#something straight out of Mr Bean's Holiday | 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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darthwheezely · 4 years

Text

grande - g.w.

Summary: George meets a mighty adorable barista in the new cafe on Diagon Alley and the man just can’t help himself... based off the song Coffee Girl by Johnny Socko! Sorry this took me absolute ages (9 days oops) to get out, guys :/

Warnings: DIABETIC FLUFF STUPID AMOUNTS OF CARDIAC ARREST INDUCING FLUFF UWU,mentions of sexism, Fred being Fred, cussing probably, alludes to sex, PG/PG-13

taglist or people that might like this but idk: @theweasleyslut @kitwalker02 @loony-loopy-lupinn @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @thehufflepuffwife @monoscandal @lupinsclassroom @whiz-bangs78 @vogueweasley @rogueweasleys @band--psycho @lumosandnoxwriting @oh-for-merlins-sake @amxrtentias @virgohufflepuff @vivianweasley

George Weasley didn’t sleep. This had long been the habit of his ever since he and his parents had discovered that his elder twin Fred had been an avid sleepwalker by age 4, then became a (minor) party animal in his Hogwarts days, and finally when he became the co-owner of one of the Wizard World’s most successful entrepreneurs and business owners.

The man hadn’t slept in about 18 years give or take. And days like this reminded him of it constantly.

It was a Saturday, the first of the month, and to boot, it was about to be Christmas in a little over a week. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was packed with everyone from couples window shopping, children in desperate need of fun now that school was out, parents trying to keep them in line, and even some old lady named Ethel (who swore she was part Veela, and therefore Fred couldn’t “escape her girlish charm.”)

“Ethel, you have an absolutely ravishing day, and don’t even worry about that moisturizer it’d be a waste of product on a natural beauty like you” Fred winked and kissed the old lady’s hand, George watching from the top of the steps rolling his eyes.

“Oh, Freddie, you know how to keep a lady young, don’t you? Oh - goodbye, Georgie! Have a good rest of your day boys!” She waved majestically to the younger twin on the stairs and he bowed royally in response.

“Bye, Ethel!” They both called as she exited the building, the bells flurrying in her wake.

“Georgie, mate, hate to say it but you are being uncharacteristically quiet and it’s making me uncharacteristically uncomfortable.” Fred said bounding up the stairs to meet him, chuckling briefly.

“Freddie, mate, hate to say it but I’ve had absolutely no sleep as of late and it’s getting to me. But I’ll be back up to my usual antics in no time.” He padded down the stairs, winking at a couple young ladies ogling him, sending them into a fit of giggles. Fred sat down on the middle step eyeing his brother carefully. It didn’t take a genius to see George wasn’t holding on much longer, the dark circles littering his eyes and the way he mussed up his already purposely messy hair just...didn’t comfort his older twin at all.

“George.” Fred sighed, George looking back at him, confused. He took his hands away from the merchandise Wonder Witch he’d been rearranging and gave him full attention.

“Take your lunch break early. And longer if possible.”

“Pffft, why would I do that when I have women to woo and boxes to juggle?”

“George.”

“Fred.”

“Stop, I mean it. You look half dead as it is, just go take a nap or get an espresso from the cafe down the aisle or something that reinforces the idea that yes, you are a human being and no, not a zombie.” Fred crossed his arms feeling suddenly a lot like Molly and dropped the cross. George pretended to ponder this tapping his chin, rather finding the mature brother role reversal funny as hell.

“Oh, alright, but can I still be a zombie when I get back?”

Fred hit him with a folder and sent him on his way.

-•-•-

You had just finished the lunch rush, finally being able to calm down and not have to worry about making one more goddamn Butterbeer Latte for at least another 20 or so minutes...until there’d be another rush. You grabbed a lemon scone, took off your apron and sat against the back counter. You inhaled the citrus scent, it was always something that you loved to savor, and took a bite.

The holidays for the Merlin’s Mochas, the cafe, had been absolutely atrocious so far. All you had for customers were angry businessmen, bratty kids and their upper class parents who let them run around the already small place being rude to everyone, your boss Lionel who had an affinity for calling every woman who worked there a “bitch” (...ok lionel) and to top it all off: you’d been pulling 9 hour days every day except sundays. Needless to say: you kind of super hated your job.

You had just finished your scone when you heard the door chime signal a customer, immediately wiping your hands on your jeans and restrapping your apron.

“Hi how can I-“ oh Jesus this is the hottest man I have ever seen. He was easily no older than 23, fiery red hair, a perfectly tailored striped terracotta suit, green tie, and the most gorgeous doe brown eyes you’d ever seen.

“How can you...?”

“Help you, ohmygod, I am so sorry I’m super-“

“Tired? Yeah me too...interesting how similar we are this early in the game hmm?” He winked at you and your knees felt too weak. No he was just a stupid hot customer that also was really hot and also? Was super hot. No worries, Y/N, just don’t die by 22 okay thanks.

“Very funny...wait are you-“ your finger led from him to the statue outside Wizard Wheezes, realizing a simple oh shit

“Yeah, that would be me. Or my twin Fred but we never really decided, that’s why he kind of looks like both of us mixed. Although we’re twins so we basically look the same anyway. I mean because were identical. Twins, yeah.” George, what the fuck is wrong with you, why are you sweating? She’s just a simply beautiful girl in a simply maddeningly purple coffee shop can you please breathe and not make yourself look stupid-

“Oh, wow! I’ve never met a twin before - not like twins are anomalies or anything it’s just so crazy. Science. Science is crazy” You closed your eyes and took a breath

“We should probably start over shouldn’t we?” You wrinkled your nose.

“That sounds much more redeeming than anything we both were about to say” George breathed out laughing softly, rubbing his hand through his hair.

“I’m George. Weasley. Like I said, I work at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, the shop over there, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place before...or you for that matter, I never forget a beautiful young woman.” He said smoothly, his heart steadily subsiding - something about you had the power to not only make him scared out of his mind, but also totally at ease.

You returned the smile, warmly, the blood rushing to your cheeks at his compliment and sticking your tongue to your teeth. “Well, George Weasley, of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes I’m Y/N Y/L/N. And yeah, we’re new around here,” you leaned further onto the counter, realizing, albeit a moment too late that your eye level was directly with his abs now, and although he was wearing a suit...you could definitely tell they were there.

“We erm, just opened three months ago. It’s honestly a bit of a time to work here.”

“Oh and why is that?”

“Well, nothing like a blatant sexist to run an entirely female employed establishment and weird stuffy rich people.” Your eyes widened suddenly, and you felt like you had said far too much far too soon. But he gasp-laughed - laugh that ended as soon as it began and burst into a smile...like you had shared a secret with him.

“What the hell is he doing here then? Got a boy’s club to run in a purple coffee shop?”

“I mean you never really know these days, George, imposters are among us at every moment” you purred and pushed off the counter, meaning it as a joke but George’s heart screamed when he heard your name. As you moved to the other edge of the counter, he followed you.

“What a resourceful and cruel young woman, I am starting to like you, Miss Y/L/N.” He clucked. “And do you think of me like you think of Mr. I-Hate-Women-That’s-Why-I-Hire-Them?” He got inches from your face, smelling the coffee beans and vanilla extract that riddled your skin.

“Hmm...Mr. Weasley, I’m not so sure.” You coyly stepped away from him and took long strides to the far end of the coffee bar by the wall. George immediately felt a pit of flirtatious butterflies and (arousal?) something more in his stomach, jaw dropped, he followed you again. He pressed his hands to the counter in front of you.

“Well, how can I convince you?” He asked rather quickly.

“Hmm...” you leaned forward like he did before and his breath hitched in his throat “...let’s get you a cuppa first.”

-•-

“Wait, okay let me get this straight-“

“Yes?”

“You have 6 other siblings.”

“Yes.”

“...because your mom wanted a girl?”

“That-that would in fact be true, yes.”

You thought for a moment.

“So you’re telling me after she made it through you two-“

“-she still wanted to have more of us, believe me, it races through my mind daily.” He nodded vehemently laughing with you. You two had taken to the empty cafe at a table nestled in the corner, him sitting in a chair across from you on a bench. You had both been cracking each other up with stories from your childhoods, like how you both had managed to never know of the other’s existence until now.

He’d discovered that you had transferred from Hogwarts to Beauxbatons early on in your fourth year. You, a Hufflepuff, loved the quiet and soft landscape of the French school. You both had absolutely no idea the other existed. How? The world may never know.

He was brash. You were careful.

He was already flying when you were just feeling comfortable learning how to walk.

But you sat there with him for the better amount of an hour and a half, laughing and interrupting each other with memories of the school years you had, some weird and strange, and especially during fourth year, hard for George to talk about.

Ginny, his baby sister, had almost died. And as he said to you in a candid and highly vulnerable state: he blamed himself for almost letting her go to this day.

“I...I really do believe it was my fault.”

“George, it couldn’t have been your fault. Hogwarts is a big freaking death trap - you and I both know that,” you had said with an exasperated laugh, eager to make him feel better in any facet.

“Yeah, but...I’m her big brother. Yes, she has five other older brothers but...we were supposed to protect her.” He swallowed and blinked back tears. “It was her first year, for Christ’s sake, and I paid about as much attention to her as a doorknob would.” He had rolled his jaw and taken a gulp of his gingerbread latte (you had said it was your favorite, and he was loathe to try anything else) and you had softly draped your hand on top of his.

“If she’s as kind and loving and funny as you, I’d love to meet her.” You quipped, a small smile growing on your face in effort to soothe. He had smiled back at you, turning your hand over in his and drawing his digits lazily over your palm.

“Funny, because I was thinking the same thing.”

-•-

He had told you to close your eyes, that much had been true.

See, his coffee had started to get cold. So, like if you give a mouse a cookie, he’ll have to have some milk-

If you give a George a latte he will have to not only have another one, but also feel the strenuous need to show off for you and take you to his place of work. Naturally. And it was so lucky that by the time he’d proposed you leave, he even helped you clean and lock up afterwards.

Truthfully, it almost scared you how much he had seemed to care.

“Alright, Y/N, darling, I’m going to release my hands on the count of three, yeah?”

“Perfect, Georgie” you giggled. You’d legitimately only knew him for so long, but you just...you trusted him. He grinned widely, his strong hands only applying a slight amount of pressure as not to hurt you.

“Alright, then. 1. 2-“ he took his hands off your eyes and watched you adjust not only to light, but to your surroundings as well.

“3.” He breathed out taking in the way you smiled like a teenager, face alight with pure inundating wonder. You squealed and started to run around the store.

“Look at these! Pygmy Puffs - ugh they’re so adorable look at this one! Oh, oh - ‘Fizzing Whizbees’ - these look absolutely wicked! And Per- ‘Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder’?” You picked up the glittery stone in your hand, and heard a smooth voice perk up behind you.

“A real money spinner, that one.” You turned around and there was a man that looked absolutely identical to George, although entirely different in the same way.

“Handy if you need to make a quick getaway,” you heard George on the other side of you. He smiled warmly down at you, nodding his head up to look at the twin across from him.

“Y/N, this is my-“

“-older, much more attractive and fiscally responsible brother.” He winked and you blushed almost immediately. “Fred. Weasley.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Georgie has told me a lot about you and the shop - absolutely marvelous this place is, I cant believe you two created so much in such a short span of time. Brilliant it all is, really!” George had started to flush, rubbing his jaw to seemingly take the red away from his striking face. Fred, upon hearing the genuine warmth from your voice and the unmistakable use of “Georgie” had a small, but highly distinct aha moment:

“Well, we couldn’t have done it all on our own, one of our best friends helped us out a good lot. But thank you, really...it means so much when other people see how much we do and-” he looked directly at George.

“-acknowledge the things we love, right George?”

“Absolutely, Frederick.” Fred had given him the look that seemed to imply: “please, God, make a damn move.”

“Well, Y/N, I’m going to be off and woo some ladies, have a biscuit and do some paperwork” he smiled wide when you giggled, already enjoying your company.

“But I hope to see you again, very soon, yeah? Please stop by whenever you can, we’re alwYs just down the street.”

“Freddie, for your company, I’m not so sure, I’m still deciding.” You quipped. Fred laughed heartily at that and looked at George.

“Georgie, I like this one.” George looked at you and winked.

“Me, too Freddie, me too.” You leaned back on your heels as Fred padded back up the stairs to the flat, now completely alone with George. You threw your arms behind you back and forth and took a long stride to George.

“So...what are you those?” You nodded up to the array of pink bubbles in a clam shape in the corner. He hummed and reached to grab your hand.

“Love potions - c-can I show you?” He raised an eyebrow slightly, but he felt his whole body turn to mush when you accepted his hand and nodded slowly. As he walked with you, you memorized the feeling of his callouses and veins, the way your hand curled deliberately in his.

You wanted to make sure if it was the last time you felt something like that, you had that memory with you for a while.

“Essentially, if you give these to a person they will temporarily have feelings of love and attraction for you. Depending of course on the dosage you use and the weight of the person in question.” He explained. You watched the way his suit jacket pulled taut against his back muscles and instinctively wanted to honestly just take the whole thing off-

“Hmm...I don’t know about these, Georgie.” You hummed mischievously. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

He scoffed placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Am i being questioned in my own establishment, Miss Y/L/N?”

You rolled your eyes and hit his arm, bowing slightly at him. “Well, do forgive my feminine insolence, Mr. Weasley, it’s not often I meet such bewitching mad scientists like you.” You watched his face grow blank for a moment at your compliment and immediately wanted to throw up.

“George, I’m really sorry, I know we just became friends-“

“Do you mean it?” He took a step towards you. You swallowed finding again his perfect milk chocolate eyes. You nodded.

“Hell yeah I did, you’re smart...and wicked hot” you both laughed at that. He took another step, the distance being unbearably harder to live in as his digits found a piece of hair and wound it behind your ear.

“Well, darling, the feeling is quite mutual.” He said quietly, taking in the whole of your face. He wanted to crash his lips onto every possible nook and crevice of your face, collide with you entirely.

“We’re going to have to do something about that, then, aren’t we?” You gently nudged his nose with yours and wrapped your arms around his neck, his strong and powerful arms pulling you to him gently. He wanted you to feel him not to break under his embrace. He leaned down and brushed his lips up to yours, feeling you whine and let out a minuscule sound.

“Got you making noises for me already and haven’t even kissed you yet, hmm?”

Your eyes fluttered close and one of your legs made it’s way in between his, snapping any chance at loose air between you two out of the way.

“Please, Weasley, pants a bit small for you?”

“Keep talking like that and they might, yeah.” You two laughed softly and with a final look to your lips he closed the last gap.

His mouth was perfect. His lips ghosted over yours one last time before wrapping every part of himself onto your frame, your lips entangled in each other like you’d never be able to taste him again.

But it was loving and slow and sweet. He tasted like gingerbread lattes and pastries and cinnamon and licking into his mouth you could feel the spice. He moaned lightly into your mouth, sending your knees buckling. He dipped you slightly, a hand traveling to your lower back to keep you steady, and his other hand coming up to nestle under the nape of your hair. Your hands caressed his face, his chest, needless to say? You wanted them everywhere. You wanted him everywhere.

The kiss broke and you and George were left breathless in each other’s hold, your foreheads pressed together as he kept you slightly dipped.

“Y/N, I’m feeling a bit tired” he quipped hoarsely, pressing a brief kiss to your lips and onto your neck. You hummed satisfactorily.

“Georgie, you’re gonna need another latte aren’t you?” You set multiple chaste kisses to his lips and cheeks, feeling him rumble with a small giggle. He caught your mouth with his and you moaned slightly.

“I’m gonna need a whole pot, to drink you in, love.”

#George weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley headcanon #coffee shop #Harry Potter #POV you get called cruel and resourceful by George Weasley #new kink unlocked

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wonderful-writes · 4 years

Note

Oooh! For the Charlie Weasley prompt list, 5, 8, and 14, where the reader and charlie have lowkey had feelings for each other for a long time, but then he went to Romania, but finally the reader is about to go into their last year, and they're spending summer at the burrow when Charlie comes back and they talk about being together after the reader graduates

Next Year

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Summary: You had always been close to the Weasley family, and the second-oldest, dragon-loving brother was no exception. He was a few years ahead of you, tall, funny, and ruggedly handsome — all that you could ever want in a boy. It was a shame he didn’t feel the same way. But could one summer together at the Burrow change all that?

Prompts:

5) There’s always next year.

8) I never forgot you.

14) Is that my jumper?

“Y/N! Y/N! Over here!”

You turned to see Ginny Weasley calling to you from the entrance of the Burrow. At her side was a broom and a dustpan. Mrs. Weasley had probably asked her to sweep the front porch.

“Ginny!” you exclaimed, running over to her. You had apparated to the Burrow with nothing but a small suitcase, so it didn’t take long for you to reach her.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” the young red-headed girl gushed as she pulled you into a hug.

“Where is everybody?” you asked when she finally let go of you.

“Percy, Ron, and Harry are upstairs cleaning the bedrooms with Mum,” Ginny answered. “Hermione was helping me out here, but she went inside to grab paper towels for the windows.”

“And Fred and George?”

“They went out with Charlie. I’m not sure when they’ll be back.”

“Charlie’s here?” you asked in surprise. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming. In your letter.”

“Huh, I probably made a mistake,” she said. “I meant to write that Bill wasn’t coming home this summer, not Charlie.”

“Oh,” you said. Part of you was excited to see Charlie again, but another part of you dreaded it. You hadn’t seen him since the end of your fifth year at Hogwarts, an entire year ago. You had finished your fifth year when he finished his seventh, and he headed straight for Romania after that. He had left immediately after graduation, not even staying to spend one more summer with you.

It was not like he had any reason to spend another summer with you. You were only a family friend, after all. The Weasleys had loads of family friends, and you were no different. Charlie probably thought of you like he did Harry or Hermione. But you couldn’t help but wish that he thought of you as something more than that.

You were heartbroken when he left, but you didn’t let it show. You spent that summer with your family, who missed you dearly when you were away at school. You had a happy time, taking trips and enjoying the company of those you love, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Charlie was gone.

When fall came, you returned to Hogwarts to begin your sixth year. You had school to occupy you — and you were very busy with that, being your studious and ambitious self — but you never let go of the memory of Charlie Weasley. You often looked back at why you fell for him in the first place.

You had met in your first year and his third. As members of the same house, you saw each other frequently and became fast friends. Over the years, you became acquainted with the rest of the Weasley siblings and grew to consider them your second family. You spent parts of your school breaks at the Burrow, and your muggle parents became close friends with the Weasleys as well. It was hard not to fall for Charlie when you were constantly around him and his wonderful family.

Though he was two years older than you, he treated you like an equal, not like some bothersome younger sister. He was kind and respectful and had a love for animals. In your mind, he was perfect. But you never had the courage to tell him so. You were always too embarrassed about your crush and too scared that your feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated. He never showed any signs that he fancied you, so why would you humiliate yourself by admitting that you fancied him?

“I’ll take that for you, dear,” someone said, breaking you from your thoughts. You looked up to see that Arthur Weasley had come out of the house and was reaching for your suitcase.

“Thanks, Mr. Weasley!” you said, handing over the suitcase. “I assume I’ll be staying in Bill’s room since he’s not here?”

“Sure are,” he replied. “He’s been so busy at Gringotts. They just shipped him out to Egypt not even a week ago.” Mr. Weasley smiled broadly, clearly proud of his son.

“Wow, Egypt?” you marvel. “Bill must be some curse-breaker.”

“He sure is,” said Molly Weasley, joining the throng conversing on the front steps. “Hello, Y/N. How are you, dear?”

You stepped into Mrs. Weasley’s outstretched arms and told her that you had never been better. School was swell, your friends were keeping you sane, and there was nothing getting you down. She seemed happy at your reply and led the way back into the house.

Inside, you greeted Ron, Hermione, Harry and Percy. Unlike Ginny, whom you haven’t seen since Christmas holiday, you saw the four the them at school everyday. Percy was a year younger than you, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione were itty bitty soon-to-be second years. You were happy that Ginny would be starting at Hogwarts in the fall. Your last year would be her first, but at least you could go to school with her for one year.

For the rest of the day, you helped the family tidy up the house and prepare supper. When evening rolled around, Charlie, Fred, and George returned from wherever it was they went to. Fred and George said hello to you first, before heading upstairs to work on a new prank idea. Charlie was the last to approach you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, looking up at him. He hadn’t changed a bit. Same messy red hair, same freckles dotting his face. He was as handsome as ever. You quickly looked away, feeling the heat creep up your neck. The last thing you wanted was to out yourself on having a crush on Charles Weasley, especially in front of Charlie himself and his family.

“Hey, Y/N!” called Ron. “Wanna play a game of chess before dinner?”

“Sure,” you answer gratefully. You wanted any excuse to distance yourself from Charlie. Being around him only intensified your feelings for him.

After a heated round of chess, which Ron, the strategic genius, obviously won, Mrs. Weasley announced that dinner was ready. Everyone took their seats at the table, you squeezing yourself in between George and Ginny. To your dismay, Charlie chose the chair directly across from you.

He flashed you a smile. You smiled back weakly before quickly looking down at your plate. Act normal, you told yourself. When you still went to school with Charlie, you had gotten the same nervous, fluttery feeling whenever you were around him. After he left to pursue his dream job in Romania, he wasn’t nearby to make your stomach do somersaults anymore. It had been a full year since you felt this dizzying feeling, and now it was all rushing back to you.

“You okay, Y/N?” asked Hermione, who was sitting next to Charlie.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Why aren’t you eating?”

You looked around and quickly realized that everyone had already piled food on top of their plates, but yours was still empty. How long had you been sitting there?

“Right,” you said as you picked up a serving spoon, about to dish mashed potatoes onto your plate. “I was thinking about someone, and I guess I zoned out for a bit.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow at you. “Who were you thinking about?”

You froze. You replayed your words and realized that you had accidentally said you were thinking about someone instead of something.

“Did I say someone?” you asked with a laugh, attempting to pass off your error as a simple mistake. “I meant something.”

“Sure you did,” Ginny teased, winking at you.

You rolled your eyes at her. You acted as if it was all a joke, but you were dying of embarrassment on the inside. You hoped you weren’t being too obvious.

“Pass me the green beans, Y/LN,” Charlie said.

You felt your face burning as you handed over the green beans. Even though you didn’t touch him, extending your hand that close to his sent electricity through you.

“Thank you,” Charlie said cheekily.

You spared him a glance, flashing him a smile. You were trying to act as casual as possible, but it was difficult when your stomach churned every time you looked at him. There was no denying to yourself that you were crushing hard.

After dinner was done, you helped Mrs. Weasley wash up. When everything was cleaned and put away, you headed over to the living room, where Fred, George, and Charlie were playing cards around the coffee table. Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were talking upstairs, Percy was in his room reading, and the Weasley parents had decided to retire for the night.

“Can I play?” you asked, taking a seat next to Fred.

“Sure,” he answered, not looking up from his deck. “Next game.”

“So, where did you guys go earlier today?” you questioned.

“We just went to town,” George replied nonchalantly. “Fred and I needed to get some stuff for our next prank, and Charlie offered to take us.”

You hummed in response. It made you feel warm inside to know that Charlie was so attentive with his siblings. Family was very important to you, and you were glad it was important to him as well. Just another reason for you to fall even harder for him. Godric, why did he have to be so perfect?

The boys continued to play. The game finally ended when both Fred and Charlie ran out of cards, leaving George the winner. You began picking up the cards and shuffling them, preparing to deal them to everyone.

Before you could complete your task, however, George interrupted. “Actually, Fred and I are going upstairs to work on our new idea.”

Giving them a wave goodbye, you watched as the two younger boys got up from the coffee table and headed upstairs.

“You and me?” Charlie asked, a mischievous smile on his face

“Sure,” you replied.

You handed him his cards, and the two of you began to play. You were both concentrated on the game, and the only noise that could be heard was the sound of cards slapping on the table.

“So, how have you been?” Charlie asked, trying to make conversation.

“I’ve been good,” you responded. “You?”

“Never been better. Working at the dragon sanctuary has been a dream come true.”

You were genuinely happy to hear that he loved his job and his new life. Although, you wished you could be a bigger part of it. Charlie wasn’t much of a writer, and he hardly sent letters to his family, let alone his friends. You had written to him once when he was away, and he had responded. That was the extent of your communication over the last year. You didn’t bother to send another letter, fearing coming off as clingy or obsessed. When he failed to write to you again, you knew you had made the right decision.

“Wanna tell me more about Romania?” you asked, setting your cards down.

“Sure!” he answered enthusiastically. “But can we sit on the couch? My bum is sore from sitting on the floor.”

The two of you moved to the sofa and sat about a foot away from each other. He told you all about his experiences working with dragons. He went into detail about the training process, the proper way to handle a baby dragon, and the different breeds he got to study. You smiled as he talked, enjoying the way his eyes lit up whenever he discussed something he was passionate about.

“So, what about you?” he asked finally. “What have you been up to?”

“Well, I just finished my sixth year, which you already knew,” you said. “I aced most of my exams, I was invited into the Slug Club, and I’m currently working towards becoming Head Girl.”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Charlie said. “You must be proud of yourself.”

“I am proud. Exhausted, but proud. Sometimes I wonder how I got this far. I look back at all the hard work I put in and still can’t figure out how I managed to do all that.”

“You’re pretty incredible,” said Charlie. “If anyone could accomplish that much, it would be you.” He paused. “Well, maybe also Percy. He’s a know-it-all.”

You blushed at his compliment. “Thanks, Charlie.” When you first told him about your achievements, you were worried he would think you were bragging. But his kind words put your fears at ease, reassuring you that it was okay to be happy for yourself and to want to share your goals and successes with others.

“You know, we should keep in touch more when I go back to Romania,” he said.

“Agreed. We hardly exchanged two letters in the past year.”

Charlie smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I sort of didn’t write to anyone at all. I mean, unless they wrote to me first.”

“It’s alright,” you reassured him. “You were probably too busy taming dragons or something,” you teased.

“I never forgot you,” he said, as if he had to make sure you knew his lack of communication wasn’t personal.

You felt your breath hitch. You knew he was probably only saying because he felt guilty for not sending letters to someone who obviously wanted to, but you secretly wished he had meant something more by those words. Did he miss you when he was away? Or did he just feel bad for cutting off a family friend who was desperate for company? Could he sense how you felt about him?

“I know,” you said. “You don’t have to feel bad for not writing. I know it’s nothing against me.” You really hoped he didn’t pity you or think you were pathetic. Your Gryffindor confidence truly gave out on you when you were around him.

“I-it’s not that,” he stammered. “It’s just, well, um.”

“It’s just what?” you questioned. Since when did Charlie Weasley get so tongue-tied?

“I, uh, I want you to know that I never forgot about you,” he finally spitted out, red in the face. “You’re, you’re different to me.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Was Charlie Weasley, the boy you’ve been swooning over for years, confessing his feelings for you?

“Different how?” you asked, wanting him to get to the point. You needed to know how he felt about you, but you were slightly afraid of the outcome. What if it was all a misunderstanding? What if you had been reading the situation wrong, and he didn’t actually have feelings for you?

“Well, you’re like a friend,” Charlie began slowly. He seemed to have regained his natural confidence and composure. “But more than that.”

You stared at him, unable to speak.

“You’re like family,” he went on, “but I don’t see you as my sister or anything like that. I see you more as someone I could fancy, or rather, someone I do fancy.”

You were dumbstruck. The boy you were head-over-heels for actually liked you back. He had said it himself. He fancied you. No one else, you.

“Could you please say something?” Charlie asked.

You looked down to see him fidgeting with his hands. Was he really that anxious? The calmest person you knew was nervous around you?

“I can’t believe you just said that,” you said, looking him in the eyes. Those gorgeous brown eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, turning red again. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” you hurriedly told him. “I like you, too.”

“You do?” he asked, breaking into a grin that could make you melt into the ground.

“Yes, I do. I’ve liked you for a long time, but I never had the courage to say anything. I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

“Same here,” Charlie admitted. “I’ve liked you for a while, but it felt wrong of me to say so. You are my friend, after all. Plus, you’re two years younger than me.”

You nodded in agreement. You often questioned if it would be wrong to date someone who wasn’t your age. Would people think weirdly of you and Charlie if the two of you were in a relationship? Would either of you get in trouble?

You couldn’t help yourself from asking, “How long have you liked me for?” You were still flabbergasted and didn’t think you’d ever get over the news.

“Well, I’m not sure. Maybe since my sixth year? Although, it could’ve been before that. We were always such close friends that I didn’t notice when platonic feelings started to turn into something more.”

You nodded in understanding. “I get it. Although, I can’t say it was the same for me. My feelings for you weren’t gradual like that. I knew I liked you all at once. From the moment we first met, actually.”

“Oh, did you?” he teased. “Did you find me that charming?”

“Oh, shut it, you git,” you said while rolling your eyes at him. It felt nice to banter with him without the awkward tension from before. Knowing that he shared your feelings made it easier for you to talk to him.

“So, what now?” Charlie asked you. “Are we dating or...?”

“Well, you have to ask me out first, don’t you?” you said playfully, trying to hide your smile.

He let out a loud sigh. “If I must.”

“Go on,” you said with a smirk. You had missed his goofy side when you were apart from him.

“Y/N Y/LN, will you go out with me?” he asked dramatically.

You rolled your eyes again. “Yes, you doof. I will go out with you.”

He beamed. “Brilliant!”

You smiled back at him, reaching for his hands. You gripped his hands in yours and looked into his eyes. Those soft, brown eyes that never failed to make you weak in the knees.

“But what will your family think?” you questioned, finally breaking his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Will your family be okay with this?”

“I’ve, uh, already told my parents about you,” you said sheepishly. “They’ve known I liked you for a long time, so they won’t have a problem with us dating. It’s your family I’m worried about.”

Charlie nodded. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell them? Not now, at least?”

“That would probably be best,” you agreed. “I don’t particularly want to deal with their judgement right now.”

Just then, the thudding of footsteps coming down the stairs could be heard.

“Charlie, Y/N, it’s bedtime!” Ron called from the landing. “Mum told me to tell you!”

“We’re coming, Ron!” Charlie shouted back. He turned to you. “So, I guess we’re keeping this a secret?”

“Guess so.”

That night, you couldn’t sleep as you laid in bed. You didn’t have to share Bill’s room with anybody, so you were utterly alone with your thoughts. Part of you was too excited to sleep. You couldn’t believe you were dating Charlie Weasley, the boy of your dreams. But part of you was also terrified of what the Weasleys would say once they found out. You already knew they liked you; you had been a friend of their children for a long time. And Charlie was their own son. But would a relationship be too much?

Aside from your worries about Charlie’s family, thoughts about how to make a relationship with him work also occupied your mind. He would be returning to the dragon reserve in Romania at the end of the summer, and you would be starting your last year at Hogwarts. Would you break up? Would you do long-distance? How would you make it work?

The next morning, everything proceeded as usual. You had breakfast with the Weasleys, along with Ron and Hermione, of course, and helped with the dishes afterward. You spent the rest of the day spending time with everyone, particularly Charlie. The two of you snuck off whenever you could, but it was difficult finding time to be alone with so many people at the Burrow.

The rest of the summer went accordingly. You spent your days playing games with the younger children, helping Mr. and Mrs. Weasley around the house, and enjoying quiet moments with Charlie. During your time alone, the two of you talked, made plans, and fell deeper in love with each other. You were infatuated with him, and he felt the same about you. Both of you dreaded the end of the summer, when you would eventually have to part ways.

You would miss the hot nights laying in the field, counting fireflies together. You would miss the sweet way you held each other’s hands underneath the dinner table. You would miss the rise and fall of his chest when he had fallen asleep on the banks of the nearby pond after a long afternoon of splashing around. You would miss the blush that crept up his cheeks when you caught him staring at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You would miss him, everything about him.

The last day of summer crept closer and closer. Before you knew it, it was your final night at the Burrow. You were set to leave with Percy, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny early the next morning. A part of you was excited to finally start your last year at Hogwarts, knowing that this would bring you another step closer to your adult life. Some days, there was nothing you wanted more than to be done with school and to start working in the wizarding world. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be a healer or an auror or some other profession, but you knew you wanted to make a difference and do good things for others. But another part of you was saddened. You didn’t want to leave the warmth and comfort of the Burrow. You didn’t want the carefree summer days to be nothing but a distant memory. And you didn’t want your blossoming relationship with Charlie to come to a close either.

It was past midnight, and you were the only one awake. Having had trouble falling asleep, you had gone down to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. After downing your drink, you had decided to perch on the sofa to contemplate your current situation. Physically, you were exhausted from a long day of frolicking in the fields and slinging rocks into the pond, the perfect end to the perfect summer. Mentally, you were restless as thoughts ran wild through your head. What would happen when you returned to school and Charlie went back to Romania? Your body was telling you to sleep, but your mind was keeping you up. You would be able to sleep on the train the next day, anyway.

“Y/N?” a voice sounded through the silence. “Why are you up?”

You broke free of your thoughts and glanced up to see Charlie staring back at you from the foot of the stairs.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you shrugged. “Went down for some water and decided to sit here.”

Charlie grinned before plopping down next to you. “Well, then, I’m glad I happened to wake up just now. We can have one more moment together before we both leave tomorrow.”

You smiled back at him. “I think one more moment with you is just what I need right now.”

“What’s on your mind, love?” he asked as he draped his arm around you.

You snuggled closer to his side. “Nothing much. I was just thinking about us. What’s going to happen after tomorrow?”

You peered into Charlie’s eyes and found that he looked utterly content, relaxed even. Was he not fazed by the idea of having to leave you?

“Well, you’re going back to school,” he began, “and I’m going back to the sanctuary.”

“But what about us?”

“We’ll do long-distance, I guess,” he answered with a shrug. “I don’t want to break up or anything.”

You smiled at that and leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek. You were glad he wasn’t too worried. It eased your nerves to see how well he was handling this. “I don’t want to break up either. But you better write me, you git.”

Charlie smirked. “Alright, I’ll write you.”

You punched him playfully. “You better.”

The two of you stayed on the couch for a while, just enjoying being close to each other. You rested your head on his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic pounding soothed you, let you know that everything was going to be okay.

“Hey, is that my jumper?” Charlie finally spoke, gesturing to knitted red garment you wore.

You grinned sheepishly, looking down at the jumper that hung oversized on you. “I wanted to have a piece of you before we go our separate ways. I didn’t think you’d miss it too much. You have a bunch of them.”

“You can keep it, love,” he said with a grin. “It looks better on you anyway.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” you replied happily. You knew he wouldn’t have minded you taking his jumper, but it was nice to hear him say it himself. Something about the way he said it looked better on you made you cling onto him even tighter.

You and Charlie fell asleep on the couch that night, entangled in each other’s arms. In the morning, you were awakened by the sound of stomping footsteps and rowdy laughter as the other children got ready to leave. Soon enough, Molly Weasley was ushering you and Charlie to get ready as well. She didn’t seem at all surprised to see the two of you sleeping on the sofa together. Like everyone else in the house, she knew of your relationship without having to be told.

Charlie decided to accompany you and rest of the returning Hogwarts troupe to the train station. He didn’t want to miss seeing you off, wanting to say goodbye one last time. By the time you reached Platform 9 3/4, it was finally hitting you that you would be leaving him again. But this time, it hurt a little less because you knew you wouldn’t be leaving behind an unrequited love. You would be leaving your boyfriend, someone who did feel the same way and would never stop caring about you no matter the distance.

Your goodbye was bittersweet. You were thrilled to be parting ways as two people who were dating at long last, but you were dismayed to leave him at all.

“Did you pack my jumper?” Charlie asked as he pulled you into one last hug.

“Sure did,” you grinned at him. “I’m going to miss you, Charlie.”

“I’ll miss you too,” he said, planting a kiss into your hair. “But there’s always next year.”

You finally pulled away and boarded the Hogwarts Express with the others. Sitting in between Ginny and Hermione, you waved out the window frantically as the train pulled out of the station. You continued to wave as the train continued to chug forward until the figures of Charlie, Molly, and Arthur Weasley became nothing but specks on the platform.

Tired from staying up late the night before, you allowed yourself to shut your eyes during the ride to school. As you were drifting off to sleep, the last words Charlie had said to you turned over and over again in your mind. But there’s always next year. He was right. Although you’d be apart for your last year at Hogwarts and his second year in Romania, you had your whole future ahead of you. You had the rest of your lives to be together, so it didn’t matter that you weren’t together now. You sank deeper and deeper into a peaceful slumber, letting the noise of the train inching along the tracks and the thoughts of your future with Charlie lull you to sleep.

#charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x y/n #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #charlie weasley fanfiction #weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction

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puppywritings · 4 years

Text

you make it feel like christmas - kim doyoung x gender-neutral reader

⇢ synopsis: when you entered your job a few years ago, you found your best friend, doyoung. the two of you were partners-in-crime, platonic soulmates. however, during a drunken phone call with doyoung’s mother, she catches the wrong idea and invites you to spend christmas with their family… as doyoung’s partner. ever the mama’s boy, doyoung doesn’t want to disappoint her. and you? you’re counting down the days until you can stop this lovers pretence and slap your best friend upside the head.

⇢ word count: 5.6k ⇢ trigger warnings: alcohol use resulting in minor memory loss, swearing, slight suggestive references. this piece is suitable for all audiences!

⇢ a/n: this is my piece for @pastelsicheng and @dearyongs‘ a taste of winter collab. quick disclaimer that doyoung’s family in this fic may not represent his real life family situation, however this is a work of fiction and isn’t meant to mirror real life. i don’t know doyoung, nor do i know his mother, and the characters represented in this writing are fictitious versions of them. furthermore, the christmas traditions depicted in this story are mainly based on my own experiences celebrating the holidays in england.

⇢ taglist: @hunjins @ahgase55g7 @mmoondance @notnctu @orange-nimon-cross @yeoshwa @infnteen @neonun-au @luvlala @neo-shitty @yutacrush @ethaeriyeol @fairyinaflowercrown @in-my-neofeelings @dreamieofu

"All I want for Christmas is youuu, baby!"

Doyoung's voice was almost deafening in your ear, which would've been a problem if you were sober. Your voice, too, merrily drunk and far too loud, belted out the holiday tunes. Your best friend's arm was slung around your shoulder, and yours was around his waist. It was like the blind leading the blind, however; neither of you were keeping your balance very well. The two of you staggered together, navigating the city's streets back to his apartment.

The Christmas party that your office held would have been okay without your favourite coworker - you would've had a good time and enjoyed yourself, sure. But with Doyoung's presence, paired with the copious amounts of alcohol, it had been a riot. Even if you had peaked too early and had to depart by 11pm.

Doyoung was, undoubtedly, the best part about your job. The workload wasn't overwhelming, nor was it tedious, and the salary was nothing to sneeze at. But, without a shadow of a doubt, the best thing your job had ever provided you with was the opportunity to meet your best friend. Doyoung was your platonic soulmate, and your favourite person.

"Hey," Doyoung slurred, calling out to you suddenly. "Is that your ringtone?"

Squinting, you listened closely. "No, Doie," you hiccupped. "I think that's your ringtone."

"Oh, shit,'' Doyoung mumbled, diving into his coat pocket to retrieve his ringing phone. "My mom! She's facetiming."

Your vision was blurred, but you very vaguely saw Doyoung answer the call, bringing up his mother's image on his phone screen. Though you’d been best friends with Doyoung for a few years, you’d never met her. Doyoung lived and worked alongside you in the city, but his mother lived a while away in the countryside, and so your paths had never crossed.

"Hi Mom," Doyoung waved at her.

"Doyoung? Where are you?"

"I'm walking home, Mom," he responded, beaming at her through his phone.

"You sent me a strange text message," she told him, her voice raised a little more than necessary - Doyoung had mentioned that she was somewhat inept when it came to technology.

"Huh?" Doyoung looked confused.

"Something about lunch the day after tomorrow," she elaborated. "Doyoung, you aren't coming home for the holidays until next week, right?"

"Ah," Doyoung said, understanding. "That was meant for somebody else, sorry Mom."

"My boy," you heard her tut, and you laughed. "Is someone there with you, Doyoung?"

"Yeah," Doyoung nodded, "Y/N is here."

"Hi, Mrs Kim," you waved, as Doyoung turned the screen towards you. If you weren't so drunk, you would've been nervous about meeting your best friend's mother for the first time. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it) your bloodstream was mainly rum at that point, so you had absolutely no worries nor qualms.

“Kim Doyoung! Why didn’t you tell me you had a partner?” his mother blurted out.

“Huh?” exclaimed Doyoung, utterly confused.

“Oh Doyoung, you must bring Y/N home for the holidays! I can’t wait to meet them,” she cooed.

“Mom, wait-”

“See you two next week!” she cheerily said her goodbyes before hanging up, disappearing from the screen and leaving the two of you in silence.

Doyoung looked at you. You looked back at him.

“Did she…” you began, not quite wanting to end your sentence.

Doyoung nodded gravely. “She thinks we’re dating.”

The look on Doyoung’s face - eyes wide, lips in a straight, serious line - it was too much for you. You snorted, gripping his arm as you buckled in laughter. He wasn’t far behind you, bursting into a fit of giggles too. You and Doyoung loved each other, that was indisputable. But it was completely and entirely platonic. The two of you laughed together the rest of the way home.

As you were coming to your senses the next morning, you groaned. Why the hell did you feel so lousy? you wondered, full to the brim with self-pity. Your head pounded, a throbbing ache so strong you were certain somebody was banging pots and pans in your brain. Your throat was so, so dry, and you felt as though you could drink a whole gallon of water and still be thirsty afterwards. And then the memories of the previous night came flooding in.

Ah, you thought, Now it all makes sense.

You sorted through the events of last night, mentally flicking through the filing cabinet of your memories. A filing cabinet that was sorely empty when it came to the night prior. You remembered arriving at the party with Doyoung; you remembered the first few drinks, but following that your memories began to fade. You remembered Doyoung pressing a sloppy kiss to your boss’ cheek - a rather stoic middle-aged man - and you had no doubt that Doyoung would be apologising profusely on Monday morning. You had absolutely no recollection of the walk home, but since you had awoken in Doyoung’s spare bedroom, you supposed the night could have gone worse. At least you made it home safe.

Begrudgingly, you threw back the blankets and lifted yourself out of bed. Doyoung - bless his heart - had left you some painkillers and a glass of water on the bedside table. You consumed both of them gratefully and emerged from the spare room, wincing at the sunlight that met you. As you made your way down the hallway, whistling met your ears. How Doyoung could be so lively after a night of heavy drinking, you had no idea.

“Why the hell do you never get hungover?” you grumbled at him as you entered the kitchen, finding him at the stove.

“Good morning to you, too, sleeping beauty,” he greeted you with a smile.

“Seriously,” you continued as you took a seat at the kitchen island, “I swear I get hungover enough for the both of us.”

“Thank you for taking on that burden,” Doyoung replied sweetly, which you responded to with a spiteful glower. It doesn’t last long, however; Doyoung finishes cooking breakfast, and dishes you up a serving. Sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, baked beans, hash browns, and toast. As much as you playfully bickered with Doyoung, he was an absolute treasure.

“Doie, you’re a gift from the heavens,” you praise him, the sight of the warm, greasy food reviving your soul almost immediately.

Doyoung took a seat next to you, placing down a plate of his own breakfast. “So,” he began, “How much of last night do you remember?”

“Huh?” you asked, suddenly wondering if you’d forgotten something drastic. “Did we…”

“Oh my god, no,” Doyoung denied quickly.

“Thank fuck,” you sigh in relief. Your best friend was attractive, definitely. But you saw him as more of a sibling than a lover.

Doyoung waited a moment before explaining, and with each second that passed, your suspicions rose. “My mom… She’s invited you to spend the holidays with us.”

“Oh!” you exclaim. That confession was a lot tamer than what you’d expected. “Sure, that sounds great. I was spending the holidays alone this year anyways.”

“There’s a catch.”

You dropped your knife and fork onto your plate. “Doyoung,” you groan, “Why is there always a catch?”

“My mom thinks we’re dating.” Doyoung pointedly avoided your eye contact while he spoke.

“And you corrected her, right?” you asked, fearing the worst. Doyoung’s silence only confirmed your fears. “Right?”

“She was so happy when she thought I was dating someone! And she’s been on my back about settling down forever,” Doyoung rambled, trying to save himself from your wrath - to no avail.

“Doyoung!”

“Please, Y/N. It’ll only be for a few days,” he pleaded, clasping his hands together and giving you his very best puppy-dog eyes. And you had to admit, they were some top-notch puppy-dog eyes.

You gave a resigned sigh, and Doyoung cheered. “Fine. But only because I really want to try your mom’s cookies.”

“You’re the best friend in the world,” Doyoung complimented you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. You whined at him, fighting the urge to bat away his affections; in your hungover state, you were not at all ready for hugs.

“Then make me some more hash browns,” you grumbled. If Doyoung was prepared to put you in this situation, he’d better also be prepared to pay you for it.

“You got it, best friend,” Doyoung beamed at you, getting up to obey your command. “You should pack those Christmas pyjamas you’re wearing, by the way. My mom would love them.” You scowled at him. He immediately backed down, waving away his previous statement. “We can figure out the logistics later.”

“You better make this worth my while, Kim Doyoung.” When he served you your hash browns, you were still scowling.

As the taxi pulled up at Doyoung’s childhood home, you couldn’t help but marvel at it. You raised a hand to the cab’s window, looking out at the idyllic cottage, rooftop covered in snow, decked out in twinkling Christmas lights. The environment had grown increasingly more peaceful as you had travelled out of Seoul and deeper into the countryside, picturesque hills and winding valleys rolling past the train windows. This place felt worlds away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and it was difficult to feel even slightly stressed. Even if the situation your best friend had put you in was less than ideal, this was an absolutely beautiful place to spend the holidays - it looked like it had jumped straight out of a Christmas card.

Despite the beautiful winter wonderland before you, you still weren’t prepared for the cold that hit you when you stepped out of the cab. You busied yourself getting the luggage from the trunk while Doyoung paid the driver.

“Are you ready?” Doyoung asked you, looking into your eyes sincerely.

You sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” You gave him a smile, reassuring him. The truth was, you were truly excited to spend the holidays with Doyoung and his mother; you were excited to meet her, to eat her home cooking, to hear stories about Doyoung in his youth. You just had some qualms about the whole fake relationship pretense, and you really didn’t want to let your best friend down.

“Y/N?” Doyoung spoke, taking bags out of your hands.

“Yeah?” you asked, watching wistfully as the taxi drove away.

Doyoung smirked at you. “Just try your best not to fall in love with me for real, okay?”

You rolled your eyes so hard they practically fell out of your head. “You wish.” Just as the cottage door swung open, you reached for Doyoung’s hand, holding it tightly. So began the relationship charade.

“Doyoung, my boy,” his mother beamed, coming out to greet her son. It was hard not to smile upon seeing her - she was clearly over the moon to see you and Doyoung, and her joy was infectious. She was a small woman, but you had gathered from Doyoung’s description that she certainly had a big character. She welcomed her son into an embrace, kissing his cheek. “You don’t visit home enough, Doyoung,” she chided lovingly.

“And you must be Y/N,” she spoke, moving her gaze onto you. She looked at you fondly, and you beamed back at her. “You’re so beautiful,” she praised you.

Your cheeks, already red from the cold, blazed a little brighter. “Thank you, Mrs Kim.”

She wagged a finger at you. “Mrs Kim, you make me sound so aged. Please, call me Mom.” She turned around, welcoming the two of you inside, and you shared a smile with Doyoung.

The interior of the cottage was every bit as charming as the exterior. Family photos decorated the walls, and warm rugs hugged the floors. You supposed the home would have a cozy feeling all year round, but now, in the festive season, the place was dressed up to the nines. Lavish paper chains were strung up, along with twinkling lights and boughs of holly. Not to mention the Christmas tree; though not huge it was still sizeable, likely the biggest Mrs Kim could fit through the cottage door. It was embellished with golden tinsel and crimson baubles.

“Your home is so beautiful,” you commended. “Did you decorate yourself?”

“All by myself,” Doyoung’s mother confirmed proudly.

“This must’ve been a beautiful place to grow up,” you marvelled, your comment pointed towards Doyoung, who smiled back at you appreciatively.

“Oh, the stories I have about Doyoung growing up,” Mrs Kim said, and you detected a mischievous tone.

“I can’t wait to hear them,” you grinned.

“And see them!” she added. “I have so many photo albums.”

Doyoung groaned, while you and Mrs Kim laughed in the presence of his misery. Yes, you decided. You were going to enjoy this visit very much.

When you settled into bed that night, you were beyond exhausted. Doyoung’s mother had kindly set you up in the spare room, which was delightfully warm and snug. Doyoung’s childhood bedroom contained only a single bed, whereas the spare room had a double bed to accommodate you - the ‘couple.’ Though it had only been a few hours since you’d arrived that afternoon, the gravity of your situation had well and truly sunk in. The performative affection you and Doyoung had been carrying out was alien, equal parts strange and comical.

“I can’t believe the amount of times you called me Honey today,” Doyoung scoffed amusedly, dressed in his blue flannel pyjamas with his dark hair laying flat and fluffy on his forehead. He turned off the big light to leave the room illuminated by the warm glow of the table lamps, before climbing into bed beside you.

“Mock me all you want, Doyoung, but I think I put on a pretty convincing performance,” you return smugly.

“Well, I can’t imagine it’s hard. I’m very easy to love. You on the other hand?” Doyoung faked a weary sigh. “I have my work cut out for me.” You flicked Doyoung on the forehead, snickering when he yelped.

You yawned, depositing your phone on the bedside table and snuggling down into the blankets. Though you were exhausted, and the cottage was immensely cozy, it always felt a little strange to fall asleep in a new place. You were thankful for the company of your best friend, who always put you at ease.

“I hate sharing a bed with you,” you grumbled your complaint. Despite the comfort he brought you, he wasn’t the easiest person to sleep with. “You starfish. I always wake up with, like, one centimetre of bed space.”

Doyoung dropped his phone, letting it fall onto the blankets. He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “One centimetre?”

“Yeah, one centimetre!” you insisted.

“Well, I always wake up with your cold feet on my legs,” he rebutted.

“Yeah, well-” you sputtered. “It’s not my fault you’re a living hot water bottle!”

“And it’s not my fault you’re always cold. Yet I’m always punished with your horrible cold feet.” You laughed back at him; the normality of your bickering helped to put you at ease.

“Let’s get some rest,” you suggested, yawning again. “I don’t wanna miss your mom’s cookies tomorrow morning - I wanna try them while they’re warm.”

“Mmm, good idea,” Doyoung agreed, eyes wide with the thought of his mother’s cookies.

“Goodnight, butthead,” you teased your friend, turning off the lamp beside you.

“Sleep well, idiot,” he replied fondly.

Thoughts of warm chocolate-chip cookies were the last things on your mind before you fell asleep, and you were lucky enough to have them drift through your dreams that night.

As you slowly woke up, gradually returning to the land of the conscious, you first became aware of how delightfully warm you were. A light winter sun was shining through the gaps in the curtains, bathing the room in a soft white light. You sighed, hugging your pillow closer to you, but furrowing your eyebrows in confusion when you found it to be much firmer and less pliant than a pillow.

“Nice to see you’ve finally awakened. You drooled on my pyjamas.” Doyoung’s voice was gentle, and lacked any real annoyance.

“What time is it?” you asked, rolling off the boy.

“Half nine,” he told you, looking at his phone screen. You digested the information as Doyoung got out of bed, stretching his muscles which had stiffened from sleep.

“Now that I’m finally free,” he stared at you pointedly, “I’m gonna take a shower. There’s another bathroom down the hall if you want to wash up.” You nodded, accomplishing your own satisfying stretch in bed.

A while later, fresh and ready for the day, adorned in your favourite comfy sweater, you made your way downstairs, trying to dampen down your high, high hopes for cookies.

“Good morning, Mrs Kim,” you greeted the woman with a smile. A smile that increased tenfold when you saw she was, in fact, in the middle of preparing cookies.

“I already told you to call me Mom, darling,” she chastised gently. “Did you sleep well?”

You gave her a nod, silently thinking about the several times you woke up to Doyoung kicking you through the night.

“Lovely,” she commented. “I’m making cookies, would you like to help?”

“I’d love to,” you answered honestly. “Your cookies are kind of famous back in Seoul. Doyoung never stops talking about them.”

“That boy and his cookies,” she remarked with affection.

Doyoung’s mother set you off to work making another batch of mixture, as she began her duties with the rolling pin. The two of you worked in a comfortable silence, and you marvelled at how much she put you at ease. She was a warm lady, the kind of mother figure a person is lucky to have.

“Y/N, I want you to tell me everything,” she spoke after a while. “How did you and Doyoung meet?”

“Ah,” you mumbled, gearing yourself up to talk about your fake-boyfriend. “Well, we work together. I joined the company about two years ago, and Doyoung was the one to show me the ropes.”

“Was it love at first sight?” Mrs Kim asked you sweetly.

You turned away from the cookie dough, choking a little at the mention of romance with Doyoung, as you remembered the first time you met the man.

You were almost trembling as your new boss showed you around the office; this was your first “grown-up” job and you were the very definition of nervous. You were thankful for your brand-new black blazer which covered the sweat stains that you knew were building.

“And this,” your boss introduced you, “Is Kim Doyoung. He’ll help you settle in.”

“Hi. Y/N Y/L/N,” you offered Doyoung your hand to shake, which he accepted.

Doyoung waited for your boss to leave before speaking. “So,” he began with a smirk, “How hard did he try to be ‘relatable’ and ‘down with the kids?’”

You hid your laugh behind a cough. “He’s a little out of touch, huh?”

“A little?” Doyoung raised an eyebrow, laughing alongside you.

“Is it okay to talk about the boss like this? We’re supposed to respect him, right?” you asked your new coworker, a little uncertainly.

“Ah, Y/N, of course we respect him,” Doyoung tutted at you, before adding, “To his face.”

Doyoung had you in stitches your entire first day. Though he tried not to show it, you hadn’t seen anybody try so hard to help you become comfortable and calm. He had been easing your nerves since day one.

“Yeah,” you confirmed as you recovered. “I think it was.” Maybe it wasn’t love at first sight in a romantic sense, but the two of you definitely connected on a personal level right away.

“So romantic,” Doyoung’s mother cooed as she rolled out the dough. “What do you love most about him?”

“Hm.” You paused, taking a moment to think. It was true that you loved a lot of Doyoung’s qualities - he was your best friend after all. He was always supportive, an ever-present shoulder to cry on. He was funny, and kind, and pleasant to be around. You always had fun together. “I love a lot of things about him,” you answered truthfully.

“He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” she agreed with you jovially, to which you smiled and nodded. “Now, I don’t want to rush you,” she continued, “But will you and Doyoung be giving me grandchildren any time soon?”

You choked on your spit, just as Doyoung entered the kitchen, coming to your rescue.

“Speak of the devil,” his mom noted affectionately, as she loaded the full trays into the oven.

“Cookies?” Doyoung’s eyes glinted hopefully. His hair was still damp from the shower, dripping and leaving wet droplets on his plain white t-shirt.

“Yes, in about fifteen minutes,” she confirmed. “You can wait that long, right?”

“Oh,” Doyoung moaned, “I don’t know. I can feel my life escaping from me as we speak.” He collapsed at the kitchen table behind you, falling onto the chair as he pretended to faint. You chuckled at his antics, reaching over to ruffle his still-wet hair adoringly. You caught his mother looking over at the two of you fondly, and you smiled, a little self-conscious.

It felt more natural than you’d imagined, being cute and cozy with Doyoung in this false relationship. You supposed your friendship was a little more affectionate than you realised. Now that you thought about it, there was a certain tenderness that was common between the two of you - aside from the constant snipping and bickering, that was.

You’d never considered that you could be suited to a life outside the city, but the longer you spent in the charming countryside, the more ideal it felt. On your second morning of your winter break, you and Doyoung had donned your warmest winter gear (hats, scarves, and gloves included) and set out on a walk down the rustic lanes that your best friend had once called home. Though there were no eyes on you, and logically you didn’t have to keep up your fake-dating pretence in these hidden moments, shared only by you and Doyoung, the two of you held hands as you ambled down the snow-covered roads. It was an unspoken act, and one that felt strangely comfortable and oddly natural. You didn’t accredit too much thought to it; best friends could hold hands, if they wished to.

“We’re almost there,” Doyoung told you, after a short time of walking.

You tilted your head in confusion. “Where?” You hadn’t thought you were walking with any specific location in mind - you’d assumed the pair of you were meandering through the countryside with no direction.

“You’ll see,” was all he said, leaving you wondering.

Not long later, Doyoung directed you towards an opening in the shrubbery at the side of the lane, maneuvering himself over a stile before helping you over. The field you found yourself in was empty, the normally green meadow blanketed in completely untouched white. The only thing standing in the field, other than you and Doyoung was an old, rather dilapidated-looking barn. You imagined it once blazed a beautiful scarlet, although the years and the weather had chipped and faded its coat, leaving it a patchy maroon.

“Who does this belong to?” you asked, reclaiming Doyoung’s hand as you approached the barn together.

“I don’t know,” Doyoung countered. “Nobody, I think. It’s been abandoned as long as I can remember.”

“It’s a little creepy,” you commented apprehensively.

“Don’t worry, there aren’t any ghosts,” Doyoung mocked you, although it was devoid of any cruelty.

The door creaked as Doyoung pushed it open, and you didn’t entirely trust it not to fall completely off its hinges. The interior of the barn was a dark contrast to the stark white of the winter wonderland outside, although some sunlight filtered through the gaps in the wooden structure.

“Welcome to my secret clubhouse,” Doyoung introduced you. Your hands fell apart, as Doyoung left your side to venture to the back of the dwelling, finding a rickety swing that hung from the rafters, constructed of two pieces of rope and a plank of wood. He sat on it, swinging lightly and you were surprised to find that it managed to support his weight.

“How many of your romantic conquests have you brought here before me?” you teased, examining his hangout.

“You’re the first.”

The barn wasn’t particularly exciting, but there was a certain buzz to be derived from gaining a little bit of insight to Doyoung’s past. The floors of the building were no longer lined with hay, but dirt and dust, featuring intermittent weeds and plants. A tree had reached its spindly branches inside the structure, intertwining itself with the beams and pillars. You perched yourself atop an old stool that was sitting amid the weeds and rubble.

“Did you put that swing up yourself?” you asked, eyeing its stability.

“Yep,” Doyoung confirmed. “All by myself. I climbed right up into the rafters to fasten it.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself,” you remarked. The barn was a rather significant height, and it can’t have been safe for a young boy to scale the wooden bones of the building, likely aided by the serpentine branches of the oak tree.

“When I was a kid I thought I was superman,” Doyoung said, and you could see him reminiscing internally. You watched, captivated, as he looked around the tattered old barn which was clearly a sentimental place for him. He was beautiful, your best friend. Eyes that shined, dark as the night; a nose that sloped almost perfectly; pink lips that looked best when smiling. Though the winter was a cold one, your heart was warmed by your love for Doyoung. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, simply existing together without any demand or pressure to make unnecessary conversation.

“We should get back home,” Doyoung spoke after a while, standing and stretching. “My mom is making hotpot for lunch.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you said with enthusiasm. Spending time with your best friend, taking walks through the beautiful countryside, and being fed homemade dishes for every meal. This Christmas holiday may just be the best thing to ever happen to you.

Christmas morning came much more swiftly than you expected. The homely atmosphere of the cottage, the domestic haven where Doyoung spent his youth, felt like a sweet sanctuary that existed outside of the linear flow of time. Early morning walks down dew-covered lanes gave way to plentiful lunches that you savoured, which morphed into homely afternoons that eased into sleepy evenings around the fireplace. It was the sweet retreat you hadn’t realised you’d needed, and you were remarkably upset that you had to return to the city the following day.

“I know it’s not much, but I hope you’ll put this to good use,” you grinned at Mrs Kim as you handed over the Christmas present you’d brought her. She unwrapped the parcel, although the shape didn’t quite leave room for a discreet gift, to reveal a bottle of red wine.

“I’m sure I’ll find some way to use this,” she responded, a teasing twinkle in her eye as you shared a laugh together.

“Y/N,” Doyoung spoke, handing you a small box wrapped in festive paper. “Here.” He was already wearing the watch you had gifted him with. You peeled back the wrapping, opening the box to find a delicate silver necklace, hanging from it a shining silver jewel. It looked expensive; you wouldn’t be surprised if it was a real diamond.

“Wow,” you gasped, at a complete loss for words.

“Let me put it on you,” Doyoung offered, and you let him.

“It’s beautiful,” you smiled at him. “Thank you.” He smiled back sincerely.

Doyoung’s mother reached under the Christmas tree, bringing out two identically wrapped packages, square-shaped and squishy. “You kids open your presents together; I made them matching for you.”

You tore into the paper, opening the bundle to reveal a mass of knitted wool, soft and burgundy. You lifted it up to reveal a beautiful, intricate Christmas sweater - and noticed that Doyoung was holding an identical one.

“They’re so beautiful, Mrs Kim,” you complimented her, a little starstruck; though you knew Mrs Kim had handcrafted them, they looked like they were bought from a shop. They were of the most perfect quality, and looked splendidly snug and cozy.

“Yeah, thanks Mom,” Doyoung added, admiring the material. He waited until she looked away, taking a sip of her hot cocoa, before turning to you and muttering “Matching Christmas sweaters?” accompanied by a fake gag. You looked away, finding it almost impossible to stifle the giggle that bubbled up within you. They were beautiful, and you were endlessly grateful for the homemade gift, but Doyoung’s comment had amused you.

Mrs Kim looked at you with a knowing expression, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she’d noticed the exchange.

“Now you know I wasn’t kidding about my mom’s homemade cooking,” Doyoung said as he worked on the mountain of dishes in the sink.

“You really weren’t,” you agreed, stood next to him with a towel to dry the porcelain. You typically weren’t such a big fan of turkey, but something about the way Mrs Kim cooked it meant that it was surprisingly delicious. You had gone back for several helpings of the meal, encouraged by Doyoung’s mother, who seemed to derive pleasure from keeping people well-fed.

“I need a nap,” Doyoung declared, and you shared his experience of full-stomach sleepiness.

The pair of you finished up in the kitchen, and moved to the living room where Doyoung’s mother had relocated.

“Ah!” she stopped you in the doorway, before you could enter. “Look.”

You followed her pointed finger, to the green sprigs hanging in the archway. Mistletoe. Doyoung gave an awkward chuckle.

“Mistletoe for the lovers,” his mother chortled gleefully.

Doyoung captured you in his embrace, and your heart began to beat a little faster - was he really going to kiss you? You closed your eyes as he moved into you, and felt his lips peck your forehead. You smiled, before pulling him in for a kiss on the lips. In the spirit of Christmas. Doyoung’s eyes widened, and you laughed as his mother cheered. You followed her into the living room, making yourself comfortable on the couch that had no right being as cozy as it was. Doyoung’s cheeks were still red when he joined you, taking a seat on the couch alongside you.

The television was on, playing some old Christmas movie you vaguely recognised but had never seen. You brought your legs up onto the couch, snuggling into Doyoung’s side and nestling in further when he wrapped his arm around you. The film was already halfway through, and you were too sleepy to pay attention. It wasn’t long before you began nodding off to sleep, and you knew Doyoung was doing the same. Comfortable and relaxed, you let it happen, easing into a well-deserved nap with your best friend. Just as you fell into the unconscious, you sensed Doyoung’s mother draping a blanket over you both, and you smiled gratefully before letting yourself go.

“Taxi’s here!” Doyoung announced from his point of watch at the front door.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving already,” Doyoung’s mother pouted.

You agreed with a sad smile. “It was wonderful to meet you, Mrs Kim,” you bid her goodbye as Doyoung took your luggage out to the car.

“Beautiful Y/N,” she smiled back at you, taking your hands in her own. “Tell me the truth here.”

You blinked, surprised at her direct request. “Of course.”

“You and Doyoung aren’t really dating, are you?”

“I-”

“It’s okay, my love,” she reassured you. “Don’t worry about it. That Doyoung, he’ll do anything if he thinks it’ll please me.”

“He’s a good boy,” you commented, to which Mrs Kim nodded in agreement. “But how did you know?” You’d thought you’d given a pretty convincing show.

“Nothing gets past me,” she responded, her eyes glinting. “Listen. Doyoung’s partner or not, I can tell that you’re important to him. And for that, you’ll always be a member of this family. You’re always welcome in this home, Y/N.”

You swallowed back tears, touched by her warm words, and by how genuine they were. “Thank you, Mom.”

The older lady pulled you in for a hug, just as Doyoung called out to you, “Y/N, we gotta go.”

“You have my number, right?” Mrs Kim checked, and you nodded. “And keep that cookie recipe safe - three generations old, that is!”

“Of course,” you assured her, retreating to the taxi as Doyoung said his goodbyes to her.

“Come back soon, you two!”

“We will,” you and Doyoung promised her in unison.

Settled in the back of the taxi, you heaved a sigh. It had been a beautiful holiday period, but part of you was happy to be returning to the security of your own home. And an even bigger part of you was relieved to drop the act of being Doyoung’s partner.

Doyoung looked at you, a tired look in his eyes. “Y/N, I love you so much-”

“But we could never date,” you completed his statement, sensing its direction.

“Never,” agreed Doyoung with a laugh.

The two of you were much better off as friends. It would be a lie to say you’d never wondered what it would be like if your relationship ever happened to cross that boundary, but you were sated by the lesson you’d learned over the last week. Your relationship was platonic, and was destined to remain that way. That didn’t mean your relationship was any less significant than that of a romantic couple, though. Doyoung was your family. And you were beyond lucky to have found him.

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jonah-aesthetic · 4 years

Text

Gingerbread I Zach Herron

Zach X Reader

Plot: Y/N’s successful boyfriend invites her to his to bake Christmas Cookies.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: The last bit is a little rushed, this isn’t edited but I hope you enjoy. Merry Christmas my Lovelies!

Rating: 16+ (do you guys like the spicy scenes or no)

Moodboard

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

Inserting the brass key into the lock with a click, you pushed open your door with your shoulder. Entering your apartment on the three floor, you flicked on the lights and tossed you keys on the counter not caring where they landed.

The entire day was stressful, the corner store was out of your favourite creamer. Next you forgot you phone at home and had to run back. You were late to work cause your hair wasn’t participating. Not to mention that Asshole that cut you off earlier. You were annoyed and ready to throw on something comfy to watch Netflix for the rest of the day.

A yellow post-it note caught your eye, Remembering it not being on the fridge this morning. Plucking it off you read the words written upon it.

Hey Darling,

@ 10pm meet me at my place, we’re baking cookies. Don’t call me saying no cause I blocked you. Also there’s a gift in the fridge for you

xx - Z

Smiling you shook head, only Zach would make the effort of blocking you on everything so you had no other choice then to show up. You had the worst habit of denying his invitation when you weren't in the mood for it. But you’d end up regretting it five episodes in of your favourite tv show. Zach always managed to make your day better, ever since the day you meet him.

December 10th, 2019

The aroma of the coffee shop was filled with the intoxicating smell of coffee beans and Christmas music. Third in line all you could think about how the guy you were talking to you ghosted you. He was the first guy who found interest in you since the breakup with you ex- boyfriend. The bastard used that to his advantage just to get laid. Knowing you were fairly vulnerable and desperate to feel any connection again. What-

“What can I get you?” The leathery voice asked,

Without realising you moved up on the line, slightly embarrassed you wondered how many times he had to ask you. “Just a large coffee, three sugar, three cream.” You spoke with a small smile, what could you say. you had a sweet tooth and hated the bitter taste of black coffee.

“$3.78.” His bored tone was heard,

Nodding you reached into your purse for your wallet. searching you found two quarters, one dime, two nickles and no sign of your back card. Of course not you left it on the coffee table after buying a book online. Your dumb ass never put it back home.

“Fuck.” You say more to yourself, but you knew it was heard my others close by. Looking up you smiled apologetically at the barista. “Funny story-

“Here, I got it.” a smooth memorising voice cut you off, you watched as some guy reached over your shoulder to pay. Not just any guy with that perfect bone structure a fucking god, okay maybe that was too drastic, but you didn’t think it was.

“No, You don’t have to.” You spoke trying to push him away, but it was too late his card reached the machine chiming happily.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s my pleasure honestly.” His smile sucked the breath out of your lungs. His brown eyes were watching you, wondering what emotions were going through your pretty little head. Taking his hand out of the pocket of his slacks, reaching it towards you. “Zach”

“Y/N” You smiled back at him, connecting your right hand in his. They were warm to the touch and significantly larger then your delicate one. The thing that intrigued you most about him was his un-denying classic style he held. Wearing a beautiful button down, which had four different black and white patterns. Two buttons undone, just enough for his defined chest to peek through. Tucked into a pair of black striped slack as he wore black oxford shoes, pulling the entire look together. He was formal, yet he wasn’t and you found it fucking attractive.

After Zach requested his order and paid you both caught onto a conversation. Waiting for your drinks, he was funny and from what he was telling you talented too. Collecting your beverages he offered to take a seat with you, and you definitely weren't denying that offer. Talking with Zach you forgot all about Chase, or was it Chance? Who cared he wasn’t important anymore.

You had no idea how long you talked before the barista who served you earlier kicked you out. You switched numbers and he asked if he could walk you home. It was dark and you didn’t necessarily want to walk alone down town.

Sticking the note to the counter you hopped in the shower washing away the filth of the day, changed into leggings and a hoodie that once belonged to him. Locking up the apartment you got into your car and began driving to Zach’s house. Feeling giddy you forgot about the candy bar settling inside the fridge.

Arriving you walked through the front, glass doors sliding open like they always had for you. Reaching into the lobby you caught the eye of Julian who had been sitting behind the hostess’ desk. Green eyes staring he smiled, “Well if it ain’t little Mrs. Herron.” Greeting you with the nickname he gave you eight months ago. Nonetheless it still made your cheeks heat up at the thought of marrying the boy one day.

“Hello to you too Julian.” You reply, heading straight to the white elevator. Pressing the silver key card against the scanning pad. It was a gift given on the same night you planned on offering your apartment key to him. You both laughed at how connected your mindset really was.

Dinging the elevator opening speaking mechanically to you. “Good evening Y/N, and Happy Holidays.” Walking in you whispered a small thank you like you’ve always had. You still weren’t use to how luxurious the apartment-plex was, Only feels like yesterday was the first time you agreed to come over.

Letting the elevator engulf you with hushed Christmas music. There were no buttons embedded on the side. All the information it needed was packed into the chip within the card. All that was plastered on the wall was a screen, counting down the seconds it took to reach his pent house.

Zach’s success as an artist never bothered you, never made you feel less then him. He’s never once made you feel that way with him, especially when you two fought in the dead of the night. He’s even asked for you to move in, but you liked you place. Liked your own space.The luxury of his life could be a little much for you at times.

Dinging the elevator door exposed Zach’s apartment, lights were dimmed showing off the string of Christmas bulbs scattered about. Home Alone displaying on the t.v above the crackling fire place. Candles lit emitting of the scents of pine and peppermint mingling perfectly together. Christmas decor still intact from when you placed it with Zach’s help last week. Staring at the atmosphere your boyfriend created you wondered where he was.

“Zach?” Your voice travelled through the pent house like a maze. With no response you decided to look for him yourself. Entering his room you spotted pyjamas atop his silky black duvet, Another note rest a top.

Just put these on for me

xx -Z

Plucking the note you unfolded them, a white crop top and a pair of red pyjama bottoms. With all nine of Santa's reindeer’s names written in white all over them. You couldn’t help but smile like an idiot, he had a chill night planned for the both of you. Since he knew you weren’t one for big crowds, you were blessed to know he understood that.

Stripping in the middle of his room you changed into the Christmas pjs. Tossing your clothes into the corner of the room you ventured off to find him. Wasn’t too long before you spotted him in the kitchen, in matching Pyjamas dancing to the Christmas music. That right there was the love of your life and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Hey hot stuff!” you holler over the music, he stopped instantly at you voice, looking up he breaks into a stunning smile. “ I didn’t here the elevator.” His brown eyes a little apologetic, “You also didn’t here me call for you. Too busy lost into the Christmas feel.” you tease him.

“Here, I made you this.” Grabbing a red mug off the counter he stalks towards you. Towering over you small height, he places the hot coco in your hands. The hot beverage topped with whipped cream, cinnamon, and a candy cane melting into the side of it. You didn’t think your words could manage the gratitude you felt from him. Placing you unoccupied hand around his neck bringing him to your lips. You kissed him, a soft and slow one. He tasted like hot coco and candy canes.

“I could never get use to the way you kiss me in appreciation.” He says after you let go of his neck.

“I Don’t feel like my words are enough, not like the way you sing them.”

“Your words are everything to me, but I’d definitely prefer the kissing.” Zach winks, flirting with you like you two were still best friends. Walking backwards to the island he did a once over of your body, and a second time. His brown eyes travelled from head to toe drinking every inch of you in. You laughed and rolled your eyes at him, shaking your head a little. He always flirted with you, he never saw the reason to stop. Zach found you breathtakingly beautiful and wouldn’t let you forget it.

Drinking the glorious hot coco he made you, your eyes watched at he started prepping the ingredients. His moments were sly and simple yet attractive, you still couldn’t grasp the thought of him being yours. The man practically got on his knees till you said you’d be his girlfriend.

“So are you just going to stare at me the whole time or help me?” His eyes never lost focus as he caught you red handed admiring the way this hands moved. Your cheeks flushed, trying to hide yourself behind the cup of hot coco. The man could flirt with you but the moment he catches you staring you burn up like a tomato.

“I wasn’t.” You mumble into your beverage, hoping it hide the quiver in your voice. It failed.

Dark chuckle emits into the air, “I love the way I affect you.” Still trying to hide into your cup, you couldn’t see the way he prowled over to you. His brown eyes a little dark and his expression a little sharper. You gasped once his hands came in contact with your skin. Goosebumps arisen on your waist as he backed you up against the counter, lifting you atop it.

You let him pull the mug away as he looked into your eyes, seeing every piece of you. Separating your knees he slide between your legs. Pulling you closer against him, you locked your ankles around his waist. He held your chin in his hands you felt every muscle, every vein, and every bone in his left hand. Placing his thumb on your chin he pried back your bottom lip.

Your core throbbed between your legs feeling the sexual energy flowing in his blood. You were putty in his hands like you’ve always had been for him, only him. You released a whimper at the growing tension, wanting him to do something, anything. Moving closed to you, his mouth swerved past you lips and to your ear. Breathing against your neck sending shivered down you spine.

“I want to fuck you, but right now I want to make cookies with you.” He whispered softly and you could hear the teasing smiled on his lips. Just like that the burning in your core vanished like thin air and replaced with disappointment. That fucking brick, he’s done it multiple times before. yet you still haven’t learned.

“Okay lets go.” You grab his hand, hopped of the counter and pulled him to the kitchen island. Showing no weakness, no emotion, no trace of the way he affected with his prickery. Zach was bewildered by your response, nonetheless let you lead them.

There was no effort needed into making the dough as Zach had measured everything out correctly. While slinging along with the Christmas music you combined the wet ingredients and Zach did the dry. You’d never forget this moment with him, sneaking glances while you made gingerbread cookies with him.

Wasn’t too long before combining both mixing bowls into a larger one, placing that one under the mixer. Watching the dough as it mingles everything together creating a beautiful brown and soft cookie dough. It was mesmerising to watch honestly.

Distracted with the dough you couldn’t feel the tight hold of Zach’s eyes on you. Watching every muscle, the way your lips twitched with happiness. How your calm breathing expanded your chest. The motion of your fingers riming the brim of the mixing bowl. The way the light in the kitchen beamed off your hair, making the shade brighter.

“I love you.” His voice sounded hazy, lost in the thought of you.

Surprised you whipped your head in his direction, a giddy smile upon your lips. He leaned against the counter, sipping hot coco out of a forest green mug with ‘Merry’ written in white. You realised your mug and his had been a matching set, as yours had the word ‘Christmas.

“I love you too.” It was as if the words were yanked from your soul. Maybe it was in the moment or you knew that you truly loved this man with your whole heart. But you let yourself say it and you didn’t feel the need to apologies. Zach responded with an ear to ear smile, no words and you were thankful for that.

From there it didn’t take too long before the dough was plop on the island and rolled out. Gingerbread cookie cutters dug into it softly, before they were laid down on a cookie sheet. Then pushed inside the oven to be baked.

“Speaking of cookies, I got you a gift.” Looking into his doe brown eyes you held in a laugh. “How do those even connect?” You asked him, raising your eyebrow and crossing your arms accusingly at him.

“They don’t, But I got you one.” He pulls a small white box with a stunning red ribbon on top from behind his back . Small meant it was either a give card or jewellery, with him it always had been expensive. Which you were grateful for but you’d rather the small gift. Deep down you didn’t want to feel like a burden, Zach has done so much for you already.

“It’s not Christmas yet.” You managed to get out.

“Does it have to Christmas for me to get my girlfriend a gift?” He asked his voice smooth and sounding like home. Shaking your head gently you say “No, I guess not.” It would making you feel less guilty if it had been.

Taking the small box into your hands you watched his brown eyes light up. Starring at the little bow atop, you pulled the lid Revealing a gift that was neither what you assumed. Inside was a golden card sitting on green velvet, Not just any card, a card that was identical to his pent house key card. Grasping it into your grip you saw the small detailing. Matte background with a shinning luxurious car and letters that spelled your name.

“What’s this?” You ask having a good idea, but you wanted confirmation.

“Key card for the parking garage.” You could spy the hesitation and anxiety swimming in his eyes. You wondered how long he’s had this tucked away. Waiting for the exact right moment to ask you again.

“Yes.”

“Will you move in with me?” his words were forced from his lips like he was awaiting your denial. “I made my office into one for you, your own space. It’s all yours if you want it.” He continues not hearing your answer over his hammering heart. That explained why he kept it locked for the last two months, you never questioned it since this was his house.

“Yes” you smile, knowing you made the right choice for the both of you.”...but you didn’t have to do that Zach.” He engulfed you in a hug and you latched onto him like it was the last time you would see him. Holding you tight to his chest you could feel his lips kiss the crown of your head.

“Really?” His slow question vibrated against his chest where your head was laying. you moved to catch his eyes with yours, to make sure he heard you. “Yes, You’re my forever Zach.”

#zach herron #Zach herron imagines #wdw #wdw imagines #why don't we #why don't we imagines #wdw Christmas #why don't we christmas #jonah aesthetic #🐆

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gryffinwall · 4 years

Text

A Roadmap of Lucaya: Season 2

I’m back! Sorry this took so long, but I’m back at work (boo!) and that’s eating up a lot of my time. But since it’s a holiday today, I decided to finally get this up.

One quick note: There were SO MANY MOMENTS leading up to Texas that I decided to focus more on the important ones. For real, the original version of this post was uncomfortably long. I’ll summarize the smaller moments at the end of the post.

Without further ado, season 2!

Mr. Squirrels: This is where things start getting interesting! Lucas finally teases Maya back, and she’s upset about it (though more so at Riley than him; however, she’s not pleased with him). Lucas tells Eric that Maya teases him every day, Eric asks why, and he doesn’t answer. Zay straight up says he’d like to know why, but there’s no response from Lucas. Guys, these episodes are only 21, 22 minutes long; literally every minute is important. The fact they spent time on this exchange is very, very telling! Alarm bells should be going off for the audience right now.

Also, there’s this exchange, from Lucas to Maya: “You want to tangle with me?” “Not yet.” HMMM.

Rules: Here we’ve got what is inarguably the flirtiest moment between any two characters of the entire series. If you watched the shirt grab/street cred scene out of context, you’d assume these two characters were together, or at least each other’s love interests. It’s that obvious.

Also, Lucas runs off to Mayaville, leaving RileyTown in the dust.

New Teacher: Maya makes fun of Lucas for riding a sheep, which is some clever as hell foreshadowing. This is also the episode where Auggie’s reading Archie comments and asks if two girls who like the same boy can stay friends. More foreshadowing, even though it’s not strictly a Lucaya moment.

Yearbook: Lucas and Maya win Best Couple in the yearbook. The whole class ships them (they’re like fire!) and while Maya’s a little surprised by all of this, neither she nor Lucas react all that strongly to it. Suuuuuper interesting Lucas doesn’t reassure Riley about it.

Creativity: This is a huge one, guys. Maybe one of the biggest pre-Texas episodes for them.

Lucas is very passionate about not wanting to lose the arts program for Maya’s sake. He calls her a great artist, and says (and I quote): “Well, I don’t want [the arts program getting cut] for Maya. I want Maya to be happy.”

They hold each other’s gaze for so long that Zay, our #1 Lucaya stan, actually comments on it. Riley finally notices. Zay also reveals in this episode that Lucas referred to Maya as the Blonde Beauty. Maya is surprised and Lucas is suuuuper uncomfortable.

Cory & Topanga: This is a major signal of how Maya feels. We see a cute Corpanga flashback, where they high five and it’s obvious they both feel sparks.

After this flashback, Maya tries to chase Farkle, but Lucas intercepts and guides her back to her chair. Maya turns to look at him with a bewildered look on her face, but doesn’t say anything. To directly contrast this, Maya and Farkle later high five and she straight up says she doesn’t feel anything.

Rah Rah: A final pre-Texas flirt moment. While watching Riley try out for cheerleading, Lucas covers Maya’s eyes while leaning in and ducking behind her. Just in case we needed another clue that these two are more than okay with being physically close with each other.

Also, this scene takes place in the gym. It’s funny to contrast this to that scene in Flaws, where Maya jumps on his back and he tells her to get off. It also takes place in the gym. Not that important, but I wanted to point out how far along these two have come!

Anyway, and that’s it. We arrive at Texas after this episode, when the beans get spilled and everything’s out in the open. So, let’s put it all together and see what can gleam from it.

Early on in the season, we see massive, anvil-sized hints that Lucas lets Maya tease him because he likes her. Right after that, we’re given the biggest flirt moment of the series, and following that is foreshadowing of the triangle. None of this is a coincidence.

If that’s not enough, things continue to ramp up even more. Lucas is passionate about supporting Maya and announcing to the whole class he wants her to be happy, which is way more than he’s ever done for Riley, his supposed OTP. We see later on Maya realizing she feels something for Lucas when he touches her, and in case you missed the hint the first time, they circle back to it by contrasting her reaction to Farkle. Remember what I said about how literally every minute counts during a 21/22ish minute show? Yeah, this Lucaya moment was a big deal. Same thing with the prolonged eye contact in Creativity - they spent time on Zay commenting on it, Riley noticing it, and of course, on the moment itself. If you can spin that some other way, I’d love to hear it.

(It’s interesting to me that they signalled Lucas’s feelings first, earlier in the season, and Maya’s feelings much closer to the big reveal. I personally think the GM Cory & Topanga moment was sort of a final “hey everyone, in case you haven’t pieced it together yet, here you go” situation, but that’s just my take.)

Before I wrap this up, I wanted to say that it’s a shame Belief was post-Texas. It has some amazing stuff in it in terms of both Lucaya and Riarkle, so I think I’ll do a separate post on it. The core four’s dynamics this season were very interesting, with Belief being among the most telling. So that post, as well as some Riarkle stuff, is in the works!

As promised, the non-essential Lucaya moments of this season:

-Lucas being thrilled about Maya’s middle name being revealed (New World)

-Maya somehow knowing Lucas’s grandpa is called Pappy Joe (Pluto)

-Mr. Squirrels Goes to Washington: Maya calls Lucas by his name for once and says, somewhat sweetly, she’s always known his name. Lucas is pleased. She calls him Lucas a lot in this season.

-Semi-Formal: Lucas gets all flustered when he realizes he’s dancing with Maya

-RileyTown: Lucas is chosen to be on Maya’s side of the duel in case he needs to “contain” her. It’s another cute flirty moment. Maya is impressed by/attracted to Lucas’s strength.

#girl meets world #gmw #maya hart #lucas friar #lucaya #girl meets mr squirrels #girl meets rules #girl meets the new teacher #girl meets yearbook #girl meets creativity #girl meets cory & topanga #girl meets rah rah #girl meets texas #girl meets belief #girl meets the new world #girl meets pluto #girl meets mr squirrels goes to washington #girl meets semi formal #girl meets rileytown

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the-headbop-wraith · 4 years

Text

3 _ 40 _ The Land Time Forgot

Part 2

Before the Mystery Skulls could begin officially on their new assignment, they swung by headquarters office and met with security. Temporary passes went to each member, even the Mystery hound. Once the park was shut down fully and the cleaning crews made the final rounds, the crew took one assigned golf cart over to the Land that Time Forgot attraction. Arthur was issued the keys, and he was the one grumbling about coming out to do this gig.

“Just pretend we’ve been called off holiday for an emergency exorcism,” Lewis, once again, tried to appeal for optimism.

Arthur held the staff access open for his crew. The corridor extending within dark and though the emergency lamps buzzed active, only afforded so much light for them to navigate by. They had backpacks with essential supplies loaded up, flashlight torches among the essential gear, but for the time the trope worked with the shoddy light and let their eyes acclimate.

“I’m goin’ through with this, right?” Arthur snapped. “You go, I follow. Let me have my bitchin’ gripes, okay.”

Mystery set a paw on his knee and yipped.

Through the corridor Vivi led the way, with Mystery behind her, and Arthur with Lewis trailing. “We have maps,” she stated, “but we’ll take a patrol and get our orientation.” She swung around and pointed to Arthur. “Make sure walkies are on.”

Arthur placed a hand on his chest. “I, turn my walkie-talkie off? Never.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger together, and whispered to Lewis, “I turn it down super-duper, itty-bitty low.”

“Maybe don’t confess that.”

The entirety of the ride was inactive and still, like browsing through the clothing section of a store alone, while the mannequins judged your every move. Though the animatronic dinosaurs were not immediately visible, their watchful gaze was felt by the members of the Mystery crew. No draft skittered through the interior building, and despite the abundance of foliage, there was an unnatural ambiance in the dearth of nocturnal presence. Everything about the attraction became otherworldly, detached from an established norm prevalent in the former active day – wherein lights and sound ran rampant. The isolated world of the ride was by perception boundless, yet sterile and contained like an ordinary jelly jar fitted with twigs and a bit of soil to appease a small insect or lizard.

After making the rounds of the ride, the group placed themselves at the loading dock. The carts sat on their tracks within the suspended dividers, where guests could stand to climb in or out of the carts. The dull gleam of an emergency light draped its light over the collected members. Mystery leapt into one buggy and put his paws on the front handlebars.

Yap!

Arthur pulled out a folded page and slapped it to the hood of the buggy. “Okay, fifteen animatronics. All chillin’, save for one.”

“Allo,” Lewis presumed. “Won’t stop, can’t stop. Any idea where our dino-terror might be off to?” Vivi shifted at his side, digging around in her backpack.

“There’s no tellin’ how much truth there is to Mr. Klayton’s story.” She clicked on a torch, but quickly shut it off. “But he’ll likely respond to light or sound, and movement.”

“Like a real T-Rex,” Arthur groused.

“Precisely,” she whispered. “We’ll trust it responds strongly to light, over sound. So be very quiet. Arthur.”

Arthur glared. “Why’re you picking on me?”

Lewis poked his shoulder. “You scream. Very loud. Alerts our foes. Not good.”

Vivi came around to Arthur’s side and clicked on her light, though she kept a had capped to its side. “Our first order of business is determine how much control can be managed over this mechanical nuisance, wouldn’t you say?”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. Good start.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’ll depend on what’s bugging Allo, or what’s controlling him. That’ll give us a foundation for what we’re dealing with.”

Lewis whistled, and Mystery gave a soft yip. The dog came over to his group and waltzed around them. “Let’s get a move on then. Get this thing flushed out, and see what it’ll do.”

“I’d rather not,” Arthur whimpered.

Vivi pointed to him. “You and Lewis then. You brave boys, see what you can figure out about the deactivated animatronics.” She turned away, studying the abyss of the ride interior. “You wanna start from the exit or entrance?”

“Exit,” Lewis vouched. “You and Mystery then? What’ll you two get up to?” Arthur was already folding up the page, and began rummaging through his own backpack.

“We’ll see about coercing Allo out.” She adjusted her backpack and moved her hand a little off the flashlight. “Don’t worry about us. We won’t get into any excitement without permission.”

Lewis started after her. “But Vii, that’s dangerous!”

From a considerable distance, she called back, “Turn on your walkie! We’ll meet you back here!”

Lewis sighed, and reached around to his backpack for the volume switch. “En un buen comienzo, no es así.” He clicked the transmitter. “Viiiii….” Arthur grabbed him by the sleeve and began dragging him.

“We’ll meet them middle way on the track. The sooner we start, the quicker we can finish.” He spoke, hushed. “But make too much noise, that dino will zero in on us.”

Once released, Lewis hopped off the end of the loading slab and followed. “You have no escrúpulos about this?”

Arthur grumbled under his breath. “Let’s set the record straight, she saved your butt today. Don’t forget that.”

When they moved beyond the range of walls and certified fortifications to guide them toward the world outside, the attraction became more unsettling as the artificial jungle scenery enclosed and thickened around them. High and in the distance, a red sign blazed faithfully above the gloomy fronds towering, but it seemed a mocking landmark, enticing misguided travelers. A lure on an angler fish, while unknown perils lurking like jagged teeth ready to ensnare the gullible.

Trekking within the thicket was monotonous, given that Arthur examined each and all of the inactive puppets dotted throughout the foliage. This task was made possible due to an interesting and terrifying feature of the animatronics; a mirror in the eyes reflected light, similarly to genuine nocturnal animals. By setting the flashlight to their face, it illuminated the eyes and singled out where each machine was if within the appropriate range.

“I’m getting jumpscared trying to find the chill pacifists,” Arthur muttered. He held a clipboard in both hands, while Lewis held a torch. The two sifted among the plastic and cloth replicated plants, working closer to the giant carnotaurus. The animatronic gazed into the endless black, a sentinel. “That thing is a ship with teeth.”

The two stood beneath it, dwarfed.

“Can you imagine if this ONE was running around?” Lewis whispered, but a little too loud. He capped his flashlight. “The damage it’d do.”

Arthur stumbled forward, but Lewis caught him before he could fall. He grumbled about the uneven floor, where fabricated vegetation lay tattered. “Damn. Yeh. Another tally for human interference.” They made the remainder of the way to the column legs. “I haven’t seen all the entrances or exits, but it’d be more practical for them to access a machine with mobility security.” Lewis moved away from him, taking the light with him.

“Here’s another penny for your thoughts.” Lewis aimed the torch down on the carnotaurus feet and prodded the claws with his sneaker. “Allo shredded those fences and bit a poll in two.”

Arthur knelt, the clipboard balanced on his thigh. “Yeah, I was there. Well, sorta. What’re you getting’ at?”

“The wood was reduced to toothpicks. Toothpicks.” Lewis applied more pressure to the claw. “Klayton said the animatronics were made nerfed, so they wouldn’t damage each other if they get into a ‘brawl’.” He did air quotes, momentarily redirecting the slice of light through the canopy. “And to prevent them from tearing up the set. But all the animatronics we’ve looked at, have pliable rubber claws. The toes here, too.”

Arthur wrote onto the notebook pinned to his clipboard. “Good catch. So, our feathered nightmare can’t be a part of this attraction. The question now, where did he come from?”

“Or when he arri—” Arthur leapt up and capped a hand over his mouth.

“Shh!” He went into alert mode, spiked hair standing on end and eyes dissecting the area over-and-over. “The light,” he hissed. Lewis shut the light off. In the blanket of null and sensory deprivation, Arthur uttered, “Yu hear that?”

Lewis wouldn’t dare move, aside from rove through the daunting gloom with his limited visual capacity. However, he trusted Arthur’s perception, there was good reason to be alarmed. Also, Arthur was rarely wrong. For a short time, nothing trickled through to suggest a presence or any direct threat. Then, a faint but ambiguous rustling – it was impossible to determine the direction. He tugged Arthur’s hand down.

“Vivi? Mystery?” he squeaked. The sounds ceased. Not good. “Let’s go this way.” He pushed Arthur sideways. “I hope that thing doesn’t see in infrared.”

“Don’t jinx it— ARGH!” Arthur twisted around, his legs became tangled with Lewis’ ankles and the two collapsed. This incident was to their benefit, when the allosaur launched its snout through the shrubbery and snapped on empty air. “RETREAT!” He took off running, but more shredded, decorative texture in the terrain sent Arthur crashing in a stringy-bean heap.

Lewis rolled aside and plucked up a rock. “You stop that right now!” He brought the suspiciously light rock down on Allo’s head, which succeeded in destroying the fake plaster prop between his palms. The Allosaur seemed to blink off the assault. “I pictured that going a lot differently in my head….”

The allosaur swung its head back and screamed a prehistoric yowl. Lewis grabbed the flashlight he dropped and staggered backwards, mind churning through the benefits of turning tail and running versus trying to face the machine. Bottom line, he needed something to slow it down with. The team studied the machine, it’s many malfunctions, and how to locate the thing….

But forgot to devise the certified way to incapacitate it! And it was going to require more than dropping an anvil on its head.

With a piercing snarl the allosaur thrust its jaws out, cutting the distance between it and Lewis in mere seconds. Its teeth clamped down on soft material and it began thrashing, hissing, and snorting.

Arthur released the chunk of fake palm trunk he swung into Allo’s teeth and back peddled. “I’m all for solving this case lickety-split, but we won’t do much of that in traction.” He snatched away Lewis’ flashlight and searched the ground, until he spied the notebook with the clipboard.

“Valid point.” Lewis began after Arthur, springing over a cracked log. “Vivi!”

“Viv-vi!” Arthur hollered. “Where’s the road?” He jammed the notebook in the backpack and fitted it safely to his spine. One more shield between him and teeth!

Lewis bolted between two close standing trees. “Keep running, the track winds around here. We’ll intercept with them, we gotta! Vivi!”

A fearsome wail shot through the once silent theme ride. Despite the ground Arthur and Lewis covered, the noises of cracking timber and thumping footsteps propelled after them from the oppressive gloom. The thunder and rumble gained, growing intense and closing fast.

Arthur barely dodged a set of small standing dinosaurs, emotionless and motionless in the dark. “Help us, we’re gunna DAI!”

There was absolutely no way some hulking, mechanical nightmare could navigate the staged scenery without alerting her or her companion. The slightest movement issued rustling or crinkling, from the material used to fabricate soil and lush greenery, to the low hanging branches lumped by carefully sculpted cloth, and the canopy high above. Everything smelled artificial and tinged with dust, it reminded her of offices with the fake plants that hung around forever. Not the nice ones that looked real, but the very fake, obvious fake plants with plastic stems and ratty cloth soil with the green Styrofoam base. It was likely more impressive with the lights and sound ambiance of living things, even if artificial. She wished they had a chance to go through the ride and see what it was like.

“Hello!” Vivi called. “Rawr! Rawr-rawr!” Then, she paused and listened. Not an echo nor a snort. Would the animatronic snort? In all the excitement that day she didn’t see much of it in action, aside from its retreating tail end. “That’s ‘I love you’ in dinosaur!”

Bark. Mystery kept his tone low, while he slunk beneath some fern leaves.

“Machines need love too.” She swung her flashlight through the faux grove, a thick haze of dust swirled through the blue beam. “Echo!”

Mystery’s eyes glint as he rolled them. He trotted ahead, sniffing at the ground. It was spongy and soft, a layer of plant fiber set above sand or wood chips.

“Any leads?”

Woof. He toed at a fake collection of rocks – them being fake because they were glued together.

“Maybe the therma frost broke it for good.” She snuck around a tree trunk, the structure made of cement and rock hard. A lush green, petrified tree. “I hope not, I was looking forward to cracking this case.” The light she flashed through the depths of interwoven branches, and wiggled it swiftly like a strobe.

Mystery yipped.

“Therma, perma. What’s the differ—ENCE!” She froze, her light caught the burning glare of twin orbs suspended three meters above the floor. “Mystery….”

Mystery gave a noisy snort and inched forward, but wiht caution. His ears straight, eyes intense.

Vivi let the light trail down. “Hmm?” She swung the light down and up. “Oh, that one’s way too big.”

Borf. Mystery trotted the remainder of the way, with Vivi in tow.

“That looks like a mini-Rex. Baby T-Rex?” she posed. She went up and touched the underside of the belly. “The eyes glow. That’s nice to know.” She continued prodding the mini-Rex. “Squishy.”

Mystery yapped. When she turned a light on him, the hound nodded aside and resumed his trek.

“You gotta admit, they are cool. For cheesy attractions.” Vivi whistled, as loudly as she could muster. Sometimes she would give a hoop, or a holler. “Aside from the technicians, no one else is probably allowed this close to them. Except for Allo nuisance, he does his own thing.” She took a deep breath and gave her loudest yell yet.

Mystery stopped in his tracks and gave her the widest-eyed stare.

Vivi aimed the torch through the brush, listening. “Where could it be? We don’t have the time to search half the park this night.”

A few yards away, Mystery padded up a decorative slanted log and perched at the peak. Nothing to the right, nothing to the left. Yip! He leapt off and landed beside Vivi. He grumbled under his breath and barked.

“Let’s wait ‘til we meet up with them. We might cross paths on the way there.” It would be a while before they returned to the entrance of the ride, but somewhere they had to cross paths with the Allosaur. That is, if the machine was still within the attraction, or within sensory range to her dino-summons. She was beginning to doubt it remained inside the attraction, if like Mr. Klayton indicated, it was becoming more mobile. That was going to be a problem.

“If we can’t draw it out,” she began, “we can’t devise a way to coax it, or restrain it. It shredded a fence just fine, but maybe we can tangle it up in a good net?”

Yarf.

“Cliché. But effective.” A sound from the rear startled her. She whipped around with the flashlight, holding steady and listening. It wasn’t a sound, was it? The fake foliage settling as they passed, nothing ominous or pursuing. “A snare?” She flashed the light over the tree branches. “Hmm. But what sort of cable and how much tension?”

Mystery whined.

“I want to get with Arthur on that.” She turned her light and recoiled! An ominous and hulking shape crouched behind a flowering palm plant. A stegosaur, or something. It stood on four short, but column legs. “I don’t trust the owner, or Ms. Attorney Lady. But I wanna catch him in a lie, and try getting a read if he’s into something shady or….”

The walkie-talkie crackled against her backpack, squealing with a surge of static and muffled yammering, all of what might’ve been voices.

“Or if he’s not very bright,” she ended, in sigh. She unclipped the communicator and snapped the send button. “Lewis! That you?”

“AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Lewis.” She snapped the device away when a roar ripped through.

Mystery sat down and gave his ear a well-deserved scratch.

“Talk to me, boys! What’s happened?” She picked up with a run, the beam of her torch bounded across the uneven terrain and across elephant ear leaves. “I think I know what’s going on, but are you okay?” Mystery caught up at her side, his collar rattling in rapid succession with his zipping stride.

In the background and distant, Arthur came through chattering up a panicked storm, “It found us! We’re bein’ chased— WeWereSoFuckingCarefulThisIsUtterBullShit!”

“Language Arthur!”

“My gods, Lewis! We’re gunna DAI!” The communicator gave a dramatic, electrical wail as Vivi toggled the relay switch.

“Okay! Okay! We’re on our way, don’t panic!”

Bark!

“Who’s panicking?” Arthur wailed. “We’re being chased! We’re so lost, and we’re being chased!”

Lewis hollered through, loud and clear, “Where are you!”

“Not at the entrance.” One of the animatronics was in her path, once again freaking her out – what with all the noises churning through the communicator. “Find your way to the backside! I don’t know where we are! Can you make it to the back? This place is a box, we can follow along the wall—”

A response was not forthcoming, not for her. Lewis gasped, speech labored, “Watch out!” Following came snippets of silence, with patches of Arthur screaming and the Allosaur shrieking. Some sort of distinctive weight thumped, almost vibrating the walkie-talkie in her palm. There was some cussing in there and harsh scuffling. The screech of the Dinosaur became intense, until it was right there in the communicator.

“What’s happening?” Vivi halted in her tracks and listened through the device, terse and powerless.

Mystery shot by, his barks fading as he tore through the pseudo jungle. Vivi resumed in a job, leaping logs and some sort of small animal puppet. The whole time, the communicator was treacherous and silent.

“Hang in there! Mystery and I got your trail!” When she snapped her finger off the transmitter, Arthur’s voice punched through:

“This was a bad idea! I told you guys, didn’t I say? I called it! One Hundred Percent CALLED IT! I’m a fucking seer! AYYYEEEEEE!”

RAAARRR!

“Just shut up and run!” Lewis snarled.

How far the Allosaur was behind them, this was hard to say. It followed with intense, single-minded focus, pronouncing the diminishing stretch by cavernous bellows. The duo was in some horrendous video game level with an instant game over, snapping at their heels.

The jittering beams of their flashlight flickered across the thick fibrous carpet, revealing snags and gleaming across sinister disasters hidden among the shadows. Though, neither Arthur or Lewis paid much mind to the ground beneath them – except to save them from colliding with a low branch – focus was averted high above, to the bright mocking glare of the EXIT sign. It was a beacon in the night, the easiest recognizable landmark in the abyss of the hellish attraction.

“Hang in there! Mystery and I got your trail!” crackled through the radio Lewis gripped, the plastic creaked under intense pressure.

He toggled the transmitter, “THANK YOU!” He was having a hard time keeping up with Arthur, despite inspiration being super motivating.

The Allosaur gave a peeling shriek, the noise of it vibrating in Lewis’ ears, growing louder and more deafening. It was right at his backside.

Lewis scrapped between two narrow trees, nearly getting wedged in the narrow space. A rebounding Thunk! echoed, and the Allosaur hissed. But the sound of it did drift away. However, he did not stop to look or spare a thought, he recovered his speed and tried to catch up with Arthur. He pinpointed him by the sporadic patches of yellow light flittering through the shrubs, and managed to catch his stride.

“Pepper!” he panted.

“Kingsman!” Lewis vaulted over a rock.

“Nice day at the office!”

“Marvelous! Absolutamente asombroso!”

“Technically, it’s nighttime.”

Lewis exhaled, “True!”

A thundering screech crashed through the plastic flora somewhere to the left. The Allosaur was gaining, due to the fact it was not a living animal. On the other hand, Lewis and Arthur ran on fumes.

“The Exit, there should be a door!” Lewis huffed. The red beacon was neigh ninety degrees airborne, a few more meters they should come to the boarders of the building.

The line of his light did hit a sheer and solid surface, which by the explanation of his light revealed a rugged boarder of stone standing at about ten or eleven feet. Well above his height clearance. But there was no clean cut wall, no slate, and no irrefutable explanation of exit. Nothing but a cliff face.

Being more spry and agile, Arthur flew up the wall like a squirrel. He chucked his light up, his hands caught grips with practiced ease and with a small bit of leverage propelled himself skyward.

That looked easy! Lewis jammed the flashlight between his teeth and felt for a handhold. His fingers easily found a knot, he braced his foot and—

Fell backwards. With a hunk of cheap plaster gripped in his hands.

“Lewis!” Arthur set his light down on his teammate, and hissed, “What the FACK?! Get up here!”

Lewis bit down on his flashlight and scrambled to his feet. From his safe perch, Arthur held the light steady while Lewis took another fixture of the coarse wall and shoved his toes into niche. He managed to ease himself up a foot or so, but applying too much weight and the crappy Styrofoam snapped. The outer layer was stiff and scrapped his knuckles when he came down. Lewis looked up at Arthur and they locked eyes.

“AAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The Allosaur shrieked. Arthur turned his light up, catching the eye sheen of the animatronic as it barreled through the fake jungle. “Oh my god! Um, Don’t move! I’ll get help!”

Lewis spat out the flashlight. “Arthur?” The Allosaur expelled another echoing howl. He turned, angling his light through the thicket. “Arthur!” The soft yellow light that drenched him, was now gone. Lewis had never felt so alone, so utterly betrayed. “ARTHUR!”

The thundering parade of the Allosaur hurtled toward his focal point, everywhere it went the plants rustled and crashed. It snarled, the sounds of its violent procession closing in on him. It must have infrared vision!

Lewis pressed his back against the cold fake rock. The Allosaur bounded through the thicket, the frayed ends of his light brushed against its snout. It closed in with terrible swiftness, weaving around artificial plants, but never once detracting for more than a millisecond. Lewis began inching away, if he timed it right, it might just shatter its CPU. But his timing had to be impeccable.

A blissful light drenched his shoulders, along with a stringy long rope thing. Likely a vine prop. The tale end of Arthur’s hoot, “—Tight!” Came through, and Lewis had enough foresight to piece together the full phrase. Without delay he dropped his flashlight and grabbed the rope.

The Allosaur barreled forward, chewing through the remaining few feet, teeth glittering in the spotlight Arthur cast. Lewis braced himself, he wasn’t sure what for. A Tarzan themed holler peeled from above high, and Lewis shot up at rocket speed. The angle of the line zipped him across the upper edge of the plaster cliff face. He cleared it but barely, his jeans scrapped eliciting a sharp yelp. Out somewhere across the open air, the Tarzan yowl waned in its descent.

Then Arthur really started screaming.

Lewis had to release the vine thing, or he would have gotten skinned on the concrete surface of the floor he was on. He crawled to the edge, and peering down tried to make sense of the swaying murk below. A succession of snarling poured forth of the large, black heap; it thrashed and swept into a stray flash of the yellow beam Arthur held. He thought this was clear indication where Arthur wound up, but the light cut off. He heaved off his backpack and dug through the folders and tools, until his palms clasped the large cylinder camping lamp.

“I did NOT THINK THIS THROUGH!”

He clicked the light on and turned it down. There was Arthur, running around the erratic animatronic. The dinosaur roved in circles, shaking and snapping, not fully invested in chasing the yellow blur. After affording a brief examination, he recognized the actual issue. The other end of the rope was snagged between its teeth, and the animatronic was fighting to cut it free. The line was tangled somewhere, this provided by how every time the Allosaur went to turn on Arthur, it’s head snapped sideways.

“Arthur!” he hooted. “ArthurArthurArthurArthur!” He dashed along the edge of the cliff flailing the flashlight around. “Get over here ya dweeb!”

The rope at last snapped with a grueling CRACK! and the Allosaur swept its snout towards the tiptoeing figure. A peeling shriek, something like an EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE shot out of Arthur as he did a one-eighty and charged out into the jungle thicket.

A rumbling snarl thundered out as the Allosaur resumed its chase, it’s tail flashing out of sight within the shrubbery.

Lewis stamped his foot. “Damnit!”

Meanwhile, Arthur was running for his life. Several times he nearly stumbled or lost his footing. Though he had the advantage of choosing a tight pathway difficult for Allo to pursue, the animatronic was not distracted by a second target. It was able to lay full focus on him, and track him with crazed efficiency. Or frenzy. He managed to catch his second wind in the meager intermission, but his muscles were giving out. Running on the spongey floor was strenuous, and the Allosaur’s grating call was closing in. If it got a clean opening, it would have its jaws on his neck.

There! He took a sharp right, in the line of sight of Allo. The dinosaur lunged, but Arthur already tucked into a stunt roll. Its feet trounced the earth right behind his shoulders, but he kept going until he was back on his feet. At no more than two meters there was some shadow, and bent – what he guessed would be roots – the trees weren’t real. But that black, unmistakable, hollowed space – there was no mistake on what that was. He’d stake his life on it, as he was about to.

The roots were concrete, hard as stone, bent and arched around a gouged hollow beneath the fake tree. Arthur clambered through the wedge, with the Allosaur not more than a breath behind his feet. His immediate thought was, ‘How deep is this!’ He smacked his flashlight against the wall and the light doused, the space around him blacked out. His hands prodded the walls seeking space or drafts, he jammed his elbows and shoulders at every inch, pushing further away from the hissing hydraulics of the Allosaur as it snapped and worked its way after him.

He felt the walls and ceiling, using his legs to kick for any missed crease that might afford an exit. There was nothing but concrete on all sides – left, right, up, and down – solid, unyielding.

“SHIT!”

The Allosaur snapped its jaws inches from his knee. “Fuck you!” Arthur tried kicking its snout, however ineffective it was. The machine twisted its neck and squeezed in further, the servos in its jaws whirling. It wouldn’t help, even if he wasn’t exhausted. He had nowhere to go—

Something snagged his collar and yanked him upward. He gave a little sob.

“Gotcha! I got ya Artie!” Lewis heaved him out of the hollow between the knotted roots, and dropped him on the ground. “You okay?” He adjusted the camping light, checking Arthur over, making sure he was in one piece.

“Yes, fuck! That was too close!” Arthur gave his own body a full pat down. All there, except for the gash in his vest where he fell earlier. All the stuffing on that side fell out. “It almost turned me into bubblegum!” He got onto his feet and paced a bit, before stopping to hunch over and set his palms to his knees. He just needed to breathe a moment.

“Take it easy now, you’re fine.” Arthur took a noisy breath and gargled. “Smooth, climbing into that… what is this? A burrow?” Lewis turned his light onto the opening, where he hauled Arthur out.

“I don’t give a toot what it is.” Arthur rounded the side of the tree, but cautiously. The Allosaur was still being raucous, snarling and grunting. It sounded like they had some time to catch their breath. “Probably for those lil dinosaur thingies. Are they chickens? The small nuggets.”

Lewis quirked his brow and shined the light across his face. “Raptors?”

“Chicken tenders,” Arthur insisted. Lewis came over with the light and stood beside him, observing as the Allosaur persisted with its struggles. And failed to free itself.

“It’s… not getting loose, huh? It’s stuck.” He shined the light lower, against the backside and shoulders of the unruly thing. It was surreal, watching the rubber suit cover on the dinos backside jiggle, but not ripple like the way muscles should. As muscles would, if on a real animal. For most of the night they were running from this thing, and it felt very real, like a hunting predator. Not some deranged AI, or whatever went off with it. Nonetheless dangerous, but creepy and sinister.

“Y’know what,” Lewis went on, stunned, “I think you caught it!”

Arthur gasped. “NO!” He leaned a little closer, but wouldn’t get too close. “No! Really? I did it? I did it! The case is over!” He throws his arms up. “WHOO! I am a mastermind!”

“Don’t get too hyped,” Lewis warned. “We caught it, but we still don’t know what’s up with it, or if someone is controlling it.”

“CASE CLOSED!” Arthur hooted. “Our contract said we have only gotta catch it! Done deal!”

Lewis chuckled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Por el amor de…” he sighed. “Y’know, lemme be honest, I thought you bailed back there. On that cliff.”

Arthur dropped his arms and gave Lewis a befuddled stare. He winced when Lewis shined the light his way. “What! What kind of loser do you take me for? Abandoning my best bro. Get outta here.” Lewis laughed.

“It was pretty stupid.” He turned the light back onto the Allo. “I have a habit of overestimating myself, getting in over my head. You guys… always come back, and keep me outta trouble.”

Arthur shrugged. “Eh, we’re even now. Right?”

“Right.” He held up his fist. Arthur smirked, and returned the fist bump.

The Allosaur gave a grating wail, gears grind in its neck as the body twisted, the rear legs shoved at the padded terrain. At the cement roots, they crackled and squealed. With another shriek, the Allosaur ripped its shoulders free – a flint of light ignited off the Allosaur’s neck.

“Shit!” Lewis backed up, and pulled Arthur with him.

“Fuck a balloon!”

The Allosaur hauled its arms and neck free, the cement barrier that once caged it snapped apart. Lewis swung his light on the dinosaur, the beam momentarily illuminated a space on its arm torn open, revealing foam and inner padding. It was fleeting, and before Arthur or Lewis could react to what would happen next, the dinosaur veered aside and charged off. Disappearing into the fake foliage of the eerily silent jungle. The thundering footfalls and rustling shrubbery diluted after seconds, until once more silence tormented the fabricated fauna sprawling abundant.

Arthur dropped, but Lewis caught him before he collapsed entirely. The taller figure held onto his friend, and used his other arm to pat his back. Arthur sniffled and shuddered.

“There-there. We knew it was way too easy.”

“We never get a freebee!”

Off somewhere, echoing yaps rebounded through the area. Lewis gave a holler, and reached down to take up the camping lamp. “Over here!” He swung the light around, flashing the vibrant rosy beam through the clutter of petri-timber. “We’re okay!”

“No we’re not!”

Lewis sighed. “We’re in one piece!”

“Yeah!”

Soon, the panting rasp of a dog threaded its way towards the two. Once Lewis was able to interpret the direction, he hauled Arthur with him toward his teammates. “Vivi?”

“Yeppers!” she called. She was not far from the dogy gasping. “You got away from it?” The swaying blue beam preceded the clopping footfalls as she raced to them, out of breath and hair frazzled. “What happened? You’re both okay?” Upon seeing Arthur hanging off Lewis, she handed her flashlight off to Mystery and knelt before him.

“He’s in a little shock.”

Arthur whimpered, “It got away.” Vivi scrunched up her face.

“That’s… not something I expected to hear from you.”

Arthur brought his hands to his head. “No! We managed to trap it—”

Vivi turned her eyes up to Lewis. “You caught it!”

“Eh,” Lewis shrugged. “Isn’t that past-tense?” He moved down the slope, guiding the path with his lamp. “Temporarily snared.”

Vivi groaned, “I miss all the fun stuff!” Arthur balked.

The group examined over the area, inside the warren and the arched cement tree roots, decorative fantasy décor for the ride-goers. Vivi took interest in the snapped root ends, where the rebar stuck out, warped and shattered.

Vivi poked the corrupt end of rebar. “Can we decide how much gauge of cable to use, when we need to catch it?”

Arthur stood nearby, gazing off into the thicket with Lewis’ lamp flittering through the grove. “Sure. I don’t think it’ll have that much tensile strength in its hydraulics.” He perked his lips and nodded his head. “But we’ll work on how to keep it from tearing loose later. We kinda fucked up figurin’ how we’ll get it into the trap, though.”

Lewis was crouched, giving Mystery’s shoulders a rub while the dog laid on the floor resting. “True. But we can vouch that Mr. Allo is on someone’s payroll.” He perked, and stood. “Did you see, Art? It did rip its skin cover, on its arm.”

Arthur didn’t answer immediately, vouching to listen and study the perimeter. “We can try shorting it, given if the interior wiring isn’t insulated. That’s no guarantee.” He patted his own arm. “Insulation takes time to incorporate, and costs extra. It would also bulk out the equipment. So, we can think of that as an alternative, if getting it to behave doesn’t work.”

Vivi stretched and gave a yawn. “Okay, we have some intel to work with. It seems like time to call it a night, sound good?”

“You won’t hear a complaint from me,” Arthur chimed. “Stick a fork in me.” He was already walking away, with Mystery hurrying after. Lewis grabbed up his backpack and followed.

“The Allo might need to recharge,” Lewis mentioned. He took Vivi’s hand, and helped her up a loose fitted slope. “Each animatronic has a battery life for a few days, but we don’t know how long our friend has been running amuck. That might be the reason it took off.”

Vivi adjusted the light between her hands. “We’ll snoop around the park in the morning, try and find where it went and build our game plan. Did you guys hear me, I was making a lot of noise. That thing didn’t give a truck about Mystery or me.”

Ruff!

“I didn’t hear ya, but I’ll take your word for it” Lewis affirmed. “Someone has access to the Allo controls.”

Vivi stroked her chin. “Someone that knows we’re investigating the park.”

Together, Lewis and Vivi did a dramatic, “Hmm….” Simultaneously.

Arthur yawned and rubbed his face. “Can you guys draw up accusations tomorrow? After we’ve slept on it.”

Woof.

Together, the Mystery Skulls navigated their way through the fabricated jungle, trading stories on the encounter with the Allosaur and their escape. At one point Arthur stopped midsentence and in his tracks, then turned the camping lamp around the area they were currently within.

“Where the fuck are we?”

#mystery skulls #Alive!Lewis #msa #mystery skulls fanfic #mystery skulls fanfiction #fanfiction #msa fanfic #msa fanfiction #msa arthur #msa vivi #msa mystery #mystery skulls ghost #mystery skulls animated

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

Note

Thanks for playing along with my Christmas and Valentines HCs!

Fancy telling us about Christmas with Dr. Ramsey and Valentines with Dr Lahela? 😂

Anon, I love you so so so so so much!

Thank you for indulging me and letting me ramble about my favorite beans 😘💕

Ethan is first and Bryce is below the cut!

A Very Ethan x MC (Becca) OHSY Christmas

As stated in my Bryce Christmas post, MC sees her family the weekend before Christmas and ends up working Christmas Eve and Boxing Day.

Her going away was a bit awkward between them, neither really knowing if they were in a place for him to join. They hadn’t talked about what their relationship actually is and what it means - just that they care about one another deeply. Neither even brought up the idea of him meeting the rest of her family. (He’d already met her mom during the incident. See: Leakage Series for more on that.)

So she went home and Ethan continued to work himself raw. His mission to solve the medical issues of every single person in Boston.

They texted every day and she even sent him photos of her with her one-year old nephew in a elf onesie.

Ethan made a terrible joke about it and refused to acknowledge her matching sweater.

On Christmas Eve, they both worked 18 hours.

For a little reprieve, they were eating cafeteria sandwiches and finishing off some paperwork that needed to be transferred.

Ethan broke the comfortable silence: “What’re you doing tomorrow?” “Tomorrow as in Christmas?” “Yes.” “I thought you didn't celebrate any holidays.” “I don’t. But Dad is coming down and wants to spend some time with…”

He didn’t need to finish that sentence, the vulnerable hesitation in his eyes told her all she needed to know.

He didn’t even have to ask before she was agreeing to accompany the Ramsey men to Louise’s rehab center.

Normally, Ethan would work the entire holiday and see his father the 27th and 28th. But with Louise around, Alan had a special request Ethan make time for family.

She asked him about his feelings on it and he tried to evade the questions. Louise was still such a sore subject for him, she knows that, but it’s better for him to talk it out than bottle it up. But she knows Ethan. He’ll tell her eventually.

They head to MCs apartment after work to pick up a few things. The little bits of belongings she kept at Ethan’s she deemed were too casual for their first holiday together.

Ethan and MC were awake by 7AM, awaiting Alan’s arrival.

Ethan was so nervous he made enough French toast and eggs to feed a small army. When asked about his feelings, Ethan brushed her concerns off. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he was more nervous about seeing Louise or finally giving Naveen and Alan the satisfaction in knowing they were right about him and MC.

The three of them got to the rehab by noon, just in time for family luncheon. Ethan dawdled outside, shooing MC and Alan to just go inside he’ll be there in a minute. He’s only been back here once before to get a progress report from her doctors, he didn’t dare see Louise.

MC stayed with him, offering reassurances. The two having a heartfelt moment.

Eventually they made their way inside. Louise and Alan sat at a covered table in the holiday decorated dining room, him sitting at her right. They looked familiar, but anyone could see that Alan was the more guarded one of the two.

Louise was surprised to see MC. She wanted a day with her family. She wanted to make up for lost time. And MC being there was a surefire way to remind her of all the time that had passed.

Ethan sat across from Louise leaving MC to sit at her left. He pulled MC’s chair closer to him so she was practically perched at the corner.

They held hands underneath the table the entire lunch. MC giving him all the strength she had saved up.

Alan told stories, Louise asked questions and MC picked up the slack when Ethan refused to acknowledge his mother.

They returned to Boston around 4:30PM, just in time to meet with the caterers Ethan ordered. Both Alan and MC rolled their eyes at the fancy spread but conceded that after the rehab visit none of them were particularly in the mood to slave over the stove.

Naveen arrived and dinner was served at 6PM.

The small little family told stories, embarrassed Ethan at every turn, and had a lovely time.

Naveen headed home, with a note that they should make these dinners a more frequent affair. Alan extended the offer for MC to sleep over, though deep down everyone knew that was her intention. She’d never leave Ethan unless she had to.

A Bryce x MC (Becca) OHSY Valentines Day

Bryce had never had someone he was this serious about before. He wanted to pull out all the stops and be Mr. Romantic for MC. If they were to go their separate ways in a few months, everything needed to show her just how much he cares about her.

Becca felt the exact same way.

They hadn’t spoken about what it would be like if there took residencies elsewhere. Neither of them wanted to confront the fact. MC was in deep denial, tbh. Bryce was kinda thankful for that, it means they can put off the heartbreak.

They both had an understanding that finishing their residencies was their #1 priority. They’d take things as they come.

Bryce made reservations at Don Luigi’s because he knows just how much MC loves their chicken parm and cannoli’s.

But there were two problems with that plan.

1. He forgot to tell MC about the plan and dinner reservation time.

2. His surgery ran two hours over due to complications and he was too wrapped up in making sure the patient lived to ask someone to tell MC he’d be late.

So Becca being Becca made her own plan. She went to Duane Reade and picked up the most gaudy looking card and packaged candies she could find. She even picked up one of those stupid singing Lovebugs.

She used the key Keiki sneakily slipped her to let herself into Bryce’s apartment. MC missed the little rascal but she was thankful to have the apartment for the two of them once again.

Becca was not a fan of seafood, and she knows it’s something Bryce loves and reminds him of growing up on the island. So she compromised.

She made a veggie filled butternut squash risotto, and mixed shrimp in his. She picked up friend calamari from Don Luigi’s as a appetizer, and found something as close to a Hula Pie that she could find.

She set the table with candles and turned the lights off, letting the dim glow of the candles and tikki themed string lights she purchased light up the open planned living space. She even bought little coconut shaped glasses and filled it with their favorite mixed drink.

She carefully planned everything so that dinner was nearly finished when he should arrive home. With what she thought was 15 minutes to spare, she changed into her outfit - new lingerie hiding under a burgundy red dress.

Time passed and passed and she kept checking her phone. Wondering where he was and if she got the plans wrong.

She called. And texted. And called again. And texted again. And then she messaged the group chat. And Sienna called her. With the phone to her ear, the tiny resident shuffled to the OR wing and checked Bryce’s ROTA. A nurse informed them that there was an emergency.

The bones in her lingerie began to dig and itch with every passing minute. When she bought the thing MC wasn’t planning on being in it for longer than an hour. If she was being honest, she planned to be out of it before the entrée.

She tried to get out of it but there were way too many hooks in the back, her arms weren’t flexible enough to contort that way. She laid on the couch, drank her drink and watched the first random show she could find on Netflix.

One hour passed and she put the food back in the oven to keep warm.

Two hours passed and she could not stand this outfit anymore. She discarded the dress and tried to pull the corset over her head.

She got it halfway over her head when the slender lower part was too tight to pass over her breasts.

The door clicked open.

Bryce walked in to see a half naked Becca, arms straight up in the air, wrists flailing to try and pull the bodice up, the perfect sight of her midriff and nearly transparent thong with suspenders and burgundy stockings.

“What did I do to deserve such a wonderful greeting?” “Don’t just stand there! Help me out of this death trap!”

Bryce didn’t need any further invitation. His expert hands were on her immediately. Working through the clasps with swift precision.

When she was free he took in her flushed face and gave her the sweetest kiss on the nose.

“You’re late.” “I’m sorry.”

Just one look at him and he was forgiven. His effervescent eyes were oh so easy to forgive.

MC rattled off the meal she made as she heated it up and Bryce told her of the plans he forgot he made. They joked about how lucky they were to have one another. He looked around at the apartment and the theme she planned just for him because she knows he misses home.

He responded earnestly before placing a kiss to her temple, “Home is here, and anywhere with you.”

I wrote too much again, didn’t I? 😅

#open heart #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #bryce lahela #bryce x mc #open heart hc #hc #asked #Anonymous

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greenhatsinthesky · 4 years

Text

lockdown film no. 28 - Mr. Bean’s Holiday (2007) dir. Steve Bendelack

24/04/2020

because I am An Adult, this was the film that me and my parents decided to watch for my birthday this year. It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening given I hadn’t seen it in several years and we got a takeaway from the best pizza place around and my dad bought wildly overpriced vegan ben and Jerrys

- when mr bean wins the raffle its actually very heartwarming how happy everyone is for him

- THE TRAIN TRANSITION HOLY HELL

- im absolutely in love with all the the video camera footage they use

- “un café?” “oui” “du sucre?” “non” “you speak very good French” “gracias”

- last year for a film project we had to make a short film with only 20 words of dialogue and this is actually a great example of how to do it because he never really uses words its mainly just sounds

- the soundtrack in this is absolutely boss no lie

- i went on holiday with my friends last year to an island that was so small you could walk around the whole thing at least five times in a day, and also had basically no buildings. And so from there the concept of ‘mr beaning it’ was born, where you pick where you want to go and walk in a straight line in that direction

- the fact that this was the first film I saw Willem Dafoe in is hilarious to me because he’s such a serious actor and then there’s this. I saw this, Spiderman and then Mississippi burning and man that really threw me off

- ties and vending machines are a health risk

- richard curtis worked on this ??

- the plateau de fruits de mer scene absolutely sent my entire family it is just the peak of comedy. Me and my mum saw the film for the first time in a cinema when I was about eight and it just gets us every time

- THE OYSTER WHEN IT MOVES

- apparently the guy who plays the waiter in that scene is a very celebrated actor in France and he’s done loads of serious stuff so this is another kind of Willem dafoe situation it seems

- the boy playing Stepan was Viktor in the series years and years and when I say that absolutely blew my mind when I found out

- the scene where Stepan copies mr bean and they’re crossing their legs is so cute and a bit of nice light humour before the real shit kicks in

- I know it wouldn’t work if they could call the dad straight away but the two numbers at the end are clearly 97

- THE HOTEL WORKER WITH THE PHONE WHAT PAIN THEY WERE SO CLOSE

- ohhhhhh the market scene. whoever came up with the idea for that should get an Oscar

- mans got some strong legs holding a squat for the whole of rondo alla turca

- i think the opera scene in the market (i don’t know the name of the piece) is one of the funniest scenes in the whole film if not in a lot of films. Its absolute class and I love how mr bean, who doesn’t speak a full sentence for the majority of the film all of a sudden knows every word to an Italian opera. Also the scene that they construct and play out is actually very emotional and they both end up dead but its still funny ?

- stepan really just yeeted the camera at a total stranger now that is some faith in humanity right there

- I wanna grab onto a car while riding someone else’s bike in the middle of the French countryside and go zOOM past the tour de France

- the chickens cluck in tune with the song and I personally am a huge fan of that

- I think rowan atkinsons face is made of rubber or something

- he goes into that little hut and the vehicles gradually get more and more absurd like tHIS IS HOW YOU DO COMEDY

- I don’t think they went into how fucking weird it would be to fall asleep and wake up under a cart in a French village that turns out to be under siege by nazis

- also, I know Carson Clay is meant to be a parody of a Hollywood director, but I just want to know what happens at the end of the advert. Does sabine end the war and appease the nazis with yoghurt?

- Une minuscule explosion?

- Sabine was super chill about them using her phone to call basically everyone in France

- the car scene with the matches has absolutely gone down in history. Literally every time were driving at night someone will mention that scene

- the French translator at Cannes was hilarious like clay said his bit, looked over at the guy, the guy sort of cringes (?) and goes “he says it is a very good film”

- all the scenes we see from playback time get me every time and I’m pretty sure its one of my dads favourite scenes

- nothingnothing nothing nothing n o t h i n g

- OHHHH when the fam gets back together ! So wholesome!

- la mer. what a tune, and all the things lining up so he can just walk straight down to the sea I lOVE

- oh man what a good film

- its just a great comfort film and its so funny but its really warm as well and its not cheesy but its really funny and I love it

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whumphoarder · 5 years

Text

Beanimia

Summary: While Peter is visiting Tony and Morgan at the lake house for a long weekend, the six-year-old manages to accidentally break his nose. Unfortunately, Spider-Man's super-healing decides to go on holiday the same weekend that he does.

Word count: 3,877

Genre: Fluffy illness/injury, whump, hurt/comfort, humor

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss for beta-reading and to @awesomesockes for plot, summary, and title ideas <3

Link to read on Ao3

“So”—Tony snaps the single use ice pack to activate the chemicals and gives it a few shakes as he moves back over to the kitchen table—“which one of you is going to explain what happened here?”

Morgan shakes her head gravely side to side. “Peter didn’t catch the beans...”

“Well, to be fair,” Peter points out, his voice significantly more nasally than usual due to the wad of paper towels he’s pressing to his heavily bleeding nose, “you didn’t really warn me you were about to chuck a can of beans at my head.”

“But I did!” the six-year-old defends. “I said, ‘I’ll throw down the supplies.’”

“Supplies for what?” Tony questions. He passes Peter the ice pack, earning a grunt of thanks.

“For the mission,” Morgan explains as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We were playing superheroes and we needed to pack the supplies to take with us ‘cus we had to go fight the bad guys in space.”

“She’d been stockpiling stuff for the last couple days in the treehouse,” Peter goes on, “so she was just tossing everything down for me to put in the bag. Which, y’know, was fine for the stuffed animals and the walkie-talkies and the plastic lightsabers”—he gingerly touches the ice to his nose—“just not for a sixteen-ounce can of refried pintos.”

(Tony winces in sympathy.)

Morgan lets out an exasperated exhale. “Well, we had to bring something to eat—it’s a long way to Pluto.”

Huffing out a laugh, Tony shakes his head slowly. “I guess it’s hardly Peter’s first experience getting injured before a mission officially even begins...” he muses. He grins at the teenager. “Remember when you tripped off the quinjet ramp and sprained your ankle two minutes after we landed?”

Peter rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. “That was one time, Mr. Stark.”

“Memorable though,” Tony quips. He gestures to the kid’s messy face and sighs. “Alright, let’s see the damage.”

Reluctantly, Peter pulls the paper towels away and fresh blood starts to trickle down. There’s a cut at the bridge of his nose and it’s rapidly swelling, a dark bruise already starting to form under his eye.

Tony prods carefully at the break, making Peter wince. “Well, it’s definitely broken,” he reports after a moment, “but it seems pretty well-aligned at least. Nothing to reset.”

Peter lets out a short, breathy laugh. “Probably because it was already a little crooked from the last time I broke it. Guess she knocked it back.”

“So… I made it better?” Morgan asks hopefully.

Tony turns in his daughter’s direction. “Oh no, don’t you start thinking you’re off the hook here, Little Miss Budding Plastic Surgeon,” he says, holding up a stern finger. “You still need to be more careful where you’re chucking your beans.”

Peter snorts, then instantly seems to regret that as he groans and adjusts the ice pack on his face.

Morgan’s expression sobers and she drops her gaze down to her feet. “I just thought he would catch it. He always catches stuff when I throw it to him…”

Her comment gives Tony pause. Now that he thinks about it, it’s not the first time since Peter arrived at the lake house for their long weekend that the kid has seemed rather sluggish and off his game. He’d dozed through most of the drive over on Friday afternoon and then slept in until almost noon the next day. Even now, he can see the dark circles under Peter’s eyes and the pallor to his cheeks that can’t be completely explained by his current blood loss.

“It’s okay, Mo,” Peter reassures her with a small smile. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. It’ll be all better by morning, okay?”

Morgan perks up at that, so Tony pushes aside the twinge of worry in his gut. After all, Peter’s been taking seventeen credit hours at MIT this semester, not to mention his Boston vigilante activities and the additional part-time lab assistant gig he’s picked up; that’s enough to make anyone run a little ragged.

“Why don’t you two just watch a movie or something?” Tony suggests. “Give Peter’s nose a little time to sort itself out.”

Morgan and Peter agree, so Tony rustles up some of Peter’s super-strength painkillers and sets the kids up in the living room with some weird movie that Morgan inexplicably loves about a talking parrot whose biggest goal in life is to see the sun rise over the Grand Canyon. Before they even hit the fifteen minute mark, from out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees the ice pack slide down Peter’s face as the boy drifts off.

The combination of pain pills and the usual post-injury recovery time knocks Peter out and he sleeps straight through the rest of the movie. He’s still a little groggy and disoriented when Tony wakes him for dinner, but years of mentoring a reckless teenage superhero have taught the man that this is all par for the course.

Given that the pork chops Pepper left for them to reheat (before heading to her sister’s house for the weekend) require a bit more chewing than Peter’s face is up for at the moment, Tony whips the kid up a smoothie to drink instead.

Peter peers warily into the glass Tony hands him, swirling the green contents around. “What’s in here?”

Tony shrugs. “Whatever I found in the fridge. Blueberries, yogurt, scoop of protein powder, a banana, some spinach…”

“Ew, why would you drink spinach?” Morgan interrupts, her nose wrinkling up in disgust. “That’s gross.”

“Says the girl who put mayonnaise on her graham crackers last week,” Tony points out.

“It was good!” she defends.

Peter takes a cautious sip of the drink. He looks contemplative for second, then must have decided that he approves of the flavor because he just shrugs and proceeds to down about half the glass in a few gulps.

Morgan makes a dramatic gagging noise. Tony rolls his eyes and flicks her arm playfully.

“It’s actually really good,” Peter admits, lowering the cup back down. “Been awhile since I’ve had real vegetables.”

“Ugh, lucky,” Morgan groans as Tony adds a few pieces of asparagus to the little girl’s plate. “They’re the worst. Except for artichokes—those are good.”

“You like artichokes?” Peter questions.

“Uh huh.” She grins. “And turnips!”

“Well, Gerald likes turnips,” Tony clarifies, “and Morgan likes feeding them to him.”

This comment inspires Morgan to launch into a long-winded explanation of all the things she’s ever seen Gerald eat—from grass, to broccoli stalks, to a weird-looking bug—and which of those were his favorites. Peter nods along to her rambling, but seems far less engaged than usual and doesn’t even react when she mentions Gerald’s favorite type of cookie is double stuffed Oreo.

(Tony, on the other hand, interrupts at that point with a stern lecture for the six-year-old on what she can and cannot feed the alpaca moving forward.)

Once dinner is over, they all migrate back to the living room. Morgan wants to play Uno, and Peter obliges for a while, but his overall lack of focus persists.

“Peeeterrrr,” Morgan whines for the third time, poking his arm to snap him out of his daze. “It’s your turn again. You gotta draw two.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Peter takes two cards from the deck and adds them to his hand before reaching up to rub tiredly at his temples.

Tony’s brow furrows. “Headache?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Peter admits. “It’s not bad, just like… there.”

“Hm.” Tony nods. Turning to Morgan he says, “What do you say we finish this game up tomorrow?” Morgan’s face screws up and she looks like she’s about to protest before he adds, “Pretty sure there are some fudge-pops left in the freezer. I won’t tell Mommy if you don’t.”

Morgan drops her cards with an excited whoop and jumps up to run to the kitchen.

Tony gets to his feet to follow her. He glances back at Peter, who has sunk into the cushions with a relieved sigh. “Fudge-pop?” he offers.

Peter makes a non-committal noise in his throat. “I dunno. Think I might just head to bed.”

Tony glances at his watch. It’s just shy of eight o’clock—even Morgan doesn’t usually go to bed for another half hour. He knows Peter’s healing always takes a lot out of him, but he’s seen the kid looking less drowsy and out of it after getting slammed into the airport tarmac in Germany and cracking three ribs than he does at the moment. “Think you might be coming down with something?” he asks.

Peter shrugs once more, prompting Tony to press his hand to the kid’s forehead. He definitely isn’t detecting a fever—if anything, Peter’s skin is a little cold.

“What’s not feeling good?” Tony clarifies. “Head? Stomach? Throat?”

Peter hesitates a second. “Just… just my head I guess.” He sighs. “I think I’m just tired. Haven’t really been sleeping that great lately,” he confesses.

Tony’s forehead creases in concern. “Kid, you know May and I talked to you about overloading yourself your first year at school.”

“No, I go to bed,” Peter clarifies, “I just don’t always, like, sleep.”

“Why?” Tony’s frown deepens. “Are you having nightmares, or…?”

“No…” Peter exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that. I just can’t always, like, settle down? I don’t know—it’s really not that bad,” he quickly backtracks. “I think I just need a good night’s sleep. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

(Like an idiot, Tony believes him.)

“Alright, well, sleep well kid,” he says as Peter shuffles off to the guest room.

“Okay, so... this is a little weird,” Peter says as he enters the kitchen the next morning.

Tony glances up and blinks at the sight of Peter’s very swollen and now darkly bruised nose and cheekbone. He sets down the bowl of waffle batter he’s been whisking and moves over to get a closer look.

“What the hell, kid?” Tony mutters under his breath, running his fingertips carefully over the still-clearly-broken bone. “You once healed from a compound fracture overnight.” He pauses a beat. “Of your femur.”

“Eh...” Peter shrugs tiredly. “Super-healing isn’t really a science, is it?”

“Well it’s certainly not an art,” Tony retorts. He gestures to the kid’s nose. “Unless this is your Black-and-Blue Period, Picasso.”

Peter groans, sinking down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “That was almost as painful as my face,” he complains.

It’s clear the kid meant it as a joke, but that admission does nothing to alleviate Tony’s concern. He finds Peter a fresh ice pack and doses him out another painkiller before resuming making breakfast.

Somehow even a second night of sleep doesn’t seem to have restored much of the kid’s energy. Peter sits hunched forward with one elbow on the table to hold the ice to his face and has his phone resting in his lap. He scrolls idly through it, looking like he might nod off any second.

After a few minutes, the backdoor to the kitchen swings open and Morgan re-enters with pieces of hay still stuck to her boots.

“I gave Gerald two turnips,” she announces. “And he hummed at me and then he tried to steal my hat but I got it back ‘cept for the fuzzy thing.” She points at the red knit hat on her head, which is missing a pom-pom.

Tony groans as he ladles more waffle batter onto the iron. “He didn’t swallow it, did he? Because if that vet has to come out here one more time, I swear—”

“Peter!” Morgan blurts, suddenly noticing the boy at the table. He startles and looks up from his lap as the six-year-old runs over to him. “Your face looks so bad!”

Tony clears his throat. “Uh, Morgan, we don’t—”

“So, so, so, so bad,” she emphasizes, as tears well up in her eyes. She throws her arms around his waist. “I’m really r-really sorry!” she cries. “I didn’t m-mean to hit you with the beans!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Mo,” Peter assures, wrapping her in his arms. “It’s gonna heal really soon, okay? I’m a spider, remember? I always heal fast.”

“But sp-spiders don...don’t heal fast!” Morgan sobs into his chest. “You can squish ‘em re-really easy and they d-die if it gets too c-cold or if they get sprayed with bug killing stuff, an-and…”

Peter glances up and shoots his mentor a look of utter helplessness.

In return, Tony shrugs his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion. “Don’t look at me, kid. I’ve been wondering the same thing since we met.”

Still holding the crying child, Peter rolls his eyes at him.

“Kidding, kidding...” Tony says under his breath. He abandons the waffle iron and heads over to gather the sobbing six-year-old up into his arms. “Morgan, sweetheart, listen to me,” he says as he rubs her back gently. “Peter isn’t really a spider, okay? He’s actually more of a mutant.”

(Morgan only cries harder at that.)

Peter huffs out a short laugh and leans back against the chair. “Doing great, Mr. Stark.”

“...And because he’s a mutant,” Tony plows right along, “his DNA is different from ours and that’s why he usually heals freaky fast,” he explains over her tears as she buries her face in his shoulder. “Except it’s just being a little slow today, so we’re gonna just let him rest and eat some good food and that should help fix him up, okay?”

She hiccups a few times. “So he ju...just needs some w-waffles?” she manages to get out.

That jogs Tony’s memory. He spins around to see that the iron is still very much on and the waffle is starting to burn, smoke wafting up around the edges. “Ah shit,” he mutters.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Peter says, pushing himself quickly up from his seat. But the moment he gets to his feet, he staggers sideways and grips the table, his face draining of color.

“Pete?” Tony goes to set the still-sniffling six-year-old back down, but before he’s able to get her feet on the floor, Peter’s knees give out.

Tony curses and shoots a hand out just a second too late as Peter crumples first to his knees and then to the ground, landing directly on his already-injured face.

Morgan’s eyes go wide. “Daddy!” she shrieks.

Tony plops her down abruptly. “Go unplug the waffle maker, okay?” he instructs her as he drops to his knees next to Peter. He figures the last thing they need to add to the chaos is a smoke alarm.

Eyes still locked on the scene before her, Morgan nods and runs over to the counter to unplug the device. Meanwhile, Tony rolls Peter over onto his back and instantly grimaces at the sight. Besides the deathly pallor, the kid’s broken nose is definitely crooked now and fresh blood is streaming down.

“Is he… dead?” Morgan asks, horrified.

“No, no, of course not...” Tony presses two fingers to the pulse point in the boy’s neck, relieved to feel a strong, albeit fast, beat. “He just fainted—he’ll be fine,” he says, shaking the unconscious boy’s shoulder.

“He looks dead,” Morgan whispers, still staring.

“Yeah, but he’s not,” Tony says firmly. Not wanting the blood to run down Peter’s throat, he continues to roll the kid over until he’s on his side in a sort of modified recovery position. “Pete, c’mon, this isn’t a good look,” he mutters, tapping Peter’s cheek. “We’re all getting enough trauma therapy as it is…”

Finally, the kid’s eyelids start fluttering open. “There you go, that’s it,” Tony praises when Peter blinks up at him. “You back with us yet?”

Peter groans and lets his eyes close again. “Do I ‘ave to be?”

“Yes,” Tony says curtly. He starts shaking Peter’s shoulder again, though gentler now. “I need to know how I’m taking you to Bruce—car or ambulance?”

“Ugh… How ‘bout neither?” Peter mumbles. He lifts a hand up tiredly to wipe a bit of blood off his upper lip. “‘M alright. Just got a lil’ dizzy…”

“Nope.” Worry is quickly taking over Tony, though it comes out in the form of briskness. “You’ve got sixty seconds to get off the floor or I’m choosing for you,” he declares, already pulling out his phone.

Morgan’s voice comes out small and quavering. “Peter...?”

Ultimately, that sound is what it takes to make Peter move. With Tony’s support, he pushes himself up and sits there for a moment, blinking wearily as blood trickles down from his nose. Tony sends Morgan to fetch a box of tissues and a clean shirt for Peter, then loads them both into the car for a little field trip.

“Anemia?” Peter repeats, incredulous.

The kid is sitting on an exam table at the SHIELD Medical base, his recently-reset nose now splinted. Meanwhile, Morgan sits in the chair beside Tony, entertaining herself with a handful of wooden tongue depressors and a roll of medical tape.

Bruce adjusts his glasses as he scans the results from Peter’s blood panel on his tablet. “Yeah, that’s what the tests are showing. Basically, it means that your body isn’t getting enough iron to produce hemoglobin, so it can’t carry oxygen effectively. This results in fatigue, lightheadedness, insomnia, headaches, shortness of breath, and—apparently in your case—a reduced healing factor.”

“But how did I get anemia?” Peter balks. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“Well, there are a few possible causes,” Bruce explains, “but based on several nutrient deficiencies I’m seeing in your bloodwork, my best guess is from your diet.”

“Ah.” A look of understanding flickers across Peter’s face for a second. “Yeah, okay, that checks out...” he mumbles.

“Wait, how exactly does that ‘check out’?” Tony asks.

Peter shrugs. “Well, I just… haven’t been eating the best food lately.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Doesn’t MIT’s cafeteria serve a pretty decent spread?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Peter allows. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just haven’t been really… uh, going there?”

Tony blinks at him. “Why the hell not?”

“That’s Mommy’s word,” Morgan pipes up without looking up from the two wooden sticks she’s connecting together with tape.

“I just don’t have a lot of time between my classes and job and stuff, and the cafeteria is all the way across campus,” Peter explains. “So I mostly just eat my own food.”

“Which would be…?” Bruce asks.

Peter hesitates. “Ramen,” he says after a moment. “The chicken flavor one.”

“Hm, okay…” Bruce nods, jotting this down on his tablet. “Not really the most nutritious option, but definitely a college staple. What else?”

Dropping his gaze to his lap, Peter starts picking at a piece of fuzz on his sweatshirt. “Uh… sometimes I get the beef one?”

Tony blinks at him. “Beef ramen?”

“I tried the lime chili shrimp one once. Not a fan.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Tony blinks again. “Peter, I’m paying for you to have three square meals a day at that college—not three styrofoam cups of dehydrated noodles.”

“I also eat granola bars,” Peter says. “And bagels.” He starts ticking foods off on his fingers. “Microwave burritos, yogurt, uh.... those little frozen chicken taquito thingies? But like, only if my roommate isn’t using the freezer for his weird cult ritual stuff. That’s why I usually stick to the soup.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves out a sigh. “Jesus take the wheel…”

“Oh! I had an apple last week!” Peter throws in.

Bruce runs a hand through his own hair, exhaling a carefully measured breath. “Okay, Peter, you know that you have an enhanced metabolism, right? That means you need to eat significantly more food than the average person.”

“Right, and I do!” Peter nods. “I always make sure I get enough calories.”

“And that’s good,” Bruce says, “but you also need to make sure you’re getting enough nutrients. Calories are just a part of that. With your unusual physiology, it’s especially important that you’re getting all the required vitamins and minerals to support the rapid regeneration of your cells, and a diet of cup noodles and bagels—”

“And frozen burritos,” Peter interrupts.

“—is simply not nutritionally dense enough for you,” Bruce finishes. “Not by a long shot.”

There’s a beat.

“Oh.”

“What does ‘nu-tri-tion-al-ly dense’ mean?” Morgan asks. Her tongue depressor creation has folded over itself and vaguely resembles a collapsed bridge now.

“It means Peter needs to eat more vegetables,” Tony butts in. “Just like you and Gerald.”

She sticks out her tongue. “Gross.”

“Alright, we’re gonna start you on some iron supplements,” Bruce addresses Peter. “But it might take a couple weeks to get your levels back up enough to reverse the anemia. I’m also going to give you a list of foods high in iron—things like dark leafy greens, broccoli, dried fruit, nuts, red meat, kidney beans—”

“NO BEANS,” the other three all declare in unison.

After hauling the kids back to the lake house, Tony sets Peter and Morgan up on the couch with another movie (Pirates of the Caribbean this time) and heads to the kitchen to fix them all some lunch. Potatoes and turnips are both high in iron, so he cooks and mashes up a big potful with some milk, butter, and salt, figuring that would be easy to chew without hurting the kid’s face too much. He scoops some into a bowl for Peter and then whips up another green smoothie for him to drink, as well as sandwiches for himself and Morgan. Once everything is ready, he piles it all onto a tray and heads back.

As he approaches the living room, Tony can already hear Morgan’s voice floating towards him in the falsetto stage-whisper she always uses when she’s voicing make-believe characters.

“Help me! Help me!” she cries. “Oh no, I’m falling!”

Tony stops in the room’s threshold to watch. The movie is still playing in the background, but neither kid seems to be watching. Instead, Peter is lying on his back on the sofa with his eyes closed, giggling quietly while Morgan kneels on the floor in front of the cushions, dancing a single M&M around the edges of the boy’s open mouth.

Suddenly, she drops the candy into his mouth with a dramatic gasp. “Noooo… the king has fallen into the pit! The anemia monster got him!” she cries.

“The anemia monster?” Tony asks in amusement.

Peter’s eyes snap open. “Uh, we were just playing a game.”

Morgan turns back to look at her dad, grinning. “Chocolate is on the list Uncle Bruce gave him!” she says, waving the piece of paper in Tony’s direction.

“Pretty sure that says dark chocolate,” Tony says, eyes narrowing at them as he crosses the room. “Not leftover M&Ms from the Christmas stash.”

Morgan’s face falls. “Aw…”

Tony sets the tray of food down on the coffee table. “Don't worry, kids,” he says, passing Peter the kale and fruit-rich protein smoothie. “Iron Man to the rescue.”

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#sick peter parker #hurt peter parker #irondad fic #peter parker whump #hurt/comfort #blood #injury #broken nose #nutrient deficiency #anemia #fluff #whump #humor #peter parker is a mess #tony stark has a heart #morgan stark is adorable #my fic #mcu writing

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ayla-221bee · 4 years

Text

Mystrade prompt fic -The Small Changes

T.W. Body image issues but it’s St. Greg fic.

This was inspired by a prompt by @KSForever and it is from my collection of Mystrade stories called ‘In The Most Delightful Way,’ that is on A03. If anyone is interested, I’m taking prompts at the moment and it would be great if I could get some, I’m trying to improve my writing and I enjoy challenging myself.

"Over the years, Greg had become familiar with the signs and he was rather good at spotting the small changes despite Mycroft's attempts to be discreet with them. No matter how many times Greg had walked Mycroft out of the wood and how many times he told Mycroft that he was beautiful and brilliant, Mycroft ended up walking down that familiar path.

Greg was always there to guide him out each and every time, nothing would make him stop. "

Over the years, Greg had become familiar with the signs and he was rather good at spotting the small changes despite Mycroft's attempts to be discreet with them. No matter how many times Greg had walked Mycroft out of the wood and how many times he told Mycroft that he was beautiful and brilliant, Mycroft ended up walking down that familiar path.

Greg was always there to guide him out each and every time, nothing would make him stop.

He had first noticed the signs before he started his relationship with Mycroft. He had been taken by surprise when he first realised that Mycroft struggled with his body image. He could not understand why someone such as Mycroft Holmes would be hung up on something such as trivial as appearances at first. Mycroft was potentially had one of the brightest minds in the world and he was a man with great power despite Mycroft's insistence that he only held a 'minor position in the British government.'

He had been taken back when he had met Mycroft Holmes for the first time. He had first come across when he was outside Sherlock's hospital room and Greg was positive that his jaw had hit the ground...Mycroft was not what he had expected or how Sherlock portrayed him to be.

He had been working with Sherlock for two months before he met Mycroft. Mycroft had been brought up in conversation by Sherlock on a regular basis (his name said in a tone of disgust). Sherlock was sleeping on his sofa at the time and Greg successfully managed to get bits and pieces of information from Sherlock about his brother over his wobbly dinner table as they ate beans and toast. Sherlock never talked about his brother in a positive nature and had created a caricature of him of some sorts. Sherlock rarely used his name and referred to him as 'The mammoth,' and 'Fatcroft,' among other names.

When he had first met Mycroft outside Sherlock's hospital rooms, Greg was taken by surprise. He was not sure what the had been expecting but he did not expect to see a tall and striking auburn-haired man in a suit. Greg was almost positive that he had fallen for him instantly, he had always been a bit of a romantic. He was convinced that if the situation was different and they were not outside Sherlock's hospital room if the two of them were not sick with worry about Sherlock, they might have not have danced around each other as much or for so long.

He had noticed the first sign not long after he first lay his eyes on Mycroft. Upon waking up, Sherlock looked at Mycroft, rolled his eyes and insulted him about his weight.

The icy expression that Mycroft had on his face dropped once Sherlock had said his insult. It was only for a moment and it was quickly hidden. Greg still noticed the expression of hurt on his face.

He was quick to notice that look on Mycroft's face each time it cropped up over the years. It only took a poorly taken photo, a cruel comment from Sherlock or a deduction that was made, or when he had put on a pound or two, and the expression would appear on Mycroft's face. The changes soon started once the first seed had been planted in Mycroft's head. Mycroft always tried to be discreet when he implemented them and despite his efforts to hide, Greg always noticed them.

He had soon realised that the best way to get Mycroft out of the woods was to rip the thoughts out from his head by the roots before they had the chance to grow.

The expression made its way on Mycroft's face when they were out for afternoon tea with Mrs Holmes. She had not spoken to Mycroft for several months and she had decided out of the blue that she was wanting to have a 'catch up.' It was not much of a catch-up, it felt more like an interrogation which was done over cream scones. Greg had invited himself along when Mycroft mentioned that his mother had a sudden desire to meet up with him. Greg had never been too fond of Mrs Holmes in their limited interactions with another. He had phoned her when Sherlock first started to sleep on his sofa, it was just a quick phone call to let her know that Sherlock was safe. She sounded rather disinterested in Sherlock and was more concerned about her soap operas being interrupted. His opinion of her darkened whenever Sherlock and Mycroft would mention their childhood and how they seemed to act like was normal for a mother to be disinterested in her children and sent them away to boarding school when they were seven and being constantly belittled by her.

It had only taken one comment from her and the expression appeared on Mycroft's face. She had been surprisingly civil and polite until she made the comment and shattered Mycroft's confidence as he picked up a shortbread biscuit to accompany his cup of tea.

"No wonder you have been putting on weight, Mikey," she said, swatting Mycroft's hand with her teaspoon. "You've had half a scone already and you are being so greedy. It is a wonder that Gregory has not said anything to you about it. He'll be wanting a newer model soon with the way that you are going."

It was almost instantly that Mycroft's confidence was shattered, Greg could see it leave him and he saw how Mycroft visibly retreated into his shell. Mycroft dropped the biscuit as if it was straight out of the oven. Greg picked up their coats and escorted Mycroft out of the hotel within thirty seconds of the words coming out of her mouth.

The changes started not long after, they are different each time. Greg often felt guilty that he did not always pick up on them right away as Mycroft was often so discreet at times.

It started off with just a sudden health kick and an interest in healthy eating and exercise. The blender that had been gathering dust in the back of the cupboard had been put onto the counter and Mycroft was willingly drinking something that looked like it came out of the Thames in the morning. The treadmill had started to get used more often and he had started to willingly join Greg for his morning runs. Greg had never thought much about it and he was pleased that Mycroft was wanting to spend time away from his desk and he enjoyed the company when he jogged as the two of them hardly spent any time together because of their work.

There was the sudden disinterest in restaurants and Mycroft had forbidden any treats to be in the cupboard and it was accompanied by Mycroft becoming insistent about doing the weekly shop himself.

He only twigged that something was not right when Mycroft had started to have a very sudden interest in cooking. There was a new pile of recipe books in the shelf and they started to watch more cooking programs on the telly during their lazy Sunday mornings in bed. Mycroft was working at home more often and Greg would often come back to see his partner in an apron standing over the cooker. He had become too amused by the sight to have noticed that there was a kitchen scale on the counter.

"We should go out for dinner tomorrow," Greg said one evening when they were at the dinner table. "You've been cooking all week and you deserve to have a night off. We can always go to the restaurant that does that chocolate lava cake you love."

Mycroft wrinkled his nose in disgust at his comment and stabbed a mushroom on his plate. "I have been enjoying doing the cooking, Gregory," Mycroft told him. "It is such a performance to get dressed up to go to dinner after we've been working all day...I think that we should use the money on a holiday instead of wasting it all on restaurants, they are so ridiculously overpriced."

He looked over at Mycroft's plate and realised that his portion was considerably smaller than his own, the majority of the plate was taken up by green leaves and looked plainer than his own. "Is that all you are eating?" Greg asked. "You must be hungry after being on your treadmill before dinner. I've picked up some ice cream for pudding, thought that you could do with a treat."

Mycroft said nothing in response and put a forkful of leaves in his mouth to silence himself. There is a phone call from work that takes Mycroft away from the table and into his office, . It almost felt a bit too convenient for Greg's liking.

The second change followed not long after.

Greg had barely seen Mycroft in days, there had been an urgent matter at work and he had been stuck in the office. He would catch glimpses of Mycroft in the morning in the kitchen before he left for work and he would sneak into bed when Greg was asleep.

Greg had never been too thrilled when Mycroft's hours were like this and kept him chained to his desk at all hours. Mycroft was similar to his brother when the need arose, the two of them seemed to act like they were not human, they did not eat or sleep until the task was done. He neglected to look after himself, meals were often neglected and sleep was just a concept when he got so absorbed into his work.

When he was like this, every day without fail, Greg would make sure that Mycroft would eat. He would leave out a generous portion of dinner on a plate and just needed to be heated up in the microwave when Mycroft eventually came into the office. He tried to wake up early in the morning to make sure that Mycroft had something in him before he left, but that did not always happen as Mycroft was already away before Greg could force himself to wake up or he had been working until the early hours of the morning and Mycroft insisted that he stayed in bed. Every lunchtime, he would go over to Mycroft's office and bring him lunch. Even though Mycroft claimed to be extremely busy with work, he always had a spot in his schedule for a small break for him. It was just time for a coffee and a quick chat, but it was often the highlight of their day.

He decided to pop into Mycroft's office one morning with an almond croissant from the fancy bakery that he loved. By the time Greg had woken up that morning, Mycroft was already out of the kitchen and there was only a single mug on the drying rack. He had also noticed that the plate of pasta that he had kept for Mycroft the night before had not been touched and was still in the fridge. He had a growing suspicion that Mycroft had skipped a few meals recently and decided to bring a croissant to his office to guarantee that he had something in him.

When he arrived in Mycroft's office, Greg knew that something was not right and he could see the signs as bright as day.

Mycroft almost looks fearful when the croissant is brought onto his desk and he suddenly developed an interest in his paperwork. The croissant is left neglected on the desk and was untouched the whole time that Greg is in his office.

When Greg dropped his phone and reached down under the desk to get it, he catches a glimpse of the bin.

He knew instantly that Mycroft was starting to walk down that horrid path once more once he sees the sandwiches that he has brought over to the office in the bin. They have barely been touched and half-eaten discarded the moment that he has left Mycroft's office.

"Did you not eat dinner last night?" Greg asked over his takeaway cup of coffee.

Mycroft glanced up from his pile of paperwork. "I was not hungry," he said. "I had a lunch meeting that carried on longer than expected and there were sandwiches for a meeting at dinner."

"What did you eat for lunch at this meeting?"

Mycroft silent for a moment and he hesitated before speaking. "Thai food," he eventually answered. "Chicken Pad Thai."

His nose wrinkled and he went to his work and Greg instantly knew that he was lying. "I'm not going to be home for dinner," Mycroft said, his eyes not leaving his work. "I've got a lot of work to do in the office, it's an important matter."

"You are going to take a break and eat though," Greg ordered lightly. "I know that it is far too easy for you to lose track of time and forget to eat, especially when I'm not around putting a plate in front of you. You need to look after yourself, Myc. I'll go and bring something for you for dinner, yeah?"

"You do not have to do that," Mycroft murmured. "It is another dinner meeting that I will be having to attend."

His nose wrinkled once more and he did not look up from his work.

Once he kissed Mycroft goodbye and he left the office, Greg caught something in the corner of his eye through the gap in the door. He watched Mycroft pick up the neglected croissant and put it into the bin with a sigh. The expression was on his face and he could see the slump in Mycroft's shoulders.

Greg intervened when the third change started.

Mycroft started to become rather shy around him after they had that afternoon tea with his mother, almost seeming to have reverted to how he acted at the start of their relationship.

He was always fully dressed in his full armour whenever Greg sees him around the flat regardless of the time of day. The most that he will take off in front of him is his jacket, his tie or his waistcoat, the armour is still on. It is only removed when Mycroft goes to bed and he gets dressed in the spare bedroom or the bathroom almost as if he is frightened of his lover's eyes on him.

There was a lack of shared showers together. Mycroft would almost physically shudder on occasion when Greg would wrap his arms around his waist or lean in close when he least expected it. The light goes off as they tumbled into bed together and they kissed like teenagers. It was a small sign that took place the evening after the afternoon tea, it had stirred something within Greg, but he ended up getting distracted when Mycroft sank to his knees. He did wish that he had noticed it sooner and he could have ripped out the seed that Mycroft's mother planted into his brain before it had a chance to grow.

It was a sleepy Sunday morning and they've both got the day off. There was a large space in the bed and there was a lack of a warm weight pressed onto his body, but there is the smell of fresh coffee on the nightstand.

"Good morning, darling," Mycroft murmured and pressed a kiss onto his forehead as he slipped back into bed with the newspaper. He has nowhere to go on a Sunday morning and it is not even seven in the morning, but Mycroft is fully dressed. He was not wearing his armour but it might as well be, there are several layers to his outfit, he's wearing the jumper that Greg had bought him for his birthday, the one where the blue brings out the colour of his eyes.

He has been with Mycroft for three years and he has known him for ten, Greg still found himself taken back by how beautiful he was. It almost hurt that Mycroft did not see it or seem to believe him when he complimented him.

They have coffee in bed and they cuddle together, it slowly progresses into slow kisses and teasing strokes. There was no reason to rush, they've got all of the time in the world today. It was why Sundays were Greg's favourite day of the week, it was just the two of them and they were unbothered from the world. Sunday allowed them to compensate for all of the time together that they missed, they often did not leave bed until eleven and basked in another's company.

The lamp by the bed gets flicked off by Mycroft as he straddled Greg's lap and tugged at his shirt and pressed kisses down his neck. There was a glimpse of light that enters the bedroom through a gap in the curtains and covered Mycroft in its radiance. Greg would want nothing more than to take a picture or get a portrait painted of this moment of time and show it in a gallery, and show Mycroft how beautiful he was, it might be the only way for Mycroft to believe his words.

He has managed to strip Mycroft out of the majority of his clothing, his jumper and the trousers quickly come off with enthusiasm. His shirt remains no matter how much it is has gotten crinkled and rumbled from the foreplay. Greg tried to peel it off and slowly shove his hands under the hem, but they were batted away by Mycroft and guided somewhere else or Mycroft had kissed or touched him in a particularly wonderful way that Greg will never tire of. It is a distraction from letting him remove that last piece of fabric that is between them.

While it is a wonderful distraction, Mycroft masking his insecurities with desire and Greg decided that it was time to intervene.

He's had to guide Mycroft out of the woods so many times and he will never stop doing it. It will be a battle that he will have to enter again and again, it has only gotten easier to end it as the years passed. He can recognise the signs and he could even prevent the seeds from embedding themselves into Mycroft's head on occasion. He has never been afraid of dealing with Mycroft's insecurities, he still hurts terribly when he notices the changes. He hates the look of fear that makes its way into Mycroft's eyes when menus are brought to the table or dessert is even mentioned. He hates how Mycroft becomes scared of his eyes and how he avoids him when he is feeling like this, almost as if he has an awful secret that he has been hiding and the world will come crashing down the moment that he sees Mycroft without a shirt on. That Greg will immediately fall out of love with him. It hurts even more how Mycroft will skip meals and throw food away as he does not believe that he deserves to eat. He hated how a comment from his mother, a jibe from Sherlock, or an item of clothing that felt slightly more snug could send him down this spiral.

Greg knew that he could not fix the problem entirely and there was a reason that Mycroft had a weekly therapy session, he does the most that he can. He can guide Mycroft out of the path and cover him with his unconditional love and support. it is they've had to work through a lot of Mycroft's problems before and they've had victories over those battles. The battle over Mycroft's body image was a recruiting fight and it did not seem to leave him, Greg was always there to help heal with wounds with his neverending supply of love and care, nothing would ever make him stop.

He's flipped Mycroft onto his back and he's tried to tease the buttons of Mycroft's shirt open, Mycroft is quick to resist his attempts to remove his shirt and kisses him messily to distract him, he begged to be touched and it was impossible to resist.

"You are hiding from me, Myc," Greg murmured once he was settled between Mycroft's thighs and they were slowly moving together. He loved seeing Mycroft like this, he has removed most of his shields in the course of their relationship, the last few barriers are completely removed in this closeness. He was panting and whimpering, only quiet murmurs of Greg's name can leave his lips, his mind has partly switched off and it is clear that he is enjoying the closeness, he feels safe when he's like this.

"Greg," Mycroft murmured after a long moment, his brain taking a moment to reboot. There is a short intake of breath once he realises what Greg has just said. "I do not understand what you are talking about."

"Your shirt is still on, love," Greg murmured, stilling his movements.

Mycroft protests slightly and hid his face in Greg's shoulder.

"You are worried about your body, aren't you?" Greg asked he knew the answer already.

Mycroft shook his head and his nose wrinkled. He shook slightly and he's gone slightly pale. He's scared and fearful and Greg can almost hear his mother's words ring through Mycroft's head. Greg can remember those words as clear as day and despite his reassurances to Mycroft that he is never going to leave him, Mycroft is still reluctant to believe him. He knows that Mycroft has been burned so many times and he's still afraid to let himself to get too happy in fear that it will be taken away from him.

"You know that nothing is ever going to change how I feel about you?" Greg murmured as he cradled Mycroft's head with his hand and rubbed his cheek with his thumb. "Nothing has changed in the slightest...I think that I love you more with each day."

Mycroft shook his head when he eventually spoke, his voice tight and can barely be heard. "Half a stone."

Greg had noticed the weight but it was healthy and Mycroft looked good with it. He had lost a good bit of weight due to stress after dealing with a potential world crisis and he had been abroad for several weeks. He used to stress eat years ago, but it turned onto his head and had a lack of appetite when he was stressed, partly due to belief that he did not deserve to eat when he was dealing with a world crisis and he could not fix it right away. It was an issue that he was still working on.

"I just don't...please don't leave," Mycroft quivered before Greg had the chance to open his mouth in response. "I know that...you could do a lot better than me."

Greg was not sure if it was just the light but he caught a glimpse of Mycroft's blink and you'll miss them tears. He kisses Mycroft dearly when he could feel his heart tug horribly in his chest with despair and there was an ache in his chest. "Nothing is going to make me do that," he murmured. "I told that I had fallen for you when I first met you. I'm not letting your mother or anyone talk or make a comment to you like that ever again, you only deserve to be loved."

He wrapped Mycroft tight in his arms when he saw the tears and stroked his hair in the attempt to hush him. "You are so bloody gorgeous and nothing will ever change my mind, you need to trust me. I'm always going to be here for you."

It is difficult for Mycroft just to believe the words that he has spoken, so Greg had to show him how much he loves him. He has to pour all of the love, care and affection onto Mycroft's wounds, it is the most that he can do as he has not figured out how to deal with Mycroft's mother other than encouraging him to end his limited contact with her, as she only makes him miserable and rips him into ribbons with her infrequent phone calls and the rare occasion when she wanted to meet up with him. He'll figure out how to fix the problem eventually but he needed to tend to Mycroft's wounds and give him all the support that he needed.

He did hope that it would be enough to heal him enough until the battle would start again.

"You are so beautiful," Greg murmured, his hand ran through Mycroft's hair, he pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You are worth so much more than just numbers on a scale, I love every single thing about you. You are so much happier now than you were years ago. It really does show, you look so radiant and I'm still completely mad for you. I fell for you again when I saw this morning in that jumper or when I caught you in the sunlight. I'm actually can't believe that I get to be with you, I feel like I've won the lottery every time that I see you."

He tried to put as much sincerity into his voice and he was aware that the words he said were cheesy. He knew that and Mycroft always complained about them, but he did love them even if he was too proud to admit it.

Mycroft's shuddered but he smiled slightly, it was shy and it was hidden but Greg could see it. He could see his love pour into Mycroft and fill his senses like a storm in a desert and he could watch the healing begin. They still have a lot of work to do to end this battle, but Greg is fairly certain that he's managed to get to the root of the problem and that the rest will be easy enough to deal with.

Mycroft eventually gets impatient after a while, he starts to kiss him deeply and rock slightly.

Greg was more familiar with his part, it wasn't just sex that Mycroft wanted, he wanted to make love. Greg was more than happy to comply and did not get his hands battered away when he teased Mycroft's buttons open. Their breathing was intertwined with another and their limbs tangled up. Greg's was going to help him get out of the woods and out of this path. He knows the route well and it was easier to leave them each and every time.

They were tangled up in another's arms. Greg had realised that the coffee has gone cold. He also realised that Mycroft's shirt had been discarded to the floor. They stay in bed until noon and he brought Mycroft breakfast in bed. He still hesitated when he started to eat, the fearful look in his eye was there for a moment when he first saw the thick slices of sourdough toast on the plate, but with Greg's encouraging smile, he ate. Greg ensures that lunch and dinner are eaten as well, the plates are emptied and nothing is thrown away.

That night, his hands were not swatted away when he unbuttoned Mycroft's shirt. The light does not stay on right away, it is still a work in progress.

There was always going to be a battle for Mycroft, but hopefully, there wouldn't be a war in quite some time. Greg knew that he was always going to help him through it and help him heal with his love and care, nothing was going to change that.

#Mycroft Holmes #Mystrade #mystrade fanfic #Mystrade fanfiction #greg lestrade #gregory lestrade #mycroft and lestrade #Mycroft x Lestrade #mycroft and greg #Sherlock fandom #sherlock fic #sherlock BBC #Sherlock #prompt fill

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ranger-thirty-nine · 4 years

Text

The Importance of Morning Coffee

In which all the coffee has been replaced with hot chocolate for Yuletide.

This was written in December of 2019.

Find it on Wattpad and Ao3!

There was a certain something about Yuletide that Geldon couldn't quite put a finger on. He didn't know if it was just the idea of giving to others, the concept of holiday cheer, or even simply just magic. But when he opened his window, it didn't matter. It was Yuletide, after all.

A blanket of white snow draped over the bare silver trees, and the sun dazzled through the wispy clouds. Geldon smiled to himself. He could smell brewing chocolate in the air and hear the squeals of small children from afar like the ringing of silver bells.

And then, there was another sound--- gruesome and odious. Geldon laughed at it, turning. His door creaked open, and he grinned at the disheveled ranger that stood in front of him.

"My-my," he said. "Playing the courier, are we?"

Crowley snorted, holding two mugs in his hands. He held one out to Geldon. "I want my coffee."

"Now, Crowley," Geldon said, lightly hitting him on the shoulder. "You mustn't be that way! It's Yuletide! The one day a mug of steaming hot chocolate overrules a good coffee."

Bringing his mug to his mouth, Crowley shook his head. "I don't know what Duncan was thinking by asking you for advice." He straightened. "All the coffee in this castle has gone, yet yesterday, our stocks were full."

Geldon lifted his mug to his lips. The sweet, warm liquid ran down his throat, and cream stuck onto his nose. He wiped his face as Crowley continued.

"You don't think Duncan is mocking me do you?" he said. "He must have hidden all of it from me. Who does he think he is, hiding coffee from a ranger?"

Geldon shrugged. "It's one day, Crowley. You'll survive." He gestured him on a walk, shutting his door behind him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd take that oakleaf from you."

Geldon's hand instinctively reached up to touch the golden oakleaf that hung on his neck by a chain. He wrapped his fingers around the cool metal. "You wouldn't dare," he said.

Crowley huffed in frustration. Together, they strolled out to the castle courtyard. Flourishing a snowball, Crowley tossed it.

Geldon yelped in surprise, bringing an arm up to shield himself. The ball shattered at contact, and Geldon glared at Crowley. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You pitched in the idea to replace coffee," Crowley replied. He brandished another snowball.

Geldon finished the last of his hot chocolate, setting the mug aside. He gulped. "I'm not as young as I used to be," he said.

"Excuses," Crowley sighed. "Excuses."

Geldon ran when Crowley began to pelt snow at him. He breathed heavily. It'd been awhile since he'd exercised.

"Duncan!" Geldon called as he spotted the king in the distance. He slid towards a stop when Duncan turned. Geldon circled Duncan, placing his hands on his shoulders. He moved to stand behind him, using the king as a human shield.

"Treason, Geldon!" Crowley yelled, running to catch up. He dropped the snowball he held. "Sacrificing the King is treason!"

Duncan raised his hands, holding back a smile. He chortled, coughing. "What in the world are you two up to?"

"Mr. Meratyn has assaulted me," Geldon said, ducking down when Crowley glared.

Duncan raised his eyebrows. He glanced at Crowley, who shook his head. "This---this vigilante proposed the idea of replacing coffee."

Geldon retorted. "How do you even go about your missions? You don't have an endless source of coffee. Besides, you can't light a fire every night."

Crowley growled in annoyance, and Duncan could no longer hold back his laughter. He snorted. "I've never heard of such a thing!" Duncan said. "Normally, it's Geldon who's grumpy, not dear Crowley. What happened?"

Crowley snapped his head around. He blinked a few times, setting his jaw straight. He stared at Geldon, who nervously shifted.

"He's right," Crowley said in a dangerously low voice. "You're never happy in the morning, and you throw a fit when I don't deliver to you."

"It's Yuletide," Geldon replied, crossing his arms.

"So you've said," Crowley mused aloud. He spun on his heels, and took off.

"Hey!" Geldon ran after him. "Where do you think you're going?"

Panic ensnared Geldon as he chased after Crowley. He forgot about his old, crackling bones. He slowed when the big evergreen tree came to view.

Geldon had passed it when he was evading the array of snowballs that Crowley had fired. He looked up at it, grinning. "Hey, Crowley!" he called. "Look at this!"

Crowley turned, slowing to a walk. He paused, admiring the tree. It towered above them, being the tallest tree that was found in the forest.

Cranberries and holly were strung about it, and red bows were tied against many of its leaves. Ornaments hung down, ten for each trade. Geldon, biased, thought that the gold oakleaf ornament was the best out of all of them. His eyes trailed up to the gold star that sat on top of the tree, overlooking everything. He grinned and turned to Crowley. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, snorting. "That tree has been standing there for weeks. Whatever you're hiding, Geldon, isn't getting past me."

Geldon sighed when Crowley continued on his way. He followed behind him, and they traveled back to his room. Geldon stood beneath his door frame as Crowley rummaged around his things. Arms crossed, he waited.

"Aha!" Crowley shouted. He pulled a cabinet open, revealing a large jar of coffee beans.

Geldon hissed when Crowley opened it, plunging his head into the opening. "That's my coffee," he said, attempting to yank it away from him.

Crowley stuck out his tongue, hugging the jar close to his chest. He narrowed his eyes. "You took this from the castle stores." Crowley frowned. "Was this your plan all along? To replace coffee with hot chocolate on Yuletide, so you can have it all?"

Geldon said nothing, still glaring at the Commandment. He looked away, huffing.

"That's why you were so happy this morning!" Crowley continued on. "You already had your coffee!"

Geldon rolled his eyes. "Would you let an old man have his morning coffee? Are you so cruel?"

"Are you so cruel to let your poor Ranger Commandment with so much paperwork to not have his coffee?" Crowley replied. He paused before continuing. "You're lucky I'm nice enough to share it with you," he said, fishing out the coffee pot from the cabinet. He placed it on Geldon's personal stove.

Geldon sighed, falling down to his couch. He looked towards his window, latticed with ice. He smiled when the coffee aroma filled his room, leaning back with content when Crowley sat across from him with two hot mugs of coffee. He let the bittersweet taste take him away.

Maybe it wasn't anything special that made Yuletide what it was: the joyous holiday where the singing of carols and giving of gifts called for laughter and cheer. Maybe it was just having his morning coffee, like a ranger should always do.

#ranger's apprentice #minor character appreciation #yuletide #christmas #coffee or hot chocolate

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thetravelerwrites · 6 years

Text

Jukah Ironblood (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Orc x Female Human Additional Tags: Exophilia, Orc Boyfriend, Daycare, POV First Person, First Person Perspective, Male Reader, Interspecies Romance Content Warnings: Kids, Children, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Hyperthyroidism, Graves Disease, Cachexia, Chronic Illness, Sex, Oral Sex, Hair-Pulling Kink Words: 4718

After her car is buried in snow, Briauna decides to stay with Jukah for a few days. During that time, she urges him to connect with his family. The final chapter of @ban23‘s commission! Please leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

We got to my apartment just fifteen minutes after leaving the daycare, shaking snow out of our hair and shucking off our coats.

“Hungry, Brie?” I asked.

“Starving,” She said. “But I also want to take a hot shower.”

“I’ll cook breakfast while you wash up. First door on the right down the hall is the bathroom. There’s clean towels and a pack of toothbrushes in there, and I’ll find you something to wear. I’m sure I’ve got a long band t-shirt that would cover most of you.”

She smirked wickedly. “Do you want it to cover most of me?” She pressed her body into my side.

“During breakfast, yeah,” I replied. “After that… let’s play it by ear.”

“If you say so, cariño,” She said, giving me a kiss and squeezing my rear before prancing down the hallway. I followed her and pulled a shirt from my closet, handing it to her and watching her disappear into the bathroom, listening as she knocked about and turned on the water. I smiled and went back to the kitchen.

She emerged shortly, toweling her hair, just as I was plating omelets and toast. The shirt I’d given her fell just half an inch past her buttocks. If she raised her arms straight up, I’d see everything.

“Where do I put my clothes?” She asked.

“Laundry room is off to the right, there,” I said, clearing my throat and trying not to notice how smooth and curvy her thighs were. “Just throw them in the washing machine. Orange juice or milk?”

“Juice,” She replied, taking both plates and putting them on the table and retrieving silverware from the drainboard as I poured the drinks. It was strange how at ease we both were, moving around each other in the kitchen as if we’d been living together for years, despite the fact that we’d only known each other for about a month and she’d never been in my apartment before. It just felt… natural.

“What kind of pie are you making for Kody’s party?” I asked. “We can walk to a corner market not far from here and pick up what you need, assuming they’re open before then.”

“I was debating doing two, actually: a fruit pie and a cheesecake, for people who don’t like fruit pies.”

“Ooh, that sounds good.”

“Thanks. Apple seems to be a universal crowd-pleaser, and I can do pretty things with the crust, maybe little pastry poinsettia flowers as decoration. I was also thinking of doing three different sauces for the cheesecake, so people can pick.”

I laughed. “Damn, you don’t mess around, do you?”

“Not when it comes to desserts,” She said, happily munching on toast. “If I hadn’t gone into childcare, I’d have been a pâtissier.”

I smirked at her. “Well, hell, dating you might actually get my weight up.”

She nodded, sipping her orange juice. “You wanna get fat, I’m your girl.”

I snickered. I finished my breakfast while Briauna was still eating. I stood to put my dishes in the sink and turned to look at Briauna, leaning against the table as she ate and scrolling through worried texts from her family, who lived in a state that didn’t get snowstorms.

The shirt I had given her wasn’t quite long enough to cover her bottom when she sat down. She was also sitting in such a way that I could see between her legs, and she was not wearing underwear. The soft apex of her core was flush against the cool, polished wood of the chair in which she was sitting, the lower parts of her butt cheeks pressed flat. Man, that plump flesh would feel so good in my hands…

I looked away quickly, blushing. “I’m going to take a shower, too.”

“Mkay,” She said, giving me a kiss as I passed and returned to eating her eggs. I switched on the washer as I went.

My heart was thumping in my chest and I felt myself growing hard as I made my way to the bathroom, turning on the water. It had been a few years since I’d been with anyone, and I was a bit pent up. I was hoping Briauna and I would take that step today, so I didn’t want to… take care of it myself.

I undressed and got into the shower, my swollen cock knocking into the doorframe as I got it, making me flinch. My shower was the kind that didn’t have a tub; it was glass enclosed, tiled, and with a drain in the floor. It’s one of the reasons I chose this apartment. I hated baths. It felt to me like I was stewing in my own filth.

The glass was warped and frosted, so I could see the outline of everything outside, including the door opening and the silhouette of Briauna stepping into the room.

“Brie?” I said. “What’s up?”

She opened the glass door and looked at me, all of me, and bit her lip. I fought the urge to cover myself. I had been self-conscious about my skinny body all my life, and I was a little concerned she would be turned off when she saw me naked.

Turned off was definitely not words to describe the look on her face. “It looks like you are,” She said, pulling the shirt over her head, leaving her standing nude in front of me. God, she was gorgeous. “Room for one more?”

I smiled and took her hand, pulling her into the shower with me. “It’s a good thing your hair isn’t dry yet,” I said.

She giggled and kissed me, pressing her warm skin against mine, my arousal trapped between the flesh of our stomachs. It pulsed against her, and she giggled again.

“Can I help you with that?” She asked, putting her hand between us and stroking me as the water cascaded down her body. I groaned and my head fell forward onto her shoulder. I kissed and nipped at her skin. With her other hand, she ran it through my short hair and gripped it, holding me against her neck.

She knelt down while holding my eye and smiling slightly, and oh God, just that single fluid movement was so sexy that I had to brace a hand against the wall.

She took me in her hand, pumping me a few times. Her tongue came out and she slowly ran the length of it over the tip and I gasped.

“Moan for me, querido,” She said, and I couldn’t help but oblige her. A sound escaped out of me that I had never heard myself make before.

“Ay, si, cariño. Te voy a hacer sentir tan bien.”

“Remind me to take Spanish lessons,” I huffed, struggling to stay upright.

“I’ll teach you,” She said, smiling up at me as she stroked me in her hand. “You’ll be cumming in Spanish by the end of the month.”

Before I could reply, she had sucked me into her mouth down to the base and I cried out. I put my hand on her head as she sucked, combing my fingers through her hair and caressing her cheek. The litany of sounds I was making certainly weren’t dignified, but the hell if I cared. It felt incredible. Briauna knew what she was doing, and I was more than happy about it.

She sucked faster, sealing her mouth around me, and I nearly fell.

“I’m going to cum,” I whispered. She didn’t pull away, instead reaching underneath to massage my balls. Lightning struck my body, every muscle in my body wound tight, and I came straight down her throat, gushing over and over. She didn’t spill a drop.

As I was gathering my breath back with my arm on the wall and my forehead pressed into my elbow, I gasped, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Spunk is bad for drains,” She said. “Wouldn’t want to clog up your pipes, now, would we?” She stood up and kissed me deeply, moaning into my mouth. Then she reached for my soap and started scrubbing me down.

“Don’t you want me to… uh… reciprocate?” I asked as she washed my back.

“I’m going to be here for a couple of days, huh? Plenty of time. No reason to rush it. I just saw you make a quick dash for the bathroom with a blush on your face and thought you could use a hand.” I groaned as she scratched that spot in the middle of my back that I could never reach. “Besides, I wanted to see that cute bubble butt in the flesh.” She popped my left cheek, making me jump.

I rinsed off the soap and turn the water off, stepping out onto the mat and reaching for a towel. She took a second one and ran it through my hair, wiggling my head and laughing.

This felt really good. Just… being close and playing around and just the general feeling of peace. I hadn’t felt like this in… ever. Comfort. That’s what it was.

I bent my head and kissed her, soft and lingering, holding her damp body against mine.

When I pulled back, she laughed, a sweet light in her eyes. “What was that for?”

“Just ‘cause,” I said.

“That’s a good reason,” She said, smiling and kissing me again.

We spent the morning mostly naked, watching Christmas movies while her clothes got cleaned. When they were dry, we both got dressed and headed to the market. Someone had gone to the trouble of shoveling the sidewalk so that people could travel on foot, but most of the cars were still buried, Briauna’s included.

“So what are we looking for?” I asked her.

“Well, you already have flour, butter, and sugar, so we need cream cheese, vanilla bean, apples, cinnamon, strawberries, blueberries, and some cooking chocolate.”

“Gotcha,” I said. “Have you been to this market before?”

“Nope,” She said. “I usually go to the supercenter nearby my apartment.”

I shook my head. “No, no, no, this place is far superior.” I raised my hand in greeting. “Hey, Mrs. Tailor!”

“Hey, Jukah!” The elderly woman at the counter said. “Who’s that with you?”

“I’m his girlfriend, Brie,” Briauna said, waving. I looked at her with an eyebrow raised. She smiled. “Aren’t I?”

I grinned and kissed her temple. “Yes, you are.”

“Oh, isn’t she pretty? I’m glad you’ve got a girl for the holidays,” Mrs. Tailor said.

“Thanks, Mrs. Tailor,” I replied.

“What are we looking for, niños?” Mrs. Tailor asked.

“Oh, hablas español?” Brie asked happily.

“Sí, conocí a mi esposo en Cancún.” Mrs. Tailor pointed at me. “Es muy guapo, te parece?”

“Sí, señora,” Brie replied. “Y él tiene un trasero muy lindo.”

The two of them laughed.

“I feel like you’re laughing at my expense.” I said suspiciously.

“You’re right,” Mrs. Tailor said.

“But in a good way,” Brie said, kissing my cheek.

“So, what are you two looking for?” Mrs. Tailor asked.

“She’s actually making some pies for a party we’re going to. Want to help us pick out the best produce?”

“Pies? Oh, honey, you’re talking my language.” Little Mrs. Tailor hopped off her stool and came around. “What kind of pies?”

Mrs. Tailor spent twenty minutes with us, helping us pick out the best berries and apples, the finest vanilla bean and cinnamon sticks in her store, and packs of cream cheese and graham crackers. She even gave us a discount.

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, Mrs. Tailor,” I said.

“Don’t you worry about it, baby,” She said. “Happy holidays, you two!”

“Gracias! Fue un placer conocerte! Feliz Navidad!” Briauna said, waving at Mrs. Tailor as we left and slowly walked back to my apartment.

“Cuídalo, cariña!” Mrs. Tailor called after us.

“She’s super sweet,” Briauna said, taking my arm.

“Yeah, she is. Mrs. Tailor was one of the first people I met when I came to town, and she’d been looking out for me ever since.”

“Aww,” Briauna cooed. “That’s nice. It makes me happy that you have so many friends.”

I hadn’t really thought about it, but I guess I did have a lot of friends. Maybe I just didn’t think of them as friends because I didn’t think they saw me as a friend.

Ugh. My head hurt.

We got back to my apartment, and she put everything in my fridge. It was around lunchtime, so I made us both a Caesar salad with ham chunks and cheddar cheese, and some garlic toast.

“You’re good with food, too, huh?” She asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Since my metabolism is so high, I have to eat a lot, so I figured it was good to learn how to make actual food and not just eat instant ramen and peanut butter on saltines.”

“Smart man,” She said, pinching my left butt cheek, startling me.

“You just like seeing me jump, don’t you?” I asked her, rubbing my behind.

She laughed wickedly. “You have no idea.”

“What happened to the sweet girl I started dating?” I asked her playfully.

“She’s still here. People are more than one thing, you know,” She said, kissing the back of my neck as I set our plates on the table.

“I know,” I replied, smirking at her.

After lunch, she helped me wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen. When we were done, she wrapped her arms around my waist and I held her close.

“So, more Christmas movies?” I asked.

“Actually…” She said, letting me go and walking backward toward the bedroom, tugging me by my shirt. “I have a much better idea.”

I let her lead me to the bedroom and start stripping me of my clothes. She peeled her own clothes off and stood before me in all her glowing, naked glory.

It was easy for people to underestimate my strength because of my size, but I was still an orc, after all. I was easily able to lift her in my arms and throw her onto the bed. She landed with a bounce and a giggle. I pounced and she laughed more as she kissed me.

She pushed me onto my back and climbed onto me, kissing me, pushing her tongue past my lips. I put my hand in her curls and made a fist, tugging up her head so that I could bite at her neck, making her gasp and release her breath sharply. She pushed my arms down and moved up my body, so that her dripping slit was presented to my face. Holding onto the headboard, she lowered herself down so that I could reach that swollen clit with my mouth, and I licked at it hungrily.

She moaned above me as I gripped her thighs, working my tongue up, over, and down her lips. The sounds she made caused my body to react, making my cock harder than I had been that morning in the shower. Her pelvis rocked slightly as I sucked and slurped at her, her moans increasing in volume and pitch. The rocking got faster, and I sucked harder, feeling her sweltering entrance tremble against my mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” She whispered as I pushed two fingers into her wetness. I sucked in her clit, shaking my head as I did so, and she gripped my hair as she came, crying out and falling against the headboard, her face pressed against the wood.

“Oh, sí cariño, que se siente tan jodidamente bien!” She cried, and again I made a mental note to learn Spanish as soon as possible.

She fell sideways onto the bed, on her back, and I rolled over her, rearing up to kneel between her open legs. I let her catch her breath, bending down to take a nipple in my mouth and gently run my teeth over it, pinching the other into a peak with my hand. She whimpered and writhed a little underneath me.

I switched breasts and sucked as much of it into my mouth as I could fit, flicking the tip of my tongue over it. She moaned again, louder, and I let her breast go with a pop. I pulled myself up to kiss her red lips, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, tilting her hips up, silently insistent.

I looked her in the eyes as I pushed myself inside her, and her eyes rolled back in her head as her mouth fell open. At first, my thrusts were tentative, but she opened her eyes, held my head in her hands, looked me in the eye, and said, “Do not be gentle with me.”

I got back up on my knees and grabbed her hips, ramming myself into her at top speed and intensity, and she shrieked in pleasure, holding onto the underside of the headboard. The wet smacking of our bodies as we connected with each thrust spurred me on. I worried that I was being too aggressive, but whenever I’d ease up, she’d shout, “Harder!” And I went back at it with renewed fervor.

I felt her clenched around me as an orgasm shook her body, and she screamed out, telling me not to stop, to keep going, and I listened. I whipped my hips into her as hard and fast as I could, and she begged me to keep going, even as her orgasm ebbed. Her thighs twitched and her stomach spasmed.

“Flip me,” She said, and I pulled myself out, whipped her upside down, grasped her hips, and jerked her toward me. I shoved myself back into her and she groaned with pleasure. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her face up out of the pillows so I could hear her moans and breathy gasps. I loved those sounds. I wanted to record them and listen to them on a loop for days.

I loved the way her butt jiggled every time my body collided with hers. I loved how she kept swearing in Spanish and how she arched her back when she was close to climaxing. I loved… her.

Now wasn’t the time to declare myself, though. It had only been a week.

I felt the swell of pleasure rising up in me as she clamped down again. She must have realized I was close, perhaps feeling me pulsate inside her, because she breathed, “Cum for me, querido.”

I seemed conditioned to obey any command she gave me, because at that exact moment, I came so hard I saw spots in my vision. I released her hair, letting her fall forward, as I felt every shot fill her up and drip out. I bent over her, braced on my hands, and kissed her back. I thrust slowly to milk out the last traces of pleasure, then stopped while still inside her, breathing hard.

“Don’t move, I’ll clean you up,” I told her breathlessly, moving off the bed and getting a warm washcloth from the bathroom. She was still laying ass-up when I returned and I carefully cleaned up the mess I made. When I was done, she simply plopped over on her side and sighed contently. Giving myself a cursory wipe with the cloth, I chucked it into a hamper and climbed back into bed, snuggling her back against my front.

“You good, sweetheart?” I asked her, my nose in her hair.

“Mmm…” She said sleepily. “I’m great.”

“I’m also great,” I replied, giving her a squeeze that made her squeal. “And I’m hungry again.”

“You did just burn off a bunch of calories,” She said with a smile.

“True,” I said. “Good thing I have some protein bars in my night table.”

She laughed. “Can I get one of those, too?”

I tossed her one, which she made no attempt to catch. It landed squarely on her sternum between her breasts.

“Whoo! Got it between the goal posts, two points for you,” She said.

I laughed at her as I tore open the wrapper of my protein bar.

“Do you always have food stashed in your room?”

“I have food stashed everywhere. Never know when my sugar is going to decide to tank out of nowhere.”

“Doesn’t the medicine help you manage that?” She asked with her mouth full, like a lady.

“To a point,” I said. “It works the majority of the time, but there are some times when my thyroid goes, ‘haha, you’re about to be real tired and grouchy, so buckle up, asshole,’ and I have to put something edible in my mouth with a quickness.”

“Makes sense,” She said. “I’ll just have to keep a fresh supply of cookies and cakes and pies for you.”

You leaned forward and kissed her with gratitude. “You won’t hear me complaining about that.”

After a nap, Brie got up to start on the pies. She taught me how to make a quick crust, and as I worked on crushing the graham crackers, she asked, “So… you haven’t spoken to your family in… how long?”

“Oh, god…” I tried thinking back. “I left when I was nineteen, so… ten years?”

“You really don’t think they want to hear from you?” She asked hesitantly.

“Nothing from my upbringing would suggest otherwise,” I said, shrugging.

“Yeah, but…” She paused. “Ten years is a long time. A lot could change in ten years. People change. Attitudes change.”

I laughed. “You’re not overly familiar with orc culture, huh?”

“I mean… I just think… maybe if they knew about your condition, they’d be more understanding than you think.” She stirred the strawberry sauce in the pan. “I mean, it’s the holidays. It’s a time to be with your family. I’m not saying you have to contact them, but… maybe it’s something to consider?”

I paused in my crushing and sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

She stopped stirring and put her arms around my waist. “Sorry. I don’t mean to insert myself into your problems.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, kissing her, linking my fingers behind her back. “You’re just concerned about me. It’s sweet and I like that about you.”

“Aww,” She said, grinning. She gave me a last kiss and went back to stirring.

The next day, we carried the pies and sauces, as well as the bean dip I usually made, to Kody’s apartment, which was just a few blocks down the street from my building.

“Hey, guys!” Kody said, giving us both a hug as we came in. “Briauna, this is Jessie, my best friend.”

Jessie came up and gave me a hug, then shook Briauna’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Briauna said.

“You, too,” Jessie said, taking a the pies off her hands and setting them on the counter.

Jacob and Emily were already there, and Emily had brought a date. He was a lizardman but not a kobold, like her. He looked a lot like a chameleon, actually, complete with independently moving eyes.

“Taking a break from hibernating, Emily?” I asked as I gave her a hug.

“Yeah, I had Torin wake me up for the party,” She said, jerking her head at the chameleon man.

“He’s new,” I said.

“He’s fun,” She replied, winking at me.

Jacob came up and nudged me.

“Can’t help but notice that Brie is still wearing the clothes she had on at work that last day,” He said with a sly smirk.

I rolled my eyes. “Her car got buried under snow, so she’s been staying with me.”

“Sure, sure,” He said, glancing at Emily. The two of them shared a knowing look.

“Oh, grow up, you two,” I said, shaking my head.

The dinner was amazing, just like every year, and hours later, Brie and I wandered back home.

“That was fun,” She said as I unlocked the door. “I kind of want to fool around, but I also feel like I might puke from eating so much and just want to pass out.”

“I’m with you there,” I agreed. “Even I ate too much, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

She laughed and pulled off her scarf. “I could see my car from the distance. It’s almost thawed out. I was thinking maybe going home tomorrow and packing a bag and coming back to spend the rest of the week with you. Sound good?”

“That sounds great to me,” I said. “But… aren’t you going to see your family for Christmas?”

“I was going to, but I told them about you and they said to stay. Besides, I’ll go see them for New Years. Want to come?”

My head rocked back. “You want me to meet your family?”

“Yeah,” She bit her lip. “Is it… too soon for that?”

I smiled slowly. “Is it too soon for me to tell you I love you?”

She returned the smile. “Nope.”

“Good,” I replied, pulling her into a tight hug. “Because I do.”

“I love you, too, Jukah,” She said, muffled against the fabric of my coat. “So you’ll come meet my family?”

“I’d love to.”

After I took my meds, we both undressed and got in bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

I woke in the middle of the night to her stroking me to attention from behind. I purred appreciatively and rolled over, letting her straddle me and putting my hands on her hips. When she bent down to kiss me, I reached between us and held myself steady as she lowered herself down and took all of me inside her.

She rode me in the dark, moving against the pale light shining through the curtains, glowing against the soft brown of her skin and the curl of her hair. I could hear her stilted breathing and soft moans. She was so beautiful.

I dug my fingers into her hips and thrust up into her, and she fell forward onto my chest, letting me take over. She kissed my neck and sank her teeth into my collarbone, and I groaned, my toes curling. I clapped a hand on her butt, feeling the jiggle, and she yelped and laughed.

She pushed herself up and rocked faster, grinding her body against me as she came loudly, crying out wordlessly. When her pleasure ebbed, she climbed off of me and sucked me into her mouth, bobbing up and down fast, massaging with her hands and clawing at the inside of my thighs.

It didn’t take long before I released, and like before, she took all of it. No muss, no fuss. I lay back with a sigh of relief, and she plopped down next to me, kissing me slowly until, eventually, we fell asleep again, not a word spoken.

As the first light of dawn filtered into the room, I woke up feeling hungry. Brie was still sleeping, the gold light of morning making the dusting of fine freckles stand out on her exposed chest. I looked at her for a moment with a smile on my face, feeling lucky for the first time in my life.

I got up, pulling on my boxers, and walking into the kitchen. I spotted a box of fruit bars on the fridge and grabbed one, scarfing it down to get my sugar up, when my eyes fell on my phone, which I’d left on the kitchen counter.

I picked it up and looked through my contacts, finding the number for the Floodwater Stronghold Communications Center. My finger hovered over the call button for at least five minutes before pressing it. With my hands shaking slightly, I held the phone up to my ear.

“Floodwater Stronghold Communications.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, can you connect me with Gorcha Ironblood?”

“One moment.”

There was a waiting tone, and then the dialing tone. With each ring, my anxiety rose.

There was a click, and a voice came over the line.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Yep, that was my mom.

“Um… Hey, Mom. It’s, uh… It’s Jukah.”

There was a full thirty seconds of silence over the line before she responded. “Jukah? I… Hi… How are you?”

“I’m good, Mom. I’m good.” I took a deep breath and released it sharply. “Um… I’m sorry it took me so long to get in touch with you, but... Listen, there’s, um… There’s something I need to tell you.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Orc #Orc Boyfriend #My Writing #Ban23 #First Person Perspective #First Person POV #Male Reader #Monster Reader #Monster Boyfriend #Commission

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