#support your local barista | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

winedarkthoughts · 5 months

Text

house of addams (1)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4.3k

— 🍄 summary: hired to look into the mysterious deaths, disappearances, and disturbances in the small town of Farrow's End, you soon meet a certain gang of oddballs who help you connect the dots. and NO, you are NOT taking a liking to them.

— ☕ content warnings: private investigator!reader, cozy small town mystery/addams family vibes, botanist!yoongi, magical absurdity, bookshop owner!namjoon, barista!jin

— 🕸️ a/n: first chapter! directly influenced by this fic on ao3 by tinyratthief, which is loosely based on the addams family.

series m.list/schedule → next chapter

chpt. 1: new digs

september 16, 2004

If this job has taught you one thing, it’s that the laws of truth can and will be bent by anyone with enough concentrated effort. People come to you to find very specific truths; birth parents, cheating spouses, the details of shady business deals.

But if this job has taught you one thing, it's that the truth will also reveal itself to anyone with enough concentrated effort.

Though, there's always a handful of cases that force you to delve deep into things you’d rather leave buried. Like the person in Oregon who didn't show up in any photographs. Or the small town in Maryland with the strange, centuries-old secret society.

You’ve seen sides of human nature that have left you cynical, distrusting. Some have called you “dead inside,” but you’re not here to brag. Naturally, you are excellent at your job.

And when the Mayor of Farrow’s End, a sleepy town with enough missing persons cases to warrant a Netflix documentary, contacted you about a possible case, you accepted almost instantly.

Even her first correspondence and initial offer were strange. She stated a preference to discuss the finer details in person and in person only, which to you immediately suggested that the entire investigation would be a matter of confidentiality.

You were proven right when you met with her a week later. And while being proven right is usually one of your favorite things, you didn’t exactly expect this.

The offer: investigative services regarding (but not limited to) local missing persons/homicides, ecological disturbances, environmental chemical imbalances. etc.

In exchange for: monthly salary, rent support, covered business expenses.

And above all, everything must remain off the books.

The salary along with the rent support is very generous considering what you're used to, but you don’t tell the Mayor that. You do inform her that, while you wear many hats, you are not an ecologist, nor a chemist.

Mayor Summerbee, a middle-aged Asian woman with a sweet smile and even warmer eyes, informs you that you will have access to the local University’s college of natural sciences. She gives you the contact information for one Min Yoongi, a botanist who works in the school's research department.

Then she gives you the contact information for one Kim Taehyung, the town coroner and pathologist. Apparently, both of them will be available for consultation.

She is eager, maybe even desperate, smiling at you with an urgent sheen in her eyes.

When you accept her offer, shaking her hand with your usual firm grip, she seems to exhale in relief.

You move to Farrow’s End by the end of the week. It’s not as if you have much to move, just a trunkful of books and a handful of duffel bags. You’ve always moved around for work, and even if you didn’t, staying in one place for too long makes you nervous.

Your bags hit the pavement beside your boots as you survey your new home. It's a small, quaint house. The paint is faded but the architectural structure is sturdy. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, living room. The whole place is in a slight state of disrepair, but you can't complain.

You spend the next day cleaning and unpacking, which doesn't take long since you leave most of your books in the trunk. You're exploring the town by the end of the afternoon.

The town square, though full of shops and businesses, is nearly barren. A few civilians putter around, their faces weathered and reflective of the gloom in the air. They stare at you as you pass by, a cocktail of curiosity and slight suspicion.

The next thing you notice is the posters. They're everywhere, on the crumbling brick walls, stuck on lampposts, taped to the windows, all displaying a variety of subjects. Events at the University, local night markets, antiques for sale.

But there are a few that stick out. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE LAKE! Sign the petition to restrict land access →

HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? You're not alone, contact a psychic today!

BEWARE! DO NOT FEED LOCAL WILDLIFE.

Though, what's more strange to you is what you don't see. There are barely any missing person posters, and the few that you do see appear to have been ripped away.

Work begins now, you think to yourself as you snap some photos of several posters, flapping in the cold wind.

You pop into the general store to pick up some essentials, and the store clerk immediately recognizes that you're not a local.

He asks where you're from, you reply with the standard answer: a city not too far but not too close. He asks what you're doing here, you reply with the standard answer: you're a journalist. You add in the suggestion that you're working with the University about a story, and he doesn't question any further.

You're not sure if it's because he takes the hint or because he loses interest.

During the drive home, you notice something looming in the distance. Atop the highest hill is a dark house, with spires and towers rising from the tops of spindly trees. Even from here, you can see that the architecture is old and ornate, almost ancient in a hypnotic way. You're fairly certain you can see a murder of crows circling above.

An unusual feeling hangs around the house, like there's some kind of aura surrounding it. Welcoming some, yet blocking others.

Very strange indeed.

You spend the rest of the night huddled next to the fireplace, using the flickering orange light to skim over newspaper clippings.

No, the house does not have a heating system. But you don't mind too much, you have plenty of wood and warm clothes.

Five missing and three dead in the last year. Local law enforcement has done everything they could with what they had to work with, which apparently wasn't much. Scattered locations, no visible connection between the victims, and an alarming lack of evidence.

Eyelids heavy, you leave the papers scattered across the floor and head to bed, already looking forward to tomorrow's first coffee.

september 17, 2004

The University appears to be just as old as the rest of the town. Original wood, aged stone, curved iron accents. The brick walkway is slick with morning rain, and the sky is swirling with fog.

Perfect weather, it makes you ready to get to work.

The directory stated that Min Yoongi would be in Montgomery Hall, the natural sciences building, either in the greenhouse or in one of the labs, according to the TA you talked to earlier on the phone.

It takes some wandering, but what you like about this place is that people don't seem to notice your presence as much as they do in town. Out there, you're an easily identifiable outsider. Here, you're just another passerby with a purpose.

You find him in one of the lab rooms, tucked into a little nook that's encased with plastic sheeting, dotted with beads of moisture. The small space is crowded with greenery, big pots of tall plants with fanning leaves, draping vines from wall planters, seedlings in little trays.

Through the condensation dripping down the plastic walls, you can see that he's spraying the plants down with water, wearing a classic white coat.

You're indulging in your bad habit again. Your footsteps are notoriously quiet (you've been told), and you (apparently) have a tendency to sneak up on people and observe them for several minutes before they notice that you are there.

But it's a skill you delight in.

The man is of average height, thin, black hair, delicate features. You notice that the soles of his boots are caked with mud, and his skin is dewy from the humidifiers pumping moisture into the room.

"You already know my opinion on this," you hear him say, muffled by the spray of the water.

For a moment, you think he's talking to you, that he's rejecting your case before you've even presented it to him. But he isn't facing you, and his tone is decidedly casual, like he's talking to an old friend.

"It's bad for the others, anyway," he continues. "Don't wiggle your trigger hairs at me like that."

A pause, the water flow stops. Then a sigh of defeat.

"Fine, one puff. Then you quit pouting, got it?"

There's the sound of shuffling, then the fwick of a lighter being ignited.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step forward to peer through the slit in the plastic sheeting.

There's a Venus fly trap on one of the shelves, and between the jaws of one of the trap mouths, is a lit cigarette.

The man's head piques up when you enter his field of vision. Eyes widening, he looks like a cat that's been caught off guard.

He looks between you and the plant several times. You're fairly certain you see the tip of the cigarette glow ember, as if the plant were actually inhaling.

The man snatches the cigarette away and crushes it beneath the wet sole of his boot.

"Nasty habit," he finally says with a nervous chuckle. An awkward, straight-mouthed smile crosses his face, making his cheeks puff out slightly.

"Min Yoongi?" you ask.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds politely.

"I'm ______," you say, holding out a hand to shake.

He shuffles forward, his cold slim fingers meeting yours.

"Ah, the mayor mentioned that you'd be around."

That throws you a bit, because from what you've gathered about this case, you assumed that the mayor didn't want to be associated with it.

"Yes, would you mind filling me in on some of the ecological disturbances that have been going on in town?"

It's as if the question sends ants crawling down his spine. His neutral smile dissipates into an anxious twitch of his lips. He turns the hose back on and resumes spritzing the plants.

"What do you want to know?" he asks, a new tension in his voice.

Odd.

"Well," you start, "The mayor tells me that locals have been complaining about strange mushrooms invading their yards, increased acidity in their soil. Would you know anything about that?"

His eyebrows are knitted as he dampens the leaves of a spiraling fern.

"Mushrooms are really just the fruit of fungi, they bloom like flowers when the conditions are just right. Moisture, shade, an abundance of organic material, stuff like that. When it comes to the acidity, there's a variety of factors. All the rainfall recently leads to leaching, and the increased use of fertilizers causes nitrification. It's pretty standard."

You raise an eyebrow. He's deflecting.

"People have been saying that these mushrooms have been particularly hard to get rid of."

Yoongi 's brows furrow as if he's thinking hard.

"Fungi are tricky like that. We don't know much about them, really. They're their own class of life form. It could be a particularly stubborn strain."

"There's also been some unusual plant growth, creeping vines or the like. Very resistant to herbicides, apparently."

He pauses, considers it.

"Hmm," he mutters, the nozzle of the hose going lax in his hand.

“Also,” you continue, trying to further engage his curiosity. “There's been several cases of strange root rot?”

You add a questioning tone to your voice, gauging his reaction. Apparently, he hasn’t heard about it, because he looks up at you with the same question in his eyes.

“Root rot? In household plants?” he asks.

“No, in residencies.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you can tell he’s intrigued.

“I would benefit a lot from your knowledge, if I could just bring you a few samples, maybe go out and do some fieldwork—”

“You wouldn’t like working with me,” Yoongi interrupts. “I’m very…particular.”

You have a feeling the word is meant as a substitute for something else.

“Wonderful, so am I,” you reply, digging one of the many notebooks out of your bag. Flipping to the calendar, you click open your open your pen and start scribbling.

“Mornings are best, get the most out of the daylight. Make sure to bring your equipment and something to write on, and a camera if you have one.”

“Wait, I just don’t know if I’m going to be much use to you,” Yoongi says a little nervously, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You pause your scribbling to look at him. He’s pale in the fluorescent light, but not just physically. He has pale mannerisms and pale expressions, the countenance of a person that doesn’t feel as if they belong.

You know the feeling well.

“Coffee is always on me. How do you like it?” you say instead.

“Does Wednesday work?”

september 18, 2004

Three dead and five missing in less than six months. First, Michael Bradley, aged forty-two. Cause of death: chronic poisoning/exposure to toxic chemicals. He was found in his garage surrounded by household cleaners and herbicides. Apparently he’d been trying to get rid of the same strange mushrooms in his yard.

For now, all you have to work with is what they’ve published in the newspapers, and it seems that all that's come out of it is a public service announcement warning homeowners to be careful around toxic chemicals. His wife, Mary Bradley, hasn't commented on the circumstances of her husband’s death. And no one else has inquired any further into the matter.

Until today, obviously. Mrs. Bradley didn't answer her phone, and when you knocked on her door earlier this morning, she seemed less than pleased.

You opened with the standard introduction: I'm a journalist working on a story, would you mind consenting to an interview? Mrs. Bradley narrowed her eyes and scanned you up and down with barely concealed suspicion.

She asked what a journalist would find interesting about a common, accidental death in a small town. Apparently, the citizens of Farrow's End are very perceptive to outsiders.

You mentioned that fact that although Bradley's death appeared accidental, it's not common for people to die at the hands of household chemicals from prolonged exposure. Chronic poisoning is rarely without symptoms, why didn't he go to hospital?

She didn't have anything to say to that. You asked if she'd be comfortable divulging some of the details of his death, maybe even giving you access to the autopsy report. But she just grimaced at the mention, insisting that she had nothing to say about the matter and that you should leave right away.

She slammed the door in your face, but luckily it wasn't the first time people have resisted your questions. Unfortunately, a significant part of your job involves being a pain in the ass.

You linger in the front yard, where it's impossible not to notice the gnarled tree stumps and large rings of mushrooms scattered across the lawn.

You're not a mycologist by any means, but even you can tell that these mushrooms are strange. They seem to be multicolored, red and orange and brown, changing depending on the light like a hologram, but without any of the shine. They aren't bulb-shaped like many other mushrooms, but twist in tendrils this way and that, stretching.

And a smell hangs about them. You can't really describe it, something like damp and musk and old meat. Standing there, breathing them in, for too long makes your head spin.

And the trees, or rather, what's left of them. Nothing but stumps now, but you can tell that they were old when they were cut down. There's that same multi-colored effect to them, except it runs in veins throughout the tree's bark, spiraling into the rings.

You'll have to ask Yoongi about it.

Curiosity nips at you like a non-venomous snake even after you're home. It's not deadly, but it sure as hell is annoying.

What kind of disease infects fungi and trees? Why would the mayor care about privately investigating such a thing? And a thousand other questions.

You shove your boots on and enter back into the chill. You remember seeing a bookstore in town.

The Magic Shop: Books and Oddities

The front window glows with warm light, crowded with displayed volumes and curiosities (a stuffed raven, a jar of yellowing teeth, insects encased in amber).

The door swings open with the ring of a bell. Someone calls out "Welcome in," in a deep-velvet voice.

The smell of parchment and aged leather envelopes you like a familiar hug. You can't help pausing in the doorway and inhaling deeply. No matter what city you're in, places like this always feel like home.

It's everything that a bookstore should be: crowded, mysterious, and slightly dusty. The shelves are tightly grouped and arranged like a labyrinth few are privy to, and stacks—no, towers—of books occupy every corner.

You enter into the space, feet padding on the braided rugs, eyes drinking in the details. There are labels on the shelves, haphazardly spaced. They start normal enough: gardening, self-help, adventure.

But then you realize that they branch off into even more labels, or rather sub-labels. There's nocturnal gardening, gardening under the influence, Faerie gardens and goblin gardens. Each labeled sub-genre branches into even more specific sub-categories, creating a seemingly endless array of subjects.

You could explore this place for hours. In fact, you intend to over the course of your stay in Farrow's End.

You spend an indeterminate amount of time exploring all the labels and categories. The shelves twist this way and that, creating little nooks where the occasional armchair is tucked into.

Eventually, you come to a more open area with a wide-sprawling desk. The man sitting behind it is tall and tan, glasses perched on his nose, with short chestnut hair that shifts golden in the candlelight.

He's deeply focused on the book in his hands: A Comprehensive Guide to Navigating Parallel Universes and Pocket Dimensions.

Typically, you hate to bother people in a bookstore, especially if they're already reading. It's supposed to be a space for quiet reflection, for self-exploration and uninterrupted browsing. But you still have a job to do, and it's clear that you won't be able to navigate the complicated system yourself. At least, not in a concise period of time.

So you square your shoulders and prepare yourself to address the (handsome, you notice) man at the counter.

"Excuse me," you begin in a hushed voice.

The man's head whips up, as if he completely forgot there was another person here.

"Yes?" He says in that same deep voice, friendly and eager. "Do you need help finding something?" It sounds like he can't quite believe the fact. This place must not get many customers.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

His face lights up as if nothing would delight him more.

"Do you have anything on unusual mushrooms?" you ask.

The man sets down his book and slips out from behind the desk. "Hmm..." he mumbles to himself, expertly weaving between the shelves while you hurry to catch up.

"Let's see here..." he says, passing a wall draped with vines from a hanging planter, like the ones in Yoongi's lab, you notice.

"Fungi," he mutters, fingertips ghosting over the shelves. The sections under Fungi are vast and wide-ranging. Poisons & Antidotes, Moss & Lichens, Carnivorous, Aberrations.

He pauses at that last one, eyes flitting between the volumes.

"Anything specific?" he asks.

You debate on how much to disclose, but with the several cases of strange fungi in people's yards, it's probably common small town knowledge by now.

"Anything about an unusual fungus with...tendrils?" You can't help the hesitation, you're not sure if it's a common feature among mushrooms.

Apparently, it's not as unusual as you thought, because the man only nods and shifts his attention to one of the lower shelves. His slim fingers finally land on an old cloth-bound book with a red toadstool on the spine. There's no title on the cover, but the man seems to be familiar with it.

"Here you go," he says, handing it to you. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in this one."

He says it with the confidence of someone who's read every book in the building front to back. A very specific part of your brain tells you that this fact is almost certainly true.

"Thank you very much," you say, turning the book over in your hands.

"My pleasure," he replies, and means it.

"How much?"

He guides you back to the counter and rings it up for a very good price.

You're itching to ask questions, but you're not sure where to start.

The man places the book into a brown paper bag printed with Magic Shop Books and Oddities and hands it to you with a warm smile.

You lose your nerve and take the bag in silence. Then, as if he could smell the fragmented thoughts darting around in your skull, he says, "Be careful in the woods."

You look at him. There's the same friendly smile, but now with a hint of good-natured curiosity.

"If you're going mushroom hunting, I mean," he adds.

You stare at him for perhaps too long.

"Thanks," you say, dropping a generous tip into the jar next to the register.

"Hope to see you again," he calls out as you exit through the front door.

A moth to flame, bees to honey. Insert: you to coffee shops with perfect ambient lighting. You spot it just as you're leaving the narrow alley that leads to the bookshop.

Turning the corner onto a cobblestone walkway, you catch sight of the cafe windows, slick with the recent rain. But from what you can see through the glass, it looks like a warm, cozy place.

Glancing at the front door, you notice an OPEN sign, even though it's quite late. You're opening the door and stepping inside before you're even conscious of it.

The interior reflects the same aged aesthetic as the exterior, dark wood and brick and brass accents. But the kitchen area houses clean chrome appliances, and there are shelves stacked with white dishes behind them. Golden light warms a glass case fully stocked with a manner of pastries, breads, and other nibbles, all of which still seem to be steaming hot.

You immediately decide that you like this place.

"Good evening," a pleasant voice calls, though you can't yet identify the speaker.

The smell of steam and freshly-ground coffee beans becomes richer as you approach the counter. You can hear someone puttering around in the back room.

You glance at the menu's wide selection, and when you look back at the counter, a man is standing right in front of you.

You don't scare easily, but it's enough to make you jump a little.

"What can I get you?" the man asks cheerfully. He's tall and slim, wearing a white button-up and black slacks under an apron. Brown hair, dark eyes, and a full smiling mouth.

You order a coffee and a pastry.

"What time do you close?" you ask, wanting to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere but also not wanting to be the asshole that settles in just before closing.

"On Wednesdays we close at noon, otherwise we're open twenty-four hours," he replies, sounding delighted by rather than annoyed by the fact.

A twenty-four hour coffee shop? You really like this place.

He must see your eyebrows raise in surprise, because then he proudly adds, "Only one in town."

Pleasantly surprised, you look around the shop to assess the seating options. There are booths tucked along the walls, a few tables and chairs, and a few plush-looking armchairs near the windows.

"Please, have a seat and make yourself at home. I enjoy the company," the man says as he makes your drink.

You take him up on it, settling into one of the chairs by the frosted glass of the window. It's then that you take a closer look at the book the shop owner recommended.

A fraying cloth-bound cover, a red toadstool instead of a title. Inside, a table of contents. First, a bit of basic mycology, which you greatly benefit from. Immediately after, a range of mutations, circumstances, and environmental factors that caused the direct disturbance to said mycology.

You get lost in it quite easily, sipping your drink (which is expertly brewed) and nibbling your pastry (which is almost too delicious for words). You know that you'll be spending a considerable amount of time here throughout your stay in Farrow's End.

The book cites several case studies, all suggesting that a new strain of fungus is not only spreading rapidly, but infecting all other strains it has access to.

You read on, only momentarily distracted by the occasional customers that enter into the establishment. Like the group of students, most likely from the University, who order a large batch of espresso to-go. Or the old man who orders a sandwich and black coffee and sits outside despite the late-night chill.

You don't realize it, but you read on until the early morning. The first few faint, pale rays of sunlight stretch across your current page through the window, and you jerk to attention when you realize what time it is.

Not that you have somewhere in particular to be today. But you've always liked to get a jump on things early on in the investigation. And you have better luck getting interviews during the day.

You had no idea that time was passing so quickly. This place seems to have an air of particular tranquility, the kind that only a handful of coffee shops are able to achieve. It's the feeling of finding a quiet place after being overstimulated for hours.

You take your dishes to the counter, drop a tip into the jar, and step into the morning chill.

Exhaustion sets in on the journey home, and you crash moments after your head hits the pillow.

The dreams start that night.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! love to hear any of ur thoughts 👉👈

next chapter

#bts ot7 #ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts mystery #bts x fem!reader #bts series #bts f #bts fic #bts angst #bts fluff

522 notes · View notes

luxaofhesperides · 8 months

Text

“You know, I never realized how true the ‘eyes are the windows to your soul’ thing was until I saw yours.” + fluff + cafe AU ; requested by @kiv1!

He’s sure Danny didn’t expect to see him every other day after he casually mentioned that he had gotten a part time job at a local cafe. However, as his friend, it is Duke’s moral duty to only get coffee from that shop while Danny is on shift, specifically to annoy him.

Also, so he can support his friend, but being annoying takes priority.

It’s a routine now, for both of them. Danny clocks in for his shift and an hour later Duke is strolling into the cafe with his eyes locked on Danny’s. The rest of the baristas always shove Danny up to the register when they see Duke, taking over whatever order he was making. Even some of the other regulars turn their attention up to the counter, hoping for another few minutes of entertainment.

Danny sighs as he gets ready to input Duke’s order. It’s never the same one, because Duke would hate to be predictable and make things easier for Danny, but it has the side effect of making him realize that some of the expensive, seasonal drinks are really good.

It’s a bit hard on his wallet, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay for teasing Danny.

“Hey,” he greets cheerfully as he leans against the counter, grinning at Danny.

Danny sighs again. “What can I get you today, random customer that keeps bothering me.”

“A latte, but make it sweet somehow. And iced.”

“What size would you like?”

“Let’s go with medium today.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Duke leans closer to Danny, watching as he fights down a smile. “I just gotta say that you got gorgeous eyes. You know, I never realized how true the ‘eyes are the window to your soul thing’ was until I saw yours.”

Danny considers this for a moment, then shakes his head. “It kind of sounds like your trying to steal my soul through my eyes.”

“Why is that what your mind goes to?”

“Well. I watched Coraline last night.”

Duke stares at Danny, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. “...Didn’t you say that movie gave you nightmares as a kid?”

“Yeah! And it turns out, it gives me nightmares even now!”

“And ruined my pick up line,” Duke complains playfully.

“It was too cheesy anyways,” Danny replies, putting Duke’s order into the screen. It prints a moment later, no doubt with some bizarre name since Danny refuses to actually name Duke on his orders, and then recites the price.

He pays and watches as Danny slaps the order onto a medium sized up, then tosses it over to the barista making the drinks. He’s not actually sure what her name is since she refuses to wear a name tag, but she always gives him a wave and also a rating of how good his pick up lines are.

“Seven out of ten!” she calls out to him today, then gets started on making his drink.

“I don’t see why you don’t flirt with anyone else,” Danny says, “I’m pretty sure my coworkers like your pick up lines even more than they like me.”

“Why would I want to flirt with them? Danny, I’m literally only here to bother you.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Yeah, trust me, I know. My good looks just keep pulling in business.”

He says it like a joke, but it’s true. Duke has noticed it. Danny’s coworkers have noticed it. His manager noticed it and now has him out on the floor every shift. If they can get him to work on the chalkboard sign outside, or wipe down the two tables out front, then they do it, because Danny is Midwestern to his core and it’s very charming in a place like Gotham. He smiles at people as they walk by, happily answers their questions when they ask him what the cafe serves, recommends food and drinks for them, is generally a bright and nice person to everyone who comes near the cafe.

His cute looks draw people in, then his personality makes them stay.

It’s all customer service, of course, because Duke never gets the cute, sunny Danny. He’s left with the sarcastic, rude, and funny Danny that’s been his friend since they met in junior year of high school.

“Your eyes are really pretty, though,” Duke says, “Very blue. Sometimes green. It’s no wonder people keep falling for you!”

Danny reaches across the counter to shove Duke away, but he’s blushing, so Duke is counting it as a win. “Shut up. Now you’re just lying. My eyes are never green.”

“Yes, they are. Danny, I’ve seen them multiple times. They’re green sometimes.”

“No? My eyes have literally only ever been blue. They’re the bluest blue to ever blue. They don’t just turn green.”

They squint at each other for a long moment, trying to figure out who’s wrong and in what way. Duke’s pretty sure Danny’s wrong, since he can’t exactly see his own eyes, and Duke has spent an embarrassing amount of time just admiring how nice they are in different kinds of light. But also, they are Danny’s eyes, so he should know what color they are.

Then Danny’s coworker is setting down Duke’s drink on the pick up counter, giving Danny an excuse to get back to work.

“One medium oatmeal cookie iced latte for Cornelius Aggravating Douglas.” He holds up the drink and makes very direct eye contact with Duke, holding out the drink towards him.

“Did you really have to make the initials ‘Cad’?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough,” Duke says, making Danny crack a smile.

“Are you heading out after this?”

Duke grabs a straw and sticks it into his latte, swirling it around some. “That was the plan, yeah. Got a few library books to pick up. Why?”

“I got approval for a half shift today, so I’m off in like ten minutes, if you wanna wait for me.”

“Hell yeah, dude! I’ll wait outside so I don’t distract you with my flirtatious winks again.”

“Get out of here,” Danny laughs. Duke lifts his drink in a quick toast, then gets out of there. He takes a seat at one of the tables out front, content to just people watch as he slowly sips his latte.

It’s cloudy out, but not raining, which is always a plus. As much as he’d like to see the sun, these kinds of days aren’t so bad, either. The wind still carries a bit of a chill, but the spring is steadily warming things up. There are tons of people out, a constant rush of movement, but a few do catch sight of him, then look towards the cafe, their steps slowing down as they think. Most keep walking, but Duke does manage to get a few to go in just by taking a long sip of his latte to really enjoy it.

Really, he should be getting compensated for the work he’s doing to draw people in. Danny’s not the only one who can do it.

Bruce keeps offering him money, so he doesn’t need to get paid, but maybe he can convince the other employees to talk Danny into accepting one of his pick up lines so they can go on a date one of these days.

It’s become a bit of a joke, but the first time Duke used a cheesy pick up line on Danny, he was being absolutely serious about it. He definitely shouldn’t have used a pick up line he found from a website centered on relationship advice, but he panicked and needed some extra help.

Instead of smoothly asking Danny out on a date, Duke froze up, blurted out the pick up line, then had to laugh it off with Danny and pretend it was a joke.

He still wishes he was able to ask Danny out properly before, but he’s also glad that they got to spend more time as friends, getting to know each other. It’s easier to be with him now, no longer so tongue tied and flustered.

Duke gets to fluster Danny now, which is much better.

And maybe one day his pick up lines will work! Sooner or later Danny’s going to question why he keeps doing this, and then he’ll connect the dots and understand what Duke feels for him.

As it is, he has yet to connect shit.

“My eyes are definitely blue,” Danny says as he walks out of the cafe, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “I checked while I was putting my apron away.”

“You’re still on that?”

“They’re blue.”

Duke gestures for Danny to come closer. He complies and leans down, letting Duke cup his face in his hands. He checks, considers, then checks again, and says, “They are indeed blue.”

“Told you they weren’t green,” Danny says smugly, pulling back.

“And I said they were green sometimes. Now clearly isn’t one of those times, but they do turn green!”

“I don’t think you should be allowed to say any eye-related pick up lines until you admit that you were wrong and didn’t know my eye color.”

Shaking his head, Duke stands up and pushes in his chair. “Just wait, I’ll catch it sometime and prove it to you.”

“Sure, whatever. Don’t you have library books to get?”

“Yeah, you coming with?”

“Obviously. Why else would I leave my wonderful job where I am left alone to make drinks in peace?” Danny knocks his shoulder against Duke playfully, then reaches over and steals his drink right out of his hand. He takes a sip, makes a pleased hum, and drains half of what was left in the cup.

“Hey!” Duke moves to take it back, which is naturally the exact moment Danny takes off running, effortlessly dodging everyone else on the sidewalk. He takes off after Danny, using his powers to make sure he can move out of the way of anything or anyone who gets in his path.

They’re past the block when Danny starts to slow down, taking another sip of Duke’s latte.

He puts on a final burst of speed and all but tackles Danny into the mouth of an alley, reaching for his cup. “Gotcha!”

“No!” Danny wails dramatically. He takes a step back and Duke watches as his power kicks up again, showing him a vision of Danny stepping on an empty can and falling back. Except he doesn’t really fall back? His foot rolls back on the can for a second, then goes through the can and settles back onto the ground where he catches his balance. Through the entire three second fall, Danny’s eyes are a bright green, brighter than Duke’s ever seen them.

His vision fades away and he moves to catch Danny, taking the chance to watch carefully as Danny’s foot does indeed go through the can. He quickly brings his gaze up to Danny’s eyes, which are green, but not inhumanly bright like they were in his vision.

Is the green not perceptible to normal humans?

He can probably only see it due to his powers. Which means he somewhat inadvertently outed himself as a meta.

Whoops!

Might as well just bite the bullet.

“Hey, do you have powers?”

Danny chokes, shoving Duke away as he coughs and tries to clear his throat. He looks panicked, wild-eyed, searching for an escape route. “What? No. Why would I have powers? Maybe you have powers, have you ever considered that?”

“I mean. I do have powers. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Hold up. Stop talking. You have powers?”

“And your eyes are green sometimes.”

“That’s. No, they’re not,” Danny lies. It’s a very bad lie, seeing how on edge he is, and as much as Duke hates making Danny feel like that, he did get some bad habits while training with Bruce and this is one of them: the need to keep pushing, chasing after clear answers regardless of what the cost is.

Duke shrugs, taking a sip of his latte, down to its last few mouthfuls, acting casual. “If you say so. But my powers don’t lie, man. As much as I wish they would, sometimes.”

“...Can we not do this out here?” The defeated tone Danny speaks with makes Duke hate himself. But he needs answers now. He needs to know if Danny is like him, if he’s safe, if he needs help. He needs it more than he needs Danny to like him at all.

“Sure. I know a few quiet places we can talk.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Danny mutters. “Did my eyes really give it away?”

“Yeah. I mean, to be fair, I also didn’t realize until literally right now, so I don’t think anyone else will figure it out just from staring into your eyes.”

“See, this is what happens when you keep flirting when you don’t mean it. Secrets get pulled out into the open and it’s bad for everyone!”

Duke lightly punches Danny’s arm, trying to lift the mood. “Hey, who said I didn’t mean it?”

“What?”

“Who said I didn’t mean it when I flirt with you?”

Danny blinks at him, confused, then says, “I mean, no one I guess. But it’s pretty obvious?”

“I only flirt with you, you know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Duke says, trying to ignore how his voice shakes slightly. “There’s another one of my secrets. Can we call it even now?”

“Oh!” The shock of the revelation distracts Danny from his earlier nerves. Which is great, because now Duke is the one who’s nervous. It’s worth it, though, seeing the pretty blush come to bloom on Danny’s cheeks. “So all those pick up lines—”

“Yeah.”

“And the pick up line made you realize my powers!”

“These pick up lines are doing the most,” Duke agrees. And then he realizes, “Hey, you what this means? I was right! Your eyes are windows to your soul!”

“I’m going to hit you,” Danny says, already winding back for a solid punch. He lets Danny hit him since it’s only fair for the stress he caused; as a meta, Duke knows how important secrecy is, how the difference between life and death can be just how well his powers are hidden.

“Are we even now?”

Danny considers him for a moment, then sighs. “Yeah, I guess. Let’s be done with this for now, okay? Let’s go to the library.”

He refuses to entertain any conversation about powers or Duke’s feelings for him. It’s nice to spend time with Danny, but by the end, Duke is sure he can feel his heart start to crack in half. A sleepless night awaits him when he gets home, moving past his cousin’s attempts to talk to him in favor of flopping face down onto his bed.

But the next day, Danny grins at him when he walks into the cafe. He doesn’t have a new pick up line, choosing instead to act as calm and casual as possible to give Danny some space.

Also breaking routine, Danny insists on personally making Duke’s drink, writing something onto the cup before he fills it up with a floral tea.

You’re so fine, you made me forget my pick up line, is scrawled on the side of his cup when he gets it.

“Enjoy your drink, Cutiepie the Third,” Danny says with a shy smile.

“The Third?” Duke repeats, relief making him feel lighter than air, “Who are the first two?”

“Don’t worry about it, cutie. Get to class!”

Duke lets Danny chase him out, and holds in his laugh when he hears Danny’s coworker screech, “What was that?!”

Yeah, they’ll be fine. In the meantime, Duke needs to see if apology pick up lines are thing. Danny definitely deserves one.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #duke went from flirting to accidentally outing both himself AND danny as people w powers. and then lowkey confessing. disaster <3 #meanwhile danny has been slowly falling for duke bc of his cute and cheesy pick up lines that he always turned into a joke bc he didnt #believe that it was real. and also his coworkers would embarrass him if he got too flustered #they all ship him and duke btw. so do some of the regulars #coffe with a two minute show lol #thank you for the prompt!!

675 notes · View notes

jodipickens · 1 year

Text

We under value and take for granted artists as a society. I’m talking all artists…writers, actors, musicians, dancers, designers, painters, sculptors…the list is endless.

The commonality is that they all have either spent their time honing their skills through practice, lessons, education or all of the above. Artists dedicate their time and often their lives to their craft.

We are failing our artists. Symphony orchestras are failing across the US. Writers and actors are on strike. People involved in the fine arts are turning to independent sales. We need to shift our expectations.

We need creatives as a part of our society. What we don’t need is the expectation that artists should work for free or for a paltry income. Simply because an artist enjoys performing or creating doesn’t mean they should have to do so for nothing.

We also no longer live in an era where it is standard that the extremely wealthy build museums or libraries or fund performing arts groups. We live in an era of amassing extreme wealth for the minority of the population.

I get that profitability is important, but at what cost? Are we ok that artists can’t afford health insurance? Are we ok that artists are leaving our communities for other opportunities? Are we ok that companies are ready to use AI over humans for creative processes and performance?

I’m not ready for any of this. We will lose a significant part of our humanity by eliminating and discouraging the ability to thrive for artists. Change can be hard but change is what is needed.

We are experiencing the beginning of a labor revolution and it will not stop with our writers, actors, UPS drivers or Starbucks baristas. The peasants are fed up and the nobility needs to pay attention.

Support your local artists. Support independent artists. Support the striking unions and organizations. We can all play a part in creating a long lasting effective change.

#WGAstrong #SAGAFTRAstrong #Unionstrong #BeLoud

#sag aftra strong #wga strike #support wga #support sag aftra #labor unions #support unions #labor organizing #labor movement #artistsupport #support the arts #union strong #labor strike

1K notes · View notes

sleepysnk · 1 year

Text

a/n: okay.. i never thought i’d ever write for wakasa, but this idea came to me and i couldn’t let it slide. shoutout to @wakashawty for being the sole reason why i did this. i love you kei bae! 🤍 i hope you guys all enjoy <3

pairings: wakasa imaushi x fem!reader

warnings: modern au, alcohol consumption (wakasa), mentions of harassment, club owner!wakasa, waitress!reader, use of cigarettes, very flirty wakasa, nsfw, smut, fingering, use of pet names (angel, doll, baby, good girl, princess), teasing, brief edging, use of blindfolds, consensual recording, possessive sex, mentions of jealousy, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, choking, mentions of marks.

synopsis: you work as a waitress at the infamous club owned by wakasa imaushi. you hadn’t encountered the man ever in your entire time employed there, but one night you had a chance encounter with the owner looking for something other than your professional service.

the white leopard ft. wakasa imaushi

The White Leopard.

The infamous club that was located in the downtown of your city, and owned by a man named Wakasa Imaushi. The club had opened its doors just two years prior. It was well known amongst older adults and some older college kids as a hang out spot to get drunk, and hookup with men or women on the weekends. Many fine businessmen from the city often flocked to the place to grab a drink or meet pretty women to tuck away in their beds. With businessmen, came wealthy evenings for the people who worked at the establishment. Some of the bartenders went home with hundred dollar bills in their pockets from how active the nights would be. It was a truly luxurious club, despite what may have gone down on the inside.

You weren’t sure how you managed to snatch a job at the place, but you somehow did.

You had been employed at The White Leopard for almost six months. One of your friends recommended you the job when she had heard about your termination from your previous job. At first, you thought you were about to become some kind of stripper. The idea of possibly twirling and swinging around on a metal pole made your skin crawl, but when your friend explained that you would be a waitress, that gross feeling dissipated from your mind. You had never worked a server job before. All of your previous positions had to do with retail or working as a barista at your local coffee shop. You had the customer service experience, but being a waitress sounded quite nerve wracking.

Though, you didn’t have much of a choice. You lived by yourself with bills that had to be paid, and you were also still a college student. There was no possible way that you would be able to support yourself with no job, so you filled out the application and received a call back the next day for an interview.

After that day, you began working at the fine club. You had heard many people on your university campus boasting about how exhilarating it is to party at The White Leopard, and from working there as long as you did, you could completely understand why they said those things. The place really kept up its reputation. Anytime you stepped inside, you could practically smell the whiff of money and expensive cologne that probably was worth more than your college tuition and rent combined. Being there was great, though. The job was just as you imagined it to be. Taking drink orders, assisting guests with questions, all the usual things a server would take care of.

The weekdays were always pretty slow. Monday through Thursday were always the days you would go home with the least amount of cash, but occasionally you would have a decent night if there was some kind of important business being held by the businessmen who visited the club. The real action was on Friday and the weekends. Those were the busiest evenings, considering that most people didn’t have work or school to attend the next day. The very first time you worked a Friday night you swore to god that your pockets were overflowing with cash. Your coworker, Yuzuha, had informed you of how easy the men were with money during the night. She was right about that. You’d come back to tables with almost two hundred dollars in tips, sitting right in the center. It was so quick to make money that you never passed on a shift like that again, except if you weren’t placed on the schedule.

While it seemed like paradise, there were downsides to your job.

With being a waitress, came the idiots who never seemed to know how to treat wait staff. You had to deal with all kinds of people and witness all types of things all while at work. There were several occasions where grown men have shouted in your face and called you a whore for not serving their drinks quick enough. Some of the men inside of the club had said disgusting things to you as well. You’ve been harassed frequently by intoxicated guys that just couldn’t take no for an answer. You were thankful that security took care of it, but those kinds of words often lingered inside your mind and made you want to quit altogether.

The issues didn’t stem from just men, there were also incredibly rude women as well. Many times random girls would accuse you of trying to seduce their boyfriends when you were simply just leaning over to hear them better. The music inside the club was deafening at times, and it didn’t help that some of the tables were directly by huge speakers that made it very difficult to hear the customers. You’ve also had girls dump drinks on you for no apparent reason. As much as you wanted to verbally tell them off, you remembered that you had a job and you weren’t in the mood to get fired. Your manager told you many times that you should never engage in an argument with a customer. It was bothersome, very bothersome, but you always bit your tongue and put a smile on your face.

Besides some of those negative things, you still kept the job. You didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. Plus, you got to work with some pretty kind people. Your coworkers were the only reason you hadn’t completely abandoned the job all together. That, and the fact that you made lots of money within just one week.

There was one person you had yet to see at your job, and that was the owner. Wakasa Imaushi was his name.

You had been employed there for six months. Yet, you never had a single encounter with the man who opened the club all that time ago. Some of your coworkers had seen the man before and described him as this intimidating figure who would come in to have a drink or two, then leave with his buddies. Your female coworkers often raved about Wakasa. They said he was very handsome and they had even seen him leave with women from the club. Part of you envied the people you worked with. Seeing Wakasa in all his glory sounded like a total dream. You tried to go to the lengths of finding his social media. Surely a club owner like him would have business profiles, but much to your dismay, there wasn’t a single trace of this man’s existence on the internet. You could understand if he wanted to be private with his life, but not even a proper photograph? It was odd.

Maybe there would be a chance for you to properly meet him, but with his rarity of appearances, that seemed highly unlikely.

Tonight was a usually busy shift for you. Being that it was a Friday evening, you expected such an exciting atmosphere from the moment you stepped in for work. It was a pretty nice night for you. So far, you had made about three hundred dollars worth of tips.

Your shift had begun at six thirty and it was already nearing midnight. Your manager informed you that you only had to work for another fifteen minutes or so. You were kind of thankful for that, because the later hours of the night kind of got crazy. That also meant you got to go home early and retire for the evening in your comfortable bed. You had a fairly long day at school. Exams were kicking your ass and with studying and working you hardly had any time to get any shut eye. Tonight had also been pretty tiring, despite nothing serious going down. You still dealt with weird comments from drunk men that couldn’t keep it to themselves.

You were standing in the corner of the club where the cash register was. You had just closed out one of your tables and you were currently counting how much money you had. The clock displayed on your phone screen showed that it was now midnight. You were relieved to know that you would be able to go home soon. Your feet were killing you from the amount of standing and walking you did today.

Sighing, you placed the cash into the pocket of your blouse. This is usually what you did towards the end of your shifts. You’d just stand in the corner until it was time for you to clock out. Your manager was okay with it, but sometimes he would remind you that not doing anything could get you into trouble. However, why would some drunk man come bombarding you with questions as to why you were standing there. Most of the people in this club came here to do whatever they pleased. You’ll never forget the time you caught two people having sex in the restroom. It was honestly mind blowing, but at least you had a funny story to tell whenever you were out and about with someone.

You stood there on your cell phone. You scrolled through your socials, smiling at the posts your friends had made. You had the day off tomorrow, so you were pretty excited to make plans with your companions. The semester had been grueling and you were so ready to have a night out with zero stressors weighing on your mind.

“Oh! There you are, (Y/N)!”

You practically fumbled with your phone to shove it into your waistband. The familiar voice of your manager was the reason for your mindless scrolling to be placed on pause. Although he was a nice man, he had a pet peeve for staff using their cellphones in the middle of their shifts. There were a few times you had gotten caught on the job and you’d rather not get fired for something as small as a cellphone issue, so you listened to the man. “O-Oh, hey, Kakucho, what’s up?” you shifted around, trying to avoid the awkwardness of being caught by him.

The man placed his hand on his hip. He seemed rather unamused by seeing you on your phone, but that wasn’t much of a concern to him at the moment. He had a much greater worry at hand, and he needed your assistance with that. “I know this might be a lot to ask.. but can you stay a little longer? We have a guest coming and it’s important we have someone on the ready when he arrives.” he looked down at you, seeming desperate for your presence to remain at the club. “He’s quite.. a significant individual.”

A sense of dread washed over you at his words. You were exhausted. You were surprised that you didn’t possibly fall asleep in the break room. Kakucho had asked you to do this many times before. Any time there was a big figure coming to The White Leopard, he’d ask a select few of servers to stick around after their shifts. You were used to that question being proposed often, but tonight? He must have been desperate, considering Yuzuha and Emma had been still there. He even gave you the go ahead to leave early, so that felt kind of unfair to you. It was almost like Kakucho was playing some sick joke on you to poke fun at you. All you wanted to do was go home and rest. If he would have asked another evening, sure, but tonight? It seemed out of the question.

You sighed, looking up at your manager with obvious frustration. Kakucho could easily see it in your expression. “I’m exhausted.. I know that’s not much of an excuse, but still. You also told me I could head home early, so why the sudden change of heart?” you crossed your arms over your chest.

Kakucho combed his fingers through his jet-black hair. He understood your feelings of tiredness and desire to go home for the evening. He also did have a sense of guilt for informing you earlier that you could leave early, but he wasn’t expecting to receive a phone call from Shinichiro so late in the night. It was a rare occasion. “I’m sorry, (Y/N), it’s just Yuzuha and Emma are booked with tables right now. You’re the only one who doesn’t have a single one, and I’d rather provide the utmost service for our guest.” he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “I promise you’ll be paid extra for this.. I just really need you right now. I’ll even give you the entire weekend off.”

You wondered if staying behind would be a good idea. Your eyes wandered to your coworkers who were practically bouncing around the lively club with drinks in their hands. Kakucho was right. Yuzuha and Emma had their hands full with customers, and your departure would only build onto the stress they were experiencing. It would be very unfair for you to completely dip without at least offering some help. Kakucho also promised more money on your next check and the entire weekend off.

Sighing, you averted your gaze onto your employer who seemed a little antsy. You could read him like a book and his body language was the words inside it. It made you wonder who this guest was. “Fine.. I’ll stay.” his face lit up with relief, but also excitement at your response. “But, who’s the guest? Is it Hanma Shuji again?”

“No, um, it’s Wakasa Imaushi.”

All of your blood went cold at the name that rolled off of Kakucho’s lips. Wakasa Imaushi was making an appearance tonight? And you had to be the one who served him and whoever else came with him? Your heart rate began to spike at the thought of waiting his table. You had been working this job for months and you honestly still felt like you were a newbie at times. Sure, you had served highly entitled men like Hanma Shuji or even Manjiro Sano at one point, but the club’s owner? That’s something you never imagined you’d have the opportunity to do. You had heard plenty of stories from your coworkers, but even that didn’t give you enough confidence. What if he was a poor customer to you? You had heard plenty of horror stories from other waitresses on owners who were complete assholes to the staff because of their status. What if Wakasa was the same? You would hate to possibly make a negative impression on the man who owned The White Leopard.

You tried to look on the bright side. Your coworkers had never said anything pessimistic about the man, and you guys often spoke about your negative experiences with customers. If Wakasa was one of those bad apples, you would have surely heard about it by now. Though, that was their experiences, not yours. He could be a complete jackass for all you knew.

Trying to calm yourself, you looked at Kakucho who was still staring at you. He seemed to be waiting for your reply about his mention of Wakasa swinging by the club. You weren’t sure what there was to say, but you had to come up with something. “Wakasa..?! Kakucho, can’t you ask one of the other girls? I don’t even know what he likes or what he’s even like as a person!” you started to panic a little, despite not wanting to. You didn’t like the idea of serving a man you had never met before.

Kakucho placed his hands onto your shoulders. He could sense your anxiety and wanted to make sure you were relaxed before Wakasa arrived. The last thing he’d want is for you to have a meltdown and risk embarrassing yourself in front of the man. He had lots of confidence in you. “Hey, don’t panic, okay? Just treat him like a regular customer. All of his drinks are being pre made right now, so you just have to introduce yourself and just serve his drinks. He’s not a bad guy, (Y/N). Just play it casual,” he rubbed his thumbs on your skin, which somewhat calms you down. Though, that furious beat of your heart was making itself known within your chest.

You shook your head, feeling stupid enough to accept his offer of staying late. In all honesty, you should have just lied to Kakucho and said you had a headache so he’d let you leave. It didn’t seem like there was any other choice, nor could you go back now. Wakasa was on his way, and you doubted Kakucho would let you go after this. It didn’t matter how hard you may have protested. “Ugh.. fine, just let me know when he arrives.” you glanced over at the multi-colored strobe lights that danced along the walls.

He nodded at you, tapping your arm as a way to reassure you that everything would be fine. “You got it. Thank you again for this. Wakasa will be here in a few minutes.” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to see his messages.

He then turned and left you there, disappearing into the darkness of the club. You let out an anxious sigh and rubbed your hands on your temples. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening to you right now. To be honest, you didn’t think your evening would have been like this. You thought that you would have gone back to your apartment and crashed into your bed with a nice day upcoming tomorrow. You never imagined that you would be serving Wakasa Imaushi of all people. Hell, you didn’t even know what the hell he looked like. For all you knew, Wakasa could be this forty year old man who would call you a dumb brat for not bringing his drink fast enough. You really hoped that wasn’t who he was.

You stood there for a while. Well, it felt like you had been there for a while, but in reality only three minutes had gone by. You disliked feeling anxious over crap this small. Kakucho told you to treat him like a regular customer, but that was difficult considering that Wakasa wasn’t just an ordinary person. He owned The White Leopard. It wasn’t like he was the son of the owner or something. You had to play it cool and be as proper as you possibly could. Any kind of slip up or inappropriate action could lead to your job being lost within the snap of a finger. You prayed and prayed that it would go smoothly, and he’d be a respectful man.

Ugh, you were going insane.

Your head instantly turned when you felt a palm connect with your shoulder. Your eyes were faced with the sight of Kakucho who seemed a little more stern now. He must have been nervous as well. Sure, he was your boss, but Kakucho’s boss was probably Wakasa. “He’s here.. those three drinks are his.” your eyes shifted towards the bar where there were three different glasses sitting on a tray. “He’s in the fourth booth on the main floor. Make sure to introduce yourself and bring the drinks with you. If he asks for me, you grab me immediately, okay?”

You swallowed thickly at Kakucho’s descriptive instructions. This was serious shit now. You were about to encounter the owner you had never come across in your life. “Okay.. I will.” you then walked past your manager and stepped towards the bar where the trio of drinks were. Your eyes settled on the glasses that were sweating from the condensation. The beverages almost seemed equivalent, considering their color was the exact same. It had to be some kind of rich whisky, judging by the odor of the alcohol. You were never really a fan of those stronger liquors. They made your mouth burn and it was just too heavy for your taste.

You took in a deep breath, then lifted the tray with the drinks on them. Your body turned around and began to walk towards the main floor of the club. You tried your best to not tremble or shake the tray in your hands, because you didn’t need to embarrass yourself in front of Wakasa. You also didn’t want to lose your employment because of some stupid mistake. You were silently telling yourself that you’d be okay and all you had to do was serve them every so often. There was no conversation, small talk, none of that. You just had to be polite and do your job as a waitress.

You reached the stairs that led to the main floor of the club. The amount of bodies in the room began to increase now. The music had also become louder since the DJ was centered on the main floor. Many people passed by you as you stepped down the stairs. The aroma’s ranged from cheap perfume to the thick smell of marijuana. It was amazing what people could get away with in such a luxurious club. You would think the rules would be more strict, but it was far from that.

“Fourth booth on the main floor.”

Your eyes scanned the many booths that were pressed against the right wall of the club. People who usually came in trios or groups often sat in those spots. There were already multiple abundances of people who had occupied those seats. You counted each one inside your brain until your eyes halted on the fourth booth. You weren’t sure which one was Wakasa, but the men sitting in the booth intimidated you to all hell. It made you hesitate for a brief second, but you had to do your job. You sucked in a breath and walked over to the table where the three men were sitting. As soon as you stood in front of the table, their conversation halted and they stared at you with those eyes.

You took in the sight of the three. The man on the far left had jet-black hair that somewhat covered his eyes. A silver chain was hung around his neck and he wore a plain white button up shirt with dark pants. He seemed much friendlier compared to the other two.

The man in the middle was the real eye catcher in your opinion. He had blonde and violet hair that was thrown up in a ponytail. Two thick strands of his hair hung over his eyes like a curtain. His eyes were lazy and the color of amethyst. There was a cigarette that was tucked between his teeth. The end was smoldering and seemed to be just recently lit. There were a plethora of tattoos that painted his arms and upwards on his chest. His outfit consisted of a similar one to the man to his left. A white button up and black pants. The only difference was he wore a tie, while the other didn’t. He had to be one of the most attractive men you had ever laid your eyes upon. There was this mysterious aura that seemed to be attached to the man sitting in front of you. Could that be.. Wakasa Imaushi? You had no idea.

The man on your right was much bigger than the two men beside him. He had muscles that practically bulged out of the black button up shirt he was wearing. If he moved the wrong way, you were certain one of the buttons might fly off and hit someone in the head. He had a beard that was the same exact color of his pale hair. He seemed very menacing compared to the other two men. He seemed like the kind of guy who could crush your skull in if you stared at him the wrong way.

Snapping out of your mini analysis, you picked up the drinks one by one off of the tray. You leaned down and placed them each in front of the men sitting before you. “Hi there, welcome in! My name is (Y/N). I hope you all are having a great evening. If you need anything, I’ll be your server for tonight!” you tucked the small tray underneath your arm, trying your absolute best to seem unphased by their appearance. You had met plenty of attractive men inside The White Leopard before, but this was something else.

The male who sat in the center of the booth leaned forward. His sleeves were rolled up, giving you a whole view of the ink that trailed up his forearms. He stuck out his hand in your direction, looking up at you. “Wakasa Imaushi, pleasure to meet you.” his voice was smooth like butter. It sent chills ghosting down your spine from how nice it settled within your ears. You were right about him. “These are my friends, Shinichiro Sano and Keizo Arashi, but you can just call him Benkei for short.”

You made eye contact with him for a brief second, but immediately shifted your gaze away. His hues were so pretty, but the way he looked at you made your body feel hot. Wakasa Imaushi was what every woman cracked him up to be. He had to be a model or something with how perfect his features were. His smaller nose, lips that were just the perfect shade of pink, and eyelashes that could make any girl jealous. What a man. You reached forward, shaking his hand. His palm felt soft and quite warm against your chilled one. “It’s an h-honor to meet you, Mr.Imaushi!” you internally yelled at yourself for stuttering in front of such a high individual. You hoped deep down he didn’t notice your fumble of words.

Wakasa chuckled at your politeness. Not many people addressed him as “Mr.Imaushi” except for other coworkers, but seeing it from one of the staff was a surprise. He hadn’t met many people like that before, so it easily caught his attention. “Please, no need to be formal. Just call me Wakasa,” he reassured, removing his hand from yours to hold the glass that sat just a few inches from his body. “Thank you for your service. If we need anything, we’ll be sure to look for you, doll.”

You almost choked on your own saliva when the word “doll” slipped from his lips. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but also from being incredibly flustered with how kind he was to you. You weren’t sure if this was possibly a facade he had thrown on, but it was making you melt. In all honesty, you could listen to this man sweet talk you all damn day. He was quite the charmer. “O-Of course! I’ll be around!” you gave one more smile, then began to walk away from the table. Your heart thumped wildly in your chest from what had gone down. Wakasa completely blew you away from just a few sentences. Did he understand his impacts on women?

You walked up the steps that led to where the bar was. In the distance, you could see Yuzuha in the corner where the tablet was to register tables and take care of bills. She seemed to be counting some of the cash in her fingertips. You made your way over to her and she instantly noticed your presence beside her. “Hey! I thought you left already. Are you clocking out right now?” she nodded her head to the side.

You reached over to type in your passcode for the tablet. You remembered Kakucho being very serious about entering your tables at the proper time. “Kakucho made me stay.. and you’ll never guess who the hell I’m serving right now.” you tapped the screen a few times to enter the drinks into the bill. You weren’t too sure on if Wakasa and his friends were going to pay for what they ordered, but you’d make sure to double check with Kakucho because it would seem rude to bring a bill to the same man who owned the club.

Yuzuha’s eyebrow arched at your words. She didn’t know of any important people coming to The White Leopard that night, so it seemed rather intriguing to her. “Who? Is it someone high up?” she questioned, sounding curious.

You moved your arm away and placed it on the small table underneath you. “It’s Wakasa Imaushi..” you replied, which shocked Yuzuha.

She was genuinely caught off guard by the owner’s sudden presence at the club. Yuzuha had been working there longer than you have, but she had never had the chance to properly serve Wakasa due to his infrequency of presentation at the place. She was well aware of what he was like to the other staff. Most claimed he was respectful and usually tipped pretty well, but she had yet to see the man in full action. “What?! No way! That’s awesome, I bet he’s a great guy considering what he does.” she tapped your arm to try and excite you. “He scares me though.. I could never serve him without dropping the drinks on the floor.”

You had to agree with her there. So far, Wakasa seemed like a pleasant individual. There haven’t been any red flags and you usually picked up on customer’s vibes whenever they first sat down, but his didn’t seem bad whatsoever. His friends also didn’t look too harsh either. “Yeah, I almost lost it when I walked over to his table, but otherwise he’s been fine. I just have to keep an eye on him..” you quickly darted your head outside of your corner to see if there was that “look” on their faces, but as far as you could see, his friends seemed content in their spots.

Your coworker giggled at your reply. Yuzuha leaned against the wall for a brief moment to collect her thoughts. It had been a long evening for her as well. She made good money, but she was physically exhausted with all of the running around she had to do. “I’m wishing you serious luck, (Y/N). I have almost four tables right now and I don’t think they’ll leave until we close..” she rubbed her tired eyes with her hands.

You could honestly feel her pain. There were times where you didn’t leave until almost four in the morning because the customer’s you were serving just kept ordering drinks like they were food. It was an annoying experience because you lost out on so much needed sleep, and you didn’t wake up until noon the next day. You hoped that deep down Wakasa wasn’t the same way. If he was, you’d have a bone to pick with the owner of this club. “I’m wishing you luck too, Yuzuha!” you gave her a thumbs up, then poked your head out once again to check on the things at your table.

Confusion settled within you when you saw that both of Wakasa’s companions had somehow disappeared. They were no longer in their seats and it made you grow worried. You doubted that this was a “drink and dash” type of situation, but you prayed that they weren’t out and about looking for you since you had departed earlier. There was an occasion about four months in which a man came storming up to you all because you didn’t come by fast enough with his drink. You were lucky that Yuzuha’s brother, Hakkai, was there to come to your defense over the matter. That thought alone worried you. It risked many things, and you didn’t want to be at fault for not paying proper attention to your table.

Your vision shifted to Yuzuha who was seemingly looking around at the bar. She was waiting for some of her drinks to be made at the moment. “Hey, I’m gonna be right back.” you said, nodding your head in the opposite direction.

You then began making your way to where Wakasa’s booth was. Nervousness coursed through your veins as you grew closer to where he was. Your fingers couldn’t help but toy with the white leopard that was embroidered on your onyx colored skirt. Your worst fear right now was being scolded by Wakasa himself. You had only walked away for a good three or four minutes. It’d be even more alarming if you had disappeared for longer than that, but you remembered Kakucho explaining to you that you had to be on top of your service when it came to Wakasa. It was understandable. Could you have messed up already? You worried Kakucho was going to find out and potentially terminate your employment.

Once you made it to the main floor, your feet moved quickly to the booth where Wakasa was sitting. Relief hit you like a truck when your eyes landed on the man who was still in the direct center of the table. He was still present, but that same question remained. Where were his buddies?

Wakasa picked up on your presence expectantly. He could sense some distress in your body language, which perplexed the man in front of you. There wasn’t anything to be nervous about in his opinion. Though, it was somewhat worrying on his part. His club was always heavily guarded by high profile men, but there have been a few occasions where something unfortunate had gone down. “Everything alright, (Y/N)?” Wakasa questioned, placing his cigarette into the ashtray that was a few inches away from him.

His inquiry made your eyes focus on him. One thing about Wakasa was that he had this stare that made your body feel like it was burning. It was like he was studying you and his eyes were penetrating the deepest areas of you. You could hardly maintain eye contact without your heart leaping outside of your chest. He was attractive, so fucking attractive. It was still hard to believe that this was the man who owned The White Leopard. He was dreamy. You could get lost with him right in front of you.

However, you remembered that he asked you a question. You must have been staring for far too long, because Wakasa seemed to be a little confused by your silence. “U-Uh! Yes! I’m sorry, Wakasa.. I was just worried when I didn’t see your friends with you.” you tried to sound as apologetic as possible, because you probably looked like a fucking weirdo.

He chuckled, eyeing you up and down. He reached over and patted the empty spot that was to the right of him. “Come.. have a seat.” he then grabbed his drink which was now almost completely empty.

You were stunned at his request to have you sit with him. Usually, Kakucho never allowed the staff to sit down with any of the customers. It didn’t matter if the person was a friend or if they were family, it was prohibited. It was also implemented due to the harassment from the men who would come in. Some of them would try and coax you into sitting with them, or they’d try making you sit on their lap. It was a very uncomfortable thing that you had experienced many times, but you almost always declined. It was disgusting and you weren’t sure who the hell raised those men, but it must have been the wrong person.

Would it be unprofessional to have a seat with Wakasa? He was asking you to join him in the booth, but there was the chance that this was a test to see if you’d actually go through with it. You cleared your throat to sound assertive in your words. “Forgive me, but it’s unprofessional for me to do so. My manager doesn’t allow it..” you placed your hands in front of you, hoping he didn’t have a negative reply to you. There was that chance he’d start yelling at you and making a whole scene.

Wakasa’s expression shifted the moment he heard you. You were good. He wouldn’t care if you sat down, but you were very loyal to your rules and followed orders properly. Though, he didn’t find such a thing inappropriate by any means. He didn’t see you tending to any other tables or customers, so why not? He was also the owner of the club. He wasn’t going to get you into any trouble if you sat with him. If anything, he wanted you there. “Hm.. you seem to follow the rules, which is a good thing.” he took a brief sip of the alcohol in his glass, swallowing it without a second thought. “However, you won’t get in trouble. Kakucho won’t bat an eye with me here, so by all means have a seat. Though, you’re not obligated if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

Your mouth fell slightly agape at his replies. You were certain that this was a test of some kind, but thank god it wasn’t. Now, you were left with two options. Sit with Wakasa, or completely decline the offer and go back to your little corner and be a shy little waitress. Either or sounded great! But, did they really?

This was Wakasa Imaushi of all people. He was actually inviting you to sit down with him. Your coworkers never mentioned him being this polite, so you wondered what his motives were. Maybe you caught him on a good night and he was in a greater mood than usual. It was still a really interesting request, but maybe you could do this just once. He was right about one thing. Kakucho wouldn’t say a single word if he saw you with Wakasa, so you could technically get away with it.

Fuck it.

You pulled your skirt down just a bit, then sat down beside him. Your reason being that you didn’t want the thing riding up when you stood up the next time.

Sitting just a few inches away, Wakasa stared at you with that lazy expression. He smirked briefly then took another swig of his drink. You caught on to the looks he was giving you, and it suddenly made you nervous once again. It felt like he was trying to seduce you with those expressions. The aroma of his expensive cologne intoxicated you. It was quite divine and it made these heat pool from your stomach towards your core. You shouldn’t have been thinking of such things about him, but how could you not? He was one of the most handsome men you had ever laid your eyes upon. You were certain any woman in your position would think the same about him.

Wakasa placed his now empty drinking glass down on the table. He tilted his head to place all of his focus onto you. His eyes drank in the sight of your appearance. You were quite beautiful to the man. The swell of your breasts was briefly exposed through the top of your shirt, and your thighs looked quite nice in the skirt you wore. “Would you like a drink? It’d be my treat!” he raised an eyebrow, placing his elbows onto the table.

Your eyes grew wide at his proposal. There hadn’t been many attractive men to offer you a drink. You usually turned them down due to it being not allowed, but you weren’t really interested in having a drink that night. You were on shift and you had to drive yourself home too. It wouldn’t be a good idea. If it were any other night, you would have said yes. You wondered how many women had the opportunity to receive a drink from Wakasa of all people. “I appreciate the offer, but I have to decline. I have to drive and I’m pretty exhausted, so drinking may not be a great idea. Thank you again, though.” you tried to sound polite, because you didn’t want him getting the wrong idea from you.

Wakasa nodded his head. He completely understood your reasoning. He wouldn’t press that matter any longer, but he would have loved to buy you a drink some time. “Smart girl, I like that.” he reached into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a small rectangular box. It was clearly a pack of cigarettes. “So, how long have you been working here? I’ve never seen you before, and I’d usually notice if there was a pretty woman serving people around here.”

Your heart began to thump rapidly inside of your chest. Was he.. flirting with you?

There was no way he was trying to do that. He probably did that with every woman he encountered to charm them. Sure, you’d take the compliment, but it was quite shocking that he’d be so direct with you. You liked a straightforward man, but this was a lot for you to handle.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that Wakasa was in fact the owner of this club. He had a business and he was extremely respected among the people who came here. As well as your boss and your other coworkers. You would have expected a man who owned such a fine business to be reserved and quiet. That’s how a majority of them were when you encountered them. They were all married or were engaged, so it only made sense for them to never show special attention to other women. However, Wakasa’s ringer finger was completely blank, and he seemed quite young compared to the older gentlemen you would usually see. That didn’t mean he wasn’t seeing anyone, though, but he could have a girlfriend. Though, that made another question appear in your mind. Why flirt if you weren’t single? Maybe he was a cheater? No, there was no way. You were clearly overthinking this.

You also hadn’t been in a relationship for a pretty long time. You had men flirt with you before, but none of them had the same vibe as Wakasa. This was much different than what you’ve ever experienced.

You watched him take out his lighter and ignite the cigarette he held between his lips. Your nose twitched at the scent of the smoke filling your nostrils. “I’ve been here for six months..” you looked down at the table, avoiding his gaze which was set on you.

He shook his head, processing the information you had given him. He was surprised to hear that you had been there for that long. He had never seen your face before. He assumed that you must have been a new hire, but you weren’t. “Oh? Interesting.. has your experience been swell? I’d sure hope so,” he took a hit of his cancer stick, blowing smoke through his nose. “What time are you off the clock, by the way?”

You began to fumble with your fingers. You hated being obviously nervous around him, but you worried about possibly slipping up and saying the wrong thing to Wakasa. Kakucho often reminded you that first impressions meant everything, especially to the man who owned The White Leopard. He also intimidated you. It could sound mean, but his presence scared you more than any other man. It probably had to do with the high amount of superiority he had above you. “It’s been okay! It’s a great job! I like it here a lot..” your eyes flickered from his eyes to your hands. “And.. um, I’m pretty much off when you leave the club? I’m not sure..”

A laugh came from his mouth, which alarmed you. You really hoped that it wasn’t sarcasm. You didn’t mean for it to come out in a rude manner, but what if he took it that way? Oh, shit. You could have completely fucked this entire interaction up. “Ah, I see. Well I’m glad you’re liking this job. I believe fine dime’s like yourself deserve the princess treatment.” he winked, showing off that teasing smirk from prior. “With that being said, I’d like the check, angel.”

A frown settled on your features at the mention of wanting the bill. You figured that meant that he was planning on leaving the club, which was disappointing. In all honesty, you wanted to converse with him a bit more before he’d make his departure. Maybe you thought too much of his nicknames and his words. He was probably just trying to swoon you. “O-Okay! I’ll come right back with that for you!” you then stood up, brushing out any wrinkles from your skirt and leaving the booth. You didn’t notice, but Wakasa had completely eyed your backside from head to toe.

You made your way to the small corner where the register was. Many people were just now entering the club, which made you pray for Yuzuha and Emma who were planning to stay the entire evening. You eventually made it to the tablet and printed out the small bill. It was surprising. He and his friends had only ordered three drinks the entire night. It was almost like they didn’t even enjoy their time there, but you weren’t going to question their sudden need for leaving. It did give you the chance to finally head on home and get some much needed rest. You were exhausted and that familiar ache in your heels was paining you.

Grabbing the receipts, you took a small black pen from the cup next to the tablet. You then began to walk over to the booth where Wakasa was still sitting. This time, he was on his cell phone. He seemed to be typing a text to somebody. He noticed you standing there instantly and lifted his head to pay attention to you. “There you are, angel, thank you.” he said, taking the receipts and the pen from your shaky hands. “You were a doll tonight, thank you for being so great at what you do.”

Your heart fluttered at such a compliment from the man. Not many people would say nice things about your service, so it was reassuring and quite comforting to hear such things every once and a while. “T-Thank you! It means a lot coming from you..” you gave a smile to him, which didn’t feel forced for once tonight.

Wakasa signed the bill, then proceeded to take his wallet out of his pocket. He removed many bills from it, and you were surprised to see that he carried so much cash on him. Once he was done, he placed his wallet back and then stood up to hand you the money. “This is for the drinks..” he handed you one twenty dollar bill. “And this is for you.. have a great night, doll.”

Your eyes went almost as wide as saucers when you saw the amount of cash you had between your fingers. He gave you a tip. A tip that was well over the usual twenty percent that you were used to. He tipped you one hundred and ten dollars. You were about to turn around and protest, but he was gone. There was a single sign of his presence anywhere. You couldn’t believe he had actually given you that much money. This had to be the biggest tip you had ever received in your entire time working at the club. Sometimes, you didn’t even receive the full twenty percent, but this completely blew you away. You were well aware that he tipped his servers pretty nicely, but you didn’t think it was this nice. You didn’t even know how to react.

Coming to your senses, you realized you had a lot of money in your hands. You then walked away from the now empty booth towards the stairs that led to the tablet. It had been a pretty successful evening for you, and you had zero complaints about any of it. Now, it was time for you to head out and go home. You assumed that Kakucho was aware of Wakasa’s dismissal, so you figured your time here was finished for the night.

Once you reached the corner, you cleared his table and closed it out for the night. You couldn’t believe the evening you had, but you surely were excited to tell your friends about it tomorrow when you saw them. It’d be an interesting story to mention.

You were ready to place the receipt into your pocket, but you paused when you noticed there was something written on it. It wasn’t just his signature, but there was other writing on the top of the space. You flipped the piece of paper so you could read it properly. It was surprising that you didn’t notice him writing it down when you saw him sign for the check, but maybe you missed it and looked away at the wrong moment.

“Meet me upstairs in the private rooms. Say I asked for you. I’m in the room all the way in the back on the right. Only come if you’re comfortable <3”

The private rooms.

There had been a few occasions where you had to head up to the private rooms. The only reason for your presence being there was because of high profile businessmen being there for their own pleasure. Nobody was allowed back there except if you were staff, or if you were a part of the group. It was highly guarded by security and they often questioned you whenever you brought drinks back there. Even Kakucho informed you that if you were back there you had to be quick. It was kind of odd at times, because it wasn’t that serious to you, but you were also curious about them.

You never really knew what went on back there, because their conversations were usually very professional and never made sense to you. Hakkai theorized it was all mafia related and The White Leopard was some kind of money laundering scheme, but Yuzuha usually shut that down with a quick smack to his head. You heard from others that it’s where the men came to have sex and indulge in drugs and drinking, but you never really knew.

All you were aware of was that you had been invited back there by Wakasa himself, but what did he want?

The idea of this possibly being a hookup crossed your mind. It made your face warm with embarrassment and it made you nervous. This was a random man, no, this was the man who practically was the reason why you had employment. Sleeping with him sounded like a serious stretch, but could he want that? You didn’t know, but you despised the fact that your brain was telling you to go. Maybe he wanted to have a drink since you were now technically off the clock.

Your eyes scanned the entire club. Your other coworkers seemed completely out of sight, and there was no sign of Kakucho. You decided to go with your gut.

Go and meet with Wakasa.

You clocked out before you left, then made your way towards the corridor that led to the large door that would take you to the private rooms. Your heart beat was through the roof now. You worried that someone had seen you come back there, because you weren’t supposed to be back there without permission. However, you had to relax. You had the receipt with Wakasa’s signature and his note allowing you access to those rooms. If security wanted to make an issue, you had your proof ready for them if they asked for it.

The loud blare of the music began to fade in your ears, and it became much quieter as you entered the hallway. There were two large men standing on either side of the door. The word “private” was written above the door in large bold letters. The two security men noticed your presence and sort of straightened up their posture to seem more intimidating to you. Kind of a lame tactic considering you never really feared them.

You paused when you reached the entrance of the rooms. One of the men’s eyes trailed up your form, then cocked his head to the side. “Can we help you?” he asked, his voice deep.

You swallowed thickly, looking up at the two guards. You prepared yourself to reach for the receipt that was tucked within your waistband. You really hoped that neither of these two would report this to Kakucho. You kinda wanted whatever this was to be somewhat private. It wouldn’t be a good look if someone heard about you meeting up with Wakasa. “W-Wakasa asked for me,” you clasped your hands together in hopes that they would believe your words.

Both security men exchanged glances with one another. The man on the right turned and opened the door. “Right this way,” he held the door slightly ajar for you.

You were quite surprised that it was that easy to get into there. The men didn’t ask for any proof or identification. You would think that if Wakasa was back there, the men would tear you apart with questions. Did he inform them of your possible arrival to the private rooms? You wouldn’t be that shocked, but it seemed a little odd. You didn’t protest, though, because you didn’t want to miss the opportunity to have access to the rooms.

You walked through the door. The atmosphere had a sudden shift when you stepped through the entrance. There was a long hallway with all kinds of rooms on each side. You had been inside of them before, but those encounters never really lasted long. The door behind you shut with a thud, and all you were left with was the soft beat of the song that played through the speakers above you. You were now towards the back of the club, so the only other sound you could hear was the vibration of the other music that played on the main floor. You were nervous. You hoped that you didn’t possibly run into some random person. You chewed on your bottom lip, hoping the best from the situation.

Taking a deep breath, you began slowly walking down the hall.

You passed by many closed doors. Behind them, you could hear the muffled voices of the people who were inside the rooms. You vaguely recalled Wakasa saying he was at the end of the hall on the right. It made you anxious not knowing what might lie behind that door. Wakasa could be messing with you for all you know. You had to try and think positive. Wakasa was a very kind man to you the entire evening. You found it hard to believe that his intentions would be anything but pure with you. Plus, you weren’t alone in this hallway. If there was a problem, you could always just scream your head off until security arrived. You also knew bad vibes. You didn’t receive them when it came to Wakasa of all people.

You paused in your footsteps once you reached the end of the corridor. You lifted your hand to knock on the vanilla colored door.

Knock!

It was noiseless for a moment. You wondered if you were too late by chance, but those thoughts diminished when you heard shuffling from the other side of the door. You prepared yourself for what was to come.

The doorknob jiggled lightly, then it was pulled open. Your eyes focused on the same man you saw just a few minutes prior. Wakasa stood inside the room with that same expression he wore before. Though, that soon shifted when his eyes fixated on you. He smirked when he made eye contact with you. He honestly wasn’t expecting you to arrive within such a short period of time, but he was happy to see you. He was also somewhat relieved that you weren’t uncomfortable with his actions. He hadn’t done such a thing before. He thought for a while you’d toss out the receipt and laugh it off, but he was thankful that wasn’t the case. “Hey, angel, nice to see you here.” he leaned against the doorframe with that same grin. “Come inside..”

Goosebumps flared onto your skin at how sultry his tone was. He sounded sort of flirty, but you had to keep your composure straight. You nodded your head and advanced forward into the same room Wakasa was in.

The room was quite large and spacious. There was a lengthy couch that stretched along the wall and a coffee table that sat directly in the center of the room. A cup of whisky was the only item that was on the glass. The lights were quite dim and the same soft music played through the speakers. There was a faint odor of cigarettes that lingered through the air as well. You assumed he had been smoking since he had a pack with him much earlier in the night. Wakasa was the only person in the room. You were half expecting Shinichiro and Benkei to be there, but they were still nowhere to be found. You had assumed they were somewhere in the club still.

Your ears perked when the door was shut behind you. Wakasa had then shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. You noticed that his tie was now somewhat loosened, and his sleeves were still rolled up. God, he was so handsome. He had to be straight from heaven itself.

Wakasa walked past you to the chocolate brown couch that was beside you. He plopped down, allowing the ponytail behind his head to swing from the motion. He lifted his glass that contained his whisky. “Feel free to have a seat, doll. No need to be tense,” he took a sip of the alcohol, then swirled the glass around which made the ice cubes clink against it.

You nodded, then walked over to the couch he was sitting on. You decided to sit right beside him. You began to grow curious as to what he called you in there for. There were many possibilities swirling inside your mind, but none of them could be decided. He seemed just as casual as he was before when he was sitting inside the booth. Though, this time, there seemed to be a shift in the air. It was like there was some kind of tension circling within the two of you. You didn’t know what the reason was for it, but maybe he read your thoughts when you were sitting with him. Did he know you thought he was attractive? There was no way. You played it very casually and quite proper. “So.. um, what did you want to talk about? I was just wondering since these rooms are private..” you crossed your legs, trying to get comfortable on the leather couch.

Wakasa shifted his gaze onto where you were sitting. Those familiar feelings from before began to creep up onto you once again. He had these seductive eyes that made your thighs squeeze together. “You piqued my interest.. and I think you’re a very beautiful woman. I could hardly keep my eyes off of you the entire night..” he maintained eye contact with you, causing your body to heat up once again.

A shiver ghosted down your spine. The atmosphere suddenly changed once again, and it was beginning to feel intense. It was blatantly obvious that Wakasa was flirting with you, and hard. Your body was screaming for you to just lean in and let this man have you, but Wakasa was practically your boss. He owned that club and what would happen if you two slept together? If that kind of secret were to slip through the cracks, you could possibly lose your job and it wouldn’t do so well for your reputation and Wakasa’s. You knew what he wanted to do, but could you even bring yourself to agree? Sure, you were more than welcome to hooking up, but would he keep it a secret? He could gladly expose you if he wanted to.

You turned your body so you were now facing him. His eyes kept leaving your face and focusing on random parts of your body. He was so captivated by your beauty that he had no idea where to stare. “Wakasa.. I think you’re handsome as well.. but how can I trust you? I could get into serious trouble and I don’t think I want this to be public knowledge..” you sounded very concerned, which worried Wakasa. He wasn’t trying to sound pushy with you whatsoever.

He understood your concerns completely. You were right in some aspects. If he spoke about it, you could deal with serious consequences and he didn’t want to be responsible for you being possibly fired. He wanted good things for you, not bad ones. Wakasa wanted to assure you that he could be trusted. He’d never place you in such a position. “(Y/N).. you won’t lose your job while I’m here. I would never share such personal details either.. you can trust me.” he reached over and held your hand, brushing his thumb over your smooth skin. “I promise, doll.”

His tone seemed rather trusting and sincere from your view. You also wouldn’t get an experience like this ever again, so you shook your head. You knew you were about to indulge in something that you couldn’t go back from, but his presence alone was making your body buzz with excitement and need. “Okay.. I trust you, Wakasa.” you gave his hand a firm squeeze to assert yourself.

He was happy to hear that you were willing to put your faith into him. He then patted the spot on his lap for you to take a seat on. “Come here..” he motioned for you to come towards him, to which you gladly obliged.

You maneuvered yourself onto Wakasa’s thighs, placing your arms around his neck. You couldn’t lie and say that you weren’t nervous to be on him like that. His body was so warm against your own and his muscles were so well defined underneath his dress shirt. You could hardly look at him without feeling flustered. This was honestly hard to believe. You were about to have sex with Wakasa Imaushi. If this was a dream, you were praying to god that you wouldn’t wake up before you got to the good part. He was so attractive up close. His features were flawless and quite dreamy. How could a man like this not have a woman by his side? He was better than you ever imagined him to be.

One of his hands rested around your waist while the other was placed against your thigh. He began to trail up your leg, leaving sparks to snap against your delicate skin. He then began to kiss your neck. His lips were smooth and the pecks were quite soft. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart when you felt his hand trailing closer towards your center. Wakasa hadn’t expected you to become so needy that fast, but he didn’t have a problem with that at all.

He nipped at your sweet spot, causing a whimper to escape your throat. Fuck, you sounded so pretty when you made those lewd noises because of him. “You like that, baby..?” he asked in a low tone. “If you ever want me to stop.. just say the word..”

Your grip on his shirt tightened at every minuscule touch of his fingers. Butterflies swarmed inside your belly from his Impact on you. You weren’t sure if it was because of your lack of touch since having a boyfriend, but you were like putty in his hands. “Don’t stop..” you sounded breathless when his hand reached your clothed clit.

Wakasa grinned devilishly when he made contact with the damp spot that had formed on your panties. He had barely done a single thing and your underwear was already a dripping mess. It made him so fucking hard at the thought. He used his other hand to bring your lips down onto his. The kiss you shared was firey and full of passion and desire. It started off fairly slow. He thought your lips were smooth like honey. He could hardly get enough of the strawberry chapstick you wore on them. You shuddered when the tips of his fingers touched your cunt. He began to draw small circles onto it, sending jolts of pleasure through your core. You moaned into the kiss, allowing Wakasa to swallow it.

His tongue swiped along your bottom lip, to which you granted him access to your mouth. He darted into it and deepened the kiss even more this time. You were such a great kisser. He knew those pretty lips would have gone to good use the moment his eyes landed on them. Everything about you was ethereal. He hadn’t felt such excitement in forever.

Wakasa pulled your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to him. He smirked when he made contact with the sticky arousal that coated your clit. You were a fucking delight down there. He wanted to taste you so fucking badly. Eat you out until you cried his name so everyone in the damn club heard who was making you feel like you were on cloud nine, but he was too far into it to do so. He wanted to make you feel good, of course, but for now he wanted to use just his fingers to make that happen. The thoughts he had were unlike no other. It was almost as if you casted a spell on him, because he just couldn’t get enough of you. “Heh.. what a mess you are, baby. This pretty pussy is calling for me, yeah? You want my fingers in you, princess?” he looked into your eyes as he spoke to you.

You nodded your head, twirling a few strands of his hair around your fingers. You were slipping right through the cracks. He was driving you up the wall from only one simple thing, but you needed him more than anything else. “Y-Yes.. Wakasa! I need you..” you whined, moving your hips towards his digits which were right near your hole.

Wakasa sunk one of his fingers into your dripping hole. A gasp filled his ears once he was fully inside of you. You were so tight. He could hardly move his finger around, and not to mention, you were so wet. He could tell that your pussy was quite divine and he honestly couldn’t wait to fuck you with his cock instead. He then began to finger you at a decently fast pace. You were squirming and jerking around underneath him. Even though it was just one, you still felt so full and your body was heating up quicker than you expected. He was talented with those hands of his. His finger twisted and curled around your sweet hole to find that one spot he knew would send you to the moon.

Wakasa used his hand to maneuver your body around. He wanted an even greater access to you, so he adjusted your seating to where your back was now against his chest. This in turn made you place both of your feet onto the couch, so you were spread completely open for him. Wakasa bit the inside of cheek, his mouth watering at the thought of how gorgeous you looked right now. He wanted to see what that pretty cunt of yours looked like. He then kept pumping his finger into you. Your hand went to wrap around his wrist. It was so good. You hadn’t felt such a thing in a long time. His fingers were much different than your own, and he was doing everything to make you fall apart. You shivered even more when you felt his cock completely hardened against your ass. He had to be big, judging by the print that you could feel.

He brought his free hand to wrap around your throat. He pushed you backwards so your head was now against his shoulder. His breath tickled against the shell of your ear. “Look at you.. being so obedient for me..” he gave it a squeeze, causing your eyes to roll back from the pleasure. “So perfect for me.. yeah? Say my name, baby..”

You let out a whine when his pumps only quickened inside of you. He had found that button and he could tell by the way your body was reacting to his motions against it. Your vision blurred with every movement of his fingers, and you started to grow louder. “W-Wakasa..! Right there! Please!” you gripped his wrist tightly as he fingered you relentlessly. Your pussy squelched and squealed from how soaked you were. Wakasa found that to be the hottest thing he had ever heard. A pretty woman with her pussy dripping just for him? He honestly thought of you as an angel, just for him.

Wakasa didn’t understand how you weren’t with another man. You were so gorgeous and your body had to be a work of art. Normally, women as stunning as you were swept off your feet the moment you came into a man’s view. If it were Wakasa, he would have made you his without a second thought. He’d treat you so right. He would give you it all. He knew it might sound silly because this was indeed his first encounter with you, but you did something to him that no other woman had done before. He couldn’t wait to get the real show started with you. He wanted to show you how a man did things with another woman.

He brushed his thumb over your swollen clit. His other hand moved to fumble with your breast. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from them the entire evening. He wanted to honestly pull your bra down and suck on your pretty nipples. “Such a perfect little body you have, angel.” he began to draw circles on your puffy clit. “Can’t wait to fuck you.. bet you’re so warm and tight..”

You bucked your hips towards his finger, feeling your orgasm approaching you. He got off on how desperate you were for his touch. Your walls began to flutter around his finger and slowly trap him in. He wasn’t ready to bring you to your peak yet, so he removed his finger from your cunt. A whine slipped from your lips at his sudden retraction. You were so close. Teasing you made you go crazy. You desired Wakasa more than anything and him being an ass wasn’t helping your case. “W-Waka..!” you tried bringing his hand towards your throbbing cunt, but he remained stiff and didn’t let you move him. He wasn’t going to give in that easily.

He trailed his large hands along your body, exploring every curvature and crevice of your flesh. He left a small wet kiss on the spot underneath your ear. You were so whiny and cute it made his cock twitch inside of his dress pants. “I wanna try something with you, princess..” he cooed into your ear. “But only if you want it.. otherwise, we can move forward..”

Curiosity coursed through your veins at his mention of something new. You had experimented with many things with many different guys, but you had yet to try everything. Wakasa could have anything up his sleeve, which made you wonder more as to what this could be. It only made you more excited. You turned your head to make eye contact with the man who was sitting behind you. His purple eyes were now blown with lust, which made his pupils quite large. “W-What is it..?” you questioned, your eyes flickering from his eyes to his pretty lips you wished you had on you once again.

Wakasa reached towards the black tie that was loosened around the collar of his shirt. He untied it and pulled it off of him. Your eyes grew wide when you realized what he wanted to do. You have seen plenty of erotic videos where a man would use a tie for a specific purpose. Whether it was using it to restrain them, or using it as a blindfold, they were used for pretty kinky things. You hadn’t had one used on you before. It’d be a completely new experience. The thought alone turned you on, a lot. Though, it did somewhat make you nervous because of your inexperience with the clothing item. This could go wrong, but that was a risk you were willing to take with the man before you. You were certain that Wakasa would never put you in a situation where you could get hurt.

He lifted his tie in his hand up to your level. He could already imagine you with his tie on your body. Fuck, that’d be a sight. You were already gorgeous enough, so you’d look even more sexy with it on. “I want to use it as a blindfold.. I won’t progress without your consent, so if you don’t want to, it’s okay.” he sounded sincere and quite sweet in your opinion. You thought it was considerate of him to think of your feelings in the matter. Not many men were like that.

You felt comfortable with him enough for him to use the blindfold on you. He did mention that if you wanted to stop, all you had to do was say the word. “Okay.. I trust you, Wakasa.” you nodded, looking into his pretty eyes.

He smiled at you, leaning in to give you a quick kiss. He then unrolled his tie, taking both ends into his hands. You then watched him place the tie over your eyes. Your vision went completely dark and you couldn’t see a single thing in front of you. Wakasa used both ends of the tie to form a knot so it would stay nice and firm behind your head. A shaky breath left your lips. You had no idea where he was going to move next, or what he was planning on doing now. Judging by how fast he seemed to be moving, you could only assume that he was preparing to fuck you. The images flashed inside your brain, making that heat form in your belly.

The man behind you then began to move you around. Wakasa placed your head down, so you were now lying down on the couch. He began to undo the buttons of your blouse, exposing your bra that held your breasts. It took everything inside him to not completely ravage your pretty mounds. He then moved downward and began to tug at your skirt. He pulled the piece of fabric down your thighs, then towards your calves where it slipped off of your ankles. Wakasa’s eyes fixated on your pussy that was still as wet as before. He was right. Your cunt was so perfect and the sight of it made his mouth water with saliva. He began to ponder on the taste. He bet you were sweet and savory. He thought you had the prettiest pussy he had ever seen. He’d have to taste you some time. There was no way he was going to let you walk away without giving him a small taste.

Wakasa pulled your panties off of your body, tossing them onto the floor beside him. He then began to unbuckle his belt, which made you shiver. You couldn’t see what he was hiding underneath those pants of his. Anticipation bubbled inside your belly at the thought of what his cock was going to feel like. He removed his pants, his cock springing free from the confines of his boxers. He could finally breathe. It felt like he had been suffocated from how tight they felt around his waist. Pre-cum leaked from the tip, to which he wiped off with the pad of his thumb.

His fingers trailed down the skin of your waist, then towards your hips. The lack of eyesight made your emotions all the more heightened. You were much more sensitive now. It was no surprise to Wakasa when you twitched at his minor touches. What a pretty baby you were. “Heh, don’t you worry, princess. I promise to be gentle with you..” he winked, tossing his white shirt onto the table beside you both.

He then positioned himself at your entrance. The pinkish tip brushed along your folds, earning a moan from both of you. Your pussy was so wet. It didn’t take much for Wakasa to push himself inside of you. He grunted loudly when he felt your delicious walls clamping around his cock. He couldn’t believe you felt that amazing. It made him question where you’ve been all his life. You squirmed at the sensation of his cock splitting your cunt apart. He was big. Wakasa searched your expression for any signs of discomfort or hesitation, but all he saw was your jaw wide open from his cock pushing inside of you. He took that as a good sign, and began to slowly rut his hips into you. He could hardly keep himself composed. You were squeezing his cock so perfectly that he swore you were made to take him.

Wakasa began to pick up his pace. Your hands began to run down your body, taking a hold of your breast. The thrill of using a blindfold was making the sex even greater than it would without it. You had no idea what he might do next, and that’s what excited you. “Wakasa..! Fuck.. you’re so good..” you whimpered, arching your back upwards from the pleasure you were receiving.

He liked hearing his name slip from your tongue like that. He could listen to your sweet voice all fucking day. Scratch that, he could fuck you all day and never get tired. There was so much to like about you. To think, just a little while ago you were serving him drinks and being a pretty little waitress for him. He disliked that Shinichiro stared at you a little longer than he would have preferred, but that idea was shut down the moment you made eye contact with Wakasa. “Yeah..? Look at you.. being so good for me, baby. You take me – shit! – so fuckin’ nicely..” he pried your legs apart further, placing them around his waist to reach into you more.

He was unable to see it, but your eyes rolled backwards behind your lids from the new angle he reached. He reached your g-spot instantly, sending deep waves of pleasure to crash along your body. This man must have known the female body much better than any other guy on this planet. He knew exactly what he was doing to make you see stars in your vision.

Wakasa gritted his teeth at your walls, shuddering and twitching around his dick. He hated sounding so possessive, but he wanted you all to himself. He knew you didn’t belong to him and you both just met one another, but the idea of another man getting their hands on you made him green with envy. You were too good for these shitty men he knew in the world. They didn’t deserve such a kind woman, nor did they deserve the chance to fuck your perfect pussy. He wanted to be the only one to fuck you in such a manner. His dick should be the only one you thought about. It only made him want to fuck you harder and better. God, what the fuck did you do to him? Wakasa never believed in being tied down to one person, but you.. you had completely shifted his opinion on the subject. You were a little devil.

He used his hand to grip your throat. He gave it a harsh squeeze, which made your mind feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen. He leaned towards your ear. His deep breaths filled your ears, arousing you from how harsh they were. “Gonna make this pussy all mine, angel..” he purred. “You wanna – fuck – be mine, baby? Never gonna share you again.. I’ll give you i-it all!”

His thrusts grew more aggressive, sending you over the edge with your mind becoming foggy with euphoria. He sounded so menacing and it made you so turned on. It stunned you, though. Wakasa wanted to keep you all to himself, yet he barely knew you. To be honest, you didn’t oppose that idea whatsoever. The thought of being Wakasa’s was not a bad one. “Y-Yes..!” you managed to choke out, considering you weren’t able to allow much air into your lungs from how tight his hold was on your throat.

A chuckle rumbled in his throat at your reply. You were his little masochist and he couldn’t wait to see what else you were capable of. He couldn’t hide that smirk that appeared on his face when you said yes. He’d make you see that you would never regret such a decision to be his. “That’s right.. good girl, baby.” he released your throat, allowing you to inhale a breath. “Wanna see me fuck you, princess..? ‘Wanna see those pretty e-eyes look at me..”

You nodded your head vigorously. You craved nothing more than to see his handsome face above you. Wakasa then slowed his thrusts and reached forward to pull the black blindfold down and away from your eyes. You squinted a little from the sudden rays of light that filled your vision, but your eyes then focused on the man who was fucking you. Wakasa looked so good hovering over your body. His ponytail was slightly messy and a few strands of his hair were clinging to his forehead from the sweat that formed on his skin. He was giving you a flirty smile that made your face burn. You wished you got to see him the entire time, but you were glad you got the chance to see him now.

Your hands went to rest on his muscular shoulders. His physique was quite nice and attractive. You couldn’t believe a man this handsome was fucking your brains out on a couch. “Wakasa! Fuck.. love your cock..” you made eye contact with him. Your desperate hues made him twitch inside of you. You were so so beautiful looking at him like that.

He loved the sound of that. He then had an idea flow into his brain. He had done it before with other women, but he wanted to try it with you. He thought it’d be a nice way to remember this evening you two had with one another. Wakasa slowed his ruts and came to a complete stop, which made you somewhat upset. You thought it was unfair, because you were coming close to that delicious high that you craved more than anything else. The man then reached over to the glass coffee table that was right beside the couch. He pulled his phone off of the table and stared down at you with foggy eyes. He was breathing quite heavily and seemed almost as needy as you were. “I wanna record you..” he moved around inside your cunt, earning a cry of pleasure from your mouth. “Only if you want.. baby.”

Being recorded? That was something you were completely new to. You had sent naked photographs and videos of yourself before, but to have a sexual encounter recorded? That was quite lewd and it was different. You worried the video might be shared with other people. You didn’t dislike the idea or anything, but your private business with Wakasa should remain behind closed doors.

You shifted around underneath him. You were getting close to your orgasm, and you wanted to finish already. “I’ll only allow it if you promise to never share it..” you took his free hand into yours, placing it on your body. “Promise.. Waka?”

Wakasa heard your concerns loud and clear. There were many assholes out there that often betrayed the trust of their significant others by sharing those videos with others, but Wakasa wasn’t one of them. He’d never share something that intimate without your permission. He also didn’t want anyone else to see your body. He was the only person who should be able to see the private areas of you. “I promise, angel. You won’t have to worry..” he rubbed your belly with his hand softly to reassure you.

You then gave him the nod to keep going. He started to pick up that similar pace he had prior. His tip kissed your g-spot, making your brain turn fuzzy each time he pressed against it. Your walls were beginning to spasm and close around his cock, earning several grunts from the man above you who looked fucking gorgeous. He was well aware that you were close. Heh, maybe he’d get your pretty orgasm on camera while he recorded you. He’d never stop viewing that video if that were the case.

Wakasa used his thumb to swipe over to the camera. His grip wasn’t the firmest, considering he was fucking the shit out of you, but he eventually was able to begin taping the scene in front of him. The flash appeared within the blink of an eye, and you realized you were being recorded. He grinned when your pussy quivered around him. You must have liked being on camera like that. He pushed your legs somewhat further apart to let the camera get a glance of his cock pushing your cunt apart. “Heh.. would you look at that, baby. You suck me in so fuckin’ nicely..” he cooed, shifting his gaze onto you. “You like being taped, hm..? ‘Can feel you getting nice and tight now..”

His thumb swirled around your clit. The familiar knot in your belly was tightening with every motion of his hips. Wakasa gritted his teeth at how so fucking great he felt. He had begun to increase his assault on your cunt, allowing your cries to become much louder than before. Your volume was so high that it was likely that whoever was down this hallway heard you moaning for Wakasa. Neither of you gave much care to that fact. What were they going to do? Come to the club owner himself and argue over it? Fat chance.

Wakasa groaned deeply when your pussy began to squeeze the life out of his cock. Your high had finally washed over you, making your thighs tremble from the affects. He was most thrilled to know that he had caught the entire thing on video. Your pretty voice calling out his name so loudly that he was sure you would have lost your voice from the high pitch. A creamy white ring surrounded his cock. You were a mess on him and the couch you were both fucking on. That was all he really needed in the department of recording you, because now it was his turn to reach his orgasm. “Fuck.. so good.. such a good girl, baby.” he then pressed the button on his phone, ending the recording and tossing it somewhere onto the floor.

Your eyes were hazy and your body was still reeling in the affects of your climax. You felt as if you were on fire and Wakasa was the gasoline making that spark more intense. “Wakasa! N-Need you..” you whined. “Ah..!”

Those words brought a nice smile to the man’s face. The feeling was honestly mutual. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He would give you whatever you desired. “Yeah..? Don’t worry, doll. I’ll give you everything..” he leaned down, pressing a sloppy kiss onto your swollen lips. “Where do you – fuck! – want my cum, baby?”

Although the words processed quite slowly into your brain, you wondered what would be the most fun. He could always leave his cum right on your face or on your pretty tits. That also proposed the idea of him taking a photo of it and saving it on his cell phone. Either option turned you on, but the other one made your clit throb. Wakasa filling you up crossed your mind and it was such an erotic idea. He was already opening your doors to new things like using a blindfold and recording, so why not let him cum inside you just this once? It would be nice, and you hadn’t experienced such a feeling in a long time.

Your arms went to wrap around his neck, bringing his face towards yours. Those lazy eyes of his stared right into your fucked out ones. He could get lost within them if he stared for too long. “Inside.. please..” you sounded so desperate that Wakasa could have cum right then and there. He knew you were into things, but that? That was quite a surprise.

But, who was he to deny your such filthy desires? He’d grant them any day he so pleased.

Wakasa began to rut his hips at that same fast pace from before. Your familiar cries returned, filling his ears like they were a song he could never get tired of. His cock began to twitch inside of you and his grip on your body was firm. He would grant you that need of wanting his cum inside you. He could only imagine what it would look like when his seed leaked out of your hole. It only made him more encouraged to keep going. He was so close. “Shit.. shit.. fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.. ‘gonna fill this pretty pussy..” he looked down at you as he spoke.

With one last thrust, he hissed as his high hit him like a truck. His cock twitched and his balls that were slapping against your clit tightened up, allowing his cum to fill into your womb. It was quite thick and warm, sending shivers along your body from how it made you feel. Wakasa’s grip on your hip must have been tight enough to leave marks. He didn’t dare move in fear that the mess inside of you would possibly seep out, so he decided to sit there for a brief moment. Your nails drew small circles onto his shoulder, trying to recover from the affects of being completely and utterly fucked out. You weren’t sure how long you had been at it, but it must have been quite late in the evening.

Both of you were quite messy. There were many loose strands falling out of Wakasa’s once neat ponytail, and sweat dripped down his tattooed body. He still had that dreamy aura attached to him even though he looked quite exhausted.

After several moments of silence, Wakasa pulled out of your tired cunt. Some of his cum had escaped and began to trickle down from your pussy to your ass. He thought it was one of the sexiest things he had laid his eyes upon. His cum coming out of you. What a delicious sight. Reality then dawned on him, he had another event to attend for the evening and he couldn’t remain at the club for longer than he would have desired. He had to also find out where Shinichiro and Benkei had gone. He had so much fun with you. The experience he had with you was exhilarating and nothing like he had felt before. He doubted he’d find that similar feeling with another woman.

Wakasa leaned towards the floor and grabbed his pants. You watched him begin to redress himself and you figured you would do the same thing. That familiar tires feeling you had earlier in the night had returned. The sex you had only made you more exhausted than you originally were.

He finished up much quicker than you and now he was standing by the door. He decided to say one more thing before he made his exit. As much as he wanted to just go home, duty called. “Have a good night, (Y/N). I hope to see you again.” he gave you a flirty smile, then exited the private room so you were now completely on your own.

You fixed your skirt and buttoned up your top. You looked down at the coffee table that was directly in front of you. Your eyes fixated on a random napkin that was folded up beside Wakasa’s empty whisky glass. You reached forward and unfolded the napkin. A smile made its way to your features when you read what was written in ink on it.

“Call me sometime, I’d love to see you again ♡- Wakasa aka Mr.Imaushi”

#summer speaks #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x you #wakasa imaushi #wakasa imaushi x reader #wakasa imaushi smut #wakasa imaushi x you #wakasa #wakasa smut #wakasa x reader #wakasa x you #wakasa x y/n #anime fanfiction #anime fanfic

2K notes · View notes

cranberrymoons · 1 year

Text

a love to last past saturday night

here's the first 3,500-ish words of the coffee shop au i've been working on!

—

There’s a little cafe at the end of Steve’s block that he’s only ever been in once.

It’s called Corroded Coffee and it’s dark in there and maybe a little pretentious, but not pretentious as in… people reading classic novels or having discussions about French Cinema. Pretentious in the sense that there’s an intimidating collection of vinyl records taking up half an entire wall and they use single origin arabica beans and the scary baristas look at you sideways if you order regular milk in your latte.

He knows this last part because the one time he did stop in, shortly after he moved to the neighborhood, he asked for an iced vanilla cold brew with cream, and the redheaded girl behind the counter looked him up and down as she punched his order into an iPad.

“Okay,” she said slowly, disdainful and bored like she was barely concealing an eye roll. “I guess that’s eleven dollars, if you’re sure that’s all you want.”

Steve was sure. He was also sure that he’d never forgive himself for spending so much on a single cup of coffee that he could probably make at home for about fifty cents, but… support local businesses? Use his company card? Also, he was too embarrassed to tell her to cancel the order.

So.

Anyway, it’s about three months later when he goes in there for the second time. This time, it’s because his coffee pot broke (a shitty off-brand Keurig that he bought on Amazon for about twenty bucks, which for the record is less than the cost of two iced coffees from this place), and he really has to get to work, and the coffee at the office is – fine, actually, but – whatever.

Whatever.

The coffee in the office is fine, but he’s walking toward the train feeling like his hair and his tie are somehow both on sideways, and a customer pushes out of the café and into the street, bringing with them a wave of caffeinated air, and before Steve has the chance to make a conscious decision one way or another, he’s standing inside the shop, eyes adjusting to the sudden shift to dim lighting.

When he comes to his senses, there’s a brief moment where he considers just turning around and walking right back out, but before he has a chance, the guy behind the counter leans an elbow against the shoulder-height glass pastry case and says –

“Hey man, what can I get you?”

Too late.

Steve blinks and focuses on him. He’s tallish with long hair that’s been pulled back into a puffy knot on top of his head, dish towel slung over his shoulder, indecipherable band tee, nails painted black, a flock of bats and a long line of perfect crescent moon phases running up his forearm, and – yeah. Steve, in his crisp Brooks Brothers button-up and ironed slacks, is definitely not the right kind of cool to be coming in here.

“You do want coffee, right?” the barista prompts. He raises his eyebrows in question. “I just watched you Pepe Le Pew your way in here, so.”

In spite of himself, Steve laughs. Call it the exhaustion. He takes a step closer to the counter.

“You saw that?”

The man grins. “You’re hardly the first exhausted corporate zombie to stumble his way through my door.” He reaches for a paper cup, pen in hand. “What’ll it be?”

“Just – coffee?” Steve suggests, then he flushes. “That was dumb. Sorry. I uh – I don’t really know much about coffee. Just a normal one with milk?” Then, remembering last time, he says, “Oat milk. I guess.”

“One drip with oat milk, coming up. You want a muffin or anything with it?” He taps the glass case with the end of his pen. “These just came out of the oven. The cranberry orange.”

“Oh, I –” Steve eyes the muffins in the case, crystalline sugar on top, shiny and perfect-looking. He does kind of want one, but he pictures himself juggling it and the coffee and his phone and – “No, that’s fine. Just the coffee, thanks.”

The man shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He punches a few things into the iPad then flips it around for Steve to pay. “Three seventy five.”

Steve narrows his eyes. That… can’t possibly be correct based on his last experience with the place, but he taps his card and punches in a tip, then nods to the barista as he shuffles off to the end of the counter to wait for his drink. He sends another look toward the muffins, and his stomach grumbles; maybe there’ll be leftover bagels in the office from the morning’s sales meeting?

By the time his coffee is ready, he’s lost in a very detailed fantasy about veggie cream cheese, and the barista has to wave to get his attention to pass him the cup. When Steve takes it, the man produces a little brown paper box and wiggles it in his direction. Steve frowns, confused.

“Oh, that’s not mine. I didn’t –”

The man raises his eyebrows and holds it further toward Steve. “On the house," he says. "Take it.”

Steve sets down his coffee on top of the case and accepts the box, flipping it open to reveal a cranberry orange muffin wrapped in crinkly parchment paper. He closes the lid and gives the barista a smile.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Obviously I didn’t have to,” the guy says. He rolls his eyes, but it’s not – it doesn’t make Steve feel stupid the way the other girl had. “You looked like you wanted one, so you got one. Now be a good boy and say thank you."

Steve feels his face heat. “Thank you.”

The barista nods in approval then gives him the ghost of a wink before turning to help another customer, and Steve reclaims his coffee, retreating to the door and back out into the cold.

—

He doesn’t really mean to go back the next day, but – well. The coffee had been good, okay, and the muffin had been really good. And it’s Friday, and he’s allowed a treat, and he obviously hasn’t had a chance to replace his own broken machine yet, so.

He doesn’t really have a choice. He’s here by necessity. That’s it.

“You’re back,” the barista says, eyeing him up and down when he gets to the front of the line. “Was my muffin that good, that you had to come crawling back for more the very next day?”

Steve, more alert this morning than he’d been yesterday, manages to smile like a normal human being.

“Your muffin?”

“Our muffin,” the barista says. He spreads out his hands in front of himself. “New York’s muffin. The world’s muffin.”

“No, I meant –” Steve laughs. “You made them? It was good.”

“I know it was.” He shrugs, then taps the stack of cups on the counter next to him. “Coffee?”

Steve glances at the menu on the wall. He has a suburban Starbucks level of knowledge when it comes to this stuff, which basically means he knows the difference between like… a cappuccino and a latte, sort of but – not really?

“Just the same again, plain with oat milk,” he says. “That was fine yesterday.”

The barista narrows his eyes. “Fine?”

“Good,” Steve corrects. “It was good. Like I said, I don’t know a ton about –” He waves a hand through the air vaguely. “Whatever.” He fidgets under the barista’s continued scrutiny, then adds, “Maybe sweetened this time though? I added sugar when I got to my office yesterday.” Then belatedly, “Sorry.”

“Tell you what,” the man says at last, apparently taking pity on him. He picks up a cup. “I’ll make you something that I think you’ll like, and I won’t even charge you for it. That way if you hate it, you can just – dump it down the drain or something. No hard feelings.”

“I can pay,” Steve says, frowning. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for giving me a bunch of free stuff.”

“Oh, I won’t. The owner likes me,” the man says easily, already busy behind the espresso machine. A burst of steam comes shooting out in a cloud, and he offers Steve a smile. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Steve,” he says. He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder where it’s slipping down. “Sorry, you probably needed that for the… the cup, or whatever.”

The barista’s smile widens, and he gives Steve another up-and-down look as he waits for the espresso to finish bubbling into the cup. “Nope. Just wanted to know.”

“Oh,” Steve says, feeling himself flush. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets to keep himself from fidgeting even more than he already is. “Okay, what’s yours then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Kind of why I asked.”

The man places the cup on the counter and presses a lid into place, sliding it toward Steve along with another little paper box that, when Steve peeks inside, contains a single croissant. He takes a sip of the coffee, and it’s… delicious, unfortunately, vanilla and caramel and maybe chocolate too? And he’s pretty sure that’s real milk, thank god.

“Come back tomorrow and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“We’ll see,” Steve says mildly, taking another sip. “Thanks for the coffee.”

He gets a teasing little wave in return.

“Have a good day at work, Steve.”

—

Robin is aghast when he tells her at drinks later that night.

“You’re saying he’s been there this whole time, and you’ve just been – what, walking past and not noticing?!” she asks, leaning forward in her seat. She takes a distressed sip of rosé and widens her eyes at him. “This whole time?”

“Maybe not,” he says defensively. “Maybe he’s new. Maybe – I don’t know.”

“You don’t just give out free coffee on your second day, Steve,” she says, exasperated. She picks up a fry and jabs it into the little pat of mayo on the edge of the plate, gesturing wildly with it before stuffing it in her mouth. “Free coffee and free pastries! He’s totally been there this whole time, and you were just too chicken shit to go in there and see him for yourself.”

“I literally met him by going in and seeing him.”

“Still.” She groans in frustration. “Ugh, I can’t believe you’re getting seduced via baked good. Literally if I could find one single solitary woman in this city who would give me free baked goods as a mating ritual, I’d let her step on my throat.” She places a hand on his forearm and gives him a very serious look. “My throat, Steve.”

He laughs and shakes her off. “You don’t know he’s trying to seduce me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re right,” she says. She finishes her wine and sets the empty glass on the bar with force. “The hot tattooed barista who keeps winking at you and giving you free shit for no reason is totally just trying to drum up a loyal customer base for his coffee shop.”

“I didn’t say he was hot.”

She gives him a contemptuous look. “Is he hot?”

He pokes at the lime wedge that’s floating in his gin and tonic and doesn’t meet her eye. “Maybe.”

“You’re blushing. He’s obviously hot. I hate you so much.”

“Okay, don’t – we live in the Village. It can’t possibly be that hard for you to find a lesbian who likes to bake.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t stereotype. Just because we’re ladies and we have breasts.”

“I’m not stereotyping. I’m just saying: go to any plant store, pick a girl with a choppy haircut and a canvas tote bag.” He finishes his own drink and signals to the bartender for another round. “Odds are seventy thirty she’s a lesbian with a chocolate chip cookie recipe.”

“Literally every word out of your mouth just now was a stereotype. I’m breaking up with you.”

She turns her barstool away from him abruptly, and the guy seated on the other side of her blinks in alarm, looking at Steve over her shoulder with wide eyes. Steve gives him an apologetic look and places a hand on Robin’s arm, tugging her back around to face him.

“Alright, come on, you’re scaring the public.”

She huffs, then gives the stranger a tight smile, then turns back to Steve. “You’re going back tomorrow, right? I’ll forgive you right now if you promise me you will.”

He sighs. “Why do you even care?”

“Because he’s hot,” she says, widening her eyes, “and he has tattoos, and he obviously wants to take you back to his place and do filthy, filthy things to you, Steve, and he knows how to make really good muffins.” She shakes him again. “Steve!”

“Yes!” he laughs, wrenching his arm free of her hold. “Fine, okay. Yes, I’ll go back tomorrow. I don’t even know his name yet. He said he’ll tell me if I do, so – I will.”

“Oh my god.” She buries her face in her hands. “I swear to god, if you fuck this up.”

—

Steve has always been a relatively confident guy. It’s not that. He’s not normally awkward or even shy.

If anything, he’s better than average at blending in, even managing to convince his parents that he’s still the same person he was when he was a sports star back in high school: he finished his MBA without flaming out like half his class, he got a good-paying job in the city, he even goes back home to Indiana once or twice a year for Thanksgiving or Christmas.

He’s normal. He’s… acceptable.

Just – he also knows when he doesn’t know something, and that’s when he gets flustered.

Like now, Saturday morning. He’s been standing in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom and staring at himself for a long time – probably too long – fiddling with the cuffs of his jeans and the swoop of his hair and the weird little… thing his sweater is doing where it bunches up around his waist.

Maybe he should change. Or just… not go? Robin would forgive him, right?

Robin absolutely would not forgive you, says a horrible little voice in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like the woman herself. She absolutely would not, and then she’d come directly over to your apartment and let herself in and drag you there herself.

Fine. Just go.

He takes a deep breath and releases it in a sharp huff. He can do this. He can totally, obviously, absolutely do this. It’s literally just leaving his building, walking three hundred feet down the street to the corner, and entering a coffee shop. That’s all he has to do. That’s all.

He does it.

When he walks in, he casts a curious glance around the space since, for the first time in here, he’s not in a hurry. It seems like no one else is either: it’s busy in a different way than it’s been for the past few mornings, fewer people calling out orders and pushing back and forth through doors, more occupied armchairs and tables with laptops. There’s a record playing in the background, something scratchy and smooth, interrupted by the sound of occasional jets of steam issuing from behind the counter.

And behind the counter is – Steve feels disappointment curdle in his stomach.

Oh.

The scary redhead. She’s sitting on a barstool with a knee drawn up to her chest, studying her nails and pretending like she hasn’t seen him. He steps closer to the counter, too close to ignore, and she sighs, looking up at him like his very presence is an affront to her. In spite of himself, he feels a little bubble of nervous laughter crawl up the back of his throat, and he swallows it down.

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Just, uh – a coffee?”

“It’s all coffee,” she tells him in a bored voice. “Are you asking for a drip coffee?”

“Yeah, just that, with oat milk,” he says, then adds, “Thanks.”

She jabs at her iPad then flips it around for him. “Eight dollars. Oat milk’s at the end of the bar, you can add it yourself.”

He gives her an awkward smile as he pays, and she just stares back at him impassively. He’s slipping his card back into his wallet and preparing to run away with his tail between his legs when the door behind the counter pushes open, and Steve’s barista – the nice one who gives him real milk and doesn’t glare at him – backs through it, balancing a tray of cinnamon buns in his arms.

He turns, then spots Steve, and his face breaks into a smile. He sets down his tray.

“Knew you’d be back,” he says, tilting his head with a teasing smile on his face. “Max, this is Steve. We like Steve.”

“This is Steve?” She gives him a once-over, then turns to make a face at the other man. “Seriously?”

Now that’s – “Okay,” Steve says. “I’m literally standing right here.”

“Yes. This is Steve, and today Steve would like a white mocha with two pumps of cinnamon.”

“That’s disgusting.” She makes a face. “Anyway, he paid for a plain drip coffee.”

“I didn’t ask what he paid for. I told you what he’s going to get. Can you make it for him, please?”

She glares at Steve’s barista then slips off her stool with a groan and the deepest eye roll Steve has ever seen in his life.

“Whatever. It’s your shop.”

“Ignore her,” he tells Steve in a voice loud enough for her to hear. “Max likes to think she’s funny, but she’s actually just judgmental.”

She sticks her tongue out at him then sets about ignoring them, disappearing into a cloud of steam. He lifts up onto his toes to lean forward over the top of the pastry case and get a look at Steve.

“You’re very comfy casual today,” he says, dropping back to his own side. He raises an eyebrow. “Cute sweater.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, feeling himself flush. He tugs at the hem of it as he casts another look around the room. “This is your shop? I didn’t realize when you said the owner liked you, you meant…”

“Yep, all mine,” he says. “I can shamelessly flirt with as many customers as I want. No boss to tell me to get back to work.”

Steve widens his eyes. “Flirting with me, and he won’t even tell me his name.”

The man grins at him, resting his face in one hand. “I guess you’ve earned it.” Steve feels his stomach do a flip. “I’m Eddie.”

“Eddie,” he says, trying it out. It suits him, Steve thinks. “Nice to meet you. Officially.”

“Likewise,” Eddie says as Max passes him the coffee and returns to her stool with a huff. Eddie slides it to Steve across the counter. “Your very disgusting sugary coffee, handcrafted with love by our sweetest barista.”

“Thanks,” Steve laughs, accepting the drink. He pries the lid off to peer inside. “Is this the same as yesterday?”

“Nah, I’m still figuring out what you like,” Eddie says. He waits for Steve to take a sip – another winner, maybe even better than yesterday – then says, “Are you busy tonight?”

Steve looks up from his coffee. Eddie is watching him with an amused tilt to his smile. Steve swallows.

“Am I busy tonight?”

“That’s what I asked. Are you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Steve clears his throat. “No.”

“Okay,” Eddie says as he folds a cinnamon roll into a box and nudges it in Steve’s direction. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Steve accepts the box, and before he can second guess himself he says, “Yeah, okay.”

Eddie’s smile is slow and easy. “Good. I wrote my number on the inside of the lid. Text me your address? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

—

When he gets home, he calls Robin, freaking out.

“I didn’t fuck it up,” he says by way of greeting when she answers on the third ring.

“What?”

“Hot tattooed… barista guy,” Steve says, pacing frantic circles around his living room and ripping a hand through his hair. “I didn’t fuck it up. His name’s Eddie, and he gave me a cinnamon roll, and it was really good, and – okay, so it turns out he owns the shop, he doesn’t just work there and –” He stops, staring out the window at the building across the street, unseeing. “And we’re having dinner tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the phone, then a shout, then more silence, and then she says, “Holy shit. What are you going to wear?”

—

After much debate and two facetime calls and eventually Robin just physically marching the three blocks over to help him decide in person, and then him forbidding her from sticking around to interrogate Eddie – when the buzzer goes at seven sharp,

When the buzzer goes at seven sharp, no games played, he stares at the box on the wall in alarm, half expecting it to come to life and bite his face off. When it doesn’t, he recovers (barely) and jabs at the button to let Eddie inside.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #stranger things #my fic #this is me subtly forcing this out into the world so you will all encourage me to keep writing it because i've been stalled on it since jul

619 notes · View notes

monkagraphics · 1 year

Photo

(via "Support Your Local Barista" Sticker for Sale by MonkaDesigns)

#findyourthing #redbubble #support your local barista #coffee lover #coffee drinker #espresso #latte #latte art #coffee #coffee maker #coffee man #barista life

0 notes

running-with-kn1ves · 2 years

Note

Hi! What do you think would happen if there was a disease that turned people into yanderes and the reader is immune? So she’s the only sane one, which everyone around her falls in love (romantically and platonically) and turns obsessive?

Hrmm I'd like to take a different approach to this than the original *yandere apocolypse* of which I was thinking. Just wrote down some odd thoughts for this one!

Perhaps two thirds of the world has been inflicted with this specific disease-- making this new population become violent, deranged and utterly--obsessively, in love.

There's the beginning stages of violence and death of course, causing a great chunk of the world to go mad as some yanderes who must share a darling cannot do so. Celebrities, idols, and your local barista who's friends with everyone in town, are constantly in a tug of war battle between their yanderes.

But life seems to somewhat settle down. Everyone still functions as they would in society-- going to the bank and paying their taxes, remaining at their 9 to 5 jobs. But there are far more murders, laws are no longer followed; the daytime has become just as dangerous as the night.

Our dear reader, a cashier for a chain grocery store, has so blessedly not been affected by this newfound disease. They know their residence in a large city and with a social job would not leave them unharmed by this new change to the world. So, they begin to attend support groups for 'darlings,' the victims and (mostly) sane population that has been left. At first the other victims were people they had never seen before, seemingly innocent and normal people who just wanted to go on with their lives. They all seemed to lead a much harder living, with their unending stalkers and vicious pursuers that made them sob for hours as everyone else listened to their woes.

Reader had yet to be targeted, of which offers them a sliver of relief-- until they fear perhaps they have been affected by the disease. But their life continues, without any impulse or desire to snatch anyone up, and without any stalkers or murderers on their trail. Life is almost, weirdly, normal.

They don't watch the news anymore, they go home before it gets dark, and refuse to take any extra shifts with anyone who's been affected by the outbreak. They continue to go to the meetings, out of solidarity and precaution in case they begin to hear footsteps behind them when walking from home or find eyes peeping behind their curtains. However, the support group seemed to have slowly begun to change. Its regular members were beginning to dwindle, less and less showing up regularly. And, there seemed to be an addition of.... hostility, amongst the newer members.

The support group "leader", a man who has thrown reader off since day one, seemed to be far more invested in hearing their experiences with these "attackers" as he called them. As was everyone else, of which were slowly becoming vaguely familiar faces. Not familiar enough to mention it, but to the point where it was beginning to get eerie.

It wasn't until they went to their next shift for work, did they realize why everyone seemed so odd. Customer after customer came up, all purchasing odds and ends that could be suspicious if one paid close enough attention. But all that reader could focus on, was how the eyes of each person seemed to linger upon them, taking notice of their loose work shirt and unkempt hair. It was a common sound to hear heavy breathing from the other side of the counter, odd compliments on how beautiful their eyes were, or deafening silence from customers that didn't utter a word but stared in complete captivity. The next support group meeting, those nameless faces seemed to be far more recognizable. At this point, the original members of which reader had originally met, were nowehere to be found. All that remained, were the uncomfortably familiar customers, and the oddly charismatic leader.

Every eye seemed to be on them, each waiting for them to speak on their experience. But despite the creepy, lustful gazes and hateful glares at one another, there was some form of supportiveness that came from the group. They gave reassuring pats and squeezes, some getting a little handsier than others.

There were a few that reader recognized more than others: the silent, dark haired man that came to their register everyday, the businesswoman who always seemed to loosen her scowl once she saw them, and the couple who seemed a tad more than "friendly." Out of all of them though, reader felt the most reassurance from the group leader-- the man who seemed to dote on them like a parent would, though there was still fear over his constantly nagging questions and downward stare behind his glasses.

It was once reader decided to stop showing up to the increasingly more recent group sessions, did things start to turn sideways. There would constantly be a knock at the door, asking why they weren't there, if something was wrong, if a stalker had gotten to them. But it wasnt until recently did they feel they were being watched, followed, stalked.

Things started to go missing, from their favorite pair of underwear to little knickknacks kept on their desk. Reader had never felt the effects of the disease and its victims, but ever since the uncomfortable shift in the support group, life hadn't been the same.

One fateful afternoon, there came another series of knocks. Reader couldn't take it anymore, and had long given up on answering the door. The knocking continued, however. Thered be a pause, a moment of hesitation, before the pounding began again. Muffled voices could be heard outside readers front door, and suddenly there grew a great fear in their chest.

Not long after, the knocking seemed to occur in other areas around the house. The backdoor echoed as glass was banged on, the windows of their bedroom seemingly pressured by fists that begged to be let in. Their name was called from outside, small and booming voices all begging to be let in, promising that they were only there to help.

Reader covered their ears, crawling under the blankets and rocking themselves to the hope that the noise would go away. And eventually, It did-- only to be replaced with the sound of shattering glass and rushed footsteps.

2K notes · View notes

the-guilty-writer · 2 years

Text

Pick Your Poison

Request: from @doctorsteeb OH YOU SAY YOU NEED MORE ROSSI!DAUGHTER REQUEST?? I AM HERE I HAVE ARRIVED

Rossi!daughter being a barista and unknowingly serving BAU their coffee all the time? Then eventually learning she’s rossi’s daughter?

(Tell me if this is Too Specific I can be more vague)

David Rossi x daughter!reader, Criminal minds x platonic!reader

Summary: You've been serving coffee to the BAU team for months... imagine their shock when they learn that you're David Rossi's daughter.

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! I love writing rossi daughter. The sass, the italian nicknames, the banter- it's so much fun! I hope you enjoy this! (this does include the request of reader having studied abroad but I'm doing a seprate fic for that one as well)

CW: an absurd amount of talk about types of coffee, if you look up the meaning of rossi's nickname for reader you might cry

---

It was 4:00 AM when your shift at the coffee shop began. It didn’t open until 5:00, but you were in charge of opening the place yourself. You didn’t mind, though; it gave you time to think about how you might mess with your dad’s co-workers that day.

Rossi went back to work at the BAU just before you entered high school. With his busy work schedule, you both agreed that a boarding school close to home would be best. When it came time for college, you applied to a few schools in the States, but you had an itch to see the world. It was an incredible, well-earned surprise when you were accepted into the University of Bologna in Italy. Your dad had been incredibly supportive, and even though your extended family was dysfunctional at best, he was happy you’d be going somewhere there were relatives nearby.

You loved Italy, but after graduation you had wanted to move home and take a gap year. A friend from high school had opened a coffee shop not far from the Quantico office, and having been a barista at a local shop through college to help pay for your student costs (not that you needed it when your dad could easily afford your tuition) it was the perfect situation.

The fact that your dad’s co-workers were your most frequent customers didn’t hurt either. Not that they knew you were David Rossi’s daughter - your tag only displayed your given name - but it was interesting to have such casual interactions with the people your father spent most of his time with. And having been raised by a profiler, you had a little too much fun knowing something that the best minds in the nation didn’t.

---

It was 4:56 AM when Aaron Hotchner pushed open the door to the shop. Had it been any other customer, you would have told them that it didn’t actually open for another four minutes, but the man was there frequently enough that you really didn’t care. Plus, his order was about as simple as possible to make: a robusta medium roast from Columbia with a single shot of espresso. After only a few weeks, you noticed that he ordered an extra shot in his morning coffee about three days after a case, when the paperwork was the most heavy. This happened to be one of those days.

“Good morning, Mr. Hotchner,” you greeted him. “I’m already working on your usual this morning, unless of course you would like to try something new.” You knew he wouldn’t.

“Thank you,” he said, looking down at his watch. “Could I get an extra shot of espresso?”

You put a lid on the cup and handed it to him, moving to the register to ring him up. “Already done,” you told him.

He chuckled a bit- the smallest smile escaping his lips. “Do I really look that bad?” He handed you cash as he always did so he could leave the change in the tip jar. This morning he was either so tired he hadn’t thought about the bill he pulled out of his wallet, or he was feeling generous. By what you had heard about him from your dad, it was probably the latter.

“Not at all,” you handed him his change. “We all need the extra boost some days.”

“Thank you,” he said, putting all his change in the jar before leaving the shop.

He hurried out so quickly he didn’t even notice that you had written out his order on the board of specials for the day, calling it “The Unit Chief”.

---

As always, Spencer Reid was the first customer you served once the shop had officially opened. The doctor, unlike his boss, enjoyed exploring the different brews - always asking what region the beans had come from and giving you facts or statistics about his drink choice for that day. You listened to him ramble as you prepared him an arabica light roast grown in Asia; a bean the shop had just received.

“About a third of the world's coffee comes from Asia, but when asked the average American usually assumes that their coffee has been grown in Latin America or Africa,” he explained. “It’s also widely agreed upon by coffee enthusiasts that Asia produces the sweetest coffee.”

“Well then you won’t be needing as much sweetener as normal, Doctor,” you said as you handed him his order. “But I refilled the jar of sugar just for you.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said, grabbing three packs of sugar- two less than normal- and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. “Have a nice day!” He smiled awkwardly before turning and leaving out the door.

As soon as he left you wrote down his order on the specials board, deeming it “The Genius”. He wouldn’t notice you wrote the same words on his cup until he sat down at Quantico.

---

You weren’t quite sure who would be in to get their coffee next, but you smiled when it was Agent Jerau. There was something about the petite blonde and how easily she made conversation that brought a sense of serenity to your day. The rest of the team were very distinct- the kind of people you could look at and simply believe that they worked for the BAU- but other than being absurdly pretty, Jennifer was normal.

Even her arabica “bean of the day” cappuccino was the most common order out of all of them, with the exception that she always bought a single iced cookie to go with it.

“In all the time I’ve worked here I haven’t actually tried these cookies,” you told her as you pulled one out of the pastry display and put it in a bag.

“Neither have I,” she said. “But my son loves them.”

You thought of the little blonde boy that sometimes accompanied her and her fiance to the shop on the weekends. He always got a cup of steamed milk to look like his parents, but he always ended up dunking his cookie in it when they sat down at a table.

“I’ll have to try one then.”

The agent left before she could notice the board, which had her order paired with an iced cookie named “The Mother” written among the rest.

---

Per usual, Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia came into the shop together. You knew their flirtatious behavior was actually a demonstration of a platonic friendship, but that was only because Rossi had told you so.

“Baby Girl,” Morgan said to Garcia as you handed him his normal robusta medium roast red eye with just enough hazelnut creamer that the coffee wasn’t ridiculously bitter, “I’ve got the payment for today.”

“Derek, you know very well that I can and will hack into the system and change the credit card number to mine,” she told him, quickly glancing at you to say. “I promise I’m not stealing money from the shop. I love local businesses. If anything I would give you more money so this place stays open.”

You smiled, preparing her extremely complex order that changed slightly from day-to-day but always stayed as sweet as possible. Today it was an arabica medium roast from Ethiopia with all the fixings to complete the order into a chocolate caramel mocha.

“I’m sure my boss would appreciate that,” you told her. The idea of your father having to deal with a woman as sweet and eccentric as Penelope never failed to make you laugh.

She dug a handful of coins out of her purse to put in the tip jar before her and Morgan bid you a good day and left to go to work. You adjusted the order labeled “The Techie” to fit her drink for that day, but left Derek’s alone - “The Door Destroyer.”

---

Emily Prentiss was the last of the team to grab her coffee that morning. You were aware that she was the most observant in everyday situations, but that morning she was behind schedule by around ten minutes. Her boots clicked against the floor of the shop - lower pitched than the sound of heels but higher than those of men’s shoes. She moved fast towards the counter.

“I have your order ready,” you told her. “Robusta african dark roast latte with a double shot of espresso.”

“Thank you so much.” She paid quickly, leaving a handsome tip.

In all her rush her observation skills had faltered. Not only had she missed that she had a milk mustache, but she also didn’t see that her order on the board was labeled “The Modern Femme Fatale”.

---

“So,” Rossi said casually. “The best coffee near Quantico?”

With all the extra paperwork, the team had decided they needed extra caffeine, a short break, and some fresh air. Even Hotch thought it was a good idea, which is how David Rossi ended up walking towards the Pick Your Poison coffee shop with the rest of the BAU.

“It’s great,” Reid started. “They let you pick everything from the location, the bean type, the roast. There was this one time they got in a robusta from Brazil that-”

“Or you can just pick from their menu,” JJ told Rossi, interrupting Reid before he could go on any further. “It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“If you say so,” Rossi replied nonchalantly.

The team filed into the cafe and he saw you working behind the counter, your hair pulled away from your face as you checked the machinery. You looked up at them as they entered, all still oblivious to the small daily specials board that had their orders on it.

They greeted you and ordered one at a time, the same thing each of them had gotten that morning, leaving Rossi for last. He smiled when he stepped up to the counter and pulled you into a hug. “Mio passerotta.”

You returned his hug, a wide smile spreading across your face. “Ciao, Papa.”

“Wait-” Emily, being the only other person in the room who spoke Italian, picked up on it first. “You’re Rossi’s daughter?”

You laughed. “Have been all my life.”

The team looked around at one another, all slightly confused.

“How did you not know that we work with your dad?” JJ asked.

You shook your head. “Oh, no. I knew. I just wanted to see how long it would take you all to figure it out.”

Morgan looked stunned, Garcia’s jaw couldn’t drop any further, and Reid was tilting his head, probably trying to pick out the similarities between you and your dad.

Hotch turned to Rossi. “Dave, care to explain?”

“It was her idea, not mine.” He held up his hands defensively.

"You've been working here for five months, three weeks, and six days," Reid said.

"That is an excellent observation, doctor," you replied. "In my dad's defense, he said I had to confess before the six month mark."

"I'm suprised it took a confession in the first place," Rossi, then turned to you. “Now, I’ll speak in English so the nerds can understand. What specials do you have today?”

“Well,” You glanced at the special’s board, “If you’re going for the most caffeine I would choose “The Unit Chief” or “The Modern Femme Fatale”. “The Door Destroyer” has the strongest flavor on the bitter side and both “The Genius” and “The Techie” lean towards sweet. I’d recommend “The Mother”, but it’s past 11 AM and we all know how la mia bisnonna feels about cappuccinos past the morning.”

The team looked around at one another in complete shock over the specials order board you had put together. A smirk crossed your face as they gawked at you ever so slightly.

Your dad chuckled. “I’ll just go with a good old fashioned un caffe, then.”

“Presto in arrivo,” you said, and got to work on everyone’s order’s, but not before adding a single shot of espresso to the board called “Mia Papa.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #david rossi #rossi x daughter!reader #rossi x child!reader #david rossi x daughter!reader #david rossi x child!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x platonic!reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #criminal minds x child!reader

2K notes · View notes

ssa-dado · 2 days

Text

3 - A Philosopher and a Lawyer walk into a Cafè

Aaron Hotchner's x bau!fem!reader

Genre: fluff, sapiosexual fluff

Summary: You and Hotch's playful rivalry deepens as you bring him a coffee, sparking witty banter and an unspoken connection. You work together on a complex case involving philosophical murders, impressing each other with your insights. Amid teasing about a fictional romance between Rossi and Gideon, you and Hotch’s bond strengthens, both appreciating the natural rhythm of working together while unknowingly being quietly supported by your mentors. Warnings: Usual graphic CM kind of case, Reader being a Prehistoric Reid, Gissi being so strong they even named a town for them.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Dado's Corner: Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis. Mark my words, they could be helpful in the long run. We might get close to the second stage sooner than you think.

previous part: Early birds

It was another early morning at the BAU, and you found yourself in the local coffee shop just around the corner from the office. The morning chill clung to your coat as you stepped inside, the familiar hum of the espresso machine and the comforting aroma of fresh coffee filling the air.

You you were eager to finally being able to order your usual - a double espresso - as you found yourself already savouring the taste and smell of it, especially after all those days of being forced to drink the burnt coffee they provided at work. On a whim, decided to grab something for Hotch as well.

He had been beating you to the office every day, and despite your friendly rivalry, you knew the coffee at work was terrible. You imagined Hotch downing that bitter, overbrewed mess every morning, and the thought made you grimace.

"One black coffee, no sugar," you told the barista, after all, Hotch seemed like the kind of man who appreciated perfectly crafted simplicity.

Arriving at the office, you made your way to the bullpen, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction at the thought of catching Hotch off guard. As expected, there he was, already at his desk, his navy suit perfectly pressed, tie in place, and eyes glued to his case file. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, both annoyed and impressed by his consistency.

Hotch glanced up as you approached, a faint look of surprise crossing his features when he noticed the second coffee cup in your hand.

“Morning,” you said casually, setting the coffee on his desk. “Thought you might appreciate something better than the sludge they serve here.”

Hotch looked down at the cup, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes before he masked it with his usual composed expression. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to bring my own, but, well, you know how it is.” He picked up the cup, taking a sip and letting out a satisfied sigh.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze meeting yours with a wry smile. “So, what’s the excuse this time? You figured you’d never make it here before me, so you’re hedging your bets by blaming your tardiness on stopping for coffee?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Actually, I thought you might need a little recognition for all your hard work. I didn’t think you’d still be going along with this whole rivalry.” You gave him a teasing look, knowing full well that he thrived on the unspoken challenge between you.

Hotch’s smirk softened, his eyes briefly betraying how much he appreciated the gesture. “Well, it’s not every day someone bothers to get me a decent cup of coffee, but you don’t have to go out of your way. Even if I’m not complaining.” He took another sip, savoring the taste that was far superior to the bitter brew he usually endured.

You shrugged, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Consider it my one good deed for the day. But don’t think this means I’m letting you win without a fight.”

Hotch nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I appreciate the coffee, but now I owe you. I’ll have to get you a properly made coffee sometime, just to keep us even.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning closer as if conspiring. “Hotch, you owe me more than just one coffee for the stress you’ve caused me with this little game.”

He met your gaze with a mock-serious expression. “Oh, I’m not causing you stress. You’re the one driving yourself crazy trying to keep up.”

You scoffed playfully, unable to deny that he had a point. But Hotch’s eyes softened slightly, and he added, “But you’re right. I do owe you. In fact, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll buy you one coffee for every day I beat you here, until the day you finally arrive earlier than me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his offer, shaking your head at the sheer audacity. “You’re such a lawyer, you know that? You’re making a deal that actually only benefits you. What’s stopping me from showing up later on purpose just to drain your wallet?”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe that’s the idea. Give you a bigger distraction, make you think about something other than beating me. It works out well for me in the long run.”

You couldn’t help but admire the cleverness of his plan, realizing that if you fell for it, you’d be distracted by the rewards rather than the competition itself. “Wow. I’ve got to hand it to you, Hotch. In the long run, I’d end up showing up later and later, making it even easier for you. Impressive.”

Hotch raised his cup in mock toast, clearly pleased that you saw right through his scheme. “I’m surprised you caught on. I was hoping to pull one over on you for a while longer.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms with a triumphant smile. “You have no idea how good I am at outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head in genuine amusement. “Touché.”

“Deal’s still on, though,” you said, holding out your hand as if to seal it formally. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to change my routine just because you’re bribing me with coffee.”

Hotch took your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Of course not.”

But today, something else was on Hotch’s mind. As you settled in, you noticed Hotch was already deeply absorbed in a case file, the intensity of his focus suggesting he was waiting for something, or someone.

Hotch flipped open the file in front of him, his eyes scanning the pages with a keen intensity. As he read through the details, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. This case was unlike most he’d worked on recently: it was layered with philosophical references, obscure quotes, and an unsub whose modus operandi seemed to be influenced by complex philosophical ideologies. He knew exactly who would be perfect to consult on this, but rather than asking for help directly, he had something else in mind.

With a subtle shift, Hotch angled the file just enough to leave the corner of a page visible from your desk. It was a deliberate move, calculated to catch your attention. If he knew you - and by now, he did - you wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peek.

He didn’t have to wait long. You settled into your chair and immediately noticed the stray page peeking out from Hotch’s desk. The faint, familiar names and terms you could make out - “Nietzsche,” “existential morality,” “nihilism” - caught your eye. You tried to concentrate on your own files, but curiosity got the better of you. Your gaze kept drifting back to that page.

Simulating a casual stretch, you leaned forward, pretending to adjust something on your desk while sneaking a better look at Hotch’s case. The notes detailed a series of murders where the unsub left behind cryptic quotes from philosophers, each one linked to the specific way the victims were killed. It was more than just a pattern; it was a philosophical puzzle, woven into every aspect of the crime scenes.

You couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped your lips as the pieces clicked in your mind. “Oh my God,” you muttered, momentarily forgetting where you were.

Hotch glanced up, hiding his satisfaction at your reaction. He had set the bait perfectly, and you had walked right into it. The moment was even more rewarding for him, especially considering your previous bragging about being great at "outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first", only to now prove that you were, in fact, a little more ordinary than you'd let on. “Something on your mind, Y/N?”

You blinked, realizing you’d been caught. “I- uh, sorry. I couldn’t help but notice... are those quotes from Nietzsche? And Kierkegaard?” You pointed vaguely in the direction of his file, trying not to sound too eager.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, pretending to consider your question. “It seems that way. The unsub is leaving these quotes at the scenes, but the exact reasoning behind his selections is still unclear.”

You moved closer, unable to resist the lure of the philosophical elements woven into the case. “He’s not just picking these at random,” you said, your mind already racing with theories. “Look at this, Nietzsche’s ‘Beyond Good and Evil’ is quoted here, right next to how the victim was killed. He’s making a statement about morality, or the lack of it, in a deeply personal way.”

Hotch nodded, observing the way you immersed yourself in the details. “Go on,” he prompted, genuinely intrigued by your insights.

You flipped through the pages, your fingers tracing the notes. “Nietzsche challenges conventional morality, especially the binary of good and evil. The unsub seems to be echoing that: he’s positioning himself as someone who operates outside the realm of typical moral standards. Each murder isn’t just a killing; it’s a message that he’s transcended normal ethical constraints.”

Hotch watched you intently, his brow furrowing as he processed your explanation. “So he’s justifying his actions through philosophy? Twisting these ideas to fit his narrative?”

You nodded, flipping to another page with a different quote: “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.” You pointed at the crime scene photo beside it. “This victim was restrained, but not in the usual way. It’s almost as if he’s trying to make a point about the nature of becoming what we despise. He’s projecting his internal struggle onto his victims.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened as he absorbed your analysis. “He sees himself as above society’s rules, above good and evil.”

“Exactly,” you replied. “This isn’t just about murder. It’s about the philosophical struggle of defining oneself beyond societal constraints. The unsub doesn’t see himself as evil; he sees himself as someone exploring the limits of human morality.”

Hotch leaned back, clearly impressed. “And what about this one?” He pointed to another crime scene photo. A quote from Kierkegaard was scrawled near the body: “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.”

You stared at the quote, considering the implications. “Kierkegaard speaks about existential dread and the overwhelming responsibility of true freedom. By leaving this quote, the unsub is hinting at his own struggle with the concept of freedom, how it can be paralyzing, even deadly. His victims aren’t just casualties; they’re expressions of his own inner turmoil about freedom and choice.”

Hotch glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “So he’s not just a killer, he’s using these murders to explore and express his own philosophical beliefs.”

“Right,” you said, feeling the thrill of the chase. “He’s trying to elevate his crimes to a form of existential art. Each murder is his way of grappling with these big ideas, like a twisted performance meant to provoke thought.”

Hotch studied you, clearly impressed. He’d expected insights, but your depth of understanding went beyond his expectations. “This angle is exactly what we need to get inside his head,” he said quietly.

You smiled, feeling both flattered and invigorated. “I can help. I mean, if you want me to. I’ve studied these philosophies for years: existentialism, nihilism, all of it. I think I can figure out what he’s trying to communicate and why he’s doing it this way.”

Hotch allowed himself another rare smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “So this was your idea all along? You knew I’d snoop.”

Hotch shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “I had a hunch. And I thought you might enjoy this one.”

The two of you spent the rest of the morning poring over the crime scene photos and quotes, dissecting the unsub’s motivations in a way that felt less like work and more like an intense intellectual duel. At one point, Hotch leaned in, pointing at a particular quote scrawled in blood at one of the scenes: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

“He’s obsessed with the idea of chaos and creation,” Hotch said thoughtfully. “He’s not just killing, he’s trying to create something.”

You nodded, your mind racing. “Nietzsche believed that from chaos comes creation: an artist’s need to disrupt the ordinary to bring something extraordinary into existence. The unsub sees himself as a kind of artist, but his canvas is human life. He’s trying to provoke a reaction, make a statement that only he believes in.”

Hotch’s gaze was sharp, but you could see the respect in his eyes. “He’s creating his own twisted masterpiece.”

“Exactly,” you said. “He’s redefining morality in his own terms, using his victims to express his philosophical journey.”

The hours flew by as you and Hotch continued to unravel the unsub’s mindset, bouncing theories off each other with a rhythm that felt natural. You had found a way to speak the same language, not just of profiling but of the deeper, darker corners of human thought.

As the day wore on, the bullpen filled with the sounds of the rest of the team returning from their work. Rossi passed by your desks, noticing the two of you deeply engaged in discussion.

“Looks like you’ve finally found your match, Hotch,” Rossi said with a smirk. “She’s giving you a run for your money.”

Hotch didn’t look up from the file, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “She’s good,” he said simply, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Rossi raised an eyebrow at you, clearly impressed. “Well, don’t let him work you too hard. And Hotch, try not to steal all her ideas.”

You both laughed, knowing that this case had brought you closer as partners, not just colleagues. The connection between you and Hotch had deepened; it wasn’t just about early mornings or the rivalry anymore. It was about understanding each other on a level that few could reach.

“Thanks, Hotch. For letting me dive into this.” You smiled at him as you packed up for the day.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than usual. “I didn’t just let you help. I needed you on this one.”

As you left the office together, the day’s work behind you, you felt the connection you’d built still very much alive. You were learning, growing, and with Hotch by your side, you felt like you could take on anything. And as you drove home that night, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Hotch felt the same way.

The next morning, you walked into the office with a heavy sigh. The thrill of unofficially working with Hotch on a complex case filled with philosophical nuances had left you buzzing with excitement the night before, but today was a completely different story.

You knew what awaited you: a mountain of paperwork that had absolutely nothing to do with profiling or unraveling the twisted minds of criminals. Instead, it was the mundane side of the job: filing reports, cross-referencing witness statements, and all the bureaucratic tedium that no one warned you about when you signed up to chase unsubs.

As you approached your desk, your mood dipped even further. Sitting squarely in the center was a towering stack of files, the sight of which nearly made you sick. You let out a groan, dropping your bag on the floor and staring at the pile as if you could will it away with sheer force of will.

“Really?” you muttered to yourself, mentally preparing for a long and grueling morning. But as you reached for the first file, something odd caught your eye. The top sheet had been filled out, every line neatly completed in precise handwriting. You frowned, flipping through the next few files only to find the same, each one meticulously filled out, every detail recorded with the same practiced precision. It didn’t take long for you to recognize the writing: slanted slightly to the left, with the occasional sharp flourish, the unmistakable penmanship of a left-handed person.

It was Hotch’s.

Your heart skipped a beat as you rifled through the entire stack, realizing that all the paperwork had been completed. At the bottom of the pile, nestled beneath the last file, was a small note. You picked it up, already smiling as you recognized Hotch’s handwriting.

“Your philosophy degree helped me. Let my prosecutor years be helpful to you.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you. He hadn’t just helped you out, he’d done it in a way that perfectly mirrored your new dynamic, a balance of give and take that was starting to feel natural.

You glanced up across your desk, Hotch was of course, engrossed in yet another case file, but you could tell by the way his shoulders were set that he knew exactly what he’d done and was just waiting for you to notice. You grabbed the note, determined to thank him but also to give him a hard time for beating you to the punch once again.

“Hey,” you said. Hotch looked up, and for a moment, the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. You held up the note, shaking it lightly. “So, when did you decide to moonlight as my personal assistant?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You looked like you had enough on your plate after yesterday,” he said simply. “Figured I could put my old skills to use.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Hotch, this would’ve taken hours. You really didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. “But after all the philosophical guidance you gave me yesterday, I thought I’d return the favor. Call it a mutual exchange of expertise.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through you. “Well, thank you. Seriously. This is way above and beyond.”

Hotch nodded, but there was a playful edge to his voice when he spoke next. “Hopefully now you don’t hate lawyers as much.”

“Touché,” you said, grinning. “I guess you’ve proven that some lawyers can be... tolerable.”

Hotch gave a mock look of offense. “Tolerable? I’ll take it.” He paused, then added more seriously, “It’s not about winning, you know. At least, not in this line of work. It’s about finding the truth, even if it means doing the boring parts.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that” you admitted, still holding the note between your fingers. “Thanks for reminding me.”

You looked over the stack of completed reports, still impressed by how thorough Hotch had been. “Some of this paperwork was from cases I wrapped up a week ago. How did you know all the details? Did you just magically know what to write?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “What, you think you’re the only one entitled to snoop around your coworkers’ files?!”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “So you’ve been snooping on me? I thought that was my job.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he shrugged casually. “I learned from the best. You think I haven’t noticed you trying to catch a glimpse of my cases all this time?”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “I guess that makes us even.”

“Not quite,” he quipped, his tone teasing but his expression still composed. “I’m just better at not getting caught.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Guess I’ll have to up my game then.”

Hotch chuckled, a rare and genuine sound that caught you by surprise. “Good luck with that. But seriously, I figured I’d save you some time. I know how much you the paperwork side of this job isn’t the most entertaining one.”

You nodded, appreciating the gesture more than you could express. “Well, I have to admit, you did a pretty good job... for a snooper.”

“Better than tolerable?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your earlier choice of words.

“Don’t push it,” you shot back with a grin. “But I’ll give you this: you’re pretty good at reading between the lines, even when it’s not a case file.”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening. “It’s all part of the job. And hey, if you ever need help with the paperwork again, just let me know. I don’t mind putting those old lawyer skills to use, once in a while.”

“Deal,” you said, pushing off his desk and heading back to your own. “But don’t think I’m going to let you get away with this kind of espionage forever.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He was already back to work, his usual intensity in place, but he looked up just long enough to catch your eye and give you a brief, almost imperceptible nod.

You nodded back, smiling. “Jokes apart, thank you, Hotch, really.”

“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his voice softer. “And if you ever feel like helping me out with another case like yesterday’s, just let me know.”

You gave him a playful salute. “Deal. But don’t think I won’t call you out when I catch you snooping through my files next time.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Meanwhile Gideon leaned against the doorframe of Rossi’s office, watching his old friend sift through a case file with the kind of focused intensity that had made him a legend in the Bureau. But today, Gideon wasn’t there to discuss a case. He had noticed something recently, an unexpected but welcome development among the team, one that involved you and Hotch.

“Got a minute, Dave?” Gideon asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Rossi looked up, raising an eyebrow at the unusually cheerful tone. “For you, always. What’s going on?”

Gideon stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He glanced briefly through the blinds, catching sight of you and Hotch at your desks, deep in your usual quiet exchanges. “I’ve been watching Y/N and Hotch,” he began, leaning casually against the desk. “I have to say, I’m impressed. She’s only been here a few weeks, but they’ve already got something… special going on.”

Rossi smirked, setting his file down. “You mean the way she’s got him smiling at eight in the morning? Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s like watching a miracle unfold.”

Gideon chuckled quietly. “I knew she was something special when I first saw her at the academy, but I didn’t expect her to click with Hotch so fast. They’re both pretty guarded, but when they’re working together... it’s like they’re speaking their own language.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, following Gideon’s gaze through the blinds. “They’re a good match. She challenges him in ways the rest of us don’t, and he’s bringing out something in her, too. You know, you were right to pair them up on that first case. You planned this, didn’t you?”

Gideon shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I had a feeling. Hotch needed someone who could challenge his perspective, shake up his routine a little. And she… well, I knew she’d benefit from his discipline, his way of grounding things when they get too abstract. Plus, I figured if they didn’t kill each other, they’d probably make a great team.”

Rossi leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “I guess we both had our little plans, didn’t we? You remember that guy who used to sit at the desk in front of Hotch?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “The one who suddenly had that one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to lead an undercover operation? That was you?”

Rossi’s grin widened. “Oh, yeah. He was a really good agent, an excellent one actually, but he was never really a fit for teamwork. I saw an opening and might’ve... nudged him in that direction. You kept going on about Y/N back then, about how her expertise in philosophy would be an asset to the BAU. You even gave me this whole rundown of her personality: sharp, quick-witted, not afraid to push back. I knew right then she’d be perfect for Hotch.”

Gideon laughed, shaking his head. “You sneaky son of a... You were setting this up long before she even started.”

Rossi nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “You convinced me she’d bring something new, but I could see it wasn’t just about adding a fresh perspective. I saw the potential for something more, a partnership that would push both of them. So yeah, I cleared the way a little. Let’s just say the seating arrangements weren’t accidental.”

Gideon pointed a finger at Rossi, his face alight with amusement. “And you call me sly? You practically orchestrated the whole thing.”

Rossi chuckled. “I just gave them the stage. The rest? That’s all them.”

Meanwhile, outside Rossi’s office, you spotted the two veteran profilers deep in conversation. You couldn’t help but smirk, seeing the perfect chance to tease Hotch about his painfully awkward first attempt to break the ice with you during your first field case together. An interaction so miserable that neither of you ever brought it up again, especially the bizarre conspiracy theory he tried to use as common ground. But you just couldn’t resist bringing back your old inside joke: the running gag that Rossi and Gideon were secretly an item.

You turned to Hotch, who was diligently working on another file, and without saying a word, you nodded your head in the direction of Rossi’s office. He glanced up, following your line of sight, and immediately caught on. With a slight raise of his eyebrow and a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned back in his chair, pretending to stretch but really angling himself to get a better view through the blinds.

“Can’t believe they’re still trying to keep it under wraps,” you whispered, your tone dripping with mock seriousness. “It’s like they think we’re not onto them.”

Hotch chuckled softly, surprised that you were bringing up that old joke again. He kept his voice low so as not to be overheard. “Clearly discussing anniversary plans. I bet Rossi forgot to book the romantic getaway Gideon’s been hinting at for weeks.”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, nodding along. “You’d think after all these years, Rossi would know better. Gideon’s a stickler for anniversaries.”

Hotch’s expression was one of pure mischief. “I swear, if Rossi starts another argument about their anniversary dinner being interrupted by Bureau business, I’m not sure even Gideon can save them this time.”

You shook your head, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Maybe that’s why Gideon looks so serious. He’s probably rethinking the whole relationship. Can’t be easy dealing with a partner who’s constantly prioritizing work.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, “Gideon’s probably thinking about counseling, he’d better hope Rossi can handle it. You know how he gets about any ‘psychological mumbo jumbo.’”

Inside Rossi’s office, Gideon continued, unaware of the playful scrutiny from outside. “So, we’re agreed then? We let them work together more often?”

Rossi nodded, smiling at the thought. “Definitely. They’ll keep each other sharp. Besides, it’s fun watching Hotch get flustered.”

Gideon laughed softly. “It’s not just fun, it’s necessary. I think we’re seeing something good here, Dave. They’ve got the makings of a great partnership.”

Back outside, you and Hotch continued your banter as you watched Rossi and Gideon converse through the glass. You turned to Hotch with a mock serious look. “You know, at this point, I’m half expecting them to make a grand announcement at the next briefing.”

Hotch nodded sagely, playing along. “It’ll be the talk of the office. I’m just waiting for the inevitable joint vacation request.”

You both laughed quietly, and for a moment, it was just you two, lost in the absurdity of your ongoing joke. It was moments like these that made the long hours and high stakes of the job more bearable, and as you glanced over at Hotch, you realized just how much you appreciated these little breaks from reality.

Hotch turned back to his work, but not before giving you one last, knowing smile. “You know, if this keeps up, we might have to start planning their wedding.”

You pretended to think about it, grinning. “Oh, I’ve already got the venue in mind. I’m thinking a quaint little spot in the woods, somewhere private, just the two of them.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re too good at this.”

“And you’re just as bad,” you shot back playfully.

As you both returned to your respective tasks, the bond between you and Hotch felt stronger than ever.

Little did you know, the very pairing that had sparked your inside joke was also the one that had recognized your potential as a duo, quietly cheering you on.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds

47 notes · View notes