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snackhobi · 4 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say.

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

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

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bluemoondust · 3 years

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Okay so I requested that bratty darling with Aizawa and Dabi, but now thinking about it - it made sense those two would be like that. So now I wonder how would Mydoriya and Mirio handle somebody that bad? Because both are sunshines and then they have t h a t by their side.

✧Dealing with Brat!Darling✧ — Midoriya, Mirio

Haha, that. Still, yeah, this sort of darling is a lot to deal with,,, which may be a bit of an understatement.

Warning(s): Brat!Darling, Mentioned Guilt Tripping, Mentioned Force Feeding (actual force feeding on Mirio's part), Deprivation of Food (nothing too bad since this Darling refuses to eat the food given), Mentions of Villain!Midoriya, Patronizing Behavior, Hint of Threat (Mirio only squeezes your jaw but nothing else), Bribing, Restraints, Delusional Behavior, Non Consensual Cuddling, Mentioned Spanking

✧Midoriya Izuku✧

"Darling... You didn't mean that... Did you? Come on, I know you didn't. So please. Apologize."

Saying that to his face? Oh man, he's going to look like a kicked puppy. He's been called plain (even though he's literally a very unique looking character compared to others), useless, crybaby, nerd, weak, etc, so he doesn't react much to insults anymore. However, when it came to you spouting out such words to him, it truly broke his heart. And seeing your behavior is a true test of his patience. Midoriya really tries to push past your insults, but he loves you (as much as some would question it), so those words hurt more than any pain a villain can inflict on him.

Your attitude towards not getting the food you want honestly does peeve him off, but you won't see it. I can see Midoriya being the type of guy to know how to cook meals because his mom taught him and would say 'we have food at home'. But you know, he will still indulge in some fast food, except with you that's only if there is good behavior on your part and you bet he will say that.

Though it definitely really hurts to see that you refuse to eat the food he made. Might tear up a bit to guilt trip you, but of course this sort of darling is mean >:( and won't take pity on poor Izuku. He probably will put the food away though will he get what you want? Nah. You're going to have to starve a bit until you apologize and eat the food he made you. Good thing this isn't Villain!Midoriya or else he would have just force fed you or locked you in a room for a few hours until you relent.

"I'm sorry this—all of this, isn't exactly everything you want but, you need to understand that I am only able to provide for so much... So that's why please, just apologize and eat the dinner I made. I'd hate to see you suffer like this."

Now, with that last comment... Again, it'll really hurt him because Midoriya does not think highly of himself in the first place. It doesn't hurt because of the words, no. It is mostly because you said it to him even though he already knew the type of person you were. Though it does not change the fact his feelings are stomped on. In response, he asks you to apologize, because he believes you're better than this and that you are only saying those words because of what he's done. Midoriya will admit that yes, it was a little creepy that he had notes on you or he stared too much or bumped into you often, but that doesn't mean he had ill intentions! He isn't like those creeps so please believe him!

✧Togata Mirio✧

"Now now sunshine. What have we said about making rude comments?"

Unlike Midoriya, Mirio is not going to hide behind his feelings getting hurt to make you feel sorry for what you said. Oh no. It's much worse than that. He'll make you feel like he's scolding a child every time you act up. Anytime you get pissy for how he's treating you, all you get is him saying something along the lines of how he will only treat you like an adult until you act like one. All with that damn smile of his.

It seems like he's making you feel inferior in a way. Small, and patronized. That's basically what he wants. Mirio can't have you be all foulmouthed and spoiled (well, not in that sense because he'd be happy to spoil you rotten with gifts and cuddles) when the two of you are supposed to be a loving couple! He needs you to be more... Tame to an extent. Besides, you have no right to feel that way because you brought it upon yourself!

Will actually spoon/force feed you after giving you three chances to change your mind. Mirio knows it will be easy to restrain you so he simply ties you to the chair and lets you know that if you actually behaved, things wouldn't have to be like this. But that's fine, he loves you relying on him! If you try to bite him, sure, okay. He can just hold your jaw still and every now and then give a firm squeeze to let you know that you can't move. Mirio won't outright hurt you nor will he have you starve. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he allowed that? Besides, all meals are important.

He goes out of his way to tell you that if you're good, you can have all the burgers and junk food you want, but of course there has to be a balance of healthy meals too. This man will outright bribe you! Oh? You want this candy he bought that is totally coincidentally your favorite? A good kiss and cuddles will do the trick! He literally acts like this is all some sort of lovers quarrel scenario...

What you said about him? Yeah, that's a big no no. "Y/N. I know you surely don't mean that. I will let this slide for now, but you won't be having that fast food anymore, okay?" Oh no, he dropped the nickname... So, Mirio is really delusional and only believes you said that because you're upset or fussy. Maybe some good ol loving will get you back into a good mood! That means unfortunately for you, he will force cuddles on you but of course if you continue to say such things... Spanks. That's all I'll say. This man will spank you as a form of punishment. Says it's fitting to be honest.

#yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #yandere bnha imagines #yandere midoriya izuku #yandere mirio togata #yandere midoriya x reader #yandere mirio x reader

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whiteqnn · 4 years

Text

PURE [3] - Corpse Husband x Fem! Reader

A/N: Over 1 thousand notes. You guys are insane. I can’t see any other explanation.

Thank you so much for all the love and support under the previous parts, all those comments just absolutely made my day! I would never expect this story to receive such a positive feedback, which I’m extremely grateful for!

Anyway, I decided to add some additional plot to this story - mainly, the sudden criticism and hate directed on Y/N after the last Among Us stream. I thought it would make things more interesting.

That being said, I hope you enjoy the third part ^^

part 1

part 2

part 4

part 5

PURE [3]

Y/N stared at her phone screen, reading through the latest tweets of her friends inviting their fans to watch their streams. It was Thursday evening and just as it was planned, everyone was getting ready for another game of Among Us. Just as she would do if it wasn’t for all those comments...

The last stream caused sudden, unexpected amounts of attention on her social media. She probably shouldn’t be that surprised by it, given the fact that by appearing in Sean’s and Felix’s videos she wasn’t all that strange to their fans. But people who watched Rae, Toast, or Corpse’s streams didn’t know her. And apparently, some of them weren’t that happy to see a new face among the group of well-known gamers.

She always tried to avoid the unnecessary spotlight as much as she could, preferring to stay hidden somewhere behind other, much more popular streamers. And it never bothered her. She was never one to enjoy too much attention anyway.

That’s why when she discovered how upset, or even angry, some people were when she played with all those famous streamers, she was quite shocked, to say the least.

Like all those comments under Poki’s tweet, in which she mentioned who’s gonna be playing this time...

“Duh, why’s that Y/N chick supposed to play with them again? There are at least hundreds of other, much more popular streamers I can think of who would be better than her.”

“Who the fuck is she anyway? Why’s she there?”

“lmao, some random girl who got lucky enough to know jacksepticeye. Don’t get why she’s playing with them though.”

“NOT HER AGAIN. I SWEAR TO GOD SHE WAS SO FUCKING ANNOYING LAST TIME”

Sure, she wasn’t as famous as Felix, or Sean, or Rae, or anyone else for that matter. Her audience wasn’t very small, but it was nothing compared to the number of fans other YouTubers had. It was understandable that most people didn’t know who she was, and didn’t understand why she was there in the first place.

She was, in fact, just some random girl who was lucky to have Sean as her friend. But in a group of such great and well-known streamers, she definitely stood out like a sore thumb.

Y/N almost jumped in her seat when her phone beeped with a new message, Sean’s nickname showing up at the top of her screen.

Jackaboy: We’re starting in a few kiddo

Jackaboy: But join the call now so we can both make fun of Felix

After the last game, she was so excited and couldn’t wait for this evening. She looked forward to cooperating with Sykkuno again, to arguing with Toast, to laughing with Sean and Felix, to murdering other people with Corpse... Yet now, all this excitement seemed to vanish just like the mood to play, let alone talk with other people. They would surely see right through her and try to make her spill the beans, which would ruin the stream. And the last thing she wanted was to ruin their game.

Jackaboy: You there Y/N??

She sighed, thinking of some believable excuse that wouldn’t arouse suspicion, but her mind was flooded with all those comments and DMs she received over those past days, which expressed nothing but hatred towards her.

Y/N: I’m really sorry Sean, but I don’t think I will be joining you today... I don’t feel very well.

She waited for Sean’s reply impatiently, expecting him to send her some angry emoji or tell her to move her ass and join the discord call. What she didn’t expect though, was that he would facetime her.

Her first instinct was to throw her phone across the room as if it would make Sean stop calling. He wouldn’t stop unless she’d tell him the truth.

So she cleared her throat and plastered the widest smile on her face, before answering his call.

“Alright, what is going on?” Sean asked right away, staring at her with his brows furrowed. He wasn’t in his recording room, but in his kitchen, which meant that he left his stream to call her. “And please don’t tell me you’re sick cause I won’t believe it anyway. And neither will Pewds.”

“I’m tired, Sean... I was working late again and I really need to rest.” she lied, trying to keep her voice steady and calm. She really didn’t want Sean to interrogate her now, not when his fans were waiting for him. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else though. Please tell the guys that I’m sorry”

“Y/N, c’mon, cut this bullshit. What’s wrong?” he asked softly, moving his phone closer to his face. “You know you’re a terrible liar, just tell me what happened. If you don’t wanna play then neither do I.”

“Sean, please don’t do it” she shook her head with a sigh. “Your fans are waiting for you, I’ll be fine.”

“Well they’re waiting for you too you dummy, I already promised them you’ll be playing with us tonight” he stated matter of factly, rolling his eyes. Y/N remained silent for a moment, and Sean suddenly furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes at her in a suspicious look. “Did someone tell you something rude last time we played? Who and what?”

“What? No, Sean, oh my God. Everyone was super nice, it has nothing to do with the last stream... not with you guys, at least.” she mumbled under her breath, dropping her eyes from Sean’s confused face.

“What do you mean not with you guys? Y/N, what the hell happened?” he demanded, slowly getting more and more worried. She wouldn’t tell him though, too scared that Sean would just laugh it off, even though he also sometimes had problems with dealing with hate. And just as if he was reading her mind, Sean sighed, his face softening in a sad smile. “You’ve read the comments, didn’t you?”

She felt so stupid for being so easily offended by comments of some random people on the Internet, that she just nodded her head meekly, still looking anywhere but at the man.

“Look kiddo... I’m not gonna tell you to get yourself together and just ignore them, cause it won’t help, and I know cause I’ve been there. Hell, I’m still there.” he chuckled to himself and continued “Anyway, you really shouldn’t be worrying yourself about people who don’t even know you. They don’t know you, Y/N, why would some complete stranger’s opinion matter to you?”

“They said I shouldn’t be playing with you guys... that I’m nothing but a burden and you should be playing with someone who’s at least recognizable.”

“Well excuse me Miss, last time I checked I could choose who the fuck I want to play with.” Sean scoffed, clearly irritated by such comments “You’re one of my best friends Y/N and I don’t give a fuck what some haters say. And neither should you.”

“Maybe you should just invite someone else... It would make everyone happy.” she muttered almost inaudibly, but Sean almost barked at her when he heard her words.

“I told you to cut that bullshit, Y/N! Everyone couldn’t wait for this game and now you wanna back out? C’mon, kid. Do you have any idea how heartbroken Sykkuno’s gonna be? When you left so quickly last time, he kept complaining that he has no one to team up with.” she couldn’t help but smile at that, letting out a tiny giggle. “And Corpse? Have you even seen his last tweet?”

“What? No, I- I don’t follow him...” she said, wondering what Sean was talking about. She quickly searched for Corpse on Twitter, still being on facetime with Sean, and her heart almost dropped when she saw the last tweet.

@.Corpse_Husband Really excited for tonight’s Among Us stream, 8PM PST.

Jacksepticeye

Valkyrae

Pewdiepie

Pokimane

Sykkuno

Disguised Toast

Logic

Mr Beast

and, hopefully, my partner in crime - Little Y/N

She stared at the screen with her eyes widened, and her lips corners curling up in a small, bashful smile. It was so nice of Corpse to mention her as well, especially with the nickname that he seemed to like so much since their last game.

“God, if you could see yourself right now. How’s it that my pep talk didn’t do shit, but Corpse’s tweet magically made you smile, ugh.” Sean reminded her of his presence, and she quickly returned to the call, trying to somehow control her burning cheeks.

“It’s not like that, Sean, I really appreciate that you’re trying to cheer me up... I just didn’t expect your friends to like me...” she admitted quietly, and if Sean could, he would probably strangle her at that moment.

“I JUST TOLD YOU THAT SYKKUNO KEPT BUGGING ME ABOUT YOU FOR TWO FUCKING HOURS. YOU THINK HE WOULD TALK ABOUT YOU IF HE DIDN’T LIKE YOU?!”

“I just... what if they’re just being nice, but they don’t actually want me to play with them?”

“I’m done.” Sean groaned, shaking his head furiously. “Alright, here’s what you’re gonna do. You stay away from your phone, join the discord call, say hi to everyone, and we’re all gonna have fun, okay? If not, Pewds is gonna murder you, cause he was already growing impatient even before I called you.”

“I’m still not sure if that’s a good idea, Sean...”

“But I am sure, Y/N! Now come on, we’re playing in five. I’m telling everyone you’re joining as well.”

And before she could even reply, he hung up. Y/N groaned, rushing to her computer to turn it on. Now it would just be plain rude not to join the game, especially after Sean wasted his time talking with her, while he should be talking to his fans. Just as he suggested, she kept her phone far away from her desk, deciding to stay away from Twitter and all those comments for a bit. Maybe it would help her clear her mind and at least try to have some fun.

An invite to the group call was already waiting for her, along with a message from Sean with a code to the game. Y/N put her headphones on before joining the call and quickly typing in the code.

“... so let me repeat myself. I ALWAYS sound guilty, no matter what. Please, guys, don’t vote me out!”

Y/N shook her head with a smile on her lips when the first thing she heard after joining the call was Felix’s pleading voice. Clearly, he was already trying to save his own ass even before the game began.

Y/N could hear Sean’s loud voice as he commented on Felix’s plea with some snarky remark, later also catching the sounds of Rae’s laughter. Everyone was already there, they’ve been clearly waiting for her to join.

“Hey, look who’s finally here! Hi Y/N!” Poki noticed her presence first.

“Hello everyone” Y/N said, as shy and quiet as usual.

“Oh, Y/N! It’s so great to see you again, I was worried you weren’t joining us tonight” Sykkuno said, a pout clear in his voice.

“WELL ABOUT DAMN TIME” Felix all but yelled, making her roll her eyes with a smile. “What did I tell you about being late?!”

“Give her a break Felix, her mic wasn’t working again... Luckily, I was there to save the damsel in distress” Sean said, and even though she couldn’t see him, Y/N was almost certain that he was smirking.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry guys to have kept you waiting so long...” Y/N said, feeling genuinely bad. Maybe Sean was right after all? They could have just invited someone else, and yet they decided to wait for her.

“It’s okay, you’re here now and it’s all that matters” a deep voice sounded out, and whether she liked it or not, Y/N grinned like an idiot with a blush rising up her cheeks.

“Shit, here we go again...” Felix sighed, making everyone else laugh. Y/N bit at her lower lip, feeling her heart thump in her chest as she felt a sudden wave of courage, deciding to speak up despite her initial shyness:

“Well... I couldn’t just leave my partner in crime alone, right?” she asked, and she could swear she heard Corpse stutter as if he completely didn’t expect her to say that.

“Ah yes, after all, killing wouldn’t be the same without her, right Corpse?” Toast teased, repeating Corpse’s words from the last stream. Everyone in the call laughed, Y/N included. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling, even though just mere minutes ago she was on the verge of crying. “It’s good to have you here, Y/N/N. Maybe I’ll actually get a chance to finally kill you this time.”

“Jesus Christ, Toast. You sound like a psychopath. Hey, I’m happy you’re here, lemme stab you in the back, please?” someone whose nickname was MrBeast spoke up with a chuckle, before directing his next words to Y/N “I believe we haven’t played together before, I’m Mr Beast, it’s really nice to meet you Y/N”

“Yeah, pleased to meet you!” another player, Logic, spoke up “I also didn’t have a chance to play with you yet, but I’ve seen Sean’s last stream... Let me just say, that Toast murder was absolutely perfect!”

“Wow. And here I almost managed to block it out. I’m fucking traumatized Y/N, you should be ashamed of yourself” Toast scoffed over Felix’s laughter.

“You should be proud of yourself!” Sean interfered “Just so you know lads, Y/N may seem like a little angel, but she’s a little demon. You’ve been warned.”

“Yeah, she’ll charm you with her voice only to snap your neck next second.” Felix scoffed.

“Just like she did with Corpse!”

“Charm?!” Y/N gasped, her cheeks burning.

“I don’t recall Y/N killing me...” Corpse said in his low voice.

“I love how that’s the only thing he denied” Poki pointed out in a teasing voice, which only made Y/N sink further into her chair.

“Can we please start the game now?” she asked in a pleading voice, hoping that everyone would stop making fun of Corpse and her. She could only imagine how uncomfortable he felt, for some reason being the target of their jokes... They must’ve made him feel awkward, right?

“Jack, did you tell Y/N how we’re playing tonight?” Sykkuno asked, and she sighed in relief that they dropped the jokes.

“Oh, right! So there’s this mod called proximity chat, where we’re able to hear each other as we pass by another person, and it seems quite fun so that’s what we decided to try out tonight.” Sean explained to Y/N, and before she could ask another question, he added “I’ve just sent you the link, it’ll take a minute to install it.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you Sean” Y/N said, before downloading the mod and quickly installing it. When everything was set and ready, she pulled up Among Us again and typed in the code, and the game finally began.

“Woah”

“Holy shit!”

“Guys this is so cool!” Sykkuno exclaimed, his voice so happy and excited that Y/N couldn’t help but giggle.

“Okay, I’m scared now. I feel like encounters with Imposter are just gonna be perfectly cut screams” Felix chuckled, as they left the dropship and moved down the map. That’s when Y/N gasped in surprise, upon seeing the locations completely different than those she was used to.

“Wait- is that a different map?” she asked through her mic, hearing Toast’s distanced, devilish laugh. There was only Rae and Sykkuno beside her, as everyone else have already split up to do their tasks.

“Oh yeah, that’s Polus, it’s much more fun than the one we were playing in last time.” Rae explained happily and Y/N groaned. She didn’t know that map.

“Great. I don’t even know how am I supposed to do tasks in here...”

“Oh, it’s not that hard. They’re in most cases similar to those you already know, they only look a little bit different.” Sykkuno said in his kind voice, before asking “Do you want to team up again, Y/N?”

“I thought you would never ask Sykkuno” Rae chuckled under her breath.

“Yeah, that would be great! I need someone to show me around” she smiled. The trio finally moved from their spot beside the dropship and went to the left where, as Y/N later realized, was electrical. She quickly did her task in there, being under the watchful eyes of both Sykkuno and Rae.

Before the latter could do his own task, the first body was reported.

“The body is in the lab” Felix said, and Y/N couldn’t help but smirk as she saw that it was Toast who was murdered first. One less person to accuse her or try to frame her, if he was the Imposter.

“I just ran towards the lab from the left side, I only saw Poki on my way there” Corpse said right away, and the accused girl was quick to try and defend herself:

“Okay, I wasn’t in the lab, I was doing that engines task which is next to the lab.”

“Did you see someone else there?” Jack questioned.

“Nope, just me and the engines.”

“Okay. Sykkuno, where are you?” the lime astronaut was next on Jack’s list of suspects, which made Sykkuno groan.

“Why do you sound so suspicious right away?” he asked in disbelief, causing the rest to giggle “I was with Y/N and Rae all this time, we were all doing our tasks in electrical.”

“Is that true Y/N?”

“Yes Sean, that is true” she rolled her eyes with a laugh “I don’t even know this map, I have to stick with someone so I don’t end up like Toast.”

“Alright, what about rest? Logic? I think I saw you in admin but then you disappeared somewhere.” Felix said.

“Yeah I’m with Mr Beast in the office”

“That’s right” Mr Beast confirmed, which didn’t bring anything new to the investigation, so everyone decided to skip.

“Wo- Okay where are we now?” Y/N asked in surprise, when the new round began in some completely new place Sykkuno didn’t manage to show her yet. She could hear as Corpse laughed at her shocked voice, which made her smile widely.

“Yeah, I’m also not used to this new map yet” he admitted, his black astronaut walking up to her white one “Hey, wanna see something cool?”

“Sure!”

*Meanwhile Sykkuno*

“Okay this is bad guys, we lost Y/N” Sykkuno said to his mic, running around the map to find the girl he was earlier teamed up with. “I thought she followed us when the new round began, but she must’ve gone the other way... What if she’s dead already? Not good, not good...”

"Woah! This looks amazing! Is there some task here as well?”

“Yes, there’s temperature recording right here” Corpse said, standing by the lava pit, watching as Y/N’s character ran back and forth over the pool of lava.

“I wonder if you could jump into it. What do you think, Corpse?” she asked curiously, standing close to the edge.

“Not that I’m aware of it...” he mumbled coming closer to the edge as well “Why would you jump into it?” he asked with a half-smile on his face.

“So Felix can’t stab me in the back.” she whispered, even though there was no one around them.

“You think it’s him?” Corpse mirrored her voice, and she hummed in response “Why?”

“He’s constantly suspicious of everyone, last time we played he also kept interrogating us all, without even telling his own location.” she stated as if it was very obvious. Corpse couldn’t help but let out a laugh “What? Why are you laughing at me?”

“Not at you, Y/N. I’m just impressed by your investigation skills” he admitted “In that case, we better both jump in. Felix likes to frame other people.”

“You wanna jump into the lava with me?”

“Sure I do.”

“There you are!” Sykkuno’s lime astronaut came out of nowhere, followed by Mr Beast. Two of them walked up to Y/N and Corpse, and before the latter could even say anything, Mr Beast snapped Y/N’s neck.

“WAIT, NO-”

“OH GOD, OH GOD” Sykkuno yelled in panic.

“KILL HIM CORPSE” Mr Beast screamed, frantically running around.

“What the heck?” Y/N stared at her screen in shock, her dead body laying over the lava pit. Mr Beast had already fled to the left, leaving her, Sykkuno and Corpse standing between two of them. None of them said anything for a moment before the black astronaut finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N” he kept repeating, regret clear in his voice. “And Sykkuno, I- I can’t even express how-”

He was cut off by Felix’s scream, who reported the bodies before Corpse could kill him as well.

“IT’S CORPSE ALRIGHT” Felix yelled right away “HE’S STANDING OVER Y/N AND SYKKUNO, HE HAS THEIR BLOOD ON HIS HANDS”

“That is- I did not kill them” Corpse replied, calm as ever, as opposed to his frantic apologies.

“Then why were you standing there?! Without reporting the bodies?!”

“I was... mourning their death.” he replied, which caused the whole group to burst out laughing. “Seriously guys, you think I would murder Sykkuno? And Y/N? I would never even think of hurting them.”

“The simp is strong, we get it, but it doesn’t really save your situation” Rae laughed.

“Let’s kick him out guys, he can’t even defend himself�� Sean chuckled, and everyone else didn’t need to be told twice. Soon enough, Y/N watched as Corpse’s black astronaut was thrown into the lava pit... Oh, the irony...

The game continued with her wandering around the map, doing the rest of her tasks to at least support somehow her fellow crewmates. She stumbled upon Corpse’s ghost at some point and laughed wholeheartedly when he started circling her little character in something she read as an attempt to apologize.

A little while later another body was reported, this time it was Felix who lost his life. Y/N didn’t really focus on the conversation this time, glancing at her phone instead. There was this urge to reach for it and check how people reacted to her joining the game, but she kept repeating Sean’s words in her head. There was no point in worrying about the opinion of somebody who doesn’t even know her... or at least that’s what she tried to convince herself to think.

Her attention was brought back to the game when she heard the sound of a new message from someone who was also dead. She clicked on the chat, seeing that it was one of the Impostors.

Corpse: :(

Corpse: I’m sorry

Y/N thought it was sweet of him to apologize for it, even though it was his main goal to murder everyone after all. She believed he was genuinely sorry for it, just like she was each time she was an Impostor and had to kill somebody.

Sykkuno: Welcome to the afterlife, Corpse!

She laughed at Sykkuno’s constant happiness, which was evident even in his messages, before typing one as well:

Y/N: We’re all corpse here

Sykkuno: Oh, so it means we’re all really cool then ^^

Y/N: Fair point

Corpse: See Y/N

Corpse: I told you I would jump into the lava for you

Y/N: You didn’t exactly jump...

Corpse: :(

Y/N: But let’s say it counts as well :)

Corpse: :)

Before they knew, the voting ended. Mr Beast was thrown into the lava, which ultimately lead to the victory of crewmates. Y/N cheered happily, when the blue sign appeared on her screen, right above everyone else who was innocent.

“Yaaay, the first time I wasn’t killed in the first game!” Sean announced enthusiastically, his astronaut running around the dropship.

“Yeah, and the first time it went so fast...”

“Right? Corpse, I’m disappointed in you. What happened to the King of Impostors?” Rae asked.

“Well.. no matter how good you are, you can’t always win, right?” Corpse replied calmly.

“Hmm, you seemed kinda absent-minded during the game, though...” Poki suggested with a smirk hiding in her voice, and Rae was very quick to pick on it.

“Oh, you’ve noticed that too? Almost as if he was distracted by something”

“I don’t know what are you talking about” he chuckled nervously, and Y/N just sat in her chair confused about what was going on. “Anyway, who’s up for another round?”

“Yeah, I have an idea” Sean said, effectively shutting everyone up “What if we play something along the lines of hide and seek? Let’s have one impostor, and everyone else needs to get their tasks done before he finds them.”

“That is...” Felix took in a dramatic breath “THE BEST THING I’VE EVER HEARD ABOUT”

“Yeah, I think it will be fun” Sykkuno replied.

“It sounds really cool, but let’s maybe tell who’s the impostor? I think it would be more fair” Rae suggested.

“I think it’s a good idea” Sean concluded, before changing the settings for one impostor only. Y/N waited patiently for the game to begin, and when she saw that she was a crewmate again, she sighed in relief. Only to gasp in a panic a second later...

“It’s me.”

Everyone stumbled out of the dropship as Corpse admitted that he’s the impostor. It seemed that knowing exactly who can murder everyone made the whole game a little bit terrifying...

“I don’t know where the heck I’m going” Y/N mumbled to herself with a nervous laugh when instead of doing her tasks, she searched for the perfect place to hide. When she entered security, she spotted Mr Beast fixing the wires, so she decided to join him.

“OH SHIT- god damn it, you scared me to death!” he all but yelled when she appeared next to him, doing her tasks.

“Sorry” she giggled, quickly finishing the wires, before speeding out of the room. On her way to weapons, she stumbled across Felix’s dead body, and could hear some screaming in the background... but didn’t recognize who was murdered next.

Y/N managed to do most of her tasks without meeting Corpse, whom she hoped not to see probably for the first time since they played together. She was just leaving decontamination when she heard Sean’s panicked laughter:

“...tee, bitches love me?”

“Wrong.” Corpse’s voice almost made her squeak in surprise, only to really scream when he suddenly snapped Sean’s neck.

“Retreat, retreat!” Y/N laughed as she sped past oblivious Rae and Logic, Corpse hot on her tail. She quickly returned to the decontamination room, hoping to flee from her inevitable death, when Corpse’s black astronaut walked in, and the door closed.

“Please don’t kill me” she chuckled, even though there was no hope for her.

“Finish my lyrics, and I’ll let you live...” he began, and Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion “ I spilt wine...”

“Wait- what lyrics? You sing?” she asked, completely dumbfounded. Corpse was silent for a moment as if he didn’t understand her, before bursting out laughing “What’s so funny again? Corpse, come on!”

“Yes, Y/N, I do sing, I was actually hoping you’ve heard some of my songs...” he admitted, still chuckling to himself. She felt a blush rising up her cheeks.

“Oh- I- I didn’t, I-... but I will, okay? I’ll do it right away!” she promised, quickly jumping up to grab her phone and listen to Corpse’s song. She was genuinely shocked, she would never expect him to sing!

She unlocked her phone with a wide, somehow nervous smile on her face, which, however, dropped the moment she saw her notifications. Hundreds of notifications.

“You there, Y/N?” Corpse’s voice reached her after a moment, when she still didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her screen. “I hope my music isn’t so bad that you passed out from listening to it...”

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, her phone gripped tightly in her shaking hands.

“Um, Y/N?” his voice became more worried now “Is everything okay?”

Y/N cleared her throat and quickly wiped her eyes, closing them for a moment to steady her breathing.

“Yeah, all good Corpse” she forced herself to smile, so her voice wouldn’t sound weird. “Look, um, I need to leave, can you tell the others bye from me?”

“Is something wrong?” Corpse asked confused.

“No, of course not!” she laughed through her tears “Something just came up and I really need to leave.”

“You sure you’re-”

“Bye Corpse. It was nice playing with you.”

A/N: I hope you guys are not too disappointed in me... It didn’t turn out as I initially thought it would. Isn’t it too dramatic? And is this hate plot fine? Or is it not? What do guys you think?

TAG LIST IS CLOSED!

@slytherin-chan @pillowjj @afuckingunicornn @love-and-virtues @ignooynim @crapimahuman @hannahjsworld @laugh-like-the-moon @fallengoddess772 @kingric03 @dolphinpink310 @paigeyisme @bunnychano3o @dxrtygxrl28 @z-nyx @baby-iyania @trashygeek

#corpse husband #corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #fanfiction #youtubers #corpse husband imagine #writing #imagine

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honey-milk-depresso · 3 years

Text

Obey Me Opposites Attract (2)

HAHAHA- HAVING THIS SHIT STUCK FOR ALMOST 4 MONTHS- (3 months+)

I’M FINALLY DONE WITH THIS SHIT-

Part 1 is here (Luci, Mammon, Levi and Satan)!

Hope you enjoy! ^^

==============================================================

Asmodeus:

While Asmo is a natural flirt, charming, shameless for causing troubles to others, HIGHLY narcissistic, secretly insecure and very dirty minded,

then you’re someone who has a romance as cold as ice, not repelling but nothing attractive, modest, actually quite proud of yourself (not too much), and a mind as pure as the heavens.

Asmo didn’t really thought much about you at first. All he wanted to do was woo you like what he did with every other human. But you proven yourself to be a tough nut to crack.

Every flirt he threw at you only gotten a raise of an eyebrow, eyes looking at him with pure confusion.

And if he tried to crack a dirty minded flirt with you, would only result you in taking his hint literally and telling him that’s not humanly possible.

Man oh man-

Each attempt of flirting with you made him more and more frustrated, and Satan asked him, “Why do you bother?”

And Asmo wonders why too. Why does HE, the most beautiful demon in all of Devildom, wants to get your attention from someone as... well... plain and boring as you? (I’m so sorry- blame Asmo-)

But he can’t help it. Eventually one day you looked at him with a straight face.

“I... I’m not sure if you want to start a conversation with me, which I really appreciate it but... I don’t really understand the topics you bring up..”

And that’s where Asmo realised. For so long, so long of throwing flirts and receiving confusion, neither of you knew anything about each other.

And... now you’re thrown into the threshold of him now glomping you with so much beauty products and makeup to try on, clothes, fashion, and you talk about your favourite things, hobbies and interests with him.

Eventually, you guys had such a close relationship.

“You look so pretty in that dress, s/o!”

“Hehe! Thanks, Asmo! But that’s because you have such good taste after all!”

Oh, stop! You’re too modest! But in all honesty, Asmo has gotten over of grasping for attention. Because of you, and what he learnt from you, he’s more focused on spending time with you and family than anything else, and he actually received far more attention because of it.

Now it’s his time to be modest! It’s because of you!! <3

Beelzebub:

Beel is a really hungry, active, an emotionally mature man who treasures family, naive and childlike.

You are someone who’s, well, not usually hungry, quite lazy or not as active, more practical than emotional, crafty, intelligent and jaded.

When Beel first met you, he thought you would get along with Lucifer the most.

You were no-nonsense and no funny business, very smart and acted like a mature adult. You were definitely the type Lucifer would appreciate and get along. That’s only until he realised you can’t stand Lucifer at times, in fact, you’d rather not go all friendly with him.

Beel finds himself with you in Hell’s Kitchen, introducing you to the many delicious food out there that can be considered light for you (he had to REALLY search up, ask everyone else including Satan and Lucifer what light food is since he knows humans can’t really eat his diet size, and you don’t even eat a lot as well-), as you only nod, trying the food he recommended.

Beel thought of you as someone cold, and maybe a little intimidating because of the mature frame you presented yourself with. He thought you must be some high ranking official of Diavolo.

But Beel could see something quite off. You were... struggling. In something. He notices that every time you talk to someone like Mammon or Levi, you sharply remark them in a harsh tone and way, and then when they leave dejectedly, your frown. Frown... to yourself it seems?

He straight up went up to you with a poker face while munching on his burger. “Why do you look upset after you speak to someone?”

You were a little shocked by his sudden comment, but you looked at him with a frown, eyes a little softer however, “I never mean to be.... harsh..”

Beel blinked. From that point onwards, Beel was truly the only person who gets pass your blunt comments. You don’t mean it, and he assures you he’s alright. By talking to him a lot, getting over your rudeness and getting over his own guilt and be happy with where he is today... you and him feel a lot better. And you two are so truly inseparable.

He flashes you a clumsy, lighted with pure joy grin, crumbs sticking from the corners of his mouth like a goof, as you scoffed, but wore a small, genuine smile. <3

Belphegor:

The clever trickster and liar, grudge holding, proactive, efficient, sensible and mellow, rebellious and introverted Avatar of Sloth,

with a truthful and honest, forgiving, passive, I won’t say foolish but you’re more emotionally intelligent, quite harsh and blunt (perhaps unintentionally-), obedient and extroverted human.

How did this even combust well?

Belphie never understood this either. How in Hell did he manage to even befriend a human, much less someone of the complete opposite of him?

While he’s okay with you as acquaintance in the beginning, he was quite irritated by how bubbly and talkative you were. He’ll interrupt you by mumbling curses, lightly throwing a pillow to ask you to back off. He thinks you were quite naive to let him out of that cell, and you’re talkative nature, stereotypically to him, reflects that.

Belphie also thinks you’re really soft. You accepted that you’ll die because of him, and listen to what Lucifer says always. Such a doll, he thought.

Belphie dragged his way down the stairs, yawning as he lazily blinked. He sees you down at the living room... eating and having some crazy fun with a video game on silent..? Yo- Lucifer isn’t even up at this hour- How tf are you awake? How tf is HE awake??

Well, Belphie doesn’t really care by this point, but he walks up to you with a glass of milk he poured for himself. “What the fck are you doing..?” “Playing Levitating Adventures from Levi. Wanna play?”

He blinked. That... used to be him, Levi and Beel. They rarely do that nowadays. He shrugs, plopping himself on the couch as he took a control, playing with you. Eventually, it just became yourself playing as he quietly cheer for you, well, in a Belphie way-

Belphie quietly listened to you ramble about your day, Beel, what Barbatos made, what troubles Mammon caused, Luke baked a cake with Solomon and so on, like what he does with you one every other day after this event.

He looks down, and suddenly hits you with the question. “Are you... mad at me for... you know... killing you..?” You blinked at him. “Well, I’m alive now, and your intentions had meaning I can’t wrong you for. I mean, having someone die because of a species... I don’t blame you.” He grabbed your shoulders in fast motion, looking at you with eyes filled with shock and disbelief.

“BUT WHY?! I- I-” he lost his ability to speak. You placed a hand on his arm, and gently guided them back to his side. “You... looked so sad that... I couldn’t do anything...” He stares at you with an unreadable expression.

“Belph-” he suddenly hugged you, stuffing his face in the crook of your neck. “Belphie..?”

“Don’t say a word,” he whispers, “just... I...”

You smiled softly, wrapping your arms around him as well. “Sorry is hard to say, but know that I’ll always forgive you.” <3

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kattsukki · 3 years

Text

The Flowers in Her Hair

Kei Tsukishima x fem!Reader

Contains: Some cursing, implied that reader has hair long enough to put flowers in

Sypnosis: You were always such a peculiar person, far more different compared to other girls. But maybe he liked that. Maybe that's what made him fall for you.

Kat: I'm a real sucker for girly type reader and I made the colour of the flowers unspecified so you can imagine it as your fav colour

There she goes. With little flowers decorating her hair, a long dress trailing behind her with the length being just inches above the ground. According to Kei, you've always looked like that whenever he saw you outside of school. There were many words that could describe how you looked but one that fit most was ethereal.

Absolutely ethereal.

He avoided talking to you, but not for the reason you'd think. It's not like he was ashamed of being seen with you, no. He just figured it would be embarrassing on his part to be caught with a huge blush on his face.

He was just so whipped for you.

Like any other saturday for him, he visits the library. Apparently something you two have in common. As well as having small interactions with one another, like greeting each other sometimes, but not really saying another word more.

You thought he just didn't like talking to people that much, but no, he really just couldn't utter another word, not trusting his mouth with what might spew out as a rude comment that could offend you.

But today he worked up some courage to actually interact with you more for once.

You feel a weight dip beside you on the comfortable couch you're sitting on, it was Kei–no–Tsukishima, you corrected yourself, it's not like you're close. But maybe he wanted you to call him that. By his first name. But of course you didn't know that.

You think nothing of it, returning your gaze back to the book you found interesting resting on your lap. Maybe that chair he was on was hurting his back or something.

Minutes pass by as you two peacefully read until the sound of his voice interrupts, "How come you always have those flowers in your hair?" He said as he tried to maintain a soft tone as to not startle you.

"I just like it, I think it makes my hair look nice. But it's a pain having to keep picking flowers from the garden back home," You replied with a short laugh.

It was just a short conversation at the library. Not to mention it only happened once. So why in the hell is he buying little flowers with colours he thought suited you best. He must've lost his mind.

Hearing the doorbell ring, you answer the door. Thank god it wasn't someone else, he was definitely not ready to face another person who could've answered other than you.

"Tsukishima? Did you need something?" You ask with a hint of curiosity, and who'd really blame you? He had a reputation among classes for being an absolute asshole, and an intelligent one too for that matter. So why is he at your door right now?

"Uh- here–" slightly shoving the plastic bag of those exact little flowers he was looking at earlier into your arms. "I just thought these look better on you than the ones you wear all the time, I'll see you at school." Quickly turning his back away to start walking before you yelled– "Wait! You just came here to give me these?" Now you were just plain confused, surely there has to be an explanation as to why right?

"Yeah, thought the colour would look nice on you." He replied, getting a little antsy and not to mention quite nervous.

"They're artificial...?"

"So it won't die out like real ones do, and you can wear it all the time." He anxiously tugs at the collar of his shirt as if felt like it was tightening.

You grow suspicious. Why would he care about those flowers in your hair? Or even you in general?In fact, why is he being so sweet to you? He's not even this nice to his own best friend!

...Could he like you? No no– it couldn't be.

...Right?

"Tsukishima... why are you acting so nice? We're not even that acquainted with each other," you were just so lost on his change of personality towards you that you drop the act.

"Well, I find you more tolerable than most people, ergo it wouldn't be so bad if we talked more often."

"I see, thank you for the gift, I love it. See you at school," waving him off and going back into your home, feeling like you'd melt into a puddle from staying any longer.

So much has changed over the years, reminiscing over what was now just silly high school memories. Laughing about how obvious he was being and you not even having a clue about it.

"Sweets, are you done yet? We're gonna be late you know," he relaxes against the frame of the door, crossing his arms.

"Almost done, just a second more," taking the last flower piece and putting it in your hair, you stand up to join him.

"Those are getting kinda old, are you sure you don't need new ones?"

"No! You know these are too special to give up." Sliding your hand into his as you place a short kiss to his cheek.

You've always loved and cherished many things, but not as much as your beloved husband and that sweet little gesture he did that made you fall for him all those years ago.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x you #tsukishima kei #tsukishima #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fanfiction #tsukki #tsukki fluff

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suchalonelysunflower · 4 years

Text

Tell Me What You’re Thinking (c.h)

Pairing: Calum Hood x Fem! Reader

Summary: You overhear something you shouldn’t hear. But Calum will make it right, won’t he?

Warnings: ANGST. Language (including insults), mentions of alcohol, drugs and cheating. MC with low self esteem. Some grammar mistakes (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Word count: 4 k

Author’s Note: hi I’m back with the angsty shit. This is very self indulgent, and I put Mitchy as a bad guy here, so sorry if you like him? Reblogs, Commets, Feedback and likes are very welcomed and encouraged! I love to hear from you guys ❤️ hope you like it and Happy Reading ✨🦋🌻

My materialist // wanna be part of my tag list?

You sighed as you finished your last paper. It was finals week and you were officially done with your exams and term papers for the semester. The last couple of weeks were rough and no one knew that more than you and your boyfriend Calum who has been by your side through this whole stressing process.

You smiled to yourself as you remembered the encouraging words that Calum often said to you. He knew how hard you worked in school and at your part time job in a law firm, and you appreciated how much he cared for you in times of stress and frustrations. Always cheering you up from the bleechers as you made a name for yourself.

Calum promised that once you were done with school for the semester, he was going to take you out on a well deserved Holiday, just the two of you and Duke as you celebrated another six months worth of work done. Everything was already planned for the next weekend and you couldn’t wait.

You reread your final essay one more time and decided that it was enough for today and if there were any mistakes left, then you’ll deal with them tomorrow. Now the only thing in your mind was a cozy blanket and a feel good movie. But first, you needed to get some food and drinks for your mini celebratory self care session.

The thought of asking Calum to come join you crossed your mind, but you quickly remembered that tonight was boys night. Every couple of weeks Calum and his friends have a little night out to catch up and decompress all of the stress of the week. Tonight was Calum’s turn to host boys night as they decided to have a quiet night in, so they must be having a good time downstairs and you didn’t want to ruin the mood.

With that thought in mind, you carefully placed your laptop on Calum’s side of the bed and carefully untangled your legs from under the covers so you wouldn't wake up Duke, who snuggled with you every time you had to work to keep you company. You put on one of Calum’s hoodies and headed downstairs trying your best to not make any sound.

Before you even reached the last step of the stairs, you could already hear your boyfriend’s laugh and it made your heart flutter. Even after almost three years of being together, his laugh still gives you butterflies every time you hear it, falling even more in love than what is possible.

Once you were in the kitchen, you started looking into the cupboards as you searched for your favorite snacks, but in the end you were unable to find any, thinking that maybe Calum has hidden them somewhere on the top shelves where he knows you can’t reach.

Letting out a small huff, you debated with yourself the option of climbing up the counter or admitting defeat and go ask your boyfriend for some help. Luckily, you didn’t have to decide as you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite scholar” Said Ashton with a light chuckle “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be out tonight since it’s boys night”

You smiled as you let him wrap his arms around you to give you a hug. Ashton was the first friend you made when you moved to LA a couple of years back, he was the one who introduced you to Calum in the first place, and you were very thankful for having him as a best friend.

“I had to finish up some term papers, so I had to reschedule my girl’s night for tomorrow” You explained to the black haired man “And what are you doing here? Need a refill?” You ask, pointing to the empty glass he was holding.

Ashton nodded, “Yeah, but I also needed a time out. Mitchy is kinda being very obnoxious today” He said with a sigh.

Mitchy Collins was a close friend with the boys for many years now, but you can’t say that he is a friend of yours. It’s not like you haven’t tried to befriend the singer, on the contrary, you both had multiple chances to get to know each other but he either ignored you or made things very awkward between you. And, to be honest, you were not that excited to become his friend either. There was something weird about him, a bad vibe per se, that made you not trust him at all. He was always very loud, obnoxious and downright rude sometimes and it made you very uncomfortable. Both Calum and Ashton knew about your uneasiness with Mitchy, so they didn’t push it too far and you were thankful for that.

“Oh?” You asked, trying to mask your discomfort “What is he saying this time?”

“Just a bunch of bullshit, to be honest. He is very high right now and thinks he’s above everyone else” Ashton said, taking a seat on one of the kitchen island stools. You did the same as you offered him a glass of water.

“Are you high right now?” You chuckled.

“Nope. Calum and I decided to stay clean tonight cause tomorrow we start early in the studio and the weed kinda messes up our pipes” He explains.

“What about Luke and Mikey?”

“They are not here yet, they said they needed to finish up something for a song and then they will meet us here” Ashton shrugged, not giving it too much importance “And what about you, darling? How was your day?”

You began to tell Ashton about how you finally finished the semester and how excited you were for your little getaway with Calum next week. However, every couple of minutes you were interrupted by a loud laugh or an obnoxious comment coming from the living room where the rest of the boys were sitting. Sometimes their loud comments started loud conversations that neither of you could help but overhear, but you did your best to ignore them. But some things are easier said than done.

“I’m telling you man! You can do so much better” You heard Mitchy’s voice echoing through the house, followed by a chuckle from Calum who mumbled something among the lines of “Fuck off”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you stopped the conversation you had with Ashton in order to pay attention to what was being said down the hall. You looked at Ash with a confused face, wondering what they could be saying but at the same time not knowing if you should continue listening to their private affairs. You were about to open up your mouth to continue what you were saying until another comment made by Mitchy caught your attention.

“You have to admit she is the worst sometimes. All she does is boss you around like you are some kind of puppet. She is the definition of annoying”

You sat up straight as you looked at Ashton, who mirrored your puzzled expression.

“Is- is he talking about me?” You asked in a whisper.

Ashton shook his head “I don’t thi-”

“I swear! What does she even do besides work and study all the time? She barely has time for you. You said it yourself! And when she’s not doing any of those things? She’s nagging around and clinging to you like you’re a damn purse! That’s who Y/N is”

You froze in the spot. So they were talking about you… and did Calum really say you don’t have time for him? You don’t even get time to yourself and he knows that! He said he was okay with it, that he understood and supported you through and through… Guess not.

“I still don’t know what you saw in her, dude. She’s just plain boring, playing to be a good girl when in reality she has zero personality” He continued his rant “She does nothing for you! Honestly! I’m surprised you made it this far with that bitch”

You knew that wasn’t true. He never really made an effort to get to know you! how could he be saying all those stuff? You did everything for Calum, all your goals, your plans are for the both of you. How could he know that if he never really talked to you? But you had to admit that that first comment really hurt. You were always doubting yourself at the beginning of your relationship with Calum, always feeling like you weren’t good enough, or pretty enough, or smart or fun or hot… To fight off those kinds of feelings was a difficult job to say the least, but Calum was always there to fight them with you, reassuring you that he loved you. He loved every part of you and he will love you forever.

“Is she at least a decent fuck? Cause I don’t see her doing anything remotely interesting in bed” Mitchy laughed “If she’s not she’s just wasting your time”

You noticed how Ashton suddenly stiffened next to you when he heard Mitchy’s comments. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his fists at the side of his body “Okay, that’s enough” But you were quicker, grabbing onto his shirt as a sign to make him stay there with you and not cause a scene.

His eyes found yours and you could see the anger build up on them, you knew that he would defend you no matter what and you loved him for that. But you knew Calum would defend you over there, he wouldn't let him talk about you that way.

“Ash, please” You pleaded, tugging on his shirt for him to take a seat again. But he preferred to stay standing next to you, almost like guarding and shielding you from any other comment that might hurt your feelings.

“I can’t let him talk about you like that!” He hissed. But you just shook your head.

“I know, Ash. I know. But Cal will handle it” You said confidently, trying to keep yourself together.

You knew Calum would not let those comments slide. Even if you weren’t in the room with him, those comments were awful and very hurtful, no one deserves to be treated like that, especially by someone as close as a friend of his.

You waited for his intervention, but your heart crushed when the only thing you heard from him were laughs.

“She’s a good fuck” That’s all he said.

The grip you had on Ashton’s shirt suddenly flattered as you fought the lump in your throat “Y-you said he wasn’t high” You whispered to Ashton, who was just as frozen as you were after hearing his best mate’s comment.

“He’s not” He said, standing tall next to you. As much as he wanted to go in there and give the guys an earful, he knew you needed him here with you.

Out of all the things Mitchy has said, out of all the insults and belitments, that’s what he says? That you’re a good fuck?

You knew that you could be annoying sometimes when you got happy. You just wanted to share that happiness with everyone around you and you thought… you thought that Calum liked that. You were not a bad girlfriend, you always tried your best to make him as happy as he makes you; to love him as much as he loves you, cause he loves you. Doesn’t he?

If he loves you then why is he letting his friend say all of this stuff about you? Why is he not saying anything? Does- does he agree with him?

The tears started rolling silently, half of you not believing what you were hearing while the other half clang to the idea of Calum defending you at some point.

“Oh I know!” Said Mitchy after a while “I can introduce you to someone! Right now, actually. Her name’s Vanessa and she’s crazy hot, dude”

He can’t be serious.

Ashton looked at you with pleading, furious eyes. Almost begging you to go and let him deal with them. But you grabbed his hand and made him stay. This has to be it. This has to be the chance for Calum to say something.

“You’re kidding right?” The curly haired man asked. Making you let out a breath of relief.

“Not at all! Think about it. We go, you meet her, you fuck her and done!” He said like it was nothing “Y/N will never find out cause she’s stuck up her ass. Your fans will never know or they won’t care cause they don’t even know you are in a ”relationship” to begin with! You are single to their eyes. And you get a decent fuck from someone who looks the part and knows how to have fun! It’s a win - win!”

Your heart stopped as you waited for Calum to answer. To tell Mitchy to go fuck himself. To tell him that he loves you and would never do that to you.

“I don’t know, man. I’ll think about it” Calum shrugged “Plus, if we go out I’ll have to tell Y/N. She’s upstairs finishing some shit for her university”

“Fucking hell… see! I told you! A stuck up bitch” Mitchy said, making Calum laugh.

But their laughs and the rest of the conversation grew numb to your ears. Your body trembled as the tears came flooding in, holding in the sobs that were tearing up your throat. How could he? He was really thinking of cheating on you.

You could feel every little piece of your heart shattered as you search for some kind of leverage that could hold you still so you don’t fall and break. You felt ill, disgusted and heartbroken.

As you tried to get up, you felt your knees buckle and almost fell to the ground if it weren’t for Ashton holding you up. He was still there and you knew by the look in his eyes that he was not going anywhere.

He was just as disgusted and angry as you. He couldn’t believe all the things that were said tonight, all the things that Calum failed to make it right and hurt you in the process. He knew that if he were in that room that the conversation would’ve died the moment it started. He would never let them talk about you that way.

“I-I can’t-“ You cried, moments away from hyperventilating “I can’t stay here, Ash”

He nodded, pulling you into a hug and kissing the top of your head for reassurance “Go upstairs, love. Grab your stuff and we’re getting out of here. You’re staying with me tonight, okay?” Ashton let go of you and started walking towards the living room where the rest of the guys were still talking.

“Ash” You called, making him turn around “D-don’t make a scene, please”

He sighed as he muttered a quiet “okay” before turning around, leaving you alone as you went upstairs to grab the bare necessities to spend the night, you’ll figure out the rest later. Right now you just needed to get out of here.

You opened the bedroom door and almost collapsed at the entrance. Duke came running towards you, sensing that there was something wrong as he started to whine and tried to jump into your arms. That only made you cry harder as you realized that you were leaving him too. You fell to the floor and patted the puppy as he tried to wipe off your tears with his tongue, breaking your heart even more.

A loud voice cut you out of your thoughts. You could hear Ashton yelling, although you couldn’t exactly figure out what he was saying. This meant that Calum knew you heard everything and that, if he had at least some decency left in him, he would come and get you. You needed to act fast.

You stood up and grabbed the first big bag that you could find. Inside of it you threw your laptop, your books, your charger, some clothes and some bathroom essentials. You debated on whether or not to take with you a picture of you, Calum and Duke… it was your favorite memory with them. But the damage was stronger than the nostalgia, so you threw that picture to the ground before you left the room that once belonged to you.

You were running down the stairs when you passed Calum running up them. You ignored him as he stopped in his tracks and followed you to the hall.

“Y/N!” He said, desperate to try and stop you “Y/N, baby, please! Hear me out!”

“Hear what?! I already heard enough!” You said as you turned around.

Calum’s face was almost unrecognizable. The fear in his eyes, the desperation in his voice and his close off body language was not something you’d normally see in him. The “I fucked up” expression showed all the regret in the world, yet you didn’t seem to care at the moment.

“I. Heard. All of it, Calum” You cried through gritted teeth, anger boiling inside of you as you stared at the man you thought you’d marry “All of it and not once did I hear you say something to try and defend me. How do you think that made me feel?!”

“Baby-“ He tried, but you cut him off.

“I work my ass off all day and night for you, for us. For me to go and see you on tour like you ask me to, knowing damn well I would go to the ends of this fucking earth for you! Catching up extra classes and shifts so I can go with you. I cancel everything to be with you. I gave up everything for us to be together. I barely even have time for myself as I try my best to be something worthy of you!” Your tears were staining your face, but you pushed away the pain for a moment, knowing that once you break down it’s over “I try my best to be a good girlfriend, a good friend! I loved you with all my heart and this is what I get after almost three years? A good fuck? That 's it?”

Calum’s world fell to the floor as he tried hard to fight off the lump in his throat, whispering in a broken voice “Loved?”

“That’s all you get from it?” You ask defeated “Calum I would’ve never let my friends call you names, insult you or offend you in any way. I would’ve gone to the ends of the world for you, defended you till the day I die. All because I trusted you to do the same for me and you failed me, Calum. You broke me. You let him call me a bitch, a stuck up, worthless, stupid, bossy, annoying… should I go on? Cause those words are now printed in my memory, next to you agreeing to all of those things. Is that what you think of me?”

“Baby, I swear it’s not like that!” He said, grabbing your hand and trying to make you stay “I fucked up! I know! You are right, I failed you and you don’t know how much I hate myself for it! But please, love. You know I could never think of you like that… you are the most wonderful person there is! You are kind, smart, loving, beautiful-“

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask bluntly.

“What?”

“Did you cheat on me?”

“No!” Calum said instantly “No, I would never!”

You nodded “Yet, you thought of it.”

Calum opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off again “Is that why you never made our relationship public? So you could have a free pass whenever you want to? Cause I thought it was to protect our privacy, for us to have a normal life in the midst of the chaos that is to date a celebrity. When you told all of that I thought “wow, this is a guy with integrity and with values” Yet I don’t know what to believe now. I thought you loved me-“

“I do love you-“

“I thought you loved me” You said, the tears were already dry as the anger came flooding in “But you don’t hurt the people you love. You don’t break them like you did to me. You don’t let anyone hurt them, even if they are not in the room with you. And you don’t cheat on them like you were going to tonight with that girl Vanessa while I waited here like an idiot for you to come home and spend some time with me”

You pull your hand out of his grasp, holding onto your bag as you heard Calum cry “Y/N-“

“You are free to do whatever you want now, Calum. Cause to the eyes of your fans you are single, and I am as well”

You turned around and saw Ashton waiting by the door with his keys in his hand. He opened up the door for you as you walked by, ignoring all of Calum’s pleads for you to stay.

“So you are just going to leave?!” He yelled, not knowing what else to do. “Whe- Where are you taking her Ashton?”

The black haired man made sure that you were already sitting in his car before turning around to face his friend “I’m taking here with me and away from you cause that’s what she needs now. So don’t bother calling or showing up cause you are not welcome right now. And don’t even try to call Luke or Michael cause they already know and we won’t support you on this” Ashton said as calm as he could. He already told him off, but the anger of seeing you cry in front of him still resided in him.

“I- I love her , Ash! You can’t just take her away from me. I’m her boyfriend!”

“Correction, you were her boyfriend. And I can take her away and I will cause she asked me to” He said taking an intimidating step closer to Calum “Cause while you were here talking trash about her behind her back, planning on how to cheat on her. I was back there, holding her while she broke down crying cause she couldn’t believe that her boyfriend didn’t stand up for her and let a fucking stranger insult her all night long! You weren’t there to see her eyes water or her lip tremble. You weren’t there when she begged me with tears in her eyes to not make a scene cause all she wanted to do was to get out of here. She is the most amazing person ever, she is a light in all of our lives and you extinguished her without a second thought. You might be my friend, but she is too and I love her and I will defend her no matter what, she doesn’t deserve this kind of crap you just showed to her. So don’t count on me to try and help you get her back, I won’t blame her if she doesn’t”

Calum felt small as Ashton walked away from him, closing the door with a bang and leaving him all alone in his big house. Well, almost.

“Dude, that was intense” Mitchy laughed as he placed a hand on Calum’s shoulder “So, wanna go now?”

A blind rage fell over Calum as he heard the mocking laughs of his so-called friend, acting like his life just didn’t fall apart in front of him.

Calum grabbed the singer by the neck of his shirt and pushed him forcefully against the wall “You are going to get out of my house and never come back. You hear me?!” He yelled to his face, almost letting out steam from his nostrils as he was sure he could kill him right now.

“Dude, what’s wrong with yo-“

Calum quickly grabbed a bottle from his nearby mini bar, suddenly gaining all the courage he should’ve had hours ago, and throwed it to Mitchy’s feet, making him jump “Get the fuck out!” He yelled, grabbing bottle after bottle, glass after glass and throwing them into the ground “OUT!”

Only when the last bottle was smashed into pieces did he realize he was completely alone.

And only then did he allow himself to cry for the loss of the love of his life, walking away from him and leaving him to pick up the pieces of two broken hearts.

part 2

Tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @talksoprettyjjx @mystic-232

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

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Just in Your Heart {Taylor Swift x ChubbyMale!Reader}

Requested by: @lunchawx Wordcount: 2114 Summary: After five years of dating, you’re finally thinking of making it social-media official. Warnings: Fat shaming.

You weren’t the sort of person that most people would picture Miss Americana herself to date. Taylor Swift had gone out with some of the best looking, or at least according to the media’s standards best looking - men in the world. You didn’t need to go over them. The tabloids did that enough for you on a daily basis. But the point was that you were the opposite of a lot of these men. You weren’t in the entertainment industry. You weren’t rich. You weren’t famous. You didn’t have a six pack or a chiseled chest or that rugged jaw line or any of those things. You had worked your way up to being a curator at a Museum in New York - not one of the biggest ones, mind you, but big enough to where you always had a lot on your plate. You were overweight according to your doctor though you ate healthy and tried to get lots of exercise. And you had next to no social media presence, only followed by your friends and family - not even Taylor as for the most part, you both agreed on keeping you out of the spotlight, much as that sometimes hurt. But then again - you both had been together for five years now, and you weren’t being picked apart by the media. That was nice.

“Do you think that this is folded in enough? I always think of that scene in Sleeping Beauty where they actually fold them in,” Taylor laughed, snapping you out of your thoughts. When you had stopped at the grocery store to get the ingredients for baking night, you of course had seen Taylor on the magazines. Stepping out with new ‘mystery man’ it had reported. It was only her new bodyguard and would be forgotten in a week or so but it was still a bit annoying to be surrounded by rumors of your own girlfriend.

“Yeah, that looks good babe,” You’d say, looking into her bowl. It was cake night in your shared apartment. The whole quarantine thing had the both of you at home a lot more, though you did still have to go to work, so you were trying new hobbies. Baking had been Taylor’s idea, and it was something you had shot down at first considering your weight, but she was so insistant. She had given you those puppy dog eyes you couldn’t resist. Those baby blues had you saying yes every time. “No shells this time?”

“Oh my god, it was one time, let it go,” Taylor laughed, going for the next couple of ingredients. “I don’t think that you put enough chocolate in yours.”

“It’s a light chocolate cake, not a Devil’s Food Cake. I’m still watching my weight, remember?” You kept on whipping the eggs until they were light and fluffy, and then finally folded your own into the rest of the mixture. “This will probably be my lunch tomorrow,” You joked.

“I’ll make you something, don’t worry,” She said, putting a kiss on your cheek, transferring a bit of flour that she had on her nose onto your skin. You laughed and wiped it off. “What were you thinking about?”

“Saw you on the cover of another magazine today,” You said, slipping behind her, taking the chance to run your hands across her waist as you went to grab one of the cake pans you already prepped. “They’re thinking that Greg is your new boyfriend. It’s really throwing them off that you’re not out there dating openly anymore.”

“Oh, that’s hilarious. I’m sure his wife is going to love that,” Taylor laughed, not taking it seriously. Being in the industry since she was a teenager meant that she had to develop that tough skin. You loved that about her. You only wished that you had been able to do that yourself. “Oh, let’s take a picture before we pop these into the oven.”

Always the change of subject. But you gave in, as you always did, giving her a little nod. She pulled out her phone, turned the front camera on, and snapped a picture of her kissing your cheek while the full cake pans were waiting on the counter. You were grinning, you couldn’t help it. Every time that this wonderful, beautiful woman gave you attention, you were fawning for it. You couldn’t wait to make her your wife. Just a little longer. Just getting the ring sized.

And then the pans went into the oven, and you settled back down on the couch, looking for something to watch while waiting for the timers. Taylor went straight to Law and Order. Of course. You even bobbed your head to the theme tune. Her favorite show in the whole world. She cuddled up to you, hand and head resting on your barrel-like chest. When she touched you like this, it was hard to feel insecure. And the way that she looked up at you whenever the screen went dark between scenes - still made you feel like blushing to this day.

Once the timer went off, cake out of the oven, it was the only part of this whole baking thing that you really enjoyed. Decorating. Tongue in cheek, going over the layers with the icing that you had managed to make look tie-dye with different colors. “What do you think, fruit maybe? Some whipped cream?” You looked over to see what she was doing, only to see that she was literally throwing sprinkles on top of the icing. Making a huge mess, but it was cute to see her looking so joyous.

“Whatever you want,” She’d say, bending low, turning the plate to see the other side of the cake, and then threw even more sprinkles. One thing could be said for her method - she was thorough. There was hardly an inch on it that was untouched. You looked back at your own which was looking plain in comparison, and started chopping up some fruit to put on the top. At least give some semblance of it being healthy. That way you wouldn’t feel as guilty when you went to the doctor next and explained what you’ve been eating. “I can’t wait to try yours,” Taylor said, sticking a finger in your spare icing and dabbed some of it on the tip of your nose with a giggle. Her eyes were lit up from the inside out. She looked happy. Truly happy. “Can we take another photo?”

“Can I at least get this off of my nose first?” You laughed. She shook her head no, and this time in the photo, she was licking it right off of you, the cakes on full display in front of you. Your face was scrunched up from the attention on your nose, which made her laugh when she saw it.

“This is really cute. I might even post it,” She teased, tongue in cheek.

“Doubtful,” You chuckled, and grabbed a knife to make the first cuts.

“No, really,” She said, leaning against the counter, looking at the picture on her phone. “We’ve been together five years now and I haven’t really been able to tell anyone but our close friends and family.”

“Does anyone else matter?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Everyone that I care about knows about you. Why does the whole world?”

“I just - I don’t want you to feel like I’m ashamed of you when I’m not. I’d love to start posting pictures of us, like normal couples do.”

“We’re not a normal couple,” You pointed out. She was pouting again, but this time it didn’t look like she was trying to get what she wanted. She looked genuinely upset. You watched her for a minute as she dropped a couple more sprinkles on spots that she missed, trying to keep her hands busy. “Okay. Fine. You can post one tomorrow if you really want. But can we just relax tonight?”

“Okay,” She said, tucking a long blonde piece of hair behind her ear and smiled. She looked happy again. And that’s the way that you wanted to keep her forever.

Your phone was left in your office for most of the day while you were working on the usual day-to-day activities of the museum. You had forgotten your little agreement with Taylor the night before, having settled back in for a night of watching Olivia Benson on the television solving cases.

So when you finally had a chance to sit down and look at your phone, you were surprised to see that it was dead. You plugged it into your spare charger only for it to turn on and have hundreds - maybe even more notifications. You had to quickly go into your settings and try to turn them off so that you could have a breath. That was when you remembered, and immediately opened up instagram. 2.6 million follow requests. Jesus. At least your account was on private, who knows what they would have done if they had been able to go thorugh your photos and comment on them.

You’d leave those for another time to deal with. The next time that you were taking the subway and had nothing else better to do. But for now, you went to Taylor’s profile, where you were one of her millions of followers, never anything special until now. The two pictures from the night before, kissing and silly icing on your nose. ‘#bakingwithboyfriend.’

Over three million likes. Comments galore. And most of them were not of the nice and supportive kind.

‘Oh my god, is this some body positivity stunt?’ 'This is literally like three of her exes put together, weightwise. ‘ 'Must be really rich or have great dick’

There were other ones that were much more rude, but you weren’t going to go through them. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t do that to yourself. You put the phone back down, face down so that you wouldn’t have to look at it, or at the very least be a lot less tempted.

“Mr y/l/n,” Your assistant said, poking his head into the office. His face was looking flushed, so that already gave you an idea of what was going on. He already knew about your relationship, but that didn’t stop him from having fan-boy moments whenever Taylor came in. “She’s here to see you.”

“She can come in,” You said with a nod. He popped his head back out and the tall, lithe figure of Taylor, as dressed down as she could be, walked into the stuffy room. She smiled nervously and sat down across from you in the spot where donors or assistants usually would sit.

“You saw those comments, didn’t you?” Taylor said. You simply nodded. “I already talked to my publicist and we’re going to be taking comments off all of my posts. It isn’t right. Any of it.”

“Can’t say that it wasn’t expected though,” You admitted, leaning back in your chair. “I’m not Styles or Hiddleston.”

“That’s why I love you,” Taylor insisted. “You’re not any of those men, you’re you. They’ve got nothing, nothing at all, on you.”

“But I’m apparently three of them,” You laughed humorlessly. “Look, I knew what I was getting into by falling in love with you. I can accept it. Just sucks that the day had come after all.”

Taylor was quiet for a moment, but then she leaned forward over the desk, and took hold of your hands, giving them a squeeze with her well manicured fingers. “You’re everything to me, y/n. And I just want to show you that. I want to show the whole world that.”

“I know. I know,” You breathed out with a sigh. “Were any of the comments good?”

“Selena is going apeshit in the comments. Or at least she was while I was on the way here. Threatening to fight some of the people saying the worst things but I already deleted most of the really bad ones. I have my publicist on it. Some of them were really positive though. You’re really handsome. Some of them are threatening to come after you when we break up.”

“Ha, like that’s ever going to happen,” You said, shaking your head. “You’re it for me, baby.”

“You’re it for me too,” Taylor said, raising your hands up to kiss the tops of them. Your unmusical hands. “So - are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll get over it. I guess. More incentive to go to the gym maybe. Gotta show your millions of fans that you can still get a buff guy after all.”

“Don’t change yourself too much,” She’d say, smiling. “You’re perfect. Completely and utterly ... perfect.”

#Taylor Swift #Taylor Swift x reader #Taylor Swift oneshot #celebrity #celebrity oneshot #onreshot #one shot #request #x reader #taylors

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 3 years

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Not to me. Not if it’s you.

Ao3

Summary: Logan was, regrettably, rather accustomed to unpleasant accouters in public. They were an android, such things were always happening for their kind. But that was before they had Remy. Content: Injury, non-graphic violence, talk of bad/abusive parent (not exactly a parent but same concept), murder threats (not carried out), people being jerks to androids because people are jerks, it’s actually pretty soft, non-binary!remy, non-binary!logan Pairing: Losleep Notes: remy’s pronoun set is ay/em/air/airs/emself

Remy had always hated people. Too often they tended to be rude and cruel and vicious and selfish and just plain mean. And it was to air immense displeasure that ay was technically a part of that species.

(Sometimes, those few people Remy considered passable would joke that’s why Remy started dating an android, that ay could never have found it within emself to settle with another human being. Remy would always snort at the joke before shaking air head. “I would’ve made an exception for my sweetheart.” Ay’d say before grinning. “It’s my luck that I didn’t have to.”)

The one thing to be said for humans, at the very least, was that they usually stuck to being verbal bitches, at least with strangers- which was a whole ‘nother thing, but Remy digressed. Most people didn’t start anything physical unless someone was drunk or someone was protective.

‘Usually.’ ‘Most.’

“Murder, I’m going to commit murder.” Remy muttered under air breath, trying not to completely lose air focus. Logan’s wrist was still sparking at the break point, metal and wire revealed beneath split artificial skin, and Logan needed that fixed before Remy could go off on air killing spree.

Logan laughed lightly, taking this all much too well in stride, in Remy’s opinion. Granted, they had already turned off the sensors in their injured arm, the lack of any sort of pain likely taking away from the regular level of stress such an event would cause, but still. “That seems a bit extreme.”

“He broke your wrist!” Remy protested, glaring at the wrist in question. The asshole was lucky he had only broken the skin and tweaked some wires- had the metal in the arm been damaged at all, Remy would’ve just killed him on the spot. “Just to prove a stupid-ass point he didn’t have any business proving.”

“Technically, he can not break my wrist in the manner humans typically mean.” Logan pointed out, offering Remy an amused smile when ay shot them a look. “You already, as you may say, ‘returned his favor’ in double, my love. Going back for murder is excessive.”

Remy took a moment to revel in the recent memory as ay carefully moved all the wires in Logan’s wrist back to their regular positions. Logan’s skin had made an awful sort of cracking noise as it broke open, and as soon as Remy had heard it, ay had jumped on their attacker. His first wrist snapped against the metal of Logan’s, and the second Remy twisted right into a brick wall. “I’m just saying he’d deserve it.”

“Perhaps.” Logan sounded amused. They fell into an easy silence as Remy continued air work, adding a new protective coating to the wires that had gotten theirs torn open and double checking that everything was in place as it should be.

“You have done it better than I believe even I could.” Logan commented softly as Remy examined air work.

“I meant it when I said I’d take care of you, doll, all of you. Fights and repairs included.” Remy replied, equally soft. Logan wasn’t a factory-produced android, instead one custom-made by yet another sucky human who had dropped them off in the nearest dump as soon as Logan was no longer ‘new’ or ‘interesting’ enough in their awful eyes.

The night Logan had given Remy their blueprints, it had been with a rueful smile, explaining that they weren’t expecting Remy to actually look at them, just that ay should have them in case something did go horribly wrong and some engineer or mechanic needed to know how to put them back together.

Two days later Remy had them memorized. Like hell would ay ever let someone else fix up air Logan, whether it be for a total system failure or a tiny skin break.

Remy folded the artificial skin of Logan’s wrist back into place, gently rubbing a glue-lotion over the tear. Satisfied that air work would hold until the skin wove itself back together, Remy wrapped it all up in a brace. Only after gracing it all with a kiss, of course.

“And now that that’s done…” Remy paused for a moment as ay put away air joint first-aid and repair kit, “how are you feeling?”

“I am perfectly alright.” Logan answered, seeming uninterested in the emotional turmoil Remy was fairly certain they should be in as they watched their fingers move.

Remy frowned. “Some asshole tried to snap your wrist because you refused to split your chest open and prove you were an android. That sorta pain ain’t just physical, babe.”

“It is hardly the first time I have been accosted in public.” Logan said dismissively, though the bittersweet smile they offered Remy betrayed more than they were saying.

“That doesn’t make it easier, or okay.” Remy shifted further onto the bed, slipping behind Logan to lean them against air chest. Instinctively, Logan tucked their head back against air shoulder as Remy’s arms slipped around their waist. “Talk to me.”

A quiet sigh. “You are correct in saying it does not become okay simply because it has occurred repeatedly. Nor usually would it become easier. But, I must admit, in all honesty… having you has made it so.”

Remy hummed encouragingly for Logan to go on as ay pulled air fingers through their hair. The texture was soft, the edges jagged from where Logan had defiantly chopped the symmetrical ends off- one of the many reminders of their creator’s tainted ‘perfection’ that Logan had wanted nothing to do with. It truly was their hair, and Remy loved it.

“When I was accosted during the time I was still with my creator, they would force me to bend to any human’s odd whims. Should an attack occur, I would be left undefended, and only occasionally assisted in the aftermath.” Logan explained. Their voice didn’t break, but Remy could feel the way they stiffened as they recalled the memories. Ay pressed a kiss against their temple, willing emself to remain focused on Logan and not how dearly ay wanted to put a rusty pipe through their creator’s throat.

“When alone, I would rarely be able to fend off those… particularly determined persons, and I would have no one to assist me in the aftermath.” Logan paused as their gaze shifted back to their wrist, their uninjured hand moving to rest on top of the brace Remy had put on. “They were bad times. I often felt rather alone, or even pathetic.”

The arm Remy had left around Logan’s waist tightened. “I don’t ever want you to feel like that again, darling.”

Logan chuckled, once more relaxing against Remy. “Precisely my point. Before I had you, such events as today’s were not simply stressful in and of themselves, but also in their build-up and aftermath. With you, well…”

And then Logan laughed, and Remy was very happily reminded of just how dearly ay adored air partner. “You broke his wrists! And you attended to my injuries with more care than- well- anyone ever has. If you intend for this to be the standard of dealing with my public disruptions, I do not think I have to be as distressed by them as I once was.”

“So… what I’m getting here… is that you’d actually be thrilled if I headed back and took out that asshole?”

Remy didn’t need to see Logan roll their eyes (affectionately) to know that they had, Logan turning their head to press a kiss to air cheek. “Maybe next time.”

“Rain check accepted.” Remy joked, settling air head on top of Logan’s. In a sweeter and genuine tone, ay added, “I’m more than happy to make sure you never have a bad interaction go unpunished and unattended ever again, my dear dork.”

“My queer bodyguard.” Logan murmured in reply, smiling when Remy laughed. “I am immensely fond of you.”

Remy kissed their forehead. “I love you a lot too, sugar. Wanna cuddle while we watch trash?”

“With you? Always.”

So, yeah. Remy hated people, a viewpoint ay felt was wholly justified. But Logan wasn’t a people. As far as Remy was concerned, in air gay-centered mind, Logan wasn’t even an android.

Logan was Logan, and Logan was perfect.

#losleep #ts logan #ts remy #ts sleep #sanders sides #fanfic #nb!remy #nb!logan #android!logan #h/c #look at me... writing again....#im actually really happy with this #espec for still being rusty on writing #please enjoy :)

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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Little Border Town Pt. II

Summary: Harry starts to find himself more and more drawn to the bookshop owner. She’s maybe not as annoying as he first thought. And maybe Harry isn’t the worst like she thought either. A little notebook, drinks, shoes, and a boat begin to show each other that.

AKA: Harry and Y/N are neighbors that fight all the time, the whole town wants to know when they’ll just fuck.

ello loves, part 2 is finally here pls let me know what you think!! barely proofread sorry... also i think theres gonna be quite a few parts to this because i keep not getting all i want to say said in each part. and im trying to keep the chunks relatively short. — also I made one direction lowkey exist bahaha

Word Count: 9.2k | Warnings: flirty fighting/banter, slowburn

Part 1

The next day Harry found himself walking into the bookshop next door without really thinking about it. He hadn’t seen Y/N again for his early morning run and he had his list for her of the Paul Simon albums he already had. They hadn’t had their windows or shades open last night either so it was the first night he didn’t give her a salute and she didn’t flip him off. The jostle in routine seemed a little weird to him so as he walked through the shop's door and the bell sounded, he thought the smile on his face was because he was well rested and unbothered by anything.

Y/N had slept in this morning. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the beginning of Fall always put her in a cozy sleepy mood. She wanted to go to a pumpkin patch and watch a fire burn out in a fireplace. She wanted to listen to her halloween playlist and plan out an intricate costume with her friends. All of this was a wistful dream though. She had quickly learned that the little border town didn’t celebrate Halloween how they did in the States or any major cities. It was okay, at the end of the day, even if she was a little bummed about it. This was her new life and she would have to adapt to the new customs.

After she walked downstairs and unlocked the door, she went back over to her front counter. Yesterday, right when Harry had come in, she had found a booklet of Marie’s. It was leafed over to the point that all the pages were crinkled and dirtied from hand debris. Each page was filled with her loopy handwriting, all of it in French. She must have only liked blue pens because even if the type changed over different pages, the color was always blue. Each page was headed with a name, a customer’s name Y/N was starting to realize as she leafed through the pages. She sat back on the wooden stool she had gotten for behind the counter and propped the book in her hand. After the name of the customer there were extensive details on them. Not their purchases specifically, but their preferences, their personality, and just tidbits about any quirks they had or interesting things Marie had decided were of note.

She found many names that were now familiar to her after her few months of living in the little border town. There really weren't that many people to get to know and the tourists were starting to die down now that the school year was getting back in. After a few minutes of pouring over Monsieur Friedfrickson’s page, who lives across the street from her and runs the flower and gardening supplies shop, she flips to an even more familiar name’s page.

“Harry Styles.” The page had the name written out in strong tall letters. Marie had used a blue inky pen for his page, not a ballpoint. “Likes Music. Poetry. Love stories. Romance with a happy ending, but also likes the practical love too.” The interests are laid out plain and she purses her lips at the idea that Harry is interested in romance novels. She wondered what type of poetry he liked since Marie didn’t seem to think that had to be elaborated on. “He’s a special one,” it reads and Y/N scoffs to herself, really Marie? She reads on, “His heart is in the right place, but he’s got a mouth on him. Quick-witted and charming, but kind-hearted and sincere.” She pauses, and flicks the page back and forth, checking that it still reads Harry’s name when she gets back to it. Was she really the only one who found Harry vapid and annoying? Sure she had softened a little towards him since she had arrived, but they were by no means friends. “While seemingly perfect in every way, Harry is actually-” it reads and she mutters to herself, “Ok, now we’re getting somewhere.” “While seemingly perfect in every way, Harry is actually scared of his own shadow.” “This can’t be real!” She once again scoffs at the book and looks up to the ceiling like Marie is going to talk back to her from beyond. “His exterior persona is very strong, both physically and in his personality, but it seems like he’s just waiting for that right person that he can really be vulnerable with and let them into what he’s really thinking. He’s looking for his Angie.” Now she’s just confused. Who the fuck is Angie? She almost doesn’t finish reading the page because honestly it’s just making her mad, but there’s only a few more lines. “Lots of tattoos, why so many tattoos? Thinks he’s funnier than he is. Flamboyant Harry is best.” And beside that last sentence is a star. She tries to hold in her laughter. At least it wasn’t a complete page of praise for Harry.

Thinking back to her knowledge of Harry, she realizes that Marie must have known him for about three years. Maybe more if he had come to visit before moving there officially. She agreed with Marie that Harry had a lot of tattoos and that he thinks he’s funnier than he truly is, but she was yet to see flamboyant Harry. She knew he painted his nails and wore rings, as well as interesting clothes, but she wouldn’t say he was particularly flamboyant for any of that. That comment definitely piqued her interest. When would Marie have seen Harry where he was being flamboyant?

Her eyes scan over the page once more and realize that this book is only for the most current year. Marie re-did the customers' outlines every year. So this was this past year before Marie died. She wondered where the other books might be and if Harry’s outline had changed over time and also if her name was in the one from when she had visited. That would be interesting to read. It’s strange to read a dead person’s private musings. To her knowledge, no one else alive knew the contents of these pages and these pages seemed especially personal since they spoke of people’s lives and who they were at their core. Maybe that’s why she didn’t hear the chime of the door this morning when the first customer arrived.

Her eyes don’t shoot up from the page until two ringed hands enter her eye line on the counter. The tanned skin, with the gold and silver dazzling rings on each finger and the cross tattoo all register in her mind as her eyes go wide. She snaps the book shut when her eyes meet Harry’s almost ivy green eyes - they’re darker in the foggy fall light streaming through the window today. She hadn’t even turned on the lights yet in the store, the natural light being enough for her this morning. The book is clutched in her hands as Harry’s smile widens to a grin of amusement.

“What have you got there?”

There’s no cover on the book so he can’t make anything out about it. He assumes it’s some novel she’s embarrassed of and has chosen to slip the cover off of to keep anonymity of it. This assumption is why his tone is so teasing and why she grimaces at him in response. Her cheeks have also tinted themselves, she’s flustered that the man she had just been conversing about with the book was now in the store.

“None of your business.”

“I guess not.” He replies easily when she responds curtly and places the book out of sight somewhere under the countertop.

“Why are you here again?” She’s avoiding his eye contact now, feeling like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been even though it was perfectly within her right to read something that now belonged to her.

Harry’s smile falters with her followed curt reply. Annoyance settling in, Harry straightens up and removes his hands from the counter. The familiar feeling doesn’t exactly feel nice, but familiarity is better than discomfort. “You wanted a list of my Paul Simon records? So you could order me one I didn’t already have?”

She looks at him curiously as the conversation comes back to her from yesterday morning and she nods. That conversation was real. “Oh yeah, I said that.” She replies, still not looking at him. “Okay,” she says when he doesn’t move or do anything. Her eyes widen, silently asking him to get on with it.

His hands shove into his pockets, searching around for a list he apparently had made. They come out empty. He pats over his jacket pockets and feels nothing but his phone and wallet, no list. “Fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath. She scratches at her eyebrow and sits back on her stool, seeming like she might be waiting awhile. After a few more minutes and no produced list, she sighs. “Do you just want to go next door and grab it since you obviously forgot it?”

“I didn’t forget it…” His voice is low and he shoots a glare at her, the annoyance that had come back had now doubled.

“You did, but it’s okay if you can’t admit that-”

“It must have fallen out of my pocket!” He insists.

She rolls her eyes and stands up. Walking to the front door, she looks on the ground and then a little ways outside. “I don’t see it, just go back and get it. You probably left it in your boudoir, it’s fine.” Her tone is a little less condescending now and more understanding. She forgets stuff all the time and she really wasn’t trying to be rude when he first came in. He had just startled her is all.

He turns around to face her. Her body is now completely out in the open area of the front of the store. His head tilts and one of his loose curls flops over his forehead while he takes in her appearance. “Why do you do that?”

She wets her lips and steps closer to him, more on her way back to the counter than anything. “Do what?” She’s oblivious to what he’s taken note of.

“When you have a conversation in English you’ll swap in some words that are French. They’re easy words to figure out and you don’t do it a lot, but you’ve done it enough times for me to notice.”

“Oh...I don’t know. I prefer French to English. It’s so much sexier.” She walks closer to him and utters her next sentence as she brushes past his shoulder. His gaze follows her every movement. “Would you prefer a girl to whisper in your ear, “let’s go back to my bedroom” or “let’s go back to my boudoir.”?” Her French accent hangs in the air with the word and compared to the hard American accent she had employed for ‘bedroom’, ‘boudoir’ sounds far more dirty this time than before.

A shiver rolls down Harry’s spine, but he doesn’t let it show. She shrugs her shoulders, “I think the answer is clear.” He clears his throat in response and a smile grows on her face. “Don’t you agree, monsieur?” She leans her head into her hand now that she’s behind the counter and looks up at him sweetly. He knows she’s teasing him now, her smile more of a sultry smirk.

“Piccola diavola,” his Italian rolls off his tongue and she squints at his words. She knows “devil” but the first word troubles her - it just means little. Her Italian really wasn’t strong and it hadn’t improved that much since she’d been in the little border town. But she also wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what he had said. Harry chuckles at her confusion and relaxes now that he feels the playing field has leveled once again.

“So your list… Do you want to go grab it? Or if you can just list it off the top of your head? As enthralling as your conversation skills are, I actually don’t have all day.” She trails off again, her questions lilting from her mouth after regaining some composure.

“I wasn’t the one teasing about taking someone up to their bedroom,” he huffs. Her face colors with crimson. While she had been teasing him, she didn’t want to be called out for it.

“Wasn’t teasing…”

“So it was a serious offer?” He inquires with a lop-sided grin, changing the meaning behind her words in one fellow swoop.

“That’s not what I was saying! Shut up and give me your list.” Now her blush was all over her face and neck, and she was totally and completely flustered by Harry. She glanced down at her hands that were fiddling with a pen and paper, ready to write his words down.

“I can either shut up or tell you my list. But it’s sadly one or the other, love.”

She groans and takes her free hand to run it over her face. “Just tell me what you already have, Harry. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles and spreads out his hands in front of them both. He crosses back to the counter and leans on it once more. They are in close proximity once again, only the counter between them now and she can feel his hot breath fan over her softly. Smells of wintergreen gum, her favorite.

She glances up at him and their eyes hook together for a moment before she tears hers away to look back at the paper. He rattles off a good amount of Paul Simon’s albums and she nods approvingly as she scribbles the names down. She would have to look through his discography to find the ones Harry didn’t have and she probably could’ve made Harry do that and then give her that list, but she didn’t. It was too late now to do that as well, so she’d just have to live with her decision.

When he finishes, she glances at him once again. His eyes are very large. A detail that isn’t really important about him is seared in her mind. They’re big and they’re staring right at her. His pupils are almost as big as his irises, it was interesting. Her eyes shift under his gaze after a beat and she straightens up again. While they went over his list, she had indulged in the close proximity, the mingling of warm breath and brushed hands as she scribbled and he pondered. She nods a farewell, “I’ll let you know when I order next, but I won’t say what album you’ll get. It will be a surprise.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” his smile snaps back to his face and he scratches absentmindedly at his side. He hesitates before exiting the store. “I have a question.”

“Don’t need my permission.”

He emits a half-laugh, half-scoff from his parted lips. “Wasn’t asking for it...How come you never go out?”

She stares at him curiously, her head tilting to the right. “How would you know I don’t get out?” She challenges him.

“There’s only one pub in this little town and I’m your next door neighbor. I know.” He’s insistent on being right.

She scoffs, but only in an attempt to cover up her embarrassment. Her skin had finally cooled from all the excitement that had happened earlier and she wasn’t in the mood to grow red once again. Today was the first day she had ever felt flustered by Harry. It was annoying, it made her feel out of control. She liked to go out well enough, maybe more than the average person. But she’d only been in the little border town for a few months and going out hadn’t been on the top of her list of things to do. Sure, it would be nice to go get a drink out in the town, but she didn’t really have anyone to go with. Meeting people wasn’t hard in the town, but there weren't many people who were her age and she hadn’t particularly clicked with anyone where she would want to go out on the town with them. It was embarrassing to face the fact that she wasn’t flourishing as much as she had hoped. She was happy, but being confronted with the truth that she hadn’t gone out yet dampened her belief in her success in the little border town.

“I - It’s not at the top of my list of priorities,” she stutters, her chin raising a little in indignance.

One of his shoulders shrugs and Harry makes a little face as if he was indifferent to her answer, even though she knew much better than that. Harry always wanted to get a reaction out of her, maybe that was all he gained from their interactions - entertainment. She didn’t know, but she didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction and left it at that. His eyes meet hers again, his stare far more intense now. “Ciao, diavola.” He simpers, repeating the little nickname. It was far more sultry of a nickname than ‘Shrimp’ but she wasn’t going to complain. She rolls her eyes in response, the only correct one at that.

That night, she found herself feeling pulled to journey down to the pub. It was on the Italian side and like she had acknowledged to Harry, she hadn’t been. She wouldn’t admit to anyone, especially not Harry, that his question had been what had pushed her towards the establishment when night fell. Yet, here she was. Her pants were dark red silk that matched the black tank top with red embellishments that she wore over her chest - the only part of her it really covered. Her boots were a matching black with gold metal bits, they were knock-off horsebit Gucci shoes, the closest she could get to the real thing with her modest budget. She was having to be more frugal lately, after buying her car here in September, she had really seen how little money she truly had.

The heels of her boots clicked against the cobblestones as she stalked up to the front of the bar. There was happy chatter seeping out the open door, the warm but dimmed light also flooding out along with the sounds of people within. Taking a deep breath and fiddling with the waistband of her pants for a second, she made her way into the bar. Stepping off the deep end and making the plunge. She knew there was nothing to be afraid of, but after months of not going there, she felt a little sense of apprehension now.

The warmth was the most surprising bit of the bar that she felt when she stepped past the threshold. Some Italian song was buzzing below the words of the patrons and she smiled at the automatic welcome she felt upon entering.

At the tables, there was a mix of younger and older patrons. At the bar, there wasn’t much of anyone. The young bartender leans across the bar to talk to another man, who had dark brown wavy hair and a dark linen shirt on. He’s seated at the bar and his back is to her so she can’t make out anymore than that. She doesn’t notice the myriad of tattoos gracing the patron’s arm that rests casually on the bar as he laughs at something the bartender had said, just for him.

She smiles, thinking it’s a cute little flirtation between the two and hates that she has to go over to break it up. Her movement gets the bartender’s attention easily and has the patron glancing her way as well. The smile she had once had falters off of her face and her eyes go wide at the realization of who she has settled herself beside. She had left a seat open between her and the man, but now she wished she had chosen a spot across the bar and simply flagged down the bartender. Better yet, she wished she had stayed home. As her smile falls away, Harry’s only grows wider. He’s grinning down at her as he moves his whole body to face her.

“Ciao!” The bartender starters, not noticing her discomfort at seeing Harry. He begins to ask what she would like in Italian, but her eyes widen even further. He’s speaking far too fast for her and she blushed in embarrassment. In her fluster, she forgets to even try French and she just stares dumbfoundedly at the handsome man behind the bar, who’s now looking at her with great curiosity. Harry has watched the entire thing and chuckles behind his glass. She has no attention span left to allow her to even try and guess what he’s drinking.

He interjects for her, actually saving her any more embarrassment, surprisingly. “She doesn’t speak Italian. She’s from the French side and new in town, so she hasn’t been able to refine her Italian.” The bartender gives a smile and nod of understanding in her way and she wishes she knew what Harry had just said. Whatever it is makes the bartender switch to French for her and her jaw goes from being dropped back into a normal position.

“What can I get for you, mademoiselle?” He transitions smoothly and she smiles, his French accent sounding practically perfect. She’s recomposed herself, but Harry is still watching her intently, like a reality television show that he can’t wait for the trainwreck finale to occur on.

After she orders, the bartender gives her a wink and then walks off to get what he needs to begin preparing her drink. Harry slides over, eliminating the courteous one seat between them. Her eyes watch the movement and she refrains from the letting out the sigh festering in her chest. She really had hoped he would not be here tonight, at least that’s what she believed. She truly felt embarrassed that the night after Harry had accused her of never going out, he had seen her out. But it also was nice not to be sitting in the bar alone. It seemed that Harry had been sitting alone at the bar before she had come in, but she also wasn’t Harry and didn’t know how much enjoyment she would have gotten out of being alone.

“I see my words had some effect on you.” He says out of the corner of his mouth after running his tongue over the bottom of his lip. Her scoff once again dies in her throat because she knows he’s right and he knows it too. There is no being proud right now. He essentially caught her red handed.

“Thought I’d come out and see what all the fuss was about. I see you’re alone tonight, but I assume that’s how most nights go.”

“You should know by now that is simply not true.”

“Just because you leave with someone doesn’t mean you come with someone.”

“I guess…” He trails off.

She picks up when he doesn’t seem to have any more of a response. “How do you even meet people here? Isn’t it all locals?”

“Not always. Not all of the people here are locals tonight,” He scans the crowd. “She’s visiting...So is she...that whole group actually. Look French. So we’ve got a group from Nice tonight…” He looks a bit more. “Eh, that looks like it tonight, but still. It’s plenty.” He finishes with a smirk and she grimaces, understanding the meaning behind his words.

The bartender returns with her White Russian, which Harry had cocked his head at, but had kept his opinion to himself for once. Expecting Roman to return to their conversation, Harry turns his attention back to him, but he is only greeted with the side of his head because Roman is still staring at Y/N. He coos something to her in French, that Harry can’t pick up and his nostrils flare when she emits a giggle following their exchange. The two people he was last talking to were now ignoring him to talk to each other. How rude.

After another moment without their attention, he huffs loudly. Roman seems too entranced in Y/N to notice, but her eyes slide over to him. “Yes?” She inquires, albeit disdainfully.

Harry isn’t sure what to say to her now that he’s gained her attention. He was on his second drink and her stare has made his mind go blank. All he had wanted was for her to stop flirting with Roman so that she’d pay attention to him. But he hadn’t thought of his next step yet. He takes a sip of his beer to grant him a little more time and she rolls her eyes at his action. His mind rattles through possible things to say, but every single one is coming up as not good enough.

“I used to be in a band.”

Her head tilts and she swivels more to Harry. His comment is unexpected and rather intriguing. She had expected something annoying or rude. Truly she had just expected him to say “Nothing” once he had swallowed his drink so he could distract her from enjoying her night.

“You were in a band?” She asks incredulously, her voice pitching slightly higher than normal. While Harry was many things, including handsome, she just didn’t think he had the right persona to be in a band. He dressed like a grandfather most days and he tended to a little shoe shop, he didn’t come off as a guy who would enjoy traveling around performing. The constant praise would be on brand though, she conceded.

Harry nods and bites back his smile, knowing he had struck the perfect chord. “I was...it only took off in the UK but we were pretty popular.” He boasts.

“So what do you play?”

Harry’s eyes widen, expecting more of a question about the name of the band or something. “Well, it was, like, a boy band…” He says.

She was taking a sip of her drink and she contained her little laugh behind her glass. Another hum as she swallows the liquid that burns her throat a bit. “Oh. Interesting. So no instruments.”

“Well I can play a bit of guitar and piano!” He adds quickly, seeing her eyes shift away from him, like she thinks the conversation is over. “I was thinking of trying a solo thing, but then plans changed...”

“And now you’re here?”

He echoes her, affirming the question. “Now I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t miss it then?”

“Didn’t say that. I miss it at times, but this is where my life took me and I’m happy to be here. Maybe happier than I ever was in the band.” His eyes stare at the liquid in his glass and he swirls it lightly, determined to study the way it moves as he ponders something quite personal to him. He never really talked about his past with anyone here. Saying he was in a band and retrospecting that time are two very different things to share with someone. She’s just watching him now, not trying to make a quip or bug him. His demeanor shows that’s not something he’s very interested in hearing right now.

She experimentally puts a finger on his knee when it seems that he’ll never raise his gaze from his glass. His eyes move down to the tiny pressure he feels and sees her painted nail poking in to him. His tongue darts across his lower lip as he raises his head to meet her eyes. He notices the sparkle in them, she finds amusement in the childish gesture and so does he.

“I do miss the stage though,” he admits, smiling more now. “Performing. It was like nothing else.” Instead of a sad state of mind, his look is far more wistful now and she actually feels the smile growing on her face.

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime, then.” She says resolutely after taking the last bit of her drink and then pushing the glass across the bar. Roman had wandered off, much to Harry’s pleasure, but now they both needed another round so she was looking for him.

Harry slides over a chair so that they’re sat side by side. He had originally done it to reach across her for a napkin, but then hadn’t retreated to his original seat after he was successful. They talk as they drink, but most of it seems to be flirtatious teasing even if neither of them recognize that fully. Harry just wanted her attention earlier and now he found that he wanted to keep talking to her all night. It was a Friday and usually he would be looking for someone to take home. The group of women at a table that he had observed were visitors would be a perfect place to start his quest, but that wasn’t on his mind. He liked watching the different shades of blush Y/N’s face kept turning as she drank more and how silly she was getting with each passing drink.

She was enjoying her time out, she had only gotten wine drunk in the confines of her little home since she’d been in the little border town. And that endeavour was all by herself. It was much more fun when you had someone to talk to, so joking around with Harry was a nice surprise. She no longer felt embarrassed about showing up after he had teased her for never going out earlier today. Now she felt empowered, like she could come to the bar whenever she pleased. He was nicer than she had realized. His hand was quick to encircle her back respectfully when she laughed a little too hard at a joke and began to tip off her stool. His smile was genuine and his eyes didn’t flit over her body more than once. His jokes were funnier than she had first thought or maybe that was just the alcohol clouding her mind, that one she wasn’t sure about. But, truthfully, Harry was exceeding expectations tonight and being a stand up human being for once, in her eyes.

A couple at the end of the bar, locals, watched on as the shoemaker and the bookkeeper threw back their heads in boisterous laughter and placed their hands on each other chastely. The older women smiled to themselves as Y/N smacked Harry’s bicep after an especially cheeky joke he told her. They were going to have a field day with this interaction once they told their friends tomorrow morning.

After drink three, she definitely felt drunk. Not completely out of it and can’t walk drunk, but I haven’t drank anything stronger than wine in months so three cocktails are kind of hitting me drunk. And because of that buzz that’s enclosed her mind and body, it makes perfect sense to her that Harry’s hand is resting casually on her knee as they talk. It also makes perfect sense to her to cross her legs, causing two things to happen. Harry’s hand shifts up further on her thigh and her boot is now dangling right next to Harry’s shin. The fabric of his cream linen trousers look especially soft and so the next logical move in her mind is to rub her foot against the fabric. She hooks around her foot easily and the patent leather of her shoe slips softly against the pant leg that flows over Harry’s calf.

He hums lowly at the feeling, but makes no other notion to acknowledge what she is doing. After the hum he gets back to the story he’s telling her about his boat. She had been extremely interested in the boat initially, but not she was transfixed on the feeling of the fabric slipping past her boot. When he shifts his leg, absentmindedly or not, she almost squeaks because this movement has Harry’s foot brushing around her ankle. The footsy was occurring without any acknowledgement of it besides small sounds the two had made in their chests. No knowing looks, just the presence of each other’s bodies against one another.

He had switched to a Manhattan after his second beer for some reason that she didn’t ask, but he was enjoying it nonetheless. When she slipped her foot against his calf, it had sent a spark of electricity from the point of contact up to his alcohol muddled head. It felt nice so he went with it.

Around midnight the two of them were practically in each other’s laps, nursing their fourth round. Brains a million miles away while their glassy eyes stared at each other. Harry’s arm nestled around her waist while hers played with the stir stick in his glass. Their heads inches away, closer than they’d ever been before.

Somehow they decided they should walk home about then. Maybe Harry had checked his phone and decided he was done. Maybe she had glanced at the clock above the bar and realized she needed to go to bed. Either way, they slammed down the last bits of their drinks and stumbled into the street. With only each other to hold them up, they had some trouble gaining their balance. They could walk just fine if they wanted to be serious, but Harry kept trying to step literally on her toes and she kept throwing all her weight into his side. Both of their actions would cause them to stumble one way or another along the empty streets. Their blurred minds thankfully didn’t get them lost, but the travel time back to their places was far greater than the travel time to the bar initially.

Finally arriving at the border of Italy and France, their shops and homes, she stared up at Harry under the glow of the streetlamp across the street. His hair looked more dark brown than his usual caramel chestnut in the light. His linen outfit billowed across his pectorals that were exposed. A tan golden color that he seemed to maintain from his frequent runs and trips on his boat. His jaw had a bit more stubble on it now, his morning shave no longer sleek on his skin. His mustache was still the most prominent bit of facial hair he had and she wondered what he might look like without it. She also thought if she’d ever kissed a man with a mustache, her mind was pretty sure she hadn’t.

As she stared, she moved from his side and took a step closer to her door. His hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her and bringing her attention to his eyes. He dropped her hand and stepped closer to her. They had been laughing about some weird encounter she had in Nice the other week. But now their laughter had faded out, the conversation all but forgotten.

“Hi.” She says meekly.

“Hi,” Harry laughs.

“I had fun tonight,” she muses and takes a step forward. She began swinging her arms back and forth, rocking on her feet. She felt antsy now that it was so quiet. The silence made her realize it was really just her and Harry together right now. Which wasn’t unusual, they had been alone together plenty of times. Maybe it was the time of night, but it felt far more intimate to her this time which made her squirm a little. Why was she nervous with Harry right now?

Harry nods and laughs again at her actions. “Yeah, you’re not so bad.”

Neither of them realized the proximity of their bodies until her hand swung a little higher and hit Harry’s hip bone. “Oh! Sorry!” She moves to take a step back, but Harry grabs her hand once again and tugs her even closer. Bringing them chest to chest under the lamp light. Her eyes flicker between where their bodies touch and Harry’s face. He’s looking down at her sweetly, gently. She feels safe with the way he’s looking at her. The warmth radiating from him was a nice contrast to the dark cold of night. The open expanse of skin that lived between the two sides of his mostly unbuttoned shirt seemed to have the most heat coming off of it. He had a jade cross that hung between the two muscles and she almost reached out to play with it. If it hadn’t been so dark and she hadn’t been so inebriated she would have realized the color matched his eyes almost exactly.

He’s not quite sure what he’s doing, but for some reason it feels like he might kiss her. The mood that was set by their surroundings made it sound right. Romantic even. Her lips look precious too, plump and puckered, flushed from alcohol and the brisk night air. They look a little glossy too from the last time she had wet them. He wanted to feel them for himself. His head ducks to move his lips to touch hers.

Upon registering his movement, she moves her hand from his grasp and places it on his chest, causing him to take a small step back.

“I think...I think this should be goodnight, Harry.” She breathes out. She’s trying to clear her mind enough to have conviction in her decision.

After a little intake of air, less than a gasp, Harry agrees, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Her hand slips from his warm chest, immediately curling in on itself to maintain the warmth his body had just provided. She watches her tendons in her hand ripple before looking back at Harry with heavy eyes. He doesn’t seem to want to make eye contact with her, but she’s determined to leave on a good note.

“Thank you, Harry.” He looks up from beneath his lashes at his name, like a shy toddler. “You gave me the push to face a fear of mine.” With her final words she crosses the little distance between them once again and places a chaste kiss to his cheek. Immediately, his cheek flushes and she can feel the heat beneath her lips, as well as the light prickle of his stubble. Harry swallows, causing his Adam's apple to bob quickly, at the contact. His senses get overloaded with the sweet kiss and the smell of her perfume. It all swims through his consciousness.

She smiles as she pulls away and then turns to let herself into her place without another word. Once unlocked, she gives one last glance to Harry who’s also busying himself with opening his door. She doesn’t see that his free hand is caressing over his cheek where her lips had just been.

The next day, she woke up and groaned feeling the stiffness in her body. Especially her head. Oh god, her head. It was like she was back in college, but worse because she wasn’t as young. At least she didn’t have to roll out of bed for an 8 am lecture. For that, she was thankful. Still, the pounding needed to stop or subside at least. Grumbling, she threw her legs off the side of her bed, the fuzzy socks she had slipped on in her drunken stupor settled on the hardwood. She dragged her body to her window and raised the shade. Her window was fogged from the difference in temperature outside and in her room. Kneeling down, she began to pull open the window, in need of the cool fresh air on her clammy skin. Three drinks, or was it four? She couldn’t remember, either way, it was too many.

Her eyes glanced around the view of the window. It wasn’t much since it was so close to the building right next door. Peaking up, she could see the already clouded sky. To the left she could see the street and to the right was more buildings. The scene most easily accessible was the window right across from her. The shade was mostly closed, a little bit of the floor could be seen where Harry hadn’t lowered it completely. It was just the same hardwood as what she sat on staring back at her. She sat there, breathing in the crisp morning air. After a night of drinking, she usually woke up rather early, today was no different.

It dawned on her, far too slowly, that a pair of feet had entered the plain hardwood scene she had been staring at outside her window. A tiny stage now filled with two matching characters. The pair of feet were tanned and large. Little tattoos seemed to be sprinkled both on the toes and the ankles of the feet. She couldn’t read them even if she tried. But upon realizing what these feet might be doing, she had been discouraged from staring any longer. Still, her brain was foggy and her body was not nearly quick enough to hide her from view as the owner of the feet did something to open his shade as well. Then, once again, like deja vu, she was staring at her naked neighbor. Thankfully, this time, he had briefs adorning his hips to keep covering the part of him that would keep her up for weeks trying to forget again. The briefs were, just that. Brief. Low on the hips and barely touching his thighs, it seemed they really only existed to keep that one appendage covered. Still, she had to tear her eyes away from the lower half of his body and let the embarrassment wash over her when she met his eyes.

The knowing smirk of his has him nibbling at the inside of his cheek. She had been checking him out. It was a nice confidence boost after last night. The awkwardness of her stopping him from kissing her had him spiraling in his mind when he went to bed. He didn’t know why he had even tried to kiss her in the first place, probably just because he was drunk. Yeah, he was drunk and feeling needy on a friday night. That’s what it was and she had been there.

He’d have to thank her today for putting a stop to that colossal mistake. They were barely just friends, he hated to think what would happen if he’d done something so reckless as to kiss her out of the blue. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought in the back of his mind that he had gotten the vibe from somewhere. Why else would his drunken mind tell him to kiss her under the glow of the lamp light. He thought back to the bar and what they had talked about. He wouldn’t categorize it as overly flirty. He thought back to their physical interactions at the bar, okay, maybe his hand on her thigh and her playing with his drink was a little flirtatious. But that could be boiled down to him being close to hear her in the bar and her idle fingers wanting something to do while she was drunk. The footsy, though. He wasn’t sure if he could explain that one away. Instead, he would choose to ignore it. If he didn’t think about it, did it actually happen? Was it something he had to worry about? Not in his mind.

Returning his focus to the girl in the window across from him, his smirk was now fully fleshed out on his face. She was still sitting on her knees as Harry looked down at her and if they were in the same room this might have seemed like a rather compromising position. Her cheeks were still red, noticing the difference in height, she clambered to her feet.

“G’morning,” Harry’s voice is groggy and deep. Scratchy almost from the alcohol he had drank last night. It rings through her ears lowly and seems to have her blushing even more. It’s a different feeling than how his voice used to make her feel.

“Hey,” She clears her throat before responding, not wanting her morning voice to crack in front of Harry. Usually she would talk to herself a bit or sing along to her music before going downstairs, not wanting her first customers to hear her as if she just woke up. For some reason, she makes a little wave along with her greeting, feeling especially awkward at this moment. Harry chuckles and repeats her motion. His large hands mimicking the same daunting motion makes her laugh and releases some of the nervous energy she had been holding in her body.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he openly flirts, placing one hand on his naked torso and the other against the frame of the window, leaning towards her. His movement flexes just about every muscle in his body and she keeps her eyes trained on his face, determined not to be caught gawking once more.

A roll of her eyes and she’s back to staring straight into his green ones that he’s still blinking awake. “It’s almost like we’re neighbors.”

He scrunches his nose at her deadpan. “You’re no fun,” he mutters.

She sighs, “I’m fucking hungover after last night…” and runs a hand through her tousled hair.

Her foot rests itself over her other, causing her hip to just out slightly. The movement of her body that accentuated her curves and her words have Harry blushing now. The red flowers at the center of his chest and begins to spread up his neck and cheeks. He’s once again presented with the almost kiss last night.

“Big night out for you,” he laughs, “I’ll admit I don’t usually drink that much, bit of a lightweight myself.”

She only hums in response, her fingers beginning to twiddle with the hem of her t-shirt. It reminds her of what she is precisely dressed in. The big t-shirt and tiny pajama shorts that Harry can’t even see are the only things on her body besides the socks on her feet. She glances down at her legs and takes in the expanse of fleshy skin that is showing just below the shirt. Harry’s eyes follow hers and admires the skin there, wondering what it would feel like underneath his big hands.

“I should probably start getting ready for the day,” She says finally, shaking herself from the random thoughts flitting around her mind about bare thighs and the man across from her. “Are you open today?”

Harry emits a noise from the back of his throat at her question. He draws his arm back from the window and stands up straight. His head tilts as he thinks about her question, his mind still muddled this morning.

“Er..no, actually. I was planning on going out on the boat today, switching my closed day to today instead of tomorrow. Why?”

“I’m in need of shoe repair,” she smiles, her eyes catching the glimmer of the sun starting to peak out. Harry swears it’s her eyes genuinely sparkling on their own accord. “But if you’re out today, it can wait.” She begins to walk away from the window to go to another room in her apartment.

“No!” Harry steps forward, but is restricted by the screen, which keeps him from falling out of his window. She swivels around, looking at him curiously. “I can - you can just come over. I’ll fix it up for you before I head out.”

“Really?” She’s truly surprised that Harry would do such a nice thing for her. She knew they were getting along better, but for him to open shop just for her repair seemed overly nice.

“I mean,” and Harry’s once again blushing under her gaze and he’s hoping she can’t see it. “What are neighbors for?”

“I guess,” she’s still unsure. He seems like he’s nervous, his body tenses and one of his hands twisted in his curls. Harry’s so weird. “Thanks.”

She jogs the short distance from her front door to Harry’s once she’s ready. The pair of deep teal almost navy loafers she needed new soles in - she was pretty sure - in hand. A red pinstripe blouse half buttoned falling over her figure perfectly, hugging the right spots and flowing over the others. She’s in white jeans today that are flared slightly but also cropped. As it gets closer to Halloween she keeps having to remind herself not to dress festive and it’s a struggle everyday.

When she reaches the door, it doesn’t open. The cream door doesn’t budge as she tempts the handle with her free hand. She looks between the handle and the inside of the shop. Her eyes search for Harry’s figure. She had been inside his shop only a handful of times, never for a repair before. Maybe less than a handful, once to check it out and once again when she thought she needed a new pair of shoes and then decided against it. Oh, and that one time she went over to yell at him about something. Maybe the planters, maybe the shade, she couldn’t remember anymore.

Now that she thought about it, she had been in the bookshop once more. Two and a half years ago when she had visited the little border town for the first time. It was a little fuzzy for a memory, but she was sure she had at least peaked into the shoe shop after her lengthy visit with Marie the second day there. It looked just as it did now, maybe it used to be a little more vibrant, but she couldn’t be sure. She remembered an older man in the shop greeting her in Italian and her offering her sad ‘Ciao’. Back then she was even worse at Italian. He had looked at her with kind eyes and a sweet smile. It was a similar lopsided grin that she had now grown accustomed to on another man’s face. After beckoning her over to him the old man had turned away from her and shouted into the back of the store in quick Italian. It blew over her head completely. There must have been someone in the back of the shop who he had talked to. She was sure of it, because after she had perused the cute boots and shoes he kept, she saw a swish of hair coming around the counter. It was just as she was turning around to exit the shop, after she had bid farewell to the man she now connected as Joe. Whoever it was had long hair and was tall, slinking out into the main shop floor. The mysterious stranger was whoever Joe had shouted to in the back.

Y/N wasn’t the quickest when it came to timelines and how people could change over time. She didn’t connect the year she had visited with the year of someone else's arrival or the same chestnut waves cascading around someone’s face, just now much shorter. It made perfect sense who would be in the back of the store, but for some reason the idea of time and hair length were standing in this girl’s way. Oh well, maybe Harry would spell it out to her someday.

Harry finally rounds the counter that separated the back room to the front. The shoe shop was set up a little different from the bookstore. Her counter was right when you came in while Harry’s was about halfway through the shop. He shakes his head and laughs at her expression. The sound brings her out of her memory as well as a grimace on her face.

“Sorry, I was a million years away.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘a million miles away’, love.” Harry continues chuckling while correcting the girl in front of him.

She holds up her pair of shoes, ignoring his teasing. “Fix my shoes, shoe man.”

His smile drops and he walks back from the door. His feet taking back steps as he beckons her into the interior of the shop. When they reach the corner, he takes the shoes from her hands and places them between their bodies. The teal loafers stare up at them. Harry inspects them, a serious expression falling over his features. His brows scrunch together slightly, the wrinkles in his forehead growing more prominent as he examines the shoes. Large hands reach out and begin to finger over the patent leather on the top and the leather soles. After a few minutes of silent deliberation, he places down one of the shoes and then holds the other up as if to showcase it.

“These,” he juts out the shoe in his hand, “need new soles. What did you do to ‘em?”

“I wear them a lot.” She insists while Harry looks on quizzically.

“I’ve never seen you wear these.”

Her brow quirks at his comment. “I wore them a lot before I got here,” she corrects. “They’ve been feeling wonky every time I try to wear them, must be because they need new soles.”

Harry nods, now satisfied with her answer. He hums, regarding the teal shoe in his hand once again. “Alright.”

She looks at him confused once again. “Alright what? Can you fix them?” What does he mean by ‘Alright’? “I’ve honestly missed wearing them these past few months.”

Harry bites his tongue, a quip ready to be voiced. He’d gotten so used to fighting with her, he was confused how it had slipped away all so easily. His fear of them not talking if they stopped fighting didn’t seem to come to fruition so he could rest easy on that front. But now he was going to have to retrain his brain not to be rude after every comment Y/N made.

“Yeah, of course.” He sighs, placing the shoe next to its mate and then turning his face to her. She had been chewing on her bottom lip, actually worried for her shoes. They really were her favorites. She’d had them forever and it would be heartbreaking if they had to be thrown out. If she couldn’t wear them though she was almost sure she’d just let them collect dust in her closet rather than dispose of them if it really came down to it.

“But it’s like a good amount of my day to replace soles…”

Her face falls, but she tries to hide it. She knew Harry was doing a favor by taking a look right now. If he could fix them it didn’t matter when he did it. What he says next though truly throws her off. No normal enemy-ship turned somewhat friendship overnight would engage in what Harry was about to propose. If any such relationship other than her and Harry actually existed.

“Do you want to come out on my boat today?” His brow arches, his lips in a soft smile, he’s being genuine.

“Why would I do that?” Her brows raise along with her voice, taken off guard by his suggestion.

“More fun waiting for me to fix your shoes on a boat than in your shop.” He says simply before taking the shoes and placing them in a little cubby hole behind the counter for safe keeping. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” Her expression doesn’t change. “Just say yes,” He pleads now.

She sighs, “Fine.” All of the reasons not to go out on Harry’s boat are at the forefront of her mind, but she still finds herself saying yes easily. His pleading really wasn’t necessary to get her to agree. The bookstore could live with being closed today, it wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #eventually both of those will bop up #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #feedback pls ❤️#me putting this uo at 12:30 am oops

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enigma-im · 4 years

Text

Eighth day of Christmas...

Trope: Heat (NSFW) Relationship: Werewolf x Human Word Count: 7,058

I knew the moment I stepped off the bus that I was in trouble. From the horrid heat and melting pot of people, this was going to be a challenge. The dry air nearly made me cough the second I got off the steps. Everyone seemed as annoyed with the environment as I, which is a small relief. Looking around at all the people was both a relief and a nightmare. We all had no idea what was going on but I knew I stood out like a sore thumb.

"You," someone shouts, silencing the crowd. I look around till I spot a hardened older Soldier making his way towards me. The crowd splits before he can charge through. The man glares daggers at me before stopping uncomfortably close.

"Me," I ask, pointing to myself with unease.

"Yes, you," he shouts," what other mutts around here would I be talking to?"

"Right," I nearly drop my shoulders," what do you need?"

"I wanted to get a look at the first werewolf soldier who gets to become my guard dog for this year," he answers, appraising me with discontent," I expect excellence from you, mutt, this few months you will be chewed up and spit out a better dog than a better man. You have big shoes to fill, guiding your kind into the future and not a single one of us will give you an inch or centimeter to make mistakes. Do I make myself clear, private!"

I feel a bit wobbly at his words," uh, yes."

The man leans closer to my face, shouting despite the distance," What was that, mutt? Stand tall, be loud! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," I stand at attention, my stomach rolling into knots.

"That's better," he steps back," Now follow me."

The crowd splits again as the Drill Sargent stomps onward. As he passes, the young men and women look to me, a good mix of intrigued and disgust decorates the group. I straighten my shoulders and march after the man, keeping my head held high with pride.

The first werewolf to join the military, I got a lot to prove.

Conversation with the higher-ups of the camp was tense. I didn't expect it to go as well as it did, though a few sly jokes were made at my expense. They were all weirdly supportive of having me at the grounds, looking forward to trying out their new regimen for my kind. Having a stronger and more capable creature in their boot camp came with its own challenges it seems. They all seem excited to see what I can do.

A lot was explained, trying their best to just keep things running smoothly. No one was going to go easy on me and I'm expected to surpass even the best of their squads. I'm oddly invigorated to take on this challenge.

"With everything all situated, is there anything else we may need to know," the Executive officer asks. He is a sweet man, to my surprise, and has been appreciatively thorough with his preparations.

"Yea, we don't want any issues to come about with having you here. A lot of the soldiers are looking to make an example of you already, though you've done nothing wrong. So if there is anything we have to prepare for then please make light of it now," the senior drill sergeant explains.

"Nothing that I can envision happening here. I'm here to work and become the first in a line of werewolves to join the armed forces. Things will remain respectable on my end so if anything does go wrong I promise it won't be my fault," I answer. A big moment like this I can't even fathom screwing it up with some stupid actions. Let the people make their jokes and rude comments, I'm not bothered in the slightest.

"So we aren't going to catch you humping one of the other recruit's legs, right," the senior drill sergeant jokes.

"Don't want you going into heat and trying to fuck every woman in a mile radius of you," the executive officer joins in. I smile despite the discomfort, shaking my head before explaining.

"No, no, I may turn into a big mutt but I'm not so savage as to do something like that. Don't believe the women would be too receptive to me doing such a thing either. When little Fido does it, it's funny. When I do it, it's enough to get me sent to jail," I joke with them. The two laugh, easing some of the tension.

"But you do go into heat, don't you," senior drill sergeant asks," we look out for medical emergencies and if that will become an issue, let us know ahead of time."

I shake my head," no, that won't be an issue. We only go into heat for a specific person and finding them here would be one hell of a terrible time but I highly doubt it will actually happen. I'm sure I would have smelled them in the crowd if so."

"Specific person," the officer snickers," how romantic, Fido."

"Sounds romantic but I've seen some friends go into rut over their mates, it's not that romantic," I wince, remembering all the fights," it's not a hallmark movie moment, sir."

The officer cocks a brow, wary," I'm almost tempted to ask but I'll refrain for now. Either way, I'll have sergeant Crews bring you to your barracks, and hopefully, we won't have to speak again anytime soon."

I drop off my things at my bunk, sorting them into a chest before heading off to P.T.

The first week of basics is easy, though I'm warned about next week after some miss placed words. My squad takes to me nicely, though I can do without the nicknames. It's a better week than I could hope for after the horror stories from active duty members.

We all sit in the crowded mess hall. Murmurs of conversations can be heard over the disgusting chomping of food. In times like this, I almost wish I didn't have such great hearing. The wet slobbering is beginning to turn my stomach.

"Hey, Spot, is it true you transform on the full moon," Casey, a fellow recruit, asks beside me. I snort, picking at the slop on my tray.

"No, I can do it whenever I want," I answer," full moon thing was for you people to pin some other garbage on the magnetic effects the moon has on the earth."

"oh, wow, movies lied to me again," he lightly bangs his hand on the table," what about silver? Does that do anything for ya?" I scoff, looking at him a bit amused. It has been a lot of teasing but I haven't had anyone sit down and ask before.

"No, silver doesn't do anything for me. Neither does holy water, crosses, or garlic," I tease. Casey rolls his eyes, looking back to his meal with a pout.

"I'm not an idiot, those are for vampires," he grumbles. I chuckle, amused by this human's questions. As I tease the man some more I catch a wondrous smell.

"Besides, I know a normal bullet would work on you anyway," Casey points his fork to me. I can't pay him any mind as I slyly glance around. My heart is racing and pounding against my chest as the smell completely engulfs me. Please no, not now. As I'm looking towards the door I freeze as someone walks behind me. As if everything slowed to a halt I look to the recruit walking over to her table. I can't help but gawk though her attire isn't much to be aroused by.

Brown hair pinned up in a bun and terribly fitted brown and camouflaged clothing. It's meant to be plain and nonattention grabbing but she makes it work. My body thrums with need as I watch her sit at the end of the bench. I can't look away as she eats, looking at her lips like a starved man. I want her, I need her. It's the only thought that runs through my mind.

She couldn't come into my life just a few months later could she?

The whole day I feel like I'm on fire, sickly and distraught. I haven't even been here this long and I feel like I'm about to ruin everything. Surely I can just explain to the XO that I have to deal with this and get right back to basics. I nod, it won't be such a long delay, I'll be right back here shortly.

I head straight to the office, stubbornly marching past the groups still running about. The heavenly smell barely permeates the hot dry air but still nearly knocks me on my ass. My attention snaps straight to her doing push-ups with her squad. She makes quite the sight all sweaty and focused. I can't help but stop and watch.

The squad's drill sergeant walks the rows, screaming motivating insults to them all. My little mate grits her teeth as he passes by, her arms shaking each time they straighten. The sergeant stops before her, crouching down as she stays propped up.

"Getting tired there, private," the sergeant baits," want to take a little break, perhaps?"

"No, sir," she barks out.

"Then get that face in the dirt, let's go," he snaps back at her. The urge to run to the man and deck him in his hooked nose is strong. I have to shake my head of the thought to actually get some semblance of control. She gets back to her exercise, going hard and strong into her next set with a stiff focus on her face. It's admirable to see anyone as determined as she looks. It picks at my heart a bit.

I'm not just taking away this chance for me momentarily but her too. Would she want to take the time off to deal with me? It can't be that big of an issue but starting over has to be something she rather not do. I sure as hell don't want to start the week over even if it wasn't too difficult. She is human so it had to be hell for her. I hum, chewing my cheek.

With fist clenched I turn away from the offices and head back to my barracks. I'll just wait this out, three months is nothing. I can keep my cool that long.

I kept that line of thinking all up till I got to my bunk. The barracks are quiet, the snores of the recruits barely registering to my non-idle thoughts. Every part of me is racing, my heart, thoughts, limbs. I have way too much energy to just sit here. Closing my eyes does nothing but let the thoughts keep me up. I've never had such an issue before, especially here.

Staring up at the ceiling I think of my little mate. She's a cutie, that's for sure. Even with the unflattering get up I can't ignore the appeal of her body. She has strength, as does most of the people here, but watching her do exercises with her squad showed more than just basic strength. I smile to myself as I think about the determined look she had while finishing her set. I have a strong little mate.

I groan as my mind keeps replaying the scene over and over. I can only pray that the rest of the month won't be like this. Turning onto my side I force my eyes closed, trying my damndest to get even a few hours of sleep.

The next week I'm weirdly filled with energy. Every morning I wake up excited to do runs, outpacing everyone by miles as I speed down the dirt track. Exercises become a blessing and every moment I spend sitting down is one where I'm anxious to get back up. The nights are no better, my body humming with unspent energy. It feels amazing to get out there and work.

Sitting at the lunch table I shovel food into my mouth, leg bouncing under the table. I want nothing more than to get back out there and get rid of this energy but lunch is kind of important. As I unflatteringly gulp down the muck an erotic scent ceases my tension. Flowing over my body like a warm shower. I close my eyes, taking in the calm.

"So, I gotta ask," a woman before me asks," do werewolves generally have this puppy energy, or is it just you because watching you hall ass down the track is almost inspiring."

As I open my eyes I'm left gawking at the woman. My beautiful mate sitting just across the table, smirking with her arms crossed. I swallow hard, feeling oddly nervous at this moment. What should I say? Should I say something? She quirks a brow at me, waiting for a reply.

"uh," I clench my pants under the table," depends on the person?"

She hums," is that a question or an answer?"

I straighten," a-a answer, ma'am."

"Hey, lighten up," she knocks on the table," don't need any of the ma'am business. I just wanted to ask, you have been buzzing like a bee this past week and I was kind of hoping it was something I could learn instead of it being genetics." my palms feel clammy the more she speaks. She's so casual, I almost wish she wasn't. I can handle stupid full moon questions over this. I wipe my hand on my pants.

"Sorry, it's all genetics," I give her a half-smile," blessings of the father I'm afraid to say."

She props herself up on crossed arms, her breast squeezing together," so was your mom human? I didn't think you can cross-breed like that." my eyes flick down to her pushed out chest, gulping hard I look down to my hands. I wipe my palms on my pants.

"No, a werewolf can b-breed with anyone," I meet her eyes," just has to be their mate."

"Awe, that sounds cute," she coos. Before she can add anymore the sergeants come in to collect their squads. I watch her look to the crowd, her shoulders dropping. She turns back to me," well, was nice talking with ya, Cujo." with that she leaves.

I remain seated as everyone begins filling out. Looking to my lap I groan in frustration, I never felt more like a measly runt than right now. Couldn't even talk to her and I'm sitting here with a full chub. I look to the crowd once more, catching sight of her turning out of the doorway. Fisting my pants I whimper lowly in my throat.

If I knew talking with her would make things worse then I would have never done it. The night we first spoke was tenser than any before. I feel like ants are crawling all over my skin, my body unbelievably hot. My blankets feel scratchy and too rough on my sensitive skin. I can hardly sleep as all I can think about is that beautiful woman smiling at me from across the table. Her ample chest just perched on her crossed arms. My loins lurch at the thought, aching to a degree I've never experienced.

I fall onto my back, panting as I kick the blanket off myself. Looking down myself in the dark barracks I see the tent in my pants. I groan, thumping my head against the pillow. A boner over a minute conversation with a girl, surely I couldn't stoop so low. I peak at my lap, groaning again as I flex my toes. Perhaps a little attention can soothe the beast?

Timidly I slide my hand down my stomach, fingers sneaking under the hem of my pants. I grab the base of my shaft, squeezing it while slowly closing my eyes. Just have to do this quickly and I got to get some sleep. With the task in mind, I aim for fast. I pump my fist, going harder than I've usually started. My callused hand feels uncomfortable, not helping the smooth glide I need. I take my hands out of my pants and lick my palm before trying again.

I jerk off, feeling itchy and frustrated as I do. I try to get it out and done before anyone can wake up to notice but I can't get into it. Trying a new tactic I relax on the bed. Keeping my eyes shut I slowly pump my fist up and down my shaft, pleased with the torturous glide. An image of my mate sitting across the lunch table pops in my head, my cock twitching at the picture. I admire her harden face, the beauty in her full cheeks when she smiles. I wince as my fingers glide over my tip.

The image shifts as I stare at her tits resting on the table. They are laid bare, her sweet little nipples hard from the cold lunchroom. My cock pulses as I think about reaching over the table to grab her, grazing my hand over her little buds. A whimper tries to bubble out from my throat, the sound surprising. I can't pay it any mind as I imagine tweaking her nipples, watching her face twist in pleasure. In my palm my cock aches, demanding more as I pump harder.

The scene twists, she's bent over the table with her tight ass presented to me. I whimper again, bucking into my fist. A bulge nudges against my hand with every descent. It would be something to investigate if I wasn't so tempted to continue. I picture lining my dick up with her weeping slit, gently pressing my tip in with a retrained grunt. Another whine leaves me, the base of my cock throbbing worst than the rest of me. As fantasy me bottoms out inside her I bite my fist to reject the whimper trying to cry out.

"Fuck," I mumble in a cry. I jerk till I can feel my body shiver in its impending climax, utterly debauched at the fantasy playing out. As I reach my breaking point I grip the hard bulge at the base of my cock, squeezing as hard as I can as I cum in my boxers. My grip pulses as I unload all over myself.

My grip eases slightly as I catch my breath. I feel disgusting as the wet fabric sticks to my tip. Looking down my body I wince at the damp stain. I tug down my pants and catch a look at my still hard dick, I furrow my brow confused. Generally, I'm soft shortly after, not still ragingly hard. I look to the bulge still cupped in my hand. Well, that's new. I test a squeeze. A shot of pleasure jolts up my spine making my head feel fuzzy. I nearly curl into myself at the surprise. That's definitely new.

I take one more glance at myself, wincing at the sight. I'm no fresh pup, I know what's pulsing at my base. I just didn't think it would come out without being buried inside someone. Sighing, I tuck myself away and attempt to get some sleep. I wince at the sticky fabric, suddenly regretting not waiting till a more opportune time to do this.

Circling the track for the 2nd time I catch up with the squad. Everyone is taking a breather, panting hard after the three miles. I casually jog up to them, still vibrating with energy.

"How can you even do this, air bud," Scott grabs at his knees," I knew there would be running but…fuck."

I look at him bemused," air bud?"

"Well it's like my dog, Rufus," another squad member claps me on the shoulder," would just run around for hours once I let him outside." I look between the two.

"I just like running," I answer," I feel rather energetic lately."

We all talk as I bounce on my heels. The sergeant rounds us all up before heading off to the next part of PT.

We begin jumping jacks in our lines, listening to the drill sergeant scream encouragements. Looking off to the side I catch sight of another squad doing their miles. They all seem rather calm, must be their first mile. I watch them go by, just briefly catching sight of my little mate in the middle of the crowd. A smile curls on my face as I watch her run along. Her arms pumping and chest bouncing. A raging need thrums into my veins, my cock standing to attention. I watch her in a daze.

"What are you doing, boy," someone shouts, grabbing me by the back of my shirt. I stumble as I'm tugged backward, torn from my stupor. Catching my bearings I realized I've tried to walk out of formations, ignoring my exercises in favor of following her delicious smell.

"uh," I shake my head," Sorry, saw a squirrel." I half-smile, hoping the joke would land. He grits his teeth, tugging me back in line.

"I'd make you run another set but I think you would enjoy that, instead you're on patrol tonight, Fido," he shouts, walking back down the line," Let's start again, from the beginning. One, two, three…"

Lunch has me excited, feeling like my tail is ready to sprout out and reveal my pleasure. I quickly shovel down my muck, looking around like an eager pup for any sight of her. Spotting her coming out of the line and heading my way I can't help but wipe my face and straighten my clothes. I nearly bounce in my seat as she gets closer.

"So you do have a tail," Scott tugs on something behind me. I grunt, twisting around with a growl. Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of my fluffy black tail.

"Ah, fuck," I grumble, looking to her coming closer then back at my tail. Without much thought, I pin it between the bench and my thigh.

"Hello, Cujo," she greets," you're endless energy for exercises will never cease to amaze me." she sits down at the table, her tray clanking against the metal. My tail tugs, wanting to break free. I open my mouth to answer, interrupted by someone clapping me on the back.

"Yea, it's making the rest of us look bad. He makes three miles look easy," Tyler jokes as he sits beside me.

"well, it is easy, you guys are just out of shape," she jokes back. I snort, glancing at the offended men on either side of me. My mate has a sense of humor I see.

"haha, hilarious, G.I. Jane," Tyler deadpans.

"It's funny you should say that because I caught you slacking behind your crew today," Scott props his smug face on his hand," it's bad enough they let dogs in the military but you women have a lot more to prove." I can't help but sneer at Scott.

She glares at him, crossing her arms and leaning forward." yea, well what's your excuse, cadet?"

Scott leans forward as well," got a handicap, love, hard to run with three legs."

My mate snorts a chuckle, shaking her head as she grabs her food," What kind souls the higher-ups are to let you join with such a clear handicap."

Scott bounces his brow," you know it, baby. I'll be happy to show you my treatment options, perhaps you can help?" I stiffen at the suggestion, my limbs and chest tightening as Scott continues to flirt. A low rumble climbs up my throat, back arching as I glare at him.

"Think I'll pass, I heard that men with large dicks tend to need too much prep work for a minute of entertainment," she bites back. Scott shrugs as Tyler chuckles, them all going back to their meal. The growl comes out louder, my teeth pricking at my lip as I snarl at him. Scott looks at me, recoiling at the clear aggression.

"You ok, Fido," Scott asks," looks like I'm trying to take your food or something." I feel everyone's eyes on me, confused and concerned. A possessiveness boils under my skin, demanding action against this male. I swallow hard, shaking my head as I glare down at my tray. Reigning back the shift, I shake my shoulders.

"Sorry," I growl," just feeling tense today." everyone nods, quietly eating their meals. I pass a glance to my mate, worried I pushed her away with my lack of control. We look to one another, the edge of her lip tugging up. She looks away with a shy smile gracing her beautiful face. I smile to myself as I eat.

After lunch I go for a run, feeling more anxious than yesterday. I dig hard, making record speed over my fifth mile. My body feels invigorated but anxious as I run. My brain goes a mile a minute, demanding attention to the one person driving me crazy. With Scott's words ringing in my ears all I can do is think about the threat. Someone is encroaching on my territory, challenging my claim.

I shake my head, I haven't claimed her. Hell, I don't even know her name. I run harder. Pictures of her flash through my head, my fantasy of the other night forcing discomfort to my groin. I shake again. Just running isn't doing enough, I need more now.

Slowing to a stop I take off my shirt. Crouching and pressing my fingers to the ground I allow my skin to break. I grunt with my bones snapping and rearranging. The pain feels great, an action my body agrees with greatly. With my claws digging into the dirt and fur bristling in the breeze I bolt down the track on all fours.

cadets and Sergeants gawk as I high tail it around the trail. I breathe heavy, tongue lulled to the side as I hear the air roar in my ears. Everything feels so open and free. This is something I've missed all week. Changing in front of everyone made me feel embarrassed, self-conscious. I'm not like them and proving that could lead to problems. Right now, I couldn't care less. I have other issues to deal with.

After running around for hours I fall in the grass near the tree line, laying on my stomach to bask in the sun. I should be exhausted now, all this mating energy out for the time being. Closing my eyes and resting my chin on my paws I relax. It's a lovely day out.

Sitting there for a moment I feel a burst of energy. I growl. Two hours of running on top of PT this morning, how can I be nearly vibrating with need? This mating business is getting harder and harder to ignore. All I think, hear, smell is her. My cock stirs against my stomach, the hot length pinned to the ground. I growl again.

Making my way to the showers I angrily toss my torn shorts and turn the water on. I step into the cold stream, shocked at the temperature. This should help, I can chill out before patrols tonight. Closing my eyes I press my head against the tiled wall. Not even a second in and I see her. I see her wet and naked before me, giving me eyes and beckoning me forward. I clench my fist and grow as my cock throbs.

"Fine," I grab my erection," you win again."

I jerk myself hard and fast, snarling as I picture pounding into her sweet cunt. Bucking into my fist I imagine her bouncing breast and wonderful cries of pleasure. I need her, I need her so damn bad. Baring my teeth with clenched eyes I feel my base ache. I grab at my knot, pinching it in a tight grip. I can feel my seed go up my shaft, spraying the wall. Whimpering, I pulse my grip on my base, sighing as each drop is let out.

"I can't keep doing this," I whimper," I'm so tired." my cock doesn't soften, even as I turn the water off and dry myself it still aches for her.

Walking the perimeter I look around the dark camp. My uniform feels scratchy and tight as I step. There are bags under my eyes and I'm still filled with energy. I'm tired and hyper at the same time. The walk around the base feels like a dream, hollow and dazed. I'm so sleepy.

The sound of a door opening catches my attention the same time a wonderous perfume punches me in the nose. My head snaps to a shed out a bit of way from the main building. A light is shining out the open door, a shadow cast on the sidewalk. I take another inhale of that sweet scent, my cock pulses.

Like a zombie, I shuffled to the shed. The corners of my vision are distorted as I turn into the doorway. My eyes snap to the person standing at the opposite end next to a shelf. She looks over her shoulder, smiling when she realizes who it is.

"Hey, Cujo," my mate greets," you look like shit, you ok?" she takes a step to me, concerned. A growl snaps out my mouth, my shoulders sagging forward. She recoils, taking a step back. I match her, taking one forward. "Cujo," she tries to say casually but comes out a little worried," you need something from the shed?" I take another step. Her back hits the shelf, startling her as she watches me stalk forward. With all my control out the window, I storm towards her, bracing my hands on either side of her head. My face buries against her neck, taking a large inhale.

"What's your name," I growl out, using the final bit of control I have to ask.

"S-Samantha, my friends call me Sam," she jokes with a timorous hilt. I lick up the taunt tendon of her throat, she shudders. "Cujo," she timidly runs her hand up my arm," what's happening?" I nearly purr at her touch. Her words barely register as I lap at her skin, drunk on her already. I hear the smallest whimper from her, making my ears perk up.

"W-what's your name," she asks as her hand glides up my back to card her fingers through my hair.

"Trevor," I bite at her shoulder," and I can't take it anymore."

"Take what," she says nearly breathless. I can't answer, only having enough thought to grab her thighs and lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist easily, pulling me against her heat. My eyes nearly roll with the friction. With little thought I slowly rock my hips, my tongue licking up her neck to her cheek then licking over her lips. Her fingers tug on my hair, scratching at my skin.

"You want me," she asks. I buck hard into her in answer, she chuckles. "Am I your mate," she asks. A spark starts in my loins at her saying such a thing. Does she accept this? Accept me?

Aching and primed I get her on the ground, licking her as I feel my tail stuck in my pants. My brain is muddled and unfocused, wanting to tear her clothes off and mount her right here. It feels wrong- it feels right. I bite at her shoulder again, frustrated beyond belief as I grind into her.

"S-sam," I whimper," Please."

She tugs on my hair again, snaking her hand under my shirt to pet at my sprouting fur. "What do you want, Trevor," she asks.

"You," I dig my teeth into her skin," you, you, you."

She laughs, rubbing her cheek against mine," then have me, big boy."

In a flurry of need, lust, want, I rip her shirt. I can't bring myself to feel guilty as her nearly naked torso is before me. I lather at her chest, plucking the little strap between her cups with my clawed finger. My tongue wets her nipples, chest, stomach, listening to her little adorable whimpers. I feel frenzied as I shove her pants down and bury my face against her cunt. She smells sweet, tastes like ambrosia.

"Oh, good boy," she grips my hair too tightly. I lap are her folds like a dying man, feeling my body pulse and rejoice. She is amazing and all mine, open and pleasured by me. Her body wiggles and grinds against me, forcing me to hold her hips. Her thighs clamped around my face, nearly covering my ears. I'm pleased to hear her cries and feel her tighten around my tongue as I force it inside her. Oh, by the gods, she's divine.

I continue showering my attentions upon her as she tries to push me away," that's enough, Trevor, I need you." my head perks up at her words. She needs me? I sit up, ripping my already torn shirt off my shifted body. I rush to undo my pants, tearing at them enough for my cock to poke through. I look down at her cunt, licking my chops with excitement. I fall over her, hands framing her head. My hips gravitate towards her, needing her more than air. I whimper as I can't bring myself to plunge into her like a savage. Whimper again I meet her eyes, begging her.

She smiles, reaching up and petting my cheek," go ahead, Trevor, I think I understand." overjoyed I lick her mouth, tail wagging freely now.

Now free to do as I need I look between us and nudge my cock against her. My tip spreads her folds but delving into her awaiting heat is hard. I can't think, instincts taking all my control. I whimper again, looking at her. She smiles sweetly, reaching down and guiding me. I wait eagerly for her to lead me, feeling her place me at her entrance. I shove forward, engulfed easily. I whine and growl as I push as far as I can go. I try to nudge further but my base is already swollen. I chuff.

With my new addiction wrapped around my cock I withdraw before plunging into her divine heat with a heavy breath. This is what I've needed, what I've craved. I can't stop myself from bucking into her hard and fast, demanding everything with each thrust. My ears ring as I'm taken to a world of pure bliss.

Samantha writhes and whimpers with me, grabbing at the fur on my chest. I lean closer, pressing my body to hers. My thrusts begin to shorten till I'm rutting into her with shallow humps. Short uncontrolled bucks that leave my knot knocking at her entrance. An overwhelming need overtakes me. I bump my knot harder and harder against her, demanding entrance with every nudge. With a hard push, she opens more for me. I grunt as I force it, locking her to me with a satisfied sigh.

We both wriggle against each other till I'm left whining against her shoulder, with a well-timed clench on her part I'm bursting inside her. I bite down on her shoulder, marking her as my cum paints her insides. Her walls flutter around me. I listen to her melodious cries as I cum. It's too perfect, too beautiful.

With my cock locked inside her I can't help but wag my tail and lick at her face. She giggles, allowing me to shower her in affection as she rests on the floor. I pamper her, licking at her sweat and cleaning every part I can reach. She is mine now, my wonderful mate.

As my knot begins to deflate I feel the week catch up with me. I collapse on her, my cock softening and falling out. She grunts as my weight is on her. My eyes begin to flutter, my body coming back to its original state. I drift off to sleep without a care in the world.

I awaken in an unfamiliar bed with unfamiliar clothes. Without much thought I sniff out my mate, wanting to roll into her comforting arms. A disgusting chemical smell greets me instead of her warm scent. I jump awake, scared, and worried immediately.

"Whoa, cool it, Spot," someone catches my attention. I snap my eyes to them, seeing a skinny man in normal military attire. The brown shirt and camo pants.

"Where is Sam," I growl, disoriented as adrenaline fills my veins.

"The girl? Probably talking with the XO," he shrugs," should be back here soon." the man looks to his computer on his medical trolley. Feeling he is distracted I jump from the bed and bolt to the door. I can hear him shout but I'm too busy taking in the scents around me. I look left, nothing. I look right, I smell her.

Charging down the halls I turn this way and that as I follow her trail. I feel stressed and angry, to an unbelievable degree. I need her in my sight, in my arms. Her scent leads me to a door, the words on the sign not registering in my mind. I slam it open, spotting her immediately.

"Oh, hey," she smiles as she turns in her chair. She has more to say but I interrupt her. Plucking her from her seat I slam her against my body and bury my face to her neck. I take in her scent, assess her health and the environment. The smell of another makes me stiffen but her fingers scratching behind my ear makes me purr. I can feel my tail wagging behind me.

"Tamed the dog, how cute," someone says. I snap my head to them, nearly growling at my XO. He sits at his desk smug, but still intimidatingly powerful. Though I hold back a sound I can't help but bear my teeth to him.

"Let's not antagonize the pup, alright," Sam jokes. She guides me over to the seats, parting to take her own. Looking from her to the XO I feel the urges again, a primal need to get her out of sight of this male. I shake my head to put myself back into a normal mindset. Reluctantly I sit down.

"Now the excitement is over, Cadet Trevor Galius. You are relieved of training till further notice along with Cadet Samantha Backster," he says calmly. I stiffen at the dismissal, looking at Sam in clear worry. Will she be mad? This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, taking her choice away. Sam glances at me with a disarming smile. I remain wary.

"For how long," I ask.

"Till next January, that's when winter training starts. For now, I encourage you two to settle all that needs to be settled before then," he glares over to me," I'd hate to have a repeat of this semester." I wince, looking down at my lap.

"Will this put a delay on werewolves being allowed in the armed forces," I peak up at my XO. He smiles to himself, dropping it quickly.

"I admire your dedication to this cause but no, there be no delay for werewolves. I hope you don't mind too much not being the first one," he answers. Most of my worries melt off at his words. The only person I'm potentially holding back is Sam, no one else has to suffer for my lack of control.

"That won't be a problem, sir," I answer.

With no final notes, we are dismissed. I walk with Sam out into the hall, fidgeting all the while. We walk out of the main building in silence. Should I say something? Is she mad? I pass glances at her, looking for any signs of distress. She gives nothing away.

"Just ask, I know it's killing you," she bites her lip to stop her grin. I fall apart, reaching out and pulling her against me. I can't take not touching her.

"Please don't be mad at me. I didn't want to force you out of training like this but trying to hold back was killing me. I'm so sorry," I whimper into her hair. She awkwardly pats at my back as I apologize.

"I'm not mad," she answers," far from it. I'm rather excited about all this. Like, it's not every day something like this happens."

I recoil from her, confused," you're not mad?"

She shakes her head," no, I actually had some guesses around our second conversation."

I look at her bemused," you did?"

"Yea, I knew about the werewolf mate thing from my cousin. I went to her wedding about two years ago and she was mated to one of your kind. She wouldn't shut up about how they met and the utter romantic garbage she experienced from him," she scoffs," it was almost sickening how sweet they were but I got to learn some signs. You have been tense and full of energy lately. I figured that was normal but you perked up a lot when I showed up. It was really cute. Still, I had some guesses and when you came to the shed it was heavily validated. So in the end, I'm not mad. Lowkey a little happy you didn't do some over the top romantic gestures like my cousin's man did."

I listen to her rant amused and amazed. She knew? A part of me thinks she just had some hopeful thoughts and wanted the signs to be for her. Or maybe I'm not as good as I think at hiding this. Either way, it doesn't matter because she doesn't hate me. She wants me and I can't do anything but be thrilled.

With a snort, I pull her into a kiss, ecstatic with the turn of events. She smiles against my lips, pulling me close. As we kiss a few people walk back, whistling and making sly comments at us. We part, chuckling with one another at their jokes.

"So you aren't mad you have to join back next year," I ask just to be sure.

"Maybe a little," she shrugs," I guess your just going to have to make me forgive you."

I growl, leaning down and nipping at her neck. Her shriek of laughter makes me giddy. I have my mate, and she's perfect.

#12 tropes for christmas #12 days of christmas #Enigma-IM #exophilia #monster boyfriend #werewolf boyfriend #heat

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tundrainafrica · 4 years

Text

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (10/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: This took a while. I had this written out for a while, I just spent a good amount of brain cells trying to figure out where to cut this. It’s almost done actually. I’m expecting like (at the most) 5 more chapters so maybe I can get it done by the end of March if I muster up the courage and the effort to do all the final revisions to the last few chapters.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Other Chapters:1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Link to cross-postings: AO3

As Levi soon found out, Hange kept a folder online tagged ‘Levi Ackerman.’

The oldest pictures were dated more than three years ago and the first had been one of his cool down after his performance at his first tournament. There was variety in the pictures and they covered everything, all the way from warming up on the bench, positioning himself to run and those few moments right after launching himself in the air to the peak of his jump. She had even snuck pictures of his interviews.

The first time he opened it, he had first checked the dates to make sure he hadn’t been dreaming or assuming she of all people had been a fan. The weirdly strong emotions he had felt at the realization of the existence of such a folder had only made him all the more vulnerable and the last thing he had wanted to do was an act on an illusion or trick of the mind.

The experiences he had on the field clearing jump after jump had become routine over the five year period. Despite the changes among the faces in the crowd, the cheers that had only been getting louder and louder and of course, the oval that changed with the venue, sometimes the only thing Levi did remember was the blue sky staring him down and gravity pulling from behind.

Maybe that was why he had ended up in a state of disbelief the first time she had shown it to him.

How did you not notice her? Levi was sure he wouldn’t have anyway. She was a stranger, one stranger in a crowd of people. Although she may have been one unchanging face in a crowd of thousands of changing faces, she was still a stranger to him. And strangers just tended to blend in more easily.

A valid point. Yet the regret and frustration were still fresh inside him despite it having been weeks since she first gave him access to that folder

She had first showed it to him the morning after that eventful night, after having dealt with a hungover Nanaba. It was only in the evening that day after Hange had escorted her three friends to the station did she sit next to him on the bed and scroll through the pictures herself with Levi right beside her. Naturally, she was still hesitant to show that side of her, she scrolled a bit too slow at times, while a bit too fast at other times.

For a while their roles were reversed and Levi found himself prodding Hange for more details. Eventually, she did share the link to the folder in exchange for links to his story and Levi was quick to comply. They were both exposed anyway, there was no need for any more secrets between them. Only one condition that had seemed a little too frivolous at first glance, yet somehow Levi understood it.

Hange requested that he go through the pictures when she wasn’t around. And soon after she requested it, Levi realized he preferred that too. Despite the fact that he did trust her not to judge whatever she may find on the folders, there still existed an uneasiness at baring one’s heart out to someone in words one couldn’t control anymore having written the stories out too long ago.

Consequently, he requested the same thing from her. Do not read it while I’m around. When he told her the stories, he at least had control of his tones, his diction and the packaging of the overall story. Watching her read them, he knew he would find himself doubting the words he had written while at the same time vacillating between decisions to correct his previous writings or let her read. The constant self consciousness that came with the second option had just been too stressful of a prospect. He decided himself, he would rather have full control of the exposition or none at all.

The decision to have no control and no input, to be absent when he bares his heart out was not easy to make. And he continued to feel the traces of that struggle in the way he so easily lost focus and ended up mindlessly scrolling through the folder. His mind had shifted to other things more specifically the prospect of whether or not Hange was doing the same thing then and there.

She was only a phone call away. He could ask. But it had just seemed idiotic. Of course she wouldn’t be checking on it, she had been cramming for an exam that morning in between preparing for her mid semester thesis presentation. She hadn’t even bothered to say any greeting but an ‘I’ll follow’ before he left for the therapist that morning.

He looked through the messages in the waiting room, and up at the time displayed on the upper right part of the screen.

9:43. She was still in the middle of her exam. She won’t be checking on it.

Levi looked at the ceiling above him, allowing the plain white view above him to ease him back to his reality. How long had he been staring at the phone? He closely felt for the aches and discomforts around his body. The dull soreness that made itself known as he stared up at the white ceiling above him only served as a reminder that he had been a little too exposed to quick scrolls and the unnatural glare of his phone for a potentially unhealthy amount of time.

It was his first physical therapy session and Hange had pointed out that he should be early just in case. Consequently, he had shown up at 8:30 for a session at ten.

Just in case you get lost. Just in case there is paperwork which still needs to be filled. Hange would have done the paperwork already. He had ended up clocking that little doubt and that need for a little prophylactic thinking to caution on their end. First times tended to make people a little more cautious. And more importantly, what else was there to do on a Saturday morning other than sleep in?

Either way, that long wait had left him with eyes a little too tired yet at the same time, he was bored out of his wits. He looked around the waiting room finding something else to entertain himself with.

I only have seventeen more minutes to kill. It shouldn’t be too hard.

The atmosphere of the waiting room was nothing like getting lost in nature or on the road. It was stark white, bleak and a little too rehearsed. In other words, it lacked dynamic and consequently. it was too boring to find any amusement in. Of course, they wouldn’t want to stress out any patients with anything too fancy or overwhelming. Yet, the only thing which Levi could have found worth giving more than a passing thought to were the people around him.

And only when Levi started focusing instead on the people and not on the off-white plastered walls of the waiting room, he somehow was able to distract himself from the dragging motions of time.

There was an old man with a knee brace. A middle aged man with an arm in a sling and a girl with a casted right leg. There were others who could have passed up for nothing more than a visitor, until they stood up and Levi noticed in their gait the slight hesitancy to put one foot in front of the other. A small detail which Levi probably wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t looking for it then.

As he preoccupied himself and reflected over the small details that could have told stories of the people around him, that natural reflection to one own’s self had him a little too focused, a little too fixated.

The door to the waiting room slammed behind him and the trance disappeared as quickly as it came and as silently as a bubble that had just been popped.

Levi found himself irritably following the sound of the footsteps that came right after the slam of the door. It reverberated across the quiet and tense room, so loudly that if Levi did look around him, he would have realized he wasn’t the only one who had been so abruptly disturbed by it.

“Aaaand... My rounds are over for today,” The man said looking not at all guilty for that rude awakening. He wouldn’t have known anyway, and as Levi looked towards the front where the man had settled by the nurse’s desk, he might just have been the only one in the room rudely awakened by that sound.

“Ah, Doctor Jaeger, That was quick,” the nurse commented a little too pleasantly for Levi’s taste.

“Not too busy of a morning.” The man said, or as Levi soon deduced, was Mr. Jaeger. He recognized that irritating voice and as he looked up at the man, taking in the gruff features, the blond hair and beard and the rounded glasses, he quickly grasped for the name.

Zeke Jaeger. He hadn’t even said the name out loud just yet, but somehow he tasted venom. Levi though had enough awareness of his surroundings and his own ability to quickly yet correctly guess names to have kept silent. Regardless, he continued to watch as Zeke lowered his voice, possibly whispering something about going out for a drink and some dinner with the nurse in front of him. He found himself silently judging that audacious invasion of privacy as Zeke looked over at whatever paper was on the teacher’s desk.

Ackerman?

If Levi had actually been a little more aware of his surroundings, he would have realized Zeke did not at all say the name loud enough for him to hear. It was the result of Levi having watched too closely as Zeke enunciated those syllables, having noticed as the nurse made eye contact with him and having heard peppers of conversations about a jumper and an injury.

“Oh… An Ackerman? Who does high jumps?.” Zeke confirmed it himself, as he once again spoke a few decibels louder, obviously with the intention of making himself heard.

It wasn’t anything new. The past few months, Levi started to realize that at the least, many people in the local scene were familiar with him.

“My brother’s best friend is an Ackerman too and she started jumping recently.”

“I don’t have any relatives who jump,” Levi answered, in an attempt to shoot that attempt of a friendly interaction down.

Zeke stared at him, looking surprised. “You sure? With how quickly she picked it up, I thought she should have been related to you.”

Levi kept silent, making no effort to look open at all to conversation. Somehow, Zeke didn’t seem to get the hint.

“She’s been sweeping their interhigh competitions since the start of autumn… With the pace at which she’s going, she might even replace you.”

Levi had gotten used to those types of comments, hearing them as whispers the few times he went out, seeing them on a few forums as people discussed his injuries. He shouldn’t have been at all bothered by the statement, having shifted his attention in life to things which weren’t jumping

The blond man in front of him had been crass and blunt and Levi was starting to feel the beginnings of a bad mood. The irritability only worsened even as Levi tuned out the blond doctor. His mind went elsewhere, as he instead decided to seethe silently at the insensitivity of that statement.

A Tale of Two Slaves

Eventually Levi did get a break from that one-sided conversation. But the countdown to that break was slow and painful. He only noticed as he struggled under the trappings of that long and excruciating wait how long it really took for minutes to count down on a digital clock.

An eternity could have passed before Levi was called from the waiting room. As soon as the clock struck ten, Levi could not help but be more than slightly annoyed that she had been late.

If you’re early then you’re on time. If you’re on time, then you’re late. Any other day, Levi would have acknowledged the hypocrisy of that statement since although he was always early to training, he was never that religious when it came to academics. Having just bounced back from such an excruciating exchange with Zeke though, everything had just been pissing him off more than necessary.

It was almost remarkable how he managed to nod in return at the woman who met him at the exit of the waiting room. But Levi soon realized, as the anger quickly dissipated from inside him, she seemed like an old friend more than a stranger and like for all people, as long as there was history between them, he could save a little more patience points.

The woman who helped him up and led him to the room ahead was shorter than him yet had a way of handling herself that made Levi guess that she was at the least, a university student.

Levi didn’t need to guess anything else. Somehow, her name, her personality and the familiarity had all been somewhere in his head.

She cocked her head to one side in greeting and spoke up. “You can call me---”

“Petra,” Levi said. Somehow, he just knew her name. He had been inclined to complete that statement, only to make more real the nagging feeling in his head as soon as he had noticed her enter the room.

Petra’s eyes widened in shock. “Yes, how did you know?”

“It’s on your nametag,” Levi answered almost automatically, thanking the heavens she was wearing a nametag.

“Yeah, my bad. I get a little absent minded at times,” Petra patted her own head and gave Levi a wry smile.

Petra was hospitable. And when Levi thought that exact statement, he couldn't help but think how the word 'hospitable' had fit her so well. It was in her presence. She had this special talent, of finding ways at least to add color to the stark white hospital walls and the overly sanitized tiled floors underneath.

It could have been the tone or it could have been her word choice as she rattled off what could have been an outline of his physical therapy regime. As Levi did figure out, it could possibly have been the unique enthusiasm she had towards the whole patient recovery process

"So you're my physical therapist?" Levi asked. He never really did pick up what she was saying. He had heard enough about leg raises, timings on when to remove casts and knee bends that he at least guessed she knew enough about them to be one.

Petra though was quick to shake her head. "No actually. After college, I have plans of taking the exam. Then after that, I’ll be a physical therapist. I’m just taking advantage of this internship to learn more about the occupation.”

“It suits you,” Levi said. He kept his own comments brief. At that point, he did start to lose a little bit of awareness of his surroundings. His thoughts flew slowly back to his dreams.

Those first two encounters in the hospital had been two missing puzzle pieces. The stories had been an incomplete puzzle set of words and pictures and as he put it all together in his head, he couldn’t help but note how vivid the memories actually were. It took all his strength not to react, not to bolt out then and there, and go back home, to fill in the gaps on his laptop.

He put two names on his phone.

Zeke Jaeger. Petra Ral. Levi could have sworn there was more to remember and to write about.

And who did Zeke mention then? The other Ackerman? The other jumper?

The dreams were faint, as faint as the image an incomplete puzzle would make. Some parts were clear and vivid like a scenery behind a newly cleaned window. Others were hazy, his mind having filled up those gaps with blurry images. But the other Ackerman was there, and she moved fast enough to justify those blurs in the scene. Back when they fought the war, she flew in those cables much faster than he and Hange had.

I am strong. I am stronger than all of you.

A Tale of Two Slaves

The pain that came with his first physical therapy session was excruciating and it only served to further aggravate the anguish and his eagerness to get home before the sceneries in his head faded into faint memories of something else.

He managed at least to keep himself in a good in-between, by repeating the mantra of that other Ackerman to himself as he went through each and every exercise.

They had started off slow, as slow as a walk in the park maybe, a few stretches here and there. While doing some of the stretches and the warm ups, he did wonder if he had attended the right therapy session. Some of the warm up exercises had nothing to do with his knee after all.

The actual challenge came when Petra and the physical therapist he had failed to get the name of, had him sit down. As soon as Petra unwrapped the brace and pulled it from underneath him, Levi felt the weight of his injury almost instantly. It didn’t help at all that he was looking right at it.

“We’re going to try bending it a bit. Maybe put some weight on it if we have some extra time” The physical therapist’s words felt ominous.

The surgical scars and the healed wounds on his knees from more than two months ago only served to rattle Levi a little more. He had avoided looking at the scars many times before during meetings with Erwin and Hange. The few times Hange did pull and prod at it, he had it stretched out on some pillow.

It was fragile. And it felt unnatural. There in front of him then, it was dangling from the exam table, gravity pulling it down from underneath. Levi swore that if he tried hard enough he probably could imagine it completely disconnecting from his body at that moment. And maybe if he did move it, attempt to stand up without the confines of a knee brace as support, it might just fall off.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us,” Petra said.

No, it doesn’t happen to the best of us. In the room at least, there were at least five other people struggling to do something so simple as to bend a knee. But Levi could have sworn, in the outside world he was surrounded by people who wouldn’t think twice about bending their knee.

“Just bend it as far as you feel comfortable.” Bullshit directions. Levi had to admit, he wasn’t comfortable having it bend at all. Just the sensation of having it dangle so easily in the air, at the mercy of gravity underneath was already unsettling.

Was it a challenge then? To get it to bend as far as he could?

The directions of the therapist were flawed and Levi naturally opted for a flawed response as well. The process of bending his knee had been slow and excruciating. Levi found himself closing his eyes a few times, finding some sort of a rhythm in the faint sounds of the heater in the room, the murmurs from all the way across the room.

Or maybe a mantra? From someone a little too familiar. I am strong. Stronger than all of you. Another Ackerman.

And the way Zeke had mentioned it was grating. Was it a challenge? A threat? Was it supposed to be pushing him to go further?

It could have been Zeke or it could have been that phantom Ackerman that had been a motivation at that moment. But something then had Levi’s heart racing, his mind going in circles.

I’m strong too. I’ll get out of this rut. He thought to himself, a weak yet still effective act of protest. It worked both as a catalyst for a burst of motivation and an odd source of rhythm. The flexibility of bending came in slow, steady but continued attempts. The rush of adrenaline came halfway through.

A few minutes later, he was sweating and maybe he had been shaking a bit before that. When Petra had mentioned the optimistic progress and the plan to at least attempt to put weight on his bum knee, Levi was quick to comply.

And maybe a little too reckless. They had least helped him next to a wall, a good place at least to lean his body in the off chance he did lose control.

“One foot forward then one back.” The therapist guided.

As he watched the therapist simulate that same position, Levi quickly followed suit. He remembered, he had put some weight on his leg. Back then the brace had kept his knee stable.

At that moment, the brace was off, and it would be his bum knee, exhausted from the prior exercises taking the full weight.

I’m strong. Levi repeated to himself. Bending wasn’t an issue before. He had been bending his knees, possibly before he even knew how to walk. It should have been nothing, The excitement of a while ago, the adrenaline rush, pushed him further. It had him so seamlessly balancing the weight from the back of his foot, to the foot in front.

And maybe his knee had been bending farther in, the weight of his body on it. Somewhere along the way he did start to feel the beginnings of a dull pain.

I’m strong. To keep going, Levi had to find an escape. Stronger than all of you. It was easy at least, to leave the movements to his procedural memory as he distracted himself with his own musings, willing himself not to forget what he had wished to write down.

Where did they all fit? The Beast Titan… The Survey Corps… The War… The Alliance?

“Levi, I’m sorry I’m late. The test ended later than I expected…” She came as a faint voice, but Levi was too far gone to hear it.

He had only felt her presence then, when the physical therapist called a break, when he had collapsed on the floor in exhaustion, his knee throbbing, his breaths coming in heaves. He only realized she had been watching for a good long while when he looked up to see the concern etched in her face as he caught her gaze.

“I’m fine…” He at least managed to say that much before he closed his eyes, allowing that few minutes of rest to gather his thoughts and steady his breaths.

“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself too hard. This is just your first session,” Hange said from right next to him.

He still had enough energy to process those words at least.

A Tale of Two Slaves

That night, Levi gripped his dream catcher a little tighter and pressed it close to the back of his phone as he scrolled through google links on the other Ackerman.

It hadn’t been hard to find her at all. Zeke’s tirade that morning had been more than a guide enough.

High school. Ackerman. High Jump. Those were the only three keywords he needed to figure out the whole name of that missing Ackerman. For a moment, he had expected to find his own articles, and had braced himself for the pain of sifting through old articles about himself in between looking at hers.

It turned out Mikasa Ackerman had been the talk of the high school high jumping scene for a while, and she had been the topic of at least 90% of the articles he was scrolling through on Google.

A few times they did allude to the other Ackerman. The older articles heralded her as a successor to the rookie Levi Ackerman, the newer ones that were dated past his injury called her the brand new Ackerman, a replacement.

A replacement to damaged goods. Levi had to add that part himself, an attempt to make a joke out of his shitty situation as he closed that last article. “Mikasa Ackerman,” Levi repeated those words so quietly to himself as he dropped the dreamcatcher haphazardly onto the table in front of him. It had been useless at that moment. Or maybe at the least it had been the reason he felt a little too frustrated at having looked through too many articles that evening.

He looked to Hange who was sitting on the dining table, looking deep in thought on something on her laptop. Mid semester presentations for her thesis proposal were coming up, along with a few new exams next week. She had been conscious enough to point that out at least and Levi happily gave her the space she needed.

The turmoil inside him at first seemed difficult to pacify. Just watching Hange so focused and deep in thought had helped somehow quell whatever unresolved tensions and feelings were settling in his stomach then.

Maybe if he talked to her, the tensions might just disappear altogether. Levi deemed it worth the effort at least. “Hange? You okay?” He asked

Hange’s head shot up and she looked straight at him almost instantly. “Sorry, how long were you calling me? I’ve just been a little too focused on my exam on Monday and the thesis presentations on Wednesday… I don’t think I’ve been in the right mind for a while…”

Levi saw it in the way she looked at him, she hadn’t been focusing on his eyes. It was as if she were still probably seeing whatever words or numbers she was studying. She had been like that the past week since the line up of the thesis presentations were released along with the midterms schedules for all the exams.

Their kiss, their one night in the bedroom almost forgotten. Levi was sure though there was something that had been bothering her, maybe something that extended beyond academics.

I can ask about that after finals. Levi thought to himself, pushing aside that bout of concern. He could start with a light question at least, which didn’t involve Hange too much. “Have you heard of Mikasa Ackerman?”

“Mikasa Ackerman? The high school high jumper?” Hange asked. “Maybe I have been following her too… Lately...”

“She’s really good apparently.”

“Her jumping positions reminded me a lot of yours, so she had been fun to watch. I always did want to ask… Is she related to you? I did some research but I don’t see much which connect you both other than a few articles comparing you as jumpers and maybe speculating a relationship.”

Levi shook his head. “I never heard of her… Until today… A doctor mentioned her back in the hospital before my therapy session.”

“She only started making waves last month when her school made it to the regional competitions. No one really follows the district and the interschools… And apparently she only started jumping recently, during summer and she only started breaking records during the regionals,” Hange said. “That is… According to what I’ve read up on her.”

“So, you have been following her?”

“I still watch videos during study breaks,” Hange admitted. “And she just broke a few records a few weeks ago, of course they’d show up in my feed.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to ask me about it before? About an Ackerman doing the same jumping positions I did? You didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I thought of asking you about it maybe after exams. Besides, do you want to talk about jumping? After everything that happened?”

Levi put his phone down beside him and looked up at the ceiling above him. Of course he wouldn’t have heard of her until then, he had purged himself of all track and field news since the injury. The tournament with Nanaba and Mike and the round of research on Mikasa have been two exceptions and the feelings after that had only reminded him why he had spent his days actively making the effort not to think of the life he used to have. "I told you I'm fine," he said. He half meant that part at least, the writing had helped.

"No you aren't.”

Levi found himself shocked by how certain Hange’s tone had been. And for a second, maybe he had been a little irritated at the audacity of it all. Who was she to assume how he felt? But the surprise and the irritability had him silent and listening. Hange always had a reason for her conclusions. She never made assumptions so easily, he had known her enough lifetimes to be sure of that.

“There's a certain sadness to knowing you can't do what you used to before.” Hange continued. “I think everyone feels it, even a bit."

"A certain... sadness?" Levi asked.

"Wait, that does sound vague... Lemme think of an example." Hange paused for a second, looking up in thought. "Like maybe if you imagine people who’ve been skating or people who've been playing instruments their whole childhood. When they stop training or practicing these things altogether, these people can feel themselves lose their motor skills or their thinking skills that got them jumping double axels or playing arpeggios or pulling off vibratos like they’re second nature. And when they come back to it years later, I’m sure everyone feels the sadness or some sort of a frustration, looking back at their old self and processing the realization that they can’t bring their body or their mind to do something as effortlessly as they had done it many years before. Processing how they ended up so weak, so stupid after abandoning their old passions for so long."

“What if I’m an exception?” Levi challenged, still a little annoyed at such an assumption and at such a long unsettling tirade.

Hange shook her head. “You’re not. For a while, I wanted to entertain the possibility that maybe you and I are exceptions, maybe we can easily jump from one passion to another. When I was watching you during therapy though. I saw the terror in your eyes, the frustration, the sadness. ‘Why isn’t my body moving the same way it used to?’ Maybe you don’t want to think back to jumping because you don’t want to see how quickly your body has forgotten the motions, how quickly it had lost the flexibility and the strength to carry you over the two meter bars…” Hange trailed off. She avoided his gaze and for a while she had been staring at the blank wall in front of her. For a second after that, she did look to him, and there was a glint of realization in that. Realization at what she had just implied possibly. "But you know what, you might just be an exception. Maybe I’m just projecting." Hange added a second later.

Levi was sure though from the quick change of tone that accompanied those last words that Hange probably didn't mean it. On top of that, having heard Hange's small lecture, Levi almost immediately realized he wasn't at all an exception.

Her voice had been light as she mentioned that last sentence. It could have been a thoughtless comment. Hange didn’t make too many thoughtless comments though. “Projecting?” Levi asked.

Hange let out a short light laugh “I’m talking too much, I should go back to work…” Her words seemed like a band-aid, a lazy coverup for whatever emotions had supported such a tirade in the first place.

Projecting? There was a reason behind that word use and Levi was more than eager to press on it.

Hange wasn’t listening anymore though. She was buried once again in whatever subject she had chosen to study for that night. She was in work mode again and she had gotten back to that mode as quickly as she had fallen out of it.

All questions can wait until after her exam week. Levi told himself. The word ‘projecting’ had stayed though. Hange’s words had left its mark and maybe it did have Levi reflecting on his own feelings, his own fear and his own frustrations at his regressing skills, the painful awareness of his body that was slowly forgetting the motions he had built over years. At the end of that tunnel of reflection, he did end up thinking back to that word.

Projecting. She had to be feeling something for herself to say something like that right?

Hange what are you projecting?

And that at least distracted Levi enough, enough for him to ignore the dull pain in his left knee, channel his focus elsewhere. The next few days, having been left alone in the apartment while Hange went about classes, lab work and library visits, Levi did manage to channel his energies to academics or to filling his gaps in his own stories: Levi Special Squad, the Beast Titan and something about some new rookies in the survey corps.

The pain in his knee never left though. It was nagging and annoying like a cavity. It was a pain Levi had assumed would disappear in time. His left knee had always been painful since the injury.

Yet, maybe his left knee had started to get a little frustrated at Levi’s negligence. Maybe it had started to get angry. It was a creature and Levi soon realized, it was a monster that demanded attention.

The night it demanded his attention so stubbornly, so angrily., it did it through sharp pains that coursed through him like bolts of electricity, it did it through a crushing sensation that left Levi almost unable to breathe.

And maybe it did have Levi hallucinating----Or could it have been dreaming--- of having saved one of his soldiers from being eaten by a titan.

A Tale of Two Slaves

“Connie!

“Captain!”

In his dreams, he had been too out of breath, or maybe a little too distracted to have reacted at the crushing pain that had spread through him like bolts of lightning. The dream was hazy that Levi doubted whether he had been completely rooted in anything or not.

He had been flying. He had been in pain. And he had been pushing past the pain, slicing at a titan in every direction. And when he had seen one of his soldiers unconscious, about to be eaten by a titan, he had jumped in between the titan and the soldier so instinctively, so desperately that the in-between had been a blur. He found himself in the midst of an excruciatingly painful ordeal. He gritted his teeth, biting back any attempt to scream. For god knows if he screamed, he might just run out of energy, he might just pass out.

When he woke up to the dark room though, he processed almost naturally the fact that the circumstances his reality had offered him were different. The view in the middle of the night, the faint sound of cars had been different. He wasn’t in a battle field and as if his body had been completely aware of that, it did push past his attempts to subdue any reaction.

Even before he realized it though, he had been screaming. Only when his throat burned and the sounds faded into a whimper, only when the tears started to run down his face, only when he closed his eyes and keeled over, a pathetic reaction to the bombardment of stimuli, did Levi realize the pain of having his leg almost bitten off by a titan was still there.

“Levi! I’m here. What’s going on? Are you okay?” Hange was right next to him. Beyond the pain, that was all he could process.

Hange hadn’t been there in the dream. God knows where Hange had been when he was flying from titan to titan. God knows where Hange had been when he found himself, jumping in between his fellow soldier and the titan that had lunged to eat him.

And god, it was painful. Even past the dream, even when he started to realize that Hange was right next to him at least in the dark room at 3am. The pain stayed and it was crushing his knee, it was leaving him unable to even take any sort of a decent breath, his own coping mechanism reduced to ragged breaths in between tears.

“Levi, breathe…”

How pathetic where his own breaths sounding for Hange to have to coach him like that?

“Oh god, Levi, we might have to get you to a hospital?”

How pathetic did he look for Hange to have to suggest a hospital visit? When she helped him up at least, when she slung her free arm over his shoulder and helped him to a sitting position, he did at least feel the unnatural weight on his left knee. What was going on?

Everything after that, came as a hazy dream. As hazy as the fight against the many unnatural looking titans. In that dream, Hange had been absent for some reason he could not yet comprehend. And Levi found himself trying to push it away, instead focusing on the Hange in front of him who had put a blanket over him, who had dialed a number on her phone and who was rattling off medical jargon to someone on the phone.

“Erwin… I…” Why would you need to call Erwin at three in the morning?

After that, Hange had helped put a hoodie over him, she had called one more number. And within a few minutes, Levi found himself lying down on a taxi, half conscious, only hanging on by a thread at the view of Hange under the dim light of the taxi and the city lights.

Somehow, he was terrified of falling asleep again. Hange hadn’t been there in the dream. And she might just disappear if he closed his eyes. As he unwillingly held on to the crushing pain in his knee and the view of Hange who sat next to him on the taxi, he was awake. Only barely, but barely was enough to not fall into another world of dreams, a world of wars and a state of complete chaos and confusion.

Eventually, he lost consciousness but it had been a gradual process.

He had lost some sense of time along the way, his body having been too focused on Hange. The darkness in the taxi had quickly shifted to the stark white of the hospital as he was helped onto a stretcher. Then along the way, he may have heard Erwin’s voice rattling off something about a swelling knee that was crushing his joints and a knee aspiration.

Then there was something about painkillers, an IV, a slight pain in his hand before everything enveloped him again. Maybe at his peripherals, Hange had been by his bedside.

It was a huge improvement at least from the messages of his own dreams. And maybe it was relief that finally had him letting go of his tight yet weak grip on reality. The crushing pain on his knee hadn’t been from a titan biting it off. Hange’s absence in the war had only been a dream.

The last few things he had processed then before completely letting the darkness enveloped him, may have been the sound of a laptop opening next to him, a few wires pattering on the floor below, the sound of the mouse and finally, the relaxing rhythmic clacking of the keyboard..

Hange was right next to him and she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

A Tale of Two Slaves

“Sorry.” It came out as a croak but Levi was still hoping she heard it. Despite the haziness of the first few moments as he opened his eyes to the light streaming into the hospital room, despite the discomfort which came with a dry throat, it had been Levi’s first instinct to apologize.

Hange looked worse off than last night. He at least picked up enough images of her to know that there was a stark difference between the Hange of a few hours ago and the Hange then. The laptop hadn’t moved, it was still on the table next to his bedside, just like he had guessed it to be having fallen unconscious to the sound of the clacking of the keyboard.

Right then and there, Hange’s hair fell in chaotic waves, her glasses askew. And compared to last night where he saw panic, in front of him, he saw calm etched on her face, an ominous calm that somehow seemed even more alarming.

“Hange,” Levi said a little louder. The concern he felt only gave him the motivation to push past the discomfort of having just woken up. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you saying sorry? Hadn’t everything to this point been my fault?” Hange’s voice was soft, reflecting the ominous calm. It was cold, maybe even frozen. “"The reason the fluid built up in your knee was overexertion apparently. They’re guessing it was the physical therapy session last Saturday." Hange looked away. "I can't help but think... If I didn’t bring you to the tournament or talked to you about jumping , maybe you wouldn’t have pushed yourself too hard."

Levi had listened closely and he could have sworn he heard a crack in her voice. “But the fluid is gone right?” He asked. He noted that his knee was numb and to his relief, the pain had devolved into a dull ache, similar to the one he had been dealing with the past month. Not at all as alarming as it had been the night before.

Hange shrugged. “Maybe it’s the painkillers or maybe it’s the fact that they drained the wound. But don’t count your eggs before they even hatch. Your back to square one. All progress, out the window. Fuck this. Fuck all this. And you wouldn’t have been in this damn situation if he hadn’t fucked up way too many times. Was I pressuring you to jump? Was I pressuring you to recover quicker? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Elijah, or maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned MIkasa? Maybe I shouldn’t have let you go to that fucking meet in the first place.”

Levi kept quiet. Watching what had been Hange, leaving her laptop open on the table, watching her pace around the room, avoiding his gaze as she fell into her soft tirade had been unsettling. Even he couldn’t tell how it was making him feel. “It’s over. It happened. So many things had happened at once, it couldn’t have been anyone’s fault.”

“Fucking hell Levi, when I’m supposed to be writing about your injury, when I’m supposed to be writing every single bout of mini progress, writing out the mechanics of the injury… I can’t help but see… you were in no condition to jump. You were exhausted, your wounds from the first time we met were far from healed. But for fuck’s sake, if I had told you to wait it out a week, instead of letting you do jump after jump, maybe you’d be in class right now or maybe you’d be preparing for your next tournament… I don’t wanna write this anymore. I don’t wanna reduce whatever is going on inside you to a fucking case study.” Hange slammed her hand on her keyboard, and sat so violently on the chair, she had pushed it a few inches back.

“You need to graduate,” Levi said. What will Erwin think? What will your parents think?

“At this point, who cares? I’m miserable. I can’t fucking get anything written. I write a paragraph, I get self conscious and I delete it. I write out my interpretation of the numbers, of my findings, my gut wrenches then I delete it again."

“Take a break?” Levi weakly suggested.

Hange had laughed at that. The reaction came out of nowhere and Levi found himself speechless and maybe a little confused. Take a break? That had seemed like a natural suggestion. He had at least spent a good few seconds thinking in between listening to Hange’s rant to have come up with such a suggestion.

Either way, from the way Hange had laughed it off and slammed her laptop close, from the way she had sat back on the chair and looked at nothing in particular, the way she had avoided his gaze through the whole tirade and the fit that had followed, Levi was sure that had been the wrong thing to say.

A little ashamed at his own ability to have come up with something a little more comforting, Levi kept quiet. And for a second, he looked up at the own ceiling above him, and maybe distracted himself by appreciating the view from the wide hospital window, following the birds that were doing some sort of dance in the sky

For a moment, he did forget about Hange. She hadn’t helped at all to make herself any memorable, having kept silent.

The silence in that moment had been too peaceful, had been too otherworldly that it was only natural that it would be broken by even the softest and steadiest things.

Like an off-rhythm knock on the door.

“Hange?”

Levi recognized the voice even before his head popped up from behind the slightly opened door. “Moblit?”

Levi looked towards Hange. The latter sat unmoving on her seat, her head bowed down, her face unreadable. Even as Moblit opened the door a little wider and approached her, she hadn’t moved at all or even looked back to greet him. Levi bent over to get a better look at her and saw panic. A type of panic he had never seen before. Panic, confusion, maybe a little urgency. “Hange? Moblit’s here.” Levi managed to say. He kept his voice gentle, a natural gesture having to process Hange’s face at that moment.

“Hey Hange. Erwin told me you’d be here. The others were worried about you--- I was worried about you. You’re supposed to be presenting now."

Hange stayed silent. From what Levi could see, her face was frozen. Was that panic? Shock?

Moblit continued. "I explained your situation… They said they could push it back until this afternoon...You think you can make it?" Moblit paused as he got closer to her, as if waiting for her to say something. He had his phone out,as if ready to call the panelists at any moment.

"Hange. Go to the presentation," Levi said. It was difficult to bend over and make eye contact with her with her head bent down, her eyes downcast. He kept his words firm, hoping at least that was enough to reach her.

“I can’t…” She managed to say. She left her mouth half open, as if she had expected to say something after. She looked back up at Levi, then bit her lip. Levi could have sworn that was the first time he had seen her in such a loss of words yet at the same time, struggling to get something out.

“Hange, go. I’ll be fine…”

“You don’t understand, I can’t… present.”

“Hey, I’ll help you set up. We have until tonight.” Moblit scooched beside her on the table and typed out her password.

“No, you don’t get it, I have nothing…”

“Hey, I’ll help you get a powerpoint. We can revise your manuscript together. That’s what friends are for,” Moblit pressed as he pushed the laptop towards Hange. “Come on, type out your password.”

“No Moblit, there’s nothing in here. It’s over. I’ll try again next year.”

“It’s too early to give up Hange, remember how fast you got Elijah’s data processed? It helped me a lot.”

“You don’t get it do you?” Hange pulled the laptop towards her and angrily typed what could have been the password. The laptop booted to life and from where he sat, Levi made out the characteristic log in tone of the computer. “There’s nothing in the document. Just the introduction. No preliminary results. No observations. Nothing.”

Levi couldn’t see the screen from where he sat. But he did see the flashes of a changing screen through Moblit’s eyes. He could guess the results from the way Moblit’s jaw dropped and the way Hange just avoided both their gazes, keeping her eyes downcast.

Levi maneuvered himself to the side of the bed, getting Hange’s laptop at arm’s reach. His leg protested the action but that was the last thing on his mind. God forbid, what Moblit was seeing at that moment could have been Levi’s first assumption.

Hange… Didn’t you spend hours in the library getting everything written out?

Didn’t you spend whole days outside working in the lab?

Didn’t I fall asleep every night to the angry clacking of the keyboard?

Didn’t I wake up in the middle of the night to you in the dining room writing out your thesis?

She had been writing at least. The introduction, the review of related literature were all filled out. The methodology had been filled out. It was a far cry though from what she had made in high school. Each part had been furnished with links to sources, half completed sentences and maybe a few question marks here and there.

The observations and the results and discussions though, were all blank.

“Hange… You….” What were you doing? This can’t be it. Levi didn’t even know if he had said that last part out loud. His brain was on overdrive trying to prove his own quick conclusion wrong. He navigated through old versions of the document. His hands were quick, maybe they had been moving on their own and the PC couldn’t catch up.

A few times, Levi found himself tapping impatiently on the keyboard as the laptop loaded each version.

More links, more half completed sentences, and a very empty observations and results section. “We can get something written right? Help make a powerpoint? If we work together, we could get something presentable."

Moblit shook his head. He bent down next to Hange and spoke softly. “Does Erwin know about this?”

“I told him to just leave it to me… But I can’t. I can’t write this anymore.” Hange shook her head as she looked up at Moblit then up at him. There was some sort of a smile of resignation plastered on her face, reminiscent of the laugh of only a few moments ago.

That was what the laugh had meant when he had suggested the break.

Of course, she would laugh. There was no time for breaks. There was no time for work either. Hange was royally fucked.

Moblit left the room, neither Levi nor Hange asked for what. For a few more minutes, maybe for even an hour longer while Hange had been in her catatonic state, Levi did continue to look through her drafts, see what kind of sense he could make of the half complete sentences and the links to journals in her document with his limited knowledge on human anatomy.

His background had him very much unready to complete a thesis proposal on a technical subject he studied nothing about, let alone in the span of a few hours. Having been pumped with painkillers and sleeping drought only an hour before, his brain was in no state either to bullshit what he could. Despite all his desperate attempts to make sense of it, to write out something coherent, he found himself converting it back to the state he and Moblit had found it in.

Levi closed the laptop slowly and pushed it towards Hange. He was surprised and a little relieved to find that she did pull her weight, setting the laptop back on the table next to his bed.

Hange smiled at Levi and spoke up. “I appreciate you trying to do all this Levi but… I’ve given up already. I’m not getting this thesis done.”

It was a pained smile. A smile of resignation. A smile that was so clearly telling him that he had definitely wasted those last few minutes pouring through the versions of her document for nothing.

Levi took a deep breath and spoke up. “Then what’s your plan now?”

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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obeymeshallwedate-latinplayer · 4 years

Text

Traditional costumes part 2

Remmember, GN!MC. And stay for a big hollyday surprise!!!

Beel (Chiapas La chiapaneca)

· Wearing the typical costume of your state, always made your heart expand in your chest, that night wasn´t the exception, using all the elements of nature made you really happy. That night Lord Diavolo prepare a big dinner to celebrate the exchange students, most likely he just wanted to take a break from the exams that you took a week ago. So you prepare yourself with the very best clothes you had.

· Beel knocked in your door, saying that it was about time to go out, and he only heard one single scream from you that he panicked and with frenetically movements he opened your door. You were almost done, but usually your grandma would do the last touches for you to be ready, that made you sad. And Beel noticed it.

· With a silent movement and a soft whisper in your ear he asked what was wrong, and how he might help you.

· “You know Beel, this is my evening dress, not only because it´s beautiful but… It´s all about the story behind it: This costume was created towards the end of the 1920s, (1926-1927), when a highly successful theatrical company from Central America arrived in Chiapas de Corzo. In her first performance within the state, the lead singer performed a song that was called "Las Chiapanecas", in honor of her audience. The most popular story in terms of the traditional clothing of this state is carried by the Chiapas, who year after year parade showing their wonderful dresses. Characterized by its multiple colors and flowers; generally, on a black background, the traditional dress of Chiapas women represents the different ethnic groups that coexist in their region, such as the Tzeltales, the Lacandones, the Jacaltecos, the Choles and the Tojolobales, among others. Likewise, reference is made to the immense variety of botanical species that exist in Chiapas, since it is a state in which all kinds of ecosystems converge, from the mountainous places of the sierra to the coastal towns. In the case of men, allusion is made to elements such as the sun and rain, so necessary for the fertility of the Earth, and protection against the forces of darkness. The men also remember the Spanish conquerors, imitating certain characteristics of Europeans such as their blond hair; through the headdress that they put on their heads.”

· Beelzebu wasn´t a man of tons of words like his older brothers, he was a man of actions. He hugged you as tight as he could (without harming you of course) after the hug he just smiled at you. “You are the connection in the three realms, but those are some complicated words that Lord Diavolo usually use, you are all of them for me, the flowers and plants, the mountains, the sierras and the ocean, for me. You are all of them and more.”

· That made your heart “Doki, doki” yes, maybe that was the last thing you needed, like a magical spell just for you.

Belphie ( Traje Mestizo Quintana Roo)

He was sleeping in your room, nothing out the ordinary, most of his weekly routine was staying in your room sleeping, until he sniffed something different. He might be sleeping under your bed when he found out the costume inside the box under your bed. Was it like a good luck item? Or did you just didn´t wanted to see it again? He approached his left hand until he touched the box, he took it out and opened it.

In that moment he understood why you were hiding it, the costume was so beautiful. If someone else saw it, they would sell it, eat it, or use it, even asked you to use it. When you opened the door, and found him with the costume you screamed with full joy. “OH BELPHIE DARLING, YOU FOUND IT! I thought I lost it!” So you weren´t trying to hide it? You lost it? In your own room? Heh what a weird human.

“You know, my great grand mother made this for the generations after her. She would always be telling us Mestizo clothing is particularly representative clothing of Yucatan, and has been associated with Quintana Roo clothing. This is due to the proximity that exists between both states and of course, because both complement each other as tourist poles in Mexico. Particularly, the mestizo woman's costume is made up of a huipil embroidered in cross stitch, whose motifs go on the collar of the garment, the hem and the skirt. While the man's is much simpler and he only wears a shirt and pants made of a raw blanket, matching with a plaid apron, leather espadrilles and a palm hat.” You said with a big smile in your face. “Maybe we could ask her to make you one of it What do you think?”

He nodded, you looked so excited about it, that he almost forgot one little thing, How old was your great grandmother? He panicked just a little, but he recover the posture and with the nicest smile he could use, he said. “Well… But first how about you showing me the costume and then we could ask your great grandmother about it”

You smiled once again and ran into your bathroom, it was going to be an amazing evening.

Diavolo (Sn. Luis Potosí, “Las huastecas.”)

It was a nice party for you, some of the greatest demons were at the castle, the brothers tried to protect you as much as they could, but they did had their own responsibility’s, being the seven rulers of the Devildom wasn´t a simple task, and you knew it.

Diavolo tried to approach you on multiple times, failing everyone of them. Until a duke actually came and talked to you. It was notorious you were uncomfortable, he was touching your most precious clothing, and making some rude comments about it.

When Diavolo was about to make his intervention, you took the demons hand and with a scary smile, you started. “It might not be as beautiful as you may think, but at least my dressing has a bigger meaning that that tuxedo of yours, my culture is not for you to make fun of, it deserves to have respect.” After that the prince of the Devildom approach to the both of you, as an excuse for you to join him for some drinks.

Both of you went out of the party, the garden was nice and the moon in the Devildom was brighter that night, Diavolo took your hands with his. “You are a brave human.” He started. “And you look delightful tonight, like someone full of dignity that can rule along with me.” He kissed your hands with the respect that he might show to his fiancé.

“You know Diavolo, my culture is a descendant from the Mayas, we use a tangle that reaches a few inches below the knee. It is made of a white blanket or a plain black cloth on the back; the front has four planks. Is held up by a factory-made sash with red and blue speckled stripes and has a braided fringe at both ends. The blouse or loose jacket is made of flowered calico or pink or blue artisela; It has puffed sleeves, high neck and pleated bib, ending at the waist with an olán or loose skirt that covers the girdle. On top of the blouse, we wear a white cotton quechquémel entirely covered with worsted embroidery with cross stitch. I am proud of my culture.”

As soon as you conclude he smiled, and asked you nicely to go for a dance. After that night he will make that duke pay for what he has done.

Barbatos (Oaxaca, Traje de las tehuanas)

After visiting the human realm your grandfather gave him a nice CD full of music, Barbatos wasn´t the musical type of demon, but he accepted it anyways. After a few months the whole devil castle would have music that was just nostalgic for you.

One day you decided to go on your Huasteca outfit, not the casual one, but the gala. If Barbatos wanted to you could dance for him. When you arrived to the castle there he was, his usually stoic face turned into a surprise one when he saw you enter. His eyes started to shine like a small child when they saw a candy store.

He walked as fast as he could to see you, that was the first time he was close enough to listen to his breathing. He even started to say: “This typical costume was born in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, Oaxaca, using it both the Tehuanas and the Juchitecas, it is said that it is a living costume, since they use it in any type of celebration, making it current over the years, even with the countless modifications it has undergone. t was in 1853, when the composer Máximo Ramón Ortiz composed the musical theme known as the Sandunga, that is when the Tehuana costume managed to cement its fame and prestige as a characteristic of the Oaxacan culture.”

You looked at him astonished, he even knew the history behind your costume, with a laugh caught in your throat you smiled at him. “It was a present from my family, sometimes I miss going to the river in Oaxaca, or even talking with my family in Zapotec.”

He was clearly impressed about the details in the costume, he even took your hand and ask you if you could dance with him. With a big smile you nodded and enter the castle.

It was a nice dance between the two of you, he even made your favorite tea.

Simeon (Yucatán Terno)

He was researching old cultures for his new book, until he found out something he missed while thinking, you were like an expert of the topic, right? Maybe you could tell him more about it, so he ran into the house of lamentation, hoping you could help him.

And there you were, using a beautiful costume, while talking with Satan, his heart started to beat faster, as he heard your story.

“Its origin dates from the time of colonization; When the Spaniards arrived in Mexican territory, they were surprised by the beauty and high quality of the blankets woven by the indigenous people, so they began to create adaptations taking various elements from both cultures to create what we know today as the suit or gala dress. for women and the mestizo costume for men.”

That would help him develop one of his new characters, but when you saw him in the door threshold, immediately your face became red. He notice it and laugh. He actually took your hand, and asked Satan nicely that he needed a piece of advice from you.

“You look stunning Mc.” He said to you while looking right into your clothes. “I must say, this is the nicest surprise of them all. Is it an important day for you to wear it?”

“Not at all, sometimes I only use it so I feel more at home.” With that say the both of you stayed talkig for a while.

Luke (Baja California Sur. Flor de pitahaya)

He was with you, watching the nicest video of the whole realms, something about the dance in front him made his heart a happy heart.

“Mc! This is beautiful!!” You looked at him with a warm smile, and told him, it was your mother dancing for a festival.

“You see Luke, my mother is a folkloric dancer, this dance in specific is from our state, and the full outfit has a big meaning and even a history behind it.” When you concluded, he looked at you with those big blue puppy eye of his, you pat his head and started. “Some people say that this suit was created in 1951 as a result of a summons issued by the government of General Agustín Olachea Avilés, others, that it was in 1955, since there was no suit that represented our state. At that time, "period costumes" were used, since other states had a representative costume since ancient times, that is why this call came out in order to have a "symbol" that represented the roots of the inhabitants of Baja California Sur, being the winner "La Flor de Pitahaya” The Pitahayo is a cactus that grows in Baja California Sur, both on the coast and in the mountains, and when it blooms, it shows an abundance of nutritional wealth with its fruit the Pitahaya that peninsular indigenous people and now inhabitants have enjoyed for years.”

He was amazed, “You know Mc! I´m just a young angel, but listening to the story makes my heart melt, Is it normal?” with a warm smile, you told him: “Well, of course it´s normal, my stories have that magical power!”

After that day Luke would practice his dancing for you to be proud of him, sometimes he even saw you using the dressing for important parties in the castle of Diavolo. It was so nice!

He even saw your performance once, when he went to visit you at the house of lamentation, and he knew, he needed to work harder if he wanted to have an opportunity to dance with you.

Solomon (Nayarit traje de los wixárikas)

The both of you went to the Human realm, he needed to know more of you if he wanted to teach you even better, your family actually welcome him with a big surprise and a big meal, your family was known for using the traditional costume almost the whole year, so everybody knew how proud you were with it.

Solomon received one of the largest lectures you had heard from your father. “The typical costume of Nayarit corresponds to the clothing of the Huichol culture, or as they prefer to be called: wixárikas. Most of these descendants of the Aztecs live in the Sierra Madre Oriental. The female version of the typical Nayarit costume is quite simple, compared to its male counterpart. This includes an embroidered blouse and a skirt, it also includes a cloak embroidered with flowers that serves to cover their heads and a quechquemitl as a complement. The quechquemitl is a triangular garment with a central opening that in pre-Hispanic times was reserved for the goddesses of fertility, or for certain women of the nobility who identified with these deities. Men wear more elaborate garb. All his garments are decorated with beaded embroidery and brightly colored threads: the shirt open on the inside of the sleeves (cuarri), the pants (breeches), the cape (turra), the sashes that hold the cape and the backpack that crosses his chest. They use symmetrical designs loaded with symbolic, mythological and magical elements. For example, a zigzag can represent lightning (associated with rain). These embroideries are, at times, so profuse that they do not reveal the white fabric in the background.” Solomon just stayed astonished when your father finished the lecture, he made it in one breath, that was amazing, and yet he wanted to use the clothing.

After a few days his dream became true, when your grandfather gave him his very own clothing, the old man said that if he was going to teach you, he must use it for now on.

Solomon was a happy little baby, and he would brag about it in front of the demon brothers, and even in front of Diavolo. Maybe the two of you could go into a party with matching clothes, just like your grandma and grandpa do.

After a while he got used to wear the costume your family gave him, and he even have a time record, and if you want to help him, that would make him as happier as a human could be.

He was grateful for the gift and having you in his life.

It is I, the writer behind the headcanons, So! For the hollydays I´m planing to make place for 9 comissions! (Originaly they were 10 but someone won one of the space) So you can ask about culture, romance, comedy etc. Remmember, I usually write for Latin American Mc, but if you have another idea for another MC, we can make that happen! Anyways, thanks for the support! And I will be reading you!!! Happy Hollydays.

#obey me lucifer #Obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #mammon headcanon #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me belphegor #beel headcanons #belphie headcanons #obey me simeon #obey me satan #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me solomon

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the-crows-typist · 4 years

Note

riddle and floyd ficlet please! doesn’t need to be romantic. the word is “spoon”!

The Possibilities Are Endless

“The rules are meant to be broken.”

CW: potential OOC and discussion of medicine

“That’s not the right way to use a spoon, Floyd.”

Octanivelle and Heartslabyul had gotten closer, its students growing connection between each other and forming bonds of friendship and friendly camaraderie. One could say that the two dorm were alike, very goal oriented and hardworking, very cunning and observant. While Riddle was happy for this growth, there was a part of him that loathed the fact that he had to spend time with some less than savory company.

“Eh? It makes cake easier to eat!”

Floyd Leech was an enigma, an unknown, an annoying unknown to be exact. There was never a time Floyd and he were running after each other nor was there any time that Floyd would leave him be, it was nothing but chaos around him.

“It still isn’t right.”

Riddle was very uptight no matter what the situation may be and no matter how plain or how extravagant the event was. To Floyd, Riddle was too serious, too angry. He was his polar opposite and boy, was it fun to see what buttons can be pushed to see that normally calm and collect face heat up and turn the brightest of reds, like the goldfishes he needed to often get rid of. “Does it really matter, goldfishy? I’m still gonna eat it anyway.” Floyd took a spoonful of cake and shoved it into his mouth, letting out a hum of satisfaction at the sweet taste.

“Sea turtle’s cakes are always so good! We should have added him as an employee a long time ago.”

“Such slovenly manners.” The dorm leader muttered under his breath, bringing the teacup to his lips to drink his tea with brows furrowed in frustration. Eating with one’s mouth full was an incredibly big no-no and Riddle felt annoyance bubble in the pit of his stomach. There were stains on Floyd’s cheeks and the spoon, a soup spoon, was used as means of picking out the cake. That goes against every rule taught in etiquette! Riddle couldn’t stand it.

“I’m glad you like it.” Trey jumped in, letting Riddle calm himself and breathe. “Though I appreciate the gesture, I might be accused of moonlighting if my family found out I was working for someone else.” He was always so patient no matter who he was dealing with, Riddle guessed it was because he had siblings to take care of. “Eh? I’m sure your family will understand if you needed money for school.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Boo…Boring!”

Jade raised his plate to Trey with a pleasant smile. “Seconds, please.”

“Azul, you can eat my share. I don’t want it anymore.”

“Finish it yourself. I already ate my share.”

Floyd never liked to be held down, he hated the feeling of walls around him. He hated the way rules would hold him back and he absolutely hated those who tried to enforce it to ruin all his fun. Riddle Rosehearts was exactly that, he was uptight and brash, he was a goody two shoes and by-the-book. Floyd relished in seeing that face heat up, it was gratifying to go against someone like Riddle.

“Don’t run in the halls.” He would say to him. “It’s improper.”

“You don’t know how to have fun don’t ya, Goldfishy?”

His words were harsh and blunt that not even someone like Riddle is immune by them. Riddle was silent and his shoulder hunched defensive. “The halls are not a place to do that, if you want to run then use the school’s field.” Floyd stuck out his tongue and ran away. “The field is boring!”

“Hey, I just told you—! Agh, what’s the point?!” Riddle stomped off, muttering about how there was no getting through to Floyd otherwise.

Floyd hated authority; he wanted to run as he pleased whenever he wanted to and where he wanted to. To be held down like a beast was like torture to him, like the weight of the shackles once put on his wrists.

Tea parties were not an uncommon thing between dorms, Azul knew that but to have the opportunity to have one with Riddle was quite rare. “It is only right that I expand on the relationships of our dorm, Azul. Knowing you, you would be quick to take advantage of that.”

Jade and Trey stood beside each other and pouring their respective dorm leader a cup of tea. “Indeed, Riddle. When an opportunity presents itself, I take what I can get my hands on.” Azul sips his cup of tea. “Rest assured that this is nothing short of a pleasant visit, we just want to see Heartslabyul for what it is since you’ve been running it since your first year as well as further tightening the bonds of our members.”

“I must say, they’re like a well oiled machine.” Jade commented, Riddle took his cup of tea specifically brewed by Trey. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Jade’s tea making skills but that Trey’s skills were enough for him. “It is to be expected of Riddle that he runs such a flawless system.”

Riddle set down his cup with a small huff. “I am only doing what is right to further the teachings of the Queen of Hearts.” He looks to the two visitors with a practiced neutral face. “I don’t see the need to praise responsibility. The rules were put into place to ensure that that a group thrives under discipline, without it there will be chaos.”

“It seems you have to take a page off his book, Azul.”

“Now, now Jade. No need for the pleasantries to be aimed at me.”

Floyd huffed, sitting improperly on the chairs; this talk was boring and dumb and he just wanted to eat something to take his mind off this. The group let out a hum or approval when Trey set down a cake in front of them. White cream, the smell of vanilla, the accenting fruits glazed with water and sugar. It looked wonderful. Trey was a good baker and there was no doubt about it. “The offer still stands, Trey. You’re always welcome aboard the Monstro Lounge any time you feel like coming.” Azul tactfully slid his cake to Jade. “I’m sure that your cakes will reach bigger audiences through us.”

“I’m flattered, really I am, but I’d rather stay here. If my dorm enjoys what I make then that’s good enough for me.” Trey sets begins cutting the cake and handing it over to different people with the last being Riddle. “Besides, I’m sure a certain somebody will miss my cooking while I’m away and I can’t let that happen.”

Riddle sipped on his tea, eyes closed and posture poised. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, it’s not you Riddle.”

The two laughed among themselves all so prim and proper, Floyd didn’t like it.

“Sea turtle and goldfishy have been friends since childhood, right?” Floyd said, a few grains of chocolate stuck on his face. “Woah, that’s amazing. You lasted that long with goldfishy.” Trey smiled at him as he poured another cup of tea while Jade helped himself to another piece. Riddle’s fingers shook for a moment but that soon calmed. Aww, he thought to himself, he didn’t react.

“That’s right; it was like us and Azul but a little less consistent. We did lose track of him at the start of middle school.”

“Yeah, he was always hiding in that pot of his. I didn’t know he was in there until I saw his pop out.” Azul grimaced at Riddle. “I nearly threw some seaweed in it too.”

“Yes, I remember that very well.”

Riddle set aside his used plates. “Floyd, elbows off the table.”

“Huh? Oh—.” Floyd pulled away from the table, Jade coming to him with some tissue paper and wiping his face as if he were a child. “I’d appreciate it if you would learn some manners for this kind of event, Floyd. Your slovenly ways don’t do well with it.” Riddle commented as he pat his lips with a napkin.

“Aw, come on Goldfishy don’t be like that. This is just a small tea party.” He said with a tone on edge, leaning towards Riddle to wrap his arm around his neck.

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Riddle slapped the hand away with a huff.

“Why not? It’s a cute name.” He brought a spoon to his mouth, a soup spoon with lots of cake.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s cute. It’s not my name, respect that. And the proper utensil for eating cake is a fork. You’re not supposed to eat it with a spoon.”

“I’ll eat the way I want to. You’re just too prim and proper to try it out.”

“Settle down, you two. That’s enough.” Jade and Trey pulled the two away from each other. “Why are you always like this, Floyd?” Riddle demanded, his snarl was large and hand set down harshly on the table making the plates jump in place. “I’ve done nothing to you and you treat me like this! You’re uncouth, you’re rude! You’re everything the rules go against!”

“Huh?” The aura around him changed, the glare in his eyes was dangerous and his voice husky and low. “What did you say to me?”

“Floyd.” Jade stressed his voice, brows furrowed while Azul held his arm.

“What about you, huh?” Floyd shrugged off Azul in annoyance. “You’re always about rules and it’s no fun.” He pointed a finger at Riddle accusingly.

“I only enforce the rules because I’m supposed to. Without it, this dorm would be in chaos!”

Floyd scoffed eyes now slits and anger pushing through his veins in a fury of hot blood. “I’d rather see place in chaos than some stuck-up system being run by somebody like you. You wanna know why you overblotted that day?” Riddle’s eyes widened and his shoulders squared, his brows furrowed and lips tightened. Trey took to his side, arm out to protect Riddle and stop Floyd from coming any further.

“If you’re not allowed to have fun then no one’s allowed to. You got jealous cuz’ people stepped out of line and you couldn’t. If you can’t have it then nobody can. That’s what you are, goldfishy,” his finger pointed at Riddle.

“You’re just a jealous, small, stuck-up goldfish.”

There was panting, Riddle’s body shaking and eyes blown out in anger. His face didn’t heat up nor did he point his scepter at them. Instead, tears had begun to form in his eyes. Ones that were threatening to fall any moment.

“Get out.”

“Riddle,” Azul tried to reach over to the other dorm leader but was only met with the business end of the Heartslabyul’s scepter. “I said get out! I will not tolerate this kind of behavior. Take your things and get out!”

Azul sighed, standing up after and fixed his hat nodding to the two to follow him out.

“We’re having a talk later, Floyd.”

“Whatever.”

Riddle relaxed into his chair, leaning back against the plush cushions with hands over his eyes and soon his façade began to crack, his lips trembled and his teeth were bared, his shoulder shook and his voice was no longer controlled.

The overblot was still fresh in his mind, the days spent trying to gain back his dorm’s trust, the talks he had with the woman who raised him to be this way, and the times he question himself and his magic while holding his pen close.

Trey knelt down, bringing him close to a hug. “Come here.” He looked to the path the trio had used to exit the dorm and then back to Riddle. “It’s okay.” He stroked the red hair with his fingers, his lips pressing a kiss to his head.

“It’s okay. It’s over now.”

“Deuce, what is all this?”

“Well…”

“Riddle, wanna eat some lunch together?”

“Ah—I suppose I have some time to spare.”

“They have some nice sweet bread you might like too!”

The two never crossed paths after that day, Floyd never once approached Riddle once after the small insult throwing match they had during the disastrous tea party. It was probably because of the fact that the group that followed Riddle, his friends, were always by his side and not once leaving him alone.

Floyd had been given a stern talking after the party, Azul putting his foot down on his behavior suddenly growing a heart. “I don’t need to list off the reasons why I’m upset with you, Floyd,” He said, arms folded and eyes in an angry expression. “This is the closest our dorms have ever been in years and I am not willing to let this connection go to waste just because you and Heartslabyul’s dorm leader can’t get along.”

“You two are different, I understand that.” Jade said, his arms folding in place and eyes closed as if in thought. He was equally as upset but he knew how to hide it. He and Trey had begun a friendship of sorts after spending time in the botanical gardens and he feared that Floyd’s constant teasing would put a foot in the mutualism like friendship he had formed. “But what you did was out line and uncalled for.”

Jade’s patted his brother’s arm. “I know you’re frustrated, I don’t need to strain my eyes to see it. You hate people like Riddle…” He looked down, thinking about his words carefully. “But Riddle is not like those people.”

There was a smile; Jade’s comforting smile and he pat his brother’s arm again. “You’re smart enough to know what I mean but while you contemplate what I said, I suggest you cool off. Azul and I will take the shift this afternoon. I’m sure some students are free to take your slot.”

Azul adjusted his hat and nodded his head. “I’ll go ahead and make some calls.”

“Come on, you can’t stay in the library forever.” Cater pulled at Riddle’s wrists while Ace pushed him from behind. “Yeah, no wonder you’re so tiny.” There was a small growl and the twitching hairs that made up Riddle’s signature heart-like hairstyle. “W-what I mean is that lunch time is a time to eat, not study. You can do that during study hall.” The younger first year backtracked at the sign of danger and Deuce as well as Trey couldn’t help but let out a small bout of laughter.

“At least let me walk on my own.”

“Nope. You’ll just run off to the library again!”

“Honestly…”

Floyd watched him basically get pulled into the cafeteria by his group, his friends, and his eyes saw something he never got to see when they were together. Riddle’s smile.

“You hate people like Riddle…But Riddle is not like those people.”

“You’re smart enough to know what I mean.”

He never once doubted Jade’s observations, Floyd knew better than to doubt his brother but those words caused a rift in him so much that he didn’t see the basketball flying towards him while his teammates yelled and screamed “Look out!” Floyd fell onto his back, his forehead sore and red. It was Jamil who pulled him up from the ground.

“Fucking hell,” The eel cursed. “That hurt.”

He was brought to the benches and Vargas inspected it with a huff. “What wrong, Leech?” He asked, putting his hands on his waist and expression serious. “You’re out of your element.” Floyd didn’t answer and only looked away with a huff. The swelling of his cheek was large and Vargas knew it needed medical attention. “Viper, Trappola, bring him to the infirmary.”

“Thank you for your help, both of you.” Said the nurse with a smile disarming and kind, “We’ll take it from here, the both of you can go back to class now,” The two students nodded and said their goodbyes and ‘see you later’s’ to their fellow team mate.

“Ace?” Riddle’s familiar voice was soft against the hum of the ceiling fans that swirled air within the large room. “What are you doing here?” The dorm leader asked, clearly concerned. “Did you get hurt?”

“Floyd got hit pretty bad during practice so we brought him here. What about you?”

“Just the normal check-up. You know…”

“Ah, right. I’ll leave you to it, then. See you later, Dorm Leader Riddle!”

“Take care.” While Jamil and Ace walked away, Riddle continued walking in. There was a pause when Floyd and he met, the same sense of dread he saw in his eyes appeared in an instant but this didn’t spike the thrill he’d feel when he had the upper hand instead an awkward pit formed in his stomach and his senses seem to be aware of everything around him.

“Mr Rosehearts, right on time. Have a seat and I’ll be with you soon.”

“…Thank you.”

Riddle sat on one of the chairs behind Floyd, looking down and playing with his pen. The bright red crystal still slightly dirtied with ink blots, Riddle was still recovering after the incident in his dorm. While he was still able to stand on both feet, his pen said otherwise about his ability to produce magic. The ink blots were a reminder of what it felt like pushing himself beyond the limit of what was acceptable.

It was quite embarrassing to think but if it weren’t for the instigation of those four juniors of his he wouldn’t have noticed the bars of the cage he was staying in or many years that he put a leesh on himself, a limiter to what he can and can’t do.

If it weren’t for those four, he wouldn’t have been free for a very long time. Perhaps, he wouldn’t be free at all.

“Ah, I ran out of medical pads.” Said the nurse, pulling back after swabbing Floyd’s cheek with a special numbing brew and some cream for the sore skin, they smiled at the two students sheepishly. “I’ll go get some from the storage, you two stay put. I’ll be right back.” The nurse left and soon, the two of them were alone in the silent room.

The ceiling fans were loud in his ears and sounds of the field busy with activity reached their ears like whispers. Riddle closed his eyes and sighing in a way to calm himself down. Floyd had always annoyed him but the small argument they had was what cemented the growing fear that had been growing in him.

He, like many other students before and after him, was scared of the Leech brothers.

“What are you here for?” Floyd asked, breaking the silence between them.

“Medicine and check-up.”

“For what?”

“My blot.”

Even during the elementary school, Floyd had been taught that using too much magic is bad and can cause an overblot which was even worse but as he grew older, he learned that it wasn’t only magic that contributed to the overblot but emotional fatigue thus there was a simplified point he stuck with: the bigger the fatigue plus the more magic used equaled to a very big overblot. While he knew treatment for it existed, he had yet to see firsthand.

But what baffled him was that the blot took a few days or weeks at best for it to subside. And yet here Riddle was, his pen still dirtied with ink and needing to take medicine. Was Riddle’s blot that serious? “I didn’t know blot needed medicine.”

Riddle set down his pen, eyes still down on his lap. “They only give medicine to those who have had a bad case of it.”

“Like you?” Floyd asked suddenly, his eyes angled to look to the boy behind him, one that stayed silent for a minute. “Yes,” he admitted. “Like me.”

The chair creaked as Floyd moved to sit the wrong way on the chair. Both of his arms resting on the backrest and his chin snug between them. His eyes drooped but held no malice but a form of curiosity.

“Why?”

It was a question Riddle couldn’t answer immediately. Why was he a bad case? Perhaps it was the amount of magic he used in one sitting? It was a factor of it, yes, but there was another underlying factor that led to his blot being bad, so bad that he needed to undergo medical intervention. During his mother’s numerous lessons, he was taught that the heart of a mage is the real powerhouse of magic, it is what differentiates one’s magic to the next and it the origin of one’s unique magic. While it was a very powerful tool, it was also one of the most sensitive. Emotions can greatly affect how a mage’s magic manifests and his overblot in the Heartslabyul garden was a manifestation of what could happen to a mage when the heart goes out of control.

Years of resentment and fear, of anxiety and jealousy, and all the other emotions he couldn’t think of at that moment piled up and had been pushed down for so long only for it to gush out of him like a broken faucet and unleashing all the pent up feelings he’d been storing for the years he’s been alive.

“Because my case is serious.” Was his only answer and Floyd had seemed satisfied by that.

“For someone who says a lot of stuff about others, you don’t say a lot when you’re talking about yourself.” Floyd commented, leaning on his good cheek while the other still stung. “It’s pretty ironic.” Riddle smiled, laughing to himself. It was different to see it for himself, in fact, there wasn’t a time that Floyd could remember seeing him smile at all. Before the overblot, that is.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“You know what I think?”

Riddle’s face then morphed to one of confusion and curiosity. “What?”

“You hate people like Riddle…But Riddle is not like those people.” Jade’s words echoed in his mind as he carefully put his thoughts to words. “You were taught to love the rules. You don’t follow them because you want to, it’s because you have to.” He began and he saw there was no trace of discomfort so he continued. “I don’t know what you’ve been through but it seems to be that it would have been real bad for you if you broke one even if there was no punishment for it.”

“There are.” Riddle chimed in,

“I know but it’s not that bad once you get used to it.”

Floyd looked to the pen on Riddle’s side. “It must have been tough.” Was his final comment on the matter and Riddle took the said pen into his hand with a sigh. At the moment, remembering his mother running towards him and screaming his name. For all the years he had been with her that was probably the only time he really saw his mother for what she was, overprotective and far too concerned.

There was no excusing how she raised him, there was no excusing what damage had been done to him but looking back on it Riddle began to understand why she was like that. He knew parents can’t be perfect; they are just as damaged and just as flawed as any other person was but there was a fine line between what was acceptable and what wasn’t for a parent to do for their child.

So, Floyd was right. It was tough.

“It was.”

Another bout of silence passed before Riddle laughed again. “What are you, some psychoanalyst?” There was a teasing tone Floyd had never heard coming from him and that was enough to keep the ball rolling between them. “I can be. Wanna see me predict the future with your star sign?”

“That’s astrology, Floyd.”

“I foresee that you’ll be treating me to a meat bun from Sam’s shop!”

“I am not going to do that. You have your own allowance.”

“Eh? But it tastes better when people buy it for you.”

“I am not buying you a meat bun.”

The two laughed among each other before Floyd chimed in again.

“It’s not too late, y’know?”

It was a statement that confused Riddle initially. “What do you mean?”

“You can always start breaking the rules now if you’d like. I don’t expect a goody like you to get right off the bat, though.”

He saw the way Riddle’s eyes widened at the mere idea of breaking the rules and he couldn’t help but smile at the way he thought about it. He thought back to Jade’s conversation with him and couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, he couldn’t wait to tell Jade about the day Riddle finally breaks a rule.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Eh? Why not now?? We can skip class.”

“I’m not doing that!”

“Octanivelle’s purples and Heartslabyul’s red do have a nice accent to one another, don’t you think?” Another tea party had been planned right after Floyd had fully recovered from his sports injury and this time with a few changes to the décor, a break away from the white table clothes and red roses. “Indeed,” Riddle said as he brought a tea cup to his lips to sip at the tea that Trey had prepared.

“I had to take a few of your students aside to study the fabric and to see if we had some in storage.” There was a smile against his cup. “Luckily my students have perfected the color changing spell.”

Jade chuckled, his finger against his own lips. “As always, with Riddle as the dorm head, Heartslabyul is a well oiled machine.” Setting his cup down, Riddle smiles at his classmate, “I am only doing what is best for my dorm. That is all.”

Trey set down the cake by slice, giving it to each person at the table. Floyd and he exchanged looks and reach over for the utensils. At that moment, Jade, Azul and Trey watched as the two ate their cakes with their spoons. It was a confusing time for the trio, one even thinking he was dreaming.

“Hm, I suppose eating it with a spoon is easier.”

Floyd giggled, leaning back on his chair. “Right? The bigger the spoon, the bigger piece of cake you can eat!”

“That’s quite sinful, honestly.”

Trey chuckled, scratching his head in confusion.

“What in the world happened to the both of you?”

Riddle’s pen sat against his coat pocket, the medication in the other. The ink blots fizzling out little by little and he too, little by little, began living the way he wanted to.

#works from the typewriter #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #Floyd Leech #twst riddle #twst floyd #riddlexfloyd #riddle ficlets #floyd ficlets #character x character

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