#before he even asks for their name??? No because I’m not a weenie and actually I think it’s his super power he’s never been wrong yet okay? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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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woos-lil-oreo · 3 years

Text

Love Scene

Pairing: Song Min Gi x Female! Reader

Word Count: approximately 3.1k words

Warnings: Slight Voyeurism???, Mentions of alcohol consumption, cursing/swearing, biting, spitting, Reader is a slight pillow princess, UNPROTECTED SEX (plastic wrap your peenie weenies), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, slight use of pet names... I think that's it.

Author's Note: Most of this is a BIG self-indulgence XD and that Mingi gif always get me going... AnYwAyS, This fic is NSFW!!!! If you are uncomfy, do not read! If I miss anything, please tell me. If you wanna join the taglist, send me an ask and let me know. Don't steal... all that ✨ jazz ✨ music. Drink your water and enjoy my dirty lil harlots 😉

Taglist: @shusan @woowommy @ceopjy @joongsprincess @yunhofingers

Intro and Masterlist ✨

This is the happiest day of your life. You are dolled up in a beautiful snow-white dress decorated in speckled sequins and intricate rhinestone designs.

Your makeup is simple yet glamourous with a simple natural smoky eye with a shimmer in the inner corners. There is this aural glow of happiness around you, and you genuinely feel like a princess.

You are standing in front of your handsome fiancée with your hands holding each other, who is decked out in a simple black suit with a white dress shirt accented with a deep royal blue tie and shiny black Oxfords.

Hongjoong’s friend, Maddox, recites the point in the script where the vows would be repeated by you and your soon to be husband.

The vows. A spiritual binding of words that will connect the two of you until the end of eternity… or until you two get tired of each other, whichever comes first.

As you repeat after Maddox, Mingi’s eyes glisten with tears of joy. As much as he willed himself not to, one little miscreant of a tear dared to fall. You drop one of your hands to go wipe the tear stream off of his cheek.

The guests proceed to awe in adoration. Seonghwa fans his eyes to prevent his tears from falling, while Hongjoong is sporting a runny nose and a giant crocodile tear down his cheek, clinging to Seonghwa’s shoulder.

As you listen to Mingi recite his vows, tears start to well up in your eyes. You grip Mingi’s hand a little tighter to calm yourself because your makeup is beautifully done, and you’d be damned if you let a teardrop and a dried tear stain appear on your cheek. Jae-hee would have your ass. You got through the ceremony without tears!

“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Maddox proclaims. You turn to Mingi, who now has one of the brightest smiles ever on his face, and he leaves a nice, sweet, lingering peck on your lips, still holding your hands.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that!” Wooyoung screams out, earning himself a nice smack to the forehead from Yeosang. Wooyoung winces and rubs the spot while the guests laugh at their interaction and turn back to you when Mingi lets go of your hand and smirks.

Mingi pulls you to his chest, grabs you by the waist – pulling you close to him – and kisses you. As the kiss gets deeper, he places his hand on your cheek – steadying your head, and your hands work their way to the back of his head.

The crowd begins to root the two of you on, and Jae-hee screams out, “You guys are literally about to get a room!” You both pull away from each other and look at your husband. Mingi has a very thin layer of shimmer lip gloss on his mouth, and his cheeks and the tips of his ears are red.

A now very flustered and blushy boi Maddox quickly recollects himself from what he just witnessed and mutters, “They don’t pay me enough,” with a chuckle before he announces, loud and proud, “I-I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Song Min Gi!”

Everyone stands up from their seats and creates a round of applause as the newlywed couple leads the processional to the area where the wedding party, which is beautifully attired in soft peach pink dresses and deep royal sapphire blue accented suits, is to take pictures of one of the most important days you will never forget.

~25 minutes later~

The host has completed the introductions for the most chaotic wedding party that has ever existed, and everyone is getting to their seats in the venue.

The reception hall is absolutely stunning! The same colors of the wedding party are accented with gold. Diamonds are loosely scattered across the table, tealight candles alit floating in water vases, giving the room a soft glow in addition to the dimmed lighting.

The caterers are dressed in a clean white shirt, a black vest, and slacks. The guys have a royal blue sleeve garter, and the girls a soft peach one.

Once everyone has settled at their tables, Jae-hee and Yunho approach the front of the makeshift stage to make their toasts as Maid of Honor and Best Man.

Jae-hee grabs the microphone first, and she is already tearing up, and she is usually not one for emotion often. “Y/N, we have been friends for so long… we are practically sisters. I’ve watched you grow into a beautiful and confident woman… and even though I put you through some shit….” All of ATEEZ shakes their head and groan in agreement, and the rest of the guests laugh in response.

Jae-hee rolls her eyes and continues. “I’m so happy that you have found the love of your life and that I wasn’t the first to get married.” You roll your eyes and get up to hug her, and she meets you halfway. While in her embrace, she whispers, “I love you, baby girl,” and you respond with the same hushed tone, “I love you, too,” letting one measly tear run.

You two kiss each other’s cheek, and you return to your seat, and Jae-hee returns to the stage. She grabs Yunho’s handkerchief to dab away her tears before they fall through mascara. “Mingi, I officially welcome you into the messy integration that is our family.” Mingi chuckles and nods in response.

The mic is passed to Yunho. “Mingi, you have grown into an immaculate young man who is decorated with accomplishments and people who love you. I’m really proud of you, and I wish you two the best of luck. Y/N, I have watched you become each other’s yin and yang. You may be a bit of a handful,” you roll your eyes and chuckle. “… But we love you so much, and we welcome you into our quote – end quote ‘messy integration that is our family.’” Yunho walks over to give you a kiss on the cheek, and bro hugs Mingi.

“Cheers!” After an emotional toast from Hongjoong and Seonghwa, it was time for the party to begin, and I mean both aspects of the term. Which explains why you are now seated in a chair in the middle of the dance floor. Mingi is standing across from you with a slightly evil glint in his eye.

Hope You Do by Chris Brown blares through the speakers in the venue. You immediately cover your warm cheeks with your hands to conceal the blush and warmth there, knowing what is to come. Mingi starts to remove his suit jacket… and Yeosang, Yunho, and surprisingly, Jongho remove their coats as well.

As the trio wines and grinds on the floor behind the Groom, Mingi moves closer towards you to go and remove your garter.

When he reaches you, he does not even take the time to bunch up your dress and goes straight into hunting for the garter. His big hands rub around the top of your knees to find it.

When he does, he drops his hands to the floor to give himself leverage. He proceeds to leave a speckled trail of kisses up your leg and bites right below the garter, causing you to yelp in surprise and the crowd to holler out.

Mingi drags the garter down your leg to your ankle and removes it from your foot. At this point, there is a tension between you two that begs and pleads to be relieved.

Mingi stands to his feet, grabbing your hands to guide you straight up off the chair. You two make eye contact, and you can see the tension. “Alright young bachelorettes, come out to the floor and catch you a bouquet!” The host says in the mic, and all the women move to the floor, ready to start drinking, the actual after-party, and the real fun.

When all participants are on the floor, you pretend to throw the bouquet to keep them on edge. After a few false turns, you finally throw, and Jae-hee sprints to the front to catch it effortlessly.

“Yeahhh bitches, I’m next to get married!!!” She jumps up and down as you laugh and the other ladies leave the floor.

The host announces that it is the fellas’ turn to come out on the floor. It was not as many males as females, but there was a good amount present. Mingi played the same card as you: pretending to throw the garter until he did.

In an ironic twist of events, Jongho caught it on the top of his head like a flower crown. When he patted his head to confirm he sort of caught it, he made eye contact with Jae-hee.

They both quickly look away with a bright pink flush on their cheeks, which causes you and Mingi to laugh together. He wraps his arms across your shoulder blades and squeezes your shoulder. You look at him questioningly, and he nods to the door. You nod and grab his hand, running to the back door with your husband.

Seonghwa will have your ass for running out and leaving him and Hongjoong to clean up your mess, but that is a tomorrow problem, and you have more… pressing matters to deal with.

Mingi is flying down the street with you in the back seat to compensate room for your dress. As he tries to get to your home without getting a ticket, you untie his tie and proceed to rub down his chest, slow and meticulously popping one button after another.

Before you could decorate his neck in pretty little hickeys and love bites, the car jerks to a stop, and he power strides to your door and opens it. He grabs you in his arms bridal style out of the vehicle.

You were surprised at how easy he made that look, especially with all of the extra fluff on your dress. He carries you into the threshold with ease, kissing you as if his life depends on it.

When Mingi blindly finds your room, he puts you down on your feet, spins you around, and begins to unzip your dress. He kisses under your ear and down your neck as your dress pools around your feet. He breaks away to rest his forehead on yours.

“As much I would love to pound you into the mattress right now, I would like for our first time as a married couple to be gentle,” he breathes out. You nod your head, and he slowly turns you around to unclip the black strapless bra, allowing your breasts to drop.

He returns his mouth back to your neck and softly twists your nipple between his fingers, eliciting tingles to run all over your body. As good as the feeling was, you remove Mingi’s hand and spin around to face your husband. You walk backward until the back of your legs hit the mattress and lean back.

MIngi crawls on top of you and slowly kisses you. You can feel the passion and love through it, causing you to shiver. Mingi, once again, pulls away from you to drag your black lace panties down your legs. He throws them across the room and stands from the bed, peeling away the dress shirt you opened in the car.

The shirt drops to the floor, and he begins to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor. The pants come next, along with the boxer briefs, and they pooled around his ankles. You bite your finger and lick your lips with lust-darkened eyes as you are being blessed with this private show.

Mingi returns to your V of your legs and brings your ankle to his mouth, leaving delicate kisses down the inner side of your leg until he reaches the inner thigh, where he leaves a bite – causing you to giggle and squirm a bit.

He lifts himself to where his penis grazes your labia. He rubs the tip along your slit and teases the tip inside of your core. “You ready, baby?” He sticks the reddened tip inside, just to pull it back out, and repeats this a couple times until you are a whining and moaning little mess. He finally pushes his dick past the tip and slowly moves into you, allowing you to feel every vein and ridge of his cock.

You moan in relief and very, very, VERY slight pain due to his girth, and Mingi doesn’t stop until he is at the hilt, meeting you pelvis to pelvis. He doesn’t move for a second, trying to collect himself before he busts in you from the tightness of your honey pot. You shiver as he pants in your neck, leaving goosebumps wherever his warm minty breath hits.

You grind your hips around, signaling that you have adjusted to his size, and he moans out at the action. He begins to pump inside very slowly in and out of you, with his brows scrunched and his bottom lip being bitten.

You hear the squelching noises from his slow pace. When you started getting louder, Mingi moves a bit faster, seeing that you are slowly reaching your orgasm, and frankly, so is he. “Baby, I love you so much,” he mutters like a mantra as he helps you both reach new heights.

You two have made love before, but never to this extent. After every mutter, your heart from knowing that this is the man you will spend the rest of your life with. You place your hand on the back of Mingi’s neck to kiss him, but before your lips could make contact, Mingi stops.

He licks the base of his thumb and places a firm pressure on your clitoris, and then kisses you, his tongue swirling around your own. You two are seeing specks of light under your eyelids from cumming so hard. It may not have been anything degrading, rough or intense in that sense. Still, it was absolutely beautiful joining souls with your lover.

~The Next Morning~

You wake up feeling floaty, like you are lying on a cloud. Your husband is asleep with his arm draped around your waist. As you face Mingi, his features are soft, and it looks like he is in bliss. You place your hand on his cheek and caress the apple.

When you are done admiring your husband, you carefully move his arm to his side to make breakfast. You are successful in not waking Mingi and hop out of bed, still naked from last night’s escapades. “Wow, it feels nice to say that,” you think as you grab your husband’s dress shirt and run to the bathroom to clean Mingi’s cum that has dripped down your leg.

~A few minutes later~

You are now in the kitchen, whipping up some waffle batter. The table is decorated with a nicely plated array of bacon and a bowl of freshly washed and cut fruit. You finish plugging in the waffle iron when your husband wraps his arms around your shoulders and spins you around.

He quickly lifts you on the counter. “Good morning, Mrs. Song.” He says huskily from his morning voice. You try to reply with a greeting, but Mingi catches the words in your mouth. Your lips are smashed together from Mingi’s fervency, and his long and slender fingers start to move down to your hole.

“Oh my goodness, babe. You’re so wet for me.” He teased. You moan out while he rubs your entrance, spreading your slick up and down. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks when he pushes a finger in, causing you to scream in response. “Those weren’t proper words, but I’ll take it.” He responds while adding another finger in and drastically changing his pace. You cry out due to the incredible speed. Mingi looks up at you.

Your head is tilted back, tiny pants coming from your mouth, and hands grabbing the counter as if to ground yourself. Mingi lets a drop of spit fall from his mouth and adds another finger to add more lubrication and bring you closer to climax.

You start to squirm on the counter, which is now soaked in your fluids, and whimper softly. A telltale sign that you are almost there; you just need that one little push. Mingi kneels down to be face to face with your cunt, and he stares at your dripping core as if he was hypnotized by how well you are taking his digits.

A loud moan from you knocks him out of his trance, and he adds one more finger and starts to apply suction on your button. A blinding white light flashes behind your eyelids, and a fuzzy warmth roams all over your body.

You breathe heavily from your high, and Mingi slows his speed, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. He slowly removes his fingers, causing you to whimper from overstimulation, and brings them to your mouth.

You immediately open your mouth to welcome in the appendages and begin to suck them as if your life depends on it. The spit dribbles from your mouth down your chin and along Mingi’s forearm. He gently pulls at your jaw to open your mouth and spits in your mouth.

“Swallow.” He growls, and you do not think twice about disobeying him. He returns to kiss you, mixing your natural taste with your juices and his tongue.

He pulls away, and your fucked out state is adorable: your eyes are dilated from here to Hell, saliva glistening your chin, your cheeks are heavily flushed, and your ass is drenched with your cum.

“If this is what I wake to every morning, I’m not complaining.” Mingi chuckles. “You didn’t even get to have breakfast yet.” You laughed. He looks with an eyebrow raised… “Oh, you meant actual food?” You nod your head.

“As long as I have you, I don’t think I’ll need anything else.” He cheesily says. “Yeah, sure, that’s not what your body will be saying.” You retaliate as you jump off the counter, cringing when you hear your butt peel off the corner from your juices.

Mingi laughs, grabs some paper towels to clean that. When he’s done, he washes his hands and proceeds to help you cook so you two can build the stamina to christen the rest of your home together. Well, christen is not the right word… more like fuck like rabbits until the morning light returns.

~~~~~

And there's the fic ✨ hope you enjoyed the read ✨ leave an ask and say hi or even follow me or reblog if you did

#mingissoggywaffles #ateez #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #atz smut #song mingi smut #mingi smut #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #mingi x y/n #kpop smut #song mingi x reader

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thegalleonsnest · 3 years

Photo

INTERVIEW CHORDICAL Time to ask the artist questions.

Figured I make the most of my down time due to my tablet going on fritz and ordering a new one, so I went ahead and drew this out in my sketchbook for the authentic journalist sketch style. It probably looks a bit cleaner than the actual style, but only because I was using super light H pencils before outlining.

Anyway, I actually wrote out the interview months ago, but never got around to uploading it, so they’re down here if you wanna read! It’s a bit longer than the average interview, but hey, my oc, I do what I want lol.

Who are you?

My name is Chordical Gallopano. I’m an artist who just graduated, but art’s not exactly at the top of my priority list at the moment.

Why is that? Are you going through an art block?

Eh, kind of? I guess it’s a bit of a small burn out, but I’ve gotten over it for the most part. If anything, I’m taking some time off to focus on myself. I still draw here and there, just not all that often. Mostly been helping Gramble at his barn.

Why come to Snaktooth Island?

Actually, the main reason was because I won a vacation raffle! I never really have faith in those raffles, but I was just like, “eh, screw it,” and gave it a shot. I was slacked jawed when I got the call about it too, hehe.

Wait, Lizbert held a raffle?

Well, yes she did, but my situation’s different. I found out that Lizbert held her own raffle, and Shelda won that one. The raffle I won let me pick a vacation of my choosing, as long as it was within the country; and then I remembered hearing about Lizbert’s trip to Snaktooth. Honestly, I didn’t care what grumps were saying about Lizbert and her Bugsnax discovery being real or not. It gave me a reason to go with her on her expedition. Thank grump that Lizbert wasn’t super finicky with external raffles and let me come anyway!

So was there any other reason you picked Snaktooth?

Erm...um...The best way that I could put it is that...I needed to get away. I needed a break from some stuff. I...rather not talk about it, at least not on the record. I would appreciate that.

Thoughts on Bugsnax?

Gonna be real, I’m not that into them like the rest of the guys here. They’re more annoying to deal with...and they’re a bit unnerving.

What’s wrong with them? Don’t you eat them too?

I mean, yes, I do, but only when I really have to. I’m pretty sure you noticed but uh, I rather not be stuck with nubs for paws for a week. I can’t draw without my fingies, and sketch paper isn’t exactly built for bacon grease media. There’s a couple of bugsnax that give me claws or something to work with, but even still, I prefer my fuzzy paws instead of cheepoof dust.

What exactly makes them “unnerving” to you?

It’s...hard to pinpoint why, but something about them rubs me the wrong way. I mean, they only exist on this island, apparently, and they turn your arms and legs into food. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I would be one of those Grumpuses to yell “HOORAY” for having a weenie arm...At least they’re kind of cute as pets I guess.

Why did you leave town?

Honestly, the entire fight between Gramble and Wambus was something that hit its boiling point after being at each other’s throats for a while. They would constantly be fighting and bickering because of petty crap, and they wouldn’t settle things like adults! I had no choice but to basically be the mediator between them for months. It sucks. Even though I’m friends with both of them, I had to go with Gramble and help him.

What were they fighting about exactly?

If you’ve talked to Gramble already, he was right about one thing: Wambus broke into his barn and started snaknapping his little buddies. I actually SAW it happen too! Lizbert was only gone for a day; I get that we gotta eat, but what Wambus did was downright dirty. I just wish that they could just TALK about it instead of baring their fangs all the time. Otherwise, I don’t think we would have been in this mess to begin with.

Why did you go with Gramble and not Wambus?

Listen, Wambus is an older farmer grumpus, he can take care of himself. We’re still on good terms, but whatever beef he’s got with Gramble is between them. I’m just trying to mediate as best I can. I had to go help Gramble because have you SEEN the poor guy? He’s a wreck with how little sleep he gets! Not to mention he’s barely eating anything other than sauce and whatever science experiment Shelda had cooking up at the time! I’ve been helping out at his barn since almost the start, and I care about him...someone has to look after him.

Any info on Lizbert?

Lizbert is pretty cool, not gonna lie. I actually asked her if she needed any help documenting any of the Bugsnax and she’d let me go out with her and do live studies of them. I drew a good chunk of the bugsnax in her notes and helped keep them organized. For who she is, she is really encouraging and friendly. She would honestly be a good big sister if you let her, heh! She kept everyone fed from her hunts, but I don’t think she was keeping up with everyone. Like, socially, I mean.

Did she ever talk to the other Grumpuses?

Of course she did, but I don’t think she was really paying enough attention. It’s one thing to be a leader, but it’s another to actually listen to someone’s problems. I know she really cared about her partner, Eggabell, but I could tell she was a major priority most of the time. I think it’s because she spent more time hunting than actually being in town most of the time. If she had a break and someone else took over the hunting, I could see her spending time with the other Grumpuses, but as it stood, no one was willing to take her place. That’s probably why she did it anyway, in case they disappeared like she and Eggabell did.

Do you know what happened to Lizbert and Eggabell?

I wish I knew. The only thing I do know is that we were supposed to go to the mountains to document a few more Bugsnax and study some weird structures, but she ended up taking Eggabell instead. I know they had a falling out a few days beforehand, so maybe Lizbert decided that it would have been better if it was just the two of them so they could sort out their issues. But then that earthquake hit not too long after...Grump I hope they’re ok.

Thanks, Chordical. This was all very informative.

Hey, I’m glad I could give ya something to work with! If you ever need someone to talk to or just chill with for a bit, I’ll be hanging at Gramble’s. Bet we could compare some art notes while we’re at it!

#TheGalleonsNest Art #My Art #Traditional Art #Bugsnax #TheGalleonsNest OC #Chordical Gallopano #Grumpus OC #My OCs #Oh yeah interview time #Literally had this planned for months #just had zero time to myself cause #*Gestures to my anniversary piece and commissions*#I'm gonna develop this guy

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Farmer Ted

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Regardless of where the two of you have your first conversation, Ted probably knew of and had a crush on you before you were even aware of his existence.

- He’d probably seen you around school and thought that you were really pretty but just didn’t have the nerve to introduce himself while you were with your friends/around people. But now was his perfect chance.

- You’d been sitting outside of the school, waiting for somebody, when he’d slinked up to you all dorkily suave. Considering you were somewhat distracted by a book, you probably didn’t realize someone was approaching you until they’d; or rather he’d, sat beside you.

- Somewhat surprised and curious, you looked up and over at him, meeting his eyes as he gave you a smile. He greeted you, making small talk as you sat together before asking if you “wanted to go out Saturday night”.

- You found him sort of endearing and cute in a wimpy sort of way so; much to his genuine surprise, you actually said yes.

- For your first date, the two of you went to the movies. He kept sneaking glances at you throughout the night and held his hand open on the armrest like halfway through the movie, waiting to see if you’d take it; which you probably did.

- He probably rushes to go tell Bryce and Cliff about everything that happened after the two of you say goodbye.

- You have your first kiss about a week after your first date. You were sitting together in his bedroom and he’d mentioned how “it may come as a surprise …but you’re the first girl he’s ever gone out with.” before telling you how he really likes you and is wondering if you’ll be his girlfriend.

- Obviously, you agree and after an almost instantaneous “really?!”, he all but smashes his lips to yours. When the two of you pull away, he shyly apologizes but you just laugh and tell him it’s fine.

- And there you have it, the geek finally gets the girl.

- Lots of pda. He wants to show off and flaunt your relationship; particularly because he knows that no one would automatically assume that the two of you are dating whenever you’re together.

- His arm around your shoulder. It makes him feel like a stud.

- Handholding.

- Hugs from behind. He does occasionally give you an actual squeeze but, more often than not, he just wraps his arms loosely around you while the two of you stand together.

- He loves kisses on the cheek. He always tries his best to play it cool but his heart skips a beat whenever you give him one.

- Clumsy kisses. You’re probably going to be his first kiss so expect him to be a little bad at it for a while; and possibly scrape you with his braces.

- Soft kisses.

- Sitting in his lap. He likes wrapping his arms around you and looking up at your face or whatever you’re doing in front of him whenever you do.

- He loves cuddling and enjoys doing it in any way that you can. Spooning? Great! You laying your head on his chest? Even better! Him laying his head on you? Wowza!

- You’ll probably catch him staring at you a lot. He’s just amazed that such a wonderful girl like you is giving him the time of day.

- He calls you pet names more than your actual name, particularly in front of people because; once again, he likes showing off that you’re a couple. He must have at least a dozen different terms of endearment that he calls you interchangeably.

- Lame pick up lines. He still tries to flirt with you; even though he’s arguably bad at it.

- He likes making you laugh at his absurdity, especially if you’re noticeably upset; either with him or at something else.

- Singing along and lip syncing to the radio together.

- Dancing with each other.

- Giving all of his geeky interests a try.

- Letting him explain floppy disks and computers and all that to you. He’s actually sort of brilliant if we’re being honest here.

- Pizza dates.

- Movie dates. I can’t tell you why but I feel like Ted would enjoy watching old movies, movies with like Frank Sinatra in them and all the other golden age of Hollywood stars.

- Taking walks around the neighborhood together; maybe walking a dog together if you’re interested in that.

- Going to the park. You usually sit on the swings together and talk whenever you do.

- Arcade dates.

- County fairs, carnivals, and amusement parks. He likes taking you to those types of things, he thinks they’re really fun.

- Having “his dudes” interrupt and tag along with you guys a lot. He’s quick to tell them to scram but you usually feel kinda bad and just tell them they can stay if they’d like to.

- He definitely tries to get you a bit out of your comfort zone but never minds if you just don’t feel like doing something. The two of you could just be standing and doing nothing and he’d be completely fine with it purely because he’s with you.

- He said it himself: he’s a total pushover for pretty girls. You can convince him to do pretty much anything because he’s too twerked up to say no.

- Doing his makeup. Did you see his lid space? The clean close shave? He’d probably outright refuse at first but he’d give in easy enough and you’d get to make him gorgeous.

- He loves the smell of your perfume. He’ll never admit it but he sprays himself with it before he leaves your house so that he can smell like you for the rest of the night. It’s comforting to him.

- He definitely messes around with your stuffed animals whenever he’s bored, you’re not paying attention to him, or just to make you smile.

- Making you laugh is one of his main missions in life. He loves hearing the sound; even if it’s at his expense.

- Helping him clean up the messes he makes when he’s a total klutz, or just silently helping him when he’s awkwardly and cluelessly fumbling with something.

- Standing up for him; especially if you’re higher on the social hierarchy.

- Walking to class together.

- Sitting with him at lunch; even though it’s sort of social suicide. You get a lot of stares and weird interactions from the other geeks but Bryce and Cliff have gotten used to you and have become pretty good friends of yours.

- Him carrying your things, or you; he’s surprisingly strong for such a little guy.

- You’re like 90% of his impulse control and one of the only reasons he’s still alive. You keep him in check because he desperately needs it sometimes.

- Sharing secrets.

- Having earnest conversations. Most of the time, he feels like he needs to put up a front to seem cool but the longer you're together, the more he realizes you like him for him and that he can just be himself.

- He can act like a bit of a jerk sometimes but he does genuinely care about your feelings and is actually pretty good at making you feel better when you’re feeling down.

- He’s definitely pretty jealous. You hang out with him and a bunch of geeks who are constantly ogling and trying to get close to you. Not to mention the fact that you’re really pretty and could bag a boy who’s much higher on the social ladder than he is.

- He’s not overprotective of you but he does care enough about you to put his weeny ass on the line. He may not be the most helpful in a dangerous/scary situation but he’s fully ready to get his ass kicked to defend you; he’s gotten it bruised for less than that.

- You don’t fight a lot but the two of you do get into a few good arguments and fights. You’ll argue for a while until you move to just leave, he’ll stop you and calm his tone down while trying to reason with you and explain his point of view. He has a habit of saying the wrong thing or doing things without thinking so that may be part of the reason you’re moving to leave.

- He is genuinely sorry whenever he’s blatantly messed up but he’ll usually apologize for his attitude regardless of who’s in the wrong and say “but you have to admit x” and you will have to admit it no matter how stubborn you are.

- He likes when you tell him that you love him but he’s a bit too shy to say it back in fear of messing up his “stud persona”. He’ll usually just give you a kiss and tell you he loves you when you’re alone.

- You’re his first love so he has that naive, “we’re gonna last forever” mindset; even though he doesn’t talk about it all that much. That’s not to say that you won’t though, I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful life together.

#sixteen candles imagine #sixteen candles headcanons #sixteen candles imagines #sixteen candles headcanon #80s movie imagine #80s movie imagines #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon #farmer ted imagine #farmer ted headcanons #farmer ted headcanon #farmer ted imagines #farmer ted sixteen candles

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raritarous · 3 years

Text

Deltarunes narrator part 2

I’m replaying Deltarune and paying extra close attention to the narrator to make a comparison between the two and, eventually take a guess at who the narrator is. This tomfoolery was prompted by me remembering the narrator Chara theory, which I believe to be true. I am trying to remine objective for this comparison but I will fall down a rabbit hole into wild speculation and theorizing eventually... It’s just who I am.

Part 1

Masterpost

First I’m going to make a slight correction from part 1. It has come to my attention that before you go to the dark world the options selection is the same as in Undertale defaulting to one side and using white and white text.

It isn’t until we go to the dark world and Ralsei askes us to listen to his tale that we are presented with the centered heart and white and yellow text.

What is possibly the most interesting about this is that the white and yellow text stays after returning from the dark world.

There are only Two (I believe) cases of white and yellow text options in Undertale. One being when Chara asks if you want to destroy everything at the end of a murder montage, and the other when you name the fallen human at the beginning of the game.

And I have to correct myself once again because the actual first time we see the centered heart and white and yellow text is

I’m not going to jump into theories just yet, but stay tuned part 3 is most likely where we start falling down rabbet holes.

I am going to take a quick minute to sidetrack away from the narrator. Bare with me for this one I feel like I is worth looking at with the subject of the narrator in the back of our minds.

At a glance it would be easy to say that both Kris and Frisk are your generic silent RPG protagonist for you to project yourself onto. Nothing happens to challenge this idea in Undertale until you complete a true pacifist run. Once you manage to get through to Asriel and he askes for your name Frisk answers him with their own name instead of the one you chose at the beginning of the game. Frisk very rarely acts outside of the players influence, keeping the illusion that you and Frisk are one in the same. (this may be less true during a no fun run, but I am too much of a weenie to play that run myself so I have only watch it. I remember there being time the character advanced on someone when they were trying to monolog but I don’t know if that was under the control of the player or not) The only (non geno run) time I can think of where Frisk acts somewhat independently is in the true lab, walking extremely slowly toward the shower and moving much faster than usual if you turned back.

Kris on the other hand seems to be far more willing to act on their own. Backing away from the closet door when first finding the dark world, jumping in front of Susie to black an attack from Spade King, and running on their own when prompted by Susie when Lancer first attacks after entering the dark world. (by this last one I mean you don’t have to hold the run bottom down, you still have to initiate movement.) And that's not even bringing into account that they... you know...

Yeah all that... Lets get back to the narrator.

I don’t think Undertales narrator ever told you what someone else was thinking like this, only what they were doing. I could be wrong about this one but I still felt it was worth putting in here.

One thing I have noticed that I didn’t pay too much attention to at first was the narrators callbacks to check info from Undertale though they are not exact.

this last one isn’t really a callback but I did fine it interesting that the end of battle message was different between the two

especially when this is something that happens

Sorry I keep going off on tangents away from the narrator, I just feel like this stuff is going to mean something later on.

This post has gotten long enough. If you have made it this far thank you so much for reading, I’m really enjoying this deep dive into the narrator I hope you are too.

#deltarune #undertale #kris #susie #ralsei #deltarune theory #deltarune kris #deltarune ralsei #deltarune susie #deltarune spoilers

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pitch-pearl-void · 3 years

Text

Anyone interested in a WIP Pitch Pearl series rewrite?

A click resounded off the walls of the dark tunnel. Danny's heart--already racing--shot an extra burst of adrenaline through his system. He spun on his heel and booked it toward the exit. A high-pitched hum began, and his eyes widened. He had reacted so fast because he thought his parents' ghost portal had a ghost haunting it already, but the reality of what was happening set in as the electronic hum grew louder.

The portal was turning on--with him inside.

"Danny?" Sam called, her usual drawl replaced by fear.

Tucker, more tech-savy, skipped fear and latched onto desperation, screaming, "Get out of there!"

The warning would have come too late if Danny hadn't already been on the move.

Green light began to fill the tunnel, but Danny didn't linger to see beyond that initial flare. He leapt forward and landed painfully on his chest outside the tunnel, sliding a few inches across the metal floor.. Something burst from the tunnel, surging above him, pulling at his hair, screeching in his ears. Tucker and Sam screamed his name. Danny pressed himself flat on the floor and didn't dare to so much as breathe. He could feel the burn of electricity singing the side of his face, the only part of his body not protected by the jumpsuit.

It lasted only a few seconds, but even after the energy dissipated from the air and the tunnel's humming was replaced by an odd-sounding song, Danny didn't move--couldn't move. He was paralyzed. Tucker and Sam landed on their knees on either side of him and had to bodily lift him up. Still limp, however, his muscles refusing to respond in any way, he couldn't sit up on his own. He slumped against Sam, but she didn't seem to mind. She wrapped her arms tightly around him. Tucker did the same on Danny's other side, pressing his face into Danny's neck.

Finally, Danny's lungs started working again. He gasped in a breath. And then another. Another. Another.

"Holy shit!" Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "I--I--"

"You're okay," Sam said, more to herself than to Danny. "You're okay..."

"I almost died!"

Tucker squeezed Danny tighter. "Don't," he said, his voice thick, strangled, "don't you ever scare me like that again."

"Scare you?" Danny laughed. He lifted his hand. It was trembling so violently he couldn't hold it level. "Holy shit..."

Frightened as he was, Danny was sure he could have remained in his friends' arms, safe and loved for at least an hour, but the odd song behind them altered pitch, and a voice called out, "Um, excuse me, but what the fuck?"

The group hug became rigid.

"Danny," Tucker whispered, "did you say something?"

"My voice doesn't sound like that, Tuck," Danny hissed back.

"I mean, it sort of does. And if you didn't say anything..."

Slowly, Sam and Tucker turned their heads to the side. Danny, his back to the portal, held absolutely still. Whatever his friends saw, they didn't exactly hug him tighter, but Tucker leaned closer and Sam whispered a prayer.

Danny swallowed. "What is it?"

"Uh," Tucker said, "the, uh, the good news is the portal is working!"

Danny sucked in a breath. He wouldn't call that good news. Having a portal that led to the ghost dimension inside his house wasn't something he had been looking forward to, but if that was the good news... "What's the bad news?"

"There's a boy in the portal," Sam answered before Tucker could. "He's just kind of floating there. Inside the portal. But I think he's stuck." She waited a moment, watching the portal--watching the boy--and then her arms relaxed around Danny. "Yeah, I think we're safe. I don't think he can get through."

That was a relief, if true, but Danny needed to see it for himself. He shifted on his knees. Sam and Tucker pulled away, but Danny's legs were still shaky, not quite steady enough to stand on his own. "Um...guys, could you...?"

Danny's friends stood and then reached down, grabbed his hands, and helped Danny climb to his feet, neither one taking their eyes off the portal.

"He kind of looks like you," Tucker whispered.

"Would you stop?" Danny whispered back. "That's gotta be, like, bad luck or something, saying someone looks like a ghost."

"I didn't say you look like a ghost, I said he looks like you."

"Same difference!"

"Guys," Sam hissed.

Slowly, reluctantly, his heart beating wildly, Danny turned around. The boy inside the portal stared back at him, his head tilted slightly to the side. The portal itself appeared as a swirling green vortex, and in between that vortex and Danny floated the boy. He had raised his hands and seemed to be placing them against...some sort of surface on Danny's side of the portal.

If not for the green vortex, his unnaturally white hair, the acidic green of his eyes, or the fact he had no legs, he could almost pass as a human. Danny had always imagined a ghost would look more...monstrous. Like the turkey and ecto-weenies his parents sometimes brought to life.

This boy had normal-looking human eyes, not the solid green pits Danny had seen before. He wasn't baring sharp teeth at them and he wasn't...doing anything threatening, really. He wore a black t-shirt that sort of floated around his chest, and his hair--cut in the same style as Danny's but a pure bright white--swayed slightly as the boy ghost bobbed up and down.

"See?" Tucker whispered. "He totally looks like you."

"In the face, maybe," Sam whispered back. "But I think his shoulders are broader than Danny's. And maybe his arms...."

"Gee, thanks," Danny whispered sarcastically. "Why not point out I actually have legs while you're at it?"

The ghost boy raised an eyebrow, and a horrible suspicion occurred to Danny. There was a tiny popping sound and then the ghost's tail--previously undulating like an eel--split into a pair of legs clothed in a pair of ragged jeans. Despite his new feet, the ghost continued to float above the ground--if he even had ground on his side of the portal.

"I have legs," the ghost said, speaking at a normal volume, confirming Danny's fear, "when I want them, anyway."

His voice had a strange overlay to it, as though it was both hollow and resounding. It raised the hairs on Danny's arms and neck. He backed up a step.

"Who are you?" the ghost continued. "What are you?" He tilted his head farther to the side and narrowed his eyes. "And what did you do to my lair?"

"Oh shit," Tucker whispered, more quietly than before.

Sam stepped forward. "We could ask you the same thing. Who and what are you?"

The ghost's eyes finally moved away from Danny, sliding over to Sam instead. "Phantom. I'm a ghost who just had his home destroyed by an artificial portal. I'm guessing that was your--" his gaze scanned the three of them "--fault. Natural portals don't get ripped open, and they definitely don't open inside a ghost's lair. So what is it you're after? Who and what are you?"

"Dude, we're just human kids," Tucker said, holding up his hands. "It wasn't even supposed to turn on!"

"My parents built it," Danny said, taking another step back. "But it didn't work. It wasn't supposed to work! They gave up on it!"

"Yeah!" Tucker nodded vigorously. "Yeah! We just dared Danny to go in there because he was being a complete chicken about it--"

"I was not!"

"You were!"

"How did it turn on, anyway?" Sam asked.

"Danny must have pressed an on-switch inside the tunnel," Tucker said. "Since we didn't unplug anything it turned on while he was inside. That's not supposed to happen. You're supposed to turn it on and then plug it in. Your dad must have forgotten to press the on-switch before they plugged it in or something."

"Sounds like Dad..." Danny muttered.

"So..." the ghost, Phantom, said slowly, "it was an accident?"

"Yeah!"

"Total accident."

"Basically."

Slowly, the ghost's rigid posture eased, settling into a more relaxed pose. "Oh," he said softly, warily. "That's...good. It doesn't help me get my lair back--or get out of here--but that's...good."

"You could go back to your world," Danny muttered.

Sam elbowed him in the side and he grunted.

"I can't, actually," Phantom said. "There is a barrier on that side as well. I'm stuck inside...whatever this is."

Sam sucked in a breath. "You’re stuck?"

"Oh no," Danny groaned.

"Like in a cage?"

Tucker sighed and rolled his eyes. "Here we go..."

Sam rounded on her friends. "We have to get him out!"

Danny held up his hands, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh, no way, Sam. We can't just, like, open the door to the ghost world. What if he's dangerous?"

Tucker looked at the ghost trapped inside the portal. "Are you dangerous?"

Phantom cocked his head to the side. "No?"

"Ha!" Sam cheered.

"That doesn't prove anything!" Danny objected. "He could be lying!"

Tucker, smirking, asked the ghost, "Are you lyi--"

"Tucker!"

"Well, we can't just leave him trapped in there forever." Sam walked toward the portal, ignoring Danny hissing her name. "How would you like to be trapped in a vortex for the rest of your life?"

"It's more like a tunnel than a vortex," Phantom admitted.

"A cage is a cage!" Sam placed her hands over Phantom's, the barrier acting like a glass panel between them. "And we're getting you out of this one."

---

An au in which Danny has ghost phobia, Phantom doesn’t know anything about the human world, and Sam and Tucker are determined to befriend a ghost come hell or high water lol. Some of the Danny/Sam scenes will be replaced with Phantom/Danny (because that was what started this) but because Danny has an extreme fear of ghosts, brought on by his parents experiments and stories, it’s going to very slow burn. By comparison.

To keep from rewriting, like, everything, I’m thinking I’ll try condensing the scenes that don’t change (the food fight in Mystery Meat for instance) as either a diary entry or as a rushed description of events? Whichever way feels more natural...I want to get at least one full scene written for each episode.

This may be too ambitious but idk, I would love to hear your guys’ thoughts!

#Danny Phantom #pitch pearl #Danny Fenton #Phantom and Danny as different people #pitchpearl

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come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

Text

//general dating headcannons//

Characters: Komori Motoya/Oikawa Tooru/Sakusa Kiyoomi/Miya Atsumu

Request: bby ;-; HCs or scenarios of Komori, Oikawa and OmiOmi please cause my knee and back are screaming murder and I just want some love :'C (+Atsumu but homegirl forgot)

Warnings: some swearing and I make one sex joke

Word Count: 2.4K (~600 a piece)

Notes: I PROMISE i’ll get back to doing fics I’m just a weenie with AWFUL time management skills

Komori Motoya

My bleppy eyebrow boy oml i love him so much

Smooch his motherfucking eyebrows and watch him become a flustered mess. I swear, if you don’t, I will.

He’s already an absolute sweetheart, but when it comes to you? It’s a whole new level of soft. I’m talking like he’s going to be buying you little gifts all the time. He’s a really good listener, so you could mention your favorite book once and he’s going to scour the internet for a collector’s copy, or you maybe briefly mentioned that you thought orchids were really pretty and this boy? He’s bringing you a bouquet of them on your next date.

Your beauty is so ethereal to him, so Komori calls you his angel

He is just genuinely so proud to have you as his girlfriend?? Like, the fact that someone as incredible as you??? Wanted to date him?? It’s still a shock to him, but he’s so happy that you did.

Komori is a sucker for physical contact, so whether you’re in the comfort of your own home or out in public, he will be touching you in some way.

If you’re in public? It really depends on your comfort level. He’s down to have his arm wrapped lovingly around your shoulders, or if you’re not super into PDA, he’ll just hold your hand or just intertwine his pinky with yours. If you guys are at a restaurant, he’ll brush his knee against yours if you're across from him. If you’re next to him, he’ll just press his shoulder against yours. Anything to be in constant contact with you.

But if you’re in private, this baby just wants cuddles. Please face him while you two cuddle, because he honestly wants to give you all the sweet kisses on your nose and he’ll just stroke your cheek while the two of you just chat or enjoy each other's company.

I already said this earlier, but it needs to be repeated: SMOOCH HIS EYEBROWS

Komori likes to pretend that he hates it, but he’s kinda obsessed with it? And if he’s having a bad day, he’ll just hint at you that he wants eyebrow kisses

He’s going to call you just to make sure that you’ve eaten.

Honestly, he’s a caller instead of a texter, just because he wants to hear your voice. Is it a little inconvenient? Yes, but he thinks it’s worth it.

The two of you have probably sat on the phone for HOURS with very minimal talking, just the two of you going about whatever you’re doing, but just enjoying knowing that the other is there.

He doesn’t really get jealous? He’s pretty relaxed and doesn’t really feel threatened by other people? On the rare occasion that he is jealous? He will walk up to you, plant a short kiss to your lips, and ask if you’re ready to go.

Call him a shortened version of his name and he’s putty in your hands. His favorite is ‘toya.’ But he’s also a weenie for really cute pet names like “pumpkin” or “sweetheart”

Say it with me everyone: Husband material.

Sakusa Kiyoomi

Oh our stoic boy

I would love to tell you that he’s super sweet behind closed doors, but?? He’s just not. He still has his calm, collected front.

Honestly? It’s literally just because he’s never had a girlfriend before. He’s still getting used to having someone that isn’t related to him tell him that they love him, so you’ll have to give him a little time to get used to this whole relationship thing.

There was definitely mutual pining going on on both sides. You couldn’t tell if he liked you and he’s really prideful, so he didn’t want to be rejected, so there was a good three? Months of the two of you “talking” but even then it was really just him standing around in the hallway with his friends, and the two of you would always greet each other. Maybe? MAYBE do a little small talk?

“Are you excited for your tournament this weekend?”

“I guess so. Are you coming?”

Yeah. That’s seriously his idea of flirting.

You’re inevitably the one who caves and just asks him on a date. So, insert one (1) shocked Sakusa because he didn’t realize that you liked him too??

N E WAY. He’s not a fan of PDA, but I’m sure that’s not a surprise to anyone. The most he’ll do is drape his jacket over your shoulders as a sign that your his

But here is the surprise! Once he gets a little more comfortable with you, he likes the physical contact. If he thought you were germ-riddled, he wouldn’t date you, so it’s pretty easy for him to be okay with the contact. Play with his hair?? Oh he’s in love. That is his absolute favorite feeling.

Mask kisses? Mask kisses. Speaking of masks, you two probably have a few matching ones that he got you for anniversaries or things like that.

He’s a big big fan of butterfly kisses or just nuzzling his nose against you? It’s really sweet and intimate to him, so expect a lot of those if you two ever cuddle.

He’s a TALL mans, but he really doesn’t mind leaning down to kiss you. If anything he thinks it’s even cuter that you’re smaller than him.

I would simply like to say beware of jealous Kiyoomi. He’s not violent, but he’s really cold? He’ll come up behind the guy who’s talking to you, likely towering over him. Everything about Sakusa would be radiating this really dark aura. He would probably just grab you by the wrist and pull you away from the encounter.

But, he gets really soft afterwards? Like he just wants to hold you and he’ll tell you over and over that he loves you just so he can hear you say it back.

Kiyoomi usually has these soft moments when he feels threatened or if he’s just had a bad day. He gets really, for lack of a better word, subby. He wants to be cuddled and have his hair played with. Be big spoon PLEASE and shower him with compliments.

He hates fighting with you, but the thing is. He’s not really a scream-fighter? He just gets really irritated, which is probably worse? Because then he really says the wrong thing and you’ll probably just leave. There’s no use arguing with him when he’s like that. He’s stubborn and doesn’t like to be wrong.

But he’s usually the first to apologize. Especially if you’re genuinely upset. It’ll be HOURS before he does say sorry, but if you’re not around, he’ll call you just to say that he’s sorry and that he didn’t mean it.

And then proceeds to ask you if you want ice cream, because he’s coming over to beg for cuddles.

Oikawa Tooru

I think I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again.

Oikawa Tooru is one of the biggest shit talkers that you will ever meet

I’m sorry did you actually think he was a player? No. He’d be texting you about how much he wants to make out with you or ahem hit it until it breaks ahem but the moment the time comes?

FLUSTERED BOY

Like, he’s hiding his face in his hands so you can’t see just how red his cheeks are. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he’s just a pleaser and he’s nervous that you won’t like it.

Tooru is two completely different people when you’re out in public and when it’s just the two of you.

When he’s around others, he’s the cool, confident person that you first met. He’ll have his arm around your waist, a smug smile on his lips, showing you off.

But, alone? Oh, this boy ;-; he makes me angsty so prepare yourselves

Tooru is super vulnerable when he’s just with you. You’ll find him opening up a lot, especially if the two of you have been dating for a while or just have a really strong bond.

He talks about his insecurities when it comes to volleyball and how he doesn’t feel like he’s good enough compared to Kageyama or some of the other incredible players on the court.

He’ll confide in you about he doesn’t feel like people see him. He thinks that people only care about him because he’s popular and attractive, not because of who he is as a person.

So, Oikawa likes to be the one being cuddled for sure. He likes to lay on his bed with his head in your lap while you either play with his hair or just gently trace his features.

While he likes being told that he’s handsome, if you give him compliments on his personality, he’s a complete weenie.

Long drives with him are the BEST. Especially night drives. Those are his absolute favorite dates. You two will go get fast food, drive out to the middle of nowhere, lay out a blanket to look at the stars, talking, eating chicken nuggets, sharing a Coke. Yeah. That’s the good shit right there.

Tooru. Likes. Podcasts. No, sorry. He loves them.

I think I mentioned this in a match-up, but he’s a horror/sci-fi junkie, so he really loves podcasts like “Welcome to Night Vale,” “Alice Isn’t Dead,” and “The Hidden Almanac.”

Watch horror films with him, please. I promise, if you’re scared, he’ll let you bury your head in his chest. He may laugh a little, but he will tell you that he thinks it’s cute. If you don’t want to watch, that’s fine, but he’ll probably call you just to talk about it.

But, if you like that stuff too? Movie marathons are a regular occasion for the two of you and you take turns sharing your favorites.

Oikawa is another one who just always wants to have contact with you. He’ll kiss you in public, but he mainly likes to hold your hand. He’ll swing them a little between the two of you as you walk and then bring your knuckles up to his lips just to give them a little kiss. He kisses every knuckle bye

Every now and then his knee will get little sharp pains or just ache in general. It can happen pretty randomly and he always feels guilty when it happens, because he needs to cut the date short, but he’s just in stupid amounts of pain and needs to lay down.

But, if you take care of him while he’s nursing his knee by bringing him water and painkillers, or pillows to prop his knee up, or even a heat pack to make it feel better?

He’s ready to wife you tf up.

Miya Atsumu

I love Atsumu with my whole heart and I am so so sorry for hurting him

Unlike most people he’s around, Atsumu is a complete softie for you. You’re his princess and he will treat you as such.

He’ll bring you flowers ALL THE TIME.

Sometimes the notes attached will be really sweet. Him telling you why he loves you or how happy he is to have you in his life.

Other times? It’s probably some bullshit like “ur dumb” or some teasing remark about something ridiculous you said. They’re all jokes and you get that, so they usually make you laugh. You’ll probably give him a little “Hey!” of mock hurt and a little smack upside the head or on his chest, but you can’t hide the smile on your face, because despite the note, he did still get you flowers.

Atsumu is a big big fan of PDA. You know that thing from “To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before” where Peter puts his hand in Lara Jean’s back pocket? Yeah. He does that. And he totally did not get it from that movie he did

He also likes to just have his arm around you so he can pull you into his side for maximum physical contact.

Wear his clothes and uhhhh atsumudotexe has stopped responding. You just pull them off so well. And if it’s a sweatshirt with his name on the back? He will take a picture and it will be on his Snapchat/Instagram story and it will be his new lockscreen.

Call him ‘Mu. He likes it so much more than any pet name you could ever give him. Babe/baby is too common. Sweetheart just doesn’t ft. Honey/Hon isn’t really his vibe either. He likes ‘Mu and you are the only person who’s allowed to call him that.

He lets you wear his training jacket during games, just to kind of silently let everyone know that you’re his, but he’s so vocal about his relationship with you, that everyone already knows not to flirt with you

But on the off chance that they do?? Oh, dear. He’s not even mean, he just has this really smug smile on his face when he approaches the guy talking to you. He’ll step between the two of you and introduce himself, absolutely crushing the other guy's hand in a handshake, never letting his smile drop.

Atsumu will ask what you’re talking about, inputting himself into the conversation, making some little snide comments to piss the other guy off. He’s a slow burn kind of aggressive when he’s jealous.

He honestly isn’t super big into cuddling? Like, if you want to, sure, but he’s never going to initiate cuddles.

You’re more than welcome to sit in his lap facing him and bury your face in his chest or shoulder while rubs your back, though. He’s a fan of that. You just look really cute all snuggled against him.

Or if you want to lay between his legs on the couch? Yeap. He likes that too. But those are really the only two ways he likes to cuddle.

One of your favorite ways to spend your lazy days together is just listening to music, maybe dancing around, or singing, but mainly just laying around and just chatting or enjoying each other’s company

It’s because of this that he gave you a set of mix tapes for your six month anniversary. And, yes. There was one for each month you had been dating. He’s really cheesy. Don’t come for him.

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sarahjtv · 4 years

Text

BNHA 296 Spoiler Thoughts

Ok, wow. I was just sitting down enjoying my Sunday when the next chapter suddenly decides to drop onto our laps and bring us all to tears. I did not expect it, but I welcome it with somber feels. Of course, since this is the aftermath chapter, I have a lot thoughts. Here we go:

•The chapter starts off with narration from Deku on what happened after the big battle. This tells us that he’s still alive (presumedly) thank god. There’s a panel later that shows him on a stretcher (I think) or a bed, but he’s unconscious. Regardless, I don’t see Deku’s limbs going back to normal after all this unless something comes in to fix them. Eri’s not an option here because she used all her energy on Mirio recently, so don’t go thinking that’ll work unless there’s a time-skip.

•So far, Pixie Bob, Wash, Present Mic, and Thirteen are still alive and fighting. Thirteen, however, seems to have lost an arm when she was in the lab... We do see some of her face, so that’s a reveal if anything.

•Deku says that their were at least 10 Near High-End Nomu in that battlefield. 3 of them were disposed and 7 escaped. We did see one get captured by Best Jeanist in the last chapter so maybe they can get some intel from it.

•Mr. Compress is alive! I’m honestly glad that he’s alive because I could’ve sworn he was going to die. That reveal we had about him being the descendent of the Perilous Thief was just too big for him to be killed off right away. I’m hoping we can learn more about him and the Thief later.

•Back at the resort: ReDestro, Getten, Trumpet, and more than 16,900 PLF soldiers were caught. Edgeshot is still alive too, but he looks tired and his arm is messed up. I do not see that Old Samurai hero from the top 10 around, so my best bet is that he’s alive. I hope...

•Now, we REALLY get a look at all the death and destruction that this war has caused. Adults, kids, and families are either injured or dead. Everyone is traumatized. Thankfully Froppy and Uraraka (I can’t spell her first name right to save me...) are working on rescuing (Uraraka in particular is good for this thanks to her Zero Gravity). A lot of other heroes like Koda and Manga are helping out too, but the screams of people in pain and horror do not leave the pages and it’s honestly haunting to read.

•And poor Uraraka. As she’s saving people, you can see her hair get messier and messier. There’s one really well-drawn, but sad, panel of her with spots of blood on her and her hair isn’t “floaty” like it normally is. It’s droopy and straight down like she’s been caught in rain or something. I’m not used to her being like this. This war is going to make her rethink things, I think.

•There’s one hero, who in the mist of all this, says that this whole thing was a mistake. He’s thinking about finding a new job. I highly doubt he’s the only on thinking this. War affects people badly. They want to fight for the greater good, but the cost is their own mentality, physicality, and even their lives. Sometimes other people’s lives. So, in a world of heroes where things like this happen on a devastating scale, you have to wonder “Is being a hero really worth it?” I’m sure more heroes, maybe even students, will be thinking about this in the future. I won’t be surprised if some quit entirely.

•And now the hero death toll. Oh my god... The first thing I saw when I saw the leaks was Midnight’s death. I’m devastated. Her horniness aside, I loved her character. Midnight genuinely cared for her students and wanted them to grow into amazing heroes. She supported her high school friends, Present Mic and Aizawa, the whole way through including Shirakumo’s death. She adopted the cat the 4 of them took care of during high school and I believe it’s still alive today. I can’t imagine what Mic and Aizawa are going to feel when they hear about this. I honestly thought she was going to make it out alive. I thought that she was safe and had some plot armor on her. But no. She’s dead. Midnights’s not coming back. The students are mourning her especially Mina, Kirishima, and Momo. The three main players in the sedative plan. Their plan worked, but had it worked sooner, a lot of lives could’ve been saved. Ultimately, none of this is their fault, but it’s going to weigh on them heavily. Please give these kids therapy.

•Adding onto Midnight, heroes like Crust, Majestic, X-Less, and Native are dead. We know about Midnight, Crust, and X-Less now, but the rest were not known yet. I doubled out Majectic and Native here for reasons. Majestic was Momo’s 2nd intern mentor before the war. We didn’t know much about him or his Quirk (it was some sort of levitation via ring platforms), but he did save the student’s lives when they were about to be run over by Gigantomachia. Looks like that was a sacrifice. Native, if you remember, was the hero Iida, Deku, and Shoto saved back in Hosu back when they fought Stain. We didn’t know much about him, but it sucks to know that he was saved then only to be killed now. This will probably hurt Iida, Deku, and Shoto real bad knowing that saving him became pretty null and void in the end.

•Aside from that, the rest of them look like they were young, in their prime, or veterans in the world of Pro Heroes. It just sucks in general to have to see all these lives cut short. But, that’s how war goes, unfortunately.

•Endeavor... I’m one of the people who actually like Endeavor. I will never forgive him for what he did to Shoto and his family pre-Sports Festival. But, I wanted to see how he would redeem himself after Kosu. So far, he was doing well. He didn’t expect forgiveness and only wanted to atone. Everything in the Todoroki family was finally going well. And then Dabi/Touya showed up and screwed up everything. Now, everyone knows about Endeavor’s past as an abuser and they will never see him in the same light again. I don’t think he has a choice but to admit to his sins publicly and then retire. I hate the idea because he is a good hero, but I don’t see any other way he’s going to get out of this. Same with Hawks. I don't see him going back to hero work either.

•There’s one small panel with 2 kids from the short Remedial Course Arc we got with Shoto and Bakugo. Rough translation, one of the kids asks if things will be okay and the other says that they’ll be fine because “That’s what Five Weenies told us after all!” This broke me. “Five Weenies” refers to Shoto Todoroki. As funny as this should be, hearing that Shoto, the one who arguably got mentally scared the most in this whole battle, still gives those kids hope that everything will be okay... I just don’t know what to say. I’m glad Shoto kept those kid’s spirits alive (Bakugo did too; neither are visibly in this chapter for some reason), but he is by no means “fine”. #GiveShotoTodorokiTherapy2020

•And finally All For One. Fuck this guy. All that death and destruction and he wants more. The translation’s still rough, but based on what he says in the end, I think we are going to get a Prison Break Arc. He says “Go free my main body.” to the Nomus AFO is still in Tartarus. Guess who else is there? Stain, Overhaul (the Ultra Analysis said that he got prosthetics or something for his arms and his Quirk adapted to that) , Moonfish, Kurogiri, I think Muscular, and plenty of other villains. Horikoshi hinted that Moonfish might come back (he was apparently going to executed, but idk...) and the preview says “The worst is yet to come”... Yeah, this war is over. We’re really only just beginning.

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treasure-hwa · 4 years

Text

skate park

pairing: yeosang x neutral reader

genre: fluff, angst if you squint

synopsis: while trying to remember you are worthy good things, you meet a boy who will make everything feels better.

word count: 1.220

author's note: in general, Yeosang skater boy, because everybody deserves it. To the lovely @ateezstanlove, who said she was going away while I was in the middle of this imagine, then, came back few weeks later. Girl, don't do that to me again, thanks. Anyway, hope you all like this.

Another stressful day of dealing with fake friends, mean people and bad thoughts. Your energy was low, not the lowest, because you definitely had worse days, but low enough to make you stompe out of school and go straight to the skate park a few blocks away. Did you skate? No, you never even tried, but the skate park was a place that helped you relax, the sunset and breeze at the end of the day were irresistible and seemed to wash your worries and anger away.

Most of the times you went there, it was empty, only the sounds of kids playing on the playground beside it could be heard and they did not annoy you. This time, though, a boy was there. The boy carried a red backpack on his back and was agile on top of his skateboard, not vacillating once. You sat on one of the ramp curves and tried to ignore him, focusing on you, but the sounds of the skate wheels were quite comforting actually.

The sun, that was slowly beginning to set, sun hit your face, warming it, and the breeze made your clothes shuffle while you swung your feet. You started thinking about your day, going back to the mean things you heard and trying to reassure yourself about each of them. “Your problems are nothing like mine”, they are not similar, but both are valid; “Stop being an attention seeker”, you are not, you just wanted a simple “hello, how are you?”, to be included; “You can’t even do this right, how...”, it is okay if you are not good at something, that does not mean you are a failure; “Don’t you think you bothered them enough?”, if you bother those people, you are not meant to be together. Your mind was slowly healing, your soul going back to normal and...

— Hi.

A deep voice broke your moment of peace, scaring you, who would have fallen off the ramp if it was not for the boy’s arm in front of you, preventing your pathetic fall.

— I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare you like that.

Turning to him, you took in his appearance. A light pink beanie hiding most of his brown hair, a small black earring on his ear, black sweater, earphones hanging on his neck and black jeans that hugged his thighs perfectly. The boy looked like a total skater one and was incredibly good looking, you went far thinking that he could probably be the most handsome boy you have ever met.

— It's okay. — You coughed, pretending you were not checking him out. — I'm easily scared. But hi.

The boy rubbed his nape with his free hand, giggling and thinking of a way to keep talking to you. He did not know why he walked up to your sitting place, but you looked cute enjoying your surroundings and swinging your legs like a little kid, you were not even paying attention to him, so he could not help himself, he needed to stop his skating and talk to you.

— I'm Yeosang. You? — When you told him your name, he repeated it quietly, as if making sure he would remember.

— You skate well — you complimented.

— Oh? Did you see that? Thank you.

You nodded a bit awkwardly. Understand, you were never the type to talk to pretty boys, let alone a strange one, so Yeosang coming to your side and starting conversation made you flustered.

— Do you skate? — He picked up his skateboard full of drawings.

— No, never tried. By the way, your skateboard is so colorful, it's cool.

— Yeah, I agree. My friend likes to decorate things and said once my plain white skateboard was boring, so he asked me if he could draw on it. I let him and the result was pretty amazing.

The object was black, but had all the important Adventure Time characters drawn on it.

— Is it your favorite cartoon?

— Yeah, I only asked him to draw something that matched me, so he did this. I really liked the result.

— Ahh, got it. It's beautiful. A friend of mine likes to decorate things too, so she did this on my backpack. — You showed him the straps of your backpack decorated with positive words, flowers and doodles of your favorite activities.

He gasped seeing them, then suggested introducing your friends, because they would for sure get along so well. You agreed on that, even if you both barely knew each other to be introducing friends and probably would not do that.

Yeosang was about to speak again, but a stronger breeze hit you both before he could, so you stood there, appreciating nature all around you. When it was possible to talk again, you both spoke at the same time:

— Do you wanna try skating?

— What were you listening to?

He giggled along you, heads turned to the side and a slight blush coming up to both faces. The boy told you to answer first.

— Maybe not today, okay? I really don’t want to fall.

Yeosang said there was no problem, already anxious to see you again, but masking it by talking about the songs he was previously listening to. That way, you spent several minutes talking as if you knew each other for months, not merely for an hour. The boy was quite pleasant to have around, his smile was cute and a bit contained, as was his laugh, but you felt so close and good with him already. You felt so secure that you decided to confide in him the reason you were there when he asked what you were doing on a skate ramp if you did not like to skate.

— This is… my safe place.

— Safe from what? If you don’t mind me asking, obviously.

— No, it’s okay. Here is safe from cruel people trying to bring me down, safe from thoughts that drive me insane; the nature around here calms me, it seems to understand my worries and heal my heart.

— That’s quite beautiful, you know? — You chuckled, shaking your head. — I’m being honest. I think it’s cool you come here and enjoy your surroundings while remembering yourself you’re worthy tranquility and peace. I barely know you, but I think you are worthy.

— How do you know that? I could be the meanest person in the world trying to gain your attention by creating another personality to myself.

— Are you?

— Well, no, but…

— Then that’s it. I trust you.

Chuckling again and looking down, you glanced at your watch, noticing it was too late, time to be home. The sun had set and the lamp posts around were on, however neither of you paid attention to it earlier.

— Yeosang, it was great to meet you, but I need to go now.

— Ah. Okay, no problem, but, maybe, we could… you know. — The boy scratched his nape, embarrassed to ask for your number out loud, so he stretched his phone for you and looked away. Fortunately for him, you giggled and took the phone from his hands, adding your contact and saying “send me a hi later, skater boy” before leaving him with a teeny weeny piece of your heart behind.

#kpop imagines #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez x reader #yeosang fluff #yeosang angst #yeosang x reader #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

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scarlettwitcher · 5 years

Text

Úlfur minn Part One

Request: by @laneygthememequeen: Hello lovely! I just saw that youre open to requests and are itching to write something for soft boi geralt! If you’re open to it, can I request a geralt x reader where reader seems like super innocent but is like an actual warrior/badass and he’s just like in awe. Or maybe where the reader is in like a dress for some reason and she usually doesn’t wear dresses because they’re inconvenient for fighting and ends up having to fight in the dress. take care and I hope you have a wonderful day💖

Summary: After Jaskier is finally able to convince Geralt to be his bodyguard for Pavetta’s betrothal dinner, shit goes down and Geralt has to make the decision of whether or not he should tell Y/n how he really feels.

Characters: Geralt, Reader, Jaskier, Calanthe, Eist, Mousesack, Pavetta, Duny, mentions of secondary characters in the show.

Word Count: 2336

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of guts, lots of angst, canon typical warnings, also the title is in Icelandic, it was just something cute for plot.

Author’s Notes: So, I’m not gonna lie, this one got away from me. I found that Episode 4, Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials fit this request perfectly. This will be a four part mini series. I’m actually really excited to release this to y’all. Million of thanks out to my girl @queenxxxsupreme. She’s been such an amazing help with writing The Witcher. Everyone send her lots of love! I am accepting requests so please, send them in! If you’d like to be a tag as well, just let me know! Thanks for reading and feedback is always welcome!

“I tell you no lie. It swallowed the whole village, it did. Not a bone to be found!” The man took a second to breathe before scowling at another. “Of, don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call him…” The man stood up for emphasis as he recalled the events he had witnessed earlier. “The White Wolf! And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a Selkiemore shot out! Oh, you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil’s teeth!” You tried to stifle your snort as everyone gasped. You took a drink of your ale, quickly scowling at the cup for the foul taste. “And it… swallowed… that Witcher… whole!”

“Oh, this is brilliant!” You giggled quietly to yourself as you heard Jaskier and slowly reached over, poking his head gently making him look up at everyone staring at him in confusion. “Oh, sorry. It’s just Geralt’s usually so stingy with the details. Uh… and then what happened?”

“He died.”

“Eh… He’s fine.”

“Look, I was there. I saw it with my own-” The door swung open, cutting the man off as Geralt slowly walked into the room, a thick awful smell filling the room. Everyone parted immediately, giving Geralt room to walk straight towards the man. Your eyes widened as you saw him, covered head to toe in guts and it took everything in you not to rush to his side to see if he was okay.

“See?” Jaskier let out a loud laugh and you elbowed him as you stood, making your way over to Geralt, touching his elbow gently before moving to the other side of the tavern, knowing Geralt would make his way over there.

“Oh… What’s that stench?”

“Selkiemore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.”

“Toss a coin to your witcher. O, Valley of Plenty o-oh-oh” As you heard the song leave the bard’s lip, you smiled softly to yourself knowing how much Geralt hated it. Soon everyone joined Jaskier and cheered as they were now monster free.

Once Geralt received payment, he made his way over to you, laying his sword on the table as you smiled up at him and pulled out your handkerchief that you always carried with you and started to wipe his face. Geralt watched you with a reserved softness that he only had for you. Before either of you could get a word out, Jaskier approached behind the both of you.“You're welcome. And now, Witcher, it’s time to repay your debt.” The bartender handed Geralt a mug of ale but before you could advise him not to, he took a sip, and immediately spit it out to the side, getting some on your pants as he stared the bartender down with what could be called rage. “What debt, you’re probably asking yourself in your head right now. Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve made you famous, Witcher. By rights, I should be claiming ten percent of all your coin, but instead, what I’m asking for is a teeny, teeny-weeny little favor.”

“Jaskier, let the man breathe would you. He’s covered in guts.” The Witcher shot you a soft glance. He’d never admit it to anyone but he loved the way you cared about him. He never knew how you could be so kind, caring, and...innocent.

“Y/n, please. Geralt’s already ready for the nex-”

“Fuck off, bard.” You giggled as Geralt gave you a side smile and Jaskier rolled his eyes at your antics. He knew you both had some kind of feelings for each other but would never admit it, because frankly, you both were stubborn idiots.

“Listen Geralt, for one measly night of service you will gain a cornucopia of earthly delights. The greatest masters of the culinary arts crafting morsels worthy of the gods. Maidens that would make the sun itself blush with a single comely smile. And rivers of the sweetest of drinks from the rarest of-” You watched in amusement as Geralt turned around to leave, showing he didn’t care for what the bard was offering. “Fuck! Food, women and wine, Geralt.”

This made Geralt stop in his tracks before slowly turning to look at the bard. Jaskier’s eyes drifted to you for a second, a bit of guilt creeping in as he saw the way you had momentarily slumped into yourself at the mention of women. Geralt sighed before nodding once, making his way out of the tavern, you and Jaskier following him in haste as you made way to an inn. Before long, you had rented a large suite for the three of you. You walked into the bathroom and prepared a bath for Geralt as he silently followed you into the room, carefully stripping himself of his clothes, not wanting to drop guts on anything else in the room. You knew what he was doing and instantly turned your back to him, feeling your cheeks heat up. You already saw him shirtless and felt the need blossoming in your chest like it always did when you saw him or any part of him.

“You didn't have to.”

“I w-wanted to. It gives me a chance to see how you are. Besides, Jask has been on you since we left the tavern and we have a few minutes now, Úlfur minn.”

“You worry too much.” With that, Geralt slowly sat inside the tub. You finally turned around to look at him and it took every ounce of strength of your being to not look down. He knew he was affecting you as your cheeks turned a darker red and smirked as he watched you.

“A s-simple thank you would've been nice.”

“Thank you Y/n.” Geralt mumbled softly. You felt yourself melt at the way he said your name and cleared your throat, moving around the room, getting the necessary items to help him wash off the monster guts now dried on his skin and hair. You grabbed a chair and sat behind him, laying the objects on the floor. You rolled the sleeves of your shirt (or in this case, Geralt’s shirt that you suspected he never noticed you took) and scooted closer to him. If he didn't stink so much, you could have sworn on your life you would've laid a kiss on his head. Before you could even do anything, Jaskier barged into the room and grabbed the bucket of water you had on the side, dumping it on Geralt's head. He grunted angrily at Jaskier as he looked up at him with disdain.

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night body guarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh. Oh, really? So, Y/n is your friend but I’m not? Do you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom or even Y/n?” You looked at Jaskier with confusion as you looked down at Geralt and you could’ve sworn he sunk a bit in the tub as he remained quiet and watched Jaskier, his eyes watching his every move threateningly. You took this opportunity to grab some soap and rub it into his hair, washing away all the grime he had. Geralt immediately relaxed under your touch and even leaned into your hands, relishing in the way you dragged your fingers in his hair, grunting quietly when a finger got caught in a knot. He would never say it but this was one of his favorite things: when you played with his hair.

“Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought. Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!” Geralt watched unfazed as Jaskier threw salt into his bath and you smiled proudly at Jaskier’s confidence and even did a tiny fist bump in the air for him to which he responded back with a tiny, dramatic bow.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.” Geralt scowled at him, already regretting the decision he knew he was going to have to unwittingly take. You scrunch your face at Jaskier, wondering how he could sleep with so many women, how the both of them could. You would never admit it to the Witcher but it always pained you to watch him walk off, knowing he was in search of a warm body for the night. Jaskier always consoled you in those dark nights but after a while, you became used to the pain.

“Ooh, yeah, that face! Ohh! Scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.” Geralt grabbed the mug of ale you had brought him earlier, bringing it to his lips, but before he could take a sip, Jaskier had plucked the cup and moved it away from him. “Ohh, on second thoughts… might wanna lay off the Cintran ale.” Geralt groaned and you moved your hand quickly to his back, gently massaging him. It worked and he relaxed once more under your touch. Jaskier could only watch in amusement. You both acted like a couple but were just friends. ”A clear head would be best.”

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.”

“Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time." Geralt glared at Jaskier before leaning into your touch once more. “Ugh, is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous? Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah. When they slow and get killed.”

“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this… monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

You knew Jaskier was poking the bear. This wasn't the first time the bard asked Geralt this and probably wouldn't be the last but you hated how Geralt responded every time. You always scolded Jaskier when he asked the Witcher this. Jaskier was the only one who knew of your feelings for the big, white haired man and had bestowed the honor upon himself of getting you two together. But it never worked. It just confirmed your fears over and over. Geralt didn't feel anything for you other than strictly platonic emotions. Jaskier looked at you with sympathetic eyes before they dropped down to Geralt. He saw the conflict behind his eyes. His answer was always you. He wanted to tell you but since the first time you met, you made yourself perfectly clear that you only wanted to be friends. Ever since, he's got amazingly well at hiding his feelings for you. “I want nothing.”

Jaskier could only internally groan as he wanted to scream at the both of you. “Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier stared at you as he spoke and your eyes widened as you shook your head violently. Jaskier sighed as he looked at Geralt. You looked down at your hands, thinking of an excuse to get away from the two men. You didn’t notice the way he turned to look at you, his eyes softening. He turned back around to Jaskier, his face hardening quickly.

“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet…” You stood up so quickly, the chair you were sitting on fell back onto the floor. You almost ran out of the room, feeling your eyes hot with unshed tears. Jaskier sighed and shook his head, pointing towards the door where you had run out of. “Here we are.”

“Hm... Jaskier, don't start with this again.”

“If only you could see the way she looks at you.”

“I said don’t.” Geralt needed a distraction as his head was now invaded with thoughts of you. The way you ran out because of his words gave him just a little sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, everything Jaskier bugged him about, day and night, was true. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

“Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in Selkiemore guts, so I sent them away to be washed. Anyway you’re not going tonight as a witcher and neither is Y/n going as the healer she is. I’ve got clothes for both of you, don’t worry about it.”

With that, Jaskier took his leave into the next room where he found you sitting on the bed with your head in your knees. He slowly approached you and rested a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at the bard, red rimmed eyes, staring down his sad ones.” I didn’t think he'd answer so….I’m sorry Y/n.”

“I-it’s okay Jask. You’ve just been wrong. He really doesn't even look at me as more than a friend. That's all I am, a friend. Besides, he doesn't want a prude like me.”

“You're not a prude Y/n.” You stood and took a deep breath as you walked around the room with pensive thoughts clouding your head. “Look, I was able to get you a rather beautiful dress and I might've bedded a hairdresser...She agreed to help.” You frowned at Jaskier as you quickly shook your dress.

“Dress? Oh no, no, no. I don't like dresses. You know this Jask.”

“You're gonna have to deal with it Y/n. If Calanthe can wear a dress, then so can you.” You groaned loudly at him as he laughed softly. You nodded at him to show you the dress and thus, you all prepared to attend the dreaded event.

*~*

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920 notes · View notes

uhhhhyandere · 5 years

Note

I love, love, love you ❤️ I was hoping I could request where the main character begs for Yandere Light to let her get a doggo bc she’s so lonely since he made her quit a job. Like full on having a full ass fit. I’m talking full blown brat shit. Just how he would react and what she would have to do to convince him if you catch that drift 😏😉

yeah, i know what i said in my last post. whatever. never believe anything that comes out of my stupid mouth i am the single biggest sob in the universe.

um… i took this in a… direction to say the least. someone has to stop me from riding suck n’ ride smut bc… it always goes like this.

next light smut there is going to be ass-eating or i swear to god my name isn’t kerry literally all im thinking about is giving him a rimjob. really. this is where we are at folks.

warnings: smut, face fucking (oops), dick sucking, sex, rough sex. he not happy boi

word count: 3.5k

All you did was watch dog videos anymore. Of course, you watched them because you literally had little else to do during the day, but you just… happened to be more open about it when Light came through the door. Did it have anything to do with the fact you’ve been thinking about getting a furry friend to keep you company from the silence of an empty house and the dark recesses of your mind?

No, of course not. It had nothing at all to do with it, and it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that if you ask him directly, he would say no before any more words could breach the air. You would have to be creative, because when Light said “no,” there was no more argument, and you wanted this argument.

“A Pug. Wow. Beautiful.”

“Look, it’s a—it’s a Corgi. Oh my—wow. That’s amazing.”

You’d play around with different sizes.

“This Mastiff? This gentle giant? Can do nothing wrong.”

“This Bichon matches with the snow!”

And you’d talk about listings you just happened to see online from the local shelters.

“This one—wow. All of her shots. She looks so nice. Oh, and potty trained! What a girl. Damn.”

“He’s sitting down—oh a paw. I see a paw. Can he do the other paw? Oh, yes he can. Also has all his shots. Wonderful.”

Considering the man you lived with, you were pretty positive that he figured out your intentions day one or day two max. It’s been about a week since you’ve been… outgoing in your interest. At this point, it was a game as to who would break first. You bet he was waiting for you to get annoyed with his ignoring of anything you said related to the subject with how blatant he was with shirking you off, forcing you to simply ask.

You weren’t going to make it so easy on him. Though he happened to be the king of hiding his emotions, you knew you had to be getting to him. Light would never admit it, and he would certainly never show it. He wanted to keep that satisfaction as far away from you as possible.

So, you turned up the heat.

Before, you would break off the dog topic after a time, wanting to etch it in your daily schedule only bits at a time. Now? It’s the only thing you talk about, no matter the actual subject at hand.

“There’s another event we have to—.”

“The animal shelter is having an event in the park next week for adoptions.”

“I’m going to have to go for groceries soon.”

“Look at this weenie dog dressed in a weenie costume.”

“I—.”

“Doggo cute.”

It was only a matter of time until—.

“This French Bulldog is—.”

“Y/N.” His voice was clear, demanding. Even after all this time, like a teacher scolding elementary students, it immediately brought you to silence. You sat on your shared bed, legs crossed, as he leered down at you from the bathroom. “I would say it was cute at first, but you know it’s a waste of time to try asking anything indirectly. As if I would succumb to your manipulation, but I let you carry on. You would get bored. You would stop and think and realize that it was pointless to keep it up, but you persisted. I thought to myself maybe you were just trying to see if I would crack and give you the satisfaction of indulging in your antics, and I was right.

“It begs the question. Why didn’t you just ask directly? Easy. Because I would say no, and you would be correct. To allow something else besides me your devotion? Not likely. But what? Did you think showing me videos of Shibu Inus and Pomeranians would make me want one first? You have the logic of a six-year-old, Y/N,” Light began to unbutton his shirt, “Did you honestly think it would work? Or did you simply want to get a rise out of me?” He removed the shirt entirely, then lifted his undershirt over his head just as easily. Light tossed the fabric into the hamper, leaving a pale, lithe abdomen on display. He turned to fully face you and took two easy steps forward. “Why would you want one in the first place? Have I not given my fiancée enough attention recently? Is this your way of getting back at me, hm?”

You were almost at an even height to his belt buckle, but you did your best to ignore that as his eyes demanded attention upwards. His gaze was near malicious, but not quite so. Ah. Lascivious. That’s what they were. You swallowed the knot out of your throat.

“Y-you wish.”

“Your hesitation is very resounding. Then, if you’re so sure, indulge me. Don’t tell me you wanted a distraction from your loving husband-to-be. I know you didn’t want something else to focus on besides me when I’m away at work, so tell me. Tell me why you desired a filthy, shedding ball of fur. Your answer may earn you some mercy.”

You unfolded your legs from underneath you as your foot began to numb under the weight of your leg. Your hands glided back and forth on your thighs. Was there a point in lying? No, scratch that. Was there a point in lying to someone who already knew the truth? Well, his own truth that Light would undoubtedly make yours. There was little purpose in making it worse on yourself.

“No, you’re—uh—right.” Light set his hands on his hips.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m just… lonely when you’re at work. So… yeah.” You risked a peek upwards. Oh, geez the smirk on that fucker. “I’m sorry.” His arms rose from his hips to cross over his chest.

“For?”

“Huh?”

“What are you sorry for? Annoying me for days with your drivel? Wanting a mutt? Lying?” You furrowed your brows. “Oh, that one confused you, hm? Alright, well, if you won’t admit it, I can do it for you. Lonely-“ he scoffed- “You can’t be serious. Such a blatant lie from your lips. The second time you are insulting my intelligence. I’ll ask one more time. Where does your motivation lie?”

“I’m not lying!” You hissed, jumping off the mattress to stand. “What—just what am I supposed to do all day cooped up in this place like a goddamned prisoner? Clean? The place is clean. Cook? As if you’d even let me try. Watch TV? My brain is rotting. You don’t even let me help kids with math anymore online. Just what am I to do? Next thing I may just throw myself out the window—,” Hands gripped your shoulders, causing a slight pain at the intensity.

“You think I’d let you? I expect you to stay here and be good and thankful that you are where you are. I, just as much as you, know—knew women who died to be in your shoes, and you’re ungrateful to be alive and safe? You want more?” You tried to shrug out of his grip, and he allowed you to take the steps away from him.

“I’m asking to be a human being, for fuck’s sake! I’m going to sit here and go crazy. Isn’t it enough that I don’t fuck with the rules anymore? I’m quiet. I don’t say anything. I put every façade you ask me to. All I want is something for me! Something to distract me from literally going insane here! To distract me from everything.”

Light’s eyes sometimes spoke more truth than his mouth ever could. Right about now, the browns were all-consuming, aflame with ire, but his lips were upturned in a challenge.

“A distraction. Caught in a lie, Y/N. Bad form, even for you. After all this time, you still can’t face reality, dearest. I knew you’ve been pitting your mind in some gutter you call the truth. Makes this all easier to accept, but to go to the physical extent? I won’t allow it, and you won’t be able to recess your mind for long, so enjoy that pleasure while you can.” He paused, countenance recessing to something more composed. “You love me, don’t you, Y/N?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation, no lie in that affirmation. It was the easiest of his questions to answer. “I love you.” Light inhaled deeply, chest flexing with the exhale.

“With love comes compromise, correct?” You responded with a glare. His tone was all too insinuating. “So, let’s compromise, yes? I hate arguing with you.” He reached an arm out, hand open. Your eyes glanced between the extended limb and his eyes before cautiously taking it. His hand squeezed and pulled you in tight. Light twisted and adjusted you so when he fell onto the bed, you landed comfortably on his lap. Releasing your hand, he brought his own up to gingerly glide his fingers across your cheek, a trail of bumps in its wake as it curled into your locks. Almost like a lover. Almost.

His fingers seized the strands and pulled, forcing your head back and opening your neck for his mouth to latch. “Then compromise, dearest. Prove to me what you think you deserve.” He spoke against your skin, open-mouth kisses with a hint of teeth between his words. “And I’ll make judgement.” His hand let go of your hair and traced to the back of your skull to slant your lips onto his impatient ones. The other wrapped itself to pull your body closer until he pushed you off with an unexpected force, almost knocking you to the ground.

From the unbalanced position, you watched him adjust his position to lie in the center of the bed, head angled to watch you from the pillows with both his hands as another cushion for his crown. Light smirked, watching you stand straight. “Well, go on. Compromise.”

Light was never on the bottom. It was non-negotiable. Being anything else was utterly unacceptable for a god. This situation, despite the physical placement of both bodies, was no different. You may be the one crawling on top of him, fiddling with his belt buckle, but he had every bit of this situation in his control. Under his watchful gaze, you removed the strip of leather and threw it across the room.

“You’re going to have to help me here,” you muttered after undoing the fly. Wordlessly, he obliged, allowing you to slip the trousers off of his person. You glanced at his feet. Thank god he took his shoes off already, so he only lied in his boxers.

No, you would never be accustomed to this.

“You always look like it’s your first time,” he remarked. “As if you haven’t seen my cock before. From my recollection, you should be quite familiar with it by now.” You inhaled sharply. “Unless you don’t want to compro—.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, crawling to straddle his legs. “Just be quiet,” you said more quietly. You reached out to rub the only half-erect cock through the fabric. Only small groans were elicited above you. Light was not a noisy one, to say the least. It took your first, painful, terrible experience of deep-throating to even get him to moan fully.

“Do you think teasing is going to get you anywhere?” His voice is always composed during sex, and it really was alarming because… you really couldn’t relate. You glowered, fingers digging under the waistband and pulling. He helped again, lifting so you can get the fabric off. “If you think you’re doing anything fully clothed, I should take a cold shower.”

You made quick work of taking the layers of comfort clothes you had on, off. “You really know how to put on a show,” he deadpanned.

“Shut. Up.” You returned to your position, seeing his cock now fully erect from your previous work. You were sure you were wet, but you ignored it as best you could. You had a feeling you would not be serviced tonight. Before you can even lean down, he spoke again.

“Beg for it. Beg for the honor of sucking my cock. Convince me you deserve it if you believe you are so entitled.” There was not a single physical restriction to keep you from taking it into your mouth, but his words were powerful enough to keep you still. Light was daring you to try and misbehave, and you really couldn’t help the physical reaction his words always do to you.

“Please—,”

“Pathetic. I can have any girl in my bed. I can stick my cock in any person interested, and here you are, an ungrateful brat who wants more. You’re making quite an unremarkable argument for yourself. Perhaps I will take away—.”

“Please, Light. Allow me the honor of sucking your cock, of you fucking my throat. I want the privilege of swallowing your seed. Fuck—please. I’ll do anything.” You leaned down close, but not touching anything. You only lifted your eyes up to his. “Please. I know I’ve been bad. Please, let me make up for it.”

Your words in bed were always forced. He knew you hated dirty talk as much as you did, therefore he always made you speak, always made you confess how much you craved him, wanted him, and whenever you spoke it was hardly ever in lies. Your embarrassment was too prominent in your body language to tell him otherwise.

“Go on, then. Show me.” You licked up his length first, then around the head and back down. “Teasing will get you nowhere,” he repeated. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and took him in, inch by inch. Light was incredibly average despite his ego. It wasn’t impossible to fit the entire length into your mouth with slow adjustment, but that didn’t mean it was fun. You would continue to work his length, getting more and less intense with your pressure and the speed your head bobbed. Still, there was little reaction from him, not there really never was any mind the grunts you could make out. Your inclinations to keep going, and you did until you pulled back.

“How’s—,” His hand was at the back of your head immediately, forcing your head back down, pushing his cock down your throat, pushing until you could feel his balls against your chin. No hair. He was pristine down there. You convulsed, gagged, choked, but he did not release his grip. Hand keeping its hold, he dragged your head up just a hair enough to thrust upwards. Water began to pool at the waterline of your eyes. You had to relax your throat, or this was going to be just worse.

But it was hard, so hard at the pace he was thrusting at. You squeezed your eyes shut and took it the best you can. Listening to his quiet grunts and groans, you forced your lips to continue covering your teeth, but you could not force your throat to loosen. Drool pooled at both sides of your mouth, carelessly falling into both him and the sheets along with the liquid of your tears.

“Your throat is so fucking tight. That’s it. Choke on my cock. This is what your dirty mouth deserves.” Your limited experience could be to blame for its restricting. That, or the selfishness of the man whose grip on your hair tightened even more right before he allowed you to breathe once more.

And breath you did. Gasping, reeling for air as drool continued to leak down. From beneath your hair, you looked at Light, his eyes wild and alive with lust. Small heaves from his smiling mouth mixed with your wet and heavy ones. “Do you think you deserved that, dearest?” You finally wiped your mouth and shook the spit from your arm. “You’re lucky I am so generous. Come. For doing such a decent job.” His hands patted his hips. Swollen eyes met his. “Ride me, before I change my mind and fuck you into the mattress.”

Regaining some semblance of control, you moved to straddle his length. “Oh, your pussy is glistening. Did me fucking your throat really do that much to you? You loved to be controlled, don’t you?” You did not answer, shaky hands guiding his cock so you can sink onto it. You groaned at the feeling. “Tell me how good it makes you feel. How only I can make you feel like this.” You bit your lip, sinking down another inch or so.

“God, Light. Your cock feels so good. Only yours can make me feel like this. No one—no man, no woman, no person—can make me feel anything—like—this—fuck!” You sunk down to the hilt before you lifted yourself again, easing yourself up and down his length. “It’s so good—so good.” Light allowed you more time but decided your gentle pace was not enough to soothe him. He roughly grabbed you and flipped your positions.

“Too slow, Y/N. What did I say about teasing?” He brought his hips back and then snapped them into yours. You screamed, and you wondered if the neighbors would call again, but his pace did not relent.

“Light—please. It’s too—too much! It’s too fast. I can’t…” He smiled, a wicked grin over you.

“And you won’t. Don’t you dare think about cumming. I decided you don’t deserve it. This is your compromise. You get to live, marry, and get fucked by me, and only by me, and I will only have eyes for you. You’ll never feel like you need a… distraction again.” You clenched your teeth and pushed your head farther into the pillows. “I feel you clenching onto me. Don’t you dare think about disobeying me.” His thrusts were even, balanced.

“Please, please, please let me cum. It feels too good. You feel too good. I’ll do anything.”

“Then don’t cum.” You threw your hands back and gripped the headboard, feeling it rock in rhythm to his thrusts. They were beginning to become, sloppy, wild, he was close while you were holding back for dear life. “Y/N. You are mine and mine alone. Your body. Your actions. Your mind. I am the only thing you are allowed to think about.” With one final push, his seed released, filling and coating your insides. He rode it out, making sure every drop stayed. He hated to have to wash the sheets after, though your drool stains remained.

Pulling out, he retreated and stood, ignoring your writing, unfulfilled form. “Come. You aren’t going to sleep like—get those hands away from there. Let’s get you clean before you ruin the sheets even more.” Like before, he extended his hand to your heaving form. “Alright, alright, I’ll take care of you, but you need to get cleaned up first.” An unstable hand fit into his own. His gently pulled you to stand and allowed you to lean your weight onto his.

Hot water cascaded down your body. Though Light effortlessly scrubbed washed his hair, you could not bring yourself to match his speed, and by the time he was already done, you hadn’t even washed your body yet. You heard an incomprehensible mutter amidst the running water as he left you alone. He was washing his face as you finally emerged, wrapped in your towel. No romance tonight, you figured. Not that it was any different than any other night. You followed, brushing your teeth, washing your face, and taking your pills while he huddled in bed.

You could only dream of romance anymore. Getting your pajamas on, you approached the empty side of the bed. Before you could get on, Light shifted, opening his arms and staring at you expectantly. You froze. Did… did he want…? “Well, come on.” Ah. Was this supposed to be the ‘I’ll take care of you,’ he mentioned earlier? You supposed he would never wash you in the shower, so this would have to be it. You swallowed and fell into them, feeling his arm wrap you close to him so you lied nearly on your stomach, face buried in the crook between his neck and shoulders. His arm lied around your neck, the other near your elbow on the arm that sprawled on his chest. Oh, hello? What is this?

Ah. This is the quote-on-quote, attention he promised as a fiancé. His eyes remained closed as you stared. How forced was this? You wondered if he hated it, if he saw it was succumbing to your wishes, but it was unlikely. Perhaps it was him showing the physical love outside of sex that you lacked thinking it would keep you from having another outburst as you did before. Him keeping his side of the compromise so you would keep yours.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes before you thought too hard about his actions. The more you thought about it, the more—and less—real it all became, but if he was offering more conventional couple things: cuddling, dates, attention, you would not pose another argument.

“So, no dog?” you whispered.

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