#Finally got to draw them as latte foam art!!!

[thatonesubwaypenguin]

Submas, but they're made out of milk and coffee foam!!!

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon: Weekdays with you

Snippets of life with Kiro, Victor and Gavin

F L U F F

🌻KIRO

[ Morning ]

Waking up is a struggle for your little sunshine

Sets ten alarms on his phone with 1 minute intervals between them

You sympathise with him, knowing that his days are packed with rehearsals, photoshoots, fan-meets, sneaking snacks into his mouth when Savin isn’t looking, running away from Savin when he gets caught, etc.

So you adopt a more encouraging approach:

“You’re going to miss out on breakfast. I made the pancakes extra fluffy today.”

“...”

“If you get up now, I’ll wear your fan t-shirt over the weekend. The yellow one with a hundred Kiro faces printed on it.”

“...”

“Didn’t someone say that it’s been a long time since we last showered together?”

“...!”

When he’s more-or-less conscious, he stares at you with wide puppy eyes and puckers his lips

You give in, responding to his antics with a quick peck on the forehead

“Go brush your teeth. You’ll get your reward later.”

He becomes much chirpier after freshening up and getting his kiss

Beams widely when you set his breakfast plate down in front of him even if it’s just a plain sunny-side up

“Miss Chips, your cooking just keeps getting better! Should we open a restaurant after we retire? You can cook, and I’ll be the mascot.”

Definitely demands for goodbye kisses

[ Afternoon ]

Kiro video calls you during lunchtime because just hearing your voice isn’t enough

He also wants to make sure that you’re actually eating

Cheekily slips in a suggestion for you to include fewer vegetables into his lunchbox next time:

“The vegetables deserve to live.”

On the screen, you see Savin whacking him on the head lightly with some rolled documents on your behalf

Props Apple Box onto his lap to show you its newest outfit

(pretty sure that golden retriever owns more clothes than you do)

The two of you seldom eat out for dinner because of Kiro’s highly-noticeable hair

“And obvious charm,” he adds.

[ Evening ]

Depending on how early you end work, you’d either cook a simple dinner or get takeaway

And also restock the tidbit shrine in the living room

After dinner, you and Kiro play the Wii Fit to aid digestion

But end up with stitches because both of you keep making the other laugh

When you’re unable to sleep, he sings you fractured nursery rhymes while stroking your hair

“Baa baa black sheep have you any chips? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. One for Kiro and one more for Kiro, and one for the pretty Miss Chips in my arms.”

“Kiro... it doesn’t even rhyme...”

🌹VICTOR

[ Morning ]

Victor’s alarm goes off at 5am

He isn’t worried the sound would wake you up because he shuts it off almost instantly

Knows you wouldn’t stir even if the sky collapses anyway

If the weather is good, he heads out for a morning jog

If it’s raining, he’d grumble resignedly because he knows it’s going to be an even greater challenge than usual to coax you out from under the covers

Since he has a head start to the day, he finds ways to add special touches to breakfast

For example, drawing pictures on the omelette using tomato ketchup, doing latte foam art, etc.

Spends the remnants of his quiet morning reading the business news and answering emails

At around 7.30am, he wakes you up with a string of ‘threats’:

“I’ll cut your company’s funding.”

“Your report is due in 5 minutes.”

“There’s a spider on your arm.”

Would literally carry you out of bed if you refuse to get up

The breakfasts that Victor prepares are divine in both presentation and taste

He tries to vary cuisines every few days so you wouldn’t get bored

He isn’t the type to demand for goodbye kisses

Instead, he sometimes wears his tie slightly slanted so you can fix it for him

He strikes when your guard is down, leaving you a blushing mess

[ Afternoon ]

Most communication is work-related, occurring via email

If you happen to find pictures / videos of cute animals, you’d forward them to him

Victor usually doesn’t reply

But Goldman has witnessed Victor smiling while using his phone on numerous occasions

The sight haunts him.

[ Evening ]

Picks you up from work and takes you out for a nice dinner

Enjoys a cooling evening stroll in the park after dinner to aid digestion

Towels your hair dry after your shower

Not-so-secretly enjoys your shoulder rubs while he works at his desk

“Oh? Is that a smile I see on Mr Victor’s face?”

“No.”

If you have trouble sleeping, he’d tell you bedtime stories

“Or would you prefer if I read you the very first proposal I received from a certain dummy?”

“No thank you, that would just give me nightmares...”

Gives you a goodnight kiss (or two if you insist

Tucks you in tightly so you don’t kick the blankets (or him) off the bed in your sleep

🎐GAVIN

[ Morning ]

Gavin is an early riser

He spends the first 15 minutes of each new day thinking about how fortunate he is to be waking up next to you...

...and also waiting for the numbness in the arm resting beneath your weight to go away

Thinks your light snoring is the most melodious sound in the world (apart from your laughter and the way you say his name)

Once he finally feels his fingers again, he carefully extricates his arm and heads out for a morning run

While he can prepare simple dishes like eggs and cup noodles, it’s his mission to give you the best possible start to the day

So he usually buys your favourites from a nearby cafe

After he returns home with breakfast, he tries to wake you up by shaking your shoulder gently

When he’s done with his shower, he realises you’re still asleep

Finally wakes you up properly after peppering ticklish kisses on your face

Sets up the table with breakfast and coffee while you freshen up

Sends you to work on Sparky

Gets a little pouty if you forget to give him a goodbye kiss

“Thanks for the ride Gavin.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Hmm? Nope, I’ve got my bag.”

“[coughs lightly] ...Sparky says you forgot to say goodbye to his owner.”

[ Afternoon ]

Gives you a call at noon to remind you to have a proper lunch (while eating cup noodles himself)

Gives you a call an hour later to check if you have had lunch

Gives Minor a call right after to verify

(It’s Minor’s favourite part of the day)

[ Evening ]

Picks you up from work and brings you anywhere you want to go

“My evening is all yours.”

Winding down for the two of you involves watching television on the couch

He enjoys pressing random kisses on the top of your head while your head leans on his shoulder

“Mm... I haven’t washed my hair yet.”

“Want me to wash it for you?”

“Yes please.”

If you’re unable to sleep, he’ll count sheep, or talk to you about the future

Whenever he returns home past midnight after a long mission, he’d find you asleep, snuggled comfortably with his pillow in your arms

“Thanks for keeping her company, Softie.”

[sandersstudies]

Espresso-ly for You - Chapter Two

I liiiiiive! Or at least, my writing does. Like I said, I can’t and won’t promise regular updates on this one, but the sweet sweet coffeeshop AU will never let me go for sure.

Chapter One Here 

***

“Hey there, long time no see!” Janus said over the top of his mug. It was the one he brought from home, with a snake for a handle. 

“I saw you on Sunday,” Virgil said, slouching his backpack off his shoulder to store in the employee cupboard. 

“Yeah, but so much has happened since then,” Janus said, and then sipped his drink loudly. “Did Logan tell you about the birds that were fighting outside on Tuesday?”

“No.”

“See, of course he didn’t, he doesn’t care about the fun stuff. God, you look exhausted, let me get you a pick-me-up, you raccoon.” He began to measure a shot of espresso.

“I’ve already been drinking way too much soda to stay awake,” Virgil said.

“I’m not giving you soda, am I?” Janus asked, turning on the steam wand. “I’m giving you sweet bean juice, it will give you things no other drink can.” The shots pulling from the espresso machine dripped like warm honey, and Virgil had to admit they looked enticing. Janus was the most skilled barista in the cafe, going to local barista competitions three years in a row, and making it to the final round the last two years. 

“One of the benefits of working here is all the free coffee you want,” Janus said. “Might as well take advantage of it.” He’d barely looked at the machine while preparing the milk and espresso, but now, with a few seconds of intense focus, he guided his pitcher across the surface of the crema to create a delicate rosetta. “There, my nicest flat white of the day, all for you.”

Virgil took the cup and sipped. Perfect, creamy foam. 

Janus picked up his own cup and slurped the last of the coffee inside. “Well, better prepare for the lunchtime rush,” he said, checking his watch. “How was it yesterday?”

“Not too bad.”

“If you want to run register and food the first hour, I’ll run bar and then we can switch,” Janus said, reaching behind himself to tighten his apron strings. “If it slows down I’ll do a restock but I think we should be fine.”

Janus had been the first barista to push Virgil to run the espresso machine solo. When the morning or lunch rush came and there was a line out the door, Janus would watch and speak encouragingly, but never step in to rescue him the way Logan did.

“See these two cups?” Janus had said one day when Virgil could barely hold a milk pitcher without shaking. “These two drinks are the only ones you need to worry about right now. All those other drinks, all those other people, they don’t exist to you. It doesn’t matter if there are three drinks or thirty drinks waiting, you’re always working on these two drinks, and two drinks only.”

Eventually Virgil learned how to fall into a rhythm where he prepped one shot as another one pulled, poured one milk as another one steamed. Janus would flit back and forth from the register to the hand-off, confidently ringing in and handing out drinks as Virgil’s hands shook too hard to stop cups from spilling.

“You don’t need me,” Janus had said. “Someday you’re gonna be stuck up to your elbows in cappuccinos and I’m not going to be here, and you’ll have to haul them out of yourself. If I rescue you now, you won’t be able to do it then.”

Virgil had burned with frustration that Janus wouldn’t help him. But when the line dwindled, Virgil found himself reaching for the next cup in line, and it wasn’t there. He’d done it, he’d seen only two drinks in front of him and had conquered a breakfast rush. The customers had become a blur, and he’d honed in on more lattes and macchiatos than he could count.

“The next challenge,” Janus had said as they shared coffee in the following lull. “Is to bring the customers into focus too. Two things matter in coffeeshops, the coffee, and the people. You can’t let either one distract from the other.”

“You want me to do all that and small talk?”

“It gets easier with time.”

The retrospect that proved Janus right didn’t help Virgil to not feel aghast at the suggestion. It was easy to envy Janus’ ease around customers, asking Wendy how her radishes were doing as he poured her coffee, telling jokes to kids, and showing them the swan he’d drawn in their father’s latte. 

Virgil tied his apron and went to the front register. He ran his fingers over the screen. Pretending to type up a long order was his key both to eavesdropping and to looking busy, especially if he furrowed his brow just enough to look focused. Whenever a particularly angry customer started to complain at the other end of the counter, here Virgil would be, tapping like he was crafting a novel and not hitting the button for “doppio” a dozen times in a row. Meanwhile Janus, usually, would be the one at the end, silver-tongued and composed, listening with raised eyebrows and a soft smile. He’d turn around only when the cafe was empty to say “could you believe that jerk?”

A gaggle of college girls in matching volleyball t-shirts approached, and Virgil glanced at Janus, who cracked his knuckles dramatically. “May the coffee gods guide me,” he said as the bell on the door jangled merrily. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?”

“Large iced vanilla soy latte.”

“Medium blended caramel coffee, extra caramel, whipped cream.”

“Small almond latte.”

And so on down the line. Janus remained unfazed, continuing to greet other customers who braved entering the store despite the line. He called out every drink he made and made eye contact with each girl who picked hers up, even (Virgil thought he saw) winking a couple times. The hum of the espresso machine and hiss of the steam wand filled the cafe, singing along to the piano playing over the speakers. Was this Logan’s playlist?

The line didn’t end, after that. The girls cleared and were replaced by tides of office workers in pressed clothes from the smattering of office buildings that hemmed in the coffee shop on all sides. Friendly receptionists and personal assistants were a favorite of Virgil’s, and were perhaps the only ones who called him by endearments that didn’t feel horribly awkward.  Most of them tipped well. 

The cafe chairs filled up, representing casual business talks, friendly meet-ups, and solitary breaks from long days. All the grind-never-stop types had the coffee to-go, and those taking a quick respite adored the cafe’s “for here” cups. Virgil liked to watch for the people who perked up or relaxed with their first sip. One of the personal assistants from the building across the street (Virgil thought her name was Jackie) put her cappuccino to her lips and leaned back into her chair, the tension around her eyes softening.

A moment came where a couple of middle-aged women paused to examine the menu, and Janus appeared as if by magic at the register. 

“Tag team, let’s go! Your turn on the bar, kid.” 

Virgil moved to the espresso machine. Janus had not only finished the drinks in front of him, but wiped down the counter and machine to leave Virgil the perfect surface to begin again. The middle-aged women put in their orders, and Virgil felt like his vision zoomed in as he began the two drinks in front of him, and the two after that, and the two-

He was getting better at this now, even managed a croaked “hello,” to most of the customers who walked in the door, and a “thank you” as they took their drinks. He let the steam wand run a few extra seconds to feel the warmth bead on his face every time he started to get anxious. 

The lunch rush came to its merciful end, and Virgil took his break to chew a PB&J sandwich before Janus left for the day. As the clock hit two, the elder barista pulled his keys from the cupboard.

“I bid you adieu and an easy close,” he said, twirling his keychain around his hand as he clocked out. The jingle of his keys was followed by the jangle of the door behind him, and Virgil was alone in the cafe.

He brewed fresh coffee - they’d almost run out during the rush, and pause to sweep the floors and wipe down the counters. Running the store for the last three hours before close, and the chance to close the store by himself was both a responsibility and a chance for peace that Virgil appreciated. He liked helping customers, more spread out then before, and in between them finding little things to clean, extra minutes to practice his latte art - damn, how could Janus draw a rosetta so effortlessly? All Virgil’s came out looking like lumps. 

He aerated the milk gently, and heard the front bell ting.

“Hey there,” Virgil said without looking up, tilting his pitcher so the foam was perfectly incorporated. He turned the steam wand off and gently groomed the milk to pour. “Sorry, I’ll be right with you.” 

The milk texture was almost perfect. He guided his pitcher over the crema and… produced a haphazard rosetta. It was lopsided and a little mangled from Virgil swirling the crema too hard, but it wasn’t one of his worst attempts.

“Hey, that looks pretty good!” 

Virgil looked up and felt his ears get hot. Roman was leaning slightly over the bar (oh wow, he was even taller than Virgil had thought), staring at the cup. “Could you do one like that for me?”

Virgil swallowed. “Yeah uh… yeah, sure.” Nevermind that it was much harder to make oat milk froth properly. Virgil grabbed his non-dairy pitcher.

“Oh, could you make it as an large cinnamon-”

“Yeah, I got it.” Oh no, I cut him off. In too deep now. Virgil felt Roman’s gaze on him as he made the latte. The cinnamon-sugar topping made a nice base to draw with, but Virgil didn’t have as much experience with oat and soy, and the rosetta was barely visible as he finished it. Roman stared into the cup.

“Sorry,” Virgil muttered. “Still practicing.” 

“Oh, that’s okay,” Roman said, but sounded a bit disappointed. He left a ten on the counter. “Thanks for trying, the extra’s for you.” 

He left the cafe, and Virgil watched him vanish down the street, but just before he was out of sight, he put the to-go cup to his lips, and Virgil saw his shoulders relax.

[kenganwritings]

The Perks of Being a Regular Customer

The Falcon thought he wasn’t as memorable as other customers in that tiny cafe. He was wrong.

[Falcon/Gender-neutral Reader]

For #kenganmonth2020 on twitter!

There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about that tiny little cafe. Yet, its quiet atmosphere, decent drinks and perfect location meant that Albert “the Falcon” Lee soon became one of its regular customers. He didn’t have a solid schedule; he just dropped by whenever he needed to kill some time, reading manga for an hour or two before disappearing again. Since he barely even spoke to the barista, Albert thought he wouldn’t be memorable enough to recognise.

Apparently, that was not the case.

It started out with the barista guessing his orders before he said it aloud. They were even confident enough that they’d started to make his drink as soon as they caught sight of him. Albert didn’t say it out loud, but he was mildly impressed- they were right most of the time.

He didn’t think much of it until a little while later, when his green tea latte suddenly had a leaf symbol decorating its foam. More specifically- the leaf symbol from the manga currently in his hands. Albert looked towards the barista; they’d been busying himself with cleaning the counter, but seeing him stare, they gave him a grin. “Did I do it right? I’ve got trouble drawing things from memory.”

“… Mostly right.” Albert took a sip, not knowing what else to say. The cafe settled back into silence, and he continued to read.

(The barista, their back turned, hid a large smile as they continued working.)

His drink wouldn’t come with art all the time, but it was clear from the accuracy that they kept up with the manga as well. Sometimes, when the shop was empty, they’d ask him some questions about it- his favourite characters, favourite ninjutsu style, and whatnot. Albert answered, perhaps a bit too passionately at times. The short conversations became something that he… kind of enjoyed.

He thought that those little moments would remain as they were, but when he received his order that day, a small plate of cookies came with it. They were different from the ones on the menu, made with green tea instead of chocolate chips. As the barista placed it down on the table, they smiled. “I’m trying out a new menu, I thought I’d get your opinion.”

“Why me?”

“Well, you order green tea so much, that I figured you’d be the perfect person to try them out.” Instead of going back behind the counter, the barista slid into the seat in front of him. They must have noticed the slight raise of his eyebrows, because they laughed.

“Relax, I’ll be ‘back in 15’.” They motioned to the sign on the door. “And the boss isn’t going to get mad at me. Because- well- I am the boss. Anyways, give them a try.”

Ah. This was a highly irrational decision in terms of business, but Albert supposed he wasn’t the owner of a cafe. He indulged in this surprise treat; the barista was quiet but stared at him intently as they waited for his reply. Almost… like a puppy, waiting for a treat.

Finally, Albert spoke. “The aroma might be a bit strong for kids, or people who don’t drink green tea that often.”

The barista nodded. “Duly noted. Thanks for that.” They paused, for a short moment. “So… did you like it?”

That question was a little unexpected for Albert, and he almost fumbled on a reply. “Ah- yes. It did suit my tastes.”

“Great!” Albert didn’t know what he said, but the barista looked very happy. “I’ll make more for you next time… only if you want, of course.” They quickly added that last part in- was that a hint of a blush on their cheeks? “Maybe I’ll ask you to try out more recipes. It’s always good to have customer feedback, you know?”

“My opinion, specifically?” Albert asked.

“Uh… I mean… you are a regular here.”

“Do you offer this to the other regulars too?”

This time, the barista seemed to be at a loss for words. They laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of their head. “You’re… the first. And I guess, the one whose opinion I’d really… value.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what exactly they were trying to do. If it were anyone else, Albert would have flat out refused and not come back to the store. Although… he wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he’d been growing a soft spot for this cafe. And he was quite enjoying his conversations with this flustered barista. After a bit of a pause, he spoke. “You should get back to the counter, there are some customers waiting for you.”

“Huh? Oh, right.” They stood from the seat hastily.

“But in the event that you do have something for me to try, give me a call.” Calmly, Albert rummaged through his bag for his book, not needing to look at the barista to know they were blushing.

“Uh- sure, but I don’t have your number- wait… when did- did you put this card in my hand?!”

Albert didn’t reply; a magician never revealed his tricks, after all. The conversation between him and the barista stopped, as the customers started to come in and he began to read. Eventually, his hour-long break ended, and he started to walk out. As usual, the barista waved him off, though they sounded a tad flustered this time. This time, Albert looked back, offering them a small smile.

“See you later.”

[hushedhands]

okay, I sent in my ballot a couple of days ago, but I was trying to come up with a unique and interesting prompt, lol. All I got is this: is there an idea that you wanted to explore, but is decidedly non-canon in your stories? Like an AU of your own work. Something wild. Like time travel, haha. (also I stole the idea of motivating people to vote, remind others to vote, or volunteer by providing fic previews. No one has cashed in on my offer but I tried lol)

So, the only AU I can think of for Laws of Inheritance would be if Avery lived and Maxon died. Addy’s an only child, she’s been raised abroad to keep her safe because she’s the last Schreave, and America’s been running things with the advisers in the mean time. Now Addy’s old enough to move home, but she doesn’t know anyone very well, and she’s not culturally very Illéan, but everyone’s expecting her to be Queen. Sometimes there are still rebels. 

Anyway, what a bummer! So instead, I’ll tell you my The Thing with Feathers AU idea. I can’t fully write a challenge of it without giving away the ending of the actual fic (there’d even be clues about the ending in who is cast in certain roles!), but I can give you a very detailed outline. Here goes: 

**The Thing with Feathers Coffee Shop AU/ Lifetime Original Christmas Movie**

- Addy is the heir to the largest coffee shop chain in the world, basically Starbucks. It’s called Schreave’s I guess. 

- Addy gets caught partying with her boyfriend (Martin) by the paparazzi and Maxon realizes his socialite daughter needs Discipline. He’s like, “Adrienne, you will enroll in school in the fall and you will work part-time at the coffee shop on campus (they have a Schreave’s on campus). And Addy’s like, “I don’t need to know how to make coffee, I need to know how to manage a global brand, that’s totally different!” but she’s in too much trouble, so she has to go. 

- Her little siblings are the exact same, but they get to do all the normal stuff they want. Lief can ride rollercoasters and Jamesy is in the Boy Scouts, and Maisy’s the star of her private school soccer team. 

- Addy starts school and she’s surprised that she actually likes it. Her brand management classes are really practical, so she doesn’t even have to buy a textbook. Most students know she’s an heiress, but some people just think it’s funny that she has the same last name as that coffee shop chain. 

- On the other hand, she’s never had to work a part-time job before, and her manager (Lenore!) is very hard on her. Addy only got the job because her dad is Mr. Starbucks (okay, Schreave’s), and Lenore makes Addy do all the lame stuff (washing machinery, carrying in shipments of milk and coffee beans) and won’t let her do any of the fun stuff (drawing on the chalkboard to advertise today’s specials, learning to make fun latte foam art). 

- Then one day, a cute boy walks in. I won’t tell you his name, but he’s Addy’s future husband. He just orders his drink and leaves her a really nice tip and that’s it. Lenore makes fun of Addy for making googly eyes at him while he leaves the shop. Addy is a bazillionaire, so she will save every tip he ever gives her in a coffee can (Hello, America’s penny jar!) 

- The boy comes back the next day and the next day. Addy learns his order and gets it ready for him just before he arrives, and then one day she gets bold and writes her phone number on the cardboard sleeve that covers his coffee! 

- He doesn’t call her or text her all day, and she’s DYING of embarrassment because like, maybe she read him wrong and he doesn’t like her?? Now she has to see him again the next day and he ignored her! BUT

- he texts her that night and they start a cute little texting exchange, they learn about each other’s families and favorite books and tv shows, and they get to know each other through that way. He still only comes by the coffee shop to pick up his order, leave her a tip, and go. Addy draws him doodles on his coffee sleeves every time. He saves every single coffee sleeve, starting with the phone number one, and will keep them forever just like Addy keeps the tips, but Addy doesn’t know that yet!

- Addy catches Lenore studying for an exam when she’s supposed to be working, but instead of dunking on Lenore as revenge for how hard she’s been on Addy, Addy just helps her study and by the end of the night they’re cool. 

- There’s a football game coming up, so Addy writes on the sleeve of Future Husband’s coffee, asking if he wants to go with her. He returns to the coffee shop that afternoon (his first time ever to make a second trip in the same day), just to give her her ticket and offer to walk with her from her dorm to the stadium that night. Their first date! The game is fun, their school wins, they go eat dinner at the diner afterwards, they kiss each other goodnight. 

- They go on a few more dates after that, and Addy’s feelings are getting serious, but wait! Her dad is coming into town to give her a ride to a ski resort on the family private jet for the holidays. How will he feel if Addy tells him she’s started dating someone? Probably bad, because the last time she got in trouble it was with her ex-boyfriend! She has to keep Future Husband a secret! 

- But Addy’s all lovelorn and listless, even though it’s Christmas, and she misses her cute boyfriend and her shifts at the coffee shop. She knows how to make her dad’s favorite order now which impresses him. He’s very proud of her, and impressed with how much she’s grown in her semester at school, but he can tell that she’s not happy. America notices Addy all curled up on one of those window bay seats overlooking a gorgeous ski lift, texting and sighing, and finally gets Addy to admit it. She has serious feelings for a boy, but she’s a coffee heiress and it’s complicated

- It turns out America was just a normal teenage girl from South Carolina when she met Maxon by chance! It was the first time Clarkson had ever sent Maxon out on his own to handle a negotiation. Maxon was supposed to meet with local farmers about supplying the coffee shop chain with milk and produce in that region. He also met with artists whose paintings they would feature on the coffee shop walls in that area. That’s how Maxon met Shalom, who brought America along for the meeting to help carry his sample paintings. The rest was history!

- So if Maxon could marry some painter’s daughter from the middle of nowhere in South Carolina, why couldn’t Addy date a student at her school? Addy tells her mother Future Husband’s name, and America works her magic, but Addy doesn’t know it yet. 

- Addy spends Christmas eve night with her siblings, playing in the snow. They go to sleep, but all Addy wants for Christmas is Future Husband. 

- The next morning, guess who’s sitting in the living room of their million-dollar ski lodge penthouse? Future Husband! America snuck his phone number from Addy’s phone and convinced Maxon to use his connections to fly Future Husband to the ski resort overnight.

- Does Addy get other rich-people things for Christmas, like diamonds and expensive laptops or something? Of course! But her real present is Future Husband, who is going to spend the rest of winter break with her, getting to know the fam. They’ll even get to spend New Year’s Eve together! The fic/movie ends with the camera zooming in on a kiss under the mistletoe between Addy and her Future Husband! 

**The End**

(until the sequel when he proposes!) 

[somekindoftuber]

vld youtuber AU (klance, part 5)

(I apologize if the tense changes all over the place, I’m writing this as a sort of stream-of-consciousness thing because I care more about getting the idea out than writing something that’s grammatically perfect. I’ll probably clean this up and make it an actual fic once it’s all done. Thanks for reading!! :D)

part one | part two | part three | part four

There is a definite shift in Keith’s demeanor after Lance’s last visit.

They play Overwatch a few times a week, and while Keith goes into stern-leader-battle-mode when the game is going, between matches he’s loose, candid. He laughs at Lance’s jokes and makes casual conversation about his job, the garage, tells funny stories about Kosmo. Lance tells Keith stories about the customers he has at the cafe. It’s nice to hear a softness in Keith’s voice that Lance hadn’t heard before.

Keith shows up in nearly all of Lance’s Overwatch videos, even if his mic isn’t recorded. They sort of fall into a rhythm, meeting online every Tuesday and Thursday night to search for servers.

“Y’know,” Keith says one night while they’re in queue. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a sniper type.”

“Eh?” Lance is in his Widowmaker menu at that moment, flipping between two skins to see which one he likes more. “What d’you mean?”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Keith clarifies, and it sounds like he’s smiling. “You just seem like more of a Mercy or a support or something. You’re really…” he pauses. “Generous. Always helping people. Then you get in here and you turn into a cold blooded assassin.”

Lance laughs. “I’ve always played a sniper, though. Gotta have balance somewhere, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

.

They text a lot. It’s all small stuff, like pet photos or memes (which Keith doesn’t understand 90% of the time and Lance finds that kind of adorable). But it’s nice. Occasionally they’ll both have an early shift, and Lance will text Keith photos of the ancient espresso grinder, captioned “this thing wants me dead” surrounded with skull emojis. Keith’s sense of humor, Lance learns, is dry as cracker juice. He gets a photo of a broken rubber floor mat with the question, “what sound does a floor mat make when it splits right before a fitness class?” Before Lance can answer, he gets another photo of the same mat, this time with Keith’s middle finger pointing soundly at it. “That sound,” says the caption. Lance laughs so hard that his boss yells at him for being on his phone during a shift.

August comes to an end, and Pidge prepares for her final term. Lance helps by assisting in an apartment clean out, getting rid of literal clutter to ease Pidge’s impending mental clutter. Lance tries not to think about how this might be their last few months in this apartment together. He’s really enjoyed living with Pidge - he wasn’t exaggerating when he said she was like a sister. Pidge is an extension of his family, ever since they met at space camp all those years ago. She’d been a tiny, fluffy, indomitable ball of pure snark and Lance loved her immediately. Since then, they’d stuck together, seeing each other through some of the hardest times. Lance had cheered his lungs out when Pidge was handed her high school diploma, and in a few months, he’d see her walk across another stage in a cap and gown to receive her bachelor’s degree in Robotic Engineering.

It made him a little misty-eyed to think about it.

Pidge is playing Stardew Valley one afternoon (how the hell did she manage to make such an insanely profitable farm before the end of year one?) when she casually brings up one of Lance’s favorite fall events.

“You gonna go to the Founder’s Fair this year?”

Lance doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Uh, is the Pope catholic?”

“Good.” On the screen, Pidge’s character gives a bouquet to Penny. Dating everyone but marrying no one: the Pidge method. “Hunk is coming in for it.”

“Sweet.”

The Harborville Founder’s Fair was the highlight of every autumn. Right as the summer was fading away and the air was showing a hint of a chill, Oceanside Park would explode into three days of carnival rides, food trucks, fireworks, and everything in between. It was also the best time of year to surf - they didn’t get much in the way of waves here, but there would always be just enough in late September to rent a board. Lance had put in his time off request a month ago, buttering up his boss with the ‘this might be my last September in Harborville’ sob story. Which was sort of true, even if he wasn’t quite ready to face that reality yet.

Lance felt like he was getting closer to Keith. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was the case, but if nothing else, Keith seemed to finally be relaxing around him. There were one or two times when Lance could almost swear Keith was flirting, but he quickly shoved the thought aside. Nope, don’t go there. That’s assuming things. Assuming is dangerous.

.

The fair is in a week and to make up for missing work on what will be one of the busiest weekends of the year, Lance is working at the cafe nearly every day. He has more steam burns on his hands and wrists from making lattes than ever, and he thinks if he hears the word “pumpkin spice” one more time he might lose it. He hasn’t played Overwatch all week, too tired from extra shifts to do anything other than zone out to Netflix when he gets home.

He’s got two hours left in his Thursday morning shift, then he’s free for the whole weekend. He can practically taste the funnel cakes now - and the Rancho Alegre food truck, the only decent source of Cuban food in the entire state, will be there. God, he’s going to eat until he can’t move.

The morning rush has come and gone and the afternoon crowd isn’t here yet, so Lance is cleaning up the mess of coffee grounds and cinnamon around his work station when the bell on the cafe door sounds. He doesn’t look up as his coworker/supervisor Romelle greets whoever walks through, too preoccupied with wondering how the hell almond milk ended up underneath the grinder.

“Hello,” says the customer and Lance totally knows that voice. He stops wiping sour milk and looks up.

It’s Shiro. And right behind him is Allura and - oh shit. It’s Keith. He’s here, he’s here in the cafe and Lance had no idea he was coming and he probably looks like shit, overworked with bags under his eyes and his face breaking out from stress and he didn’t even shampoo his hair this morning because he was running late --

But then Keith smiles at him and wow. His hair is down and he’s wearing this black and red leather jacket and it should be illegal to look that good. Especially when Lance is such a mess.

“Hi,” Lance says, hating how his voice cracks. “What are you guys doing in town?”

Shiro is pulling out his wallet with his left hand. “We came for the fair. It was always one of my favorite things about going to school here.”

“Oh,” Lance squeaks.

They’re here for the fair. Lance might get to spend time at the fair with Keith. He forces himself to focus on the present before a dozen fantasies of ferris wheel rides and sharing cotton candy can take over his brain.

They all order drinks and Lance claims them before Romelle can even finish ringing them up. Shiro gets a hazelnut americano, Allura orders a tuxedo mocha, and Keith shyly asks for a latte. Lance can tell he doesn’t go to coffee shops often and makes the drinks carefully. He can’t embellish Shiro’s americano, but he uses chocolate sauce and extra foam to draw a bow tie in Allura’s mug. For Keith’s latte, he sends a prayer to the coffee gods to grant him latte art prowess. It works, and Lance is rounding out rings of coffee and foam, pulling through to form a perfect heart.

He slides the mug across the counter to Keith, who’s eyebrow shoot into his hair. He breaths a little “wow” and blushes, taking the mug and smiling. He’s wearing fingerless leather gloves. Lance’s heart flip-flops in his chest.

The three of them find a table near the window and sit, chatting and drinking their coffee. They’re too far away for Lance to hear what they’re saying, and even if he could, he’s on the clock, and the lunchtime regulars are starting to trickle in.

Would it be gauche to text his evening shift coworker and bribe him to come in early so Lance can leave?

Lance thinks Romelle can tell he’s pouting by the way she sides up to him.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Is that the guy?”

He follows her gaze and sees that it lands firmly on the table where Keith is sitting with Shiro and Allura. Keith looks up at Lance, and smiles a little before turning back to his brother.

“Yeah,” Lance whispers back, feeling his face heat up. “The one with the long hair.”

Romelle lets out a low whistle. “Quite the catch,” she says, waggling her eyebrows. “What about the girl they’re with?”

“Allura?” Lance thinks. “I don’t know her very well, but she’s nice.”

“She single?”

Lance rolls his eyes and starts on the next drink. “No idea, you should ask her.”

It’s slower today and Lance is thankful for it. With Keith in the room, he can’t focus on anything - it’s a miracle he doesn’t catastrophically screw up the drinks he’s making. There’s a break in customers and Romelle comes over to Lance where he loading a portafilter with espresso and waves her phone.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she says, and he does not like that voice. That’s her Supervisor Voice. “I’ll call Ryan in an hour early if you get me Cute Girl’s number.”

Lance puts the tamp down. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He looks over at the table where Keith is sitting. They’ve all finished their drinks and will probably be leaving soon.

“Romelle,” Lance states. “You are an evil super villain and I love you. Consider that number yours.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan Kinkade is walking in and he doesn’t look particularly thrilled about it. Lance takes off his apron and motions at the jar of cash by the register.

“Ryan, you’re a lifesaver and my tips are yours. Thank you!” Lance clocks out before anyone can argue and walks over to where Keith and Co are sitting. He’s very much aware of how he probably reeks of coffee and looks like garbage but does his best to smile anyway.

“My shift is over, did you guys have any plans?”

Shiro smiles and stands. “I think we were going to head to our Air B&B and check in, actually. We could use a breather after that drive. We can meet up for dinner later, if you want.”

Inwardly, Lance lets out a sigh of relief because this means he’ll have time to take a shower and make himself presentable. “That sounds good! Any place you want to go?”

Shiro shrugs. “Is Vinnie’s still open?”

Lance lights up. “Oh yeah, still as good as ever, too! Want to meet there at, uh - “ He checks his phone, it’s barely 3pm. “Around five? We should beat most of the dinner rush that way.”

They all nod and the plans are made. They walk outside together and Lance watches the three of them get into a very nice Chrysler sedan - maybe Allura’s, given how she goes for the driver’s seat. Once they’re gone, Lance heads for his car and books it home. He immediately washes and exfoliates his face, then applies an anti-inflammatory mask and works at cleaning up the apartment. It was already fairly clean since Hunk will be crashing on the pull-out sofa bed for the weekend, and he has no idea of Keith will ever even see this place, but Lance doesn’t want to take any risks.

He shoots Pidge a text to tell her about their plans in case she wants to join. Hunk isn’t due until tomorrow morning.

Apartment clean(er) and his face mask dry and itchy, Lance hops in the shower and scrubs himself sore. Keith is here and will be spending the weekend here and Lance is equal parts ecstatic and terrified. He meticulously goes through his whole grooming routine, moisturizes, swabs, trims his eyebrows, even files his nails. He checks his reflection once he’s done and thankfully his face is less red, the stress acne barely noticeable.

There’s still about 45 minutes until he needs to be at Vinnie’s so Lance takes his time picking out clothes. He settles for a low cut tank top that shows off his collarbones and a beige button down over it with the sleeves rolled up, finishing it off with a pendant necklace and grey skinny jeans. He examines himself in the mirror and frowns a little. Does it look too much like date clothes?

He doesn’t have time to change because then his phone pings and it’s Shiro, saying they’re heading to Vinnie’s a little early. Lance all but throws himself out the door.

.

Vinnie’s is starting to get crowded, Lance can already see the line forming when he parks. He spots Shiro and Allura easily, their white hair making them stand out. They’d managed to claim a patio table - no small feat - and were chatting happily.

Lance joins them and it’s amazing how welcome he feels in this group, the way Shiro half-pulls a chair out for Lance. Keith is sitting to his right, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, the black t-shirt he wore stretching nicely over his chest. And if he didn’t know any better, Lance could swear he saw Keith’s eyes sweep down his neck and linger.

They ate and laughed and ate more, drinking fancy gourmet sodas. They make loose plans for the weekend - beach tomorrow, then the fair on Saturday, and maybe brunch before they leave on Sunday. Lance educates Keith in the ways of the garlic knot, the most sacred food item on earth. And when Keith shrugs and says they’re “alright,” Lance feigns offense, gasping and clutching his chest.

Pidge joins them later, looking utterly spent from a long day of classes. Lance gives up his seat so she can collapse into it. He kneels beside the table instead, passing Pidge the last of their pizza and appetizers. Keith gives him a look, then scoots over to one side of his chair, patting the other with his hand.

Lance short circuits, looking from the empty side of the chair to Keith’s face several times.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Get up here. That,” he points to where Lance is kneeling, “Is super bad for your knees.”

“Oh?” Lance slides into place, and it’s sort of uncomfortable with half of his ass hanging off the chair, but he can feel heat pouring off Keith’s body with how close he is. “You care much about my knees?”

Keith goes super red. “I’m a physical trainer,” He said, suddenly very interested in his soda. “It’s my job to care. Doing stuff like that will ruin them.”

“Right.”

Lance glances over at Pidge, who had a garlic knot halfway to her mouth and giving Lance the most predatory grin. He glares at her to shut down whatever evil plans she might be formulating.

They finally finish the food and decide to stop taking up a table, bussing it themselves to save the staff some work. Instead of a bar, they decide to head over to Lance and Pidge’s apartment to chill - half because Pidge isn’t 21 yet and wouldn’t be able to join them at most of the bars in town, and half because Vinnie’s was so loud that they’re all craving some quiet.

Lance is so thankful that his past self had the sense to clean a little more. They all sprawl out over the living room, Lance going to pull a chair from the kitchen to sit on so the guests can have the nice couch and Pidge can curl up in the easy chair. Lance offers up the ice cream sandwiches from the freezer and everyone takes one; Allura seems to be examining hers with great interest, like she’s never had one before.

Shiro talks a lot, mostly about what Harborville was like when he and Matt were in college. About their first apartment that should probably have been condemned, the dogs he’d walk between classes for extra cash. Eventually Lance’s cats come out of hiding to investigate, and Keith goes starry-eyed at Batou’s big green eyes and plush grey coat.

Pidge falls asleep in her chair just after nine. Everyone takes a second to coo at how cute she is before Lance bends down to scoop her up.

“Lemme put sleeping beauty here to bed. If she stays there she’ll be sore and cranky when she wakes up.”

He takes Pidge to her room and sets her on her bed, then wrestles her sneakers off her feet, setting her glasses on the bedside table and draping a sheet over her. When he goes back into the living room and sits in the chair he’d removed Pidge from, Allura gives him a fond look.

“You’re very sweet to her.”

Lance shrugs. “She’s pretty much family. Also, I have to do that all the time. I’ve found her face down on her homework out here more times than I want to count.”

They talk for another two hours. Lance feels a little lonely with Keith sitting on the side of the couch furthest from him, but then again, if he was closer, Lance isn’t sure his brain would work. Allura yawns wide.

“I think it’s time we turned in,” she states. “I’d like to get some rest before the weekend starts.”

Shiro agrees. Lance ends up seeing them off in the parking lot, waving as they drive away.

.

Hunk arrives just after 10am the next morning, armed with bags of groceries to pack a picnic for the beach. He puts Lance and Pidge on an assembly line in the kitchen, making pork sandwiches, vegetable rolls, hummus wraps, crab and radish tartines, potato salad, and chocolate-dipped clementine slices. He’d picked up a package of Lance’s favorite lemon cream cookies and Lance could almost kiss him for it.

With their precious picnic food carefully packed in an ice chest along with plenty of drinks, Lance shot a group text to Keith, Shiro, and Allura to ask if they were ready for the beach. He got confirmation quickly, and they agreed to hit the north shore near the lighthouse, where the sand was rougher but the tourists tended to be a little thinner.

Parking is a bitch but they find a spot, then wait by the trunk for Keith and Co to arrive. About ten minutes later Lance sees Allura’s Chrysler pull in to a spot. They walk over to meet them and Lance is practically bouncing, because 1) he gets to go to the beach, 2) he gets to go surfing with Hunk, 3) he gets to spend time with new friends, and 4) Keith is here. Everyone is in shorts and light shirts, Allura has this big floppy sun hat that is absolutely precious on her, and Keith’s face is shiny with sunscreen. Lance bets that fair skin of his will still be red by the end of the day.

They find a spot that’s decently clear and set up. Hunk, Keith, and Lance tackle the portable canopy that will hopefully keep them all from becoming completely sunburned while Allura and Pidge set out the sand blanket and arrange their stuff to keep the wind from blowing it away. Once they’re settled, the ice chest is opened and sodas and juice are passed around. The wind is strong today but not enough to be a problem for their canopy, and the waves are large and plentiful. Lance eyes the surfboard rental shack a quarter mile down the beach.

Once they’ve had enough of snacking and chatting, Lance gives Hunk fingerguns and they almost take off down the beach together, making a beeline for the surfboards. Rolo is working it as usual and after some searching they find the perfect boards and duck into the changing tent to get into their springsuits. Lance has the white and blue suit up over his hips and was about to pull it the rest of the way on when he remembers that Keith is sitting out there. Ever since Lance learned he was a Crossfit trainer, he’d started running and working out again. He wasn’t in as good a shape as he was when he’d been swimming competitively, but thanks to months of regular exercise, he at least sort of looked the part again. And maybe he wanted to show off a little. So Lance left the top of his springsuit open and hanging from his hips as they went back to the group with their boards.

“Showoff,” Hunk accused while they were still out of earshot of everyone else.

Lance subtly flexed his chest. “So? I worked hard for this.”

When they got back to the canopy, Lance did his best to act nonchalant as he set his board aside and started pulling his springsuit up over his chest. Keith was definitely looking at him. Mission accomplished.

His flirty nature satisfied, it was time to surf. Lance missed this so much, the first step into the ocean water was like heaven. He and Hunk paddled out until the water was smooth, then sat on their boards and waited. They didn’t have to wait long, Hunk caught the first good wave that came their way, riding it out and away. Lance caught the next one, and it was a crazy high. It just felt so good, cutting through the water with his board, turning, riding through tunnels of blue-green. The waves tossed him, wrecked him, dragged his body against the sand below. But every time, Lance would surface, shake it off, and paddle out for another go.

His legs finally started to shake, so Lance hauled his board back to the shore. Hunk was already sitting under the canopy again, changed out of his springsuit and sipping on a juice box.

“I was gonna give you ten more minutes before I dragged you out of the water,” Hunk said.

Lance didn’t reply, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His board hits the sand and he all but collapses onto the sand sheet, his ears ringing.

A water bottle appeared in his periphery. Lance looked up enough to trace the hand that held it back to Keith, who was wearing this cute little smile. Lance smiled back and took the bottle, downing half of it in one gulp.

Pidge starts pulling out food and Lance blindly eats whatever is handed to him, too exhausted to care what it is. It’s all delicious but with how many calories he burned surfing, he could probably be eating stale saltines and they’d taste like a delicacy. He leans back on the sand sheet and basks in the post-surf euphoria.

Lance notices everyone starting to get up. Allura is holding several frisbees with a gleam in her eye, and most of the group is rising to join her. Keith stands and, after fiddling with the collar of his shirt for a second, reaches back and pulls it over his head, letting it drop to the ground.

Lance is instantly awake because holy shit. Keith is ripped. He’s all tight skin and perfect muscles and - oh.

He’d been wrong when he’d assumed Keith’s tattoo was a wolf. It’s actually a lion, roaring fiercely, emblazoned in dark red ink over his left hip.

Keith takes a hair tie off his wrist and uses it to pull his hair up high on the back of his head. He shoots Lance a loaded glance before walking out into the sun to join everyone else for a game of frisbee tag. Lance memorizes the muscles of his back as he goes.

“Good god, you’re so loud.”

Lance sits up and turns to see Pidge, sitting in the center of the sand sheet in her shorts and green rash guard, with her phone in one hand and a cookie in the other.

“I didn’t say anything!” Lance protests. Pidge just cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Not with words, anyway.”

Lance frowns, then dares to look back out at his friends, finding Keith and tracking his movements across the beach.

.

They empty the ice chest of food and drink and, after several more hours of beach fun, they decide to pack it in and head out. Lance is going to remember this day for the rest of his life - the image of Keith glistening wet as he walked out of the ocean had finally taught Lance the meaning of the phrase “looks good enough to eat.”

Lance is so, so tired. Surfing wore him out but he still played a round of beach volleyball after that, and then swam some more. He’s going to be so sore tomorrow. He drives himself, Hunk, and Pidge back to their apartments to shower and change before they head over to the Air B&B where Shiro, Keith, and Allura are staying. Lance decides on a regular shirt and his favorite jeans, only bothering to put a single layer of moisturizer on his face.

The Air B&B turns out to be a whole house, with a yard and a little deck where they all gather around faded patio furniture as Shiro hands out beers. He gives Pidge a look as she takes one for herself.

“What?” She says as she twists off the top of the bottle. “I’m gonna be 21 in a few months, I’m in safe company, and I’m not driving.”

Shiro just sighs and sits down.

They talk and laugh for hours. Pidge only has one beer before switching to sweet tea, and Lance is a little relieved. He has no idea what drunk Pidge would be like and he’d rather not find out this weekend - he would be cash money that she’d be ornery as hell. Hunk orders some delivery from their favorite noodle place when Lance isn’t paying attention. Keith looks happy as a kid on Christmas with a giant bowl of pho in front of him, and Lance learns that Vietnamese food is his favorite.

They move inside once the sun goes down to keep from bothering the neighbors. Lance settles into a corner of the faded couch, and is too tired to panic when Keith sits next to him. Hunk launches into a story about his last term at school when he almost blew the breaker for the entire engineering building and Lance tries to pay attention, but he’s worn out and Keith is radiating heat like a furnace. Combine that with his full stomach and a couple of beers and he’s so, so sleepy.

Someone is calling his name and Lance inhales sharply, eyes fluttering open. It was Hunk, who’s smiling at him from across the coffee table. Lance is leaning on something warm and solid. He rubs his eyes and looks up.

He was leaning on Keith.

Lance’s eyes bug out but Keith just looks down at him with this tiny smile and a blush on his cheeks. Lance suddenly feels like the room is a million degrees as he carefully sits up.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pass out.”

Keith laughs softly. “It’s fine.”

They all start to wrap up their stories and conversations. Lance doesn’t know what time it is but it feels late, and since they want to hit the fair tomorrow, they should all get some sleep. Hunk offers to drive home and Lance hands him the keys as Keith, Shiro, and Allura wave goodbye from the front porch.

He almost falls asleep again in the ten minutes it takes Hunk to drive them back to their apartment. Lance helps set up the pull-out sofa, then goes to brush his teeth. He’s practically nodding off at the bathroom sink when Pidge comes up to him and pulls out her phone.

“Thought you should see this,” she says, holding it up.

On the screen is a photo of Keith, and, with his head resting on Keith’s shoulder dead asleep, Lance. Keith is looking down at him and definitely blushing.

The toothbrush stills in Lance’s mouth as he swipes the phone from Pidge’s hand, using his thumbs to pull and zoom. Keith was smiling.

“Please send this to me immediately,” Lance tells her, words muffled from the toothbrush still hanging from between his teeth.

He’s in bed setting his alarm when he gets the text from Pidge with the photo attached. And if Lance hugs a pillow and kicks his feet a little at the sight, who could blame him?

.

Continued in part 6!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Happy Together : 2

Small World

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Chapter Summary: The reader sees a familiar face.

Notes: For reference to setting, see the previous chapter. As for this one, I hope you have patience. Now, Witness kinda took a few chapters to get to the crux, but this one might take a little longer. ;) But I promise, it’s going to be some very fucked up Steve eventually. In advance, I thank everyone for following along and soon I will start adding to other WIPs one Witness is finished (maybe finally start that Medieval AU lol) <3

Thanks to everyone who reads and as always, I looked forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

You were annoyed that you had wasted time at that restaurant waiting on yet another unreliable and selfish man. You could’ve used the hour finishing your latest commission but instead you spent your Saturday morning on the project. You usually tried to save that day for yourself. Self-employed, you made it a priority to work at least six days a week. You were paid well enough, quite successful as it was, but you liked the security of having a little extra under your belt. Besides, it always made you anxious to think that you could be actually doing something instead of lazing around on your couch watching Netflix.

Plus, you needed the distraction from your self-pity. The humiliation lingered for a few days after and even your work couldn’t erase it entirely. Why hadn’t he come? Was it an innocent case of forgetfulness? Or maybe he had changed his mind after seeing you. Tandi had exchanged your information via Facebook and he had seen your photo the same as you had his. Perhaps he hadn’t been as pleased at the prospect. Ugh, you didn’t even know him. Just forget it!

It was Wednesday and the disappointment was still a speck at the edge of your mind. It was sunny for once, a light jacket over your blouse and jeans as you basked in the warming spring air. You walked merrily to the park, happy to be outside, refreshed almost. You found a place on one of the bench, the melody of birds and interspersed voices of people filling the flowery air. You pulled your tablet and pen from your leather tote and opened up your program, working on the outline of the geometric logo you had started the night before.

Every now and then you looked up from your work and admired the serenity nestled amidst the chaotic city. You crossed your legs, resting your tablet against your knee and continued to draw, the sunlight hugging you. A blur moved across the top of your vision and paused, looming closer and you slowly looked up. The tablet nearly slid off your knee as you spotted the man approaching you. It couldn’t be.

“Hey, it’s you,” Steve greeted, his perfect smile shining brighter than the sky. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name the other night.”

“Um, Y/N,” You answer, shading your eyes from the sun beaming over his shoulder, “You remember me?”

“A face like yours is easy to remember,” He replied coyly, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Yeah, I uh...know,” You admitted shyly, “Thanks again…”

“Oh, it was nothing,” He waved away the gratuity, “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead,” You shrugged, steadying your tablet across your knee.

“Are you drawing something?” He asked, your tablet half-dimmed as it threatened to lock.

“Yeah. Working actually,” You explained, clicking the sleep button and shifting the screen against your thigh. “I’m a graphic artist.”

“Ah,” He nodded, “Makes sense. It must be fun. Doing something creative like that.”

“It can be,” You answered, “I…” You paused, his eyes never leaving yours. He was so intent on you, as if no one else was in the park. How had he picked you out among the crowd? Half of New York had probably been in his restaurant. You shook away the overly paranoid questions and continued. “Depends on the job, really. I mostly just do corporate logos and designs. Can’t really get paid for what I want to draw.”

“Well, what do you like to draw?” He stretched his arm over the back of the bench, you almost didn’t notice as it slid behind you. You were sure it was just a casual gesture, a habit he didn’t give much thought to, but it felt entirely too intimate.

“Life, I guess. People, animals, trees. I just like to create scenes, not just...symbols,” You said, nervously twirling the pen between your fingers. “I prefer to paint, really.”

“Oh, yeah? Do have any of them on that thing?” He pointed to the tablet, “Anything you’re willing to show me?” You blinked as his tone caught you off-guard. He was talking about your art and yet it seemed like he meant something more. You could’ve sworn his eyes had strayed from your face for just a second. God, you were crazy. After being stood up and nearly two years by yourself, you were growing delusional.

“I might, I, um...one second,” You unlocked your tablet and saved your work. You opened your gallery and flipped through your files, settling on a quick sketch you had done of a sparrow that had built a nest outside your building. “It’s just a drawing, but, um, here.”

You handed over the tablet and he tilted it so he could see the screen, his brows lifting as his eyes ran over the lines and shadows done in monochrome, splashes of auburn here and there to give a hint of life to the sketch. “Wow, that’s really good.” He looked up, holding the tablet out to you, “You’re very talented.”

“Thanks,” You looked away shyly, “Really, it’s just a sketch. I’ve seen way better.”

“No, no, what you do is amazing. You shouldn’t compare yourself to others,” He smiled as you took the tablet, your fingers brushing his by accident. “You’re you and that makes it more than a sketch. It’s art.”

You allowed yourself a small smile. “Thank you,” You locked your tablet again and set it on your lap, resting your pen beside it.

“Well,” He slowly pulled his arm out from behind you, his warmth releasing you as he stood. “I’ll leave you to it. I’d hate to keep you from you work.” He checked his watch as he spoke, “And I’ve got to get to the restaurant for dinner service.” He looked back to you, his blue eyes searching you, considering you closely as he measured his next words, “You should definitely come back some time. You know, no date required.”

“Yeah, uh, sure,” You nodded evasively. You didn’t really want to admit that you couldn’t go back not because you were dateless but because you had bills. “It was, uh, surprising to run into you.”

“You, too,” He grinned, his golden brows twitching, “The special tonight is salmon. You should give it a try….have a good one.”

He turned away, strolling across the park and onto the street. You drew your brows together as you saw a silver car pull up and he got inside. Why would he be walking through the park if he had a town car? You shook your head and readjusted your tablet across your knee. Maybe he had just gotten out to stretch. You doubted he had gone out of his way to bug you.

-------------

You balanced the mugs, careful not to spill any of the foam as you walked between tables and found your seat by the window. Tandi was sat with her phone out, grinning at the screen like an idiot. You set her latte in front of her and cupped your own warm mug as you sat down. She finished typing and relinquished her phone on the table. She looked up at you, starry-eyed over her latest fling. Well, they’d been seeing each other for a couple months so maybe it was getting serious.

“I’m real sorry about Danny,” She said. She had arrived as you were waiting in line, grabbing a seat as you bided your time in the queue. Your mouth twitched and you looked away. The heat still rose in your cheeks whenever you thought of the painful hour spent in the restaurant. It had been more than a week.

“It’s not your fault,” You grumbled, “It was just embarrassing...I can’t believe I sat there that long. It was like everyone was staring at me.”

“I’m sure they weren’t, but it was a dick thing to do. I’ve blocked him on Snap, Facebook, and Twitter.” She smirked, “So yeah, fuck him.”

“Ha, thanks,” You scoffed, raising your mug to sip from it, the foam cooling the espresso. Your eyes wandered out the window as you leaned back in your chair.

“You know, not all guys are like that, Y/N,” She trilled, “Carson’s a nice guy and he has lots of friends.”

“I don’t want to date any of your boyfriend’s bros,” You protested, watching the passerbys through the glass. “Carson’s nice but not my type and I can’t imagine his friends are of a different cut.”

“Well, you should at least consider someone. Anyone!” She said dramatically, but before you could chuckle it caught in your throat. You swore you recognized that blonde head across the street. You couldn’t say for sure as it quickly ducked into the suit shop and you blinked as the mug in your hand wobbled. You steadied your grip and turned back to Tandi. Right, you were going crazy.

“I will. One day. But I’m fine right now. Work’s good and steady and I feel pretty good. I can do what I want when I want...Living with Mike was difficult and I didn’t even realize how much I hated it til he was gone.” You stopped yourself before you could get too emotional. “I know it’s been a long time, but I’m working on it, a little at a time.”

“I know…” She reached over and touched the back of your hand, “I just want you to be happy; healthy.”

You smiled. A genuine smile. Not the one you put on for strangers or when you were anxious. A real one and it felt good. You took another gulp and waited for Tandi to begin her usual train of gossip. She always had the messiest stories about her workplace; she was an actor and had garnered many a theatre job, enough at least to keep her studio apartment. Once she began, it was hard to stop her and your latte was drained by the time she finished.

Her phone shook the table. She flipped it over and checked the notification, her face shone. “Carson’s back from his trip,” She almost sang. You stared at her and sighed as her eyes rounded brightly.

“Go on,” You relented, “You’re free to go. I won’t keep you. Just call me when you get a chance...if you get a chance.”

“Thank you,” She stood so quickly she hit the table with her hip. She pulled on her thin trench, pulling taught the belt around her thin waist. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. That’s why I’m letting you go,” You crossed your arm, “Just let me know you’ve arrived safely. You know I’m paranoid.”

“Sure, sure,” She leaned down to give you half-hug, “I’ll see you.”

“See you,” You patted her lower back in return, “Bye.”

You watched her go, content at least with the hour shared with her. You couldn’t expect her to put her life on hold because you had. You weren’t bitter but you mulled her words. Just because one jerk had stood you up didn’t mean they all would. Maybe not today or tomorrow or the next day, but you’d be ready to start again one day. For now, you wanted to pop into the used bookstore just across the street. You always found something interesting there.

You stepped out into the cool spring afternoon, the evening looming as a hint of rain floated in the air. You ran across the street and hopped up onto the curb, your focus solely on the book shop. You entered with a ring, the small bell above the door announcing your entrance. The storekeeper was sat at a desk stacked with book, the daily newspaper held aloft like a shield. You headed for the back shelves where vintage magazines were kept in old filing crates. You liked to use them for inspiration.

As you picked out decades-old issues, the bell jingled again but you didn’t pay much heed to the arrival of another. You continued to thumb through the magazines until you had half a dozen, content that they would last you a while. You stood and looked along the shelf, walking parallel to it slowly as you read the titles of ancient odes and medieval limericks. You stopped to pull out a collection of Wordsworth, the spine thin and worn, easily falling open in your hand.

“Excuse me,” The voice interrupted you before you could finish reading the title of the first poem. It was oddly familiar. Your lashes fluttered in disbelief, “You dropped…” Steve’s voice died and he chuckled as you turned to him slowly, “You again.”

“Uh-huh,” You mumbled warily. It had been him on the street retreating into the suit shop. That would prove he had been in the area for more than an hour but why? He held no wares from his visit to the tailor’s. Another coincidence? Surely, you weren’t that special.

“As I was saying, you dropped this,” He held up the white pen you used with your tablet. It had likely slipped out as you knelt at the crates.

“Thanks,” You accepted it and tucked it snuggly in the side pocket.

“What’s that you got there?” He asked, nodding at the book in your hand.

“Nothing,” You closed it and placed it back on the shelf. “I was just wasting time.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiled, resting his hand on the shelf as he leaned on it casually. “I just kinda stumbled in. Saw this copy of Dante’s Inferno,” He held up the painted cover which depicted an eerie cave spiralling ever downward, “My mother used to keep a copy but I never read it. Thought maybe I could give it a try.”

“Cool,” You hugged the magazines to you chest. Something about him being there at that exact moment was off. The unease was stronger than it had been at the park; his spontaneous visit had been more believable then. You tried to smile. You were being dumb. And what were you even afraid of? He used to be an Avenger. He was good guy. “I was actually just about to head--”

A clap of thunder shrouded your next words. You looked past the bookshelves as the light rain you had failed to notice through the window began to pour down in sheets. Your distress must have been plain as your lips parted slightly.

“Do you need a ride?” He asked, shaking you from your despair. You looked back to him and tried to think of something. Anything.

“I’ll catch a cab,” You shrugged him off, trying to seem unperturbed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t waste your money. You can share my town car. He’s just outside. I’m sure you don’t live too far out of the way.” He smirked, his hand shifting along the shelf as he edged closer. You almost didn’t notice the subtle movement.

“Really, I can’t. You’ve already done enough. I really should, um, go.” You back away only to find the corner at your back.

“I won’t let you say no,” He asserted, “Come on. Just a car ride. That’s it. I mean, do you really wanna stand out in this and hail a cab?”

You stared up at him as you considered the invitation. Why were you so reluctant? He had done nothing to earn your distrust. If anything, he had only done you favours. But why? Oh, shut up brain, he wasn’t Mike. Or Danny. He actually seemed like a decent human being so why were you being so dumb?

“Okay,” You relented, “Sure. Why not.”

****

tags:  @ruff-m3rc @alexakeyloveloki @lanabanana-86 @sathlens @jessieray98 @kellyn1604 @ahideousthinginside @ironlady1993 @kloe-iel @grayxswan @iheartsebastianstan @myboyfriendgiriboy @tanelle83 @patzammit @phoenix21love @they-call-me-le @iheartsebastianstan

[havenoffandoms]

Chuckleheads in Love

Pairing: Destiel

Requested by @very-anxious-ottter

Prompt: Destiel Coffee Shop AU, but instead of one being a barista and the other a customer, both are baristas in training trying to get the one position left open...

I tried something here... added my own little twist to it. Hope you like it anyway. Bare with me if it’s horrible lol. I had fun writing it though, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. 

In the twelve years Gabriel had owned his own business, he had seen many a chucklehead pass the doors of his Wonderful Coffee Emporium, the most exclusive (and expensive) coffee shop in Lawrence, Kansas. He had had his share of rude, and downright arrogant customers. That was just something he had grown accustomed to over the years, and Gabriel fully expected his employees to be thick-skinned when working in his Emporium. The customers had ceased to be Gabriel’s problem a long time ago.

Employees. Them bunch could be a right nightmare to deal with. Recently, Gabriel had to get rid of his best barista because the dude could not keep it in his pants. The guy had knocked up one of Gabriel’s best client’s daughter… who had understandably not been very happy to his perfect angel girl turn into a potential future ‘Teen Mom’ participant. Very bad for the family name, you understand. Gabriel could not afford to lose this particular client – who also acted as a supplier of one of his best coffee brands – and therefore, sacrifices had to be made. Gabriel had only reluctantly agreed to let his barista go. He had been the best in the state, and replacing his expertise would be a challenge. And probably a very expensive one at that, too.

This was how Gabriel ended up advertising a barista position online and in the newspapers. He had interviewed around thirty candidates. He had only invited two back for a second meeting. Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester, both young, eager to please and ambitious. They were the raw clay Gabriel could mould into the perfect employee. The only issue was, they were both really, tremendously good. Their portfolio had been varied, professional and elegant. Gabriel would be judging their technical skills during a live ‘stand-off’. Exciting, right?

Gabriel went to greet the two candidates before his Emporium at seven am sharp. The shop opened at eight. They had one hour to convince him that one of them was fit for the job, and worth investing in. In a grandiose and dramatic way, Gabriel pulled the doors to his shop open and grinned widely at the two young men standing awkwardly a few feet away from each other, avoiding eye-contact.

“Hello, boys” Gabriel greeted them, stepping outside and letting the doors swing shut behind him, “my name is Gabriel and I own the Wonderful Coffee Emporium. This…” the blonde motioned to the building behind him, “is my little baby. I want what’s best for it, and that includes the most skilful employees. A brand like this one takes work. And like they say, the devil is in the details. Now… you both have what it takes, but only one of you will get the job. Good luck”

Gabriel invited the two candidates in, and went to sit at a nearby table. The taller man, whom the owner recognised as Dean Winchester, stood with his hands deep in his black chino pockets. He would have to neaten up his presentation, but those were details. Meanwhile the other young man, Castiel, was seemingly doing his very best to look everywhere but at Gabriel. Not ideal when dealing with clients, but again, easily rectified.

“Your first task… make me a large Iced Skinny Hazelnut Macchiato, Sugar Free Syrup, Extra Shot, Light Ice, no Whip” Gabriel grinned impishly when he noticed the confused and lost expressions on the two young men’s faces. “Come on, chop chop”

Castiel and Dean exchanged a worried look, but soon enough Dean nodded to himself and went behind the counter to get to work. Castiel soon followed, visibly trying to steer clear from Dean. Gabriel had deliberately left out instructions such as where to find the tall glasses or how to use the coffee machines. A good employee needed to cope well with stress and be adaptable. He watched carefully as the two men got to work. Every now and again, he would notice one of them glance briefly at the other. However, there was no malice or competitiveness in their eyes. In fact, they were furtive glances, almost apologetic ones. Odd. As far as Gabriel knew, the two men did not know each other. It did not take the two boys long to bring Gabriel his order. Unsurprisingly, despite the complexity of his order, the coffees were both perfect.

“Very good. Now, Dean… what could you have done better?” Gabriel asked. The green-eyed man cleared his throat, taking a moment to think of an answer.

“Well… I suppose I could have done better with the presentation. I mean… Cas is better with that kind of stuff, anyway” Dean admitted, blushing ever so slightly. Gabriel raised one eyebrow and noticed out of the corner of his eyes the smaller man glare at his counterpart. Alright. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Indeed, Castiel I really like what you did with the foam. Do you usually draw little pictures in your coffees?”

“I do, sir. Where I work now, it’s become my main duty”

“Very impressive” Gabriel granted, “although I have to say, the flavour is more present in Dean’s realisation. Maybe sometimes you should focus more on the taste and less on the presentation. Clients can’t taste foam-art”

“To be fair, sir, presentation is what distinguishes a good coffee from a great one” Dean piped up defensively, which earned himself another glare. Gabriel was not sure what exactly was going on, but he knew that something about the situation was off. Those boys knew each other, that was certain. What the circumstances were, that the owner of the Emporium vowed to figure out.

“Alright, your next job. Make me a tall non-fat latte, two percent foam. Do not be fooled by the simplicity of the order, though…” Gabriel advised, raising a warning finger. While Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Dean once again immediately set to work. The smaller man’s actions looked more hesitant. Gabriel noticed with surprise how Dean discreetly – or so he thought – whispered the instructions in Castiel’s ear as he moved back and forth between his coffee machine and the dishware rack. While the smaller man did his best to pretend he was not paying attention to his counterpart, Gabriel noticed the increase in confidence in Castiel’s actions. Again, the two men brought him their concoctions and Gabriel tasted both of them.

“I can see a trope here. Again, Dean yours tastes smoother, but Castiel your presentation is just beautiful…”

“Thank you, sir” The blue-eyed man blushed delicately at the back-handed compliment, while the faintest of proud smiles grew on Dean’s lips. For some reason, Gabriel was convinced that the taller man was happier about Castiel getting recognition than his own accomplishment.

“I’ll need several minutes to make a decision” Gabriel declared, standing up from his seat, “you guys enjoy your own creations. Feel free to grab something to eat, there’s sweet bites next the bar”

Gabriel vanished into the kitchen with only one intention in mind; spy on the two peculiar candidates. As soon as he was out of sight, he noticed Dean lean over so his head rested on Castiel’s shoulder. From where he stood, Gabriel could make out the taller man batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. The owner of the Emporium could make out the faint voices as he picked up bits and pieces of their conversation.

“I’m still mad at you” Cas snapped at Dean, moving away from the other man, “and I don’t care how much you compliment me, I’m downright pissed”

“C’mon, babe” Dean moaned, remorse lacing his tone, “I said I was sorry”

“Working for this place was always my dream, Dean. You had no right to apply for the position” Castiel accused, turning his back on the other man. Gabriel wondered why he paid good money for a TV package when he could have hired those two cuckoos earlier and get his daily dose of soap operas for free.

“Hang on, this is a free country. I couldn’t pass the opportunity… Besides, you know Balthazar wants to make you manager of his coffee shop one day… I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on leaving” Dean defended himself. Gabriel recognised the name Balthazar… not exactly a rival, mind you. His concept was different, more family-orientated, which meant that the clientele Gabriel did not bother targeting had somewhere else to go where they could enjoy a nice coffee. And Gabriel knew it was good quality coffee… he had tasted it himself a while ago.

“Dean, that’s not the point…” Castiel sighed.

“What is it, then? Honestly dude… Balthazar let me go, I should be the one complaining that you’re here”

“How dare you…” Cas guffawed indignantly. Dean merely raised his hands in surrender.

“Babe, I’m just saying. We need both our wages if we want to keep the apartment. And you have a good job waiting for you when Balthazar retires. Why are you so mad that I applied for this job? I only meant well. That guy will pay a shitload… and then I’ll finally be able to get you that ring I’ve been meaning to buy you for ages now…”

Castiel looked at the other man, his expression softening considerably when his blue eyes met Dean’s green ones. The smaller man sighed in defeat, cracking an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. I guess I needed to prove to myself – and to you – that I could do this. I know I’m not the best barista, and today proves this. I guess I should be grateful that Balthazar still allows me to work for him”

Gabriel noticed fondly how Dean interlaced his fingers with Castiel’s. Those two were adorable, they really were. Dean closed the distance between himself and his lover and sealed their lips with a tender kiss. A shit eating grin illuminated Castiel’s features, an embarrassed giggle escaping him.

“Dean, stop. Your boss will be back anytime now”

“Who says he’s gonna pick me?” Dean asked, peppering Castiel’s face with kisses. Disgustingly sweet was never an expression Gabriel thought he would ever have to use, but it was fitting to the scene unfolding before his eyes.

“Because even if he picked me, I would not take the job. You’re right, you have a right to this position, too. And I think you’ll love it here”

“You’re sure, babe?” came the uncertain question. Castiel nodded, smiling reassuringly and gently cupping Dean’s face.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sorry for being such an assbutt”

“You’re my favourite assbutt, though” Dean countered, kissing his lover once again. Gabriel shook his head, slightly amused by the men’s silliness, however the two of them had their hearts in the right place. Walking back to the table, Gabriel braced himself to announce who would be joining his team. Castiel and Dean both tensed up as they saw him return.

“Well, Dean congratulations, you’re in” Gabriel announced loudly, a wide grin on his face, “but before you start thanking me and all that, let me tell you guys something. The key to a successful partnership is communication. Even a team of the most talented employees in the world would be worthless if they didn’t talk to each other. You guys should keep that in mind for the future” Gabriel then locked eyes with Castiel, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Castiel, son… you’re talented, and you have this je-ne-sais-quoi that is comforting and loving. I’m sure there’s no better person to take over Balthazar’s business than you. I will have no regret sending you back there, because I know your skills will be put to good use there”

Dean and Castiel shared knowing looks, and both men had the decency to blush when they realised that Gabriel had heard the entirety of their conversation. The two of them shuffled awkwardly from side to side, avoiding eye-contact once again. Gabriel merely rolled his eyes.

Chuckleheads, Gabriel thought to himself.

[moonwaif]

Latte (H)Art: Ch. 6

Summary: Traumatized after being rejected by Kirishima Ayato, her first love, a teenaged Hinami vows that she will never fall in love again. Four years later, Hinami is a young woman trying to get by in life. Her painful past is behind her - at least, until she gets a job at Aogiri Tree Café, where she runs into a few familiar faces...AyaHina human!AU

Chapter Title: “Openings”

Touka and Hinami catch up. Will Hinami use this opportunity to learn more about Ayato's past, or will she chicken out?

Rating: T

A/n: Thanks again to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. I always look forward to getting your feedback. It’s really encouraging when people take the time to leave a comment.Originally, I wanted to make this chapter longer. As I was writing, I decided to shorten it for pacing reasons, and move some of the originally planned events to the next chapter. One of my favorite things is sitting down to a nice, long update, so I apologize for the length. As usual, I'm editing myself, so if you notice errors I apologize. I will hopefully have those cleaned up soon. I just get so sick of rereading my own stuff over and over again. I hope that you can still enjoy the chapter 

Touka had always been beautiful, but Hinami was still surprised by the grace and composure she radiated strolling into Aogiri Tree.

“Hina-chan!” Her smile was friendly and relaxed, as if it had been mere days instead of years since their last meeting. “What a surprise! Are you working here now?”

Hinami nodded. The flimsy paperback crackled in her tightening grip. “Yes. I just started a few weeks ago.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I just saw this guy yesterday” - she leveled an accusatory glare at Ayato, who scowled - “and he didn’t tell me a thing!”

“Why are you here, ugly nee-chan?” he groused. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Since you helped out so much yesterday, I thought I’d come by and share some of the wages. Besides, I wanted to check up on my little brother, make sure he’s staying out of trouble.”

“You should know better than that, Touka-chan,” Naki interjected, sweeping under a nearby table. “That one’s hopeless.”

“Oi, don’t speak to my sister so comfortably!”

Touka turned to Hinami, ignoring the ensuing bickering. “So, how is everything going here? I hope Ayato-kun isn’t scaring you too much with that bruised face he has on.”

“N-no! Everything is good.”

“Are they picking on you?”

“Not too much,” Hinami said, while inside she screamed, ‘Yes, Touka-chan, save me!’

“Well if they do, just tell me.”

“Look, hag,” Ayato interrupted, seeming to remember his sister was there in the first place, “I don’t need your money, so get lost.”

“I’m talking with Hina-chan,” she retorted. “Stop being so rude. By the way, Hina-chan, why don’t you make me a cappuccino? I’m really curious to see how your skills have improved!”

Touka chatted easily while Hinami brewed the espresso, filling her in on the latest doings of the Anteiku crowd. Tsukiyama had stopped modeling, but was still designing. Nishiki was finishing up med school; he and Kimi were engaged. Banjou and Yomo were both working at :re, the coffee shop Touka had opened with the money Yoshimura had left her after he had passed away from heart failure.

There was only one person suspiciously absent from her list - the one person Hinami was the most interested to hear about.

“Mmm, Hina-chan, this is good!” Touka said, sampling the cappuccino. “I like the foam rabbit you made too. It’s so cute! I’m sorry I had to ruin it.”

Hinami blushed. “I remembered you liked rabbits a lot, so…”

“You’ve really grown as a barista. I’m proud of you.”

Hinami wasn’t sure how to react to this compliment. It didn’t help that she could sense Ayato listening intently from just a few feet away. Thankfully Takizawa chose this moment to stick his head out of the kitchen.

“Ayato-san, there’s a phone call for you. Delivery stuff.”

“Ayato-san?” Touka repeated, smirking. “Wow, manager; this workplace is so laid-back.”

He ignored her. Touka watched him leave with a thoughtful smile. Gradually, her gaze lowered to the steaming cup clasped between her hands. Hinami noted the gentle lavender waves that framed her face, the full lashes that dusted her cheekbones.

“I can’t believe you’re working at my brother’s cafe,” she said. “Well, not HIS cafe, but in the same place as him. What a weird coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Hinami agreed, staring down at the counter.

“Don’t misunderstand; I’m really, really glad to see you, Hinami-chan. We still think and talk a lot about you all the time. I’ll have to let everyone know I saw you here so they can stop by and say hello, too.”

“Ah, no!” Hinami blurted, drawing a quizzical look from Touka. “I mean, please don’t. I don’t want to trouble anyone…”

“Trouble anyone? Of course not. I can’t wait to tell Banjou. He’s gonna be so jealous I got to see you.”

‘I doubt it,’ Hinami thought with a pang. ‘More like disappointed when he founds out I’m just a drop-out loser…’

“Actually, Touka-chan,” she began, measuring her words carefully, “please don’t tell anyone just yet. I’d like to surprise them, when I’m ready. But enough about me. How are you doing? You’ve told me about everyone except yourself.”

‘Well. Almost everyone.’

Touka took a long sip. “It’s been good. I like having my own business. It’s hectic and stressful, but it feels good to do things my own way and help make other people’s lives a little brighter in the process. If you ever get sick of this place, you should come work at :re.”

“Eh, really? I’ll keep it in mind.”

There was a moment of silence. Hinami’s curiosity finally won out.

“How is Kaneki-kun doing?”

Touka’s smile stiffened.

“You know as much as I do, Hinami-chan. You were still here in Tokyo when he disappeared.”

That was the same word Ayato had used; ‘disappeared.’ Her chest tightened.

“You haven’t heard from him since then?”

Touka shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you something. I know you two were close.”

‘Not as close as you were,’ Hinami thought.

“So.” Touka took another sip. “Have you written anything lately?”

Hinami’s face burned.

“I - no. I don’t really do that anymore.”

“That’s a shame. I always enjoyed getting to read your stories, even though you didn’t share them very often.”

“I didn’t really have enough time to keep writing." It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Between skipping classes, ignoring homework and hiding out in convenience stores in an effort to avoid her relatives, she’d probably had enough time to fill volumes. She’d just lost the desire to do.

“I see,” Touka said. “You’ve changed a lot, Hinami-chan. But that’s okay. I changed a lot after high school, too. And Ayato-kun, well - you can see how much he’s changed.”

Touka’s expression was withdrawn, even wistful as she stirred her cappuccino. The words Ayato had spoken that day in the basement suddenly came back to her: ‘Do you have any idea the mess you left behind, the crap-ton of bullshit that the rest of us had to clean up for you?

‘You. Fucked. Up. Everything.’

“Touka-chan, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

She braced herself against the counter. “After I left Tokyo, did anything else happen at my old school? Maybe your brother mentioned something to you…”

Touka lowered her mug. She was no longer smiling. “Why? Did he say something?”

“Sort of, but I didn’t really understand. I know about some of the things that happened, but he made it sound like there was something else I never heard about.”

Touka sighed. “I can’t really tell you what my brother was thinking when he said...whatever it was he said to you, but I do know this: life came at Ayato-kun fast in high school. Real fast. A lot of it was his own fault, but...he got his comeuppance, if that’s any consolation.”

Hinami opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. Why pretend that revenge wasn’t at least a little bit sweet?

“What kind of comeuppance?” she asked instead, trying not to sound too curious.

“Why not ask Ayato-kun directly? He knows more about it than I do.”

“Ask me what?” Ayato demanded, exiting the kitchen. His eyes flashed between them suspiciously as he resumed his place at the register.

Hinami blanched. Touka was quick on her feet.

“About your banged up face, probably,” she lied, much to Hinami’s relief. “You know, you’re not exactly helping Aogiri Tree’s image. When customers walk in, they probably see that busted mug and have a heart attack.”

“Tch. What do you know, old lady.”

“When are you ever gonna quit that fighting stuff?”

Touka’s brow was furrowed, her lips pursed in a thin, crooked line. She looked more like the cranky onee-chan that Hinami remembered.

“Whatever,” Ayato muttered. “Why don't you just scram already? I told you, I don’t need your money. Let’s just call it even.”

"Fine, if you’re gonna be so stubborn about it,” Touka retorted. She pushed her mug away. “I’ll just assume this cappuccino is on the house, too.”

Hinami watched as Touka gathered her things, words teetering on the edge of her tongue. She wanted to tell her about Sasaki Haise. She wanted to apologize for abandoning Touka and everyone else in Anteiku without looking back.

“Oh! That’s right.”

Touka rummaged in her purse before pulling out a business card and a pen. She scribbled a number on the back and slid the card across the counter.

“That has :re’s address and hours,” she explained. “Stop by anytime; it’s on me. Also, that’s my personal phone number on the back. Give me a call when you can’t stand my brother anymore. I’ll find something for you to do at :re.”

“Stop trying to steal our employees,” Ayato protested, but his eyes had softened. Hinami took the card. It felt sturdy in her hands. Touka’s name gleamed up at her in elegant, embossed script.

“I’ll come by as soon as I have free time,” Hinami said.

She didn’t plan on having any free time.

Touka’s encouraging presence energized Hinami throughout the rest of the day. When it was time to train with Ayato after work, she was still going strong.

“Ready to get to some of the good stuff?” he asked once they’d finished warming up.

“I guess,” Hinami answered, not sure if she should be excited or scared.

“All right. First, review time. So far we’ve covered two basic punches: the jab and the cross. You remember what those are right?”

“I think so…”

“Then throw on some gloves and show me your best right cross.”

Hinami always felt a bit silly wearing the training gloves. She was an imposter in a cheap disguise. A stick-thin nerd like her probably looked ridiculous. Even so, she faced the punching bag and tried to focus on her breathing, assuming the stance Ayato had taught her: both fists raised, one pulled in close to her face, feet spread slightly apart.

“Tuck that chin,” Ayato muttered. She bent her neck quickly, chin pressing into her shoulder. He nodded. “Good. Now rotate that hip…”

Hinami shifted her weight to her back foot. Arm tense, she swung her fist at the punching bag, her body turning in the direction of the punch with as much energy as she could muster.

“Needs improvement,” Ayato said shortly. “But whatever. It’s gonna be awhile before you’re strong enough for your hits to do any damage - if you ever get to that point in the first place. If you’re gonna have a chance in hell, you’ll need to learn some defensive maneuvers.”

“Like blocking techniques?” asked Hinami.

"In order to block, you actually need something to block WITH. If a shrimp like you tries to block a hit, they’ll get squashed. That’s why we’re gonna start with evading.”

‘Evading, huh?’ she thought. ‘Just like you and your sister evade all my questions about onii-chan…’

She vaguely wondered what he would do if she asked him about the “comeuppance” Touka had alluded to earlier. Would he find a way to dodge that question, too?

“Okay,” he said. “Let's use a scenario. Imagine Akira tries to bitch slap you again. What is the easiest, most sure fire way to avoid getting hit?”

“Um...duck?”

“No, genius; you run away.”

Hinami frowned. “But, I thought the whole point of this was so I’d stop running away?”

“No - it’s so you can determine when it’s best to confront a problem, and when it’s best to just distance yourself from that problem entirely. Like...just come here.”

Hinami approached him, arms held up half-heartedly. Ayato assumed a similar stance as he explained.

“Running away has its advantages. For one, it’s easy; more advanced techniques like slipping and ducking require skill. Anyone can run. Two, it wears out your opponent. Three, it can take you in any direction. You can go back -” He took a backward step away from her. “-which puts you out of range of an attack if you move fast enough. That’s good. Can you think of any problems with this, though?”

Hinami’s stance faltered. She always did freeze in the headlights of a pop quiz. Fortunately, Ayato didn’t give her too much time to think.

“You put yourself out of range to hit back,” he said. Hinami could hear the unspoken “duh” behind his words. “If Akira’s too far away to reach you, you can’t reach her, either. In the long run you’re gonna use up all your strength and energy trying to avoid blows while sacrificing any opportunities to land any of your own.”

‘Wow,’ Hinami thought. ‘It’s the perfect metaphor for my entire pathetic, non-confrontational life.’

“Of course, you can always choose to go around instead,” he continued. He drew close to her before pivoting to the side with a swift grace that took Hinami aback. “This keeps you in attack range, since you’re not actually putting distance between you and your opponent; you’re just changing up the angles.”

“I see,” Hinami said. She could smell the sharp, sour scent of sweat under his cologne, accompanied by the ever-present aroma of coffee. And had his shoulders always been that much wider than her own?

“Can you think of any disadvantages?” he asked. He was near enough that Hinami could hear low, gravely tones in his voice that she’d never noticed before.

“Well,” she began, dismayed to hear shakiness in her own voice, “it’s like before, right? You’re using too much energy…moving around and stuff…”

He nodded, pleased. “Exactly. Do you really wanna keep moving your entire body when Akira is just moving an arm or a leg? That’s the real problem with footwork, because even if you move forward -”

The little space remaining between them abruptly vanished as he stepped forward. The hair on Hinami’s arms tingled at their proximity. She stared, fixated on the bit of collar bone peeking out of his v-neck.

“ - you’re still putting in way more effort than your opponent is,” he finished. “Besides, this move only works if you have a size advantage. You wanna be big enough to overpower the other guy. In your case, I don’t see that being likely.”

He smirked down at her. Ridiculous heart - why was it beating so fast? This wasn’t high school!

‘It’s just a chemical reaction,’ she told herself firmly. ‘Hormones activating arbitrarily in response to his handsome face and muscle definition. I am definitely NOT attracted to him on a romantic, personal level. This is just human biology!’

She became aware of the silence that had crept into the room. Hesitantly, she glanced up at Ayato’s face. His smirk had fallen, replaced by a quiet, stern expression she was unfamiliar with. He held her gaze for an agonizing moment - then he gave a sudden start. Quickly, he turned his head, falling back a few steps.

“Yeah, so, I wouldn’t recommend this approach unless you’re looking to get crushed,” he said, voice gruff.

“What do you recommend then?” she asked, choosing to disregard his unusual behavior. Why had he stared at her face so intently? Was there a booger hanging out of her nose, or something?

“Well the best defense is one that gives you an opening to strike,” he said. He spared her a thoughtful (but abnormally cautious) glance. “With your size, you’re gonna need to be quick on your feet - adaptable to the needs of the moment. If you always use the same strategy, your opponent will use that against you. Basically, you’re not just trying to outwork or overpower your opponent; you also need to out-think them.” He tapped his forehead.

“So...being adaptable  means I should also be trying to predict my opponent’s moves as well, right?”

“Exactly. But it’s not like a game of chess; there’s no time to read the board or deliberate your next move. Overthinking can just end up slowing you down, which gives your opponent an opening.”

“So how do I decide what to do if there’s no time to think?”

“Well, you don’t really decide, “ he mumbled, forehead wrinkling. “You just sort of do it. Look, I’m not very good at explaining, okay? Just keep practicing and doing what I say, and you’ll be fine.”

Hinami regarded him doubtfully, but kept her thoughts to herself. This must be his first time training someone.

“Anyway, I’ve got homework for you,” he said, with more than a little relish. “Ever heard of Irimi Kaya?”

Hinami shook her head. Ayato didn’t look surprised.

"Look her up. See if you can find any footage of the 2004 Kyoto fight. I’m sure it’s all over the internet. Pay attention to the way she evades attacks. Pause the video, pull it back, repeat it. See if you notice any patterns.”

“Is that how you learned to fight; from watching videos?”

“Not exactly.” Ayato shuffled his feet. “My case was...different from yours.”

The reformatory school for troubled youth in the countryside, Hinami remembered. Had Ayato been sent there because of fighting? A vision rose to her mind of an adolescent Ayato standing in the Anteiku break room, face mottled and bruised, while Touka scolded him in hushed tones. Even in those days, Touka had been tight-lipped about her delinquent little brother. There’d always been the implication that Ayato’s time on the straight-and-narrow wasn’t meant to last; that deep down, Ayato still wasn’t safe or trustworthy.

What was it Touka had told her back then? Oh yeah. ‘Don’t fall in love with my brother.’

“Anyway,” Ayato said, shattering her reverie, “be sure to look all that stuff up by Friday. Starting this weekend, we’re gonna get busy.”

“Because of the promotion?”

“Yeah; we’ll need to make sure we’re ready before Monday. Speaking of which, we need to talk about the new hours.” He frowned, folding his arms. “We’ll be splitting shifts, working longer days. With the new schedule, we’d both technically be working now - or at least whoever’s scheduled for the night shift would be. It’ll be probably get harder to find times when we’re both available…”

Was this his way of dumping her, Hinami wondered? She swallowed.

“If you want,” he continued, voice dropping into a low mumble, “just keep using the equipment down here to train. And then when we’re both free, we’ll meet.”

His eyes darted in her direction, daring her to object. She made a small sound of assent. Had Ayato really just given her permission to enter the sacred space of his room unsupervised? She wasn’t sure whether she should feel flattered or apprehensive.

“‘Course, you could always ask my sister for pointers,” he said drily. “She’s always liked you, so I’m sure she’d be willing to help. Unless she’s gotten too soft.”

“Touka used to fight?” Hinami asked, surprised. Ayato grinned..

“Uh-huh. Nothing professional, just schoolyard rough-housing, but still - she was pretty good. Other kids knew not to mess with us.”

‘Us.’

Hinami tried to imagine Touka and Ayato back-to-back, fists raised and smiles wicked as they prepared to kick some ass. Looking back at the strong, cool and confident Touka she had known growing up, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities. Touka had always seemed like an action superhero - maybe Catwoman, or Sailor Moon. There’d been a gruffness to her demeanor, an edge of danger that Touka had tried to keep carefully tucked away in Hinami’s presence. She’d never quite succeeded in hiding it all away.

Hinami wondered briefly what had changed for Touka. What had made her go “soft,” and what had prevented Ayato from doing so, too?

“Anyway, give me your number,” he said suddenly. “That way if one of us has to cancel, we can get in touch. Or if I need to send you an update to your work schedule, or - y’know, stuff like that.”

He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a cellphone without looking at her. Hinami took it, feeling numb as she entered in her phone number. Was this really happening? Had Ayato just asked her for her phone number? And was she actually going through with it?!

She was suddenly and acutely aware that this was the opening she’d been waiting for. There was an atmosphere of relative peace, and their chat had lasted long enough to drift into comfortable, familiar territory. If ever there was an opportunity to dig into Ayato’s past, this was it. She licked her lips as she returned the phone to him, deliberating the best way to approach the subject.

‘I can’t just come out and say it,’ she realized. ‘I’ve got to...ease into it!’

“Um, Kirishima-san…”

He tilted his head expectantly. Hinami felt sick.

“Thank you for helping me.”

An indecipherable emotion flickered across his face. Before she could chicken out, Hinami plunged on.

“A while ago, you mentioned I caused some troubles for you in the past. I’m not really sure what you meant, but...you still agreed to help me.”

She paused, giving Ayato a chance to protest or reproach her. He remained silent, face abnormally stricken. His eyes were wide with something that resembled accusation - or maybe even pain. Whatever sense of comfort and familiarity that had been building between them shriveled on the spot. A nauseous shiver of self-loathing ran down her spine. What was she doing, digging into Ayato’s past - a past that was probably riddled with as much shame and disgrace as her own? She was just being nosy and rude.

“I need to leave,” she blurted abruptly. Ayato barely managed to stumble out of her way as she rushed past him, diving for her backpack.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face as she fled up the stairs.

Some people guard and cherish their secrets. Hinami was normally one of these people. However, as she rode the train home that night, staring fixedly at the loafers and sandals of the passengers around her, all she wanted was just one person she trusted enough to share her troubles with - someone to help ease the ache of confusion eating her chest hollow.

Her emotions must have shown on her face, because when she got home Saiko actually paused her mobile game to ask if everything was okay. Hinami lied easily - too easily, she realized with a sinking feeling.

She was still brooding when she got out of the shower. Just as she was about to finish toweling her hair, her cell phone vibrated from atop the back of the toilet. She glanced at the screen: a text from a number she didn’t recognize. Without thinking, she took her phone and unlocked it.

Remember to watch those videos I told you about.

“Oh. Ayato-san uses correct punctuation and capital letters when he texts,” she muttered, looking up at the reflection staring back at her from the mirror. Did he always do that, or was that just because this was his first time messaging her? She set her phone down without replying.

Why had he decided to text her? Maybe it was a taunt. Did he assume she was too lazy or forgetful to do her “homework,” as he’d put it?

Or had he just wanted to talk to her?

“Don’t look so happy about it,” her reflection snapped. She toweled at her hair fiercely.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t so easy to towel the thoughts out of her brain. She was still pondering the message over dinner twenty-five minutes later, picking at her ramen listlessly.

“Oo gonna fi’ish that?” Saiko asked, cheeks bulging with noodles. She pointed her chopsticks at Hinami’s plate.

“Ah! Yes.” Hinami made an effort to concentrate on her food. “I’m just a bit distracted.”

“Is it about your friend?” Saiko asked genly. Hinami shook her head.

“No. It’s...something else.”

“Oh? Then what is it?”

Hinami hesitated. Finally, she laid her chopsticks down, shoulders slumping heavily. It was all too much to bear alone. It couldn’t hurt to share just a little bit of her troubles with Saiko, could it?

“My boss sent me a message,” she said, voice quiet.

“Ehhh? Are you in trouble at work?!”

“No…”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s just...we don’t normally message each other.

Saiko popped a carrot into her mouth. “That’s weird. Maman and me text each other all the time!”

“...really?”

“Uh-huh! Yesterday he sent me this meme.” Saiko reached for her phone. A few seconds later, she held it out for Hinami to see. “Look at that! It’s that ugly frog! Maman is so funny…”

Hinami laughed uneasily. “Sasaki-san must be a really nice boss.”

“Mhm! So what did your boss say to you?”

“He just...reminded me of some deadlines.”

“Oh, sounds important. What did you say back?”

“I...haven’t said anything yet.”

“WHAT?!”

The upstairs neighbor pounded on the ceiling, shouting a muffled, “Keep it down!” Saiko leaned forward.

“You’ve gotta reply!” she hissed. “That’s your boss, if you don’t reply it’ll look bad! Trust me, I ignore emails and messages all the time. It always gets me in trouble!”

Hinami lifted her phone from the table nervously. “What should I say?”

“Let me read what he said first.”

She handed her phone to Saiko, who peered at the screen intently. Hinami made one more attempt to finish her dinner. The noodles felt like chewing rubber.

“Okay. I sent it.”

A noodle went down Hinami’s windpipe.

“You WHAT?” she spluttered.

“I sent the reply for you.” Saiko grinned back at her like an eager puppy ready for her reward. “See?”

Hinami took the phone, hands shaking. Her eyes widened as the words on the screen slowly registered.

ok boss thank you i will~~~ :D

The entire commute to work the next morning was filled with dread.

‘I should have just kept my mouth shut,’ Hinami berated herself. 'Why didn’t I just keep my problems to myself like I normally do? That’s the best way to have a peaceful life.'

That absurd text message Saiko had sent, along with the awkward way she and Ayato had parted the previous evening, had her stomach twisting in knots. Would Ayato bring up her strange behavior when he saw her? Would he ridicule her for sending such a dorky, cutesy message?

‘If only Saiko had used correct grammar!’ she thought miserably.

When she arrived at the cafe, she paused outside the entrance. She could see Ayato through the store window. He was standing behind the coffee bar, accompanied by Naki and Takizawa. The three of them were preoccupied with something on the counter; she couldn’t really make out what. While she hesitated, Naki looked up, his eyes locking on hers. He waved excitedly, gesturing for her to join them. Hinami bit back a groan and entered reluctantly.

Ayato looked up as she came in. Hinami met his gaze with reluctance. She was surprised to see her own apprehension mirrored on his features. He looked away quickly, crossing his arms and focusing intently on whatever was on the counter. All of a sudden Naki popped up, blocking Ayato from Hinami’s view.

“Get ready to pitch that visor, Fueguchi-san; the new uniforms are here!”

TBC...

A/n: I’m gonna tell you guys a secret. Don’t let Ayato know I told you, but...He rewrote and deleted like twenty drafts of texts. He was gonna delete that one too, but then he accidentally hit send. Oops.Thank you for reading!

[passiontaee]

I like you (a latte) | g

pairing: yoongi x jeongguk; yoonkook

genre: slice of life

ratings: g

warnings: none

word count: 1914

summary: “I think the barista might be hitting on me…they drew a heart in my latte foam and gave me a free brownie. Do you think I should give them my number?” AU

a/n: isn’t barista yoongi the best yoongi? breathe if you agree

also i’m working on rewriting this, so stay tuned for the update :)

↬ s.

Jeongguk feels that as a college student, coffee is high on his list of things that he can not live without. Coffee, banana milk, and his best friend Taehyung. In between not getting enough sleep, cramming for exams, and attempting to have a social life, he’s usually in need of caffeine on a daily basis. It’s not healthy, but it makes up for staying in the art studio for hours without taking a break, Taehyung having to bring him food.

“Guk, I’m bailing you out, come on,”

Jeongguk looks up from the piece he’s working on, eyes red and bleary. Barely even alive at this point. He turns his head over to where Taehyung is standing, bouncing a little in excitement. He wishes he had that energy. He's momentarily jealous but rethinks that when he remembers Taehyung is a Pre-Vet major, meaning that his major is far more intense and time-consuming than simply painting and drawing all day. Perhaps he should be grateful he doesn't have to take a shit ton of math and science classes. Taehyung handles it well though.

"Bailing me out?"

"Yeah, we're getting coffee come on," he moves to grab the younger’s arm, gently tugging. Causing him to grumble and whine softly, but he abandons his work reluctantly, beginning to straighten up his area and set his work somewhere safe for later. Making sure his name is at the bottom so no one tries to steal his work. It happened far too many times his freshman year and he was not about to start this entire painting all over again because some dip shit decided to be uncreative and steal his work again. Freshman Jeongguk was so naive. He can’t believe what a pussy he was two years ago. Taehyung’s familiar with the cleaning up process at this point so he helps clean up, even gathering Jeongguk’s bag for him. Taehyung is a true friend, he silently thinks to himself as they make their way out of the room. Side by side with Jeongguk rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“And so Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung said that I can get a puppy but at long as I actually take care of it,” he explains. Jeongguk’s following sort of, but has heard this conversation before. Taehyung’s older brother Seokjin and his husband Namjoon have practically raised Taehyung together since he was a little kid; Seokjin being ten years older than him and all. Jeongguk’s only known them since high school but in his mind Seokjin has always been Taehyung’s dad for as long as he himself can remember. He doesn’t even think Taehyung remembers his parents, considering they died when he was really young. It kind of makes him cherish his own parents and older brother, despite having literally been on his own since college. He barely keeps in contact with them anyways.

“They finally agreed to let you?” Jeongguk asks, shocked. Taehyung’s head bobs forward as he nods, stopping momentarily to grasp the younger’s shoulders and shake him. Jeongguk is barely bothered by this.

“Yes! You should come pick one with me! Friendly bonding and whatnot, plus you’ve become some type of zombie, Guk. It’s not healthy!” his face contorts in worry as he pouts, but Jeongguk sighs, knowing that Taehyung tells him this multiple times a day.

“I’m fine,” he insists. Is he really though? Taehyung lets him go and links their arms together, stopping in front of a door. Jeongguk looks up at the new place, allowing himself to be dragged inside by the blonde male. A bell rings as they walk inside, and Jeongguk takes a moment to look around the cozy, quaint interior. The soft sounds of indie music playing in the background. It smells like coffee beans and sweets and it’s throwing his nose in overdrive, but it’s a stark difference from smelling paint and turpentine all day. He could get used to this coffee shop’s vibes.

“Hyung’s friend works here. It’s closer to campus, so I don’t see why we’ve never bothered to come in here,” Taehyung continues, pulling Jeongguk with him to stand a little aways from the register, staring at the hand written menu on the chalkboard. Jeongguk swears he’s seen a similar style on Pinterest. (The only reason he’s on Pinterest is because Taehyung likes to harass him with artsy stuff on the regular more than he likes answering his texts. Nice to know he has his priorities together.) As he continues looking over the menu, Taehyung pulls him further, smiling at the barista. Squinting to see his name tag and gasping out loud with recognition.  “Hey! Hey you’re my hyung’s friend!” he says a little too loudly. The small barista looks up at him, confused.

“What?”

“Seokjin! You’re the friend he told me about! I’m his little brother, Taehyung!” He grins, the noise prompting Jeongguk to look down to assess the situation. His eyes landing on the barista and suddenly he’s a bit more alert. Never in his life has he seen someone so pretty; so attractive and small. There’s Jimin, his roommate, but this guy is smaller than Jimin. Not as muscled from the looks of it and very, very soft looking. Jeongguk wants to kiss his little pout away and coo at him. But instead, he stands silently beside Taehyung who’s positively ruining their chances of a you-know-my-hyung discount. He’s tempted to elbow the elder in the ribs, because the tiny pouty man looks a little weirded out.

“He never told me his brother was this loud. There’s people studying, so keep your voice down,” he murmurs. This prompts Taehyung to close his mouth, literally he closes his fucking mouth, and pulls a sigh from Jeongguk. Feeling the need to apologize for his friend’s erratic behavior. The male glances in Jeongguks’s direction, and he notes how his sharp eyes seem to discreetly eyeball him from head to—well, head to waist.

“So what do you want?” He turns his attention back to Taehyung, hands resting calmly on the counter beside the POS system. Taehyung taps at his chin with his free hand, looking up at the menu for a second time.

“I’ll have a iced raspberry tea. Oh! Large please,” he says, attempting to peer over at what Yoongi, as his name tag says, is entering onto the touch screen. The barista pays him no mind.

“And for you?” Jeongguk barely registers the male is talking to him, staring at him for about two minutes before he asks him again.

“Oh! Uh, just a latte,” his cheeks warm as he ducks his head, missing the small smirk on the barista’s lips as he types in their orders.

“He was totally checking you out,” Taehyung grins as they slide over to grab counter seats, close to where he could see Yoongi carefully preparing their drinks. The barista pays them no mind as he does his job. Jeongguk stares at him briefly, then turns his attention back to Taehyung as he scratches at his cheek.

"He probably was wondering where I got my shirt from,"

"Ha ha, no he looked like he was enjoying the sight. Maybe zombie-art-student is his ideal type or something," Taehyung teases, grinning playfully. Jeongguk grabs a straw and throws it at him, causing the older to only laugh more, harder.

“Ask for his number! If you don’t I sure will. He’s so cute, I literally almost uwu’d out loud,”

“What the fuck, never say ‘uwu’ again,” he groans, grimacing at his friend’s word choice. Taehyung feigns offence, but shoves at his arm.

“Yah, be nice to me. I paid for your drink you meanie!”

“Right, sorry. I love you, you’re the best,” This strokes Taehyung’s ego, because he sits up straighter, puffing out his chest playfully. Jeongguk groans and rests his chin on his hand, elbow on the counter. Yoongi appears moments later, sliding their drinks in front of them, along with a brownie for Jeongguk. Taehyung looks over at this, sipping from his cup with a smug look on his face.

“W-wait I didn’t order—”

“Keep it, my treat,” Yoongi insists, smiling at him. Jeongguk looks at him stupidly, preening inside the little pastry bag and seeing that the brownie was warm, gooey, and fresh.

“Oh well, thanks,” he says, a little shy. Yoongi smiles, nodding and walking back over to tend to some other guests. Jeongguk watches, ignoring Taehyung snickers.

“Let me have a piece,” the older insists when Jeongguk’s brain starts functioning properly again, only to have the younger smack his hand away, frowning.

“Nooo, this is my brownie!” He had a cute guy literally give him a free brownie and was not about to share. Taehyung huffs, through his eyes dart down to Jeongguk’s cup. He grins.

“Is that a heart?” he questions. Jeongguk is quick to look down at it and sure enough, it’s a heart. He blushes, looking up and over at Yoongi boredly taking a group order from five girls, looking absolutely miserable. Jeongguk is afraid to ruin Yoongi’s craftsmanship but he needs his caffeine intake so he reluctantly takes a sip. Enjoying the warmth that flows down his throat. He’ll save the brownie for later.

He’s reluctant to leave, really, but Taehyung’s dragging him to the pet store. Insisting they go look for a puppy now rather than later. Jeongguk’s busy trying to shyly ask for a to go order and get the barista’s number.

“Need something?” he asks, though makes no indication that he’s excited Jeongguk is here other than giving him his undivided attention. Jeongguk writes it off as him being attentive to a customer and therefore doing his job.

Yoongi looks at him, blinking slowly as Jeongguk realizes that he’d just stupidly blurted out the wrong question, and figure Yoongi would laugh at his stupidity. He can smell the rejection.

“And a refill right? You look like you’re in a hurry,” Yoongi gently reaches out and grabs the mug, placing it on the counter and turns. Jeongguk just stares a his back as the smaller barista moves to grab a larger to go cup just for him, remaking his drink from memory with care. It’s almost endearing, but then Jeongguk writes this off again as a small fact that Yoongi probably makes a lot of lattes. His is no different. A pale hand grabs a black marker, and the barista scribbles something on the portable, paper cup. Capping it again and setting the pen down, walking over to Jeongguk and handing him the cup with a small smile.

“There. I expect a text later, yeah? And you to come visit again. I guess you can bring Seokjin’s brother with you,” he glances over at Taehyung, who waves, but then looks back at a flabbergasted, pink cheeked Jeongguk who nods, staring at the warm cup in awe.

“I’ll text you,” he says, feeling Taehyung tugging again. He gets pulled outside as Yoongi smiles and offers a small wave, and as he presses his hands into his cup, pulling the cup in to warm his chest, he smiles. Smiles softly as he reads the message on the cup;

I like you (a latte) and you seem pretty cute or whatever. Here’s my number: +xx xx-xxxx-xxxxx. -Yoongi

↬  x.

[ masterlist ] | [ next chapter ]

[chimyoung]

I’ll Try

As requested by @agylala7: what about the second prompt with Yoongi and OC, but where OC is the art student who smokes and Yoongi is the med student?

Here we go! This was supposed to be a drabble but it went over 2k so does it still count?

Warning/s: SMOKING (pls do not, take it from a smoker, it is very expensive and bad for your health), swearing, reader gets sick, mentions of gross sick stuff.

Paring: Med Student!Min Yoongi x Art Student!Reader

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your peers to find you outside, under one of the large trees on the quad with a cigarette in your mouth. It was a well-known fact that you were a chain smoker, many of your professors and friends trying to lecture you on the detrimental impact that the nicotine had on your health, but you never listened.

Min Yoongi was one of those people who were trying to convince you to quit smoking, or at least cut back from two packs a day. At first he had started out by simply looking at you and telling you that the ‘cancer stick’ was going to kill you before you saw your first grandchild. He was a very blunt man, but that was probably what made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Min Yoongi was the complete and total opposite of you, with his natural black hair, no piercings other than his ears and no other body modifications whatsoever, he was not afraid to speak his mind or call people out on their bullshit. Yoongi dressed to be comfortable, and his outward appearance, although intimidating, was somewhat comforting. He was a med student who would never even think of putting a lit cigarette anywhere near his face. 

You on the other hand, had bright red hair, a couple of piercings (your nose and lip) as well as your ears, you had tattoos all over your body and you were a very soft, outspoken person no matter what you looked like. You often dressed in a way that would scare people off, and it was a common occurrence for people to cross the road to avoid you altogether. You were a socially awkward art student who couldn’t really go ten minutes without a hit of nicotine.

“Large soy chai latte, no foam!” You called, finishing the order and pushing the to-go cup forward in time for the business lady to snatch it off the counter and completely ignore your polite smile. Seeing no more orders for you, you wiped down the coffee machine and moved out from behind the counter, joining Hoseok in cleaning the now empty tables. It was a late Tuesday evening, and the quaint little café that you worked at was beginning to start closing, ready to turn in for the night.

“Here, I’ll take that. You go talk to your lover boy.” Hoseok winked, taking the empty plates from your hands. Hoseok was much like you in his appearance, two full sleeves of tattoos to complement his spider bites and eyebrow piercing. He was your best friend and he was also a pain in the ass, often giving you a hard time for your crush on Yoongi, your polar opposite. Where you had fallen for a man who was complete opposite of you, Hoseok’s boyfriend, Taehyung, was very much the same as him, maybe with a few less tattoos.

“Fuck off, Hobi.” You spoke, but handed over the plates in any case, turning to see Yoongi sat in the corner with three empty mugs around him, typing furiously on his laptop. You assumed that the med students had an assignment or test of some sort coming up, explaining the urgent way that Yoongi was slamming his fingers against the keypad.

“Do you need another?” You asked as soon as you got close enough, taking a small amount of joy in the way that the man jumped, his hand almost knocking one of the mugs from their place beside him.

“Um, yeah. Just a latte, thanks. I’m nearly done.” He smiled up at you, watching as you collected the empty cups and plates, nodding as he spoke.

“No problem. It won’t be too long.” You smiled back, turning to walk away. Jimin had taken your place at the coffee machine, so you relayed Yoongi’s order before grabbing your packet of cigarettes from your jacket’s front pocket and taking your lighter from Jimin’s outstretched hand. You often left it laying around, and your friends ever so diligently continued to pick it up for you.

“I’m going for a smoke, I’ll be back in like 5 minutes.” You said, moving towards the back of the store, and out the back door, flipping Jin off when he made some comment about not getting cancer before he can draw up the next roster. Placing the cigarette between your lips and sparking the flame from the lighter, you inhaled the toxins, letting out a relieved sigh at the familiar burn. The tightness in your chest dissipated upon seeing the cloud of grey smoke leave your lips, blowing away with the breeze. 

You were in a world all your own, thinking over the man who sat inside and what he would say to you when you walked back inside. He often left little notes on the napkins, other staff at the café passing them along to you. At first you were a little put off when you read “EXPOSURE TO SECOND HAND SMOKE KILLS NEARLY 50,000 PEOPLE EACH YEAR IN THE U.S ALONE”. Though as time went on, the little notes became more frequent, facts about cigarettes and the deadly impact that they had on the average human. Now you had begun to expect them, somewhat looking forward to them in your own morbid way. Stomping out the now finished cigarette, you exhaled the lung full of smoke, waiting a little so that you wouldn’t smell too strongly of smoke, before you made your way back into the café, finding Yoongi gone but a note left in his place, folded in half with your name scratched onto the top in his usual scrawl.

“What did he leave you this time? His number? The national quitting help line? The number to some sort of a funeral service?” Hoseok asked as you unfolded the paper, smirking at the newest note.

“TABBACO ADDICTS ARE MOST LIKELY TO CONSIDER QUITTING ON A MONDAY. MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE COME IN YESTERDAY?” It read, making you giggle quietly at the absurdness of the fact.

“Nothing of your concern.” You quipped, walking towards the front doors to lock them and flip the open sign to close.

The next time you spoke to Yoongi, you were sat under the largest tree on the quad, a lit cigarette in your mouth, and two finished ones stamped out beside you.

“You are going to die an incredibly early death if you continue smoking at the rate you are.” His voice cut through your thoughts, halting the movement of your pencil on your paper.

“We’re all gonna die Yoongi. When, where or how is undecided. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, and that would have nothing to do with my smoking habits.” You said, smirking up at the man and taking another drag.

“You are as bad a Namjoon. I’m just pointing out that the likeliness of you living to the ripe old age of 45 is pretty low.” He spoke back sarcastically, beginning to walk away once more. You laughed at his statement, taking one final drag from your cigarette and putting it out, half finished. 

“Now I might make it to 46!” You exclaimed, smiling at him and picking up your pencil once more. 

“Maybe. It might take a little more than that though.” He quipped.

“I’ll try.”

You went the next few weeks without seeing Yoongi, too swept up in work and your classes to even bother looking for the man, and with the stress of three back to back major assessments, your smoking increased as well. Probably getting you to where you are now.

You had been with Hoseok, Taehyung and Jimin when you began to feel short of breath. You had been dealing with a pretty persistent cough for about two weeks now, putting it down to coming down with a head cold or something, but this was different. Your chest was tight, and your coughs were racking through your body, the other boys looking over at you worried.

You had managed to grab a tissue from the coffee table in front of you, and pulling away to find a yellow-grey coloured mucus was concerning. Even further concerning was the fact that specks of blood covered the small area on the tissue.

“Okay that’s it. You’re going to a hospital. I don’t care what you say.” Hoseok jumped up, moving to wrap his arm around your waist and walk you out of your apartment, the two younger boys following. Your wheezing only seemed to get worse, as did the tightness in your chest and it wasn’t long before you were groaning with the effort it took to inhale. 

Reaching the hospital seemed to take less time than you remember, Jimin and Taehyung jumping from the car to grab you whilst Hoseok went to find somewhere to park. Jimin was supporting you while Taehyung ran ahead to get some help. You had barely made it through the front doors before there was nurses grabbing at you and putting you on a hospital bed, wheeling you away from your friends. You made it into the ER, two of the nurses talking to you to tell you that a doctor would be on his way soon, and that they were going to be taking your vitals.

“Okay, honey, can you tell me your symptoms? How long have you had them?” One of them, an older lady, asked, smiling down at you in comfort.

“Um… I feel like I can’t breathe, my chest feels really tight. I’ve been coughing for about two weeks now and it’s had mucus and only just recently I’ve been coughing up blood too.” You tried to explain, trying to ignore the feeling of passing out.

“I’ll take it from here, Joy. Hello miss, I’m Dr Kim. I hope you don’t mind but there is also a medical student with me as well,” Another smiling woman approached leaning over you to inspect. “Have you had any trouble sleeping at all, or a fever perhaps?”

“Yeah, but I just thought it was a head cold or something, nothing too serious.” You said, your words coming out in between pants. You were finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.

“Okay, just a couple more questions. Are you a smoker at all or have you been exposed to cigarette smoke regularly over the time of your illness?” She asked, the sound of scribbling drawing your attention away from the woman. You couldn’t see whoever it was so you turned your focus back to the doctor.

“Uh, yeah. I smoke.” You said, a little ashamed with the way this woman was looking at you.

“Okay, how often? As in, how many packs a day do you think you average?” She questioned further.

“Maybe two, usually. But I’ve been really stressed lately so maybe more.” You spoke, trying to remember just how many packets you had gone through in the past three weeks. 

“Hmm.” She hummed, pulling her stethoscope out and listening to the rattling of your lungs as you inhaled and exhaled on her command. She said a few more things before a nurse came over and demanded the doctor’s presence.

“Okay, you can probably finish this. Give your diagnosis and check it with the primary and the head nurse.” Dr Kim said to whoever the med student was. There was a noise of affirmation and a new figure stepped into your line of sight. Min Yoongi had his most disappointed look printed across his face, looking down at you in the same way your parents would.

“So from what I can tell, you’ve got chronic bronchitis. Not cancer, thank god. You’re probably gonna need some respiratory antibiotics and inhalants, and pulmonary rehabilitation. That means quitting smoking.” Yoongi spoke softly but he was stern, letting you know he wasn’t up for any of your bullshit. He waved down a nurse and told her of his diagnosis, watching as she pulled a breathing mask over your face and went to go grab the head nurse in charge.

You were still stunned but you nodded, your eyes never once leaving him. He was still so attractive, even when he was obviously tired and upset with you.

“You know, if you give up the smoking, I may just ask you on a date.” Yoongi spoke so nonchalantly that you almost thought that you heard him wrong.

“I’ll try.” Your voice was muffled but he understood you perfectly.

“I suppose that’s all I can ask.” He brushed your hair off of your forehead and further shocked you by placing a kiss on the now exposed skin.

“I’ll be back later. Try and get some rest for now.” He looked over at you, almost as if he didn’t want to leave as much as you didn’t want him to leave.

“I’ll try.”

[introvertfics]

have a coffee

name: have a coffee (parts one and two)

rating: T

summary: a barista who can't find love and loves foam art too much meets a musician who can't control his emotions and just wants a soulmate. they might just fall in love, but it won't be easy.

warnings: near death experience (choking)

please do not repost without my permission!

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

read on ao3 instead

Part 1

The sounds of chatter and laughter filled the crowded Starbucks, the sight of people enjoying their drinks and talking amicably with each other putting a smile on Tyler Joseph’s face. His break had just begun, so he was able to finally take a rest from the afternoon drink rush, sitting perched on one of the high-top chairs pushed near a table next to one of the wide glass windows illuminating the entire coffee shop. He didn’t particularly like coffee himself, despite liking making it and serving it for other people, so his fingers were gripping a cup of ice water, the slight condensation on the foam cup soaking through the sleeves of his navy blue sweater.

Tyler let out a little sigh, lowering his gaze back to the contents of the cup. He loved his job, and he put all of his passion and effort into it. It was, quite honestly, the only source of happiness in his life. He had been forced to leave home at the age of 18 by his violent and overbearing parents, who quite frankly wanted nothing to do with him and wanted him out of the house as soon as possible. After graduating high school and just barely managing to make it into a decent college, he had been forced to juggle multiple classes with his job as a Starbucks barista, which thankfully paid a somewhat decent wage. Due to his constantly busy schedule, he had virtually no time for anything other than school and work, leaving him feeling virtually no passion for anything other than making coffee. It was a rather depressing lifestyle, considering he was actually revolted by the sight of coffee and only enjoyed serving it for others, but it gave him a slight bit of satisfaction about his life. Biting his lip as he recalled the events of his sorry life so far, he crossed one leg underneath himself and lowered his head slightly.

The quiet scrape of a chair against the tiles suddenly alerted him to his surroundings. His head snapping up, his eyes fell on a man with fluffy crimson-coloured hair pulling the other seat out and sitting down. His eyes were a stunning shade of brown, his arms covered with multicolored tattoos and a black tank top hugging his upper half. Unable to find his words for a second, he lowered his gaze back down to the tabletop, blinking quickly and nervously swinging his free leg back and forth.

“Hey there…” the man sitting across from him said softly.

“Hm?” Tyler lifted his head, his fingers digging slightly into the styrofoam coffee cup and causing several barely visible indents in the material. What on earth did this intimidating stranger want with him? “Hello…” he said in a barely audible whisper, moving his foot around in slow circles- one of the exercises he found calmed him down in stressful situations. Three circles clockwise, four circles counterclockwise. Three circles clockwise, four circles clockwise…

“You work here?” The man asked, putting his steaming hot latte cup down on the table, far too close to the edge for Tyler’s liking.

“How did you guess?” Tyler managed to stutter out, lowering his hands and gripping them in fists in his lap.

“Your apron,” the man replied, gesturing towards the forest-green apron emblazoned with the white Starbucks logo loosely hanging off Tyler’s frame.

“Oh…” His face heating up with an unhidable blush of embarrassment, Tyler let out a tiny chuckle in an attempt to appear unphased. “Yep, I do. Love it here.” he nodded, pushing a few wayward strands of fluffy brown hair out of his face as he tried to appear even the slightest bit confident.

“That’s good that you like your job…” The man let out a little chuckle, stretching one hand across the table. “The name’s Josh. You’ve got a name too, I’m guessing?” “Yes, ah… Tyler. That’s my name,” Tyler let out a giggle, finding his voice after a short pause. He reached across the table and shook Josh’s hand, not that surprised at how strong his grip was.

“Nice laugh…” Josh chuckled, his eyes traveling slowly over Tyler’s body and taking in every detail. Tyler felt as though he was being scanned by an x-ray machine of some sort, the man before him memorizing every detail of his appearance and personality with his gaze. “Everything about you is pretty nice, actually…”

“Oh, I… I don’t like guys, I’m sorry…” Tyler stuttered out with a little shake of his head.

“You sure? I’m pretty sure a few hours with me might change your mind,” Josh chuckled with a wink that sent uncomfortable shivers up Tyler’s spine.

“I’m very sure.” Tyler nodded, taking a gulp of his water and finishing apart from the partially melted ice cubes that remained at the bottom. “I’m flattered, and I’m sure you’re a really nice person, but I’m not like that. I’m honestly not interested in any sort of relationship at this point, period, never mind one with the same gender…”

“Oh come on… you can’t tell me you haven’t been at least a little bit interested in me. I saw you staring at me when I sat down,” Josh smiled, his eyes darting from Tyler’s eyes down to his slightly visible collarbone and back up again. “You looked like you were just…”

“I was staring because I was confused,” Tyler interrupted, crossing his arms. “Because I didn’t know you and I was wondering why you just sat down near me for no reason. And it’s actually really rude of you to just assume what I was thinking, especially regarding something as sensitive and personal as that,” he continued, frowning and looking down at the tabletop.

“You don’t have to make such a big deal about it, bunny,” Josh replied half-mockingly, one hand traveling under the table and touching upon Tyler’s knee. “All I’m saying is-”

“Leave me alone!” Tyler promptly pulled back and clambered out of the chair to the floor, every inch of his body trembling with suppressed rage and fear as he dug his fingers into his upper arms. “Don’t touch me, and don’t call me bunny.” He spat the last word out as though it was a vile curse, walking as fast as he could away from the table and calling over his shoulder as he headed back towards the counter. “And don’t even think about talking to me again!”

“...you okay, Ty?” asked one of Tyler’s coworkers, Jenna, as Tyler swooped back behind the counter and slammed his hands down so hard several people looked over. “Do you want me to talk to that guy and ask him to leave, or…”

“It’s fine. Just don’t let him come near me. He’s a fucking creep,” Tyler hissed, glaring at Josh and crossing his arms. He let out a little sigh and checked his phone- his break was almost over, and he wasted almost all of it dealing with Josh. Biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw a bit of blood, Tyler turned and faced one of the trays of pastries, breathing heavily and managing to calm himself down eventually. His gaze fell on the slowly growing line of people, taking one more breath and managing to put on a smile as he walked over to resume his shift.

It had begun to rain when Tyler left Starbucks at around six in the afternoon- round, fat drops that fell from the sky and plunked loudly on his black umbrella. Shivering slightly in the late autumn air, Tyler set off down the sidewalk, intent on getting home before the rain got any worse. The soaked multi colored fall leaves stuck to the bottoms of his sneakers as he walked down the deserted sidewalk, and the harsh wind blew his fluffy hair in all directions. Sighing, Tyler kept his eyes on the sidewalk, since looking straight into the wind was stinging his eyes.

A tap on his shoulder stopped Tyler in his tracks as he turned around. A man about the same height as him, dressed in mostly black and wearing a top hat that should have given him a comical appearance but instead somehow made him look elegant and civilized, stood beside him, the shadow from his hat covering most of his face apart from his nose and mouth. He had one hand in his pocket and the other outstretched in front of him, holding a gold pocket watch with a crack in the glass clock face.

“Excuse me…” the man began in a smoky voice. “Could you possibly tell me what time it is? I’m afraid my watch is broken,” he chuckled, gesturing to the broken pocket watch in his hand.

“Oh, it’s…” Tyler pulled his phone out of his pocket and squinted at the time. “6:14 pm, exactly.”

“Oh, dear.” The man frowned. “I’m going to miss my bus now… and I don’t have a way to contact anyone to pick me up. Oh well.” He shrugged, a smile almost instantly appearing on his face. “I’ll simply have to keep walking.”

“It’s raining so much, though… and you don’t have an umbrella.” Tyler bit his lip. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call an Uber for you or something? I’ll pay for it…”

“That’s not necessary, trust me. It’s only about a twenty minute walk to where I live. My apartment is right near the park,” the man replied.

“Oh, my college is right around there too!” Tyler smiled. This man seemed rather interesting and friendly, and a definite improvement from Josh. “If you want, we could walk there together… I have an umbrella, so you won’t get as wet.”

“Thank you very much.” the man nodded, his brown eyes sparkling in the barest hint of light from the streetlight. “I’ll have to repay you somehow, though.”

“You don’t have to, honestly,” Tyler insisted. “I’m just helping you out, you don’t have to do anything in return.”

“But I feel like I should, though. You’re taking time out of your day to walk me to my apartment, after all. I just need to repay you…” the man repeated.

“I mean… if you want to, but it’s honestly not necessary,” Tyler giggled.

The man nodded slowly, a wide smile overtaking his features. “I think I’ll repay you by taking that wallet and jacket off your hands,” he said in a sotto voice.

Tyler frowned at the sudden, threatening change in the man’s words and tone. Before he could ask what he meant or attempt to run away, the man had violently grabbed him and tugged him into a nearby alley, one hand clamped firmly over his mouth and the other slicing at the zipper of his raincoat with a pocket knife that had seemingly materialized out of nowhere. Letting out a muffled yell of protest, Tyler desperately tried to force the man away from him, simultaneously trying to hold onto his jacket that was being ripped away from him. Within seconds, however, the man had ripped the jacket- somehow still in one piece- off his skinny frame and had plunged his hand into his pocket, grabbing his wallet. As soon as he had pulled out the wallet and stuffed it into his own pocket, the man punched Tyler hard in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him and causing tears to well in his eyes out of pain. He sank down to his knees and landed on his side in a mud puddle, unable to even get a scream or yell of help out as the man darted out of the alley.

A split second later, however, there were a few grunts of pain and the clink of metal hitting the ground from around the corner where the man had disappeared. Confused, Tyler attempted to get to his feet to see what was happening, but had to stop and lie back down due to the lingering pain in his stomach. Whimpering with pain as tears dripped down his cheeks and onto the filthy ground of the alley, his eyes widened with utter shock as Josh stepped into the alley holding the jacket and wallet, scratches and cuts covering his arms and parts of his face. Upon seeing Tyler, he immediately darted over to him, dropping to his knees and speaking in a panicked voice. “Oh my god, Tyler, are you okay? What did he do to you? D-do you need to go to the hospital, did he…”

“He punched me in the stomach…” Tyler whispered, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “It hurts so much, holy shit…”

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, Tyler, you’re gonna be okay…” Josh said in a soothing voice, reaching down and running his fingers through Tyler’s hair in a relaxing gesture. “There’s a first aid kit in my car right down the street… I’m gonna run and get it and I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.”

Tyler nodded and watched as Josh got to his feet and ran out of the alley, still crying quietly. Sure enough, in only a minute or so Josh was back, a wave of relief rushing over him when he knew Josh hadn’t abandoned him. “Please hurry, Josh, it hurts…” “Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna need to look at your stomach to see how badly he hit you, okay?” Josh said gently. “I have to lift your shirt up, okay? I’m not gonna try anything, I’m just gonna check out how badly you’re hurt.”

Tyler nodded, pulling up the edge of his sweater and the white shirt underneath with a little bit of effort. He closed his eyes, exhaling softly and preparing for pain as Josh’s hands ghosted over his belly. However, he noticed that Josh was being extremely gentle with him- so gentle, in fact, that it almost seemed like just being touched by him was helping him to feel better.

Within a few minutes, Josh pulled away, wiping his forehead with his arm and managing a little smile. “Okay… you’ll probably have a bruise for a few days, but it’s not anything serious. Your clothes are soaked, though,” he murmured, gesturing towards the mud puddle that Tyler was still lying in.

“Oh… I’ll be fine.” Tyler mumbled, pulling himself out of the mud puddle and managing to get to his feet.

“You’re already shivering…” Josh frowned, reaching forward and putting a hand on Tyler’s shaking shoulder. “I have an extra jacket in my car… you can wear it, and I could drive you home if you want…”

“Thank you… thank you so much…” Tyler smiled, feeling tears of gratitude welling in his eyes,

“You’re welcome, b….” Josh trailed off, stopping himself from saying the word “bunny” and instead finishing the sentence with “...Tyler.” He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, honestly,” Tyler insisted through chattering teeth, rubbing the goosebumps rising on the back of his neck.

“God, you’re shaking… come on, come with me…” Gently looping one arm around Tyler’s shoulders, hugging his trembling form close in an attempt to keep him warm, Josh led him out of the alley and down the street towards the only car on the street, which Tyler presumed was his. As soon as they got into the car, Tyler scrambled into the front seat, tucking his knees up to his chin and shivering violently. He felt Josh draping the jacket over his shoulders and he quickly tugged it on, seeing that it was much too big on him- the sleeves of the camouflage jacket covered his hands, and the fabric hung loosely on his body. Zipping the jacket up to his neck, Tyler closed his eyes, covering the lower half of his face with one of the too-long sleeves, feeling a bit better.

“You feel alright now?” Josh asked as he sat in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.

“Yes… thank you.” Tyler smiled, poking his hand out of the oversized sleeves.

“You’re welcome,” Josh smiled, pushing a few strands of crimson hair out of his eyes. “What’s your address?”

“My dorm’s at the college right near the park,” Tyler replied with a little nod. “Actually, wait, hold on…”

“Is something wrong?” Josh asked quietly with a frown.

“That guy who tried to steal my stuff… should we go to the police station and tell them what happened?” Tyler asked.

“Ah, shit, you’re right… I didn’t even think about that, I’m such a dumbass…” Josh let out a dry chuckle. “We should probably stop there first.” His eyes drifted towards Tyler as he put one hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

“I will. I’ll be fine,” Tyler replied with a little nod. Josh appeared to have completely changed from a few hours ago. Rather than shamelessly flirting with him and harassing him, he was being the kindest person in the world, making sure he was a hundred percent okay. Judging from how sincere he seemed in his words, and how he had been close to tears when he found Tyler lying on the ground, it seemed as though the flirtatious personality from before was but a farce. For the first time since they had met, Tyler felt something different towards Josh- not disgust, not embarrassment, but something genuinely positive and happy that he couldn’t quite describe. He wrapped his arms around himself, nuzzling deep into the warmth of the jacket as Josh began driving.

After filing the police report and driving back to the college, Josh insisted on going as far as to get a visitor’s pass from the front office, just so he could walk Tyler to his dorm and make sure he was completely okay before he left. Tyler couldn’t help but notice the strange looks he got from a few people as they walked down the hallway to their dorm- not only did Josh appear to be at least two or three years older than him, but he stood out greatly with his vibrantly colored hair and tattoos. Not to mention Josh hadn’t removed his arm from around his shoulders since they stepped out of the car, the simple action causing Tyler’s cheeks to heat up and turn a vibrant pink.

When the two of them reached Tyler’s door room, which was completely plain compared to the other doors in the hallway, Tyler fumbled in his wallet for the key to his room. As he unlocked the door, he heard Josh mumble something. “Hm?”

“I guess I have to go now…” Josh repeated with a little laugh.

“Yeah…” Tyler nodded and turned around, shrugging the jacket off his shoulders and handing it back to Josh. As he returned the jacket, he felt Josh press something into the pad of his hand, closing his fingers around it. “What are you…”

“Just hang onto it, please.” Josh insisted with a smile.

“...okay.” Tyler nodded with a shrug. “Hey, um, before you go… I just wanna say that I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I was wrong about you… you’re actually a really, really, really nice guy, Josh. I shouldn’t have judged you based on my first impression,” Tyler murmured.

“Tyler, you don’t have to apologize, honestly…” Josh frowned and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have acted that way back there… I should have just left you alone, I shouldn’t have made you uncomfortable like that…” He reached forward and pulled Tyler into a gentle hug, letting out a little sigh that tickled the baby-fine hairs on the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry…”

“I forgive you, Josh, it’s okay,” Tyler insisted, rubbing a hand up and down Josh’s back in a calming gesture.

“You sure?” Josh asked as he pulled away.

“One hundred percent sure.” Tyler nodded with a wide smile, pushing a few strands of hair out of his face.

Josh nodded, shrugging the camouflage jacket back on his shoulders. “Okay… I should probably get going now…”

“I guess…” Tyler let out a little sigh. “I’ll text you later…”

“But you never asked for my number?”

“I have a feeling you wrote it on whatever you put in my hand,” Tyler giggled. He opened his palm and glanced down- sure enough, on the slightly wrinkled Starbucks on his hand was written a phone number, in purple Sharpie.

“Well, look at that… you were right.” Josh let out a chuckle.

Tyler nodded with a wide grin, leaning against the doorframe. “So yeah, I guess I will text you later.”

Josh smiled, reaching out and gently ruffling Tyler’s hair before turning on his heel. “Stay safe, Ty.” And with his words of parting he set off down the hall, soon disappearing through the doorway to the elevator. Tyler watched him go down the hall all the way before turning and closing the door, his heart absolutely soaring in his chest and pounding so hard it threatened to burst right through his shirt.

I think I found someone who made me happy.

Part 2

One Month Later

“I think they’re scared of you…” Tyler whispered with a chuckle, gesturing towards a group of students from his college sitting at an outdoor cafe as they walked down the sidewalk together. The students appeared to be confused and intimidated by the sight of Tyler holding onto the sleeve of Josh, who was at least two or three inches taller than him.

“Maybe…” Josh let out a little chuckle and shrugged. “What movie do you wanna watch when we get back to your dorm?”

“It doesn’t matter, you can pick.” Tyler smiled, resting his forehead against Josh’s arm and hugging it.

“What are you doing?” Josh asked with a laugh, reaching down and playfully ruffling Tyler’s hair.

“I don’t know…” Tyler murmured against Josh’s arm. Ever since the two had met a month ago, they had grown closer than Tyler had expected. They spent almost every single weekend together at Josh’s house, usually watching Disney movies while his dog Jim sat on top of them trying to eat the popcorn. Tyler had also managed to determine within three days that Josh gave the best hugs in the world, since he received one approximately every twenty minutes when they were together. Even though he had doubted himself and denied it at first, Tyler found himself slowly falling completely and hopelessly in love with him.

Josh didn’t seem to return his feelings, however. Ever since Tyler had blatantly told him again and again in Starbucks when they first met that he didn’t like guys, he hadn’t tried to make any sort of romantic gesture towards him, other than the constant hugging. He hadn’t given him any more pet names, he hadn’t tried to kiss him or tell him anything affectionate, he hadn’t called any of their outings or get-togethers a date, even though that was pretty much what they were. Tyler had tried showing Josh how he felt, dropping as many hints as possible, eventually going so far as to give him the ridiculous childlike nickname of Jishwa, but nothing worked. Josh had even passed the nickname off as a friendly gesture, murmuring something about how silly Tyler was as he ruffled his hair and pulled him into his arms.

Tyler felt a little pang of heartbreak as he recalled the memory, biting his bottom lip and clinging tighter to Josh’s arm. He felt tears of frustration beginning to well in his eyes and quickly tried to blink them away. Keeping his grip on Josh’s arm, he turned his head away so he wouldn’t get tears on Josh’s hoodie, breathing heavily and shaking his head back and forth. The emotions he had been keeping to himself for the past month were beginning to push their way forward, and he couldn’t hide it anymore.

“Tyler?” Josh frowned, gently shaking Tyler’s shoulder. He turned and bent down to Tyler’s level, pushing his hair out of his face. “Hey… are you crying? What’s wrong?”

Tyler shook his head, stepping backwards away from Josh until his back bumped against the outside wall of the bookstore they were walking by, shaking his head involuntarily and his hands clutched in tight fists and drawn up to his chest. “Don’t…” he whispered, unsure of what he was saying as tears blurred his vision and his limbs began to shake. He felt his knees buckle beneath him as he sank to the ground, dropping his head into his hands as he started sobbing and curling his body in on himself. He felt Josh’s hands on his shoulders but ignored him, pathetic whines and sobs that bordered on screams ripping their way from his throat despite his knowledge that people walking by were staring and watching.

“Ty, please, I need you to listen to me… you’ve gotta take deep breaths and calm yourself down, okay?” Josh’s words managed to push their way through the thick fog of his hysteria. “Put your hand on my chest and copy how I’m breathing…” Despite his panic, Tyler put his hand on Josh’s chest, keeping his head lowered as he tried desperately to match the rate of the rise and fall of his chest.

Then suddenly Josh’s hands were violently ripped from his shoulders, causing him to almost topple over. Tyler lifted his head and gasped when he saw the same man who had attacked him just a month ago, pinning Josh to the ground and punching him again and again. Josh was trying desperately to push the man off of him while trying to shield his chest and face, but to no avail.

Letting out a scream of protest, Tyler scrambled to his feet, tears still blurring his vision as he rushed towards Josh and the man fighting on the ground. Without thinking, he began slamming his fists as hard as he could against the man’s back, trying to do whatever he could to force him away. However, this proved to be ineffective, as the man was able to simply swat Tyler away like he was a bug on his shoulder. Tyler tumbled to the ground and quickly got back up again, trying to hit every inch of the man that he could. This time, rather than simply pushing him away, the man took his attention off of Josh and grabbed Tyler by the neck, slamming him the ground so hard he saw stars before beginning to tighten his grip. Gasping for breath but finding nothing, Tyler desperately struggled against his firm grip, his fingers scrabbling at the man’s hands and his lungs already aching from the lack of oxygen.

A split second later, Tyler felt the man’s hands being torn away from his neck, the nails digging slightly into his flesh as they left and leaving scratches along his skin. Letting out a tiny yelp of pain and gasping in air, Tyler stayed still on the ground, still shaking from the intensity of having his air taken away. He saw that the man was being pinned to the ground by someone who appeared to be a police officer, a rush of relief rushing though his body.

Suddenly, Tyler felt Josh picking him up and pulling him into a tight hug, squeezing him like a stuffed animal. “Oh my god, Tyler, oh my god… please tell me you’re alright, please, talk to me…”

“J-Jishwa! I’m fine, I’m okay,” Tyler insisted, his eyes widening as he saw tears trailing down Josh’s face. “Please don’t cry… it’s okay, I’m not hurt…” He reached up and began rubbing the tears away with the pad of his thumb, his heart breaking when he saw the open cuts and bruises that had already appeared on Josh’s face and neck.

“I thought I was gonna lose you…” Josh whispered, tangling his fingers in Tyler’s fluffy hair and blinking slowly as he gazed into his eyes. “I couldn’t let that happen to you, I just couldn’t… I thought you were gonna die…”

“Oh god, Josh… it’s okay, Jishwa, I’m not dead…” Looping his arms around Josh’s neck, Tyler pulled him into a hug, holding him close and letting the taller man cry quietly into his shoulder. He could see several other police officers approaching, and he could hear the faint siren of an ambulance approaching, and held on tight to his friend, whispering softly into his ear. “It’s okay, Josh, I’m alive… I’m not gonna leave you…”

|-/

The two were allowed to leave the hospital after only a few hours, since neither of them had any injuries apart from minor cuts and bruises. The police told them the man went by the name Brendon and had several major felonies, including robbery and breaking and entering. After they left the hospital and got back to Josh’s house, Tyler noticed that the red haired man was still extremely quiet. Josh was curled up on the end of the couch with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie with his head lowered and his his hair hanging in his face.

“Josh… Josh, please talk to me…” Tyler whispered, climbing onto the couch near Josh. He curled up and nuzzled against Josh’s side, resting his head against his back and slipping his arms around his waist. “I hate seeing you this upset… please tell me what’s wrong, Jishwa…”

With a quiet sigh, Josh replied, “I’m sorry… I was just so worried when that guy attacked you, I was worried he was gonna hurt you or kill you… I don’t know what I would do without you, Ty.” He turned over so that he was facing Tyler, touching his temple and trailing his hand down to his chin. “I couldn’t go on without you… you just mean so, so, much to me…”

“Josh? What… are you trying to say?” Tyler asked softly, his fingers reaching out and settling on Josh’s shoulders as a heavy blush began settling over his face.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… I love you.” Josh dropped his head, biting his bottom lip and squeezing his eyes shut. “I tried to deny it for so long, because you said you didn’t like guys and that you weren’t interested, and I didn’t wanna push you into anything… but I just love you so much, Ty, I’m sorry…”

“Josh, you don’t have to apologize, honestly…” Tyler reached up and gently lifted up Josh’s head, frowning when he saw the taller male beginning to cry again. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, please don’t cry…”

“But I know you don’t feel the same way and I know you’re mad at me now and you’re gonna leave and never talk to me again…” Josh blurted, shaking his head quickly.

“Joshie… Josh, I’m not mad at you, I’m not gonna leave,” Tyler whispered. “And I do feel the same way, honestly.”

“Tyler, you don’t have to say that. I know you’re just trying to make me feel better.” Josh shook his head again.

“I’m not just saying it, Josh, I mean it. I really do…” Tyler inisted, nodding slowly. “I really do love you, I want you to believe me…”

“Prove it.” Josh lowered his head, biting his bottom lip and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Prove to me in some way that you actually love me, and maybe you’ll believe me.”

Tyler hesitated for a few moments, his gaze rapidly shifting from Josh’s eyes to his lips and back up again. Taking a deep breath and working up as much courage as he could, he stood up on his knees, grabbing Josh’s shoulders and leaning up to kiss him. The kiss lasted for only a few moments and was much too hesitant for Tyler’s liking- his lips just barely brushed against Josh’s before he pulled away involuntarily- but it seemed to prove his point to Josh. As soon as Tyler pulled away, he saw that Josh’s eyes had widened, his mouth open in a huge smile.

“...does that prove it to you?” Tyler asked hesitantly, settling back down on the couch.

Instead of giving a verbal response, Josh practically tackled Tyler flat on his back, tangling his fingers in his hair and kissing him again and again. Tyler let out a startled squeak, managing to realize what was happening and fell back into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Josh’s neck and pulling him closer. When the two broke apart after several long moments, both of them were visibly flushed and breathing heavily.

“That proves it,” Josh murmured with a wide smile.

“I love you so much, Jishwa…” Tyler smiled back, lacing his fingers in Josh’s scarlet hair.

“I love you too, Ty…” Josh smiled, dropping his head onto Tyler’s chest and curling up in a little ball. To anyone else, it might have been a peculiar sight; the significantly larger and older man nuzzled up to him like a cat. But it was absolutely perfect for the two of them. Tyler smiled and wrapped his arms around Josh, hugging him tightly and running one hand through his fluffy hair. Josh let out a soft giggle as Tyler’s fingers tickled his head, letting his eyes fall closed gradually.

“Are you gonna fall asleep?” Tyler asked softly.

“Maybe…”

“Joshie, it’s only three in the afternoon…” Tyler giggled. “What about that movie we were gonna watch?”

“Oh yeah.” Josh chuckled and smiled. “I forgot…”

“We could just stay like this if you want…” Tyler suggested.

“That sounds just as good.” Josh replied, wrapping his arms around Tyler and relaxing against him completely. Resting his chin on top of Josh’s head, Tyler kept the taller man close to him protectively, even though the two were perfectly safe alone in the room. His lips silently formed the words “I love you” over and over again as he gazed down at Josh, feeling an overwhelming rush of affection for him in that moment.

I found someone who made me happy.

Thank you very much for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please give it a like and a reblog. If you want to read more of my stories, give me a follow and turn on post notifications! 

[wizardwritings]

Worse Than Nicotine

Prompt: “You’re the health-conscious med student and I’m the chain-smoking art student who’s also your barista and you leave me notes on smoking and lung health on your napkins and also a 20-page essay on lung cancer tucked under your saucer” AU. Where Sirius is the chain-smoking art student.

Word Count: About 5,500.

Warning(s): Smoking, sexual tension, kissing, motorcycle ride without all the gear. Don’t accept a ride from someone on a motorcycle unless they supply the proper gear and you’re wearing pants and a heavy jacket, preferably. Do some research before riding!

Note: Sort of a modern, college AU. This isn’t smut, but, I have to warn you, it does end up being smoking hot. Hah. Get it?

To the barista with the pretty grey eyes,

Smoking can cause the lens of the eyes to fog up and the whites of the eyes to turn yellow. Don’t ruin their beauty. If not for yourself, then for those who have the pleasure of seeing them. ;)

Love, Y/N.

Sirius rolled his eyes, a slight chuckle escaping his lips as he pocketed yet another note from you. If you were to open a spare drawer in his flat, you would find a collection of tossed napkins with rushed scribbles littering the surface. Maybe one day Sirius would take your insistent advice, but right now, all he wanted was a drag.

“Another love letter from your favorite med student?”

With a shrug, Sirius rested his palms on the countertop, sending his co-worker and flatmate, James, a smirk. “You could call it that.”

“What does that make it? The third one this week?” asked James, spinning a permanent marker on the tips of his fingers.

“More or less.” Sirius checked the time before peering out the cafe windows. “It’s kind of endearing, I think. You know, in an annoying, motherly sort of way.”

James let out a laugh, pushing his glasses higher on his face. “What did it say this time?”

“Oh, just not to ruin my beautiful eyes by smoking.”

“Beautiful?” James squinted, zealously searching Sirius’ face. “Your eyes? Are you sure these notes aren’t meant for me?”

Sirius snorted, brushing his hair to the side. “They’re definitely for me.”

With a mischievous grin, James drummed the tip of his pen on the counter. “Sure they are.”

When the door chimed, James was ready to take the customer’s order, making the drink himself since business was slow at this hour. Once the latte was ready and the customer was seated, he turned back to Sirius.

“But what if it’s not just for you?”

“Pardon?”

James shrugged. “I’m only saying, what if you aren’t the only mysterious, smoking barista in your little med student’s life?”

“First of all, she’s not my little med student.” Sirius paused, a small smirk playing on his face. “Not yet, anyway. And second, that’s absolutely ridiculous.”

Still, as ridiculous as James’ suggestion sounded, an unsettling feeling entered Sirius’ stomach at the thought of you flirting with someone else.

“I don’t know about that,” James drawled. “Have you even talked to her?” Sirius opened his mouth, but quickly shut it at James’ pointed look. “Besides asking for her order.”

“She’s always busy studying from that textbook of hers,” Sirius said defensively. “I was trying to be polite.”

James hummed, tapping his foot on the linoleum floor. “That’s chivalrous and all, but if she has time to write you a little note on her every visit, I think she would be more than willing to take the time to talk to you.”

Sirius thought on his best mate’s words, just now questioning why he had never made a move.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Sirius snorted, “Since when did I need girl advice from you?”

“Looks like the roles have been reversed,” James said with a grin. “A girlfriend will definitely wise you up.”

Sirius’ only response was a cocked eyebrow.

“And as the one with a girlfriend, and therefore the one who is wisest,” James chose to ignore the huff he heard from Sirius, “I say you need to talk to her before she thinks you don’t like her.”

“I will–”

“And when I say talk to her, I mean soon.” James paused. “And when I say soon, I mean tomorrow.” Taking in Sirius’ amused eye roll, James continued, “Y/N is incredibly smart and–forgive me, Lily–incredibly pretty.  She’s not going to wait around if you show no interest.”

“I show plenty of interest!”

“Then you’ll be fine with showing even more tomorrow.”

“Fine. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” said James with a nod of affirmation. “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomor–”

“Oh, bugger off, Prongs.”

- - - - -

To the barista with the beautiful voice,

I’ve heard you and your friend with glasses sing along to the music as you guys worked. You have an amazing voice. On a completely unrelated note, smoking can damage breathing control, dry out your vocal cords, and strain your lungs. Be careful and, please, be safe!

Love, Y/N.

Sirius didn’t bother to stop the smile that spread across his face. You really were an observant one, he thought.

Throughout that day, he had been subtly trying to sneak glances at you while you sat at your booth. That time, you had no textbook with you. Just a phone you were hurriedly typing on. It would’ve been the perfect time for Sirius to approach you.

But he didn’t. And soon enough you had left, shooting him a quick grin before tucking the napkin under your saucer.

Maybe tomorrow.

- - - - -

He really is too pretty to die.

You shook your head, blinking once. With a look of determination, you returned back to your textbook, running the cap of your highlighter underneath the words as you read.

You had to focus on studying for your exam next week. The cute barista would have to wait.

A cafe full of potential distractions might not have been the best place to study, but with your flatmates having their monthly movie night, you reckoned that a house full of drunk college girls would have been even worse. And, to be fair, you didn’t think your barista would be working a shift this late.

Plugging your earphones in, you blasted some white noise, turning the page of your textbook. Time to get busy, you told yourself.

About a quarter away from being done with your study session, you felt a warm presence above you. You looked up, your eyes flittering over to their name tag.

Sirius. Your barista. A small smile found its way across your face.

Bringing your gaze to his, you took an earphone out. “Hi.”

He smiled back with an amused expression. “Hi.”

Your nose scrunched up ever so slightly as he got closer, a faint smell of nicotine still lingering on his shirt. Trying not to be rude, you huffed softly.

“Yes, I did just have a cigarette,” Sirius supplied with a deep chuckle, answering your unvoiced question. “My shift ended and I needed to get off store grounds to smoke.”

Disappointed, you hummed slightly. You worried he would never take your notes to heart. Or worse– He paid no attention to the napkins and tossed them on sight.

“But I couldn’t leave you here alone to study without some caffeine to last you the night.” He slid you a cup of coffee, careful not to spill the drink on your books. “It’s on the house.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to– Really.”

Sirius shrugged nonchalantly, giving you a noncommittal smile. “It’s the least I could do in exchange for my newly acquired knowledge on the dangers of smoking.”

“So you do read my notes!” you chirped, satisfied. “Thank goodness, I was worried my efforts were all going to waste.”

“Of course not.” He brushed the loose strands of his hair from his face with a slight smirk. “My favorite part is always the address. The barista with the pretty eyes or the soft-looking hair or the beautiful voice or the tauntingly ravishing, kissable lips–”

You let out an indignant laugh, keeping him from teasing you further. When he never responded to your little notes, you thought Sirius might have been broody and shy. But taking one look at his playful grin and relaxed posture, you realized he was anything but.

“Strange. I don’t recall ever writing the part about your lips, but,” you trailed your gaze from his eyes to his mouth in one exaggerated motion, “maybe you’re not wrong.”

He matched your stare with his, running the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. Clearing his throat, he placed the palms of his hands on his jeans.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your study time,” said Sirius as your wrapped your hands around the cup. “But hopefully I’ll see you again soon.”

“Actually–” You cut yourself off, looking down at your textbook. You could finish studying tomorrow, but it wasn’t everyday a cute barista returned your advances. “I’ve finished studying for tonight. You can take a seat–you know–if you’d like.”

He grinned, glad you didn’t kick him out. Sirius slid into the booth, facing you.

Finally lifting the latte to your face, your eyebrows furrowed at the art on it. You glanced up at him only to see he was looking intently for your reaction. When Sirius caught your eye, however, he shot you a grin.

“Do you like it?”

The crema formed the shape of a delicate rose, the white foam a stark contrast from the dark latte.

“It looks beautiful,” you replied honestly, careful not to ruin the design as you moved. “You did this?”

He nodded.

“I can’t even draw this on paper,” you admitted, letting out a laugh. “I have absolutely zero artistic ability.”

“Oh, please.” Sirius raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re just being modest.”

You matched his expression with a challenging one of your own. “No, believe me; I’m really not.”

Pulling out a scratch piece of paper from the back of your notebook, you placed it in front of you. Using Sirius’ latte art as a reference, you attempted to sketch out a rose.

After almost ten minutes of frustrated grunts and feverish erasing, you turned the drawing toward Sirius to reveal a meek, two inch drawing of something that resembled a flower.

Taking the paper in his hands, Sirius held it up to the light. “I mean, if you squint really hard and shake the paper really fast, it looks quite interesting.”

“Funny,” you deadpanned, grabbing hold of Sirius’ forearm to stop him from shaking the paper. You made a face. “Not everyone can be blessed with artistic abilities.”

“It just takes practice.” Sirius leaned back into his seat as you took a sip of your latte. “And, perhaps, you should stick to your annoyingly endearing cigarette facts.”

You huffed, the corners of your mouth tilting upward in a wry smile as a comfortable silence fell over you. The only sound heard in the coffee shop was the muffled music being played from the speakers. Scanning Sirius up and down, you saw he carried an aura of effortless elegance you had never noticed before.

Shifting slightly, you mixed a packet of sugar into your coffee. “The notes didn’t annoy you, did they?”

He cocked his head to the side.

“Because they weren’t meant to be naggy,” you said in a rushed tone. “It’s just… I know how detrimental smoking can be and I didn’t want you to get–”

“I told you,” Sirius started, waving you off with one look, “I like them.” He brushed his hair behind his ear. “Now, if it were anyone else, I might’ve been annoyed. But it was you… An intelligent, beautiful girl that I was lucky enough to catch the attention of.”

His gaze stayed focused on your face, the sudden attention causing heat to rush to your cheeks. The amount of times you blushed in a conversation embarrassed you; you were a normally collected person, but the smallest of compliments could set you off.

You took a sip of coffee, keeping the mug in front of your face in an attempt to hide your blush. “I have plenty more facts about smoking. Maybe one you’ll actually listen to.”

Sirius laughed lightly, shaking his head at your accusatory look. “I read every word, sweetheart. And I will admit, I haven’t been smoking as much.”

“Really?”

“Only a couple cigarettes a day.”

“Sirius!”

He smirked at your cry of concern, offhandedly stating, “It’s better than a pack in one sitting.”

“You better be joking.”

“You act as if nicotine is the worst thing in the world, Y/N.” Sirius rubbed the back of his shoulder, keeping his eyes on you. “I’d say there are things worse than nicotine.”

“It’s not nicotine that’s the problem.” You paused, pursing your lips. “Well, it is. In a way. It’s a stimulant like caffeine, which isn’t too bad, but nicotine is a highly addictive drug and the fastest way to get your fix is by smoking. And as I’ve stated in my notes, in the long run, smoking–”

You broke off abruptly, hoping Sirius didn’t think you were looking down on him.

“I mean, not that I’m trying to pressure you into quitting.” You broke your gaze, staring down into your coffee as you mindlessly stirred it around. “If you do decide to quit, it should be a conscious decision that you make for yourself.”

“I know.” He nudged the edge of your shoe with his, causing you to look up to see a small smile on his face. “Now stop worrying that you’re going to hurt my feelings. I’m a big boy; I can handle it.”

Rolling your eyes, you let the conversation shift into something more lighthearted. You asked him about his art, he told you to ask him for lessons anytime, you told him you might have to take him up on his offer. He asked if you had a life outside of med school, you replied with a hearty shove.

Before you knew it, the two of you were leaning closer to the edges of your chairs, becoming more comfortable as time went on. You didn’t want this to end. But when you caught a glimpse of the time on your phone, you knew it had to soon. Trying to find a bus to bring you home to your drunk flatmates at eleven o’clock at night wasn’t exactly the safest thing.

“Well,” you said hesitantly, “it’s getting late. I better head home.”

Sirius nodded, standing up next to you. “I might as well go, too. Let me walk you out.”

When you made it out of the cafe doors, Sirius bidding his co-workers a farewell and goodnight, you searched the parking lot for the nearest street with a bus stop. You turned to Sirius, his face pale under the harsh street lights.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

“I actually didn’t drive here today.” Kicking up the gravel with the tip of your shoe, you felt his gaze on you. “I’ve never been a fan of driving at night.”

“Hmm.” Sirius nodded with a slight hum. “I’ll wait with you until your ride gets here, then?”

“I was going to take the bus.” At his curious glance you continued, “My flatmates and I usually have a girl’s night a few times a month, but I had to study.” The breezed up, prickling your skin as you rubbed your arms under your shirt. “So I asked one of them to drop me off and told them I had a ride home.”

He quirked a brow. “But you don’t.”

You shrugged, tucking your stray hairs behind your ear. “They needed a night to unwind; I didn’t want them to worry about me.”

“That’s ridiculously selfless of you,” Sirius stated, moving closer when he saw the goosebumps on your arms. There was a comforting warmth radiating through his uniform and you had to keep yourself from pulling him closer. “I can give you a ride to your flat, if you’d like.”

“No– It’s fine. The bus stop isn’t too far from here.”

Sirius folded his arms, shaking his head slightly. “Not that I doubt your capabilities, but I could never just let you navigate your way through the city at this hour.”

You bit your lower lip. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not,” he insisted. “But do you know what would be a bother?”

You didn’t respond.

“Leaving you here and spending the rest of my night wondering if you made it home safely.”

Rolling your eyes, you fought off a smile. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Beaming, Sirius took your hand in his, leading you to the staff parking lot. You may have just had your first real conversation with him today, but getting a ride from him still beat wandering the streets at midnight. Plus, the feeling of his hand around yours helped warm you up. That, of course, was the only reason you enjoyed it.

Telling him your address, he entered it into his phone GPS. His eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve actually dropped James off there before…”

He trailed off, a small smirk making its way onto his face. You have him a curious look, but decided not to question it.

Soon enough, Sirius pulled out his keys and a small clang sounded. He let go of your hand and patted the vehicle in front of him.

Your jaw almost dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He met your dubious expression with a smirk of his own. Unlocking the chain, Sirius looked up at you to say three simple words. “You like it?”

Folding your arms, amusement flooded your features. You shook your head slightly, the corners of your lips tilting upward as you saw Harley-Davidson branded on the ride. “Why does this not surprise me?”

“I’m going to pretend that was meant as a compliment,” said Sirius, passing you a spare helmet.

You raised your eyebrow in question, wondering why he kept more than one with him.

“When James–my co-worker with the messy hair and glasses,” he paused at your giggle, smiling. “When James and I have the same shift, I usually give him a ride to our flat. So I make sure to bring an extra helmet with me.”

“That’s the only reason?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “So charming random girls at the cafe and wooing them with your hot ride isn’t a frequent ploy of yours?”

“Nah,” Sirius drawled, unbuckling the strap of the helmet with his fingers. “Not frequent. I do it once a week, at most.”

You rolled your head to the side, jutting your lower lip out slightly. “I’m not sure I want a ride from you anymore.”

He laughed, the soft sound echoing in the empty parking lot. “I’m only kidding, sweetheart. Don’t fret– Unless you consider James competition. But I must say, with his tight grip and delightfully caffeinated scent, he might be tough to beat.”

“Well, damn.”

Shooting him a coy smile, you grabbed the helmet from his hands, plopping it onto your head. Sirius gave you a once-over, eyes stopping at the loose strap under your chin. Leaning forward, his fingers brushed against your jawline, tightening the helmet so it fit snugly atop your head.

“Safety first,” he murmured, face still mere inches away from yours.

With a lazy smirk, Sirius pulled away, tugging the back of your helmet to make sure it wouldn’t come off before patting the top of your helmet. You huffed, slapping his hands off.

“Sorry.” With a hint of laughter in his voice, he didn’t sound very apologetic. “You just look too damn cute for your own good in that.”

“Cute?” Your lips turned down into a pout as you folded your arms, trying to look aggressive through your face shield. You unbuckled the helmet and placed it under your arm.

“Cute,” Sirius affirmed, breaking out into a grin as he pinched your cheeks. “And your little pout just makes you look even cuter.”

You attempted to pushed his hands away, but they somehow managed to stay rested on your face. “Just cute?”

“Amongst other things,” he breathed, brushing a small spot behind your ear with the pad of his thumb. As he pulled away with a cheeky grin, you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Sirius laughed at your reaction.

“That wasn’t funny,” you scowled, nudging him in the arm to let him know you weren’t upset.

“‘Course not.” Pulling a shirt out from his Harley, he turned back to you. “I’m just going to change, teach you the basics of riding as a passenger, then we’ll be off.”

Without giving you the time to turn around, he pulled his polo off, swapping it for a loose-fitting black tee. Your gaze followed the exposed parts of his abdomen as he fumbled with getting his shirt on. You caught a glimpse of black ink on Sirius’ chest, furrowing your eyebrows as you tried to make out what it was before he clothed himself.

Sirius met your stare with one of his own. You quirked a brow at him.

“You smoke, you ride a motorcycle, and you have tattoos?” You gave him an amused smile. “You’re my father’s worst nightmare.”

“Let’s hope you’re not a daddy’s girl, then.” He didn’t give you time to process what he said, instead holding his own helmet under his arm. “Anyway, when you’re on the motorcycle, I need you hold on as tightly to my waist are you’re comfortable with.”

You nodded, noticing his sober expression. Riding a motorcycle wasn’t a joke and he wanted to make sure you knew that. Still, it was something that should feel fun and exhilarating.

“If I’m accelerating or riding too fast, wrap your legs around mine.” You raised an eyebrow and even Sirius couldn’t help but smirk at that. “By doing so, you will get a better grip and, at the same time, tell me that I should probably slow down.”

Sirius went on with a brief summary on what to do and how to communicate with him while riding and, by the end of it, your stomach fluttered with nerves and excitement. You all but clambered onto the bike, putting your helmet on and wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Keep them here,” he stated with a small laugh, bringing your hands hands from the center of his abdomen to his sides.

Feeling rejected you let out a soft, “Oh.” Maybe you were reading this incorrectly and Sirius had no interest in you after all.

Sensing your discomfort, Sirius placed his hand on top of yours, briefly interlacing them to give you a firm squeeze.

“It’s not that I don’t want your arms wrapped around me–because, trust me,” he let out a throaty chuckle, his voice growing quieter, “if I had my way, your arms wouldn’t be the only thing wrapped around me.”

You bristled, your face flaming at his wanton statement. For a moment, you were glad you had a bulky helmet on to cover your tomato-like complexion.

Feeling you stiffen, Sirius threw his head back at your reaction, his chest vibrating with his deep laughter. You edged away from him on the seat and you knew if you could see his face, he’d be smirking.

“But it’s not about me right now.” He turned back to you once he sobered, eyes searching for yours through your face shield. “Right now, what matters is your safety, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmured, giving his side a gentle squeeze.

Securing his own helmet on the top of his head, Sirius revved the engine, checking one last time to see if you were comfortable.

You laughed at his concern. If anything, you thought Sirius would’ve been the type of guy to ride without a helmet, going at dangerous speeds to prove his expertise. But, so far, he had been nothing but cautious. A little too cautious, in your opinion.

“I’m fine, Sirius. Now–what is it you told me?–stop worrying. I’m a big girl; I can handle it.” You heard his airy breath of amusement through the low speeds of the parking lot. “Now, take a little risk.”

You saw him shake his head, voice swimming with mirth from your challenging words. “That’s what I like to hear.”

And with that, he took off.

The city lights passed by in a blur, the breeze biting into your exposed arms and you were grateful for your helmet a second time today. In the middle of the night, the streets were yours; the cars were sparse and space was plenty.

An estranged mixture of fear and excitement coursed through your veins as you tighten your grip around Sirius’ abdomen. It wasn’t until he slowed down and pulled closer to the sidewalk did you notice you were screaming the whole time.

“Are you alright?” he called, amusement lacing his tone.

“Better than alright!” You attempted to lower your voice, not wanting to yell in Sirius’ ear. “I just scream when I’m excited, sorry.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he accelerated once more. Though he wasn’t going very fast, the force of inertia caused you to wrap your legs around his. You were vaguely aware of the feeling of your thighs pressed against his as you edged your body closer to the center of the seat, leaning your head to the side to avoid knocking Sirius’ helmet.

As soon as you fell into the groove of riding, you placed your feet back on your own pegs, taking one arm off of Sirius and stretching it out above your head. With the breeze billowing through your fingers and tossing your hair back, you’ve never felt more in touch with your surroundings.

“Yeah!” you cried, urging Sirius to drive faster.

You felt the rumble of his laugh through his thin shirt, thinking how unfair it was that warmth exuded from his back despite the cold air around him while you had goosebumps covering every square inch of your arms.

Before you knew it, Sirius had pulled up in front of your flat, the motorcycle silencing itself to nothing more than a soft purr. Killing the engine, he helped you off, keeping his hands on your waist for longer than he needed to.

“So,” you breathed, rolling your bottom lip into your mouth.

Sirius let his hands linger around you before slowly retracting them. “So.”

“Thank you for the ride.”

“It was my pleasure.”

You nodded, avoiding eye contact. Any charm you might have previously possessed went down the drain when Sirius stared at you. All you knew was you missed the warmth of his body on yours.

“Going to have a smoke after this?” you remarked, arms folded in a challenge.

He let out a huff of amusement, running the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek. A sideways grin made its way onto his face. “Depends. If I say yes will you stay out here and make sure I don’t?”

You gave Sirius’ arm a playful push, leaving your gentle grip on his tricep. “If that’s what it takes.”

Running your fingers along the light cloth of his sleeve, you smirked at the slight tightening of his muscles. Sirius quirked an eyebrow at you, deliberately skimming his lower lip with his tongue.

Two can play that game, you thought with a small shake of your head.

Stepping closer, you peered at his face through the harsh lights littering the streets, the gleam casting a shadow on his eyelashes. Tilting your head to the side, you brushed the tip of your index finger over the cool skin of his cheekbone.

You moved back, pretending not to feel the intense stare Sirius was burning into you. You shot him and innocent smile, bringing your forefinger and thumb together.

“Eyelash.”

Though you shifted away from him, the proximity between the two of you still left you in a compromising position. Focusing your attention back on Sirius, you noticed the bottomless greys of his eyes had turned a stormy color from your interaction, his jaw clenching.

Blowing the stray eyelash from your thumb, you shut your eyes, making a wish. When you finished, you slowly looked up at him, smiling. But his gaze was already on your lips.

You tried not to smirk.

Testing the limits, you cupped your hand under his chiseled jaw, running your thumb along the light stubble peppering his face.

“Sweetheart,” Sirius rasped, a tone of warning laced through his voice.

You traced a circular pattern on him, your touch so light he barely felt it. Still, he was aware–painfully aware–that it was there. Your hot breath was feathering the base of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing at your light touches.

“Did you want me to stop–”

A low growl escaped from the back of his throat as Sirius grasped your wrist firmly in his large hand. He rubbed the sensitive part of your forearm with the callous of his thumb.

So, he doesn’t like being teased.

“Sweetheart,” he said again, voice still hoarse, “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I think I do.” You fingered the hem of his shirt, daring to inch closer. “But how about you show me, anyway?”

And he did.

Dropping your wrist, Sirius placed one hand on the small of your back, pressing your body against his, and the other cupped against your cheek.

As he toyed with the strands of hair framing your face, twirling it around his forefinger, Sirius kept his gaze intently on yours. He trailed his fingers down the length of your hair, the edges of his knuckles skimming past the crevice of your chest.

A satisfied smirk formed on his face as you shuddered, arching away from him, his other hand still applying a pressure just above the curve of your ass.

“Sirius.” You almost groaned, your voice strangled in need. You wanted more. You wanted his lips on your lips, his hands in your hair– More.

His amused hum rang through your body, heat spreading to the core of your abdomen. Still, he made no move to change his pace.

Lacing his fingers through the back of your hair, Sirius gave it a slight tug, causing you to expose the vulnerable parts of your neck to him. He continued the stroke his thumb in downward motions through the material of your leggings, peppering your jawline with chaste kisses. He started near your chin, making his way up to where the base of your ear met your neck. His stubble tickled your jaw, leaving you to wonder how it would feel elsewhere.

Moving away ever so slightly, Sirius brushed the spot behind your ear with his soft lips, blowing a hot puff of air against your cool skin.

You shivered.

He was getting you back for teasing him. But he was going harder.

You were getting frustrated. Your stomach twisted in anticipation, heat coursing through your veins. In that very moment, there was nothing you wanted more than for Sirius to place his mouth on yours.

“Please,” you moaned.

With his lips still brushing the base of your ear, he whispered, “Please what?”

Grabbing at the collar of his shirt, you pulled his face closer to yours. “Please– Just kiss me, already.”

“Since you asked so nicely…”

A strangled whimper escaped from your mouth. You were are the end of your line, unable to take his continuous teasing any longer. Taking matters into your own hand, you stood on the tips of your toes, craning your neck up to meet his lips.

“Finally,” you murmured against his mouth, causing Sirius to laugh into the kiss.

The deep vibrations from his chuckle rang through your body, a feeling of pleasure erupting in your chest. You eased into his caress as you brought your hand to cup his jaw, stroking his peppered stubble.

His large hand pressed against your lower back, pushing your hips against the rough material of his jeans. For a second, Sirius broke the kiss, nipping the soft flesh of your bottom lip, then soothing the spot with the tip of his tongue.

The next moment, his mouth was back on yours, moving against you in a tantalizing dance. The night filled with the cacophonous sounds of gasps and groans. You were sure Sirius could feel your heart beating erratically through your ribcage, your chest flattened against the defined muscles of his.

The kiss was better than you could have ever imagined.

You pulled away, breathing heavily for some much needed air. Sirius let his forehead rest on top of yours, his lips parted in a pant, his warm breath teasing your hypersensitive skin.

He grinned, breathless and dazed by the kiss still lingering on his mouth. “Now, wasn’t that worth the wait, sweetheart?”

You let out an amused huff, your arms still around his neck. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

Sirius trailed his hands down from your waist, to your hips, and went lower still, stopping to cup the curve of your ass.

“Still going to have a smoke after this?” you breathed, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

He wore a hooded expression, smoothing the furrow between your brows with a light kiss. You looked back up at him to find a look on his face that made your stomach churn.

“Nah.” Sirius removed your hands from around him, toying with the tips of your fingers. “I’m good.”

Interlacing his hand through yours, he gave you a small, but firm, kiss on the lips.

“I think I found something much better than nicotine.”

Aw, I can’t stop grinning. I hope you guys enjoyed! xx Fia.

[froggheadd]

Coffeeshop AU Boyf riends

The opening shift is always difficult, which is exactly the reason why Michael always tries his hardest to avoid it. If he ever sees that he’s scheduled to open the coffee shop, he calls up Christine and begs for her to switch. Of course, she almost always accepts due to her miraculous ability to be perpetually happy and optimistic, even at the ass-crack of dawn.

Michael working the opening shift just doesn’t work. The customers don’t want to be up at 5:30 in the morning, whether they’re in a rush to get to work or classes. And Michael doesn’t want to be at work at 5:30 in the morning having to deal with tired, rude, customers that throw a fit if he accidentally puts an inch and a half of foam on their latte when they only asked for an inch. Yeah. Michael and mornings. They don’t mix well.

So imagine Michael’s overwhelming joy when he got scheduled for the opening shift on a Friday, a Friday and Christine couldn’t cover for him because she had rehearsal for a musical that she needed to be well-rested for. Not that Michael was holding it against her or anything, but still. Fridays bring in the more difficult customers who almost all have orders made up of 10 different ingredients that need to be combined in a precise order, or else the apocalypse will start, or something just as stupid.

But, Michael was managing to make it through the first half hour of his shift with no major incidents, and he’s finally starting to get into the flow of things. Greet the customer with a smile. Take their order and repeat it back to them to confirm that yes, that’s what they want.

“Cash or Credit?”

“What’s your name? Is that with an ‘A’ or an 'E’?  Okay, great.”

Keep on smiling. Line up the cups on the counter so Brooke can make the drinks, and repeat. The motions of taking orders is so ingrained into him that he barely needs to focus and can let his mind wander.

Around 6:00, a man in a neatly pressed suit comes into the shop talking on his phone. Whoever is on the phone is making him visibly upset, his conversation getting loud enough that the entire shop can hear what he’s saying. The man is so involved in his conversation that he doesn’t notice when he’s at the front of the line.

“Hi, what can I get you this morning?” Michael says faux-cheerfully. The man glares at Michael and goes back to his phone conversation. Taking a deep breath, Michael tries again. “Sir, what would you like to drink?” This time he gets a finger held up to his face and a glare. Whatever. It’s cool. Keep on smiling.

Michael waits a few more seconds, and just as he’s about to ask for his order again, the person standing in line behind the businessman does it for him.

“Sir, there are people in line behind you, and while the barista can’t say it, I can. Get off of your phone, and order your drink so we can all get where we need to go that much faster.” The businessman shoots a glare behind him before saying a rushed apology into his phone, mumbling about a “rude man” and “horrible service”. He finally turns to Michael and rushes out his order, some ridiculously complicated soy latte that’s going to take ages to make. Michael gets the man’s name - Joe, and sends him to wait at the end of the counter for his drink. Michael turns to the next customer with a genuine smile on his face, excited to see who had the balls to stand up to a stranger like that.

“Thanks for that, what you did,” he gestures towards Joe with his sharpie.  The possibilities of what Michael can say next are endless: “it made my day”, “I have to deal with people like him all the time and I can’t say anything to them”, “you’re really cute, can I get your number?” But of course, he ends up blurting out “it was...good.”

The guy honest to god giggles. “It was good? Well, I mean, there’s my act of kindness sorted for the day, I guess.” Michael chuckles and takes a moment to observe the guy. He seems to be about Michael’s age, probably going off to an early morning class. He’s looking down at his hands which are fidgeting with his wallet, he must be nervous. A part of Michael wants to reach across the counter and place his hand over the guy’s to stop his fiddling hands. Michael ignores that part. Could that be counted as harassment? Probably not. Still, not a good idea.

Oh, right. Hands. Wallet. Coffee. Job.

“So, what can I get for you today?” he asks. The guy looks up from his wallet and meets Michael’s eyes.

“Oh, I’ll just have a coffee please. Black.”

“What’s your name?” Michael asks.

“Jeremy. My name’s Jeremy,” the guy, Jeremy, stutters out.

“Awesome,” Michael says, uncapping his marker with his teeth and scribbling onto the cup and drawing a little smiley face before setting on the counter for Brooke to make.

Jeremy shuffles from foot to foot, not seeming to know what to do with himself before deciding to walk over to the end of the counter and busy himself with reading the papers on the bulletin board.

Michael leaves Brooke to man the register and goes over to the counter to call out people’s orders. The first cup there was Jeremy’s because it was the simplest to make.

“Black coffee for Jeremy,” Michael calls out. Jeremy’s head whips up to meet his eyes, and starts to make his way over to grab his drink when the man from earlier, Joe, shoves his way in front to grab the drink.

“Sir, that’s not your drink-” Michael starts to say at the same time that Jeremy says, “I think that’s mine-” Joe just rolls his eyes and snatches the coffee out of Michael’s hand before turning to Jeremy with a scowl.

“I’ve been waiting long enough, you can just grab the next one.” he says before turning and speed-walking towards the door.

Michael tries to call out to him. “Sir, you can’t just do that! Sir, that’s not your coffee!” But he’s already out the door. Michael stares at his retreating figure, still trying to process what just happened. He looks over to Jeremy who is wearing a matching expression of confusion. Michael isn’t quite sure what to do. A lot of weird things have happened to him while he’s been working here as a barista.

There had been lobsters in toilets (a teenager’s dad worked at grocery store and thought it’d be hilarious if he stole a one and put it in a toilet for someone to find), customers trying to pick fights with him, and a very memorable lady who’d run her finger through his latte art to make sure the foam was the “right consistency”. But Michael’s never had someone steal another guy’s coffee.

What was the protocol for this? Could he laugh? Would that be insensitive? Michael waits for Jeremy to make the first move, give him an idea of what his reaction should be.  And then, against all odds, Jeremy throws his head back and laughs, and dear god if Michael won’t say anything to hear that laugh again. Let the next dozen customers take Jeremy’s coffee if it means that he’ll laugh like that.

“Oh my god,” Jeremy says in between bursts of laughter.

“What?” Michael chuckles, not quite sure what’s happening.

“He-He just, swooped in and took my coffee,” more laughter. “I mean, screw him for that, honestly, but if that wasn’t one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a while.” Michael starts to laugh along, because it’s not often that you see something that leaves you speechless, especially when you’ve been working with cranky people needing their coffee fix as much as Michael has.

“I’ll get you a new cup of coffee, 'kay Jeremy?” Michael says before turning to make the cup of coffee. As he’s pouring Jeremy’s drink, he risks as glance at him, only to meet Jeremy’s eyes before they both look away blushing.

Michael turns back to Jeremy, new coffee in hand. Jeremy reaches out to grab it before, Michaels yanks it away. “Wait I almost forgot!” Michael grabs a sharpie out of Brooke’s hand and quickly re-draws a smiley face on the cup before handing it to Jeremy.

“Have a nice day Jeremy.” he says with a smile that’s not so fake anymore. Jeremy looks down at the cup and a blush starts creeping down his face, he nods and turns towards the door before deciding against it and looking back at Michael.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” He asks hopefully. Before he can think better of it, Michael says that he will. Jeremy nods, satisfied, and turns back to the door, actually leaving this time.

Shit. Why’d he say that? He isn’t working tomorrow, he never works the morning shifts. Michael takes out his phone under the counter and types out a text.

To: Christine

can I take your morning shift tomorrow?

[elanorjane]

Picture of Beauty (Ch 2/?)

Summary: Fashion house Jefferson-Mills needs inspiration. Photographer Gold believes a librarian he photographed by accident has what it takes. Now it's up to Gold to turn Belle into a model worthy of Paris Fashion Week. Based on the movie Funny Face. Rating: This chapter PG-13 A/N: Unbeta'd. I have no idea whether someone had already written a Rumbelle Funny Face, I was too afraid to look.

AO3

Regina leaned her head against the window, reading the sign as they were passing, "Storybrooke," she announced to the others in the car. A second car, carrying her workmen and equipment followed. The cars drifted down Main Street, passing a dozen independently owned shops with names like Granny's and Game of Thorns and Storybrooke Coffee. She wouldn't be finding her triple venti soy no foam latte here. "Quaint," she intoned. "Do these people even know how to read?"  

The car slowed in front of a tan building in the center of town, below an enormous clock tower, with a simple white and beige Storybrooke Free Public Library sign. "Looks dismal enough,” she lamented. “Let's get this over with." Regina, Jefferson, Gold, and the model from the previous disastrous shoot, who hadn’t looked up from her phone the entire drive, exited the first town car; the workmen carrying the cameras, laptops and the lighting equipment piled out the second.  

Regina made a show of stretching her limbs while Gold shook out the creases in his suit. Jefferson turned in a circle, taking in the 360 view. “This. Is. Adorable,” he proclaimed. He marched toward the double doors of the library and opened them with a flourish. An unmanned mahogany circulation desk greeted them. High shelves were filled to bursting with spines of all colors. Even at a distance you could see that most of them were frayed at the edges. The light streaming in the windows highlighted the dust particles in the air. 

Gold strolled past them and into the stacks. It was an old but very well loved collection. He could appreciate that as a collector of old things himself. As a space, there were plenty of windows along the front of the building, but the the deeper you got, the darker it became. "There's not enough light," he called behind him, shoving a book ladder out of his way. A cry rang out from above and Gold found himself with an armful of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Stunned, he looked up to the top of the ladder he had tipped her from. The books she’d been shelving were in disarray. He glanced back down at the woman in his arms, blinking at her stupidly. Her dark auburn curls were pulled back from her face. Her left arm was wrapped around his shoulder and he could feel her thumb brushing the back of his neck. Those eyes, made all the more startling by the blue apron she wore, studied his face. Her rose red lips parted.

"Thank you," she breathed. His arms tightened around her, drawing her face imperceptibly closer to his. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and Gold noted her long lashes fluttering against her soft looking skin, before comprehension finally dawned on him. The surprise of finding her in his arms was only dwarfed by the shock that he was still holding her long after it was appropriate. He released her abruptly, forcing her to clutch at him momentarily in order to keep herself upright. Even through several layers of clothing he felt the loss of her warm body. She righted herself on her heels, “Thank you,” she repeated.

He took a large step back, a hand genticulating in an awkward wave before he realized what the hell he was doing and dropped it at his side, pretending to straighten his cuffs, “It’s no matter,” he insisted cooly. Someone cleared their throat behind them, a deafening sound in the empty stacks. Gold spun around to find Jefferson, flocked by the rest of the crew, watching them. The girl blushed prettily and put a well practiced but sincere smile on her face, "May I help you?"

Regina emerged from the crowd, pausing to look the woman up and down, "We have everything we need,” she dismissed. “We’re just going to take a few pictures."  

The librarian’s brows furrowed, “Pictures?"

Regina turned on her heels, sweeping her arms across the room like a model on a game show, "We’re going to use your little library as the background in a few pictures for Jefferson's lookbook," she announced this like the great honor is was.  

But obviously meant nothing to the young woman, "Lookbook?"  

Regina ignored her question. She’d already banished the book girl from her mind and was now in complete art director mode. “The gown is green and there’s too many red books here. I don’t need it looking like Christmas, this is a spring collection. Get them out of here." The workmen sprang into action, scurrying in seven different directions and yanking anything with a scarlet, wine or berry shade off the shelves and tossing them in piles on the tables or floor.

The echo of volumes hitting the ground woke the librarian out of her momentary stupor, "Hey, hey, hey! Hey, stop! Stop it! No, no don’t do that! You mustn’t mix them up! They’re in Dewey Decimal!” She scrambled after Doc in one direction, “All the books on that shelf are Language.” She was distracted by Walter clearing an entire shelf, “Those are Philosophy and Psychology. Put them back!" She looked pleadingly at Leroy rushing by with a pile of books balanced under his chin, "Please talk to her, it’ll take me hours to put these put back in order."

He shook his head, "Sister, you don't talk to Regina Mills, you only listen."

Gold took the opportunity the chaos provided to melt into the background and observe, where he preferred to be. He collared one of the men and put him to work setting up the lighting equipment while he went about unpacking his camera. He was here to do the job he was being paid to do and nothing else. He couldn’t concern himself with pretty little librarians and their blue eyes and their books.

Said librarian, meanwhile, had given up on the men dismantling her library and was displaying her foolish bravery by marching right up to their leader, “You can’t do this!”

Regina glowered down at her, “Don’t my tax dollars pay your salary?”

Jefferson, sensing an impending blowup, snatched the librarian’s hand, pulling her into the frame, "I think we should use her in the shot."

“What?” both women exclaimed.

"She's dressed like a milkmaid," Regina bemoaned.

Jefferson, not to be deterred, dragged the woman over to where the model stood, still on her phone. He plucked a hardback from one of the heaps on his way, “Here, you’re selling a book to her.”  

Belle stared at him, “I don’t sell books, it’s a library.”

“Sush, now tell our girl here all about the book so we can get out of here,” he jerked his head at Regina.

The librarian reluctantly took the book he shoved at her. The faster she could get this woman and her crew out of her library the better. She peered down at the title. Unbeknownst to him, he’d chosen her favorite. She smiled to herself but then she heard the camera click and, startled, she jumped and looks directly at the man who had caught her. His face was now hidden behind the camera lens.  

“Ignore the camera, sweetie.” It was Regina. “Just act natural.”

The librarian ignored her condescending tone and focused on the book in front of her. She took a deep breath, “This is a tale about compassion and forgiveness and a hero named Gideon.” She forgot about the shutter clicks. “Many people think it’s a cheap romance, but it’s not. There’s this one line I love: ‘But Gideon was unafraid. He drew his sword and turned to face the evil Sorcerer, ready to save the people he loved.’ Isn’t that wonderful?”  

Regina leaned over Gold, “How are they coming out?” she murmured. He was periodically examining the shots popping up on the laptop beside him. He nodded in the affirmative. “Great,” Regina clapped, “get her in the next dress!”

The librarian, tracing her finger over the lettering on the cover of her book, jolted, “Next? I thought you were done!”

“Almost,” Regina insisted, coming forward and placing a hand on her back. “Let’s find you someplace more comfortable to watch from,” she escorted her towards the front of the library. “We won’t be but a moment,” and then abruptly shoved her out the door, shouldering the door shut and locking the deadbolt. The librarian stood there, stunned. They'd locked her out of her own library. She rushed up and down the sidewalk, peeking in the windows but all she could see was the glare of the lighting equipment and camera flashes, so she gave up and slumped against the wall.

Thirty minutes later, the door to her library swung open and Regina swept past her, “Thanks, you’ve been a real help,” she called back to her. A dozen people followed in her wake and they began packing their belongings in the cars. The librarian crossed her arms and glared but everyone ignored her. She shuffled back into the library.  

She was met with a sea of red books. There were piles on the circulation desk, the reading desks, the floor, and stashed randomly on top of shelves. It was going to take her weeks to get all the books back in order. No matter how many times a patron came in and asked her for “that book with the red cover", this would never do. Footsteps reverberated from the back stacks and the photographer emerged with an armful of novels. He held up one of the tomes, "What shelf for Homer?"

"880's. Just hand them to me." The anger she didn’t get to take out on Regina reemerged. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Me?” instead of handing her the book, he crouched down on the floor and began sorting through a mountain, placing them roughly in order.

She slunk into a wooden chair at the table next to him. “A man of your ability, working for them and taking fashion pictures. It's so...superficial. You could be creating art."

It was an argument he was familiar with. “Some would say fashion is art,” he replied. She narrowed her eyes, doubtful. “Be that as it may, the pay is good and I get a trip to Paris every year."

She softened, “I certainly envy you that. I’ve always wanted to see the world. I'd be in Paris now if I could afford it."

He took a moment to imagine her in Paris. "You would love it. There’s parties every night, everyone swimming in champagne, and love affairs around corner.”

She leaned on a stack of books, gazing into the distance, "If I went to Paris, it would be to go to Café de Flore.”                  

"Who goes to Paris for coffee?" he scoffed.

She whirled toward him, “It’s not just a cafe! It one of the oldest coffeehouses in Paris!” she defended. “It hosted Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Picasso! It’s a piece of literary and artistic history!” She was about to launch into another diatribe until she saw the smirk he was trying to hide and realized he was teasing her. “Oh,” she said sheepishly.

He felt bad for embarrassing her, but not for making her cheeks pinken. He gestured to the shelves, “Which is your favorite?”

She brightened, “910. Geography and Travel,” she answered immediately. “And the 840's,” she added hastily. “My friend Ruby says I never stop talking about Jules Verne.”

“Why Verne?”

Belle hesitated. This was the point when most people’s eyes glazed over when she started talking about books. But his eyes remained alert and on her and he seemed genuinely interested. “Travel. Adventure. And I love French literature. It's the last name.” He looked confused. "French. My last name is French." He grinned at that.

He rose from floor and regarded her, "Well, Miss French, I hope you get to Paris one day."

Her heart dropped. She hadn’t realize how much she’d enjoyed talking to him. It was nice to have someone to talk to for a change. She loved Storybrooke, but not many people shared her interests in books and culture and most found her enthusiasm for it strange. They didn’t understand why anyone would ever want to cross the town line. She had naively hoped he’d stay and they could keep talking while she shelved books. She would’ve made them tea. For a fleeting moment she thought about asking for his name. Maybe he’d send her a letter from Paris. They could correspond, like 84, Charing Cross Road . But that was a silly, romantic idea so instead she simply said, “Goodbye,” and watched him walk out the door and out of her life.