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rrxnjun · 1 year

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when nobody's watching ;; hrj

pairing. huang renjun x fem! reader genre. high school au/university au, cheerleader! reader | coming of age, platonic, angst, fluff warnings. alcohol and weed mention, swearing wc. 11k (10.932) a/n. no plot, just identity crisis.

playlist. idontwannabeyouanymore - billie eilish ; patterns - sarah close ; lonely - the maine ; rare - waterparks ; always forever - cults ; snow globe - waterparks ; hope ur ok - olivia rodrigo

where renjun can't seem to figure out who he is when nobody's watching and where you carefully examine and amire each version of himself he creates along the way.

When you’re 14, you watch Mean Girls for the first time. In the dark of your bedroom, with your childhood best friend Jung Sungchan huddling all your blankets to his side, your laptop illuminates the midnight with the gorgeous face of Regina George as both of you awe and giggle at the silly script. When you’re 14, watching Mean Girls for the first time, you are very aware of the fact that after summer ends and you turn 15, you’re going to high school– and the image of having to live through the fate that met Cady, you shiver with horror. That night, you are determined to live through high school with a smile on your face. Too blinded by the dramatized image of the high school experience, you decide that you have to be one of the nice girls everyone likes, because if you’re not, you can’t imagine having to ruin someone’s life just for popularity. You don’t really strive for popularity, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that you’re simply too terrified of high school before it even starts.

When the time finally comes and you turn up to the building with a tall, lanky Sungchan by your side, you realize too soon that life is, sadly, not like Mean Girls, and while you’d love to wear pink on Wednesdays and walk around in designer clothing, your small high school in the tiny, microscopic town you’ve grown up in, is too old-fashioned to have their roles divided this way. Sure, the hierarchy is there, and the cafeteria sure does have assigned seats for all the different friend groups and extracurriculars, but it’s not as serious as the story you watched all those months ago with both terror and excitement, making you quickly realise that you don’t have to try hard to fit in with the populars, because it’s truly not that big of a deal.

And so, in the spirit of the new realization, you join the cheerleading squad. I know, it sounds ironic. All this fuss about the fact that Mean Girls wasn’t actually as realistic as you thought it was, all for you to end up with the popular girls anyway. In your defense, it wasn’t that serious. You weren’t even that good at cheer. Jung Sungchan just made you join so you could be at all his soccer matches so he could boast about his abilities the moment the match is over. Curse the boy and his athleticism.

Standing in the heat of the sun, droplets of sweat appearing on your forehead as you tug down on the short cheer skirt, you huff as the cheer captain– Ryujin, as you learned only a few minutes prior– walks around and yells at you with what you presume is supposed to be support and excitement.

“Y/N! Why are you just standing there?” she asks you, her voice genuinely concerned, but also laced with a bit of annoyance. This is the third time you’ve messed up on today’s practice, and while you don’t really mind that much, you think your teammates are close to breaking down.

“Uh…”

“You’re supposed to be all the way over here!” she reminds you, pointing to the spot next to her on the freshly mowed grass, making you smile at her with tight lips and jog over there, nodding. Of course you were supposed to be there. You knew that…

“What’s going on, Y/N? You did great yesterday,” she sighs, making you roll your eyes. Yes, you did well yesterday– that’s because the formation was still fresh in your brain and the choreography wasn’t as complex. Also, yesterday was much more casual, since it was the first practice of the year. It was spent getting to know each other and sharing snacks in the locker room. On top of that, it’s only been 24 hours and your brain adapts slowly. There’s no way you’d remember the formations you learnt yesterday, when the sun is glazing your high, slicked ponytail, making you think you’re going to overheat and fall to the ground any second.

“I just… kind of forgot the formation?” you smile innocently, making the older girl look at you with wide eyes and an ironic smile, the despair clearly written on her face.

“Don’t even try to tell me-”

“But I’ve got it now!” you say, showing her thumbs up, trying hard to calm the cheer captain down. You don’t really know what she’s like– from what you’ve seen, she’s nice, yet a little scary when she gets frustrated– but you can only imagine how she’s going to kick you out if you don’t manage to get your shit together and remember all the choreography you were taught yesterday. It’s just cheerleading, for god’s sake! You always liked gymnastics…

“Okay,” she huffs, shaking her head as she faces the front of the soccer field you’re currently training on, making you do the same as you notice the flood of your school’s soccer players get out of the gym, one of them being your dear friend Jung Sungchan, carrying the ball. “From the top! 5, 6, 7, 8!”

Your body moves almost on auto-pilot. Now, I’m saying almost– you don’t really remember the formation that well and you have to keep glancing to the girls around you to match their movements, but you seem to be in the right places at the right times, so Ryujin doesn’t really notice, which saves your ass, if you’re being totally honest. Curious of the sight in front of you, your eyes scan over the crowd of boys laughing to themselves as they kick the ball around, ready for their soccer practice.

You recognise some of the upperclassmen. Yuta is the team captain, and if your high school was like Mean Girls, he’d for sure be the Aaron Samuels of them all. He passes the ball almost gracefully to his best friend Mark Lee (you only know his name because one of the girls from the cheer is into him. He seems a little goofy, but you guess Jisu doesn’t really care), who passes it to another boy, whose name is either Jaemin or Jeno. You don’t really know which one is which, because they always go everywhere together, and when you asked Sungchan for their names the last time you saw them in the halls, he just told you it was ‘Jaemin and Jeno’, and so did everyone else you’ve ever inquired about the two. Nobody ever really specified which is which.

Making a swift turn with confidence– because this is the only part of the choreography that you actually remember– your eyes are met with Ryunjin that is now opposite of you, wearing a focused smile that only reaches her eyes when you look at her. You suppose it’s a form of encouragement, a silent praise that you didn’t fuck it up yet, and it makes you strangely comfortable. Turning back to the soccer players– because the formation requires so– your eyes continue to watch the small crowd on the other side of the field.

“Chenle, pass to me!” you hear someone yell out, making you giggle as the boy holds up a middle finger to his opponent that was trying to trick him with a childish stunt, passing to his teammate. Stepping from one foot to the other, continuing to half-focus on the task you’ve been doing, you watch the boy that’s now in charge of the ball, your eyes almost falling out of your sockets.

The boy now running around the field with the ball is fairly short compared to the rest of the team, his jet black hair flowing in the wind as he charges through the field. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him before, because you’re fairly certain you’d remember the perfect curve of his nose and the focused pout on his lips if the encounter between you two did happen, the white of his ankles captivating you in a manner you’ve never experienced in your all 15 years of life.

Yells and curses are thrown across the soccer field, the boy not really knowing what to do as he looks around in confusion. He looks like he’s just as good at the game as you would be… except with your eyes closed; so you don’t really know what he’s doing in the team. But hey, you can’t judge. Maybe he just really likes soccer and wants to learn. Everyone starts somewhere. Focused on the soccer practice, another sharp voice pierces through your ears– the owner of it being your cheer captain, Ryujin– making you halt in your movements and hide behind one of the girls in terror.

“Y/N I swear to fucking god if you mess up this formation one last time, I’m going to shave off your eyebrows in your sleep!”

There goes your daydreaming. Strange– you thought you had this part of the choreography down, you were 100% certain you were doing the right steps and that the timing was sharply correct. You must have been distracted…

“I’m sorry-”

“The practice is over for today, I genuinely don’t have the energy to deal with this anymore,” Ryujin huffs out, making the rest of the cheerleading squad take their duffel bags off the grass, scattering back inside of the school building.

“I promise to get it down before the match, Ryunjin,” you peep as you catch up to her, trying hard to regain your position as a reliable cheerleader. You were told your smile was quite captivating, something a good cheerleader should never lack, so you suppose you can’t really let that quality go to waste so soon.

“You better, or else I’m kicking you out,” she glares at you, and you can’t really tell if she’s joking or not.

Squinting at the sophomore, you hum. “Are you serious?”

“100%.”

Nodding, you clear your throat. Taking a glimpse behind your shoulder, looking at the boy that made you so distracted in your routine, you take notice of his lost expression and the aimless posture of his hands by his side. He’s almost a little too far behind the whole team, and while you don’t really know how soccer works, you really think he’s not playing the game right, but you don’t pay more attention to it as you look back at your captain with a warm smile.

“I’ll do better.”

This is your first encounter with the boy named Huang Renjun. You learn his name through your best friend Sungchan, and while you were teased for hours about the intentions of knowing it– because Sungchan is one gossiping fellow who lives for drama– you don’t back down and fulfill your plan of learning something about the boy. After stalking the soccer player on instagram for a bit, you learn that he doesn’t quite live on social media (and good for him, honestly), making you curse as the only pictures of him you find on your feed are the ones his mum posted on his birthday. He’s a baby on those and he didn’t even like the post, not paying attention to it from what you presume was pure embarrassment.

The soccer match is in two weeks, and while you’re not exactly living the plot of Mean Girls, you sit at the cheerleader table for the time being. You suppose getting closer to the rest of the girls can only serve you– you’re a 15 year old with a dream of having the wildest high school years, after all– and it’s also good to hear all the gossip about the soccer team. You finally learn which one is Jeno and which one is Jaemin, and you also learn that Huang Renjun is a freshmen like you–, and while you learn that everyone thinks that he’s insanely pretty (which makes you frown, because you selfishly wanted to be the only one), he’s also insanely quiet.

You tried to bug Sungchan into befriending him. It didn’t work– he already befriended the talkative Zhong Chenle, telling you that Renjun is too quiet to strike up a conversation. You just think he chose Chenle for his big house and the fact that he has his own basketball court he gets invited to four days a week, but you won’t say that aloud for the fear of sounding jealous of the fact that you can never tag along.

The weeks before the match finally pass and you’re at your first high school soccer game. Dressed in a skirt that just barely covers your asscheeks (you complained to Ryujin about it. She told you to deal with it– you’re exceptionally tall for your age), you twirl around with pompoms in your hands, cheering for the team you know by their names now. You quite like the feeling of having the whole school looking at you when you perform your routine in the half-time break, the formation now permanently glued inside of your brain, muscle memory trained hard now as you were watched by the stern eyes of your cheer captain the remaining cheer practices. Squealing and cheering for the team, you get so into the whole process that you feel like the main character of a movie (so glad it’s not Mean Girls), ready to watch the game when the routine is done and you can take a break on one of the bleachers.

Your eyes involuntarily follow Huang Renjun across the field. He does look a little out of place, you must admit. You wouldn’t really call him the sporty type either– his body not as chiseled and firm as his teammates, although you’d say that’s partly because he’s still growing and in puberty– but there’s something about him that makes you magnetically pulled to his presence, not being able to take your eyes off him.

So when the ball is finally in his charge and he runs around with it, looking like a lost puppy when you play fetch with it on its afternoon walk, your eyes light up, you almost even let out a happy squeal when he charges forward, the last few seconds of the match passing by as the crowd yells out a countdown. The whole thing is so intense you think you could pee yourself, if you’re being honest, and as you stand up to get ready to cheer for Huang Renjun’s goal– the one that could make your team win– the excitement dies down when the boy kicks the ball forward with no real intention, the opposing team instantly taking charge and striding towards your school’s goalie.

You may be a little obsessed with Huang Renjun, yes. But even you can admit that he messed up the match pretty badly, earning your team the first loss of the season, making the following matches end just as badly with the bitter essence of a bad start.

You’re just 15 when you first notice Huang Renjun trying to desperately fit in to a cafeteria table, the only thing that reminds you of your favorite teenage movie that you watched with Sungchan in the middle of the night. You’re just 15 when you see the first version of the boy, not knowing that the next four years spent watching him silently will be just as eventful and interesting, keeping you on your toes the whole time.

Sungchan would say you were just 15 when you first got a crush on Huang Renjun.

You’d disagree. Not because it’s not true,

just because you won’t give him the satisfaction of being right.

At 15 years old, Huang Renjun leaves the soccer team after two lost matches (which were, admittedly… both kind of his fault). Cheerleading isn’t as exciting anymore when he’s not there, but at least you get to watch Sungchan… am I right?

You’re already a sophomore when you finally share a class with Huang Renjun. You’d think this fact would help you get closer to him and learn something about the boy, but the opposite is true as your object of interest doesn’t really interact with anyone outside his circle, keeping to himself. Truth be told, you’d do anything to fit into his circle– but with the company he chose for himself in the sophomore year of high school is nothing close to what you represent, the science kids so far away from the cheerleading status you still hold.

While you’re still stuck in your Mean Girls arc, Huang Renjun switched to the Harry Potter universe, it seems. Or maybe it’s just your sudden obsession with the books that’s making you feel this way… Nonetheless, Renjun now reminds you of the Ravenclaw boys in Potions class, except this is reality and you’re only sitting in Chemistry, watching over his every move as he moves through the room and focuses on the experiments.

Sungchan nudges you with his elbow, scowling. “Stop ogling Renjun and fucking do something, I think this is going to blow up any second!”

Hissing at him, afraid his mean comment could be heard by unwanted ears, you grit your teeth at your best friend and roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“No, I mean it, though, I think this is going to blow up-”

“I’m a cheerleader, Sungchan, I don’t know Chemistry, for fuck’s sake,” you sigh, fully commiting to the social norms you were put in. The soccer player only glares at you more after your comment, deciding to take the boiling mixture and spilling the contents of it into the sink with one swift motion of his hand, hopefully not burning the drain in the process and getting you in trouble. You never know with Chemistry. One wrong step and the whole school is on fire. On one hand, you’d love that, but on the other hand, you’d love to experience your first kiss before dying, so you really, desperately hope nothing goes wrong this time.

“Great, now we gotta start over,” you shake your head in disbelief, already taking another cauldron into your hand and putting exact measurements into the flask.

“As if the last mixture was salvageable,” Sungchan mutters, making you kick him into his shin for being annoying.

“Maybe you can befriend Huang Renjun and he can help us with the experiment,” you suggest innocently, watching your best friend melodramatically scream at your premise. This is not the first time you tried to make your friend to get to know Renjun, but it’s also not the first time he’s declining. You don’t know what’s so hard about being Renjun’s friend, you suppose he has a lot of them– from the looks of the group now standing around his small frame– Sungchan could easily sway the quiet boy with his charm and get him to your side.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I am not befriending Huang Renjun? You can do that yourself, if that’s really all you desire,” he huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“But-”

“No buts, for fuck’s sake,” he cuts you off, already knowing the contents of your rambling, “sometimes you gotta do the first step, if you want to cuff a man!”

“I’m old-fashioned, I’ll let you know.”

“That’s just… simply not true,” Sungchan grins, making you sigh.

“I mean, yeah,” you agree, feeling heat rising to your cheeks as you speak the next words, “I’m just shy.”

“Y/N,” Sungchan sighs as he looks you dead into your eyes, seriousness dripping off his tongue, “you’re like… the least shy person I know.”

Offended at his comment, because in this exact moment, you feel nothing but shyness when the topic of your conversation is Huang Renjun– your classmate you’ve never even talked to in the first place, but somehow grown interested in the first moment you’ve seen his face for the first time– you shake your head in disagreement. “You know that’s not true!”

“You made friends with my teammates even faster than I did! Don’t try telling me you’re shy when you were playing Call of Duty with Mark in his dorm room the first week you met him,” he rambles, making you grin at the comment. You knew he was jealous of you being friends with his older teammate– it didn’t matter that the boy was more awkward than anyone you’ve ever encountered (while also simultaneously being the most social human being on the campus, somehow. You’d say he’s so socially awkward and so social that it’s awkward at the same time.). At least you have revenge for not being invited to Zhong Chenle’s basketball court (yes, you’re still salty about that. You were decent at basketball. Well… more decent than Sungchan, at least.).

“That’s not the same, though,” you roll your eyes, making your best friend suggest something that is already known between the two of you, but never truly solidified in words.

“Because you like Renjun?”

“He seems interesting-”

“Because you have a crush on Renjun?”

“I do not!” you scream out, making the rest of the classroom look at you, resulting in you hiding behind your giant friend in shame. You only hope the rest of the conversation wasn’t heard by the whole classroom. You’d pack your things and move away to Nebraska if it was.

“I suppose the two of you are done with the experiment?” the professor inquires, making all blood leave your face as you vigorously shake your head in disapproval, apologetic smiles sent her way as you promise you’re almost done and that you’ll be quiet from now on. Truth be told, you don’t even know if you’re almost done. You don’t know how the experiment is supposed to go. You can only hope the period ends before you have to show the results.

Reading over the manual again, with Sungchan standing behind you and looking onto the white sheet of paper over your shoulder, you try hard to succeed in your assignment.

“I think I’ve got it,” he mumbles under his breath, gathering the things needed and finally getting to work, motioning for you to get closer and help him.

“You’re actually smart for a soccer player, you know,” you grin at him, the annoyed look on his face being the result of your successful teasing. Sometimes it’s fun to poke around with social norms and stereotypes– mostly because they’re kind of true.

“Just watch over the caldron and make sure it doesn’t bubble. If it does, turn the heating down, okay?” he urges you, earning himself a focused nod.

Now, the task at hand is easy. You just watch the caldron– it’s not difficult at all. But as we already established, you’re an individual that gets distracted really easily– especially when Huang Renjun is present in the same room as you, breathing the same air and looking insanely gorgeous even when he’s boredly looking at his own tools, seemingly done with the experiment with his head rested on his plopped-up hand, dissociated and uninterested. The group of boys around him– Shotaro, Jisung, Doyoung and Shohei, the proclaimed class geniuses at Science– look excited and immersed in the conversation, giggling at jokes and playfully smacking each other’s shoulders in fits of laughter when someone says something exceptionally funny. You imagine it’s Science jokes you wouldn’t get. You do fit the stereotype of a cheerleader, in a way– you’re not stupid, but you’re also not that smart in Chemistry, so you couldn’t indulge in their jokes even if you really wanted to.

Renjun looks uninterested and left-out. You feel the sudden urge to take him into your small circle, to ask him about his day and about his interests. He seems so different to the boy he was last year– while he did hang out with the soccer boys a few times after quitting the team, you didn’t really see him around. You suppose that the first impression you make on people is usually how you stay fixated in the minds of the general public, and while he used to be a soccer player for a while (two months, to be exact), he then lost the status, resulting in him being just… simply invisible for the rest of the year.

You were glad to see him with a new group of friends when you arrived in Chemistry class for the first time in your Sophomore year. While you didn’t really know how he ended up with them and what they do for fun after class, Renjun was now a part of the Science kids (this is your Mean Girls arc showing through. He does sit at the Science table in the cafeteria, though, so no one can really blame you for stereotyping.).

In this exact moment, though, he seems to be collectively excluded out of the collective. It’s frustrating– for this is the second time you’ve seen it happen to the boy– but you suppose there’s nothing you can really do or say to make it change.

“Fuck’s sake, Y/N! I told you to look after the caldron!”

“Oh shit!” you yelp out as you see the mixture boiling, the liquid inside turning black with steam, making the whole experiment fail for the second time.

Sighing, the boy only shakes his head at your distracted figure, taking the flask into his hand and once again, dropping the contents of it into the sink. Looking around the classroom, desperately trying to find something to anchor to so you can fix the situation, the bell rings and you’re left with the relief of knowing that the class is over and nobody can tell that you failed the assignment miserably.

“You’re lucky the bell rang, because this failure is completely your fault and I wouldn’t waste any time burning your skin off if we were called to show the results to the class,” Sungchan mutters, gathering his things.

“You’re not scary. I saw you shit your pants when you were eight.”

“Fuck off,” he rolls his eyes, leaving you behind to pack your things and silently ogling Huang Renjun on the other side of the classroom. The small circle of his supposed-to-be friends is now standing with the teacher, excitedly nodding as you hear them talk about a competition in Chemistry that is taking place next week. Interested in anything that includes Huang Renjun, you eavesdrop until you realize the boy was left out of the event– the four names scribbled down onto an application paper by their leader Doyoung left on the teacher’s desk, Renjun’s name nowhere to be seen.

You don’t think he did anything wrong to get left out. Looking at the neatly done experiment, you’re fairly certain he deserves to be on the list of applicants.

Looking at the group, you just think he didn’t fit in with them.

Huang Renjun leaves the classroom alone, his backpack thrown over his shoulder. After the year ends and he no longer takes Chemistry classes, you never see him with the Science kids again.

“I can’t believe you dragged me to the play just because you didn’t want to go alone,” you whisper to your best friend, staring forward at the stage. It’s almost over now, you can tell because you read the book it’s following– you were always a big Oscar Wilde fan– and you can’t help but giggle at the state of Sungchan. The poor boy isn’t used to having friends outside of the soccer player circle, and while he’s sociable, the image of showing up to the play completely alone, just because his friend Guanheng asked him to, is truly terrifying in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you only agreed when I said Renjun’s in the play,” he responds to you with a snarkier comment, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Shh,” you put your finger against your lips, subtly telling him to shut up, “I’m watching the play.”

“Sure…” he mutters, making you smile in satisfaction, for you managed to silence him and keep Huang Renjun out of the conversation.

You’re 17 now. You don’t know much more about Renjun than you did when you were 15, and you no longer share a class with him anymore, so you doubt you’ll ever really get to know him. You rarely see him, since you have no mutual friends or mutual interests, and so your silly crush started to subtly fade into the background. You must admit that you don’t look away when he passes you in halls with the group of drama kids he hangs out with now– you’re a weak, weak woman, after all– but the silent obsession with him is not your main personal trait anymore, and you can tell that both you and Sungchan are more than happy about the fact.

When the play ends and the whole cast scatters onto the stage to bow– you recognise Guanheng, Dejun, Kun, Sicheng and the director, Ten– all smiling brightly beside Renjun in the very corner, who only gives the crowd a shy grin as he bows down with the rest. Truth be told, you never expected him to get into the drama club. He always seemed quiet and reserved, but you suppose this is him experimenting with what he likes, finding the outgoing side in him and getting into more social circles.

After the lights turn back on and the school theater empties itself out, you find yourself waiting outside with Sungchan. The boy scratches the back of his neck in nerves, stressed from the sudden interaction with the drama kids. Your best friend is quite popular within the school, so you’re not really surprised that he and the charming Guanheng hit it off right away after meeting in Physics class. The sudden blush on his cheeks whenever you mention his new friend makes you strangely suspicious, though, but you won’t get deeper into it.

“Sungchan! Y/N!” you hear cheers from behind you, making you turn around and greet the cast of the play you just watched. Guanheng offers you a welcoming hug that you gladly accept, the rest of the friend group just as friendly to you as their connecting link is. Somewhere in the back of the group, you see Sicheng– the charming senior– trailing behind with Renjun. Too shy to look at him– because you still have the hint of the silly freshman on the inside– you avert your gaze off him and focus on the rest.

“We’re actually going to McDonald’s to celebrate the premiere, are you going with us?” Kun asks, a warm smile playing with his features.

“I- I mean-” you see Sungchan stuttering, shaking your head in disbelief at the hesitance he shows when he gets too much attention. Jumping in to save the boy, you quickly agree.

“We’re down!” you nod, seeing the man gratefully smile at you as you follow the drama club through the center of the town, towards the closest McDonald’s.

Throughout the whole journey, you’re painfully aware of Huang Renjun’s presence. You two haven’t even said hi to each other, and while you didn’t expect for that to happen, you still feel a little awkward to be invading his space. He’s in the back of the group with Sicheng, the two of them perhaps the closest of the whole club, and you wonder if it’s your fault for making him so distant himself from his friends right now. Did you invade his circle? Did you make him feel uncomfortable? You’ll leave, if that’s what he wants…

Arriving at the McDonald’s, you all order yourself your fast food of choice, the conversation flowing surprisingly easily after Sungchan gets accommodated to the new section of friends around him. Sliding into a big red booth in the corner of the room, you’re pressed between your best friend and Dejun, who can’t stop talking about the new Avatar movie. You almost agree to go see it with him in the cinema, from how desperate and excited he sounds, but then you’re reminded by the fact that you haven’t even seen the first part and you actually kind of hate sci-fi…

The whole time, your eyes don’t leave Renjun. Old habits die hard, you suppose, but you’re happy to see him genuinely laugh. You don’t think you’ve ever seen that on him before, and the sight of his eyes crinkled up into moon crescents and glittery stars in his dark orbsmakes your heart swell with fondness for the man. Still, though, you can’t help but notice the exclusion from the group– maybe he just doesn’t do well with crowds– as he sits in the corner of the booth with Dong Sicheng, while the rest are indulged in a shared conversation.

You don’t dare to try to include him in your conversation. Frankly, you think he isn’t interested, and it’s also not your place to organize a setting you were just tagging along to, only being invited because of Sungchan.

In the back of your mind, you think this is it. You think that Renjun’s battle of fitting in is finally over and that he found his place. He looked so familiar with the boys, so eager in the conversation with Sicheng– you’re happy he finally found his place in the world. It’s an unexpected one, to say the least, but you’re just satisfied with watching him be happy from afar.

You pay your goodbyes to the rest of the group after your meals are finished and the clock strikes 10. You’ve never been this close to Renjun before, and you don’t think you’ll ever grow closer. It’s fine with you, though. You’re always watching him– even when nobody else is, interested in knowing about his well being and the trajectory of his life. It’s strange, but it’s natural for you.

When you’re 17, you think Renjun finally found his place in the world– you think he’s finally satisfied with his table at the cafeteria, with the social status he has, with the group of friends around him; although still a little distant with most of them except for one. When you’re 17, you didn’t know you couldn’t be more wrong.

When junior year ends, Dong Sicheng graduates.

Renjun never hangs out with the drama club again.

When you finally turn 18– the birthday party with baby pink party hats and champagne all over the carpet of your teenage room– it seems like everything takes a sharp C turn. You’re a senior now, and while you got admitted to your dream university after many hours of stress and days spent filling out the applications with your best friend Sungchan late in the library, you don’t think you’re ready to leave your home yet.

It’s kind of weird that you realize the fact at a goodbye party thrown by your classmate Donghyuck. You’ve never really talked to the man before– you just shared multiple classes with him and he offered you weed outside of the gates to the building once– but there’s something about the aroma of the liquor he serves in his kitchen that makes you reminiscence about all the years you’ve spent in the cheer team or sitting at your little desk in the classroom, listening to only some of the lectures, because you didn’t really mind the rest. You also get back in your memory to the spacious cafeteria– the soccer team and the cheer team have joined their tables together after some months, and while it wasn’t like the Mean Girls, you still felt lucky to have such a big supporting system.

Your cheer captain– Ryujin– graduated one year before you, the role of the most responsible one falling onto your classmate Jiwoo not long after, since they were always friends and you all wanted to lead the team in the fierceful manner Ryujin always has. You swear you saw the ex-captain somewhere in the house a few minutes ago, though, carrying a bottle of vodka under her shoulder as she twirled her slim body around one of the guys that graduated two years ago, the one you always saw Donghyuck hanging around with in the backs of the school halls, wearing leather jackets and snickering with smug grins.

Twirling the liquid in the red solo cup around, standing alone in the corner of the living room (Sungchan left you stranded a few minutes ago, when he spotted Chenle and Guanheng in the crowd), your brain takes you back to all the memories you’ve made in the last 4 years.

You remember celebrating one of the only wins your school’s soccer team got in your freshman year with Sungchan, the tall boy carrying you on his back as he ran around the field in the lights of the reflectors. You remember blowing up the Chemistry lab with him once or twice, and you also remember the whole classroom giggling at you when you had to clean it up, accompanied by the horrified screams of your professor. The memory of the winter formal in your junior year is the most vivid in your brain– you went with your cheer friends, while Sungchan finally scored himself his first date. Her name was Lily and while you found the girl to be quite nice, the memory in your brain is so bright mainly because your dear best friend was so drunk out of nervosity of being with a girl that he puked in the school yard, leaving you to laugh your ass off until tears were streaming down your face.

Your whole four years were consistent. With the same group of people, in the same school halls and bedrooms of your friends when you had sleepovers as a cheer team building. You always had fun when new freshmen joined the team, making sure they know which Sophomore and Junior boys to be wary of, and while you’re excited for university, you don’t think you’ll get to replicate this carefree and silly presence of high school ever again.

“You okay?” you hear a voice call for you, making you snap your head up and see one of your classmates, Seunghan, staring at you with glittery eyes and a warm smile. You always perceived the boy to be quite the shy individual, but you think alcohol always helps everyone to get out of their shell.

“Yeah,” you nod, quick to make his worries fade away, “just lost in thought.”

“I get that. It’s surreal that we’re graduating, isn’t it?” he grins, shaking his head in disbelief. You didn’t expect anyone to get your feelings, but here you are– you guess you’re never as alone in your views as you think you are.

“It’s crazy…” you mumble, finishing up the cup and looking around, catching the boy staring at you constantly. Not really seeing your friend Sungchan anywhere, you decide the second best thing to do to pass time is to catch up with the boy right next to you, and so you lean closer to him and ask him if he wants to get out for some fresh air.

After seeing him nodding eagerly at your suggestion, you find yourself trailing out of Donghyuck’s house, straight to the backyard, while passing some of his friends on your way– their irises were twice as wide as a normal person’s would be and you swear you sensed the sweet, disgusting smell of weed resonating through the walls, so you were glad to get out before the essence got so deep inside of your nose and make you want to puke.

As a cheerleader, you were a regular at those parties. You’ve seen enough of Yangyang, Donghyuck, Eunsok… and Renjun getting so high and mixing the drugs with alcohol that it left them out of it for hours, and you don’t really need that for yourself right now.

“Finally,” you gasp when you reach the backyard, leaning on the wall of the house. Seunghan follows you with a cup in his hand that you’re not sure when and where he’s gotten on your way out, sipping on the alcohol as his eyes never leave your frame.

“What are your plans after graduation?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“University,” you say, letting your eyes travel through the backyard, finding multiple people sharing cigarettes and pipes in the bushes, giggling to themselves. “You?”

“Same,” he nods, “I got into the town’s uni, so I’m just gonna stay here, though.”

Humming, you take a short glimpse at him. Truth be told, you don’t know much about Hong Seunghan. All you know about him is that he’s super nice and he always greeted you when you passed each other in the halls, despite not having many shared classes or social circles. Your friend Yeri once told you that he’s got a crush on you when you got an anonymous Valentine’s day card in your locker during junior year, but you dismissed the thought quickly as you realized you’ve never really had a coherent conversation with him. Looking into his starstruck eyes right now, though, you can’t say that you wouldn’t believe it now…

“I’m moving across the state, actually,” you grin, desperate to hide your despair behind a smile. Sungchan got into a university only an hour away from yours, which is the only thing that’s keeping you going right now– while you will be so far away from home, at least you won’t be completely lonely. If you ever feel like it’s too much, you can just catch a train and meet your childhood best friend in the next town. It’s easy. Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

“Why so far away?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, taking your eyes off him again, looking through the crowd in the yard and finding a familiar figure, sitting lonely at the edge of the empty swimming pool, his legs dangling inside as he leans back, supporting his weight with his arms and looks towards the sky, “they had the best History courses, I guess…”

The conversation you’re having with Seunghan is only a background task now, a side quest in your game, as you focus on what you’ve been doing in the back of your head for the last 4 years. You monotonously reply to his questions and hum at all the right places in the dialogue to seem interested, but your eyes are focused solely on the man sitting at the swimming pool, looking more lonely than ever before. You’d make yourself feel silly for paying more attention to a man you’ve never spoken to than to the blushy classmate standing to your left right now, quietly obsessing your whole teenage years with a stranger, but for all you know, this could be the last time you’re seeing him in your life, so you let your inner little crushing-on-Huang-Renjun self have it, at least one last time.

When you turn 18, so does Huang Renjun. He finds enjoyment in all the possibilities now open to him with the new status of an adult, his Fridays spent drinking away with his new group of friends. He wears leather jackets and ripped jeans, and while you find it quite attractive, you don’t think it’s what suits him the most. Hell, even the soccer jersey looked more fit on him– and he played for the team for a total of two matches. His hair is bleached blonde and you once saw him with red, puffy eyes and a little fucked-out smile accompanied by his sketchy friends in the park, so you can only imagine what he’s been doing his whole senior year. You’re surprised he even managed to graduate.

When you turn 18, it’s when you worry most about him. He doesn’t seem himself, and quite frankly, he never has, but this is the most unpredictable and unexplainable version of himself that he managed to craft.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him genuinely laugh. And yes, you don’t know the boy, but still, you kind of miss the earlier versions of him, because at least those weren’t as self-destructive and damaging to his health.

You wonder why he’s not inside with his friends. You wonder why he’s so alone in the backyard, why he’s sitting at the empty swimming pool with a bottle of liquor next to him, why he’s not laughing at stupid jokes and dancing to bad EDM music in Lee Donghyuck’s house like the rest of his circle is. You wonder what made him hang out with the crowd for the last year, what made him let his grades slip and why he never seemed to stay with one friend group for long.

You guess it’s hard to be his friend.

Or maybe, he just finds it hard to be other people’s friend.

Changing himself up just to fit with the others, carefully crafting and molding his personality to have at least someone match his current energy– you wonder if it wouldn’t just be easier for him to be himself and let someone discover the true him for once. Because this surely isn’t him. And the soccer player, running aimlessly around the field wasn’t him. The kid that was good at science was never a good fit for the nerdy crowd either, because it wasn’t him. The drama kid that was decent at acting, but never really talked with anyone from the club other than Dong Sicheng (because even after all this time, you think that was his only real friend), wasn’t the real Huang Renjun either. And now, after the four years of admiring the mystery he is and examining him each passing day, you can for sure say that the version of himself that smokes and drinks in dark alleyways isn’t the real him at all.

After reminiscing on your four years of high school with a smile on your face, you wonder if Huang Renjun could do the same. If he smiles about the many twists and turns, or if he thinks of his high school years as a waste of his youth, a time he can only be reminded of with a bittersweet feeling, never fitting in despite trying so hard over and over again.

The boy at the swimming pool chews on the inside of his cheek, scoffing as he points his eyes towards the ground. There’s an urge inside of you to walk over to him and be a shoulder for him to cry on, be someone to finally offer him some comfort, to let him talk while you listen.

But you don’t do any of that.

You keep standing there, watching him, as Hong Seunghan talks your ears off about everything and nothing, making your confused heart simmer with despair at the broken look on Renjun’s face when he looks around for the last time before he takes the bottle standing next to him into his hand and smashes it into the pool with full force, the piercing sound of the glass shattering making your ears hurt as you jump up in surprise.

The boy stands up from his place as he storms off, your eyes meeting only for a mere second before he’s out.

“Are you okay?” Seunghan asks again, for the second time this evening already, while you look at him with a tight smile and nod your head at the question.

“Yeah. Just… got distracted.”

When you’re 18, you believe this is the last time you’ll ever see him. When you’re 18, all you do is wish him well.

Walking out of your trashy university accommodation, locking the door behind you– although you think it does nothing for the safety of your living space, considering the door is paper thin and anyone determined enough could get inside in two minutes, if they wanted to– you put the keys into your coat pocket and jog down the stairs, because you fear the old elevator ever since you heard your neighbor getting stuck inside of it one day when the power went out. Checking the time on your phone screen, you walk your way to university.

You always wanted to live somewhere far away. It’s not really about cutting people off or about starting new– Sungchan visits you every other week when he’s bored, after all– you just think you like the comfort the big city brings you. The architecture of the town is beautiful and your university’s History course is the best one in the country. You almost feel a little proud of getting in, moving out of the small hell hole your hometown was, and being competent enough to live on your own at 19, cooking yourself bad pasta for dinner every evening and posting instagram stories of the sunset with the song stickers from your playlist every other week. It’s a little surreal to live the life your younger self always dreamt of, for it doesn’t feel as strange and so brand new like you expected it to. You can’t say you don’t enjoy it, though.

Walking inside of the university building, still not used to the white modern walls and tall glass windows in the lounge area, you check the time and realize you still have at least 25 minutes until your lecture starts. Coming from a small town, you never really learned how to time your departure from home. You always arrive either very late or very early– it’s hard to calculate how long the walk is, when everything is within a 10 minute reach back home.

Deciding to spend some time in the lounge area before the class starts, because you don’t really feel like spending time in the lonely classroom and you also suspect someone’s having a class in there still, you walk towards the crowded place, adjusting the bag strap that’s sneakily slipping off your shoulder.

The view in front of you catches you off guard, the amount of students doing things to your little, anxious self (in moments like these, you wish you had Sungchan with you here. Despite being quite social in high school, it’s hard to make friends when he’s not around to be your isle of comfort; but you guess it’s time for you to be a big person and find friends on your own now), and as your eyes scan the place for an empty space to sit, your mouth drops agape in shock and surprise.

There is a boy with mousy blonde hair sitting at one of the bean bags, down in the university halls. He's surrounded by people, all typing away on their laptops, occasionally glancing up to their friends and talking in hushed smiles and cheery giggles. The boy is alone– scrolling away on his phone, earphones in his ears as the slight movement of his leg matches the beat– though, he doesn't seem lonely.

There are plenty of people around him, all with their kindred spirits, yet, the boy makes no effort in trying to fit into a circle; he doesn't try to match anyone's energy or to desperately make someone like him. In a way, the sight makes you sigh with relief.

Huang Renjun has finally stopped trying, and while this sentence usually doesn't have a nice ring to it, this time, you don't think there's anything more positive about the fact that he simply just has no energy to change himself to fit the vision of himself that is kept by others.

Taking a few deep breaths in and out, you contemplate on your next step. Is this really how you get to know your high school crush, after so many years of thinking of him? Is university really the time for your first real meeting? It makes you feel kind of silly, the tingling sensation in your fingertips making it hard for you to stay grounded as you shake your head to clear your thoughts, deciding.

Wiping your hands onto the fabric of your jeans, taking another deep breath in and out, you walk up to the boy with a hesitant smile and drop your body to the bean bag next to him, accidentally bumping into his outstretched legs. The action makes your cheeks heaten as your whole body feels hot with uncertainty, but you don't back away as he looks up to you with an uninterested look, merely just wanting to know what bumped into him and made him lose his focus and switch his attention to the world around him instead of his phone.

Clearing your throat, you force yourself to quirk up the corners of your lips into the most welcoming smile, greeting the boy you know so well, but also don't know at all.

“Hi,” you utter, seeing the boy glance at you with pure interest now, eyebrows furrowed as the gears in his brain work by themselves, trying to sort your face. When his thoughts are met with recognition, his irises widen as he works out a subtle smile, the one that reaches his eyes and makes them light up with a glittery sparkle, soft voice echoing to your ears.

“Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you nod, putting on an awkward smile, “from high school.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he nods, staring at you, as if to wait if you have anything else you want to say.

The encounter must feel strange to him. You've never really talked, and when you did, it was only when it was necessary. You were just a side character in his life– the one you pass in a game in a very unimportant side quest and never meet again, forgetting about it in an instant– however, to you, Huang Renjun, although he was never the center of your universe, was always there, somewhere in the back of your mind, as you looked after his every move and paid attention to every shift in his existence. To you, he was like the musician you fall in love with when you're a kid, and even though you don't listen to them anymore, you still have their account followed on instagram, keeping track of their every move, making sure they're safe and still loved by many.

Staring at you still, your throat gets dry as you have no words to say. Somehow, you always had so many things on your mind that you wanted to share with Huang Renjun, in each and every passage of his life. But now that you finally had the courage to walk up to him and talk, the words were stolen from the tip or your tongue and it's useless to try to search for them in your brain.

Maybe it's the boy recognising your hesitance, maybe it's his brain reminding him of all the times he's walked up to a new group and tried so hard to fit in with them, maybe he knows the lost look in your eyes all too well from how many times he's seen it in himself when he tried to make new friends; maybe it's the fact that he knows how stressful it is to walk up to someone and try to be their friend– nonetheless, for a reason to you unknown, he does something no one's ever done for him when he was in the position you are in right now, because, truth be told, this is the first time he's been in the position of being walked up to and interrogated with a premise of new friendship. And it's all thanks to you– so he takes the lead and warmly smiles at you, striking up a conversation.

“What's up? I didn't expect to see you here,” he says, taking his earphones out and putting them away to his pocket, turning slightly towards your figure and paying full attention to you.

Playing with your fingers in your lap, you turn your gaze away from him and master up a response. “I didn't expect to see you here either, actually,” you say.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “I guess I just wanted to start over somewhere far away. It felt… a little claustrophobic back home.”

The two of you share a look full of understatement, because in his eyes, as his classmate from high school, you must have noticed at least some of the glimpses of his numerous friend groups over the time. And while none of them really worked out for him, since none of them ever really felt as if they were right for him, now, in the university halls, although a little alone and a little too ordinary, he seems like himself for the first time.

“I get that,” you nod, not wanting to dwell on the topic for too long in fear of hitting a painful spot in him or exposing that you’ve been watching him the whole time, “what do you study?”

“Art,” he says with an excited smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle up a little and his expression is full of undenied joy and excitement, the one you’ve seen on him for the last time in junior year, talking away with Sicheng in a red McDonald’s booth– hinting that after so many years of changing himself up and trying to fit in with the rest, he's doing what he really wants and desires, with no expectations and harsh looks of others.

“That's so amazing,” you hum in amazement, offering him a genuine smile.

“It's very exciting,” he nods, glad he no longer feels like he’s been made from a broken mold, glad he no longer feels aimless and unarmed with everything he encounters, just like he did in high school in the sports teams and drama clubs, hating each passing second he’s spent doing something he despised, wasting away his life. “What about you?”

“Oh, I study History,” you reply, scratching the back of your neck, “doesn't sound as exciting as Art, to be honest, but I've wanted to study it for the longest time, so…”

“No, that's great,” he assures you, “although you don’t seem like a History kind of person,” he says, although he doesn’t know you that well– he can’t quite put a finger on when you two have met, and if you’ve ever even talked. Looking at you right now, though, he must have registered you, at least, because you seem too familiar in the foreign place and he finds himself silently holding on to the feeling of recognising at least something in the wide unknown.

Squinting, you curse the cheerleader stereotype for the first time in your life. “Is that supposed to be a diss?” you grin.

“God, no,” he shakes his head in disapproval, quickly leading you out of the misjudgement. “I just didn’t expect you to study History. I don’t know you that well, but you’re like, the furthest away from my image of a History major… but I guess my expectations can be wrong,” he defends himself, palms raised in defeat.

Humming, you still squint at him in uncertainty. “Well, I guess I get that. You seem like an Art major, though, to be honest.”

“Do I?” he asks, a tone completely different to yours– he looks grateful for the comment, his eyes shining with appreciation and maybe just a hint of pride.

To be honest, it's not really about the way he dresses that makes him seem like he’d study Art– his black high-top converse, beige pants and an oversized brown flannel could be worn by anyone– but his aura, the energy he gives off at first glance, is something that gives it away. This is the first time someone's ever affirmed Huang Renjun's identity, the real one, on top of that– the one he spent his whole life carefully crafting and creating, picking away the bad parts as he tried and failed to fit all the other categories he didn't like– and it feels truly euphoric to him, like he fulfilled his life-long goal and finally found his purpose. "Well, thank you," he says, and you can tell he means it.

You want to tell him how glad you are that he let go of trying to please everyone. You want to tell him how it's great that he finally found himself, how amazing it is that he finally let go of the desire to be liked for something he wasn't, just to be popular or have someone by his side. You want to tell him how you appreciated his existence all those years, how you watched over his every good and bad step, how proud you are of him for the journey he's taken and how amazing it is that he finally reached the final destination.

That would be weird, though– he doesn't even know that you’ve selfishly watched him all those years, tumbling and turning in the background of the mess his life had always been. So, instead, you mumble out a sweet: “You're welcome.”

By the way he looks at you, you almost think he understands your intentions. You almost believe he can read your mind and find the pictures of himself in your memories, each and every single one carefully preserved with his essence, although it was different each time and never really stayed the same.

But he can't. He can’t read your mind and he can’t tell that you know all about him, so instead, he thinks this is the universe rewarding him for being so patient, rewarding him for always trying, and that’s why he feels that he can’t let this opportunity get away from him.

“Do you want to hang out later? I have a class in 10 minutes, but I'd love to walk around and explore it here a little in the afternoon, if you're down,” he suggests, taking you off guard.

The new version of Huang Renjun that's in front of you is confident– something he always lacked, for it was never really him that he was showing to the world– and the new Huang Renjun is charming and magnetizing. You can't say you never felt like this about him before, because of course you did– you wouldn't have known so much about him and his various phases of life if you weren't interested in the boy, but the way you feel about him now feels more real– maybe because it's finally the authentic version of himself that he always was so afraid of showing to others. Electrified by his eyes, you bring yourself to nod.

“Of course I'm down,” you agree, smiling.

“Great,” he laughs airly, the sound making your smile widen even more, “I'll get your number, then?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, taking his phone out of his outstretched hand, typing the number into his contacts list. Walking up to him all those minutes ago, this wasn’t how you expected the encounter to go. You expected to say hi to him, to maybe hear him tell his major to you before he turns his back to you and walks away, never talking to you again. Instead, you get an invite, a premise of something new, a meeting that excites you and makes you feel all giddy inside, just like the first time you’ve laid your eyes on the boy in high school and decided to secretly hold your heart out to him, if he ever wanted to take it. It makes you feel like you should’ve done this long ago, like you should’ve walked up to him during high school, when you noticed him struggling, but perhaps, this is how it was always supposed to go, how you two were supposed to end up in each other’s lives and how you were always made to finally know Huang Renjun for real.

“Good,” he nods, locking eyes with you, “I have to go now, because the class is on the fifth floor and the elevator is broken, and I also don't really know my way around the building yet, but I'll definitely text you later,” he giggles.

Laughing, you shake your head in disbelief. “Of course. Good luck on not getting lost,” you say as you wave at him, his figure already standing up tall in front of you, his eyes glazing over your features for one last time.

“Thanks, I'll need it,” he tells you, “I'll see you later, then.”

“Later!” you nod, the smile never leaving your lips as you watch him leave and take a shy look at you over his shoulder for one last time before he takes the stairs up, eyes quickly drifting away when your gazes meet.

If anyone was watching you for the last few minutes, they'd think you were old friends. They'd think you were just catching up, accidentally bumping into each other and talking about the struggles of university life, bitching about the accommodation and how the professors seem uninterested in the topic of their courses. The reality is different, though, and although you and Renjun were just acquaintances meeting in a big town, miles away from the home, you can already sense that you and him were meant to have a storyline in each other's lives eventually.

This was Renjun's first time to be walked up to with a welcoming smile. It was also your first time to reach out and offer your friendship to someone. You changed your roles, in a way.

And while Renjun continues to find himself more and more each day, the true and real identity deep inside of him, he finally has someone by his side assuring him that it's enough and that he never has to change a thing about himself to be liked. No more masks and no more acting.

For the first time in his life, Huang Renjun knows who he is, even when nobody’s watching.

#nct #nct dream #renjun #nct fluff #nct angst #nct scenario #nct x reader #renjun fluff #renjun fic #renjun angst #renjun x reader #renjun scenario #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream imagine #nct dream scenario #nct dream x reader

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ashthemadwriter-archived · 2 years

Note

I SAW THAT YOU WANT NIKOLAI REQUEST, can you please do mornings with him, please! <3 gn reader is okay and flufffff! Ty in advance!

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairings: Nikolai X Gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Format: Short Fic

Warnings: Cussing, Ig?, reader slapping their Kolya cuz they mistook him for a mosquito, Kolya being a tease as he usually is.

Word Count: 0.9K

A/n: Please I would kill to wake up next to this man-, not proofread btw

Got inspired from Veve's thoughts

The small rays of the sun got through the half pulled back curtains, and found their way to the now fully awake man, gently caressing his eyes. He had been awake for a while now, staring at the walls for some time to gain his consciousness and realize what was happening around him. He was used to getting up early even if he hadn't gotten a proper sleep the night before; But last night was definitely something else, since he got to spend it with you.

Oh, he almost forgot about you.

Nikolai took a glance at the small figure curled up next to him, deeply breathing as they were gripping the blanket, which was probably the reason why he felt that cold when he woke up.

You little brat, taking all the blanket to yourself.

Nikolai smirked as he started braiding his hair, thinking about a little revenge to take from his beloved s/o, who made him shiver out of coldness all night while wrapping the blanket around themselves very nicely. Then, he took the tip of his elegant braided hair, and started tickling your nose relentlessly. He knew what was coming along; you pouting at him, asking him to stop, and him, not listening to you, making up for the hard time he went through until you beg him to leave you alone in exchange of doing what he demands later. He wasn't really teasing you because of that, He didn't feel that cold without the blanket; but he had to find a reasonable excuse to annoy you with, right?

A small sulk appearing on your face made him smile widely. Everything was going according to the plan. Everything...

Slap!

"Ugh, Fucking mosquitos" you muttered under your breath, turning your back at your boyfriend who had his hand on his cheek, staring at you with widened eyes, trying to understand what just happened.

You...just slapped him...?

Well, he didn't see that one coming.

"Rise and shine, Dovey!" his loud shout next to your ear made you quake with fear, almost jumping of the bed as you open your eyes to look at him unbelievably.

"Wha...What?" "Time to get up, dove! Your man needs some attention" He gave you an innocent smile, making you want to wipe it off his face by kicking him in his pretty nuts; but unfortunately, you were in love with this jerk, so you compromised with ignoring him and going back to your precious sleep which was definitely unsatisfying to him.

"Dove! C'mon now! MOOORNING'S HEEEERE~ THE MORNING'S HEEEERE~ SUNSHINE IS HEEEEEERE~ MORNING IS HE-" "Oh my god shut up!" "Haha not a chance. SUUUUUUNSHIIIIII-" "Kolya stop it I'm tired!"

That sulk on your frustrated face as you pull the blanket on top of your head... Just, how could he hold himself back from teasing you? He's in love with the way you whine as your voice raises a bit, making look like a needy innocent girl, after all. Nothing is going to stop him from making a mess out of you, not even your cuteness that almost gives him a heart attack every time he witnesses that adorable pout on your face.

Nikolai grinned, slowly grabbing the corner of the blanket, only to flip it off the bed and dump himself onto you, smooching every inch of your sulky face.

"It's Mwah*- Morning Mwah*- You Mwah*- Have to Mwah*- Wake up Mwah Mwah Mwah*"

"Nikolai Gogol stop it I'm telling you- OUCHHHH DON'T BITE MY CHEEK YOU'RE CRAZY!" "Can't help it Dove, you're just too delicious for me to resist!"

You tried to push him off yourself, but barely made any progress because you're boyfriend was too strong and you were too small compared to him. It was actually one of the things that attracted you in the first place; but now you just wished he was skinny so you could kick his ass and use some fucking peace and quiet.

You were very tired. You barely got any sleep in the past three days due to your kick ass mission, and Nikolai's endless teasing was definitely not helping, so you had do something; using the only thing that might get him to back off a bit.

You suddenly leaned onto him, wrapping your arms around him as you hid your face in the crook of his neck, breathing steady on his soft pale skin. Nikolai was caught off guard, having you all over him, clinging to his side. Your body felt warmer than usual, and it kinda made him want to cage you in his arms, inhaling the coconut scented shampoo you shared in the bathtub last night. He suddenly stopped moving around so much and gave in to your touch, which was sudden but pleasant as always.

"Mhm Kolya... 'm really sleepy... Wanna sleep in with you..." You muttered quietly, placing a small kiss on his neck while resting your head on his shoulder. Nikolai didn't need to see your face to know that you were smiling, a big one, knowing this would be your final move.

He's hand slowly wrapped around your face, gently caressing your hair out of his face as he sighed and put a bland smile on his face.

"Fine... You stupid adorable girl. I guess I can make one exception for today since your extra adorable, hm? But remember; you have to repay me once you wake up from sleep. You better be ready for then"

#AshTheMadWriter #bsd nikolai #bsd nikolai gogol #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs #nikolai x reader #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai x you #nikolai x y/n #nikolai x fem!reader #nikolai gogol x you #nikolai gogol x y/n #nikolai gogol x fem!reader #nikolai imagines #nikolai gogol imagines #nikolai scenario #nikolai fluff

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windwheeler-aster · 2 years

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hello, headcannons + blurbs with zhongli, kaeya, diluc, childe and itto ( if its too much you could reduce some but let zhongli and kaeya stay :3 ) reacting to s/o who never nosebleed, finally does when they see them men being sexy? its a little suggestive i guess. thank you :)

what? see something you like?

summary: you don’t fluster easily, and when you do, it’s always been something manageable. well, that’s what you had thought at least. now you’re struggling to cover up the mess your nosebleed has made, knowing full well that when your boyfriend sees you like this; you’ll never hear the end of it.

masterlist

pairings (separate): zhongli, kaeya, diluc, and childe x reader

reader info: uses gender neutral pronouns (they/them), reader is in an established relationship with characters mentioned, reader gets nosebleeds when they are badly flustered, and reader is not traveler.

word count: 3,231 words

genre: romance, suggestive, (slight) comfort

format: headcanons and blurbs

warnings: suggestive language and behavior, reader gets a nosebleed, blood mentioned, exaggerated/anime-like nosebleed, cliffhanger/suggestive endings, (brief) funeral and death mentions, kaeya being told to “cover up,” brief mentions of violence almost happening, teasing, and things escalating quickly

a/n: sadly i couldn’t think of anything for itto :( maybe in the future i could continue this with him and a few other characters? i assumed tight and well fitted clothing is something everyone finds sexy so... enjoy💖 no songs for this because, um,, i don’t actually know a lot of suggestive songs-

there was an upcoming business conference that zhongli and hu tao had to attend in the name of wangsheng funeral parlor

hu tao requested him to dress nicely, as she wants to leave a good impression on her (potential) trading partners

he was a little offended that hu tao thought his normal suit wouldn’t do the job, but he followed her request

zhongli had rented a nice brown suit a little too tight around his chest and bottom if you asked him though

he brought it home to try on after having it tailored, as the last thing he needed was it to still be ill fitted still

zhongli had no idea that you’d be coming home just as he was finishing buttoning up the undercoat

he wasn’t displeased though, it would be best to get your opinion on it anyway

in comes your love, strolling slowly as he adjusts the tie around his collar

he doesn’t even look up to see your flustered expression, too fixated on that damn tie

when zhongli doesn’t get a response immediately, he finally looks up to see you

[more under the cut]

“My dear, is everything alright?”

You shake your head quickly, trying to tear your eyes off of his body. Although that seemed near impossible with the way his suit hugged his chest so tightly. The sight was enough to get you salivating as you gazed on. After all, you couldn’t help that his prominent breasts were being so well shown off. Quietly, you were thanking Hu Tao for this.

When you looked away from his chest, you realized Zhongli’s expression had softened. His pupils dilated, fading into his dark brown irises quickly. Somehow, they managed to capture as much of your attention as his chest had.

“Yes,” you breathed out, “everything’s fine, Zhongli. H-how… how was your day?”

“My day was good, love,” He smiled softly, adjusting the cuff links to his undershirt. “As you can see, I got a new suit for my business trip.”

“Y-you look great,”

“Thank you, my dear,” Zhongli posed suavely, trying his best not to tilt his head upwards in pride. “Although, it’s only the front. Could you confirm it looks good from other angles?”

You missed the way his warm eyes crinkled at the end, a cheeky smile hidden from you as he turned around. Zhongli knew this would fluster you. It’s the exact reason why he picked this suit out, actually. His efforts of getting you so flustered had finally paid off, and he too was quietly thanking Hu Tao.

The front view of his suit was a sight you needed to see after such a long day. But the back view? Your entire face felt uncomfortably warm as you stared at Zhongli’s bottom. You brought a hand up to your mouth to stop you from gasping or emitting a worse sound. It was only then, with your knuckle in between your lips, did you feel the blood trickling down.

You gently brought your hands over your nose and mouth, caging them in. It proved to be difficult, actually, with the fountain of blood that sprouted from your nose. You murmured a complaint to yourself as you looked for some sort of cloth or tissue, desperate for Zhongli not to see.

“Dear?”

“Sorry, Zhongli,” you murmured. You changed your hands’ placement so that one was now pinching the end of your nose. “You look great, as always, love.”

He smiled and tilted his head upwards in pride, but quickly lowered it to stay humble. “Why thank you, how kind of you to say. You look lovely today as well, dear.”

You glanced over to him, just as Zhongli side eyed you over his shoulder. Which was, of course, the perfect moment for Zhongli to notice your slight injury.

He gasped. “Dearest, you’re bleeding.”

Zhongli walked over to you, gently pressing you up against the door. He used his gloved hands to cup your chin, tilting your head upwards. You tried to gulp down the extra saliva that seemed to have built up, but your throat was betraying you.

Zhongli gently brushed away the remnants of blood that you couldn’t clean up, not even grimacing when the blood soiled his gloves. His frown soon grew into a knowing smirk when he saw how quickly you got flustered.

“Oh, did I cause this?” He moved your chin to inspect your face, smirking wider as he did. “Did I… did I get you this riled up, my dearest?”

You froze up, too shocked at his playfulness. You couldn’t even give him a proper response like a nod of confirmation. All you could do was focus on his eyes, but even that was proving to be difficult.

“We can’t have you all flustered like this, dear,” he inched his lips closer to your ear, “I suppose I’ll just have to take care of it for you. Would you like that, dearest?”

after months of buttering up the fatui, kaeya was finally invited to a formal banquet at the goth grand hotel

it was a sweet victory for kaeya, and the rest of the knights of favonius

although kaeya was requested to wear something less revealing at the event which genuinely offended him and he barely managed to keep his cool

but his mission wasn’t over yet. he still had to get closer to them, so he had to obey their request, even if it ticked him off greatly

after all, he had spent months building a good relationship with the fatui. he wasn’t about to throw all of his effort away over some silly outfit

so, one suit fitting and purchase later, kaeya had a lovely striped blue suit ready for the banquet

and while he was trying on suit after suit, kaeya kept you at the forefront of his mind

more specifically what your expression would be when he showed off his new suit

he was practically grinning from ear to ear when he heard you get home, and he didn’t even hesitate to call your name a moment later

Something moved outside, causing Kaeya to focus on the sight outside instead of his reflection. He smiled when he recognized you waving from the path towards your shared home. Kaeya shyly waved back, not so covertly hiding his body behind the curtains as he did so. As much as he wanted to, Kaeya didn’t linger long to see your puzzled expression. Instead Kaeya slipped past the curtains and hurried downstairs.

You watched from the outside of your home as you saw a flurry of blue run past some windows, your concern for your partner growing. If his actions didn’t resemble that of a frantic bird, you would have laughed at the sight and teased him endlessly for it.

You opened the front door with a gentle turn, peaking your head through the crack first. Only the coat rack and welcome mat were there to greet you. There were no surprises or pranks that you could see, so you continued inside. As you closed the door, you heard a curse whispered and a gentle thud from the living room.

“Kaeya?” you called, slipping out of your shoes slowly. “Are you alright?”

An affirmative noise came from the living room.

Your feet carried you to Kaeya quickly. You looked around for him before you heard him clear his throat and look at the sound.

Draped across the couch with a rose clutched in between his teeth was Kaeya, who looked quite out of breath. Your eyes traveled across his new suit, noticing quickly he had it tailored to fit him nicely. The suit clung tightly onto his skin, giving you a glimpse at his well defined features. The buttons on the suit jacket looked like they were about to pop off with each rise and fall of Kaeya’s chest. Your eyes were about to slowly trail down the rest of his figure when Kaeya snapped his fingers.

“Hey, hey, eyes up here darling,” Kaeya teased, letting the rose fall out of his mouth.

His flirtatious tone got to you, easily bringing heat to your cheeks. Before you knew it, you felt something wet trail down from your nose and onto your upper lip. Quickly, you turned around and covered your nose with one hand. The last thing you needed was for Kaeya to realize what was happening. You could already hear the teasing from him as you desperately searched for a tissue.

“Darling?” you heard him shift on the couch. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you winced at how your voice cracked when you answered so quickly, “nothing’s wrong, I’m just a bit flustered.”

“Oh, really? Show me how flustered you are then, darling.”

With a new wave of Keaye’s suggestive words, your nose squirted out blood like a fountain with water. You brought your other hand over your nose quickly, silently screaming at Kaeya. Either he could see your reaction and was amused by it, or he truly was just smooth with his words.

“Stop teasing me, you’re making it worse,”

“Making what worse?” Kaeya raised his eyebrows. “Oh darling, are you really down that bad for me? Have I not been paying enough attention to-”

“No, just,” you fumbled over your words, trying to decide what to say next. “Here, just look.”

You turned around and removed your hands from your nose. You watched as Kaeya’s cocky expression turned quickly into shock. He sat upright on the couch, reaching over to the side table for a tissue.

“Here, let me clean you up,” he offered, patting the spot next to him on the couch.

Careful not to drip any blood on the couch, you sat beside him. Kaeya was quick to close the distance between you two, pulling you much closer to him. He chuckled as he began to wipe away the blood, tilting your chin in different directions.

“I had no idea I had this effect on you, darling,” he said, his tone a mixture of teasing and worry, but still making your cheeks warm. “And to think you only saw me fully clothed as well… It makes me curious what type of reaction I can get out of you without them.” Kaeya leaned in close to your ear, “would you like to find out together?”

diluc enjoys his suit and coat as they are, however he does like to dress less casual when it’s just the two of you in dawn winery

but it hardly is just the two of you alone, so he still wears it around the house

except he adjusts his tie so it hangs loosely around his neck, and move his arms out of his overcoat and drape it over his shoulders

it gives him this slightly haggard look, however diluc still manages to pull it off

however, on one very stormy afternoon, diluc and you find yourself to be the only ones at home

which is just perfect for diluc, who had a lovely black turtleneck stowed away for afternoons like these

he was looking forward to spending a calm afternoon with you, maybe taking the opportunity to catch up and make up for lost time and affection (no thanks to his very busy schedule)

until he noticed the blood leaking from your nose after just catching one glimpse of him

“I managed to convince Adeline to go home early,” Diluc announced as he entered the room, “I swear, she worries too much. I’m a grown man, for archons’ sake, I can take care of myself and you.”

As you glanced over your shoulder, ready to tease him relentlessly, you froze.

Diluc wasn't wearing his usual coat. In fact, he was dressing many layers lighter today. He wore a simple black turtleneck and some brown trousers, styling his hair in a nice high ponytail. You couldn’t stop yourself as your eyes raked over him, nor the way you tried so hard to memorize this sight. Somehow the nonchalant look he cast over his shoulder as he adjusted his signature gloves made your mind fuzzy and your heart speed up.

You hadn’t even noticed the blood spurting from your nose until it had propelled you back onto the couch. The soft thump that followed after gained Diluc’s attention, bringing him to your side immediately.

He couldn’t help but gasp. “Love, you’re bleeding.”

“S’all right,” you mumbled, “you caught me off guard, s’all good.”

Diluc gently put his hand on your cheek, furrowing his brow as he did. While rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb, Diluc grabbed a nearby tissue and brought it to your face. Carefully, he wiped off as much of the blood as he could. As he did so, he gently caressed your cheek and gave you an overwhelmingly sweet and loving gaze.

“Did I startle you that much?” He looked you in the eye and frowned. “I thought you’d be used to me by now, love.”

“Honey, have you taken a look at yourself lately?”

“No, why?” His frown deepened. “Do you not like it when I dress more casually?”

“No, no, I really like it actually,” you reassure.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you added in a low mumble, “you look really hot, actually.”

Diluc smirked, obviously having heard your words in this close proximity. “Oh? Is that why you had such an intense nose bleed just now?”

You nodded simply as Diluc moved his hand from your cheek to your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at him. Diluc smirked down at you, his eyes darting from place to place on your body. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind and desendended onto your neck.

“Look at you, getting so flustered from just the slightest of my touches,” he teased as he peppered kisses along your jaw and neck. “It seems I haven’t been giving my love enough attention lately. Please let me make up for lost time, my love. Let me show you how much I love you, how much I crave you, please.”

there is no special occasion. there is no big event. and there is no obvious reason on why childe has sported a tight and sleeveless black turtleneck

other than to fluster you, of course

childe has been feeling quite starved of your touch as a late, a consequence of working for the fatui

so he took the day off, which will be a wonderful surprise for you once he wakes you

as he makes breakfast, childe is having a field day imaging your flustered reaction

he lets a few chuckles tumble past his lips, having to bite one of his knuckles to silence himself

a few moments later and he was creeping into your shared bedroom, a lovely breakfast tray in hand

he set it down on the bedside table for a moment and carefully knlet down to wake you with a kiss

out of all the reactions he planned out in his head, childe DID NOT expect you to glance at him once and then begin to spew blood

"Darling,” he sang in a mischievous tone, as he pushed the bedroom door open, “it’s time to wake up, sweetheart.”

You turned over in the bed, facing away from Childe, pulling the blankets over your face. The blankets soon proved to be useless, easily allowing his pet names for you to break through.

“Mm,” you groaned, nuzzling your head further into the bed, “five more minutes.”

Childe chuckled, setting the breakfast tray onto the side table. His own mouth watered at the smell of all the food piled onto it, a mixture of Snezhayian and Liyue food. It was all warm, fresh out of the pan with the steam still coming off of it. There was plenty of food piled onto it for both you and him, but Childe had already eaten. He wanted more than anything to just sit down and watch you eat breakfast in bed.

He glanced away from the nightstand, smirking at you, a lump under the covers. Childe let out a chuckle as he leaned over, gently placing some of his weight onto you. He let some chuckles escape once you had begun to squirm then finally settle.

“My darling dearest, my sugar plum, my honeysuckle, my cutie pie—” Childe stopped once he heard you groan again. He smirked. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Do not try this with me, Childe,” you mumbled.

“What? I’m just addressing you,” he leaned back, onto his pillow. “Would you rather I call you by your full title?”

You open your eyes, only to roll them at him from beneath the blankets. “All your lovey dovey petnames for me smashed together is not a title.”

Childe looked over to you, still beneath the blankets, and then slowly back to the bedroom’s ceiling. “I made you breakfast.”

“Really?”

“Yep,”

You shift beneath the blankets. “Is the world ending?”

“Y’know, I can do nice things for you, too,” Childe mumbled, “It’s not that surprising, is it?”

“What's surprising is that I don’t smell smoke,” you push yourself out, looking over to your side first. “Okay, so where’s this grand romantic ges- Oh.”

Childe looked over to you, who had now fully emerged from the blanket cocoon. Your eyes were practically glued to his chest, a feeling that made him both filled with pride and embarrassment. All he wore was a simple sleeveless turtleneck, a gift from his siblings to cool down in Liyue. Yet your reaction made it seem as though Childe wore nothing at all, a sight that you had already seen.

“Hello, Teyvat to my sweetheart,” he teased, waving a hand in front of your eyes, “my eyes are up here, y’know.”

Those final words seemed to break you, blood spewing from your nose right after. Childe watched with terror as you flopped back over to your side of the bed. He watched you slap a hand over your face, wincing at the slapping sound it made. However, what you were doing seemed to be the most effective way of not staining the sheets.

And it was probably the cutest thing Childe has ever seen you do.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t tell you get that flustered from just seeing a little skin,” Childe asked sincerely, reaching over to stroke your head. “I can already think of so many other things that could fluster you. Like—”

In one moment, you already had tissues shoved up your nose. Although it stung a little, and looked quite ridiculous, it reduced the bleeding. Which allowed you to focus on what to do next, which was to leap onto Childe.

“Shut up,” you huffed into his lips, “you are going to face the consequences of your actions, Ajax.”

He quirked one eyebrow, excited by the usage of his real name. “Consequences? I didn’t do a single thing, dear. It was all you and your perverted little mind—”

“Shut up,” you repeated, quickly straddling him, “I don’t want to hear anything from those pretty little lips until I’m done with you,” you pinned his hands together and above his head. “Understood?”

Childe’s eyes, usually dreary and without light, fucking sparkled. His lips twisted into a smile, small and turned all the way up. Nothing but cockiness and eagerness emitting from him. He missed these mornings with you.

“Understood,” he whispered, Childe’s voice weak as you squeeze his hips with your thighs. “Crystal clear.”

thank you for reading 💖 all forms of interaction to my posts are appreciated 💖

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snackhobi · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say.

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

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

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staysuki · 2 years

Text

📍 HAPPY DEATH DAY | l.felix

026—I'M SO SICK OF THE FAKES.

warnings: series warnings. p.s. tumblr will keep messing up the format so i won't even bother anymore. don't mind mistakes, i just want to get this out. hope this makes up for the long hold.

word count: 8k

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[charity drive day]

when your father moved you to a quaint little town, gossip was the least of your worries—or perhaps it’s exactly because there’s nothing else to do in this ramshackle town that the best source of entertainment is other people’s lives.

you knock on the door of a rundown home. windows boarded up as the hinges of the door barely did anything to hold it together. the weeds overgrown on the yard completely cover your view of the road—perhaps that’s why it’s so easy to hide a dead body here.

you bit your cheek in restlessness, waiting for the homeowner to come greet you from the other side. you adjusted your tweed dress, your well-kempt appearance easily contrasted that of where you’re currently standing in. your financial matters may have been doxxed but it’s not like your plain clothes were just going to magically appear out of nowhere, it wasn’t a cinderella situation, your luxury items wasn’t just going to fade away—and you sure as hell weren’t going to stoop down to peer pressure and buy modest clothing just to try and blend in. you didn’t care.

but some people had worse situations than you.

you know that.

and you further realized it when gaon opens the door, his usually lively persona looking more grim as the purple spiky hair turned to an ashen shade. the usual neon cheerfulness of gaon turns dull as his life turns gray.

“y/n? what are you doing here?” he seems surprised by your presence, but you don’t let on.

“can i come in?” you question with raised eyebrows.

he felt apprehensive at first, looking at your appearance and comparing it to his own house. nonetheless, he steps aside and welcomes you in.

torn leather couches and grimy tiles decorated the interior, scrunching your nose at the smell of must attacking your nose. there was barely any sign of life aside from the little doodles on the cracked concrete walls made by gaon’s younger siblings.

“can i help you?” he asks, scratching the back of his head in confusion while you made yourself feel at home, plopping yourself down the couch. you wince at the spring digging into your thighs but you don’t comment any further.

“sit,” you pat the space next to you, which he carefully follows, eyes narrowed in confused suspicion.

you rolled your eyes at him, “you don’t have to act like a deer, gaon, i just came here to check on you.”

his shoulders sagged in relief—from what, however, he didn’t know—he shot you a small smile, “thanks, y/n, that’s really nice.”

“so, where’s your siblings?” you look around, noticing the lack of small kids that gaon seems to be known for.

“ah, they’re staying at a neighbor’s place. chan actually organized for them to be taken care of by someone else for now,” he waves and you nod, it was a pretty smart move. of course chan would be the first to think of something like that.

“tell me more about them.”

his eyebrows shoot up, but he entertains your whims, “well there’s jintaek, he’s the oldest out of the three—nine years old. there’s jisun, she’s seven, and our youngest is jiselle, she’s four.”

you’re actually surprised at how young his siblings are, the most you guessed was ages that ranged in the early teens. you note how that’s probably why gaon is busy all the time, taking care of siblings that are barely old enough to decipher wrong and right.

“do they go to school?” you tilt your head in question, watching gaon shake his head.

“no.. we can’t really afford it. i just tutor them sometimes whenever i can.” he explains.

“that’s why i’m just some drifter in college, it’s not like i can afford to pursue a specific degree, not really that smart enough either,” he continues.

what else was there to ask? to be honest, you didn’t really want to open up the other topics posted in the twitter page—because if it were you in that situation, you wouldn’t want to talk about it either. especially not to people who’s barely a friend.

“you probably think differently of me now, don’t you?” gaon mutters, suddenly more interested at staring on the floor than you.

“yeah, i do.” you answer straightforwardly, which he accepts with a solemn nod.

you continue, “it’s impossible to think the same, isn’t it? why would i not see you in a different light after knowing just how much you care for your family to the point that you’d steal for them.”

he lets out a sad chuckle, “you’re just saying that.”

you shake your head with an eye roll, “no, gaon. do you think you’re the only one who’ve ever stolen anything? you literally know about my financial matters, do you think i’ve never stolen anything before?”

he looks at you curiously, which makes you giggle, “the worst part is, i wasn’t stealing because of some gallant cause like you did—there was just… this guy. he told me to do it and i was too strung up on him to say no.”

“wow, he sounds like he sucks ass,” he comments, which makes you laugh, probably a bit louder than you intended.

“he really does, actually.”

“so… you don’t think badly of me?” gaon asks slowly, hopefulness in his eyes.

you shake your head once again, “no. i don’t. i think badly of the situation that your life put you in, but not of you—you’re just playing the game. anyone who faults you for that is a stupid, privileged idiot.”

“yeah, maybe,” he shrugs. it was what he’s been worried about in the beginning—that people would think of him as a freak, a lowly sinner. he fears walking back to campus to find people splitting the halls just to avoid him.

“look, i can’t tell you to stop worrying or to move on from your worries. truth be told, you’re the only one who can stop yourself from psyching out. the best we can do is maintain in your proximity—so believe me when i tell you that you have us to rely on,” you gave him a small pat before wearing your purse.

“are you going to the charity drive?” gaon asked, because he sure as hell wasn’t.

“i’ve never missed a day of school,” you comment with a wink before walking out the door.

you have approximately seven hours before your play and you had just enough plans to fill that time hole.

starting by eliminating a scummy rat.

after nana sent you the files about the identity of the OG buzzkill, your blood just couldn’t help but boil under your skin. so as you arrived back on campus, ignoring the fleeting stares of other people as your heels clacked with every step, you made a beeline throughout the halls.

and with your penetrative gaze and infuriated look, you were dead set on walking straight towards your target.

thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find a specific set of light brown hair over the crowd. you watch him disappear through the corner and walk inside the men’s bathroom.

that won’t stop you.

before you could fully enter through the door, a familiar dark-haired guy stops you by the shoulder, “woah chanel, wrong restroom.” dowoon says, pointing towards the male sign.

you glare at him, something he didn’t expect you to do, so he let’s go of your shoulder and follows you inside.

“yo, my dude, why’s the cat so feisty in the morning?” he pesters as he follows you look at the stalls one by one.

soon enough, you got annoyed by his presence, you turn towards him and pushes him to the sink, “i’m not in the mood, yoon. so hit the toilets and stay out of my way,” you snarl at him.

suddenly, the last stall opens, revealing the guy you’ve been looking for. before he could fully step out, you march towards him and push him back inside. making him stumble on his footing and plop down on the closed toilet, “what the fuck!?” he exclaims, a confused glance towards you as you loom over him.

despite the pushback, dowoon comes behind you, an inquisitive stance fills his posture as he curiously watches with a nosey stare.

“kim jungsu, you fucking rat,” you spit out at him.

his eyes widened, not knowing how to react. would he play innocent or admit defeat?

before he could speak up, you cut him off. you aggressively prop your foot up the toilet, your heel dangerously hitting the toilet seat through the opening between his thighs, making him accidentally whimper in fear.

“okay! okay! let me explain!” he bargains, though you didn’t know what he could say to save his situation, you decided to hear him out still.

“look, i admit, it’s not the greatest look—”

you tilt your head in mocker, “what is? airing out people’s dirty laundry? making people’s lives your source of entertainment?”

“holy shit, are you buzzkill? oh, man,” dowoon commented behind you and you resisted the urge to elbow him.

“i’m sorry, okay?! it’s just that—” he fumbles, trying to get your foot of the seat but you dig your heels even further, a bit too close to his nether regions.

“just what? hm?”

“oh my fucking god, can you get her off of me?!” jungsu exclaims, his eyes pleading towards dowoon.

he obliges, pulling you away from the stall, but this time, you let him though still keeping the glare trained on the perpetrator. “settle down, princess,”

jungsu stands up on shaky knees, dusting himself off. “honestly, i’d be buzzkill if i cared enough about other people,” dowoon comments with a shrug.

“who’s the other one?” you ask him and he just shakes his head.

“i have no idea. they just told me to delete my account or else they’re going to start spreading even worse shit.”

“and you waited till they did?!” you angrily walk up back on him, making him back away.

“i didn’t think they were serious, okay?!”

seeing that you had no other else to say, jungsu inches towards the door, leaving you and dowoon inside. “damn, who would’ve thought,” he whistles.

“that some lowlife loser-nobody would turn to gossip for validation?” you retort sarcastically.

“well, what do you plan to do now? i assume you’re not the revenge type, ngl,” he shrugs as he leans on the sink counters.

you give him one last glare before walking, “then you assumed wrong.”

to be honest, dowoon was partially correct. as much as you hold grudges, you weren’t truly the type to fire back unless the situation calls for it—and this definitely did.

do you still find it in you to terrorize soojin after everything? probably not, especially when karma turned the tides on her. it feels a bit bizarre, thinking about what momo and yerin said, and then what jungsu explained earlier.

that buzzkiller only wanted jungsu to delete his account.

did it have something to do with you? maybe, maybe not. but one thing’s for sure, you’re not going to let them pass for what they did to gaon.

but in order to fight back against the social tides of this place, you would need resources and connections. both things you have and both seeds that you’ve planted from the start.

right on time, you receive a text from both nana and changbin that they’re on their way to your quaint little town. you mentioned each other to both of them, making sure that they’ll carpool on the way.

why? because even though changbin has heard of your situation, he doesn’t fully have it in him to totally care nor would he ever care to know about the full story.

in comes nana, who seems adamant on being obsessed about your life. there were no doubts that she’d keep talking the whole ride and possibly exaggerate how much trouble you’re in.

all you need to do is make sure you’ll be able to sway changbin to do whatever you want, and without any status and financial power backing you up, you need to play your cards right and aim straight for the heart—assuming he has one.

you checked off the weird note list on your phone, satisfied that you’ve found out who buzzkill is—and consequently, soojin has already been dealt with. you’re not one to add more fuel to the fire, especially when you’re also under judgeful eyes, it’s best to remain low profile.

you turn to the engineering department, making your way to a specific set of classroom doors where you see a lone man working on a project, “busy playing with motherboards when you’re not spinning tracks, i see,” you greet as you lean on the doorway.

“what do you want, y/n,” chan gruffs back but doesn’t turn away from his equipment.

“i went to see gaon earlier,” he perks up a bit at your words, looking at you.

“he still seems a bit down,” you honestly say. although you two might not see eye-to-eye, your common ground of caring for your companions allow you to have a moment of peace between each other.

“tell me, christopher bang. why are you such a dick?” you ask, though with more of a lighthearted tone as you sit across the table from him.

“what are you saying, i’m a delight,” he says monotonously, continuing his work.

“for a man who cares about the people around him, you sure seem adamant on leaving all of them behind,” you comment, making him narrow his eyes at you.

“just because i want to leave this place doesn’t mean i’m cutting off the people i care about. i’m not like you rich folk.”

you raise your eyebrows at his comment, “bitter much?”

“i’m right though, aren’t it? how many friends did you have before? then how many friends do you have after falling from your throne?” you purse your lips at his observation, making him smirk at you as he proves his point.

“we’re not all that bad,” you grumble, though chan doesn’t miss the way you said ‘we’ out of habit. it was one word, perhaps something you didn’t even mean to say, but it was enough to pique chan’s interest to keep it at the back of his head—that you still consider yourself as one of them.

“i’m yet to change my mind,” he shrugs.

“except for leo?” you ask, and he nods.

“like i said, he’s different,” you dryly laugh at his words, making him give you a questioning look. but you just shake your head. he’s definitely right that felix is indeed different, he just doesn’t know in what way.

“did you just come here to bother me?” chan grunts and you laugh.

“no, i wanted to figure you out,”

“and what for?”

you shrug, “just because i want to.”

he may have acted like grade-a scum around you, but your curiosity tops that more than your emotion. it’s not that you were giving him the benefit of the doubt, but you’ve grown up overlooking initial misdeeds for the sake of learning more about your enemy—keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

whether you consider chan one, or not, is something to be answered in the future.

but for now, you want to figure out the hows and whys of the way christopher bang acts—that way, it’ll be easy to gain the upperhand on him.

“so, christopher, why the not-so-vaguely concealed ‘eat the rich’ animosity?” you ask, putting your chin on the palm of your hands as you drop your keen gaze on him.

he chews on his lip, dropping his equipment before pondering over something on his mind. “fine, but only because i owe you a proper apology and consider this that.”

you shrug.

“my mother is the nicest person on the earth, nobody can convince me otherwise—she was a lively woman, always willing to help others. but of course, being too nice has it’s downsides too as a bunch of greedy capitalistic pigs fucked her over.” he details with extreme anger laced along every single word.

you can tell that he doesn’t want to go into too much detail, but you understand. he’s said enough—or at least, enough for now to explain a part of his persona.

although you want to rebut, you bite back the words threatening to spill from your mouth because you have enough wisdom to know that they aren’t the appropriate words to say right now, so you just slightly nod and watch him go back to his task.

“don’t you have a final rehearsal to go to right now?” he asked, not taking his eyes off his project, though you can tell it’s his way of getting rid of you so you stand.

“eager to get rid of me?” you say but he just grunts.

“the play is for the charity drive, if you don’t go there and do your best then i’ll assume that you hate charity,” he deadpans so you just roll your eyes before leaving.

“see you when i see you,” you dismiss, turning your heels towards the auditorium.

on a normal day, the school looks depressing. as if the sun refuses to show its face on an undeserving grim town. but today is different, seemingly happy to be supporting the charity drive.

“y/n! i didn’t think you’d come,” lucy says in exasperation, looking distressed.

“i don’t think i’m late?” you question a bit, looking at your schedule. you were 30 minutes early.

“yeah well minho and felix got here an hour ago so i thought you’d be around the same time and you haven’t yet and you know, you don’t have an understudy.” she rambles.

“relax, i’m not gonna flake on you.” you reassure her but the stress has already gotten to her. you make your way backstage to the dressing room, not noticing the tense atmosphere between minho and felix.

“good job being huge nerds and giving lucy a panic attack,” you greet them as you throw your purse to your chair.

minho instinctively stands to greet you but a single glare from you puts him back down on his seat, remembering how you’ve told him to bug off. nonetheless, you weren’t going to openly snob him.

“ready?” felix asks you from his chair and you just look at him weirdly.

“i literally just got here?” you look around, “where’s hair and makeup?”

felix raised his eyebrows and prevented himself from laughing at you, “sorry to disappoint, princess, but you should know by now not to expect any sort of luxury from this place.”

meanwhile, minho was one tap away from booking a gala stylist so you just decreed loudly that you’ll do your own look.

“i’m going to get dressed,” you excused yourself as you took your assigned clothing from the racks before leaving the two men alone, still unaware of their tense atmosphere.

as you exited, you suddenly remembered that you forgot your shoes—rookie mistake—but before you could go back to get it, you could overhear the two’s conversation from outside.

“seriously, man? i told you, any price you want, name it and i’ll give it.” minho exasperatedly sighs.

“what makes you think i can be bought?” felix rebuts but minho just laughs at him coldly.

“you, of all people, would decline money? didn’t you come from a filthy dump? i can give you stocks from our company and you’d be set for life, all you have to do is stay away from y/n, are you really saying she’s much more important than whatever luxury i can give?”

“i’m not saying that.”

“but that’s what you’re trying to portray,” minho added.

“you’re wrong,” felix snapped, “what i’m trying to portray is that i can work hard for my own luxuries and not have some snotty little spoiled brat come and buy me off just because he couldn’t get the only thing he ever truly wanted—a little pathetic of you, don’t you think?”

“say that shit again one more time, i dare you,”

“or else what? i’m living comfortably now, i don’t need your stuck-up money.”

“living comfortably how? killed someone? smuggled? you may hide a lot of things about yourself lee felix, but i know that whatever money you have right now, they couldn’t be cleaner even if you tried to.”

the conversation doesn’t seem to dial down in intensity, and if you were being honest, you didn’t know how to intervene.

“seriously, you don’t even like her, why are you trying so hard to keep yourself in her life?!” minho starts to get angrier and angrier but felix doesn’t let himself become too provoked. guys like lee minho are never worth it.

felix chooses to ignore him, already knowing that the conversation isn’t going anywhere, and so, you just shrug. you could just get your shoes later. there was no way you could go back inside without being able to act like you didn’t hear every second of their conversation.

you felt… confused.

first, you’re still mad at lee minho for acting unrightfully possessive, something that you didn’t expect from him. but most of all, you’re confused about felix.

sure, he’s probably changed a lot since you’ve last seen each other but it just opened up new avenues of questions that you want to know from him.

how did he get his money? is it from the time he left you? when he said he found a way to get out of his financial situation?

why is he adamant on proving that he’s above getting paid off now, especially when he used to do worse things for money back then. although he said it quite crassly, minho isn’t the most inaccurate with his accusations.

and most of all, is lee felix really the type of guy to reject minho’s proposition due to principle alone or is there something more to it? though that might just be the old, stupid part of you that’s trying to shout within the other questions in your head. you don’t care if there isn’t anything more to it. you definitely don’t.

“y/n? focus!” lucy snapped you back to reality, not noticing that you were already standing on stage for the final rehearsal.

you felt apologetic for dazing out but you couldn’t fully care. not when the perpetrator of your current state is standing mere inches from you, while the other one is throwing icy glares from behind the curtains.

“you okay?” felix whispered as lucy keeps shouting at everyone to go through the lines again.

you just nodded meekly, but knowing you, it set off alarm bells in felix’s mind.

“i think she doesn’t feel well,” felix spoke up, holding you gently by the arm as he excuses you from lucy who seems to be aging 10 years per second as of the current moment.

“are you going to be okay? can you still make it for the show?” she wants to keep running her mouth, trying her best to check up on you, but you can tell that she’s a bit too stressed to wish you well when she needs you on-stage.

“i’m fine, i don’t need to rest, lee is overreacting,” you snatch your hand away from felix and walked back to your position, getting your fire back.

you weren’t going to let two confusing men get your head out of the game, not when you’ve promised lucy you’d commit to it. although felix seems confused because he can see through the walls you built, he let’s it go, knowing he can’t win against your stubbornness.

time flies by fast and at this point, you’ve just tuned out the world and hope you’ll be acting perfectly at the showcase.

with a few minutes till showtime, you try to collect yourself in the dressing room, breathing deeply to prepare yourself from hopefully avoiding embarrassing yourself—although lucy said you seemed like a natural, you weren’t fully confident in nailing it because you’ve never done it before.

you hear the click of the door, not minding the entry until they spoke up, “y/n?”

your face drops once more, glaring at minho, “what do you want?”

he sighs, “i know you’re mad at me, and i know you told me not to talk to you anymore but can i just have one last talk with you, please?”

“and you thought about doing this a few minutes before the show because?” you fire at him with a raised brow.

he runs his hands all over his face as he takes a seat beside you, “i just—i’ll leave you alone right away so just give me this last moment, and i’ll be gone from your life.”

you tilt your head in confusion, “not staying around to watch the show?”

“you know why i won’t,” he sighs once more.

ah, right, the kissing scene.

as cliché as it might sound, there is indeed a kissing scene in the script.

hence why minho was so desperate to take the lead role and hence why he’s so adamant about avoiding it now.

you’ve never practiced the real thing so to be completely honest, you forgot about it, and now that you remember, your heartbeat doubled tenfold.

“ok,” you nod at him, “what do you want to say?”

he thinks it over for a few seconds, “i’ve always loved you, always. you were so…. so wonderful. every time you walk into the room, you just make everything better. every time i hear your voice, it just fills me with a sense of comfort. whenever you smile, i can’t help but smile too, so i always wanted to be the one to make you happy.”

you let him continue.

“you’re like a cheerful and energetic summer vacation at the beach, but you’re also a cozy and warm winter by the fireplace. no matter what i do, i just can’t help but think about you all the time, wanting to be with you.”

your shoulders sag in defeat, “that’s really sweet minho, it really is—and trust me, you’re a very important person in my life but you know i can’t give you more than that… friendship.”

you can see him stopping his tears from falling but his reddish nose was enough of a giveaway.

“i know that… but at least be honest with me—is it because of him?” he asks, though the question makes you irate.

“seriously?!” he seems taken aback by your sudden change in demeanor.

“after years and years of knowing me, you really think that i’m some sappy damsel that can’t function by herself without a man by her side?” you ask him, flabbergasted.

though he tries to cover up his mistake, you retaliate again, “and why do you think that some other guy is the reason why i’d reject you and not because of the creepy possessiveness that you’ve been hiding from me that i wouldn’t’ve have found out if seo changbin hadn’t ran his big stupid mouth? hm?”

“do you think i’d appreciate someone who kept me away from any other potential person that i wanted to have been with? do you think it was for you to decide who i get to end up with or not?” you keep shouting.

you slam your hands on the table before walking away. rich kids, no matter how different they may be, they all show their entitlement one way or another. for minho, you were just another luxury. something that he thinks he has ownership of because he has a lot of money. you hated it.

perhaps chan was a bit right. you felt shudders as you imagined how your personality looked like in his perspective.

perhaps this was the wakeup call you needed.

“y/n, wait please!” minho tries to run after you but you shove his arms off, “i don’t want things to end like this.”

you turn to him with a cold gaze, “i promised you one final talk, not a sweet closure. now leave.”

he didn’t have time to catch up to you because lucy already appeared from the corner and pulled you backstage, “break a leg!”

you hate how minho would distract you in such a crucial moment but you’re glad that it’s already over with.

the play seems to pass by in a blur, not even remembering the faces in the crowd. the lines flowed out of your mouth smoothly like butter, and the prospect of felix being your leading man didn’t even fully sink into you.

you embodied your character, disassociated yourself from your body and let the acting take it’s place.

that is, until the final scene came.

the screenplay, proudly written by lucy, is a story between two star-crossed lovers.

like romeo and juliet, if you will. but instead of their families being against each other, it’s the two characters themselves that are sworn enemies and are trying their hardest to stay away from each other. to sabotage every encounter they have because they despise each other, even though a part deep within them knows that they’re soulmates. a forbidden romance, an enemies to lovers trope, it’s got every reused trope imaginable—a cat and dog dynamic, a betrayal, the secretive glances.

you hated it because the irony seeps within your skin, and you wonder whether felix could see the irony in it too.

in the last scene, the main girl—you—are lying on the ground, held within felix’s arms as you sport fake blood on your abdomen, acting as if you’ve been shot from a previous combat encounter.

it was the prospect of losing you did felix’s character realize that they can’t live without you.

“i will beg and plead the gods everyday for you to stay forever with me, my love.” his soft brown eyes boring into you, “and i will swear to you, with my own life on the line, that i will never leave your side.”

you just lay there, limp on his arms, the life seeping out of you as you bite on the fake blood pill on your cheek as you cough out your last breaths. spluttering a few on felix’s face, littered among his star-like freckles.

although you convince yourself that you’re not the character, and the words weren’t for you, when you hear the final whisper of the last line, “i will never betray you anymore even if they take my head for it.”—tears start to flow out of your eyes as felix leans down and overwhelms you with a passionate kiss.

not like anything you’ve ever felt before. too real, it felt too real, your tears won’t stop flowing but the show must go on, never letting go until the last second when the curtains are inches away from closing and you deliver the final motion of you finally losing your life—ridding the audience of all hope between the two lovers.

when the curtains close and you’re left alone at the dark stage, you pick yourself up, wiping away the tears before standing next to felix, ready to take the final bow with the entire cast once the curtains reopen.

cheers erupt but you’re numb to everything as you countdown from the seconds until you can get the hell away from there.

when he catches you backstage, felix grabs your arm, “are you okay?”

you look at him with a deadpan expression, “why would i not be?”

“i’m not daft, y/n, i know you didn’t cry because of the play.”

you roll your eyes, “bold of you to assume i’m not just a good actress,” you say as you shake him off you.

the last thing you need right now is for felix to catch you in a moment of weakness—because you never are.

you feel him still sticking his gaze on you even when you’ve long arrived at the dressing room, with minho gone, the tense atmosphere was now heavy between you two, but you try to ignore it as you fix your belongings.

annoyed by the fact that he won’t stop following your every movement, you leave for the bathroom to get dressed.

when you get back to the area, you catch a glimpse of an embrace between lucy and felix, but since you’ve arrived the moment they let go of each other, you couldn’t really tell how long it lasted—vis-a-vis the judgment basis on two people’s relationship based on how long their hugs last. felix was the first one to notice you and he immediately averted his gaze, but you couldn’t tell why.

“y/n!” lucy giddily runs towards you as she sees you by the door, “i was just congratulating yongbok, you two did so great! i swear i was crying by the curtains!”

“thanks.” you gave her a tight-lipped smile, feeling off about what you saw, though you don’t really know why.

jealousy? as if.

“the donations were through the roof, i bet you pulled some strings, didn’t you? i don’t think the theater club ever made this big of a profit since.. ever!” she keeps yapping on about the achievement.

“wait, what’s the reward for the highest bidder?” you ask, remembering that specific part she mentioned before.

with that, lucy shifts her weight from one foot to another, suddenly feeling uneasy, “well… that… umm… a date with you.”

your ears start to ring, suddenly feeling whiplash at her statement, you blink a few times before towering over her, “you did what?”

“i’m sorry!” she immediately cowers, “we were desperate and we thought it was the only way we could get people to donate!”

“so you whored me out?! without my permission?!” you grit your teeth at her. you calm yourself down, glaring at the apologetic girl.

“who’s the highest bidder?” you ask and she glances towards felix.

“well—your co-star is.” lucy points.

you risk a glance towards felix but he’s still pretending like he wasn’t part of the conversation, seemingly more interested in the mirror than at you.

you sigh defeatedly, remembering chan’s words that this was for a good cause and that he’ll assume you hate charity if you don’t help you. not that you care about what christopher bang thinks but you wouldn’t wave away charity, “great, when’s this date then?”

“that’s up to you two,” lucy says. felix stands up in a flash, confusing you whether he wants you to follow or not, but he answers that question for you.

“luce, let’s go home,” he gestures for your colleague, confusing you even further.

luce?

seriously, what game is he trying to play here?!

though it seems like lucy was more confused than you. nonetheless, she follows, leaving you alone without so much of a goodbye.

when the two leave through the door, they bump into a familiar presence, “whoops, ‘scuse me, thanks.”

you snap your head up, raising your eyebrows at the visitor, unsurprisingly, he raises his back at you.

“why do you look surprised, you called me here to visit you,” changbin pipes making you roll your eyes.

“how are you doing, bin?” you sit, urging him to a chair besides yours.

“good, good, it was a nice show,” he nods.

“where’s nana?” you ask and he makes a gagging face.

“the girl who never stops talking? she met up with a guy, average height, small eyes, brownish hair, name sounds like dung or something.”

“jungsu,” you rolled your eyes. nana probably confronted the poor bastard as well, because of course she would.

“well that’s actually why i came here right now, y’know? i was just going to watch and leave but nana told me lots of stuff.”

you shift in your seat, wondering what he’s about to say next.

“like, this place seems like a horrible, horrible place to live in—i mean, she showed me the twitter posts!” he exclaims, “look, i’m not one to judge but like, damn, y’all live like this?”

“it’s not like i have a choice,” you shrug.

“well i’m giving you one.”

your eyebrows raise at his statement.

“i know you’re smart and capable, y/n, come work for our company and we’ll have everything set out for you.”

you want to be offended but you’ve known changbin enough times that even when he sounds awfully crass, 80% of the time, he actually means well.

“thanks changbin but i’d rather not.” you reject politely.

“i knew you’d say that, just wanted to offer you an option in case this place becomes a little too much. don’t get me wrong, i don’t care, but when i think about you, it dawns on me that we used to live the same life, and if in a cruel twist of fate, we hypothetically go bankrupt, i can’t imagine being in your shoes.”

“wow, seo changbin learned empathy? how did you level up?” he rolls his eyes at your sarcastic remark but laughs it off along with you.

“you know i don’t take shortcuts,” you say when the laughter dies down, he nods understandingly.

“is that why you sent minho away?” he asks and you nod back, of course he already would’ve heard about it.

“he’s my best friend and now… i question all of those moments with him,”

changbin leans on his seat towards you, giving you a serious face, “his current morals might be askew when it comes to his approach in pursuing you, but if i know anything about minho, it’s that he’s never been anything else but sincere for what his feelings towards you. his only fault was being so down astronomically bad for you that he became a bit too possessive.”

“but now he’s gone.”

“it’s hard to bring back a pure friendship after whatever went down but at least there may come a time where you can be civil with one another once more.”

you really hope so.

changbin offered you a ride home, which you graciously accepted because it gave you time to catch up with nana. at first, you’ve always felt overwhelmed with the chatterbox, but now, there was a certain sense of comfort in hearing her neverending voice.

remembering the days of her always following you around in the cafeteria, trying to chat you up with the most random things. you feel guilty that you always took her company for granted, thinking that people like nana come to your life in handfuls, not realizing that her pure sincerity, admiration, and enthusiasm towards you is as rare as they come.

she also recounts how she gave jungsu an earful after tracking him down all over campus.

it also gets a giggle out of you when you saw changbin seemingly driving his earbuds further into his ears to tune out the girl.

“you sure you don’t want to stay for a night? it’s already past 12.” you offer changbin, and he almost seems to scrunch his face in disgust at the offer.

“well, i’d say yes but my boyfriends and girlfriends would miss me too much,” you roll your eyes at him, though you know the environment of your shitty town was the only reason why he didn’t want to stay.

because surprisingly enough, nana didn’t want to either.

with one last goodbye from the two unlikely companions, you go inside your modest house as you watch them drive away back to the uptown city.

you know your father would be out for work and the housekeeper, jina, doesn’t really stay past the late hours of the night, but there was still that pinching loneliness that crept in your heart when you entered the dark, gloomy house.

you can’t even find it within you to call it a home.

everytime you enter the door, it felt like a temporary space—like a place that you will soon leave the moment you could.

and when things are temporary, they never feel fully comfortable.

you take deep breaths as you let the emotions of everything take over you.

stomping up the stairs to your bedroom, you slam the door shut with all your might, feeling comfortable enough to throw a tantrum because no one was around to witness it anyway.

you sit in front of your vanity, seeing the glimmer of your necklace in the moonlight—unknowingly so, you realize that you’re still wearing the necklace that minho gave you during your 18th birthday.

you’ve gotten used to wearing it that you didn’t even realize you still are.

that’s how minho is—a part of your life that’s always been there, instinctively, you know that he’s always around and ready to support you. being around minho was as natural as breathing air.

minho is just minho.

but now, that entire friendship is broken.

you broke out into sobs as you clutch the necklace, ripping it from your neck as you drown out the sound of your own cries with the clattering pearls of the accessory.

stupid minho.

stupid felix.

stupid town.

everything sucks.

soojin and her bitchiness. the feeling of not belonging everywhere. rat face kim jungsu and his nosy twitter gossip feed. stupid chan and his shitty personality.

you hate everything.

you close your eyes, letting the overwhelming feelings take over you, hoping that you can get them all out in one go so you can go back to being the walled-off new girl that you started with.

but as you try to reminisce about the “better days”, instead of seeing the past of you spending time shopping in luxury brands or taking cross-country vacations with splendor, you see the days you’ve had in the trailer park.

the time where you started orbiting around felix’s world.

meeting him gave you a drive you never knew you had, and you wish for those “good ol’ days”

ironic.

life is just a never ending tragic comedy.

you stand up in frustration, looking around your room—it was filled with mementos from minho.

so you tear them all one by one.

the framed picture of you two.

the shoes he gave you.

the perfumes.

the accessories.

the clothes.

every single thing in your room screamed minho, so you shout out in annoyance. how could you have been so blind not to realize that he’s basically been marking you. no wonder people thought you were together.

you litter all of those material things on the ground, hoping that you trashed them enough.

you rest your head on the wall, a knocking on your window flinches you in surprise as you see the man in your mind suddenly manifest.

his face gleaming in the moonlight, illuminated against the window, in contrast to your dark bedroom.

you didn’t realize you were staring agape at felix until he knocked again, making you aggressively wipe away the evidence of weakness on your face before coming to him.

“are you a psycho?!” you shout at him but he just crosses over the ledge, sitting on your windowsill as he dangles his legs on your bedroom.

“you’re crying again,” he points out, making you roll your eyes, but his face is filled with nothing but concern as he witnessed your earlier outburst. though out of respect of your emotions and boundaries, he doesn’t bring it up.

“gee, sherlock, never noticed.”

“what’s wrong?” he asks with pure sincerity that he could almost trick you into thinking he actually cared.

“why do you care?”

“i just do,” he shrugs, making you roll your eyes.

“lee felix, you are the most complicated man i know.”

he just thinks for a moment before replying, “i don’t think i am.”

you raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue.

“i know what i want and i chase after that, that’s just who i am,” his eyes hold yours in an intense gaze, one that made you look away or else you’d probably misunderstand his words.

“and what the hell are you doing here then?”

he breathes out, “i—just wanted to check up on you.”

you roll your eyes at him but he continues, “i heard your conversation with minho.”

you glare at him for eavesdropping but he crosses his arms, “and i know you heard ours too.”

touché.

“if you’re here to cash in on your date then i’m sorry to say that i think you might have to come back another day,” you stretch your arms to push it off but he just catches his hands on yours.

“i wasn’t lying last time,” he says softly as he intertwined his fingers in yours, “i really do miss you—”

“so..” he pulls you closer to him.

“so..” closer.

“much.” until you were so close he could wrap his arms around your waist, so he does.

and for some reason, you didn’t have the strength to resist him. not when you weren’t limited to seven minutes.

not when you’ve been so tired of everything.

not when you know you’ve missed him too.

and felix knows, given by the way his eyes soften when you melt against his touch.

“what do you want?” you try to be strong in resisting him, but when you can barely tear your eyes away from him, your voice just comes out as a soft whisper.

“i want to kiss you, so bad.”

“you already did.”

he shakes his head, “not in that kind of setting.”

you give in.

slowly leaning down to his face until you can smell the faint mint on his breath—until the jingling of keys stops you in your tracks.

it was probably your father, and normally, you don’t care.

but that wasn’t what made you stop.

it was only because it gave you a small wake-up call, remembering lucy and felix’s closeness.

what is she to you?

what did you talk about?

what did the hug mean?

felix shows you a tiny bit of affection and suddenly you’re wrapped around his finger again.

you hate it.

you separate yourself from him, “i think you should go.”

you couldn’t bring it in you to ask directly, thinking that you’ll sound like a jealous girlfriend—characteristics which you’re both not. so you had no right to do so.

although felix was a bit reluctant to part, when he hears your father calling you downstairs, he follows the command.

he squeezes your hand one last time, giving you a longing look before disappearing through the roofs.

you think that maybe there was already a secret connection between lucy and felix—besides, why would he agree to doing theater when he especially doesn’t seem like the type to do so.

perhaps your re-appearance probably just confused him, made him feel things from the past, but you weren’t one to wreck a relationship.

so with a heavy heart, you make a promise not to spread anymore chaos in your path, not when you’ve finally had enough. no more vengeance, no more revenge, no more chasing red lines.

you already know who buzzkill is, and the second one: buzzkiller, already went silent afterward.

soojin probably won’t show her face in a while.

gaon is getting the help that he needs through the support system that values him dearly.

you already reached an equal footing with chan.

and there’s nothing else you can do but to remain lowkey, hoping that everything will go back to normal.

“sweeti—holy hell, what tornado came through here?” your father greets as he peeks his head through your door, blinding you as he opens the lights.

“geez, i was just looking for my tiffany earrings,” you lie, but your father can see right through you.

nonetheless, he doesn’t mention anything, “i have some news.”

“what? you remarrying yet?” you joke, which he waves off with an eyeroll.

“no, even better.” you perk at his enthusiasm.

“we can go back to the city now.”

synopsis: rich yet down-to-earth. devilishly handsome yet an angelic sweetheart. before you transferred to university, lee felix had already established a fine reputation for himself—beloved by everyone, a personality that can bring world peace. but something seems off—because you've definitely seen him before, and he's not as sweet as he makes himself out to be.

taglist: @mochisnlix @pikapikapikaachuu @justyournormalsimp @yubinism @beaann @kangyounghyunhands @chi-haku @chefmingyu @imnyti @fraeppuccino @aerastus

mastertag: @geniejunn @leagreenly @90s-belladonna @fuzzylard @loveliebri @chimmybaek7 @todorokiskitten @lilacdreams-00 @ethereallino @ninjaleeknow @trials--error @hey-i-really-miss-you @caratinylyfe @soobin-chois

thoughts and feedback pls 🤲

#happy d day

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emeraldiis · 3 years

Text

Falling for a God

A/N: Forgot to properly post/format this fic, so here ya go ya filthy animals (ok but i wrote it so I’m filthier)

AO3 Link

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Summary: “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”You have a huge crush on Loki, there's lots of sexual tension, y'all fuck. That's the plot.

“Nat,” you whine. “I feel like you’re not even listening.” You prance to the front of her, spinning around to walk backwards.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Wow, are you sure you aren’t pyschic?” She keeps up her brisk pace, and you nearly trip over yourself trying to keep up.

“That’s so rude!” You exclaim, but can’t hold back a giggle. Despite her cold demeanor, you know that Nat is just messing with you. Shooting a quick glance backwards, you decide that your path is clear, and return your gaze to your friend. “You’ll tell me if I’m about to run into something, right?”

With a wry grin, Natasha gives you a thumbs up. You beam at her. “Anyway,” you continue. “I started watching this new TV show last night, and it is so, totally awesome. There’s this guy, and he has these badass powers, and he’s fighting this girl, and she has-”

Thump.

A small oof escapes from your mouth as your back collides with something solid. You pitch forward in surprise, and yelp as you try to stabilize yourself before you fall. Large, warm hands grab your waist, tightening around you to keep you from toppling over. You sigh in relief as your frantic heart slows to a normal rhythm. “Wow, thanks,” you say, and spin around to reveal the identity of your saviour.

Piercing blue eyes meet yours, and your breath catches in your throat. “Careful, pet,” Loki murmurs softly, a sly grin spreading across his lips. His hands slide off of your waist, making contact with the sliver of skin between your shorts and your top on the way. An involuntary shiver creeps up your spine, and you bite your lip.

The reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the ever-perceptive trickster, and his eyes flash with surprise. “Are my hands really that cold?” Loki teases. “Perhaps you could help me warm them up.” His tone is playful, but there’s something deeper underneath his banter that makes you think he’s actually flirting.

You can tell that your cheeks are red, and you choose not to respond to Loki’s question in fear of making an even bigger fool of yourself. A stammered apology tumbles from your lips, and you look back towards Natasha with a look of betrayal. She grins and shrugs. “I forgot to warn you. Oops.” Your mouth drops open. That scheming little devil. She knows about your crush on Loki, and she still allows you to make a fool out of yourself?

Your interactions with Loki were sparse, to say the least. Aside from a few casual conversations in a group, you had barely even talked to him. Still, he captivated you from the very first day he arrived at the compound. He was exactly your type; tall, dark, and brooding. Aside from Thor, most everyone gave Loki a wide berth, hesitant to forget the battle for New York. You, however, didn’t see a villain. You saw pain behind those blue eyes, and could empathize with Loki’s behavior. You knew all too well that it hurt to live in someone’s shadow, and sometimes acting out was a cry for help. Granted, Loki’s outbursts were far more drastic than yours had ever been, but it was more or less the same on a base level. And, the fact that he constantly had a witty remark on the tip of his tongue never ceased to entertain you. The man liked to hear himself talk, and damn, so did you.

It takes you a second to realize that you’ve been staring. You clear your throat awkwardly and look to the floor, eager to hide your discomfort. “Um, thank you for catching me,” you manage. When you look back up, Loki is wearing an odd expression. His pretty eyes are narrowed, searching your face. The scrutiny only embarasses you further. “Well, see you around!” WIth that, you dart around Loki and scurry off. Natasha follows you, snickering softly.

When you reach the common area, you plop yourself down on the couch and groan, throwing an arm over your face. Natasha sits down beside you. “Smooth,” she says, drawing out the word obnoxiously.

You remove your arm from over your eyes and give Natasha a withering look. “So not funny.”

Nat positively cackles at that. “Oh, come on,” she says. “He’d be an idiot to not at least have a thing for you, I mean, you’re smoking! ” She looks you up and down. “Nice rack, too.”

A giggle bursts from your lips. “Nat. Oh, my god. Stop objectifying me.”

Shaking her head, Natasha replies, “Me, objectify? I would never.”

That earns her an eye roll from you. “Sure. Anyway, can we please change the subject? I’m sick of talking about my embarrassing Loki crush.”

“What does ‘crush’ mean?”

You freeze. Now that was a distinct voice. “Thor,” you choke out. “When did you get here?”

Thor walks up behind the couch and swings himself over the back, making the poor piece of furniture creak in protest. He settles next to you, effectively sandwiching you between him and Natasha. “Just long enough to hear you discussing my brother. Now, will you please enlighten me on this strange Midgardian term?”

Before you can shut him down, Nat pipes up from the other end of the sofa. “It means she likes him. Romantically. Sexually. ”

The temptation to throw yourself onto the floor wailing is high. Instead, you opt to beg for your life. Still embarrassing, but slightly more productive than throwing a tantrum. “Nat!” You screech. You turn to Thor with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t say anything to him.”

Thor furrows his eyebrows. “What an odd expression. You’d think that the word “crush’ would be associated with something negative.” He places a big hand on your thigh. “If what Lady Natahsa says is true, then why would you not tell my brother? He is quite vain, you know. I’m sure he would be delighted to know that a beautiful woman is attracted to him!”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. These Asgardians will be the death of you. “It’s not that simple, Thor. What if he rejects me? I’d never be able to show my face around him again!”

There’s a pause, and then Thor asks you in a much gentler tone, “It seems as though you care for Loki a great deal more than you are letting on. Are you really afraid of embarrassment, or is it the heartbreak you fear?”

You’re glad that your hands are covering your face, because the way the color drains out of it at Thor’s question would have given you away. “No,” you mumble through your fingers. But he’s right, you do care for Loki more than you’d ever admit. His image ran through your head at night when you were trying to sleep, and his voice was what came to mind when your fingers were between your legs and you were pretending they were-

You rub at your eyes, then look up at Thor in desperation. “Please, if you really care about me as a friend, you’ll keep this secret.” You shoot a look at Natasha. “You, too. I may not be able to take Thor in a fight, but I could kick your ass.” You know you sound like a pathetic teenager, but you’re past the point of caring. You were perfectly happy admiring Loki from afar, and didn’t want to get your hopes up just to be met with shame.

Natasha scoffs. “As if.” Before she can continue. Thor holds up his hand.

“Lady Natasha, I believe we should stay out of this. I have done a great deal of meddling in my brother’s life, and I’ve learned that even the best intentions can cause disaster when Loki is involved.

“Thank you, Thor,” you say gratefully, relief evident in your voice. With a tired sigh, you hoist yourself up from the couch and turn to face your friends. “Well, I think I’ve had enough excitement for today. I’m going to hibernate, see you next spring.”

Natasha giggles and blows you a kiss goodbye while Thor scrunches up his face in confusion at your joke. Oh, well. Maybe he’d understand Midgardian humor one day.

Thunder rages outside your window while you toss and turn. You roll over to glance at your clock, and scowl when it flashes “3AM.” Giving up on the prospect of sleep, you opt for creeping to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Your bare feet pad down the carpet, and you shiver slightly at the cold air of the hall. Goosebumps rise on your bare legs and you start to regret your decision not to put on pants.

To get to the kitchen, you have to walk through the common area, and for a moment you linger just outside the entryway. There’s a soft glow coming from the corner of the room, and you mentally groan, hoping it’s one of the female inhabitants of the compound. You weren’t too excited at the idea of walking past one of the guys in just a sleep shirt and underwear. Still, your mission for food is not one you’re willing to give up on. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the hallway and into the room. And nearly pass out.

Across the room, perched in one of the loveseats, is Loki. He’s sitting with his legs curled underneath him, thumbing through a book. You consider darting back into the safety of the hall, but you’re too late. Loki has already noticed you, and is now staring far too intently for your liking. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you tug on the hem of your shirt, trying to pull it further down your legs. “Sorry to disturb you,” you whisper, afraid to break the deafening silence. Loki raises an eyebrow at you, then turns back to his book. You aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed when his gaze leaves you.

Not wanting to linger in the entryway any longer, you make your way across the room, keeping your eyes down. As you pass Loki, a loud clap of thunder booms outside, and already being on edge, you yelp. Startled from the deafening sound in an otherwise quiet room, you stagger, falling backwards onto the loveseat. Right next to Loki. The sofa is small, and in your splayed out position, you’re almost half on top of the god.

Loki flinches away, and you immediately begin to apologize. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I guess I just lost my footing. Did I hurt you?” As you talk, you push yourself off of Loki and cower into the other side of the loveseat. Some more rational part of your brain urges you to get up, give him some more space, but you don’t listen. As embarrassed as you are, you’re not quite ready to give up this closeness to the object of your affection.

With a huff, Loki straightens himself and gives you a cool look. “You did not hurt me, mortal. I was simply surprised.” Then, having composed himself, he smirks and sets his book on the end table beside him. “I suppose it is only natural to have weak knees in the presence of a god.”

The comment lightens the mood, and you find yourself relaxing next to him. “You’re right, Thor’s thunder does make me a tad unsteady.”

At that, Loki stiffens, obviously having not expected you to return his teasing. For a brief moment, you feel proud. Then, something changes in his expression, and he scoots closer to you. His hand finds your bare thigh, and the contact sends butterflies through your stomach. Loki senses your restlessness and gives you a predatory grin. “Is that so? Are you telling me that this,” he squeezes your thigh, and you gasp. “Doesn’t make you feel...faint?” His voice is low, and he almost purrs the last few words.

You fight hard to keep your breathing even, not wanting to give away just how flustered you are. The heavy weight of his hand feels heavenly, and you can feel your panties grow damp. God, you hope he can’t smell it.

This predatory tone is so much different than the playful teasing that you usually receive from Loki. You’ve never seen his blue eyes so dark, and the unfamiliarity of it all tightens your stomach.

Taking your silence as a challenge, Loki presses himself even closer to you. His fingers creep up your leg, closer to your underwear. “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”

Fuck. A full body shiver skates across your skin, and despite your best efforts, a small moan breaks free from your throat. Loki’s hand feels like a brand on your thigh, sending waves of heat up your body. The warmth pools between your legs, and you can’t help but shift a bit. Knowing that your panties are the only barrier between your soaking heat and the sofa, you arch your hips ever so slightly to keep from soiling the cushion.

Of course, your small movements don’t go unnoticed. Loki’s eyes are hooded as they rake across your bare legs, and you can hear his breathing get a bit heavier. He looks up at you, pupils dilated. “Oh, pet, look at you. Barely even touched, and already-”

He’s cut off by the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall, headed in your direction. Loki curses softly and reluctantly draws his hand away, then moves as far away as the small sofa allows. Your skin aches at the loss of contact.

The interrupting stranger’s footsteps approach the entrance to the common room, then carry on past. You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, thankful that you wouldn’t have to explain anything. Something tells you that, while there’s nothing going on now, sitting with Loki in the middle of the night might raise a few eyebrows.

You and Loki are alone again, but the moment has passed. Whatever spell that had overcome the two of you is gone, and all that’s left is a quiet room and a dim light. “I apologize, I believe I have overstepped,” Loki says, and for the first time, he sounds...unsure. His voice has lost that arrogant confidence that it normally carries, and he sounds like a child that has just been caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You bite your lip and risk a glance at Loki. He’s still pressed against the opposite arm of the loveseat, and is avoiding your eyes. Without the atmosphere of desire from before, now you just feel...awkward. Sighing softly, you rise to your feet and make your way to the hallway. You pause briefly in the entryway, and breathe out a “goodnight, Loki.” You don’t wait for a response, instead turning and trudging back towards your room.

As you flop back down in bed, you replay the night’s events over in your mind. It almost feels like a dream, and you’re having trouble believing that Loki, the God of Mischief, had actually come on to you. It didn’t seem plausible. You’re just a plain mortal, nothing special, no powers. Sure, your combat skills could rival Natasha’s, but besides that, you can’t find anything about yourself that would attract a god.

Eventually, you decide that maybe Loki was just horny, and you were in the right place at the right time. You did walk out without pants on, after all. No matter the reasoning, you know not to expect a repeat occurrence, given how regretful he had seemed afterwards. Tears brim in your eyes as the reality of the situation hits you; Loki regrets touching you. It seems that your crush was one-sided, and even though you weren’t surprised, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Things are tense around the compound. You creep around corners, terrified of accidentally finding yourself in the same room as Loki. And it seems that Loki is taking the same precautions, because you haven’t even seen a glimpse of him since that night. The ache in your heart from his rejection still keeps you up at night, and you still find yourself pining over him like a lovesick idiot.

Ever the observer, Natasha catches on quickly. “Are you really still embarrassed about bumping into Loki?” She asks after cornering you in the kitchen. “You’re not acting like yourself, and it is beyond obvious something is bothering you.”

You groan at her around a mouthful of a granola bar. “Are you really still thinking about it?” You counter.

Nat rolls her eyes. “Please, it’s hard to pretend it didn’t happen when you’re playing this stupid cat and mouse game. I see you check every room for him, I can’t believe you even care that much. He barely even touched you!”

A piece of your snack shoots down your throat with your gasp. You double over, wheezing and coughing. Natasha slaps a hand on your back, sighing. When you finally catch your breath, you glare at Nat. “Yeah, maybe that’s the issue.”

You immediately regret your words as a fire lights itself in Natasha’s eyes. “Want me to help?”

“Nat, hold on. No thanks-”

“Shush, trust me!” To your dismay, Natasha is already on her way out of the kitchen when she finishes hushing you. You whimper out a half-baked protest, but your friend is long gone by the time the words leave your mouth. Fuck, you’re so screwed.

LIfe was very quickly becoming a stressful game of hide and seek. You’d resorted to spending most of the day in your room, hoping to avoid Loki, and more importantly, Natasha. You’re not sure what she has planned, but it can’t be anything good. As weeks pass by with no incident, however, you begin to drop your guard. Maybe she’s taking pity on you.

It’s around noon when you get the text. It’s an all caps message from Nat, pleading with you to at least hear her out before saying no.

That’s a terrifying text. I’m listening.

Nat: I may have bragged my way into a drinking contest with Thor, and I need a teammate to make it fair.

You want to try and outdrink Thor????

Nat: I want US to outdrink him. I convinced him that it’d be more balanced if it was 2 to 1.

You owe me.

Nat: :)

It was a terrible idea, but maybe a nice night of getting hammered is just what you need to break you out of your funk. Despite your initial reluctance, you find yourself getting excited. You hadn’t really relaxed in ages, this would be a good thing.

As the hours pass, you start to get nervous. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten properly drunk, and you seriously doubt you’ll be able to keep up with even Natasha. Still, a promise is a promise, and you have far too much pride to chicken out now.

The clock reaches nine o’clock, and you sigh. Showtime. Before leaving your suite, you set several glasses of water and a bottle of Advil on your nightstand. If you’re going to fuck over your future self, you might as well try to ease her pain. You take a deep breath and spare a glance over at the mirror against your bedroom wall. You had opted for something comfy, but cute; an emerald green dress that stopped just above your mid-thigh, and fell off of one shoulder effortlessly.

Okay, so maybe you had wanted to get a tiny bit dressed up. You’re sure Nat will tease you for it, but sometimes a girl just wants to feel pretty.

A bit breathless from those pre-competition nerves--yes, a drinking contest was that serious--you make your way to the kitchen. As you round the corner, you stop dead in your tracks. Sitting at the bar Tony had insisted on installing, is Nat and Thor, of course. But next to them, perched delicately on one of the stools, is Loki. He wears a look of disdain, as if this entire competition is beneath him. You hope he can’t tell how badly you want to be beneath him.

Natasha gives you a wicked grin as Thor waves you over, his smile far more innocent-looking than Nat’s, though you’re sure he had a part in this. Cursing your terrible friends under your breath, and yourself for falling for it, you trudge over. Naturally, the only stool left is the one on the end, directly next to Loki. You gingerly hoist yourself up and slide onto the seat.

You stubbornly keep your eyes on the counter, not daring to even glance up at Loki. It’s obvious from the way he’s angling himself away from you and towards his brother that he’s regretting that night, and doesn’t want to be near you. You don’t blame him, humans must seem like animals compared to gods. The reality is that you were a mistake to him, and you just needed to accept that and move past.

Breaking the awkward silence, Thor produces a jug of what looks like beer from god knows where. He grins and gestures to it grandly. As he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off. “Hold up! I thought this was two against one? Loki being here makes it unfair.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at you. “Yeah, I may have bent the truth to get you to come out. It’s teams of two, but we have a handicap. Our drinks and shots count as twice the actual amount, and they’ll be drinking Asgardian mead. So,” She smirks. “No more complaints, let’s do this shit.”

You swallow nervously at the mention of shots. You could hold your liquor fairly well, but you and shots had...history. Nat knew how touchy you got when you were drunk, and how much of an oversharer you tended to be. Though you have to admit that her plan is almost flawless, you’re still unimpressed with her shenanigans. She’s pretty much set you up to embarrass yourself.

You twiddle your thumbs in your seat as Natasha grabs a bottle of Svedka from behind the bar and begins to pour the beginning drinks. Following her lead, Thor pops open his jug and splits it between two large glasses, then passes one to Loki, who sighs in apparent boredom. He shoots you an unreadable look, then grabs one of the shot glasses that Natasha filled and slides it your way.

With a mumbled “thanks,’ you gingerly take the glass, and look at Nat and Thor. Thor raises his glass. “May the better warriors win!” He announces, then tips back his glass. You roll your eyes at the word choice, but bring the shot glass to your lips and throw your head back. The liquor goes down rough, but you manage to keep your poker face and grit your teeth against any retches.

“The lady can drink!” Thor bellows, wiping at his face.

You shrug, wanting the spotlight off of you. “Um, I went to college?”

Before Thor can question you, Natasha cuts in. “Hello? I took it just as well, where’s my applause?”

“Natasha, you are not a lady,” Loki deadpans. Nat glares and pours herself another shot in response, throwing back the second one just as easily as she had the first. She then points at you. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. Despite everything, Loki was still Loki, and he still had your heart. It seems that the tension between you and Loki dissolves after you laugh at his quip, and he relaxes his stiff posture.

You sigh in relief and reach for the bottle to refill your own glass. This time, it goes down easier. That is, until the burns travels past your stomach, right down to between your legs. You squirm in place at the unexpected burst of arousal. Still, you should have been ready for it. Alcohol has always gotten you a little worked up. It was your mistake to believe you could fight it.

Despite the setback, you keep up with your teammate as the night goes on. Shot after shot, broken up by the easy conversation that emerges as the liquor continues to flow.

You’re not sure when the competition was forgotten, but you soon find yourself splayed on the couch next to Loki, laughing hysterically at some story he’s just finished telling about Thor in his youth. You look over at him, hazily trying to center your double vision to properly admire the god. His cheeks are flushed red from the alcohol, and he looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him.

Loki glances over, catching you staring, but you’re far too intoxicated to be embarrassed. Instead, you hold your gaze, waiting for a reaction. Loki smirks, then eyes his brother with annoyance.

“Brother,” he says, voice a lazy drawl. “I believe we’ve won this contest, wouldn’t you say?”

Thor cocks his head, then widens his eyes in understanding. “Oh, certainly! In fact, I think it would be necessary for me to walk you back to your quarters, Natasha.”

Natasha begins to protest, but it dies on her lips as her gaze flickers between you and Loki. “What a gentleman,” she purrs, only swaying slightly when she rises from her seat. “Lead the way.” Taking his outstretched hand, Natasha stumbles down the hall with Thor, giggling excitedly.

Now that it’s just the two of you, you expect things to get awkward, but find that you’re still just as comfortable. “Well, I guess I have to bow to the drinking champ,” you slur, sitting up to give a half hearted bow.

Loki throws his head back and laughs. “You,” he manages between snorts, “are far more fun to be around than most others on this planet.”

You scoff and wave your hand dismissively. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I bowed to you.” Chewing on your lip, you let your eyes drift back over to Loki. In your drunken haze, he just looks so...comfy. Before you realize what you’re doing, you slide over to lean up against him. Loki’s surprisingly warm, and you sigh contentedly, letting your mind wander back to how his hand felt running up your thigh.

The arousal from earlier that you had forgotten about rears its head, turning your sigh into a shaky exhale that is not at all subtle. The air feels thick, just like it had on that one stormy night, and you press yourself closer to Loki, unable to resist how good his body feels against yours.

Loki freezes for a moment, then seems to force himself to relax into you. His arm snakes around you until he’s holding you comfortably against his side. For one brief moment, you start to wonder if this is a good idea, given how things had ended in the past, but the intoxicated part of your brain tells the sober part to go fuck herself, and then you’re speaking without thinking. “Do you want to walk me to bed?”

Oh, shit. You can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. A wave of sobering panic hits you, and you untangle yourself from Loki and shoot up from the couch. Before you can flee, however, a pale hand grabs hold of your arm, stopping you in place.

Loki gets up, then moves his grip from your wrist to your hand. “I think that is a lovely idea. Allow me?” With the hand that isn’t holding yours, he gestures toward the hall. Well, that was unexpected. You try not to giggle in child-like excitement, and instead nod hurriedly.

Your heart speeds up at the feel of his hand in yours, and you start off down the hall, letting Loki pull you towards your suite. Caught up in trying to navigate the titling floor, you don’t notice that you’re being led the wrong way until the two of you come to a stop at a door that definitely does not belong to you. You look up at Loki in confusion. “This isn’t my room.”

“I know,” Loki growls, then opens the door and whirls you both inside. When you’ve recovered from the swift movement, you manage to pull away from Loki’s grip.

“What-what’s going on?” You say, attempting to sound stern. Loki stalks towards you. Instinctively, you back up, until you’re pressed against the wall with Loki boxing you in.

Loki presses his hands to the wall on either side of your head and sneers at you. “What’s going on?” He mocks. “I’ve craved your body under mine since long before our little nighttime meeting, and I have run out of patience for games.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, grazing you with his teeth. Just like before, his playfulness has given way to a domineering aura, but you’re not complaining one bit.

You barely suppress a full body shiver. “But,” you protest weakly. “I, I thought you regretted it. I mean, you never said anything about it, so I figured...oh…” you trail off into a soft moan as Loki roughly licks up the side of your neck, growling.

“And when would I have gotten the chance?” Loki pulls away from his assault on your skin to look you in the eyes. “You have been avoiding me for nearly a month.” Those blue eyes are staring daggers at you, and you realize that there’s hurt behind all that frustration.

Your mouth goes dry. He’s right, but the eye contact from his smoldering stare is making you forget how to speak. Fumbling with your words, you cast your gaze downwards. “Yeah, I guess I have. But with what you said after we were interrupted....I thought you were uncomfortable with what happened.”

A dark chuckle spills from Loki’s lips. “The only discomfort you have caused me is the nights I have spent spilling over my own hand because I could not have you. ”

You gasp softly as Loki’s words send a wave of heat through your overheated body. Loki takes that as encouragement, and presses himself closer until his lips are grazing yours. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” he mumbles, eyes hooded.

Your response is to surge forward, hands flying to the back of his head as you roughly pull him in to kiss you. You both groan at the contact. The kiss is anything but gentle; your fingers are tangled in Loki’s hair, tugging harshly, and you can feel his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. It was far better than you could have imagined, and the dizzying pleasure of it all has you feeling drunker and more sober at the same time.

Before long, the room spins as Loki lifts you and hoists your legs around his waist. He kisses you breathless as he walks slowly down the hall towards what you can only assume is his bedroom. There’s a giddy part inside of you that squeals with excitement at being carried like that, but it’s quickly overshadowed by lust as you and Loki reach his bedroom. He tosses you onto his king sized bed like a doll, then kneels on the floor and yanks your ankles until your bottom is almost hanging off the bed.

Loki slides your dress up and nuzzles the inside of your thigh. “I could smell your arousal the entire night,” he says, nearly purring. “May I taste?”

You sit up on your elbows and stare down at him, face flushed with mild embarrassment at his face so close to your soaked panties. Dumbly, you nod, words failing you. Loki growls his appreciation and hikes up your dress, taking a brief moment to admire the soft fabric. “You look absolutely ravishing in green, I’ve wanted to tear this off of you since the moment I laid eyes on it.” And then he’s sliding your panties down your legs and plunging his tongue into your heat.

A ragged gasp tears its way from your throat and you throw your head back. You feel the grin form on Loki’s lips against your skin, and a fresh gush of arousal flows down your thighs. Loki eats pussy like it’s an art form he’s been perfecting for ages. His lips tug at your pussy, worshipping every fold like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. You open your mouth to make some joke about his silvertongue, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper as Loki drags his teeth lightly across your clit.

It isn’t long before the pleasure reaches its peak.You fight hard to keep your legs from clamping around Loki’s head, but you can’t help it when you crest over the edge of orgasm. Your muscles lock up, your back arches, and you scream. White hot euphoria explodes from your core, spreading through your body like venom. Loki’s tongue works you through it, slowing to wide, long strokes as you begin to come down.

You’ve barely recovered when Loki rises from his knees and crawls up your body, coming to a stop when his face is inches from yours. His eyes are hooded, and his glistening lips are parted to allow frantic, heated pants to escape. “Pet,” he hisses, leaning down to nuzzle into your shoulder. “You taste sweeter than the fruits of Asgard.” He bites at your collarbone, making you shudder in your post-orgasmic haze.

Still out of it, you sluggishly fumble at Loki’s belt. “Wanna make you feel good, too,” you mumble and lick your lips. Loki bats your hand away, shushing you.

“Darling, there will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I need to feel you.” He grabs your shoulders and drags you up to the pillows, so that you’re lying comfortably on your back with him hovering above you.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of ‘later.’ So this wasn’t just a one-night stand? You don’t have time to process that, however, as Loki barely gives you a moment to breathe. He sits back on his knees, straddling your waist, and with a wave of his hand, you’re both stark naked. Your hands twitch, wanting to cover yourself. Being naked in front of an attractive man has always intimidated you, but the fact that Loki was a god made it worse. As if sensing your sudden shyness, Loki leans in to kiss at lick at your breasts, and brings his hands up to pin your wrists to the bed. You sigh in pleasure, insecurity fading with every hot swipe of his tongue, not even wanting to struggle against his hold.

Loki lowers himself to grind against you. His hard cock slides against your dripping folds as his narrow hips press into yours. Both of you shiver, and you arch your hips to bring him closer. Loki growls against your skin and sits up. He lets go of your wrists, roughly grabs your waist and angles it to meet his. “Ready, pet? I can’t wait, I need to have you.” he breathes, eyes locked on yours.

Like a deer in the headlights, you’re frozen, anticipation coiling tightly under your skin. Slowly, you nod. Loki wastes no time. He smirks, then slides himself into you, the stretch burning in the loveliest way. Your heated groan mingles with his, and when Loki’s hips come to rest against yours, he falls against your chest, panting. You appreciate the time he gives you to adjust; Loki’s cock is thick, and longer than anything you’ve ever taken, and you can feel it throbbing desperately within you. Now that he’s released your hands, you bring them up to thread through his soft, black hair. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, nearly purring.

“Tell me when, love,” Loki grits out, fighting to keep his voice steady. The shakiness in his usually smooth tone is arousing to no end, and you can feel yourself clench around him in approval. Loki’s hips twitch at the fluttering of your walls, and though you’re more than ready, you decide to torture him a bit longer.

You bring your legs up to wrap around Loki’s waist, pulling him closer. He shivers, but keeps his composure, remaining almost statue still. His concern for your comfort makes your heart swell, but you want to see him lose control. “You’re so big,” you whimper out, the alcohol in your system quelling the embarrassment you’d usually feel when talking dirty. You press your face into Loki’s neck, grazing your teeth along the pale skin there.

With a deep growl of barely kept composure, Loki rises up to rest on his elbows, desperate eyes searching yours. It seems that being the God of Lies gave Loki the ability to see through your cruel game, and his expression turns dark, though the neediness is still blatant. You shift nervously as he stares you down, already regretting your mischievousness. “Feeling playful, are we?” Loki asks.

Your mouth goes dry at being caught and your core tightens around him again, earning you a flutter of his eyelids. “I…” you trail off, eyes drifting to Loki’s parted lips. Watching you gaze, Loki grins at you.

“Oh, pet. I think you may be confused. You are mine to toy with, not the other way around.” With that, Loki leans down to crush his lips into yours. His tongue forces its way into your mouth and you whine around it. While his tongue’s distracting you, Loki takes his chance to begin pounding into you at a ruthless pace, and you break away from the kiss to throw your head back and shriek out a moan.

You feel utterly wrecked, stomach clenching and nerves alight with pleasure as Loki continues his assault on your body. Your eyes are squeezed shut, so his teeth nipping at your jaw come as a surprise, sending a whole new shockwave of sensation down your neck.

“You feel so fucking good, pet,” Loki moans, his voice quickly losing its characteristic steadyness. He sighs out something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper, and brings one of his hands down to toy with your clit. Your legs tighten around him involuntarily. “A-ah, fuck,” Loki grits out, increasing his pace.

The pleasure is overwhelming, and the unhuman speed at which Loki’s pounding into you leaves you no time to catch your breath. Moans and whines erupt from your mouth in a constant stream, and Loki keeps his mouth hovering above yours to drink them in. “I wanna cum,” you whimper as Loki’s assault on your senses continues.

“Then cum, pet,” Loki groans, hips stuttering. “ Cum for your god.”

You keen, writhing and chasing your high. As you climb up to your orgasm, you are met with a startling realization that Loki has already ruined you for anyone else. No human man could match the fire that he’s set upon your nerves, the blinding pleasure that mounts with every thrust and kiss. With that settling into your mind, you finally reach your second peak of the night.

Your eyes try to flutter shut, tears brimming at the corners as you wail Loki’s name again and again. Through the haze of your climax, you notice Loki’s muscles begin to tense as he nears his orgasm as well, and you force your eyes to stay open in order to watch him come apart.

Watching Loki cum is almost like a second climax. He speeds up impossibly, mouth hanging open and eyes barely able to stay focused on you. “You’re mine,” he growls out. Choked moans fall from his lips as he nears the edge, and you rake your nails down his back to encourage him.

“Cum in me, please, I need it, make me yours” you ramble breathlessly.

“Oh, fuck, I-I’m so close,” Loki manages, voice breaking. You continue to coo pleas and encouragements at him, and the way his eyes roll back at your wrecked voice gives you an intoxicating rush of pride. Finally, with a whimpering moan, Loki stills, cock pulsing within you and hips twitching as he pumps you full of his cum.

Loki slumps against you, still moving in aborted little thrusts, as if he can’t quite stop fucking you just yet. The weight of him on top of you is heavy, but not unwelcome, and you take the time to bask in the euphoria of having just slept with the god you’d pined after for so long.

“That was…” you start, words failing you.

“Divine,” Loki finishes for you. He slides his cock out of your pussy, and with it comes a gush of warm cum that you’re sure will stain the sheets. He rolls off of you, then guides you onto your side so that he can pull you up against him.

You weren’t expecting Loki to be the ‘cuddling after sex,’ type, so having him spoon you was surprising, to say the least. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, and you find yourself wanting to fall asleep like that; comfortable in his bed and safe in his strong arms.

Still, there’s a nagging question that won’t let you fully relax. Not wanting to expect too much, you brace yourself for the worst and open your mouth to speak. “Loki...what does this mean for us?”

Loki tenses behind you, and your heart breaks at the assumed rejection as he begins to pull away. “Are you...are you not mine? I thought this was-I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood. Forgive me.”

This time, your heart breaks for a different reason. Loki sounds so hurt, so unsure of everything, and you can hear a scared little boy behind that velvet voice. “No!” You nearly shout, turning around to pull him back to you. “I want to be yours, I promise,” you say as you tug Loki back into your arms, running a soothing hand down his back. “I just wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted.”

The relief in Loki is visible as he relaxes into you. “Love, I am yours as much as you are mine, do not doubt that.”

The pet name brings a smile to your lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you reply happily. Heart full, you roll back over so that Loki can snuggle into you again, and finally let your drowsiness overtake you. You catch a faint, ‘I love you,’ just before you drift off to sleep, and though it could just be your mind playing tricks on you, you know that you love him, too.

#loki x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #smut #fanfiction #the loki show

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daddysfangirls-anime · 3 years

Text

Young Aizawa

summary: my hero academia One shot where Aizawa brings his 3yrs old kid into school and hangs out with 1-A? cute moments with Todoroki and Bakugo?

As Class 1-A stood in formation in front of their teacher the one thing they were all thinking was. Who’s the kid? They could already guess that the child had some relation to Aizawa the dark hair, sleeping bag, and tired ‘I’d rather be sleeping than here’ look. Heck the kid was almost a carbon copy of him the only things telling them apart was their clothes he was decked out in black she looked like a kitty cat rainbow threw up on her.

“Everyone listens up, I’ve got a little class project. Really this is a project for Todoroki and Bakugo but I want the rest of you to assist them if needed.” Bakugo was a bit irritated right now he had planned to spend the day training he hoped whatever this was would go by quickly so he could get on with his training. Todoroki didn’t really care he didn’t have plans for the day.

“As you failed the second half of your pro-hero licensing exam due to your inability to work in teams and interact properly with civilians. This is for you two. This is my three-year-old daughter (Y/n). Your assignment watching her for the day.”

“WHAT?!”

The entire class screamed they were shocked one that Aizawa actually had a child and two that they’d have to be watching her for the day. They had a million and one questions but Aizawa wasn’t up for answering them looking at his daughter he looks her up and down then looks back at the class.

“Good Luck”

And with that Aizawa quickly left before his daughter could fully comprehend what he said or done. While she was trying busy comprehending the class was busying arguing about their teacher dumping a kid on them.

“Everyone calms down, we can handle this” Iida said trying to calm everyone down.

“We?!” Bakugo says “ Aizawa gave her to us we’ll handle the brat the rest of you can go to hell.”

“AAAAHHHHH” Midoriya suddenly screamed rushing to the door. It was then that everyone realized that while they were discussing (Y/n) she walked right out the front door.

“W-where are you going?” Midoriya asks a bit panicked but trying to stay calm.

“Daddy” is all she says as she continues walking down the sidewalk where she thought she saw her father walk off too.

“um... w-well-”

“Oi brat your old man is gone he left you here,” Bakugo says as he takes her hand and leads her back towards the dorms.

“Why?” she asks

“Because he had some important stuff to do, I don’t know.”

“he comes back, right?”

“he better I’m not spending the night taking care of a brat.”

“who’s a brat?”

“you’re the brat”

“oh...sorry “ she pouts.

The females in the classroom were not having this separating (Y/n) from Bakugo they began to scold him for being mean to him. And telling him how he should treat her.

(Y/n) stood off to the side not really knowing what to do. “ He means well he’s just... a bit rough” Todoroki said as he squat down next to her “ do you want a snack?” she nodded. Taking her hand Todoroki led her to the kitchen for some ice cream no one even noticed the departure.

“This is coming much don’t you think” Midoriya said as he sat between (Y/n) and Todoroki eating his own ice cream as they sat on the floor watching Bakugo argue the girls in their class. This had been going on for the last 10 minutes. Just when they thought it was over Bakugo would say something and the argument would start up again.

“Why is he so mean?” (Y/n) asked

““Bakugo isn’t -he’s not....I don’t know” Midoriya said he really couldn’t defend his friend when he was acting like that.

“Enough” Iida said stepping between Bakugo and the females in the classroom. “ we are setting a bad example for Young Aizawa.”

Everyone turned to look at (Y/n) who was sitting on the floor eating ice cream with Midoriya and Todoroki. She was making Todoroki taste her ice cream tell him hers was better than his.

“Sensei has left us in charge of her so we must treat her with the up most care.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic” Denki said a few of them sweat dropping at Iida over exaggerated hand movement, more exaggerated than usually at least.

Ochaco walked over and kneel in front of (Y/n) “ Hi-” Before she could even get a word out Bakugo walked up and pushed her out of the way.

“Oi, what do you want to do?” he asked

She thought for a moment looking at her melting ice cream. “ Sleep”

Everyone sweat drop she was so like her father. With a nod Bakugo left the room a moment later he returned with a sleeping bag “Here” Shoving the last bit of her ice cream in her mouth she takes the sleeping bag and hops in. (Y/n) then flops on the floor and caterpillar crawls until she is underneath the coffee table where she stops.

The class sweat drops as they hear her light snoring. She’s just like her father.

“Do we just leave her there?” Ojiro asked a bit concerned for the child sleeping under the table in the middle of the room.

“I don’t think that’s safe” Momo says

“Maybe we should move her”Midoriya comments

“OI SHUT THE HELL UP SHE’S SLEEPING” Bakugo shouts he takes a seat on the couch and turns on the TV turning the volume very low. He hears whispers he turns around glaring and growling at them everyone shut up. And for the remainder of the day no one spoke above a whisper.

“YO” Mic stepped into the dorms with Aizawa and All Might his shouting was followed up by a book to the face and a very loud ‘SHHHHH’. Everyone pointed to the Coffee table stepping forward Aizawa sees his daughter sleeping underneath the table he sighs.

“How long has she been asleep?” he asks in a whisper Todoroki ignoring Bakugo’s heated glare.

“Since you left. I gave her some ice cream, I hope that’s okay, Bakugo gave her a sleeping bag and she crawled under the table. She’s been asleep ever since. “

“Bakugo has threaten to kill anyone who’s voice goes above a whisper. It’s been pretty quiet.” Denki said Bakugo threw a book at the back of his head. He was too loud.

“Thank you for watching her for the day. I’ll take her now” Aizawa said as sqauted by the table and began to poke his young daughter “ Wake up, sweetheart, time to go home.”

“Daddy no” Shew whined as he pulled her out from underneath the table she cringed at the bright light and pulled the sleeping bag over her eyes.

“Yo mini-Aizawa” Mic said recovering from his assault.

“lower your freaking voice” Bakugo said, very loudly at that.

“I am elder, I am your teacher you should respect me.” Mic said poking Bakugo’s forehead. Bakugo picked up a book and he flinched “ You can’t assault a teacher”

“Then learned to lower your god damn voice. You’re going to wake her up. Teacher or not Who ever wakes her up is dead” Bakugo threaten sending a shiver down Mic’s spine having him retreat behind All Might. Who was just watching the scene unfold.

“Aww, I think young Bakugo has grown a soft spot for Young Aizawa” All Might teased watching a light blushed dusted the boys cheeks. He threw a book but All Might dodged it. With a growl Bakugo stomped off.

“Thank you, again.” Aizawa says pulling (Y/n) out of the sleeping bag and into his arms “ Maybe I’ll let you guys babysit again”

“I thought this was an assignment” Iida said. Aizawa gave him a look that translated to ‘ you actually believed that shit’ before completely ignoring him and waving goodbye and walking out.

It wasn’t until he was a good distance from the dorms that he spoke up.

“What was that? You were suppose to give them a hard time.”

“I’m sorry daddy. They were so nice. Todoroki gave me ice cream. And Bakugo gave him a sleeping bag it was real comfortable. I fell asleep.” (Y/n) said as she looked at her father. Today’s plan was for her to wreck havoc on the dorms and challenge the student you know being a typical brat and messing things up. But (Y/n) was just an angel and couldn’t find it in herself to be a bad girl.

“So precious” Mic gushed

“It’s okay. You did fine. Did you have fine while you were wake at least?”

She thought for a moment tapping her chin cutely “Midoriya cried. Bakugo’s loud but funny. I’m going to marry Todoroki.”

“That’s nice” double take “wait ....What?!”

#my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha fanfiction #bnha #mha fanfiction #mha #fanfiction #class 1a #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #boku no hero #child #x child reader

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delicrieux · 3 years

Text

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand)

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it.

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge.

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too.

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view.

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”.

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute.

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets.

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance.

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?”

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over.

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae.

looking hot, her message read.

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse social media au #corpse husband fanfic #social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fic #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #myso #make you say oh

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

smoke and mirrors

⇢ richkid!tom x richkid!reader ⇠

w/c: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, drinking, light angst, and implied smut

summary: because of your mother’s insistence on a pristine family image and tom’s messy one, you deny your true feelings for him

a/n: ok ok ok the pics of tom in monaco really made me think and i had to get everything out of my system so here we are! thank you and enjoy x

your living room is engulfed by a hushed chatter that comes from far too many guests. half the people, you hardly know. it’s overcrowded, superficial, and the last place you want to be. it’s one of your mother’s get-togethers, as she likes to call them. these things are always far from the casual affairs they sound like.

weeks go into planning, caterers and decorators making themselves at home in yours. the family’s image is everything to your mom, so being a good hostess is her top priority. ironically, she’s more concerned with throwing her gatherings than raising you. so much for family, huh?

the only reason you agreed to make an appearance tonight is that tom might do the same. he’s a really good friend, someone you’ve been able to count on through all the mess that is your lives. you met in high school, when he moved from london to the states. his dad was offered a job promotion he couldn’t pass up. plus, tom and his brothers would be receiving a stellar private education here in america.

it was a win for everyone, especially you. the freckle faced boy who got lost on his way to english class became your closest confidant. tom’s company is such a sweet escape. he’s not interested in opera or the stock market like most people you meet are. he sneaks you out to go on walks at dawn and does shots with you until you can’t stand straight.

as you two continue to grow together, revelations about yourselves have come to light. what you want beyond your inheritances, who you want beyond friendship. you figured out the second part on a faithful night recently. tom showed up to your place with a bottle of tequila. after you drank it down through lots of lime chasers and giggles, he kissed you. you didn’t kiss back.

your heart said to go for it, but your mind pulled you back in. you were so shocked and overcome with new feelings, you froze up. that, and you’d infuriate your mother. although she cares about tom a great deal, she loathes his public figure. he’s always getting papped in places and with people he shouldn’t be. the two of you together would just destroy her.

you still want to please your mom at the end of the day, no matter how deep under your skin she gets.

tom immediately apologized and tried play it off as him being drunk. you grew up with him, became part of each other’s families, which means you know him well enough to know he was lying. he meant every second his lips were on yours.

what you need to do now is something you’ve meant to for a while. the only problem is that you’re stuck at your mother’s party, and tom hasn’t shown up yet.

“y/n, darling,” your mom calls for your attention. she’s dragged you into a conversation with some bloggers, but you haven’t spoken a word. “why don’t you tell us about your trip to spain last summer?” she plasters on her award winning grin and squeezes your shoulder. it’s time to play along.

“oh, it was beautiful,” you halfheartedly reply, more to the bloggers than her. they nod in clear interest. one jots down notes. “we went for a few weeks and visited a bunch of different cities. i’d love to go back sometime.” the typical press formatted answer earns your mom’s approval. you’re off the hook. your eyes start to wander around the room, hoping to set on tom.

“we?” the woman taking notes asks. must everyone pry? “my friend and i,” you shortly reply. you’re standing up on your tiptoes to see over the crowd. you’d think six inch heels would do the trick. “i’m actually looking for him right now, so if you’ll excuse me,” you offer a polite smile and silently pray they won’t ask who. unfortunately, your wishes don’t come true.

the other blogger, a short and stubborn man, speaks up. “just a friend you say? come on, tell us. who’s the lucky fella?” he inquires. your mother raises a firm eyebrow, signaling for you not to.

tom has a reputation for his reckless behavior. it’s your mom’s worst nightmare when the media associates your names under most circumstances. you’re representing her, so she does whatever she can to control how you’re seen. you’re constantly in the papers, being a young socialite and all. it sucks.

“he’d like to stay out of the tabloids, sorry,” you cover for tom, on your mom’s behalf. “i should really go. it was nice meeting you.” the bloggers don’t bother to hide their disappointment as you shake their hands. your mother rubs your back in approval. “thank you for doing that. we’ll talk later,” she speaks lowly. “bye, mom!” you practically make a run for it.

weaving through the sea of people, you end up by the main entrance. it’s hard not to get lost even though it’s your house. the place is packed with girls just a couple years older than you, wearing pearls around their necks. men’s strong colognes flow through the air. you’re in a form fitting red slip dress and louboutins yourself.

smoke and mirrors is what they call it. you show the pretty parts to distract from your ugly ones.

harrison suddenly comes waltzing in with a lady on either of his arms. you’d expect nothing less. he’s tom’s best friend besides you, considering the failed kiss attempt didn’t change that. their parents worked at the london branch of the same company. they each came to the states and met you. you happily introduced them to your world, helping to make it theirs as well.

“haz!” you meet him at the front door. he’s smirking while he leads the women inside. “fancy seeing you here, isn’t it?” he jokes. “very funny. i died laughing,” you deadpan, curiously eyeing harrison’s plus two. they merely giggle. “listen, have you seen tom anywhere? if he’s coming.” you’re fighting back a frown. “why wouldn’t he be?” harrison questions in a more serious tone this time.

“long story. you have guests to entertain, so i won’t get into it now,” you decide and manage a small smile instead. he perks up. “right. i’ll let you know if i see him?” nodding, you give him a wave goodbye. “enjoy yourself.” “you too, love. cheers!” the girls lean into him, harrison wiggling his eyebrows at you. he’s ridiculous.

hours pass by without word of tom. it isn’t like him to miss an event, especially if you’re in attendance. you despise these exhausting nights, and he’s supposed to be your rock during them. he should have his arm draped around your shoulders, whispering silly remarks to you while you hide out somewhere. you miss him more than you thought possible.

you’re just about to give up when you spot nikki ushering her husband inside. behind them follows tom, clad in a grey checkered suit with his locks perfectly tousled. he’s here. you waited the whole night, and he finally came.

tom kisses his mom on the cheek before strutting over to the drink table, not without a few reporters hassling him. they’re probably looking for another holland scandal to break. he declines their requests for comments on this and opinions on that, instead pulling up a chair next to harrison. the two exchange hugs and fix themselves glasses of champagne, you watching their encounter.

harrison fills tom in on the drama he’s missed tonight while they sip their drinks. tom keeps forcing smiles that don’t reach his eyes. he’s fiddling with his fingers, leg bouncing up and down steadily. those are the telltale signs he needs saving. however awkward it may be, you’re going to have to break your silence. it was bound to happen eventually.

“mate, i’m telling you. she fit her entire first right up her-“ “boys,” you cut into harrison’s story, greeting him and tom. his face tints deep pink upon your arrival. “don’t let me stop you. finish your charming anecdote,” you encourage him and subtly glance over at tom. he’s biting back a grin as he sets his elbows on the table.

“not with a lady present. let’s just… pretend you didn’t hear that,” harrison chuckles nervously and hops to his feet. “i’m gonna leave you two to chat.” humming, you move to take his chair. tom sucks in a breath. “what happened to the girls you brought?” you wonder. “they left. said they got bored,” harrison admits, tom stifling laughter. he elbows his friend for that.

“oh, fuck off. i’ll see you later,” he mopes, flicking your arm for good measure. tom salutes him and grabs his nearly empty champagne. “so long, bruv.”

it’s just you and tom now, seated side by side, silently so. he has no intentions of speaking first. he’s too embarrassed, and you don’t blame him. this is on you. you clear your throat before starting the conversation.

“can i top you off?” you tap the bottom of his glass with a tiny smile. tom shakes his head. “i’m alright, thanks.” he finishes the last sip and sets it down, turning to face you. your smile has vanished. “wasn’t sure you were gonna make it. i’m glad you did,” you change the subject. as if he’s considering the sincerity behind your words, tom furrows his eyebrows.

“mum wanted us to. she dragged me and dad straight off the golf course,” he explains and clasps his hands in his lap. his fingers interlock with each other. you fight off the urge to replace them with yours. “we would’ve been here sooner, but the paps are camped outside.” the hint of a smile forms on his lips, at last. “guess it’s not often you get the town’s finest under one roof.”

“you think i’m one of the town’s finest?” you tease, resting your chin in your palm. something flashes behind tom’s eyes. he looks right into yours, scooting closer. “absolutely. you’re the most eligible bachelorette in this whole building.” you allow a toothy grin to spread across your face. “tommy, stop it. you’re too nice to me.”

the nickname is music to his ears. tom looks you up and down, licking his lips simultaneously. “no, seriously. you look gorgeous,” he muses, you pushing at his chest. he exhales a breathy laugh, and you giggle yourself. “red’s definitely your color.” “reverse card. you wear it way better than i do,” you insist. your fingers tug at the collar of his suit. “too bad you didn’t match me.”

you’re relieved you two can talk like you usually do, light flirting and good vibes. it might not be so hard to put the kiss behind you. well, you can’t go on pretending it didn’t happen. you have to at least discuss the fiasco. tom should know why you didn’t reciprocate, then you can take it from there. whether he still has feelings for you, assuming he ever did, will depend on how that turns out.

“not to ruin the fun, but we still have to talk,” you murmur, tom’s body stiffening across from yours. he’s not sure he’s ready to discuss that. “can it wait? we’re at a party,” tom reminds you, running a hand through his styled locks. “yeah, my mother’s. don’t tell me you’re having a good time,” you playfully chastise him. he simply shrugs. “hardly. you’re the best part.”

you ignore the butterflies roaming about your body.

“you won’t mind a quick convo, then. it is with me,” you attempt to persuade him and place a hand on his knee. tom coughs a bit too loudly, the contact surprising him. “you know what? i think i’ll take you up on that drink first,” he decides with a mustered up smile. “coming right up.” you pat his leg before taking his glass. he chews on his lower lip while you poor the bubbling liquid. that was certainly… odd.

you slide tom his champagne back with an exaggerated wink. tom scoffs at this. “mm, thanks. care to join me?” he brings the alcohol to his lips, eyes never leaving yours. your mother specifically said no drinking tonight, since the press would be here. screw your mother, though. “please. could you hand me a glass?” you eagerly grab the champagne bottle. tom searches for an empty cup next to him.

you two are unspoken drinking buddies at this point.

“here you are, darling,” tom drawls, holding out the glass for you. every time he calls you that, you completely melt. “thanks, tommy,” you purr in response. you’re finally pouring your own drink when someone taps you on the shoulder, and hard. you look behind you to find your mother standing with her hands on her hips, less than thrilled. speak of the devil.

“hello, mother. can i help you?” you make sure to ask rudely. she responds with a smile that’s obviously fake. if tom weren’t here, you’d be getting scolded. “yes, my darling. those bloggers from earlier were hoping you’d finish your interview.” your mom shakes your shoulder in a motherly way. you squint up at her. “didn’t they leave hours ago-“ “they’re back,” she sharply informs you.

she’s lying, and you have a hunch as to why.

frowning, you hold tom’s hand in both of yours. “sorry, this won’t take long. why don’t you go find tuwaine?” you suggest instead. “he’s around here somewhere.” tom gives you an understanding nod and laces your fingers together, even if it’s only for a moment. “must be chatting up some producers or whatnot. i’ll see if i can help.” he’s such an incredible friend to everyone. he deserves the same from you.

“thomas, so lovely to see you,” your mom interrupts. tom stands up, kissing both her cheeks out of courtesy. “you, too. what a wonderful party. thank you for having us.” despite what the rest of the world believes, his manners are impeccable. “of course. give nikki my best, will you?” your mom puts her hands on his shoulders. he grins at her. “definitely. take care, mrs. y/l/n.” “always a pleasure,” she states, nudging you to come along with her.

you shoot tom one last apologetic look as your mother pulls you along and towards the crowd.

tom is no idiot. he’s well aware how she really feels about him.

when a swarm of guests is surrounding you, your mom lets go. you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “why would you do that? i haven’t seen tom in days.” she sighs without a care. “isn’t it time you branch out? expand your social circle?” her manicured fingers ruffle your hair. you push away her touch. “i’m social enough. we were in the middle of something really important.”

you begin to walk away, but your mother takes your arm. “whatever you’re about to do, it’s a mistake. he’ll make a fool of you,” she practically spits. yanking your arm from her grasp, you laugh bitterly. “of me, or of the family name? look around, mom.” you gesture to the spot beside her where your dad should be. “as far as i’m concerned, i have no family except tom. i’m gonna go check on him.”

you’re gone before your mom can stop you. she simply stands there, utterly mortified by what you said.

you run around the house to find tom, stumbling in your heels and not giving a fuck. you’d truly meant the part about him being your family. all the holland’s, honestly. they’re the most genuine and caring souls, and you don’t want to lose the one you’re closest to because of your mother’s delusions.

tom is in a circle with harrison and tuwaine, the three of them chuckling amongst themselves. you’d hate to bug him, but this can’t wait anymore.

“uh, tom?” you mumble his name, appearing behind him. he steps away with another quiet laugh. “hey, y/n/n. that was quick, hm?” your face gives away your distress. his whole demeanor shifting, tom reaches for your hands. “what is it, love? is something the matter?” “just… come with me,” you croak out.

you manage to smile at harrison and tuwaine, dropping one of tom’s hands so you can lead him upstairs. they each return the smile and share curious looks.

following behind you, tom keeps your hand tight in his own. he’d thought you were going to grill him about the kiss that barely happened. it seems like this is a much more pressing matter. his outburst of emotions can be discussed another time. now, it’s time to deal with yours.

you drag tom into the first room on the second floor, which is your dad’s study. he’s away on business this weekend, so he luckily couldn’t make the party. tom sits down in the office chair. you sit up on the desk, in front of him. your lip quivers the second his worried features come into view.

“y/n/n, what’s going on? why are we in here?” tom wonders, his tone soft. your heart clenches. “i- i wanted us to have some privacy when i told you this,” you sniffle out and blink back the tears forming. you’re sort of shaken from the conversation with your mother, and mostly because you have no idea how tom will react to your confession.

his hands come to stay on your thighs, right below your dress. they feel warm against your bare skin.

“tell me what? i’m listening, yeah?” tom gazes up at you with so much love. “lay it all out for me.” god, he’s fucking amazing. if only you knew where to start. “do you, um…” you trail off, letting your tears subside and words settle. “do you remember when your family made your big debut in town?”

a grin replaces tom’s frown, painting his beautiful face. “how could i forget? you made it quite memorable.” he traces circles on your thigh and elicits a giggle from you. “i spilled a whole thing of soda on your white fucking button down,” you recount with a lighthearted sigh. “right before your dad was supposed to introduce you to everyone, too.”

tom presses his tongue into his cheek to hold back another grin. “took ages to get it out. dad went mad when i didn’t show.” he cocks his head to the side, you leaning back on your hands. “you held me hostage in the laundry room so you could do that bloody stain stick.” your mouth drops open in mock offense. “i had to clean up my mess! i wasn’t gonna let the world meet you covered in pepsi.”

that was one of your earliest memories together. the holland’s threw a party and invited everyone who was willing to attend. they had been hoping to properly introduce themselves to the town, and this was their way of doing so. although yours and tom’s friendship was fairly new, you spent all night together because you had experience with such events.

tom’s dad was making a speech to thank the guests for coming. you and him listened from the snack table, until his name was called. he rushed to go up there while you were pouring yourself a drink. he’d bumped into you, and the bottle ended up all over him. you snuck tom right off to his laundry room.

you’d felt terrible as he stood there shirtless and blushing, you aggressively swiping his button down with a stain stick.

“why do you bring that up?” tom questions and continues circling your skin. you purse your lips. “i dunno. it was the last party i actually enjoyed,” you admit, putting your hand over his that rests on your thigh. “like to reminisce when i’m suffering through one of my mother’s.” his eyes shift to where your hands are laced. “i see,” he affirms. “so, is that… all you wanted to talk about?” “not even close,” you laugh out.

a burst of courage coursing through your body, you say it. “when you kissed me the other night-“ “i won’t do it again,” tom cuts in, trying to avoid the rejection he thinks you’ll give him. “it was a mistake, and i’m so sorry. our friendship is more important than my feelings.” you seem excited to hear that, though it’s not for the reason tom expects. “you do have feelings for me?”

he’d forgotten about his i was drunk excuse.

“um, yeah. i do,” he admits, cheeks rosy and lip caught in his teeth. “but, i’ll learn to put them aside, if that’s what’s best.” “no, no. it isn’t,” you dismiss him and put your free hand on his chest. “i love you, tom. that’s what i was really trying to tell you.” your words bring an instant grin to his face. he chuckles in disbelief, standing from the chair.

“fuck, thank god. that’s all i’ve ever wanted to hear.” he’s between your legs now, his hands moving up to your hips. you’re beaming at him as your arms snake around his neck. a burning question comes to tom’s mind. “hang on. why didn’t you kiss me back, then?” he almost whispers, thumb brushing over your hipbone. “this is gonna sound weird, but… my mom,” you reluctantly let out.

“you’re gonna have to elaborate,” tom prompts you and raises an eyebrow. you can’t hold back your eye roll. “she’s never been a fan of the person you are in the media.” his lips form a line. “i gathered.” your fingers tangle in his curls at the nape of his neck reassuringly. “i was subconsciously scared i would be letting her down in some way, if we were together.”

tom allows your hands to work their way up to his scalp. he exhales contentedly as you play with his ever so soft hair. “i understand, she’s intimidating. what’s changed that brilliant mind of yours about coming clean?” your nose scrunches up when he pokes one of your temples. “oh, yeah. i yelled at her earlier ‘cuz she stole me away from you.” his face lights up. “sexy.” “shut up,” you groan. “someone had to tell her off.”

“good thing it got to be you,” tom agrees with a squeeze at your hip. “‘m proud of you, y/n/n. it’s not easy, standing up to mummy dearest.” you tug on his hair. “like you’d know. nikki is a saint.” “that’s what she’ll have you believe,” he says under his breath, you gasping. his lips turn up in a smirk. “on that note… i love you, too.”

“would’ve been embarrassing if you didn’t say it back,” you acknowledge with a cheesy smile. tom dips his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “yeah, yeah. save the attitude for your mum.” your legs easily wrap around his waist, tom’s breath hot as it hits your face. “let’s give that kiss another go,” you mewl. he doesn’t hesitate to reply. “with pleasure.”

tom’s lips land on yours, you kissing back right away. he smiles into it as your lips gently move together. “about fucking time,” he grumbles, your hands situating in his chocolate curls once again. he’s savoring every second you touch him, kiss him, love him. the taste of your mouth is one he’s craved for longer than you could imagine.

it doesn’t take long for things to heat up, you messing with tom’s hair and tom rubbing your hips. you lay back on the desk as his tongue enters your mouth. holding you by your waist, tom hovers over you. his tongue tangles with yours in a deep kiss. between that and his fingers beginning to massage your thigh, you’re done for. you’re ready to take this a step further by the time he’s kissing down your neck.

“tommy?” you grab onto his shoulders, your head back. his lips detach from your skin with a grin. “yeah, love? ‘s everything okay?” he coos, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. “more than.” you tilt his chin up to peck his lips. “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you? just thinking ahead.” he laughs breathlessly, reaching into his suit pocket.

“conveniently enough, i do. not sure your dad would like me fucking you on his desk, though.” tom sets his hand on your leg that’s still hooked around his waist. “my room’s always available. carry me?” you make grabby hands and bat your lashes. he hoists you up by your waist, not lifting you just yet. “that would break the news of us, no? your mum’s gonna go apeshit.” he keeps his arms around you, chuckling.

“let her. besides, i know a couple of bloggers that would love to announce our status update.” you peck tom’s lips, grinning as you do. you’re suddenly in the air and being picked up by tom. the surprise of it makes you squeal, clutching onto his broad shoulders instinctively. he gives you the look of adoration that’s reserved for you only.

“we’ll go pop a few bottles with everyone, then we’re celebrating on our own.”

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fanficimagery · 3 years

Text

Five Years After

Imagine going to the feed store for your sister, only you come home with more than just feed for the animals.

Words: 5.1K Author’s Note: The ending of this imagine was definitely inspired by a TikTok video :)

When the Blip happened, you were in complete disbelief. Chaos erupted all around as planes fell from the sky and automobiles crashed because their drivers had vanished into thin air. Everyone was a complete mess as they attempted to call loved ones, their calls going straight to voicemail or being answered by another family member that were having to deliver the bad news of a disappearance.

Your only living relative was your sister Laura and her children she had with her husband Clint, so when one of your co-workers and a handful of your customers vanished into thin air, your first call had been to your ex-Avenger of a brother-in-law. Unfortunately Clint was just as clueless as you and the phone had nearly slipped from your hand when he gave you the news that Laura and the kids had vanished. You had nowhere to go and were so scared because of the looting that had started, so Clint told you to pack your things and get to the farm as soon as possible.

You'd only been on the farm for a full day before Clint's friends came looking for him. Natasha, who you had met after your sister had married Clint, greeted you with a rather solemn hug. It was Steve Rogers, however, who attempted to introduce himself with as much joy as he possibly could in order to be polite.

You had shaken his hand, smiling sadly. "You don't need to force a smile for me, Rogers. The circumstances suck. I get it."

That had surprisingly pulled a short laugh from Natasha. "See, Steve? Told you she wouldn't be expecting the Man with a Plan."

Steve and Natasha had proceeded to stay for the duration of the day, telling Clint all about a fight that had taken place in Wakanda and who out of their friends had vanished. It was a devastating blow and you had no idea how everyone was going to cope. Then soon after the two Avengers had left, Clint went into overdrive. He was making phone calls left and right, packing bags and weapons, and you were at a complete loss.

You had decided to leave him be and it was only the following morning when you woke to an empty house did you find the letter on the kitchen counter. In the letter he had apologized for leaving you after everything that had happened, but went on to explain that there were criminals still out there who had survived the Blip when others who were sin-free didn't. He couldn't leave them be while people like his wife and children were no longer alive, so to work through his aggression he was going to hunt those criminals down. Fortunately enough, he left you in possession of the farm-house and made it so you were able to access his bank accounts. He told you not to look for him or get the others involved, so you waited a whole day before contacting Natasha and telling her all about Clint's derailment.

Clint left no trail, leaving you all alone. Or so you thought.

With Clint's vanishing act, Natasha and Steve made you their responsibility. They made sure you knew they were only a call or email away, but only after Nat drove down to give you some technological devices since the regular power grid was fluctuating. Since Earth lost half its population, everything seemed to be falling apart.

Then Tony Stark was brought back home and the world seemed a little bit brighter.

For years you drifted, working at a grocery store in town to keep yourself busy. The Blip took a toll on everyone, but it was nice to have to talk to someone even if the other person moved on autopilot. Clint sent an email every other month from a burner email, so it was a dead end every time Natasha looked into it after you had forwarded it to her. And about the only news-worthy thing that had happened after the Blip was the announcement of Tony and Pepper Stark's baby girl Morgan. You didn't know the Stark's personally, but it didn't stop you from sending their little girl a present every year on her birthday for the next five years on behalf of yourself and the Barton family.

One morning you're sitting at the breakfast table when you hear the telltale sounds of a jet overheard. You figure it's just Natasha and Steve for their monthly check-in so you think nothing of it.

The screen door creaks open and you call out, "In the kitchen!"

The steps of what sounds like more than one person falter, but then they pick back up until they near your location. "Got enough for another plate?" That oh so familiar timber makes you spew orange juice across the table. You're up and out of your seat, staring at your brother-in-law who's a lot more tatted up than you remember him being. "Hey, sis."

Tony Stark stands just a couple feet to Clint's right, but his presence isn't enough to deter you from marching up to your brother-in-law and punching his shoulder. "You asshole!" You punch him again for good measure as tears sting your eyes. "You left me. You left me all alone! How could you-"

He dodges your continuous blows, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from attacking him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I'm here now. It's all going to be okay." The fight instantly drains out of you as you sag into his embrace, sob after sob leaving you as you clutch to him tightly.

Clint tightens his grip a little more around you until your cries turn into sniffles. "What- what are you doing here?"

"Lang came up with a plan to bring our people back." You tense in Clint's arms and pull back to look him in the eyes. "Banner and Stark made the machines necessary to make the plan work. We're going to bring 'em home. We're going to bring 'em all home, Y/N."

"Please tell me you aren't joking," you mumble.

"Nope. No joke," Tony says. "It's not a total guarantee, but we're going to try our best." You let go of Clint and turn to look at Tony who's standing by the stove and picking at the leftover scrambled eggs. "Mmm. These are good. What'd you put in them?"

"Uhh, just butter and cheese."

"Morgan would absolutely love these. She's on this whole cheese kick right now."

That earns a chuckle, and after gathering yourself you look back at Clint. "So what's going to happen now?"

"The team's getting ready for a test run," Clint says. "I just wanted to let you know I was home and that we had a really important mission coming up."

"How soon?"

"Today if the test run goes good," Tony says. He pours himself half a glass of juice before downing it in one go. "And speaking of, we need to go."

You look at Clint, a little let down that he's leaving so soon, but he grins and pulls you back into a hug. "It's going to be okay." You nod against him and he lets his arms drop before he steps back. He looks around the kitchen and his grin widens. "You've kept up good with the house. I'm impressed."

"I should hope so," you mumble. "I had to flirt with the hardware store boy so he'd help me keep the house from falling apart."

Clint laughs. "You did good, Y/N. Laura will be proud."

"Yeah, yeah. Now go bring my sister, niece, and nephews back."

"You got it, boss."

- - - - - - - - - -

You're grateful for the day off because it leaves you with time to clean the house from top to bottom. You need some way to burn off all your anxiousness and making sure the house looks good for your sister is one hell of a way to do just that.

You're not sure how long you'd been cleaning when you decide to take a break, and you head outside for some fresh air. You walk off the porch and onto the grass, tilting your face skyward as you inhale and exhale softly, your eyes closing. One moment all you can hear is the wind ruffling tree limbs and grass, and the next it's a cacophony of chirping birds.

Your eyes fly open and you're shocked to see the swarms of birds flying around in the sky. Sure there have been birds around after the Blip, but you've never seen so many together since then. You're too busy staring up into the sky that you don't see what appears to be ash take formation behind you.

"Aunt Y/N?" The timid voice makes your heart stop before you whirl around, your eyes widening at the sight of Lila glancing around in shock. "What's going on? Where's dad?"

"Lila?" You breathe out in awe. You stumble towards her, eyes glistening with tears. "They did it. They actually did it." You pull her into a hug, cries stuttering in your chest. As you hug her, you glance towards the open field where you see Laura appear, followed by Nathaniel and then Cooper. "Laura!"

You grip Lila's hand tight as the both of you break out into a run towards the rest of your family, you and Laura colliding with twin oomphs. The two of you are crying as Laura tries to work out what the hell happened and where Clint is, but before you can explain anything she's pulling her phone out of her pocket and dialing Clint's number. As she worries about getting her husband on the phone, you quickly hug Cooper and pick up Nathaniel to hold on your hip as you squeeze him in relief.

"Clint?" Laura sobs when he finally answers. "Clint, what's going on? I-" She stops talking all of a sudden and she looks at you, eyes wide.

"What happened?" You ask.

"I- I don't know. One second he was talking and then-" She cuts off, glancing at her children and shaking her head. "He just cut out."

You know all is not fine and that something terrible must have happened for Laura to trail off the way she did. But instead of worrying her kids, you offer a grin. "I'm sure it's fine. As clumsy as he is, he probably just dropped his phone." She forces a smile for her kids' benefit. "So why don't we go ahead and wait for him inside. I'll make something to eat while you guys relax and I'll catch you up on the five years you missed."

"Five years!?" Laura nearly shouts.

You wince. "Yeah. You guys missed a lot."

- - - - - - - - - -

For the next couple of hours you tell Laura all about the Blip and how half of Earth's population just disappeared- Avengers included. You tell her how Clint had you move in, and how you helped take care of the house and what few animals they had on the farm still while working at the local grocery store. You tell her all about Steve and Natasha, and how Tony Stark is now married with a daughter of his own.

"Wow." Laura chuckles. All the kids have fallen asleep around the living room, leaving Laura the time to finally ask, "And where was Clint this entire time? I noticed he brought you onto the farm, but then everything became about Steve and Nat."

You suck in a breath sharply. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice that."

"Y/N.."

"He went rogue." Her eyes widen and you wince. "He left me here with access to your bank account, which I only used to pay bills and buy groceries by the way, and not even Natasha could find him. He only came back when she tracked him down and told him there was a chance they could reverse the Blip."

"Oh Clint.." She sighs, shaking her head in disappointment.

The sound of a quinjet hovering makes you and Laura perk up, but you keep quiet so as to not wake the children. You and Laura meet each other's gazes before you carefully get up and tiptoe out of the living room, and then you're rushing out the front door and down onto the lawn.

The door drops down and then Laura is sprinting across the field to reach her husband. You joyously laugh, jogging over to catch up. But as Laura and Clint hug one another, sobbing, you turn your sights to Steve who's standing sheepishly off to the side. There are two others with him, but since you've yet to meet them you make your way towards the familiar.

"Hey Rogers. Good to see you in one piece."

He tiredly chuckles. "Y/N." You punch his arm and he opens them up so you can hug him. "How are you holding up?"

"Better now that I got my sister back," you muse. As you pull away, you glance behind him into the quinjet. "Hey, where's Natasha?" Steve's smile falls and your heart plummets into your stomach. You can practically read the answer in his eyes. "No.." You shake your head.

His breathing stutters before he clears his throat. "We, uh, we lost Tony too."

Your expression completely crumples then, but Steve is quick to pull you back into a hug. He lets you cry into his chest before Clint steals you away, and then you're crying into your brother-in-law's shoulder. Then once all the tears taper off, Steve introduces you and Laura to Wanda and Bucky.

"I'll be in contact with you about what Pepper decides to do," Steve tells Clint. "If you do anything for Nat, let me know."

Clint sniffles. "I will."

You, Clint, and Laura wave off Steve, Wanda, and Bucky as they return inside the quinjet and lift off.

"Come on," Clint then sighs. "I need to see the kids and then figure out a way to tell them all about auntie Nat's sacrifice."

"And plan a memorial," Laura says.

You frown. "This was not the homecoming I was hoping for."

After a few days of planning, Clint decides on a cookout with all the Avengers and close friends of Nat's invited. It was a couple of days before Tony's own memorial, so you were surprised when Pepper Stark showed up with Morgan in tow. You were happy to finally meet the young girl who you'd been sending gifts to and you gladly ended up on babysitting duty.

You had met more of Clint's ex-coworkers, but your attention always ended up back on the children. Then when it came time to say a few words on Natasha's behalf, you somehow ended up between Steve and Bucky as the children ran back to their respective parents with Steve tucking you into his side when the tears started.

Then when the day of Tony's memorial came, there were more guests than you had anticipated. So as Pepper and Morgan walked a small flower raft with an arc reactor replica on it and set it out on the water, you stood back with Laura and her family and waited in silence. And as the crowd dispersed, you mostly kept to yourself until you saw Steve walk out of Pepper's home in the oddest white and red suit you'd ever seen.

Walking up behind Steve, you nod at Bucky and Sam who grin at your presence. When Steve turns around, you chuckle. "Why do I got a feeling you're about to do something very stupid?"

He grins and adjusts his grip on the suitcase hanging by his side. "Someone's gotta return the stones to their original timeline."

"Mhm. Well be careful. Don't start any unnecessary fights."

"I'll try my best."

As he walks up onto the platform, you step back and nudge your arm against Bucky's. He smiles down on you and you stand by his side as you listen to Bruce who walks Steve through about what's going to happen. Bruce checks all his monitors, giving Steve the go-ahead when everything is fine. Steve nods, a mask of sorts opens up and wraps around his face, and he presses a button that had been in his hand. Bruce counts down the seconds before he flips a switch which is meant to bring Steve back, but nothing happens.

Bruce looks around his monitors and starts pressing some more buttons. "Where is he?" Sam asks.

"I don't know. He blew right by his time stamp. He should be here," Bruce says as he flips a few more switches.

Bucky sighs and you quickly glance at him, and he looks more resigned than anything as he turns to walk off.

Your attention goes to Bruce as your heart rate picks up. "Get him back."

"I'm trying."

"Get him the hell back!" Sam urges.

You and Sam are low-key panicking, but it's Bucky's calm voice that stops the both of you. "Y/N. Sam."

The two of you whirl around, gazes sliding towards where Bucky is staring off to. In the distance, on a stone bench by the water, there appears to be a man sitting there that wasn't there before. You and Sam stumble forward, and you squint your eyes, only to glance back at Bucky with wide eyes.

"Is that.."

"Go."

You share another look with Sam and he gestures for you to follow him. The two of you walk towards the man together and Sam stops just behind him as you walk around in front. When you get a good look at your friend who is way older than what he appeared to be a mere twenty seconds ago, your heart cracks just a little.

You try to force a smile, but it wobbles as an elderly Steve chuckles at you. "I'm really trying not to be so mad at you right now." Your voice cracks and he pats the spot next to him as you sniffle. You immediately sit next to him and take his left hand within your own two, a gleaming wedding band not going unnoticed. Your fingers trace it. "Was it at least a happy life?"

Steve pats your hand. "It was. It was the beautiful life I always dreamt of."

You take a moment for yourself, inhaling and exhaling deeply. "You know you were my complete impulse control, right? Who's going to stop me from trying to get into your best friend's pants now?"

There's a snort from behind you, but you don't bother giving Sam your attention. "Go easy on him," Steve tells you. "I'm not sure he even remembers how to flirt."

You grin as you lean your head on his shoulder. "I'm really going to miss you," you say after a beat. Another moment passes before you drop Steve's hand and sigh before you stand. "Well, um, I should get back my sister and Clint now." You meet his gaze and flash him a small smile. "It's going to suck not seeing you every month, but I'm really glad you found your happiness."

"Thank you, Y/N."

Your bottom lip wobbles again. "Goodbye, Steve."

As you walk away, you hold your head up high and nod to Sam when he looks at you to make sure you're okay. You continue walking, nodding at Bucky as you pass him up as well when you see Laura wave you over. "For the record, I still remember how to flirt." You stumble and and then hear Bucky chuckling quietly behind you.

"Goddamn super soldiers and your dog ears."

As the days turn into weeks, Clint and Laura offer you a permanent place on the farm now that everything seems to be going back to normal. He's promised to build you a small house on the property for all that you've done in the past five years, so in the meantime you've taken to bunking with Lila while Wanda took over the guest bedroom. Clint had also taken to bringing Bucky to the farm when he noticed the super soldier not coping as well as he was letting on, so you found yourself often sitting by the back pond with him as the two of you traded stories about Steve and yourselves.

Though you had originally joked about getting into Bucky's pants, you found yourself seeking friendship from him more than anything else and vice versa. So when you weren't working at the grocery store, you were watching the kids for Laura and Clint or hanging out with Bucky and Wanda. It was no surprise to anyone that the three of you latched on to one another after losing those that you did.

"Hey Y/N," Laura calls out. "Will you do me favor?"

You glance up as she walks out the front door, you and Wanda ceasing your conversation. You grin. "What do you need?"

"Lucky needs some dog food and we need a few bales of hay for the goats."

"Oh. Okay." You look towards Wanda. "Wanna go for the ride?"

She shrugs. "Sure."

"Thank you! You can just put it on the Barton tab at the store," Laura says. "Clint pays it monthly and I've already called ahead to let them know someone was going in to pick up some stuff we needed."

"Got it." Standing up, you pat down your pockets to make sure you have your keys, phone, and some cash. Realizing you have everything, you grin at your sister before walking down the porch steps. As you near your truck, you whistle at Bucky who was throwing knives at a target on the side of the barn. "Hey Buckaroo! We're heading into town. You wanna come?"

He throws the last knife in his hand before he turns to look at you. "Don't call me Buckaroo!" He shouts back as he makes his way towards you.

"Then stop lookin' so darn cute!"

Wanda snorts and you laugh as Bucky shakes his head at you. "One of these days he's going to flirt back and then what are you going to do?"

"Bend myself over the table and let him hit it from behind," you mumble. She snorts harder this time and your eyes widen when you see Bucky start to smirk.

As he nears the two of you, he says, "What did you say?"

"Nothing," you blurt. "Nothing at all. Wanda's just easily amused, is all."

His gaze slides to Wanda, but she shakes her head and doesn't tell him a word. You mentally sigh and praise her for being a good friend, and then you turn to walk towards your truck. Wanda readily heads for the back driver's side door while Bucky walks around to the passenger seat so he's seated next to you.

Once you're seated behind the wheel and the engine is turned on, you take a moment to find a decent song on the radio before driving. It's not too long of a drive and you find yourself pulling up to the local feed store not even three songs later.

Parking and cutting the engine right in front of the store, you turn towards Bucky. You know he's not a huge fan of being out in public, but you rather not have to flirt inside the store to get a helping hand. "Hey Buck, can you do me a favor and load up four of those large rectangular bales of hay and one bag of that dog food right next to it?" You see him tense. "I rather not have to flirt with the boy inside just so he'll help out."

He relaxes then and gives you a nod. "Yeah. Sure."

"Thanks. Just keep watch through the window. Wait 'til I give the signal for you to start loading up." He gives you another nod and you turn around to face Wanda. "Wanna head inside with me?"

Wanda grins and readily opens her door, you and Bucky following right after. But as you and Wanda head inside, Bucky remains by the tailgate of your truck and keeps watch through the large front window as you had said. Inside, Mr. Reeves is waiting by the cash register and keeping an eye on Bucky outside.

"Don't worry, Mr. Reeves. He's with me." Mr. Reeves glances at you, smiling in relief. "I need four large bales of hay and a fifty pound bag of dog food."

Mr. Reeves starts punching buttons on his register. "Alright, sweetheart. Is that going to be all for you?"

"Sure is. Um, Laura asked if you can put it on the tab? Clint will be by at the end of the week."

"Sure thing." You turn towards the window and give Bucky a thumbs up. He turns to open the tailgate and then move towards the bales of hay to start loading up. Mr. Reeves chuckles. "That's a strong fella you got there."

His words make you blush and Wanda giggle, but you can't even reprimand your friend because she is further away than you expected. She's leaning over what appears to be a warming box, hand inside as she smiles down at something you can't see. "Whatcha got there, Red?"

Her smile widens as you hear small chirps. "Ducklings."

You walk over to her, peering inside and your heart absolutely melts. Inside are the cutest ducklings you've ever seen and you know you're done for when you set your hand down inside and one particular little duckling runs onto your palm.

Mr. Reeves walks over, chuckling. "They were hatched a few days ago. All have been looking mighty strong and are ready to go to good homes."

"How much?"

"Y/N," Wanda laughs. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking this little sucker with me." You pick up your hand, duckling still happily nestled in your palm as you cradle him to your chest and look at Mr. Reeves. "Any chance you have those small plastic kiddie pools?"

"As a matter of fact I do," he muses.

Wanda is giggling the entire time Mr. Reeves gets exactly what you need, you nuzzling the yellow fuzzball to your face. You pay with your own money and sadly hand over the duckling when Mr. Reeves has to box her up. You then carefully take the box from him as Wanda takes the kiddie pool, and you walk behind her as you make your way to the truck.

You have absolutely no regrets about buying the duckling, but you still hide the box as you walk around the truck and open the driver's door. Wanda shoves the kiddie pool into the back with her and Bucky turns so his gaze darts between the both of you- Wanda looking far too amused and you looking a little sheepish as you continue to stand outside the truck.

"What did you do?" He sighs.

"Well we went in to just buy the food," Wanda says, "but-"

"I bought a duck." You blurt. You finally put the box in front of you, on the seat, and you open the lid. The duckling chirps and you beam down at her, picking her up and nuzzling her once more. "I'm gonna name her Flauta." Bucky snorts and Wanda laughs uncontrollably then. "No one tell Laura."

"Gonna be hard to hide her, doll."

Bucky reaches over to take the duckling from you and the sight of him cradling it, holding it up to his face and smiling makes you melt once more. Wanda is staring knowingly at you, but you don't even have the urge to flip her off because you know you're fucked. Instead, you take your phone out of your back pocket and snap a picture.

"That's my new wallpaper."

Bucky doesn't bother admonishing you for taking the picture, so after setting it as your wallpaper you put your phone away and climb into your truck. He holds onto the duckling as you make the drive back to the farm, Wanda giggling every now and then when you glance at Bucky and sigh longingly.

When you make it back to the farm, Clint and Laura are on the porch as the kids play out in the yard. They both stand as you park, their expressions turning suspicious as Wanda hops out of the back with the kiddie pool in tow. You grin as you hurriedly hop out as well, leaving Bucky to carry the incriminating evidence.

You can tell he expected as much as he watches you jog around to his side of the truck, already pointing at him through the opened window. "Bucky bought a duck!"

He shakes his head at you and you blow him a kiss, Clint and Laura then joining you by the truck. "Oh really?" Your brother-in-law muses.

"Yep."

"Mhm." Clint looks to Bucky as Laura bites back a grin. "Buck, what's the duck's name?"

Without missing a beat, he says, "Flauta."

Laura finally laughs. "Nice try, Y/N." As Bucky and Wanda guess how Laura knew, she says, "When we were younger, Y/N did the same thing but with a turtle. She named him Taquito."

"And Taquito lived a long and happy life until we went off to college," you say. "Flauta will live just long, if not longer, here on the farm."

Clint chuckles and then takes the duckling from Bucky. He looks to Wanda and gestures for her to follow him. "Lets go get this little lady all set up. The kids are gonna have a blast."

Laura follows after them, but not before winking at you, and you shake your head as you're left alone with Bucky. He finally climbs out of the truck, shutting the door and then leaning against it. You nervously laugh as he smirks. "You threw me under the bus."

"I couldn't take the chance that they'd make me return Flauta." You pout. "I couldn't send her back, Buckaroo. I'd already named her."

He pushes off the truck, turning you around and laying his arm around your shoulders. For a moment you forget how to breathe. "You're just as bad as Steve."

"Oh whatever." You roll your eyes, grinning as your arm wraps around the back of his waist and start walking towards where Clint went. "Steve got you shot at. I momentarily put you in momma bear's crosshairs." He quietly chuckles. "And besides, I didn't hear you deny it. Admit it, Barnes, I'm growing on you."

"Like a fungus."

You pinch his side. "Oh fuck off." He fully laughs then. "Just you wait, Buckaroo. The day we decide to put sex on the list of things we should definitely be doing, I'm gonna withhold just because you're being an ass."

"You sure about that?" The teasing lilt to his voice suddenly makes you feel at unease. "You sure you won't immediately bend over the table and let me hit it from behind?"

Your face flames, but you can't help but laugh at your earlier words. When you manage to calm down, you can't help but say, "I hate you," as you finish making your way towards your family.

"Nice try, doll, but I'm calling bullshit."

#marvel gen fic x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel imagine #clint barton #laura barton #steve rogers #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #avengers imagine

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elleloquently · 3 years

Note

can you write something with sae and a female reader based off the song we fell in love in October by girl in red with I and J from the fall prompt list?

I: pumpkin spice and everything nice

J: black cats

a/n: aaaaahh yes yes this is cute, thank you for requesting! i did headcanon format because i had a lot of ideas hfjgnrj i hope that's okay??? because just a bunch of cute fall things but if you want this in a fic style, please feel free to request it again! also I know not every person/place has the same traditions so this may not be entirely accurate for every situation but it’s just for fun x

in october - sae-byeok

- as the air grew chilled and the leaves began to turn colors, you were growing increasingly more excited to spend the fall season with sae-byeok.

- you were eager to share all of your favorite seasonal things and traditions with her, determined to create some happy memories for her surrounding the season and holiday.

- so sae-byeok was really confused when you arrived one day with three grocery bags full of everything pumpkin and pumpkin spice.

- “pumpkin...spice?” she had asked, watching as you sorted the foods quickly into categories on the table.

- “pumpkin spice tea, donuts, cake, loaf, coffee, dip, pie, cookies, muffins,” you rattled off, meanwhile sae-byeok looked absolutely bewildered from behind your shoulder.

- she had tried a bite or two of the things that looked the most interesting to humor you, but you had nearly made yourself sick trying everything you had gotten, determined to figure out which thing was the best.

- you both agreed about which ones were the best though.

- autumnal walks <<<333

- you both loved taking walks together, the changing of the season made everything so beautiful and getting to experience it with you made it feel more special for sae-byeok.

- if you had any childhood stories revolving around fall or halloween, sae-byeok loved to hear them. getting to hear about your past made her feel closer to you, and you often shared your memories with her during a walk or a late night evening in bed.

- honestly every time you expressed your excitement about something seasonal, you had a way of making sae-byeok feel excited by the idea as well.

- and every time it happened, she was reminded of just how much she loved you.

- one evening, you randomly asked sae-byeok if she had an opinion on black cats.

- she was a little confused by your question and by the way you were side eyeing her and waiting for her reaction, she obviously knew there was more to the story.

- after about three seconds of sae-byeok pressing you, you told her about how you had seen one wandering outside and you felt bad for it.

- sae-byeok actually really loved cats and felt bad for anything that had to fend for itself.

- so that night after you fell asleep, sae-byeok stayed up thinking about the cat in question.

- the next morning she realized she didn’t respond to your question so while you were having breakfast, sae-byeok quietly said “i think black cats are cute.”

- you adamantly agreed, but sae-byeok stared blankly at you when you slyly asked “have you ever thought about having a pet cat?”

- this would lead to a much bigger discussion

- yourself, sae, and cheol absolutely destroyed a bag of halloween candy, just to figure out what was the best kind of candies to get for trick or treating.

- cheol was so excited to go trick or treating but you were honestly probably even more so excited to take hime.

- and sae-byeok felt so happy every time you and cheol talked away excitedly about the costumes and trick or treating.

- pumpkin carving!!! maybe you overdid it a little bit once again but you just wanted to make sure there were enough pumpkins for sae and cheol to carve all of the faces they wanted (it took up the whole evening but you all had a ton of fun... excluding the pumpkin gut mess.)

- (well maybe that part was fun too... for yourself and cheol.)

- skeptical as you explained about baking the pumpkin seeds but they were later thoroughly enjoyed over a movie.

- there were a lot of chilly nights for sitting under the stars. you were very adamant that the october air was the best and after a few evenings, sae-byeok had to agree.

- one night you’re sitting outside and talking with sae-byeok, both wrapped up in sweaters with a cup of tea in hand. you’re rambling about something like how happy you feel or how glad you are about getting to spend your favorite season with sae-byeok and you’re like “i hope we can do it all over again next year, i already feel excited.”

- but you stop short and it sort of makes you a little embarrassed??? like you don’t want to seem like you’re putting too much on sae, even though you aren’t and of course you’ll be doing it together all over again next year.

- you really can’t contain the grin on your face that grows when sae-byeok agrees.

- “we will,” sae assures you softly. “and me too,” she mutters, adding in her shared excitement with a small smile.

- she really did feel excited, excited to have a future with you and to create more seasonal traditions with you and cheol.

- that fall, sae-byeok grew to have a new love and appreciation for the season, all thanks to you, and she loved you even more because of it.

#kang saebyeok x reader #kang sae-byeok headcanons #saebyeok x reader #saebyeok headcanons #sae byeok headcanons #sae byeok x reader #sae-byeok headcanons #sae-byeok x reader

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bibbawrites · 3 years

Text

Don’t Touch - Charlie Gillespie x Reader (18+)

Request: Hi!! Can you please do one about Charlie doing ‘no nut November’ and you not knowing... maybe him and Owen made a secret bet about it??

Word Count: 1274 words

Summary: you find out that your boyfriend Charlie is trying to complete no nut November, and you decide to try and mess with him

Warnings: sexual content, teasing, implied sex, swearing

A/N: not my greatest work but also not my worst, this was the most voted for in my poll, getting 52% of the votes hopefully you guys enjoy this ! sorry for any typos, i didn’t properly edit it lol i was feeling lazy also really sorry if the formatting is fucked up, idk what’s going on but random spaces kept appearing while i was writing it, i think i got rid of them all but i cant be certain lol and please do not post it anywhere else, thank you!

Tag List: @happinessinthedarkesttimes @littlemissaddict @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @headheartbellarke @lovesanimals @bartok-the-magnificent @juliefromaustralia @multi-universe21 @rangerelik @kaitieskidmore1 @katrina765

Sav sent a message to Girls Only! Sav y/n !!! Sav boy do i have some news for you Sav some very... interesting news Y/N ooh i love news Madi ooh tea time???

Tori i’m here what’s happening Sav just overheard your dumbass boyfriend and his equally stupid best friend discussing a bet Y/N oh really? do tell Sav did you know he’s doing no nut november Jadah ew Madi ewwwwwwwwww no did not need to know that

Tori and i’m leaving Y/N i did not Y/N although that explains why he didn’t wanna have sex last night Madi oop Jadah stop this is tmi Carolynn oh god what have i walked in on? Madi can you have this conversation somewhere else please i do not want to think about charlie like this Sav then just don’t Sav too lazy to move chats Jadah just don’t say too much then Y/N wonder why he didn’t tell me Sav who knows Sav figured you didn’t know when you hadn’t mentioned it to me Carolynn sav you are far too involved in y/n and charlie’s sex life Sav that’s how you know it’s a true friendship Madi so how are we gonna get back at them Madi we are getting back at them, right? Y/N charlie at least Y/N unless one of y’all is prepared to fuck with owen Madi i’m a child Carolynn i’m married Jadah also a child

Tori no thank you Sav no. Y/N i said fuck with, not fuck lol, y’all could just prank him or something

Y/N anyways i have a plan

Y/N but it’s not for little ears

Y/N care, tori do you wanna know or?

Tori no thanks lol

Carolynn i’m okay, good luck though x

Y/N ty x

Y/N sav, to our private chat

Sav sent a message to Y/N

Sav spill

Y/N okay so

Y/N i’m gonna make him regret it

Sav as you should

Y/N i’m thinking get sexy, pull out the good wine and seduce the shit outta him

Sav want me to distract owen?

Y/N that would be really appreciated

Sav done, dinner and a movie give you enough time?

Y/N that’s perfect thank you

Y/N i owe you

Sav don’t mention it

Sav besides, gonna make owen pay for everything as his punishment for getting involved

Sav so i’m the real winner

Y/N i love that for you

Y/N okay i’m gonna go get sexy

Sav good luck! i expect a full report tomorrow

Y/N of course

Y/N love you x Sav love you too x

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Two hours later it was finally time to begin your plan. You had put on some natural, yet sexy makeup, Charlie’s favourite set of lingerie and one of his cut off shirts to cover it, although cover was probably not the right word to describe how much of the lingerie the shirt showed. “Hey baby.” Charlie called, entering your shared bedroom and flopping down onto the bed. “You look nice, what’s the occasion?” “No occasion, just wanted to surprise you.” You replied, straddling his hips. You lent down to kiss him, but he turned his head so that you kissed his cheek. “I’d love to baby but I’m so tired.” Charlie rubbed your hip slightly. “Maybe later.” “Oh okay.” You replied, not deterred. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy. “Actually I might take a nap if that’s okay.” He decided. “Of course babe.” You lent down to kiss him, before climbing off him, moving in a way so that he would get a full view of your body under his shirt. Charlie bit his lip, and you grinned to yourself slightly as you left the room. This was gonna be good.

Just over an hour later Charlie entered the living room, where you had been sitting, waiting for him to wake up.

“Feeling better?” You questioned, looking up at him. He nodded. “Much. Where’s Owen?” “With Sav. They went to the movies or something like that.” You replied, pretending that you were unsure of your best friend’s plans. “Oh okay.” Charlie sat down on the couch and you quickly moved to straddle his lap, snuggling into him, your face pressed into his neck. He wrapped his arms around you, freezing when his hand brushed against your hip. “Y/N.” He asked slowly. You hummed in response, your lips grazing his neck slightly. “Why aren’t you wearing underwear?” His voice wobbled and you bit back a smile. “Didn’t feel like it.” You replied nonchalantly.

“You didn’t...” He swallowed. “You didn’t feel like it?”

You shook your head, grinning to yourself when you felt him harden underneath you.

You sat up, causing friction between your crotches and pretended to look concerned when Charlie flinched slightly.

“You okay baby? You look a bit flustered.” You asked, secretly proud of how worried you sounded. Charlie nodded slightly.

“I’m fine.” He mumbled. “Still tired I guess.”

“Want me to make you a coffee?” You asked, pressing your lips to his neck softly.

“Actually I might go buy us dinner. Indian okay?” He questioned, practically pushing you off his lap. You giggled slightly, watching him pull his shoes on in record time.

“Sounds delicious.” You said, licking your lips. Charlie’s eyes widened, and with a quick nod he rushed out the front door, leaving you to giggle over how well this was going.

By the time Charlie arrived home you had thought of a whole new plan. Charlie had entered the room, food in hand and brought it into the living room, not even pausing to take his shoes off. He sat down on the couch with a sigh. Time to put the plan into action.

“Here, let me help you.” You dropped to your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes to see his reaction. You untied his shoes quickly, putting them to the side before grabbing onto his thigh to help yourself up, making sure to squeeze just enough.

“Why are you doing this?” Charlie asked, and you frowned, pretending that you didn’t know what he was referring to.

“Doing what baby?” You questioned, your voice soft. Charlie shook his head.

“Being so sexual all of the sudden. It’s like you’re-” He stopped, eyes widening in realisation. “You know, don’t you?”

“Know what?” You feigned confusion.

“About the bet, with Owen. To see who can do no nut November longer. That’s why you’re acting like this, you’re trying to get me to break.” He said, and you smiled sweetly.

“Hmm yeah maybe a little birdy told me.” You sung, and Charlie groaned.

“Owen?” He guessed. You shook your head.

“Nope.”

“Savannah.” He stated, and you nodded. A disgusted look came over his face.

“Ew, is Savannah trying to get Owen to lose the bet?” He asked and your eyes widened.

“Oh god no, gross, I’d never make her do that.” You exclaimed. “Your punishment was being teased, Owen’s was paying for Sav’s dinner and a movie.”

Charlie looked relieved.

“So if you know, and Sav knows, I assume she’s gonna confront Owen at some point?” He paused and you nodded. “So the bet is off then?”

“You lasted four days, I think that’s good enough.” You agreed. He stood up, grabbing you and lifting you so that you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Perfect.” He whispered, crashing his lips into yours. You pulled away and he whined.

“What about our food?” You questioned, looking down at the white plastic bag on the coffee table.

“We’ll microwave it.” Charlie said, before carrying you to the bedroom so that he could officially lose the bet.

Y/N sent a message to Sav

Y/N mission successful ;)

#charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #sorta smut #charlie #reader insert

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junko-and-riri-domain · 3 years

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push and pulls | ot7

↬ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader ↬ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: fluff | requested | headcannon (paragraph form) ↬ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: none ↬ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ: anon ↬ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴡᴀs: “cat and dog relationship with classmate!enhypen ? hehe headcannon or any format that you're comfy with :3 they could be highschool sweethearts in the end too 😭” ↬ ᴀ/ɴ:

i tried i'm sorry if this sucks 🤧

jake and jay’s are are like semi-suggestive (i think?) imma just say that they are semi-suggestive to be safe

i aint gonna lie i’m a sucker for Jay cooking 😪

jake & hoon’s are kinda short bc it’s like 1 am rn

Heeseung

Heeseung has always been good at everything no matter what it is. It isn’t to discredit any of his effort whatsoever, but as the school year continues everyone knows that things are just natural for Heeseung. Ever since your freshman year of high school, you’ve seen him as your main competition for 1st place in school. The problem? This man isn’t even aware of it. To you, he just breathes and wins the competitions, gets all the attention, and is at the top of everything. To him, it’s the only way you’ll even notice him. The competitions? It gives him a chance to stay after school to be with you. The attention? He’s only focused on yours. Him at the top of everything? Well, that one’s just because he’s Lee Heeseung. It’s after school one day and the both of you have stayed to help clean up the classes for extra credit. Like a thief with a bagful of stolen glances, his eyes drift to you whenever you don’t notice. Except for this one time.

“Stop looking at me!” you say, your eyes glaring at him. He’s taken aback as he never meant to offend you.

“Sorry,” he said, thinking that you’d just leave it at that. But instead,

“I know you’re fricking judging me Lee Heeseung.”

“What?”

“I can feel it in your eyes. I’ll always be second to you and I get it, you don’t need to rub it in, so just stop!” You throw the rag at the window, walking out of the classroom and he’s left alone wondering what the hell just happened. And suddenly the gap between first place and second begins to grow. To him, staying after school to study for competitions are no longer fun when you won’t even tell him to be quiet when he starts to sing. Your attention is gone just like his sanity. Being at the top never felt so lonely when you weren’t next to him. To you, staying after school becomes something you dread because of the silence in the room that you caused. Your attention seems as if it’s on everything but him but every day you have a hundred thoughts and all of them are infected with him. The two of you enter yet another school competition, making it to the top 3. Yet, unlike previous times, neither of you is in first place.

“In first place, we have Sim Jaeyun!” the announcer says. You and Heeseung look at each other in shock that the other wasn’t on the podium. Yet, you couldn’t care less. Because not getting first place causes you to go off on a rant that Heeseung joins in on. Staying after school turns into study partners at the nearby cafe which becomes study dates. Both of your attention is openly on the other. And while you’re both at the top academically, you become the couple goals everyone wishes they could achieve.

“ace of my heart 💞” you caption an Instagram post of a picture of Heeseung.

rest of the boys under the cut!

Jay

Culinary class is peaceful for Jay. He has control of everything, knows where the ingredients and cooking tools are, can do something he loves, and did we mention control of everything? As a chef, he learned what you were like the first few weeks of class. You were messy with apple peels next to the lime squeezer, engaging in a way of cooking that you defined as “organized chaos.” You didn’t use measurements, cooked things by eye, and used whatever seasonings felt right. It wasn’t that you were bad at cooking, he actually enjoyed your dishes. But your process was just something he couldn’t stand. And maybe he doesn’t really like you since you accidentally used the last of his honey when making cupcakes but that’s a story for another day. The culinary teacher decided to try something new to promote teamwork and for a week, the class would be in partners and cooking a dish new to both people. And who did Jay just have to end up with? You. As the two of you read the recipe for your first dish which was a dessert of sorts,

“What do you wanna use first, jackfruit or durian?” he asked. You looked up at him, a teasing smile on your lips,

“Durian, because it looks like you,” you said before making your way to the table where all the ingredients were.

“Inner peace,” he muttered to himself as he watched you walk off. The next day, you were making peach tarts.

“Yah, Jay, look here,” you said as you held up your phone and the peach. In the photo you took, the peach was next to Jay’s face, sort of comparing the two.

“Why’d you take a picture of me?” he asked. He didn’t really mind photos, knowing full well how good he looked but you taking one of him came completely out of the blue. As you glanced up from your phone after hitting post, you were unable to stop your laugh,

“Your hair looks like a peach,” you said with a wink as you went back to cutting the ingredients.

“Do I just, do I just look like food now?” he muttered to himself with a huff.

“I mean… I wouldn’t mind eating you,” you teased. You were smooth, he’d give you that. But, damn, he wanted to make you feel the way you were making him feel right now.

It didn’t take long for you to learn that Jay’s way of teasing made you flustered as hell. If you’d ask him to hand you something, he’d hold it above your head forcing you to have to jump up. It just so happened that he did this once right in front of someone else’s station and as you jumped, you almost knocked into them which led to his arm around you,

“Watch where you’re going,” he warned with a teasing edge as he handed you the carrots.

When you handed him something, he’d take it in a way that his hand held yours for a second but that second was enough. As the two of you cooked together, you entered your own world with no one else but the other in it. He was patient with your organized chaos, his own habits finding a place alongside your cooking routine. For the last day of working as partners, you two were to bake cookies. You put in a pinch of salt then some sugar when suddenly,

“YAH!” you hear from next to you. Met with Jay’s wide eyes as he looked in the bowl where you put the salt and sugar,

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“I told you to taste the salt and sugar before you used it.”

“The first one tasted like salt so I put more of the second one.” He took a pinch of the sugar already in the mixing bowl then tasted it, a disgusted look appearing on his face”

“You put salt then more salt, good job y/n.”

“Huh?” He took another pinch then brought it up to your lips and as you tasted it,

“Why the hell is there two kinds of salt here!”

“One’s fine, the other’s coarse. I wanted to eat these y’know.”

“Fine, head over to my place after school and we can make cookies together.”

“That’s not funny. You can’t mess with cookies,” he muttered.

“Who said I was joking? We can even drizzle honey over it.”

Jake

Perfection doesn’t even begin to describe Sim Jaeyun. A gentleman, kind, smart, has an accent that you can’t help but sometimes tease him about, and obsessed with Layla were all things you couldn’t fault him for. But sometimes, just sometimes, he could be a little too nice. You couldn’t help but feel jealous at the sight of the girl chatting with Jake by the benches and her feeling his arm up.

“Geez, tell her to go away!” you wanted to say to him as you started walking towards them.

“Hey,” Jake said with a smile as his eyes landed on you. The same smile he smiled at her with.

“Are you ready to go?” you asked, trying not to sound pissed but couldn’t help yourself.

“Yeah hold up.” Jake looked at the girl, “Just text if you need help with anything else on the homework,” he said before walking off with you.

“Who was that?” you asked as the two of you made your way to the cafeteria.

“New girl, needs help with physics so she asked me for help.” Jake was supposed to help you with physics.

“You gonna help her on Tuesdays?” you asked, referring to the day Jake always helped you. If he did notice your jealousy, he didn’t say anything about it. Oh, but he did notice. And he kind of wanted to edge it on to see how far things would go.

“Should I? She can hangout with me and Layla.”

“See if she likes me better than Layla.”

“Might take you up on the offer, watch your words, y/n,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yeah? You introduce her to Layla and I’ll divorce you then take full custody.”

“I didn’t know we were married, don’t we gotta go out on a date first?”

“I don’t know, do we?”

“Let’s do it right now then.”

“Fine! Wait what-?”

Sunghoon

On the ice, you and Sunghoon went together like sugar and tea. Off the ice, you two were like the coarse salt that ruined the cookies in Jay’s fic. You and Sunghoon skated well together, putting on a performance that typically got you first place, but that’s exactly what it was. A performance. An act. Nothing more, nothing less. Neither of you talked when you saw each other after practice the next day at school. Neither of you actively told anyone that you knew each other more than most couples did. But there was just something about talking to Sunghoon outside of ice skating, acknowledging that there you had an ice skating persona as well as the persona you showed to everyone else, that frightened you. So both of you made an unspoken agreement that you’d keep your ice skater lives in the rink and outside of it. Except for right now where the transfer student who coincidentally just so happened to be an ice skater and was wondering if you’d be his partner for the upcoming showcase.

“Y/n already has a partner,” Sunghoon said, cutting in as he stood next to you. The transfer student’s eyes settled on Sunghoon,

“You’re Park Sunghoon, the guy who-”

“Almost made it into the Olympics? Yeah. And y/n and I are gonna do it together this year.” You weren’t quite sure how to feel about Sunghoon suddenly “claiming” you (not in a toxic way whatsoever, we don’t condone that here). But you did know that this meant Sunghoon knew of your existence outside of the rink.

“Says who?” you said, trying to see how this would go. He looked at you, fear flashing in his eyes at the thought of the two of you not doing this together.

“I thought, I thought we were? Are we not? We have our outfits planned and everything.”

“I mean… plans change, Hoon.” That nickname, the one only you were allowed to use for him.

“Do you not wanna do it together?”

“I’m just gonna… go,” the transfer student said.

“I do wanna do it together.”

“So then what’s the problem?”

“We kinda don’t have a relationship outside of the rink, Hoon.”

“We can make one, then. Right now.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

Sunoo

You’ve always held a level of jealousy towards Sunoo. Sunoo has always been the guy who’s everyone’s friend even if he’s popular, the type of guy who waves at everyone, greets them with a smile on their face, and gets people to attend class/school events. Whereas you’re more on the introverted side, not really liking people. When it’s lunchtime, you tend to eat alone not really giving a damn about everyone else. You’re not exactly an outcast, just more comfortable by yourself. You’ve always been jealous of how Sunoo’s open to people, talkative, and just overall likable. Because unlike him, people think you’re being mean when you’re quiet and it looks like you’re not listening to whatever it is they’re saying. Around school, Sunoo has earned the nickname Sunny while you’ve been given the nickname Winter. Everyone sees how you walk away whenever Sunoo waves at you in the halls. Everyone is aware of how you scoff whenever Sunoo does aegyo in front of you. Everyone notices how you get mad whenever he links his arm with yours. But it’s Sunoo who sees the glint in your eyes the second they meet his by your locker. It’s Sunoo who notices the slight smile that plays at the corner of your lips whenever he calls himself “ddeonu.” And it’s Sunoo who’s aware that no matter how much you protest when your arms link, you’re never the one to let go first. So he sits at the desk in front of yours during lunch, chatting his butt off about his day while stealing bites of your lunch. He gives you face masks with the excuse of “it was a buy one get one free deal and I don’t know who else to give it to.” He asks if he can style your hair playing it off as “practice.” Little by little, you begin to open up. When you see him in the halls, you start to give him a smile reserved only for him. When he does aegyo you tease him by saying that Jake does it better. And when he links his arms with yours, your pinkies intertwine. You bring an extra bag of chips for lunch and start making your portions larger to share with him. You invite him to the mall since you saw an online promo while walking by. You start to enjoy the way he plays with your hair, sometimes even craving his touch. Because we all know, the sun has its way of melting ice.

Jungwon

Yang Jungwon, the class president, has a 100% success rate in getting field trip forms submitted on time. Well, it would be 100% if it weren’t for you. It seems as if you’ve made it your life’s mission to do everything and anything that’ll piss off Jungwon. Every time there’s a permission slip that needs to get signed, he constantly finds himself having to remind you of it so that it’d get turned in on time. Yet despite this, you always turn it in a day later. When things are kind of slow in class, you’re always talking to someone and have earned the title of the chatty kid no matter where the teacher makes you sit. Jungwon has no clue how someone as big of a procrastinator as you, always chatting with people when you don’t need to, and has your music playing so loud that everyone else hears, gets the good grades that you do. But regardless of what you do, you don’t bring down the class average so he’ll give you that. It’s time for a new seating arrangement and where does the teacher have you sit? Right next to him. So he’s dreading it, knowing that for the next 2 weeks he won’t get any work done, have to deal with you chatting to everyone, and has to be the one to catch you up when you enter class late.

“Hey,” you say with a smile as you settle in the seat next to his. He likes your smile, he won’t lie. But you’re annoying as hell. One week goes by as a back and forth of you constantly making efforts to get on Jungwon’s nerves but he returns the favor while teasing you back. With the two of you as partners, he starts to notice some things about you. Things like how you play with your thumb before raising your hand to answer the question. He sees that your notes are full of rushed scribbles and you dot your i’s close to the center but not just there. Your binder is covered with artwork of things you like and photos of you and your friends. Amidst your chattiness and tardiness, he finds himself looking forwards to certain things. He looks forward to your messy hair as you rush in 15 minutes late and start scribbling your notes in an effort to catch up. He looks forwards to how your conversations become a distraction from lectures. And he wonders to himself, what it’d be like if he were a photo in your binder.

As the second week continues, you start to see things differently with Jungwon. His reminders become less annoying and more useful as you take it in mind. When you’re late, he already has a second copy of the notes waiting for you on your desk. He buys you stickers for your binder using the excuse of “I stole it from my sister.” Before either of you realize it, it’s time for a new seating chart.

“Guess you’re happy to get rid of me, Wonie,” you joke as the two of you stood up to head to your new seats.

“I want you to sit across from me,” you hear him say.

“Huh?”

“At the Eggy Cafe on our first date,” he says before heading to his new seat.

Ni-ki

Dance class, it’s exhausting. Countless hours spent practicing a choreography that only lasts for a few minutes. Constantly getting yelled at by your teacher when you take a wrong step. Continuously in an unspoken competition with the best dancer of the school, Nishimura Riki. Ni-ki fools around during practices, usually to get on your nerves. Whenever you buy bungeoppang at the stall in front of the school, half of it instantly belongs to Ni-ki as he takes a bite when you’re not looking. Whenever the two of you are the only ones who’ve got the choreography down, sometimes you’ll slow things down to piss him off. There’s a flow to Ni-kis dances that no one else can replicate, a flow he was born with and can never be taught. Everyone, including him, is aware of this. But you’ve always been different from everyone else. All his life, he’s been told how good at dancing he is but you criticize him. While the others applaud his performance, your eyes are watching his every move. He almost hates how well you can spot the mistakes he can’t even see on himself. But as time goes on, these little competitions start to develop between you two, even outside of dance. When dance class ends, the two of you race to see who’ll get to the bungeoppang stall first. Last one there pays for bungeoppang. This is the competition you let Ni-ki win, using “I’m already tired from dancing” as an excuse. In the mornings, you compete to get to first period. Loser pays for lunch. This is the competition where there’s a middle ground between you two. Sometimes you win, sometimes he wins, other times you enter class together. When walking home, you compete to get to the bottom of the stairs at the subway station first. Whoever loses has to carry the other’s bag until you get home. Ni-ki lets you win this one, using “If I ran any faster I’d trip,” as an excuse. These small competitions become the things you look forward to throughout the week, enjoying the thrill of small moments with Ni-ki. At one point, the two of you (on separate occasions) talked to Jungwon about the competitions, telling your side. To the both of you, he says the same thing. “Why don’t you see who asks the other out first and plans the better date?”

❦ written by riri (@enhykkul) | blog masterlist

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