#source: i am a barista | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keikikait · 3 months

Text

ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀꜱ (ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: gojo x f!reader (not au, gojo is 29, reader is early-mid 20’s)

word count: 2.6k

summary: you always wanted to be a teacher, even after discovering the jujutsu world. after graduating from kyoto jujutsu high, you decided to make your dreams a reality and teach at the sister school, tokyo jujutsu high. the only downside (and secret upside), is your teaching mentor, satoru gojo. what started as a few flirtatious glances turned into a full-blown relationship situationship. you were his, and he was yours, until he goes on a date.

warnings: (FOR THIS PART) angst?, plot with basically no porn (i’m sorry), gojo is kind of an asshole & a tease, implied dom!gojo and sub!reader, nickname use [baby, pretty girl], no use of y/n

a note: been sitting on this bad boy for a while and decided to finish it. more parts to come (eventually). also, the comment about flirty baristas is just for fluff, baristas don’t flirt with customers (source: i am one). also also, they say tokyo jujutsu high is on the outskirts of tokyo, but i wanted everything to be inside of tokyo so i just kinda guessed, whoops.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You were just his teaching assistant. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what everyone else thinks.

Secretly, you were his. After long hours, he would find solace in your arms as you lay in bed together.

You weren’t dating by any means, although you wanted to. You understood why, it wouldn’t be a good look for you or Gojo if the higher-ups found out about you, but you both had an understanding. You were exclusive, just not publicly. You followed his rules, turning down dates and avoiding the flirtatious gazes of baristas or waiters.

You thought he would follow his own rules, too.

It was supposed to be a fun trip; a peaceful eight days of relaxing in Nikko before returning to school after the winter break ended. In reality, it was a week and some change stuck in a log cabin hunched over a desk grading papers, freezing from the cold. The gender-segregated cabins didn’t help. It was too cold to venture into Nikko during the day, a thick layer of snow covering the ground at all times no matter how much was shoveled. It was also, as Gojo had pointed out the day before making the trip, suspicious for the two of you to venture into the city alone. It was twice as hard to be away from him at night, you had gotten so accustomed to sleeping in his arms and hearing his soft snores in your ear. You were lonely.

You could see him, though. The men’s cabin was bigger and had a massive irori in the middle that heated the entire place. You sat with him as you graded and planned lessons, and his teasing touches left you aching. You were going on 8 days without his dick, and you were dying.

As you sit hunched over the desk, trying to make out what Yuji had written on his worksheet, Shoko bounds up to the table, sliding into a chair opposite Gojo.

“Hey, Gojo,” she says. “Are you going to the winter festival when we get back?”

You tried not to react. You had begged him to go with you, but he always gave you the same excuse; it was suspicious.

He stretches his legs out a bit and smirks. “I was planning on stopping by. Why?”

Shoko smiles. “I have this friend, Himiko. She’s new to the city and was looking for a date for the festival. I’ve been telling her all about you, I honestly think you would be an amazing match. What do you say?”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Although you and Gojo had agreed to stay exclusive, you couldn’t ignore that he was Satoru Gojo. Everyone wanted him.

Gojo chuckles a little, adjusting his mask. “Sure. I don’t see why not. Is she cute?”

Shoko leans over the table and shows him Himiko’s social media while you keep your head down, staring at the pile of worksheets in front of you.

You keep grading, trying to focus on your work and not the feeling of your heart tearing in two. Gojo continues laughing and talking to Shoko, their conversation drowned out by your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You wish you could ignore your jealousy, but it’s hard to ignore the anxiety creeping up your spine at the thought of Gojo finding someone else, especially if he could go public with them.

You know his reputation; the ladies' man, the bachelor. The guy no one can catch. But you know the real Gojo, the one that stays over at your small apartment even though he has his own, bigger place. The one that cuddles you every morning and whines when you try to get up and get ready.

You don’t know this Gojo. You felt like strangers.

For the rest of the day, you kept to yourself, grading papers and reading books to try to drown out the thoughts. He isn’t even looking at you when you leave the men’s cabin and head back to your own. You and the rest of the staff leave Nikko tonight, and you have one more day of freedom back in Tokyo before the new term begins.

You pack up your stuff and wait outside the bus, shoving your suitcase into the undercarriage. A headcount is done before you all start piling onto the bus. You sit in the back, pressed up against the frost-covered window. Headphones in and music blaring, you only look up from your phone when you feel someone warm sit next to you.

You’re a little surprised when you look up to see Gojo getting comfortable next to you. He didn’t sit next to you on the ride to Nikko, he sat up at the front with Shoko and Akari, claiming it would be suspicious if you sat together. He leans closer, so close that you can almost feel his breath on your neck. Then he grabs your arm, moving your headphones out of your ear.

“Don’t wear these in public,” he says in a low voice, “Someone might grab you from behind and pull you into the crowd.” He leans into you and whispers, “I almost missed you sitting back here.”

You should be mad, but you can’t be. His smell fills your nostrils and you feel yourself succumbing to him. You smile softly. “You didn’t, though.”

"I didn't." He leans back and sighs, resting his hands behind his head and stretching his arms out. You enjoy the warmth coming from him, the way it spreads through you. "What do you want to do when we get back home? We can head out to a bar and grab a drink. Or we could go get some ramen from that place you like. Or we can just go back to your place and we can spend some…quality time together.”

You bite your lip a little. You’re normally a little feral when it comes to Gojo, but going without his touch for eight days has almost sent you into a frenzy. “I like the sound of that last one…”

Gojo laughs and squeezes your hand, running his thumb along your knuckles. "And how bad do you want it?" He leans in closer until his face is inches away from yours. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in the air. "How badly do you miss me, baby?"

You can hardly think straight. Your mind is telling you to push him off, to stay upset with him for accepting that date with Shoko’s friend, whatever her name was. But your heart, and more importantly your pussy, is telling you differently.

Your mouth feels like cotton, but you manage to say, “So badly, Gojo. I’ve been aching without you. These past eight days have been driving me crazy.”

Gojo chuckles and traces your chin with his fingers, leaning even closer as his face towers over yours. "You missed me, huh? My pretty girl didn’t do so good without me, did she?" He strokes your cheek gently, smiling as you lean into his touch, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. "Say it. Tell me what you've been wanting to tell me for the last eight days, what you didn't want to say in front of everyone."

The bus suddenly lurches and you remember where you are, on a cramped bus surrounded by your coworkers. You look around, nervous, hoping nobody caught you guys.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Gojo asks. He grabs your chin and turns you to face him. “Look at me.”

You do, nodding softly. You can’t see his eyes, but you can still feel him staring into your soul. “I am looking.”

“Then answer my question.” He says, dragging his thumb across your lips. You can hardly think straight already being this close to him, but the feeling of his thumb on your mouth is mind-numbing.

“I missed you,” you whimper. It’s been a long eight days since you last felt his touch, since you last felt his breath on your skin. As he continues to stroke your lip with his thumb, you feel your mind melt away into a puddle. His touch is like a drug, and you’re desperate to not end this feeling.

“I know you have.” He coos, moving his hand down as someone up by the front gets up from their seat to change positions. He waits until they sit down before speaking again, “I’ve missed you too.”

You sink further into the seat, hoping no one looks towards the back. The bus ride isn’t super long, only about two and a half hours. Maybe no one would think to check on you two until you made it back to Tokyo.

He reaches over and turns your face towards him again. “But that’s not all, is it?” His thumb glides across your neck, his eyes under his mask flicking between your own and your lips. You can’t look away. You don’t want to. “What else have you been thinking about?”

You gulp, your mouth dry. "It's been so hard without you. It's hard to fall asleep...and I've barely gotten any sleep here because I stay up all night thinking about you."

"You have?" His eyes search your face as his thumb strokes the length of your neck. "I haven't had the best sleep either. I kept thinking about you, about how much I missed you. Thinking about all of the things I wanted to do to you when I got back." He takes a deep breath, his eyes flicking to your lips, his breath coming out in hot puffs of air. "You make it so hard for me to have self-control. Do you know how hard it is to jerk off with Masamichi and Kiyotaka nearby?"

You nod, understanding him completely. You had tried to touch yourself, too, hoping that your fingers would feel the same but it felt weird to do it with Shoko and Akari in the same cabin. “I know. I haven’t cum since we left Tokyo.”

He hears the soft whine in your voice and grins. "You’re so tempting," His breath washes over you as he whispers those words in your ear. His hands trail from your neck to your cheek, his thumb brushing along your jawline. "Do you know what I want to do with you when we get to your place? What I'm thinking about doing to you right now?"

The bus takes a sharp turn going down the mountain and it snaps both of you back to reality for a second.

You notice his hands still on you. Gojo notices too and grins, removing his hands with a sigh. He leans back into the seat. "Sorry," he says, running his hands through his hair. "I was a little carried away there." He chuckles. "We have a while before the bus arrives. I think maybe I should go to the front before I do anything stupid."

You go to protest but he’s already gone, striding to the front of the bus effortlessly as it rocks side to side, plopping himself next to Akari. You sit there, your body still feeling the heat of his hands, his words still ringing in your ears. You sink deeper into the seat as you try to calm down. You watch him for a while, seeing how he talks and laughs with Akari and Shoko and the way he never glances back toward you.

You feel like a stranger to him, yet he’s the one who’s supposed to be yours. You were supposed to be together, even though your situation is less than ideal. The bus rocks back and forth, its engines humming quietly. You lean your head back against the seat, letting out a deep sigh. Your mind races, wondering how Gojo acts when you're not around. Did he only accept this date with Himiko to make Shoko happy? Why wasn't it ever you that made him happy?

You sniffle, blinking away the tears as you pull down the food tray and prop your phone up. You put on your favourite movie, hoping the familiar faces of the characters will distract you until you reach Tokyo. Occasionally you look up at him, hoping you’ll catch his eye before he goes back to his conversation but you don’t. He doesn’t look at you once.

The movie sucks you in like it has many times before. You don’t notice how fast time is moving, silver-tipped mountains giving way to serene towns and stretched farmland. It’s late, almost 1 am, and as soon as you feel yourself starting to fall asleep you feel the bus stop and hear the driver announce your arrival, right in front of Tokyo Jujutsu High.

You look over to see him already heading off of the bus with Shoko and Akari, heading in the direction of Kabukicho, laughing about an inside joke you’ll never be a part of. You grab your bag from the undercarriage and head to the train to head back to your apartment in Taito-Ku.

The train is packed full of tired salarymen and high school students, none of whom bother you. Your thoughts drift to Gojo as the train shakes and shudders its way back home. When the train finally reaches Taito-Ku’s station, you exit the train and head down the stairs, stepping out into the frozen city. You walk to your apartment and head inside, shutting the door to your small, solitary room.

You lie awake, hoping he’ll call you, or even show up at your front door drunk. It wouldn’t be the first time. The minutes turn into hours, your eyes shifting rapidly as you glance between your phone and the door. You start to wonder if he’s thinking about you as much as you’re thinking about him right now. And what he’s thinking. You glance at your clock. 2:57 AM.

You shouldn’t feel disappointed, but you do. He could’ve at least texted you and told you he would be out with his friends for the night instead of being curled up with you watching a cooking show. You’re his, but you’re not his girlfriend. He has no obligation to do anything with you, really, but you wish he would. You wish he cared enough to want to.

Your eyes glance back toward your phone and you hesitate. You mumble a curt fuck before picking it up and calling him. The phone is ice cold against your cheek as it rings. You wonder what your contact name is on his phone. Your name? Your name and a heart? Or is it just your number, unsaved?

He answers and you can hear faint music in the background. “Hey, baby.”

You smile a little, biting your lip. “Hi. I just wanted to see if you were coming over tonight.”

You hear him groan a little, but you don’t know if it’s out of annoyance with you or how late it is. “Yeah, I was planning on it. But uh, Shoko brought her friend tonight, Himiko. The one I’m going to the festival with.”

You nearly choke on your spit. The way he was so casual about his date with Himiko made you feel sick. “Oh, did she?”

“Yeah, baby. How are you though-” His words are interrupted by a female voice in the background begging for him to come back inside. “Uh, listen, I gotta go. I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Okay, I-” The call ends, your phone beeping at you as he hangs up. You set your phone aside, face down, as you lay back on your bed.

You feel ashamed as you cry. Gojo isn’t your boyfriend, and he has a reputation to uphold with his colleagues. You should be fine with it, but you aren’t, and it kills you. You bury your face in your pillow as you sob, hoping one day you and Gojo can stop being strangers.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here

#keikiwrites #gojo x reader #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #f!reader #✿: gojo!

609 notes · View notes

sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog · 8 months

Note

My coworker used to work as a barista and would make comments about how bad the coffee is at the office. I never understood this, as it tasted like coffee and all coffee tastes the same to me. Still, I wanted to support the mission of the Awesome Coffee Club, so I ordered a single bag of the Octavia to keep at home for when we would have coffee drinkers visit. I, of course, tried some myself.

Sir. My coworker was RIGHT. The office coffee is TERRIBLE. I finally understand what a good cup of coffee tastes like, and it tastes like awesome coffee. I can't drink the office coffee anymore. I am now on a mission to get our office to switch, but I'm not sure how effective I will be. Until then, I am bringing my own from home.

Thank you for promoting such an incredible product and cause. I wouldn't have tried if you hadn't done so much to show the ethics of sourcing and producing it. DFTBA.

I keep trying to tell people.

Do you think I would be an unpaid intern for anything other than the world's best coffee that also happens to donate 100% of its profit to charity?

#coffee company

923 notes · View notes

maliciouslove · 10 months

Text

ℍ𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕪 𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕡

✧ pairing: fuckboy smileball barista!denki x reader ✧ summary: having a slimebucks apron is equal to having unlimited rizz (source: me) and denki proves it by bedding his brand new colleague on her very first day of work. ✧ word count: 5.5k ✧ tags: dubcon(?), manipulation(?), weed and alcohol use, oral (f!receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation, forced orgasm, pussyjob, unprotected sex, pulling out, size difference (denki is Tall and Lanky TM), unappropriate work relationship, scummy denki, no feelings.

✧ my submission for the @bastardblvd Slimeball collab ✧

✧ AN: happy birthday to my little slimy fuckboy denks <3 this was so fun to work on, genuinely love being a grimetown resident now. the fanart is made by me but i'm no pro so.. be kind please. :D it was written in a daze so if you see discrepancies.. look away. based on my own tiny starbucks where i work (i am slimebucks denki incarnate). you may expect of me to make this a slimebucks series.. katsuki or touya next? ;)

Denki doesn’t like morning shifts — he doesn’t like how grumpy people are first thing in the morning because it makes scoring dates much harder for him. No matter how bubbly and pleasant he is, Monday mornings are just a bad time to flirt with clients. Most customers don’t even spare a glance at him, too busy figuring out their schedule for the day and burying their noses in their phones. He does, however, enjoy the morning business attire — stockings, pencil skirts, white shirts that allow him to see the outline of a bra underneath… and those heels. Something about office fashion always getshim riled up.

Typically, if he couldn’t strike up a conversation with the morning customers he would settle for watching them, eyes trailing down their crossed legs when they sit down to enjoy their coffee. He would follow their elegant movements and the curves of their bodies — from the corners of their painted lips turning upward in delight after a sip of hot coffee, to their dainty ankles decorated by the ankle strap of their heels swinging to the rhythm of the music playing softly on the speakers.

That is how his Mondays usually go, yet today he couldn't even enjoy that, all because of a new recruit.

His manager Katsuki (that angry bastard) had not even mentioned to them that he was hiring; he announced only yesterday that there would be a new trainee, pushing the responsibility of showing them around the store and kicking off their barista training onto him. Of course he wouldn’t ask Touya to train them — he would end up with his cock in his hand less than ten minutes into the start of his shift due to his “side hustle” schedule conflict, which in turn would scare off any new hire… and then the hiring process would have to start all over again. Katsuki himself is not much better off as barista trainer, his constant irritation and habit of screaming at everyone and everything has made many employees quit (and cry) early on, but the reason he was shoving the responsibility onto Denki was simply that he wouldn’t be in the store due to a manager’s meeting in Tokyo.

Bummer.

According to the clock on the wall, the new hire should be coming in any time now, so Denki settles for focusing his attention and efforts on that instead of his grumpy morning customers. And then, there you were in your yellow raincoat, all sunshine and smiles from the moment you step inside the store. Denki gives you a once over and decides maybe this Monday morning wouldn’t be so awful after all — you were cute and far too innocent and optimistic looking for him not to take advantage and have a little… fun.

His plan begins to form before you’ve even laid eyes on him.

“Hi! You must be the new addition to our team, pleasure to meet you!” The blonde extends a hand to greet you, his most charming smile plastered on his face. “Our team is a bit of a sausage party right now, so I hope you can bear with us and not get discouraged. We desperately need someone like you on our team.”

“Oh I can tell, your merch cabinets look very… dry. You fellas are not big on decorating, are you?” Your heartfelt laugh nearly disarms the blonde man as he scratches the back of his head awkwardly, admitting that the three men working there did not have the best sesne of aesthetics and beauty.

Oh, you were just his type — confident, energetic, and just a bit too kind and trusting.

“Well, you’re here to save us, right? How about we get started on your training, get the boring part over with so we can get to know each other better.”

There was not a single pure intention behind his words, but his face remains the picture of innocence and kindness. He’s had time to practice this look after all — can’t let people find out what’s behind the sunshine facade now, can he?

“Oh well training shouldn’t take long, I worked at a different Slimebuckslocation before moving to this part of town, hence why I’m being transferred here. I can get around drink making just fine, so you can just show me around the store I guess?” You bat your eyelashes at him and Denki thinks of you as a pure miracle. This expedites the timeline he had in mind.

With a pep in his step, he shows you around the store and back of house, informing you where they keep extra syrups and toppings at the front and the storage in the back. He hands you a new apron and name tag while informing you of the usual cleaning routine and covering all the basics that you need to get around the new store on your own. Not that he follows these cleaning routines that closely anyhow, but hey, you were here to pick up the slack now.

“So, think you got everything? Any questions?” Denki leans back against the bar on his elbows, long black painted fingers interlocking in front of his torso. He’s laid back and so pretty it’s almost distracting. A regular person has to exert effort not to stare too long at his honey colored eyes that crinkle when he smiles.

However, you cannot get too distracted — you must remain focused and make a good impression today.

“Yes, can I please rearrange and restock your merchandise cabinets? They do not spark joy and desire to buy in their current state. No offense.”

“Have at it.” Denki does not break eye contact, not once — feline eyes following your every move, gears turning in his head and schemes hatching in his pretty little head.

He doesn’t want to seem too overbearing, but he also doesn’t want you to think he isn’t interested. So, as it is pretty quiet in the store right now, he decides to give you a hand with the merchandise, chatting with you — learning about you. After all, the only times he actually puts effort into his minimum wage job arewhen there is a prospect of a cute girl removing her panties for him.

“So, you live nearby?” he begins to prod at you with innocent questions.

“Ah, not quite. I have to take a bus to get here since I don’t have a car anymore. I live on the east side of town, close to that big mall they built recently.”

Denki is easy to talk to, a nice balance budding between the two of you as he takes boxes out and hands you colorful cups and tumblers to put on the shelves.

“Hey, I live around those parts, too, I can give you a lift after work, save you some bus fare. Unless you have some super jealous boyfriend or something?” Despite flunking out of college, Kaminari isnot stupid — he isplaying his cards just right, creating an opportunity to learn if you’re single and give you an option to spend more time with him, which isn’t really an option. Unless you do have a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have a reason to say no, not after the deliberate way he phrased it.

“Haha, no, no boyfriend — kind of the reason I don’t currently have a car and why I had to move.” There’s an edge to your voice, maybe even a trace of anger, but to him they appear as feelings that seem to have simmered down. “I got out of a long relationship recently. We used to live together and share a car, but I had to get my own place after the breakup, and he took the car. And the dog.”

“That bastard!” Denki chimes, a bit too exaggerated, but he figures making a small joke won’t actually hurt. “Really though, that sucks. I’m sorry it happened.”

The way he switches from being a clown to being a gentleman can give a person whiplash.

“Don’t be, I’m not sorry it happened.” You shrug your shoulders and give him a wide, genuine smile. “Now I get to hook up and have flings whever I want.”

You keep the tone light, and you mean what you said — you’re not looking for anything serious right now, and the satisfaction from your answer was well written on the blonde’s face. He was cute, so maybe you’ll play along, have fun for once.

“So this means you’ll let me give you a ride?”

“If you really don’t mind?” You put the final tumbler on the shelf and examine your work in delight. Meanwhile Denki examines your body in delight.

“Oh, I’d be honored to.” A devious grin adorns his face as he follows you behind bar to help serve customers.

The day goes on, the playful banter between you and the blonde continuing — turns out you have similar hobbies: you like the same movies and games, you even have similar music taste, and Denki relinquished the store music rights to you for the day.

Your shoulders would brush as you work side by side at the coffee machines, and he would laugh shyly, complimenting your pace and how well you’re adjusting to the new store. The exchanges between the two of you were flawless, seamlessly passing each other lids and pitchers without so much as saying a word.

Kaminari gave the perfect performance of a man who enjoys his work; he didn’t even obnoxiusly flirt with every beautiful girl that placed an order.

“Hey, can you grab some more caramel drizzle from the back?” Denki asks after a huge line of people finally dissipates and gives room for some tidying up and restocking.

“Yea, absolutely. Need anything else?”

“Also grab some extra bags of coffee beans and vanilla syrup if you can?”

You nod and head to the back of house energetically.

Denki’s been working here for over two years now, so he knows that after this rush there won’t be anyone in the store for another half an hour at least, so sending you to the back of house away from customers was a calculated move. As soon as you disappear behind the doors he follows — after all, you wouldn’t be able to carry all that back to the front on your own.He should give you a hand.

Smiling to himself, he enters the storage area to see you standing on your tip toes trying to reach the bags of coffee on the top shelf. Quietly he walks up behind you, one hand on your waist to pull you back a bit, the other hand reaching above you for the coffee beans.

“Be careful. If you can’t reach somewhere, just call for me. Don’t want you getting hurt back here.” He can feel you melt into him and rest your back against his chest as he takes the four-pound bag down for you.

“Oh, sorry… I thought I was gonna be able to reach.” You smile at him, realizing how he was surrounding you in that moment, and something about itmade your skin tingle. “Thank you.”

“Of course! I figured you wouldn’t be able to carry everything at once so I came along to give you a hand.” The two of you stood very close to one another in the cramped storage, but you didn’t mind, as it was far too cold back here, and Kaminari was pleasantly warm to the touch. “The caramel drizzle is all the way down on that same self, if you want to grab that?”

Eager to complete the task, you turn around and bend over to open the box labled “caramel drizzle,” giving Denki a perfect view of you round ass, making him gulp hard. If he just reached forward he would be able to trace the curve of your ass with his hand, squeeze one cheek as his other hand trails down your side.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head as you stand back up, several bags of caramel sauce in your hands. You were squishing them playfully which was not helping Denki in keeping unholy thoughts at bay.

“I always loved the texture of these bags; it’s so stress relieving to play with them.” Grinning up at him, you were the picture of innocence.

“Yea, they remind me of tiddies.” Denki blurts out without even thinking, too enthralled by his imagination showing him images of you wrapping your pretty lips around his cock and playing with his balls. Once he realizes what he said he waves his hands around in defence. “No, no, not what I mea–”

“You haven’t touched boobs recently, have you?” You deadpan, and he can feel his heart sink. “Boobs are much more firm. I get where you’re coming from, but a bag of caramel sauce can not compare to a tit.” You say matter of factly while squishing a bag with your hand. “Can’t do that to a boob, can you?”

Denki snorts out a laugh.

“Yea, you’re right — tiddies do feel better. And it has indeed been a while since I got to touch one.” He dramatically wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye, a big pout on his lips as he turns to exist the storage.

“Aww, poor Denki… Wanna cop a feel?” You can see him physically freeze up at these words, turning to give you a bewildered look. “I’m joking! Obviously. You that desperate, pretty boy?”

You walk past him with a gleeful look on your face.

The look in Kaminari’s eyes changes as soon as you’re out of sight, and he cannot wait to get his greedy hands on you. In fact, he was going to challenge himself and get between those plush thighs of yours by tonight.

When the two of you are behind bar again, he continues to orbit close to you, watching videos on your phone over your shoulder, brushing his fingers against your skin when he passes you a milk carton, caging you between his body and the bar while he reaches for something behind you.

And every time you accidentally touched, you could feel electicity run down your spine and butterflies flutter in your stomach. His light amber eyes trailing down your body lit a fire in your lower belly. The day went on just like that — standing a bit too close to one another, making inappropriate jokes, flirting. And so came time to close and go home, riding in his car.

“You done with the trash?” you ask as he takes his apron off.

“Yeah, if you’re done with the floor we can head on out.” You head to the back of house together to grab your stuff from your lockers and lock up.

“So, got any plans for tonight?” he asks, leaning on his locker while waiting for you to put your jacket on.

Now that you’re officially off the clock, you take the time to pay attention to small details about the man — how long his eyelashes are, how he cockily half smiles at you, how veiny his forearms are.

“No plans, no — I’m probably gonna end up watching Desperate Housewives with a glass of wine by myself.”

And there you go — giving him another opportunity.

“Oh you watch that too?” He’s excited, presenting this as an interest that not many share with him. “That’s basically my plan for the evening, except I was gonna get high instead of drinking.” Sharing with you that he smokes weed is also tactical; it indicates trust that you won’t misuse that information, and it also opens a gate for you to bond with him over weed if you smoke.

“Oh, well...” And there you go, taking the bait. “If it’s not too forward of me to offer, I’ve got alcohol and pizza on speed dial, you have weed and good company. Maybe we can merge resources, watch tonight’s episode together?”

Score.

“Sounds perfect.”

He places his hand at the small of your back as he leads you towards his car, being very caring and gentle — making you feel comfortable and safe, letting you open up to him. It was going to be a fun night for Denki.

Your apartment is exactly what he envisioned: small but cozy, full of plants, color and art. The small space reflected your personality, a variety of interests on display, different styles clashing in every corner of the room. It was cute. And your chouch seemed very comfortable for eating pussy.

“Cute place.”

“Thanks. I finally got the chance to decorate my own space however I want, so I went a bit crazy with it.”

Kaminari doesn’t miss the emphasis in your voice; you lived for a long time with no control over small and insignificant things such as decor. You were frustrated. At the same time, he notes that now you seem to cling to control. He noticed it at work, too — you rarely gave yourself time off. Things are really looking up for the blonde man, and he can barely contain his wolfish smile as the gears in his head turn. You’d love to give up control, wouldn’t you?

“Make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll grab us some drinks and we can order pizza.”

As you make way to the small kitchen, Denki takes two pre-rolled joints from a cigarette tin and places them on the table. Wine and weed should make you nice and pliable for him. You return with a glass of white wine and a cold beer.

“I figured you’s prefer a beer over wine.” You offer with a smile, and he accepts.

“How observant of you. I just wanna check first:Are you sure you want to mix alcohol and weed? Might hit you hard.” He shows concern, but it’s fake — the more crossfaded you are, the easier it would be for him to get you naked.

“Yea I’m uh.. More practiced than I care to admit.” You give him a coy smile and sit next to him on the couch, phone in hand ready to order food. Once that is out of the way, you both finally lean back and relax on the couch, the episode of Desperate Housewives starting with a recap.

“So, do you invite people you just met to your apartment to get stoned often, or..?” He offers jokingly as he lights one of the joints up.

“No, just the pretty and charming ones.” You’re no longer being coy about it like you were at work; you like him, and you aregoing to make it known.

“Oh, you think I’m pretty? So you only want me for my face?” He retorts with faux disappointment, eyes focused on yours intently, curious and full of desire.

“Not just your face. You have pretty hands too.” You answer with a straight face, reaching for his hand that was holding the joint and pulling it towards yourself, taking a drag from the joint between his slender fingers.

Denki swallows, the lust thick in his throat. The way your lips wrap around the joint is sinister, the eyecontact you maintain while doing it — electrifying.

His body responds before his brain can process, leaning in towards you to capture the smoke from your lips with his own, inhaling it and placing his free hand at the back of your neck, keeping your lips close to his.

Honey-colored eyes stare down at you as your cheeks begin to heat, mind and heart racing as your tongue darts to wet your lips and taste him. Screw your plan to just tease him, wind him up for a week or two, make him eager — you don’t have the patience for all that. You set your glass on the coffee table and close the gap between the two of you, pushing him back, straddling him.

“Feeling bold tonight, sweetness?” He smiles up at you, letting you get your dose of control, let you simmer in the illusion that you initiated this, you took the lead. His free hand rests on your thigh, thumb drawing circles over your jeans, gently squeezing you.

You don’t dignify him with a response as your lips crash onto his in a searing kiss, fingers carding through his blonde locks. He can tell how needy you are by the way your body moves — pulling his hair a bit harder than you should, nipping at his lower lip, canting your hips over his. You’re leaning into his every touch, almost aggressively taking what you want from him, claiming control.

He smiles into the kiss and in one swift move shifts you to lay flat on your back on the couch, his larger frame towering over yours.

“Don’t move.” He sounds almost like a different person as he yanks the control from you, and you obey. You lay still and watch him intently as he lights the joint again, taking a long drag and putting the joint back on the ashtray.

Leaning down, he places his hand under your chin, parting your lips and blowing the smoke into your mouth. You inhale and hold your breath as he traces kisses down your jaw and collarbone, warm hands sneaking under your shirt. He only speaks after you slowly exhale the smoke.

“You’ve brightened my day, you know. Let me thank you properly.”

His fingers trail down your body and unbutton your jeans, feather light kisses pressed against your tummy just above the hem of your pants. You don’t protest, so he continues his ministrations, pulling your shirt up above your head and leaving you in your pink lacy bra. He pushes one of the bra straps to the side and—

Ding dong!

The pizza has arrived.

“Fuck–” He scrambles to his feet to go answer the door while you qucikly throw your shirt back on and head to the kitchen. Denki follows with pizzas in hand that he quickly discards on the table.

“Are the pizzas cut? Do you need any sauce or—” You’re scooped up in his hands and pressed against the kitchen counter. His lips are on your again, insistent and needy. “Denk— The food?”

“I was hoping for a different meal.”

His breath is hot against the shell of your ear as he lifts you up to sit you on the marble counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he makes desire bubble inside you once more.

Discarding your pesky shirt again, he wastes no time in removing your bra and cupping your breasts, lips enclosing around your pert nipple.

“You’re right — much better than a bag of caramel sauce.” His words are barely above a whisper as he tweaks your nipple between thumb and index finger, leaving wet kisses across your sternum and stomach. His hands grip at the hem of your still unbuttoned jeans, and you follow his wordless instruction, lifting your hips and letting him slip the jeans off.

There you were, practically naked on your kitchen counter while he, still fully dressed, devoured you with predatory eyes. Large hands rest on your bare thighs, and he gently spreads your legs and drags you closer to the edge of the countertop.

You’re pretty and soft, and you smell nice. Denki can’t help but wonder if you’ll taste sweet as well. A single digit traces the outline of your lacy thong, marveling at the wet spot forming on the material. Hooking his finger behind the material, he roughly pulls it upwards — the feeling isn’t exactly pleasant, but it doesn't hurt either; it’s simply not enough friction. You need more. Your nose and eyebrows scrunch, and you wrap your hand around his wrist, a pleading whine leaving your parted lips.

“Aw, I’m sorry pretty girl… I won’t tease you too much, promise.”

Another quick peck to your lips and he sinks to his knees in front of you, eye level with your needy wet cunt. Pushing the pink fabric to the side, he inspects your pretty cunt, glistening with arousal. Kissing from the inside of your thigh and making his way to your core, all you can do is tug on his hair and hold on while he devours you whole.

Kaminari finally delves his tongue into your heat, leaving a long stripe from your needy hole to your sensitive clit and then focusing on the latter. His tongue is gentle, teasing — like he has all the time in the world to enjoy this tasty treat, working you up until your body starts moving on its own against his tongue. Your head is so far up in the clouds that you probably aren’t even aware of how tightly you’re gripping his hair and how you’re moving your hips rhythmically against his mouth.

You sound cute: breathless and whiny, softly begging under your breath, head tilted back in pleasure as the muscles in your thighs stiffen and your legs shake. Yet, Denki does not speed up, maintaining his languid pace and dangling true bliss right in front of your eyes.

“F-fuuck… Denki, please...”

Your heart is in your throat, and your body aches from the tension, you need release. You can feel the smirk on his lips as you beg him.

At the peak of your high, delirious from the need to cum but not being given enough friction to tumble over the edge, Denki lifts two long, slender fingers to your wet cunt and slowly pushes them inside you, the feeling of being filled up driving the air out of your lungs.

Quickly, Denki finds that spongy spot inside you and presses against it, moving his fingers right against it while his lips and tongue focus on your clit.

It takes seconds for you to ascend, body going rigid as your muscles contract around his fingers and your orgasm is forced out of you with a strangled moan. He does not slow down.

One strong arm wraps around your thigh, keeping you still while his mouth continues to ravage you, fingers slipping in and out with precision. He was intending to force another orgasm out of you without giving you time to recover from the first.

Your arms and legs feeltingly and limp, and Denki has to support your weight all while eating you out like a man starved. His cock is painfully hard in his tight jeans, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make you cum one more time on his face.

You taste like wild honey, and your whiny pleas fuel him to keep going, marveling in the feeling of you becoming tighter and tighter for him, chest heaving erraticly and shaky fingers scratching at his arms and shoulders. You are about to come undone for him.

Before your mind can respond to your body, the coil in your belly snaps, and you gush onto his fingers with a scream, squirting in his earger mouth as he licks up every clear droplet. He removes his fingers and helps you come down from your high with gentle kisses over your swollen clit and soft thighs.

Your mind is spinning, but your ears register the sound of a belt unbuckling. Groggily opening your eyes, you are met with the image of him keeping his t-shirt tucked between his teeth as he fists his cock to the sight of you. His pupils are blown — only a thin ring of gold remaining. He closes the gap between you again, his warm length resting on your sticky cunt, slowly gliding between your folds.

You open your mouth to ask if he has condoms, but he seems to have already read your mind.

“Don’t have any on me, but I’m clean, and I won’t put it in.” His words are rushed, and he is far too entranced by the feel and sound of wetness to even look you in the eyes.

You can’t even bother to argue, too tired and blissed out with a new sesnse of hunger growing in the pit of your stomach. Your hips instinctively move to meet his thrusts, the mushroom tip of his cockhead grinding into your sensitive clit, and you just want more. Tired hands reach out to him, thumb rubbing over his cheek as he leans into your touch, kissing your palm with his eyes shut as his hips thrust faster against your sloppy wet cunt.

“Fuck, gorgeous, you have no idea how bad I wanna be inside ya.” He nips at your hand still resting on his cheek and growls lowly, frustrated by his own imagination of how snug you would feel around his cock.

Drunk on his words and the previous two orgasms he forced out of you, you want him just as bad. Throwing all logic and reasoning out the window you use the last of your strenght to lift your hips and line him up to your entrance, slamming your hips down and taking his cock all at once with a yelp.

“P-Please, please…” You mumble in a chant as your velvety walls spasm around his girth, mouth loosly hanging open and a bit of drool trickling down your chin. You were so beautifully fucked out, heavy eyelids giving you the most seductive look.

Finally overcoming his shock and managing to stifle his impending orgasm, Denki moves his hips and curses under his breath at the feeling of your gummy walls sucking him in. Grinning wolfishly at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, small hands gripping his sleeve for dear life, he angles his hips to thrust his cock right into your sweet spot making you scream his name in pleasure.

God, if he hadn’t edged himself half to insanity, he’d want to stay buried in your warm cunt for the whole evening, but you felt so good, he knew he wouldn’t last. Hooking his arms under your knees and then linking his finger behind your neck he rams his cock fervently inside you. The angle change of this position made you feel him all the way in your stomach, your clit slapping against his pelvis with each thrust. Snaking a hand between your bodies you circle a finger over your clit to help yourself while he uses you as a fleshlight.

“That’s right sweetness, keep doing that, you need to cum one more time f’me. One more.”

Folding you even more and slamming you on his cock he could feel your insides trying to push him out as a third orgasm washes over you, more clear liquid splashing against his abdomen as you cry out his name.

Letting you out of the headlock, he pulls out quickly, pumping his fist over his cock as his balls thighten, and he empties his seed all over your wet cunt, smearing his cum over your clit and folds with a relieved sigh.

Still caging you in with his arms at your sides, he leans down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“You good?” You answer with a weak nod, and he can’t help but chuckle at how exhausted you are reaching over for the kitchen paper. “Sorry, it’s the closest thing I can clean you up with.”

After catching your breath and no longer being covered in sticky cum, post-nut clarity finally settles in, and you chew on your lower lip, anxiously pondering the consequences of your actions.

“Don’t freak out, pretty girl.” He’s his usual charming self now, feline eyes crinkling in a smile. “You don’t want anything serious, nor do I, and if word gets out at work we’d be both in trouble. So, how about we keep this between us?”

Offering you a perfect escape — the final part of his plan. You smile widely glad to know you’re both on the same page, the anxiety dying down.

“Also, sorry to bust a load and hit the road, but my landlord has left me like 12 messages about some emergency at the flat so I think I should really go check it out, might be a flood.” He awkwardly scratches his neck, showing that he feels bad about this.

“Oh, don’t worry about it! Go, I hope it isn’t flooded.” You turn to grab one of the abandoned pizzas on the table. “Why don’t you take this with you? You never got to eat it anyway. Won’t be as good as fresh pizza, but it’s something…”

He grins widely, accepting the pizza and giving you a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at work then, newbie?”

“See you then.”

Escorting him to the door you lock it behind him and rest your back to the door taking a deep breath.

Walking outside of your apartment complex, Denki pulls his phone out of his back pocket and dials a number under the name “Landlord Toshi”.

“Hey man, thanks for always having my back with the apartment ‘emergencies.’” The blonde laughs into the phone. “Yea, I told you she was gonna be easy — fresh out of a relationship, wants to let loose and make up for lost time, constantly feels like she has to be in control so naturally gives the reins away when it comes to fucking. It was a fun little challenge.”

“You dog.” The man on the other line chuckles and a bong can be heard in the background. “You gonna tap that again?”

“Nah, she seems the type to catch feels.” Denki lights up the other joint in his cigarette tin and gets in his car, revving the engine. “Plus, the only reason I did this was to even the bet scores at work while Touya is still on vacation.”

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.

#unholytext.exe #denki kaminari x reader #denki x reader #kaminari x reader #denki kaminari smut #denki smut #kaminari smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw.dubcon #tw.manipulation #tw.drugs #tw.alcohol #tw.weed #slimeball collab #slimeball denki #slimebucks series

589 notes · View notes

putting-it-into-parc · 1 month

Text

in the practice room

masterlist

Charles x reader (4.8k words)

summary: charles is a man that contains multitudes. you help him see that through the music.

warnings: mention of deaths of parents, slight music lingo (not necessary to the plot), fluff

in the practice room

In a bustling but quiet coffee shop, you bend over a pile of papers filled with messy notes, rests, and slurs. On the B section of the piece, you scratch out a run of eighth notes you had just penciled in, frowning slightly at the score. Something’s just not right.

You decide this calls for some noodling around on the piano to figure it out, so you tuck your sheets safely into a manila folder and the folder into your canvas tote, sling the bag over your shoulder, and scoop up your iced americano with one hand while fumbling for your wallet containing your bus card in your pocket with the other. You turn around and—

Disaster. As your hand makes contact with the stranger who seemingly came out of nowhere, your cup goes flying out of your hand, coffee soaking your pants, your socks, your shoes. You yelp as you feel cold liquid on your ankles—thank god you went with iced today instead of a latte. The straps of your heavy tote slide down your shoulder, catching painfully in the crook of your elbow, bumping indignantly into the perpetrator as it swings. His mouth is shaped in a tiny, surprised O. You’re fairly sure yours is, too. Students glance up from their laptops; a group of older women pause their conversation, peering curiously at the two of you.

“Oh, my god,” the stranger says. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter automatically, crouching to pick up the sad remnants of your americano. As you rise, you notice that the coffee has stained his perfectly white pants. You gasp. “Oh no.”

“What is it?” he asks, then follows your gaze down. “Oh.”

“Shit. Your pants are ruined.” You crane your neck, searching desperately for a potential source of napkins.

“So are yours,” he points out rather unhelpfully.

Magically, a barista hurries over right then with a stack of paper towels. “Thank you so much,” you tell him hastily as you hand one to the stranger and start dabbing at your own clothes, dragging some of them around the floor with a shoe. Your tote—along with its precious cargo of textbooks and your score—seems thankfully unharmed, and you set it gingerly down in a chair while you clean.

The stranger bends down and starts helping you mop up the rest of the floor. You see a pair of aviators nestled in his brown curls. And as the initial shock of the collision subsides, you take in the thick eyelashes, a perfectly sloped nose, a Cupid’s bow that looked like a little upside-down W. You wonder if he has a girlfriend, and think to yourself that if you guys weren’t drenched in coffee, you might even have dared to ask.

He finishes wiping away the puddle, and stands up, finally meeting your eyes for the first time. He has the kind of eyes that are every color under the sun; a ring of blue fading into green, a sunburst of brown around his pupils. “I am so stupid,” he says in heavily accented English. “Your clothes are ruined—let me replace them.”

Replace them? You blush at the thought of him replacing your clothes. Then you blush harder when you realize he doesn’t mean it like that at all.

“No, no,” you wave the offer away. “It’s coffee, I can try it in the wash.” Although in your experience, light wash jeans and a cream hoodie usually did not play well with bean juice. And of course it had soaked the seam between your legs, making for a maximally embarrassing look. “And your pants are ruined too…”

The cute stranger sighs. “Guess so. And I’d just gotten here. I hope you weren’t on your way to somewhere important.”

You shake your head. “I was just headed to the uni’s music rooms. A friend dropped me off here but I can take the bus to the school.”

He raises an eyebrow at music rooms. “You’re still going?”

“I mean, I should probably try to get home first,” you say, realizing that you’re a little out of options.

“I drove here,” the stranger informs you. He pauses. “Let me take you to your apartment, or least get you somewhat close. If you’re okay with it, of course.”

You consider this. You give him a once-over; his arms are crossed, and he looks a little nervous, tapping a white sneaker on the ground. You figure he’s probably not the first serial killer of Monaco you’ve ever heard of. “Okay,” you shrug. “I appreciate it.”

He smiles, his playful lips curling up at the corners. “Not a problem. My car’s out in front.”

He opens the door for you on your way out of the coffee shop. You hear whispers from several tables as you pass by.

A lot houses rows of parked cars on the side of the plaza. On the far edge is one of those extremely fancy sports cars, most of which you know nothing about. Even in Monaco, a place with no shortage of nice cars, it stands out—and not just because whoever parked it did a truly horrendous job of it.

The stranger strides down the lot, and you point out the fancy car. “Whoa. Look at that.”

“Cool car,” he says casually. He stops at the far side of the lot.

You chuckle. “I hope you parked before this guy came in.” You grab the passenger side handle of the white sedan next to it—

“Wait!” the stranger cries. Alarmed, you release the door. He reaches into his pocket, produces a keychain with an electronic fob and a little horse dangling from it. And the ridiculous sports car next to it chirps awake.

“Oh my god.”

He looks sheepish. “Sorry, I’m kind of a terrible parker.”

Your cheeks are on fire. “I didn’t mean to roast you,” you mutter.

But he smiles and opens the door for you. You climb in, afraid to touch anything. Or breathe, for that matter.

He joins you in the car. “I should tell you my name,” he says. Extends a hand. “Charles.”

You accept the handshake, feeling a tiny frission of something bloom in your chest, and tell him your name too.

“Well,” Charles says. “To where do I have the pleasure of driving you this morning?”

You laugh. Charles is so cheesy. And very, very cute. “My apartment is…” you finish with the address.

He punches it into the GPS and starts up the car. Classical music begins playing.

“Grieg,” you muse as the strains of his piano concerto float through the speakers. “Good taste.”

Charles gives you a sidelong glance. “You play piano?”

“Just a little,” you admit. “I’m not any good, but we have to know some basics for music composition.”

“So you’re a student?”

“Grad school. Third year.”

“Wow,” Charles says. “That’s pretty impressive.”

You chuckle then, because to you it’s definitely not. “Well? What do you do?”

It’s telling of how intently you’ve been staring at him that you notice a tiny muscle in his neck tense at your question.

“Hmm, well. I also play, although I’m no good, mostly trying to learn. But if you’re asking about my job, I work…for a car company.”

Ah. That explains a lot. “Just a guess…” you say in a bit of a teasing tone, looking at the little black horse on the wheel. “Ferrari?”

“Bingo,” Charles says.

“What do you do for them?”

“I, uh…” he looks uncomfortable now. “I drive for some of their specialized lines, I guess.”

“So you’re a test driver!” You didn’t even know that was a full-time job. It’s pretty sick.

Charles chuckles. “I guess, of a sort.”

“And you say grad school is cool,” you snort as he pulls up in front of your apartment. Rubenstein is just starting the cadenza of the first movement.

“It is,” Charles says, his insistent tone catching you by surprise. “Being able to just learn, immerse yourself in something that deeply…I’m pretty jealous, if I’m being honest.”

You look at him questioningly.

“Ferrari has me traveling quite a bit,” he clarifies. “Not exactly the most conducive life to go back to school. And I love playing piano, but I can only really do it back home.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little bad for Charles.

He shrugs. “Are you still going to the practice rooms? Because I am totally happy to wait for you to change and then drive you there.”

“I can’t have you be my taxi,” you laugh. “Seriously, thank you for bringing me home. You really saved me from a small dilemma.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You feel slightly deflated at the thought of never seeing Charles again. Monaco was small, right? Maybe you’d run into him…someday. Maybe.

“Alright then,” he agrees. He gives you a long look, as if he’s taking you in. “I’m sorry again for the coffee. I’ll…see you around.”

“Goodbye, Charles.” You shut the door of his gorgeous Ferrari and walk up the stairs of your apartment. Out of the corner of your eyes, you watch him drive away as you open the front door.

A week later, Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have done something, anything to see her again. He kicked himself for not asking her if she wanted to hang out again, not even for her number. He supposed he knew where she lived now, but that was somehow more unhelpful than knowing nothing at all. Charles felt a void open inside his chest, and unable to stand that nagging feeling for another second, grabbed his car keys and a book and and drove to the coffee shop. He didn’t dare let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, she’d be there.

After surreptitiously glancing around to make sure no fans would notice him instantly, Charles pushed his sunglasses onto his head. He surveyed the tables more closely, and then his eyes landed on a sight that filled his head with what felt like helium.

She was sitting in a corner, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, tucking her hair behind her ear as she scribbled busily on a sheet of lined paper. A half-eaten scone sat on a little dish. No sign of a coffee.

“Sorry,” he said to the barista, whom he’d just asked for a latte. “I’ll add one iced americano to my order.”

You’re deep in concentration when a looming presence takes over your periphery, and you jump in your seat. It’s Charles. Wearing a disarming smile, a red sweater, and extending a hand holding an iced americano.

Okay, so maybe you picked this coffee shop to work at on purpose. Nobody needed to know that you never worked at the same coffee shop twice in a row, that you were so prone to distraction that you constantly tried to switch up the scenery.

I guess it paid off.

“Charles,” you say, fighting to keep a smile off your face.

“Hi.” He looks shy. “Don’t want to bother you but thought I’d say hi.”

“No, not at all,” you say quickly. Even if Charles sat clear across the shop from you, all hope of concentration was gone. “Want to sit down?”

He accepts your invitation, carefully sliding down the bench across from you. Your mouth suddenly goes dry, and you take a greedy sip of the coffee Charles mercifully brought you.

“I brought a book,” he says proudly, holding up a well-loved copy of Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow. He looks a little bit like a child displaying his beloved finger-painting project, and you resist the urge to ruffle his hair. “So I don’t distract you.”

Oh, Charles. If only he knew.

“Too late,” you let yourself say with a small smile. You cannot make eye contact with him right now. “But as luck would have it, I’m finishing up.”

Charles leans over, peering at the rows of staffs penciled in with rolling arpeggios, thick chords in the bass, repeatedly written and re-written tempo changes. “That,” he breathes, “is so cool. Literally mind-blowing.”

You blush furiously. “At least it looks that way. I’m pretty much wrapping up. Need to try a few things on the keyboard.”

“You’re going to the practice room again?” Charles asks.

“Yeah,” you respond. Then you remember something. “Actually, if you want to come—of course you don’t have to—but if you wanted to play piano there are plenty of them there.”

Stupid. Judging by his Ferrari, he probably has a much nicer piano at home. Some of those baby grands at the uni were real crusty…

But his eyes are bright, and he eagerly nods. “Really? Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Sure.”

Charles beams. “I can drive us there.”

The subsequent ride to the music building is scored by Rachmaninoff’s Concerto No. 2, along with Charles’ laughter.

Charles followed her down the silent hall, lined by soundproof rooms each housing a piano in various states of decay. She stopped in front of a room with a shiny black baby grand. “Here,” she whispered. “This is one of the better ones.” She took a tiny key out of her pocket and unlocked the door.

He found it rather distracting that they were in a small, enclosed, soundproof room together. Alone. He forced himself to send his imagination into oblivion.

“I’m going to figure out this section of my piece,” she told him. “But I kind of want to hear you play, not gonna lie…” She had a teasing smile on her face.

Charles swallowed. “I told you, I’m terrible.”

“I won’t push you,” she said, more gently this time. “But I do mean it when I say I want to hear you play.”

“Wait,” he said bravely. “I am working on something. Just promise me to be nice.”

She held up a pinky. “Promise.”

Charles took a deep breath. This might have been the first time he’d ever actually played for anyone. Hands shaking, he muddled his way through a simple Chopin waltz he’d been working on. When he finished, he looked up to see her grinning ear to ear.

“See,” he muttered. “Told you I’m bad.”

She answered by sweeping him into a hug. She smelled like the orange blossoms that lined the streets in Monaco.

“Promise me,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by Charles’ shoulder. “Promise me you’ll never say that again.”

You can hardly believe it, but that was only the first time you and Charles went to the practice rooms together. Your friend has stopped giving you rides, because every Monday, Charles’ Ferrari waits patiently at your apartment, and you chatter all the way to a coffee shop of the week. Charles reads a book as you work on your manuscripts, study for your written exams, and when you’ve both had enough, you drive to the practice rooms. In the car, he plays a different classical work every time. It’s usually piano, but not always.

Debussy’s Arabesque No. 1. He tells you the song reminds him of the way his stomach flutters before the lights go out at the start of the race, the thrill of rounding a sharp turn. It’s how you find out his real job at Ferrari is being a driver for Formula One.

Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G Minor. You gush over the lush, grandiose chords, describing how you never liked the song much until you heard Yuja Wang tear it to shreds. You confess that it’s so intense, so majestic, that you’ll blast it through your headphones at the gym of all places.

Schubert’s Impromptu Op. 90, No. 3. He asks you if you’ve seen that sci-fi movie, Gattcca. It sounds vaguely familiar. He launches into a description of Uma Thurman telling Ethan Hawke, “that piece can only be played with twelve fingers.” You laugh and tell him the song takes place almost entirely on the black keys, so Uma’s character must not be totally wrong. He says you two need to watch the movie together sometime. Your stomach flutters at the thought of a movie night with Charles.

Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Pas de deux. You tell him that you danced ballet for almost ten years as a child, but you could never take your eyes off the piano in the corner of the studio. Your last dance ever was as the Sugar Plum Fairy, and as soon as you took your bow, you rushed over to peer into the pit orchestra. Charles catches you by surprise, tells you that while his dad was still alive, he used to drag his entire family to see the ballet every Christmas. You feel a pang in your chest, place your hand over his.

He’s always shocked when you identify the song, most of them within a few notes. You laugh, tease him that he plays cliché music. You don’t tell him that you let yourself imagine each song is like a flower that he brings to your doorstep, even though neither of you have said anything about what you are, what these weekly excursions to the practice rooms mean.

Barber’s Adagio for Strings. You complain that Charles is being a total downer, then promptly confess that this is the only thing you want played at your funeral. Charles teases you for already having the soundtrack to your funeral in mind…and asks if the same is true for your wedding. You roll your eyes, blushing, smack his arm playfully…and tell him it’s the 18th variation of Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. Fireworks, you say. This song makes me see fireworks. It’s, like, the epitome of love.

The next day, a small bouquet of lilies on top of an aging manila folder is waiting at your door. You open the folder gingerly and gasp. Penned on the top of the vintage score in Russian, in what may well be Rachmaninoff’s own hand, is Rapsodiya na temu Paganini. A small cream card falls out, emblazoned with a now-familiar black horse.

Thanks for showing me the fireworks, too, it says.

“Wait,” Charles said one day, interrupting the plaintive strains of the Adagio of the Spartacus Suite. “Let me queue up a different song.”

He tapped around until he found the playlist he wanted. From the very first note, her face flashed with recognition.

“Liebestraum,” she said. “And by the sounds of it, Arthur Rubenstein.”

Charles never ceased to be amazed by her ears. It was borderline freakish.

“This came up once, totally randomly, while I was on a drive,” he told her. “I feel like there are so many songs in classical music that are…so emotional. Majestic. But most of the time, it’s me that’s doing the feeling. This song…I can almost feel how the composer—and the player—must have felt bringing it into existence.”

She looked deep in thought. Only noticing Charles’ eyes on her seemed to break her reverie. “It’s a good song,” she replied evenly.

Charles felt slightly crestfallen. It wasn’t like her to not provide a whole commentary on a classical piece. He’d expected her to wax poetic about the dynamic contrast, the pacing, the dissonant cadenza.

“Definitely.” He tried to hide his disappointment.

It was a bad day for Charles’ fingers, as he liked to say. Frustrated, he decided to take a walk around the studio as a refresher. He wondered if she was working on her score. Then he realized that he’d never actually heard her play before. Suddenly overcome with curiosity, he crept as silently as he could down the hall until he heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

She was sitting in front of a piano, but there were no stacks of messy papers on the bench or the stand, no pencil tucked behind her ear. Her eyes were closed; she looked utterly peaceful, belying the sounds of the flying arpeggios, the chords crashing like waves on the Monégasque beach, that she coaxed effortlessly out of the old instrument.

Charles felt a choking sensation grow in his chest, his throat, as the Liebestraum modulated from its playful B major, then C, E, and finally the soaring climax of its home key. She touched the final note, the simplest of simple A flats, letting it linger until the walls of the practice room sucked it away far too soon.

A tear splashed onto one of the keys. She wiped it away with the sleeve of her hoodie. Her face, no longer peaceful, looked haunted. Charles felt like a little piece of his heart had chipped off.

He tried to turn around and sneak back to his room, but she looked up, and they locked eyes. She froze.

Charles tapped softly on the door. She nodded. He opened the door, sat next to her on the piano bench.

“Charles—” she began.

“You’re incredible.” He shook his head, still in disbelief.

She hung her head. Her shoulders drooped. “I’m not.”

“You only ever talk about composition. Why didn’t you ever tell me you perform?”

Her lips flattened into a line. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

He gaped. “Why not?” This girl could put actual professionals to shame.

“It’s a long story.” she said curtly. But Charles saw her eyes fill with tears.

He put an arm around her shoulder, and felt her lean in. “Want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

She swiped across her eyes with her sleeve. “You played that song in the car,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“The truth is that when I started school, I wasn’t just studying composition,” she continued slowly. “I was actually majoring in piano performance.”

“As you should,” Charles blurted impulsively.

She gave him a watery smile. “My mom, she was pretty against the whole music thing. But my dad loved piano. He was really good himself, but I guess my grandparents were like my mom, so he just had a normal job. And most of all…” her voice quivered, “he loved the Liebestraum. So much. I listened to it constantly growing up…hearing my dad play it was probably why I started playing in the first place.”

Charles’ heart gave a painful squeeze. He dreaded where this was going.

She gave a heavy sigh. “My first year, my dad got a heart attack. At Christmas dinner. He was gone…just like that.”

“Oh, no,” Charles whispered.

“I went back to school the next semester, but I couldn’t play anymore the way I used to. So I quit. I switched my concentration to theory and composition. Honestly, I never even practice anymore, even for fun…but then you played that song in the car…”

Charles felt like an asshole. Of course he had no idea what that song meant to her. But how fucked up was it that he’d thought he was bringing her a flower…and what she saw was a knife? “I’m sorry,” he said morosely.

“It’s okay.”

“For what it’s worth,” Charles said softly, “the way you played…if heaven is really a thing…you dad got to hear exactly how much you love him today.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Then she leaned in, and Charles smelled orange blossoms, felt her lips delicately brush his cheek.

“Thank you, Charles.”

One day, Charles tells you that he won’t be able to see you next weekend—the race weekend is in Singapore, and the drivers are heading there almost a week early for the time change. He looks almost as cut up about it as you feel.

“So I was thinking,” he says hesitantly, “maybe we could hang out more after the practice room. Only if you want.”

“Sure,” you say, trying not to betray your excitement. Or nervousness. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Well,” Charles says, running a hand through his soft, tousled brown hair. “We could get dinner. And then I wanted to show you something out on the water.”

You laugh, because of course Charles owns a boat, and tell him so. His cheeks bloom with two patches of pink, but he looks pleased nonetheless.

Dinner is delicious, not that you could pay any attention to the plates of tortellini smothered in creamy white béchamel, the perfectly crispy, charred pizza with sprigs of arugula and prosciutto, not when Charles peeks adorably at you over the top of his wine glass, lifts his slice of pizza to toast yours, fails to correct the waiter when she calls you a “beautiful couple”. Especially not when his fingers find yours as you walk out of the restaurant, and they intertwine and stay that way as he drives you along the asphalt ribbon of the Monégasque shoreline, to the harbor where his yacht is docked.

The dying sunset stains the sky a brilliant shade of orange, fading into darkness by the time he drives the boat deeper offshore. Stars dot the sky like a smattering of freckles. The coast is brightly lit, and you point out the crowds that seem to be gathering near the harbor.

“As luck would have it,” Charles says, “a couple days in the summer, there’s a festival on the Port.”

“Is that why we’re out at sea instead of, I don’t know, enjoying the actual festival?” you tease, earning yourself a gentle poke in the ribs.

“Just wait.”

You hear the faint sound of music coming from the shore, some upbeat pop thing. Charles is fiddling with some buttons on the dashboard of the yacht. Suddenly, the those familiar inverted chords in D flat major that never fail to make you feel like you’re melting, signaling the beginning of Rhapsody, sound through the speakers on the sides of the boat. Your heart pounds. Charles wraps an arm around your waist, and takes you onto the deck as the music swells, the cellos and basses joining the violins. He points up at the sky.

And the fireworks begin.

Bursts of red, green, purple. Blazing trails of gold, like comets, exploding in a shower of glitter that crackles on the way down. You look at Charles, seeing the dazzling sparkles reflected in his eyes, and they are filled with so much longing that your own heart aches.

“They’re gorgeous,” you tell those eyes, not entirely sure you’re talking about the fireworks anymore.

“Good,” Charles says hoarsely. He tilts your jaw up with two gentle fingers. Hardly an inch away from your own, his lips move as he says in the barest of whispers, “Because now you see what I’ve been seeing…every Monday for a long, long time.”

Your lips quiver, but Charles leans in, and stills them with his own. Even though your eyes are squeezed tightly shut, you see fireworks.

one year later

Applause fills the air as you hit the last thundering chord of Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A Minor with a flourish. You stand, the stage lights making you feel giddy—or maybe it’s the exhilaration of finishing your senior concert—and you take your bow. The chiffon hem of your dress skims the ground as you walk off stage and are swarmed with friends and family and proud professors, but your eyes roam the crowd for just one person.

And there he is. An armful of lilies demands one of his arms, so he sweeps you close with the other. He brushes your lips with a kiss.

“Congratulations,” Charles whispers.

“Thanks,” you beam, a little teary-eyed.

“Grieg, huh?” he says. “No wonder you didn’t want to show me the program in advance.”

“It was meant to be poetic,” you laugh, and he kisses you again.

And it was. One day you sat down and counted every song you and Charles had played in his Ferrari on the way to the practice room before the night of the fireworks. Sixteen. Like the number emblazoned on his car, on the hoodies you regularly stole from his closet, on the posters you brought to his race weekends. Sixteen songs, and that concerto just happened to be the one that started it all.

notes: if you couldn’t tell….i played a lot of piano growing up. fic inspired by this post

random easter eggs:

hehe i am so stupid reference

gatacca (highly recommend)

til there is an actual fireworks show in monaco

and of course, charles actually playing the piano :’))))))) he truly contains multitudes i love him so much

#f1 #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #charles leclerc #charles x reader #cl16 #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader #cl16 x y/n #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc x reader

81 notes · View notes

sixshotsinatumbllr · 4 months

Text

Rating Good Omens Characters by whether I would employ them in my IRL cafe or not.

Aziraphale: 100% would employ. He'd be on service, taking orders and running them out. Also, we have a small retail book corner, which I am currently failing at making work, so Aziraphale can also get that going (he'd be great at sourcing books, not so great at selling them). He is not allowed to perform his magic act though, which makes him sad. Sorry Azi.

Crowley: Absolutely yes. That (infernal being) knows their coffee. The ywould be a shit-hot barista. Sadly, they get fired after a week because the only person in my life that is snarkier and grumpier than Crowley is my husband (the actual owner of the cafe, I'm just along for the ride). They get into too many arguments and Crowley quits majestically. But we really appreciated the handful of times they yeeted someone off into another dimension when they were difficult customers.

Nina: Obviously. She has the experience for the job (unlike probably all the other characters); and she has the personality for it. She'd be the one that gets all the good gossip from the customers and be able to handle it be stupid busy. She'd be our number one reliable employee. My husband and Nina would also fight and snark but they'd both feel refreshed by it.

Gabriel: NAH.

Jim: Also NAH, but we'd probably put him on for a week of work placement through a job placement agency to help him out a bit, because he clearly needs it. Unfortunately, he becomes a liability because he drinks too many hot chocolates on shift and that costs us too much in stock.

Beezlebub: I'd really like to, but the council food inspector won't allow it with all the flies that come with zir.

Famine: I think Famine would be a food rep. These people come around from food wholesalers to introduce us to new products. A lot of these seem pretty questionable. I reckon Famine's taken Ciao on the road after the Notpocalypse for something new to do. He's a very polite and enthusiastic rep, but we politely decline his products. The following week, a critical potato shortage hits the market and we have trouble sourcing good quality chips, a key menu item in the cafe.

Furfur: I wouldn't give him a job even though he appears to have a solid set of organisational skills, because he personally irritates me. But then he becomes a regular customer, coming in for a large cap everyday, pays in the low-denomination coins, takes up an entire table of six for two hours, and then asks for a bag of coffee to be ground in the middle of the lunch rush.

Maggie: she'd be in charge of the playlist. (at least, after Crowley quits in a fury, up until then he'd hogged the spotify and dictated all of the music- and miracles it to continue even when he's not on shift. There's slightly less Queen than there is on our playlist currently). She'd be a day barista one or two days a week. I reckon Maggie and Aziraphale would be the Monday server/barista duo.

Every now and then, the playlist gets possessed for a few hours and none of us can do anything about it but let it pass and see what Crowley's digging musically these days.

The Metatron: Absolutely not. In fact, he's banned from coming within 500 metres of us and our oat milk supply.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens au #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #gomens #cafe #i am so bloody proud of this post #I have like a dozen more of these planned

63 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 8 months

Note

Lo puedes negar hasta el cansancio pero cada vez te me pareces más y más a Puffy-Liar! su mismo modus operandi, hablas en círculos, te crees dueña ds la verdad absoluta, escribes largos "rants" donde hablas mucho pero no dices nada. Es cuestión de tiempo para que traigas de vuelta tus "privy info", "close to SC sources" a tu amiga Stella y el "vault" con las fotos de SC y el bebé rubio. Supongo que en WordPress ya no eras tan popular y extrañabas tener los shippers rogandote para que compartas la información de tu amigo "long throat" ya sabes, Puffy siendo Puffy. 😅🤣🤣

Oh, but hello you Master Troll Anon,

For the delight of this fandom, may I translate your venomous rant, that was supposed to what...? scare me? ... make me run for the helicopter on the roof, Ceaușescu-style?

You can deny it until you get tired, but every time you look more and more like Puffy-Liar! The same modus operandi as her, you talk in circles, you think you are the master of absolute truth, you write long rants where you talk a lot and say nothing. It's just a matter of time until you bring back your privy info, close to SC sources, your friend Stella and the vault with the pictures of SC and the blonde baby. I suppose you were not as popular on WordPress and you missed the shippers begging you to share the information from your 'long throat' friend. You know, Puffy being Puffy.'

Since your reading comprehension is so perfect, I will answer you in English.

I hope my letter finds you well, btw.

First of all, it's Deep Throat, not Long Throat. But you know... barista/barrister... Deep Throat existed, during the Watergate Affair. His name was Mark Felt and he was the Deputy Director of the FBI, supplying Bob Bernstein and co with all the needed info. Puffy's is a figment of her imagination, as you all know it.

I have doxxed myself not once, but twice . And I did it on purpose, because I knew you would do exactly this, in order to feel alive, perhaps:

First, my mugshot:

Posted on July 30th, while recounting my visit to Olympia: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/724219876757176320/a-stupid-shippers-guide-to-the-peloponnese-part

Yes, darling, this is me: a Romanian, 45 year-old, Roman-Catholic diplomat. Not a 60+ Jewish widow from Massachusetts :

Then, because you were harassing @bjj3007-ichoosetobelieve, I posted this flat denial on August 18th: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/725983370933354496/jeez-louise

In Romanian. Had I done it in French, my second mother tongue, you would have screeched it was inconclusive. Silly twats.

As far as I know, Puffy has some rudiments of French, but that's about it. Sorry, doll. Wrong number.

I don't care about your slanderous, uneducated and vulgar opinion. I despise your harassment attempts on people who were only liking what they were reading and were very warm to me.

You are not the first one to try and scare me. You have yet to prove I am a liar, with hard evidence, not with impressionist camelos.

There is at least one woman in this fandom who knows my name, my full mail address and all the specific details. Because she recently used them and got confirmation that I am who I said I am, I have the job I said I have and I live where I said I lived.

Her delicate gesture moved me. Yours brought a sort of disgusted amusement, if at all possible.

I know who you are. If I were you, I'd think twice before going on with the shitshow. I am not implying anything and I will not lose my time with you in court (my best IRL friend, the Madrid abogada, will gladly do it pro bono, btw). But you have nothing and you will continue to have nothing.

Because there is nothing you can have about me. I said it all, almost.

What this outburst is telling me, is one darn inconvenient thing for you, people. So, I'll say it in Spanish, cariño:

¿Vds tienen mucho, mucho miedo, verdad?

I promised to be your worst intellectual nightmare. I meant it.

So far, I think I am not faring that bad, eh?

#Anon

112 notes · View notes

kyaa-q · 3 months

Text

A Train Wreck (part 2)

Lee Minho x fem!reader warnings: lots of angst and tw for verbal abuse/toxic relationship wc: 10k6> AO3 link :) | Part 1 synopsis: Your life has changed a lot throughout the past 6 months, since you started dating Jun. Events lead you to slowly distance yourself from some of the people you loved the most - Stray kids. Even your friendship with Bang Chan, your closest friend, was damaged after that day. Now, you find your life to be like an unstoppable train wreck hurtling toward disaster. You're gradually losing the bonds that had always kept you sane, for a serie of events that turned your world upside down. It feels inevitable: you will crash. Could someone help you avoid the collision? Could someone take the wheel with you, and help you get control over your life again? You don't know anymore. There's only one thing you do know: you are not welcomed and Lee Know, in particular, might hate you. And his opinion about you hurts more than you wanted it to.

Or: Y/N is in an abusive relationship and ends up distancing herself from her friends (Stray Kids). She thinks everybody hates her, especially Lee Know. She doesn't understand the effect he has on her (and vice-versa).

Minho’s chuckle still echoes in your mind as you’re slowly pulled back to the present. The faint buzz of your phone on the table catches your attention. You don’t recognize the number showing on the screen.

Still not feeling entirely as yourself, you pick it up. “Hello?” The sound of your voice rings weird in your ears.

You reach for your cup and sigh melancholically when you find it empty. Should I get another one? At the counter, the barista laughs a little too loud of something the cashier just said.

“Hi.” The male voice greets you from your phone, though you barely register it.

Maybe I should go home.

A nausea knot twist in your stomach at the thought.

But where else can I go?

A sudden shattering sound makes you jump and you whip your head. The cashier quickly makes his way going through the tables until you spot the source of the crash. The couple begins a succession of anxious apologies, met by constant reassurance from the cashier.

You could’ve sworn the noise had come from your phone, though.

You shake your head. I definitely need to go home and get some sleep.

“Who is it?” You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear and start collecting your stuff.

“Ouch. So you actually don’t have my number saved.” You hear a soft laugh, followed by a frustrated click of a tongue. “That is fair, I guess. Why am I hurt, though?” He murmurs what you can assume that is mostly to himself. You grab your bag to leave and force yourself to snap out of the heavy haze clouding your mind.

There is something familiar about the man, but you can’t really put your finger on it. It bothers you. The feeling of missing something important is there, but it’s overshadow by exhaustion and you decide that thinking takes too much energy – which you have none to spare.

You rub your temples. “I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. Who do you wish to speak to?” You take a quick look at your phone screen on your way out, realizing it’s way later than you thought. “Are you sure you called the right number?”

“Very sure, Y/N.” His voice is soft and reassuring.

You sigh again. “So, how can I…” You start, but something makes you stop.

The way he says your name itches a particular spot of your brain. It’s not simply familiar – it’s somehow intimate, and you picture the warmth that wraps you when you go inside a house after walking through the cold in the middle of the winter.

A face also comes in your mind, but you almost laugh. It comes out as a weak breath instead.

It’s unlikely. Flashes of angry howls through closed doors bring back the pain and shame from that specific day, that hasn’t stopped haunting you even weeks later.

It is unlikely, you tell yourself. Very unlikely.

Still, his name falls from your lips before you can stop it. “Minho.”

“Hello, Y/N.” He replies and you know that it is, unmistakably, Minho.

In a heartbeat, the clouds in your mind vanish and you feel particularly awake. You resist to acknowledge the feelings – of relief and… yearning? Longing? – that filled your heart after the realization that Minho was calling you.

Minho, of all people.

You step outside and the cold spring air fill your lungs. Your gaze shifts to the darkening sky, extending beyond the towering buildings that rise above the ground. You wish you could see stars.

It was impossible to ignore the strangeness of it. Minho never calls you. Literally. In fact, you couldn’t remember a single instance where it had happened. Not in the beginning, when you first started showing up at the studio as Chan’s friend, and especially not after Jun, when his despise became obvious and spread like dark tentacles that you tried so hard to overlook.

“Hey. How can I help you?” You ask coolly. Then, a thought surfaces in your mind making your panic spike. “Is everything okay?” The words come out rushed. “What happened?”

“Everything is fine, Y/N.” He reassures you and, for some reason you don’t understand, you believe him. “Nothing happened.”

Thank God. You exhale audibly.

The relief is short-lived. “Then why are you calling?”

Minho chuckles, but you don’t allow yourself to feel bad for being straightforward.

“Are you free on Saturday?” The casualty in Minho’s voice is still off-putting.

“It depends.” You reply, warily.

His laughs reverberates in your chest. “Of what?”

“You’re acting weird. What’s going on?” You blurt out.

“Weird how?” There is amusement in his voice, the realization leaving you almost disturbed. He’s enjoying it.

“Come on, Minho. Get to the point.”

“You’re no fun.” He sighs, though clearly still enjoying himself. “The comeback is around the corner and Chan has been working relentlessly. Even though it’s nothing new, it still doesn’t mean it’s suddenly good for his health.” You bite your lip as he continues. “We managed to bargain with him, so he is taking a day off and we thought it would be a good idea to celebrate the comeback. Or whatever the excuse was. I guess you can call it a group effort to give that guy a break, even if it’s just for a night.”

All your defenses are dismantled, you know it. The familiarity of the situation threatens to suffocate you as your throat tightens, unable to stop the gratitude of squeezing your heart at the picture of those guys taking care of each other.

And somehow including you.

The tears burn the back of your eyes. God knows how Chan has been and still he had called you on that very same day. You don’t remember what you said – if you even said anything – and you can’t help but wonder if, maybe, he had called you in search of a friendly ear.

If that were the case, you had failed him terribly.

While you desperately tried to fix everything, you ended up making things worse. You knew now how mistaken you were when you thought that distancing yourself would make things better. Yes, you knew why you were acting so wary and evasive, but how could Chan have any clue? None of them did. How could they? By being scared of bothering your friends, by trying not to burden them, you singlehandedly decided to withdraw yourself. Simple as that, you pushed all of them away and then you went further. You had convinced yourself that you were doing this for them.

How could this be considered a selfless choice in any shape of form? How much of your actions were guided by altruism and love for your friends, and how much of it was led by selfishness and, especially, fear of being hurt again?

You shake your head, chasing off the thoughts in your mind and wiping away a single stubborn tear that escaped rolled down your cheek.

Perhaps you had been annoying the boys to no end. Perhaps they all had grown seriously tired of you and simply didn’t know how to bring it up. Perhaps you had crossed their boundaries and became a source utter of discomfort and displeasure. Perhaps they even hated you, while you remained oblivious to it.

Perhaps.

But then what?

“Just so you know,” Lee Know interrupts your thoughts and you wipe another tear from your face. “You are coming. I’m calling just to make sure you cancel whatever you may have planned in advance.”

You raise your eyebrows in confusion, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it. It’s not up to discussion.” You open your mouth but nothing comes out, and when he continues, his voice is quiet and soft, “Chan misses you, you know.” Your heartbeat falters in your chest. “And it’s not just him.”

The thoughts fly chaotically inside your head and you stop yourself from stating out loud once more how odd the situation is. The fondness in his voice isn’t new, you’ve heard it before. You’ve heard it when he spoke to Han, discreetly checking how he was feeling in the after stage. You’ve heard it when he bickered with Chan and the way he called hyung afterwards. You’ve heard it when he teased Hyunjin, when he complimented Jeongin and when he spoke of Seungmin to other people.

You witnessed different and subtle ways of caring Minho had toward every member. Outside the group Minho was extremely reserved, many times seen as cold-hearted – a huge mistake. It was hard to know how much it affected him really, though. You’ve always admired him secretly and from afar for his strength and resolution.

From afar, you say, because you were part of the “outside the group” team, obviously. Minho was a mystery to you, a distant figure that you respected and stopped trying to understand a long, long time ago.

In the beginning, you had wondered if you were the problem.

Because you had seen his affection when it came to the members, the indifference towards you was awkward to say the least. He was never directly rude, though his detached attitude could be – and indeed was – seen as such sometimes. One day, you were chilling on the couch at the studio as 3RACHA worked on a track, Minho suddenly stormed into the room. You immediately sat straight, surprised by the sudden and unusual burst of excitement coming from him, breaking the quite monotonous atmosphere the room had acquired. Minho walked past you and went straight to Chan and Changbin, giggling as he showed them something on his phone. Han left the live room, confused about the fuss.

Minho turned the screen to Han and they both spoke energetically, with Chan laughing along. Even Binnie, though shaking his head, clearly bit back a smile. The latter caught you staring in confusion, and waved off the commotion. “Silly boys, Y/N. They’re like children.”

“Excuse you!” Han exclaimed dramatically, “The new chapter of Demon Slayer is anything but silly!”

Chan laughed louder and Minho’s head jerked in your direction. He blinked a few times, assimilating the unexpected presence of a fourth person he had not realized before. Suddenly, he stiffend his posture and gave you a short bow, murmuring something to the boys and then turning to leave the room right after.

Not before you caught the bright pink shade in his ears.

“Is it me?” You asked a little later on that very same day. “Have I done anything to upset him?”

“What are you talking about?” Asked Changbin, swinging in one of the leathered chairs.

“Minho.” You explained, waving off the surprised expressions on their faces. “I’m just wondering if I did something and if I should apologize to him.”

“Are you serious?” Han’s shocked face seemed a bit of an exaggeration, you thought. “Do you think he doesn’t like you?”

“Come on, Hannie. I’m not blind.” You shrugged, though it came off a little forced. “I just don’t want to be in bad terms with any of the members.”

You were grateful for your friendship with Chan. He was an amazing person and you were so lucky to have him in your life. His life wasn’t easy, obviously. When he wasn’t busy with schedules of an idol life, he was busy working and doing music, so it was heartwarming when he went out of his way to introduce you to the others, especially to 3RACHA. Changbin and Han had welcomed you from day one, and you rarely felt so immediately comfortable around people you had just met, like it happened with them. You met the other boys a couple times, and even ended up hanging out with Hyunjin and Felix once or twice. They were wonderful, you knew, and you also were highly aware of the importance the group had to them.

Your heart ached watching what true love and acceptance looked like.

And because you knew how much each of them meant to each other, you started worrying about Minho. What if Minho didn’t like you? What would it mean to Chan, and the others? You didn’t expect everyone to love you, obviously, but you hoped to hold a neutral image at least. What if you couldn’t? Then what?

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Y/N.” Chan said, and he pondered his words. “I can’t speak for him, but I’m sure that, with time, you’ll both get to know each other better.”

“So… does he not hate me?” You tried one last time.

Binnie’s eyes widened and Han chocked what you thought to be a laugh. “Absolutely not.” Han said, cleaning his throat. “I can assure you that.”

You rub your eyes, trying to stop a headache from forming.

In the end, it all comes back to Chris. It’s obvious that Minho cares about him, and so do you. It makes sense to unite forces for a greater cause. Kind of. It almost makes sense when you think of this as some common ground.

“Okay. Sure.” You say finally, feeling like your brain was replaced with jelly. “I’ll go.”

“Great!” Minho sounds pleased with himself, oblivious to the conflict happening inside your head. Good for him, you think bitterly. “Oh, there’s one more thing.” You grunt, but he continues. “No boyfriends allowed.”

Your body tenses and you feel your stomach drop.

This is not gonna end well.

“Minho…”

“That’s not up for discussion either. Sorry, Y/N,” He says, not sounding sorry in the least. “I don’t make the rules. Text me if you need a ride.”

“Minho, I don’t think this is a good idea.” You urge, scared he might hang up on you.

He does not. Instead, his voice becomes lower but steadier and assertive. “What is a not a good idea, Y/N?”

You take a shaky breath. “I know you don’t like Jun…” You start, but your thoughts are a mess. They stumble upon one another and the necessity of having Minho understanding inflates more and more inside your chest. He waits in silence, patiently, as you struggle to put your thoughts into coherent words. “And maybe that’s all you see, someone who you don’t like and you want to avoid. And I get that, I really do. I don’t blame you, but… But it’s not that simple, Minho.” You try to swallow the lump growing in your throat, in vain. “And you know it is not. It’s easy when you are not the one dealing with him afterwards. I know you don’t like him, but this is not the way out.”

Minho doesn’t speak for another moment and your words linger heavy in the air.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is restrained and devoid of any strong emotions. It’s difficult to know what he is feeling and you can’t help but resent him a little for it. He’s able to keep himself collected while you’re a goddamn mess. “Do you think it’s because I don’t like him?”

“I mean… Yes?” You laugh but it comes out lifeless and dry. “Come on, Minho. Are you gonna tell me you actually enjoy Jun’s company?”

“Of course not, Y/N.” He breathes out, exasperated. All the teasing and amusement from earlier are gone without a trace you could actually think you’ve imagined it all. “It’s evident I don’t like the guy. That’s not the point.”

The blunt admission doesn’t trouble you near as much as you thought it would. Rather, it’s the determination weighing in on his last sentence that makes you stagger. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m missing, Minho.”

“Don’t be sorry.” The determination is still there, along with what you think is anger. You don’t feel like you’re the target of it, though. He takes a deep breath and, when he speaks again, he chooses his words carefully. “What would happen if you came without him?”

The answer is awfully easy. The fight unfolds vividly in your mind and you look past it. You know Jun will be mad when he finds out, that he will ignore your calls and texts for weeks – maybe days, if you’re lucky. It’s not up to you anyway, since Jun appear to have his own time that changes depending on his mood. You know he will come back as if nothing happened despite that, eventually. You know that none of you will speak of it until another fight breaks out, only then might it be brought up again. Which is fine! It gives you plenty of time to worry about it in the future instead. The first few days are always the hardest, though, and the guilt is suffocating – you can feel it, even now. A chocked wry laugh comes out of your throat. How is it possible to feel guilty for something that has not even happened yet?

It’s because, you realize, the remorse doesn’t come from this specific and hypothetical scenario. The lingering heavy pressure that fills up your chest comes, alternatively, from all the other countless arguments you had throughout the past few months. These fights planted seeds of shame and guilt in your heart and watered them. The seeds bloomed into thorny vines and craved marks in your heart like carving stone.

These apprehensions run through your veins blended with your own blood. The constant fear and dread of taking too much space, of being too loud, of being selfish and a burden, they are part of you like stretch marks.

You’re aware that fights will happen regardless of what you do, but still, deliberately giving them motives feels even worse.

“I don’t want him to be mad, Minho.” You say instead, and silently wonder why you feel comfortable talking about this with Minho, when it’s something you hardly feel with yourself. “You know the picture it paints. If I went to a party where he was specifically asked not to come, that’s like cheating.” You cringe at your own words. “Kind of. I don’t know, Minho. You know what I mean, you’re not dumb. You would get mad too.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.” He states nonchalantly and it surprises you. You scoff, annoyed, but he continues. “I’m serious. You’re asking whether I’d be mad if my girlfriend went to a party with her friends without me, right?” You feel a frenetic energy growing inside you, your entire body buzz with tension. It feels wrong, forbidden. Minho, on the other hand, is still as tranquil as he has ever been, unaware of the vileness of the conversation. “If so, then the answer is no. Of course not. Thinking my partner will cheat on me only because I’m not around is kinda dumb, isn’t it? If my presence is the only thing stopping them from doing it, then why am I with them? I obviously don’t trust that person at all.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs and your breath is caught in your throat. You know Minho is not teasing you, his tone is devoid of malice, and he comes off as anything but judgmental – which makes it somehow worse. Deep inside, you wish he were disapproving, critical of you. You wish he showed disappointment and disdain for your choices and actions, anything that would sustain the twisted image you had of yourself. You wanted him to put the blame on you, right in your face, with the same fierceness he had displayed that day at the company building. You needed him to, so you could maybe start making some sense of things.

Instead, he was collecting the few convictions you had and putting them under a different light, showing you how they change and distort when viewed from other angles.

He is wrong, you feel it in your bones. He does not understand. Minho is not getting the full picture. You open your mouth to tell him, to explain what he’s so badly missing.

Nothing comes out.

If my presence is the only thing stopping them from doing it, then why am I with them? I obviously don’t trust that person at all.

You squeeze your eyes shut. He is wrong. He doesn’t understand.

“What if you don’t tell him you’re coming?” He questions, and you inhale air back into your lungs.

“What?” The night has fallen and you shiver.

“Are you seeing him on Saturday?” He asks, with a low but stern voice.

You try glimpsing inward, at the hurricane of thoughts swirling in your mind. Silently, you thank the solid wall helping you to maintain balance.

No, you're not seeing him on Saturday—at least, you haven't planned anything. Of course, you haven't. Jun went silent for over a week and only came back today. Before you could plan anything, you both ended up in a fight. There's still a chance you might make up before Saturday, though.

Actually, Jun can call you at any moment. Or not. He can call you in the next five minutes or in the next five days. He can simply show up at your place at any time, as he’s done before.

Including on Saturday.

The possibilities of things going wrong are endless.

But, obviously, you’re not saying all of that to Lee Know, so you stick with simplicity by saying, “I don’t think so.”

“Then come.” He appeals, making your heart squeeze, “And don’t tell him.”

Oh, if things were that simple. You shut your eyes, imagining how it would be to see the world through his eyes.

What would happen if he were to be standing in front of you right now? What would you see? Would you catch the same glimpse of disappointment you did that day? Would you find shame and pity in his face, when facing the mess of person you’ve become? Would you find anger and contempt?

Or would you see his face matching the softness and understanding you hear in his voice right now?

You open your eyes wide.

It made no sense. You question your own sanity.

“Why are you being nice?” You can’t help but ask. Fuck it. “It’s weird, Minho. Why would you even care?”

“The way you talk, I’m actually starting to wonder how poorly I’ve treated you.” The trace of hurt among the playfulness in his tone did not go unnoticed. “Am I this monstrous?”

“That’s not it.” You cut in quickly, your thoughts and feelings tangling to the point of becoming an unrecognizable mess.

“Y/N.” He says, and you curse the effect he has on you every time he says your name.

Why does it feel so intimate? Why does it feel so profound, like he’s reaching for the edges of your broken heart and feeling its wounds with the tip of his fingers?

But most importantly, why does he sound to be in as much pain as you are?

“You will be safe.” He says, and the certainty in his tone makes you defensive. He means well, you know, but it is hard to stop the hold back the grim laugh.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Minho.” You are safe now. Who does he think he is, implying otherwise? He knows nothing about Jun and your relationship.

He knows nothing about you.

“Sure. I probably don’t.” He dismisses, a little far-fetched, and the graveness in his voice fades away. “Anyway. Come up with a dozen theories of why I’m suddenly being nice now, I don’t mind. Actually, I’d love to hear them on Saturday, so be creative.” You want to protest, but he continues, “And save my number, for God’s sake. Is Chan’s the only number you have saved on your contact list?”

Contrasting feelings battle inside your heart and mind. You feel on the edge, like your world has been turned upside-down. The exhaustion weighs in on your shoulders, and you ache for your bed.

You look up at the sky again, allowing the darkness of nocturnal silence embrace you. It’s a shame you can’t see stars. “I actually have Bin’s and Han’s too.”

“Really?” He wheezes, untying just a little the knot of tension between you two.

“And Hyunjin’s.” You don’t know why you add.

“Now you’re just trying to hurt me.” The smile grows on your lips. “See you on Saturday.”

You hum, too tired to argue, and he hangs up.

You stare blankly at your phone. Your body is both numb and buzzing with a weird energy you can’t name. The thoughts in your head spin so quickly that, just as a Newton’s disk, a blank space is left.

A notification pops up and catches your eye.

Unknown: I really meant it when I said I’m not giving you the chance to skip this one.

Unknown: Lemme know if you need a ride.

Unknown: and save my number.

On your way back home, through bright streets and packed sidewalks, you allow your mind to wander.

Going to anywhere explicitly without Jun was a powerful statement by itself. The fact that it was with the members had an extra impact. Until now, the boys had maintained an overall neutral approach when it came to Jun (except, obviously, for Minho). This changes things, though. Could it be that the request came from Minho individually, and not from all of them? Did Chan know about it? Had he agreed with it? What if Minho was asking you to come without Jun for his own amusement, for the drill of it?

You rub your temples, finally arriving to your apartment. I’m going insane.

As you press the elevator button, one thought stands out amidst the confusion of feelings.

Why would it matter?

What would change if it were a request coming from Minho or even from Chan himself? Jun was never the biggest fan of your friends and he never tried to hide it, not once. They, on the other side, although never explicitly stated not liking Jun, always kept an overall polite approach toward him. Being honest, you’d be surprised if they had any slightly positive opinions about Jun. Could you even blame them? Could Jun blame them? What right had Jun to be upset if the people he so clearly disregarded ended up despising him back?

You step into your apartment, close the door and take off your shoes. The place is pitch dark, but you know all the corners and walls.

If, in the worst case scenario, Jun did end up throwing a tantrum, then what?

You shake your head, reluctant. It is like a big silent lake in your mind with dark and still waters – you do not wish to know what lays underneath. This train of thought is like throwing stones on the water, disturbing the unprovoked.

A resentment starts blooming in your chest, and you direct your mind toward Minho and his motives.

That is not the point, though. The voice echoes in your head.

Even though your better judgment tells you that you should not trust people this easily, still, you believe him. The resentment and anger that had barely bloomed withers, powerless.

Minho hadn’t called you for some evil plan to sabotage your relationship.

Minho called to give you a second chance.

You arrive in your bedroom and turn the lights on at last, flinching from the sudden brightness. The bedroom isn’t cramped, but looks rather small due to the expanded bed. Normally twin-sized, the bed had the structure to be pulled out and expanded, turning into a full-sized one. It looks comfier, and the messy sheets call as siren songs.

In between pillows and blankets, you sigh in relief.

There are many things you still fail to understand, that day at the company is, certainly, the biggest of them all. As time passes, you struggle more and more to make sense of what you’ve heard back then, and in other circumstances, you would’ve thought you had imagined it. Minho and his motives were just a small part of the whole picture.

In the end, one feeling stood out from the tangle: you want to make things right.

Shutting yourself away would not solving anything – in fact, it had only made things worse. It did not help you feel better with yourself. You still couldn’t think of a good way to talk to Chan and the others about it. The disappointment glazing in Minho’s eyes still haunt you to this day, hand in hand with the anger in his shouting.

And on top of all of it, there was what Minho had said on the call. He did imply that they, Chan at least, were suffering, didn’t he? Chan misses you. And it’s not just him. These two sentences kept repeating in your mind like a broken disc, being as soothing as they were painful.

How did it change things?

Could it be that, by trying to push them away so they would not get hurt, you had caused even more harm?

Certainly, there were a lot of missing pieces from this huge puzzle you were trying to solve. Regardless of that, by the time you fall asleep, you are sure of two things:

First, you want to make things right.

Second, you want to go to that party.

The days passed with no major events and you ended up not telling Jun. You weren’t entirely okay with that, as the guilt was still very much there. The sense of wrongness persisted in not telling him all of your plans and routines, especially if they didn’t include him. It was hard to shake off the feeling of betrayal, and you relied on Minho’s words for comfort more often than you were willing to admit.

Jun also had his part on making things easier. For the first time, you thanked the absence and the silence from his end. It’s easier to not speak about something when you simply don’t… well. Speak.

For once, you chose to be bold and you chose to be selfish. You would go and hang out with your friends, leaving the consequences for the future you to deal with.

It was around 5pm. You had already showered and was going through your wardrobe, thinking about what to wear. That was when your phone buzzed with a notification.

Lee Know.: I meant it when I said we are not giving you the alternative of not coming. This is not up for discussion.

Lee Know.: Lemme know if you need a ride.

Lee Know.: and save my number.

Lee Know.: I’m coming to pick you up at 6.

You rolled your eyes. I never said I needed a ride. Minho seemed to be pushing all your buttons and being very aware of that.

You: Thanks, I’ll pass. Tell me where it is and I’ll call an Uber.

The response was almost instantaneous, and made you frown.

Lee Know.: can’t. sorry.

The audacity. Two words and your felt your blood boil.

You: ??? what’s your problem?

You: I said I’m going, you don’t need to escort me.

Annoyed, you let the phone on the coffee table and marched towards your room. You chose a black romper that, even though the neckline was lower than what you would usually wear, it had long loose sleeves that made it one of your favorite pieces of clothes. It was elegant, but mainly comfortable with a very casual vibe to it. It fit the occasion. You dried your hair and put some makeup on, keeping it the simplest you could. Although Minho had called it a “party”, you had attended some of these gatherings before and you hoped it was going to be the same: just some close friends reunited in the dorms. Nothing classy and no glamour. Just a bunch of people hanging out with each other and having fun.

You picked white sneakers and went back to the living room.

You were putting the sneakers on and Minho had yet to reply. If you ended up being late, he would be the one to blame.

Between tying your shoes and cursing Minho, you heard a jingling of metal followed by the click of your front door being unlocked. Your breath was caught in your throat when you saw Jun crossing the doorstep, his gaze finally finding yours.

Fuck.

The argument unfolded unsurprisingly, but by no means coolly. It was like a scene of a movie that you’ve watched countless times and you know all the lines by heart. He flipped out about you sneaking out, as expected, but nothing came even close to the way he looked at you after you said he could not come along.

First, he was furious, thinking you were doing so to make him jealous. Then, when he understood that it was, actually, the boys themselves who asked you to come alone, he was livid.

You tried to cool it off. You explained how stressed the boys were and how this was something to distract them when comeback is so close. You tried telling him that it was something for them and by them, and that they had all the rights to invite whoever they wanted. It was understandable they wanted to keep it between actually close friends – which Jun, clearly, was not.

It had little to no effect. At least, not the one you wanted.

Between cursing and outrageous claims, Jun accused you of choosing them over him. You asked, bordering on pleading, when has it become a competition? Why does it have to be one over the other?

Tears burned on the back of your eyes as you begged for understanding, for sympathy. Jun, meanwhile, laughed wryly. I can’t tell if you’re this naïve or if you’re simply playing dumb. Almost like you both spoke different languages, and you hated how dumb you actually felt.

You like the attention. He said spilling venom, and you looked at him horrified, unable to form any words. I’m right, am I not? I’m so disappointed, Y/N.

That rang a bell in your head.

Maybe it was because you had spent even more time recently thinking back to that time in the elevator, but, even involuntarily, the comparison was inevitable. By putting that event with Minho next to the current Jun, it became obvious to you how little the latter affected you – especially when set side by side. The tears rolling down your cheeks started to dry.

So now, even as you stare at Jun’s horrified expression, like he’s just seen the most atrocious of atrocities in your phone, the fact that the quarrel happened in such a predictable way doesn’t weigh in your conscience as much as you thought it would.

Jun laughs sharply and you know that, whatever it was that Minho had the fortune to text back in the worst moment possible and catch Jun’s attention, made Jun angrier. It is pointless to argue and you don’t feel particularly angry having Jun going through your phone. When you lay back on the couch, all you feel is tiredness.

Jun speaks again but the words go past you without much solid meaning. Joke. Humiliating. Rich. Whore. He drops your phone carelessly, falling to the carpet with a muffled thump. He leaves the apartment with big and loud steps, slamming the door shut on his way out.

Seconds slowly tick by as you’re left alone in silence, the ringing in your ears reflecting the state of your own mind. You force yourself to take deep breaths, calming down your wild heartbeat at the same time that the lump in your throat starts to shrink.

When you finally reach the phone laying on the carpet, your mind is blank and you feel oddly numb. You unlock the device and find the chat with Minho already open. You tell yourself it is normal for your hands to shake.

Lee Know.: I meant it when I said we are not giving you the alternative of not coming. This is not up for discussion.

Lee Know.: Tell me if you need a ride.

Lee Know.: and save my number.

Lee Know.: I’m coming to pick you up at 6.

You: I never said I needed a ride. Tell me where it is, I’ll call an Uber.

Lee Know.: can’t. sorry.

You: ??? what’s your problem?

You: I said I’m going, you don’t need to escort me.

Lee Know.: your boyfriend. he is the problem.

You sigh heavily - God damn it, Lee Know.

At that moment, as if he was listening to your thoughts himself, the phone rings in your hands. You answer it and the words seem leave your mouth on their own accord, “He just left.”

“Where are you?” He asks, after a moment. Minho’s voice is hard, while yours is shaky. You feel exposed, and you vision blurs. You don’t want to start crying again.

“I’m home.” Your voice trembles as you sniffle. I can’t do this now. “It’s okay. Everything is fine.” You gather yourself and speak with a confidence that you both know to be a lie.

“I’m outside.” Minho tells you and it takes you a moment to understand what it meant. Outside…?

You bolt upright and dash toward the balcony, spotting him as soon as you reach the ledge. Even from several stories high up, Minho’s dark figure stands out, standing next to a black car parked across the street. When his eyes meet yours, even at this height, your heartbeat hiccups.

“Do you want me to come up there?” He questions, maintaining eye contact despite the distance.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to.” You dismiss promptly. You were confused about many things, but having Minho in your apartment at that moment sounded undoubtedly like a bad idea. “I’ll be there in five.”

“Y/N, are you sure you are okay? I can call Chan and…” Minho’s voice trails off, his glance shifting from you to something across the street. “Oh, fuck me.” He swears under his breath, so lowly you barely catch it.

“What’s up? Minho?” You bend over the ledge a little, as an attempt to see whatever caught Minho’s attention.

Then your mind connect the dots, and you feel an utter idiot for not considering it earlier.

Jun just left the apartment. It couldn’t be more than five minutes since he had slammed the fucking door behind him. Which meant that Jun was still in the building by the time you picked up the phone.

Was indeed, because you’re sure the other figure you see stepping out the main entrance right now is Jun.

Your eyes dart toward Minho again and you say, soberly and carefully. “Minho.” All the weakness from a moment ago was gone. “Don’t.”

You start hearing Jun’s voice on the background and, though you can’t tell what exactly he is saying, you don’t have to. He’s angry and you watch his figure slowly approach Minho standing as still as a statue on the other side of the street.

You turn around and run.

Jun’s voice gets gradually louder and clearer, indicating he’s getting closer. You press the elevator button anxiously multiple times, but the elevator seems to take forever to arrive. You curse it silently. You curse the elevator and the lack of technological advance to build faster elevators. You curse the building for being too high and curse yourself for not living on the first floor.

“Leave.” Minho’s voice is cold as ice and sharp as a knife and sends shivers down your spine. “You don’t wanna do this.”

Fuck it. You take the stairs.

Jumping two and more steps at a time, you fly downstairs. “Minho.” You call brethless – a beg, a plead, an order, even you can’t tell. He cannot get into trouble, especially an argument in public. If Minho is seen by anyone in public, a fan or not, and it ends up reaching the internet, he’ll be screwed. He cannot stain his image, he’s a fucking idol, for God’s sake! “Please.”

“What is your problem, dude?” You make out Jun’s words, and his bold anger is maddening. Jun should know better than to cause a scene with Minho. He needs to know better. Jun cannot be that immature.

He can’t be. Right?

But rather than the idiotic bad temper, it is the fact that you can clearly hear him now, meaning that he is closer to Minho than you thought, what really troubles you.

Hurry, hurry, hurry. Your loud footsteps echo across the staircase mixed with the sound of you panting.

“Have you not caused enough damage to that poor girl?” Jun goes on mockingly.

“Excuse me?” You hear Minho say between gritted teeth.

“I know your type, big boy. I see what you’re doing.” The proximity between them makes your stomach sink, you can hear Jun even now that he’s not shouting. “You never liked me, huh? Was it because I stole your little toy?”

You feel sick.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.” Minho says grimly, “And I’d ask you to not come any closer with this finger pointed.”

“Minho!” You call out again. He needs to back off now. You feel the tears burning on the back of your eyes. Where the fuck is the first floor? Faster, Y/N! Faster faster faster faster.

Jun cackle dryly. “Oh, Cut the crap. We’re not dumb, you know? We heard that little show you put on.”

Jun wouldn’t tell him that. He wouldn’t do it.

“Minho, don’t do anything!” You plead between short breaths, over Jun’s voice. Minho can’t listen to him. “I’m almost-“

The momentary lapse of focus makes you stumble upon your feet, and you let out a yelp as you stumble down. You desperately grab the handrail to stop yourself from falling. The attempt, however, is awkward and you barely manage to steady yourself as one of your foot continues its descend as the rest of your body is jerked backwards.

You find yourself laying stiffly lying on the stairs, still holding on the handrail with one of your hands. Your heartbeat is as fast as the wings of a flying hummingbird, it is stuck in your throat. You let out a breath, then follow to take multiple deep breathes as a way to slow down your heart. Still, you don’t attempt to stand up just yet, not trusting your legs to not act like jelly after the shock. You’re okay.

A moment after, you register the slam of a door being opened extremely close. A fear of having someone seeing you like this, sitting on the dirty ground of the staircase so obviously affected starts forming in your mind. Before you can articulate it, and perhaps stand up to compose yourself, Lee Know enters your line of sight. Oh, so I was on the first floor.

Damn, so close.

His eyes widen as he assimilates the scene in front of him, and you fear his eyes might pop out of his skull. He went paler by two tones at least, and you wonder how bad you look. You start reassuring him you’re fine, but when you’re about to stand up, Minho already flew and is by your side, stopping you.

“Do not move.” He takes your hand from the handrail in his, holds it for a moment, and places it on your side. You watch him as his eyes run through your body, inspecting it. Being the main focus of his attention is intense, and you shift in place, uneasy. “Did you hit your head? Your back? Do you know what your name is?”

You blink, surprised by the overflow of questions. There is something so tender about the look in his eyes that lit up an entire lighthouse in your chest. There is also a fear of someone who has seen a ghost – or went through a near death experience from falling down the stairs – and you have the urge to take his hand on yours, but you hold yourself back. The apprehension in his demeanor is something new to you and worth to note. His hair looks soft and it’s shorter than it was last time you saw him. The shade also changed, a chocolate kind of brown replaced the black – and you decide you like it just as much. Your eyes travel down to look at what he’s wearing. The black bottom-up shirt has the first and second bottom open, making you instantly shot your eyes back up. You find Minho tilting his head to the side. “Y/N?”

“Yes?” The word comes out as breathless as before, and you blame it on the fall. You cough and close your eyes, breathing in slowly. Calm down, Y/N.

“I’ve asked you a question.” Minho says, and you spot a hint of amusement in the sea of concern in his voice.

You open your eyes. “You’ve asked several questions, actually.”

He smiles softly, which works against your goal of slowing your heartbeats. “Yet, you haven’t answered not even one.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t say anything and keeps staring, waiting for you to go on. “Really. It was just not the most graceful of my falls, I guess.”

He cracks first and chuckles, which gets a laugh from you and soon you’re both cackling.

The laughs have calmed down when he inhales deeply, close his eyes and let his head fall back, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He breathes out. Even though he’s not looking at you, you feel the need to look down, fidgeting.

You murmur, “I was scared you could get in trouble.” It doesn’t give half the picture of what was going through your head and it sounds pathetically silly, but you don’t elaborate any further.

“So you thought that running downstairs would be a good idea?” There is a shadow of teasing in his voice. You had expected Minho to make fun of you. You could see him telling you how dumb and reckless you were, saying how even kids know they shouldn’t run when going downstairs. You expected to be blamed for something so stupid. Instead, you encounter fear when he asks lowly, “Do you have any idea how badly you could’ve been injured?”

This rough concern coming from him was unsettling – you knew he was a caring person, but he’s only shown it when it came to the other members. You had never experienced it yourself before. “What else could I do, Minho?” Your voice doesn’t falter. “What was I supposed to do? Just wait and hope you’re not seen causing a scene? Chris would kill me.”

“I was not causing a scene.” He’s bitter, and you understand. After all, he is right. He wasn’t the one adding fuel to the fire.

“Would that even matter?” Your question comes out as a plead, and for once you’re not embarrassed. You both know what you mean. You’re aware of how they have to watch even the most innocent of actions when in public. Tabloids have the power to mess with someone’s image, it doesn’t matter if they are true or not. The public doesn’t care, and neither does the company. His carrier is intrinsically involved with public image. What could happen if someone recognized him arguing with Jun, and ended up posting on the internet? Idol Lee Know, fighting with a random civilian on the street. Would it matter who was the one who started it? The company had taken severe actions for much less. “You should’ve gone back inside the car and locked the damn door.”

It’s his time to roll his eyes, but before he respond, the slam of a door echoes throughout the staircase. You tense, your gaze shifting towards the stairway. Minho, on the other hand, simply stands up, but with his eyes still fixed on you.

Jun goes up a few stairs and shortly reach both of you. “What the hell?!” He shouts at Minho, spotting him first. Minho doesn’t acknowledge his presence. “What the fuck is wron-“ He follows Minho’s stare only to find you and, probably thrown off by the strange image of you half sitting half laid on the floor of a public staircase, Jun’s behavior shifts. The aggression is replaced by concern and confusion “Oh my God, Y/N. Are you okay?” He mentions to step closer towards you, but Minho blocks his passage with an arm. You see Jun’s face getting red with anger again. “Who do you think you are?! She’s my girlfriend!”

Although Jun storms at Minho, the latter doesn’t even glance at his direction. Instead, you find Minho searching for your eyes – and when they do find them, you don’t think of your heart skipping a beat. Somehow, you understand the silent question in his gaze: he wants to know from you whether he should allow Jun to come closer or not.

It makes your heart swell.

You don’t want Minho to give in – you don’t want yourself to give in. Although it shouldn’t be some kind of competition of who has more power over who, you think. First, to get some of your dignity back, you should at least look at them in the eye. You grip on the handrail once more and propel your body upward, rising to your feet.

At least you did, for a brief second. Then, you’re taken by a sudden strike of pain that hit your right ankle like a lightening. You cry out and collapse to the floor again – or you would, if it wasn’t for Minho. Before you know it, Minho has one arm around your body and pulls you closer to him. Leaning on him, you regain your balance and stand on one foot – the one not hurting.

“Are you okay?” He asks lowly as he stares down at your feet.

“Yes.” You breathe out and follow his gaze. “Fuck. Shit. It wasn’t hurting before. I swear.” You look at him apologetically, and you don’t understand the need to apologize.

“I know, Y/N.” He meets your eyes and soothes your side with the hand steading you for a moment. “It’s okay. Let’s take you to the hospital.”

You shake your head anxiously, “It’s fine. We’ll be late if we don’t leave.”

“I can take her.” Jun chimes in with a hint of smugness, reminding both of you of his unfortunate presence.

“I don’t need to be taken anywhere.” You snap at him and unconsciously try to step back from Minho. The pain shots through your body once again and you clench your teeth, instantly leaning back on him again.

Minho lets out an annoyed sigh. Suddenly, he lifts you up and holds you bridal-style. “Ya! I can walk!” You squeal, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach and the increasing warm on your cheeks.

“I’m sure you can. But as you said it yourself, we’ll be late if we don’t leave and we don’t have much time.” He says, turning around. You see Jun’s shocked look, and becoming more and more horrified after Minho says, “If you excuse us, you’re in the way.”

“I said I can take her. You can go on and meet your friends.” Jun doesn’t hide the venomous intent.

“Oh, I will.” Minho replies, indifferently. “With her. Now, move.”

Both yours and Jun’s faces get redder and redder, but you guess it’s from different emotions. “Or what?” He growls, and it sends a shiver down your spine. It’s gone too far. This bickering went too far. You want to apologize, to clarify things. You open your mouth and nothing comes out – you don’t know what to apologize for. You almost say “It’s not what you think!”, but you realize it sounds as idiotic as not saying anything.

“I’ve been told to keep myself away from problems, and, as you can see, my hands are quite busy.” You groan quietly, and hides your face on Minho’s shirt. Slightly bad choice – his scent wraps around you like a blanket, and you become hyperaware from the steady thud coming from his chest, far slower than yours. Oh my God, can he feel my heartbeat? “So I’m afraid we’ll have to stand here for hours just staring at each other’s faces. It doesn’t sound much fun, does it?” Minho tilts his head to one side, “Although my face is way more pleasant to look at.”

You tug Minho’s shirt, “Minho. That’s enough.” Jun makes an outraged noise, and you exasperate, “Come on, Jun. Stop being childish, you two. Can we go, please?” The last request, directed at Minho, comes out way softer than the rest and you feel your face burning once more.

In disbelief, Jun steps aside. As Minho passes by him, you murmur a sincere apology. You feel Minho’s shoulder tense, but he doesn’t stop walking.

Jun doesn’t follow you outside the building. Minho crosses the street toward the parked car in silence. There is a tension in the air, and you know he is angry. Minho is definitely mad at Jun, for being an ass, but you feel he is mad at you too. The silence is intimidating, though, and you don’t dare to break it.

When he reaches the car, he shifts his hold onto you to just an arm for a brief moment, enough so he could open the car door. He does it so smoothly you could’ve missed. Gently, he places you on the passenger seat, pushing the seat backwards to give you plenty of space to stretch your leg.

His hands hover for a moment, hesitantly, but before you can ask, he removes them and let them fall on his sides in closed fists. Minho’s expression is grave, and you can almost see the gears spinning in his head. He inhales deeply and runs his fingers back on his hair.

When he comes to look at you again, the somberness is gone. He’s locked his thoughts and emotions somewhere far away inside his mind and if you had one wish, it’d be for you to have the key.

Although his voice is soft, it feels somehow forced. “Are you comfortable? Does anything else hurt?”

“I am fine, I promise.” You shift anxiously on the leather fancy seat, “Extremely comfortable.” You add, giving him both thumbs up and a smile.

He scoffs dryly, though some tension washed off his body. Pleased with easing things a little, you think that, perhaps, leaving with Minho and then going to the party to meet you friends again doesn’t have to be so painfully awkward. Things are fine, you think. There is a big chance that the awkwardness exists only in your head, that it might not be the same to the others. Maybe, hanging out with them will be as natural as it always was. Maybe, they don’t hate you. Maybe, things will be alright.

After all, they are your friends. You don’t need to be on the edge.

You thought Minho was going to close your door and walk to the driving seat. Instead, out of nowhere, he comes closer, hovering over you. You yelp and hold your breath, dizzy by the unexpected and definitely not usual proximity. His perfume hasn’t left you yet. His side profile is so close that you can see all the small dots on his skin. You want to caress it. Your eyes move to his long dark eyelashes. You’re jealous. You are amazed by how sharp his features are, and you wonder if it would be weird to have your fingers tracing his jaw. Then his cheekbones. Then his nose.

Then his lips.

“Found it.” He whispers to himself. Suddenly, your backseat reclines a little and you’re caught by surprise. “Is it better?” He finally turns to face you. Still close, but not as close as before, you’re sure it doesn’t take much to notice the flushed mess you are. You feel you were caught doing something very, very bad. And wrong. Oh my God, so wrong.

You shake your head, trying to shoo the wicked thoughts away. When you look your eyes, though, you feel your sanity slipping through every crack in your mind as a smirk grows on Minho’s lips. “I asked you a question, Y/N.”

God help me.

All you manage to do is nod once, gaining a hum in satisfaction from him. He backs away and close your door, and you watch him walk around the car and enter on the driver’s side. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, trying to calm down the pounding inside your chest. He puts his seatbelts on and you wait for him to start the engine. There is a moment of silence, forcing you to open your eyes.

Minho is staring at you. With an eyebrow raised and failing to hold back a smile, he looks at you with curiosity. You look at him back, challenging. “What?”

“Seatbelts, Y/N. Or should I put them on too?” He teases, and your eyes open wide. Definitely not. Shortly you are fastening your seatbelt as Minho finally gives up on holding back and laughs. You cross your arms and curse him under your breath, while he starts the engine and pull off.

A few minutes later, the car dashboard signalizes Minho is receiving a call. Involuntary, you glance at the screen at the same moment Minho takes the call. It’s Chris.

“Yes, Hyung?”

“Hey, are you on your way? Did you get Y/N?” Chan’s voice comes through the speaker. Your heart aches a little, realizing how long it has been since you started avoiding them, and how much you missed the casualty and warmth.

“I don’t think we can make it, Chan-hyung. Y/N probably got a sprained ankle or something of the sort.” You catch Minho’s eyes shifting from the road to your stretched leg just for a moment. “I’m taking her to the hospital.”

“To the hospital?!” Chan’s surprised squeal makes you blush, embarrassed for causing trouble even now. “Oh my Gosh. I’m gonna kill that dickhead. That was him, wasn’t it? That fucker I will-”

The sudden shift from surprise to anger caught you off guard. You open your mouth to say something, but the words don’t come.

“It was not the dickhead, for the matter.” Minho cuts the flow of cursing off. “Also, you’ll like to know we’re in the car right now.” He adds quickly, at the same time you try to think of something to say. “She can hear you.”

Chan audibly chokes and coughs. “Oh, fuck. Sorry.” He manages to say, cleaning his throat. “I’m sorry. Hi Y/N.”

He’s obviously embarrassed, which makes you feel slightly better. “Hi Channie.”

“You should’ve started saying that, Minho.” Chan says, lowly, and a smile grows in your lips once more when Minho murmurs something under his breath. “Are you okay, sweetheart? What happened?”

His soft voice was enough to dismantle any kind of discomfort, you thought. “I’m okay.” You start.

“She fell downstairs.” Minho chimes in, and you shoot an angry look at him, which he ignores bluntly. “She thought it would be a great idea to run down several stories of stairs, like a damn child.” Minho says wryly, keeping his eyes on the road. “She’s lucky it’s not anything more serious.”

“I was trying to save your ass!” You protest.

“My ass did not need to be saved.” He states.

“Oh, sure.” You roll your eyes. “Clearly you were not about to jump at my boyfriend’s throat. I wasn’t even there and I could tell.”

“Excuse me?” His voice falters with anger and he scoffs, “I was about to jump at his throat? I think you might mistaking the parties here, dear.”

You ignore the pet name and point your finger at him. “You should’ve gone back inside the car the moment you saw him and you know it.” His eyes travel from the road, to your face, then to your finger and back to your face.

“Are you actually pointing a finger at me right now?” He raises his eyebrows and turns his eyes back to the road. Heat spreads in your cheeks and you recoil your hand.

“Should I ask or…?” Chan speaks up hesitantly.

“No.” Minho says fiercely and you huff, crossing your arms across your chest and looking away.

“You didn’t get into trouble, right, Minho?” Chan asks again.

“Of course not.”

“You’re welcome.” You chime in, grimly, and you don’t face away when Minho shoots an angry look at you.

“Good to know you two are getting along.” Chan offers, with a hint of fun in his tone.

You gasp and utter “We are not getting along.”

At the same time, Minho says nonchalantly, “A hundred percent.” You stare at him in disbelief, but he refuses to glance back at you.

“Do you think it’s serious, Minho?” Chan asks and the shift in his voice is so abrupt that, for a moment, you don’t know what he is referring to.

You catch Minho’s eyes shifting from the road to your legs again, and you feel the growing heat in your cheeks. You’d give anything to go back in time and choose some jeans or anything that covered your legs instead.

“It’s probably just a strained ankle, hyung.” He glances away and you shift anxiously.

“I am fine.” You say, exasperated. “I even told him we should head to the dorms instead.”

“That’s because you’re stubborn, not fine.” Chan cuts you, and you see the corner of Minho’s mouth turning up. “Keep me updated, Minho. We’ll talk later.” Minho agrees monosyllabically and hangs up.

Minho stays quiet during the rest of the ride. You risk one or two glances in his direction, but he seems to remain unaware, his attention fixed on the traffic. Sometimes, you catch his jaw clenched, and he holds the wheel so tightly for a moment that his knuckles go white.

But here's the thing: besides these small and subtle gestures, his expression remains painfully plain. It's puzzling, and it intrigues you against your will. You keep telling yourself that not only do you not care, but also it has nothing to do with you. The man would probably not even make the effort to reply if you asked, or maybe you'd hear a 'None of your business,' if he felt like it.

After a moment, you decide that you don't mind. You reach for the air to ask what's bothering him, to seek permission for a glimpse into his inaccessible mind, but you exhale right after. The question dies on your tongue when he takes a turn, and the large white building emerges.

Maybe for the best.

He parks swiftly, quickly turning the car off and getting off. When you turn to open your own door, he’s already standing outside and doing it first.

“Should I get a wheelchair?” Minho tries, hesitant, his hands dance on the air unsure of what to do.

A short laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “It’s not necessary, Minho.” You mention to get off and, when he offers his help, you accept it. “Thank you, it’s okay. I’m sure I can handle it.”

He holds your hand with one hand, while the other presses your back giving you balance. Minho doesn’t answer right away and when you look up, he has a confused look on his face. He blinks once, then twice, assimilating your words. “What?” You can’t help but ask.

“I’m not leaving.” He declares, and it’s your turn to blink confusedly.

“Chan is waiting for you.” You explain, firming your weight to your good foot.

“Yes.” He moves to your side still holding your hand firmly, while having his other hovering on your back. “And for you too. So let’s go inside.”

You don’t move, still staring at him. “You’re going inside with me? You don’t have to.”

A soft smile blooms shyly on Minho’s lips. “Silly. You can barely stand. Shall we?”

A feeling of déjà vu fills your chest, and you shove it back inside. You let him guide you into the hospital, scolding yourself silently for finding yourself in front of this building with Lee Know by your side more often than you deemed appropriate.

#skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #lee know fanfic #lee minho fanfic #lee know x reader

41 notes · View notes

tortoisebore · 8 months

Note

Fic recs?? It’s so hard to find good stuff😩

i’ll list a few of my recent favs, but first i’ll give u some tips & secrets ab how i find new fics 🥰

my first & biggest source—i snoop on everyone’s bookmarks. like everyone. if i read a fic i liked, i check that author’s bookmarks. if someone comments on my fic, i check their bookmarks. if i come across someone talking ab fic on the tl, i go to their ao3 and check their bookmarks. i’ve found so many great fics just by snooping on what other ppl are reading 🫶

my second most-used tactic: searching for tags & using filters. if i’m looking for something specific, i search the tags/pairings i want and make sure to exclude things i don’t want (i.e. i don’t usually want to read jegulus, so i make sure to exclude that pairing in my results. same goes w tags/ratings/warnings u don’t want). i’ll sort by date, kudos, and hits separately, and add anything that sounds interesting to my bookmarks to sort through later. ao3 really has the best filtering and tagging system out there, but a lot of times we don’t use it to its full capacity! if you want to read something specific there’s a very good chance someone has written it, you just need to search and filter your results so that you’re not just seeing the most recent stuff! (i also filter by word count a lot too bc i’m not always in the mood for something multi-chaptered or something that will take me multiple days to finish reading)

last, sometimes i’ll go into the main pairing tag i’m looking for and sort by kudos/hits/date/whatever and jump to like….the 30th page of results. there’s sooooo much stuff i miss just bc it gets lost in the flow of new/popular fics, so jumping to random deep-dive search results will help you find new stuff & come across fics & authors you haven’t seen before 💞💖💘

now here’s some of the stuff i’ve been enjoying lately!! 💞💖💘💕

love by the seaside by viwrites

this was very cute and a great quick read! remus is a disgruntled painter/barista recovering from a toxic relationship & sirius is the sweet, dashing stranger that he meets by accident on the beach one day. lots of early-morning coffee runs and nervous flirting with some christmas fluff as a treat

hurling crowbirds at mockingbars by wrappedup

y’all know i am typically NOT an exes to lovers kind of girlie. i find this trope very hard to read most of the time bc i am a huge baby, but this one was a quick read and the plot was overall very sweet! remus broke up with sirius & left the country out of the blue almost 10 years ago, and then comes back to town with a fiancé. sirius learns very quickly that he’s still hurt, and remus learns very quickly that he might have jumped the gun all those years ago.

in the dark there is discovery by lynxindisguise

wolfstar pirate au!! need i say more!!

disarm you with a smile by five_ht

listen to me. look me in my eyes. this is explicit as fuck and i encourage you to read every single one of the tags carefully. seriously read all of them. it will not be for everyone but like….,oh my fuxking god. sirius steals remus’ phone number while hanging out with his friend (remus’ niece) one day and starts sending him increasingly suggestive texts anonymously. it’s all fun and games until sirius starts to catch feelings & remus starts to get curious ab who he’s been talking to.

in the centre of a circle by moonheavens

reccing this again bc I HAVEN’T CAUGHT UP YET BUT IT’S SO SO GOOD i’m going after the latest chapter as SOOOOOON as i have the time this week 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 sirius lives with the lupins and is very much in love with remus. he consults various people for advice.

#u ask tortoise answers #anon #fic rec #wolfstar fic rec #plus some #ao3 tips

58 notes · View notes

modifieduchiha · 1 year

Text

Being the object of affection in the Hayakawa Household Headcanons*NSFW INCLUDED*

Content warning: Blood , menstruation , aftercare, oral F! giving and receiving , throuple , cussing, mentions of breeding, foreplay MDNI!

AO3 LINK

Chainsaw Man Masterlist Blog Directory

Authors Note: These headcanons are all separate times. If you enjoy please reblog and like. Begins below the cut (: enjoy

POWER

Power would only bathe if you either took a bath with her , or sat in the bathroom with her .

Even though you , Aki , and especially Denji detested the idea of it; Power took it upon herself to make matching "Team Kill Denji" shirts for you two .

"..but my noble peace prize.." she would protest under her breath after you explained that we couldn't kill Denji...as you sat on the bed wearing that damn shirt only to make Power happy.

Power knew right when you were about to start your period. Being the Blood Devil , it got her own blood pumping in more than one way.

You were lounging on the couch watching a movie with Power on one side, Denji on the other leaving you lovingly sandwiched in between "I yearn for blood," she murmured, her eyes glinting with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as Denji glanced over to Aki who was in the kitchen making popcorn but switched to boiling hot water to make a heat compress for your inevitable cramps. "Power, that's not appropriate...be a good girl." you stammered, trying to brush off the comment. But Power just grinned, her eyes never leaving yours. "I can't help it," she said with a shrug. "Tis just in my nature."

It didn't take long before Aki surprised Denji with a bag full of assorted jams and fresh bread as a reward for doing good on a recent mission. Power however took the opportunity to grab your wrist and drag you to the bedroom while the other two were distracted. She needed to fulfill her bloodlust after all, and you were a willing source.

Don't worry . As selfish as Power can be , she always made sure to provide pleasure to you especially during your time of the month.

A soft moan elicited from behind the closed door , grabbing the two mens attention. It was yours .They looked at each other briefly before looking to where you and Power were just at on the couch only to find it vacant.

As if it were a race they stormed down the hallway and burst through the door to find you on your back sprawled out wearing only one of Akis oversized teeshirts and Powers head between your legs . "Damned Devil!" they shouted simultaneously from the doorway. Power looked up at them with your crimson covering her chin , nose , and lips that formed a sly grin.

"I only take pleasure in the company of cats…and Y/N." Power growled before returning her attention to you.

AKI

The morning with Aki would start at 5:30 am with the two of you working in sync as he boiled the water and you ground the coffee beans , all the while Denji and Power snored loudly in their rooms.

While the water boiled you went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror , Aki behind you as you both brushed your teeth. His spare hand wrapping around your waist and rubbing the soft , exposed flesh of your tummy while you gave him a toothpaste covered smile.

Aki had been thinking a lot lately about the loss of his family to the Gun Devil , how his life had only been dedicated to defeating this Devil but now...now he was dedicated to you.

He stepped aside you to spit and rinse his mouth out as you kept on brushing. He was unusually quiet this morning , leaving you alone in the bathroom to finish.

Aki prepared the coffee with the precision of a barista, carefully measuring out the grounds and water to make the perfect cups of coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, invigorating the senses. He carried the tray of steaming coffee on to the balcony and arranged the table with two mugs and some sugar and cream.

You took your time today in the bathroom freshening up before heading out for your morning coffee on the balcony with Aki. As always it was perfect; the only difference was Aki's mug was shaking within his grasp.

"Aki...you okay?" the question left your lips with concern as you took a seat across from him after guiding the mug in his hand down to the surface of the table.

Silence. You took a sip of you coffee and left the warm liquid to settle on your tongue . It was just silence for a moment before he looked to you , nerves evident in his eyes. "I want a baby ...with you." Aki suddenly said with intent , having shook the nerves.

The liquid tried to spew from your mouth but you managed to swallow it with wide eyes still locked onto him.

You belonged to Aki , but also Denji and Power ; but if we are being real here Aki is the only other adult mentally.

"Before you say anything Y/N , I already discussed this with Denji and he is on board." the heart within your chest was warming more and more as Aki began to nervously try and convince you , as if you needed it.

"Let's make one then." you beamed a smile to match the one on his face. "When ?" He asked whilst leaning in closer to you from across the table. You looked at your watch and then to him , a smirk plastered on your lips. "Right now seems as good as any."

Akis jaw opened like a fish , he was ready to knock the contents of the table off just to fold you over that table and fuck a baby into you right then and there.

That thought went to hell as you both heard arguing from inside. A sigh followed by a chuckle came from you .

"How many times do I have to tell you to flush your shit !" Denji screamed to Power , blocking her in the bathroom whilst the bickering went back and forth .

"Hold that thought , love. But i'm holding you to it." Aki said as kindly as he could through gritted teeth as he stormed inside to join in on the argument.

Denji

Denji loved sleeping , but even more so when it was with you . Even just a quick cat nap .

But his favorite was when you would lay with him and gently play with Pochita's tail that protruded from his chest. He found it soothing and would often open up to you, telling you stories of his childhood, his aspirations, and the bond he shared with Pochita. He would tell you about all the adventures he had with Pochita and how much the devil meant to him. He would speak with a sense of nostalgia and longing in his voice, as if reliving the memories and you would feel a sense of warmth and contentment as you listened.

Denji didn't mind sharing you with his roommates , but in all honesty he truly did want you all to himself sometimes.

To be the only one massaging your supple , squishy breasts that were always there for the taking . Bonus points if you weren't wearing a bra with padding. (wink-wink because its funny)

Denji ADORED showing you his "Super toast" , and after your morning routine with Aki you would usually join Denji to experiment with new recipes .

You were the barrier between Power stealing his food .

"Marry me , right now." He calmly demanded once after you surprised him with a basket of honey , assorted jams , butters , and cinnamon

314 notes · View notes

rankirakira · 5 months

Text

WARNING SCOTT PILGRIM TAKES OFF SPOILERS

U have been warned so...

Aaaa I binged watch the Scott Pilgrim Takes Off anime in one day instead of doing college homework lol. I have no one to talk to about the Scott Pilgrim anime 😭 so here i info dumping and ranting it.

I read comics and watched the movie in highschool and i also played the game on my Switch. Gosh it's an amazing adaptation and it reference all of them in the anime. Also, the anime feels like a what if or alternate universe imo. I feel like it's better to watch the live action or read the graphic novel or played the video game first imo to understand the easter eggs and references.

Bcs I am so happy that Anamanaguchi came back from the Scott Pigrim game and aaaa there was the game soundtrack in the anime.

Also the ending and the plotline of Ramona being more responsible and facing her exes reminds me of Ramona's ending in the Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World video game. So I'm happy the anime took this route

Things I love in Scott Pilgrim Takes Off ❤️:

The animation and music ❤️❤️❤️

Scott and Ramona realize their mistakes in their past love relationships

Scott and Ramona dynamic is more cuter imo

Scene of Ramona dying her hair

League of Evil Exes interactions aka Gordon and Luke being besties

The unexpected character dynamics, for example, I didn't expect one sided Todd x Wallace 👀

Gayer scenes ( More Wallace and More Roxie)

So many Lucas Lee (He's my fav also I am a Chris Evans so I am bias)

Love how meta and self referential the anime is bcs they reference the original source and other adaptations

Simon Pegg and Nick Frost cameo

The Director Edgar Wright aka Edgar Wrong spoof

Epilogue and Side character developments basically the exes having good endings like Matthew Patel's musical career and Buff barista Lucas

Is the Musical a sign that we might get a Scott Pilgrim musical???

Sparks✨️✨️✨️

Things I wish was in the Scott Pilgrim Takes Off aka me being nitpicking sorry 😭

Hoping that Todd moves on from Wallace bcs the Wallace Heart tattoo is a red flag

Surprised there was no Wallace and Lucas interactions or Wallace's crush on Lucas scenes like the original

No Stephen's boyfriend, Joseph 😭 orStephen Stills being gay scene

Was hoping for a timeskip that Kim and Knives (as a college student) became a couple. Love the duet they had tho❤️

Hopefully there is a season 2 or spin-off perhaps. Overall, I am very satisfied and I would love to rewatch Scott Pilgrim Takes Off over and over again. I love it❤️❤️❤️ Sorry for the long rant. I have no one to talk to about it

#my rants #my thoughts #scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim anime #Scott Pilgrim Takes Off spoilers #Spto spoilers #Spoilers #Scott Pilgrim anime spoilers

31 notes · View notes

midnight-pluto · 4 months

Text

COFFEE: special.02 — fun facts

COFFEE: tim drake x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: Tim meets a barista that gives him what he needed most — a large coffee with way to many shots of espresso. Though what happens when just a single action changes the other's life, forever?

coffee master list

assuming you have gone through the whole of my coffee smau — here’s some things that you might’ve not known, my headcanons, and external info

PLAYLIST: coffee — i made a playlist that i think fit this smau or just tim in general, so feel free to listen

coffee pg.00 was originally meant to just be a one-shot but I had the bright idea to turn it into a smau since I had been really interested in them at the time and I had already created the main casts profiles so i saw no reason to not go through with it

originally reader was supposed to be adopted and have 2 moms but I didn’t know if you guys would necessarily want that or how relatable that would be so I scrapped it and went with unnamed overbearing mother and father

i actually had this idea back in December of 2022 and meant to post it on wattpad yes ik laugh at me but i didn’t have the guts to do so and I already had a lot of unfinished work that will remain unfinished

this smau also sprouted up bcuz i had gotten back into the dc rabbit hole bcuz if this goddamn site which has now grown to be a huge source of dopamine for me — ik it prob isn't healthy but this site has grown to be a safe space for me in the process so any negative infringement on my blog has me in a nervous wreck for days on end; yes, this is a reference to when i got shadowbanned for a bit

wow i got way to personal there, whoopsie

I had also originally planned for reader to give Tim a sticky note attached to his coffee that said something along the lines of: “Good luck with whatever you need 8 shots of espresso for :)” but I for some reason didn’t so the special note at the end of the pages didn’t rlly make any sense

tim might be a genius but he has a terrible sense of direction which is multiplied tenfold when he’s sleep deprived, hence why he almost dropped you off at the wrong apartment once — pg.04

duke being readers bsf happened cuz i personally believe duke deserves more content about him

duke also always somehow manages to be the message bird whenever both you and tim have a fight given how tim's first resort is the silent treatment and you're petty enough to give it back so the most the two of you ever communicate during that time is through duke — pg.15

on that same note harley has become your couple counselor which always manages to become awkward due to the sole fact tim is trying his best to subtly glare at harley since she has repeatedly tried to break his kneecaps when he was on red robin duty; again, petty

this was written by a person who has never worked at a coffee shop before so if you see and inaccuracies and have worked at one, feel free to call me out on it — not so i can fix, but bcuz i find my mistakes hilarious dont ask why, i just do

i still struggle on how i format the titles of the pages and always have to look back on my previous posts to remember how i typed things out

i also suck at developing feelings and crushes with characters so if it seems rushed or sucks that will be my one and only excuse given the fact that i find it extremely hard to even gain a crush irl

nothing was proofread

tims favorite taylor swift album is evermore i may or may not make seperate headcanons about that later

planning on posting a wattpad version of this fic sometime around late january or february, i am still debating on starting an ao3 acc since the only thing i ever do on there is simply just read fics and im not sure if i like/understand ao3's format enough to start tho

TAGLIST: @grandstrangerphantom @marsbars09 @fabitheraven @lovelypitasworld @dyjcksn @mae77eris @sugarrush-blush @djchik @soundsfunbutno @apizzacalledmel @strangetrashblog @cipheress-to-k-pop @harleycao @unhingedtimdrake @a-homosexual-homosapien @aquarii-doodles @love-stay @criminallycan @hecate-frenchfries @job-ross-the-second

#coffee ☕️ - tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x gender neutral reader #coffee shop au #tim drake x y/n #tim drake x you #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam #batfamily #tim drake

37 notes · View notes

dilf-rights-activist · 10 months

Text

Another Life: part 2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gender neutral reader, Platonic Hobie Brown & reader

Summary: A sad Miguel O’Hara returns to run his company with slumped shoulders and a cloud over his head. In a somewhat lame attempt to lift his spirits, his assistant, Lyla, runs to a local cafe to get the office some drinks, where she meets a kind barista with a stained apron and tired eyes. Or, the one where you drag your exhausted corpse to your second job to meet Lyla, only to find out her boss had recently been dumped. After work, you settle into the floor of your cozy apartment with your eccentric roommate: one Hobie Brown.

Word count: 3.7k

Content: eventual sugar daddy AU, coffee shop au, no use of (y/n), the slowest of burns (we’re not even gathering fire wood yet), sfw, Hobie being cool, descriptions of financial hardship, swearing, aged up Hobie

AO3 part 1 part 3 part 4

Miguel’s office chair creaked dangerously when he leaned back and breathed out a large sigh. The conference call had been done for ten minutes now, and he was still feeling a little drowsy from his early morning. He looked out his office window just in time to see Jessica scrub a hand over her face, eyes droopy and tired looking. He watched as she stood up and stretched her lower back to release the tension that’s been building there. She sighed and rested a delicate hand on her round belly, rubbing soothing circles before sitting back down again. Miguel has been urging her to take her maternity leave early, but she refuses him every time, stating that he could never survive without her. This wasn’t entirely true but still. Miguel frowned to himself before straightening up at the knock at his door.

“Miguel?” came a high-pitched voice on the other side of the wood.

“Yes?”

The door opened slowly to reveal a young, freckled face smiling brightly at him. “Hey, Miguel! I have the reports you wanted.”

Miguel smiled at his assistant and held out his hand to receive them. “Thanks, Lyla.”

“You got it.” Lyla was a student at Columbia that works part time as Miguel’s assistant. Her cheerful demeanor easily lifted those around her. If he was being honest, he thinks Lyla goofed off a little too much, but she was the best assistant he’s had in a decade. She was quick as a whip, and helped him with everything from managing his allergies to figuring out the best energy source for his nano tech. Plus, Lyla was the only one who could handle him when he was sleep deprived and hangry (which was all the time).

The brunette fell silent as he looked down at the reports in his hands, not really paying enough attention to process any of the words he read.

“Hey, Miguel?”

He startled and looked up at Lyla, she was still here? He must have really been out of it.

“Yeah?”

Lyla’s big brown eyes peered at him pensively before sighing through her nose “You doing okay, boss?” Her glossy pink lips were pulled into a small frown. “You look…tired. Like, way more than usual.”

Miguel huffed softly and blew a stray strand of hair out of his face. “Alright, One: I am tired. And Two:” He looked at her sternly, pointing a strong finger to emphasize his point. “I am fine.” He said a little too quickly. Lyla rolled her eyes and groaned dramatically.

“C’mon, Miguel! You can tell me!” She walked up to his heavy desk and placed both hands atop its smooth surface. “What? Did the Mets lose a game?”

“The season is over-“

“A pigeon poop on your Porsche?”

“No-“

“Did Tony call you ‘Dark Garfield’ again?”

“No!”

“You get dumped?”

Miguel’s jaw shut promptly and he pursed his lips into a tight sneer. He looked at his grinning assistant, who had clearly said that as a joke. She blinked a couple times at his silence, slowly picking up her hands from his desk as she straightened a little.

“Oh shit. Really?” She said softly, almost feeling bad for bringing it up so casually. “I’m…sorry to hear that.”

The large man let out a soft laugh and waved his hand in the air. “It’s fine, Lyla. Really, it is.” he sighed, was he trying to convince Lyla or himself?

The girl looked at her sneakers and shuffled awkwardly for a second, “Is there anything I can do for you? Cancel your appointments? Get you coffee?”

Miguel visibly perked up at that. “Yeah, that would be great, actually. There’s actually a specific place I’d like you to go to…”

---

A heavy sigh left your lips as you bent forward and leaned onto the counter in front of you, limbs going unpleasantly numb from overuse. You stayed there for a couple moments, contemplating just how you let your life get to this particularly pathetic point. Peter was right, the morning rush had been bad. Exhausted students and working class New Yorkers alike came in by the truck load, shooting order after order at you and your boss with little sympathy.

You glanced down at Peter, who was currently squatting behind the counter and wolfing down a croissant like his life depended on it.

“Slow down or you’re gonna choke, stupid.”

The brunette looked at you like a man possessed. “Shut up! I haven’t eaten anything today!”

You laughed softly and flexed your fingers, wincing as they cracked and popped. “Christ, I’m tired. And it’s only,” you glanced at your watch and held back a groan. “8 am.”

Peter looked at you and wiped the crumbs off of his frowning face. “You sleep any last night?”

“Only the usual four hours.” you grimaced and put your head down again. “Some dude came in last minute to drink last night.”

“Damn.” Peter sighed from his place on the floor. “I wish I could help somehow. I’d do anything for you, y’know.”

You smiled and peeked at him through your arms. You met Peter during your second year of college. He remembered you frequenting his cafe as a freshman to fuel up on caffeine and use his Wi-Fi. He always welcomed you with ease (and not just because you were a good tipper). Eventually, he offered you a job, and you’ve been working with him ever since. You opened your mouth to say something before the bell at the door chimed through the cafe, signifying that someone walked in.

“Customers!” Peter almost shrieked, tucking more into himself on the floor. “Don’t let them see me! I’m not here!”

So much for doing anything for you!

You shot him a look before straightening up to see a girl with a large white coat and fluffy brown hair peer up at the chalkboard menu above you.

“Hey, welcome in.” you smiled and lightly kicked Peter’s side behind the counter. The quiet “Ow!” wasn’t heard by the girl in front of you as her large eyes darted from her phone to the menu at an alarming rate.

“Hi!”

After exchanging pleasantries you nodded as she relayed her lengthy order, talking at 100 words a minute.

Her hazel eyes blinked behind her heart shaped lenses. “Sorry for the large order! These are for my office.”

“It’s no problem!” You lied through your teeth. “What’s your name?”

“Lyla.”

“Lieee-Luh.” you repeated slowly you wrote her name on the empty cups before you, making sure to draw little hearts on her’s. “Got it! I’ll have these out in a little bit.” Lyla gave you a million watt smile and nodded eagerly, making his way to the end of the bar where her drinks were to be deposited. You went through the motions of drink making with ease, humming lightly to yourself to keep you focused. You looked at Peter, who has yet to move from his position on the floor. You flipped him off quickly and capped Lyla’s drinks, ignoring the over dramatic look of hurt the musician shot you.

“Thank you so much,” Lyla looked at you from across the bar and smiled.

“It’s really no problem, it’s literally my job.”

“Yeah, but still…” she chuckled to herself. “I think this’ll really help.”

That caught your attention and you looked up from the carmel drizzle you were working on. “Yeah? With what?”

A small crease appeared between Lyla’s worried brows as she smiled sadly. “My boss got dumped yesterday.” You pulled a face, Yikes, you thought, not a good season for the lovers. Your mind immediately drifted to the heart broken man that came into the restaurant last night. His entire demeanor was depressed with loneliness, even his hair seemed to droop slightly in sadness. You didn’t know the man very well, but you could tell that he was a person who would go out of his way to help someone, someone that wouldn’t hesitate to do the right thing. You hoped he was okay.

“Oh…” you started lamely, because how the fuck were you supposed to respond? “That sucks.” Lyla’s head snapped up at your abrupt reply. You blinked, realizing that you must have been more tired than you thought because what the fuck? You can’t talk to customers like that! You pressed your lips together and quickly thought of an apology. “I’m-”

“It does suck, right?” She smiled lopsidedly and let out a laugh. You breathed out a sigh, relieved that she wasn’t going to write Aunt May a strongly worded letter or trash the cafe on Yelp. You finished the rest of the drinks with ease, handing Lyla her order in two cup holders.

“Thanks a bunch!” She took his order with a grin and began to turn towards the exit.

“Ah, wait one second!” You said before sidestepping a still squatting Peter (who had somehow gotten another croissant) to quickly shove a few pastries into two paper bags. You stood there in thought for a second before grabbing a sharpie from the cash register, scribbling something on one of them.

“Thank you for being patient with me.” you said, handing Lyla the baked goods. “One of those is for you, good luck at the office!”

If you thought the girl’s smile was blinding before it really had nothing on her expression now. “Really?”

“For sure.”

Lyla’s heart shrouded eyes blinked at you for a moment, as if studying you. Her pink lips spread into a grin before turning to you fully. “What’s your name?”

You smiled back at her and gave her your name as you dusted your hands on your apron. “The other one is for your boss, tell them to take it easy, okay?”

---

Miguel stared at the city’s activity below him from his office window. People milled about on the sidewalk below, interacting with one another throughout their day. The large man took a bite out of his scone thoughtfully, admiring the subtle vanilla flavor. Lyla came in with his coffee order not too long ago, bringing a small pastry bag as a surprise. He said that a nice barista gave it to him, ordering her to tell him to “take it easy”. Miguel accepted the treats gratefully, promising Lyla that he was fine (really, he was).

Probably.

He popped the last of the scone in his mouth and moved to toss the bag in the trash before something caught his eye. Looking at the pastry bag more carefully, he could see that the barista left him a small note.

Everything’s gonna be okay. If it’s not okay, that’s okay too.

Miguel dusted his crummy mouth as he stared at the piece of paper, chuckling softly to himself. The barista also drew him a cute little bunny giving him a thumbs up in encouragement.

The brunette’s thick brows knitted as he carefully tore his little note away from the rest of the bag. Miguel placed the note in one of his desk drawers after making sure that there were no remaining crumbs sticking to it and threw the rest away (he hated ants).

“Looks like I’ve got someone looking out for me.”

---

You tapped your pencil against the page in front of you in annoyance and took a large sip of your tea. You started doing your homework over an hour ago and barely made any progress due to its difficulty. You huffed, recalling just how little you paid attention in class due to always falling asleep.

You stared at the equations in front of you, and they glared back just as intensely. You looked up from your staring contest to glance at your roommate, Hobie, who was humming quietly to himself as he created the setlist for his next show. You met Hobie when you first moved to the city for school. He was born in Camden Town, London, and was literally the coolest person you have ever met. He came to New York to work on his music and study fashion. His time was split between that, antagonizing fascists, being a part-time runway model, and working at the bar with you. You saw him sneaking shots for both himself and some of his regulars, but never told a soul. You knew Hobie hated working there, hated being a cog in the system, but he had bills to pay (you both did). The two of you shared a cozy space nestled in the center of New York City’s ChinaTown, right below the smog covered stars, and right above Timmy Chan’s Hong Kong Style Dim Sum (a favorite lunch time spot you frequented together).

“Hey, Hobie. Could you help me a little?”

He looked up from his notes, pen cap stuck in between his lips and grinned.

”Yeah, sure. What is it?”

You smiled gratefully, picking up the page and walking over to him. You crossed your legs and sat on the floor at his side as his eyes skimmed the page, nodding as he read along.

“You daft?” Hobie elbowed your side gently. “Integral calculus? This is bright and breezy.”

You looked up at his big brown eyes and pouted. “I’ve been falling asleep in class.” you said with a huff. Hobie’s pierced brows creased with concern at this, shuffling slightly to wrap an arm around you.

“Again?”

“Again.” you sighed. You looked to the ground, idly picking at the fraying carpet you two sat on. You knew Hobie worried about you and how hard you’ve been pushing yourself. He could see how the stress from work and school were affecting your health and it was beginning to concern him.

“Y’right?”

You looked up at him wryly, bringing a hand up to flick his shoulder lightly.

“I’m alright.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Hobie squinted at you before turning back to the page in his hands, deciding to drop the subject for now. “Whatever. You’d tell me otherwise, yeah?”

You leaned on his shoulder and nuzzled his bicep playfully, yawning obnoxiously before saying, “Of course.”

He gazed upon your drooping form, pursing his lips. “You said you only hit the sack for, what? Four hours?”

“Just about, yeah.”

Hobie huffed and straightened out the piece of paper in his hands. “Right, some dick walked in right before closing and demanded to be served.”

“He wasn’t a dick he was just…” you adjusted yourself on his shoulder. “Sad.”

“A sad dick?”

“No!” you smacked him lightly and you could feel yourself shake with the rumble of Hobie’s chest as he chuckled warmly. You thought about the man that came into your life the other night, it amazed you how someone so large managed to look so small.

“He just got dumped.”

“Bliiiiimey.” He pulled a face.

“That’s what I said!”

“Oh, really?”

“Well, not that exactly!” You huffed out a sigh. “He looked like a kicked puppy. Which is hilarious, because the man is like a building with feet.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! His arms are like tree trunks! I think he could kill me with a flick of his wrist.” You shook Hobie’s lean arm lightly to illustrate your point. “He just looked so...hurt. And he just, like, accepted it, y’know? Like he’s been hurt like this before.” you blinked and lowered your eyes, hugging Hobie’s arm a little tighter. “I hope he’s okay.”

Dark eyes shifted from the paper and onto the top of your head, Hobie huffed out a small laugh. “Aw, you fancy him.”

You pulled back from your friend’s arm sharply and gaped up at him. “I do not!” Fancy him? You only just met the guy and knew nothing about him. Fancy him!

Hobie threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter. “You do!”

“I don’t, I just-“ you huffed out a breath and paused to collect your thoughts. “I dunno, there was just something…about him, y’know? He seemed like someone who had a lot to offer the world, to offer someone. He looked like he had given up. Seeing him crushed like that just doesn’t sit right with me.”

He side eyed you skeptically and let out a sigh through his nose. You were always pushing yourself so hard, always putting others first (often at a detriment to yourself). Between the two (sometimes three) jobs and school, he had no idea how you were functioning. Hobie grimaced, thinking about the multiple occasions where you were so overwhelmed you sat on the floor eating (his) instant noodles while crying, too stressed to even tell him what was wrong. Other times, he’d go days without seeing you as you’d lock yourself in your apartment to focus on schoolwork, scaring him half to death with your lack of response. He physically kicked in the door of your room only to find you half dead and twitchy in your hyper-focused state. He never wanted to see you like that again.

“Yeah, well” he shrugged and you whined as the movement jostled you on his bicep. “Just don’t bugger off with your fit bev and leave me with your rent.” You laughed softly and pressed your cheek into his arm, smiling against it.

“I could never, Hobie.”

You assumed he accepted your response, as he nodded and turned his attention back to your math homework.”Right, the integral of 2xd is x squared, yeah? You plug that in here at the top and subtract the bottom.”

You breathed deeply and closed your eyes, already feeling yourself start to doze off again. You knew you should be paying attention, but you were too content with snuggling up to Hobie’s arm for some (not so) well deserved sleep.

“Thirteen squared is 169, minus ten squared is…Oi. Oi, you listenin’? Do your homework!” he jostled you gently.

“Yeah...of course…” you mumbled quietly.

Hobie looked down at you with a frown, already knowing that any attempt he made at waking you would be in vain. He sighed as he picked up his pen from its abandoned spot on the floor, deciding to finish your homework for you.

“Hopefully I can mimic your rubbish handwriting.” he sighed.

“Y’can’t do math homework in pen,” you mumbled.

“I don’t believe in conformity.” He sniffed before twirling the pen in his fingers. He tenaciously began to scribble perfect arithmetic on your page, stopping only to smile when you let out a sleepy “thanks” against his arm.

“Anytime, love.”

---

The long days turned into longer weeks as time went by. Miguel went through the motions of his position of CEO with relative ease, meticulously leading his company to further success.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Large shoulders sagged as Miguel sighed into the palms of his hands before peeking through his fingers to blearily peer at the clock in his desktop monitor.

8:43 pm

Jesus Christ, was it already that late? The brunette looked up through his office windows to find that yes, it really was that late, as the building’s lights had shut off and everyone had long gone home. Miguel has since changed into more comfortable clothing to ease him into his work night. The soft material of his oversized gray hoodie combined with the relaxed fit of his favorite pair of loose joggers were the perfect combination for his frequent occasional over night stays in the office. The man let out a yawn as he stretched his arms high above his head before rising from his chair, ready to call it a day. Grabbing his coat and phone, Miguel left the building, letting the automatic doors lock behind him with a soft click.

The brunette inhaled the Autumn air with a light hum before beginning his commute back to his apartment, occasionally picking up litter as he went because why not. He listened to the sounds of the bustling city; the distant sirens, the blaring music from strangers’ headphones as they walked past, the clinking of ceramic in cozy cafes.

Oh. Miguel slowed his stride to a stop in front of a small coffee shop lit warmly within, the same shop he sent Lyla on a coffee run to. Turning fully to face the entrance, the brunette spotted the same nice looking man he saw the first time he laid eyes on the shop. Miguel checked his watch to glance at the time before walking through the wooden door that led to the sweet smelling cafe.

Notes: I deadass spent over an hour learning about the English Cockney accent and have two (2) tabs open with English to Cockney translators. If anyone has any suggestions on how I can make Hobie sound more in character PLEASE let me know. Part of me wants to really lean into the rhyming slang, but I’m afraid no one will be able to understand him (but that’s, like, part of his character right?), he’s in his early twenties here.

The answer to the equation Hobie was solving is 69 lol

#miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fic #miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x you #across the spiderverse fanfiction #sugar daddy au #coffee shop au #bar/pub au #platonic Hobie brown #i hate tagging these like its humiliating lmao #writing

64 notes · View notes