretted.
-
“She’s my best friend Y/N! Why can’t you understand that” I muttered in a low tone, pinching the bridge of my nose as I tried to keep this stupid and unreasonable fight to rest.
“I’m not saying I don’t understand Timmy, I get it! She’s your best friend and I understand that completely. But how do you expect me to react when she’s telling all her little friends that you, quote on quote, told her you wanted to kiss her” She counteracted, crossing her arms while shaking her head at me, which seemed to fuel me even more.
“That’s how we joke around and it was through text. Gosh, can you even take a joke?” I justified
“So that’s joking around, huh. Right Timmy? That’s joking around” She asked, sarcasm dripping off every word she spoke. “But whenever another guy dm’s me, suddenly, you want to log into my account to check them out and then magically they get erased from my message box. Right Timmy?”
I stood silent as anger began bubbling through my veins, traveling upwards towards my face as rouge began to show through my pale skin. With clenched fists, and gritted teeth, I managed to get out “So what do you want me to do, huh, do you want to stop being friends with her?”
“That’s not what I’m saying Chalamet, I’m literally just here confronting you on a situation that I’ve heard of” She stated, letting out a breath as her passive-aggressive words slipped out from her lips.
“But that’s what you want, don’t you? You want me to stop talking to her?”
“That’s not what I’m sayi-”
“No you tell me” I stated firmly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “If that’s what it takes for you to drop this, I will” I confessed, staring at her blankly, my lips frozen in a line.
“Yes” She nodded, sighing as she rubbed the side of her temples. “But I don’t want you to do it, if you really don’t want to. I don’t want to sacrifice your convenience for mine” She added on, her natural compassion trickling into her speech.
Taking out my phone, I searched up the contact that I had of my best friend and with a little hesitation, clicked the block button and placed my phone back in my pocket.
“There” I replied dryly. “Anything for you”
-
y/n’s pov
Trudging through the melted ice, I made my way to a modest bookstore that nobody really knew about. It was in a quaint neighborhood in Brooklyn that had old fashioned cobble streets, filled with extraordinary and history filled antique shops, charming eateries and cafes, museums, and statues of people long gone.
Quickening my pace, I pushed against the glass door and into the, fortunately, heated space filled with countless amounts of literature. What I loved about this secret library was that it was a hidden gem in the area as it isn’t particularly visible compared to the garnished and well-decorated buildings beside it.
The plain peach walls and the small reading benches created a cozy atmosphere, a perfect place to sit down and embark on adventures through other people’s written words.
Shimmying through the aisles, my fingers ran to touch the spines of the old books as I, once again, found myself in between the ‘coming-of-age’ and ‘historical dramas’ section. Closing my eyes, I continued to feel the books until I landed on a random novel, plucking it out of the shelf, I opened my eyes to see printed “Little Women” as the title.
With a curious smile, I read the blurb eager to set upon another expedition. Maybe one to get my mind off of my own trying times. It seemed to be about four sisters, set back in the Civil War Era, that described the values of poverty and family.
Approving the book, I read the first few pages and walked over to the counter, where a brittle old lady with an obnoxious hat and humongous reading glasses sat idle.
“Good afternoon” I greeted, handing her the copy I had taken from the shelf, waiting patiently as she tried finding the barcode for the book.
“Little Women I see, I remember when I was about your age I would find myself gravitating towards this book again and again” She grinned, releasing a hearty chuckle that ended up in a coughing fit. “Pardon me, I guess the old lungs don’t work like they ought to” She admitted.
Throughout her spiel, numerous scans had been demonstrated and nothing but a red bulb light up, indicating there was some sort of error. “Oh golly me, I apologize for the inconvenience young lady. I guess I’m not the only one getting old” She joked.
I politely joined in, but ultimately grimaced as she proceeded to bang on the machine with unknowing force. “This might be a while” She bashfully disclosed. “If anything, please feel free to browse, this’ll be about 15 to 30 minutes”
With a courteous nod, I notified her of my return later on as I stepped outside of the store, basking in the imposing village around me. With a breath of fresh air, my eyes landed on an archaic coffee shop embellished with shrubbery across the street to where I was.
I squinted my eyes at the outside menu plastered on a chalkboard near the entrance, although my nearsightedness limited me as I only recognized blots of white chalk and of what looked like script.
An abrupt grumbling noise broke the quiet air and I felt a twist in my stomach. Suddenly, I felt the craving for a chocolate croissant and maybe a brownie or three. The scent traveling from the crepe cart near me didn’t help with the situation, my sense of smell lolling in the piquant aroma.
I walked across the street clutching my stomach as I was rather not keen in being cold and hungry. The glass front came into view, squaring in on various college students chatting about or studying and business men absorbed into typing furiously on their laptops.
Opening the door, I was instantly hugged by the smell of coffee and the warmth provided by the old fashioned heaters, finding a spot on line to order a few things.
timothee’s pov
The ringing of the cafe bell snapped me out of my thoughts, bringing me back to reality, where I suppressed those memories in the back of my head. Opening my textbook once again, I forced myself to invest my full fledged attention to the course.
At least that was the initial plan, when a phone dropped in front of my table for the second time today, causing me to do a double take as the scene from my memories has discernibly come to life in front of me.
y/n’s pov
“Shit!” I cursed gracefully, tripping over an old rug and hearing the sound of my phone’s impending doom. With a sigh, I turned around with a croissant stapled to my lips and a brownie bag in one hand. “I’m so sorry-” I mumbled through the baked good, but stopped when found my phone in the same place as it was before.
Realization hit me and mortification soon inundated my stance, my current appearance giving a sharp blow to my dignity as Timothee sat handsomely in his seat.
“You seriously need pants with deeper pockets” He quipped, handing me my phone with an uncomfortable smile. Gazing at my state with condolence.
“Thank you...” I paused, “Again for, you know, saving my phone” I replied stiffly. Never meeting his fixed stare, I focused on the tips of my shoelaces, reminiscing on my favorite episode of Phineas and Ferb, my thoughts carelessly diverting my attention to these fond memories.
“So, um, how have you been?” He asked with a tight smile, folding his textbook close.
“I’ve been great” I replied a little too enthusiastically like I had something to prove. I looked at him chastely, noticing the flecks of brown in his irises, something I’d spend hours fixated on when we’d lie in bed. “How’s college going on for you?” I asked, referring to the book in front of him.
“Oh yeah, college, it’s difficult, I guess” He answered with a dry chuckle, scratching the back of his head.
Sensing the unpleasantness in the air, I nodded at him and smiled, the chattering voices in the background unable to fill the awkward silence between us. “Um, anyway. I best be going” I said, the words basically fumbling out from my tongue.
I hastily reeled around, making a full 180 as my heartbeat threatened to fall out of my chest with the pace it’s been going at. Tucking my phone in my back pocket, I pursued an escape route from the arduous ambience.
However, the action was pulled to a halt when I felt an all too familiar hand grip my wrist falteringly.
“Wait”
Timothee spoke with a dawdling and reluctant voice, in which I turned around prudently, looking into his unreadable eyes.
But at least this time, he was looking back at mine.
-
finale
#timothee chalamet#timothee imagine#timothee chalamet x reader#timothee chalamet imagines#timmy chalamet#timothée hal chalamet#chalamet#tchalamet#timothee chalamet imagine#lil timmy tim#timmy#timothee x reader#timothee imagines#winter#new york#new york city#little women
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bad boy!han (jisung) [negative utopia!au]
thank you to the anon who requested this! [totally inspired by nosedive from black mirror]
warning: min. profanity! (no proofreading) [2.9k words]
also,, it’s a bad boy who is not really a “BAD” boy au
jisung has always been viewed as a “bad” boy, it was never his intention but in a world that is based on “stupid” star ratings and fake interactions,, he had no choice but to be viewed as an outcast.
after dropping below a 3.0 rating from protesting these views he held
he was disowned by his own family, but luckily was picked up by a few guys around his own age and have been with them ever since.
and now it’s been three years since chan and changbin offered a place in their run down cabin to jisung,, all of them not accepted by the world of fake smiles and friendships.
throughout the years, the three of them went along in their lives to discover the true meaning of life that was hidden by the government,, finding that there was more to the world than a swipe of 5 stars
jisung had the lowest score out of them,, still running around with that 1.4 rating above his head that created on-lookers who were complete strangers to continue to drop his level down
and this is where you come around
you were from a family of high 4.0s,, you being a 4.7 who had never gone below a 4.5 in years
you had always been used to the artificial interactions you come across in your everyday life,, whether it was given something on the house for an easy 5 star rating or someone who complimented you with their full pearly whites, smiling so hard and wide that their botox was seeping out of their pores,, you became numb to it and would respond back with the same disingenuous smile before swiping your thumb to the five star option
it was your everyday,, and almost everyone else’s in the small bubble you associated with so you never felt odd or out of place with your routine
it was something that you could expect a mlle away,, probably even in your sleep
“good morning, y/n.” jennifer says with a giant smile, “would you like a croissant? they gave me an extra one by accident.”
you smile back, although on the inside you were frowning in disgust, “no thank you.”
‘a little try-hard aren’t you? just for a five star, yuck.’ you mentally groaned as you slid through her timeline, full of pictures of her dogs
you couldn’t lie, you had a soft spot for cute puppers which raised her score to a mediocre 3 star rating
funny how she was acting all nice then immediately curses you out once you left the elevator as she saw her level ding down a few decimals
you walked out of the apartment complex, mindlessly scrolling through the timeline that was projected on your phone not paying attention to the world around you
that was when you bumped into him,, your eyes widened as you laid eyes on the blond boy who had a flashing 1.4 at the side of his face
“s-sorry.” he mumbles, “i should’ve paid attention to where i was going.”
you furrow your brows, pondering how someone like him was able to get such a low score
“the 1.4? yes, it’s low. no, i’m not on double-damage. yes, i’m perfectly fine at where it is.” it was as if he had read your mind
you smile, almost genuinely the feeling quite odd to you, “i hadn’t even said anything yet.”
his smile was radiating, sending a pang into your chest, even if it was just a small half smile it was one of the brightest smiles you have seen in a long time
his hand was on the back of his neck as he laughs off your statement, “i just know that look. i’ve gotten them almost every day for the past three years.”
he was intriguing, everything about him sparked your curiosity, from the way he felt so genuine to the story he held behind that flashing score
“what’s.. your name?” you ask, putting your phone aside, your heart wanting to interact with him face-to-face rather than letting you find out his every detail by yourself from your phone
“do you not want to look yourself?” he asks, that same half smile on his face, “a 4.7 actually wanting to have a conversation with me?”
you shrug, cocking your head sideways, “there’s just something about you.” ‘that makes me want to learn more and more.’
“the name is jisung.” now your chest was twisting when he smiled widely, it had looked the same as every smile you’ve seen but how did his make you feel so differently?
the way his eyes curled into crescent moons and his nose crinkled. the way his smile felt so warm and at home unlike all the other ones you’ve seen that were cold and distant.
“jisung.” the way the name rolled around your mouth made you giddy and warm, “i like it.”
his laugh was hearty, bouncing off of his chest and the way he threw his head back as he laughed made you want to laugh but you didn’t know how to sound as genuine as he did
you subconsciously heard that awful sound of his level dinging down every minute he spent standing outside with you as yours was ringing up causing you to scrunch your face in uneasiness
“it’s okay, i’m used to it.” jisung mumbles, nothing about his tone was sad or disappointed
you looked around at the people around you, how they were looking at you and jisung differently although you both were doing the exact same thing
the only difference was his low score and your high one
“i should probably get going, i wouldn’t want you to ding down.” his smile was still radiating, how was he able to be so positive in a world that treated him so poorly?
“i’d love to see you again one day!” it was one of your automated goodbyes, but this time saying it felt so authentic to you
“you can always find me with that phone of yours.” he says before waving goodbye
‘phone of yours? what could be possible mean by that?’
it had been a few days since your encounter with jisung
he was wrapped around your everyday thoughts, something always leading you back to your short conversation that you held with him
you were sitting at the breakfast bar in your family home, mindlessly scrolling through jisung’s feed for the tenth time in hopes that he would give an update
you were hesitant to send him a message, scared that he would ignore you
your father places a hand on your shoulder, giving you a startle
you instantly shut off your phone and turn to look at him, that fake smile wrapped itself onto your lips once again
“i talked to your reputelligent therapist.” he started, taking a seat beside you on the empty stool, “he showed me your conversation with that 1.4 kid.”
you gulped down, now feeling extremely nervous which was also a new feeling
“i don’t like that kid.” he says outright not hesitating anything he says, “you know what means, I shouldn’t have to hear about him again the next time i talk to your therapist.”
“therapist.” you scoff, “a fucking therapist? you call him a therapist? dad, he looks at how i swipe my finger i’m pretty sure that’s not a therapist!”
you anger was boiling, you’ve never been so upset at anyone like this before
“do not speak to me in that tone.” ironic as his was just as harsh and cold as yours was, but what was the point when everyone spoke that way towards each other in this house.
“then don’t judge a book by it’s cover, or in this case a person by their number.” you snap, before hopping down from the stool and heading to your room
as you were almost at the end of the hallway you heard that disgusting down-voting sound that you heard when you were with jisung
you look down to see that your father had given you a single star rating which caused you to,, loosen all of your held up aggression
“you would do that to your own child?” you were screaming at this point, your face was red and your knuckles became white as you gripped your phone tightly, “all of this is just a game to you isn’t it?”
he huffed, furrowing his brows and crossed his arms across his chest to close himself away from your attacks, “you deserved it.”
“even the conversations you have with your own children have to be rated? do you even know a life where you don’t rate every interaction?” your tone was bitter, but you were speaking from your mind
something you hadn’t done in years
“stop it now, y/n.” he insisted.
“all this life is to you is holding that stupid 4.8.” you pointed at the flashing number beside his face, “i guess genuine isn’t in your vocabulary anymore.”
and with that, you walked past him towards the front door, another down-vote sound ring from your phone,, you don’t even bother to turn around since you felt his eyes boring through the back of your head,, all you did was raise your arm to flip the bird at him.
the outside world felt different to you,, trying to distract yourself from the flashing numbers beside everyone’s face
you had that urge to rip out your eye-implant that allowed you to see it
the bubble in your throat was threatening to become into a sob, the overwhelming feeling rushing through your body after releasing all your pent up anger
you felt a ring coming from your phone, it wasn’t a rating this time but a text
‘two one star ratings? ouch.’ you read the message summary from your notification screen, the name sending your mind into a whirl
jisung
‘you’ve been watching my score? you don’t seem the type.’
‘and you’ve been watching my feed so you don’t seem like that type either.’
‘touché. we should talk.’
‘i can meet you by the old library?’
jisung had ran the library after you agreed,, his heart was racing and some of his strand of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead
you were sitting at the front of the building, looking at the scenery around you instead of putting your nose into your phone
“what was it,, being rude to a cashier or being too loud in the back of a taxi or was it both?” he was already smiling, not bothering to greet you with the usual hi, hello, how are yous
you chuckle, "you won’t believe me if i told you.”
“try me, i’ve gotten a one star for almost everything you could possibly think of.” he sat beside you, leaving inches between the two of you
“defending you.” your voice was soft, but you turn to look at him.
his eyes widened and the confusion was written all over his face
“defending me? you’re kidding right?” his tone had changed, his smile faded into a thin straight line.
“i was right. i knew you wouldn’t believe me.” you laughed again, it was more of a in-your-face-i-told-you-so laugh
the feeling between the two of you changed,, it was tense and the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife
“why would you ever defend me? you don’t even know me.” he sounded rather upset and it struck you in the wrong way,, why would he be upset for you helping him?
“jisung,, just because i don’t know you well doesn’t mean i shouldn’t stand up for you from people who judge you just for your number.” your eyebrows furrow in frustration,, you didn’t have the words to express your emotions
“who was it?”
“my,, dad.” you hesitated to answer, you were still trying to process the argument you had with him earlier
“are you a fucking idiot?” his tone was harsh, just like the one you had heard come from your father. his body language went through the same process, closing himself away from you.
“excuse me?” you asked,, taken aback by his reponse
“are you stupid? why would anyone in their right mind defend a 1.4 especially you,, a person with a 4.5.” you could tell his stance was getting more serious, he had turned into someone you’ve never seen before
granted,, you’ve only seen him once and stalked his feed but more so you’ve never expected such a happy-go-lucky guy be so serious and upset
“so what you’re saying is that i should have let him bad-mouth you?”
he shrugged, “what’s new? it’s not like i don’t go through it everyday anyways. one more person doing it wouldn’t hurt me.”
“jisung,, just because people do it all the time does not mean it’s okay!”
“i don’t want you the end up like me!” he finally screams, “as happy as i am with where i am in life,, i don’t want you to end up being mistreated like i have. you’ve been so sheltered with your score... there’s so many things people do to you just because of the number of your score.”
it took him a minute to calm down,, and he leaned against the wall of the building before looking at you again
“i was disowned by my family after protesting against the reforms..i see them in town and they won’t even blink an eye in my direction. everywhere i walk in town i get cursed at or tossed around,, i’m seen as a bad guy and i really don’t want that to happen to you.”
“but you’re happy.” you acknowledged, “you’re happier now than i would ever be if i stayed in my home and i want that happiness in my life jisung. i’m so tired of all of the artificial interactions.. of all the fake smiles and the fake friendships.”
your eyes began to water, “even if means that i have to give up my family and my privileges of having a high score to be happy,, i would do it.”
jisung looked at you, watching the tears stream down your face. his heart twisted in his chest,, looking at you reminded him of himself three years ago
“you’re not a bad guy.” you whisper, still choking on the sob you were trying to keep in, “everyone in this town doesn’t even know what a real interaction is anymore and it’s sad.”
“you really want to leave everything behind.. for me?”
that’s what made you laugh,, you knew he was teasing you as well from his emphasis on ‘for me’
“shut up.” you laugh, his teasing helping you feel better, “i’d give everything up if that meant i could be happy and if you happen to make me happy in the long run then yeah for you as well idiot.”
so,, you never ended up reconciling with your father. you avoided him when you had gone home that day after meeting with jisung.
jisung had told you to give a thought for a bit before jumping into a big decision over fresh anger
but you,, knew it was the best decision you could make as once you got home,, your brother and mother were both ignoring you already as if they all made a silent agreement to not see you as family anymore
that night you packed a bag and jumped out of your window,, not even bothering to leave a letter goodbye
you messaged jisung about your actions as you were walking back to the empty library with a duffle on your side,, he was already there when you arrived
jisung had convinced chan and changbin to make room for you,, as you really didn’t have anywhere else to go. they decided to use your score to their advantage until it went down in return for housing.
you didn’t object to it,, jisung and you were assigned to go around running errands and that’s when your score started to spiral down to match jisung’s
word had spread quick that you left your family
after a year of being free,, you couldn’t ask for anything different. you were happy.
now whenever you looked back to your first encounter with jisung,, it all made sense of how and why he was so happy.
“so you did do it for me.” he teases, holding your hand as you both walked downtown to the grocery store
“not really for you when we weren’t even dating when i left everything.” you joke back, wrapping your arm around his still holding into his hand
“that’s only because you wouldn’t admit you liked me until six months ago!”
“as if! you’re the one who couldn’t ask me out until changbin told me you were trying to so I asked you!”
“but you wouldn’t change it for the world right?”
“hey that’s my line.”
and he was right, you definitely wouldn’t change it for the world.
#han scenarios#sk-writersnet#jisung scenarios#stray kids scenarios#stray kids#kpop scenarios#han jisung#jisung au#han au#stray kids au#skz scenarios#skz#han#jisung#stray kids angst#han angst#jisung angst#it's not even that angsty why tag it as angst#han jisung scenarios#bad boy au#lol this took a different turn that i expected but oh well i like it
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The first part of Chapter 1. I have writers block so I couldn’t get past this point, but I hope you like it.
Taglist (tell me if you wanna be added or removed): @flyingsassysaddles @ask-the-new-columbian-colonies @oukimuni
Criticism and feedback is always welcome! Now for the story.
—
7 years later...
Annie was asleep, blissfully aware to the world outside already awake and going about their day. She was dreaming sweet dreams and really didn’t want to get up. Her people needed her! If she didn’t complete the quest and slay the dragon, all hope would be lost. She approached the beast carefully, sword in hand and shield in the other. This creature was a smart one, so it would be hard to outwit it. But just as soon as she raised her sword to attach, the dragon let out a ferocious roar!
BEEP BEEP BEEP
She shot up in bed, looking around confused. That wasn’t what dragons sound like. And where was she? This wasn’t the dragon’s cave…
No. It wasn’t. This was her apartment and it was time for her to get up. She groaned and flopped back down onto the bed and blindly reached around for the snooze button on her alarm clock to silence the loud sound. Once the beeping stopped, she sat up once again and stretched her arms. Time to start the day.
Annie made quick work of her morning routine. In succession, she brushed her teeth, got dressed for work, and took a look in the mirror. She was wearing her uniform for work, a black shirt and skirt combo with a tan apron, but her eyes drifted to the mess that was her hair. Her curly hair looked more like a rat’s nest than anything. She fixed it up and managed to tame it, but it took a while. Finally, she grabbed a bagel for breakfast.
Munching on the bagel, she checked her phone for any notifications. She had 2 new texts from Cameron and one from Davis. She opened them and scanned them quickly. Cameron was screaming about some concert tickets they won and Davis was reminding her to call him later. Normal stuff. Checking the time, she did a double take. 9:42?? I’m gonna be late for my shift!
Hurriedly grabbing her bag and keys, Annie ran out the door and out onto the sidewalk. Turning to the left, she sprinted down the street, weaving in and out of people, trying not to bump into anybody. Eventually she slowed down to a jog, allowing her to catch her breath. She couldn’t show up to work all disheveled, which is what would happen if she ran all the way to the coffee shop she worked at.
Finally arriving at The Caffeine Corner, she pushed the door open, causing a little jingle to play, and walked in. It wasn’t very crowded with most of the regular customers already being at work. There was some light music playing in the background along with light chatter of people having breakfast. One of her coworkers, Jackson, called out to her.
“Annie! You’re finally here. You just missed the first wave of coffee-loving zombies trying to get to work. Such a shame, there were some funny conversations that I heard,” said Jackson, who was currently managing the cashier.
She smiled a little. It was daily entertainment for the two of them to try and find the most ridiculous conversations they heard while manning the cashier and while moving around the cafe. Some of the best ones happened early in the morning, when people were sleep deprived and trying to get to work on time. Annie herself usually missed that time due to her shift being a bit later in the morning, but Jackson made sure to regale her with the tales of whatever stupidity he had heard coming out of customers’ mouths.
As fun as it was talking about the meaningless jumble of words that came out of people’s mouths, they had work to do. To ‘maximize work time and increase efficiency’ or whatever their boss Karen was always going on about, the two workers split up the tasks. Jackson would continue manning the cash register, while Annie would take orders to and from customers and just do general waitressy things.
While serving some of the regular patrons, she noticed a commotion happening at the back of the cafe. She could hear yelling that was slowly getting louder. She sighed. She didn’t want to deal with this today. Angry customers were an unfortunate side effect of waitressing, even on a normal day Annie had no patience for them. But she still had to go over to assess the problem and see what she could do. Not like she could do much. Jackson was better with dealing with these types of situations, it was why he manned the register most days.
Putting her tray down on an empty table and walked over to the offending party. The commotion seemed to be caused by a middle aged woman. She was a regular and was known for having a bit of a temper, according to Jackson.
“Bit of a temper” my ass. She has a kilos worth of a temper, Annie mused to herself.
Forcing a customer service smile on, she cleared her throat, gaining the attention of the fighting customers. The middle aged woman’s face twisted into a smug grin, much to the chagrin of her companion.
“See? An employee has come to deal with your bullshit!” she exclaimed.
The person she had been fighting with, a young girl who looked like she might be the lady’s daughter, leveled Annie with an unimpressed look.
“What bullshit? The only bullshit I see is whatever you’re spewing,” she shot back.
This continued on for a few good minutes, both parties completely ignoring Annie in favor of badly insulting each other. Once they had started breaking out what looked like personal jabs at each other, her patience wore thin.
“Ladies, ladies. Can we please stop fighting? It’s disturbing the other customers who are trying to eat lunch.”
That got their attention. They both turned to face her, visibly annoyed at her stopping their cat fight.
“Good. You’ve stopped. Now what seems to be the problem?”
The older woman spoke first.
“This brat here is saying she won’t go to see that one movie about the fish with me, even though I asked her TEN times!” she screeched.
The younger woman sighed, “Mom. I already saw that movie with you like seven times. I’m not seeing it again.”
“But it’s a masterpiece!”
“I don’t care! I don’t want to go see it only for you to cry about an animated fish for 2 hours.”
The mom huffed and crossed her arms. It seemed they had gone back to the core of the argument, one of the pair didn’t want to go to a thing the other wanted to go to, so now they were fighting like children. Ridiculous. Is this really what she had to come over to settle? Annie was currently done with this woman’s shit.
“Well if you’re done screaming about a fish, could you go back to your table? I have other customers to get to and you’re causing a disturbance.”
This seemed to offend the woman in some way, causing her to adopt a disgusted look on her face and march out of the cafe in a huff, her daughter following behind her with a huge grin on her face.
Annie let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She hated dealing with customers who thought they were always right. She hated that saying as well. It should really be ‘The Customer Is Only Sometimes Right, Like Any Normal Person’.
Walking back over to counter, she walked behind it to get started on some orders for other customers, who were all waiting patiently to her delight, and noticed Jackson talking to some of their coworkers who had just walked in. It seemed he was about to go on break and was informing Luka, one of the other people who manned the cash register most often, about the customers that might cause her a problem. Annie grabbed a platter and loaded it with plates. The lunch rush was about to start, and she wanted to have as much of a headstart on serving customers as she could. Grabbing the edge of the platter with one hand, she went around and gave people their food. One or two customers yelled at her for getting their order wrong or something like that. But most of the people that came in were quite polite and didn’t give her any trouble.
Soon enough, the rush was over and her break time was almost here. Her arms were sore from the sheer amount of coffees she had to make in rapid succession. Yeah, they were usually busy, but it seemed like today the world had it out for her. Only a few more customers to serve and then she could go on break. She allowed her mind to entertain the thought of the glory that is break time a bit longer, until a voice broke her out of her daydream.
“Hey. You there? Can I order now?”
Annie focused on the source of the voice, a young woman with long black hair, sporting an amused smile.
“Oh! Of course, sorry. I must have zoned off. Sorry you had to break me out of my trance, usually my coworker would have done it by now, but I guess he zoned off as well,” Annie replied, attempting at some humor to not have the customer mad at her, “Now what would you like to order?”
“A medium coffee and a croissant, please.”
“Okay. And can I get a name for that order?”
“Cana.”
Annie smiled. The name fit her. And the girl seemed very nice, and thankfully not mad at her for being distracted.
“Ok. I’ll bring you the coffee and croissant in a bit. You can go find a seat.”
“Thank you.” Cana said to her with a smile.
Annie watched as the girl went to sit down at a table before focusing her attention on the next customer. She had wrote down the orders of around 3 more people when Jackson called to her that Cana’s order was ready. He had come off break and was now preparing orders. Taking over the cash register, he handed her the food and started ringing up the other customers.
Now all she had to do was remember where Cana’s table was. This was probably the thing she was the worst at. There were so many people and instead of them coming up to get there food, the staff doubled as waiters and waitresses, bringing them their food so that they didn’t have to stop if they were working or doing homework. The cafe was very popular with students from the local university, so the practice got them a lot of good reviews. --something about finding a table here--
If I remember correctly, she had gone to sit in the back, over in the corner. Annie thought to herself.
It seemed her suspicions were correct, as when she looked over at the back corner, she spotted that long black hair she remembered. There she was. Walking over, she noticed that Cana seemed to be in the middle of sketching something in a small notebook. Not wanting to startle her, she decided to call out so she knew Annie was there.
“Cana?”
She looked up from her notebook and smiled when she saw Annie and the food.
“Here’s your food,” she said, placing it down on the table, “If you want to order anything else, just come up to the counter.”
“Thank you.”
Annie just smiled and turned around, walking back to the front of the cafe. Though, as she walked away, she swore she could feel Cana’s gaze lingering on her back.
---
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Chlonette and mermaids
this isn’t really very plotty but idk modern mermaid au i guess :P
words: 1961
Marinette looked into her old jewelry box and realized she was quickly running out of stock.
About the only things left inside that she was willing to part with were a stack of silver rings (fake silver probably, but that was Marinette’s secret) and a strange bronze bee broach that her aunt had gotten her for her birthday three years ago that Marinette never bothered to wear. She dug around her closet for her old hand mirror with the cracked handle and decided that all this was enough. It was probably time to start scouring thrift stores and street fairs, but she’d worry about that later.
She stuffed everything into her bag, grabbed a croissant from the kitchen counter, and started to make her way towards the pier.
It was early enough in the morning that not many people were by the beach with the exception of the occasional fisherman heading to the southern part of the pier with fishing rods and baskets full of bait. Marinette headed in the opposite direction until she came upon a part of the rickety, wooden banister that was damaged, leaving a hole just large enough for Marinette to slip past. She looked around her to make sure no one was watching before she squeezed through the gap and carefully started to shimmy down one of the posts until she was dropping down onto a small bank of rocks underneath the walkway.
Marinette squinted against the sunrise coming just over the horizon as she whistled a quick tune with four long notes and waited.
It only took a few seconds for a glimmering golden fin to breach the surface of the water just a few meters away. Marinette watched the ripples in the water begin to get closer to her until they finally started to swirl around her feet. A blonde head of hair carefully poked up from underneath the water. “Is the coast clear?”
“No one’s around, don’t worry,” Marinette assured. “You can come up.”
“Oh, wonderful.”
Chloe leaned her hands against the bank of rocks and carefully lifted herself up to sit right next to Marinette, stretching her long golden tail out in front of her so that her scales could dry in the sun. She collected all of her hair in her hands and wrung out all the water, being careful not to disturb the chains of pearls she had braided throughout her hair. “You don’t usually come on Tuesdays. Don’t you open up the bakery in the mornings?”
“It’s a holiday today, so school’s out and the bakery is closed,” Marinette explained. “Thought I’d come visit.”
“You’re lucky,” Chloe smirked. “I was just out this morning looking for jellyfish.”
Marinette dug through her bag. “Jellyfish?”
“Of course, darling. Do you think my tail stays this smooth and shiny through will power? Proper tail maintenance is important. It’s downright tragic how other mermaids tend to neglect that.”
“Don’t jellyfish sting?”
“Oh, they do! But the tingle it leaves afterwards is worth it. That means it’s working.”
Marinette chuckled and made sure to file away that little mermaid factoid away for later. She pulled out the stack of silver rings, held it up to the light, and handed it to Chloe. “It’s been a while since I brought you things to add to your collection so I’d thought I’d bring some things by.”
Chloe gasped and snatched it out of Marinette’s hands, rolling it around in her palms and marveling at the way the metal shone in the light. “Oh, they’re so bright!!!”
“Yeah, I thought you might like them. I’ve only worn them once and they’re too big for me so I don’t use them very often.”
Chloe slipped the rings on all of her fingers and found that they were also too big to fit snugly. “That’s okay. I can probably figure out a way to turn it into a hair clip or something. It’s really hard to swim sometimes with your hair getting in your face.”
“I know it’s not diamonds or rubies or anything like that, but you’re good at finding good uses for random things.”
“Ah, finding beauty in even the most lowly of places,” Chloe sighed, fluttering her lashes with a smile. “It’s the saint in me.”
Marinette rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Alright. Your turn.”
Chloe tapped her finger against her lips before searching the dozens of baubles and doodads she had hooked onto the gold chains hanging around her hips like a belt. It took her a couple of minutes to find what she was looking for, but eventually she cheered and handed Marinette a compass that was caked in dried sand and looked to be a couple hundred years old.
Marinette opened it and found that the needle was stuck and wouldn’t move no matter how much she turned her body. “Huh. Is it broken?”
“Oh I have absolutely no idea what it is,” Chloe said distractedly as she tried to pry apart the rings and twist them into a different shape. “I’ve had it for ages, but it doesn’t do anything and it’s rather big and ugly.”
Marinette scowled. “So you gave it to me because it’s ugly? Thanks a lot, you brat.”
“What? You’re a human. That nonsense was invented by humans. It’s perfect for you. Anyway, what’s it supposed to do?”
“It tells you which direction you’re traveling in. The needle in the middle is supposed to always point north but I think the mechanism is off. Probably belonged to a sailor or something.”
“That’s a stupid old thing to have. Why not just look up at the stars?”
Marinette shrugged. “I’m not much of a sailor so I don’t know whether people still look at the stars. I think compasses are just easier.”
“So how do you get around?”
“GPS mostly. A lot of cellphones have them.”
“What’s a GPS?”
“Oh, it’s uh….it’s like a thing that tells you where you are at all times. You just check your cellphone and it’ll tell you exactly where you are. Cellphones are like little boxes we can use to call people and find out information and all sorts of cool things.”
Chloe rolled her eyes and started to twirl the ends of her hair between her fingers. “Sounds boring.”
Marinette smiled. “Boring, huh? Well, then I guess if it’s so boring I’ll just take the rest of this stuff home with me. You probably won’t be very interested in it anyway – ”
“Hold on a second!! Let me see what you have, don’t just go!”
Marinette always thought that thing in The Little Mermaid about mermaids collecting human things was just something that people made up for the sake of storybooks. But it turns out that it was founded on a lot more truth than Marinette realized. Chloe didn’t really care much for the functionality of the things that interested her. Her favorite things were trinkets that were broken or useless but looked extremely pretty. All things shiny, precious, and golden immediately enchanted her, and she always found a way to turn it into a charm for her belts, a new ring, a new bracelet, a new hair accessory, and countless other strange purposes that Marinette was sure only ever made sense to a mermaid. Marinette learned not to question it. Besides, she as able to convince Chloe into making this like a gift exchange once a week so that Marinette could get something interesting from the ocean as well. Besides, it wasn’t often that people could say they were friends with a mermaid.
She managed to exchange her hand mirror for a vial of crushed sea urchins that doubled as nail polish and exchange her bee broach for a pair of earrings that were actually just broken shell pieces attached to what looked like an old, thin fishhook. Strange gifts, but Marinette didn’t want to be rude by refusing them. Besides, she was more interested in the stories that went along with Chloe’s gifts rather than the gifts themselves. Chloe’s picky, snooty, and sarcastic behavior became tolerable whenever she told one of her tall tales. It wasn’t everyday that you got to listen to adventures about swimming to the United States, diving down into the ocean until it was too dark to see, dodging storms, and scouring ship wrecks. Marinette was tempted to take the time to find Chloe a really amazing and expensive gift only so that she’ll get some fantastical story in return.
“Oh!” Chloe exclaimed after she put away her presents, her tail splashing around the surface and soaking Marinette’s pants with seawater. “I totally forgot to tell you! I found the most amazing thing the other day and I think you’d love it!”
“What?”
“I found this old rowboat near my home that must have sunk a few years ago,” Chloe started explaining. “But there was a trunk in the back that had a bunch of clothes in them. Sort of like what you’re wearing, but there were so many more things. Like those strange things you put on your feet to walk around. These wire-things that have two circles of glass on them that I think you may need to look through. And head things! Stuff that go on your head. Hats? Yeah, I think they’re called hats.”
Marinette giggled. “Did you take anything?”
“No, I have to go back,” Chloe said. “But I figured I’d come and ask you if you wanted some of it first. You said you sew clothing and things right? I mean the clothes are a little dirty but they should still be okay with a few washes. Remind me. I’ll bring the trunk over next time.”
“Oh perfect! I won’t have to buy fabric later.”
“You….buy fabric?”
“Don’t start.”
Chloe lifted her hands. “Okay, okay, fine. Humans are confusing and ridiculous. Get used to it. I’ve got it.”
“I was saying,” Marinette continued. “That if you managed to bring those old clothes back I can bring you some bakery sweets.”
Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Sweets?”
“Mmhm. With sugar and honey and milk and all sorts of things you don’t have in the ocean. Trust me, I have a couple more things you might like.”
“Ohhhh, is it going to make me fat?” Chloe asked, pressing her hands to her stomach. “I promised myself I would go on a bit of a diet this month.”
“A small amount won’t do anything, so I’ll only bring a couple,” Marinette promised. “Besides, you have a pretty bad sweet tooth ever since I brought you those cookies the first time and I feel like I just have to keep enabling you since it’s too far gone to stop.”
Chloe smirked. “Revisiting an old shipwreck and plundering for treasure in exchange for sweets is almost universally worth it.”
Marinette laughed. “Nice to know we’re on the same page. I’m off again tomorrow, so maybe I’ll bring them then.”
“You better,” Chloe warned. “I’m going to break a couple of nails getting this trunk for you, so the least you can do is pay in human food.”
“Your sacrifices will be most appreciated.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“in front of you? I’m offended you would think so.”
“I’ll have you know it’s a lot of work to make my nails this strong.”
“What, is there special mermaid nail maintenance that I should know about?”
“You know? It’s funny you should say that – “
“Oh no no no, stop, I was kidding, I don’t want to hear it!”
“ – because as a matter of fact there is! Oh, it’s good you don’t have any plans today because this might take a while. You see, there’s this special kind of moss you have to get, right….”
#miraculous ladybug#chlonette#ml#chloenette#obbsessedturtle#ask#chlonette fanfiction#miraculous ladybug fanfiction#my writing#tumblr fic#request#chloe bourgeois#marinette dupain cheng
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everything’s better with beanie babies
this silly au was something i came up with in convo with @crispypata last year, and it holds really fond memories. thanks to a quick beta from @clairelutra, i was able to finish this fic in time for crispy’s bday today!!!! 🎂
thank you, crispy, for being such a great friend, for enabling my crazy ideas and comforting me and helping me feel a little bit of happiness every day because you let me into your world. i can’t imagine what the last few years of my life would have been like without you there ♥♥♥ SO ENJOY SOME NONSENSE AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! \o/ (also on ao3)
In which the Agrestes are equally terrible at hiding secret identities while under pressure.
---
Gabriel shouldered open the door of the café, quickly getting into line and just as quickly tuning out his surroundings to focus on his sketchbook.
He scribbled out the third hoodie he’d drawn today and sighed. His professor for Advanced Fashion Design would never accept something so casual for his end-of-term project. It needed be something…something—
“Perfect,” Gabriel muttered as he looked up from the page, only to freeze when he met amused, green eyes.
“You’re bold this morning,” the pretty barista teased. “Double espresso again?”
Even if this small café was the closest one to his classes, he came in here entirely too often if the baristas were memorizing his orders. Especially this one.
This barista was an impressionist vision, with her soft blonde hair pulled into a loose bun and her smile crinkling her eyes, lending charm to her heart-shaped face. If Gabriel was less occupied with his course load and interning at his father’s company, he may have felt inclined to ask her to model for him.
(No matter what Duusu said, it was not a crush. His was a purely aesthetic appreciation of her beauty, and he would absolutely not allow himself to nurse such childish affections. It was unthinkable.)
The silence stretched, and the barista held back a laugh as Gabriel felt his face heat against his will.
(He did not have a crush.)
“Yes, thank you,” said Gabriel, trying to get a hold of himself. “Please add a croissant to the order, Mme…” His eyes darted down to her name tag. Curiously, she never wore the same one twice. Today, she hadn’t even bothered putting one on, opting instead for a pin with a sideways eight on it. “…Infinity?”
The newly dubbed Mme Infinity grinned, revealing her bunny teeth. “That’ll be €4, monsieur.”
Gabriel reached into his blazer for his wallet, giving himself time to gather his wits—not that he needed it, he was perfectly capable of ordering breakfast without being distracted—
The peacock kwami he was holding out instead of his wallet begged to differ.
Mme Infinity stared at the extremely stiff Duusu, mouth parting as she pointed at the kwami he was still showing her. “That’s—!”
“A Beanie Baby,” interrupted Gabriel, swiftly tucking Duusu back into his blazer. He kept his face neutral as he thought faster than he ever had in his entire life. “Quite popular in America right now, I understand. I’ve been studying them for class.” That was too many details, you’re making this lie seem less believable. Gabriel pulled out his wallet, mentally stilling his shaking fingers. “My apologies, €5 you said?”
Her eyes darted from his blazer to his face to his wallet and then back to his face. She slowly put down her hand and swallowed, a pink flush appearing on her cheeks.
Suddenly, Gabriel found it very hard to concentrate.
“€4,” she answered quietly, taking the euro note he held out to her and opening the till. “Christophe, a double espresso please!”
The dreadlocked barista (who Gabriel now realized had been watching the entire exchange) flashed him a cheeky grin and settled into making his espresso.
All too soon, Gabriel was tucking away his change and croissant as Mme Infinity presented him with his drink. She seemed to have recovered, shooting him a wink that twisted his insides with—absolutely nothing.
“Don’t forget your receipt,” she said with a sly smile.
Later, when Gabriel settled down into a quiet corner of the library with his breakfast and sketch book, Duusu popped out of his blazer with a squinty-eyed pout.
“I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry,” said the kwami. “A Beanie Baby? Really?”
“Hush,” said Gabriel. “I need to finish this design before tomorrow.”
“You’ll be fine, you’ll come up with something brilliant at the last minute like you always do,” said Duusu, waving his stub dismissively.
Gabriel wasn’t sure if he should be pleased with the compliment, back-handed as it was.
“More importantly, have you checked your receipt?” Duusu demanded, flying into Gabriel’s face. His kwami’s feathered tail was quivering with excitement. “Ooooooh, what if it’s a love letter?!”
Scoffing as he reached into his pocket for the slip of paper, Gabriel shot his kwami a withering look. “As if that barista would bother with such silly—”
Gabriel froze. When he held up the receipt for Duusu, he saw the back of it for the first time.
There, in purple ink, was a woman’s name, a number, and the message ‘Call me, handsome!’ punctuated with a heart-winged butterfly.
It was a miracle that Duusu’s squeal of delight didn’t get them kicked out.
---
Years later, Gabriel closed the safe door, locking away the Peacock Miraculous again. Gently pushing his wife’s painting back over the safe, Gabriel sat at his desk and went through his company’s finances until his appointment arrived.
The knock on his office door came quickly, and Gabriel almost asked Nathalie to open it before remembering she called in sick. Sighing through his nose, he stood and walked over to the door, swinging it open quickly.
His son was fidgeting outside, jumping when Gabriel appeared. “F-Father! Hi!”
“Adrien,” said Gabriel, clasping his hands behind his back. He walked back to his desk, fully expecting Adrien to follow. “Do you know why I called you here today?”
As he sat in his chair, Gabriel saw Adrien tighten his grip on his school bag.
“Did…you want to go out for dinner? Together?” his son guessed, looking hopeful.
“Of course not, we have a perfectly good chef,” said Gabriel. As Adrien’s smile fell, Gabriel clasped his hands in front of him. “No, we’re here to talk about your education.”
“My education?” Adrien echoed.
“Yes. Normally, Nathalie would be handling this, but as she’s come down with the flu…” Gabriel trailed off and then extended his hand, waiting. “I believe report cards were handed out today.”
Adrien jolted before looking up at Gabriel with wide eyes.
“O-of course! Let me just—” Adrien paused to tear open his bag and rummage inside before pulling out a kwami. “Here! I hope—”
A black kwami with cat ears. One held in Adrien’s hand, which coincidentally bore a silver ring shaped exactly the same as the Black Cat Miraculous.
There were no words to describe how furious Gabriel was—at himself for missing what were now painfully obvious clues, at Adrien for daring to defy his father and put himself in more danger than he could possibly imagine, at his staff for not noticing that their charge was a superhero—
“U-uh, this, um—it’s uh,” Adrien began, no doubt trying to come up with an excuse as to why he had a kwami.
Except he wouldn’t know that Gabriel knew about kwami. There was still a way to salvage this situation until Gabriel could take a moment to incorporate this new information into his plans.
(And he ignored the look of panic and shock on his son’s face that reminded him of golden sunlight in a café, so many years ago.)
(…Now there was an idea.)
“A Beanie Baby,” Gabriel reasoned for his son, his face carefully blank. “I didn’t realize they were still popular with people of your age group.”
“A…Beanie Baby?” Adrien repeated slowly. He held his kwami closer to him, no recognition of the term in his eyes.
Gabriel abruptly felt very old.
“Yes, a Beanie Baby, a vaguely animal-like doll such as the one in your hand,” said Gabriel, his tone deliberately sharp. “I’m growing tired of these stalling tactics—your report card, Adrien. Now.”
“R-right!”
Adrien hurriedly tucked his kwami back out of sight and pulled out the report card. Gabriel took it, noting the relieved slump of Adrien’s shoulders, before putting revelations regarding Chat Noir aside to review the report.
“So, Father,” Adrien began, breaking the silence. “Do you…like, uh, Beanie Babies?”
Glancing at Adrien over the rim of his glasses, Gabriel folded a hand under his chin as he went back to reading. “I would like you to have a better mark in Arts and Crafts.”
His son laughed sheepishly and dropped the subject.
---
But did not forget, apparently. The Beanie Baby gift basket Nathalie presented him on Father’s Day proved that.
Gabriel eyed the stuffed animals and toiletries suspiciously as Nathalie plucked an envelope from its depths.
“For you, sir,” she said, offering it to him.
Inside was a gift certificate for a Parent-Child day at a spa. Paid for out of Adrien’s own savings, no doubt.
Gabriel turned his head to take in the painting of his wife.
…Well. There was bound to be at least one emotionally vulnerable person at the spa. He could make it a working holiday.
#crispypata#isafic#gabriel agreste#mama agreste#adrien agreste#nathalie sancoeur#duusu#ml spoilers#miraculous ladybug#keeping this out of the main tag because duusu is namedropped in it#ANYWAY#CRISPY#YOU'RE THE BEST#CELEBRATE YOUR DAY!!!#♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥#(NOW WITH A READ MORE BECAUSE I FORGOT ALKSJDHLAK)
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Small Hot Chocolate, No Whip (chapter 1)
(Or read on ao3.)
It was going to be a shitty day. He knew within a half an hour of opening that it was going to be an absolutely shitty day. The line was nearly out the door and Alana was sick so the new hire was on the register and she stumbled over orders which slowed him down and irritated the customers.
He'd forgotten his hair ties so his hair kept getting in his way and he'd dumped a hot cup of the Colombian blend down his jeans and the burns still stung. On top of all that he was in desperate need of a cigarette.
The drinks were almost stupidly complex today: a large soy half-caf latte with a shot of vanilla and extra steamed milk, all sorts of odd flavored shots and almond milk in drinks that shouldn't have any milk to begin with.
"One small hot chocolate, no whip please Connor," the new hire, whose name he thought was Amanda, said.
Connor whipped his head around to look at whatever angel had ordered a manageable beverage and found that it was a ridiculously cute boy in a blue polo with a nervous expression.
"Thank you," he said with a grin. "You're my easiest order of the day."
The boy blushed and fumbled with his cash as he handed it over.
Connor looked down at the name on the cup Amanda had handed him: Evan. He made the hot chocolate in record time, and winked at Evan when he came to collect it.
"Th-thanks," he stuttered.
"No problem. See you around I hope." Smooth, Connor Murphy could be smooth when he wanted to be.
Alright, so the day wasn't terrible after hot chocolate Evan. In the afternoon traffic slowed down and Amanda loaned him a hair tie. Evan sat in the corner of the cafe and tapped on the keyboard of his laptop as he sipped his drink. Connor stole glances at him between croissants and lattes. He must've been working on homework of some kind because every now and again his face scrunched up in concentration. He was there for hours, just working and gnawing on his lip and twitching nervously. Connor thought he must have lost track of time in his absorption. In fact, he hardly noticed when the shop started clearing out and Amanda counted the contents of the cash register while he cleaned.
"Do you want me to go tell him?" She asked, gesturing to the lone occupied table.
"No, thanks. I can do it," Connor said. Amanda smiled and went in the back to finish the deposit.
Connor proceeded with caution. Evan still hadn't looked up from his computer screen. His eyes were quite tired looking and his lips red from biting them.
"Hey, um we're closing up," he said. Evan looked up, startled, and knocked over his hot (now cold) chocolate. It went spilling across the table and over the edge to hit Connor's shoes.
"I-I'm so s-sorry!" He exclaimed, shaking like a leaf. Connor stood the cup upright and reached for a wad of napkins.
"It's alright," he said gently. The boy was clearly freaked out and he didn't want to make it worse. He could feel liquid in his socks. "I didn't mean to scare you. You look like you were working pretty hard."
Evan closed his laptop and gathered up his bag. "I'm really sorry. I was working on this paper and I g-guess I lost t-track of time."
"Are you a student?" Connor asked.
"Yeah, I'm an um...environmental science major."
Connor grinned. "That's cool."
"I shouldn't keep you. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Connor said, extending a hand. "I'm Connor Murphy."
"Evan Hansen," Evan said. "Nice to meet you."
"Do you live far?" Connor asked before he could stop himself. Zoe would say he was being too forward, and possibly creepy. But Zoe also said he wore too much black.
"It's a 10 minute walk," he said. "3rd street."
"I could walk you...if you want?"
Evan blushed. He looked even cuter when he was all pink. "Um, yeah. If you want to."
"Great," he grinned. "Just give me a minute."
Connor grabbed his bag, threw off his apron, and assessed the mess of dried coffee and wet chocolate on his pants and shoes. He grabbed a couple of slightly smashed muffins from the reject bin and clocked out.
"Care for a reject muffin?" He asked Evan, who was standing awkwardly by the doorway. "They're not nasty or anything, just a little rough around the edges." Kind of like him, Connor thought but didn't say.
"Sure," Evan said. "Thank you."
"Lead the way," Connor said, opening the door for him. It was cool and clear enough to see the stars. Evan waited until Connor had taken a bite of his muffin before he followed suit.
"Do you like being a barista?" He asked cautiously.
"I like it well enough. It's good money," he said, though his parents paid most of his expenses. "I kind of need a lot of structure to function," he laughed harshly. "Between school and work I don't have time to engage in destructive habits." He considered that this might be too much to say right off the bat but Evan only nodded.
"What are you studying?"
"English," he replied. His parents would've preferred a business degree but it had taken so long for their son to rebuild himself they couldn't help but support a subject that made him happy. He was happy. Happy was hard but he was happy. He'd gotten the barista job through Zoe's girlfriend Alana. Zoe worked alongside him between her own classes (of which she had quite a lot of in her psychology and music double major.) He and Zoe lived in a house near campus. After years of rebuilding their fragile relationship they could live in the same house without weekly meltdowns. Years of therapy and medication and regaining trust was beginning to take shaky steps towards paying off. "I'm a sophomore."
"Me too," Evan said. "My classes have gotten harder this semester and I have trouble keeping up sometimes...because of my anxiety."
He said anxiety like it was a dirty word and Connor looked over at him to see his eyes glued to the pavement.
"Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I've had a lot of trouble with mental health stuff too," he said. He was about to swap diagnoses, medical histories, and lessons from therapists if necessary. If he'd learned anything in the years since he tried to end it, it was that shame only made things harder. "If you ever need someone to study with..." What are you doing Murphy? You only just met the guy. "Feel free to hit me up." Evan laughed nervously and Connor shoved a piece of muffin in his mouth to avoid further embarrassment.
"I'm a lot better now than I used to be," Evan muttered. "Not that anyone can tell."
"The important thing is that you can tell," he said.
Evan laughed again, it was still nervous but Connor thought he quite liked Evan's laugh.
"Thanks," he mumbled. "Thanks I really needed that today."
"Is that your place up there?" Connor pointed to the small house with the porch light on.
"Yeah, Evan said. "It's not much, needs a new coat of paint. But it's fine for me and my roommate Jared."
"It's nice," Connor said, eying the plants in neat rows around the front patch of land. "Are you a gardener Evan Hansen?"
Evan's face lit up. "I'm an amateur botanist. I have the flowers in the front yard and some succulents and a bonsai tree inside."
As if the dork wasn't cute enough.
"Well I guess this is goodnight," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and shooting Evan a smile. "See you around. I hope?"
"Yes," Evan said quickly. "Goodnight Connor Murphy."
"Goodnight Evan Hansen."
***
"Oh my god," Zoe looked positively joyous. "My brother has a crush!"
"On who?" Alana came up beside them with a tray of scones.
"Small hot chocolate no whip!" She replied excitedly, stirring a bowl of orange flavored glaze.
"You know him?" Connor shot back.
"I know his order," Alana answered for her. "He's been coming here for weeks but you've either been off or in the back until now."
"Can you believe it Alana? Con's got a thing for hot chocolate boy."
"He has a name," Connor said. "It's Evan."
"I can't even remember the last time you had a crush. Was it middle school?"
Maybe it was the internalized homophobia or maybe it was the general dearth of nice, funny, and cute boys willing to talk to him in high school.
"I just walked him home. It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal? That's a huge deal! Did you get his number?"
"No," he said. "But he said he'd see me around."
"So that's why you combed your hair today! I thought I was hallucinating."
Connor's face went red and he rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if he had much experience with this. He didn't really know he was capable of flirting before last night. Although something told him Evan wasn't used to this sort of interaction either.
"Let me French braid then. It looks so cute like that," Zoe said, reaching out for his mess of brown hair.
"Fine," he mumbled, not wanting to admit that he liked it when she braided his hair (not only because he did look nice with a braid but because he felt closer to her whenever she offered.)
She sat him down at one of the tables while Alana finished up with the new pastries. Running her fingers through his hair, she began twisting strands into a neat braid. "You remembered your meds this morning right?" He never forgot but she worried, so she asked. Sure, there were bad days: days where everything felt like an argument and his ears didn't stop ringing. But today wasn't one of those days.
"Yeah, I did."
"Good, okay you're done."
She grinned at him when he stood up, and Alana gave him a thumbs up. It was time to open.
He quickly found that he was wrong about yesterday. Yesterday was a walk in the park compared to today. Orders flew like major league pitches and he always swung two seconds too late. They were out of cold brew, which seemed to piss everyone off.
An hour and a half in his ears started to ring in the foreboding way they always did. Alana looked over at him with concern written all over her face and asked him if he wanted to take his break. He accepted.
It was kind of cold outside. He pulled the sleeves of his dark sweater over his hands and crossed his arms over his chest. He was in the habit of wearing long sleeves to cover up the scars on his arms but it really was jacket weather. He couldn't go back inside to get his jacket though. He wasn't sure he could go back inside. He sucked in a few deep breaths and tried to focus his swimming vision. When things were too much he either snapped or fell apart. Today was the latter.
He had four more hours in his shift and he wasn't sure he could do it. Damn his brain. He closed his eyes.
"H-hey, Connor?" His vision was still tilting but it was unmistakably Evan Hansen, nervous and bundled up in a navy coat and sky blue scarf. "Are you okay?"
"I'm...uh. I'm having a bad day," he replied, hoping that his emphasis on the word bad wasn't revealing too much.
"Can I get you anything? Do you want me to leave you alone?"
"No," he said too quickly. He should want Evan to leave before he saw him make anymore of a pathetic fool of himself but he didn't. "No, um...distract me. How are you?"
Evan's expression softened. "I'm okay. I just got out of my climate lecture. Here." He pulled off his scarf and wrapped it around Connor's neck. Connor felt his shoulders relax a fraction.
"Did something happen?" He asked.
"No, it was all just a little much," he breathed.
Evan was nodding. "I like your hair," he said.
Connor had forgotten about his braid. He laughed. "Thanks, my sister did it," he said, gesturing to the cafe behind him.
"Your sister works with you?"
"Uh, yeah. Zoe said you were a regular?"
"Zoe's your sister?!" Evan exclaimed, face turning a startling shade of pink.
"Yeah..." he answered slowly, brow furrowing. "Why?"
"Nothing," he said, voice hopping up an octave. "I just...she's nice."
Connor's heart dropped. He had a crush on Zoe didn't he. Yet another person liked her better than him. He didn't blame him, in honesty he liked Zoe better too.
"Connor?"
"I should go back in," he said, handing back the scarf.
Evan's expression muddled. "Oh, okay. You're sure your okay?"
"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth, fighting off the urge to snap at him. "You should get your hot chocolate."
Inside, Zoe's eyes found his with worry. He tucked some stray hair behind his ears and stalked behind the counter again, thanking Alana for her patience and pointedly ignoring his sister.
Evan got his hot chocolate and smiled at him and Connor tried not to be upset. He was being stupid. He barely knew Evan. It didn't even matter. But it had been years since he'd even considered asking someone out and now his plans were shattered.
"What is up Con? You're looking at me like I just killed a puppy," Zoe said, trying to keep her voice light but visibly concerned. It was closing time and he was wiping down the counters rather aggressively. Evan had gone with his hot chocolate, saying goodbye but seeming confused and downtrodden by Connor's apathy.
"Nothing."
"Seriously Connor, what happened with Evan?"
"Leave me alone Zo. I don't want to talk about it."
"Fine," she said, deflated. "Alana and I are having movie night. I'll be back by 11:30."
He went home and smoked in the backyard so Zoe wouldn't smell it when she came back. The pot made him feel less shaky and hurt. He took a scalding hot shower, standing under the water and letting it burn from his scalp down his back. The bathroom filled up with steam and choked, broken sounds escaped his throat without his consent. You're being stupid Murphy. Why does everything end in tears with you?
He fell asleep before Zoe came home.
The next day he had class but no work so he didn't have the misfortune of accidentally running into Evan Hansen. His classes weren't all that bad this semester: a personal essay writing course (which he didn't entirely suck at), a fiction class centered around the coming of age story (which seemed oddly fitting), and a couple of history and science credits he needed to graduate. He paid attention in his lectures and then went to the library (best to steer clear of the cafe) to study. He was trying his best not to half ass things or let his grades slip when he felt drained and sliced open and generally shitty. His unspoken reserved desk was waiting for him on the fourth floor and so, he realized with horror, was Evan Hansen.
Well, waiting for was the wrong way to say it. Obviously Evan didn't know he'd be there. In fact, he didn't even look up until Connor was at the desk right beside him. He seemed engrossed in a big book with an oak tree on the cover.
"Are you stalking me Hansen?" He asked, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Evan was cute when he was surprised, not that he wasn't cute all of the time. The anger from yesterday had faded a bit. Connor Murphy was used to disappointment (as much as it stung.)
"Connor! I didn't know you'd be here. I was..." He looked down at the book in his lap. "Distracted." So was Connor, but by Evan Hansen's freckle-y face.
"I um...are y-you angry w-with me?" He managed. "Yesterday you seemed k-kind of..."
"No," Connor cut in. He felt a surge of guilt for his juvenile meltdown. Evan didn't deserve it. "No, I'm sorry. It was just a bad day. It wasn't you."
"Oh," Evan looked relieved. "Okay good. I was wondering then if we might e-exchange emails that is...if you'd want to t-talk to me and uh...be f-friends?"
Connor cocked his head to one side in confusion. "Emails? I could just give you my number?"
"Oh! Right, your number. Y-yeah, that's fine."
Connor laughed. This could work. He could get over his little crush and maybe get a friend out of the whole mess.
"Here." He pulled a Sharpie out of his back pocket and gestured for Evan to stick out his hand. "Is it chill if I write it on the back of your hand?" Evan nodded and Connor took his, slightly sweaty, hand in his. Evan had short, stubby fingers with nails bitten short. Connor wrote his name in block letters with his number beneath. "Nice to see you Hansen."
"Yeah, n-nice to see you too Connor."
When Evan left the library, and Connor was hard at work on his essay he got a text:
Hi Connor :) -Evan
He spent the next half hour stalking his Instagram: photos of him and his roommate, videos of sunlit tree branches, and one of a tragically bare cast on his arm. He scrolled through his own feed when he got home, hair wet from the shower, eyelids drooping already. Was Evan looking at the old photos of him when his acne was bad and cheeks chubby because his medication wasn't properly calibrated yet and fucked with his metabolism? On second thought why did he even have those photos up still? He hoped he was looking at the slightly better adjusted photos of his: third wheeling it with Zoe and Alana, sunshiny pictures of him reading on the couch credited to Zoe, and the three of them again at a pride parade. The last one had Zoe and Alana kissing and him with his face painted in rainbow hues. He hoped especially that Evan saw that photo and not that he only looked him up to get to Zoe.
"You need to stop," Zoe said, far too dramatically given the situation at hand.
EH: Are you at work?
CM: ya, it's a drag. U should come save me.
EH: I have class :( I can be there in an hour?
CM: nice, I'll take my break when u get here.
CM: shit, sis is on my ass ttyl
"I know you got this job because of nepotism but you've gotta stop texting that boy while you're supposed to be working."
Connor turned red. "Fine."
"What happened between yesterday and now bro?"
Connor looked down. "I think he has a crush on you. He's probably straight," he said quietly.
"Connor..."
"Shut up, I'm over it already. We're going to be friends."
"Are you sure you're okay?" She asked, voice gentle.
"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. "It was a stupid crush."
Zoe knew the truth. Neither of them had to say anything.
"Connor, two vanilla lattes and a mocha!" Alana called, voice bordering on irritated. Connor did as he was told.
He fell into the monotonous routine of the work: steaming milk, letting the harsh grind of the blender clog his ears, and fixating on the chips in his nail polish. He almost missed it when Evan walked through the front door.
He still had traces of Sharpie on his hand, and he tugged at the hem of a blue cable knit sweater. His face was flushed from the autumn chill and he looked around like he wasn't supposed to be here.
Connor tracked his movements to the end of the sizable line and nearly spilled a caramel macchiato.
"Hey Alana can I go on break?" He burst, too quickly and much too loudly.
She glared at him but relented. Zoe took his place and he hurried in the back room to clock out and take off his apron. He'd brought lunch from home: a container of pitiful veggie slices and hummus, a smashed peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a handful of medication in a plastic baggie. He filled up his water bottle, glossed over his thin face and tired eyes in the mirror, and went out to meet Evan.
He was twitching anxiously at a corner table, hot chocolate in hand. Connor smiled and took the seat across from him. "How's it going Hansen?"
"I'm good, h-how are you Connor?"
He emptied the contents of his lunch on the table and took the pills in his hand. "Could be worse," he grinned, swallowing his medication with a long sip of water. "Do you like hummus?"
Evan nodded and he pushed the container of vegetables to the center of the table for easier sharing.
"Zoe and her girlfriend Alana are always trying to get me to eat healthier. They're all about chia seeds now," he said, nose scrunching up.
"Alana," Evan repeated, and it occurred to Connor that Evan probably didn't know Zoe had a girlfriend. "She was in a lot of your..." he stopped, face crimson.
"A lot of my what?" He asked.
"I k-kind of l-looked at your Instagram page," he managed, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"No reason to be sorry," Connor laughed. "Alana and Zoe are in most of my photos. And if we're being honest I looked you up too."
Evan's head shot up. "You did?"
"I like to know a thing or two about my friends," he said. "How did you break your arm by the way?"
Evan grimaced and Connor wished he could take the question back. "I didn't mean to pry or anything."
"It's okay," he said tightly. "It's just...a little hard to talk about."
"I get it," Connor said. "I did some shit in high school I don't like talking about." He traced the scars on his wrists with his thumb. "So what did you learn about me?"
Evan stumbled over his words for a second and then settled on. "You like books and you love your sister. You always have your nails painted and..." he trailed off.
"I'm super gay. You got that right?"
Evan nodded, hint of a smile on his lips.
"And you like trees."
Evan nodded again, eyes lighting up. "I love trees."
"Trees are cool," he said dumbly, mostly to see his eyes shine again.
"I can take to on a nature walk sometime if you want," he said, no trace of his stutter.
"Absolutely," he said. He took a bite of his sandwich and Evan sipped his hot chocolate. "I have to get back," he said reluctantly. "But I'm glad you came. Text me okay?"
"S-sure," he said.
"See you, Hansen." Don't get a bigger crush Murphy. Stop.
He did face masks with Zoe that night. He was making popcorn, face still green from the mask, for their movie night when his phone pinged.
Instagram: Evan Hansen has followed you
He followed him back.
#treebros#dear evan hansen#deh#connor murphy#evan hansen#galaxy girls#zolana#zoe murphy#alana beck#treebros fic#deh fic#musicals#evan hansen/connor murphy#awi's fic
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